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Authors: Collin Wilcox
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instance, in Rhine’s experiments—we’re actually talking about a single physical state, of which both human thoughts and the dice are constructed. They’re both electrical charges, nothing more and nothing less. When you think of it like that, it’s perfectly logical to assume physical and mental states can interact, just as purely mental states can interact. It’s—” She paused for breath. “It’s a simple logic. Mind can influence matter, in exactly the same way that one mind influences another, psychically. Telepathy, clairvoyance, psychokinesis—they’re all related phenomena. Don’t you agree?”
“Well, I’ve never really—”
“I’ll make a bargain with you,” she said suddenly, her eyes snapping with brisk calculation. “I’ll exchange an interview with me about Roberta Grinnel for an interview with you about ESP.” It was a statement, not a request. And, besides, the exchange sounded promising.
I thought for a moment and then said, “I’ll agree to that, but only under one condition.”
“What’s that?” She popped a macaroon into her mouth.
“That you interview me some other time but right now. You see, I’ve got an appointment at two o’clock, and …”
She waved a hand. “Agreed.”
“Good.” I paused, trying to collect the scattered threads. “You may or may not know it, Miss Stephenson, but Roberta Grinnel was found murdered in a man’s apartment, under circumstances that were, ah, compromising, to say the least.”
She nodded attentively. “I gathered that from the noon news.”
“Oh. Oh, yes.” I’d momentarily forgotten about radio newscasts, a common failing of newspaper reporters.
“Were you aware that she was carrying on an affair with this man?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Yes and no, I’d say.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, Roberta was a pretty reliable topic of conversation around here, in spite of the fact that she kept pretty much to herself. It was more or less common knowledge that she didn’t sleep here one or two nights a week, although she always made it by reveille, so to speak. So the conclusion was obvious. But she didn’t flaunt it, and as a result she got away with it. With the school authorities, I mean.”
“I’m told that there’re no hours here at Bransten, no check-in, or housemothers.”
She nodded. “That’s right. However, it’s not quite as simple as that. The idea is that the students are supposed to govern themselves and their own morals, by means of student government and social pressures. If someone persists in playing a radio late at night, for instance, it’s brought up at the precinct level, you might say. The same thing is true of morals offenders.”
“Then you do punish morals offenders.”
Frowning, she took a moment to think about it. Then, with a small, out-of-patience sigh, she said, “We do, if the offense constitutes a nuisance to the community, like playing the radio too loud. And, of course, there’s a pressure in the direction of conventional, healthy moral behavior, just like there is anywhere else. That’s a common misconception about Bransten, that it’s morally permissive. Actually, it isn’t; it just handles the morality problem differently, by assuming that the student is adult enough to take some responsibility for his own behavior, and, to a certain extent, the behavior of others. The result is—” She swallowed another macaroon, which seemed to be her favorite. “The result is that Bransten isn’t any less moral than any other college, and probably a lot more moral than some, believe me. It’s quite possible, in fact, that the moral climate at Bransten is really healthier than most places. Take Roberta, for instance. It’s true, she was in and out of lots of boys’ rooms; there’s no question about it. But, given her particular predispositions, she’d’ve acted much the same at any college, just as soon as she was separated from Daddy. The only difference is, at most
“Well, I’ve never really—”
“I’ll make a bargain with you,” she said suddenly, her eyes snapping with brisk calculation. “I’ll exchange an interview with me about Roberta Grinnel for an interview with you about ESP.” It was a statement, not a request. And, besides, the exchange sounded promising.
I thought for a moment and then said, “I’ll agree to that, but only under one condition.”
“What’s that?” She popped a macaroon into her mouth.
“That you interview me some other time but right now. You see, I’ve got an appointment at two o’clock, and …”
She waved a hand. “Agreed.”
“Good.” I paused, trying to collect the scattered threads. “You may or may not know it, Miss Stephenson, but Roberta Grinnel was found murdered in a man’s apartment, under circumstances that were, ah, compromising, to say the least.”
She nodded attentively. “I gathered that from the noon news.”
“Oh. Oh, yes.” I’d momentarily forgotten about radio newscasts, a common failing of newspaper reporters.
“Were you aware that she was carrying on an affair with this man?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Yes and no, I’d say.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, Roberta was a pretty reliable topic of conversation around here, in spite of the fact that she kept pretty much to herself. It was more or less common knowledge that she didn’t sleep here one or two nights a week, although she always made it by reveille, so to speak. So the conclusion was obvious. But she didn’t flaunt it, and as a result she got away with it. With the school authorities, I mean.”
“I’m told that there’re no hours here at Bransten, no check-in, or housemothers.”
She nodded. “That’s right. However, it’s not quite as simple as that. The idea is that the students are supposed to govern themselves and their own morals, by means of student government and social pressures. If someone persists in playing a radio late at night, for instance, it’s brought up at the precinct level, you might say. The same thing is true of morals offenders.”
“Then you do punish morals offenders.”
Frowning, she took a moment to think about it. Then, with a small, out-of-patience sigh, she said, “We do, if the offense constitutes a nuisance to the community, like playing the radio too loud. And, of course, there’s a pressure in the direction of conventional, healthy moral behavior, just like there is anywhere else. That’s a common misconception about Bransten, that it’s morally permissive. Actually, it isn’t; it just handles the morality problem differently, by assuming that the student is adult enough to take some responsibility for his own behavior, and, to a certain extent, the behavior of others. The result is—” She swallowed another macaroon, which seemed to be her favorite. “The result is that Bransten isn’t any less moral than any other college, and probably a lot more moral than some, believe me. It’s quite possible, in fact, that the moral climate at Bransten is really healthier than most places. Take Roberta, for instance. It’s true, she was in and out of lots of boys’ rooms; there’s no question about it. But, given her particular predispositions, she’d’ve acted much the same at any college, just as soon as she was separated from Daddy. The only difference is, at most
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