The Six Fingers of Time
Page 6
faceless men."Nothing is proved until it is over with. And in this case, if itis ever over with, then it is disproved. And all that time wouldone not be tempted to wonder, 'What if, after all, it ends in thenext minute?'"
"I imagine that if we survive the flesh we will receive some sortof surety," said Vincent.
"But you are not sure either of such surviving or receiving. Now_we_ have a very close approximation of eternity. When time ismultiplied by itself, and that repeated again and again, doesthat not approximate eternity?"
"I don't believe it does. But I will not be of you. One of youhas said that I am too fastidious. So now will you say thatyou'll destroy me?"
"No. We will only let you be destroyed. By yourself, you cannotwin the race with destruction."
After that Charles Vincent somehow felt more mature. He knew hewas not really meant to be a six-fingered thing of the pit. Heknew that in some way he would have to pay for every minute andhour that he had gained. But what he had gained he would use tothe fullest. And whatever could be accomplished by sheeracquisition of human knowledge, he would try to accomplish.
And he now startled Dr. Mason by the medical knowledge he hadpicked up, the while the doctor amused him by the concern heshowed for Vincent. For he felt fine. He was perhaps not asactive as he had been, but that was only because he had becomedubious of aimless activity. He was still the ghost of thelibraries and museums, but was puzzled that the published reportsintimated that an old ghost had replaced a young one.
He now paid his mystic visits to Jennifer Parkey less often. Forhe was always dismayed to hear her exclaim to him in his ghostlyform: "Your touch is so changed. You poor thing! Is thereanything at all I can do to help you?"
He decided that somehow she was too immature to understand him,though he was still fond of her. He transferred his affections toMrs. Milly Maltby, a widow at least thirty years his senior. Yethere it was a sort of girlishness in her that appealed to him.She was a woman of sharp wit and real affection, and she alsoaccepted his visitations without fear, following a little initialpanic.
They played games, writing games, for they communicated bywriting. She would scribble a line, then hold the paper up in theair whence he would cause it to vanish into his sphere. He wouldreturn it in half a minute, or half a second by her time, withhis retort. He had the advantage of her in time with greatly moreopportunity to think up responses, but she had the advantage overhim in natural wit and was hard to top.
They also played checkers, and he often had to retire apart andread a chapter of a book on the art between moves, and even soshe often beat him; for native talent is likely to be a match foraccumulated lore and codified procedure.
But to Milly also he was unfaithful in his fashion, being nowinterested (he no longer became enamored or entranced) in a Mrs.Roberts, a great-grandmother who was his elder by at least fiftyyears. He had read all the data extant on the attraction of theold for the young, but he still could not explain his successiveattachments. He decided that these three examples were enough toestablish a universal law: that a woman is simply not afraid of aghost, though he touches her and is invisible, and writes hernotes without hands. It is possible that amorous spirits haveknown this for a long time, but Charles Vincent had made thediscovery himself independently.
When enough knowledge is accumulated on any subject, the patternwill sometimes emerge suddenly, like a form in a picture revealedwhere before it was not seen. And when enough knowledge isaccumulated on all subjects, is there not a chance that a patterngoverning all subjects will emerge?
Charles Vincent was caught up in one last enthusiasm. On a longvigil, as he consulted source after source and sorted them in hismind, it seemed that the pattern was coming out clearly andsimply, for all its amazing complexity of detail.
"I know everything that they know in the pit, and I know asecret that they do not know. I have not lost the race--I have wonit. I can defeat them at the point where they believe themselvesinvulnerable. If controlled hereafter, we need at least not becontrolled by them. It is all falling together now. I have foundthe final truth, and it is they who have lost the race. I holdthe key. I will now be able to enjoy the advantage without payingthe ultimate price of defeat and destruction, or of collaborationwith them.
"Now I have only to implement my knowledge, to publish the fact,and one shadow at least will be lifted from mankind. I will do itat once. Well, nearly at once. It is almost dawn in the normalworld. I will sit here a very little while and rest. Then I willgo out and begin to make contact with the proper persons for thedisposition of this thing. But first I will sit here a littlewhile and rest."
And he died quietly in his chair as he sat there.
Dr. Mason made an entry in his private journal: "Charles Vincent,a completely authenticated case of premature aging, one of themost clear-cut in all gerontology. This man was known to me foryears, and I here aver that as of one year ago he was of normalappearance and physical state, and that his chronology is alsocorrect, I having also known his father. I examined the subjectduring the period of his illness, and there is no question at allof his identity, which has also been established for the recordby fingerprinting and other means. I aver that Charles Vincent atthe age of thirty is dead of old age, having the appearance andorganic condition of a man of ninety."
Then the doctor began to make another note: "As in two othercases of my own observation, the illness was accompanied by acertain delusion and series of dreams, so nearly identical in thethree men as to be almost unbelievable. And for the record, andno doubt to the prejudice of my own reputation, I will set downthe report of them here."
But when Dr. Mason had written that, he thought about it for awhile.
"No, I will do no such thing," he said, and he struck out thelast lines he had written. "It is best to let sleeping dragonslie."
And somewhere the faceless men with the smell of the pit on themsmiled to themselves in quiet irony.
END