The Jack Finney Reader

by Jack Finney

  There were several moments of silence. Then Ruth said, Some party. It beats having fun, doesn't it, June?

  Well, wait a second, Ben said. This is the early quiet stage that all parties go through at first. Later on we get wild. But I'll start the conversational ball rolling. Charley, I wish you'd explain a phenomenon that's had me baffled and faintly uneasy for some time. A minute ago I looked in the first drawer next to the sink, in our kitchen, and the can opener was not there. By which I mean that it was not there; I looked; I searched that drawer from front to back, slowly, taking my time. Then Ruth walked over, reached into the drawer without even looking at it, and brought out the opener.

  I know, said Charley; they heard him take a sip of beer. And all I can tell you is that Ruth did not have it concealed on her person.

  Not in this towel, said Ruth.

  None of the obvious explanations, Charley continued, such as sleight of hand or mass hypnotism, will account for these things, tempting though they are. It's simply a frightening ability all women have.

  Well, I feel better. Ben took a swallow of beer. I was afraid I was living with a witch.

  You are, said Charley, but so am I; so are most men. June can do the same thing. Last night I opened the little leather box on top of our dresser, pawed through every broken earring, bobby pin, cuff link, lipstick container, button, and safety pin in it, and I tell you my tie clasp was not there. June came in then, and without even looking, reached into the box, and — well, you know what happened.

  I know, said Ben. I feel reasonably certain that they can divine water with bent sticks, if they'd admit it.

  Certainly; they're full of strange powers. Things we don't even dream abou—

  Very knowing about women today, aren't they? June's voice interrupted.

  Yep, said Ruth. Real sophisticates, these kids.

  That's right, Ben said. Charley, toss off an epigram.

  Just what is an epigram, exactly? said June.

  One of those things, Ben answered, that begin, ‘A woman is like —’ Show her, Charley. With his heels he drew himself farther down on the bed and lay almost flat, beer can in hand, the phone balanced on his chest and one shoulder.

  Well, let's see, Charley said slowly. A woman is like — They heard him take a sip of beer; then the four phones were silent.

  After a moment Ben said, Wrong pose, Charley, that's your trouble; you can't think of epigrams lying down. Stand up by your dresser; can you reach it?

  There was a pause; then Charley's voice said, Yeah.

  Well, drape one arm negligently along the top as though it were a fireplace mantel; it's lucky you're wearing dinner clothes.

  All set, said Charley. My eyes are heavy-lidded with Weltschmerz, and I'm sneering.

  Good. Now pick up your drink —

  How do I hold the phone? A yard away from my ear with this negligently draped arm?

  No, hold it between your shoulder and ear like a big-time ad executive. And keep your drink high, sort of up against your chest. Too bad it's not a martini; I believe they're the natural drink of sophisticates. Beer and epigrams seem a little unlikely. Do your best, though. All set?

  Honestly, June murmured.

  All set, said Charley, but my neck hurts. A woman, he began then his voice bored and disdainful, is like the winner in a horse race: impossible to predict with certainty, forever beyond the reach of logic and reason and yet — they heard him take a sip of beer —seemingly inevitable once it has won.

  Splendid, old boy! Ben yelled into the phone. Capital!

  It doesn't even make sense, said Ruth.

  Naturally, said Ben; the phone balanced on his chest, hips raised, he was searching through his pant, pockets for cigarettes. That's the test of a true epigram; the best ones, anyway. They sound as though they mean something, only you're just not quite clever enough to figure out what. And you're afraid to ask for fear of revealing your total lack of sophistication.

  I'm not afraid, Ruth said. Are you, June?

  Not in this league.

  A woman, Ben began, then interrupted himself; he was lying flat on the bed now, ankle on knee, an unlighted cigarette, in his mouth. I am standing with one elbow on a portable mantel I had in the closet, he said. staring moodily down at my glass, and absently swirling its contents. A woman, he repeated then, is like a pretzel: smooth and glossy on the outside, brittle underneath, creating and sustaining an unquenchable thirst forevermore, and holding within her preordained form the eternal symbols of Yang and Ying.

  Hot dog! said Charley's voice. Man, that's cool!

  Thank you, Noel. Ben clicked his beer can against the mouthpiece of the phone in salute, then struck a match, and lighted his cigarette, grinning.

  A man, said June, is like a bad radio comedian and straight man combined, roaring at his own jokes, grinning like an ape, and puffed up like —

  Like a popover, said Ruth, and just as full of hot air.

  That's right — hollow underneath. June giggled.

  That's not an epigram, said Ben.

  More like minestrone soup, said Charley.

  Right.

  Ruth, can't you just see them? Lying flat on their backs, grinning like idiots, alternating straight man with comic, just like we said.

  That's right — their own best friends and kindest critics.

  Noel, Ben said, we have somehow blundered into the wrong drawing room.

  I'm afraid so, said Charley. Elsa would appreciate us, though.

  All right, wise guys, said June. You're so good, what're you going to do to entertain us? This is supposed to be a party?

  Entertain you? said Charley.

  That's right, Noel. This brilliant company has us tingling with anticipation. Right, Ruth?

  Right. And if we're disappointed, one of them can just get himself on his feet, get dressed —

  Charley, said Ben, now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the —

  I'm thinking! Hard.

  Ben nodded; then, frowning, he began looking around the room. Reaching out, he opened the little drawer of the table beside the bed and began poking through its contents with a forefinger. There were several paper-bound books, a length of coiled-up string, a deck of cards, a pencil, and a folded newspaper clipping. He picked up the deck of cards. How about a little bridge? he said enthusiastically into the phone. I'll get Mr. Loeffler from next door to shuffle and deal out four hands. Then he can read them off to us over the phone one by one, and we'll each get cards, pick out our hands, and —

  It would take forever, for heaven's sake, Ruth said from the kitchen phone. Besides, you can play bridge with anyone, but from Noel and George Bernard we expect considerably more. Come on, now — or start getting dressed.

  They were all silent for several long moments; then Charley said, Time out for a conference. June, Ruth — off the phone. Scout's honor, now.

  Okay, said June, only it's Brownie's honor.

  The two men heard the sound of first one phone, then the other, being laid down.

  Then Charley said, Ben?

  Ben answered, and the two conversed for several moments in low tones. Presently Ben called out to the kitchen, Okay! and he heard Charley call June.

  The women picked up their phones, Ben tapped three times on the mouthpiece of his phone with a fingernail, and to the tune of “On, Wisconsin,” he and Charley began to sing.

  Revere old Courtland, dear old Courtland, they sang, Praise thy crimson C! Courtland High will never die, Our hearts will cherish thee!

  Their high-school song, June murmured to Ruth. Can you tie that?

  Courtland High School, ever my school, Through the years t'will beeee!

  Heaven help us, said Ruth.

  FIGHT! for old Courtland High, and vic-tor-reeeee!

  Grinning, Ben lay back on the bed, the phone at his ear.

  After a moment Ruth said, I'll reconsider that offer of bridge. After that, I'd even settle for a fast round of Old Maid.

&
nbsp; Or Slap Jack, said June. Charley, you're getting dress—

  Wait! said Ben. The fun's just starting! Ruth, June and Charley will hang up for a minute. Then you phone what's-their-name, that tobacco shop near Union Square; they're open Sundays.

  And?

  And when they answer, you say, ‘Have you got Prince Albert in a can?’

  Good lord, said June.

  Then when they say yes, Ben continued, you say, ‘Well, let him out!’ He and Charley howled with laughter.

  Fifth grade, Ruth murmured to June. That was the peak of wit in the fifth grade. Remember?

  You must be wrong; it couldn't have been higher than third.

  Ben, said Charley, is your father a mailman?

  Nope.

  What is he, then — Charley could hardly speak — a female man? The two men roared, and the telephones vibrated against the girls' ears.

  June, said Ruth, suppose I phone you back in a little while? When the fun's died down. This is too much for me. We can settle between us who visits whom.

  Now, hold on, said Charley. We'll think of something! This is the best party I've ever attended: home in bed, flat on my back. How's your beer holding out, Ben?

  I'm ready.

  Me, too. Time out now; beer for all hands. And think, Ben, not only our comfort but our reputation is at stake.

  It sure is, said June. Ruth, remember? They were the funny boys before we were married — gay, debonair, witty.

  That's right. Then we marry them, and the bubble bursts. Ben, dear, say something funny for June.

  Yeah, said June. Make us laugh, Charley; pretend we're not married. Charm us; bend us to your will. She giggled.

  We need some beer, Charley, Ben said and laid his phone on the bed, got up, and walked down the hall toward the kitchen.

  Back in the bedroom, a new can of beer in his hand, he stood frowning, glancing around the room looking for he didn't know what. Then he saw the deck of cards lying on the bed where he'd left them, and he stood staring at them for a moment, sipping his beer, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Then he grinned, walked to the bed, and sat down, setting his beer on the table beside him. Picking up the deck of cards, he began shuffling them directly beside the mouthpiece of the phone, riffling their edges loudly. Bending over the phone, he said, Recognize that sound?

  Oh, no! Ruth said quickly. We're not going to play card—

  Wait, he said quietly, still bent over the phone, continuing to shuffle the cards before the mouthpiece. Noel and I don't propose for a moment to insult your intelligence with childish diversions. Putting the cards down beside him, he picked up the phone and lay back against the headboard. As you all know, of course, he said, the frontiers of the mind are being steadily pushed back. Awesome, new vistas are being exposed. New horizons beckon. And of course Noel and I feel that people like us belong in the vanguard. Right, Noel?

  You bet, said Charley.

  I refer, of course, to ESP.

  To what? said June.

  Gently, Ben said, That was a temporary aberration, of course, June. A momentary lapse of memory. You know, of course, as well as Noel and I do that ESP refers to extrasensory perception.

  Of course. How could I have forgotten?

  ESP! Ben cried. An astounding, newly discovered ability possessed by the human brain! Thought waves — actual electrical emanations from the brain, detectable by scientific tests — do exist!

  Believe! said Charley. Throw away your crutches!

  Oh, for heaven's sake, said Ruth.

  No kidding, Ben said, his voice serious and intent. They're doing this kind of thing at universities now. Books are being written about it; you've heard of it. That certain persons actually have the ability to pick up someone else's thought over considerable distances has been scientifically proved. Now, June, I'm serious — I'm going to pick out a card at random, hold it up before my eyes, and do my absolute best to project it to you. Now, I want you to try it. Reaching down to the deck beside him, he pulled a card from its center and raised it to his face. Okay, he said, I'm looking at it. I'm sending it, June, as hard as I can; just open your mind, and let the impression come through. The phone at his ear, he sat staring at the card propped up against the phone.

  There was a long moment of silence; then June said doubtfully, The … eight of spades?

  Astounding! Ben cried. No fooling, he continued, excitedly, it really is astonishing. I projected this card here in my hand, and what did June name? A black suit — you all heard her. And she called a low number; an even number at that. And that's precisely what I was sending — the six of clubs. Close, June, he said, really very close. You may actually have it — ESP. Some people do. Try it again! He pulled another card from the deck and sat staring at it.

  Again there was a silence; then June said, The nine — no, wait! The king of hearts!

  Charley! Ben cried excitedly. This is incredible! There may really be something to this ESP; I was half kidding before. But I sat here staring at this card, doing my level best to get it across to June, and by George if she didn't name a major suit, which it is. And she named a high card — one of the cards, you'll notice, that count ten in most card games. And that's exactly what it is — the ten of spades! June, you're beginning to scare me, you really are. He heard a slight sound beside him and turned to see Ruth at the other side of the bed, leaning forward to look at the card in his hand. Then she sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching for the phone, and he gave it to her.

  June, she said quietly. it really is — the ten of spades; I'm in the bedroom now. I thought he'd be cheating, of course, and sneaked back here to look. But that's the card, all right.

  Taking the phone, Ben said, It sure is; try another! Again he withdrew a card from the deck, and holding it cupped in his hand, he glanced at it, then sat staring unblinkingly ahead. Ruth drew her legs up onto the bed and sat back against the headboard beside Ben, trying to see the card in his cupped hand. But — absently, as though unaware of what Ruth was doing — Ben dropped his hand to his lap, the card face down, and sat staring ahead at the opposite wall. I'm sending, he said quietly.

  This time there was a long silence; then presently June said, Diamonds, and Ben gasped a little. And, June continued, it's the … ace!

  Ben sat bolt upright, glancing at Ruth, his eyes wide and excited. The closest yet! he cried into the phone. Lord, Ruth, did you see how it came through to her this time! The clear sharp impression of a red card came through first; remember? And next the card itself — ace, she said, and it's right next to it! Couldn't possibly be closer! It's the deuce of hearts! he cried, turning his wrist to expose the card in his hand to Ruth. Right next to the ace! Couldn't be any closer! And a red card, too, just as June said. Ruth'll tell you; she's right here looking at it.

  Incredible, said Charley's voice over the phone; Ben held the receiver so that Ruth could hear. I told you; they're crawling with frightful abilities we don't even dream —

  You know, June's voice said slowly, it is rather amazing at that; don't you think so, Ruth? Send another! she said quickly.

  Right! Ben cried. New frontiers of the mind! June, you've got it; you really have! He pulled a new card from the deck and glanced at it quickly before Ruth could see it. Then he sat as before, the card in his cupped hand lying face down in his lap. The phone tilted at his ear so that Ruth could hear, he sat staring straight ahead, frowning intently.

  After a moment June said, Nine of clubs!

  Eyes widening with delight, Ben opened his mouth to speak, when Ruth suddenly reached out to grip his wrist and turn it, exposing the three of diamonds in his hand. For a fractional moment Ben looked at Ruth, hesitating; then he spoke into the phone. Nope, he said, firmly, you were wrong on that one; completely off. I've read about this — ESP ebbs and flows, no matter how good the receiver is. And for a moment there, June, you lost it. But it usually comes right back, stronger than ever. Now, let's try another car—

  What was the card? June said.r />
  Ruth took the phone from Ben. It was the three of diamonds! she said. And don't you see? It's amazing! Astounding! Incroyable! Mirabile dictu! June, you named a suit, clubs, or something. And by George, to quote Ben, it was a suit, just like you said. What's more, you said it was a nine, June — and what's three times three? Nine! Exactly what you said! Ben probably sent the message three times in his enthusiasm, and your finely tuned receptive apparatus got them all and added them up. Quietly now, she said, June, you married one. How could you let yourself be fooled by —

  I know, said June's voice from the receiver at Ruth's ear, and Ben grinned. But once in a while I lapse; I blank out and forget.

  Me, too, Ruth said. Ben came home last week with a fake India-ink tattoo on his arm that one of the artists at work had drawn, a dancing girl, of course, that moved when he flexed his arm, and he had me believing it would never come off —

  I know, June said and sighed. Yesterday at Macy's, just before we got off the escalator, Charley began yanking his arm and muttering. Said his finger was caught underneath the rubber on the movable railing. And he was still yanking his arm when we stepped off, bending over, following the rubber rail thing down to where it disappears, and pulling his wrist with the other hand, muttering away, everybody in the store staring at him. I was beet red, wishing it would pull him under. Well, she said, and sighed again, I've got things to do, supper to start. I guess it's really too late to get together now.

  Yes, Ruth said, I suppose so. You boys are safe now, your Sunday sloth undisturbed.

  Shame to break this up, Ben, said Charley.

  I know, said Ben. But there's always one, and in this case two, at every party. Congratulations on the escalator stunt; I rate that class A.

  See you soon, Ruth, said June.

  Yes. I'll phone you early in the week. 'By now.

  They finished their good-bys, and Ben replaced the phone on the little table beside the bed. Then he turned to Ruth beside him. Nice party, he said.