"No, tonight's the first time. Or at least, the first time I know of, so I guess it's this hyperactivity thing. Don't you think?"
"Oh, I really wouldnt know," said the priest. "I've heard sleepwalking's common at puberty, except that---" Here he shrugged and broke off. "I don't know. Guess you'd better ask your doctor."
Throughout the remainder of the discussion, Mrs. Perrin sat quietly, watching the dance of flames in the living room fireplace: Almost as subdued, Chris noticed, was the astronaut, who was scheduled for a flight to the moon within the year. He stared at his drink with a now-andthen grunt meant to signify interest and attention. As if by tacit understanding, no one made reference to what Regan had said to him.
"Well, I do have that Mass" said the dean at last, rising to leave.
It triggered a general departure. They all stood up and expressed their thanks for dinner and the evening.
At the door, Father Dyer took Chris's hand and probed her eyes earnestly. "Do you think there's a part in one of your movies for a very short priest who can play the piano?" he asked. "Well, if there isn't"--- Chris laughed--- "then I'll have one written in for you, Father." "I was thinking of my brother," he told her solemnly.
"Oh, you!" she laughed again, and bade him a fond and warm good night.
The last to leave were Mary Jo Perrin and her son. Chris held them at the door with idle chatter.
She had the feeling that Mary Jo had something on her mind, but was holding it back. To delay her departure, Chris asked her opinion on Regan's continued use of the Quija board and her Captain Howdy fixation. "Do you think there's any harm in it?" she asked.
Expecting an airily perfunctory dismissal. Chris was surprised when Mrs. Perrin frowned and looked down at the doorstep. She seemed to be thinking, and stll in this posture, she stepped outside and joined her son, who was waiting on the stoop. When at last she lifted her head, her eyes were in shadow.
"I would take it away from her," she said quietly.
She handed ignition keys to her son. "Bobby, start up the motor," she instructed. "It's cold."
He took the keys, told Chris that he'd loved her in all her films, and then walked shyly away toward an old, battered Mustang parked down the street.
Mrs. Perrin's eyes were still in shadow.
"I don't know what you think of me," she said, speaking slowly. "Many people associate me with spiritualism. But that's wrong. Yes, I think I have a gift," she continued quietly. "But it isn't occult. In fact, to me it seems natural; perfectly natural. Being a Catholic, I believe that we all have a foot in two worlds. The one that were conscious of is time. But now and then a freak like me gets a flash from the other foot; and that one, I think... is in eternity. Well, eternity has no time. There the future is present. So now and again when I feel that other foot, I believe that I get to see the future. Who knows? Maybe not. Maybe all of it's coincidence." She shrugged. "But I think I do. Atid if that's so, why, I still say, it's natural, you see. But now the occult..." She paused, picking words. "The occult is something different. I've stayed away from that. I think dabbling with that can be dangerous. And that includes fooling around with a Ouija board."
Until now, Chris had thought her a woman of eminent sense. And yet something in her manner now was deeply disturbing. She felt a creeping foreboding that she tried to dispel.
"Oh, come on, Mary Jo." Chris smiled. "Don't you know how those Quija boards work? It isn't anything at all but a person's subconscious, that's all."
"Yes, perhaps," she answered quietly. "Perhaps. It could all be suggestion.. But in story after story that I've heard about séances, Ouija boards, all of that, they always seem to point to the opening of a door of some sort. Oh, not to the spirit world, perhaps; you don't believe in that.
Perhaps, then, a door in what you call the subconsious. I don't know. All I know is that things seem to happen. And, my dear, there are lunatic asylums all over the world filled with people why dabbled in the occult."
"Are you kidding?"
There was momentary silence. Then again the soft voice began droning out of darkness. "There was a family in Bavaria, Chris, in nineteen twenty-one. I don't remember the name, but they were a family of eleven. You could check it in the newspapers, I suppose. Just a short time following an attempt at a séance, they went out of their minds. All of them. All eleven. They went on a burning spree in their house, and when they'd finished with the furniture, they started on the three-month-old baby of one of the younger daughters. And that is when the neighbors broke in and stopped them.
"The entire family," she ended, "was put in an asylum."
"Oh, boy!" breathed Chris as she thought of Captain Howdy. He had now assumed a menacing coloration. Mental illness. Was that it? Something. "I knew I should take her to see a psychiatrist!"
"Oh, for heaven sakes," said Mrs. Perrin, stepping into the light, "you never mind about me; you just listen to your doctor." There was attempted reassurance in her voice that was not convincing. "I'm great at the future"--- Mrs. Perrin smiled--- "but in the present I'm absolutely helpless." She was fumbling in her purse. "Now then, where are my glasses? There, you see?
I've mislaid them. Oh, here they are right here." She had found them in a pocket of her coat.
"Lovely home," she remarked as she put on the glasses and glanced up at the upper facade of the house. "Gives a feeling of warmth."
"God almighty, I'm relieved! For a second, there, I thought you were going to tell me it's haunted!"
Mrs. Perrin glanced down to her. "Why would I tell you a thing like that?"
Chris was thinking of a friend, a noted actress in Beverly Hills who had sold her home because of her insistence that it was inhabited by a poltergeist. "I don't' know." She grinned wanly. "On account of who you are, I guess. I was kidding."
"It's a very fine house," Mrs. Perrin reassured her in an even tone. "I've been here before, you know; many times."
"Have yogi really?"
"Yes, an admiral had it; a friend of mine. I get a letter from him now and then. They've shipped him to sea again, poor dear. I don't know if it's really him that I miss or this house."
She smiled. "But then maybe you'll invite me back."
"Mary Jo, I'd love to have you back. I mean it. You're a fascinating person."
"Well, at least I'm the nerviest person you know."
"Oh, come on. Listen, call me. Please. Will you call me next week?"
"Yes, I would like to hear how your daughter's coming on."
"Got the number?"
"Yes, at home in my book."
What was off? wondered Chris. There was something in her tone that was slightly off-center.
