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nary men and women have dramatically different Alpha and Omega. Of
course, so do the feebleminded, the addictive, and the psychotic."
Something in the certainty of her voice was making me dogged.
"How do you account, then," I asked, for the difference between an
artist and a psychotic?"
"The quality of inner communication, of course. If Alpha and
Omega are incredibly different, but can manage all the same to express
their separate needs and perceptions to each other, then you have an ex–
traordinary person. Such people can find exceptional solutions. Artists,
especially. You see, when Alpha and Omega don't communicate, then
one or the other must become the master or there's a standstill. So the
loser becomes oppressed. That's a desperately inefficient way of living."
"Like totalitarianism?"
"Precisely. You do see what I'm talking about."
I was awfully pleased to hear that. Encouraged, I asked: "Would a
healthier person have an Alpha and Omega about as different, say, as
Republicans and Democrats? Agree on some things, disagree on others,
but work it out?"
She beamed. I had brought out her better side. The wicked light
was in her eye again. "You' re wonderful," she said. " I do love you.
You're so direct. "
"You are making fun of me."
"I'm not," she said. "I'm going to use your example with some of
those dummies I have to give explanations to."
"Don't they love your ideas? I can see where Alpha and Omega tell
us a lot about spies."
"Of course. But so many of the people I work with are afraid to
trust it. I'm just a girl to them. So they can't believe that this could
prove to be the first reliable psychological theory to explain how spies
are able to live with the tension of their incredible life-situations, and in
fact, will not only bear up under such a double-life, but indeed, go
looking for it."
I nodded. She had termed me direct, but I was wondering if her
mode of presentation might not also be somewhat too unadorned. Most
of the intellectuals I had met at Yale seemed obliged on first meeting to
fire off an artillery barrage of great and/or esoteric authors they had
presumably absorbed. With Kittredge, however, one citing of Spinoza
plus one reference to Freud seemed to take care of it. She had not sent
out a cavalry of esteemed authorities to tum my flank. She pursued her
thoughts; they were enough. I thought she showed the forceful but in–
nocent head of an inventor.
Well, we went on talking. We never came to ghost-overlays, but
before we were done with our hour in the nooks and crannies of
