Authors: William Goldman
“
The same thinking is evident now, the proof being that I am
here. There is no objection to what you
’
re doing, though you
’
ll have to clarify it for me eventually. But there
’
s a great deal of objection to your test subject. The reason I am here, Doctor Trude, is simply this: There is great resistance to moving forward with William Winslow. If this goes badly, or news gets out, I think you can see it might be bad for our image, using a man like that to spearhead events. With government approval. I
’
m sure you see the nature and depth of the problem.
”
“
You want me to explain why Winslow is necessary?
”
“
If you don
’
t convince me one hundred percent
and now,
you
’
ll have to forget Winslow and find others.
”
“
Others?
”
Trude exploded.
“Others!—”
“
—now Leo,
”
Kilgore said hopefully.
“
There are no fucking others as valuable/
99
“
Leo, please—
”
“
—get him out of here—I don
’
t have to explain any god damned thing to any god damned body if I don
’
t choose to—
”
Kilgore looked imploringly at Beulah.
“
Everybody
’
s under a lot of tension.
”
“
Of course,
”
Beulah said quietly.
“
And he
’
s quite right—he doesn
’
t have to explain,
G
od ordained no law—what is this place?
”
“
Sutton Hospital.
”
“
We own it?
”
“
Yes,
”
Kilgore said.
“
The bottom floors are more or less standard. We keep these upper floors private, for whatever uses we see fit
”
“
Fine. Well, unfit Mr. Trude—I want everything of his out of here—
”
Beulah looked at his watch.
“
By dawn. I want it immaculate. I want no trace of Doctor Leo Mark Trude visible to the naked eye. Consider him canceled.
”
He slowly stood, knocked out his pipe into the mug, made his way toward the door.
“
Can he do that?
”
Trude asked.
And now the white head whirled around, the great voice thundered:
“
He just
did
it. You
ar
e
gone.
”
He looked at Kilgore now.
“
I think you overestimate this fellow; I didn
’
t find him very smart at all.
”
He was at the door when Trude hurried to him, took his arm.
“
It
is
the tension, I
’
m sorry, I
’
m truly sorry, but we
’
re so close and that makes for pressure but I genuinely repent what I said,
believe me, please, I
’
m sorry, if you want me on my knees I
’
ll get on my knees, I
’
ll do anything, but you must not close me down, I
’
ll explain, in detail, as many times as you want, if I
’
ve caused you to become angry, I
’
m sorry, I
’
m sorry, I
’
m sorry.
”
“
Apologize then and I
’
ll consider forgiveness,
”
Beulah said.
Trude still clung to the southerner
’
s arm, stared.
“
I was being funny,
”
Beulah explained.
“
Then you
’
ll let me explain?
”
“
On the condition that you
’
ll release my arm.
”
“
I
’
m sorry,
”
Trude said, dropping his hands immediately;
“
I
’
m sorry if—
”
“
Enough
‘
sorrys.
’
Just let me sit down and get my pipe lit.
”
Kilgore watched as Trude went to his desk, Beulah to the chair. So far he had done an absolutely foul job of refereeing things. But at least the combatants were still talking.
Foul
was probably downgrading himself.
Foul plus
was a more accurate grade. Foul plus as a referee, as a father, with two disdainful children, foul plus as a husband with a precariously ex-alcoholic wife, foul plus—cut the shit, he told himself sternly. Attention must be paid.
“
A dinner party,
”
Trude began.
“
In Sweden. Only the great and the famous. Six o
’
clock. Suddenly one of the guests cries—
(
A fire. A terrible fire has just broken out. In Stockholm.
’
Now Stockholm is three hundred miles from the party, and the year is 1759 so communications as we know them do not exist. The party continues. The fire guest becomes increasingly agitated. It
’
s spreading. Oh, it
’
s spreading terribly.
’
None of the other guests know what to do. Nothing to do, really. The fire guest begins to anguish—It
’
s close to my home now. My home will be destroyed.
’
This goes on. The fire guest begins to go into the yard, then back to the house, then outside, back in, on and on. Hand-wringing. Despair. Then, at eight o
’
clock the fire guest says,
‘
Thank God, the fire has been contained, it
’
s over.
’
One of the women present asks about his house.
‘
Quite remarkable—the fire was stopped three houses short of mine.
’”
Kilgore looked at the white-haired man. He was lighting his pipe again, the eyes betraying nothing.
Trude went on.
“
Three days later, by horseback, news from Stockholm. A fire
had
broken out. It had broken out at precisely six o
’
clock. It was contained at precisely eight. And it stopped three houses from the fire guest
’
s home.
”
“
Fascinating,
”
Beulah said.
“
Startling and fascinating and if I wanted verification would I find proof in Nostradamus,
or the Star
or the
Enquirer
?”
Trude
actually smiled.
“
I know how much you would like that. Believe me, it would make your life so much simpler if everything could be scoffed away. However, in this case, the man whom I have termed the
‘
fire guest
’
was named Emanuel Swedenborg and if you
’
ll call Harvard or Cal Tech or M.I.T. they
’
ll all concur that he is generally accounted to be the greatest scientist in the history of Scandinavia. And the teller of the incident, the witness who wrote it down, was only Immanuel Kant, the most somber and serious of philosophers, I think you
’
ll agree.
”
“
He
’
s certainly not a lot of laughs to read,
”
Beulah said finally. Then he said,
“
This is all
all
true?
”
“
Yes it
’
s true and it
’
s nothing! Listen to this—America now, early this century. Kentucky boy, nice enough, God-fearing, all that, normal family—oh, there are hints, premonitions—snakes seem to enjoy his father, they curl around his legs. And this boy, when he
’
s born, he cries for a month, won
’
t stop crying, nothing can be done to make him give up his tears—until an old ex-slave lady takes a needle and boils it in water and pricks a tiny hole in his nipp
l
es—
and milk flows from his breasts,
”
“
And the crying stopped?
”
Kilgore asked.
“
As the milk flowed. And life became normal The lad grows up, becomes a salesman, loses his voice—crippling to the success of a salesman. If you can
’
t talk, you don
’
t sell, and he wants to get married and nothing helps so he goes to a man versed in hypnosis and is hypnotized. And he can talk. Normally. But when he comes out, his voice is gone again.
”
Trude
paused for a moment.
“
Please understand one thing in all that follows—we are talking of a genuinely decent man. Not educated well, not aggressive, just a young man with a terrifying problem. For which there seems no solution.
”
Beulah pulled on his pipe, got it glowing.
“
Now it
’
s suggested that he go under again and this time try and tell about what
’
s wrong, give all the symptoms. So under he goes and he
’
s in this second hypnotic trance and suddenly this strange voice says, this new, powerful, voice intones
‘
WE HAVE THE BODY
’
and gives a lot of medical talk, words the young man had never used in his life.
”
“
Getting a little hard to believe,
”
Beulah said.
“
Not too hard for the hypnotist though—he said to this voice,
‘I’v
e got a stomach problem, can you help me?
’
And again, booming
‘
WE HAVE THE BODY
’
and another medical talk complete with suggested stomach cures. Well, this time when he comes out he
’
s talking and the hypnotist follows the medical advice and his stomach is cured. Now this is a small southern town and you don
’
t keep news like that quiet. Other people start coming to this guy for help. Only by now he
’
s learned to put himself under and
‘
WE HAVE THE BODY
’
and medical ady
i
ce. And cures.
”
“
For how much money?
”
Beulah wanted to know.
“
Tell you in a second. Word continued to spread. And people would write and say,
‘
Can I come to see you, I live in New York
’
or
‘
I live in Maine
’
and he would tell them not to come, because he wouldn
’
t know what to look for anyway, he was ignorant of medicine.
‘
Just tell me your symptoms and where you are.
’
So they
’
d write where they were living and what their problems were and he
’
d go into a trance and
‘
WE HAVE THE BODY
’
and he would tell them what to do. And people would come to expose him and he would help them because if it was false he wanted to know about it—but everyone who came to expose him left believing. Because Edgar Cayce did it for forty years and he never took a fucking penny and he had a cure rate of ninety percent,
how high do you think Denton Cooley
’
s cure rate
is?
”
This last was spoken loudly, almost shouted, at the southerner.
“
I
’
m not the enemy,
”
Beulah said.
“
I
’
m an American just like you
’
re an American. And I
’
m frightened just now, because there
’
s a war stench in the air and we all know it. You don
’
t remember what it was like in the 1930s but that same war stench was there too. Today almost a quarter of Germany looks back on Hitler as the
‘
good old days.
’
And that percentage is on the rise. Anti-Semitism is skyrocketing in Prance, the terrorists are feasting on everyone, there are assassinations and assassination attempts in every civilized country, and during all this the Russians are just sitting there with this big smile—and with damn good reason— they
’
ve cornered the market on weaponry, they
’
ve got everything from The Doomsday on down, and we don
’
t. Now, I truly enjoyed
your little anecdotes
—
”
“
—those
‘
little anecdotes
’
were merely to make you aware of a
phenomenon—traveling clairvoyance
’
—I can give a
dozen
others equally authenticated if you need convincing—
”
Now, with surprising speed, Beulah stood and moved to the desk.
“
I
’
m not going to say this again, son, so remember it please —
I
am not the enemy.
I
’
m not a nut who won
’
t get out of bed without talking to my astrologer, but
I
believe in
‘
something.
’
Most people do. Two-thirds of us think you can communicate with thoughts. When those executives at ABC got caught paying fifty thousand to that seer to predict hits, they got a lot of static —but they
only did
it because they thought,
‘
what if she really does know?
’
They believe in
‘
something
’
too, or they never would have done it. I understand
‘
something
’
is (Hit there and I hope whatever it is it doesn
’
t get mad at me. But what I
do not
understand, what I am not remotely close to the vicinity of understanding is
why
a man who has spent half his life in jail, who has been a rapist, an animal who apparently lacks the least basic human feelings of decency, who is an escaped criminal that is not only a murderer but now a cop killer, is essential to the enterprise. With that record of his, if we get found out, we are in deep shit, I
’
m here to tell you.
”
“
You know
Winslow made
contact with Theo Duncan?
”
“
You just said there were a dozen more cases of this
‘
traveling clairvoyance.
’
Fine. Use one of them.
”
Trude
looked at Kilgore.
“
He doesn
’
t understand anything, does he?
”
Kilgore said quickly,
“
I think a great deal more than he lets on.
”
“
Assume I don
’
t,
”
Beulah said sharply.
“
You know the trouble we
’
re in with those mind-expanding jobs we pulled back a ways? You know the story that
’
s building about all the people on that John Wayne movie who got caught in the wind from that bomb experiment and died of cancer? I
’
m telling you, we
’
ve covered for you up to now. We
’
ve got the New York police acting just like we want
‘
em, no one connected with
Winslow
here is about to tell bad stories. But you better come up with some explanation right now or that
’
s the end of it.
”
In reply, Leo
Trude
stood up and began to make a pot of coffee.
“
You
’
ve got my attention, son; I suggest you don
’
t lose it.
”
Trude
carefully measured spoonfuls of coffee into the paper container, put the container in place.
“
I
’
m assuming we could all use a cup,
”
he said.
“
Black, when you
’
re ready,
’’
Kilgore said.
Trude busied himself with the machine, finally got it perking.
“
There
’
s a game we all play, as children, in school, often, I think, and it
’
s not a game with any strict set of rules or even a name. But I call it the
‘
what if game.
”
“
You better do better than that, son,
”
Beulah said. Kilgore thought Beulah was, for the first time, showing his age. He chomped on his pipe, tapped it out, got a cleaner out and fussed with that—trying to maintain concentration, Kilgore decided.
“
Quit playing with that goddam toy and pay attention to me then,
”
Trude said.
“
Or do you want a nap?
”
“
It doesn
’
t matter if we like each other,
”
Beulah answered slowly.
“
Because if it did, you
’
d be out in the street.
”
“
I have no intention of going there. Just try and stay with me —if I go too fast, raise your hand.
”
Kilgore watched as Beulah refilled his pipe, spilling more tobacco than seemed necessary on the immaculate office rug. Score one for the old guy, Kilgore decided.
“
The
‘
what if game is simply when you fantasize.
‘
What if Mommy never met Daddy? Or
‘
what if I found a thousand-dollar bill or, to put it in historical terms,
‘
what if the man who shot the archduke had been delayed, would that have delayed World War One? Or
‘
what if Hitler had invaded England in 1939 and Germany had conquered Europe?
”
“
Spare me any more examples,
”
Beulah said.
“
I have the concept firmly grasped in my aging cranium.
”
He spilled some more tobacco, ground it into the rug.
Trude studied the rug a moment, then checked on the progress of the coffee. When he spoke, his voice was stronger.
“
Humor me now. Take the
‘
what if seriously for a moment. Ose the Hitler example I just gave. If you could somehow arrange for Hitler to cross the Channel, the results might be cataclysmic for America. He might have won the war, he might have lost but damaged us grievously—in any case, the results would be wildly beyond our control. And potentially disastrous.
”
“
Am I done humoring you?
”
Beulah asked.