Free What Thin Partitions by Mark Clifton Page B

snapped. “Science tries to reduce everything to test tubes and formulae; but I am the instrument of a mystery which man can never know."
    "Well, now,” I said reasonably. “Let us not be inconsistent. You say this is something man was not meant to know; yet you, yourself, have devoted your life to gaining a greater comprehension of it."
    "I seek only to rise above my material self so that I might place myself in harmony with the flowing symphony of Absolute Truth,” he lectured me sonorously. The terminology didn't bother me; the jargon of the sciences sometimes grows just as esoteric. Maybe it even meant something.
    One thing I was sure it meant. There are two basic approaches to the meaning of life and the universe about us. Man can know: That is the approach of science, its whole meaning. There are mysteries which man was not meant to know: That is the other approach. There is no reconciling of the two on a reasoning basis. I represented the former. I wasn't sure the Swami was a true representative of the latter, but at least he had picked up the valence and the phrases.
    I made a mental note that reasoning was an unworkable technique with this compound. Henry, a past master at it, had already tried threats and abuse. That hadn't worked. I next tried one of the oldest forms in the teaching of man, a parable.
    I told him of my old Aunt Dimity, who was passionately fond of rummy, but considered all other card games sinful.
    "Ah, how well she proves my point,” the Swami countered. “There is an inner voice, a wisdom greater than the mortal mind to guide us-"
    "Well now,” I asked reasonably, “why would the inner voice say that rummy was O.K., but casino wasn't?” But it was obvious he liked the point he had made better than he had liked the one I failed to make.
    So I tried the next technique. Often an opponent will come over to your side if you just confess, honestly, that he is a better man than you are, and you need his help. What was the road I must take to achieve the same understanding he had? His eyes glittered at that.
    "First there is fasting, and breathing, and contemplating self,” he murmured mendaciously. “I would be unable to aid you until you gave me full ascendancy over you, so that I might guide your every thought-"
    I decided to try inspiration.
    "Do you realize, Swami,” I asked, “that the one great drawback throughout the ages to a full acceptance of psi is the lack of permanent evidence? It has always been evanescent, perishable. It always rests solely upon the word of witnesses. But if I could show you a film print, then you could not doubt the existence of photography, could you?"
    I opened my lower desk drawer and pulled out a couple of the Auerbach cylinders which we had used the night before. I laid them on top of the desk.
    "These cylinders,” I said, “act like the photographic film. They will record, in permanent form, the psi effects you command. At last, for all mankind the doubt will be stilled; man will at once know the truth; and you will take your place among the immortals."
    I thought it was pretty good. It should have done the trick. But the Swami was staring at the cylinders first in fascination, then fear, then in horror. He jumped to his feet, without bothering to swirl his robe majestically, rushed over to the door, fumbled with the knob as if he were in a burning room, managed to get the door open, and rushed outside. The lieutenant gave me a puzzled look, and went after him.
    I drew a deep breath, and exhaled it audibly. My testing procedures hadn't produced the results I'd expected, but the last one had revealed something else-or rather, had confirmed two things we knew already.
    One: The Swami believed himself to be a fraud.
    Two: He wasn't.
    Both cylinders were pointing toward the door. I watched them, at first not quite sure; like the Swami, I'd have preferred not to believe the evidence. But the change in their perspective with the angles of the desk made the