Selected Stories of Alfred Bester

by Alfred Bester

  Granville stared at her. “Expecting me?”

  “Yes, Dr. Granville.” Gertrude gave his arm the friendliest pressure. “Right this way.”

  “Don’t you know he died this morning?”

  She smiled blankly. “This way, please.”

  Granville permitted himself to be led across the open floor, arguing feebly. “There must be some mistake. Coven can’t expect me. I never made an appoint—” He dropped it and re-sorted his confusion. “He can’t expect anyone. Not my Sidney Albert. Who’s yours? A son or a nephew or something?”

  “Through this aisle, Dr. Granville.”

  “Now wait. Let’s make sense. You don’t expect me to—”

  With relief Gertrude interrupted: “Here’s Mr. Sharpe, our office manager.” A short, abrupt man with a woodpecker face jumped up from his desk and shot a hand toward Granville. Gertrude said: “Mr. Sharpe, this is Dr. Granville. The four o’clock appointment with Mr. Coven.”

  Sharpe clutched Granville’s hand. “Yes, yes, yes, of course. So glad to meet you, Doctor. Truly a pleasure. I’ve heard about you. One of the coming young physicians, eh? Ah-ah!” Mr. Sharpe twinkled roguishly. “No modesty, now. This way, sir. Right this way.”

  He pulled Granville toward a walnut door set flush in the rear wall. “Let me thank you and congratulate you for your promptness, Doctor. The keeping of appointments seems to be a lost art today. People are shockingly careless.”

  “Just a minute, Mr. Sharpe... “

  “The whole theory of efficient office management:’ Mr. Sharpe peeked brightly, “is based on... “

  “Will you listen to me? I am not prompt. I do not have an appointment. I cannot see Sidney Coven.”

  “... is founded on promptness, accuracy, and a thorough respect for time.” Sharpe rapped once on the walnut door and thrust it open. He called: “Dr. Granville is here, Mr. Coven,” and stepped back.

  From the interior a sick voice called: “Good afternoon, Dr. Granville. Do come in. That will be all, Sharpe.”

  It was a crushed voice... a mutilated voice. Granville stiffened and slowly stepped into the office. Sharpe closed the door smartly behind him.

  In a small, square room with grey pickled walls, grey carpet and wine-colored drapes blacking out the window, were two pools of light. One shone on a small desk behind which sat a sallow man with brutal features, his eyes concealed by black glasses. The other flooded an Empire couch in the corner. Sidney Coven lay on the couch.

  His body was straight and rigid, concealed by a grey corduroy coverlet. He lay quite motionless, his heavy head rolled a little to one side so that his jet eyes could command the room. He looked like a corpse, imperfectly arranged, and his saturnine face was misshapen and bruised, as though it had been kicked.

  With the frightening mutilated voice Coven said: “Thank you for keeping your appointment. Please do not be alarmed at my crushed condition; but I forgot... as a physician you wouldn’t be. This gentleman is Mr. Arno. We were just—”

  “You’re dead, Coven.” Granville advanced a step. He repeated: “You’re dead.”

  “Quite so. Quite so.”

  “You were DOA this morning. Your back is broken. Your arms are smashed... ribs shattered... Your heart is burst open. You’re dead, Coven.”

  “To be sure, Dr. Granville. Now—”

  “And the pieces of you lay there on that couch and look at me and talk to me. For God’s sake what—”

  “Will you be quiet, Granville?” The agonizing voice stunned Granville again. Coven continued quietly: “Mr. Arno is an extremely busy person. We can’t take up too much of his time. Please sit in that chair... alongside the desk. For your own sake you’d best sit before you collapse.”

  Granville sank into the chair, not glancing at Arno. He continued to stare at Coven. .

  “All right, Arno,” Coven murmured painfully. “Examine him. This is the man I told you about.”

  “Ah?” said Arno, his voice as icy and disinterested as a phonograph. “The Granville.”

  “Yes.”

  “My name,” Granville muttered desperately, “is Charles Granville. I’m an intern at County Hospital. I’m twenty-five years old, engaged to be married, in sound health. I do not hear voices, see visions or experience—”

  The jet eyes caught him, held him and cut off his words. “This young man is extremely dangerous, Arno,” Coven said. “He has forced me to take unusual and costly measures. Listen carefully, Granville. I’m going to praise you to Mr. Arno. You should be flattered.”

  “I’ve got nothing to listen to. Nothing.”

  Coven chuckled and went on: “The average man lives his little life and dies his little death. He has the odd sensation every now and then that the life he is living is make-believe... sham... that there could be more to it than appears.”

  “Indeed he does,” said Arno, moving quietly behind Granville.

  “He has been taught to shrug his shoulders and believe that the odd clues he picks up are dreams... visions... hallucinations. But not Dr. Granville.” The crushed voice sounded amused and bitter. “This young man will not be duped. He is a poetic scientist. Social pressure... moral pressure... terror... threats... none of these influences can lobby against the growing certainty in his mind. He is beginning to listen to Starr. In a short time he will hear him. Presently he will understand.”

  “Starr!” Granville started to his feet. “That name. Then I was right! Then I did—”

  Arno’s hand on his shoulder drew him back into the chair. He attempted to turn around but Coven said quickly: “Don’t, Dr. Granville. Arno is not wearing his glasses. It would be most unpleasant.”

  Arno said: “You’re an inconsiderate young man, Doctor. You’ve made a lot of trouble for Mr. Coven.”

  “I blocked Starr this morning,” Coven went on, “at the cost of hurling myself under a truck. It was the only way to guarantee Granville’s instant awakening. Starr was on the verge of final contact with our friend. He may get through at any moment.”

  “We can’t let that happen, can we, Doctor?” Arno inquired in impersonally pleasant tones.

  “Listen,” Granville said. “This... None of this makes sense. Any of It. Outside, this place looks like an office... just an ordinary business office.”

  “Naturally,” Coven replied. He laughed without laughter, his mouth and throat and voice making the sounds and motions. It was the laughter of a parrot. “Naturally.”

  “But inside it isn’t ordinary any more. Crazy talk and crazy people. Appointments I never made... “

  . “I made it, Doctor,” said Coven. He laughed the parrot laugh again. “I made it for you this morning.”

  “With Miss Gardner’s assistance,” Arno laughed. It was the duplicate of Coven’s mechanical imitation.

  “You’re dead and you’re a liar,” Granville cried.

  The hand on his shoulder restrained him. Granville did not dare turn around. To Arno, Coven said: “Finished?”

  “All finished.”

  “Will it be difficult?”

  “Interesting, but not difficult.” Arno sauntered around the chair and stood before Granville, staring down at him through the opaque black glasses he had put on again.

  “L-Listen,” Granville began.

  “Please listen to me, Dr. Granville,” Coven interrupted. “I have two statements to make. The first is a proposal. Will you join us? Volunteer? Will you become one of us?”

  “Join who? Join what?”

  “I could answer that in many ways, Doctor. Let us say...” Coven chose his words carefully. “Let us say that this is an asylum and we are the keepers. A stranger outside the gates wants to teach the inmates how to escape.”

  “And you want me to be a keeper?”

  “Just one way of putting it, Doctor.” Coven selected other words. “Let us say there is a treasure and we are guarding it. Someone wants to teach the world the combination of the strongroom lock.”

  “And you want
me to be a guard?”

  “Just another way of putting it, Doctor. Have you heard of the balance of nature? Of course you have. There is more to nature than this earth. Far more. At present it is in delicate balance. Mr. Starr would like to upset that balance by awakening you and your friends. We want you to go on sleeping.”

  “Sleeping!”

  “Sleeping,” repeated Arno. “Let us say that.” .

  “But you are on the verge of waking, Doctor,” Coven Said. “And we should like you to arise from the right side of the bed, so to speak. You could be a genuine asset. We should like to have you with us rather than Starr. Will you join?”

  There was a pause. Granville glanced up at Arno who stood over him, icy and intent, the black glasses reflecting twisted light; then looked at Coven’s dead body and living eyes.

  “I don’t know anything,” he said slowly. “I don’t understand anything. Anything. But I know I don’t like you. I don’t believe you and I don’t trust you.” He finished with a rush: “I don’t want to be a keeper. I don’t want to be a guard. No, I will not. I will not join you, whatever you are. Let us say that.”

  “Oh. A pity.” The mangled voice died away, then resumed. “In that case I make my second statement. Your potential must be destroyed. You will be neutralized.”

  “You mean killed.”

  “Just one way of putting it, Doctor. Let us say... if you will not volunteer, you will be drafted.”

  “You mean killed.”

  “Just another way of putting it, Doctor. When, Arno?”

  “Some time this evening I’ll arrange everything.”

  “Very good.” The jet eyes caught Granville. “Thank you again for keeping this appointment, Doctor. You may go now.”

  Granville got to his feet. “If it’s murder, why wait? Why not—”

  “Don’t say anything, Doctor. Just go.”

  Suavely, Arno led Granville to the door and opened it for him. From the couch Coven said: “You understand we have another appointment for later today? You understand that you always keep the appointments we make for you?”

  Backing through the door, Granville stammered: “You’re d-dead, Coven. I don’t believe anything.”

  The dead man laughed his imitation laugh and called: “Au revoir, Doctor.”

  The door closed. Granville turned and weaved through aisles toward the street. He was dizzy and choked. Through pounding rubble in his ears he heard Sharpe, then Gertrude, then the telephone girl calling bright farewells. Red evening sunlight blinded him in the street. He lurched toward the car, saw Jinny in triplicate open the door for him, and then stare, her mouth making soundless motions. There was a roaring and a stunning blow on his temple... and then night.

  “Yes,” said Charles to the shapes that filled him with awe. “Because it’s not true because the sound and the light talk with voices and a man walks on music and feels with thought yes with thought and— “What’s that?” Without speaking he repeated: “What’s that? Who?”

  He dismissed the urgency and twisted about with feverish haste. “The two pieces of a soul are music and pain,” he lectured energetically, “and the colors clashing, singing, chiming, crying, and crying in fear and pain to see the sound of—Who?”

  Thrusting his head upward he cried: “Who? Who? WHO?”

  “Starr,” repeated the urgency. “This is Starr.”

  “Oh, the voices that sing the ring and mingle with music that mangles with most marvelous tongue with diapason and profound parallax—”

  “Charles Granville.”

  “What?”

  “Dr. Granville.”

  “You said something? You spoke? You boke you moke you koke you loke you...”

  “This is Starr. Will you listen? Can you listen? This is an emergency.”

  “Who?”

  “Try to remember this. You must remember...”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Charles, we can help you if you’ll—”

  “I can’t hear you. What? What?”

  “We’re going to give you the key. You must remember the key as it’s unfolded. Charles, listen. Listen. Listen. This is the unfolding. Listen to the pattern. Listen, Charles. Listen...”

  The palm jolted his jaw and made a sound like water in the ears. Granville turned his head away. The slaps continued. Gardner repeated: “Listen, Charlie. Listen to me, boy. Listen, Charlie-boy. Snap out of it, boy. Wake up, little man.”

  Thrusting his arms up wildly, Granville said: “I don’t want to be touched. Don’t touch me.”

  Gardner gripped his wrists and peered down at him. “Easy, fella...” Deftly, he thrust an ammonia bottle under Granville’s nose. The thrust of sharp vapor stung his eyes open. He was in emergency at County, on the enameled table. Jinny was silhouetted against the window, her hands clasped.

  “No more ammonia,” he muttered. ‘‘I’m all here. I—” Suddenly he cried: “Don’t say anything. There’s something I’ve got to remember. Something...” He tried to recapture the dissolving patterns.

  “Now kid... “ Gardner began softly.

  “Will you be quiet!” But he could not silence the street traffic and the hospital, and the memory fled. “No ... I can’t hold it.”

  Jinny came to the edge of the table, her face in a panic. “Charles...” She swallowed and tried again. “Oh Charles, I...”

  “Hey. Jinny? Hi, Jinny.” He hoisted himself and felt a bandage on his temple. “Who put out the lights?”

  “You pulled a faint.” Gardner steadied him. “Flopped into the car. Nosedive. Jinny drove you back to the hospital with your ankles waving in the breeze. Most educational and entertaining spectacle for the multitude.”

  “We aim to please...” Granville got to his feet and teetered against Jinny, who clutched him violently. “What a day this has been.” His eyes wandered uneasily around the glazed tile walls, and were finally drawn to Jinny’s face. “Well, I saw Coven.”

  “Coven,” Gardner echoed. “Guy who was killed?”

  “I saw him.”

  “And ran out in a tizzy? Since when do corpses scare you, Doctor?”

  “He wasn’t dead.”

  “Now come on. Come on!”

  “He wasn’t dead,” Granville insisted. He took Jinny’s hand and held it. “Jinny talked to him this morning. I talked to him this afternoon. He isn’t dead. He told me he took the dive under the truck to wake me up... to keep me from dreaming.”

  “Are we going to kick that around again?” Gardner snarled.

  “He said a few other things I don’t quite understand. Something about me being dangerous because I’m a poetic scientist. I... I’m going to find something out.”

  “What, in a word?”

  “I don’t know. Something about a hoax. A fraud. We’re all being duped.”

  “How? Out of what?”

  “I don’t know. It’s like describing color to a blind man. He can’t understand. That’s us. We’re all blind. We’re missing something. We—”

  Granville broke off as Gardner laughed. It was a laugh without laughter, the laugh of a parrot. Dispassionately he examined the face... the arched red brows, the crinkled eyes. Then he said quietly: “Hello, Gardner.”

  Still wheezing, Gardner said: “Excuse it, please. I’m subject to fits.”

  Jinny’s hand tightened in his. “Charles... What is it now?”

  “I’m meeting your brother for the first time, Virginia. I think maybe I’m meeting the world for the first time.”

  “Now have a heart, Doctor.” Gardner sobered and reached for Granville’s pulse.

  “It’s the laugh, Gardner.” Granville pulled his arm out of reach. “The laugh tags you.”

  “If I hurt your feelings, pal, I’m sorry; but—”

  “It’s exactly the same as Coven’s and Arno’s. D’you recognize it, Jinny? No... of course you wouldn’t. You never heard them laugh. I did.”

  “So help me, Chuck,” Gardner began in exasperation.


  “Who was it said once... Man is a laughing animal. Something like that. You’re not a laughing animal, are you, Gardner? You’re something else... the Covens and Arnos and Gardners... the ones that can’t laugh. What am I supposed to call you? Keepers? Guards? Trespassers?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Charles!” Jinny cried.

  Gardner thrust an angry red face close. “Are you finished, pal? Then listen to me. I don’t give a damn for your dreams and animals and hoaxes. That’s your business. My business is Jinny and your career. How old are you, Doctor? Twenty-five? How long have you been training? About nine years? How much has it cost so far? About ten grand.”

  “Yes. Here it comes.” Granville turned away. “The social pressure. Coven mentioned that.”

  “Just let me finish.” Gardner swung him back. “You go on broadcasting like this and you’ll be out of the hospital so fast it won’t even be funny. Your license? Pfui. Who’d license you to practice? What are you going to do? Throw away nine years, ten grand, a career, and Jinny because you have bad dreams? You should lay there and bleed!”

  “I’d listen to you, Gardner, if it wasn’t for your laugh, and one small detail. I’ll be dead tonight. Yes. That’s the word from Coven. He’s made an appointment.”

  Jinny caught her breath, then turned to her brother. Gardner grimaced at her. “It’s paranoia,” he said. “Pure persecution complex. We can’t let him go on talking like this. You know how gossip spreads in a hospital. It’ll be all over the shop he’s gone off his rocker. He’s got to lay off.”

  “I can’t,” Granville said.

  “What about Jinny?”

  “Don’t bargain with me,” Jinny said. “I’ll do my own talking.”

  “You heard me, Chuck. What about Jinny? She goes down the drain too? Look, I’ll put it to you fair and square. You think you’re right about this mish-mash. I think you’re crazy... “

  “But you can’t laugh.”

  “Will you listen,” Gardner cried. “Let’s put all the evidence up to a third party and see what he thinks. If he says: ‘Chuck, you are the savior of the human race.’ by God, I’ll become the Number One Disciple. But if he says: ‘Doctor, take a vacation quick.’ You’ll take it and forget everything else. A deal?”