“Oh Jesus!”
“Oh yes.”
“You’re asking me to buy your phasma fantasy.”
“I’m not selling you anything. Just look at the facts. Mary Mixup yearns for a man who’ll make her smart. Sarah Heartburn—a dynamic artist-type. Miss Priss—a holy, well-bred lover. Regina—Lord Nelson. Nellie Gwyn—a King Charles the Second stud. That’s how I knew the GoFer was Ildefonsa; the Golem was carrying a King Charles spaniel. Yenta—a butch bulldyke. Me—you. Q.E.D.”
“What about those twins with the Russian names? Why were they left out?”
“Maybe they weren’t. Maybe the report hasn’t reached. Ind’dni—or the outrages went unnoticed, like hundreds more in this lunatic Guff which takes horrors for granted.”
“But—”
But there was no interrupting Gretchen. “You know about the id, the deep reservoir of libido energy in every man, a hellhole of primal drives. Sure you do. Maybe you can remember that line from Hamlet? Bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! That’s the id buried in the basement of the human animal; you, me, all of us.”
“We can’t all be monsters,” Shima protested.
“Deep down inside, in our Underworld, we are. Up here, at the top of the iceberg, we censor and control it; but what happens when that brute beast in us escapes control, breaks out of the cage, and runs wild? Then you have Golem100.”
“How does it break out of the cage?”
“Sharpen a wit, baby. The bee-ladies get together in Regina’s hive. They play witchcraft games. Of course they never succeed in raising the Devil because he doesn’t exist. That’s just folklore.”
Shima nodded.
“But their ids combine to generate a different demon. There isn’t any inferno, but there is an Infraworld, and our remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless ids live down there. The ladies’ libidos merge down there, and that’s the genesis of the Golem. It takes the shape of any one or all of some of their unconscious savageries and appears in our conscious world to ravish and slaughter without sense or reason… just savage pleasure. Erotic libido and death libido.”
“You’re claiming that the bottom line with the bee-ladies is the Golem100?”
“Yes. It’s the gut-reality. Energy eruption.”
“Why the bee-ladies in particular? Why don’t we all generate Golems down there?”
“Three little words. Catalyst.”
“Holy Saints! The Promethium.”
“It’s a hell of a thing to cope with, Blaise, but until that radioactive Pm got into the act the world has never been confronted with the gut eight-ninths of the iceberg.”
Shima sighed. “What a rotten thing to happen to a beautiful legend,” he said sadly. “Prometheus, the Fire-Bringer, teacher of the arts of life, friend and benefactor of Man. And now look at the foul fire he’s generating in those filthy women!”
“They’re still nice ladies, Blaise.”
“No. How can they be?”
“They don’t know what they’re doing.”
“There has to be a conscious clue.”
“They don’t even know their gut-drives.”
“We all know that we have them in this day and age.”
“The fact, but not the hideous details. Our conscious can’t bring itself to examine the primal ferocity. That’s why people have to suffer through psychoanalysis for years before they can come face to face with their bottom line.”
“Have you come face to face with yours?”
“I doubt it. I know you haven’t.”
“Me?”
“You. Do you know what primal passion drives you into the personality of Mr. Wish?”
Shima was stunned.
“But you are driven, aren’t you? And yet you’re a nice guy… As nice as the bee-ladies.”
“Oh Jesus! Christ Jesus! Then Ind’dni is right. I am a Golem.”
“Easy, baby. You’re not alone. Most of us are Golems, one way or another. The rare exceptions get sainted. So cool it and I’ll whip up another slug of the secret formula, prized by the cognoscenti, and famed in song and story.”
She went into the galley which was so rarely used that it was almost as sterile as Shima’s laboratory at CCC. Gretchen’s secret formula was the extravagant equivalent of two weeks in a spa: coffee, butter, sugar, egg yolks, cream, cognac. While she was heating and churning the hellbrew in a double boiler, her sight began to fade.
“Hey! Open your eyes,” she called cheerfully. “I’m going blind.”
He didn’t answer. Her primary vision failed altogether, and she was left with the secondary kaleidoscope. “Damn. He’s fallen asleep.” She felt her way out of the galley to the bath. “Blaise! Wake up!”
No answer. She groped around the tub. It was empty. She felt the tile floor with her palms. It was wet. “He’s getting dressed. Mr. Modesty!” She went into the bedroom. “Blaise?” No answer. In the lounge she called, “Blaise Shima! Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Nothing. And nothing from the terrace except the Guff’s distant pandemonium.
“Damn the man. He’s funked out and gone to hide in his lab. Patience, Gretchen. Patience.” She allowed an impatient half hour for traveltime and called CCC. No, Dr. Shima’s laboratory did not answer. No, Dr. Shima was not to be found in the CCC complex. She called the Organic Nursery. No, Dr. Shima was not dining there. Anyway, Dr. Shima always had his meals delivered.
She called the stock exchange, Theaterthon, the Church of St. Jude, the Freeport Restaurant, Station WGA, the Sheep Meadow racetrack, the Therpool. No one answering to the name or description of Blaise Shima. Now genuinely alarmed she thought of contacting Salem Burne or the P.L.O.; instead she settled for the Guff Precinct Complex and asked for Subadar Ind’dni.
“And are you calling from your mystic Subworld, Miz Nunn?” he inquired. “You did not give me to understand that it had communication with reality.”
“Mr. Ind’dni, I’m in trouble.”
“The identical same, madame, or more so?”
“More so. Dr. Shima has disappeared.”
“Has he indeed? Best to describe event.”
After Gretchen had finished a carefully edited account, Ind’dni sighed. “Yes. To be understood. Most probably Dr. Shima found your fantastic conclusions about Hundred-Hander situation as difficult to stomach as did I. He is in hiding from you and has my sympathy. But he must not leave the Guff in his flight. An A.P.B. must be broadcast.”
“Not an A.P.B., Subadar!”
“Alas, what else can I do? However, I promise this: every effort will be made to keep taint of scandal from media. Code Nemo will be used.”
“What? Code Nemo?”
“So. You have never heard of Code Nemo?” She could sense Ind’dni’s internal smile. “I did tell you that I do not lack resources, Miz Nunn.”
After contact was broken, Gretchen muttered, “To hell with his A.P.B. and Code Nemo. My staff can lick his staff anytime.”
She managed her way out of the penthouse, safed it, and got down to the street, where full sight returned. When she arrived at her apartment, it was in time for a dramatic tableau. Her staff was assembled, gathered around Shima, staring at him and restraining him. Shima was stark naked and struggling politely.
“Blaise!” she exclaimed.
“The name is Wish, my dear. You may call me Mr. Wish.” He gave her the glassy smile.
She shook her head like an animal trying to dislodge an infuriating fly.
“He just crunched in, Miz Nunn. Security downstairs says he asked for you by name.”
“By name? He asked for Gretchen Nunn?”
“No, Miz. Just ‘Gretch.’ He said that Gretch from the Guff lived here and knew Mr. Wish. Security thought it was one of our codes and let him up.”
“You may release me,” Mr. Wish smiled. “I have nothing to grant any of you.”
She understood. “No, none of us. You can let him go. He’s harmless.”
&
nbsp; “Miz Nunn, why does he call himself Mr. Wish? We know he’s—”
“He isn’t anybody you ever saw or heard of. Mr. Wish was never here. Understood? Thank heaven I can trust you. Now out, all of you.”
When the study was cleared she closed the door and stood contemplating the courteous Mr. Wish. “No, none of us. You poor schnook, you’ve been backtracking on your own death-wish trail. It’s really hit you hard, hasn’t it? Went right over the brink into the deeps.”
“I remember you, Gretch,” Mr. Wish smiled. “I tried to help you once. Do you remember me?”
“You’re the one that’s got to be helped, Blaise,” Gretchen murmured. “There’s an A.P.B. out, and if you’re picked up in this character… Like down will come baby, cradle, and all.” She got a giant bath towel and tossed it across his lap. “Here, wrap this around.” Then she sat and breathed deep. “Now how the hell am I going to bring you out of it? Fake a suicide for Mr. Wish? What good would that do? Chem-shots? I wouldn’t know what to prescribe. What you need is a psychic shock, and it’s got to be homeopathic, but what, what, what?”
Mr. Wish adjusted his toga and said, “I don’t think I could help the one I was following anyway.”
“Not unless you catch up with him.”
“It’s not that. I can’t find my aids. I don’t seem to have them with me.”
Gretchen’s smile was exasperated. “Did you try your pockets?”
“I must have left them somewhere. Locked up, of course. Can’t be too careful with lethal modules. I wonder where.”
“Happy to say I can’t help, Mr. Wish.”
“It doesn’t matter, my dear. I’d have to find the key first.”
“Oh sure. The key first, of course, and then the lethal modules which—” Gretchen broke off abruptly. It took her a full five seconds to acknowledge her appalling idea. She began to tremble and rock, shaking her head. “I can’t. I won’t. There’d be no enduring that.” And all the while she knew that she could, would, and have to endure. It took long minutes to compose herself. She went into her bedroom, got something from the night table, and clutched it in her palm. Then, smiling almost as glassily as Mr. Wish, she called Ildefonsa Lafferty.
“Nellie? BB calling. No, not from the hive; my own place. Nell, I’ve got a crise psychologique and I— No, love, it’s not more intellect; just French for something heavy. My problem’s here now, and I don’t want him to know what I’m talking about. Yes, it’s a he. I can’t handle him. I think you can because it’s one of your specialties. Can you come over right away? No, love, no hints. You’ll see for yourself when you get here. Thanks, Nell.” She broke the connection. “All right, Blaise. I’m going to unlock that drawer.”
This was Gretchen Nunn’s professional protocol. She greeted distinguished clients at the entrance to her Oasis. She met the fringe celebrities at the impressive door of her apartment with her staff in attendance. The bread-and-butter customers were ushered into her workshop where she was seated, working while she waited. (Mills Copeland, chairman of CCC, would have been deeply offended, had he known.) Gretchen met Ildefonsa Lafferty at the door of her study and ushered her in.
“Thanks for coming to the rescue, Nell. This one’s a bummer.”
Ildefonsa was blazing in lettuce sequins. “Who could resist the tease, BB? Of course it was a tease. I’ve got your number. No matter what you do, you’ve always got a second intention.”
“I protest, Nell.”
“Why deny it? That’s the grabby part of your tease. I ask myself what she’s up to now, and I have to find out.”
“I swear it’s a straight rescue.”
“Like I’m supposed to believe you? Is that thing your crise psychologique?” She indicated the glassy Mr. Wish with a hip.
“That’s it.”
“You said ‘he.’ You didn’t say a null in a toga.”
“He’s in shock and he’s got to be stung out of it… Back to normal.”
“What’s so hot about normal? Why not let him enjoy?”
“I need his evidence-verbal for a case.”
“Why call me?”
“Because you know something I don’t know.”
“What, in particular?”
“How to sting men.”
“Well, I never yanced a zombie, but there always has to be a first.”
Gretchen smiled with thin lips. “If that’s the way it has to be, feel free.”
“Is there any other way?” Ildefonsa strolled to Mr. Wish, inspected him casually, then bent suddenly and looked hard. “My God! I can’t believe it. This is Hero.”
“Hero? It’s Dr. Blaise Shima. What hero?”
“Hero, short for Hiroshima. Chase him into bed, BB, and you’ll find out why.”
Gretchen kept her mouth shut.
“So that was your second intention,” Ildefonsa said. “What happened to him?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I can’t handle him.”
Ildefonsa prowled around Shima. “Well, well, Hero. Long time no connect. Miss me, stud?”
“The name is Wish, my dear. You may call me Mr. Wish.”
“God knows, you were a maiden’s wish come true, stud.” Over her shoulder, Ildefonsa threw, “He doesn’t know me?”
“He doesn’t know anyone.”
“Including himself?”
“He thinks he’s some character he invented named Wish.”
“So you want to get rid of that character?”
“That’s the op. Bring him back to himself.”
“Any ideas?”
“You were my only idea. I thought, ‘Nell is the one to make him conscious.’”
“Thanks, but my usual op is knocking them unconscious. I don’t know about the retro ploy. Might be interesting. You want him to remember he’s Shima?”
“That’s the scam.”
“Hmmm…” Ildefonsa meditated while Mr. Wish beamed up at her, looking like a pleasant Roman senator. Then, “Hey, Hero, remember this?” She began to sing in her peanut-whistle voice:
My mother said I never should
Prance with a yanceman in the wood.
If I did, she would say,
You naughty girl to disobey.
Disobey.
Disobey.
On your husband’s holiday.
Ildefonsa giggled. “You always dug that, Hero. Remember? You used to make me sing and dance it.”
“The name is Wish, my dear. Mr. Wish.”
“He’s really spaced, BB. That number could always hustle him into the water gap. Hero believed I was the pure type singing smut I didn’t understand.”
“Way out.”
“Just typical. He never knew the score. You think I should try the dance bit? It’s a strip.”
“Why not? Wait. Wear this.”
Ildefonsa looked at the cabochon in Gretchen’s palm. “What is it?”
Gretchen felt a little better. “It’s an uncut diamond.”
“You want me to wear it?”
“Please.”
“What on? I’ll be stripped.”
“Wear it in your navel.”
“For God’s— There? How?”
“It’s mounted on skinstick.”
“Why do I wear it?”
“It’s the key to a locked drawer.”
“Whose?”
“His.”
“Sounds like he’s acquired some kinky kicks since I knew him.”
“He has. No, Nell, don’t let him see you put it in place; it’s got to be flashed on him suddenly. Use my bedroom.”
Ildefonsa nodded and went through the door that Gretchen opened for her. She came out in a few moments, making sure that the door remained open. “Groovy bed,” she commented approvingly. “It could turn therapy into a thrill. Those mirrors! All countdown now.”
“Should I leave you alone together?”
“Why? Maybe you’ll learn something useful.”
“There’s always room for improvement,” Gretchen
agreed through her teeth.
Ildefonsa took position before Mr. Wish and began to sing and dance rather clumsily. (“Rotten coordination in the vertical.”) The lettuce-sequin apparat was designed to break apart in convenient sections (“But not designed with dancing in mind.”) which Ildefonsa cast aside any which way until she was stripped down to her glowing blush skin for the final flash. She turned slowly, displaying every thrust of her plummy body, flashed and held the pose before Mr. Wish. Gretchen choked back a growl.
The diamond was close and level with his eyes. Mr. Wish stared at it. Then his eyes dropped to the mons veneris, lifted to the breasts, and at last to Ildefonsa’s face. He turned pale.
“But… but you’re Ildy,” he faltered. His eyes dropped to the cabochon. “Why… What are… Why are you wearing Gretchen’s diamond?” He arose slowly and looked around in bewilderment. “I’ve lost connection.”
Ildefonsa held out her plummy arms to him. “Come on, stud. We’ll reconnect.”
“But it… I… It’s not then. It’s now. Now.” His voice strengthened. “God almighty, what am I doing with you, Ildy? Here? You like this. Wearing Gretchen’s diamond. Giving me that old Ipanema gig. Christ! I put you away a year ago.”
“I took her out of the drawer, Blaise,” Gretchen said quietly.
He shook his head slowly. “You? Did this? To me?”
“I had to bring you back.”
“But… But the diamond?”
“I asked her to wear it.”
“Why?”
“That was the key.”
“What did you bring me back from?”
“Mr. Wish.”
“Oh Jesus! Jesus God!”
“It’s all right, Hero,” Ildefonsa said soothingly. She ran her hands under the toga. “Everything’s all right now. You’re back. I’m back. We’re both back where we started. Come on, stud.” She coaxed him toward the bedroom.
Shima looked into her face. Her eyes were melting. He looked at Gretchen. Her eyes were steady. He looked from one to the other again, then turned Ildefonsa gently and started her toward the bedroom. He seemed to be following but it was only to step out of the toga which he draped around her shoulders. “Farewells should be forever,” he said.
Ildefonsa turned in astonishment. Shima crossed to Gretchen. “What now?” he asked.
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