“And are you in good faith? I spend my entire life, nearly every waking hour, in the pursuit of eternal truth and transcendent authority, and you come here with your three questions for an idiotic article that will be thrown away as soon as it is read. Is that good faith?”
“Yes,” Sandy said. “Yes, it is.”
The witch stared at her.
“In the first place, I didn’t come here with just three questions. I came with scads, and you were the one who said only three. In the second place, sure some copies we sell will be pitched out as soon as they’ve been read once, but a lot won’t be. To start with, we keep two sets in the office. They go clear back to 1927, when
“She was a fool,” the witch interrupted.
Sandy looked baffled, and Stubb said, “The Smith woman?”
“Yes, I knew her. She had some talent, perhaps, but she had no judgement. She was appallingly ignorant as well.”
Sandy looked at Candy Garth as though for support. “I think she died in nineteen forty-seven.”
“Pah! Nineteen forty-five. Continue.”
“That’s all.” Sandy held up her hands as though she were balancing two coconuts. “I was just going to say that lots of our readers keep all our issues for years and years. They write and tell us, or say they have everything except a certain one, and ask if we’ll sell them that. We do, for five dollars, if we’ve got it.”
“How could I not cooperate with a publication so highminded? Very well then. My favorite recording artist is a man in Senegal, of whom you have never heard. I sleep in the nude. If I were stranded on a desert island—”
Candy shouted, “Oh, shut up! For God’s sake, let her ask her damn questions and get out of here. I’m tired and I’m not buzzed any more and I’m so damn hungry I may faint. You!” She glared at Sandy. “Ask the first one. She’ll answer it or I’ll sit on her.”
The young woman from
“See.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Apprehend, if you wish a longer answer.”
“This isn’t a question, but I’d appreciate it if you’d enlarge a little on that. You promised to answer ‘fully and fairly’ after all.”
“Most unenlightened people believe they see what they believe they will see,” the witch said. “They should not do that. To see the unseen world, it is necessary to look—that is why wisdom has so often been depicted as a third eye.”
Sandy hesitated, then nodded. “I see.”
“I doubt it.”
Stubb interposed. “Time for the second question, I think.”
“All right, second question.” Sandy took a deep breath. “Madame Serpentina, by what simple test—if such a test exists—can our readers determine whether they themselves or others who in their opinion may possess them, actually have occult powers?”
“Certainly such a test exists.” The witch straightened her shoulders and with both hands smoothed the black lace of her skirt. “You must understand that we are speaking of talents, just as one who might seek to isolate a future symphonist from a group of students would be intent upon talents. Occult talents differ from musical, or mathematical, or athletic talents in certain ways, but they are talents still. Those who possess them show signs of the same sort. I mean an easy mastery of the rudiments combined with a ‘signature’ —a characteristic their teachers may or may not appreciate that distinguishes their work from that of others.”
“But—”
“For example, a woman who believes herself clairvoyant should, more than once and more than twice, attempt cartomancy. If her most surprising predictions are often validated by subsequent events, she may proceed to more difficult things. A man who puts himself forward as a medium, let him call up spirits—then see if they come.”
Sandy remained speechless for a moment, then sighed. “Now I’m just dying to ask you about fakes, but you wouldn’t answer, would you? Unless we counted it as the third question?”
The witch shook her head.
Stubb said, “I’ll answer. I’ve checked out a few of those guys for nervous relatives. And what the hell, you’re not interviewing me, so anything I say is free. So what I say is, I never in my life met a man that had a dog that would come every time he called it. But I’ve met a lot of stage people who’d go into their acts every chance they got, and sometimes for no reason at all. If a guy comes up with some sort of spook every time he tries, you can bet the rent he’s a performer. The guy whose dog stops coming if somebody looks hard to see if it’s a real dog or a kid in a dog suit’s a performer too.”
The witch’s lip curled ever so slightly. “Since Mr. Stubb has seen fit to put himself forward as enlightened, I have no alternative but to proffer an answer—or at least half an answer—myself.”
Sandy started to speak, but the witch raised her hand to stop her. “Do not thank me. Whatever gratitude you may feel should be directed to him, not me. My half answer is this—that the real problem confronting one who would judge mediumship is not distinguishing true spirits from bogus ones, as Mr. Stubb appears to believe. The great problem that confronts such a person is distinguishing honest and beneficent spirits from dishonest and malicious ones. One who can do that will have no difficulty unmasking shams; but one who cannot do it, and do it reliably, had much better have no traffic with spirits at all unless he can procure the assistance of a trustworthy expert. Now let us have your third and last question, please.”
