Ye of Little Faith Part 8

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 a.s.suming 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, "h.e.l.lo!"

"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. "h.e.l.lo? Thirteen? Who's speaking?

Oh, h.e.l.lo, 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 b.u.t.ton 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.