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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32663-h.zip b/32663-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a2b3e3f --- /dev/null +++ b/32663-h.zip diff --git a/32663-h/32663-h.htm b/32663-h/32663-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ea2873f --- /dev/null +++ b/32663-h/32663-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2742 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Ye Of Little Faith, by Rog Phillips. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ye of Little Faith, by Roger Phillips Graham + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Ye of Little Faith + +Author: Roger Phillips Graham + +Illustrator: Tom Beecham + +Release Date: June 2, 2010 [EBook #32663] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK YE OF LITTLE FAITH *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h1>Ye of Little Faith</h1> + +<h2>By Rog Phillips</h2> + +<h3>Illustrated by TOM BEECHAM</h3> + + +<p>[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science +Fiction January 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence +that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>It matters not whether you believe or disbelieve. Reality is +not always based on logic; nor, particularly, are the laws of the +universe....</i></div> + +<p>The disappearance of John Henderson was most spectacular. It occurred +while he was at the blackboard working an example in multiple +integration for his ten o'clock class. The incompleted problem remained +on the board for three days while the police worked on the case. It, a +wrist watch and a sterling silver monogrammed belt buckle, lying on the +floor near where he had stood, were all the physical evidence they had +to go on.</p> + +<p>There was plenty of eye-witness evidence. The class consisted of +forty-three pupils. They all had their eyes on him in varying degrees of +attention when it happened. Their accounts of what happened all agreed +in important details. Even as to what he had been saying.</p> + +<p>In the reports that went into the police files he was quoted with a high +degree of certainty as having said, "Integration always brings into the +picture a constant which was not present. This constant of integration +is, in a sense, a variable. But a different type of variable than the +mathematical unknown. It might be said to be a logical variable—"</p> + +<p>The students were in unanimous agreement and, at this point, Dr. +Henderson came to an abrupt stop in his lecture. Suddenly, an expression +of surprise appeared on his face. It was succeeded by an exclamation of +triumph. And he simply vanished from the spot.</p> + +<p>He didn't fade away, rise, drop into the floor, or take any time +vanishing. He simply stopped being there.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3><i>He just wasn't there any more.</i></h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>The police searched his room in the nearby Vanderbilt Arms Hotel. They +turned a portrait of the missing math professor to the newspapers to +publish. Arbright University offered a reward of one hundred dollars to +anyone who had seen him.</p> + +<p>The police also found a savings pass book in his room. It had a balance +of three thousand eight hundred and forty dollars, which had been built +up to that figure by steady monthly deposits over a period of years. It +also had a withdrawal of three hundred and twenty dollars two days +before the disappearance. They were sure they were on the path to a +motive. This avenue of exploration came to an abrupt end with the +discovery that he had traded in his last year's car on a new one, and +that sum had been necessary to complete the deal.</p> + +<p>After the third day the blackboard had been erased and the classroom +released for its regular classes. Police enthusiasm dropped to the norm +of what they called legwork. Finding out who the missing man's +acquaintances and friends were, calling on them and talking to them in +the hopes of picking up something they could go on.</p> + +<p>They passed Martin Grant by because they had heard from him in their +initial work. In fact, he had been a little too present for their +tastes.</p> + +<p>After ten days they dropped the case from the active blotter. The +University, seeing that there was little likelihood of having to shell +out the reward money, increased it to five hundred dollars.</p> + +<p>But Martin Grant continued to ponder over a conversation he himself had +had with John Henderson during a dinner six weeks to the day before his +old friend had vanished. He remembered his own words...</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"... and so you see, John, by following this trail, I've arrived at a +theory that has to do with the basic nature of the universe—of all +reality. Yet things don't behave as they would if my theory were +operating."</p> + +<p>John Henderson frowned into space, disturbed. Visibly disturbed. Martin +watched him with a twinkle in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"You must have gone off the track on it somewhere, Martin," John said +suddenly, as though trying more to convince himself than his listener.</p> + +<p>Martin shook his head with slow positiveness. "You followed every step. +We spent four hours on it." He took pity on his friend. "Don't let it +bother you. I regard it as just an intellectual curiosity. I've included +it in my next book on that basis."</p> + +<p>A new voice broke in. "What is it, Dad? One of your ten-thousand-word +shaggy dog jokes?" This from Fred Grant, 16, student in the senior grade +at the Hortense Bartholemew High School, and an only child of Martin +Grant.</p> + +<p>"A little more respect toward your father," Martin said with much +sternness.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Father."</p> + +<p>"It was my <i>theory</i>."</p> + +<p>John Henderson said, "But, Martin, I don't know what to think now. Of +course there must be some fallacy that I've missed. The way things stand +though, I—" He chuckled uncomfortably. "I begin to doubt myself. I +can't quite classify it as an intellectual curiosity."</p> + +<p>"What else can you do with it?" Martin said. "I know your trouble. It's +a common one. You have a tendency to believe things or disbelieve them. +Now you've been presented with something your intellect demands that you +believe, while your experience shouts, 'lie'."</p> + +<p>"Is Fred able to understand it?" John asked, smiling at the youngster +with fond and unconscious condescension.</p> + +<p>"Not yet," Fred smiled. "I'm still in high school."</p> + +<p>"And if you don't want to flunk out you'd better be off to bed at once," +Martin told him.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Father. Good night, Dr. Henderson."</p> + +<p>Fred's departure left a vacuum in the conversation that took a minute to +fill. John Henderson frowned himself back to where he had been before +the boy had arrived. When he got there he frowned even more, because it +was a state of mental confusion that seemed to have no way of being +resolved.</p> + +<p>"Maybe we can get at it this way," he said. "Let's postulate that your +theory is the only logical basis on which reality can rest. B, quite +obviously reality does not rest on this basis. We could make C, +therefore, that reality doesn't rest on a logical basis. But that +doesn't seem to satisfy me. Maybe C could be—no—" He glanced at his +watch, lifted his eyebrows and stood up. "I really didn't know it was so +late. I'll have to be going, Martin. An eight o'clock lecture in the +morning."</p> + +<p>Martin made a wry face. "You've awakened my own conscience. I have an +hour or two of work yet before bedtime."</p> + +<p>The two men went to the front door. John said, "Thank your wife again +for me. Wonderful dinner. You're lucky, Martin, to have such a good +cook."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>That had been six weeks before John Henderson vanished. Martin Grant +mentioned this visit to Horace Smith, one of the teachers in his +department, and got himself and his wife invited for dinner on the +following Friday. Dinner over, the two professors retired to the +library.</p> + +<p>Two and a half hours later Horace had assimilated and grasped every +detail of the theory. He then leaned back in his chair and closed his +eyes, fingertips to temples, trying to find some flaw. Finally he shook +his head. "It's no use," he said. "Your theory is logically inescapable. +But—" He frowned. "Where does that place us? Probably where some +schools of thought have always suspected we would wind up eventually. +With the realization that the basic laws of the universe can't be +reached by logic or even by experiment based upon logic."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't say that," Martin objected. "My theory is an intellectual +curiosity, that's all. That's the way I present it in my latest book. By +the way, it's coming out soon. Signed the contract a month ago." He +pulled his thoughts back to the conversation. "After all, one must hold +onto the pragmatic approach to reality. Here is a theory that logic says +must be the only possible way a universe can be constructed and +operate. It's beautiful and logically complete, but not applicable. No +pragmatic value."</p> + +<p>"Congratulations on the book. But, damn it," Horace said, "it attacks my +most basic faith. Logic. Reason."</p> + +<p>"Faith?" Martin echoed, amused. "Yes, perhaps you're right. That's a +word that's foreign to my thinking. Belief is so unnecessary."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean that."</p> + +<p>"But I do."</p> + +<p>Horace pondered. "I can prove otherwise. You believe—as an +example—that your wife is faithful to you." It was a statement rather +than a question.</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact—I don't. I act upon the greater probability that +she is. I don't hire detectives to follow her. Nor do I throw her into +situations to test her faithfulness. I admit the possibility that she's +unfaithful to me. If evidence came that she was, I might confront her +with the evidence. Where does belief become necessary?"</p> + +<p>"Do you believe your son will become a success in life?" Horace asked.</p> + +<p>"No. I've done everything I could think of to increase the probability +that he will. One of the things I've done is to instill in him the +realization that belief is unnecessary in thinking. Surely, as a +scientist, you realize that nothing we use in science finds its value or +validity from human belief. If, tomorrow, evidence were brought forth +that trigonometry is based on fallacy I'm sure that mathematicians would +use that evidence to revise their entire field."</p> + +<p>"But belief is instinctive; as instinctive as thought itself."</p> + +<p>"I admit it's a natural way of thinking. It has to be weeded out."</p> + +<p>"So you're sure you don't believe in anything," Horace said slyly.</p> + +<p>"Such statements are verbal traps," Martin said. "They mean nothing. You +want me to imply that I believe I believe nothing, and therefore I have +at least one belief. But as a matter of fact I've built up a sort of +mental mechanism for discovering beliefs in my thinking and dispelling +them by going to the roots and showing myself why I believed. Belief +springs up in the mind like weeds in a garden. Constant weeding is the +only solution." He glanced at his watch and frowned uneasily. "Eleven +o'clock. We'd better break this up and join the women. We'll have to get +together again soon. By the way, do you and your wife play Canasta? My +wife loves it."</p> + +<p>They had been moving toward the door. Now they entered the living room, +to find the two women playing the game.</p> + +<p>"Time we were going, dear," Martin said. "And sometime soon make plans +to have Horace and Ethel over for an evening of four-handed Canasta."</p> + +<p>At the front door vows of an early reunion were repeated. But they were +never to be fulfilled. On the following Tuesday Horace vanished.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>This time there were no actual eye witnesses. The time was somewhere +between seven and seven-ten Tuesday morning; the place; Horace Smith's +bathroom.</p> + +<p>Ethel Smith was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Horace was in the +bathroom. He called out, "Ethel! I've got it!"</p> + +<p>"What have you got?"</p> + +<p>But even as Ethel called out, she heard the sound of the electric razor +falling to the tile floor, and there was no answer from the bathroom. +Nothing but silence and, as she described it later, a feeling that she +was alone in the house.</p> + +<p>At the time, however, she wasn't alarmed. She half expected some +muttered profanity over the dropping of the razor. She didn't wait for +it exactly. Instead, she picked up the spatula and expertly scooped the +eggs onto their two plates and carried them to the breakfast nook. Next +she poured the coffee. Then, placing some bread in the toaster, she +started back to the stove, calling, "Come and get it, Horace!"</p> + +<p>At the stove she started to pick up the aluminum dish containing the +bacon. She paused and repeated her call. "Horace!"</p> + +<p>It wasn't until then that it occurred to her the falling of the razor +might have been an ominous sound. Her mind filled with worried images, +she rushed out of the kitchen into the hall leading to the bathroom.</p> + +<p>The door was locked.</p> + +<p>"Horace!" she called. "Are you all right?" When there was no answer she +pounded on the door. "Horace! Speak to me!"</p> + +<p>After that she ran outside and around to the bathroom window. It was +shut and locked, as she already knew. Not only that, it had been stuck +for years.</p> + +<p>With an urgency born of a realization that every second might mean the +difference between life and death, she ran back into the house and +called the fire department. Also the family doctor.</p> + +<p>By nine-thirty the police had been called in. By eleven o'clock they had +seen the parallel between this disappearance and that of John Henderson.</p> + +<p>Martin Grant's first reaction was concern for Ethel. His second reaction +was that, twice, he had presented his theory to someone and that person +had vanished. His third was accompanied by a twinge of fear. He had just +finished presenting his theory to the senior physics class!</p> + +<p>This was followed by an amazing realization. He was conceding that there +might be a connection between his theory and the disappearances. He +laughed it off, but it returned. It disturbed him.</p> + +<p>It continued to bother him on Wednesday, so he began to search his mind +for reasons. Eventually he found them. There was a distinct analogy +between a theory that didn't agree with observable reality, and a pair +of disappearances which violated known methods of disappearing.</p> + +<p>The analogy was so clear that he began to feel there might be a +functional relation between the two. Of course, he concluded, it would +be reasonably certain if a large number of the students in the senior +group were to vanish also.</p> + +<p>This intellectual conclusion became an anxiety neurosis.</p> + +<p>So, on Wednesday—after he had scanned the room anxiously to see how +many students were absent and discovered to his intense relief that they +were all there—he spent the full hour lecturing on the necessity—the +<i>vital</i> necessity—of unbelief in all things, especially scientific +theories.</p> + +<p>But would it work? He vaguely remembered giving Horace a similar +lecture.</p> + +<p>Wednesday night just before retiring he had another disturbing thought. +He had explained the theory to his son. But that had been weeks before, +and Fred was steeped in the mechanism of unbelief. Good thing, or he +might have been the first to disappear.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with you, Martin? Can't you even answer when—" The +rest of what his wife was saying faded in the startled realization that +he was eating dinner.</p> + +<p>"Sorry, dear," he murmured. "I was thinking." He was trying to recall +something that might tell him what day it was. It was obviously evening +or they wouldn't be eating dinner. "Uh," he said casually, "what day is +today?"</p> + +<p>"Saturday," Fred said.</p> + +<p>"Now Fred, don't tease your father about his absent-mindedness. This is +Thursday."</p> + +<p>Thursday! That was right. He had given the lecture on the necessity of +unbelief today. There was tomorrow, when he could see if any of the +class had disappeared yet. He couldn't be certain, of course. Just +because a student didn't show up didn't mean he or she had vanished.</p> + +<p>He fixed his eyes on Fred, across the table, and smiled. Fred, at least, +was a source of comfort. He knew the theory and hadn't vanished.</p> + +<p>"Dad," Fred said. "I've been wondering if you saw a point of similarity +in the two disappearances?"</p> + +<p>Martin thought, good heavens, does he have any inkling of what I've been +thinking? Of course not! He's just fumbling. Better to discourage him. +"Sorry, son. There aren't any similarities except accidental ones. I've +had the confidence of the police on this. The cases are quite +unrelated."</p> + +<p>Fred refused to be sidetracked. "Dr. Henderson's face lit up as though a +sudden idea had struck him. I talked with some of his students. That's +what they all thought. And Horace Smith shouted to his wife, 'Ethel! +I've got it!' The next instant in each case they vanished into thin +air."</p> + +<p>"But that doesn't mean a thing."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>In the privacy of his study Martin Grant allowed himself to become +excited. Fred had unwittingly come upon the vital clue to the two +disappearances.</p> + +<p>"Let's be clear about this," he said to himself, drumming on his desk +nervously with his fingers. "Undoubtedly there's a connection between +the vanishing and my theory. Both Horace and John arrived at something +I've missed. And since my theory is exhaustive it can't be there. It +must be—yes—it <i>must</i> be that they went a step farther." He pondered +this a moment and added grudgingly, "A step I have missed." Then even +more grudgingly, "An obvious step."</p> + +<p>Automatically he opened a drawer and brought out a sheet of paper and a +pencil. He wrote:</p> + +<p><i>The theory contains within itself the proof that the universe must, by +logical necessity, be constructed according to said theory. But +observation and experience say this is not true.</i></p> + +<p>He frowned at what he had written. This was the conclusion to which he +had led both men. It was the conclusion upon which he had rested. They, +obviously, had not rested there. They had gone on.</p> + +<p>Under what he had written he wrote "<i>Either</i>:" on the left hand margin. +Two inches under it he wrote, "<i>Or</i>:" Then he frowned at them. Suddenly +he began writing rapidly after the <i>Either</i>: "<i>The universe is not +constructed according to logical necessity.</i>"</p> + +<p>He hesitated, studying what he had written. Then, pursing his lips, he +slowly wrote after the <i>Or</i>: "<i>The observable universe is not the +universe.</i>"</p> + +<p>He nodded to himself. That hit at the core of the matter. A was X. B was +not X. Therefore B was not A. Even though A and B were both called +universe.</p> + +<p>The question was, then—did the universe-of-logical-necessity exist? If +so, what relationship did it have to the observable universe which quite +obviously did exist?</p> + +<p>Was that the question, the answer to which, gained in a moment of +insight, had caused two men to utterly vanish?</p> + +<p>He sighed with real regret. There was no way of knowing. Possibly a +mechanical brain of the most advanced type could come out with a +comprehensive picture after solving thousands of successive equations. +Knowledge of simple basics was a far cry from a fully expanded system.</p> + +<p>He pushed the sheet of paper away with a show of irritation. He was +missing something. He was on the wrong track. Neither John nor Horace +had the mental equipment to make more than a simple step beyond what he +had accomplished. That was certain. It was equally certain that he could +and would make it.</p> + +<p>A startled expression appeared on his face. "Oh good lord!" he groaned. +"My book. I must do something about that the first thing tomorrow. I—" +He opened the drawer of his desk and took out an oblong of paper, the +check against advance royalties. "I'll return this and not let them +publish it. First thing in the morning. And from now on I resolve not to +think of my theory or what caused John and Horace to vanish."</p> + +<p>Folding the check neatly, he stuck it in his billfold and then started +to read a book that interested him. He became engrossed in it. Half an +hour later he came to enough to realize he was on safe ground, sigh with +relief, and sink back into the trains of thought of the book.</p> + +<p>It was a nice feeling to know he was safe.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It was Friday. The sun was shining brightly and the monotony of the blue +sky was relieved here and there by filmy white clouds that gave it a +pleasing three-dimensionalness.</p> + +<p>But to Martin Grant there was something unreal about things. He decided +it must be the light. Things stood out with too sharp clarity.</p> + +<p>When he reached his office at the university he made arrangements for a +substitute to take his ten o'clock class. Then he called the publishing +company and made an appointment for ten-fifteen.</p> + +<p>The hour from nine to ten seemed interminably long. He found it almost +impossible to concentrate on such an unimportant subject as the +application of tensor analysis to electronic circuits.</p> + +<p>Ten o'clock came. He hurried to the parking lot and got in his car. It +was real and comforting. But once again everything outside the +windshield seemed too sharply defined.</p> + +<p>He timed himself on the way across town to the publishing house. He +would have to allow himself the same time to return for his eleven +o'clock class. It took twelve minutes, plus another two to find a +parking place. Two minutes from the car to the eleventh floor. He was +frowning at his watch as he entered the publisher's office.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, Dr. Grant! Glad to see you. I suppose you're anxious to see +your book ready for market. It's coming very well. Just came back from +the typesetters and is going into its first printing right away."</p> + +<p>"Huh?" Martin said, completing his mental arithmetic and jerking into an +awareness of his surroundings. "Oh, hello Mr. Browne," he said. "I was +just figuring my time. I have an eleven o'clock class. I can only stay +twenty-seven minutes. That gives me a three minute margin of error for +traffic delays."</p> + +<p>"I see," the publisher said, a twinkle in his eye. "As I was just +saying, your book—"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, my book," Martin interrupted. "Just a minute." He took out his +billfold and extracted the check, handing it to Mr. Browne.</p> + +<p>"What's this for?" Mr. Browne asked, unfolding it. "Oh, the advance +royalty check. Is something wrong with it?"</p> + +<p>"I'm returning it," Martin said. "I can't let you publish my book."</p> + +<p>"Can't let me publish it!" Browne exclaimed. "Why not? Don't tell me it +infringes on someone else's copyright!"</p> + +<p>"No. Nothing like that. I've merely decided I don't want it published. +I'm returning your check."</p> + +<p>"Well now, look!" Browne said. "We're a business establishment. You +signed a contract. We signed one too. It protects both of us against +just this sort of thing, you know." He studied Martin thoughtfully. "Sit +down and relax," he invited. "I'm human. Tell me why you don't want it +published. Maybe I might agree with you. We have over a thousand dollars +tied up already in typesetting, but—"</p> + +<p>Martin took the seat and glanced nervously at his watch to make sure the +twenty-seven minutes hadn't elapsed.</p> + +<p>"I've just changed my mind," he said curtly. "There are certain +things—I'm the head of a department, you know. I must watch my +reputation. That's it, my reputation. On due reflection I believe the +book might hurt my standing."</p> + +<p>"In what way?" Browne asked. "To tell you the truth, your other book +did so well I didn't bother reading this one."</p> + +<p>"There's a—" Martin brought himself up short. So Browne hadn't read it. +So much the better. At least he wouldn't vanish. "I'm afraid," he added +with a self-conscious chuckle that he hoped was genuine enough to pass, +"the subject matter is a little too crackpottish in spots. That's the +whole thing. It would reflect on my reputation."</p> + +<p>"Maybe we could do a little editing on it," Browne said. "Cut out the +parts you think crackpottish and substitute something else in those +pages. I'll get the galleys and we can look at them."</p> + +<p>"No!" Martin said. "No, I'm afraid we would have to cut out at least +half of the book. No. The best thing is to forget it, but I'll make good +your typesetting loss. I can pay you two hundred dollars right away and +fifty dollars a month."</p> + +<p>Browne lit a cigarette slowly, his eyes on Martin. "You're serious, +aren't you," he said. "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll let the whole +thing ride for the present. Maybe later—"</p> + +<p>"No!" Martin said. "It must never be published! It's very vital that it +never be published."</p> + +<p>"Okay," Browne said. "We won't publish it. We have the contract, but—we +won't publish it."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, very much," Martin said. "I must hurry back."</p> + +<p>The publisher stared thoughtfully at the closed door after Martin had +gone. He glanced down at the check.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Lecture room 304 was very large, capable of holding four hundred +students in its successive tiers of seats, plus the teacher on his +raised platform immediately in front of the large blackboard. In +previous years there had been instances of students slipping out after +roll call. In spite of everything, it had happened.</p> + +<p>Therefore a new system had been inaugurated. Before roll call Martin +marched to the back of the room to the only exit and locked it. +Pocketing the key, he returned to his podium. It had been going on this +way for two years, and was now automatic.</p> + +<p>The day watchman, making his rounds, approached this door at precisely +two thirty-four. He heard violent pounding. Along with the pounding +there was a loud, hoarse voice, gasping, "Lemme out! Lemme out!"</p> + +<p>The watchman consulted his clock—the one he used to make a record of +his rounds—and determined that it was two thirty-four. He knew that it +was Dr. Grant's senior theoretical physics lecture period. He recalled +that a couple of years before Dr. Grant had had trouble with students +slipping out after roll call. But it occurred to him that it was hardly +possible to sneak out, even on Dr. Grant, absent-minded as he was, by +pounding on the door and shouting, "Lemme out!" in a terrified tone of +voice.</p> + +<p>He therefore stopped and knocked on the door, calling, "What's going on +in there?"</p> + +<p>Whoever was doing the pounding and shouting evidently didn't hear him. +Waiting no longer, the day watchman used his master key on the door.</p> + +<p>A smallish young man, later identified as Mark Smythe, attempted to run +past him into the hall. The watchman blocked Mark's escape and looked +toward the podium in an automatic appeal to Dr. Grant.</p> + +<p>Dr. Grant was not there. The podium was unoccupied. So were all four +hundred seats. There was, in fact, no one in room 304 except the one +terrified student.</p> + +<p>In due course the police arrived, along with the regents. By five +o'clock it had become certain that the greatest mass disappearance of +all times had occurred, with Mark Smythe as the sole witness.</p> + +<p>He stuck to his story through repeated detailed questionings, and in the +end the police were stuck with it.</p> + +<p>According to Smythe, class had begun as usual. Dr. Grant had waited +until one minute after the bell had sounded, then had marched back and +locked the door, and returned to the front. He had rapidly scanned the +room to see if there were any absences, quickly called half a dozen +names he was uncertain of, and marked the attendance slip. The police +found it still resting on the table where he had placed it.</p> + +<p>Then he had begun his lecture by remarking that they were behind +schedule and would have to catch up. He had been speaking less than five +minutes when a student by the name of Marvin Green jumped to his feet in +great excitement, waving his hand and shouting, "Dr. Grant! Dr. Grant!"</p> + +<p>Dr. Grant had stopped his lecture and frowned darkly, then said, "If you +will please take your seat—"</p> + +<p>"But Dr. Grant!" Marvin Green had interrupted him excitedly. "I've got +it! I've got it!"</p> + +<p>What had happened then was impossible for the mind to accept. Marvin +Green had simply ceased to be.</p> + +<p>There had been a stunned silence. And in that silence, it went on. +Student after student popping out of existence in what seemed to be a +chain reaction.</p> + +<p>He wasn't aware when Dr. Grant vanished. All he knew was that when at +last he was alone he looked toward the podium and the professor was also +gone.</p> + +<p>He kept waiting to go himself. When he didn't, he lost the fear that had +rooted him to the spot, and rushed to the exit where he at first tried +to break down the door and make his escape, then subsided into pounding +and shouting for help when he realized his physical strength was +insufficient for the job.</p> + +<p>Questioning didn't bring out any additional fact, nor alter any +statement. There had been no sound to the vanishing, no movement of the +person that could be considered significant, no flashes of light, no +strange odors. Nothing.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Fred Grant got the flash on his hot rod radio on the way home from high +school.</p> + +<p>At the end of the report Fred wrote down Mark Smythe's address on a +scrap of paper, and drove home to be with his mother. It was three days +before he could get away.</p> + +<p>On the morning of the third day, his aunt Emily arrived to take charge +of things, and he was able to slip away. He drove immediately to Mark +Smythe's address. It was one of the better class rooming houses near the +campus. The land-lady wasn't going to let him in nor announce him until +he explained he was the son of the professor who had vanished. She +immediately swung to the other extreme and didn't bother to find out if +Mark wanted to see him.</p> + +<p>"My father was your teacher," Fred said.</p> + +<p>"Oh? Come on in."</p> + +<p>There were tennis rackets. On the bookshelves there were tennis books. +On a table there was a tennis trophy. Otherwise there was just a bed, a +rug, and two or three chairs.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what I can tell you more than I've already told the police +and the reporters," Mark said apologetically. "I guess it's tough, +losing your father...."</p> + +<p>"Yeah," Fred agreed. "I wanted to ask you something though. Dad gave a +lecture on his new theory a few days ago, didn't he?"</p> + +<p>Mark looked at him blankly. Then, "Oh! I guess he did. As a matter of +fact I didn't pay much attention to it." He grinned. Then he remembered +he should be solemn and stopped grinning. "I—I sort of slipped by it. +He made the mistake of telling us ahead of time it was off the course +and no questions on it would be in the finals, so I more or less rested +up during the period for a tennis match afterwards. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't you get any of what he said?" Fred persisted.</p> + +<p>"Oh, a little," Mark admitted. "It was about some system of arriving at +the basic laws of nature by pure logic, only what you arrived at didn't +agree with facts. Some kind of intellectual curiosity." He thought a +minute. "Oh," he said, "I see what you want. Didn't he leave any notes +on it? It would be too bad if his theory was lost to the world now +that—" He left the rest unsaid.</p> + +<p>"Maybe you can remember something," Fred coaxed. "Anything. Did he talk +about his theory again?"</p> + +<p>"Next day he gave a lecture on the necessity of unbelief in modern +science. It was pretty good. He overemphasized it, though. Some of the +kids thought he was making a religion of unbelief."</p> + +<p>"What did they say about his theory?" Fred asked quickly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, they were quite impressed. Two of them live—lived here in the +rooming house. They were up here that evening tossing it back and forth. +I was too tired from the tag match. I let them talk."</p> + +<p>"What did they think about it?"</p> + +<p>Mark frowned in an effort to recall. "It had to do with this universe +being basically illogical, or at least seeming to be, because it didn't +agree with your father's theory. They started building up fantasies on +it. One I remember was a good one."</p> + +<p>"What was that?"</p> + +<p>"I think it was Jimmy. He said it would be funny if we were here +because we believed this universe was the only real one. Something about +inherited memory. Our coming from a long line of people who believed +this was the only place, because all our ancestors who didn't believe it +shot off into some other universe and had their children there. Utterly +crazy. You know."</p> + +<p>"Yeah, I know," Fred agreed. "You going to be around in case I want to +see you again?"</p> + +<p>"God! I hope so!" Mark said. "It makes me nervous."</p> + +<p>"You're safe enough," Fred said. "Well—thanks. I'll be seeing you."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He smoothed out the crumpled sheet of paper and glanced at it.</p> + +<p>"What do you hope to find, Fred," his mother asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he said. "Anything, I—maybe this is something. Look."</p> + +<p>Together they read, "Either: the universe is not constructed according +to logical necessity, Or: the observable universe is not the universe." +There were doodlings along the right margin that meant nothing.</p> + +<p>"What does it mean?" Mrs. Grant asked.</p> + +<p>"Probably just something connected with his classes," Fred shrugged. He +went on searching the waste basket, giving his mother no hint that he +had already found what he was searching for.</p> + +<p>From the position of the paper in the waste basket he felt reasonably +sure it had been recently written. It was probably a voicing of thoughts +gained from the disappearance of Horace and John, because up to that +time his father had assumed his theory was just an intellectual +curiosity.</p> + +<p>His father couldn't have asked himself if the observable universe might +not be the universe unless something had happened to raise a doubt, or +suggest an alternative as a possibility.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grant's interest lessened. She wandered about the room, perhaps +reliving memories. It gave Fred a chance to put the piece of paper in +his pocket so that when he put everything back in the waste basket his +mother would dismiss the whole search.</p> + +<p>There was, of course, the file with the entire theory in it. He knew the +theory by heart, however, and had no need of that file.</p> + +<p>"I think I'll go out for a while, Mom," he said.</p> + +<p>"All right, Fred," she said disinterestedly.</p> + +<p>Outside he climbed behind the wheel of his hot rod and sat there, making +no motion to start the motor. He was thinking.</p> + +<p>Mark Smythe had said that he overheard two of his fellow class-men +discussing the theory, one of them remarking that, "It would be funny if +we were here just because we were descended from a long line of people +who believed this was the only place."</p> + +<p>Could that be the key?</p> + +<p>Take gravitation, for instance. If it were something that some vital +part of you had to believe, and that vital part didn't believe, would +the entire person go flying off into space?</p> + +<p>What about inanimate matter? Did it have to believe too? And what about +other forms of life?</p> + +<p>Or was everything except human beings just part of the props?</p> + +<p>He shook his head. That didn't seem like quite the right track. He took +another.</p> + +<p>The human mind builds up a picture of the outside universe through its +senses. Sometimes its ideas are wrong. Right or wrong, inside everyone's +mind is a universe, derived from the outside universe.</p> + +<p>What if the outside universe were derived from something? Derived from +what? The real, logically necessary universe? That could be. At least it +seemed to have some value as a starting point.</p> + +<p>He tried to reason from that point. Frustration grew in him. He wished +he were older, had his university education behind him. There were so +many things he couldn't begin to deal with.</p> + +<p>Maybe he could take the entire problem to some of his father's friends. +He shook his head over this thought. From all that had gone on it was +too likely that the minute one of them discovered something that would +be of help he would disappear before he could tell it!</p> + +<p>That raised another point. Why didn't he himself vanish? What was there +different about him?</p> + +<p>A lot. His father had instilled in him a lot of the things he himself +could only aspire to. Unbelief was the major thing. Or perhaps it was +the other major thing, remembrance.</p> + +<p>His father's voice came into consciousness, saying something he had said +so many times it was grooved deeply in memory, even to the inflections +of voice. "<i>All psychoses and mental troubles are caused by walled-off +unpleasant memories. The child who trains himself to recall all +unpleasant things and deliberately associate them with the feeling that +they are valuable lessons, but harmless, will grow up in perfect +balance.</i>"</p> + +<p>He smiled. He could let flow through consciousness, dozens of incidents +he had taken up with his father.</p> + +<p>He was definitely different than others around him. So different +he had systematically disguised it by a front of accepted +behavior—systematically and consciously, under his father's guidance.</p> + +<p>There was a chance those differences made him safe. There was a chance +those differences would make it possible for him to find out what caused +the others to vanish, without he himself vanishing.</p> + +<p>The other train of thought inserted itself into consciousness again. Was +belief the key to the disappearances?</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mark Smythe hadn't paid attention when the theory was being explained. +The others had undoubtedly lapped it up. The peculiar thing about the +theory was that it was so logical and so inevitable that the mind tended +to accept it, believe it to be true in spite of the evidence of the +senses.</p> + +<p>Let us suppose, Fred mused, that deep within the mind there is some +matrix of thought that ties the human to this universe. A matrix that +could conceivably be altered, and when altered would automatically shift +the person to another universe that the altered matrix fitted.</p> + +<p>The subconscious usually took time to absorb and react. That was another +thing his father had taught him to observe. Learn something, and it +takes from days to months for it to become lodged in the subconscious +and to rise into operation naturally from there.</p> + +<p>John Henderson had taken six weeks to vanish after having learned the +theory. It had taken Horace Smith three and a half days, but he had had +the added factor of Dr. Henderson's disappearance to trigger reactions. +The theoretical physics class had taken three days exactly, and its +vanishing had been a sort of group action or chain reaction, with +intensely emotional reaction after the first student had vanished before +the eyes of the others.</p> + +<p>His own father, originator of the theory, had probably fallen into the +trap of starting to believe after Horace had vanished, so it became a +greater probability that the disappearance was related to knowledge of +the theory. Seeing the students vanish had probably set up an emotional +state where complete belief was precipitated.</p> + +<p>In the whole series the only improbable part was that so many students +would react in the same short time. That was partly nullified by the +fact that it was a special class, and only high I.Q. students with +excellent records were accepted. They would tend to be somewhat +identical in reaction times.</p> + +<p>He straightened up and stared through the windshield at the dark street. +So there it was, the probable mechanism of vanishment. A system was fed +into the conscious mind. The conscious mind accepted it. In due time +that system was transferred down into the matrix that held the person in +this reality or universe. Once there, it made the whole person +<i>transfer</i> to a system where the altered matrix fitted. It might not be +the system pictured in his father's theory. It might be a compromise +system.</p> + +<p><i>Where</i> and <i>when</i> probably had no meaning in relation to the two +systems. That was why, when the shift came, the person vanished +instantly without any strange manifestations of any kind.</p> + +<p>Was it reversible? If so, then some of those who had vanished would +reappear eventually.</p> + +<p>A sudden, startling thought made Fred sit up straight, his eyes shining +with excitement. So far he had been safe mainly because he habitually +didn't attach belief to anything. His other facet of difference might be +the means of his testing this without real danger of vanishing.</p> + +<p>Could he dredge up from the deepest layers of unconscious thought, the +threads leading directly to the matrix that held him in his surroundings +and learn consciously what it was?</p> + +<p>A thought. He reflected on it, then decided before he made any decisions +he would explore the other avenue, the one the police had naturally +thought of.</p> + +<p>Was there some person or persons unknown in back of the disappearances? +Some non-human, perhaps? It could fit into the same theory of +disappearance. Another universe, beings in that universe. Beings who +perhaps didn't want knowledge of their universe to become known on this +side of the veil.</p> + +<p>If so, why hadn't <i>they</i> snatched him too? Maybe they didn't know he +knew about the theory. He'd never talked about it to anyone. But his +father had drilled it into him as a supreme example of the reasons why +belief in anything was a trap.</p> + +<p>He shook his head. It didn't seem likely that the disappearances had +been engineered by anyone. They smacked too much of an inner pattern, an +inner mechanism.</p> + +<p>So he came back to the other theory. What could he try to accomplish by +exploring into his deepest substratum of thought? The ideal he could aim +for would be conscious transfer into the other system with the assurance +before-hand that he could transfer back again. If he could do that, and +if he could find those who had vanished, maybe he could teach them how +to return.</p> + +<p>It was something that might take a long time, he realized. His first +objective was to penetrate deeper into his mind than anyone had ever +consciously gone before. That alone could take a lifetime. Or it might +be accomplished overnight.</p> + +<p>How would he begin? Where would he begin? he shrugged. It didn't matter. +He would have to systematically extend his ability to be aware in every +direction, physical and temporal, until he could be conscious of his +individual blood cells if it were possible, and completely and vividly +conscious, at will of every second of his past life. If that didn't lead +him to his objective, it might at least point the way and increase his +ability to reach his goal.</p> + +<p>That evening, Fred arrived home to find a stranger seated in the +library. There was the usual moment of clumsiness such encounters +generate, but Fred's mother returned with a tea tray before +self-introductions became necessary. She said, "Mr. Gaard, this is my +son, Fred."</p> + +<p>The man smiled easily as Mrs. Grant continued, speaking now to Fred. +"This is Curt Gaard, Fred. I called on him today and what do you think I +discovered. He was a friend—a very old friend—of your father." Mrs. +Grant stopped, a certain inward uncertainty showing through.</p> + +<p>Fred stood mute, giving voice to none of the questions which sprang up +in his mind. Curt Gaard, completely at ease, took up the lead. Even as a +feeling of familiarity sprang into Fred's mind, Gaard said, "I <i>knew</i> +your father—met him several times—but we weren't as close as your +mother's words might imply."</p> + +<p>Then Fred knew. He spoke suddenly. "You're a psychiatrist." The pieces +fell into place. Fred's father had mentioned this man several times, and +the boy knew he was not there by chance—that his mother had contacted +the psychiatrist—this particular one because she too had remembered the +acquaintanceship. For a moment, Fred was annoyed with his mother. Why on +earth had she brought a psychiatrist into this? Then he softened as he +realized she felt it to be to her son's best interests.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm a psychiatrist," Gaard said. Then, as though he could read +Fred's mind: "Your mother <i>did</i> send for me, but so far as I'm +concerned, it's more than just a professional visit. I knew your father +and liked him. I'd like to be your friend."</p> + +<p>"You plan to psychoanalyze me?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be so grim about it," Curt Gaard smiled. "Just let's make this a +social visit. There will be plenty of time for other things later. +Perhaps you can drop in at my office."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," Fred said, almost absently. A short time later he excused +himself and went to his room.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Mrs. Grant?" Mr. Browne said, smiling at the woman behind the screen +door. "I'm Mr. Browne the publisher."</p> + +<p>"Browne?" she said. "Oh yes. My hus—husband has mentioned you."</p> + +<p>"Favorably, I hope?" Browne was wondering if Dr. Grant had told her of +his decision not to let the book be published.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, very favorably." She frowned. "Which reminds me. He received a +check from you for the advance royalties. I'm sure he didn't cash it +because there was no deposit at the bank that large. I can't find the +check anywhere. He must have had it with him when—"</p> + +<p>She had opened the screen door. Browne went in and followed her into the +study. He looked around at the walls of books, almost feeling the +presence of the man whose retreat this had been.</p> + +<p>"That's what I've come here to see you about," Browne said. "You see, he +called on me at my office the morning of the day he vanished."</p> + +<p>"He did?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'm going to be quite frank with you. He returned the check to +me."</p> + +<p>"Why? He said nothing to me about it."</p> + +<p>"I rather imagine he didn't have time. I've waited, knowing you wouldn't +care to discuss business so soon after—" He waited for her reaction. +When she said nothing he continued. "He returned the check and said he +didn't want the book published after all. I couldn't quite understand +his reasons, but they are no longer valid as I see it."</p> + +<p>"What were his reasons? This surprises me very much. Just the day before +that he mentioned his book and expressed pleasure that it was being +published."</p> + +<p>"The reasons he gave were that the book contained some things that +were—to use his own words—a trifle crackpottish. He thought they might +reflect on him in some way."</p> + +<p>"Oh my goodness. He was always doing something like that, Mr. Browne. He +leaned over backwards. Scientific integrity was a fetish with him."</p> + +<p>"I haven't read the book," Mr. Browne said. "The reader reported it was +far better than Dr. Grant's first one. That was good enough for me. The +reader is no longer with us." He frowned in irritation at the memory. +"Left us without giving notice. But he was a good man. Excellent +judgment. I'd like to go ahead with the book unless you object."</p> + +<p>"I don't know," Mrs. Grant hesitated. "If he didn't want it published—"</p> + +<p>"But he's gone now," Browne reminded her.</p> + +<p>"I know, but—" She wept softly into a crumpled kerchief.</p> + +<p>The publisher remained silent. After a moment she pulled herself +together. "He was always so absent-minded. I was sure he had mislaid the +check. Used it to scribble some problem on. He did that once several +years ago."</p> + +<p>Browne reached into his breast-pocket and brought out a long envelope +and extended it toward her.</p> + +<p>"I had another check made out for advance royalties," he said, "if you +decide to let me go ahead with the book."</p> + +<p>"I don't think I should, Mr. Browne." She withdrew the check from the +envelope and looked at it, her eyebrows lifting at the size of the +figure.</p> + +<p>"It's substantially more than the original check," Browne said. "I +thought perhaps you might be in need of money, and I feel confident the +book will sell exceptionally well."</p> + +<p>"It is a lot of money," Mrs. Grant said. "But I'm so confused. I wish I +knew what to do."</p> + +<p>Browne leaned forward. "Your husband was a great man. I feel it as an +obligation on my part to make public his last work."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grant nodded slowly. "You may be right. I hadn't thought of it that +way."</p> + +<p>"And you can undoubtedly use the money," Browne added. "There'll be +more. How much more depends on how the book sells. It may be a steady +income for a few years."</p> + +<p>"All right," Mrs. Grant said, making up her mind. "I'll let you publish +it."</p> + +<p>"Fine!" Mr. Browne said heartily. "I felt you would. And any time you +need money just call me."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Fred's birthday came in February. He was seventeen now, and the +knowledge filled him with dismay. It had been months since his father +had vanished.</p> + +<p>Or <i>had</i> his father vanished? Maybe his memory of those people vanishing +was as wrong as his memory of which way his door opened! To check it he +spent an afternoon in a newspaper office searching back papers until he +found the accounts. He read them all carefully. They were as he +remembered them.</p> + +<p>And in him, slowly, grew the realization that he was going to use +someone. He was going to choose someone and try to make that person +disappear. More, he knew that that person was going to be Curt Gaard. He +decided against calling and making an appointment. He would go to the +man's office and put over the sixteen-year-old act.</p> + +<p>With a great deal of shyness he confided to the receptionist that Curt +was a very special friend of his mother's. She talked into the +inter-office phone, did a lot of listening and yessing. Finally she told +Fred that Dr. Gaard wanted him to wait a few moments. Then she dialed +an outside number. Fred listened to the clicks and knew it was his home +phone. The psychiatrist was going to talk to his mother. He hadn't +wanted that, but it wouldn't matter materially.</p> + +<p>The wait lasted almost half an hour. Then, with heart pounding, Fred was +walking toward the dark walnut door to the inner office. Inside, he +caught a comprehensive glimpse of the rumored couch, luxurious desk and +chairs, thick expensive rug, and an assortment of floor-lamps and oil +paintings. Then the psychiatrist was upon him, heartily welcoming him.</p> + +<p>There were time-marking conversational exchanges about school, the hot +rod, and life in general. There was the pause while each sized the other +up.</p> + +<p>Then, "I'm glad you dropped in, Fred," Dr. Gaard smiled casually.</p> + +<p>"I'm all mixed up," Fred said. "I know something's wrong with me. I +wanted someone to talk to, now that Dad is gone. I thought of you. I +didn't want to bother Mom. Do you really straighten out crazy people?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly," Curt chuckled. "A psychologist finds most of his patients +among people who are just upset about things. They aren't insane. They +just need someone who has experience to help them get their thoughts +straightened out."</p> + +<p>"Maybe that's all I need," Fred said. "I don't <i>think</i> I'm crazy."</p> + +<p>"Of course you aren't. You're a very healthy-minded young man."</p> + +<p>"I don't want Mom to know about this...."</p> + +<p>Curt frowned, jotted something down on a notepad. It was, Fred guessed, +a notation to call his mother and warn her to keep quiet.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry about your mother. Now tell me, just what seems to be the +trouble?" Curt smiled encouragingly.</p> + +<p>"Are you married?" Fred asked with teen-age frankness.</p> + +<p>"No," Curt smiled.</p> + +<p>"Would you marry my mother?" Fred asked bluntly. "I would like for you +to be my father."</p> + +<p>Curt Gaard stared at him a moment. "I really believe you mean that," he +said slowly. "You know, don't you, that it will be two years before she +can be free to marry? Your father can't be declared legally, ah, +departed, for two years."</p> + +<p>"No. I didn't know," Fred said, real dismay on his face. He hadn't known +about that. He thought rapidly. "Then can I come live with you? Just +until Mom can marry you?" Inwardly he was enjoying this. And he hoped he +wasn't overdoing it.</p> + +<p>"We can't do that," Curt said. "I'll tell you what we can do, though. +I'll invite myself out to dinner tomorrow evening. Don't say anything. +I'll surprise your mother. And we'll see a lot of each other from now +on. Okay?"</p> + +<p>Fred nodded. It was definitely okay. He wanted to be present when Curt +Gaard disappeared into thin air, and this way he had a chance.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He left Curt's office highly exhilarated, almost drunk with the emotion +of things working right. It lasted until the following evening when the +doctor showed up and he and Fred's mother put on their little act. Then +his emotions swung the other way. He experienced a reluctance to go +through with his plans. There was too much that was likeable about the +man. And his mother did like him.</p> + +<p>"Poor Dad," Fred thought.</p> + +<p>After dinner the next evening, Curt kept the conversation on Fred's +father. It was, Fred sensed, the right time to bring up the theory. Curt +would do anything to please him, to draw him out.</p> + +<p>But he hesitated. Stretching elaborately, he said, "I'm sleepy. Why +don't you and Mom play Canasta or something?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to be much too busy," his mother said. "I have to finish +proofreading your father's book for the publisher. Mr. Browne is finally +going to print it, and wants it back right away."</p> + +<p>"When did that happen?" Fred demanded. "Can I read it?"</p> + +<p>"You can read it when it comes out. Now you and Curt go into the study +and leave me alone." She herded them out of the room.</p> + +<p>This interlude had served to strengthen Fred's resolve. Alone with the +psychiatrist, he let slip that he knew of a wonderful theory his father +had originated, then tried to cover up.</p> + +<p>Curt used flattery. Fred took his cue and slyly bragged that it was a +theory few college professors could understand even, but he understood +it.</p> + +<p>More coaxing and he was ready to start in. But his conscience got the +better of him. He balked, and even as he tried to squirm out of it he +realized that it was too late. Dr. Gaard would never rest until the +theory had been told.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you the next time you come," he suggested as a last retreat.</p> + +<p>"Tonight," Curt said. "Even if it takes all night. You can miss school +tomorrow." He winked. "I can okay it with the teacher."</p> + +<p>"All right," Fred said in sudden crystallization of decision. "But only +if you agree to master every step of it, stopping me until you have." +Curt agreed. He started in.</p> + +<p>After half an hour it settled into serious listening on Curt's part, and +pertinent questions that made Fred realize he was dealing with a mind of +more than average keenness.</p> + +<p>Fred's mother wandered in occasionally, and out again, without being +noticed by either of them.</p> + +<p>An hour passed. Two. The final steps were drawing nearer. At times Curt +was even anticipating some of them. It was midnight when it was +finished. The mind of Curt Gaard held the entire pattern.</p> + +<p>Fred couldn't take his eyes off the man's face. The face that was +mirroring the rapid flow of thoughts as it reviewed and attacked every +brick in the structure, finding it solid, and solidly cemented to its +neighbors.</p> + +<p>Then he saw a change come over the man's face. He had accepted the +theory. Now he was trying to integrate it into the problem of Fred +Grant. He hadn't yet seen the connection between the theory and the +mysterious disappearances.</p> + +<p>And perhaps he wouldn't. If he did he might go the final step and +realize what was going to happen to him. Fred hoped that wouldn't +happen. He didn't want his victim to be conscious of being a victim.</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> intelligent, Fred," Curt probed, "to be able to master such +an advanced theory." He glanced at his watch. "It's getting pretty late. +I'll tell you what. After school tomorrow drop down to my office. We'll +come out for dinner here together."</p> + +<p>"Say! That'd be swell!" Fred enthused. "I'll get right to bed so I can +get enough sleep." He leaped up and called, "Mom! I'm going to bed now." +He winked broadly at Curt to let him know he was getting out of his way +so they could be alone together a few minutes.</p> + +<p>And that was that. The die was cast, and all that remained was to try +and use it to make progress, rather than letting it be just another +disappearance that pointed to nothing constructive.</p> + +<p>There was no way of telling how fast it would work. The next afternoon +and evening there was little to provide an indication, other than an +occasional look that came over Curt for moments at a time.</p> + +<p>A date was made for Saturday. It was to be a picnic in the country. That +meant skipping Friday. Fred violently objected, but Curt and his mother +overrode his objections. So in the end it had to be Saturday, unless +Curt disappeared before then.</p> + +<p>He didn't.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>But ten minutes before school was out Friday a note was brought into the +classroom from the principal's office. Curt had called to ask Fred to +come to his office directly from school.</p> + +<p>Torn between excited anticipation that the psychiatrist had made an +important discovery, and fear that the man would have vanished before he +could get to him, Fred ran from the school building and caught the bus.</p> + +<p>At Curt's office the receptionist smiled and told him to go right in. +His sigh of relief was genuine. Curt was sitting at his desk.</p> + +<p>"Come in, son," he said.</p> + +<p>There were the amenities. "How did school go today?" "Okay." "Anything +happen?" Fred waited impatiently. Then: "I've been thinking a lot about +your father's theory, Fred, and I would like to ask a few questions—if +it won't upset you."</p> + +<p>"Of course not!" Fred said.</p> + +<p>"Okay, here's a question," Curt said. "Or rather, a statement. You can +answer yes or no. You believe the theory is at the root of the +disappearances, that in some unknown fashion knowing the theory will +cause a person to vanish."</p> + +<p>So there it was. Fred debated rapidly in his mind. It might be better to +admit it.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said.</p> + +<p>"Hmm. Then let me ask you this. How do you account for the fact that you +know it, and haven't disappeared?"</p> + +<p>Fred decided to be completely truthful and see what happened. "It's +because I don't let belief form a part of my thinking, sir. Dad +instilled that in me. With those that disappeared, logic was their +groundwork of belief."</p> + +<p>"But you believe knowing the theory caused them to vanish?"</p> + +<p>Fred smiled. "I see what you mean. No, I don't. It's just that no other +alternative seems probable, so...."</p> + +<p>"So you work with the one that does," Curt said, nodding. "All right, +let's work with it for the moment. You have probably done some thinking +on what mechanism might be involved in the process of vanishing. Would +you care to tell me about it?"</p> + +<p>"There's no reason why not, sir. It takes time for conscious beliefs to +sink into the subconscious and integrate there. The time varies with the +person and the emotions involved."</p> + +<p>"That makes sense," Curt said, nodding.</p> + +<p>"I postulated that down underneath even the subconscious, at the very +roots of being, is what I named the basic thought matrix. In order for +us to be here in this existence at all it must have a certain form. +Change that form and, presto, the person slips out of this existence, +perhaps into another."</p> + +<p>"I see." Curt drummed his fingers on the desk for a long minute. "I +see," he repeated. "Has it occurred to you that you have already +rejected your theory? It's quite obvious you have, you know."</p> + +<p>"How is it obvious?" Fred asked, wondering what Curt meant.</p> + +<p>"Because you told me the theory. You wouldn't have, of course, if you +believed it would cause me to vanish like the others."</p> + +<p>Fred opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to cope with +this. It was unexpected.</p> + +<p>"We've gotten to the root of your trouble," Curt went on. "It was a real +trouble, to you. In a few months you will look back on it and marvel at +it. Right now it seems real. You feel that somewhere your father still +exists. You would like to go to him, or perhaps bring him back. Believe +me, such mysterious vanishings aren't uncommon. The history of the world +is full of such incidents. In some cases whole groups have vanished. +Authenticated cases. In southeast Asia the people of an entire city of +over a million inhabitants vanished overnight. In the last century an +entire trainload of people, including the train, vanished while going +from one city to another a few miles away. And there have been +vanishments with reappearances, too. In England there was an old woman +who suddenly vanished before the eyes of her family. At the same instant +she reappeared in a room in London, miles away, in front of other +people. Did she know your father's theory? Did the train that vanished +know that theory?" Curt was smiling. "No. You see, it's something +unrelated to your father's theory."</p> + +<p>Fred was nodding. "You may be right," he said. "I didn't know about +those."</p> + +<p>"You may go now, son," Curt said. "I'll be out around eleven o'clock in +the morning."</p> + +<p>Fred rose quickly. "Okay, Curt," he said. "I'll see you." He hurried +out. It was too much of an effort to hide the sudden trembling. He +hadn't known about other cases of vanishing. They provided data to +expand the whole thing, while not in the slightest detracting from the +validity of anything else.</p> + +<p>And if the talk had been prolonged much more Curt would have inevitably +tumbled to his motive for telling him the theory.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Promptly at eleven Curt arrived. Fred's mother had already prepared the +large basket of food. There were ten minutes of last-minute bustle, then +they were off, with Curt skillfully tooling his Cadillac in and out of +traffic until they were on the open highway.</p> + +<p>"I know just the place," he told them. "Woods, meadow, brook. Even a +couple of cows." And he did. When they arrived shortly before +twelve-thirty it was all that.</p> + +<p>Fred relaxed as the car came to a stop. Every second of the trip he had +been ready to seize the wheel and keep the car from crashing if Curt +vanished.</p> + +<p>"Still a little nervous?" Curt asked him as they got out.</p> + +<p>"No. No, of course not!" Fred said.</p> + +<p>Curt didn't pursue the subject. Instead, he became something utterly +different than he had been before, a carefree thoroughly likeable man, +full of humor.</p> + +<p>Fred began to regret that he had chosen him as his victim. He began to +hope that the process might not be automatic, that Curt wouldn't vanish. +But he stayed close to him and listened to his every word and watched +his face as much as he dared without staring, so that if the moment came +he could get whatever there was to get of value from it.</p> + +<p>For the first time in years his mother began to be carefree. She even +joked back at Curt occasionally, something she had never done with +Martin in Fred's memory. Her joking was clumsy and uncertain. Fred +laughed uproariously to encourage her and to hide his uncomfortable +feeling.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I haven't felt so good in ages," she said when they were seated +around the tablecloth spread with sandwiches and salads and cakes. "It's +wonderful getting out like this. We'll have to do it often."</p> + +<p>"We will," Curt said. "At least once a week."</p> + +<p>Fred's mother picked up a sandwich. She started to raise it to her +mouth. She was smiling at Curt and about to say something to him. Both +Curt and Fred were watching her.</p> + +<p>Abruptly she wasn't there. The sandwich seemed to remain stationary for +a long second. Then it dropped to the tablecloth.</p> + +<p>Curt was holding a paper cup filled with hot coffee. His hand +constricted. The cup collapsed, spilling steaming coffee over his legs.</p> + +<p>Fred stared at the space his mother had just occupied. Abruptly he +squawked, "No!" He turned accusing eyes on Curt. "You told her!"</p> + +<p>Something seemed to go out of the man. He seemed to become visibly +smaller. "Yes," he whispered, "I told her."</p> + +<p>Fred was crying. "But you shouldn't have," he sobbed. "I told you +because I wanted you to vanish. I didn't want her to, and now she has. +And nothing happened that I could use."</p> + +<p>Curt blinked at him, absorbing this new bit of information. "You wanted +<i>me</i> to vanish?" he echoed. "Yes, I can see that now. I didn't know. It +seemed too absurd. I thought you were just imagining things. Yes, I went +out while you were at school and spent the whole morning teaching her +every step. It was fairly easy. We had planned on coaxing you to explain +it to her. Knowing it ahead of time she could pretend to grasp it that +much more easily. We were planning on coaxing you into a more social +relationship. Actually, she had already read the theory in your father's +book she was reading for the publisher." A glassy look came into his +eyes. "The book. If the theory is at the root of the disappearances the +book shouldn't be published. Yes, by God. That's what your father was +driving at. Your mother told me the publisher had told her your father +tried to get him not to publish it."</p> + +<p>"The book has the theory in it?" Fred said. "It mustn't get published. +Why—thousands of people would read it and vanish. We've got to stop +them!"</p> + +<p>Curt was shaking his head in bewilderment. "But we can't be sure. It +must be something else, though what I don't know."</p> + +<p>"No," Fred said bitterly.</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. Curt broke it by saying, "What did you expect +to accomplish by my vanishing?"</p> + +<p>Fred told him of Horace's shouting to his wife, "Ethel! I've got it!", +and the others seeming to have a flash of divination or insight just +before they vanished.</p> + +<p>"I wanted," he explained dully, "to be with you when it happened, in the +hopes I could get something more than I have to go on. In that way I +might be able to find out something so I could bring my father back. And +Mom." He began to cry.</p> + +<p>"I see," Curt said, calm and a little subdued. "It's possible that may +come. After what I've seen happen I can admit it as a possibility."</p> + +<p>"Then you will make every effort to tell me?" Fred asked.</p> + +<p>Curt smiled wryly. "You make it sound inevitable. But—yes, I will."</p> + +<p>Fred's eyes were large and round. "I've got to find the mechanism. I've +got to go where they've vanished to and show them how to get back!" He +turned his eyes on Curt. "Don't you hate me?" he pleaded. "I'm just the +same as a murderer!"</p> + +<p>"No, my son," Curt said gently. "Wherever your father is, your mother is +with him now. If—" A startled expression appeared on his face. "So +<i>that's</i> it," he almost whispered.</p> + +<p>"<i>What's</i> it?" Fred asked. "Tell me. Please tell me. I've got to know, +you know. You promised!"</p> + +<p>Curt frowned in a visible effort to jerk himself back. His eyes, holding +a faraway look, rested on Fred's face, looked at it, and through it.</p> + +<p>"You promised!" Fred screamed. "Tell me!"</p> + +<p>Curt opened his mouth as though to speak. His lips smiled.</p> + +<p>And—he was no longer there.</p> + +<p>Fred was alone, with the picnic lunch on the white square of tablecloth, +with the gleaming Cadillac a few yards away, with the two white and +black spotted cows grazing a short distance away, with the noisy little +brook nearby.</p> + +<p>Alone....</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He became aware of a police siren growing louder. He became aware he was +behind a wheel, that there were cars in front of him veering wildly out +of his way. The speedometer needle pointed at ninety.</p> + +<p>How had he arrived here? He took his foot off the gas. He was driving a +Cadillac. Curt's. But Curt was gone. That was it! He had started out to +look for the police.</p> + +<p>He pulled over to the side of the road as the police car came screaming +up. Shakily he told them about the disappearances. Any doubts they might +have had were held in reserve by the obvious sincerity of his grief.</p> + +<p>He led them back to the picnic grove. The tablecloth with the food on it +was still there, untouched. One of the cows was grazing beside it.</p> + +<p>They listened while he told again of his mother and Curt vanishing +before his eyes. Their reserved skepticism was thrust out of their minds +when he identified himself as the son of Dr. Martin Grant, who had +disappeared.</p> + +<p>They used their car radio. In a surprisingly short time several other +cars were coming through the gate into the pasture.</p> + +<p>Fred, his mind paralyzed with grief, stood forlornly near the Cadillac. +He answered the questions they put to him. He wasn't aware of the news +cameras that took shots of him which were to appear in the evening +papers all over the country.</p> + +<p>Eventually it was over. The police gathered up the picnic lunch, his +mother's purse, and everything else. A gray-haired man in a dark brown +suit who introduced himself as Captain Waters told him to get into the +Cadillac. "I'll drive," Waters said.</p> + +<p>Entirely submissive, Fred obeyed. On the way into town Captain Waters +said he would take Fred home if he wanted to go there, but it would be +really better if he accepted an invitation to stay at the Waters home +for a few days until things were straightened out.</p> + +<p>"All right," Fred said.</p> + +<p>Eternities later he was in a house with comfortable furnishings. A +motherly old lady was hovering around him. Captain Waters was on the +phone calling someone.</p> + +<p>There was a steaming dinner on blue design Swedish dishes. Under coaxing +Fred nibbled. Door chimes sounded. Captain Waters pushed back his chair +and went away. He came back with another gray-haired man who pressed a +thumb against Fred's cheek, listened to words Captain Waters was saying, +then ordered Fred to roll up his sleeve.</p> + +<p>He swabbed a spot with alcohol and inserted a hypo needle. Fred watched +with listless eyes.</p> + +<p>"Get him undressed and to bed," the doctor said. "Poor kid. Suffering +from shock. Have to watch him the next few days...."</p> + +<p><i>Shock</i>.... Fred tried to concentrate on the meaning of the word.</p> + +<p>The bed was an enormous expanse of fresh smelling sheets and luxurious +blankets. The pillows were mountainous ... and so soft....</p> + +<p>The sun was streaming in through open French doors, filtered through +bronze screen doors. An electric clock on the dresser pointed at +eleven.</p> + +<p>He lay there without moving, remembering everything that had happened +the day before. And he had a feeling that, in his sleep, he had been +doing a lot of thinking. Or was it dreaming?</p> + +<p>"Poor boy," a melodious voice purred.</p> + +<p>He opened his eyes. It was the motherly woman, with a tray of toast and +eggs and steaming coffee. The sight of it made him aware that there was +a huge emptiness in his stomach.</p> + +<p>He ate, gratefully. Mrs. Waters busied herself about the room, humming +soft tunes, smiling at him whenever he looked at her. When he had +finished, she took the tray.</p> + +<p>"You just relax and sleep some more," she said. "The bathroom is through +that door over there. If you want me for anything just call. I'll hear +you. And if you want to get up and wander about the house just do so." +She departed, leaving the door part way open in invitation.</p> + +<p>Fred sighed and closed his eyes. In that moment of relaxation the +thinking he had done during the night rose into consciousness.</p> + +<p>For he knew now what he had to do. There was no other avenue of +exploration. It might not even be possible. But if it was possible he +was going to do it.</p> + +<p>He was going to vanish.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>There alone lay the solution. He should have realized it. Once he +vanished as had the others, he would have experience with the mystery. +Personal experience. He would have all the data he required, instead of +just data from the world he was in. If he had the ability to solve the +problem of reappearance he would then be able to return, and go back +again and show the others how to return.</p> + +<p>The key to vanishing was belief, that quality of thought which his +father had systematically weeded from his mind since earliest infancy. +It might take time to overcome that, but it should be possible.</p> + +<p>Already he believed some things. Or did he? Was it merely a realization +that those things had a probability that approached certainty?</p> + +<p>His patterns of thinking were too ingrained. His mind was too well +integrated. If he became irritated the irritation immediately brought up +the memories of the factors that made him react that way. If he became +happy he consciously knew the pattern, stretching back to early infancy. +It was ingrained within him.</p> + +<p>He began to realize with a sinking sensation that he didn't actually +know what belief was. If, in some way, it was present anywhere in his +makeup, he didn't know how to recognize it.</p> + +<p>His mental pattern was one of unbelief. Not disbelief, the believing +that something isn't true; but unbelief, the using of something in the +pragmatic sense for its workability.</p> + +<p>He let his thoughts wander in the past. He could remember vaguely a +moment when he had felt unreasoning terror, a sense of being lost. He +could remember his father saying many times, "Belief is the lazy +assuming that something is true." It is or it isn't, and the fundamental +postulate of inductive logic tells us that its truth or lack of it is +forever beyond our reach. So why reach for it? Use a theory if it works +for you. Discard it if it doesn't. Don't use it even to the point of +absurdity while clinging to a belief that it's true.</p> + +<p>It was that way with facts, too. Something that happened or seemed to +happen, needed no tag of belief attached to it. If you saw it happen it +didn't necessarily happen. There was such a thing as illusion. Accept it +as though it had happened—until events pointed otherwise.</p> + +<p>His playmates and teachers had been frankly skeptical of this point of +view, doubting he could actually have attained it. They were quick to +agree it was desirable. They just thought no one could use a thing +without attaching a degree of belief or unbelief to it.</p> + +<p>Now, what should he believe? As in the attempts to reach the basic +matrix by conscious extension, he had to start somewhere.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It was midafternoon when Captain Waters entered the bedroom with a +cheery, "Hello!"</p> + +<p>"Hi," Fred said. He had been lying in bed with his eyes closed.</p> + +<p>"Did I wake you?" Waters said. "Sorry." He grinned. "You can go back to +sleep again. I'll drop in later."</p> + +<p>Captain Waters ducked out. He started to close the door, then left it +open. A few minutes later the rumble of his voice came from another part +of the house. Fred tried to catch what he was saying, but couldn't.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later he heard the front door chimes. The rumble of deep +voices came again. The doctor appeared in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"Well, well," he said, smiling. "I hear you had a very restful night. +How do you feel today? Better?" He was advancing toward the bed as he +talked. Setting his black bag down, he reached out and took Fred's +pulse. "A little rapid," he said, putting his watch away. Reaching +inside his coat, he took out a thermometer. He put it under Fred's +tongue. "Had anything to eat or drink in the past fifteen minutes?" he +asked. Fred shook his head.</p> + +<p>The doctor stood quietly. After a while he lifted the thermometer, +glanced at it, and put it away.</p> + +<p>"Looks like you're going to be fit as a fiddle," he said. "I'll be back +in a few minutes. Mrs. Waters told me on the way in she was pouring me a +cup of coffee."</p> + +<p>Fred remained motionless until the doctor had left the room. Then he +slipped out of bed and went to the door. On the other side of it was a +living room. A swinging door of the type that opens into kitchens was +just swinging closed. No one was in sight. Quickly Fred stole across to +the door. He put his ear close to it and listened.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Harvey speaking," he heard the doctor say. "Connect me with +thirteen please."</p> + +<p>"Is he going to be all right?" Mrs. Waters' anxious voice sounded.</p> + +<p>"I think so," the doctor said calmly. "Hello? Thirteen? Who's speaking? +Oh, hello, Giles. Dr. Harvey. Do you have a vacancy? Observation, yes."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear," Mrs. Waters said unhappily.</p> + +<p>"It will be for the best," Captain Waters said. "They'll know how to +take care of him."</p> + +<p>Fred waited for no more. He went back to the bedroom. His clothes were +in the closet. In seconds he had them on. He could tie his shoes and +button up later.</p> + +<p>He unfastened one of the screen doors and stepped out onto a flagstone +path that wound around the corner of the house toward the front. There +were people on the sidewalk, but none very near. It would be hours +before dark, and there was no place to hide.</p> + +<p>There were two cars parked at the curb. One was a police car, the other +a black Chrysler sedan, probably the doctor's car. The police car had +the key in the ignition. Fred didn't hesitate. He jerked open the door +and slid behind the wheel. Mrs. Waters' anxious voice sounded, calling, +"Fred! Where are you?" Then the starter was whirring. The motor caught.</p> + +<p>As he shot away from the curb, Fred caught a glimpse in the rear view +mirror of Captain Waters running down the walk from the house.</p> + +<p>As he took the first corner, touching the siren button briefly, he +wondered why he had run. It had been an impulse. Maybe it was the wrong +one. Maybe he could accomplish what he had to do better in some kind of +institution. Maybe not.</p> + +<p>He compressed his lips grimly. The die was cast now. He would abandon +the police car someplace, then slip quietly out of town on foot. He +would be caught if he tried to go home. He had no money except a few +dollars in change.</p> + +<p>Maybe this was all part of the new pattern that seemed to possess him. +He kept the siren going, not trusting his ability to avoid traffic. Its +mad scream blended into his thoughts. He was the hunted. He was sane, +but the truth would brand him as insane. Or was he sane? Had anyone +vanished? Was his father at home, sitting in his chair in his study, +expounding his theories to his colleagues? Was his mother at home, in +the kitchen, preparing dinner?</p> + +<p>His lip trembled. Homesickness welled up in him.</p> + +<p>He was near a bus line that went to the outskirts of the city. He shut +off the siren and slowed down. After a few blocks and two turns he felt +safe in ditching the car. He pulled quietly to the curb. He tied his +shoelaces, buttoned his shirt, combed his hair. Then he got out. No one +paid any attention to him.</p> + +<p>He walked to the corner. Two minutes later the bus stopped.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The night sky was clear. The moon was a lesser sun whose light made +things visible and somehow unreal and mysterious. In the ditch to the +right of the road two bright points of light blinked on, held for a +moment, and vanished. A cat.</p> + +<p>A silent dog appeared out of the gloom, wagged its tail and half of its +body in friendliness. "Nice doggy," Fred said nervously. It sniffed his +trouser leg, lost interest, and moved off into the darkness.</p> + +<p>It was after midnight. How long after, he didn't know. Once a police +car had come speeding by, its red lights ogling insanely, its spotlight +weaving into the bushes at the side of the road. He had lain very still +in the ditch until it passed. It hadn't slowed down. Later it had come +back and he had again pressed his body into the earth beside the road.</p> + +<p>Off to the right now he saw the silhouette of the giant tree that had +been the landmark of the picnic spot. A few minutes later he could see +the gate that led to the meadow.</p> + +<p>He squeezed through it and picked out the path worn by the cars the day +before. Some winged creature dipped down, shied away from him, and swept +off into the darkness.</p> + +<p>A soft gurgling sound became audible. The brook. The spot where his +mother and Curt had vanished, was ahead.</p> + +<p>He reached it. He wasn't quite sure until he studied the ground and went +back in memory to check on little details. Then he was certain.</p> + +<p>He had reached his goal.</p> + +<p>He knew why he had come, of course. Here he was closer to his mother +than anyplace else. Here, in some unguessed way, he might get to her.</p> + +<p>What would he do when morning came? He sat down and pulled his knees up +under his chin, wrapping his arms around them. Morning was far away. It +might never come—for him. If and when it did he would cope with it. +"Mom," he whispered. "Mom...."</p> + +<p><i>Crrroak!</i> The sound of the frog broke the silence. The croak of a frog +that was part of the universe—the universe that was basically +illogical. More....</p> + +<p>Fred sobbed.</p> + +<p>The universe was insane. Police looking for you. Doctors with their +standards of sanity and insanity. Right now they were looking for him to +protect him from himself. They didn't want to know why things were done. +To them even the reason would be part of the insanity. They dealt in +tags. Words. Their science was an illusion within an illusion. +Meaningless inside a universe of meaninglessness.</p> + +<p><i>Crrroak</i>, the frog said cautiously. And a night creature came down on +silent wings, to weave back into the darkness.</p> + +<p>That was the reason for pragmatism. He could see it now. He had always +thought his father made pragmatism his God because it was the +intellectual thing to do. But now he could see the reason for it. +Reality was a jungle in which Reason had to cope with Unreason, and +there was no criterion except workability. Belief was an instinctive way +of thought. It was like the appendix. Scientists claimed that long ago +man ate tree bark. And the appendix had had a use. If so, that use was +gone, but the appendix remained. Before surgery had become a common +thing, thousands of people died from appendicitis. The organ that had +once been necessary had become a hazard to living. Belief was something +like that.</p> + +<p>He jerked out of his thoughts to listen to a car on the road. It slowed +down. It stopped by the gate. A car door slammed. A man appeared briefly +in the light of the headlamps. Captain Waters—alone.</p> + +<p>He loomed a moment later inside the pasture in the light of a +flashlight. He occasionally flashed it on his face so he would be +recognizable.</p> + +<p>Fred felt an impulse to slip away into the darkness. He hadn't been +seen. Captain Waters was just hoping he might be here.</p> + +<p>A stronger impulse made him remain as he was. The entire pattern of +Captain Waters' approach indicated understanding—or at least the +willingness to understand.</p> + +<p>The bobbing flashlight came closer. It speared out and touched him; then +abruptly went out. Footsteps approached. A dark form emerged from the +gloom.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Fred," Captain Waters said quietly. "I came to keep you company. +I'll just sit quiet and not bother you."</p> + +<p>"Okay," Fred said.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>There were movements. A small flame illuminated Captain Waters' features +as he lit his pipe. The flame went out. Then, only the occasional glow +of the pipe, briefly illuminating the police Captain's face.</p> + +<p><i>Crrroak!</i> The frog greeted this newest arrival in his domain.</p> + +<p>Fred could not think. He was too conscious of the man sitting near him. +He fought down the impulse to jump up and run away into the darkness. He +fought the desire to scream at the man to leave him alone.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the police captain sensed this, or perhaps he could see Fred's +expression when the coal in his pipe glowed brightest. "Tell you what," +he said suddenly, "You maybe would feel better alone. I'll wait in the +car. When you get ready you can come home. No more doctors. Mom gave me +a good talking to. She wants you to come back."</p> + +<p>Waters got up and walked away into the night. Minutes later there was +the sound of a car door slamming shut. Fred was alone again.</p> + +<p>Alone. It was a feeling, almost an emotion. Intellectually he knew that +nearby was a frog. A block away across the meadow was the police captain +sitting in his car.</p> + +<p>Abruptly, without warning, a flash of insight spread through his entire +mind. He knew suddenly what belief was. He knew it instinctively and +without question.</p> + +<p>And knowing it, he knew that his foundations of unbelief were a semantic +illusion that had been built up within him. The panorama of his mind, +his entire life, stood clearly before him.</p> + +<p>The cute little tags of probability were superficial. They had a +pragmatic value in keeping the mind open, but their function was to +guide the judgment in tagging thoughts with belief or disbelief.</p> + +<p>He retreated into his aloneness until there was nothing but himself. He +marveled at the unfoldment of this new understanding. He could see +things in this new light of understanding.</p> + +<p>But then.... A question loomed. If that were so, why hadn't he vanished +like the others? Belief was an automatic process. Why hadn't it +permeated to the basic matrix of his mind as it had with the others?</p> + +<p>Was he, then, still on the wrong track?</p> + +<p>But there <i>was</i> no other!</p> + +<p>He saw the trap he had set for himself. He had believed with all his +being that belief was the key he was searching for!</p> + +<p>He had been on the wrong track. His beautiful theory of belief that +spread downward into the subconscious, then down lower and lower into +the basic matrix that held a person in this reality, was wrong. The +evidence he had based it on was still there, but it was evidence of +something else.</p> + +<p>Of what?</p> + +<p>The eastern horizon was suffused with light. It grew stronger, dimming +the light of the moon.</p> + +<p>From somewhere in the depths of his being rose a feeling that soon he +would know, and when he did he would be close to crossing the threshold.</p> + +<p>He unclasped his arms and straightened out his legs, feeling stabs of +pain in his weary muscles. He got to his feet, tingling with weariness.</p> + +<p>By the side of the road, he could see the police car he had +stolen—infinite ages ago. He walked toward it, and when he reached it +he climbed in and closed the door.</p> + +<p>"Beautiful morning," Captain Waters said, starting the motor.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Fred awoke and opened his eyes. Across the room the French doors were +open. Sunlight was filtering through the copper screens. A breeze was +playing gently with the drapes. For a moment the flight, the long walk +into the country, his rendezvous with Aloneness, Captain Water's coming +to bring him back, all seemed the stuff of dreams. He had the feeling +that he had never left this enormous bed.</p> + +<p>Then it returned. Reality. The miracle of his reorientation to belief, +the new vistas that went with it. The full realization of the true +nature of the vanishments.</p> + +<p>He became aware of a figure in the doorway, watching him. It was Mrs. +Waters. "Awake?" she asked cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Fred said.</p> + +<p>"Want some breakfast?"</p> + +<p>He nodded. She went away.</p> + +<p>He raised his head and looked about the room, at the homey touches, the +family pictures on the dresser and the walls, the hand sewed knickknacks +and frills. This was probably the Waters' own bedroom that they had +given up for him.</p> + +<p>He could vanish while Mrs. Waters was away. She would come in with the +breakfast tray and find him gone.</p> + +<p>When would the <i>moment of reorientation</i> come?</p> + +<p>He frowned in thought. That had stirred up something about what he had +dreamed, or thought, while he was asleep. Something that had the flavor +of being very important.</p> + +<p>"Here you are!" Mrs. Waters said, sweeping into the room with the tray +and its Swedish design dishes and steaming coffee and hot cereal. As she +bent over to set the tray on the bed, there came the sound of the front +door opening. "There's Pa, home already." She smiled worriedly at Fred. +"Will you be all right? I'll tell Pa to come in and keep you company +while I fix his supper."</p> + +<p>"Yes ma'am," Fred said, eyeing the food hungrily. "Only—" She was at +the door. She stopped and looked around questioningly. "I—I think I'd +like to be alone while I eat."</p> + +<p>"All right," she said, and hurried away.</p> + +<p>But Captain Waters had brushed in without giving her a chance to tell +him to stay away. "Hello, son," he said warmly. "Have a good sleep?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Waters said, "You let him alone while he eats."</p> + +<p>"It's all right," Fred said hastily.</p> + +<p>"Sure it's all right," the police captain said. He sat down and took out +his pipe. He concerned himself with filling it and lighting it, saying +nothing.</p> + +<p>Fred picked up a piece of golden toast and bit into one corner absently. +The thoughts he had had during sleep were filtering into consciousness.</p> + +<p>He recalled how his mother had looked. There had been a fleeting +expression just before she had vanished. She had been going to say +something. <i>She had changed her mind and had vanished instead!</i></p> + +<p>And Curt—he had had his reorientation at least several seconds before +vanishing. He had had it, and then, with his new perspective, had said, +"So <i>that's</i> it!"</p> + +<p>It was as though the new orientation made everything else unimportant.</p> + +<p>One common factor stood out in every case, those two he had personally +witnessed, and the others he hadn't seen. One common factor. Vanishing, +or whatever happened that produced the vanishing, had been an impulse.</p> + +<p>There had been time for thought. For example, Curt might have considered +the practicality of telling Fred what had happened to him. But he might +have reflected that eventually Fred would discover what he had just +discovered, so why bother?</p> + +<p>In the office Curt had told him of a whole city of a million people +vanishing, leaving empty houses and streets. Had the cause been the +same? A true orientation?</p> + +<p>Fred looked at Captain Waters, sitting quietly, puffing slowly on his +pipe. With deliberation Waters uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. +"You know, son, when you get around to it—that is, if you feel up to it +sometime—I wish you'd tell me about it. What it is that's troubling +you. I'll try to understand."</p> + +<p>"You'll try—?" Fred echoed. And the police captain's words started a +train of thought. The others—had the place they'd gone been a heaven or +a hell? So many of them—. Fred started suddenly. "The book!" he cried.</p> + +<p>"What book?"</p> + +<p>"I've got to see the publisher about my father's book. It's very +important."</p> + +<p>"It can wait until you're feeling better," Waters said.</p> + +<p>"No. I've got to see Mr. Browne!"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"I—I can't tell you."</p> + +<p>"All right." Captain Waters gave in. "I'll take you down and bring you +back."</p> + +<p>It was half an hour later, in the reception room at the publishing +company. Fred stared numbly at the big poster on the wall advertising +his father's book.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Browne will see you," the receptionist said.</p> + +<p>"Wait here," Fred told Captain Waters. "I want to talk to him alone." He +went to the door and opened it, stepping inside and closing it behind +him.</p> + +<p>"Fred Grant?" Browne said, getting up from his desk and coming toward +him, hand outstretched. "What can I do for you? Need some money?"</p> + +<p>Fred was shaking his head. "I don't want any money," he said. "I want +you to stop my father's book. You can't publish it."</p> + +<p>"Now wait," Browne said. "We aren't going through that again, are we?"</p> + +<p>"You can't!" Fred said. "People will read it and vanish!"</p> + +<p>"Huh?"</p> + +<p>"People will read it and vanish! You've got to believe me. <i>The cause of +those disappearances is in that book!</i>"</p> + +<p>Browne stared for a moment, then dragged over a notepad, wondering how +his publicity boys had missed this one. He stood up and came around his +desk. "You leave it to me," he said. "You won't have a thing to worry +about. I'll take care of everything."</p> + +<p>"Then you won't publish it?"</p> + +<p>Browne was guiding him toward the door. "You leave it to me. Drop in +again soon. If you need money just drop in any time and I'll fix you +up."</p> + +<p>Fred found himself outside the door, not quite sure what Mr. Browne had +promised.</p> + +<p>Inside, Browne went back to his desk, muttering, "What a killing! Have +to tell Nichols about it tomorrow at lunch. That vanishing stuff is a +terrific publicity angle."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"You still don't want to tell me what's troubling you?" Police Captain +Waters said wistfully.</p> + +<p>A frown crossed Fred's features and vanished into a smile. "Nothing's +troubling me," he lied. "I'm all right. I'll be all right."</p> + +<p>"You'll stay with us a while longer?"</p> + +<p>"Sure. Sure. You make me feel—okay. I'm just going out for a ride. Be +back for supper."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It had been two months now since his mother and Curt had vanished. In +that two months he had come to realize something. He didn't quite know +how to express it even in his thoughts.</p> + +<p>It wasn't that he didn't want to vanish. He would, some day. But he had +given up trying. It was the wrong way. The others hadn't tried. It had +just come to them out of a clear sky.</p> + +<p>Some day it would come to him that way, and he would welcome it.</p> + +<p>He drove downtown and parked. A block away was a show he wanted to see. +He started toward it. Abruptly he stopped. In front of him was a +bookstore. In its window was a large display, and every book had his +father's picture on the front under the title THEORY FOR THE MILLIONS.</p> + +<p>In back of the display was a large poster with a still larger picture, +and the teaser—(DO YOU DARE READ THIS BOOK?)</p> + +<p>Anger flamed in Fred's mind. The anger died as abruptly as it had come. +It was replaced by a homesickness, a longing. Unconsciously his +footsteps carried him into the store.</p> + +<p>A man had the book in his hands.</p> + +<p>"You aren't going to buy <i>that</i>, George," the woman beside him was +saying.</p> + +<p>"And why not?" the man asked, laughing. "I've never turned down a dare +in my life!" He looked at the girl waiting on him. "Do you think I'll +vanish, Miss?"</p> + +<p>The clerk smiled. "I wouldn't know. I have strict orders not to read the +book."</p> + +<p>A solemn-faced man appeared out of nowhere and thrust a copy of the book +at the clerk. "I want this, please," he said.</p> + +<p>"I'll be with you in a moment, sir," the clerk said.</p> + +<p>Others were waiting also.</p> + +<p>Fred stumbled from the store, bumping into someone in the doorway as he +went through, and too confused and frightened to stop and apologize. +There was no way of stopping it. Maybe the police would become alarmed +at the disappearances.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong with me?" he mumbled, walking blindly in the crowds on the +sidewalks. "Maybe I do lack the ability to believe. I <i>think</i> I believe. +What have I missed?"</p> + +<p>Only he, of all those who had learned the theory, had not vanished. Was +faith, then, something so common, and yet impossible for he, himself, to +reach?</p> + +<p>Ahead was another bookstore. In its windows were the same displays.</p> + +<p>He stopped. People were pushing through the doors. Inside they were +picking up the book and looking for a clerk.</p> + +<p>The clerks were smiling and saying things Fred couldn't hear, and +wrapping the books and handing them to their new owners—people who +would take them home and read—and vanish.</p> + +<p>Into what? Something they would see, and smile at, and say, "Why, of +course!" And with a simple acceptance they would enter it.</p> + +<p>He watched them.</p> + +<p>And from the depths of his being Fred longed to be one of them; to be +able to go in and buy the book, and read it, and....</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>On the other side of the window, in the store, a clerk was waiting on a +customer. The customer turned to look at him, with his nose flattened +against the glass. He didn't see them. In his eyes was a faraway look, a +startled light.</p> + +<p>"Why of course!" he said in quiet wonder.</p> + +<p>There was just a little blur, where a nose had pressed against the +window, and the customer frowned and said to the clerk, "That young man +outside—he—he—"</p> + +<p>"Three-fifty, please," the clerk said.</p> + +<p>"Ah—oh. Oh, sure."</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Ye of Little Faith, by Roger Phillips Graham + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK YE OF LITTLE FAITH *** + +***** This file should be named 32663-h.htm or 32663-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/6/6/32663/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Ye of Little Faith + +Author: Roger Phillips Graham + +Illustrator: Tom Beecham + +Release Date: June 2, 2010 [EBook #32663] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK YE OF LITTLE FAITH *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +Ye of Little Faith + +By Rog Phillips + +Illustrated by TOM BEECHAM + + +[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science +Fiction January 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence +that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + +[Sidenote: _It matters not whether you believe or disbelieve. Reality is +not always based on logic; nor, particularly, are the laws of the +universe...._] + + + + +The disappearance of John Henderson was most spectacular. It occurred +while he was at the blackboard working an example in multiple +integration for his ten o'clock class. The incompleted problem remained +on the board for three days while the police worked on the case. It, a +wrist watch and a sterling silver monogrammed belt buckle, lying on the +floor near where he had stood, were all the physical evidence they had +to go on. + +There was plenty of eye-witness evidence. The class consisted of +forty-three pupils. They all had their eyes on him in varying degrees of +attention when it happened. Their accounts of what happened all agreed +in important details. Even as to what he had been saying. + +In the reports that went into the police files he was quoted with a high +degree of certainty as having said, "Integration always brings into the +picture a constant which was not present. This constant of integration +is, in a sense, a variable. But a different type of variable than the +mathematical unknown. It might be said to be a logical variable--" + +The students were in unanimous agreement and, at this point, Dr. +Henderson came to an abrupt stop in his lecture. Suddenly, an expression +of surprise appeared on his face. It was succeeded by an exclamation of +triumph. And he simply vanished from the spot. + +He didn't fade away, rise, drop into the floor, or take any time +vanishing. He simply stopped being there. + +[Illustration: _He just wasn't there any more._] + +The police searched his room in the nearby Vanderbilt Arms Hotel. They +turned a portrait of the missing math professor to the newspapers to +publish. Arbright University offered a reward of one hundred dollars to +anyone who had seen him. + +The police also found a savings pass book in his room. It had a balance +of three thousand eight hundred and forty dollars, which had been built +up to that figure by steady monthly deposits over a period of years. It +also had a withdrawal of three hundred and twenty dollars two days +before the disappearance. They were sure they were on the path to a +motive. This avenue of exploration came to an abrupt end with the +discovery that he had traded in his last year's car on a new one, and +that sum had been necessary to complete the deal. + +After the third day the blackboard had been erased and the classroom +released for its regular classes. Police enthusiasm dropped to the norm +of what they called legwork. Finding out who the missing man's +acquaintances and friends were, calling on them and talking to them in +the hopes of picking up something they could go on. + +They passed Martin Grant by because they had heard from him in their +initial work. In fact, he had been a little too present for their +tastes. + +After ten days they dropped the case from the active blotter. The +University, seeing that there was little likelihood of having to shell +out the reward money, increased it to five hundred dollars. + +But Martin Grant continued to ponder over a conversation he himself had +had with John Henderson during a dinner six weeks to the day before his +old friend had vanished. He remembered his own words... + + * * * * * + +"... and so you see, John, by following this trail, I've arrived at a +theory that has to do with the basic nature of the universe--of all +reality. Yet things don't behave as they would if my theory were +operating." + +John Henderson frowned into space, disturbed. Visibly disturbed. Martin +watched him with a twinkle in his eyes. + +"You must have gone off the track on it somewhere, Martin," John said +suddenly, as though trying more to convince himself than his listener. + +Martin shook his head with slow positiveness. "You followed every step. +We spent four hours on it." He took pity on his friend. "Don't let it +bother you. I regard it as just an intellectual curiosity. I've included +it in my next book on that basis." + +A new voice broke in. "What is it, Dad? One of your ten-thousand-word +shaggy dog jokes?" This from Fred Grant, 16, student in the senior grade +at the Hortense Bartholemew High School, and an only child of Martin +Grant. + +"A little more respect toward your father," Martin said with much +sternness. + +"Yes, Father." + +"It was my _theory_." + +John Henderson said, "But, Martin, I don't know what to think now. Of +course there must be some fallacy that I've missed. The way things stand +though, I--" He chuckled uncomfortably. "I begin to doubt myself. I +can't quite classify it as an intellectual curiosity." + +"What else can you do with it?" Martin said. "I know your trouble. It's +a common one. You have a tendency to believe things or disbelieve them. +Now you've been presented with something your intellect demands that you +believe, while your experience shouts, 'lie'." + +"Is Fred able to understand it?" John asked, smiling at the youngster +with fond and unconscious condescension. + +"Not yet," Fred smiled. "I'm still in high school." + +"And if you don't want to flunk out you'd better be off to bed at once," +Martin told him. + +"Yes, Father. Good night, Dr. Henderson." + +Fred's departure left a vacuum in the conversation that took a minute to +fill. John Henderson frowned himself back to where he had been before +the boy had arrived. When he got there he frowned even more, because it +was a state of mental confusion that seemed to have no way of being +resolved. + +"Maybe we can get at it this way," he said. "Let's postulate that your +theory is the only logical basis on which reality can rest. B, quite +obviously reality does not rest on this basis. We could make C, +therefore, that reality doesn't rest on a logical basis. But that +doesn't seem to satisfy me. Maybe C could be--no--" He glanced at his +watch, lifted his eyebrows and stood up. "I really didn't know it was so +late. I'll have to be going, Martin. An eight o'clock lecture in the +morning." + +Martin made a wry face. "You've awakened my own conscience. I have an +hour or two of work yet before bedtime." + +The two men went to the front door. John said, "Thank your wife again +for me. Wonderful dinner. You're lucky, Martin, to have such a good +cook." + + * * * * * + +That had been six weeks before John Henderson vanished. Martin Grant +mentioned this visit to Horace Smith, one of the teachers in his +department, and got himself and his wife invited for dinner on the +following Friday. Dinner over, the two professors retired to the +library. + +Two and a half hours later Horace had assimilated and grasped every +detail of the theory. He then leaned back in his chair and closed his +eyes, fingertips to temples, trying to find some flaw. Finally he shook +his head. "It's no use," he said. "Your theory is logically inescapable. +But--" He frowned. "Where does that place us? Probably where some +schools of thought have always suspected we would wind up eventually. +With the realization that the basic laws of the universe can't be +reached by logic or even by experiment based upon logic." + +"I wouldn't say that," Martin objected. "My theory is an intellectual +curiosity, that's all. That's the way I present it in my latest book. By +the way, it's coming out soon. Signed the contract a month ago." He +pulled his thoughts back to the conversation. "After all, one must hold +onto the pragmatic approach to reality. Here is a theory that logic says +must be the only possible way a universe can be constructed and +operate. It's beautiful and logically complete, but not applicable. No +pragmatic value." + +"Congratulations on the book. But, damn it," Horace said, "it attacks my +most basic faith. Logic. Reason." + +"Faith?" Martin echoed, amused. "Yes, perhaps you're right. That's a +word that's foreign to my thinking. Belief is so unnecessary." + +"You don't mean that." + +"But I do." + +Horace pondered. "I can prove otherwise. You believe--as an +example--that your wife is faithful to you." It was a statement rather +than a question. + +"As a matter of fact--I don't. I act upon the greater probability that +she is. I don't hire detectives to follow her. Nor do I throw her into +situations to test her faithfulness. I admit the possibility that she's +unfaithful to me. If evidence came that she was, I might confront her +with the evidence. Where does belief become necessary?" + +"Do you believe your son will become a success in life?" Horace asked. + +"No. I've done everything I could think of to increase the probability +that he will. One of the things I've done is to instill in him the +realization that belief is unnecessary in thinking. Surely, as a +scientist, you realize that nothing we use in science finds its value or +validity from human belief. If, tomorrow, evidence were brought forth +that trigonometry is based on fallacy I'm sure that mathematicians would +use that evidence to revise their entire field." + +"But belief is instinctive; as instinctive as thought itself." + +"I admit it's a natural way of thinking. It has to be weeded out." + +"So you're sure you don't believe in anything," Horace said slyly. + +"Such statements are verbal traps," Martin said. "They mean nothing. You +want me to imply that I believe I believe nothing, and therefore I have +at least one belief. But as a matter of fact I've built up a sort of +mental mechanism for discovering beliefs in my thinking and dispelling +them by going to the roots and showing myself why I believed. Belief +springs up in the mind like weeds in a garden. Constant weeding is the +only solution." He glanced at his watch and frowned uneasily. "Eleven +o'clock. We'd better break this up and join the women. We'll have to get +together again soon. By the way, do you and your wife play Canasta? My +wife loves it." + +They had been moving toward the door. Now they entered the living room, +to find the two women playing the game. + +"Time we were going, dear," Martin said. "And sometime soon make plans +to have Horace and Ethel over for an evening of four-handed Canasta." + +At the front door vows of an early reunion were repeated. But they were +never to be fulfilled. On the following Tuesday Horace vanished. + + * * * * * + +This time there were no actual eye witnesses. The time was somewhere +between seven and seven-ten Tuesday morning; the place; Horace Smith's +bathroom. + +Ethel Smith was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Horace was in the +bathroom. He called out, "Ethel! I've got it!" + +"What have you got?" + +But even as Ethel called out, she heard the sound of the electric razor +falling to the tile floor, and there was no answer from the bathroom. +Nothing but silence and, as she described it later, a feeling that she +was alone in the house. + +At the time, however, she wasn't alarmed. She half expected some +muttered profanity over the dropping of the razor. She didn't wait for +it exactly. Instead, she picked up the spatula and expertly scooped the +eggs onto their two plates and carried them to the breakfast nook. Next +she poured the coffee. Then, placing some bread in the toaster, she +started back to the stove, calling, "Come and get it, Horace!" + +At the stove she started to pick up the aluminum dish containing the +bacon. She paused and repeated her call. "Horace!" + +It wasn't until then that it occurred to her the falling of the razor +might have been an ominous sound. Her mind filled with worried images, +she rushed out of the kitchen into the hall leading to the bathroom. + +The door was locked. + +"Horace!" she called. "Are you all right?" When there was no answer she +pounded on the door. "Horace! Speak to me!" + +After that she ran outside and around to the bathroom window. It was +shut and locked, as she already knew. Not only that, it had been stuck +for years. + +With an urgency born of a realization that every second might mean the +difference between life and death, she ran back into the house and +called the fire department. Also the family doctor. + +By nine-thirty the police had been called in. By eleven o'clock they had +seen the parallel between this disappearance and that of John Henderson. + +Martin Grant's first reaction was concern for Ethel. His second reaction +was that, twice, he had presented his theory to someone and that person +had vanished. His third was accompanied by a twinge of fear. He had just +finished presenting his theory to the senior physics class! + +This was followed by an amazing realization. He was conceding that there +might be a connection between his theory and the disappearances. He +laughed it off, but it returned. It disturbed him. + +It continued to bother him on Wednesday, so he began to search his mind +for reasons. Eventually he found them. There was a distinct analogy +between a theory that didn't agree with observable reality, and a pair +of disappearances which violated known methods of disappearing. + +The analogy was so clear that he began to feel there might be a +functional relation between the two. Of course, he concluded, it would +be reasonably certain if a large number of the students in the senior +group were to vanish also. + +This intellectual conclusion became an anxiety neurosis. + +So, on Wednesday--after he had scanned the room anxiously to see how +many students were absent and discovered to his intense relief that they +were all there--he spent the full hour lecturing on the necessity--the +_vital_ necessity--of unbelief in all things, especially scientific +theories. + +But would it work? He vaguely remembered giving Horace a similar +lecture. + +Wednesday night just before retiring he had another disturbing thought. +He had explained the theory to his son. But that had been weeks before, +and Fred was steeped in the mechanism of unbelief. Good thing, or he +might have been the first to disappear. + +"What's the matter with you, Martin? Can't you even answer when--" The +rest of what his wife was saying faded in the startled realization that +he was eating dinner. + +"Sorry, dear," he murmured. "I was thinking." He was trying to recall +something that might tell him what day it was. It was obviously evening +or they wouldn't be eating dinner. "Uh," he said casually, "what day is +today?" + +"Saturday," Fred said. + +"Now Fred, don't tease your father about his absent-mindedness. This is +Thursday." + +Thursday! That was right. He had given the lecture on the necessity of +unbelief today. There was tomorrow, when he could see if any of the +class had disappeared yet. He couldn't be certain, of course. Just +because a student didn't show up didn't mean he or she had vanished. + +He fixed his eyes on Fred, across the table, and smiled. Fred, at least, +was a source of comfort. He knew the theory and hadn't vanished. + +"Dad," Fred said. "I've been wondering if you saw a point of similarity +in the two disappearances?" + +Martin thought, good heavens, does he have any inkling of what I've been +thinking? Of course not! He's just fumbling. Better to discourage him. +"Sorry, son. There aren't any similarities except accidental ones. I've +had the confidence of the police on this. The cases are quite +unrelated." + +Fred refused to be sidetracked. "Dr. Henderson's face lit up as though a +sudden idea had struck him. I talked with some of his students. That's +what they all thought. And Horace Smith shouted to his wife, 'Ethel! +I've got it!' The next instant in each case they vanished into thin +air." + +"But that doesn't mean a thing." + + * * * * * + +In the privacy of his study Martin Grant allowed himself to become +excited. Fred had unwittingly come upon the vital clue to the two +disappearances. + +"Let's be clear about this," he said to himself, drumming on his desk +nervously with his fingers. "Undoubtedly there's a connection between +the vanishing and my theory. Both Horace and John arrived at something +I've missed. And since my theory is exhaustive it can't be there. It +must be--yes--it _must_ be that they went a step farther." He pondered +this a moment and added grudgingly, "A step I have missed." Then even +more grudgingly, "An obvious step." + +Automatically he opened a drawer and brought out a sheet of paper and a +pencil. He wrote: + +_The theory contains within itself the proof that the universe must, by +logical necessity, be constructed according to said theory. But +observation and experience say this is not true._ + +He frowned at what he had written. This was the conclusion to which he +had led both men. It was the conclusion upon which he had rested. They, +obviously, had not rested there. They had gone on. + +Under what he had written he wrote "_Either_:" on the left hand margin. +Two inches under it he wrote, "_Or_:" Then he frowned at them. Suddenly +he began writing rapidly after the _Either_: "_The universe is not +constructed according to logical necessity._" + +He hesitated, studying what he had written. Then, pursing his lips, he +slowly wrote after the _Or_: "_The observable universe is not the +universe._" + +He nodded to himself. That hit at the core of the matter. A was X. B was +not X. Therefore B was not A. Even though A and B were both called +universe. + +The question was, then--did the universe-of-logical-necessity exist? If +so, what relationship did it have to the observable universe which quite +obviously did exist? + +Was that the question, the answer to which, gained in a moment of +insight, had caused two men to utterly vanish? + +He sighed with real regret. There was no way of knowing. Possibly a +mechanical brain of the most advanced type could come out with a +comprehensive picture after solving thousands of successive equations. +Knowledge of simple basics was a far cry from a fully expanded system. + +He pushed the sheet of paper away with a show of irritation. He was +missing something. He was on the wrong track. Neither John nor Horace +had the mental equipment to make more than a simple step beyond what he +had accomplished. That was certain. It was equally certain that he could +and would make it. + +A startled expression appeared on his face. "Oh good lord!" he groaned. +"My book. I must do something about that the first thing tomorrow. I--" +He opened the drawer of his desk and took out an oblong of paper, the +check against advance royalties. "I'll return this and not let them +publish it. First thing in the morning. And from now on I resolve not to +think of my theory or what caused John and Horace to vanish." + +Folding the check neatly, he stuck it in his billfold and then started +to read a book that interested him. He became engrossed in it. Half an +hour later he came to enough to realize he was on safe ground, sigh with +relief, and sink back into the trains of thought of the book. + +It was a nice feeling to know he was safe. + + * * * * * + +It was Friday. The sun was shining brightly and the monotony of the blue +sky was relieved here and there by filmy white clouds that gave it a +pleasing three-dimensionalness. + +But to Martin Grant there was something unreal about things. He decided +it must be the light. Things stood out with too sharp clarity. + +When he reached his office at the university he made arrangements for a +substitute to take his ten o'clock class. Then he called the publishing +company and made an appointment for ten-fifteen. + +The hour from nine to ten seemed interminably long. He found it almost +impossible to concentrate on such an unimportant subject as the +application of tensor analysis to electronic circuits. + +Ten o'clock came. He hurried to the parking lot and got in his car. It +was real and comforting. But once again everything outside the +windshield seemed too sharply defined. + +He timed himself on the way across town to the publishing house. He +would have to allow himself the same time to return for his eleven +o'clock class. It took twelve minutes, plus another two to find a +parking place. Two minutes from the car to the eleventh floor. He was +frowning at his watch as he entered the publisher's office. + +"Well, well, Dr. Grant! Glad to see you. I suppose you're anxious to see +your book ready for market. It's coming very well. Just came back from +the typesetters and is going into its first printing right away." + +"Huh?" Martin said, completing his mental arithmetic and jerking into an +awareness of his surroundings. "Oh, hello Mr. Browne," he said. "I was +just figuring my time. I have an eleven o'clock class. I can only stay +twenty-seven minutes. That gives me a three minute margin of error for +traffic delays." + +"I see," the publisher said, a twinkle in his eye. "As I was just +saying, your book--" + +"Oh yes, my book," Martin interrupted. "Just a minute." He took out his +billfold and extracted the check, handing it to Mr. Browne. + +"What's this for?" Mr. Browne asked, unfolding it. "Oh, the advance +royalty check. Is something wrong with it?" + +"I'm returning it," Martin said. "I can't let you publish my book." + +"Can't let me publish it!" Browne exclaimed. "Why not? Don't tell me it +infringes on someone else's copyright!" + +"No. Nothing like that. I've merely decided I don't want it published. +I'm returning your check." + +"Well now, look!" Browne said. "We're a business establishment. You +signed a contract. We signed one too. It protects both of us against +just this sort of thing, you know." He studied Martin thoughtfully. "Sit +down and relax," he invited. "I'm human. Tell me why you don't want it +published. Maybe I might agree with you. We have over a thousand dollars +tied up already in typesetting, but--" + +Martin took the seat and glanced nervously at his watch to make sure the +twenty-seven minutes hadn't elapsed. + +"I've just changed my mind," he said curtly. "There are certain +things--I'm the head of a department, you know. I must watch my +reputation. That's it, my reputation. On due reflection I believe the +book might hurt my standing." + +"In what way?" Browne asked. "To tell you the truth, your other book +did so well I didn't bother reading this one." + +"There's a--" Martin brought himself up short. So Browne hadn't read it. +So much the better. At least he wouldn't vanish. "I'm afraid," he added +with a self-conscious chuckle that he hoped was genuine enough to pass, +"the subject matter is a little too crackpottish in spots. That's the +whole thing. It would reflect on my reputation." + +"Maybe we could do a little editing on it," Browne said. "Cut out the +parts you think crackpottish and substitute something else in those +pages. I'll get the galleys and we can look at them." + +"No!" Martin said. "No, I'm afraid we would have to cut out at least +half of the book. No. The best thing is to forget it, but I'll make good +your typesetting loss. I can pay you two hundred dollars right away and +fifty dollars a month." + +Browne lit a cigarette slowly, his eyes on Martin. "You're serious, +aren't you," he said. "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll let the whole +thing ride for the present. Maybe later--" + +"No!" Martin said. "It must never be published! It's very vital that it +never be published." + +"Okay," Browne said. "We won't publish it. We have the contract, but--we +won't publish it." + +"Thanks, very much," Martin said. "I must hurry back." + +The publisher stared thoughtfully at the closed door after Martin had +gone. He glanced down at the check. + + * * * * * + +Lecture room 304 was very large, capable of holding four hundred +students in its successive tiers of seats, plus the teacher on his +raised platform immediately in front of the large blackboard. In +previous years there had been instances of students slipping out after +roll call. In spite of everything, it had happened. + +Therefore a new system had been inaugurated. Before roll call Martin +marched to the back of the room to the only exit and locked it. +Pocketing the key, he returned to his podium. It had been going on this +way for two years, and was now automatic. + +The day watchman, making his rounds, approached this door at precisely +two thirty-four. He heard violent pounding. Along with the pounding +there was a loud, hoarse voice, gasping, "Lemme out! Lemme out!" + +The watchman consulted his clock--the one he used to make a record of +his rounds--and determined that it was two thirty-four. He knew that it +was Dr. Grant's senior theoretical physics lecture period. He recalled +that a couple of years before Dr. Grant had had trouble with students +slipping out after roll call. But it occurred to him that it was hardly +possible to sneak out, even on Dr. Grant, absent-minded as he was, by +pounding on the door and shouting, "Lemme out!" in a terrified tone of +voice. + +He therefore stopped and knocked on the door, calling, "What's going on +in there?" + +Whoever was doing the pounding and shouting evidently didn't hear him. +Waiting no longer, the day watchman used his master key on the door. + +A smallish young man, later identified as Mark Smythe, attempted to run +past him into the hall. The watchman blocked Mark's escape and looked +toward the podium in an automatic appeal to Dr. Grant. + +Dr. Grant was not there. The podium was unoccupied. So were all four +hundred seats. There was, in fact, no one in room 304 except the one +terrified student. + +In due course the police arrived, along with the regents. By five +o'clock it had become certain that the greatest mass disappearance of +all times had occurred, with Mark Smythe as the sole witness. + +He stuck to his story through repeated detailed questionings, and in the +end the police were stuck with it. + +According to Smythe, class had begun as usual. Dr. Grant had waited +until one minute after the bell had sounded, then had marched back and +locked the door, and returned to the front. He had rapidly scanned the +room to see if there were any absences, quickly called half a dozen +names he was uncertain of, and marked the attendance slip. The police +found it still resting on the table where he had placed it. + +Then he had begun his lecture by remarking that they were behind +schedule and would have to catch up. He had been speaking less than five +minutes when a student by the name of Marvin Green jumped to his feet in +great excitement, waving his hand and shouting, "Dr. Grant! Dr. Grant!" + +Dr. Grant had stopped his lecture and frowned darkly, then said, "If you +will please take your seat--" + +"But Dr. Grant!" Marvin Green had interrupted him excitedly. "I've got +it! I've got it!" + +What had happened then was impossible for the mind to accept. Marvin +Green had simply ceased to be. + +There had been a stunned silence. And in that silence, it went on. +Student after student popping out of existence in what seemed to be a +chain reaction. + +He wasn't aware when Dr. Grant vanished. All he knew was that when at +last he was alone he looked toward the podium and the professor was also +gone. + +He kept waiting to go himself. When he didn't, he lost the fear that had +rooted him to the spot, and rushed to the exit where he at first tried +to break down the door and make his escape, then subsided into pounding +and shouting for help when he realized his physical strength was +insufficient for the job. + +Questioning didn't bring out any additional fact, nor alter any +statement. There had been no sound to the vanishing, no movement of the +person that could be considered significant, no flashes of light, no +strange odors. Nothing. + + * * * * * + +Fred Grant got the flash on his hot rod radio on the way home from high +school. + +At the end of the report Fred wrote down Mark Smythe's address on a +scrap of paper, and drove home to be with his mother. It was three days +before he could get away. + +On the morning of the third day, his aunt Emily arrived to take charge +of things, and he was able to slip away. He drove immediately to Mark +Smythe's address. It was one of the better class rooming houses near the +campus. The land-lady wasn't going to let him in nor announce him until +he explained he was the son of the professor who had vanished. She +immediately swung to the other extreme and didn't bother to find out if +Mark wanted to see him. + +"My father was your teacher," Fred said. + +"Oh? Come on in." + +There were tennis rackets. On the bookshelves there were tennis books. +On a table there was a tennis trophy. Otherwise there was just a bed, a +rug, and two or three chairs. + +"I don't know what I can tell you more than I've already told the police +and the reporters," Mark said apologetically. "I guess it's tough, +losing your father...." + +"Yeah," Fred agreed. "I wanted to ask you something though. Dad gave a +lecture on his new theory a few days ago, didn't he?" + +Mark looked at him blankly. Then, "Oh! I guess he did. As a matter of +fact I didn't pay much attention to it." He grinned. Then he remembered +he should be solemn and stopped grinning. "I--I sort of slipped by it. +He made the mistake of telling us ahead of time it was off the course +and no questions on it would be in the finals, so I more or less rested +up during the period for a tennis match afterwards. Why?" + +"Didn't you get any of what he said?" Fred persisted. + +"Oh, a little," Mark admitted. "It was about some system of arriving at +the basic laws of nature by pure logic, only what you arrived at didn't +agree with facts. Some kind of intellectual curiosity." He thought a +minute. "Oh," he said, "I see what you want. Didn't he leave any notes +on it? It would be too bad if his theory was lost to the world now +that--" He left the rest unsaid. + +"Maybe you can remember something," Fred coaxed. "Anything. Did he talk +about his theory again?" + +"Next day he gave a lecture on the necessity of unbelief in modern +science. It was pretty good. He overemphasized it, though. Some of the +kids thought he was making a religion of unbelief." + +"What did they say about his theory?" Fred asked quickly. + +"Oh, they were quite impressed. Two of them live--lived here in the +rooming house. They were up here that evening tossing it back and forth. +I was too tired from the tag match. I let them talk." + +"What did they think about it?" + +Mark frowned in an effort to recall. "It had to do with this universe +being basically illogical, or at least seeming to be, because it didn't +agree with your father's theory. They started building up fantasies on +it. One I remember was a good one." + +"What was that?" + +"I think it was Jimmy. He said it would be funny if we were here +because we believed this universe was the only real one. Something about +inherited memory. Our coming from a long line of people who believed +this was the only place, because all our ancestors who didn't believe it +shot off into some other universe and had their children there. Utterly +crazy. You know." + +"Yeah, I know," Fred agreed. "You going to be around in case I want to +see you again?" + +"God! I hope so!" Mark said. "It makes me nervous." + +"You're safe enough," Fred said. "Well--thanks. I'll be seeing you." + + * * * * * + +He smoothed out the crumpled sheet of paper and glanced at it. + +"What do you hope to find, Fred," his mother asked. + +"I don't know," he said. "Anything, I--maybe this is something. Look." + +Together they read, "Either: the universe is not constructed according +to logical necessity, Or: the observable universe is not the universe." +There were doodlings along the right margin that meant nothing. + +"What does it mean?" Mrs. Grant asked. + +"Probably just something connected with his classes," Fred shrugged. He +went on searching the waste basket, giving his mother no hint that he +had already found what he was searching for. + +From the position of the paper in the waste basket he felt reasonably +sure it had been recently written. It was probably a voicing of thoughts +gained from the disappearance of Horace and John, because up to that +time his father had assumed his theory was just an intellectual +curiosity. + +His father couldn't have asked himself if the observable universe might +not be the universe unless something had happened to raise a doubt, or +suggest an alternative as a possibility. + +Mrs. Grant's interest lessened. She wandered about the room, perhaps +reliving memories. It gave Fred a chance to put the piece of paper in +his pocket so that when he put everything back in the waste basket his +mother would dismiss the whole search. + +There was, of course, the file with the entire theory in it. He knew the +theory by heart, however, and had no need of that file. + +"I think I'll go out for a while, Mom," he said. + +"All right, Fred," she said disinterestedly. + +Outside he climbed behind the wheel of his hot rod and sat there, making +no motion to start the motor. He was thinking. + +Mark Smythe had said that he overheard two of his fellow class-men +discussing the theory, one of them remarking that, "It would be funny if +we were here just because we were descended from a long line of people +who believed this was the only place." + +Could that be the key? + +Take gravitation, for instance. If it were something that some vital +part of you had to believe, and that vital part didn't believe, would +the entire person go flying off into space? + +What about inanimate matter? Did it have to believe too? And what about +other forms of life? + +Or was everything except human beings just part of the props? + +He shook his head. That didn't seem like quite the right track. He took +another. + +The human mind builds up a picture of the outside universe through its +senses. Sometimes its ideas are wrong. Right or wrong, inside everyone's +mind is a universe, derived from the outside universe. + +What if the outside universe were derived from something? Derived from +what? The real, logically necessary universe? That could be. At least it +seemed to have some value as a starting point. + +He tried to reason from that point. Frustration grew in him. He wished +he were older, had his university education behind him. There were so +many things he couldn't begin to deal with. + +Maybe he could take the entire problem to some of his father's friends. +He shook his head over this thought. From all that had gone on it was +too likely that the minute one of them discovered something that would +be of help he would disappear before he could tell it! + +That raised another point. Why didn't he himself vanish? What was there +different about him? + +A lot. His father had instilled in him a lot of the things he himself +could only aspire to. Unbelief was the major thing. Or perhaps it was +the other major thing, remembrance. + +His father's voice came into consciousness, saying something he had said +so many times it was grooved deeply in memory, even to the inflections +of voice. "_All psychoses and mental troubles are caused by walled-off +unpleasant memories. The child who trains himself to recall all +unpleasant things and deliberately associate them with the feeling that +they are valuable lessons, but harmless, will grow up in perfect +balance._" + +He smiled. He could let flow through consciousness, dozens of incidents +he had taken up with his father. + +He was definitely different than others around him. So different +he had systematically disguised it by a front of accepted +behavior--systematically and consciously, under his father's guidance. + +There was a chance those differences made him safe. There was a chance +those differences would make it possible for him to find out what caused +the others to vanish, without he himself vanishing. + +The other train of thought inserted itself into consciousness again. Was +belief the key to the disappearances? + + * * * * * + +Mark Smythe hadn't paid attention when the theory was being explained. +The others had undoubtedly lapped it up. The peculiar thing about the +theory was that it was so logical and so inevitable that the mind tended +to accept it, believe it to be true in spite of the evidence of the +senses. + +Let us suppose, Fred mused, that deep within the mind there is some +matrix of thought that ties the human to this universe. A matrix that +could conceivably be altered, and when altered would automatically shift +the person to another universe that the altered matrix fitted. + +The subconscious usually took time to absorb and react. That was another +thing his father had taught him to observe. Learn something, and it +takes from days to months for it to become lodged in the subconscious +and to rise into operation naturally from there. + +John Henderson had taken six weeks to vanish after having learned the +theory. It had taken Horace Smith three and a half days, but he had had +the added factor of Dr. Henderson's disappearance to trigger reactions. +The theoretical physics class had taken three days exactly, and its +vanishing had been a sort of group action or chain reaction, with +intensely emotional reaction after the first student had vanished before +the eyes of the others. + +His own father, originator of the theory, had probably fallen into the +trap of starting to believe after Horace had vanished, so it became a +greater probability that the disappearance was related to knowledge of +the theory. Seeing the students vanish had probably set up an emotional +state where complete belief was precipitated. + +In the whole series the only improbable part was that so many students +would react in the same short time. That was partly nullified by the +fact that it was a special class, and only high I.Q. students with +excellent records were accepted. They would tend to be somewhat +identical in reaction times. + +He straightened up and stared through the windshield at the dark street. +So there it was, the probable mechanism of vanishment. A system was fed +into the conscious mind. The conscious mind accepted it. In due time +that system was transferred down into the matrix that held the person in +this reality or universe. Once there, it made the whole person +_transfer_ to a system where the altered matrix fitted. It might not be +the system pictured in his father's theory. It might be a compromise +system. + +_Where_ and _when_ probably had no meaning in relation to the two +systems. That was why, when the shift came, the person vanished +instantly without any strange manifestations of any kind. + +Was it reversible? If so, then some of those who had vanished would +reappear eventually. + +A sudden, startling thought made Fred sit up straight, his eyes shining +with excitement. So far he had been safe mainly because he habitually +didn't attach belief to anything. His other facet of difference might be +the means of his testing this without real danger of vanishing. + +Could he dredge up from the deepest layers of unconscious thought, the +threads leading directly to the matrix that held him in his surroundings +and learn consciously what it was? + +A thought. He reflected on it, then decided before he made any decisions +he would explore the other avenue, the one the police had naturally +thought of. + +Was there some person or persons unknown in back of the disappearances? +Some non-human, perhaps? It could fit into the same theory of +disappearance. Another universe, beings in that universe. Beings who +perhaps didn't want knowledge of their universe to become known on this +side of the veil. + +If so, why hadn't _they_ snatched him too? Maybe they didn't know he +knew about the theory. He'd never talked about it to anyone. But his +father had drilled it into him as a supreme example of the reasons why +belief in anything was a trap. + +He shook his head. It didn't seem likely that the disappearances had +been engineered by anyone. They smacked too much of an inner pattern, an +inner mechanism. + +So he came back to the other theory. What could he try to accomplish by +exploring into his deepest substratum of thought? The ideal he could aim +for would be conscious transfer into the other system with the assurance +before-hand that he could transfer back again. If he could do that, and +if he could find those who had vanished, maybe he could teach them how +to return. + +It was something that might take a long time, he realized. His first +objective was to penetrate deeper into his mind than anyone had ever +consciously gone before. That alone could take a lifetime. Or it might +be accomplished overnight. + +How would he begin? Where would he begin? he shrugged. It didn't matter. +He would have to systematically extend his ability to be aware in every +direction, physical and temporal, until he could be conscious of his +individual blood cells if it were possible, and completely and vividly +conscious, at will of every second of his past life. If that didn't lead +him to his objective, it might at least point the way and increase his +ability to reach his goal. + +That evening, Fred arrived home to find a stranger seated in the +library. There was the usual moment of clumsiness such encounters +generate, but Fred's mother returned with a tea tray before +self-introductions became necessary. She said, "Mr. Gaard, this is my +son, Fred." + +The man smiled easily as Mrs. Grant continued, speaking now to Fred. +"This is Curt Gaard, Fred. I called on him today and what do you think I +discovered. He was a friend--a very old friend--of your father." Mrs. +Grant stopped, a certain inward uncertainty showing through. + +Fred stood mute, giving voice to none of the questions which sprang up +in his mind. Curt Gaard, completely at ease, took up the lead. Even as a +feeling of familiarity sprang into Fred's mind, Gaard said, "I _knew_ +your father--met him several times--but we weren't as close as your +mother's words might imply." + +Then Fred knew. He spoke suddenly. "You're a psychiatrist." The pieces +fell into place. Fred's father had mentioned this man several times, and +the boy knew he was not there by chance--that his mother had contacted +the psychiatrist--this particular one because she too had remembered the +acquaintanceship. For a moment, Fred was annoyed with his mother. Why on +earth had she brought a psychiatrist into this? Then he softened as he +realized she felt it to be to her son's best interests. + +"Yes, I'm a psychiatrist," Gaard said. Then, as though he could read +Fred's mind: "Your mother _did_ send for me, but so far as I'm +concerned, it's more than just a professional visit. I knew your father +and liked him. I'd like to be your friend." + +"You plan to psychoanalyze me?" + +"Don't be so grim about it," Curt Gaard smiled. "Just let's make this a +social visit. There will be plenty of time for other things later. +Perhaps you can drop in at my office." + +"Perhaps," Fred said, almost absently. A short time later he excused +himself and went to his room. + + * * * * * + +"Mrs. Grant?" Mr. Browne said, smiling at the woman behind the screen +door. "I'm Mr. Browne the publisher." + +"Browne?" she said. "Oh yes. My hus--husband has mentioned you." + +"Favorably, I hope?" Browne was wondering if Dr. Grant had told her of +his decision not to let the book be published. + +"Oh yes, very favorably." She frowned. "Which reminds me. He received a +check from you for the advance royalties. I'm sure he didn't cash it +because there was no deposit at the bank that large. I can't find the +check anywhere. He must have had it with him when--" + +She had opened the screen door. Browne went in and followed her into the +study. He looked around at the walls of books, almost feeling the +presence of the man whose retreat this had been. + +"That's what I've come here to see you about," Browne said. "You see, he +called on me at my office the morning of the day he vanished." + +"He did?" + +"Yes. I'm going to be quite frank with you. He returned the check to +me." + +"Why? He said nothing to me about it." + +"I rather imagine he didn't have time. I've waited, knowing you wouldn't +care to discuss business so soon after--" He waited for her reaction. +When she said nothing he continued. "He returned the check and said he +didn't want the book published after all. I couldn't quite understand +his reasons, but they are no longer valid as I see it." + +"What were his reasons? This surprises me very much. Just the day before +that he mentioned his book and expressed pleasure that it was being +published." + +"The reasons he gave were that the book contained some things that +were--to use his own words--a trifle crackpottish. He thought they might +reflect on him in some way." + +"Oh my goodness. He was always doing something like that, Mr. Browne. He +leaned over backwards. Scientific integrity was a fetish with him." + +"I haven't read the book," Mr. Browne said. "The reader reported it was +far better than Dr. Grant's first one. That was good enough for me. The +reader is no longer with us." He frowned in irritation at the memory. +"Left us without giving notice. But he was a good man. Excellent +judgment. I'd like to go ahead with the book unless you object." + +"I don't know," Mrs. Grant hesitated. "If he didn't want it published--" + +"But he's gone now," Browne reminded her. + +"I know, but--" She wept softly into a crumpled kerchief. + +The publisher remained silent. After a moment she pulled herself +together. "He was always so absent-minded. I was sure he had mislaid the +check. Used it to scribble some problem on. He did that once several +years ago." + +Browne reached into his breast-pocket and brought out a long envelope +and extended it toward her. + +"I had another check made out for advance royalties," he said, "if you +decide to let me go ahead with the book." + +"I don't think I should, Mr. Browne." She withdrew the check from the +envelope and looked at it, her eyebrows lifting at the size of the +figure. + +"It's substantially more than the original check," Browne said. "I +thought perhaps you might be in need of money, and I feel confident the +book will sell exceptionally well." + +"It is a lot of money," Mrs. Grant said. "But I'm so confused. I wish I +knew what to do." + +Browne leaned forward. "Your husband was a great man. I feel it as an +obligation on my part to make public his last work." + +Mrs. Grant nodded slowly. "You may be right. I hadn't thought of it that +way." + +"And you can undoubtedly use the money," Browne added. "There'll be +more. How much more depends on how the book sells. It may be a steady +income for a few years." + +"All right," Mrs. Grant said, making up her mind. "I'll let you publish +it." + +"Fine!" Mr. Browne said heartily. "I felt you would. And any time you +need money just call me." + + * * * * * + +Fred's birthday came in February. He was seventeen now, and the +knowledge filled him with dismay. It had been months since his father +had vanished. + +Or _had_ his father vanished? Maybe his memory of those people vanishing +was as wrong as his memory of which way his door opened! To check it he +spent an afternoon in a newspaper office searching back papers until he +found the accounts. He read them all carefully. They were as he +remembered them. + +And in him, slowly, grew the realization that he was going to use +someone. He was going to choose someone and try to make that person +disappear. More, he knew that that person was going to be Curt Gaard. He +decided against calling and making an appointment. He would go to the +man's office and put over the sixteen-year-old act. + +With a great deal of shyness he confided to the receptionist that Curt +was a very special friend of his mother's. She talked into the +inter-office phone, did a lot of listening and yessing. Finally she told +Fred that Dr. Gaard wanted him to wait a few moments. Then she dialed +an outside number. Fred listened to the clicks and knew it was his home +phone. The psychiatrist was going to talk to his mother. He hadn't +wanted that, but it wouldn't matter materially. + +The wait lasted almost half an hour. Then, with heart pounding, Fred was +walking toward the dark walnut door to the inner office. Inside, he +caught a comprehensive glimpse of the rumored couch, luxurious desk and +chairs, thick expensive rug, and an assortment of floor-lamps and oil +paintings. Then the psychiatrist was upon him, heartily welcoming him. + +There were time-marking conversational exchanges about school, the hot +rod, and life in general. There was the pause while each sized the other +up. + +Then, "I'm glad you dropped in, Fred," Dr. Gaard smiled casually. + +"I'm all mixed up," Fred said. "I know something's wrong with me. I +wanted someone to talk to, now that Dad is gone. I thought of you. I +didn't want to bother Mom. Do you really straighten out crazy people?" + +"Not exactly," Curt chuckled. "A psychologist finds most of his patients +among people who are just upset about things. They aren't insane. They +just need someone who has experience to help them get their thoughts +straightened out." + +"Maybe that's all I need," Fred said. "I don't _think_ I'm crazy." + +"Of course you aren't. You're a very healthy-minded young man." + +"I don't want Mom to know about this...." + +Curt frowned, jotted something down on a notepad. It was, Fred guessed, +a notation to call his mother and warn her to keep quiet. + +"Don't worry about your mother. Now tell me, just what seems to be the +trouble?" Curt smiled encouragingly. + +"Are you married?" Fred asked with teen-age frankness. + +"No," Curt smiled. + +"Would you marry my mother?" Fred asked bluntly. "I would like for you +to be my father." + +Curt Gaard stared at him a moment. "I really believe you mean that," he +said slowly. "You know, don't you, that it will be two years before she +can be free to marry? Your father can't be declared legally, ah, +departed, for two years." + +"No. I didn't know," Fred said, real dismay on his face. He hadn't known +about that. He thought rapidly. "Then can I come live with you? Just +until Mom can marry you?" Inwardly he was enjoying this. And he hoped he +wasn't overdoing it. + +"We can't do that," Curt said. "I'll tell you what we can do, though. +I'll invite myself out to dinner tomorrow evening. Don't say anything. +I'll surprise your mother. And we'll see a lot of each other from now +on. Okay?" + +Fred nodded. It was definitely okay. He wanted to be present when Curt +Gaard disappeared into thin air, and this way he had a chance. + + * * * * * + +He left Curt's office highly exhilarated, almost drunk with the emotion +of things working right. It lasted until the following evening when the +doctor showed up and he and Fred's mother put on their little act. Then +his emotions swung the other way. He experienced a reluctance to go +through with his plans. There was too much that was likeable about the +man. And his mother did like him. + +"Poor Dad," Fred thought. + +After dinner the next evening, Curt kept the conversation on Fred's +father. It was, Fred sensed, the right time to bring up the theory. Curt +would do anything to please him, to draw him out. + +But he hesitated. Stretching elaborately, he said, "I'm sleepy. Why +don't you and Mom play Canasta or something?" + +"I'm going to be much too busy," his mother said. "I have to finish +proofreading your father's book for the publisher. Mr. Browne is finally +going to print it, and wants it back right away." + +"When did that happen?" Fred demanded. "Can I read it?" + +"You can read it when it comes out. Now you and Curt go into the study +and leave me alone." She herded them out of the room. + +This interlude had served to strengthen Fred's resolve. Alone with the +psychiatrist, he let slip that he knew of a wonderful theory his father +had originated, then tried to cover up. + +Curt used flattery. Fred took his cue and slyly bragged that it was a +theory few college professors could understand even, but he understood +it. + +More coaxing and he was ready to start in. But his conscience got the +better of him. He balked, and even as he tried to squirm out of it he +realized that it was too late. Dr. Gaard would never rest until the +theory had been told. + +"I'll tell you the next time you come," he suggested as a last retreat. + +"Tonight," Curt said. "Even if it takes all night. You can miss school +tomorrow." He winked. "I can okay it with the teacher." + +"All right," Fred said in sudden crystallization of decision. "But only +if you agree to master every step of it, stopping me until you have." +Curt agreed. He started in. + +After half an hour it settled into serious listening on Curt's part, and +pertinent questions that made Fred realize he was dealing with a mind of +more than average keenness. + +Fred's mother wandered in occasionally, and out again, without being +noticed by either of them. + +An hour passed. Two. The final steps were drawing nearer. At times Curt +was even anticipating some of them. It was midnight when it was +finished. The mind of Curt Gaard held the entire pattern. + +Fred couldn't take his eyes off the man's face. The face that was +mirroring the rapid flow of thoughts as it reviewed and attacked every +brick in the structure, finding it solid, and solidly cemented to its +neighbors. + +Then he saw a change come over the man's face. He had accepted the +theory. Now he was trying to integrate it into the problem of Fred +Grant. He hadn't yet seen the connection between the theory and the +mysterious disappearances. + +And perhaps he wouldn't. If he did he might go the final step and +realize what was going to happen to him. Fred hoped that wouldn't +happen. He didn't want his victim to be conscious of being a victim. + +"You _are_ intelligent, Fred," Curt probed, "to be able to master such +an advanced theory." He glanced at his watch. "It's getting pretty late. +I'll tell you what. After school tomorrow drop down to my office. We'll +come out for dinner here together." + +"Say! That'd be swell!" Fred enthused. "I'll get right to bed so I can +get enough sleep." He leaped up and called, "Mom! I'm going to bed now." +He winked broadly at Curt to let him know he was getting out of his way +so they could be alone together a few minutes. + +And that was that. The die was cast, and all that remained was to try +and use it to make progress, rather than letting it be just another +disappearance that pointed to nothing constructive. + +There was no way of telling how fast it would work. The next afternoon +and evening there was little to provide an indication, other than an +occasional look that came over Curt for moments at a time. + +A date was made for Saturday. It was to be a picnic in the country. That +meant skipping Friday. Fred violently objected, but Curt and his mother +overrode his objections. So in the end it had to be Saturday, unless +Curt disappeared before then. + +He didn't. + + * * * * * + +But ten minutes before school was out Friday a note was brought into the +classroom from the principal's office. Curt had called to ask Fred to +come to his office directly from school. + +Torn between excited anticipation that the psychiatrist had made an +important discovery, and fear that the man would have vanished before he +could get to him, Fred ran from the school building and caught the bus. + +At Curt's office the receptionist smiled and told him to go right in. +His sigh of relief was genuine. Curt was sitting at his desk. + +"Come in, son," he said. + +There were the amenities. "How did school go today?" "Okay." "Anything +happen?" Fred waited impatiently. Then: "I've been thinking a lot about +your father's theory, Fred, and I would like to ask a few questions--if +it won't upset you." + +"Of course not!" Fred said. + +"Okay, here's a question," Curt said. "Or rather, a statement. You can +answer yes or no. You believe the theory is at the root of the +disappearances, that in some unknown fashion knowing the theory will +cause a person to vanish." + +So there it was. Fred debated rapidly in his mind. It might be better to +admit it. + +"Yes," he said. + +"Hmm. Then let me ask you this. How do you account for the fact that you +know it, and haven't disappeared?" + +Fred decided to be completely truthful and see what happened. "It's +because I don't let belief form a part of my thinking, sir. Dad +instilled that in me. With those that disappeared, logic was their +groundwork of belief." + +"But you believe knowing the theory caused them to vanish?" + +Fred smiled. "I see what you mean. No, I don't. It's just that no other +alternative seems probable, so...." + +"So you work with the one that does," Curt said, nodding. "All right, +let's work with it for the moment. You have probably done some thinking +on what mechanism might be involved in the process of vanishing. Would +you care to tell me about it?" + +"There's no reason why not, sir. It takes time for conscious beliefs to +sink into the subconscious and integrate there. The time varies with the +person and the emotions involved." + +"That makes sense," Curt said, nodding. + +"I postulated that down underneath even the subconscious, at the very +roots of being, is what I named the basic thought matrix. In order for +us to be here in this existence at all it must have a certain form. +Change that form and, presto, the person slips out of this existence, +perhaps into another." + +"I see." Curt drummed his fingers on the desk for a long minute. "I +see," he repeated. "Has it occurred to you that you have already +rejected your theory? It's quite obvious you have, you know." + +"How is it obvious?" Fred asked, wondering what Curt meant. + +"Because you told me the theory. You wouldn't have, of course, if you +believed it would cause me to vanish like the others." + +Fred opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to cope with +this. It was unexpected. + +"We've gotten to the root of your trouble," Curt went on. "It was a real +trouble, to you. In a few months you will look back on it and marvel at +it. Right now it seems real. You feel that somewhere your father still +exists. You would like to go to him, or perhaps bring him back. Believe +me, such mysterious vanishings aren't uncommon. The history of the world +is full of such incidents. In some cases whole groups have vanished. +Authenticated cases. In southeast Asia the people of an entire city of +over a million inhabitants vanished overnight. In the last century an +entire trainload of people, including the train, vanished while going +from one city to another a few miles away. And there have been +vanishments with reappearances, too. In England there was an old woman +who suddenly vanished before the eyes of her family. At the same instant +she reappeared in a room in London, miles away, in front of other +people. Did she know your father's theory? Did the train that vanished +know that theory?" Curt was smiling. "No. You see, it's something +unrelated to your father's theory." + +Fred was nodding. "You may be right," he said. "I didn't know about +those." + +"You may go now, son," Curt said. "I'll be out around eleven o'clock in +the morning." + +Fred rose quickly. "Okay, Curt," he said. "I'll see you." He hurried +out. It was too much of an effort to hide the sudden trembling. He +hadn't known about other cases of vanishing. They provided data to +expand the whole thing, while not in the slightest detracting from the +validity of anything else. + +And if the talk had been prolonged much more Curt would have inevitably +tumbled to his motive for telling him the theory. + + * * * * * + +Promptly at eleven Curt arrived. Fred's mother had already prepared the +large basket of food. There were ten minutes of last-minute bustle, then +they were off, with Curt skillfully tooling his Cadillac in and out of +traffic until they were on the open highway. + +"I know just the place," he told them. "Woods, meadow, brook. Even a +couple of cows." And he did. When they arrived shortly before +twelve-thirty it was all that. + +Fred relaxed as the car came to a stop. Every second of the trip he had +been ready to seize the wheel and keep the car from crashing if Curt +vanished. + +"Still a little nervous?" Curt asked him as they got out. + +"No. No, of course not!" Fred said. + +Curt didn't pursue the subject. Instead, he became something utterly +different than he had been before, a carefree thoroughly likeable man, +full of humor. + +Fred began to regret that he had chosen him as his victim. He began to +hope that the process might not be automatic, that Curt wouldn't vanish. +But he stayed close to him and listened to his every word and watched +his face as much as he dared without staring, so that if the moment came +he could get whatever there was to get of value from it. + +For the first time in years his mother began to be carefree. She even +joked back at Curt occasionally, something she had never done with +Martin in Fred's memory. Her joking was clumsy and uncertain. Fred +laughed uproariously to encourage her and to hide his uncomfortable +feeling. + +"Oh, I haven't felt so good in ages," she said when they were seated +around the tablecloth spread with sandwiches and salads and cakes. "It's +wonderful getting out like this. We'll have to do it often." + +"We will," Curt said. "At least once a week." + +Fred's mother picked up a sandwich. She started to raise it to her +mouth. She was smiling at Curt and about to say something to him. Both +Curt and Fred were watching her. + +Abruptly she wasn't there. The sandwich seemed to remain stationary for +a long second. Then it dropped to the tablecloth. + +Curt was holding a paper cup filled with hot coffee. His hand +constricted. The cup collapsed, spilling steaming coffee over his legs. + +Fred stared at the space his mother had just occupied. Abruptly he +squawked, "No!" He turned accusing eyes on Curt. "You told her!" + +Something seemed to go out of the man. He seemed to become visibly +smaller. "Yes," he whispered, "I told her." + +Fred was crying. "But you shouldn't have," he sobbed. "I told you +because I wanted you to vanish. I didn't want her to, and now she has. +And nothing happened that I could use." + +Curt blinked at him, absorbing this new bit of information. "You wanted +_me_ to vanish?" he echoed. "Yes, I can see that now. I didn't know. It +seemed too absurd. I thought you were just imagining things. Yes, I went +out while you were at school and spent the whole morning teaching her +every step. It was fairly easy. We had planned on coaxing you to explain +it to her. Knowing it ahead of time she could pretend to grasp it that +much more easily. We were planning on coaxing you into a more social +relationship. Actually, she had already read the theory in your father's +book she was reading for the publisher." A glassy look came into his +eyes. "The book. If the theory is at the root of the disappearances the +book shouldn't be published. Yes, by God. That's what your father was +driving at. Your mother told me the publisher had told her your father +tried to get him not to publish it." + +"The book has the theory in it?" Fred said. "It mustn't get published. +Why--thousands of people would read it and vanish. We've got to stop +them!" + +Curt was shaking his head in bewilderment. "But we can't be sure. It +must be something else, though what I don't know." + +"No," Fred said bitterly. + +There was a long silence. Curt broke it by saying, "What did you expect +to accomplish by my vanishing?" + +Fred told him of Horace's shouting to his wife, "Ethel! I've got it!", +and the others seeming to have a flash of divination or insight just +before they vanished. + +"I wanted," he explained dully, "to be with you when it happened, in the +hopes I could get something more than I have to go on. In that way I +might be able to find out something so I could bring my father back. And +Mom." He began to cry. + +"I see," Curt said, calm and a little subdued. "It's possible that may +come. After what I've seen happen I can admit it as a possibility." + +"Then you will make every effort to tell me?" Fred asked. + +Curt smiled wryly. "You make it sound inevitable. But--yes, I will." + +Fred's eyes were large and round. "I've got to find the mechanism. I've +got to go where they've vanished to and show them how to get back!" He +turned his eyes on Curt. "Don't you hate me?" he pleaded. "I'm just the +same as a murderer!" + +"No, my son," Curt said gently. "Wherever your father is, your mother is +with him now. If--" A startled expression appeared on his face. "So +_that's_ it," he almost whispered. + +"_What's_ it?" Fred asked. "Tell me. Please tell me. I've got to know, +you know. You promised!" + +Curt frowned in a visible effort to jerk himself back. His eyes, holding +a faraway look, rested on Fred's face, looked at it, and through it. + +"You promised!" Fred screamed. "Tell me!" + +Curt opened his mouth as though to speak. His lips smiled. + +And--he was no longer there. + +Fred was alone, with the picnic lunch on the white square of tablecloth, +with the gleaming Cadillac a few yards away, with the two white and +black spotted cows grazing a short distance away, with the noisy little +brook nearby. + +Alone.... + + * * * * * + +He became aware of a police siren growing louder. He became aware he was +behind a wheel, that there were cars in front of him veering wildly out +of his way. The speedometer needle pointed at ninety. + +How had he arrived here? He took his foot off the gas. He was driving a +Cadillac. Curt's. But Curt was gone. That was it! He had started out to +look for the police. + +He pulled over to the side of the road as the police car came screaming +up. Shakily he told them about the disappearances. Any doubts they might +have had were held in reserve by the obvious sincerity of his grief. + +He led them back to the picnic grove. The tablecloth with the food on it +was still there, untouched. One of the cows was grazing beside it. + +They listened while he told again of his mother and Curt vanishing +before his eyes. Their reserved skepticism was thrust out of their minds +when he identified himself as the son of Dr. Martin Grant, who had +disappeared. + +They used their car radio. In a surprisingly short time several other +cars were coming through the gate into the pasture. + +Fred, his mind paralyzed with grief, stood forlornly near the Cadillac. +He answered the questions they put to him. He wasn't aware of the news +cameras that took shots of him which were to appear in the evening +papers all over the country. + +Eventually it was over. The police gathered up the picnic lunch, his +mother's purse, and everything else. A gray-haired man in a dark brown +suit who introduced himself as Captain Waters told him to get into the +Cadillac. "I'll drive," Waters said. + +Entirely submissive, Fred obeyed. On the way into town Captain Waters +said he would take Fred home if he wanted to go there, but it would be +really better if he accepted an invitation to stay at the Waters home +for a few days until things were straightened out. + +"All right," Fred said. + +Eternities later he was in a house with comfortable furnishings. A +motherly old lady was hovering around him. Captain Waters was on the +phone calling someone. + +There was a steaming dinner on blue design Swedish dishes. Under coaxing +Fred nibbled. Door chimes sounded. Captain Waters pushed back his chair +and went away. He came back with another gray-haired man who pressed a +thumb against Fred's cheek, listened to words Captain Waters was saying, +then ordered Fred to roll up his sleeve. + +He swabbed a spot with alcohol and inserted a hypo needle. Fred watched +with listless eyes. + +"Get him undressed and to bed," the doctor said. "Poor kid. Suffering +from shock. Have to watch him the next few days...." + +_Shock_.... Fred tried to concentrate on the meaning of the word. + +The bed was an enormous expanse of fresh smelling sheets and luxurious +blankets. The pillows were mountainous ... and so soft.... + +The sun was streaming in through open French doors, filtered through +bronze screen doors. An electric clock on the dresser pointed at +eleven. + +He lay there without moving, remembering everything that had happened +the day before. And he had a feeling that, in his sleep, he had been +doing a lot of thinking. Or was it dreaming? + +"Poor boy," a melodious voice purred. + +He opened his eyes. It was the motherly woman, with a tray of toast and +eggs and steaming coffee. The sight of it made him aware that there was +a huge emptiness in his stomach. + +He ate, gratefully. Mrs. Waters busied herself about the room, humming +soft tunes, smiling at him whenever he looked at her. When he had +finished, she took the tray. + +"You just relax and sleep some more," she said. "The bathroom is through +that door over there. If you want me for anything just call. I'll hear +you. And if you want to get up and wander about the house just do so." +She departed, leaving the door part way open in invitation. + +Fred sighed and closed his eyes. In that moment of relaxation the +thinking he had done during the night rose into consciousness. + +For he knew now what he had to do. There was no other avenue of +exploration. It might not even be possible. But if it was possible he +was going to do it. + +He was going to vanish. + + * * * * * + +There alone lay the solution. He should have realized it. Once he +vanished as had the others, he would have experience with the mystery. +Personal experience. He would have all the data he required, instead of +just data from the world he was in. If he had the ability to solve the +problem of reappearance he would then be able to return, and go back +again and show the others how to return. + +The key to vanishing was belief, that quality of thought which his +father had systematically weeded from his mind since earliest infancy. +It might take time to overcome that, but it should be possible. + +Already he believed some things. Or did he? Was it merely a realization +that those things had a probability that approached certainty? + +His patterns of thinking were too ingrained. His mind was too well +integrated. If he became irritated the irritation immediately brought up +the memories of the factors that made him react that way. If he became +happy he consciously knew the pattern, stretching back to early infancy. +It was ingrained within him. + +He began to realize with a sinking sensation that he didn't actually +know what belief was. If, in some way, it was present anywhere in his +makeup, he didn't know how to recognize it. + +His mental pattern was one of unbelief. Not disbelief, the believing +that something isn't true; but unbelief, the using of something in the +pragmatic sense for its workability. + +He let his thoughts wander in the past. He could remember vaguely a +moment when he had felt unreasoning terror, a sense of being lost. He +could remember his father saying many times, "Belief is the lazy +assuming that something is true." It is or it isn't, and the fundamental +postulate of inductive logic tells us that its truth or lack of it is +forever beyond our reach. So why reach for it? Use a theory if it works +for you. Discard it if it doesn't. Don't use it even to the point of +absurdity while clinging to a belief that it's true. + +It was that way with facts, too. Something that happened or seemed to +happen, needed no tag of belief attached to it. If you saw it happen it +didn't necessarily happen. There was such a thing as illusion. Accept it +as though it had happened--until events pointed otherwise. + +His playmates and teachers had been frankly skeptical of this point of +view, doubting he could actually have attained it. They were quick to +agree it was desirable. They just thought no one could use a thing +without attaching a degree of belief or unbelief to it. + +Now, what should he believe? As in the attempts to reach the basic +matrix by conscious extension, he had to start somewhere. + + * * * * * + +It was midafternoon when Captain Waters entered the bedroom with a +cheery, "Hello!" + +"Hi," Fred said. He had been lying in bed with his eyes closed. + +"Did I wake you?" Waters said. "Sorry." He grinned. "You can go back to +sleep again. I'll drop in later." + +Captain Waters ducked out. He started to close the door, then left it +open. A few minutes later the rumble of his voice came from another part +of the house. Fred tried to catch what he was saying, but couldn't. + +Half an hour later he heard the front door chimes. The rumble of deep +voices came again. The doctor appeared in the doorway. + +"Well, well," he said, smiling. "I hear you had a very restful night. +How do you feel today? Better?" He was advancing toward the bed as he +talked. Setting his black bag down, he reached out and took Fred's +pulse. "A little rapid," he said, putting his watch away. Reaching +inside his coat, he took out a thermometer. He put it under Fred's +tongue. "Had anything to eat or drink in the past fifteen minutes?" he +asked. Fred shook his head. + +The doctor stood quietly. After a while he lifted the thermometer, +glanced at it, and put it away. + +"Looks like you're going to be fit as a fiddle," he said. "I'll be back +in a few minutes. Mrs. Waters told me on the way in she was pouring me a +cup of coffee." + +Fred remained motionless until the doctor had left the room. Then he +slipped out of bed and went to the door. On the other side of it was a +living room. A swinging door of the type that opens into kitchens was +just swinging closed. No one was in sight. Quickly Fred stole across to +the door. He put his ear close to it and listened. + +"Dr. Harvey speaking," he heard the doctor say. "Connect me with +thirteen please." + +"Is he going to be all right?" Mrs. Waters' anxious voice sounded. + +"I think so," the doctor said calmly. "Hello? Thirteen? Who's speaking? +Oh, hello, Giles. Dr. Harvey. Do you have a vacancy? Observation, yes." + +"Oh dear," Mrs. Waters said unhappily. + +"It will be for the best," Captain Waters said. "They'll know how to +take care of him." + +Fred waited for no more. He went back to the bedroom. His clothes were +in the closet. In seconds he had them on. He could tie his shoes and +button up later. + +He unfastened one of the screen doors and stepped out onto a flagstone +path that wound around the corner of the house toward the front. There +were people on the sidewalk, but none very near. It would be hours +before dark, and there was no place to hide. + +There were two cars parked at the curb. One was a police car, the other +a black Chrysler sedan, probably the doctor's car. The police car had +the key in the ignition. Fred didn't hesitate. He jerked open the door +and slid behind the wheel. Mrs. Waters' anxious voice sounded, calling, +"Fred! Where are you?" Then the starter was whirring. The motor caught. + +As he shot away from the curb, Fred caught a glimpse in the rear view +mirror of Captain Waters running down the walk from the house. + +As he took the first corner, touching the siren button briefly, he +wondered why he had run. It had been an impulse. Maybe it was the wrong +one. Maybe he could accomplish what he had to do better in some kind of +institution. Maybe not. + +He compressed his lips grimly. The die was cast now. He would abandon +the police car someplace, then slip quietly out of town on foot. He +would be caught if he tried to go home. He had no money except a few +dollars in change. + +Maybe this was all part of the new pattern that seemed to possess him. +He kept the siren going, not trusting his ability to avoid traffic. Its +mad scream blended into his thoughts. He was the hunted. He was sane, +but the truth would brand him as insane. Or was he sane? Had anyone +vanished? Was his father at home, sitting in his chair in his study, +expounding his theories to his colleagues? Was his mother at home, in +the kitchen, preparing dinner? + +His lip trembled. Homesickness welled up in him. + +He was near a bus line that went to the outskirts of the city. He shut +off the siren and slowed down. After a few blocks and two turns he felt +safe in ditching the car. He pulled quietly to the curb. He tied his +shoelaces, buttoned his shirt, combed his hair. Then he got out. No one +paid any attention to him. + +He walked to the corner. Two minutes later the bus stopped. + + * * * * * + +The night sky was clear. The moon was a lesser sun whose light made +things visible and somehow unreal and mysterious. In the ditch to the +right of the road two bright points of light blinked on, held for a +moment, and vanished. A cat. + +A silent dog appeared out of the gloom, wagged its tail and half of its +body in friendliness. "Nice doggy," Fred said nervously. It sniffed his +trouser leg, lost interest, and moved off into the darkness. + +It was after midnight. How long after, he didn't know. Once a police +car had come speeding by, its red lights ogling insanely, its spotlight +weaving into the bushes at the side of the road. He had lain very still +in the ditch until it passed. It hadn't slowed down. Later it had come +back and he had again pressed his body into the earth beside the road. + +Off to the right now he saw the silhouette of the giant tree that had +been the landmark of the picnic spot. A few minutes later he could see +the gate that led to the meadow. + +He squeezed through it and picked out the path worn by the cars the day +before. Some winged creature dipped down, shied away from him, and swept +off into the darkness. + +A soft gurgling sound became audible. The brook. The spot where his +mother and Curt had vanished, was ahead. + +He reached it. He wasn't quite sure until he studied the ground and went +back in memory to check on little details. Then he was certain. + +He had reached his goal. + +He knew why he had come, of course. Here he was closer to his mother +than anyplace else. Here, in some unguessed way, he might get to her. + +What would he do when morning came? He sat down and pulled his knees up +under his chin, wrapping his arms around them. Morning was far away. It +might never come--for him. If and when it did he would cope with it. +"Mom," he whispered. "Mom...." + +_Crrroak!_ The sound of the frog broke the silence. The croak of a frog +that was part of the universe--the universe that was basically +illogical. More.... + +Fred sobbed. + +The universe was insane. Police looking for you. Doctors with their +standards of sanity and insanity. Right now they were looking for him to +protect him from himself. They didn't want to know why things were done. +To them even the reason would be part of the insanity. They dealt in +tags. Words. Their science was an illusion within an illusion. +Meaningless inside a universe of meaninglessness. + +_Crrroak_, the frog said cautiously. And a night creature came down on +silent wings, to weave back into the darkness. + +That was the reason for pragmatism. He could see it now. He had always +thought his father made pragmatism his God because it was the +intellectual thing to do. But now he could see the reason for it. +Reality was a jungle in which Reason had to cope with Unreason, and +there was no criterion except workability. Belief was an instinctive way +of thought. It was like the appendix. Scientists claimed that long ago +man ate tree bark. And the appendix had had a use. If so, that use was +gone, but the appendix remained. Before surgery had become a common +thing, thousands of people died from appendicitis. The organ that had +once been necessary had become a hazard to living. Belief was something +like that. + +He jerked out of his thoughts to listen to a car on the road. It slowed +down. It stopped by the gate. A car door slammed. A man appeared briefly +in the light of the headlamps. Captain Waters--alone. + +He loomed a moment later inside the pasture in the light of a +flashlight. He occasionally flashed it on his face so he would be +recognizable. + +Fred felt an impulse to slip away into the darkness. He hadn't been +seen. Captain Waters was just hoping he might be here. + +A stronger impulse made him remain as he was. The entire pattern of +Captain Waters' approach indicated understanding--or at least the +willingness to understand. + +The bobbing flashlight came closer. It speared out and touched him; then +abruptly went out. Footsteps approached. A dark form emerged from the +gloom. + +"Hello, Fred," Captain Waters said quietly. "I came to keep you company. +I'll just sit quiet and not bother you." + +"Okay," Fred said. + + * * * * * + +There were movements. A small flame illuminated Captain Waters' features +as he lit his pipe. The flame went out. Then, only the occasional glow +of the pipe, briefly illuminating the police Captain's face. + +_Crrroak!_ The frog greeted this newest arrival in his domain. + +Fred could not think. He was too conscious of the man sitting near him. +He fought down the impulse to jump up and run away into the darkness. He +fought the desire to scream at the man to leave him alone. + +Perhaps the police captain sensed this, or perhaps he could see Fred's +expression when the coal in his pipe glowed brightest. "Tell you what," +he said suddenly, "You maybe would feel better alone. I'll wait in the +car. When you get ready you can come home. No more doctors. Mom gave me +a good talking to. She wants you to come back." + +Waters got up and walked away into the night. Minutes later there was +the sound of a car door slamming shut. Fred was alone again. + +Alone. It was a feeling, almost an emotion. Intellectually he knew that +nearby was a frog. A block away across the meadow was the police captain +sitting in his car. + +Abruptly, without warning, a flash of insight spread through his entire +mind. He knew suddenly what belief was. He knew it instinctively and +without question. + +And knowing it, he knew that his foundations of unbelief were a semantic +illusion that had been built up within him. The panorama of his mind, +his entire life, stood clearly before him. + +The cute little tags of probability were superficial. They had a +pragmatic value in keeping the mind open, but their function was to +guide the judgment in tagging thoughts with belief or disbelief. + +He retreated into his aloneness until there was nothing but himself. He +marveled at the unfoldment of this new understanding. He could see +things in this new light of understanding. + +But then.... A question loomed. If that were so, why hadn't he vanished +like the others? Belief was an automatic process. Why hadn't it +permeated to the basic matrix of his mind as it had with the others? + +Was he, then, still on the wrong track? + +But there _was_ no other! + +He saw the trap he had set for himself. He had believed with all his +being that belief was the key he was searching for! + +He had been on the wrong track. His beautiful theory of belief that +spread downward into the subconscious, then down lower and lower into +the basic matrix that held a person in this reality, was wrong. The +evidence he had based it on was still there, but it was evidence of +something else. + +Of what? + +The eastern horizon was suffused with light. It grew stronger, dimming +the light of the moon. + +From somewhere in the depths of his being rose a feeling that soon he +would know, and when he did he would be close to crossing the threshold. + +He unclasped his arms and straightened out his legs, feeling stabs of +pain in his weary muscles. He got to his feet, tingling with weariness. + +By the side of the road, he could see the police car he had +stolen--infinite ages ago. He walked toward it, and when he reached it +he climbed in and closed the door. + +"Beautiful morning," Captain Waters said, starting the motor. + + * * * * * + +Fred awoke and opened his eyes. Across the room the French doors were +open. Sunlight was filtering through the copper screens. A breeze was +playing gently with the drapes. For a moment the flight, the long walk +into the country, his rendezvous with Aloneness, Captain Water's coming +to bring him back, all seemed the stuff of dreams. He had the feeling +that he had never left this enormous bed. + +Then it returned. Reality. The miracle of his reorientation to belief, +the new vistas that went with it. The full realization of the true +nature of the vanishments. + +He became aware of a figure in the doorway, watching him. It was Mrs. +Waters. "Awake?" she asked cheerfully. + +"Yes," Fred said. + +"Want some breakfast?" + +He nodded. She went away. + +He raised his head and looked about the room, at the homey touches, the +family pictures on the dresser and the walls, the hand sewed knickknacks +and frills. This was probably the Waters' own bedroom that they had +given up for him. + +He could vanish while Mrs. Waters was away. She would come in with the +breakfast tray and find him gone. + +When would the _moment of reorientation_ come? + +He frowned in thought. That had stirred up something about what he had +dreamed, or thought, while he was asleep. Something that had the flavor +of being very important. + +"Here you are!" Mrs. Waters said, sweeping into the room with the tray +and its Swedish design dishes and steaming coffee and hot cereal. As she +bent over to set the tray on the bed, there came the sound of the front +door opening. "There's Pa, home already." She smiled worriedly at Fred. +"Will you be all right? I'll tell Pa to come in and keep you company +while I fix his supper." + +"Yes ma'am," Fred said, eyeing the food hungrily. "Only--" She was at +the door. She stopped and looked around questioningly. "I--I think I'd +like to be alone while I eat." + +"All right," she said, and hurried away. + +But Captain Waters had brushed in without giving her a chance to tell +him to stay away. "Hello, son," he said warmly. "Have a good sleep?" + +Mrs. Waters said, "You let him alone while he eats." + +"It's all right," Fred said hastily. + +"Sure it's all right," the police captain said. He sat down and took out +his pipe. He concerned himself with filling it and lighting it, saying +nothing. + +Fred picked up a piece of golden toast and bit into one corner absently. +The thoughts he had had during sleep were filtering into consciousness. + +He recalled how his mother had looked. There had been a fleeting +expression just before she had vanished. She had been going to say +something. _She had changed her mind and had vanished instead!_ + +And Curt--he had had his reorientation at least several seconds before +vanishing. He had had it, and then, with his new perspective, had said, +"So _that's_ it!" + +It was as though the new orientation made everything else unimportant. + +One common factor stood out in every case, those two he had personally +witnessed, and the others he hadn't seen. One common factor. Vanishing, +or whatever happened that produced the vanishing, had been an impulse. + +There had been time for thought. For example, Curt might have considered +the practicality of telling Fred what had happened to him. But he might +have reflected that eventually Fred would discover what he had just +discovered, so why bother? + +In the office Curt had told him of a whole city of a million people +vanishing, leaving empty houses and streets. Had the cause been the +same? A true orientation? + +Fred looked at Captain Waters, sitting quietly, puffing slowly on his +pipe. With deliberation Waters uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. +"You know, son, when you get around to it--that is, if you feel up to it +sometime--I wish you'd tell me about it. What it is that's troubling +you. I'll try to understand." + +"You'll try--?" Fred echoed. And the police captain's words started a +train of thought. The others--had the place they'd gone been a heaven or +a hell? So many of them--. Fred started suddenly. "The book!" he cried. + +"What book?" + +"I've got to see the publisher about my father's book. It's very +important." + +"It can wait until you're feeling better," Waters said. + +"No. I've got to see Mr. Browne!" + +"Why?" + +"I--I can't tell you." + +"All right." Captain Waters gave in. "I'll take you down and bring you +back." + +It was half an hour later, in the reception room at the publishing +company. Fred stared numbly at the big poster on the wall advertising +his father's book. + +"Mr. Browne will see you," the receptionist said. + +"Wait here," Fred told Captain Waters. "I want to talk to him alone." He +went to the door and opened it, stepping inside and closing it behind +him. + +"Fred Grant?" Browne said, getting up from his desk and coming toward +him, hand outstretched. "What can I do for you? Need some money?" + +Fred was shaking his head. "I don't want any money," he said. "I want +you to stop my father's book. You can't publish it." + +"Now wait," Browne said. "We aren't going through that again, are we?" + +"You can't!" Fred said. "People will read it and vanish!" + +"Huh?" + +"People will read it and vanish! You've got to believe me. _The cause of +those disappearances is in that book!_" + +Browne stared for a moment, then dragged over a notepad, wondering how +his publicity boys had missed this one. He stood up and came around his +desk. "You leave it to me," he said. "You won't have a thing to worry +about. I'll take care of everything." + +"Then you won't publish it?" + +Browne was guiding him toward the door. "You leave it to me. Drop in +again soon. If you need money just drop in any time and I'll fix you +up." + +Fred found himself outside the door, not quite sure what Mr. Browne had +promised. + +Inside, Browne went back to his desk, muttering, "What a killing! Have +to tell Nichols about it tomorrow at lunch. That vanishing stuff is a +terrific publicity angle." + + * * * * * + +"You still don't want to tell me what's troubling you?" Police Captain +Waters said wistfully. + +A frown crossed Fred's features and vanished into a smile. "Nothing's +troubling me," he lied. "I'm all right. I'll be all right." + +"You'll stay with us a while longer?" + +"Sure. Sure. You make me feel--okay. I'm just going out for a ride. Be +back for supper." + + * * * * * + +It had been two months now since his mother and Curt had vanished. In +that two months he had come to realize something. He didn't quite know +how to express it even in his thoughts. + +It wasn't that he didn't want to vanish. He would, some day. But he had +given up trying. It was the wrong way. The others hadn't tried. It had +just come to them out of a clear sky. + +Some day it would come to him that way, and he would welcome it. + +He drove downtown and parked. A block away was a show he wanted to see. +He started toward it. Abruptly he stopped. In front of him was a +bookstore. In its window was a large display, and every book had his +father's picture on the front under the title THEORY FOR THE MILLIONS. + +In back of the display was a large poster with a still larger picture, +and the teaser--(DO YOU DARE READ THIS BOOK?) + +Anger flamed in Fred's mind. The anger died as abruptly as it had come. +It was replaced by a homesickness, a longing. Unconsciously his +footsteps carried him into the store. + +A man had the book in his hands. + +"You aren't going to buy _that_, George," the woman beside him was +saying. + +"And why not?" the man asked, laughing. "I've never turned down a dare +in my life!" He looked at the girl waiting on him. "Do you think I'll +vanish, Miss?" + +The clerk smiled. "I wouldn't know. I have strict orders not to read the +book." + +A solemn-faced man appeared out of nowhere and thrust a copy of the book +at the clerk. "I want this, please," he said. + +"I'll be with you in a moment, sir," the clerk said. + +Others were waiting also. + +Fred stumbled from the store, bumping into someone in the doorway as he +went through, and too confused and frightened to stop and apologize. +There was no way of stopping it. Maybe the police would become alarmed +at the disappearances. + +"What's wrong with me?" he mumbled, walking blindly in the crowds on the +sidewalks. "Maybe I do lack the ability to believe. I _think_ I believe. +What have I missed?" + +Only he, of all those who had learned the theory, had not vanished. Was +faith, then, something so common, and yet impossible for he, himself, to +reach? + +Ahead was another bookstore. In its windows were the same displays. + +He stopped. People were pushing through the doors. Inside they were +picking up the book and looking for a clerk. + +The clerks were smiling and saying things Fred couldn't hear, and +wrapping the books and handing them to their new owners--people who +would take them home and read--and vanish. + +Into what? Something they would see, and smile at, and say, "Why, of +course!" And with a simple acceptance they would enter it. + +He watched them. + +And from the depths of his being Fred longed to be one of them; to be +able to go in and buy the book, and read it, and.... + + * * * * * + +On the other side of the window, in the store, a clerk was waiting on a +customer. The customer turned to look at him, with his nose flattened +against the glass. He didn't see them. In his eyes was a faraway look, a +startled light. + +"Why of course!" he said in quiet wonder. + +There was just a little blur, where a nose had pressed against the +window, and the customer frowned and said to the clerk, "That young man +outside--he--he--" + +"Three-fifty, please," the clerk said. + +"Ah--oh. Oh, sure." + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Ye of Little Faith, by Roger Phillips Graham + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK YE OF LITTLE FAITH *** + +***** This file should be named 32663.txt or 32663.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/6/6/32663/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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