“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Fortunately, I started shaking my head right away. Fred looked pained but kept talking very smoothly, as Seth. I can’t reproduce everything he said, and how he said it because of the lack of time. The afternoon was cold. I wore my summer thongs on bare feet, and a plaid shirt and jeans, and began to shiver before long. I didn’t realize that when Fred’s Seth told me Fred was getting cold, he really meant it. I couldn’t believe what was happening, and was already wondering what to do to get out of the situation. I saw no car parked nearby.

“I came here from Denver,” Fred said. “I haven’t got a penny. Look—I have no wallet in my back pocket. The stewardess at Denver let me on the plane when I explained to her that I had to meet you—”

“You walked?” I was incredulous. That would be fifteen miles or so. In this weather, without a coat? I wasn’t thinking too clearly yet, but that would be feat par excellence for anyone—let alone lugging two bags along. From the attaché case Fred took the handwritten manuscript of The Rules of Love. “Please. I am Seth. Show this book to Jane and have her read it while I wait here, then you tell me, Robert, what she thinks of it....” This, after Fred comprehended that I had no intention of letting him in the house. Jane could not deal with him, I thought, although he showed no signs of violence. “Please, Fred is getting cold.... If you won’t take the whole manuscript, take just this one chapter—Fifteen—and show that to her. Let her read it. Then you come out and tell Fred what Jane thinks of it. I can help her. She’s going to die soon.”

I quickly scanned the first page, written in blue ink, and caught phrases like “in a pig’s ass,” and “quit this horseshit of writing it out,” and so forth. The whole script was written in just the way Fred talks. “I know you don’t believe me, Robert, but I am Seth. I’ve come to help you and Jane.” He nodded sympathetically when I told him Jane was quite ill and couldn’t see anybody. “I know.... I’m going to be quiet now and send her a message telepathically. You’ll be able to pick it up too.”

Standing outside the screen door, Fred closed his eyes and dropped his head down to his chest. I heard and felt nothing. “I didn’t get it,” I said. not roughly. “Tell me, how did you get here? Don’t you have any money? Where are you going when you leave here?”

“If you don’t let me in your house I’ll just die,” Fred said. By now he’d taken two hardcover books from a bag, and given them to me. One by Jerszy Kosinski and one by Somerset Maugham. The latter was an expensive anthology. In one he’d written a note on a blank page to Jane, and to me in the other. Check their phrasing for a close approximation of the way he talked. Fred also handed me a thick, neatly tied package of brown paper and yellow string—The Christ Book, he said, which was for Jane and me, and for Prentice-Hall. I didn’t open it, and still haven’t. When I asked him where he was really from, he said Denver, and that his address was inside the package. It wasn’t on the other manuscript. Nor was I quick-witted enough to ask if he had a family, if anyone knew where he was, or what he did for a living—if he worked, or could—or how he found our house in the first place. I wondered if he was schizophrenic. He appeared to be harmless enough.

I took him up on it. I opened the screen door. “Look, come in here and sit down and let me get you a coat. You don’t mind if I call the police?” “Not at all. Fred means you and your wife no harm....”

“We’ll take him to the Salvation Army,” the young officer said, after joking with Fred about what a long walk it was from the airport. In retrospect, I still don’t know—the next day—whether Fred had visited the police station in West Elmira to ask directions to the hill house. He’d certainly not led me to believe that when we first met. Nor did the officer I met say so, although he may just not have been told that by the dispatcher on duty. But their reaction was quick enough once I explained the situation to them.

How could he manage to arrive here without a penny in his pocket? I kept wondering if he had some money and change (at least) stowed in one of the suitcases, but he swore—Seth swore for him—that he did not, and finally I believed him. I also believed him when he finally sat down in the driveway and said he was prepared to die in the cold. He could have wanted to sit down from sheer physical exhaustion, yet I think more was involved. This noon, as I talked about writing these notes, Jane wanted me to call the police and ask what had happened with Fred. I wanted to also, but hesitated. My stomach felt empty. “Wouldn’t it be hell if Fred shows up at our door again?” I asked. “Maybe he’s from town,” Jane said. “Maybe the police will just let him go and he’ll come back.”