 That's the theme from the Sears Radio Theater. Tonight, a program of mystery with Vincent Price as your host. Here's a preview. Concurrent. I feel... I feel dizzy. It's all right. It's the altitude. It's probably the altitude. You stop making excuses for it. Well, what is it? I don't know. I can't make it go away. You're too close to the edge. Please, ma'am! Stop! The Sears Radio Theater will begin after this message from your local station. This is Vincent Price. All across America, there are hundreds of small towns that share something in common. They're the homes of the country's colleges and universities. Their settings in many cases are picturesque, even idyllic. The campuses are dotted with laurel, maple, and evergreen. I've recovered buildings of gothic and colonial design face each other across beautiful quadrangles of neatly mowed grass. And students move about beneath the canopies of twisted oak and vaulting elm in pursuit of their educations. A sense of community exists. A sense of common purpose that is often absent elsewhere. In one such community, deep in the Midwest, lives Melville Pauley. He is a distinguished professor whose lectures on literature are considered classics. Each fall, the enrollment in his courses far exceeds what he is able to handle. And many disappointed students must be turned away. He has published many books and has been given many honors. And today, as the familiar figure of this beloved man makes his way home on a lovely spring afternoon, yet another honor waits for him at home in the form of a letter on the desk in his bookline study. It is a letter he and his wife Corinth have been waiting for for some time. It contains some elating news and a fate worse than death. And that's only the beginning of our story. Here's Radio Theater, a new adventure in radio listening. Five nights of exceptional entertainment every week. Brought to you in Elliott Lewis production of The Sears Radio Theater. Our story, The Sabatical by Percy Granger. Our stars, Jeff Corey and Leslie Woods. The Sears Radio Theater is brought to you by Sears Robot and Company. Sears, where America shops for value. Professor Melville Pauley is what we call a creature of habit. Each morning, he rises precisely at seven. He does 25 push-ups to get his blood circulating. And then he sits at the old upright piano in the parlor and plays for 45 minutes before going to his first class. And every evening, precisely at five, he returns home. And he and his wife begin their conversation with the same exchange. Darling, is that you? Well, it was the last time I looked. How was your day? Well, I managed to keep most of my students awake. And how was yours? I have never spent such a long day in my life. Quickly, come into your study. Yeah, what is it? You got a letter from the cultural exchange program. I did. It finally, it finally came. It finally did. Here it is. Open it. Karin, do you suppose we've got it? It's been such a long time since I applied. Will? Tell me. Dear, we're going to Vienna. You've got the letter, Chef. Yeah, look, it says right here for the academic year. Oh, just think. An entire year in Europe. Well, there's no mistake. They even spelled my name right. This is wonderful. Oh my, there's so much. I must start drawing up lists of things to do. This is only April. We won't be leaving until September. Still, there will be a lot to do. We haven't been away from this house in over 20 years. Nonsense. We've gone on vacation every year. We've driven all over the country. Yes, I know, but only for a few weeks at a time. This will be for an entire year. The shippers are here. Nell? I'm sorry, dear. But the shippers are here to take the trunks. Oh, good girl. Is this, is this the day? The 16th of August. Fancy that. Don't tell me you're becoming absent-minded. Well, a man ought to be spared the cliches of his profession. I thought you might want to take one last check of the trunk with all your papers and books before they take it. All right. I think I've been very careful to pack everything I need. And then some. It's so hard to know what to take. I have this feeling that I'm going to get over there and discover I've forgotten the one book I need. Let's see. My lectures. I think it's all here. You pack the manuscript for your new book. Well, of course. And all my notes. I'll just close the trunk and lock it there. And you keep, you keep the key. Darling, is something wrong? Odd. What an odd sensation. What? Nothing. Are you sure they have to take our luggage now? We aren't leaving for two weeks yet. That's just how it's done, that's all. I mean, still to have everything packed away like that. Do you know that it's just beginning to seem real to me? I feel as if we were practically on our way. Well, we're not, are we? We've got two weeks until we fly to New York and then another four days to spend at your sister's and you're a shell before the boat sails. Our first trip abroad. It's going to be such an adventure. Darling, you're not having second thoughts. No, no, no, no. On the contrary, I wish we could leave now. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself for two weeks now that everything's packed. Are you sure you're all right? What? Oh, yeah. Yes, yes. It's just, it's just odd. New York. Oh, my. Alice said she'd meet the plane. I hope she's waiting for us because this airport is so big we'll be sure to get lost. I hope those people who rented our house will take good care of the piano. Darling, when we get to Vienna, we will be sure to rent an apartment that has one. It's possible to ruin a piano for life, you know. Well, a man is a musician himself. The cellist. Why are you so worried? Well, I'm not. I don't even feel like complaining. I don't know why I'm doing it. Oh, there's Alice. Hello. It's so good to see you, sis. Oh, Vienna, you must be excited about getting out of the Midwest for a while now. Well, as Nathaniel Hawthorne said, that man has little right to complain who possesses so much as one corner on this earth where he may be happy or miserable. This best suits him. Of course, I'm delighted to be going. I could only wish my German were a little better. But haven't you been studying it all summer? Yes. I'm so sorry we only have four days to visit you. Well, you may have more. What do you mean? There's a strike. Oh, what kind of strike? Well, some union has struck the steamship company. It was in all the papers this morning. The sailing will be delayed? Oh, it looks that way. Did they say how long the strike might last? Well, I don't know. You can read the paper. Excuse me. Let me just buy one. No, no, no. Don't bother, Mel. I have one in the car. No, I don't want to wait until we're in the car. I want to find out what's going on now. More coffee, sis? No thanks, Alice. I can't get over this. I didn't know Mel was such a handyman. He's not. Well, he's been scraping windows and mending gutters and replacing shingles ever since you arrived. Oh, look at him in Greg's old work clothes. You'd never know he was a distinguished man of letters. Alice, I'm so worried. Something's wrong. Oh, what? This isn't like him at all. You think something's bothering him? Yes, I do. But when I try to get him to talk about it, he just won't. He laughs and says it's nothing. Well, maybe it is. No, it isn't. Because when I press him, he gets snappish. Ever since he heard about the strike. Well, he just probably doesn't want to be late for the first day of classes. But class doesn't start for another two weeks after we arrive. Now, it's something else. Oh, excuse me, there. Sure. Hello? Oh, yes, she is. Yes, just a moment, please. A current stage for you. It's the steamship company. Oh. Hello? Yes. It has. Oh, my. Thank you. Thank you so much. Oh, yes, we'll be there. Yes, by noon? Yes, thank you. The strike's been settled. We're sailing a schedule tomorrow at one. Oh, tell them that. Yes. The steamship company just called. We're sailing tomorrow right on schedule. The strike is over. Mel, did you hear me? Yes. It's definitely settled. Until next time. Next time for what? Honey, we haven't even been delayed. What's the matter? I don't know. I don't know. Something, something happened, current. It may already be too late. Thank you very much, Captain. My pleasure, Mrs. Paulie. I didn't know it was possible to dance for such grace on a boat. Our crossing has been very smooth so far. Is this your first trip to Europe? Yes, it is. I enjoyed having you and your husband at my table this evening. Dr. Paulie is an extremely interesting conversationalist. Thank you, but not much of a dancer, I'm afraid. May I escort you back to your table? Yes, of course, thank you. Oh. Your husband seems to have left us. Yes. I hope nothing's the matter. No, no, I don't think so. I think I know where he is. Well then, if you will excuse me. Of course, and thank you very much for the dance, Captain. Would you enjoy your dance? Are you all right? I just came out on deck for some pressure. No, but something's troubling you. You're not seasick or anything, are you? No. We've been at sea for three days, and every night I've found you out here, standing at the proudest ship, staring into the darkness. Why? You see how the sky is clouded over. There's no moon, not a star. And yet, we plunge ahead full throttle into the night. Absolute pitch-black void. Our Captain must have a great deal of faith. I miss the church bells at home. Oh, honey. You're homesick, that's it. It's silly to think of a man my age being homesick. Well then, what is it? Would you please tell me? It's the sensation that I'm being carried further and further away from everything familiar, and I'm helpless to stop it. You know that I'm with you? Yes, and I'm very grateful for that. Grateful? You don't have to be grateful. Why not? Well, because we're married. That's it. We're just married, that's all. It's understood. But I do feel it. Maybe you should see the ship's doctor. I'm not ill. I don't have a fever. I don't feel sick, in the least. I guess you're just apprehensive, that's it. That must be it. It's nothing more than that. Believe me, I do understand. The day you shut the trunk containing your books and papers, that was the first time you felt that way, remember? And then when we heard about the strike and we had no idea how long it would last, and now being on this ship, it's like being in limbo, isn't it? You're used to your work and your routine, and it's been upset. There's nothing mysterious about it, not at all. As soon as we get to Vienna and you have your books and papers and your classes to teach, everything will be fine. Won't it, dear? Yes, it will. I promise you it will. But Melville Pauly was right. Things were not the same. The horror wasn't yet defined, but it was there, in shadows, or just beyond the wall, always there. You don't want to be late for your first lecture. How do you feel? Splendid. Finding a panzone with a piano in the room was a stroke of real luck. It is a bit out of tune, though. I'll speak to Froschmitte. The word for piano tuner is clavier, schtimmer. I already looked it up. Hurry now, darling. You mustn't be late. Do you want me to go with you? Clarence, I am 62 years old, and I've been in one kind of school or other without a break since I was three. I can surely find my own way. Of course, of course. I only thought. The head of my department introduced me to a little Hungarian restaurant on Gizelstrasse yesterday. Why don't we meet there for lunch and afterwards take the trolley out to the Vienna Woods and go for a walk? Oh, that sounds wonderful. I'll meet you at your office at noon. These woods remind me of our campus at home. Yeah. Well, we don't have a view like this. Well, maybe not, and we don't have to climb like this either. You want to stop for a minute and catch your breath? Nothing's wrong with my breath. Well, let's stop here anyway. Look at this view. The Danube and the entire city. I don't think there's a prettier sight in the whole world. Wouldn't that be extraordinary if it were true? What? That this vista was the greatest beauty the world has to offer. Where are you going? To get a better look. Well, don't get too close to the edge. I feel dizzy. It's all right. It's the altitude. It's probably the altitude. We're very high up and the air's bound to be thinner. No, that's not it, Carmen. You stop making excuses for it. Well, what is it then? I don't know. You're too close to the edge. Please, Mel! Stop! You almost fell. Didn't you see how close you were getting to the edge of that cliff? You were losing your balance when I grabbed you. Well, you can let go. I'm all right. I wouldn't have fallen. Do you hear me? I have no desire to fall. What are you doing, dear? Typing a letter. Oh, to whom? Everyone. Everyone? I'm writing my annual Christmas letter for all our friends. But this is barely November. But the mails, you can never be certain about. The mails from Europe to the States. Surely it won't take six weeks. By the time we have copies made and all the envelopes addressed. Well, how is it going? Honey, what's the matter? I can't write it. Why not? I feel like... like I'm writing to people who no longer exist. You mean our friends back home? Yes. Yes. Dead people, Carmen. I feel as if the place we've come from is no longer there. Do you know what that means? Do we have no place to go home to? I have a premonition of being trapped here forever. Or being doomed to wander with no turning back. For each time we leave one place for another, it too will cease to exist. Dear, do you know that that's foolish? I can't help. But do you, in your rational mind, know that that is totally absurd? Yes. Yes. I know if you want to apply me a reason. A reason is what you've lived by all your life. But it doesn't help me now. My mind is exploding with wild, fantastical thoughts. They take possession of me like headstrong horses and carry me with them till they've run their course. One minute I think I'm a competent, respected teacher. And the next, a mere cipher. Existence can't possibly make a witch difference. And they're both the same thing. Mel, I think we should make an appointment for you to see a doctor. Oh, you don't understand. Do you think I can be helped by some man trained in anatomy? Well, a psychiatrist may be. I thought of that, but it seems so unsatisfactory. What would happen? I would talk to him and tell him about these compulsive ramblings, and he would say to me, what you've just said, it is irrational. If he were clever enough, he would convince me, perhaps, that he was right. But don't you see that, isn't the answer? The answer to what? To the dread. I feel that's what it is, Karen. It swept over me again this morning in the middle of my lecture, and I suddenly realized that's what it is. It isn't seasickness or apprehension, Karen. It's terror. Will you please tell me of what? I don't know. I don't know. No one's had a happier life than I. I am married to the only woman I ever loved. We raise three children. I love my work. There's a yearning for something I can't describe. I feel lost, and now I'm writing to people I'm afraid have forgotten I exist. But how can you? Because I've forgotten that they do. Mel, now listen to me. We received a letter this morning. A letter? From Harold Lytton from the university, at home. He said he is coming through Vienna on his way to a conference of some sort. Harold is coming here? Someone from home. Yes, and he wants to see us. When? In two weeks. Just two weeks. Oh, I'm so glad to see you. How are you? I'm fine. And now where is he? Well, he had his lecture this morning. We're to meet him for lunch. Oh, what a gorgeous city. Oh, how lucky you two are. I haven't noticed anything here for weeks. Fine. What's the matter? It's Mel. He's fallen into the worst sort of depression. Has he been to a doctor? No, he refuses to. He says it wouldn't help. Is it affected his work? Not yet. But I'm afraid it's just a matter of time. It's been a delightful three days, Karen. Thank you. I wish you didn't have to go. I must say Mel seems very much his old self. I didn't detect anything wrong with him at all. Well, I'm sure you're being here helped. Maybe he's just tired out from the trip. Or feeling overworked again. Then of course, you know, there's the obvious explanation that he's just plain homesick. After all, this is quite an event in your lives. And we've only been here two months. That takes time to get oriented. Sure. I hope you're right. I'm sure of it. Now, here's the station. Don't bother to see me off. I like keeping goodbyes as brief as possible. Thank you, Harold. Thank you very much. See you at home next fall, huh? Is that you? What are you doing here in the room? You're supposed to be giving your lecture. Well, they'll think I'm sick. It won't make any difference. No, no, notice anything of this. Mel, what are you talking about? I said to myself, I have a lecture this morning. But what if I decided not to go? Why should I? I know exactly what's going to happen. I walk down the street, turn left, then right, go past the Imperial Museum, go through the arch at the Hofburg, say good morning to the old uniformed gatekeeper, climb up the stairs, go into the lecture hall, and deliver myself of my opendance. And what would happen if I didn't? Nothing, absolutely nothing. Why did I become a teacher? Why did I marry you? None of it makes the least bit of difference. Christ again, and here's the concluding act of the sabbatical. Mrs. Paul, eh? Yes. Oh, I'm Eva McDade, the cultural exchange officer attached to the U.S. Embassy here in Vienna. One of the secretaries said you wanted to see me. Yes, I do. We met when my husband and I first arrived. Oh, of course, I remember now. You're Dr. Paulie's wife. That's right. Well, how are you enjoying your stay here? Oh, well, that's what I've come to see you about. Could we speak in private? Oh, of course. Come into my office. Please, have a seat. Thank you. Now, is there some problem? It's about my husband. I think he's taken ill. Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Dr. Paulie's here on a government program, is he not? Yes. My goodness, Mrs. Paulie, do you realize the paperwork involved? He has a commitment. Our government has a commitment. It's a matter of goodwill. It's a matter of my husband's health, Mrs. McDade. Oh, wouldn't a doctor be the logical thing then? What seems to be wrong with him? Well, he's home sick. Home sick? I know that sounds trivial. But the symptoms, the way it's been affecting him, he goes in and out of these moods. He really seems quite on the verge at times of losing his mind. Well, then let's get him to a psychiatrist. After all, Vienna is the cradle of modern psychiatrists. Sigmund Freud lived here. Yes, I know Sigmund Freud lived here. So what? My husband is very frightened. Of what? That's just it. I don't know. He feels lost and terrified. And I know that the only thing that will solve the problem is if we go home. Believe me, if there were any other solution, I would take it. This year was supposed to be a wonderful experience for us. Well, I understand. I, uh, I suppose it can be a rain. Oh, I hope it can. We're coming up on the end of the first semester, and I'm sure a replacement could be found. All right, Mrs. Paulie, I'll set the wheels in motion. Just have Dr. Paulie come into my office. Oh, is something the matter? Well, is it possible to do it in such a way that Mel doesn't think it's because of him? But he'll have to submit a formal request. Oh, but he'd never do that. He's a proud man. He would never be able to admit that he's failed. We cannot practice duplicity, Mrs. Paulie. That's too complicated. And in any case, I'm afraid we'd have to have some kind of medical statement of your husband's inability to fulfill his obligation. But I've told you that he won't go to a doctor. Well, then I'm afraid there's nothing more we can do. You mean we're trapped here? Oh, I wouldn't use the word trapped when speaking of Vienna, Mrs. Paulie. I mean, Freud lived here. Oh, Paulie. Oh, I'm terribly sorry, yes. Forgive me if I startled you. I have been waiting here in the hallway for you. My name is Hermann Bauder. I'm with Police Bureau. Is something wrong? Would you be so kind as to come with me? Well, you mean to the police station? No, to the Stadthospital. Why? It is possible there is a mistake, of course, but there is a man there who claims to be your husband. You mean Mel has been injured? He was arrested. Arrested? He had no identification on his person, but he insists he is Dr. Melville Paulie, and he claims to be a visiting professor at the Hofburg. The university gave us your address. Could you come with me and make identification? Yes, of course I could. But why was he taken to the hospital? Has he heard? No, Mrs. Paulie. The Stadthospital is an institution for the insane current. Oh, darling, are you all right? What happened? Why do they have to bring you here? I told them who I was. Why wouldn't they believe me? This is your husband then? Yes, of course. My apologies, Dr. Paulie. If you will go with the nurse here down to the main desk, you will be released into the care of your wife. Thank you. Mr. Boudre, why was Mel brought to a mental institution? Because of his behavior when he was arrested. The officer said your husband insisted on talking to him as if they understood each other. Well, I don't understand. Was he talking nonsense? No, no, he was speaking perfectly good English. And he acted as if he understood everything the officer was saying to him. Well, why shouldn't he? Because the officer was speaking German, Mrs. Paulie. He didn't know English. So naturally, if regrettably, he took your husband for a madman, and he brought him here. But why was he arrested in the first place? He was wandering through a public park, a casting persons, insisting on speaking to them and making them speak to him, and all the time pretending to understand. Mr. Boudre, would you do me a great favor? If I may. Would you contact a Mrs. Eva McDade at the American Embassy? I'm report this to her. It is not necessary, you know. No harm was done. We can spare your husband the embarrassment. I don't want him spared. I want to get him back to the States just as quickly as possible. Of course. Here is Dr. Paulie now. Once again, sir, my apologies. Excuse me. I'm sorry they brought you here. Car and they shouldn't have. But of course they should. It's all right. It was also silly. I don't know what got into me. I went for a walk after my lecture this morning. It was a terribly bleak day. I found myself in a park. There was a flak tower, a relic of the war, and it stood there, dirty, gray, useless, ominous. At the base of it, they'd built an aquarium. And I was mingling with crowds of people, families with their children, listening to their chatter, and not understanding a word of it. And that feeling came over me again, totally lost. And the next thing I remember is that I was here in the hospital and no one would believe me when I told them who I was. It was so humiliating. Please, dear. Please. Don't think about it anymore. I won't. I could never bear to be humiliated like that again, never. I'll be okay. I'll be okay from now on, darling. I promise it. It will never, never happen again. Well, hello. Oh, my. You are in good spirits today. Yes. I got a very strange letter in the mail this morning. I don't know what to make of it here. Have a look. It says the government program that you're on is being curtailed due to lack of funds and that we will have to return home at the end of the first semester. You must be disappointed. Well, I mean, yes, of course. It will take me a minute to digest. It's the government, the bureaucracy. I mean, who knows what goes on? We're all at their mercy. Oh, I am sorry, dear. Well, Seravey, we've still got three weeks. Oh, don't worry. I'm sure they'll pass quickly. No, I don't want them to. I want to make use of every minute to take the trips and see the sites we plan to see. Really? We'll spend this afternoon working out an itinerary. And we don't have to go directly home. We can motor through Europe first, the way we plan to do at the end of the year. Well, that would be wonderful, dear, but only if you really want to. Well, of course. Now, take a moment to catch your breath and we'll go have some lunch. Oh, well, I really don't think I can take any more of that Hungarian food. No, no. We'll discover a new place. And every day for the next three weeks, we won't eat at the same restaurant twice. Two, four, six. Now, how many pair of socks did you bring with you? Twelve. Well, you've only got 11 now. Well, that's all right. I'll leave them behind as a souvenir. Ha. There, that's all our personal clothes for the trip. Did you rent the car? I did indeed. Is the steam a trunk packed? Because the ship will be here any minute. You're just putting in my last papers now. There. I'll just lock it up and we can go out for dinner. And then, tomorrow at the crack of dawn... What is it? What is it? Sensation. The same feeling I had when I closed the trunk before. But this time I'm going home. Of course. I'll just keep telling myself that. Obviously, I don't like having to lock up the tools of my trade. No. Would you rather cancel our motor trip? No, no, no. Don't be silly. We could, you know. We really could. We could go straight home. We could fly and be there in two days. No. We'll take the boat from England as planned. There, you see? The moment has passed. You're sure? I'm positive. What is it now? Why do you come out here every night to the front of the ship and stare into the darkness? We're going home. I know. Back to the university. Back to all our old friends. The people I thought were dead. The people we've known for 20 years. I'm going back to familiar surroundings. To my work. Classes. Then what is it? The dread. The dread has come back to me. Current. I feel lost. I feel more lost than ever. Melville Pauley returned to his university and continued to give his popular lecture courses for five more years until he reached the mandatory retirement age of 67. He was then given the distinction of being made a professor emeritus. For a while after his return, his colleagues noticed that his venture abroad seemed to have changed him in some vague and unalterable way. But no one could say for sure just how. Some thought for the better, some for the worse. But since Melville continued to do his job as he'd always done it, they soon forgot the matter altogether and moved on to other gossip. But the terror that he had discovered within himself never left him. Not until the day he died. Sears, Roboc and Company. Where our policy is satisfaction guaranteed or your money back. Sears. Where America shops for value. The sabbatical was written by Percy Granger, produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. Your host was Vincent Price. Our stars were Jeff Corey and Leslie Woods. Also heard were Shepard Menken, Paula Winslow and Marvin Miller. The music for Sears Radio Theater was composed and conducted by Nelson Riddle. This is Archilmore speaking. The Elliot Lewis production of Sears Radio Theater is a presentation of CBI.