Manly Wade Wellman - John Thunstone 02 (5 page)

 
          
Again
he paused. Then: “Perhaps I’ll have more to say about Shonokins at a later
session of this symposium. As for other improbabilities, I can vouch for
werewolves and vampires. I’ve come up against both of those creatures. But
possibly you’ll want to ask me questions about that.”

 
          
He
finished, and Pitt was back at his own microphone. “Next in fine, let me
introduce Chief Reuben Manco. Chief Manco is a Cherokee, and he is also a
medicine man of his tribe. A sophisticate, too; he graduated from
Dartmouth
with honors, and he writes interestingly
for various journals of history and folklore. Here he is.”

 
          
“Thank
you,” said Manco deeply into his own microphone. Looking at him from the side,
Thunstone saw the sweep of his curved nose, his square jaw, the brown strength
of his face. “Last night,” he said, “Professor Shimada observed that his
ancestors were in
Japan
many thousands of years before mine were in
America
. I recognize that seniority, but I take
leave to remark that my ancient people had a far larger area to explore and
live in. And I also take leave to wonder if his Japanese civilization was
established earlier than native civilizations in North and
South America
.” Shimada smiled and made a silent gesture
of applause. Manco let his words sink in,
then
went
on:

 
          
“There
are old Indian beliefs in dazzling wonders—the Dreadful Rabbit, the menacing
little Pukwitchee people, the Thunderbird that will send down rain if you know
the right song to sing, the Half Buffalo creature that sounds like the Cretan
Minotaur—people smile at these legends. Yet to every utterly strange belief
there is, somewhere back at the beginning, a core of plain truth. There have
been dragons in America—science calls them dinosaurs—even flying dragons, with
wing spreads of fifty feet—their bones have been found in Texas. And sun gods
and moon gods and spider fairies and grasshopper imps. Indians who believed in
such things built civilizations in
Mexico
, in
Yucatan
and
Peru
.” Manco permitted himself a hard, dry grin.
“Who can certainly say, here or elsewhere—if
Columbus
had waited a few more centuries before he
discovered
America
, what great triumphs of culture might have been realized by the Aztecs
and the Mayas and the Peruvian Incas? A good question, don’t you agree, and
what might be the answer?” The whole great audience listened raptly. He went
on: “I’m a Cherokee, as you’ve heard Professor Pitt say. I belong to one of
what they call the Civilized Tribes. When I speak at greater length here, I’ll
go into the beliefs of my people, and I’ll try to demonstrate how true some of
those beliefs can be.”

 
          
He
finished, and lifted a hand, palm out as though in blessing. Pitt returned to
his own microphone.

 
          
“And
last,” he said, “let me introduce Father Mark Bundren, of
New York City
. Father Bundren is a classicist of high
reputation,
he is of the powerful, learned Society of Jesus
founded by Saint Ignatius Loyola. He has been a teacher in Catholic colleges
and universities, and now he is more widely active as a scholar of the occult.
His books and articles on classic demonology are read and respected everywhere.
Father Bundren, the floor is yours.”

 
          
Some
of the listeners stirred in their seats. Father Bundren smiled and began:

 
          
“Professor
Pitt is pleased to say some flattering things. Let me say that I am simply a
priest of my church, one of more than fifty thousand Catholic priests in the
United States
alone. And I venture to hope that,
yes,
I’m a classicist of sorts. I’ll go along with what Mr.
Thunstone has said for himself, I’ve experienced strange things in my life, and
I feel obliged to believe in those strange things, to cope with them as I’m
able. Diabolism is as ancient as man himself. Perhaps devils were worshiped and
feared before gods—perhaps gods are relatively new among us on earth as
compared to devils. As far back as the Stone Age, sorcerers flourished; we have
their homed portraits in old, old caves. The pagans of
Greece
and
Rome
respected and served sorcerers. When
Christianity dawned, it had diabolists to meet and defeat. Saint Peter, once
named Simon, had a lively struggle with his namesake, Simon Magus. If we credit
the writings of certain saints, Simon Magus tried to impress the Emperor Nero
by soaring into the air. Saint Peter prayed, and Simon Magus fell crashing to
the ground—he was killed, says one account. But his teachings didn’t die with
him. As late as the middle of the nineteenth century, there were Simon Magus
cults both in
America
and in
France
.”

           
He was silent for a moment, while
all the
auditorium was silent. Then he went on:

 
          
“Witchcraft
was sternly attacked in the Middle Ages and on into recent times. I gather that
thousands of devil worshipers were executed. Maybe innocent people were among
them, but there were witch doctors aplenty on the lists. We know about the
Salem
executions here. Other events of the sort
happened elsewhere in our country. Today the law provides that no sincere
religious belief can be forbidden or molested, and there are many, many
professed witch organizations from coast to coast. I hope to go more deeply
into this sort of thing later in our program here.”

 
          
He,
too, finished, and Pitt said, “We will now hear any questions anyone cares to
ask, and will try to answer them. Hold up your hands. When you’re recognized,
state your name and offer your query.”

 
          
Then
silence. To Thunstone, it seemed a heavy silence. After a moment, hands went up
here and there. Pitt pointed to someone in the center section, and a young man
stood up. He had long black hair and a small mustache. To Thunstone, he seemed
to have a far-off resemblance to a tallish Edgar Allan Poe.

 
          
“My
name’s Exum Layton,” said the man, his voice faint in the auditorium. “I’m a
graduate student in English. I want to ask Mr. Thunstone, why do you say you
believe in these phenomena?”

 
          
“Seeing
is believing
,” said Thunstone into his microphone.
“When you see something, experience something at first hand, it becomes reality
to you and perhaps you can deal with it.”

 
          
“You
mentioned the Shonokins,” Exum Layton said. “I’ve heard of them, but I thought
they were fiction.”

 
          
“They’re
real enough, in their seemingly unreal way,” said Thunstone.

 
          
“I’d
like to talk to you about them.”

 
          
“Very
well, you may. I’m staying at the
Inn
, you
can telephone me there.”

 
          
Exum
Layton sat down. Pitt pointed toward another lifted hand, a slim, white one.
Grizel Fian rose from her seat.

 
          
“Yes,”
prompted Pitt.

 
          
“Mr.
Thunstone,” she said, and her voice was clearer, more resounding, than
Layton
’s had been. “Last night, you and X spoke of
Rowley Thome, Would you like to tell us about him?”

 
          
Behind
her sat the big man with the bald head. Thunstone could make out his face,
heavy-jowled, hook-nosed.

 
          
“Rowley
Thome was, in his time, the world’s principal figure in the cult of Satanism,”
said Thunstone at once. “He had various disciples, who gave him money to spend
and supported his claims and actions. He didn’t like me, and I didn’t like him.
One day, he vanished. I conjecture that he failed at some rather sinister
magical effort, and got taken into some other plane of existence, away from the
one we know.”

 
          
A
murmur rose among the listeners. “Do you believe that such a thing happened?”
Grizel Fian half challenged.

 
          
“I
saw it happen,” Thunstone replied. “There are reports of such things in the
past. I daresay that Father Bundren could give you some instances out of the
Bible. I wouldn’t be surprised if Professor Shimada could tell about such
disappearances in
Asia
, or if Chief Manco could speak to them
among Indian peoples.”

 
          
“Thank
you,” said Grizel Fian, and sat down. The bald head behind her leaned close as
though to speak in her ear. Pitt pointed to another in the audience, a
middle-aged man this time, who rose and called himself Hollis Buchanan.

 
          
“I’m
a member of no church, and I follow no religion,” he said gratingly. “I ask
Father Bundren how science can explain the curious things he believes in.”

           
“By and large, science doesn’t
recognize those things and doesn’t try to explain them,” was Father Bundren’s
cheerful answer. “Proof and faith are opposite paths of belief.”

 
          
“Nothing
is true without scientific proof,” insisted Hollis Buchanan.

 
          
“Well,
from time to time science catches up with things, with bewildering realities.”
Father Bundren smiled in a way that made his canny face look chubby. “I have
said that I’m a priest, and I’ll add that I’m not unacquainted with scientific
theories that have become recognized facts. But, if I’m to do my duty as a
priest, I can’t help but believe in miracles and wonders. Those happen to be
part of a priest’s business.”

 
          
Hollis
Buchanan did not look particularly satisfied, but he sat down. Others raised
their hands and asked questions, of Thunstone and all the others, and were
answered as simply and clearly as possible. Most of the questioners wanted to
know if members of the panel truly believed in supernormal phenomena, and if
so, why. It occurred to Thunstone that he and his fellow panelists had no more
than hinted at the matters they would discuss more fully later. At last, at
about
half past eleven
, Pitt declared the session at an end.

 
          
“At
one-thirty this afternoon, Chief Manco will be here to tell about the legendry
of his great Cherokee nation,” he announced. “Later, at three-thirty, Father
Bundren will take up the subject of historical demonology. Thank you all for
your attention.”

 
          
He
rose, and the members of the panel rose with him. The audience stirred and
sought the aisles. Grizel Fian glittered as she moved. Thunstone caught
Sharon
’s eye, gestured to her, and quickly left
the stage and joined her.

 
          
“I’ve
seen Rowley Thome,” were the first words she said to him, softly and
unsteadily.

 
          
“And
so have I, I believe,” he said. “Well, if he’s really

 
          
here
, he must be dealt with. I’ll have to decide. Would you
like some lunch at the
Inn
?”

           
“Yes. Yes, I would. I feel
frightened just now, but I feel hungry, too.”

 
          
They
went out to the street comer, waited for a traffic light, and crossed over.
Together they sought the dining room and sat down and looked at the menus
brought by a waiter. They ordered shrimp salad and black coffee.

 
          
A
voice spoke to them. Grizel Fian had come to stand beside their table. Her red
silk dress shone.

 
          
“May
I sit down with you two?” she asked. “I have something to say that might
interest you.”