Chapter Three

 

Parting Company

 

Tuesday morning Barbara and Hiram sat down for breakfast.

“What are you up to today?” she asked and then munched on a piece of toast.

“Probably the same bloody awful crap as last week. I had to interview a nut about a flying saucer that didn’t really exist and today, God! Some nut has invented X-ray vision. Why, what are you doing?”

She sighed loudly. “I am beginning to agree with you, Hammy. The world is full of nuts.”

“So what was your story?” Hiram asked.

“I interviewed an idiot who invented a new form of carburettor for cars. He showed it to me, and all the test results.”

“That’s great, isn’t it?”

“But he couldn’t or wouldn’t demonstrate it to me. I think he thought I was stupid simply because I’m a woman.”

“Well,” Hiram said. “I’ve got this doozie today. I have to interview a nutter who has invented X-ray vision; claims he’s a real scientist.”

Barbara laughed. She knew how difficult it was to keep a straight face with some of their clients. “This weekend,” she said, “I want you to take me to that place up north and show me Morag’s grave. I’m sure there’s a better story there. I’ll bet we can come up with something of much greater interest.”

“No way,” Hiram snapped. “Neither you nor I are going to have anything to do with all that black magic crap, okay? Did you know that believers are often dangerous? They’ll do almost anything to prove their point.”

For the time being the subject was closed. Hiram had it in his mind that the story of Morag o’ Doom was an ancient tale of witchcraft. He believed in witchcraft and such, the same way as he believed in flying saucers. He was strongly opposed to dabbling in anything of that sort, especially if he wasn’t being paid to do so, believing cult members to be amongst the most dangerous.

Again he would be taking the car, as he had a long journey to make into the depths of Cambridgeshire. As soon as the chemist opened for business Hammy collected his photos that he had delivered for processing earlier. Soil samples would take several days longer for analysis. Then he began the long drive to March, Cambridgeshire to visit B. A. Nightingale, scientist and inventor.

The journey to March was long and boring. The town looked like a typical Fenland market town. His directions were simply that Nightingale lived on Norwood Avenue off Station Road. Eventually he found Station Road and stopped at a small strip of shops on the western side of the street. Walking into a grocery store he asked the lady behind the counter for directions.

“I’m looking for Norwood Avenue,” he said.

She looked at him over her glasses with a scolding expression. “It’s the next street,” she said and pointed south.

Quickly he climbed into his car, restarted the engine and did a U-turn in the middle of the road. Norwood Avenue is not a long street and there are only a few houses. In short order he found the specified house and parked the car in the driveway. The place appeared to be a large Victorian structure with multiple gables and bay windows. Hiram walked to the front entrance and pressed the bell.

After a short pause the door opened and a tall, smart-looking elderly gentleman with half glasses stood looking at him. He was almost bald, but what hair he had was white.

“Well?” he enquired softly.

“I’m looking for Bernard A. Nightingale,” Hiram said.

“That is me,” the old man replied.

“I’m Hiram Kawalski from the Technowonder Magazine.”

“Oh, come in, son. What part of Canada are you from?”

“Oh! Wow! You recognized the accent,” Hiram said, smiling. “I usually have to say I’m from Canada. The good old British Empire and all that.”

Nightingale smiled. “I spent several years over there in Toronto – the university, you know.”

“Oh, wow!” Hiram chuckled. “That’s my hometown; well, almost.”

“How fortuitous. Souls with a common territorial bond.” The old man led the way into the living room.

The room was obviously that of a bachelor: plain and totally utilitarian. Though the room looked tidy, things were in the wrong places, like books on a chair and a teapot on the windowsill.

“Please sit and make yourself comfortable,” the old man said.

“Thank you.”

“Well, you may call me Bernard. Once I have explained my invention I will demonstrate it for you.”

“Will it be alright to take a few photos, Bernie?”

“That’s Bernard and certainly you may. I call it a photo X-ray interface, but it’s really a mental wavelength scrambler. I started out trying to invent a mental thought-wave receiver, but it just didn’t quite work out that way. My first experiment was a transmitter – that’s in the lab. I suppose my second was the one that was the most successful. It is still in the cellar. I call it the PXI zone; it protects a very large area.”

“I see,” Hiram said, not understanding a word. “What does it protect and from what?”

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

“I’d rather have coffee.”

The old man smiled. “I have an automatic tea-maker; I don’t have an automatic coffee-maker.”

“Sure, I’ll have tea.”

Dr Nightingale pulled a gadget that looked like a TV remote controller from his pocket, then pressed a couple of buttons. “Tea will be ready in just a few minutes,” he said. “Now, let me explain my invention to you.”

“Great, I’m all ears.”

“It is a device based on the old dynamic-controlled magnetic environment idea. All it does is cancel the mental flux abundant in the ether.”

“I see,” Hammy said, totally confused. “Our readers don’t have a PhD in anything. Few if any would understand what you are talking about. Could you put it into words of one syllable?”

Nightingale smiled and scratched his bald pate. “Thought is like radio. Everybody who thinks transmits thought waves. Some thought waves are actually transmitted by inanimate objects. You can imagine that the world is filled with these thought transmissions. Your mind is able to block out quite a lot of this stuff, but nonetheless much of it is actually received, though it may not make very much sense.”

“I don’t see what you are getting at, Bernie … Bernard.”

“I shall have to demonstrate it to you. Bear in mind that your everyday thoughts are influenced by the massive mental interference that you are subjected to at all times.”

“So what’s the point of this thing?”

“When you wear the PXI it will remove absolutely all mental interference. Then any thought you have will be your own. You must have heard of mass hypnotism – that’s how Hitler controlled the people. Enough people thinking on the same thing generates enough mental energy to convince even non-believers. The PXI will stop all interference. You could go to see Billy Graham at a mass meeting and his words would have no effect on you whatsoever.”

“Okay, but what use is it?”

“Ah! the tea is ready. Do you take sugar and cream?”

“Thank you, yeah, both.”

“Tea’s in the kitchen. Would you like to follow me?” The old man got up and began to walk away.

Hiram followed quickly. His mind was mulling over what the professor had been saying. The tea was ready and even in the cup. Nightingale added the sugar and cream. He handed the mug to Hiram.

“Shall we proceed to the lab?” he said.

“Sure, love to.”

The lab lay across from the kitchen. The old man produced a bunch of keys and unlocked the door. “Please, come in,” he said then closed the door behind Hammy and locked it again. “Excuse my precautions, but I am quite security conscious. We don’t want anyone stealing this idea.”

The room looked very large, probably the entire back half of the house. The windows had bars and frosted glass. There were several benches and computer terminals. Unlike the house everything seemed to be in its correct place. Neatness and tidiness prevailed. Dust was an alien influence not permitted in this area. There were four office-type swivel chairs.

“I’m not one for tea, but this stuff is good. Your invention?”

“I am not an inventor,” Bernard said. “I am a qualified scientist. I live alone and have nothing to do except dabble in things. The answer to your question is no, I bought the thing at a departmental shop.”

Hiram laughed. “Well that’s honest. Now, tell me more about your thing of yours, the mind thing.”

“The PXI.”

“Sure, that’s it.”

Bernard unlocked a steel cabinet, opened the door and extracted a device that looked like a bicycle helmet with three hoops attached to it. One hoop was around the top like a halo. The other two were on each side and would encircle the wearer’s ears. A small black box on top with a few controls and lights gave the thing a bizarre appearance.

“This is only the prototype,” the old man said, gazing at the strange thing.

“Well, it sure looks science fiction enough, our readers will love it. I suppose I can take pictures?”

“We’ll see. So, will you … will you allow me to put it on your head?”

Hiram took a long suck at his tea then placed the mug on the bench. “Sure, okay,” he said, positioning himself in front of the professor.

Bernard carefully placed the device on Hiram’s head. “Comfortable?” he asked.

“Sure, but I can’t see through anything yet.”

“Now I’m going to turn it on. Don’t be startled, there may be an unpleasant noise at first, but it will clear very quickly.” He flicked a switch and a couple of lights came on. “Can you hear anything?”

“No, nothing, not a sound.”

The old man made a couple of adjustments. “Now what?” he asked.

Hiram sat still and did not reply for a moment. He looked as though he were in a trance. Then slowly he began to talk again. “The world has changed, colours have changed – it’s like looking through a light filter.”

“What do you see and feel?”

“I … I can’t describe it, but everything seems to have changed. Colours have moved slightly on the spectrum. Holy mackerel! When I look at you I see a blue haze all around you. And electrical wires have a yellow halo. Wow! this is amazing. But I don’t see through anything.”

“How do you feel?” Bernard asked.

“Well, it’s quiet, not … not that there is no noise, but it’s quiet in a holy sort of way. Like you are in a great cathedral or something. I find it quite refreshing.”

Bernard leaned over and switched the device off. “So what do you think?”

“I’m amazed. I don’t know what it is, but I am amazed. What would you use it for?”

Bernard slowly removed it from Hiram’s head. “It is a mind blocker. It allows perfect concentration without alien thoughts entering your mind.”

“Where’s the X-ray vision come into it?”

Bernard smiled. “Would you have come if I had said it was a calming device for the ether?”

“I guess not. I think it’s wonderful. I think it’s too good for our magazine. I mean this is real, it works, though I’m not sure what it does.”

“Well, I have tried other periodicals, but … well, because it is scientific, they expect you to pay for the publication.”

“I’ll try to do a good job, but as I said, most of our readers are just people looking for a bit of fun. They don’t know an atom from a chestnut.”

“Finish your tea and I will give you the write-up I made for Practical Electromotive. They turned me down.”

Hiram put his hand in his inside jacket pocket to remove his notepad. As he did so, the photos he had collected that morning fell to the floor. “Oh, boy,” he said, bending down to retrieve them. “These are for my girl Barbara. I took them over the weekend when I was up north in Scotland.”

“May I see?” Bernard asked, putting out his hand.

“Sure.” He handed the bundle of photos over.

Bernard examined them carefully. He stopped at the photograph of the grave. “Stop fire,” he said. “You certainly have an eye for the unusual. Do you know what this means?”

“You can read Latin, eh? Well, there is a legend surrounding the thing.”

“Of course I can read Latin. This tomb heading makes no sense.” He then turned to the pictures of the patrons. “My God!” he exclaimed. “Where did you get these?”

Hiram looked at the photo. “The Church of St Andrew’s, Craig.”

“From what I can make of it they are all famous men of science. They go back right through the ages. The last four or five are still alive, I think. Now why would a man of science want to contribute to a little country church, particularly Isaac Newton? I do believe he was a Templar and not a member of the Church of England.”

“Beats me,” Hiram said. “But there is a daft legend attached to the tomb which is at the same church. There’s supposed to be a girl buried there. Legend has it she was burned by the fire of the Devil and still smoked when she was buried.”

“Sounds like a modern teenager,” Bernard smiled.

Hiram had enjoyed his day, probably the first time since he left school. The old professor was a mine of information and a real pleasure to talk to. The journey home didn’t seem as long as the journey out. His mind was filled with the wonders and thoughts implanted by Bernard.

Barbara appeared excited and enthused by the photos when he eventually showed them to her.

“I want you to take me up there this weekend,” she demanded.

“Not likely. I have a great deal of work to do. I’ve got the flying-saucer story. Then there’s Professor Nightingale’s machine. I’ll be busy all weekend or I’ll get fired.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Either you will take me or I’ll leave you. I’m sick and tired of staying at home when we could be out enjoying the sun. Come on, let’s make a weekend of it.”

“I’ll think about it.” Think about it was all he did, no action was taken.

When Saturday morning came round he awakened to find that he was alone. Barbara was not in the apartment at all. He figured that she must have popped out to do some shopping, but when lunchtime arrived she had not returned. Undaunted, Hiram continued working on his writing. He wanted to do a particularly good job for Professor Nightingale’s invention, even though he did not understand it.

Sometime later he looked at the clock. The time was two in the afternoon and still Barbara had not returned. Feeling hungry and deserted, he decided to go out for a bite to eat. He took the elevator to the basement parking area where the car would normally be. The vehicle was nowhere to be found. For a moment he stood thinking, then he reasoned that Barbara must have taken it. The rest of the day passed without incident and Barbara did not return.

Puzzled and dejected, Hiram could not work on his writing. He couldn’t get her words out of his mind, “Either you will take me or I’ll leave you.” There was nothing that he could do. Barbara had left him as she had promised.