by E. C. Tubb
“Trust and money,” Zarwell said drily.
“Your memory’s back then?”
Zarwell nodded.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Bergstrom assured him. “Now that you’re well again I’d like to introduce you to a man named Vernon Johnson. This world…”
Zarwell stopped him with an upraised hand. “Good God, man, can’t you see the reason for all this? I’m tired. I’m trying to quit.”
“Quit?” Bergstrom did not quite follow him.
“It started on my home colony,”Zarwell explained listlessly. “A gang of hoods had taken over the government. I helped organize a movement to get them out. There was some bloodshed, but it went quite well. Several months later an unofficial envoy from another world asked several of us to give them a hand on the same kind of job. The political conditions there were rotten. We went with him. Again we were successful. It seems I have a kind of genius for that sort of thing.”
He stretched out his legs and regarded them thoughtfully. “I learned then the truth of Russell’s saying: ‘When the oppressed win their freedom they are as oppressive as their former masters.’ When they went bad, I opposed them. This time I failed. But I escaped again. I have quite a talent for that also.
“I’m not a professional do-gooder.”Zarwell’s tone appealed to Bergstrom for understanding. “I have only a normal man’s indignation at injustice. And now I’ve done my share. Yet, wherever I go, the word eventually gets out, and I’m right back in a fight again. It’s like the proverbial monkey on my back. I can’t get rid of it.”
He rose. “That disguise and memory planting were supposed to get me out of it. I should have known it wouldn’t work. But this time I’m not going to be drawn back in! You and your Vernon Johnson can do your own revolting. I’m through!”
Bergstrom did not argue as he left.
* * * *
Restlessness drove Zarwell from his flat the next day—a legal holiday on St. Martin’s. At a railed-off lot he stopped and loitered in the shadow of an adjacent building watching workmen drilling an excavation for a new structure.
When a man strolled to his side and stood watching the workmen, he was not surprised. He waited for the other to speak.
“I’d like to talk to you, if you can spare a few minutes,” the stranger said.
Zarwell turned and studied the man without answering. He was medium tall, with the body of an athlete, though perhaps ten years beyond the age of sports. He had a manner of contained energy.“You’re Johnson?” he asked.
The man nodded.
Zarwell tried to feel the anger he wanted to feel, but somehow it would not come. “We have nothing to talk about,” was the best he could manage.
“Then will you just listen? After, I’ll leave—if you tell me to.”
Against his will he found himself liking the man, and wanting at least to be courteous. He inclined his head toward a curb wastebox with a flat top. “Should we sit?”
Johnson smiled agreeably and they walked over to the box and sat down.
“When this colony was first founded,” Johnson began without preamble, “the administrative body was a governor, and a council of twelve. Their successors were to be elected biennially. At first they were. Then things changed. We haven’t had an election now in the last twenty-three years. St. Martin’s is beginning to prosper. Yet the only ones receiving the benefits are the rulers. The citizens work twelve hours a day. They are poorlyhoused, poorly fed, poorly clothed. They…”
Zarwell found himself not listening as Johnson’s voice went on. The story was always the same. But why did they always try to drag him into their troubles?
Why hadn’t he chosen some other world on which to hide?
The last question prompted a new thought. Just why had he chosen St. Martin’s? Was it only a coincidence? Or had he, subconsciously at least, picked this particular world? He had always considered himself the unwilling subject of glib persuaders…but mightn’t some inner compulsion of his own have put the monkey on his back?
“…and we need your help.” Johnson had finished his speech.
Zarwell gazed up at the bright sky. He pulled in a long breath, and let it out in a sigh.
“What are your plans so far?”he asked wearily.
THE CALM MAN, by Frank Belknap Long
Sally Anders had never really thought of herself as a wallflower. A girl could be shy, couldn’t she, and still be pretty enough to attract and hold men?
Only this morning she had drawn an admiring look from the milkman and a wolf cry from Jimmy on the corner, with his newspapers and shiny new bike. What if the milkman was crowding sixty and wore thick-lensed glasses? What if Jimmy was only seventeen?
A male was a male, and a glance was a glance. Why, if I just primp a little more, Sally told herself, I’ll be irresistible.
Hair ribbons and perfume, a mirror tilted at just the right angle, an invitation to a party on the dresser―what more did a girl need?
“Dinner, Sally!” came echoing up from the kitchen. “Do you want to be late, child?”
Sally had no intention of being late. Tonight she’d see him across a crowded room and her heart would skip a beat. He’d look at her and smile, and come straight toward her with his shoulders squared.
There was always one night in a girl’s life that stands above all other nights. One night when the moon shone bright and clear and the clock on the wall went tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. One night when each tick said, “You’re beautiful! Really beautiful!”
Giving her hair a final pat Sally smiled at herself in the mirror.
In the bathroom the water was still running and the perfumed bath soap still spread its aromatic sweet odor through the room. Sally went into the bathroom and turned off the tap before going downstairs to the kitchen.
“My girl looks radiant tonight!” Uncle Ben said, smiling at her over his corned beef and cabbage.
Sally blushed and lowered her eyes.
“Ben, you’re making her nervous,” Sally’s mother said, laughing.
Sally looked up and met her uncle’s stare, her eyes defiant. “I’m not bad-looking whatever you may think,” she said.
“Oh, now, Sally,” Uncle Ben protested. “No sense in getting on a high horse. Tonight you may find a man who just won’t be able to resist you.”
“Maybe I will and maybe I won’t,” Sally said. “You’d be surprised if I did, wouldn’t you?”
It was Uncle Ben’s turn to lower his eyes.
“I’ll tell the world you’ve inherited your mother’s looks, Sally,” he said. “But a man has to pride himself on something. My defects of character are pretty bad. But no one has ever accused me of dishonesty.”
Sally folded her napkin and rose stiffly from the table.
“Good night, Uncle,” she said.
When Sally arrived at the party every foot of floor space was taken up by dancing couples and the reception room was so crowded that, as each new guest was announced, a little ripple of displeasure went through the men in midnight blue and the women in Nile green and lavender.
For a moment Sally did not move, just stood staring at the dancing couples, half-hidden by one of the potted palms that framed the sides of the long room.
Moonlight silvered her hair and touched her white throat and arms with a caress so gentle that simply by closing her eyes she could fancy herself already in his arms.
Moonlight from tall windows flooding down, turning the dancing guests into pirouetting ghosts in diaphanous blue and green, scarlet and gold.
Close your eyes, Sally, close them tight! Now open them! That’s it…Slowly, slowly…
He came out of nothingness into the light and was right beside her suddenly.
He was tall, but not too tall. His face was tanned mahogany brown, and his eyes were clear and very bright. And he stood there looking at her steadily until her mouth opened and a little gasp flew out.
He took her into his arms without a word and they s
tarted to dance…
They were still dancing when he asked her to be his wife.
“You’ll marry me, of course,” he said. “We haven’t too much time. The years go by so swiftly, like great white birds at sea.”
They were very close when he asked her, but he made no attempt to kiss her. They went right on dancing and while he waited for her answer he talked about the moon…
“When the lights go out and the music stops the moon will remain,” he said. “It raises tides on the Earth, it inflames the minds and hearts of men. There are cyclic rhythms which would set a stone to dreaming and desiring on such a night as this.”
He stopped dancing abruptly and looked at her with calm assurance.
“You will marry me, won’t you?” he asked. “Allowing for a reasonable margin of error I seriously doubt if I could be happy with any of these other women. I was attracted to you the instant I saw you.”
A girl who has never been asked before, who has drawn only one lone wolf cry from a newsboy could hardly be expected to resist such an offer.
Don’t resist, Sally. He’s strong and tall and extremely good-looking. He knows what he wants and makes up his mind quickly. Surely a man so resolute must make enough money to support a wife.
“Yes,” Sally breathed, snuggling close to him. “Oh, yes!”
She paused a moment, then said, “You may kiss me now if you wish, my darling.”
He straightened and frowned a little, and looked away quickly. “That can wait,” he said.
* * * *
They were married a week later and went to live on an elm-shaded street just five blocks from where Sally was born. The cottage was small, white and attractively decorated inside and out. But Sally changed the curtains, as all women must, and bought some new furniture on the installment plan.
The neighbors were friendly folk who knew her husband as Mr. James Rand, an energetic young insurance broker who would certainly carve a wider swath for himself in his chosen profession now that he had so charming a wife.
Ten months later the first baby came.
Lying beneath cool white sheets in the hospital Sally looked at the other women and felt so deliriously happy she wanted to cry. It was a beautiful baby and it cuddled close to her heart, its smallness a miracle in itself.
The other husbands came in and sat beside their wives, holding on tight to their happiness. There were flowers and smiles, whispers that explored bright new worlds of tenderness and rejoicing.
Out in the corridor the husbands congratulated one another and came in smelling of cigar smoke.
“Have a cigar! That’s right. Eight pounds at birth. That’s unusual, isn’t it? Brightest kid you ever saw. Knew his old man right off.”
He was beside her suddenly, standing straight and still in shadows.
“Oh, darling,” she whispered. “Why did you wait? It’s been three whole days.”
“Three days?” he asked, leaning forward to stare down at his son. “Really! It didn’t seem that long.”
“Where were you? You didn’t even phone!”
“Sometimes it’s difficult to phone,” he said slowly, as if measuring his words. “You have given me a son. That pleases me very much.”
A coldness touched her heart and a despair took hold of her. “It pleases you! Is that all you can say? You stand there looking at me as if I were a―a patient…”
“A patient?” His expression grew quizzical. “Just what do you mean, Sally?”
“You said you were pleased. If a patient is ill her doctor hopes that she will get well. He is pleased when she does. If a woman has a baby a doctor will say, ‘I’m so pleased. The baby is doing fine. You don’t have to worry about him. I’ve put him on the scales and he’s a bouncing, healthy boy.’”
“Medicine is a sane and wise profession,” Sally’s husband said. “When I look at my son that is exactly what I would say to the mother of my son. He is healthy and strong. You have pleased me, Sally.”
He bent as he spoke and picked Sally’s son up. He held the infant in the crook of his arm, smiling down at it.
“A healthy male child,” he said. “His hair will come in thick and black. Soon he will speak, will know that I am his father.”
He ran his palm over the baby’s smooth head, opened its mouth gently with his forefinger and looked inside.
Sally rose on one elbow, her tormented eyes searching his face.
“He’s your child, your son!” she sobbed. “A woman has a child and her husband comes and puts his arms around her. He holds her close. If they love each other they are so happy, so very happy, they break down and cry.”
“I am too pleased to do anything so fantastic, Sally,” he said. “When a child is born no tears should be shed by its parents. I have examined the child and I am pleased with it. Does not that content you?”
“No, it doesn’t!” Sally almost shrieked. “Why do you stare at your own son as if you’d never seen a baby before? He isn’t a mechanical toy. He’s our own darling, adorable little baby. Our child! How can you be so inhumanly calm?”
He frowned, put the baby down.
“There is a time for love-making and a time for parenthood,” he said. “Parenthood is a serious responsibility. That is where medicine comes in, surgery. If a child is not perfect there are emergency measures which can be taken to correct the defect.”
Sally’s mouth went suddenly dry. “Perfect! What do you mean, Jim? Is there something wrong with Tommy?”
“I don’t think so,” her husband said. “His grasp is firm and strong. He has good hearing and his eyesight appears to be all that could be desired. Did you notice how his eyes followed me every moment?”
“I wasn’t looking at his eyes!” Sally whispered, her voice tight with alarm. “Why are you trying to frighten me, Jim? If Tommy wasn’t a normal, healthy baby do you imagine for one instant they would have placed him in my arms?”
“That is a very sound observation,” Sally’s husband said. “Truth is truth, but to alarm you at a time like this would be unnecessarily cruel.”
“Where does that put you?”
“I simply spoke my mind as the child’s father. I had to speak as I did because of my natural concern for the health of our child. Do you want me to stay and talk to you, Sally?”
Sally shook her head. “No, Jim. I won’t let you torture me any more.”
Sally drew the baby into her arms again and held it tightly. “I’ll scream if you stay!” she warned. “I’ll become hysterical unless you leave.”
“Very well,” her husband said. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
He bent as he spoke and kissed her on the forehead. His lips were ice cold.
For eight years Sally sat across the table from her husband at breakfast, her eyes fixed upon a nothingness on the green-blue wall at his back. Calm he remained even while eating. The eggs she placed before him he cracked methodically with a knife and consumed behind a tilted newspaper, taking now an assured sip of coffee, now a measured glance at the clock.
The presence of his young son bothered him not at all. Tommy could be quiet or noisy, in trouble at school, or with an A for good conduct tucked with his report card in his soiled leather zipper jacket. It was always: “Eat slowly, my son. Never gulp your food. Be sure to take plenty of exercise today. Stay in the sun as much as possible.”
Often Sally wanted to shriek: “Be a father to him! A real father! Get down on the floor and play with him. Shoot marbles with him, spin one of his tops. Remember the toy locomotive you gave him for Christmas after I got hysterical and screamed at you? Remember the beautiful little train? Get it out of the closet and wreck it accidentally. He’ll warm up to you then. He’ll be broken-hearted, but he’ll feel close to you, then you’ll know what it means to have a son!”
Often Sally wanted to fly at him, beat with her fists on his chest. But she never did.
You can’t warm a stone by slapping it, Sally. You’d only bruise yourself. A stone
is neither cruel nor tender. You’ve married a man of stone, Sally.
He hasn’t missed a day at the office in eight years. She’d never visited the office but he was always there to answer when she phoned. “I’m very busy, Sally. What did you say? You’ve bought a new hat? I’m sure it will look well on you, Sally. What did you say? Tommy got into a fight with a new boy in the neighborhood? You must take better care of him, Sally.”
There are patterns in every marriage. When once the mold has set, a few strange behavior patterns must be accepted as a matter of course.
“I’ll drop in at the office tomorrow, darling!” Sally had promised right after the breakfast pattern had become firmly established. The desire to see where her husband worked had been from the start a strong, bright flame in her. But he asked her to wait a while before visiting his office.
A strong will can dampen the brightest flame, and when months passed and he kept saying ‘no,’ Sally found herself agreeing with her husband’s suggestion that the visit be put off indefinitely.
Snuff a candle and it stays snuffed. A marriage pattern once established requires a very special kind of re-kindling. Sally’s husband refused to supply the needed spark.
Whenever Sally had an impulse to turn her steps in the direction of the office a voice deep in her mind seemed to whisper: “No sense in it, Sally. Stay away. He’s been mean and spiteful about it all these years. Don’t give in to him now by going.”
Besides, Tommy took up so much of her time. A growing boy was always a problem and Tommy seemed to have a special gift for getting into things because he was so active. And he went through his clothes, wore out his shoes almost faster than she could replace them.
Right now Tommy was playing in the yard. Sally’s eyes came to a focus upon him, crouching by a hole in the fence which kindly old Mrs. Wallingford had erected as a protection against the prying inquisitiveness of an eight-year-old determined to make life miserable for her.
A thrice-widowed neighbor of seventy without a spiteful hair in her head could put up with a boy who rollicked and yelled perhaps. But peep-hole spying was another matter.