The Search for Joseph Tully

by William H Hallahan

  “That depends, Mr. Carson, on what you mean by spirit world.”

  “I’m talking about transmigration of souls. Reincarnation. Spiritual limbo. Metapsychosis. I can tell you as a professional psychologist—”

  “Mr. Clabber is making an extensive study of that subject,” said Mrs. Quist. “And I have had many occasions to delve into it myself.”

  Christopher Carson frowned at her. “You mean you’re telling us you’ve contacted the spirit world?”

  “Many times, Mr. Carson. Many times.”

  “Now that’s just a plain crock of sheep dip.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Carson. Indeed.”

  “Are you going to tell me that you can prove reincarnation? That Bridey Murphy crap?”

  “Bridey Murphy was thoroughly documented—”

  “Ah, bull. Can you give me one scientifically documented case of reincarnation?”

  “Jess Stem’s Search for the Girl With the Blue Eyes.”

  “Ah, bull. I read it. Very equivocal. Inconclusive. Name another.”

  “Mr. Carson,” said Mrs. Quist sweetly, “I could go on all night and you could go ‘Ah, bull’ all night.”

  Carson addressed himself to Professor Abernathy. “See. These people are all big words and no proof. There’s not a shred —not a jot or tittle of proof.”

  “How do you know?” demanded Clabber.

  “I’ve made a study of it. Let me get you told, Clabber. Let me tell you something about that world of spooks you live in. When I was in college, I got involved in the study of hypnosis. We used a lot of subjects, many of whom could be hypnotized by the snap of a finger. One day, somebody brought in a little girl and they hypnotized her. When she was under she identified herself as a little girl who lived in Savannah, Georgia, just before the Civil War.”

  “What kind of controls did you use? How do you program feedbacks to prevent spillovers from current consciousness to the unconscious?”

  “Hold on to your drawers, Clabber. I’ll get to that.” Christopher Carson puffed on his cigar, cocked an eye at Mrs. Quist and continued. ‘This girl became the eighth wonder of the universe. Everytime they put her under, they unearthed more stuff. Detailed stuff like you wouldn’t believe. She described vases and frames on paintings—oil portraits—and the porticos of long-gone plantation houses, costumes, dresses. And it was authentic right down to the nails and pegs. Why, for Pete’s sake, we had sketches made based on her descriptions and taken to antique dealers for verification. It was incredible. One day, she really outdid herself. She described an entire room of furnishings, piece by piece. Now, my roommate at the time was studying cinematography. And I came in one afternoon just agog with this stuff about this little girl. My roommate listened, fascinated. Finally he began to scratch his head thoughtfully. 'Hell, Chris’ he said, ‘this whole thing sounds very familiar…’ and just sat there scratching his head. All of a sudden, he snaps his fingers. ‘Gone With the Wind’ he said. And that was it. This little kid had seen Gone With the Wind eight or ten times until it was part of her unconscious mind. And that’s exactly what’s going on with most of these amazing reincarnation stories. We have an incredible passion for exact reproductions in our movies, novels, plays and magazines. All of us have our heads stuffed with movie sets from every period in history. Most reincarnations are nothing but remembered movie sets. Say what you want about the scientific spirit. It has a very healthy skepticism. And I never yet met one of your spook nuts who had even a trace of skepticism. You believe anything that you want.”

  “Have you ever attended a séance, Mr. Carson?” asked Mrs. Quist.

  “What’s that got to do with it? You people are as elusive as a puff of smoke.”

  “Why, everything. You’re evading an answer. You’ve never been to one, and yet you claim to have made a study.”

  Abigail Withers steered Griselda Vandermeer into the group. “Now. Griselda is going to do her club act. Let’s see. Who’ll be first?”

  “Abby,” said Christopher Carson, “are you changing the subject?”

  “Ah. Yes. Griselda is going to tell your fortunes with her cards.”

  “Oh sure,” said Carson. “Griselda honey, what are your credentials?”

  “Hmmmmm?” She smiled sweetly at him.

  “Credentials. Do you really think you can tell fortunes?” “Oh-well.”

  “Well—what? Do you or don’t you? Are you with them or with us?”

  “Well. I don’t really tell fortunes-”

  “See?”

  “Wait,” said Mrs. Quist. “Let her finish.”

  Griselda looked at Mrs. Quist. “I just normally read the good cards and skip the rest.

  Mrs. Quist pursed her lips. “Tell me, Griselda. What do you do if you see real danger in the cards? Do you warn your subject?”

  “Oh. Most of the time, to tell the truth, Mrs. Quist, I leave the bad cards right out of the deck.”

  “What? But you can’t. You can’t get a true reading.”

  “Mrs. Quist, I do this for a living to entertain people. That’s all it is.”

  Christopher Carson snorted.

  “Do you have a full deck with you tonight?” asked Mrs. Quist.

  “Almost. I’ve left out just the thirty-six numeral cards.”

  Mrs. Quist shrugged. “Well, at least you didn’t leave out the bad cards.”

  “Well, let’s do a reading for Mr. Carson,” said Abby Withers. “Oh, come on,” Carson protested.

  Griselda took the oversize cards out of a wooden box. “This is a very good deck. Are you familiar with the four suits of the tarot deck?”

  “Oh, I suppose,” said Carson.

  “Suppose?” exclaimed Mrs. Quist. “Name the four suits.”

  “Oh. Come on.”

  “Name the suits,” demanded Mrs. Quist. She waited. “As I thought. The vaunted scientist doesn't even know what he's condemned out of hand. I submit, Mr. Carson, that if there’s a fraud in this room, it is you.”

  “Oh, bull.”

  “You already said that. You seem to have a very limited vocabulary.”

  “Lay out the cards, Griselda,” said Mrs. Withers with her elfish smile.

  “Let’s see. Who’ll be first?”

  “Oh, me,” said Ruth Abernathy. “I volunteer.”

  Mrs. Quist exchanged a glance with Albert Clabber and shrugged again.

  Peter Richardson arrived with a card table. He opened the legs and set it down.

  Griselda Vandermeer looked around the array of faces. “There are forty-two cards in my deck. These are the four suits: Pence, Swords, Wands, and Cups. Now I’ll shuffle the deck.” They stood in a group around the table watching her beautiful hands skillfully, with fluttering motions, blend, merge and collate the cards. The cards stuttered and snapped briskly. “Now,” she said. “Would you like to cut the deck, Mr. Carson?”

  Sourly, Carson stuck his cigar in his mouth, then reached out a fist and rapped once on the deck.

  “Done,” said Griselda Vandermeer. She picked up the deck and counted thirteen cards off the top. She laid down the rest of the deck.

  “This is called a thirteen-card oracle.” She placed the first card face down at the center of the table and looked at Ruth Abernathy. “This is the Card of You, Mrs. Abernathy. We’ll come back to it. Meantime, do you have any question you’d like to ask the cards? Or is there a wish you’d like to make?”

  Christopher Carson brushed a hand at her and blew cigar smoke at the ceiling.

  “Oh, come on, Chris,” said Ruth Abernathy. “Yes, I’ll make a wish.”

  “This is silly,” said Carson.

  Griselda counted off four cards face down. “This is the oracle of the tarot. We’ll come back to them at the end. It will tell you about your wish.”

  She placed a card face down just to the left of the You Card. “This is the Card of the Recent Past.” She laid another above the You card. “This is the Card of Now.” She placed the third card to the right of the Yo
u Card. “This is the Card of the Trimester Hence.” She laid the fourth card below the You Card. “And this is the Card of the Year to Come.” She repeated the process with the four remaining cards. “Now. You can see there are two cards in each position. Two to the left, two to the right, two above and two below the Card of You. We’ll start with the center card.” She turned it up. “This is the Card of You. Hmmm. It is the Card of Temperance. It says that you are a gentle person, moderate in your habits and outlook, a good money manager and home economist. It also indicates a competing interest outside your marriage. A career, perhaps?”

  Ruth Abernathy looked thoughtfully at Griselda Vander-meer.

  “It also indicates firmness of purpose,” continued Griselda. “And this card-”

  Christopher Carson snorted.

  “Mr. Carson,” said Griselda, “I don’t make this up as I go along. I read the symbolic meaning of the cards as they lie. Now, this is a Card of the Recent Past, Mrs. Abernathy.”

  “Call me Ruth.”

  “It’s the King of Wands. A good card. It signifies honesty. It means a good marriage. And it often indicates an inheritance.”

  “Oh, that’s true. I inherited three thousand dollars from an aunt two years ago.”

  “It may also mean good advice that you didn’t take.”

  “Oh, come on,” exclaimed Christopher Carson. “Everyone’s life is filled with good advice they didn’t take.”

  Griselda Vandermeer smiled winningly at him. “Yes,” she said. She turned up the next card. “The King of Pence is your second Card of the Recent Past. It symbolizes a brown-haired man with blue eyes.”

  “Oh, I’ve got one of those,” said Ruth Abernathy, and she turned to smile at her husband.

  “It is the card of a highly placed business executive or a professor.”

  “Come on,” cried Christopher Carson. “You’ve just made that up.”

  Griselda smiled at him and turned to look at Mrs. Quist.

  “Griselda is quite right, Mr. Carson. The King of Pence points quite clearly to a brown-haired, blue-eyed college professor. In fact, with the King of Wands, it indicates that the querent has married a brown-haired, blue-eyed professor and can expect an unusually happy marriage.”

  Carson shook his head and turned partly away from the crowded table. “Ah, bull.”

  Griselda Vandermeer reached out and turned up a card above the Center Card of the You. “This is the first Card of Now. It tells you about your current state of affairs. This is the Ace of Cups. It’s a card of fertility^—babies. Contentment, the warmth of the hearth.”

  Ruth Abernathy touched her mouth with her fingertips. “I’m pregnant?”

  Griselda Vandermeer spread her hands in mild helplessness. “I can’t say. It may simply mean a warm and happy home.” She reached for the second Card of Now. “This is the Knight of Wands. It means movement, change. It symbolizes an alteration in residence—”

  “Well, that’s true,” said Ruth Abernathy. “We’re all of us moving out of here.” She nodded her head emphatically at Christopher Carson. He saluted her with his scoffer’s smile.

  “It can also mean a confusion about your future plans—”

  “Now that’s true,” said Ruth Abernathy. “If I don’t get pregnant pretty soon, I’m going back to teaching.”

  Carol Carson gave Professor Abernathy a poke with heT finger. “Get to work.”

  He looked at her. “Take your own advice.”

  Carol Carson flushed, lowered her eyes and then glanced sullenly at her husband. “Oh, sure.”

  “There’s also a possibility of a gift from a relative—a rich relative.”

  “Well,” Ruth Abernathy reflected. “My Aunt Alice just gave me a bowl from her cut-glass collection. But she’s not very rich.”

  “Oh, come on, Ruth,” said Carson. “Stop trying so hard. This is all make-believe and innuendo and guess. Not one hard fact.”

  Griselda reached for a card to the right of the center card. “This is the first Card of the Trimester Hence. It tells about the next three months or so. Let’s see. This is the Card of the World. A good sign. It indicates a change in residence, too, and that backs up the Knight of Wands Card of Now. It points to a voyage of some kind. But most of all it points to success in some undertaking. Maybe the next card will tell us.”

  “Pregnancy?” asked Ruth Abernathy. Everyone laughed.

  Griselda turned up the next Card of the Trimester Hence. “Oh. The King of Swords. This is the card of authority and judgment. If you undertake a lawsuit, you will be successful. You may get involved with a lawyer or a person who has been elected to office or even a doctor.”

  “A Ph.D.? Well, that’s Gordon. He’s a doctor of philosophy. That’s got to mean I’m going to have a successful undertaking with Gordon—”

  “Don’t say it,” said Carol Carson. Laughter was general around the table again.

  “Now,” said Griselda Vandermeer. “Here are the two Cards of the Year-to-Come. Let’s see. The first one is the Knight of Cups. A messenger. It means you will get a good business opportunity or an invitation of some kind, a job offer, maybe a visit from a friend with a gift of money. Let’s see—” She turned up the second Card of the Year-to-Come. “Oh, very good. This card is the Wheel of Fortune. It governs your fate and fortune. It predicts success in your chosen career. It means luck and happiness in your work. You’ve had marvelous cards.”

  “What about my wish?”

  “Now, Ruth,” said Christopher Carson. “Everyone knows what you wish for—even Gordon.” He led the laughter with his face beaming ceilingward.

  Griselda Vandermeer picked up the four Cards of the Oracle of the tarot. “The first card is—the Judgment. This is a good card if the others in the Oracle are good. It signifies rebirth, change of position or renewal. Let’s see the next card—oh my! The Ace of Pence. This is the very best card in the entire tarot deck. Happiness, complete contentment, ecstasy. Great wealth. And this card—the Queen of Cups. Success in marriage. Motherhood!”

  Everyone around the table applauded.

  “Forget that job, Ruth,” said Carol Carson.

  Griselda turned up the last card. “The Star. You can’t get better cards than these. This is the card of hope and a bright future.”

  Everyone applauded as a finale.

  Christopher Carson walked over to the bar and put his glass down. He nodded at Peter Richardson and watched him refill the glass.

  Gordon Abernathy followed him.

  “What a bunch of hocus pocus,” said Carson. “This occult stuff is the haven of sick minds. It relies on hallucinations, the whole phony business, and hallucination is the hallmark of the psychotic. And the psychotic just loves public condemnation anyway to shore up his persecution complex. Ninety-nine percent of all these people are paranoids who find plots against them everywhere. Most of them are absolutely convinced that someone is trying to kill them.”

  Peter Richardson’s pouring hand paused. “Kill them?” he asked.

  “Sure. That’s the world’s commonest complaint of the paranoids. 'Someone is trying to poison me. Someone is trying to get into my home and murder me in my sleep. Steal my job, get my girl, steal my invention.’ ”

  Richardson studied Carson’s face thoughtfully.

  7

  Richardson brought clean glasses from the kitchen. He saw Ozzie Goulart flanked by Clabber and Mrs. Quist. Goulart leaned forward to lower his head. He listened attentively to her low voice, then straightened up. He held up two palms to her, spoke briefly and walked away from them.

  They exchanged glances.

  8

  Griselda came over to the bar and plucked Richardson’s sleeve. “Come on. I’m dying to do you. If you’re going to inherit a million dollars, I want to be the first to know.”

  She strolled back to the table towing Richardson by the hand. Carson turned and watched her figure as she walked, then found his wife’s eyes on him. He shrugged and puffed on his ciga
r.

  “Observe,” said Griselda to Richardson, “my fingers never leave my hand.” As she shuffled the cards, Mrs. Quist strolled back to the table.

  Deftly, Griselda shuffled the deck. She smartly put the deck before Richardson. He cut them. She picked up the deck and counted off thirteen into a pile, putting the remainder of the deck aside. “Okay. The thirteen-card Oracle again.” Her hand put down the Card of You in the center of the table. She laid aside the four cards of the Oracle and then positioned the four piles of temporal cards. “Now.” She turned up the Card of You and paused. Hesitantly she put it back, still face down. She glanced at Mrs. Quist. In one scoop, she gathered up the cards again. Quickly she shuffled them.

  “What happened?” asked Richardson.

  “Nothing. Wrong card. We’ll do it again.” She put the shuffled deck before Richardson to cut. He knocked it with a knuckle and she picked it up, dealt the thirteen cards and quickly positioned them. She reached for the Card of You and paused again. Before Richardson could make a move, she skimmed up the thirteen cards and placed them back on the deck and quickly shuffled them. “I think I’d like a drink first,” she said.

  “Now?” asked Richardson.

  “I’m very thirsty.” Griselda Vandermeer’s eyes avoided Anna Quist’s.

  “Finish the story you started to tell about the witch killing,” said Abby Withers.

  “Oh, well,” said Mrs. Quist. “That was a celebrated story in its time about an old woman. She lived in a pre-Revolutionary stone house out in the Gravesend section of Brooklyn. You know that section?”

  “Oh, it was lovely there when I was a girl.”

  “Yes. Well, this old lady I'm discussing was given to making predictions on crops and the weather, on children and such. Oh—some fifty years ago.”

  “Scry?”

  “Oh, I think not. I don’t think she had any training at all. A natural clairvoyant, perhaps. She was a recluse mostly, although friendly enough to her neighbors. Anyway, there was another woman in the neighborhood—a Mrs. Dimmity. Very religious she was, and she condemned the old woman’s prognostications cut of hand. Bad-mouthed her as a fake, don’t you see? Well, in the spring of the year, Mrs. Dimmity’s roses were all blighted, and she accused the old woman of putting a curse on them—a very strange ability for a woman who wasn’t supposed to have such an ability, if you read me.”