CHAPTER 28. A WORLD OF LIGHT
It was a Thursday evening in late spring when Shura called to tell me that a long letter from Ursula had come in the mail.
"Ah," said I, settling cross-legged into my armchair.
She Who Listens. She Who Waits.
He said, "There's the usual stuff about Dolph still being very unstable, and she says she's handling it by being loving and gentle, and she feels he's gradually getting used to the idea of her leaving, and that by the time the day comes, he'll have recovered his self-respect, and his perspective."
I murmured sympathetically, feeling terribly sorry for Dolph.
"In the meantime, she told me that I shouldn't worry, that she knows him very well, and there's no way she would let the situation turn into some sort of tragedy. I guess that's in response to my pleading with her to pack up and get out right away, and all that."
"Yes, of course."
"I'm just giving you the general mood of it, you understand."
"Sure," I replied. "But, you know, I can't help wondering if she isn't running a risk of - uh -
isn't there a possibility that Dolph could keep her there indefinitely by continuing to be miserable? I mean, he might do it unconsciously, but if his suffering keeps her there, why would he have any incentive to feel better or get adjusted to anything?"
"I guess that could happen," Shura said, "But at some point, she's going to have to say, 'Okay, this is it; I'm going, I wish you well, I'm sorry, goodbye,' or something along those lines. No matter how lovingly she says it, eventually the words will have to be said."
"I suppose."
"Besides," said Shura, "What it comes down to is that she's the only one who can handle the situation; even if I were there, I couldn't do it for her. So I have to leave it to her instincts and assume she's going about it the right way, unless and until events prove otherwise." "Yes.
That's all you can do."
Shura went on, "I kept the good part for last. Ursula said something that makes me feel a lot more hopeful. She finally got all of her books packed in a big shipping trunk and it had just been sent off by surface, the day before she wrote the letter. There's no way of knowing how long it'll take to get here - it's coming by sea, of course - but at least it's on its way."
I said, "That's good to hear," and made it sound convincing.
Jesu Maria san Roman!
"She said she knew this was the kind of news I'd been waiting to hear," said Shura, "And I have to admit/ I'm very relieved. I hadn't been aware, until I read that part, how many little doubts have been accumulating during the past few weeks -"
"Well, you've been getting an awful lot of vague promises up to now; this is a lot more tangible."
There was a cold knot in my gut.
A trunk full of books sailing across the briny deep, bloody damn. She's serious. I've been fooling myself, believing Ben was right. Wanting to believe he was right. But books - books are real. You don't send your books unless you mean business.
Shura was saying something about having the research group at his house again, next Saturday. This time, he said, I would have a chance to meet the two members who lived farthest away, in the Owens Valley area, about two hours' drive from Death Valley. He asked, "Have you ever been to Death Valley?"
Put aside Ursula. Go with what's now.
"No," I replied, "I've wanted to see it for years, but haven't had the chance yet."
"That's a place you absolutely must see! One of the wonders of the world, like the Grand Canyon and the Tower of Babylon."
I grunted, "Babel."
He tsk'd, "You're confusing the Hanging Gardens of Babel with the Leaning Tower of Babylon.
It's a common mistake."
Despite the heaviness in my chest, I smiled, "You're right, of course. Silly of me. Always get them mixed up."
"That's all right," Shura said, soothingly, "I've been known to make mistakes, too. Made one in 1947, in fact. Remember it to this day."
I couldn't help it; I laughed.
He's trying to make me feel better. Okay. I'm feeling better.
"Anyway," he continued, briskly, "Dante and Gemina Sandeman live in a little town called Gold Tree. They moved out there several years ago and built a terrific house with the mountains as a backdrop and coyotes howling them to sleep at night - wonderful place. I've known them for a long time and love them both dearly."
"I look forward to meeting them."
This is ridiculous. I'm going to be getting to know new people and I'll probably like them, then Ursula sweeps in and I vanish from the scene. It makes no sense.
"By the way," Shura was saying, "Nobody calls her Gemina. She's known as Ginger, and she has the hair and personality to match."
"You mean, a redhead temper?"
"No, no, I wasn't thinking of temper, although she has a perfectly good one. I meant a sort of energy and - ah - spunk, I guess you'd call it. She's quite a gal. Dante - well, when you get out here on Friday, I'll fill you in."
"Okay," I said, "Dante and Ginger. Those names, even I can't forget!"
I went to my job at the hospital and did what had to be done at home. I was in a state of mental suspension, freezing out as best I could all speculation, hope or fear. I hugged the children and remembered to smile, but occasionally caught them looking at me curiously, as if sensing something wrong.
Friday evening, having seen them off to their father's house, I packed my car with the makings of a big salad, as requested by Ruth, who was in charge of organizing the food for the day.
There were hard-boiled eggs, tomatoes, avocadoes, small green onions, three kinds of lettuce and, just in case, two bottles of salad dressing: Thousand Island, which Shura liked, and a good Italian. This time, I didn't have to worry about bringing too much, since there were going to be lots of people.
Shura greeted me with a bear-hug and kissed me on the mouth. He was obviously feeling fine.
I resolved to ignore the trunk of books sitting at the bottom of my stomach, and act as if only the present were real, and only this weekend mattered.
When I made a remark, during the evening, about nine people coming the next day, Shura said, "Actually, there'll be ten. You've heard me mention David Ladder, the young chemist who comes out here once a week to work with me in the lab? We've done a great deal of publishing together, and I consider him to be as good a chemist as anyone I know, a lot better than I am in many respects."
"The name's familiar, yes. Is he coming tomorrow?"
Shura nodded cheerfully, "He's been busy with grant-writing for the past few weeks, trying to keep his laboratory funded, and he's finally got it all done. That means we're actually going to have the full contingent, the whole research group. The only time that happens is when the Sandemans make the trip back here to see relatives or the latest grandchild or whatever."
"Tell me about David." "Sure," replied Shura, "I've known him for years. He's in his late thirties, though he looks barely drinking age, except for the grey in his hair. Father's a psychiatrist - Freudian trained, to anticipate your next question - a good-humored, rumpled, friendly man. It's a large family. His sister, Joanna, plays cello professionally; wonderful cellist, truly a joy to hear. Two brothers, both mathematicians. David's the only chemist in the bunch.
What else do you want to know?" "How does he get on with his family?"
"As a matter of fact, they all seem to genuinely like each other, from what I've seen over the years. They're pretty close-knit, do a lot of things together. David seems to enjoy the family stuff; he thrives on visits from baby nephews and birthday celebrations - all that kind of mess." I put supper on the table and sat down.
Shura continued, "David's a quiet person, somewhat introverted -1 suspect he inherited some shyness genes from his mother. But there's nothing shy about him in the lab. He loves chemistry, even more than I do. I can get pretty enthusiastic about other things -1 can see myself having become a writer or musician - but I really don't know
what David would do without a lab somewhere. It's a major part of his world, his vehicle for self-expression. Of course, music's part of his world, too. But chemistry is his true and abiding love." "Is he married?"
"No," Shura sighed, "He lived with a girl for a couple of years, but it went sour. She probably got tired of playing second fiddle to chemistry journals! We don't talk about it. He's a very private person, and when he comes over here after work - usually Wednesdays - we just dive into our world of weird nytrostyrenes and strange sulfur perfumes and we talk mostly about what we're doing and how we're going to write it up - and nasty gossip about other chemists, of course."
Sounds like a father-son relationship. Whatever it is, it's important. "David's one of the world's few totally honest people," continued Shura, "He has complete integrity in the scientific area, and I can't say that about many of the scientists I know. It's not that there's intentional dishonesty or fudging of data or picking and choosing what's to be presented; there are very few who actually cheat in the lab. It's more a matter of judicious compromise, with far too many of them, especially those funded by the government. Sad to say, there's almost nobody working in the academic area these days who isn't funded by the government, directly or indirectly!"
I asked, "What kind of compromise, and why?" He said, "The problems that you look at, the questions you try to answer, are the ones presented by your source of funds, and the answers you give back are often phrased in a way best calculated to keep that source happy with you."
"You mean, there are lots of scientists who'll only present results that are pleasing to their -
their money source?"
"Not lots, no," Shura waved his hand, "And there are many shades of grey. There are a few who will only report what is wanted by their bosses, and there are a few who report exactly what they see, even if it conflicts with currently accepted social philosophies. The remaining 99% are scattered in between. David is at the extreme that represents complete integrity."
J hope David likes me.
When we'd finished eating, I poured Shura a glass of red wine and myself some white. I asked, "By the way, what are you planning to give us tomorrow? We are taking something, aren't we?"
"Well, whenever Dante and Ginger are here, we like to celebrate by doing something special."
"Ah-ha!"
"And it occurred to me that we might try a real challenge, if everyone feels comfortable with the idea. They've all had mescaline in the past - that is, all except David - and I'm going to propose that we try it at a higher level than any of us has had before, with five hundred milligrams as the upper limit. That'll be for the hard-heads, of course."
In bed, after a couple of half-hearted attempts at lovemaking, we acknowledged it was a lost cause, curled up together and went to sleep.
The next morning, over our coffee, Shura told me more about Dante Sandeman. "He retired from a job in broadcasting, a few years ago. You'd think that sort of background would produce a certain amount of street-smarts, maybe even cynicism, but not in his case, it didn't.
He's one of the world's most trusting souls; he tends to have faith in people, believe what they tell him. Most of us who've managed to live beyond 25 or 30 have got some cautionary little voice that says, 'Hold it, watch it. Is this person genuine; is he really what he seems to be?'
Right?"
"Uh-huh."
"Not our Dante." Shura paused, sipped coffee, then amended, "I don't mean to exaggerate the innocence aspect. He's a very astute guy, intelligent, observant; it's just that he's inclined to take people at their word. Needless to say, he's been burned a few times."
I said, "He sounds like a basically good man, your Dante."
Shura settled back in his chair, "There was a notorious figure in the '60's, a wild character, complex, very shrewd, and totally without conscience, called Bill Proctor - William Shelley Proctor - who regarded himself as the Johnny Appleseed of LSD. He loved to turn people on, and he turned a lot of people on, in his time. Despite everything else you could say about him, I have to allow him one thing: he was the first person, as far as I know, to recognize the value of LSD as a spiritual opener, and he was adamant and vocal about his belief that everybody -
or almost everybody
- should have the experience. And he certainly did his level best to contribute to that goal, believe me."
"How did he talk them into it?"
"Bill Proctor's approach was to challenge somebody he thought would be a good candidate, really bully him into going into the desert - he believed that the desert was the best place for a first time - and he'd hit the guy with about four hundred mikes.
"You haven't had LSD, I know, but you can take my word for it: four hundred micrograms is one hell of a way to be introduced to altered states of consciousness. Anyway, he managed to get away with it, because apparently everyone he turned on found it an immensely rewarding experience. Nobody ever sued him or arrested him or took a gun and plugged him. Of course,"
Shura chuckled, "Some of us did occasionally tease him - you know, 'Hey, Bill, what did you do with the bad trips, huh? How many bodies are out there in the sand dunes. Bill?' But the truth is, I think he actually managed to initiate a lot of people very successfully."
"But he wasn't a good person? You said he was -"
"Good? He was a con artist! He was always coming up with some scheme or other to get money out of people, and he persuaded Dante to invest a lot of money in some kind of scam, and then - well, suddenly the whatever-it-was had fallen through for all kinds of elaborate reasons, and Bill was riding off into the sunset, presumably with his loot intact, leaving Dante -
like many before him - wondering what the hell had hit him. The full story is more involved than that, of course, but that's essentially what happened.
"He was one of a kind; he'd turn up at parties in a policeman's uniform - God knows what part of his past that belonged to, if any - and he'd strut around with a gun in his belt, playing the role to the hilt. He was an amazing character. It was fun just to watch him operate, if you knew what he was. Not much fun if you got conned. Dante still doesn't like to talk about it."
"How he could be a good user of LSD," I asked, "And know about the spiritual dimension - all that sort of thing - and still be a crook? I don't understand."
"Then it's time you did. Psychedelic drugs don't change you - they don't change your character - unless you want to be changed. They enable change; they can't impose it. Proctor liked being just what he was. He enjoyed himself immensely. He loved being the big honcho spiritual guide with his LSD initiations, and he certainly enjoyed the admiration and gratitude of the people he took through those trips. I have to assume that some other side of him - a side the rest of us never saw - came into play during those desert sessions, because the people who went through them with Bill Proctor really worshipped the guy.
"LSD couldn't give him a conscience, because he had no use for a conscience, and it didn't make him humble or truthful, for that matter, because he didn't need humility in his life, and truth was a very flexible commodity, to be used only when it was in his own best interests to do so. No, Proctor was perfectly content being just the way he was. However, he did get a bit of a comeuppance, finally, in a very funny way."
"What happened?"
"He became very paranoid, sometime in the '70's, and got it into his head that somebody was going to bust down his door and confiscate his stash of LSD, which was a considerable stash, believe me. So he went out to Death Valley, which was his favorite place for LSD trips, and he buried the bulk of his supply at the base of a specific fence post, out there in the desert, in some godforsaken corner where the tourists don't wander. Then he went home.
"Anyway, he finally got over his paranoid fit and returned to the desert, about a year later, to dig it all up. And couldn't find the fence. Of course, it might have been buried by blowing sand; in Death Valley, a lot of things disappear that way. Anyway, he searched and dug and kept sear
ching and digging, off and on for weeks. He never found his LSD cache again. So somewhere - somewhere out there in the shifting sands of Death Valley - is a king's ransom -
or what used to be a king's ransom -in the form of LSD. Probably never be found!" Shura chuckled, adding, "By this time, it's probably worthless anyway. LSD is very sensitive to heat and light, and Death Valley is one of the hottest places on the planet!"
I laughed, "Wonderful, wonderful. Has anyone else tried to find it, do you know?"
"Never heard of anyone making the attempt. Not too many people knew the story. Have to give him credit, though - he told that one on himself. He died a few years ago, and the world has been marginally safer since. An interesting person. And part of Dante's past which he's not yet come to terms with. It still hurts him, to think that he was taken in so badly, that he mis-read another human being so completely. Even the fact that he was far from the only victim of our Bill doesn't help too much."
So what do you have to do, to avoid being taken in or conned? Yon have to be very experienced. You have to trust your own intuition. And you can still get fooled.
About Ginger, Shura said, "She's got marvelous energy; she's down to earth/ warm, generous.
She puts up with Dante's - I don't know what you'd call them - times when he gets depressed and uptight and finds fault with everything, with her and most of all with himself, and I think they've weathered some bad times in the marriage because they've learned to use the psychedelics to help them talk things out honestly with each other and to get some insight into their own emotional baggage, or whatever has been making things bumpy between them.
They're both good hearts, good souls. After all, it takes an essentially honest and good man to believe in others as much as Dante does - or used to."
"Yeah," I said, "I was just thinking that people who trust are usually trustworthy, and they tend to project that quality onto others. Better to be that way, I think, than the opposite, even if it means getting hurt at times. Too many cynical, suspicious people in the world, as it is."
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