“He is always in one of the upper rooms, seated at a table with his own account book spread before him. There is an open window behind him, and through it I can see the top of a cherry tree in bloom. For a long time—oh, I suppose ten minutes—I stand before him while he turns over the pages of his ledger.”
“You appear somewhat at a loss, Herr R_____ —not a common condition for you, I believe. What happens then?”
“He says, ‘You owe…’” Herr R_____ paused. “That is the problem, monsieur, I can never recall the amount. But it is a large sum. He says, ‘And I must require that you make payment at once.’
“I do not have the amount, and I tell him so. He says, ‘Then you must leave my employment.’ I fall to my knees at this and beg that he will retain me, pointing out that if he dismisses me I will have lost my source of income, and will never be able to make payment. I do not enjoy telling you this, but I weep. Sometimes I beat the floor with my fists.”
“Continue. Is the Dream-Master moved by your pleading?”
“No. He again demands that I pay the entire sum. Several times I have told him that I am a wealthy man in this world, and that if only he would permit me to make payment in its currency, I would do so immediately.”
“That is interesting—most of us lack your presence of mind in our nightmares. What does he say then?”
“Usually he tells me not to be a fool. But once he said, ‘That is a dream—you must know it by now. You cannot expect to pay a real debt with the currency of sleep.’ He holds out his hand for the money as he speaks to me. It is then that I see the blood in his palm.”
“You are afraid of him?”
“Oh, very much so. I understand that he has the most complete power over me. I weep, and at last I throw myself at his feet—with my head under the table, if you can credit it, crying like an infant.
“Then he stands and pulls me erect, and says, ‘You would never be able to pay all you owe, and you are a false and dishonest servant. But your debt is forgiven, forever.’ And as I watch, he tears a leaf from his account book and hands it to me.”
“Your dream has a happy conclusion, then.”
“No. It is not yet over… I thrust the paper into the front of my shirt and go out, wiping my face on my sleeve. I am conscious that if any of the other servants should see me, they will know at once what has happened. I hurry to reach my own counting room; there is a brazier there, and I wish to burn the page from the owner’s book.”
“I see.”
“But just outside the door of my own room, I meet another servant—an upper-servant like myself, I think, since he is well dressed. As it happens, this man owes me a considerable sum of money, and to conceal from him what I have just endured, I demand that he pay at once.” Herr R_____ rose from his chair and began to pace the room, looking sometimes at the painted scenes on the walls, sometimes at the Turkish carpet at his feet. “I have had reason to demand money like that often, you understand. Here in this room.
“The man falls to his knees, weeping and begging for additional time; but I reach down, like this, and seize him by the throat.”
“And then?”
“And then the door of my counting room opens. But it is not my counting room with my desk and the charcoal brazier, but the owner’s own room. He is standing in the doorway, and behind him I can see the open window, and the blossoms of the cherry tree.”
“What does he say to you?”
“Nothing. He says nothing to me. I release the other man’s throat, and he slinks away.”
“You awaken then?”
“How can I explain it? Yes, I wake up. But first we stand there; and while we do I am conscious of… certain sounds.”
“If it is too painful for you, you need not say more.”
Herr R_____ drew a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “How can I explain?” he said again. “When I hear those sounds, I am aware that the owner possesses certain other servants, who have never been under my direction. It is as though I have always known this, but had no reason to think of it before.”
“I understand.”
“They are quartered in another part of the house—in the vaults beneath the wine cellar, I think sometimes. I have never seen them, but I know—then—that they are hideous, vile and cruel; I know too that he thinks me but little better than they, and that as he permits me to serve him, so he allows them to serve him also. I stand—we stand—and listen to them coming through the house. At last a door at the end of the hall begins to swing open. There is a hand like the paw of some filthy reptile on the latch.”
“Is that the end of the dream?”
“Yes.” Herr R_____ threw himself into his chair again, mopping his face.
“You have this experience each night?”
“It differs,” he said slowly, “in some details.”
“You have told me that the orders you give the under-servants vary.”
“There is another difference. When the dreams began, I woke when the hinges of the door at the passage-end creaked. Each night now the dream endures a moment longer. Perhaps a tenth of a second. Now I see the arm of the creature who opens that door, nearly to the elbow.”
I took the address of his home, which he was glad enough to give me, and leaving the bank made my way to my hotel.
When I had eaten my roll and drunk my coffee the next morning, I went to the place indicated by the card given me by Baron H_____ and in a few minutes was sitting with him in a room as bare as those tents from which armies in the field are cast into battle. “You are ready to begin the case this morning?” he asked.
“On the contrary. I have already begun; indeed, I am about to enter a new phase of my investigation. You would not have come to me if your Dream-Master were not torturing someone other than the people whose names you gave me. I wish to know the identity of that person, and to interrogate him.”
“I told you that there were many other reports. I—”
“Provided me with a list. They are all of the petite bourgeoisie, when they are not persons still less important. I believed at first that it might be because of the urgings of Herr R_____ that you engaged me; but when I had time to reflect on what I know of your methods, I realized that you would have demanded that he provide my fee had that been the case. So you are sheltering someone of greater importance, and I wish to speak to him.”
“The Countess—” Baron H_____ began.
“Ah!”
“The Countess herself has expressed some desire that you should be presented to her. The Count opposes it.”
“We are speaking, I take it, of the governor of this province?”
The Baron nodded. “Of Count von V_____. He is responsible, you
understand, only to the Queen Regent herself.”
“Very well. I wish to hear the Countess, and she wishes to talk with me. I assure you, Baron, that we will meet; the only question is whether it will be under your auspices.”
The Countess, to whom I was introduced that afternoon, was a woman in her early twenties, deep-breasted and somber-haired, with skin like milk, and great dark eyes welling with fear and (I thought) pity, set in a perfect oval face.
“I am glad you have come, monsieur. For seven weeks now our good Baron H_____ has sought this man for me, but he has not found him.”
“If I had known my presence here would please you, Countess, I would have come long ago, whatever the obstacles. You then, like the others, are certain it is a real man we seek?”
“I seldom go out, monsieur. My husband feels we are in constant danger of assassination.”
“I believe he is correct.”
“But on state occasions we sometimes ride in a glass coach to the Rathaus. There are uhlans all around us to protect us then. I am certain that—before the dreams began—I saw the face of this man in the crowd.”
“Very well. Now tell me your dream.”
“I am here, at home—”
“In this palace
, where we sit now?”
She nodded.
“That is a new feature, then. Continue, please.”
“There is to be an execution. In the garden.” A fleeting smile crossed the Countess’s lovely face. “I need not tell you that that is not where the executions are held; but it does not seem strange to me when I dream.
“I have been away, I think, and have only just heard of what is to take place. I rush into the garden. The man Baron H_____ calls the Dream-Master is there, tied to the trunk of the big cherry tree; a squad of soldiers faces him, holding their rifles; their officer stands beside them with his saber drawn, and my husband is watching from a pace or two away. I call out for them to stop, and my husband turns to look at me. I say: ‘You must not do it, Karl. You must not kill this man.’ But I see by his expression that he believes that I am only a foolish, tender-hearted child. Karl is… several years older than I.”
“I am aware of it.”
“The Dream-Master turns his head to look at me. People tell me that my eyes are large—do you think them large, monsieur?”
“Very large, and very beautiful.”
“In my dream, quite suddenly, his eyes seem far, far larger than mine, and far more beautiful; and in them I see reflected the figure of my husband. Please listen carefully now, because what I am going to say is very important, though it makes very little sense, I am afraid.”
“Anything may happen in a dream, Countess.”
“When I see my husband reflected in this man’s eyes, I know—I cannot say how—that it is this reflection, and not the man who stands near me, who is the real Karl. The man I have thought real is only a reflection of that reflection. Do you follow what I say?”
I nodded. “I believe so.”
“I plead again: ‘Do not kill him. Nothing good can come of it…My husband nods to the officer, the soldiers raise their rifles, and…and…”
“You wake. Would you like my handkerchief, Countess? It is of coarse weave; but it is clean, and much larger than your own.”
“Karl is right—I am only a foolish little girl. No, monsieur, I do not wake—not yet. The soldiers fire. The Dream-Master falls forward, though his bonds hold him to the tree. And Karl flies to bloody rags beside me.”
On my way back to my hotel, I purchased a map of the city; and when I reached my room I laid it flat on the table there. There could be no question of the route of the Countess’s glass coach—straight down the Hauptstrasse, the only street in the city wide enough to take a carriage surrounded by cavalrymen. The most probable route by which Herr R_____ might go from his house to his bank coincided with the Hauptstrasse for several blocks. The path Fräulein A_____ would travel from her flat to the arcade crossed the Hauptstrasse at a point contained by that interval. I needed to know no more.
Very early the next morning I took up my post at the intersection. If my man were still alive after the fusillade Count von V_____ fired at him each night, it seemed certain that he would appear at this spot within a few days, and I am hardened to waiting. I smoked cigarettes while I watched the citizens of I_____ walk up and down before me. When an hour had passed, I bought a newspaper from a vendor, and stole a few glances at its pages when foot traffic was light.
Gradually I became aware that I was watched—we boast of reason, but there are senses over which reason holds no authority. I did not know where my watcher was, yet I felt his gaze on me, whichever way I turned. So, I thought, you know me, my friend. Will I too dream now? What has attracted your attention to a mere foreigner, a stranger, waiting for who-knows-what at this corner? Have you been talking to Fräulein A_____? Or to someone who has spoken with her?
Without appearing to do so, I looked up and down both streets in search of another lounger like myself. There was no one—not a drowsing grandfather, not a woman or a child, not even a dog. Certainly no tall man with a forked beard and piercing eyes. The windows then—I studied them all, looking for some movement in a dark room behind a seemingly innocent opening. Nothing.
Only the buildings behind me remained. I crossed to the opposite side of the Hauptstrasse and looked once more. Then I laughed.
They must have thought me mad, all those dour burghers, for I fairly doubled over, spitting my cigarette to the sidewalk and clasping my hands to my waist for fear my belt would burst. The presumption, the impudence, the brazen insolence of the fellow! The stupidity, the wonderful stupidity of myself, who had not recognized his old stories! For the remainder of my life now, I could accept any case with pleasure, pursue the most inept criminal with zest, knowing that there was always a chance he might outwit such an idiot as I.
For the Dream-Master had set up His own picture, and full-length and in the most gorgeous colors, in His window. Choking and spluttering I saluted it, and then, still filled with laughter, I crossed the street once more and went inside, where I knew I would find Him. A man awaited me there—not the one I sought, but one who understood Whom it was I had come for, and knew as well as I that His capture was beyond any thief-taker’s power. I knelt, and there, though not to the satisfaction I suppose of Baron H_____, Fräulein A_____, Herr R_____ and the Count and Countess von V_____, I destroyed the Dream-Master as He has been sacrificed so often, devouring His white, wheaten flesh that we might all possess life without end.
Dear people, dream on.
You have a dark beer?”
“In a place like this you want dark beer?”
“Whatever, then.”
The bartender drew a thick-walled stein and slid it across. “I worked in the city. I know about dark beer and Guinness and like that. These yokels around here,” he added, his tone of voice finishing the sentence.
The customer was a small man with glasses and not much of a beard. He had a gentle voice. “A man called Grinny…”
“Grimme,” the barman corrected. “So you heard. Him and his brother.”
The customer didn’t say anything. The bartender wiped. The customer told him to pour one for himself.
“I don’t usual.” But the barman poured. “Grimme and that brother Dave, the worst.” He drank. “I hate it a lot out here, yokels like that is why.”
“There’s still the city.”
“Not for me. The wife.”
“Oh.” And he waited.
“They lied a lot. Come in here, get drunk, tell about what they done, mostly women. Bad, what they said they done. Worse when it wasn’t lies. You want another?”
“Not yet.”
“No lie about the Fannen kid, Marcy. Fourteen, fifteen maybe. Tooken her out behind the Johnson’s silo, what they done to her. And then they said they’d kill her, she said anything. She didn’t. Not about that, not about anything, ever again, two years. Until the fever last November, she told her mom. She died. Mom came told me ’fore she moved out.”
The customer waited.
“Hear them tell it, they were into every woman, wife, daughter in the valley, anytime they wanted.”
Vengeance Is
Theodore Sturgeon
The customer blew through his nostrils, once, gently. A man came in for two six-packs and a hip-sized Southern Comfort and went away in a pickup truck. “‘Monday-busy’ I call this,” said the barman, looking around the empty room. “And here it’s Wednesday.” Without being asked, he drew another beer for the customer. “To have somebody to talk to,” he said in explanation. Then he said nothing at all for a long time.
The customer took some beer. “They just went after local folks, then.”
“Grimme and David? Well yes, they had the run of it, the most of the men off with the lumbering, nothing grows in these rocks around here. Except maybe chickens, and who cares for chickens? Old folks, and the women. Anyway, that Grimme, shoulders this wide. Eyes that close together, and hairy. The brother, maybe you’d say a good-lookin’ guy for a yokel, but, well, scary.” He nodded at his choice of words and said it again. “Scary.”
“Crazy eyes,” said the customer.
&nbs
p; “You got it. So the times they wasn’t just lyin’, the women didn’t want to tell and I got to say it, the men just as soon not know.”
“But they never bothered anyone except their own valley people.”
“Who else is ever around here to bother? Oh, they bragged about this one and that one they got to on the road, you know, blonde in the big convertible, give them the eye, give them whiskey, give them a good time up on the back roads. All lies and you know it. They got this big old van. Gal hitchhiker, they say the first woman ever used ’em both up. Braggin’, lyin’. Shagged a couple city people in a little hatch-back, leaned on them ’til the husband begged ’em to ball the wife. I don’t believe that at all.”
“You don’t.”
“What man would say that to a couple hairy yokels, no matter what? Man got to be yellow or downright kinky.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened, I told you I don’t believe it! It’s lies, brags and lies. Said they found ’em driving the quarry road, ’way yonder. Passed ’em and parked the van to let ’em by, look ’em over. Passed ’em and got ahead, when they caught up David was lying on the road and Grimme made like artificial you know, lifeguards do it.”
“Respiration.”
“Yeah, that. They seen that and they stopped, the couple in the hatchback, got out, Grimme and David jumped ’em. Said the man’s a shrimpy little guy looked like a perfessor, woman’s a dish, too good for him. But that’s what they said. I don’t believe any of it.”
“You mean they’d never do a thing like that.”
“Oh they would all right. Cutting off the woman’s clo’es to see what she got with a big old skinning knife. Took awhile, they said it was a lot of laughs. David holdin’ both her arms behind her back one-handed, cuttin’ away her clo’es and makin’ jokes, Grimme holdin’ the little perfessor man around the neck with the one elbow, laughin’, ’til the man snatched his head clear and that’s when he said it. ‘Give it to him,’ he told the woman, ‘Go on, give it to him,’ and she says ‘For the love of God don’t ask me to do that.’ I don’t believe any man ever would say a thing like that.”
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