The Thanatos Syndrome

hearts, and your partner is raising you in your suit, hoping for a slam, you wave her off by bidding hearts for one round, signaling to her: You go back to your suit and go down.”
    â€œYou got it.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œI think you’ve played more bridge than you’re letting on, Tom.”
    â€œWhy do you think that?”
    â€œYou know the jargon and you’re even on to their harmless little double entendres.”
    â€œDouble entendres?”
    â€œYou made one yourself—bidding hearts and going down.”
    â€œSo I did.” Azazel. “So Azazel can be more than one kind of invitation.”
    â€œYou got it, cud’n.”
    When we round our grand canal of a bayou and come in sight of The Quarters, Van Dorn makes a sign to me.
    I cup my ear to hear over the motor.
    â€œCut the motor.”
    I cut the motor.
    â€œIt’s about Ellen, Tom.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œThere’s something I want you to do.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œI want you to go to Fresno with Ellen, Tom.”
    â€œYou’re not going?”
    â€œNo way. I got these kids starting up school and soccer. First things first.”
    â€œShe seemed disappointed.”
    â€œShe’ll do fine! True, we’ve done well, won some tournaments, but what she doesn’t know is that I’m not indispensable. She’s the one. That’s why I wanted you to go.”
    â€œI couldn’t play tournament bridge.”
    â€œNo. I mean to watch her.”
    â€œWatch her?”
    â€œTom, you got to see it to believe it. And I think you’d be interested even if it weren’t Ellen.” As the boat drifts, Van Dorn takes off his Wehrmacht helmet, leans forward, and gives me a keen blue-eyed look.
    â€œSee what?”
    â€œI can only give you the facts. You’re the brain man, the psychologist. Maybe you’ve got an explanation.”
    â€œOf what?”
    â€œTom, it’s not her bidding—which is okay, better than okay, somewhat shaky but highly proficient—after all, bidding is nothing more than a code for exchanging information. No, it’s in the play. Tom, she knows where all the cards are. Do you hear what I’m saying? She knows what cards her opponents are holding. Now, most of us can make an educated guess after a few rounds of play, but she knows !”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œTom, let me ask you a question.”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œDo you set any store in ESP, clairvoyance, and suchlike?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œNeither did I. But how else do you explain it? She’s not cheating. So either she is reading the cards, which is clairvoyance, or she’s reading the minds of the players, which is telepathy, right?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat do you think, Tom?”
    â€œYou did mention A.I. earlier. Artificial intelligence.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIf, as you say, brain circuitry can be understood as a fifth-generation computer, maybe she’s able to use hers as such and after a few rounds of play calculate the exact probabilities of where the cards are.”
    Van Dorn gives me his keenest look. “And that would be even more amazing than ESP, wouldn’t it? You mean like an idiot savant. Don’t you think that hasn’t occurred to me? But Ellen is no idiot.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œTom, look.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œYou’re a very intuitive therapist—on top of having made an early breakthrough in cortical function. But we’re not talking about brain circuitry. We’re talking about something else. We’re talking about someone who may be able to use her own brain circuitry. How about that? Think of the implications.”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œTom.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI think you should go to Fresno with Ellen.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œTom?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI really think you ought to do something about this.”
    â€œI will, Van. I will.”
    Azazel is, according to Hebrew and Canaanite belief, a demon who lived in the Syrian desert, a particularly barren region where even God’s life-giving force was in short supply. God told Moses to tell Aaron to obtain two goats for a sacrifice, draw lots, and allot one goat to Yahweh as a sacrifice for sin, the other goat to be marked for Azazel and sent out into the desert, a place of wantonness and freedom from God’s commandments, as a