Ye of Little Faith

saw a change come over the man's face. He had accepted thetheory. Now he was trying to integrate it into the problem of FredGrant. He hadn't yet seen the connection between the theory and themysterious disappearances.

  And perhaps he wouldn't. If he did he might go the final step andrealize what was going to happen to him. Fred hoped that wouldn'thappen. He didn't want his victim to be conscious of being a victim.

  "You _are_ intelligent, Fred," Curt probed, "to be able to master suchan advanced theory." He glanced at his watch. "It's getting pretty late.I'll tell you what. After school tomorrow drop down to my office. We'llcome out for dinner here together."

  "Say! That'd be swell!" Fred enthused. "I'll get right to bed so I canget enough sleep." He leaped up and called, "Mom! I'm going to bed now."He winked broadly at Curt to let him know he was getting out of his wayso they could be alone together a few minutes.

  And that was that. The die was cast, and all that remained was to tryand use it to make progress, rather than letting it be just anotherdisappearance that pointed to nothing constructive.

  There was no way of telling how fast it would work. The next afternoonand evening there was little to provide an indication, other than anoccasional look that came over Curt for moments at a time.

  A date was made for Saturday. It was to be a picnic in the country. Thatmeant skipping Friday. Fred violently objected, but Curt and his motheroverrode his objections. So in the end it had to be Saturday, unlessCurt disappeared before then.

  He didn't.

  * * * * *

  But ten minutes before school was out Friday a note was brought into theclassroom from the principal's office. Curt had called to ask Fred tocome to his office directly from school.

  Torn between excited anticipation that the psychiatrist had made animportant discovery, and fear that the man would have vanished before hecould get to him, Fred ran from the school building and caught the bus.

  At Curt's office the receptionist smiled and told him to go right in.His sigh of relief was genuine. Curt was sitting at his desk.

  "Come in, son," he said.

  There were the amenities. "How did school go today?" "Okay." "Anythinghappen?" Fred waited impatiently. Then: "I've been thinking a lot aboutyour father's theory, Fred, and I would like to ask a few questions--ifit won't upset you."

  "Of course not!" Fred said.

  "Okay, here's a question," Curt said. "Or rather, a statement. You cananswer yes or no. You believe the theory is at the root of thedisappearances, that in some unknown fashion knowing the theory willcause a person to vanish."

  So there it was. Fred debated rapidly in his mind. It might be better toadmit it.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Hmm. Then let me ask you this. How do you account for the fact that youknow it, and haven't disappeared?"

  Fred decided to be completely truthful and see what happened. "It'sbecause I don't let belief form a part of my thinking, sir. Dadinstilled that in me. With those that disappeared, logic was theirgroundwork of belief."

  "But you believe knowing the theory caused them to vanish?"

  Fred smiled. "I see what you mean. No, I don't. It's just that no otheralternative seems probable, so...."

  "So you work with the one that does," Curt said, nodding. "All right,let's work with it for the moment. You have probably done some thinkingon what mechanism might be involved in the process of vanishing. Wouldyou care to tell me about it?"

  "There's no reason why not, sir. It takes time for conscious beliefs tosink into the subconscious and integrate there. The time varies with theperson and the emotions involved."

  "That makes sense," Curt said, nodding.

  "I postulated that down underneath even the subconscious, at the veryroots of being, is what I named the basic thought matrix. In order forus to be here in this existence at all it must have a certain form.Change that form and, presto, the person slips out of this existence,perhaps into another."

  "I see." Curt drummed his fingers on the desk for a long minute. "Isee," he repeated. "Has it occurred to you that you have alreadyrejected your theory? It's quite obvious you have, you know."

  "How is it obvious?" Fred asked, wondering what Curt meant.

  "Because you told me the theory. You wouldn't have, of course, if youbelieved it would cause me to vanish like the others."

  Fred opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to cope withthis. It was unexpected.

  "We've gotten to the root of your trouble," Curt went on. "It was a realtrouble, to you. In a few months you will look back on it and marvel atit. Right now it seems real. You feel that somewhere your father stillexists. You would like to go to him, or perhaps bring him back. Believeme, such mysterious vanishings aren't uncommon. The history of the worldis full of such incidents. In some cases whole groups have vanished.Authenticated cases. In southeast Asia the people of an entire city ofover a million inhabitants vanished overnight. In the last century anentire trainload of people, including the train, vanished while goingfrom one city to another a few miles away. And there have beenvanishments with reappearances, too. In England there was an old womanwho suddenly vanished before the eyes of her family. At the same instantshe reappeared in a room in London, miles away, in front of otherpeople. Did she know your father's theory? Did the train that vanishedknow that theory?" Curt was smiling. "No. You see, it's somethingunrelated to your father's theory."

  Fred was nodding. "You may be right," he said. "I didn't know aboutthose."

  "You may go now, son," Curt said. "I'll be out around eleven o'clock inthe morning."

  Fred rose quickly. "Okay, Curt," he said. "I'll see you." He hurriedout. It was too much of an effort to hide the sudden trembling. Hehadn't known about other cases of vanishing. They provided data toexpand the whole thing, while not in the slightest detracting from thevalidity of anything else.

  And if the talk had been prolonged much more Curt would have inevitablytumbled to his motive for telling him the theory.

  * * * * *

  Promptly at eleven Curt arrived. Fred's mother had already prepared thelarge basket of food. There were ten minutes of last-minute bustle, thenthey were off, with Curt skillfully tooling his Cadillac in and out oftraffic until they were on the open highway.

  "I know just the place," he told them. "Woods, meadow, brook. Even acouple of cows." And he did. When they arrived shortly beforetwelve-thirty it was all that.

  Fred relaxed as the car came to a stop. Every second of the trip he hadbeen ready to seize the wheel and keep the car from crashing if Curtvanished.

  "Still a little nervous?" Curt asked him as they got out.

  "No. No, of course not!" Fred said.

  Curt didn't pursue the subject. Instead, he became something utterlydifferent than he had been before, a carefree thoroughly likeable man,full of humor.

  Fred began to regret that he had chosen him as his victim. He began tohope that the process might not be automatic, that Curt wouldn't vanish.But he stayed close to him and listened to his every word and watchedhis face as much as he dared without staring, so that if the moment camehe could get whatever there was to get of value from it.

  For the first time in years his mother began to be carefree. She evenjoked back at Curt occasionally, something she had never done withMartin in Fred's memory. Her joking was clumsy and uncertain. Fredlaughed uproariously to encourage her and to hide his uncomfortablefeeling.

  "Oh, I haven't felt so good in ages," she said when they were seatedaround the tablecloth spread with sandwiches and salads and cakes. "It'swonderful getting out like this. We'll have to do it often."

  "We will," Curt said. "At least once a week."

  Fred's mother picked up a sandwich. She started to raise it to hermouth. She was smiling at Curt and about to say something to him. BothCurt and Fred were watching her.

  Abruptly she wasn't there. The sandwich seemed to remain stationary fora long second. Then it dropped to the ta
blecloth.

  Curt was holding a paper cup filled with hot coffee. His handconstricted. The cup collapsed, spilling steaming coffee over his legs.

  Fred stared at the space his mother had just occupied. Abruptly hesquawked, "No!" He turned accusing eyes on Curt. "You told her!"

  Something seemed to go out of the man. He seemed to become visiblysmaller. "Yes," he whispered, "I told her."

  Fred was crying. "But you shouldn't have," he sobbed. "I told youbecause I wanted you to vanish.