by Anthology
“Why, that’s for getting at your—that must be there by mistake—”
Little lines tightened around the queer hazel eyes. “Yeah?” He remembered the look Dunbar had given him, and Dunbar’s general reputation. “Say, could I use your ‘phone a minute?”
“Why—I suppose—what do you want to ‘phone for?”
“I want to call my lawyer. Any objections?”
“No, of course not. But there isn’t any ‘phone here.”
“What do you call that?” The gnarly man rose and walked toward the instrument in plain sight on a table. But Mahler was there before him, standing in front of it.
“This one doesn’t work. It’s being fixed.”
“Can’t I try it?”
“No, not till it’s fixed. It doesn’t work, I tell you.”
The gnarly man studied the young physician for a few seconds. “Okay, then I’ll find one that does.” He started for the door.
“Hey, you can’t go out now!” cried Mahler.
“Can’t I? Just watch me!”
“Hey!” It was a full-throated yell. Like magic more men in white coats appeared. Behind them was the great surgeon. “Be reasonable, Mr. Gaffney,” he said. “There’s no reason why you should go out now, you know. We’ll be ready for you in a little while.”
“Any reason why I shouldn’t?” The gnarly man’s big face swung on his thick neck, and his hazel eyes swiveled. All the exits were blocked. “I’m going.”
“Grab him!” said Dunbar.
The white coats moved. The gnarly man got his hands on the back of a chair. ‘I he chair whirled, and became a dissolving blur as the men closed on him. Pieces of chair flew about the room, to fall with the dry sharp pink of short lengths of wood. When the gnarly man stopped swinging, having only a short piece of the chair-back left in each fist, one assistant was out cold. Another leaned whitely against the wall and nursed a broken arm.
“Go on!” shouted Dunbar when he could make himself heard. The white wave closed over the gnarly man, then broke. The gnarly man was on his feet, and held young Mahler by the ankles. He spread his feet and swung the shrieking Mahler like a club, clearing the way to the door. He turned, whirled Mahler around his head like a hammer-thrower, and let the now mercifully unconscious body fly. His assailants went down in a yammering tangle.
One was still up. Under Dunbar’s urging he sprang after the gnarly man. The latter had gotten his stick out of the umbrella-stand in the vestibule. The knobby upper end went whoowh past the assistant’s nose. The assistant jumped back and fell over one of the casualties. The front door slammed, and there was a deep roar of “Taxi!”
“Come on!” shrieked Dunbar. “Get the ambulance out!”
James Robinette sat in his office on the third floor of a seedy old office-building in the West Fifties, thinking the thoughts that lawyers do in moments of relaxation.
He wondered about that damn queer client, that circus freak or whatever he was, who had been in a couple of days before with his manager. A barrel-bodied man who looked like a halfwit and talked in a funny slow drawl. Though there had been nothing halfwitted about the acute way he had gone over those clauses. You’d think the damn contract had been for building a subway system.
There was a pounding of large feet in the corridor, a startled protest from Miss Spevak in the outer office, and the strange customer was before Robinette’s desk, breathing hard.
“I’m Gaffney,” he growled between gasps. “Remember me? I think they followed me down here. They’ll be up any minute. I want your help.”
“They? Who’s they?” Robinette winced at the impact of that damned perfume.
The gnarly man launched into his misfortunes. He was going well when there were more protests from Miss Spevak, and Dr. Dunbar and four assistants burst into the office.
“He’s ours,” said Dunbar, his glasses agleam. “He’s an ape-man,” said the assistant with the black eye.
“He’s a dangerous lunatic,” said the assistant with the cut lip.
“We’ve come to take him away,” said the assistant with the torn pants.
The gnarly man spread his feet and gripped his stick like a baseball bat by the small end.
Robinette opened a desk drawer and got out a large pistol. “One move toward him and I’ll use this. The use of extreme violence is justified to prevent commission of a felony, to wit, kidnapping.”
The five men backed up a little. Dunbar said, “This isn’t kidnapping. You can only kidnap a person, you know. He isn’t a human being, and I can prove it.”
The assistant with the black eye snickered. “If he wants protection, he better see a game-warden instead of a lawyer.”
“Maybe that’s what you think,” said Robinette. “You aren’t a lawyer. According to the law he’s human. Even corporations, idiots, and unborn children are legally persons, and he’s a damn sight more human than they are.”
“Then he’s a dangerous lunatic,” said Dunbar.
“Yeah? Where’s your commitment order? The only persons who can apply for one are (a) close relatives and (b) public officials charged with the maintenance of order. You’re neither.”
Dunbar continued stubbornly. “He ran amuck in my hospital and nearly killed a couple of my men, you know. I guess that gives us some rights.”
“Sure,” said Robinette. “You can step down to the nearest station and swear out a warrant.” He turned to the gnarly man. “Shall we slap a civil suit on ‘cm, Gaffney?”
“I’m all right,” said the individual, his speech returning to its normal slowness. “I just want to make sure these guys don’t pester me any more.”
“Okay. Now listen, Dunbar. One hostile move out of you and we’ll have a warrant out for you for false arrest, assault and battery, attempted kidnapping, criminal conspiracy, and disorderly conduct. We’ll throw the book at you. And there’ll be a suit for damages for sundry torts, to wit, assault, deprivation of civil rights, placing in jeopardy of life and limb, menace, and a few more I may think of later.”
“You’ll never make that stick,” snarled Dunbar. “We have all the witnesses.”
“Yeah? And wouldn’t the great Evan Dunbar look sweet defending such actions? Some of the ladies who gush over your books might suspect that maybe you weren’t such a damn knight in shining armor. We can make a prize monkey of you, and you know it.”
“You’re destroying the possibility of a great scientific discovery, you know, Robinette.”
“To Hell with that. My duty is to protect my client. Now beat it, all of you, before I call a cop.” His left hand moved suggestively to the telephone.
Dunbar grasped at a last straw. “Hmm. Have you got a permit for that gun?”
“Damn right. Want to see it?”
Dunbar sighed. “Never mind. You would have.” His greatest opportunity for fame was slipping out of his fingers. He drooped toward the door.
The gnarly man spoke up. “If you don’t mind, Dr. Dunbar. I left my hat at your place. I wish you’d send it to Mr. Robinette here. I have a hard time getting hats to fit me.”
Dunbar looked at him silently and left with his cohorts.
The gnarly man was giving the lawyer further details when the telephone rang. Robinette answered: “Yes . . . Saddler? Yes, he’s here . . . Your Dr. Dunbar was going to murder him so he could dissect him . . . Okay.” He turned to the gnarly man. “Your friend Dr. Saddler is looking for you. She’s on her way up here.”
“Herakles!” said Gaffney. “I’m going.”
“Don’t you want to see her? She was ‘phoning from around the corner. If you go out now you’ll run into her. How did she know where to call?”
“I gave her your number. I suppose she called the hospital and my boarding-house, and tried you as a last resort. This door goes into the hall, doesn’t it? Well, when she comes in the regular door I’m going out this one. And I don’t want you saying where I’ve gone. Nice to have known you, Mr. Robinette.”
&nbs
p; “Why? What’s the matter? You’re not going to run out now, are you? Dunbar’s harmless, and you’ve got friends. I’m your friend.”
“You’re durn tootin’ I’m gonna run out. There’s too much trouble. I’ve kept alive all these centuries by staying away from trouble. I let down my guard with Dr. Saddler, and went to the surgeon she recommended. First he plots to take me apart to see what makes me tick. If that brain-instrument hadn’t made me suspicious I’d have been on my way to the alcohol jars by now. Then there’s a fight, and it’s just pure luck I didn’t kill a couple of those interns or whatever they are and get sent up for manslaughter. Now Matilda’s after me with a more than friendly interest. I know what it means when a woman looks at you that way and calls you ‘dear.’ I wouldn’t mind if she weren’t a prominent person of the kind that’s always in some sort of garboil. That would mean more trouble sooner or later. You don’t suppose I like trouble, do you?”
“But look here, Gaffney, you’re getting steamed up over a lot of damn—”
“Ssst!” The gnarly man took his stick and tiptoed over to the private entrance. As Dr. Saddler’s clear voice sounded in the outer office, he sneaked out. He was closing the door behind him when the scientist entered the inner office.
Matilda Saddler was a quick thinker. Robinette hardly had time to open his mouth when she flung herself at and through the private door with a cry of “Clarence!”
Robinette heard the clatter of feet on the stairs. Neither the pursued nor the pursuer had waited for the creaky elevator. Looking out the window he saw Gaffney leap into a taxi. Matilda Saddler sprinted after the cab, calling “Clarence! Come back!” But the traffic was light and the chase correspondingly hopeless.
They did hear from the gnarly man once more. Three months later Robinette got a letter whose envelope contained, to his vast astonishment, ten ten-dollar bills. The single sheet was typed even to the signature.
Dear Mr. Robinette:
I do not know what your regular fees are, but I hope that the inclosed will cover your services to me of last July.
Since leaving New York I have had several jobs. I pushed a hack (as we say) in Chicago, and I tried out as pitcher on a bush-league baseball team. Once I made my living by knocking over rabbits and things with stones, and I can still throw fairly well. Nor am I bad at swinging a club like a baseball bat. But my lameness makes me too slow for a baseball career.
I now have a job whose nature I cannot disclose because I do not wish to be traced. You need pay no attention to the postmark; I am not living in Kansas City, but had a friend post this letter there.
Ambition would be foolish for one in my peculiar position. I am satisfied with a job that furnishes me with the essentials, and allows me to go to an occasional movie, and a few friends with whom I can drink beer and talk.
I was sorry to leave New York without saying goodbye to Dr. Harold McGannon, who treated me very nicely. I wish you would explain to him why I had to leave as I did. You can get in touch with him through Columbia University.
If Dunbar sent you my hat as I requested, pit .re mail it to me, General Delivery, Kansas City. Mo. My friend will pick it up. There is not a hat store in J town where I live that can fit me.
With best wishes, I remain,
Yours sincerely,
Shining Hawk
alias
Clarence Aloysius Gaffney
THE GREAT CLOCK
Langdon Jones
1
The light of the sky could be seen dimly through the small slits in the ceiling of the Great Chamber.
The Great Clock worked.
The Pendulum swung slowly in its giant arc and with every tick the whole Clock shuddered. The Great Wheel rose above the rest of the Clock mechanism in a great and static arc and the Fast Wheel whirled, humming, its sound rising above the noises made by the workings of the Clock. The other wheels turned at their various speeds, some smoothly, while some advanced one notch with every tick of the Clock. Pins engaged, wedges dropped, springs uncoiled. On the floor was thrown a shadow of wheels which formed an abstract pattern.
And the man sleeping naked on the pallet at the Posterior Wall stirred a little.
2
He was awakened by the whistle of the clock within the Clock.
It was fixed on one wall of the Great Chamber. It was made of wood and the sound of its ticking was lost in the constant sounds of the Great Clock. It was powered by a weight on a long chain, the other end of the chain having a metal loop through which projected the end of a lever coming through the wall. At this moment the lever, powered in some way by the Great Clock, was lowering itself smoothly, pulling down the free end of chain and winding up the clock. Below the clock, projecting upward from the floor was a four-foot metal flue pipe. The whistle was coming from this, a deafening note that was calling him to his duties. He covered his ears against the raucous sound. Eventually the note began to drop in volume and pitch, for a second broke down the octave to its fundamental, and then became quiet except for the hiss of escaping air. Behind the wooden wall could be heard intensive creaking as the giant bellows exhausted themselves.
The Clock ticked.
It was a thunderous sound, and it shook his body there on the pallet. It was a sound composed of a mosaic of sounds, some too high, others too low to be heard. But the high sounds irritated the eardrums and the low ones stirred the bowels. The sounds that could be heard were a million. Metallic and wooden, high and low, muffled and clear, they all combined in a shattering rumble that made thought impossible. The tick was composed primarily of four separate groups of sound that peaked at intervals of about half a second. At the end of each tick, a creak from somewhere high in the building ran up the scale to silence.
When the echoes had died away he could hear the other sounds of the Clock. The whole Chamber was alive with noise. There were creakings all around; cogs met with metallic clashes; wooden parts knocked hollowly. From high in the Chamber on the opposite side to his pallet the Fast Wheel hummed loudly.
He opened his eyes. Light was filtering in dimly through the two tiny slits in the ceiling of the Great Chamber. He could see the black outlines of the Great Wheel where it vaulted overhead, partly obscured by a supporting column. He groaned, then sat up on the pallet, looking across toward the clock on the wall. The clock was made entirely of wood, and only one hand pointed toward the irregular marks scored around the edge of the dial. The marks indicated the times at which he had to perform his duties; they extended three-quarters round the face. When the hand reached any of the marks, the bellows, now filling slowly behind the wall, would drop a short distance and the metal flue pipe would give a short call. The hand was about five degrees from the first mark, and this gave him a short while to eat his breakfast. He wondered dully if there was a little man inside the wall-clock, just getting up, ready for his day’s work maintaining the mechanism.
The Clock ticked.
When the floor had stopped vibrating, he got up and walked across the Great Chamber. Dust rose in acrid clouds about him, making him sneeze. He urinated in the corner, lifting his nose against the sharp smells that arose from the intersection of the walls that he always used for this purpose. Then he turned and walked back past the pile of bones in the other corner, skulls like large pieces of yellow putty, twigs of ribs, half buried by dust, and made his way to the door on the far side of the Chamber, moving among the bronzed supports of the Clock mechanism as he did so. He arrived at the low arched door and turned the iron handle, pushing open the wooden slab with effort.
The Clock ticked.
Now he was in the Small Chamber. The room was about nine feet long by seven wide, and was lined by wooden planks. The whole of the left-hand side of the Small Chamber was covered by a mass of wheels, thousands upon thousands, interlocking in frightening complexity. He had never tried to work out their arrangement and purpose; he just knew that they were an integral part of the workings of the Great Clock. The wheels were plain-rimm
ed—not cogged—and were of silver metal. They varied in size from about four feet down to one inch, and were all turning at varied rates. They whirred and clicked softly as they worked. The sounds of the Clock were muffled here in the Small Chamber, with the door closed, and only the tick was still just as disturbing, as disruptive to logical thought.
The Clock ticked.
He watched the chains from the wheels disappearing through the myriad holes in the wooden walls at either end of the Chamber. Some of the wheels were partly obscured, with just a tiny segment of their arc appearing through the space between the ceiling and the left-hand wall. Once, he had wondered whether he saw all the wheels or whether in fact there were more, many more, stretching away upward and downward.
The rest of the room was taken up mainly by the only compromise to his welfare, apart from the pallet in the Great Chamber. There was a wooden table and a small wooden chair. On the table were three objects, all of metal, a plate, a spoon, and a heavy goblet. At the far end of the Chamber by the cupboard set into the wall were two silver faucets. Above the faucets were two wheels of iron, to which worn wooden handles were attached.
The Clock ticked.
He walked across the Chamber and picked the plate off the table. He placed it on the floor below the nearer of the faucets. He stood up and began to turn the wheeled handle. A white mash poured out of the wide mouth of the faucet and slopped onto the plate. After he had turned the handle about ten complete revolutions there was a click, the handle spun free and no more mash came from the mouth. He picked up the plate and carried it back to the table, burying the spoon upright in the mash. Then he repeated the performance with the goblet and the other faucet, and filled the vessel with cold water.
The Clock ticked.
He settled down listlessly and began to spoon the mash into his mouth. It was completely tasteless, but he accepted it as he accepted everything else. The Clock ticked five times before he had finished his meal. He left half the mash and inverted the plate over the primitive drain in the floor. Rotting food from previous meals still remained, and at one time the stench would have appalled him.