I STAND BETWEEN TWO WORLDS
After a few empty minutes, I went quietly out of the house, and at the
end of the drive paused to look back over the sunlit lawn with its
bright flower-beds and heavy trees. My work was plain enough before me
now; I saw what I had to do, and the only question was my method of
approach. The impossibility of it somehow did not interest me. I did not
want to think the situation over, but merely to decide at what point I
should first take hold upon it; and I was eager to begin. As I stood
there, I saw Doctor Reid, in loose flannels and with a tennis racket in
his hand, come in the side gate and walk jerkily toward the garage in
the rear. Here was one thing to be done at least, and I might as well
attend to it while I was on the ground.
His springy step was on the stairs as I entered the building after him,
and I overtook him at the top, shuffling from one foot to the other
before an oaken door, while he hunted through his pockets for the key.
He turned sharply at the sound of my coming.
"What are you doing here?" was his greeting.
"Reid," said I, "I have to say to you that I regret forcing that matter
on you the other night; and if you'll give me a little time, I want to
tell you why. It will end in our pulling more or less together, instead
of fighting each other."
His face set for an instant, then he made up his mind. "Very well. I'm
free for a while. Come in. No occasion perhaps for an apology: spoke too
hastily myself. No sense in being emotional." He threw open the door and
stepped back. "My digestion wasn't normal that day, you see.
Fermentation. Generally a physical basis for those things. Alcohol
besides."
I preceded him into a sudden blaze of air and sunlight, a first
impression of wide space and staring cleanliness. While I blinked, Reid
swung a leather covered chair toward me, with a word of hasty excuse.
"Just been exercising, you see, and I've got to take my shower. Great
mistake sitting down without. I'll be with you in half a moment," and he
vanished behind a rubber curtain that ran on a nickeled rod before an
alcove at the back, leaving me to look about the room. It was very
large, occupying the whole breadth of the building, and fitted up with
an astonishing combination of convenience and hygiene. Dull red tiles
covered the floor and rose like a wainscot half way up the walls. Above
that ran a belt of white, glazed paper enameled to represent tiling; and
the ceiling was of corrugated metal, also enameled white. Two large
windows in front, and one on either side, wide open behind wire screens,
and uncurtained, let in a flood of light and air which somehow in
entering seemed to exchange its outdoor freshness for the sterilized,
careful purity of a laboratory. Between the front windows a large
glass-topped table bore a microscope and microtome covered by glass
bells, a Bunsen burner, and a most orderly collection of bottles and
test-tubes. On one side of this was a porcelain sink, and on the other a
heavy oak desk with a telephone and every utensil in place. Steel
sectional bookcases along the walls displayed rows of technical books
and gleaming instruments. In one corner stood an iron bed, with a strip
of green grass matting before it, and in the other a pair of Indian
clubs and a set of chest-weights flanked an anthropometric scale. The
only decorations were a large print of Rembrandt's _Anatomy_, two or
three surprisingly good nudes, and a few glaring French medical
caricatures. And everything possible about the room was covered with
glass--tables, desk, bookcases, the shelves above the sink, and the very
window-sills. If ever a room did so, this one declared the character of
its inhabitant; and looking upon its comfortless convenience, I caught
myself wondering how any normal woman could endure marriage with such an
antiseptic personality. Then as Reid issued from his bath, glowing and
alert with vivid energy and contagiously alive, the idea seemed not
inconceivable after all.
"Pretty comfortable place, eh?" he burst forth. "Fine. Fine. All my own
idea. Fitted it up according to my own notion. Everything I need right
here, nothing useless, plenty of light and ventilation. Have a
cigarette? I don't smoke often myself, but I keep 'em at hand. Best form
to take tobacco, if you don't inhale. Popular idea all rot."
I lit one and settled back. "I've just asked Lady to marry me," I said,
as quietly as I could. "She says that the only reason she won't is her
mother. And I understand why."
His face lighted for a moment. "I told Tabor you'd be at the bottom of
it eventually. As for the other matter--well, it has to be reckoned
with. Strongest motive we have. The race has got to go on." He frowned
suddenly: "How much do you know?"
"I know that Carucci lied; I know that Mrs. Tabor is out of her mind; I
know that her delusion takes the form of a horror of marriage,
because--" I stopped, searching for a softened form of words; but Reid
took up the broken sentence and went evenly on, as impersonally
scientific as if we had been speaking of strangers.
"Because of my wife's death. Hysteria aggravated by introspection. Fixed
idea of Miriam's continual presence--what's that line?--'the wish father
to the thought'-- The psychic element in these things, you know, does
react on the physical. Whole thing moves in a circle. Then paranoia."
"She's got to get well," I said. "What's the best chance? What can we
do?"
"We're doing all we can. We've called the best man in the country. You
can't depend on any prognosis, you know. We don't understand these
things perfectly, at best. There's no rigid line of demarcation between
insanity and hysteria. Nervous and mental diseases run into each other.
You can't tell."
"Just what does Doctor Paulus say?"
"Paranoia. Says if there were continual external suggestions of Miriam
he'd call it only hysterical; but we guard her as far as possible from
anything of the kind. If she originates the hallucinations herself, it's
mental. Nothing to do but keep her quiet, avoid all reminders, avoid
excitement, lead her mind in other directions, suggest normality.
Nothing more possible, unless we take her abroad for hypnotic treatment,
and that doesn't seem advisable. Nothing else to be done. Question of
time."
"Then it's just a question of getting rid of this fixed idea?"
"Well, but that's begging the whole question, Crosby, don't you see? The
fixed idea is the disease. You're a layman, you know, and you look at it
with the simplicity of ignorance. No offense meant, but that's the plain
fact, you know. Paulus doesn't call it hopeless, but Rome wasn't built
in a day. Nothing to do but wait."
"I'm going to find something to do," I said, "because something has got
to be done."
"Right spirit. Right way to face a difficulty. Always best to be
optimistic. But of course, you mustn't risk any private experiments. You
understand that. Might do harm. Hell's paved with good intentions, you
know, and we've got an expert on the case. Where there's any work for
you, we'll count you in, but you mustn't butt in."
I rose from my chair. "Of course I've no idea of putting in my oar
without authority. Give me credit for that much sense--and thank you for
making me understand the facts. Tell Mr. Tabor of this conversation,
will you? I'm off to New York."
"Certainly. Certainly. By the way, Crosby, I suppose I ought to
congratulate you. Fine. Fine. Well, we've all got to be patient and hope
for the best. It's hard, of course. But life's a hard struggle. A hard
struggle. Good-by. Can you see your way down?"
As Reid had intelligently observed, it was hard. And the hardest part of
it was the waiting. I saw Maclean that same night, and without evincing
more than an ordinary curiosity about spiritualism, arranged to be taken
to the next of the seances. After that, there was nothing to do until
one should be held. The slender thread of coincidence between Sheila's
ghost-stories and my experiences at the last one was my single chance
of discovering a remedy of which the doctors did not know. Probably I
should discover nothing of any use; but until I could contribute some
definite help, I would not go back to Stamford. I had made more than
enough trouble there already.
It was another week before the chance came. And I was a little surprised
when Maclean conducted me not to the closed house we had before visited,
but to the house on Ninety-second Street to which I had followed Doctor
Paulus on his way home.
"Oh, they meet around at one another's houses," Mac explained as we went
up the steps. "It's a gang of social lights that's runnin' these stunts
as a fad, you see? An' the psychic researchers, they ring in. Now this
time, see if you can't keep something on your stomach besides your hand.
You missed a pile of fun last performance."
It was a very different sort of house from the other; wide open and full
of the sense of family inhabitance, a house full of silk hangings and
new mahogany and vases of unseasonable flowers, an orchid of a house, a
house where people would be like their own automobile, polished and
expensive and a trifle fast. Professor Shelburgh was there, looking a
little out of his element; and the others, by what I could tell, were
mostly the same people as before; but there were more of them, twenty or
twenty-five all told, chattering in groups about the brilliant room and
giving it almost the air of a reception. It was evening, and the
electric light and the formal dress of most of the guests added to the
impression. I had my first good look at the medium before the
proceedings began; a fattish, fluffy woman with large eyes, pale-haired
and slow-moving, whose voluble trivialities of conversation and dress
exaggerated both vulgarism and convention. For a moment or two, I
wrestled with an uncanny certainty of having seen her somewhere before,
groping about among recollections. Then all at once I remembered; she
was the woman who had been with us in the trolley accident, the woman
who had so curiously discovered the whereabouts of the chain.
As before, the circle formed about the center-table consisted of only a
dozen or so, and the rest of us were left sitting about the walls. The
doors were closed, and the extinguishing of the lights left the room in
almost utter darkness. The greenish pallor about the edges of the
windows made it possible to imagine rather than to see. The gloom had
the solidity of closed eyelids; and perhaps because of the sudden
transition from brilliant light, it had the same fullness of indefinite
color and movement; as when one suddenly buries one's face in the
pillow, with the light still burning. I caught myself unconsciously
straining my eyes to observe these half-imaginary after-images. And
despite the difference of environment, the sitters had hardly begun
their tuneless crooning of old songs before I felt the same breathless
closeness as before, the same saturated oppression, the same feeling of
uncomfortable and even indecent overcrowding.
I steadied myself with long breaths, bracing involuntarily against the
tension. Then all at once, the door opened silently and softly closed;
and as I turned to look some one rustled past me, visible only as a
solid shadow in the gloom, and without a word slipped into a seat at the
table. The others made room, and a chair was moved up quietly, no one
speaking or even pausing in the song. But my heart pounded in my ears
and my hands heated as I clenched them, for somehow I knew as certainly
as if I could have plainly seen that the new-comer was Mrs. Tabor.
And it was as if she brought with her an increase of the already tense
expectancy, as if her own nervous trouble spread out about her like a
deepening of color, like a drop of blood falling into water already
tinged with red. It was my own imagination, of course, the excitement of
being close upon my quest, and the reaction of silence closing over the
interruption of her entrance; but I felt the exertion of breathing, as
if I were immersed up to the chin in water. If the atmosphere had been
like a weight before, it was now like a deliberately closing vise. In
the intervals of the droning hum at the table, the silence took on a
quality of brittleness. Little brushings and rustlings ran in waves
around the room, and I thought how a breeze runs over a field of tall
grass, where each tuft in turn takes up its neighbor's restlessness. It
occurred to me suddenly that most of the people here were women; and the
sense of crowded presence led me to imagining crowds and throngs of
women grouped in pictures or dancing in rows upon the stage. And then I
remembered sharply that I could not see Mrs. Tabor and wondered whether
my certainty that it was she had any more foundation than these other
fantasies. I heard my own breathing, and that of many others. I felt
vaguely irritated that all these breathings were not keeping time, and
instinctively brought my own into the rhythm of the predominating
number.
A chair creaked softly, and I started, while the skin tightened over my
cheeks and my tongue dried and tasted salt. The medium seemed to be
writhing about, making little soft urging noises, like muffled groans or
the nameless sound that goes with lifting a heavy burden or suddenly
exerting the whole strength of the body. Then the peculiar padded
rapping began. The incongruously matter-of-fact voice of the professor
asked: "Are the hands all here?" and the circle counted in a low tone
while the raps went irregularly on. Some woman across the room giggled
nervously. Why these trivial details did not interrupt and relieve the
tension, I do not know; but their very absurdity seemed to intensify it;
I was hot and puffy and a trifle faint. Suddenly Maclean gripped my
knee, and muttered: "Look at the table-- My God, look at the table--!"
I do not know just how to describe it; to say that I saw is not
literally accurate, for it was really too dark to see; the table and the
group around it were no more than a bulk in the midst of darkness. But
as I strained my eyes toward it, that blur of unconvincing cloudiness
which I had seen or fancied before swelled into mid-air, showing against
the dark like black with light upon it against black in shadow. And
illuminated as it were by that visible darkness, the table beneath it
rose up from its place under the circle of hands, wavered as though
afloat upon the rising stream of a fountain, then settled with a thud
and a creak down again upon the floor. There was a momentary silence,
full of crowded breathings. While I was wondering confusedly how much of
it I had only imagined, Professor Shelburgh said calmly: "That's the
best levitation we've had so far. Who did it? Who is there?" And the
throaty, querulous contralto answered: "I did. Miriam. Do you want any
more?"
Another man somewhere in the circle stammered uncomfortably:
"I--well--er--I beg your pardon, but--could you move something quite
beyond our reach? One of those things on the bookcase, for instance?"
"What for?" whined the voice, "you wouldn't believe it anyway-- I don't
want to talk to you-- Is mother there?"
Maclean's hand relaxed upon my knee, and he sniffed audibly. But the
answer brought my heart into my throat, for I knew who made it, beyond
the possibility of mistake.
"Yes, dear," Mrs. Tabor said quietly. "What is it?"
"I wanted--to see you-- Why didn't you come last time?-- I get--lonely
sometimes--"
"I couldn't come before. Aren't you happy?" She might have been speaking
to a child crying in its bed.
"I want to--come back-- I want--you, mother dear-- I'm very happy, but
I--went away too soon."
"But I've seen you every day at home, dear child."
"It isn't the--the same-- I can't talk--to you--there-- You're afraid
of--something-- I see fear--in your heart--and--that frightens me."
"You mustn't be afraid, Miriam--you mustn't. Nobody shall take you
away!"
A flush and a wave of nausea went over me, and I felt my hair bristling,
not with nervousness, but with a kind of anger. The unwholesomeness of
the whole scene was too sickening--the poor mother's hysterical
fondness, the utter sincerity of her emotion, and the sentimentalism
that whined in reply, so perfectly calculated to irritate and control
the crippled mind. And the element of distorted love made it all the
worse, a beauty turned sour. I thought of the dainty little lady that
had fenced with words so deftly; and only the need to understand once
for all made me endure to listen.
"Ask something that no one but yourself can know," the professor put in.
Perhaps even he felt some embarrassment.
Mrs. Tabor hesitated. "I wonder if I ought," she said, half to herself,
"I do so want to know."
The voice grew steadier: "Ask me what you will--mother darling-- I know
already--what you fear."
"Miriam, did I understand what--what I saw the other day?"
I grew suddenly cold, and felt as if the floor were sinking under me.
"The other day--? Fix your mind upon it, mother dear-- I see you now-- I
see you very much frightened-- You thought a new trouble was
coming--Another trouble like the first--not for yourself--but--"
"Oh, it wasn't myself!" The dry terror of the tone was dreadfully like
something I remembered. "It was for her--you know it was for her. They
looked as if-- Does she love him, Miriam? Does she love him?"
That was more than I would bear. The whole unnatural dialogue had been
profane enough; but this new sacrilege-- The switch of the electric
light was in the wall behind me, and before the spirit voice could speak
again, my fingers had found and pressed it.
The medium gave a tearing scream that was horrible to hear, twisted
herself out of her chair, and jerked and wriggled on the floor, choking
and gurgling. In the sharp yellow glare, the whole room was one
hysterical confusion, men and women scrambling to their feet, or sitting
dazed, their hands before their eyes. The professor cried angrily:
"Confound it, man, you're crazy! You're crazy! You may have killed her.
Don't you know how dangerous it is to turn on light that way?" and
stooped over the struggling woman on the floor, with scowling sidelong
glances back at me. A couple of other men came forward threateningly,
and a bejeweled woman, who seemed to be the hostess, cried acidly:
"Mercy on us, who is the fellow? One of those reporters?"
"Madam, I can promise you no publicity," said I, and I strode over to
where Mrs. Tabor had sunk forward on the table, her head motionless upon
her outstretched arms. Maclean came to my rescue just in time.
"One moment, ladies and gentlemen! Look there--the lady had fainted, you
see? Fainted before the lights went on, you see? My friend did exactly
right. Now let's keep this all as quiet as possible--we don't want a
sensation in the papers." Then as he helped me to raise Mrs. Tabor from
her chair, he muttered: "Darn you, Laurie, what in blazes was bitin' you
anyhow?"
Between us, we half carried her from the room, while the others were
attending to the medium and at cross-purposes among themselves. She had
not actually fainted away, and in spite of her shock was able to walk
down-stairs with a little help. The door-bell had been ringing violently
as we came into the upper hall; and we were still upon the stairs when a
flustered maid opened the door upon Mr. Tabor.
"Is Mrs. George Tabor--" he began. Then he caught sight of us and sprang
past the maid with a growl.
"It's I, Mr. Tabor--Crosby. She's been to an entertainment here, and
broken down. I'll tell you later. Have you got the car outside?"
"Yes, thank God. And Sheila's out there too. Come."
"I'm perfectly well," Mrs. Tabor said faintly. "Nothing to worry any
one. Why are you all so nervous about me?"
"I'll go back now," said Maclean, as we reached the front door, "an'
hush up this gang up-stairs. There ain't goin' to be any disturbance
about this. That crowd's more afraid of the leadin' dailies than they
are of the devil, you see?"
I nodded, and the door closed behind us. Mr. Tabor did not say a word as
we led his wife across the sidewalk and into the palpitating car. He
motioned for me to follow her.
"Not if you can spare me, sir," I said. "I'll be out early to-morrow. I
think I've found a key to the whole trouble, and I've got to see about
it."
He turned, frowning into my eyes under the white bristle of his brows.
"Crosby," he growled, "either we've a good deal to thank you for, or
else--or else you'd better not come to-morrow."