by Rog Phillips
beyond our reach. So why reach for it? Use a theory if it worksfor you. Discard it if it doesn't. Don't use it even to the point ofabsurdity while clinging to a belief that it's true.
It was that way with facts, too. Something that happened or seemed tohappen, needed no tag of belief attached to it. If you saw it happen itdidn't necessarily happen. There was such a thing as illusion. Accept itas though it had happened--until events pointed otherwise.
His playmates and teachers had been frankly skeptical of this point ofview, doubting he could actually have attained it. They were quick toagree it was desirable. They just thought no one could use a thingwithout attaching a degree of belief or unbelief to it.
Now, what should he believe? As in the attempts to reach the basicmatrix by conscious extension, he had to start somewhere.
* * * * *
It was midafternoon when Captain Waters entered the bedroom with acheery, "Hello!"
"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 tosleep again. I'll drop in later."
Captain Waters ducked out. He started to close the door, then left itopen. A few minutes later the rumble of his voice came from another partof 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 deepvoices 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 hetalked. Setting his black bag down, he reached out and took Fred'spulse. "A little rapid," he said, putting his watch away. Reachinginside his coat, he took out a thermometer. He put it under Fred'stongue. "Had anything to eat or drink in the past fifteen minutes?" heasked. 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 backin a few minutes. Mrs. Waters told me on the way in she was pouring me acup of coffee."
Fred remained motionless until the doctor had left the room. Then heslipped out of bed and went to the door. On the other side of it was aliving room. A swinging door of the type that opens into kitchens wasjust swinging closed. No one was in sight. Quickly Fred stole across tothe door. He put his ear close to it and listened.
"Dr. Harvey speaking," he heard the doctor say. "Connect me withthirteen please."
"Is he going to be all right?" Mrs. Waters' anxious voice sounded.
"I think so," the doctor said calmly. "Hello? Thirteen? Who's speaking?Oh, hello, 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 totake care of him."
Fred waited for no more. He went back to the bedroom. His clothes werein the closet. In seconds he had them on. He could tie his shoes andbutton up later.
He unfastened one of the screen doors and stepped out onto a flagstonepath that wound around the corner of the house toward the front. Therewere people on the sidewalk, but none very near. It would be hoursbefore dark, and there was no place to hide.
There were two cars parked at the curb. One was a police car, the othera black Chrysler sedan, probably the doctor's car. The police car hadthe key in the ignition. Fred didn't hesitate. He jerked open the doorand slid behind the wheel. Mrs. Waters' anxious voice sounded, calling,"Fred! Where are you?" Then the starter was whirring. The motor caught.
As he shot away from the curb, Fred caught a glimpse in the rear viewmirror of Captain Waters running down the walk from the house.
As he took the first corner, touching the siren button briefly, hewondered why he had run. It had been an impulse. Maybe it was the wrongone. Maybe he could accomplish what he had to do better in some kind ofinstitution. Maybe not.
He compressed his lips grimly. The die was cast now. He would abandonthe police car someplace, then slip quietly out of town on foot. Hewould be caught if he tried to go home. He had no money except a fewdollars in change.
Maybe this was all part of the new pattern that seemed to possess him.He kept the siren going, not trusting his ability to avoid traffic. Itsmad scream blended into his thoughts. He was the hunted. He was sane,but the truth would brand him as insane. Or was he sane? Had anyonevanished? Was his father at home, sitting in his chair in his study,expounding his theories to his colleagues? Was his mother at home, inthe kitchen, preparing dinner?
His lip trembled. Homesickness welled up in him.
He was near a bus line that went to the outskirts of the city. He shutoff the siren and slowed down. After a few blocks and two turns he feltsafe in ditching the car. He pulled quietly to the curb. He tied hisshoelaces, buttoned his shirt, combed his hair. Then he got out. No onepaid any attention to him.
He walked to the corner. Two minutes later the bus stopped.
* * * * *
The night sky was clear. The moon was a lesser sun whose light madethings visible and somehow unreal and mysterious. In the ditch to theright of the road two bright points of light blinked on, held for amoment, and vanished. A cat.
A silent dog appeared out of the gloom, wagged its tail and half of itsbody in friendliness. "Nice doggy," Fred said nervously. It sniffed histrouser leg, lost interest, and moved off into the darkness.
It was after midnight. How long after, he didn't know. Once a policecar had come speeding by, its red lights ogling insanely, its spotlightweaving into the bushes at the side of the road. He had lain very stillin the ditch until it passed. It hadn't slowed down. Later it had comeback and he had again pressed his body into the earth beside the road.
Off to the right now he saw the silhouette of the giant tree that hadbeen the landmark of the picnic spot. A few minutes later he could seethe gate that led to the meadow.
He squeezed through it and picked out the path worn by the cars the daybefore. Some winged creature dipped down, shied away from him, and sweptoff into the darkness.
A soft gurgling sound became audible. The brook. The spot where hismother and Curt had vanished, was ahead.
He reached it. He wasn't quite sure until he studied the ground and wentback in memory to check on little details. Then he was certain.
He had reached his goal.
He knew why he had come, of course. Here he was closer to his motherthan anyplace else. Here, in some unguessed way, he might get to her.
What would he do when morning came? He sat down and pulled his knees upunder his chin, wrapping his arms around them. Morning was far away. Itmight never come--for him. If and when it did he would cope with it."Mom," he whispered. "Mom...."
_Crrroak!_ The sound of the frog broke the silence. The croak of a frogthat was part of the universe--the universe that was basicallyillogical. More....
Fred sobbed.
The universe was insane. Police looking for you. Doctors with theirstandards of sanity and insanity. Right now they were looking for him toprotect him from himself. They didn't want to know why things were done.To them even the reason would be part of the insanity. They dealt intags. Words. Their science was an illusion within an illusion.Meaningless inside a universe of meaninglessness.
_Crrroak_, the frog said cautiously. And a night creature came down onsilent wings, to weave back into the darkness.
That was the reason for pragmatism. He could see it now. He had alwaysthought his father made pragmatism his God because it was theintellectual thing to do. But now he could see the reason for it.Reality was a jungle in which Reason had to cope with Unreason, andthere was no criterion except workability. Belief was an instinctive wayof thought. It was like the appendix. Scientists claimed that long agoman ate tree bark. And the appendix had had a use. If so, that use wasgone, but the appendix remained. Before surgery had become a commonthing, thousands of peop
le died from appendicitis. The organ that hadonce been necessary had become a hazard to living. Belief was somethinglike that.
He jerked out of his thoughts to listen to a car on the road. It sloweddown. It stopped by the gate. A car door slammed. A man appeared brieflyin the light of the headlamps. Captain Waters--alone.
He loomed a moment later inside the pasture in the light of aflashlight. He occasionally flashed it on his face so he would berecognizable.
Fred felt an impulse to slip away into the darkness. He hadn't beenseen. Captain Waters was just hoping he might be here.
A stronger impulse made him remain as he was. The entire pattern ofCaptain Waters' approach indicated understanding--or at least thewillingness to understand.
The bobbing flashlight came closer. It speared out and touched him; thenabruptly went out. Footsteps approached. A