Tales of the Unexpected

husband and smiled. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘You can’t tell me he wasn’t absolutely
loving
it.’
    ‘He just likes the noise, that’s all.’
    ‘He was
loving
it. Weren’t you, darling?’ she said, lifting the cat in her arms. ‘Oh, my goodness, if only he could talk. Just think of it, dear – he met Beethoven in his youth! He knew Schubert and Mendelssohn and Schumann and Berlioz and Grieg and Delacroix and Ingres and Heine and Balzac. And let me see… My heavens, he was Wagner’s father-in-law! I’m holding Wagner’s father-in-law in my arms!’
    ‘Louisa!’ her husband said sharply, sitting up straight. ‘Pull yourself together.’ There was a new edge to his voice now, and he spoke louder.
    Louisa glanced up quickly. ‘Edward, I do believe you’re jealous!’
    ‘Of a miserable grey cat!’
    ‘Then don’t be so grumpy and cynical about it all. If you’re going to behave like this, the best thing you can do is to go back to your gardening and leave the two of us together in peace. That will be best for all of us, won’t it, darling?’ she said, addressing the cat, stroking its head. ‘And later on this evening, we shall have some more music together, you and I, some more of your own work. Oh, yes,’ she said, kissing the creature several times on the neck, ‘and we might have a little Chopin, too. You needn’t tell me – I happen to know you adore Chopin. You used to be great friends with him, didn’t you, darling? As a matter of fact – if I remember rightly – it was in Chopin’s apartment that you met the great love of your life, Madame Something-or-Other. Had three illegitimate children by her, too, didn’t you? Yes, you did, you naughty thing, and don’t go trying to deny it. So you shall have some Chopin,’ she said, kissing the cat again, ‘and that’ll probably bring back all sorts of lovely memories to you, won’t it?’
    ‘Louisa, stop this at once!’
    ‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy, Edward.’
    ‘You’re behaving like a perfect idiot, woman. And anyway, you forget we’re going out this evening, to Bill and Betty’s for canasta.’
    ‘Oh, but I couldn’t
possibly
go out now. There’s no question of that.’
    Edward got up slowly from his chair, then bent down and stubbed his cigarette hard into the ash-tray. ‘Tell me something,’ he said quietly. ‘You don’t really believe this – this twaddle you’re talking, do you?’
    ‘But of
course
I do. I don’t think there’s any question about it now. And, what’s more, I consider that it puts a tremendous responsibility upon us, Edward – upon both of us. You as well.’
    ‘You know what I think,’ he said. ‘I think you ought to see a doctor. And damn quick, too.’
    With that, he turned and stalked out of the room, through the french windows, back into the garden.
    Louisa watched him striding across the lawn towards his bonfire and his brambles, and she waited until he was out of sight before she turned and ran to the front door, still carrying the cat.
    Soon she was in the car, driving to town.
    She parked in front of the library, locked the cat in the car, hurried up the steps into the building, and headed straight for the reference room. There she began searching the cards for books on two subjects – REINCARNATION and LISZT .
    Under REINCARNATION she found something called
Recurring Earth-Lives
–
How and Why
, by a man called F. Milton Willis, published in 1921. Under LISZT she found two biographical volumes. She took out all three books, returned to the car, and drove home.
    Back in the house, she placed the cat on the sofa, sat herself down beside it with her three books, and prepared to do some serious reading. She would begin, she decided, with Mr F. Milton Willis’s work. The volume was thin and a trifle soiled, but it had a good heavy feel to it, and the author’s name had an authoritative ring.
    The doctrine of reincarnation, she read, states that spiritual souls pass from higher to higher forms of animals. ‘A man can, for instance, no more be reborn as an animal than an adult can re-become a child.’
    She read this again. But how did he know? How could he be so sure? He couldn’t. No one could possibly be certain about a thing like that. At the same time, the statement took a good deal of the wind out of her sails.
    ‘Around the centre of consciousness of each of us, there are, besides the dense outer body, four other bodies, invisible to the eye of flesh, but