Free The Reincarnation of Peter Proud by Max Ehrlich Page A

comfortable. You may take off your shoes and loosen your tie if you like. We’re very informal here.” She smiled at her secretary. “Aren’t we, dear?”
    “We certainly are, Verna.”
    He sat down, feeling a little ridiculous. He felt stiff, like a character in a Victorian English comedy. Any minute he expected them to wheel out tea and cakes à la
Arsenic and Old Lace
. You’ll sleep well in the cellar, my dear, after you take a little of this elderberry wine. What an idiot he was to have come here.
    One of the Siamese cats startled him by suddenly leaping to the top of a bookcase from the desk. It arched its back, staring down and spitting at him. It was a beautiful animal, black, with agate blue eyes and the classic feline profile you saw on those Egyptian cat symbols.
    “Stop that, Yang. You’re being rude.” Verna Bird smiled at Peter. “You mustn’t mind, dear. You aren’t unique. He’s simply hostile to everybody. Isn’t that true, Elva?”
    “Yes, dear. It’s true.”
    “They’re beautiful cats,” Peter said inanely.
    “Aren’t they?” beamed Verna. “My pride and joy. This one’s Yang. But you already know that. The other one’s Yin.”
    “Elva,” said the clairvoyant, “Before we have our reading with Mr. Proud here, do I have another scheduled for this afternoon?”
    “Yes. One more.”
    “Damn,” said Verna Bird. “I had a date at the beauty parlor to get my hair done. It’s such a mess. Now I’ll have to cancel it. You’ll have to schedule another appointment, dear.”
    “I will. I’ll take care of it later.”
    Verna Bird turned to Peter. “I’m sorry, dear. Women’s talk.” Then: “Now, do you feel you’re ready?”
    “Yes.”
    “All right. I want you to simply sit in that chair. Feel perfectly relaxed. It’s hard for me to sense his vibrations when the subject is tense. Try to feel in harmony with the world. At peace. You may ask any questions you wish when there’s something you don’t understand. But do not ask them unless it is important. Do you understand?”
    “Yes.”
    “Very well, Elva. Let’s begin.”
    She lay down on the chaise longue and kicked off her sandals. Meanwhile, her secretary set up the tape recorder. She took a cartridge of tape from its container and marked the container “Reading #1877. Peter Proud.” Then she added the date and placed the container on top of a pile of other boxes. Each was labeled with the name of the subject, the number of the reading, and the date. Apparently they kept an extensive tape file on all readings. Then she went to the comer and brought the tea table carrying the portable little altar and set it carefully in front of him. From his seated position he was now looking through the space between the candles and directly at Verna Bird lying on the chaise.
    “The red candle represents Evil,” said the clairvoyant. “And the white candle, Love. Love and Evil. God and the Devil. And man eternally caught between these two passions.”
    There was a subtle change in Verna Bird’s voice. It had become deeper, more resonant, vibrant. Her eyelids had already begun to droop. Her hands hung limply by her sides. He felt like several kinds of damn fool now, sitting here like some superstitious oaf, staring at her through the area between the two candles.
    Now Elva Carlsen took charge. She put her finger to her lips, signaling Peter not to say anything at the moment. She went to the windows, drew the blinds, and pulled down the shades. It was now pitch black in the room. Then the secretary lit the candles.
    The flames sputtered for a moment, then burned steadily. Peter stared at the clairvoyant. He was startled. Suddenly she seemed transformed into someone else entirely. She was sprawled on the chaise watching him. Her eyes had become two blue jewels set into two dark holes in the pallid face. They were almost hypnotic. He felt uncomfortable in their stare. They seemed to bore straight through him, through his flesh and