asked.
“Well, there’s definitely a sensation of darkness, and a sensation of light, usually in that order. There also seems to be a sound of some kind, though nobody seems to be able to describe it very well. Mr. Mandrake says it’s a buzzing—”
“—so all of his patients say it’s a buzzing,” Richard said.
“Yes, but even they don’t sound all that convinced,” Joannasaid, remembering the uncertainty in Mrs. Davenport’s voice. “And my subjects are all over the map. It’s a click, it’s a roar, it’s a scraping sound, and it’s a shriek.”
“But there definitely seems to be a sound?”
“Oh, yes, eighty-eight percent of my patients mentioned it. Without prompting.”
“What about the floating-above-your-body-on-the-operating-table?” Richard asked, pulling a box of raisins out of his pocket.
“Mr. Mandrake claims sixty percent of his patients have an out-of-body experience, but only eleven percent of mine do. Seventy-five percent of mine mention feelings of peacefulness and warmth, and nearly fifty percent say they saw some kind of figure, usually religious, usually dressed in white, sometimes shining or radiating light.”
“Mandrake’s Angel of Light,” Richard said.
She held out her hand, and he tipped some raisins into her palm. “Mr. Mandrake’s brainwashees see an Angel of Light and their dead relatives, waiting to greet them on the Other Side, but for everyone else, it seems to be religion-specific. Christians see angels or Jesus unless they’re Catholics, then they see the Virgin Mary. Hindus see Krishna or Vishnu, non-believers see relatives. Or Elvis.” She ate a raisin. “That’s what I mean about chaff. People bring so many biases from their own background, it’s almost impossible to know what they actually saw.”
“What about children?” he asked. “Don’t they have fewer preconceived ideas?”
“Yes,” Joanna said, “but they’re also more apt to want to please the adult who’s interviewing them, as proved by the nursery-school-abuse cases of the eighties. Children can be manipulated to say anything.”
“I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “I met a little girl today who didn’t look too influenceable. You know her. Maisie?”
“You talked to Maisie Nellis?” she said, and then frowned. “I didn’t know she was back in again.”
Richard nodded. “She told me to tell you she has something important to tell you. We had quite a chat about the
Hindenburg.”
She smiled. “So that’s the disaster of the week?”
He nodded. “That and the Great Molasses Flood. Did you know that twenty-one people met a pancakelike death in 1919?”
“How long were you there?” she laughed. “No, let me guess. Maisie’s wonderful at thinking up excuses for why you have to stay just a little longer. She’s one of the world’s great stallers. And one of the world’s great kids.”
He nodded. “She told me she has cardiomyopathy and that she’d gone into V-fib.”
Joanna nodded. “Viral endocarditis. They can’t get her stabilized, and she keeps having reactions to the antiarrhythmia drugs. She’s a walking disaster.”
“Hence the interest in the
Hindenburg,”
he said.
She nodded. “I think it’s a way of indirectly addressing her fears. Her mother won’t let her talk about them directly, won’t even acknowledge the possibility that Maisie might die,” she said. “But more than that, I think Maisie’s trying to make sense of her own situation by reading about other people who’ve had sudden, unaccountable, disastrous things happen to them.” She ate another raisin. “Plus, children are always fascinated by death. When I was Maisie’s age, my favorite song was ‘Poor Babes in the Wood,’ about two children ‘stolen away one bright summer’s day’ and left in the woods to die. My grandmother used to sing it to me, to my mother’s horror. The elderly are fascinated by death, too.”
“Did they?” Richard asked curiously.
“Well, there’s definitely a sensation of darkness, and a sensation of light, usually in that order. There also seems to be a sound of some kind, though nobody seems to be able to describe it very well. Mr. Mandrake says it’s a buzzing—”
“—so all of his patients say it’s a buzzing,” Richard said.
“Yes, but even they don’t sound all that convinced,” Joannasaid, remembering the uncertainty in Mrs. Davenport’s voice. “And my subjects are all over the map. It’s a click, it’s a roar, it’s a scraping sound, and it’s a shriek.”
“But there definitely seems to be a sound?”
“Oh, yes, eighty-eight percent of my patients mentioned it. Without prompting.”
“What about the floating-above-your-body-on-the-operating-table?” Richard asked, pulling a box of raisins out of his pocket.
“Mr. Mandrake claims sixty percent of his patients have an out-of-body experience, but only eleven percent of mine do. Seventy-five percent of mine mention feelings of peacefulness and warmth, and nearly fifty percent say they saw some kind of figure, usually religious, usually dressed in white, sometimes shining or radiating light.”
“Mandrake’s Angel of Light,” Richard said.
She held out her hand, and he tipped some raisins into her palm. “Mr. Mandrake’s brainwashees see an Angel of Light and their dead relatives, waiting to greet them on the Other Side, but for everyone else, it seems to be religion-specific. Christians see angels or Jesus unless they’re Catholics, then they see the Virgin Mary. Hindus see Krishna or Vishnu, non-believers see relatives. Or Elvis.” She ate a raisin. “That’s what I mean about chaff. People bring so many biases from their own background, it’s almost impossible to know what they actually saw.”
“What about children?” he asked. “Don’t they have fewer preconceived ideas?”
“Yes,” Joanna said, “but they’re also more apt to want to please the adult who’s interviewing them, as proved by the nursery-school-abuse cases of the eighties. Children can be manipulated to say anything.”
“I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “I met a little girl today who didn’t look too influenceable. You know her. Maisie?”
“You talked to Maisie Nellis?” she said, and then frowned. “I didn’t know she was back in again.”
Richard nodded. “She told me to tell you she has something important to tell you. We had quite a chat about the
Hindenburg.”
She smiled. “So that’s the disaster of the week?”
He nodded. “That and the Great Molasses Flood. Did you know that twenty-one people met a pancakelike death in 1919?”
“How long were you there?” she laughed. “No, let me guess. Maisie’s wonderful at thinking up excuses for why you have to stay just a little longer. She’s one of the world’s great stallers. And one of the world’s great kids.”
He nodded. “She told me she has cardiomyopathy and that she’d gone into V-fib.”
Joanna nodded. “Viral endocarditis. They can’t get her stabilized, and she keeps having reactions to the antiarrhythmia drugs. She’s a walking disaster.”
“Hence the interest in the
Hindenburg,”
he said.
She nodded. “I think it’s a way of indirectly addressing her fears. Her mother won’t let her talk about them directly, won’t even acknowledge the possibility that Maisie might die,” she said. “But more than that, I think Maisie’s trying to make sense of her own situation by reading about other people who’ve had sudden, unaccountable, disastrous things happen to them.” She ate another raisin. “Plus, children are always fascinated by death. When I was Maisie’s age, my favorite song was ‘Poor Babes in the Wood,’ about two children ‘stolen away one bright summer’s day’ and left in the woods to die. My grandmother used to sing it to me, to my mother’s horror. The elderly are fascinated by death, too.”
“Did they?” Richard asked curiously.
Similar Books
