apology, she shouldn’t have been so “pushy”. It’s just that she feels so strongly about her work.
“I understand,” he says.
“Friends again?” she asks.
Robert smiles. “Of course.” He almost says more, then decides against it.
As he hangs up, Bart comes trudging into the office and puts his head on Robert’s lap, looking at him. He strokes the Lab with gentle fingers. “What’s the matter, Bartie?” he says. “Does it hurt?” He looks at the dog with a worried expression.
They are sitting in Peter’s office, waiting for the arrival of Teddie Berger; he is forty minutes late. (“Not a harbinger of things to come, I trust,” says Peter.) Briefly, they discuss the Margery sittings with Houdini.
If nothing else, says Peter, they had the valuable outcome of defining the need for stringent controls when testing psi phenomena. From the late 1920’s onward, laboratory experiments began to play an increasingly important role in psychic research.
“Strange man, Houdini.” Peter comments. “Even though they never proved he put that ruler in the cabinet, those sittings brought him into final disrepute with professional psychic researchers who were tired of his endless rantings that he was able to see through trickery when they were not, that psychics were cheats and liars, every one of them.” He looks “offended”. “Including the immortal Palladino no less.”
“Unforgivable,” says Cathy, straight-faced.
Teddie arrives now, with him CARLA HESSE, 19, a total contrast in appearance to the short, swarthy complexioned, almost perpetually scowling Berger; she is tall, blonde, light-complexioned and beautiful, a perfect Aryan type, a fact which, on the surface alone, tells a story and will, later, reveal even more.
Teddie is already sorry he agreed to the testing. He does not, he informs them, “cotton to the gobbledegook of mediumism.”
Peter tries to calm the glowering Berger. “It should reassure you—” he begins.
“Nothing reassures me,” Teddie states his dismal case. “On the contrary, everything dismays, dispirits and disgusts me.”
“It’s always good to have a philosophy of life,” says Robert, unable to hold his tongue.
Teddie darts a dour glance in his direction, then catches something in Robert which intrigues him; something more than Robert assumes.
The beginning steps of Teddie’s investigation almost end it prematurely: a general physical, lab examinations, neurological studies, audiometric and opthalamological tests, brain scans.
“What the hell are you doing?” Teddie growls. “Drafting me into the Army?”
“Routine,” says Peter.
“Well, it’s stupid,” Teddie fumes. “You want a demonstration of clairvoyance or the goddam three-minute mile?”
“Calm down,” says Carla airily.
“Baah!” snaps Teddie. He doesn’t like Stafford either. “Does he have to be here?” he sotto voces, loud enough for Stafford to hear.
Finally, the tests begin, Teddie in a comfortable reclining chair inside a room the walls of which are double metal separated by four inches of acoustic insulation. (“To prevent any possibility of your hearing—” Peter starts. “I
know
what possibilities you’re trying to prevent,” Teddie interrupts. “Let’s get
on
with it.”) The room has an inner and outer door both of which fasten with a refrigerator type locking mechanism.
Teddie lights a cigar. “You really have to do that?” Cathy asks.
“You make your conditions, sweetpea, I make mine,” crabs Teddie.
She represses a smile, somehow sensing that the contentious Berger is far more bark than bite.
With Cathy observing, Teddie sits with pad and pencil as, in another room, Peter slips a file card at random into an enormous unabridged dictionary. The dictionary is then opened to that page and the first item in the first column that can be drawn is selected. An ESPA artist sketches the item—in this case, a suspension bridge—Robert hangs it on the wall
“I understand,” he says.
“Friends again?” she asks.
Robert smiles. “Of course.” He almost says more, then decides against it.
As he hangs up, Bart comes trudging into the office and puts his head on Robert’s lap, looking at him. He strokes the Lab with gentle fingers. “What’s the matter, Bartie?” he says. “Does it hurt?” He looks at the dog with a worried expression.
They are sitting in Peter’s office, waiting for the arrival of Teddie Berger; he is forty minutes late. (“Not a harbinger of things to come, I trust,” says Peter.) Briefly, they discuss the Margery sittings with Houdini.
If nothing else, says Peter, they had the valuable outcome of defining the need for stringent controls when testing psi phenomena. From the late 1920’s onward, laboratory experiments began to play an increasingly important role in psychic research.
“Strange man, Houdini.” Peter comments. “Even though they never proved he put that ruler in the cabinet, those sittings brought him into final disrepute with professional psychic researchers who were tired of his endless rantings that he was able to see through trickery when they were not, that psychics were cheats and liars, every one of them.” He looks “offended”. “Including the immortal Palladino no less.”
“Unforgivable,” says Cathy, straight-faced.
Teddie arrives now, with him CARLA HESSE, 19, a total contrast in appearance to the short, swarthy complexioned, almost perpetually scowling Berger; she is tall, blonde, light-complexioned and beautiful, a perfect Aryan type, a fact which, on the surface alone, tells a story and will, later, reveal even more.
Teddie is already sorry he agreed to the testing. He does not, he informs them, “cotton to the gobbledegook of mediumism.”
Peter tries to calm the glowering Berger. “It should reassure you—” he begins.
“Nothing reassures me,” Teddie states his dismal case. “On the contrary, everything dismays, dispirits and disgusts me.”
“It’s always good to have a philosophy of life,” says Robert, unable to hold his tongue.
Teddie darts a dour glance in his direction, then catches something in Robert which intrigues him; something more than Robert assumes.
The beginning steps of Teddie’s investigation almost end it prematurely: a general physical, lab examinations, neurological studies, audiometric and opthalamological tests, brain scans.
“What the hell are you doing?” Teddie growls. “Drafting me into the Army?”
“Routine,” says Peter.
“Well, it’s stupid,” Teddie fumes. “You want a demonstration of clairvoyance or the goddam three-minute mile?”
“Calm down,” says Carla airily.
“Baah!” snaps Teddie. He doesn’t like Stafford either. “Does he have to be here?” he sotto voces, loud enough for Stafford to hear.
Finally, the tests begin, Teddie in a comfortable reclining chair inside a room the walls of which are double metal separated by four inches of acoustic insulation. (“To prevent any possibility of your hearing—” Peter starts. “I
know
what possibilities you’re trying to prevent,” Teddie interrupts. “Let’s get
on
with it.”) The room has an inner and outer door both of which fasten with a refrigerator type locking mechanism.
Teddie lights a cigar. “You really have to do that?” Cathy asks.
“You make your conditions, sweetpea, I make mine,” crabs Teddie.
She represses a smile, somehow sensing that the contentious Berger is far more bark than bite.
With Cathy observing, Teddie sits with pad and pencil as, in another room, Peter slips a file card at random into an enormous unabridged dictionary. The dictionary is then opened to that page and the first item in the first column that can be drawn is selected. An ESPA artist sketches the item—in this case, a suspension bridge—Robert hangs it on the wall
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