Ghost, page 16
“I’d like you to repeat the experiment with the R box,” he says when he gets Dr. Tettlebeim on the telephone.
“Certainly,” says Dr. Tettlebeim. “Why are you shouting?”
“And I’d like to have a couple of witnesses from the university.”
“As you remember, we prefer not to have spectators,” says Dr. Tettlebeim in his gentle voice. “It may interfere with the intentionality force.”
“I insist.”
“Can I ask why you want to repeat the experiment?” says Dr. Tettlebeim. “Are you skeptical of our results?”
“I’m skeptical of everything,” says David. “I want to repeat the experiment.”
“Of course,” says Dr. Tettlebeim. “We are all interested in discovering truth.”
The next day, in midafternoon, Dr. Tettlebeim arrives with his equipment. He and his assistant trudge up the steps to David’s second-floor apartment carrying the sound-absorbing panels, the computer and printer, the various connecting cables, and of course the R box. Up and down, up and down, four trips in all, without any complaints. Although heavily sweating, Dr. Tettlebeim will not remove his jacket or bow tie. “A private performance,” he says with a little smile. “With spectators.”
Raymond watches with consternation as the men labor up the stairs. “What’s going on?” he asks.
“I’m getting a new stereo system,” says David.
His neighbor shakes his head. “Yeah. Whatever.”
After a half hour of fiddling, Dr. Tettlebeim has the equipment installed to his satisfaction. “It’s not the ideal space,” he says, “but as long as you can concentrate, Mr. Kurzweil.” There is a moment of concern, when the assistant thinks he forgot the Bach fugue, but they find the CD in the printer cover.
“Calibration,” says Dr. Tettlebeim. His voice sounds odd. With the sound-absorbing panels installed, every sound in David’s apartment has a strangeness that he’s never heard before. Spoken words are immediately swallowed in the air, like light in a fog.
“‘It is an ancient Mariner, / And he stoppeth one of three…’” David begins reciting from Coleridge, marveling at how each syllable is sucked into nothingness.
At that moment, there is a knocking on the front door. Ronald and William have arrived.
Dr. Tettlebeim is visibly upset upon being introduced to Ronald. “You didn’t tell me that Professor Mickleweed would be one of the spectators,” he says to David. “I’m not sure we can proceed.”
“Why?”
“He is not a person I can work with. It’s a personal matter. I’m sorry.”
“What does personal have to do with it?” injects Ronald. “We’re doing a scientific experiment. The ones and zeroes will speak for themselves.” William smiles.
“It is not so simple,” says Dr. Tettlebeim, talking to David and refusing to look at Ronald. “Professor Mickleweed and I have been exchanging messages, and I can tell that he has a closed mind. He is negative. He could block the intentionality force.”
Ronald sighs and sits down on the couch.
“I’d like to look at the random number generator inside the box if I may,” says William.
Dr. Tettlebeim hesitates. “You may,” he says.
William opens the box and examines the tiny computer inside of it. Then he puts the computer back in the box and studies the wires leading to the printer. He opens up the printer itself, examines the circuit boards, and closes it up. “I’d like to do a test,” he says.
“We always do calibrations,” says Dr. Tettlebeim. “We were in the process of performing a calibration when you arrived.”
“Then you shouldn’t have any objection if I do one now,” says William. Dr. Tettlebeim nods in approval. William turns on the black box. It makes a faint humming sound. The printer whines as it spews out its numbers. After a few minutes, William analyzes the output of the printer. “A hundred numbers per second,” he says.
“Yes,” says Dr. Tettlebeim.
William and Ronald look together at the output. They whisper to each other. “Binomial distribution,” says William. “We can just do root N over four.” Ronald does a calculation. “It appears that the machine is working properly,” he says to Dr. Tettlebeim. “Your random number generator is doing what it’s supposed to do.”
“Did you think it wasn’t?” says Dr. Tettlebeim, looking at Ronald for the first time. “Didn’t you trust me?”
“We just wanted to make sure,” says Ronald. “We’re happy. You have a legitimate random number generator there.”
“Thank you very much,” says Dr. Tettlebeim’s assistant, the pimpled young man, now wearing a green nylon jogging outfit. The assistant yawns and begins eating some peanuts that David left on his dining room table.
“I want to go ahead with the experiment,” says David. Dr. Tettlebeim takes off his glasses and rubs his forehead, debating with himself.
“It’s a scientific experiment,” says Ronald.
“I’m concerned that you will interfere with the results,” says Dr. Tettlebeim.
“I’ll tune him out,” says David. “I want to do the experiment.”
Dr. Tettlebeim shakes his head. “All right. These are not optimum conditions, I want to say that in advance.” He puts his glasses back on. “I would like everyone please to sit down. We need stillness. We need quiet. There should be only the music.”
“Music?” asks William.
Dr. Tettlebeim’s assistant starts the Bach fugue.
David sits in front of the box and concentrates. At first he is distracted by the people in the room. Dr. Tettlebeim stands by the printer, Ronald and William sit on the couch, the assistant makes rustling sounds from the kitchen. Someone coughs. The relentless shuttle of the fugue. The box. David concentrates on the box. Bethany. No, he must not think of Bethany now. The box. Project your mind on the box.
Someone is shaking his shoulder. “It’s over,” says Ronald. “We’ve got thirty thousand numbers. There’s no effect.” Dr. Tettlebeim examines the graph without speaking. “The excess is well within one standard deviation,” says Ronald. “Do you agree?”
Dr. Tettlebeim looks again at the numbers. “Yes,” he says. His face shows no emotion.
William stands up from the couch and strides to the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” he says to Dr. Tettlebeim, sarcasm in his voice. He turns to David. “It’s time for you to step up to the plate, good sir. We’ll be in touch.”
“I’d like to do the experiment one more time,” says Dr. Tettlebeim. “I believe Mr. Kurzweil may have had trouble concentrating.”
“Right,” says William. “Now come the excuses.” William’s face has turned red, but his voice never rises above a whisper. “Keep the data you want, throw out the data you don’t want. You know something, I don’t care what you believe. Believe in whatever you want. Believe in goblins and fairies if you want. But don’t promote your garbage to the public. The public is ignorant. The public is vulnerable. Our students are vulnerable.” Dr. Tettlebeim has turned away from William and looks at David with something like sadness in his eyes. “And if I can,” William continues, “I’m going to put you out of business. I’m going to shut you and your organization down. But right now, you’re not wasting another minute of my time. I’ve left my laboratory to come here for this travesty. Let’s go, Ronald.”
“Let him do another experiment,” says Ronald.
“What for?” says William. “What would that accomplish?” He looks at his watch.
“Just let him,” says Ronald. “It’s only another ten minutes. Let’s leave no room for doubt. Let’s finish this with a clear conscience.”
“He’s just going to give another excuse,” says William. “The temperature in the room wasn’t right, or David wasn’t sitting the correct way in his chair.”
“I’d like to do one more experiment,” says David.
“Thank you,” says Dr. Tettlebeim.
William throws up his hands, his keys jingling at his waist. “Okay. Okay. Ten minutes.” He goes back to the couch.
Again, David sits in front of the box. The fugue begins. He stares at the box. He stares, and the black box seems to grow and shrink with the music. He imagines the insides of the box, the tiny computer whirling out its zeroes and ones, creating the numbers from some hidden electrical pulse, like the vein throbbing on his neck. He concentrates on the box. His body tingles. Concentrate on the box.
“That’s enough,” says Ronald. He walks to the printer and squints at the graph. After a few moments, a quizzical look comes over his face. He scratches his balding head. He takes out his pen. Dr. Tettlebeim examines the graph and compares it to his printed probability tables.
“So what is it?” says William.
“About one and a half standard deviations,” says Ronald.
“What does that mean?” asks David.
“Let me see it,” says William. He takes the printout from Ronald and studies it, twisting his mouth.
“What are the results?” says David.
“I’m afraid this time it’s not so clear cut,” says Ronald. “There’s about a fifteen percent probability that a random number generator would give a preponderance of zeroes as big as what you got.”
“And an eighty-five percent probability that it wouldn’t,” says Dr. Tettlebeim, with a slight smile on his lips. “Mr. Kurzweil has done it again. He’s controlled the R box with his mind. It’s the power of the intentionality force.”
“We can’t draw any conclusions from this one experiment,” says Ronald.
“This is all ridiculous,” says William, still holding the output of the printer. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. There’s no such thing as an intentionality force. Ronald, why are you entertaining this crap?”
“I’m not entertaining anything,” says Ronald. “We did two runs. One of them was within a standard deviation, one of them wasn’t.”
Dr. Tettlebeim and his assistant begin packing up their equipment.
“So I had no effect on the box in the first experiment, and I did in the second?” asks David. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes,” says Dr. Tettlebeim. “That’s what the results show.”
“I wouldn’t quite say that,” says Ronald. “I’d say that the second experiment was a somewhat improbable event. Not extremely improbable but somewhat improbable. If we did the experiment many times and combined the results, we’d conclude that David had no effect on the box.”
“Why are you so sure?” asks Dr. Tettlebeim.
“Because it’s a random number generator,” says Ronald.
Dr. Tettlebeim nods without comment, then continues folding up the acoustic panels.
“He smells of cologne,” says William. “He’s worse than an ignorant person. Much worse.”
DAVID SITS ALONE IN THE SLUMBER ROOM. No longer is it his haven of silence. Even with the door closed, he can hear Martha’s voice telling callers that he can no longer come to the telephone.
What can he say to the callers? What can he say to the members of the Society? Already he’s issued a denial of any ability to control world events. But the narrow wording of his denial has only enhanced their belief in his powers. What can he say now? He is far too confused. The new experiments have clarified nothing. Around and around he goes on his globe of confusion. He is dizzy with possibilities. With the drapes now always drawn, day cannot be distinguished from night. Here, and elsewhere in the mortuary, there is no longer dawn or noon or dusk or night. The light holds in its liquid constancy, spilling out evenly from the porcelain lamps. These lamps are old. Martin’s grandfather purchased them abroad, as well as the fraying beige Oriental rug on the floor, the crystal decanters on the mantel above the fireplace, the semicircle of chairs with embroidered seats—all now chipped or in tatters, illuminated only by artificial light. What happened here that dusk afternoon? How can he ever find out? Whatever it was never happened again. Does something that occurs only once truly exist? His birth occurred only once.
Although he cannot describe it in words, he remembers the sight as if it were only moments ago, the fleeting thing at the edge of his eye. For an instant, he lifted the veil. Was it another world? Was it the dim infinity before he was born? Why was he able to affect the R box? That he didn’t imagine. There were witnesses. And if he did not imagine the zeroes and ones, perhaps he did not imagine whatever he saw on April 23. And even if he did imagine it. The imagination is part of the world, Jason Chee said. Is imagination part of this world? Or part of another? Even the theorem of Pythagoras now seems in doubt. His eyes circle the room. Once this intimate space flowed over his body with quiet and calm. Now the stares of the gawkers and passersby. The invasions. Ophelia and Jenny, even Andrew the driver, cannot stop talking about Dr. Tettlebeim’s experiments, the strange machines and equipment right in their home. What time is it? Martin needs him. The mortuary is drowning. Louis, the young man hired to replace Robert, keeps asking everyone to repeat his instructions. Martin can no longer keep up. He looks toward Jenny with his milky eyes, knowing that he cannot turn people away.
Ronald is on the telephone. The latest results with the black box are about to be published in several newspapers, Ronald says. He’s got early copies. Tettlebeim must have talked to reporters. There are photos of him and William, “distinguished scientists from the university,” claiming them as witnesses. But you were witnesses, says David. Don’t you understand? shouts Ronald. This is all preposterous. William and I never endorsed your psychic abilities. We never endorsed the Society for the Second World. This new junk in the press makes it appear that we’re sponsors. It makes us look like supporters. The public certainly thinks so. We’re getting calls, lots of calls. People want us to hold a symposium on the paranormal. At the university. Can you believe it! The department chairs are getting calls and the deans are getting calls and the president. People believe this bunk. And now we’ve been presented as supporters. It’s illegal, I’ll tell you that. It’s slander and misrepresentation. Those jerks have gone too far. The university is hiring more attorneys. We’re going to sue them back to the Stone Age. People here are enraged. And they’re enraged at me too. The dean of science hauled me and William into his office. This is what happens. You try to straighten out something, and it only gets worse. I can’t believe we had the bad luck to get a rare event on that second run. I just can’t believe it. The reporters don’t know anything. All they want is a good story.
Ronald’s voice is cracking.
I’m sorry, says David. I should never have asked you to be a witness. I apologize for that. I thought we were going to settle things, but it didn’t turn out that way.
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. I don’t blame you, David. Don’t blame yourself either. You made an honest mistake. Now we’re all in this. I just wanted to give you a heads-up because you have a relationship with those people. It’s war now.
I’m so sick of this, says David. I wish I’d never said anything. Tell me the truth, says Ronald. Do you believe you saw something supernatural in the mortuary? I do, says David. I’m embarrassed to say that to you, Ronald. I know it doesn’t make any sense. I don’t have any proof. But I can’t talk myself out of it. I wish I could talk myself out of it. If you saw something supernatural, what would you do?
There’s a pause. Let’s define our terms, says Ronald. When I say supernatural, I mean something that has no scientific explanation. Something that lies outside science. Yes, says David. All right, says Ronald. What would I do if I saw something supernatural? First of all, I’d try to find a logical explanation. You have to remember that some stuff, in some circumstances, appears supernatural when it isn’t. A solar eclipse appears supernatural unless you happen to know some astronomy. If I went to a remote tribe in New Guinea and demonstrated my laptop, it would freak them out. Okay, says David. Suppose you looked hard for a logical explanation but couldn’t find one. Then what? Then, says Ronald, I would assume that there was some logical explanation that I just wasn’t able to find for some reason. Just because we can’t find a logical, scientific explanation doesn’t mean that one doesn’t exist. So, says David, you wouldn’t accept that a supernatural event had occurred even if you saw it. Is that what you’re saying? Yes, says Ronald. I guess that’s what I’m saying. And I want to add that I’ve never seen anything that would convince me otherwise. Does that mean, asks David, that you might possibly be convinced otherwise? Could anything convince you that something supernatural might exist? With a great deal of evidence, I could be convinced, says Ronald. But it would take a lot of evidence. If many different phenomena showed that there were strange things going on with no known explanation, then I would of course accept that. I respect evidence. But…if there were many different phenomena that showed something strange, I would consider that as evidence for a new kind of physical force. Not something supernatural, but a force that we didn’t yet understand. A physical force, not a supernatural force. The force of magnetism must have seemed pretty magical and strange to the first humans who experienced it. So, says David, you’re saying that there are no circumstances in which you’d believe in the supernatural, even if you had evidence. I don’t believe in the supernatural, says Ronald. I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you. I believe that everything in the physical world can be explained by science. You said physical world, says David. What about the nonphysical world? I don’t believe in a nonphysical world, says Ronald. What about love? asks David. Oh, love is very much a physical thing, says Ronald. I realize that it’s very complicated, and I’m sure it can’t be traced to individual neurons and hormones, but I think it’s very much a physiological sensation that takes place in the brain. Don’t you feel something magical when you’re in love? asks David. I do, I certainly do, says Ronald. But I think that feeling of magic is a hardwired psychological response. It’s a chemical thing in the brain. It’s a flow of chemicals and electrical currents, and it developed over millions of years in the process of evolution to aid in the procreation of the species. What about God? asks David. Ronald snorts a dry laugh. You’re really trying to back me into a corner, aren’t you. Look, I’ve got to get back to my lab. I’ve got to meet with the stupid attorneys. I just wanted to let you know the new developments. One more minute, says David. Okay, says Ronald. What about God. God is an interesting case. I’ll certainly agree that God, as people conceive God, would have to be supernatural. Yes, God would be supernatural. First of all, there’s no scientific evidence for God. So that’s my first answer. But let’s assume that God exists. As long as God doesn’t intervene after He or She released the grand pendulum, then there’s no problem, as I see it. No interventions or miracles, no problem. That leaves us, for all practical purposes, with a physical world. Does that make sense to you? Yes, it does, says David. So how are you feeling about all of this right now? asks Ronald. Confused, David says. That’s not so bad, says Ronald. People are often confused right before they make a discovery.
