The Collected Stories of Carol Emshwiller, Vol. 1

by Carol Emshwiller

  She smiled at him. “I was tired of their awful sameness. At least this promises to be different.”

  “What do you women do when a new Amberton Company husband first arrives?”

  “We usually try out a kiss. It didn’t seem appropriate with a real person, though.”

  “Let’s try it anyway. After all, we’ve signed the marriage papers.” He held out his arms for her, but she just stared at him uncertainly. The novelty of it sent chills down his spine. He actually had to take her in his arms and force his lips to hers.

  The sweetness of the kiss wasn’t the sweetness of perfect lips, but of hesitant, human ones. Foam rubber girls were never like this! Perhaps the primitives were right after all.

  They separated then, confused and blushing. Adjustment to a real person was going to be a problem in spite of its enjoyment because of this damned embarrassment.

  Robert had anticipated something like this, though.

  “I’ve arranged for tickets to the opera as a celebration tonight,” he said. “I thought an evening out might help us get to know each other.”

  “That was thoughtful of you,” Eva answered, “but I don’t care for the opera. You see, I’m tone deaf.”

  “But the opera’s just what I enjoy the most.”

  “I’m sorry. I never go.”

  “But it’s all arranged.”

  “It’s just too boring for me. I simply can’t go. If you like it so well, you go. I won’t mind. Besides, I like the ‘Book Parade’ on television Thursdays.

  Robert hated the ‘Book Parade’ and besides, he didn’t want to miss the opera, so he went. It was the first time he’d been there alone since he’d married his first Amberton Company wife ten years ago.

  The next morning Robert woke at the usual time and gazed at the ceiling for five minutes before he noticed Eva hadn’t seen him wake and was still sleeping soundly. He coughed deliberately a few times, but she only rolled over. Finally he could wait no longer.

  “It’s almost time for breakfast,” he said. “You’d better start getting up.”

  She opened one lazy eye and then closed it again.

  “Come on. If you don’t get up soon, you won’t have time to get my breakfast before my morning exercise television program.”

  She sat up in startled anger. “You don’t expect me to cook?”

  “Of course. All wives should.”

  “What do you think I am, a robot?”

  “But there’s nothing to it. You sound as if we were back in the dark ages when they had to cook by hand. Just go out and start the stove. Please.”

  “I never touched a stove in my life. I don’t know how to turn it on. My Amberton husbands always did it for me, and they never shouted at me, either.” She looked vaguely as if she might burst into tears.

  “All right, I’ll do it myself,” Robert muttered hurriedly and stamped into the kitchen. He’d only seen a woman cry once and that had been revolting. “I’m beginning to see why people don’t have real wives,” he thought to himself, and it was only their second day of marriage.

  One evening a few days later, they came in after seeing a play, one form of entertainment they both enjoyed. It was late and they were tired and irritable.

  “You spoil everything else, now you had to spoil the play,” Eva complained as soon as the front door was shut.

  “What’s wrong this time?”

  “You laughed in all the wrong places.”

  “I laugh when it’s funny, which is more than you do.”

  “Well, it’s irritating when I can’t hear the lines because you’re guffawing.”

  “Too bad I’m not an Amberton husband.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Do you think I’m enjoying you, for heaven’s sake? I can’t even have a decent sex life around here when I want it. You have to be ready.”

  “Amberton husbands behave in a decent, considerate way.”

  “Amberton wives do, too, which is more than I can say for you. You won’t even turn on the stove or the cleaning blowers. The house is a mess.”

  “I’ve told you, I’m not a robot and I won’t do those things. I’m not going to stay here and be insulted.”

  “Well, don’t stay then. Nobody’s keeping you.”

  She stalked to her coat and put it back on.

  “I was just waiting for an excuse to leave,” she said, opening the door.

  “Don’t think I wasn’t hoping you’d go.”

  “I’m glad it’s finally over.” She slammed the door in order to have the last word, which real wives always insist on.

  “Whew!” Robert breathed, and collapsed into a contour chair. He turned the television to the opera to soothe his nerves.

  They were just finishing the last act.

  “Just my luck,” he thought, “and the first time I’ve had some music I can listen to in peace since she was here.”

  The act finished and the announcer came on.

  “This performance of the old twentieth-century opera ‘The Rake’s Progress’ by Stravinsky has been brought to you by the Amberton Perfect Mate Company. We hope you’ve enjoyed it. And speaking of enjoyment, here’s the news all you men have been waiting for. Amberton’s has just put out a new model wife. We’re sure you’ll be thrilled by this remarkable woman. She has brand new features never before offered in the realm of synthetic makes. This wife will sometimes say “no” when you want her to say “yes.” I repeat, this wife will sometimes say “no” when you want her to say “yes”…but not for long. You need only ask her again once or twice and she’ll comply with anything. To make it even more interesting, you’ll never know when she’ll say “no,” nor whether she’ll keep on saying it once, or twice. We know you’ll like this new wife, so hurry, men, turn in your old models for this latest wonder of modern science. There’s only a limited number available and they’re going like hotcakes. And that’s not all, folks, this model also has the extra-broad hip line which is just coming into fashion this year.”

  Robert rose and dialed the Amberton Company number.

  The next day the musical door chimes tinkled. Robert hurried to open the door, and there she was. She was the latest model, all right, dark, petite, and her hips were wonderful.

  “I’m Fifi,” she said in a low voice with a slight accent.

  This was even better than he’d expected. He opened his arms to her.

  “No, not now,” she said.

  “Oh, please.”

  “OK.”

  Soft lips met his. Firm, foam rubber breasts were flattened to his chest. “Fireproof” spun glass hair brushed his cheek.

  Minutes later they stepped back and surveyed each other.

  “This is it!” Robert whispered breathlessly and led her inside.

  Sold to Long Island Suburban, November 1954

  The Victim

  I WAS FULLY insured, but there was no coverage at all on Sue. And now I was glad, because there would be no apparent motive for what I knew I had to do…

  It was right after breakfast that I decided I had to kill my wife.

  I went into the kitchen to get another cup of coffee, and it was the garbage in the sink that made up my mind. Garbage in the sink may not seem like much, but when it’s part of a long series of garbage of various sorts, it can be the last straw.

  There in the sink were dirty dishes half-filled with water, with eggshells and wet bread floating in them, along with round globs of cold fat. Wilted celery leaves, and bits of meat from our meal last night lay in a corner of the sink coated with old, greasy gravy. I’d seen this often enough before in six years of married life, but I still had an inclination to gag.

  I shut my mouth, held my breath and poured a cup of warmed over coffee.

  Then I saw green.

  People say they see red in anger but I’ve never seen it. Never seen any color in anger for that matter, but now I saw green. A greasy, wilted lettuce green.

  I didn’t look at the sink again, but it
seemed to me, suddenly, that I’d looked at Susie’s mind when I looked at the garbage. Her mind was just like that. Smatterings of half-absorbed information and meaningless small talk lying about at random, like eggshells and bread crusts, in the soft gray matter.

  The green got greener; it was a real London fog of a green. And it seemed to me, then, that I’d listened to garbage and looked at garbage and eaten garbage just once too often. I knew I had to do something—and I knew, after six years of marriage that there was only this one thing to do.

  I drank the bitter black drink. I went back into the dining room. I said goodbye to my wife and kissed her cheek as usual, though I would rather have bitten it.

  “My darlin’,” Susie said, as I started out the door, “could you call the man to fix the cellar stairs? You know how I forget things, so could you call him some time today?”

  “Mm hum.”

  “Oh, thank you, darlin’. I do appreciate it. You do such a lot for me; you really do. Now give me another kiss, lover, and then run, run. You’ll miss your bus. And don’t forget, will you. And call me too. Do please. It just brightens up my whole day to have you call. You know it sometimes gets lonely here. I’d never complain, of course. You’ve never heard me complain, have you? I’m not the complaining sort, but… Oh, do run. I shouldn’t talk so much. Run now, run.”

  I didn’t think about work on the bus and I didn’t look out the windows at the sunny day. I looked at my shoes and thought about murder.

  I thought about the cellar stairs. I thought about fixing that third step so it would be sure to break or come loose. But then, a fall doesn’t usually kill. Susie might just become an invalid and she’d like nothing better. She’d just get waited on, look at TV and eat and sleep. It would be heaven for her and probably a worse hell for me. The steps were out, I decided; too risky.

  At my lunch hour I went to the drugstore. “What’s a good poison for rats?” I asked them, and I thought of Susie’s beady black eyes. They could look so cold even when her mouth was spouting sweetness and light. “I saw one in our cellar yesterday,” I said, “and I want something sure.”

  Susie opens a can of tomatoes when she means to get corn; she mixes salt with the sugar. Why not a careless seasoning of rat poisoning? Her friends all knew how she was. With Susie anything was possible; at least it seemed that way. Actually I knew she was much too clever to harm herself, but most people didn’t realize it.

  Besides, I had no motive—not an obvious one, anyway. Susie would have much more reason for murdering me. I had the works in insurance—death and disability too. But I didn’t have a cent on Susie, and now I was glad of it. They wouldn’t be very likely to suspect me.

  I had a special little package in my pocket when I got home that night.

  I opened the front door to the bombardment of the TV set as usual. Susie wasn’t deaf, but you’d think so. Being alone in the kitchen was going to be a snap tonight. It was Thursday. Time for one of her favorite six to six-thirty programs.

  “Darlin’,” she called as I came in, “come give me a nice big kiss. Then be a dear, will you, and put the things on the table. They’re all ready. I’ve been keeping them warm in the oven for an hour already. Thanks so much; that’s my lover.”

  I took the hot frying pan out of the oven. There was a steak in it that once might have been a pretty decent piece of meat, and three rather soggy potatoes. Beside the sink there was a lettuce salad beginning to look warm and wilted. The green came again in a kind of hallow around it. I didn’t care for warm, wilted salad anyway, and I was sure Susie would eat it since she was always reducing. I opened the little packet and poured a light sprinkling of the poison on it and mixed it up a bit. It hardly showed.

  By the time I had the things on the table, Susie’s program was over and we sat down together.

  “I bought you a nice chocolate cake for dessert, darlin’,” Susie said. “I knew you’d like it.”

  “Mm hum.” I passed her the plate with the steak.

  “No thanks, darlin’. You know how I nibble when I’m cooking; I don’t think I’ll have any.”

  “Salad?”

  “Well, since I want to have a piece of that nice cake, I don’t think I really should eat anything. You know there are even calories in salad. I think I’ll save them up and have one teeny piece of cake instead.”

  So that was going to be that.

  I hadn’t felt nervous before, but now, for a moment, I had to put my napkin to my mouth. After that, I somehow didn’t have the strength to chew any more steak.

  “I’m not feeling so well,” I said. “I think I’ll go up and lie down.”

  “Oh, darlin’, I’m so sorry. Let me bring you up a cup of hot tea, or bouillon, or how about a nice hot milk. That’s nourishing. I’ll get you a hot water bottle too. Will you want cake? Do try to eat something, anyway. You go up now and rest. I’ll be up in a moment to make you comfortable and bring you some cake.”

  I went upstairs and lay down on the bed, but the green was in my stomach and wouldn’t let me lie still. Besides, she would be up soon to wrap me up and put me to bed and make the sympathetic noises she loved to make.

  And then, when she has me helplessly swathed in blankets, a captive audience, she’d start to talk. All the little things she thought of during the day… Darlin’, I was thinking today, isn’t it lucky we have this house? It has exactly, absolutely exactly the number of rooms we need. One for me for sewing. One for you for your work… and, darlin’, I was thinking, isn’t it lucky we live in America? You know I heard on television today that in France practically nobody, except maybe actual millionaires, have even a refrigerator, not to speak of a TV set. Aren’t we lucky to live in the country with the mostest of the bestest… I didn’t need to have her around anymore. I could tell what she was going to say now, or a month from now, or a year from now.

  She’s be up soon. It was time I was feeling better.

  I took out some work I kept in my upper bureau drawer for just such times. Nothing I needed to do really… Darlin’, I think it’s a crime, a real honest to goodness crime, they way they make you work. Of course I know how important the things you do are, so I guess it’s no wonder they keep you busy. Can I stay? I won’t make a sound, not even a little peep. You go right ahead and work and don’t mind me. I wouldn’t disturb you for anything. I know I talk a lot, but I’ll keep still as a mouse…

  I opened the folder, but the numbers on the pages had no meaning. Still, I stared at them. Watched them move gently back and forth. Then I heard her steps, heavy on the stairs. The banister creaked. I bent lower over the numbers.

  “Darlin’. You’re feeling better. Isn’t that nice. Here’s some cake and hot tea I brought you.” She set the edge of the tray on the vanity table, moved three bottles of perfume and a large jar of face conditioner to make room for it.

  “There, now. Have a little of this nice cake; it’s delicious.”

  “Not now, thanks.”

  “Well, do you mind if I just take a little piece of yours? Just a taste.”

  “No, I don’t mind.”

  “Darlin’, you’re such a quiet one and I’m such a talker. Isn’t it lucky we married each other? I could never get along with anyone else, and you couldn’t either, could you, darlin’? I know you couldn’t. We were just made for each other and the Lord made sure that we met and fell in love. You know, I often think how our love story is just like a television show. Oh, not with all the troubles and things. We don’t have any of those at all. But I mean so romantic and perfect. Like the hero and heroine when they’ve finally found each other.”

  “For God’s sake shut up! Can’t you see I’m trying to work? Leave me alone and take that smelly cake out of here. It makes me sick.”

  “All right, darlin’. I’ll go right away. And don’t you worry about this… uh… this little flare up. I know you’re not feeling well, and I forgive you already. Bye bye, lover.”

  After she shut the door, I clen
ched my teeth and gave the pillow four or five swift punches. Then I heard her singing. She was in the kitchen and there was the sound of running water and the rattle of pots and pans and this singing. She never sang a song, just notes, up and down for no reason.

  I lay on my stomach and put the pillow over my head. I didn’t hear her singing any more, but I knew it so well it seemed even louder in my own mind, and this was worse than the real thing.

  I got up again and went over to me suit coat. I wanted to find out how much poison was left in the little packet, but it wasn’t there; and it wasn’t in my pants pockets either.

  I’d left it in the kitchen and Susie was there now.

  She wouldn’t notice How could she? She didn’t notice so many things, why that? But did she really not notice things? Those eyes could look so piercingly.

  Anyway, it was rat poison. Legitimate. I’d get it tomorrow morning, and perhaps I would mention a rat in the cellar.

  I felt better thinking about the poison. After all, she wouldn’t be bothering me much longer.

  I left the light on to show I was working and undressed and went to bed. If I was well asleep there’d be no more said until morning, at least. No ungiven apology would be accepted with sweet-tempered forgiveness. Not tonight, anyway.

  The next morning I found the little packet on the kitchen table partly under a pan. It wasn’t very noticeable; I was confident she hadn’t seen it.

  I snatched a quick breakfast, kissed Susie, and was partly out the door when she called me in again.

  “Darlin’,” she said, “you forgot to call the stairs man yesterday.. You’ll be getting almost as forgetful as I am if you don’t watch out.” She smiled. “One like that is enough in the family. Be Susie’s lover and try not to forget this time.”

  I did remember to call the repair man at the office, and he said he’s be up the next day. I could have called Susie to tell her this, but I didn’t have an hour to spare. Besides, the very sound of her voice wrapped my mind in wet green cotton that kept me from thinking of anything but murder.