Crompton Divided

by Robert Sheckley

  ‘Nirvana,’ one of the priests remarked, ‘is the bunion on my little toe.’

  ‘No,’ another said, ‘actually, Nirvana is everything except the bunion on your little toe.’

  ‘Why do you make it so complicated?’ another priest said. ‘Nirvana is simply what’s left over when you drain away the water.’

  Others were ready with their own suggestions, but a short and rather venerable priest held up his hand for silence, then broke wind loudly. Four disciples went into instant samhadi. It seemed conclusive until another short but respectfully venerable priest grumbled, ‘There’s less here than meets the nose.’

  ‘It is not easy to explain Nirvana,’ the original interlocutor-priest said to Crompton. ‘It can’t be dealt with in words at all, you know, which makes precision difficult. Let’s just say that you won’t feel a thing and you won’t even be aware that you won’t be feeling a thing.’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ Crompton said immediately.

  ‘Now lookee here,’ the judge said to Crompton, ‘it appears to me that you’re not taking a very positive attitude toward all this. Here is this religious gentleman who has very kindly offered you Nirvana in return for hatching his god or devil or ju-ju or whatever this Finch is, and you start carrying on like he’s doing something terrible to you.’

  ‘This Nirvana,’ Crompton said, ‘sounds just like being stone-cold dead.’

  ‘Well, give it a try,’ the judge said, ‘maybe it won’t be so bad.’

  ‘If it sounds so good, why don’t you try it?’

  ‘Because I’m not worthy,’ the judge said. ‘Where is this Finch, anyhow? I’d like to get his autograph for my son. It’s hard to find a nice present for a twenty-two-year-old boy who has taken a vow of poverty and is now living in a cave in Bhutan.’

  ‘By the way,’ the venerable priest said, ‘I forgot to mention that with Nirvana you also get complete and unexcelled Enlightenment.’

  ‘Hey now,’ the judge said, ‘that’s really something!’

  ‘I don’t want Englightenment!’ Crompton shouted.

  ‘That,’ one of the priests remarked to another, ‘is Enlightenment indeed.’

  The priest said, ‘Let’s quit horsing around. Let the ceremony begin!’

  There was a flourish of hautboys. Radiance filled the air. Swarms of ethereal beings came from the four corners of the universe to greet the newly emerging bodhisattva. The tattva gods were there, of course, and there came Thor, Odin, Loki, and Figg, disguised as Swedish tourists having unhappy love affairs. And there was Orpheus in chicano silk shirt and levis, playing his electric charango via an AC source in his thumos. Quetzalcoatl showed up with his feather boa, Damballa came in his necklace of skulls, and there were many others.

  They crowded the room, a spiritual convocation of such enormous power that even the furniture and fittings took on quasi-human characteristics, and a turkey-red curtain could be heard remarking to the portrait of Washington, ‘I only wish my Uncle Otto could be here to see all this.’

  ‘And now,’ said the priest to Crompton, ‘if you would be good enough to withdraw your pseudopersonality and allow Finch to come through –’

  ‘Not a chance,’ Crompton snarled. ‘If Finch is so great let him find his own body. I’m keeping this one.’

  ‘You’re ruining the whole production,’ the priest told him. ‘Can’t you think of anyone but yourself? Don’t you realize that everything is of a suchness?’

  Crompton shook his head. There was a moment of silence broken only by the wheezing of the air conditioner.

  Then a gigantic presence formed in the middle of the courtroom.

  Black it was and many-headed, and its shoes were number nine, and it had a midshape somewhat resembling a snake who has swallowed a goat whole. A silvery radiance gleamed from its ebony limbs, at the terminations of which depended tentacles gripping a great variety of edged and toothed weapons.

  ‘I am Thagranak,’ the baleful presence proclaimed. ‘Know ye that now the three moons of Kvuuth are aligned with the great constellation of the Greptzer, and the double-nosed worshippers of the Polka Dot Abomination demand blood as a Faigh-gift of our ancient Arrangement. Thus it is that I come via contingencies too fleeting to be imagined to perform the Death upon the Selected One.’

  ‘Who is this being?’ the venerable priest remarked to a shorter priest.

  The shorter priest quickly glanced through a microfilm printout of Smith’s Shorter List of Galactic Presences which had been astrally projected to him from the ever vigilant Deity Analyzer and Tabulator (DAT) in Lhassa. ‘I don’t find any mention of him.’

  ‘Could he be an imposter?’ the venerable priest mused. ‘No, I suppose not. So he must be from some other universe. That’s the usual explanation for the inexplicable.’

  ‘But should we admit him to this assembly?’ the shorter priest asked. ‘He seems rather crude and anthropomorphic and not our sort of being at all.’

  ‘What’s there to do? Out-of-universe deities always have visiting privileges at our get-togethers. Anyway, he solves a problem for us.’

  ‘Ah so?’

  ‘Even so. Crompton refuses to merge his fictitious ego with the quintessential extinction that the attainment of Nirvana implies, and so make way for the bodhisattva Finch. We ourselves are men of dispassion and so cannot force Crompton to snuff out, no matter how badly we would like to. But here, synchronistically, this archetypically male deity comes to do the job for us. It’s neat, isn’t it? Thagranak, do it!’

  45

  At this point there took place a transition of great color, speed, and efficacy. Gone were the solemn priests, the quizzical judge, the awesome extra-universal deity, the courtroom and all its homely accoutrements. For a moment there was nothing at all except vistas of the small glimmering gunmetal cubes that are the fundamental building blocks of reality. Then these too were gone, leaving behind only a thin dusty dream-substance. This coalesced, grew horns and headlights, and turned into a place that looked just like Ming the Merciless’s secret control room deep in the bowels of the invisible planet Xingo.

  Crompton stood within the room, struggling for comprehension.

  Presently a man entered. Even though the man was dressed in orange leotards and a fright wig. Crompton would have known him anywhere.

  ‘John Blount!’

  ‘Surprised to see me, are you, Crompton? I have watched with amusement your futile twistings and turnings across the galaxy. So near and yet so far, eh, Crompton? Hee hee hee!’

  ‘How did you manage to kidnap me like this?’ Crompton demanded. ‘The Center is sure to make inquiries.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Blount said. ‘You see, I have leased the Aion Project for twenty-four hours, and everybody must do as I say.’

  ‘The directors of the Center won’t let you kill me! They are philosophers, humanitarians. This is against everything they stand for!’

  ‘But they have to stand for it,’ Blount said. ‘You see, I took the precaution of also leasing their professional ethics and personal morality for twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Gawwwkr,’ Crompton said.

  ‘I set my trap a long time ago, Alistair. My agents, disguised as grooks, colonels, confidence men and waitresses, have kept in constant contact with you, and have even given you a helping hand now and then. Why not? I was glad to help you to Aion – and me!’

  ‘You really do hold a grudge for a hell of a long time,’ Crompton remarked.

  ‘My grudge feeds and nourishes me,’ Blount said. ‘It has given me a new interest in life, even offered a fresh field for my talents. I am much beholden to you, Crompton. Without you, I would never have discovered the true meaning and purpose of my life.’

  ‘That purpose, it seems, is simply to have revenge on me.’

  ‘There is that, of course. But that is only the beginning. Crompton, there’s so much more!’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Are you a religious man, Crompton? No
, I suppose not. I can hardly expect you to understand the terrible beauty of what happened to me one fateful day, when I was reminding myself, as usual, “Don’t forget to have your revenge on Crompton.” ’

  ‘Well, what did happen?’

  ‘Suddenly I heard a great voice in my head, and it seemed to come from nowhere and from everywhere, and I fell to my knees because I knew at once that this was the Real Thing. And the Voice said to me, ‘Johnikins!’ (calling me by a name only my deceased grandmother had used!) ‘Johnikins, what will you do after you have revenged yourself on Crompton?’ I said, ‘Well, I’ll probably need a vacation after that, so maybe I’ll buy Portugal for a few weeks.’ And the Voice said to me, ‘That’s pretty small potatoes, Johnikins.’ And I said, ‘I know, Lord, it’s really pretty banal, isn’t it? Here I am, the richest, smartest, and most powerful man in the universe, and all I have to do with my life is get revenge on Crompton, and after that I’ve got nothing at all. Tell me, Voice, what should I do?’ And the Voice said, ‘It’s so obvious, Johnikins: after you’re done with Crompton, why not take your revenge on the rest of them?’

  ‘It was as if a great light had turned on in the middle of my brain, and I fell on my face and laughed and cried and praised the Lord. It was the only spiritual revelation I have ever had.’

  Here Blount paused to take a sip of water.

  ‘The more I thought about it, the more I saw how right the Voice had been. Yes, why not take my revenge on all the people who had ever contributed to my discomfort! It was an exhilarating idea and I sat down at once to make up a list. But there were just too many people. I saw that it would be easier to think in categories. And so I determined to do away with all headwaiters and taxi drivers, pop singers and policemen, car-park attendants and roller derby entrepreneurs, farmers and mixing dubbers, folk singers, dopers, lawyers, Albanians, baseball players … I could go on and on.’

  ‘I’m sure you could, and will,’ Crompton said.

  ‘I saw that it would save a lot of time if I just decided what categories I did not want to kill. I thought about it and realized that there weren’t any. For a while I thought of saving the spotted Dalmatians because I was raised by one. But even they can be a pain in the ass. In a flash of insight I saw that I hated everybody and everything. That simplified my problem. I saw at once what I had to do. I’m sure you know what I mean.’

  ‘Do you mean what I think you mean?’ Crompton asked.

  Blount considered the question. ‘What do you think I mean?’

  ‘I think that you are seriously planning to destroy all of mankind.’

  ‘That’s it! That’s precisely it! And womenkind too,of course. And animalkind. I’m going to destroy all of the kinds – because none of them is worth diddly shit.’

  ‘You’re crazy!’ Crompton gasped.

  ‘Get me out of here!’ Loomis wailed.

  Dan Stack suddenly entered the discussion. ‘Let’s keep our cool,’ he said, extruding a strong air of confidence. ‘This looks like the sort of situation for yours truly. I’ll take over now.’

  Crompton did not resist. Dan Stack took control of the body.

  46

  ‘Well,’ Stack said, ‘it’s an ambitious scheme, all right, and a damned good one if I’m any judge.’

  Blount was surprised. ‘Why – thank you very much! I had thought, in your situation –’

  ‘Look,’ Stack said, ‘no matter what my situation, I can still appreciate artistry. And you’ve got it, baby.’

  ‘Do you really feel that?’ Blount asked. ‘You don’t think I’m crazy?’

  ‘Crazy like a fox,’ Stack said, winking. ‘It’s exactly what I’d do in your spot, and I’m not crazy, am I?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ Blount said. ‘So you really like my plan?’

  ‘I love it!’ Stack said. ‘How are you planning to begin?’

  ‘I’ve got an initial sequence drawn up,’ Blount said proudly.

  Crompton managed to regain control long enough to shout, ‘No, I refuse to be a party to this. I won’t let you do this!’

  ‘Is anything the matter?’ Blount asked.

  ‘No,’ Stack said. ‘That wasn’t me, that was Crompton.’

  ‘Aren’t you Crompton?’

  ‘Certainly not. I’m one of the other personalities. I’m Dan Stack.’

  ‘Oh! Pleased to meet you. It’s hard to realize … I mean you look just like … I’m John Blount, of course.’

  ‘I know all about you,’ Stack said. ‘I’ve been browsing through Crompton’s memory files.’

  ‘Then you know what he did to me.’

  ‘I know. And it really was not very nice of him,’ Stack said. ‘But of course, he’s really not a nice person. God knows, he’s caused me nothing but trouble and grief ever since he’s talked me into going in with him.’

  ‘I can well imagine,’ Blount said. ‘You know, Dan, I like you. It would be nice to have you around – if that suited you.’

  ‘Suits me just fine,’ Stack said.

  ‘I’ve got no one to talk to about my work, you see.’

  ‘It’s a lonely job, destroying mankind,’ Stack observed.

  ‘But we must get rid of that Crompton fellow!’

  ‘My sentiments, exactly. I think we can figure something out.’ He chuckled. ‘And as long as we’re at it, let’s do for Loomis, too. He’s not worth diddly shit.’

  ‘You’ve got an interesting mind,’ Blount said, shaking Stack’s hand in both of his. ‘It’s going to be a pleasure working with you. Now let’s go to my War Games Room and initiate Plan Lettra Destructicon. This is the plan in which I eliminate all of the postmen on Earth. I’ve had enough of them withholding my important letters.’

  ‘Beautiful,’ Stack said. ‘Let’s go.’

  47

  Just at this moment there was a break in the continuity. It began with a shimmering and a trembling and a shaking. Then clouds of yellowish smoke appeared and coalesced into koala bears that scampered under the furniture. Next the walls began to bubble and sing, and the chairs flashed on and off.

  These were the forewarnings of the dreaded REALITYQUAKE, which alters everything, usually for the worst.

  The room metamorphosed into the Roman Forum, the Traitor’s Tower, Trader Vic’s in San Francisco, a Stucky’s pecan emporium on U.S. 301 in Georgia, and finally settled down as a Greek Revival room copied loosely from 2001.

  In this room, seated around a large redwood table, were a group of men wearing cowboy hats and black silk masks.

  A man in a slate-blue sharkskin suit and tennis shoes entered briskly from a concealed doorway on the left. It was Secuille!

  ‘Gawkkkr,’ Blount said, ashen-faced.

  ‘Yes,’ Secuille said, ‘the time of reckoning is at hand, Blount. Assembled here is the Committee for the Preservation of the Story Integrity. Perhaps they are better known to you as the Archetype Vigilantes.’

  ‘My God, no!’ Blount said.

  ‘Blount, you really ought to be ashamed of yourself. Nobody is interested in your crummy Weltanschauung. This is Crompton’s story, and you are only a bit player in it.’

  ‘Well, hell,’ Blount said, ‘a character’s got a right to improve himself, hasn’t he?’

  Secuille turned to the Vigilantes. ‘Gentlemen. I think you can see that Blount has egotistically violated the situational premise and thus deflected the story into an unwanted and unprofitable channel.’

  One of the Vigilantes said, ‘Yep, it’s clear enough. I reckon we’d better just write him out.’

  Another Vigilante said, ‘How would you like to go, Blount? Car accident? Massive coronary? Sleeping pills?’

  ‘Please don’t write me out!’ Blount pleased. ‘I’m sorry, I repent, I’ll never do it again!’

  Secuille said, ‘I wonder if we can trust you. …’

  ‘I’ll be good! You’ll see! You’ll be proud of me!’

  ‘Hmmm. …’

  Blount waited no longer. Sensing that he wa
s being given an inferential opportunity to escape being written out, he quickly converted all of his assets into cash, gave that away to the poor, and retired to the same cave in Bhutan which housed Otto Grudge, the son of Judge O. T. Grudge. In later years Blount became known as the Weird Monk because of his habit of counting his teeth in public. He plays no further part in this story.

  ‘Secuille, I don’t know how to thank you,’ Crompton said. ‘Is there any way I can help you in your Game?’

  Secuille said, ‘You have already helped me, Crompton, by getting into this ridiculous situation from which I have extricated you, thus winning five hundred red points for three clear overs. How about that?’

  ‘I’m so glad,’ Crompton said.

  ‘Well, I’ll be seeing you.’ Secuille folded the Vigilantes into a large brown manila envelope and started toward the door.

  ‘Wait!’ Crompton cried.

  ‘Yes, what is it?’

  Crompton said. ‘What do I do now?’

  ‘How should I know? It’s your story. I’m just a subsidiary character of no great relevance.’

  ‘Secuille, please! I simply can’t go on like this anymore!’

  ‘There’s really only one thing left to do,’ Secuille said. ‘You boys are just going to have to fight it out until Reintegration takes place, or until one of you succeeds in assimilating the others.’

  ‘We’ve been fighting continuously ever since we met.’ Crompton said. ‘All it’s doing is driving us crazy.’

  ‘That’s because you’ve been doing it the bad, old-fashioned way, the way of internalized conflict. But now, modern science has devised a good, easy, up-to-date method of externalizing your innermost conflicts, and thus quickly resolving them.’

  ‘How?’ Crompton asked.

  ‘By taking advantage of the Aion Foundation’s ultimate therapeutic weapon – the External Conflicts Simulator.’

  ‘And what, pray tell, is that?’

  ‘The External Conflicts Simulator is a device which projects you into a metaphorized space-time construct. You are then free to simulate weaponry and allies to the best of your abilities. It’s as simple as that.’