High Spirits - A Collection Of Ghost Stories Part 6

The Americans, as I said, spat briskly, with a positively musical brio. But when I spat I let my head fall forward, spread my feet, opened my mouth and allowed gravity to take its course. Then I ground the result into the carpet, slowly and, as it were, compa.s.sionately. And as I did this I knew what I was; what the eighteenth century meant to me; what 1774 revealed of me.

I had been aware, as I gazed about the table, of a heaviness in the atmosphere. The air seemed infected with a wooly greasiness; I had a.s.sumed that it was Dr. Abu Ben Adhem who, like so many Arabs, was said to rejoice in oil; but I now perceived it to be the smell of lanolin. Not lanolin as you buy it for medical use, but as it exists on the unwashed wool of sheep. Now I knew that this smell came from myself. I was clothed from neck to knee in a homespun smockfrock, and about my shoulders was a sheepskin of venerable age, presumably as a defence against rain, and mist, and the damp of the Welsh hills. Because, you see, I was a simple Welsh shepherd, marked and ingrained with the consequences of his calling. Upon my head was a hat of incalculable antiquitya"such a hat as Adam may have worn after the Falla"and my feet were warmly but untidily cased in more wool and gigantic greased boots. My hands were covered in tara"the tar shepherds use against that ovine disease, the foot-rot. And I had just spat as Welsh shepherds always do spit, with minimal effort, but with a primordial splendour that had something religious about it. It was thus, doubtless, that the shepherds spat on that notable occasion which we celebrate here, when they abode in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night.

I was roused from these reflections by a voice I knew, in the very marrow of my bones, to be a voice of authoritya"the voice of my betters. It was Dr. John Evans, and to any Welshman of the rank in which I found myself, the voice of an Evans of Usb.u.t.ty Ustwit is like the music of the harp.

aPa.s.s the wine,a said he. But the words fell upon an uncomprehending ear, and he saw what the trouble was, pointed at the bottle, and spoke again. aBrennin y pen Bilyaid,a said he, and the cruel words of abuse had an age-old familiarity. I pa.s.sed the drink at once, bowing, cringing and rubbing the mouth of the bottle with my greasy sleeve as I served the gentry.

But inwardly I was stricken. Though I seemed to comprehend through my vision what others were saying, or were likely to be saying, in English, not one English word could I utter. aArunwaith, iechyd da, mae Rhaglawa said I to Dr. Evans, bowing obsequiously. But he waved me aside, as he had every right to doa"him a great man of education, and me the humble shepherd of the flocks. But I glared across the table at that villain von Hohenheim, and muttered a curse in Welsh that made him wriggle in his chair, mighty magician though he was.

But mine was not the worst case. What of the poor girl who had held such high hopes of the eighteenth century; who had talked so innocently of its agraciousnessa; who had been certain that in that bygone time she would have been a mistressa"and a scented, pampered mistress of royalty, no less.

She was padding about the table in her bare feet, a single ragged garment tied around her waist with a dirty string, her hair in filthy disarray and in her hand a bunch of what I took to be weeds. But it wasnat weeds. aWonat you buy my pretty lavender: two bunches a penny?a she sang in a voice coa.r.s.ened with gin. But there was a glance in her eye that made it clear that lavender was not everything she sold. Some of the men waved her away; others gave her extremely small coins which they found in the depths of their pockets. Swinton of Swinton pinched her behind, but perfunctorily, as if it were a social duty rather than a pleasure. n.o.body seemed to want to buy anything at all. My heart wept for her. But yet, I thought, even from Gin Lane in the eighteenth century the modern Ph.D. may arise. I took a deep breath of hope, and immediately wished I hadnat, for the warmth of the room was working powerfully on my sheepskin.

At no time did the girl approach me, but as she pa.s.sed my heart yearned toward her in pity; I hooked her to me with my crook and blessed her. aBendith yr Arglwdd, putain-fercha I cried, as tears started from my eyes. But she utterly mistook my words and my intention. aNot for twenty golden guineas,a she said, drawing her poor garment about her with pathetic pride.

I had little time to grieve over this misunderstanding, for I heard a familiar voice at my elbow. It was the College steward, putting his usual question at this time of the evening. aMay I blow out the candles?a he asked, and I nodded a.s.sent. I knew that it would do nothing to untangle the complexities of the evening to address Miroslav Stojanovich in Welsh.

Slowly, ceremoniously he extinguished each candle; in that brief moment when all the candles are out, and the electric lights have not yet been put on I heard von Hohenheimas chiming watch and, you must believe me, it was playing the same tune as before, but playing it backward, as Bach sometimes reversed a subject in counterpoint. And as it played I recovered myself, and the English tongue, completely. In the clean new light I turned to the girl beside me and said: aWill you have some coffee? Or perhaps a little cognac?a She too was quite herselfa"her 1974 self,a"now. aCognac every time,a said she.

As I went to fetch it for her, I found myself next to the unspeakable Dr. Theophrastus von Hohenheim. He smiled darkly at me, and flung me a quotation from Scripture: aHearken to me, ye that follow after righteousness, ye that seek the Lord: look unto the rock whence ye are hewn, and to the hole of the pit whence ye are digged.a I am unfailingly polite to College guests. aIsaiah 51, reading from the first verse,a said I, smiling serenely.

But he wonat be asked again.

The Perils of the Double Sign

More than once, over the past years, Professor Douglas Baines has asked me why I never write a story about a scientific ghost. aYou should write something about haunted machinery,a he says. aAll the machinery in this College is haunted,a I reply; aRoger has spent countless hours attempting to exorcise our heating system.a aOf course,a he says; aso why donat you write about that?a The answer is that I do not write ghost stories. That is to say, I do not invent them. I simply confide to you the uncanny things that have happened to me since I a.s.sociated myself with this College. If I were to come before you with a merely invented tale, I should feel myself to be an impostor. No: I tell you only what is true. aLiterally true?a Professor Baines might ask. No, for literal truth is not the truth of uncanny things. They belong to the realm of psychic, of subjective truth. It would be quite outside my powers to invent a scientific ghost story. My typewritera"which is a scientific marvel, and consequently always in a very delicate state of healtha"would refuse its task. Nevertheless I am not, I a.s.sure you, a stranger to science. I am steeped in it, but it is not of the kind that is in vogue in this university at the moment. It is the science of past ages.

This was brought forcibly to my attention last Christmas, which is to say, during the academic year of 1974-75. It is a period that will go down in the history of Ma.s.sey College as The Year of the Two Hall Dons. A Hall Don, I should explain for those of you who are not familiar with the term, is the elected head of the Junior Fellows of the College, and a very important person. Last year we had two of them. One resigned at Christmas for reasons ofa"well, Iam going to tell you why, though at the time we agreed to say that it was because his work on behalf of the NDP became too demanding to permit him to give adequate attention to his College obligations. He was succeededa"for such is politicsa"by a man who was in almost every way his direct opposite. The second Hall Don was a man of balanced mind and calm and reflective temperamenta"a natural Conservative. The first Hall Don was a student of law, and it was a matter for wonder that he was able to keep up with his demanding legal study, while apparently giving so much of his time to the NDP. Obviously he possessed, in the highest degree, those qualities which lead to success at the bar. I need not tell you in disgusting detail what those are.

Superficially, both men seemed to be devoted to truth, as it may be determined by argumenta"hours and hours of complicated argumenta"and a close consideration of objective evidence. But the Conservative Don was a student of history, and thus a slave of Romance. The Legal Don, as a lawyer, was supposedly wedded to fact, but aha"beneath the surface he was involved in a study which does not accord with truth and evidence as we now know thema"though I will not go so far as to say it was a study without its application in legal practice. He was an astrologer.

He made no secret of it. He cast horoscopes right and left. He cast one for me, and indeed published it in the College paper, The Bull. But it was to me alone that he confided its deeper meanings. aYou are very strongly under the influence of Jupiter,a he said, in his deep, thrilling voice. aOh, jolly good,a said I, uneasily. When I am uneasy I often fall into the colloquial speech of an earlier day. aNot jolly good at all,a he boomed, and his splendid, glowing eyes darkened. aJupiter is the bringer of energy, right? But can we tell what he is going to do with his energy? He may put it at the service of forces that are destructive, right? Now, you have an equally strong influence from Saturn. Just suppose your Jupiter throws himself, thunderbolts and all, behind your Saturn? What then? Saturn is maleficent, so your Saturn backed up by your Jupiter produces an evil influence of incalculable force.a And there he stopped, but he gazed into my eyes hypnotically. aWhat would you say that indicated?a said I, with a pitiable affectation of carelessness. aBetter you shouldnat know,a said he. aWhat must be, must be, right?a I did everything a reasonable man would do under such circ.u.mstances. I attempted to dismiss the subject from my mind. Astrology, I told myself, is a science of the past. It is utterly discredited. Its place has been taken by Sociology, Guidance Counselling and Educational Theory. Who believes in astrology now?

Ah, that was the trouble. Though I am not a whole-hearted believer in astrology as such, I was brought up a Presbyterian, and thus I am inclined to believe bad news from virtually any source. And my own observations of history have convinced me that behind what has pa.s.sed as science, in whatever age and however absurd, there lurk some ill-perceived, phantasmal truths. I began to fret. When would my Jupiter throw all his unthinking, capricious force behind my malignant Saturn, and bring me toa"to what? To what abyss of disgrace, to what towering folly, toa"? My mind abounded in horrors: the hangnail that turns to gangrenea"the safety-belt that becomes a hangmanas noose. Whenever I met the Hall Don, I thought I saw pity in his l.u.s.trous eye.

It was at about this time last yeara"the time when Christmas is imminenta"that the presence of this strangely learned man and his grim predictions gave me an unforgettable nighta"a night which destroyed forever my conception of this College as an abode of peace and academic decorum. It was exactly a year ago this very nighta"the night of St. Lucyas Day, and also Friday 13. It is my custom, when I have been working late, to take a turn or two around the quad before I go to bed, in search of fresh air and that quieting of spirit which the darkness of night brings. As I strolled through the early winter mist, I became aware of a strange light in one of the College windows. Some windows were dark, some illumined by electric light, but this window was lit by a blue flame that undulated and quivered in a manner that could only mean one thing. Fire!

I darted into the residence where that window was, and with all the energy of my abundant Jupiter I bounded up the stair. I came to the door, and saw by the card that it was the door of our astrological Hall Don. Easily seen through the crack by the floor the curious blue light darted and flickered.

Never before had I used my master key to open the door of a private room, but this was an emergency, and I did so without hesitation. I threw open the door, ready to leap backward if there should be a rush of flame, but although the room was filled with curious light, there was no fire in the ordinary sense. A wooden box, of handsome workmanship, stood on one of the shelves, and it was from it that the blue light came.

Foolish people have called me impractical, but in an emergency I am lion-like. I rushed into the nearby bathroom, soaked a heavy towel in water, carried it back, and with deft, masterful movements I wrapped the box in it. That, I thought, will settle the hash of whatever conflagration lurks inside. But judge of my amazement when the blue light, instead of being quenched, came through the wet towel and filled the room, as before.

Nor was this the only circ.u.mstance that made my eyes start, and my hair stand on end. From beneath the towel I heard soundsa"first a heavy sigh, and then a tiny, pleading voice, crying: aIf you please, sir! Oh, my preserver, my n.o.ble friend! Let me out, I beseech! Let me out in the name of Ahriman, the All Powerful!a What would you have done? I acted without an instant of indecision. Not, I a.s.sure you, from excess of daring, but from a vastly greater positive influencea"from curiosity. I was in the room of our astrologer-Hall Don, and it lay in my power to discover some of his strange secrets. I tore away the soaking towel. But of course the box was locked.

aThe key,a cried the tiny voice. aThe key is under his pillow!a It was the work of an instant to find it, to unlock the box, anda"what did my eyes behold?

Inside, cradled in velvet, was a globular crystal bottle, from which the blue radiance flooded the room. I lifted it, and it appeared to be filled with a mesh of deep golden threads. But as I gazed, there peeped through the golden wire, as I took it to be, a tiny face, like a piece of exquisitely carved old ivory. Its expression was imploring, and close to it two pretty little hands were clasped in anguish.

All prudence cried Watch your step! But all curiosity said Uncork him! So I did.

There was a rushing as of a mighty wind. A blue radiance shot upward to the ceiling, and there, on the desk before me appeared a little man, no bigger than a child of two, and I saw that the golden threads were a superb golden beard, that hung to his waist.

aA thousand thanks!a he cried. aAnd of course, the usual reward. Whatas your will?a aGreat Scot,a I exclaimed. (I was, of course, invoking the spirit of Michael Scot, the medieval expert on magic and the occult, whose works are my favourite bedside reading). aAre you a genie?a An expression of absurd vanity overspread the mannikinas face, and he combed his fingers through the luxuriant beard. aIndeed,a said he; aI am the Genie With the Light Brown Hair. My name is Asmodeus.a aThe Devil on Two Sticks,a I cried, in amazement, for he was not a person I had ever expected to see in Ma.s.sey College.

aAs you may observe, I am slightly lame,a he said, ruefully, displaying two little ivory crutches which he had kept hidden beneath his robe. aNow, dear friend, how may I reward you?a My senses swam. Should I then and there deliver the College from all future care by asking for a generous addition to our endowment funda"something in the order of a few million lakhs of rupees, or perhaps a conveniently located emerald mine? But I knew my Michael Scot, and I knew what tricky fellows these genies could be. Caution, caution, I whispered to myself.

aBefore we talk of that, may I not have the inestimable boon of a few minutesa conversation?a I asked. aWe are quite accustomed to distinguished visitors here, but the Never-Too-Highly-To-Be-Esteemed Asmodeus, the Devil on Two Sticks himself, is a catch even for us. Now I know you wonat be offended if I ask for some identification?a aAsk what you please,a said he. aI know you academics; you love oral examinations. Fire away.a aWell then,a said I, ajust as a starter, tell me the precise number of angels in the Heavenly Host.a aThe figure is 301,655,722,a said he, with satisfaction.

aYou mean, that was the figure in the fourteenth century,a said I.

aI am essentially a fourteenth century genie,a said he. aHave I pa.s.sed?a aNot so fast,a I countered. aSuppose you tell me the interpretation and origin of the word Abracadabra.a aIt is from the Hebrew,a said he, aand it is a corruption of abreq ad habra. It means Hurl your thunderbolt even unto death. Have I pa.s.sed?a aNot yet,a said I. aI am devoted to the old Three Question Formula, so familiar in folklore and magic. But you are doing well, and it is our humane custom in this university to give the examinee a short break at half time. Perhaps you would like a drink?a I had perceived that the absent Hall Don had left an Italian wine bottle on one of his shelves, in which, through some oversight, a few drops remained. I was about to offer it to my guest, but he murmured, aNo, no; allow me,a and produced from the air a very fancy bottle of something purple, and two richly chased golden goblets. So I accepted some of that, and although it had a typically Oriental sweetness, it wasnat at all bad.

aI am wondering what your next question will be,a said Asmodeus, smiling with a corresponding Oriental sweetness as he filled our gla.s.ses for the second time.

aSo am I,a I said frankly. aIt is rarely that I have a chance to ask questions of someone so well informed as I am sure you must be. You devils know everything, and I want to know everything, so where am I to begin?a He laughed, and, presumably because of the wine, it was like the sound of little silver bells heard through some mucilaginous substance, like mola.s.sesa"charming but gummy. aOh, I a.s.sure you we devils donat know everything,a said he. aWe have to confine ourselves very much to our own departments, which are growing all the time.a aYou mean you have departments of evil,a said I.

aI wish you wouldnat call it evil, in that narrow, ignorant way,a said he. aYou people of this world would be very badly off without what you speak of as evil. But of course h.e.l.l is heavily departmentalized, and no single devila"except, naturally, our Great Master, Ahrimana"can know everything. We have an elaborate and rapidly growing Uncivil Service, composed of departments and sub-departments, and bureaux and special committees of investigation, and all the apparatus of government. We are very busy. Now I give my attention to the Law. Indeed, all legal knowledge is summed up in me.a His eyes darted around our Hall Donas room, and they were dark with fear. aThat is how I was so foolish as to fall under the power ofa"him.a aHe argued you to a standstill?a I asked.

Asmodeus lowered his eyes in shame. aYou have heard of arguing the hind leg off a donkey? Something of the sort happened to me. Hence these crutches, and my pitiful imprisonment.a I was overwhelmed by vulgar curiosity. I have always wanted to know more about h.e.l.l. aDo you, yourself, do much tormenting?a I asked.

aTormenting?a said he, apparently at a loss.

aOf the d.a.m.ned souls,a I said. aDo you spend much time prodding them with pitchforks, or s.n.a.t.c.hing gla.s.ses of ice-water from their burning lips? Do you do much in that line?a He seemed to recover his spirits, and laughed the silvery, but gummy laugh. aWhat a baby you are,a he said. aHavenat I told you we have an Uncivil Service? The d.a.m.ned are kept busy, toiling away in rooms where there is only artificial light, and the only ventilation is entirely with conditioned air, doing all sorts of dismal jobs which permit them to pay the taxes that maintain the Uncivil Service. Anda"this is the cream of ita"they are quite unable to strike.a aBut have you no lake of burning pitch?a said I. aAnd how about the Conqueror Worm That Dieth Not?a aThat is very old-fashioned thinking,a said he. aThe lake of burning pitch gave place long ago to a system of committees; every d.a.m.ned soul is a member of several interlocking committees, and the worst of them have what they call working lunches, where they are made to devour bad food and drink disgusting coffee while discussing projects from which all hope has been drained away. As for the Conqueror Worm That Dieth Not, we have banquets at which people make speeches that have no foreseeable end, about ideas that have no foreseeable application.a aIt sounds horribly familiar,a said I, in wonderment.

aIt is,a said he. aWe in h.e.l.l are always ready to learna"a aStop,a I cried. aYou neednat go ona"I know what you are going to say. You also have Study Groups, Symposiums, and Weekend Seminars, donat you?a aOf course,a said he; awhere would h.e.l.l learn more than from the universities? And we are splendidly thorough. We learn all there is to be learned. For instance, I am sure I know more about this College than you do.a aI should not be in the least surprised,a said I. aIt has never been one of my delusions that I knew much about this place. I am sure all sorts of things go on here that never reach my ears.a aYou underestimate yourself,a said he. aThey reach your ears, but you donat know how to interpret them. And that may be just as well, for if you did, sleep would become a stranger to your pillow. For instance, you know that Junior Fellow of whom you have been tempted to think well, because he appears in Chapel whenever Communion is celebrated.a aI do,a said I.

aWould you think so well of him if you knew that he conceals the Communion wafer under his tongue, and carries it back to his room, unconsumed?a said he.

I turned pale. aAnd what does he do with it then?a I asked.

aThe same thing that he did with the palms he removed from the Chapel on last Palm Sunday,a said Asmodeus.

aSurely you are going to tell me what that was?a said I.

aWhy surely? Because I am a devil, do you suppose I have no honour? Our code is very stricta"stricter than yoursa"and I shanat tell you a thing.a He was getting somewhat above himself, as devils are apt to do. But I am not wholly without experience of devils, and I know a trick or twoa"and a word or two that they fear. I looked meaningly toward the bottle, and wondered if I would utter a word which would make him squeeze himself back inside it. He must have read my thoughts, for he immediately became all compliance.

aYou mustnat mind my little bit of fun,a he said, with a cringe. aOf course I shall tell you anything you want to know. And this is such a very peculiar college that no one could possibly keep up with all the strange happenings here. Shall we make a little tour? You would find it of the most unusual interest.a Should I have refused? Yes, I should never have let him leave the room where the bottle was. My control of the situation meant control of the bottle. But curiositya"ah, fatal curiosity! I nodded, and in an instant I felt myself wafted out of the window, seemingly wrapped in the little demonas robe, and we floated around the quadrangle most comfortably, looking in the windows. What we saw was pretty much what you would expect. There were Junior Fellows working, and Junior Fellows not working, and people playing cards, and people talking earnestly, and one or two scenes from which a modest man would have averted his eyesa"but modesty has never been one of my foibles. There were rooms that looked like jungles, because the inhabitants were fond of potted plants: and there were rooms, usually those of mathematicians, as bare of any signs of human habitation as a Ma.s.sey College room can be. In one room a young man was stirring a variety of little test tubes, which he warmed from time to time over a candle. I knew the man; he was a young immunologist.

aYou see, he is making his perfume essence,a said Asmodeus, aand he will sell it as do-it-yourself perfume kits: simply add gin and stir. Makes the wearer irresistible, especially to lovers of gin. That is how he pays his way through the university.a From the window of another room floated a rich mingling of aromas-of soaps and langorously scented unguents. aThat is the room of your next Hall Dona"the Conservative one,a said Asmodeus; ahe is devoted to the pleasure of the bath. It is the only weakness in a character of Roman austerity.a I was surprised to hear him speak of another Hall Don, but I nodded in agreement. aYou do not suggest that there is anything unusual about any of this, do you?a I asked.

aNot this,a said he; abut there is much more to the College than what may be seen through these windows. Look here.a Without knowing it, I had been wafted inside the building, into a chamber unknown to me, and icy cold. Then I knew where I was; it was the large freezer, adjacent to the kitchens. On every side were trays of cold meat, and from a number of large hooks hung full sides of what I a.s.sumed to be carca.s.ses that had not yet been cut up.

aNow this is a place of special interest,a said Asmodeus. He tapped one of the hanging slabs of meat, and it gave out a dull sound, unlike either meat or wood, unpleasant to the ear. aWho would you suppose that was?a he asked.

aWho?a said I, with sinking heart.

His deferential smile turned to an evil leer. aWhoa"or what?a said he. aHard to say, isnat it?a aYou cannot meana"a cried I, and whether it was horror, or the dreadful cold of the place, my voice died in my throat.

aI donat mean anything, in particular,a said he, enjoying himself immensely. aBut it is a commonplace of legal knowledge that murder is more often committed by cooks than any other profession. Donat you ever wonder what became of that Junior Fellow who was here last year, and who wrote such unpleasant things about the food in the Suggestion Book?a aHe left to study elsewhere. In the States, I believe,a said I.

aOf course that is what you believe. But you donat know,a said Asmodeus.

aGive me your word that that is baby beef,a I demanded.

aVery well; I give you my word,a said he, with a subtle smile. And that was when I realized with dismay that the bottle to which I could so easily have returned him was still in the Hall Donas room, and that I had been out-generalled. Or, to be more accurate, out-devilled.

aYour teeth are chattering,a said he, aand it is a sound I never could abide. Let us leave this place.a And in a flash we were somewhere elsea"somewhere very high above the quadrangle. We were, indeed, on the top of the clock-tower. Ill-natured critics of this building have said that the ornament on the top of our tower looks like a large diningroom chair, and indeed, there I was, sitting on it, with Asmodeus cuddled snugly in my lap.

How was I to get down? I knew that such a devil as Asmodeus might cast me down. I must be very careful to do nothing that might provoke my nasty little guest.

aYes, indeed you must,a said Asmodeus, and once again I understood that my thoughts were an open book to him.

And then I thought of Douglas Baines, and his desire for a scientific ghost story. aCanat we be scientific about this whole affair?a said I; asurely you and I can arrive at some arrangement that does not involve my being cast down from this high place?a aWe can be as scientific as you please,a said he. aWe can even use the language of science. Letas try computer science: itas very much in vogue. Let us establish the parameters of our problem. Then letas extrapolate. Here we sita"I comfortably and you uncomfortablya"indulging in meaningful interface on the top of the College tower. You donat like me. I heard you think so. If we are to reach a conclusion agreeable to us both, you must immediately cease this negative input, and embrace a more positive modality. If you were to fall in the pool from here, it would not go well with you. You are a man of heavy frame and unathletic habit of life. The world would a.s.sume that, like so many academics, you had wearied of working lunches and self-perpetuating committees, and had taken flight to a quarter where you foolishly believed that they no longer existed.a aI know,a I said; athey would suppose that my abundant Jupiter influence had at last put itself squarely behind my malign Saturnian influence, and I had committed suicide.a aWhatas all that about your Jupiter and your Saturn?a said Asmodeus, p.r.i.c.king up his ears.

I told him. aThe man who had you in the bottle told me that,a said I. aAnd as he is an astrologer, I suppose he ought to know.a Asmodeus laughed as I never expected to hear a devil laugh. He laughed until the tinkling of silver bells found the resonating note of the great St. Catharine bell in our tower, and it seemed to be laughing too, and the whole quadrangle resounded with Tinkle-Boom, Tinkle-Boom. The resonance of the great bell struck upward through the block of masonry on which I sat and at every Boom a disagreeable thrill ravished my person. Several of the Junior Fellows threw open their windows to see what was happening, but of course they never thought of looking so high as where I sat, in that terrible chair.

When he could speak, he said: aHe is not an astrologer, only an apprentice. If he were a fully-trained astrologer he would already be Leader of the NDP. I shall tell you a secret, though I realize it weakens my own hold over you. He has quite overlooked the fact that you are a Double Virgo.a aI am?a said I. aIs that good?a aOh, very good,a said Asmodeus. aJolly good, I should say. You see, he reckoned your horoscope from the instant of your birth. Good enough, so far as it goes. But the horoscopes of the Children of the Double Signa"to which special group it would be clear to a more experienced astrologer that you belonga"must be reckoned from the instant of the Second Birth, which is to say, from the hour of your Baptism. And that is quite a different pair of pyjamas. By your true horoscope, you appear as a man powerfully under the protection of Mercurius, which brings you good fortune and a deliverance from all adversity. After a while, thatas to say. You always have quite a spell of adversity first.a aSo what do you see in store for me?a said I.

aYou will shortly be working with a new Hall Don,a said he. aA delightful fellow, a committed Conservative, the soul of reason, and extremely clean in his personal habits.a He smiled, as if he had given me a great gift. But I had another point to make. aI donat imagine that the Benevolent Mercurius will allow you to throw me down from this tower,a I said, and looked him right in the eye.

He looked back, just as steadily. aNo, that is so,a he said, abut I am not obliged to fly you down to earth, either. Good-bye!a aWait,a I cried; awhere are you going?a aOh, now that I am free once again,a said Asmodeus, aI shall raise h.e.l.l in the Law School, instead of being the exclusive slave of your Hall Don.a And he rose lightly from my lap, and with his two little crutches tucked under his robe, he flew off into the night, in the direction of the Law School.

By exertions which I still groan to think of, I got down from my stone chair, anda"oh, vertigo!a"reached the ladder that is fixed on the inside of our tower. It is not a descent I recommend to anyone, amid the rigours of a winter night. But at last, weary and trembling, I stood on firm ground again.

And before I went to my bed, I crept once more up to the room of the Hall Don who now, I foresaw, would be compelled to retire, and removed the bottle. For Asmodeus was a self-confident little devil and he may return. And when he does, I have the bottle, and I know the magic word; Asmodeus would be the ideal collaborator on my next booka"University Administration as a Preparation for h.e.l.l.

Conversations with the Little Table

Ma.s.sey College is troubled with ghosts, much as lesser fabrics are troubled with mice; the most resolute determination is powerless to keep them away. Until this year, however, I have congratulated myself that they have kept clear of the part of the College that is reserved for the private quarters of myself and my family. Only once, many years ago, did a ghost tap at my bedroom door, and when I answered he quickly led me into the College proper. But of course a time had to come when I would find a ghost in the Lodgings. Anyone could have foreseen it.

It has always been my desire to keep my private life and my college life apart. If the ghost that visited me in the Masteras Lodging had been a personal spectre, I would not trouble you about the matter now. But he had an undoubted relationship with the College as a whole; indeed it might be said that he was, at least in origin, a source of pride to the College. Two apparently unconnected happenings brought him here. The first was the publication, during the year past, of Colonel Staceyas book A Very Double Life, about some aspects of the personal character of the late William Lyon Mackenzie King; it was a significant book, deservedly successful with the public, and I recall with what pleasure we toasted it, and its author, at High Table, where we always celebrate the achievements of members of our community. The other fact was that one of my daughters moved to Hamilton, and bought a house there.

How could two such unrelated happenings work together to produce a result in Ma.s.sey College? Those of you who have had experience of the occult world know that there is no chance a.s.sembly of facts that may not rouse an echo in the world of spirits. It happened like this: another of my daughters, who lives in Ottawa, wanted to send her sister a gift for her new home; she brought it to Toronto and left it with my wife and myself to be collected by the Hamilton daughter at some convenient time. It was a charming gift, a small table of the kind that antique dealers call an aoccasional tablea, an antique of attested Canadian craftsmanship. It was as a piece of Canadiana that its quality as a gift was raised above the commonplace; in every other respect it was just a nice little table.

aWhere did it come from?a I asked my daughter.

aOh, it has what the antique dealer called provenance,a she replied; ait came from the house of an Ottawa lady named Mrs. Patteson, who was quite well known in her time as a collector of unusual things, and unusual people.a The name meant nothing to me. We put the table in a room in our bas.e.m.e.nt, to wait until it was picked up. And for a number of reasons, that was not speedily.

This was in the early autumn, and until November the table remained where it had been put. It was on the night of November the firsta"All Soulsa Eve, as you will immediately have recognizeda"that I heard an unusual sound just after I had gone to bed; unusual because it was faint, but persistent. Loud sounds are not unknown in this neighbourhood during the night. Sounds attaining to the state of uproar may be heard, as students from the neighbouring colleges and residences rage through the streets, uttering cries which mount to the level of the Primal Scream. But this sound suggested a low but persistent tapping, as though someone were knocking; not the kind of knocking that one a.s.sociates with academic communitiesa"the tireless knocking of reputations and inst.i.tutionsa"but a light hammering. I strove to ignore it, but at last I rose and put on slippers and dressing-gown, and set out in search.

It was clear as soon as I left my bedroom that the sound was inside my own house, and my ear directed me to the cellar, to the door of a room not much used, where the Ottawa table was stored. I opened the door slowly, and to my astonishment the room was suffused with a soft lighta"a mauve lighta"strongest in an open s.p.a.ce in which stood the Little Table, anda"wondrous in the tellinga"the Little Table seemed to be dancing a jig.

Far be it from me to pretend that I am a man of unusual courage, but in my own house I suffer no nonsense from anything, animate or inanimate. I put my hand on the Table and I forced it to stand still. But when I took my hand away something happened that shattered my self-possession: the table moved toward me and began to rub itself against me in a manner that suggested a dog, but a dog with a more than dog-like intelligence. The table was fondling me.

I am sure that many of you are acquainted with the book on Canadian furniture written by the great expert on that subject, Scott Symons; in it he a.s.serts that Canadian furniture, at its finest, has a sensuous quality that can be, in certain instances, positively erotic. He saysa"and I have no reason to doubt his worda"that on one occasion, during a meal, a dining table caressed his knee. Ghosts I can cope with, but erotic furniture destroys my self-possession; I rushed out of the room and upstairs, where my wife was still reading.

aYou are pale,a said she; ayou look as if you had seen a ghost.a aNot this time,a I replied; aitas that table downstairs. It tried to get fresh with me. I think I need a drink.a An ordinary woman might have laughed, or offered to get the drink, or perhaps some aspirin. But my wife is not an ordinary woman. She rose at once, tucked the book she was reading under her arm, and led the way back to the mysterious chamber.

The mauve light flickered eerily, and as we went in the tableas movementa"it was like dancinga"became almost frantic. My wife drew two chairs up to it, one on each side, and nodded to me to sit down. Then, to my astonishment, she placed her hands on the top of the table, with the fingers spread wide, and again nodded to me to do the same, with the ends of my fingers touching hers.

The response of the table was extraordinary. If ever a table might be said to give a sigh of relief, that was what it did. It became quiet, and almost soft under our hands; it seemed to be waiting.

aWhatas up?a I whispered.

My wife said nothing, but nodded to her book, which she had placed on the floor. I saw that it was Colonel Staceyas book, A Very Double Life.

aThis must be the Little Table,a said she.

It is a commonplace to say that women have extraordinary powers of intuition. As soon as she had spoken I understood the connection. Because, as those of you know who have read it, that book describes how the late Prime Minister, and his lifelong friend and a.s.sociate in spiritualism, Mrs. Patteson, used to spend long, rapt hours with a Little Table, by means of which they communicated with the spirits of the dead. Little Table; Mrs. Patteson; at last I understood.

The Little Table! The table dignified, or perhaps I should say hallowed, by all those conversations Mr. King recorded in his diary, and Professor Stacey had made known to us. I felt myself uplifted, to be thus involved witha"and indeed snuggled up to bya"an object so rich in a.s.sociation. The psychic history of Canada is scant, and here I was, so to speak, getting in on the ground floor! I felt myself unworthy. I felt that I should at once telephone to Professor Stacey, or to Maurice Careless, and ask them to come at once fora"well, for what? I didnat know what the Little Table had, so to speak, on its mind.

I know the proceeding for getting answers from tables when they are in a communicative mood. I spoke.

aThe usual thing, I presume?a I said. aOne rap for yes; two for no, and otherwise raps in series indicating the letters of the alphabet. Is that what you have in mind?a Firmly, and it seemed to me joyously, the Little Table knocked once. That is to say it gave a quick tap with one tiny hoof upon the floor. It had said Yes.

aAre you there, Mrs. Patteson?a I said.

Two taps, in rather a pettish mood.

aThen who are you?a said I.

The table burst into a gunfire of tapping that startled me. aJust a minute,a I said; anot quite so fast.a Again the table rattled out its message. I am not at my best when confronted with problems involving figures. There seemed to be a great many taps. aDid you say Z?a I asked. aNo, no,a my wife whispered; ait was twenty-one taps. What is twenty-one? How many letters are there in the alphabet?a aTwenty-eight, of course,a I hissed. aWould you mind repeating?a The Little Table gave two vicious little kicks, one to each side. My wife took it on the ankle, I on the shin. Then it rattled away in its telegraphic style, like one of those old-fashioned Morse instruments one heard clicking in the railway stations of an earlier day.

It was hopeless. aWill you wait a moment,a said I. aI want to make a helpful little chart.a It used to be said that cobbleras children were always barefoot; by some kindred freak of Fate authoras houses are always barren of pencils and paper. But at last I found what I wanted, and laboriously wrote out the alphabet, whicha"try as I mighta"proved to have only twenty-six letters, and to each letter I a.s.signed a number. I didnat quite dare to lay this handy device on the Little Table; I feared it might scorn the simplicity of my mind. So I put it beside me on the floor. aNow fire away,a I said; awho is speaking, please?a Spiteful little beast that it was, the table now tapped with tedious, insulting slowness. But at least it was possible to follow its message. Twenty-three taps.

aV,a said my wife. aNo, no; it was X,a said I.

Again those spiteful kicks. I should explain that the Little Table had what furniture experts call aball-and-claw feeta, and it hurt. Then it tapped again, even more slowly.

This time we got it right. aW,a we exclaimed in concert. The table tapped once.

aA,a said I.

aNo, it means yes,a said my wife. aIt was W.a Next time, twelve slow taps. L. Then thirteen taps. M. Then eleven taps. K.

aW L M K,a said I. aDoesnat mean a thing.a I still bear the marks of the ferocious attack of the ball-and-claw feet. But I have mentioned that women have extraordinary intuition. aWilliam Lyon Mackenzie King,a said my wife, in a low, reverential tone; ait must be Mr. King himself.a We rose and bowed to the Little Table, and it tipped its stout little person in ceremonious acknowledgement.

When I am not on duty as Master of this College I allow myself to use certain slang expressions that were current in my youth. aNow weare cooking with gas,a I said. And the Little Table rapped once. Yes.