Weird Tales volume 38 number 03 Canadian
Page 14
. truthfully . . . that last very important. . . . (wist the knob, . . ,
And he was inside.
Walk up to the mirror , . . boldly . . . stare steadily . . . unafraid . . . bio: out the false phantoms . . . do it. it's easy . . . one leg before the other . . . go ahead . . . hesitation only hurts . . . makes things harder . . . foolish . . . nothing to be worried about ... all carefully explained . . . habits of a lifetime . . . lurking . . . unfair . . . no substance ... all explained . . . figments . . . palpably worthy of derision . . . go ahead. . . .
THE MIRROR
And he was before the mirror.
Open your eyes . . . stare . . . steadily . . , optn your eyes . . . nothing can hurt you ... it will help . . . teach you the truth . . . help you . . . open broad lanes ... to happiness . . . wipe out the past. . . the gray past . . . the punishing past . . . open your eyes . . . see the new world . . . your world . . . open your eyes. . . .
And he opened his eyes.
His reflection . . . nothing to worry about ... it looked at him ... as he looked at it . . . calm . . . both calm . . . as it should be . . . expressions the same ... as they should be . . . psychiatrist right .": . as he should be . . . learned man . . wise man . . . helpful man . . . good advice . . . best advise ... go ahead . . stare at it. . . staring . . . pride . .. strength . . . new feeling of . . . of . . . no! Can't be! Impossible. Psychiatrist said no . . . learned man . . . wise man . . . look again. . .. NO! Reflection . . . laughing . . . silently . . , utterly impossible . . . wise man said so . . . wealth of experience . . . cant be wrong . . . good advice . . . best advice . . . heed it . . . heed it . . . stare at reflection . . . glare at reflection . . . don't give up . . . must win . . . must win . . . don't give up . . . stare . . . gl— . . .
And he screamed And he screamed.
He caught himself. Lurched oul of the bathroom.
This was no time to give way to disordered, mental stabs. More than evident that his ancient enemy was weakening; employing last hopeless trickery. This was triumph . . . triumph.
Get a bit of help. Nothing shameful about using all the means at one's disposal to rid one's self of a dying enemy.
Nothing to do with one's manliness. The enemy must be destroyed. That is the only important thing.
A NSWERING the telephone call, the ^* psychiatrist finally arrived. A bit put out because he'd been disturbed at his meal: but cloaking his irritation and impatience with the thought of adding a substantial amount to an already padded bill.
"Look, Doctor ... the mirror."
"What about it?"
"Can't you see?"
"No."
"You can't?"
"All I see is that yon have a reflection . . . which is as it should be."
"But it reacts differently. That is why I called you. . . ■"
"I don't understand."
"Don't you see? It—my enemy—is still there. However, I am not afraid. It is a figment. I know it. You told me so. But it is there ... to be destroyed. Isn't that progress?"
The psychiatrist backing up . . . professionally polite . . . words . . . words that have no meaning . . . professional . . . backing to the door . . . understanding . . . understanding.
"I'm sorry I troubled you, sir. It was nothing. Nothing at all."
"Quite all right, Mr. Swarz. Just take my advice. Don't be afraid . . . don't be afraid . . ." and he was gone.
Failure I The psychiatrist had lied. Evident. He had seen it too. Wouldn't admit it. Have to help one's self. The only way . use any means....
^Anv means.
Out with logic. Forswear what is fallaciously taught. Seek that which can really help. Seek that which is ridiculed
THE MIRROR
and mocked .. . but secretly feared. Seek the strange powers that all gibe at . . . because the true answer is there ... for the asking. . . .
Many libraries . . . many . . , many bookstores . . . laughing faces . . . incredulous faces . . . sneering faces . . . lie knows! He knows! They sneer and mock because they are afraid . . . cannot seek truth as he does . . . tirelessly ... and then . . . then . . .
And old bookshop . . . and old man . . . incredibly . . . nodding . . . understanding . . . tottering to an inner room ... a book . . . musty . . . ancient . . . refusal of payment . . . smiling. . . .
JAY SWARZ entered his apartment. He opened the book and studied. He smiled. It was all so easy. How much simpler if he had done this first. He read on. ...
There was the diagram to chalk upon the floor. He drew it. There were the multi-syllabled invocations to intone. He intoned them, There were the careful passes through the air . . . the repetition of certain odd phrases . . . the lit match that must scorch his fingertips. . . .
And, as it must be, the crouching shape was there. Motionless. The shape
that would rid him of the rebellious reflection in the mirror. The shape that would take the horror out of his life. It would exact a tribute. That was to be expected.
Jay Swarz was happy. Truly happy. He cast a sidelong glance at his mirrored reflection. Could it be? Yes. It was already losing its shape . . . becoming tenuous . . . transparent . . . wearing a look that Jay knew . . . knezv . . . was one of helpless pleading. Ko time for mercy . . . too many years of subjugation . . . destroy . . . without conscience destroy . . . the reflection of him was wavering . . . almost gone . . . fighting , . . hopelessly . . . going . . . gone. . . .
And the crouched figure stirred itself. Slowly unbent Looked up for the first time.
Jay Swarz threw a frantic look at Ins mirror. No reflection. No reflection at all. Blank. Blank.
The figure straightened and Sto over the chalked lines. It was going to exact its tribute. Jay Swarz knew this.
He also knew that he had incarnated his double . . . brought it to life ... it was wringing its hands . . . hands which suddenly swooped to Jay Swarz' throat.
He knew so many things . . . too late.
Rj)ide the El to Doom
By ALICE B. HARCRAFT
They said the iron horse on stilts had to come down — but there are singular forces beyond our ken that must be reckoned with firstl
JACK LARUE sat In the first half-empty coach of the elevated. His left hand was hooked over an old black lunchbox, his right elbow leaned on the rust-streaked window sill. The el clattered and vibrated along and Larue peered out at the dingy squalor that d the window in three and four-story uniformity. The slanting rays of afternoon sun caught the train in ;nce, but there was nothing left to sparkle or shine and the brightness only served to show up the worn seats and the lustreless metal and iron.
The train bent its stiff-jointed rigidity ari und a curve. The wheels groaned and squealed, and the clattering became a wooden-like rumbling as the cars headed up an incline onto the West River Bridge. Larue lifted his eyes from the swirling muddy water that ran beneath to the city beyond. He never failed to L'et a kick out of coming home from the foundry in the evening and seeing the city before him. His part in construction was small and humble, yet he never failed to marvel at the shining ; -v.ers and edifices, evidence of the d rner purpose and achievement of a b*ade he felt a small part of.
Larue got to his feet and started heavily up the aisle toward the front. To the right of the aisle in his little compartment was the motorman. From long familiarity. Jack jerked the door open.
"C'mou, Pete," be yelled abo. chtter of the train, "you're gonna be late pulling into 109th Street!"
The aged man hunched over the controls as though a part of them, made
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a noise that fell unrecognized over the growl and rumble of the train.
"You got the grumps, eh?" said I making as it to playfully push the motorman.
"Don't do that, Jack," said the engineer, "I tol' you when I'm running this here train . . ."
"Aw, you're as old and grouchy as the ei." said Jack. "Soon they'll come along and pull yon down." The old man stiffened at that. The two said
no more for a while.
''What would I do?" said Larue half to himself, peering out over the tracks as they ran up to the train in widening twin Hnes, only to fall away under the floor of the coach.
'What would I do?" Larue repeated. "Me, I'd have to find a new way to get over to the foundry and back. This has been good enough for me for ten years. And what about you?'' He turned his head and laughed at the old man. "You were here when I started on the run. Guess you've been here since the el. Take her down and they'd take old Pete Nevers down, too, eh?"
Nevers was sitting like a ramrod. The train coasted off the bridge and flashed itself ungracefully around another curve.
"Never mind, Pete," said the laborer. "Can't do without the eL can we." and he laughed off down the aisle as the cars slowed down for the 109th Street station.
TT1S words were little less than pro-■*-■*■ phetic; a forewarning in these days
when cities everywhere were doing without els. For it was at lunch time several
RIDE THE EL TO DOOM
weeks later that a casually turned paper in the hands of a fellow worker caught Larue's eye.
"Hey, wait a minute! Let mc sec that, Eddie, will yuh?"
"Huh ?"
"Geeze, what do ya know! They're going to pull down the old West River Bridge el. Now how do they expect me to get to work!"
Eadie laughed. "Swim across, ya dope!"
Larue read the article all the way through. It seemed they were going to use the rails for scrap iron; the cars were to be sent to another part of the country where they were needed more.
Bus service across the bridge would be instituted.
That evening coming home on the el, Jack dug his boot into the door of the engineer's compartment. He was feeling the three drinks in him gulped down since the five o'clock whistle. When there was no answer to the third knock, he jerked the door open.
"Pete, I see they're going to pull down this cl!"
The old man shook his head and then turned slightly to look at the foundry worker.
Jack went on, "That's what they say. I saw it ui the paper. They're going to pull it down and we'll be taking busses across."
"They'll never stop the el," the old man rasped. "A thing like this, it ain't like a dog you can shoot or an old car you can throw in a junk heap. It's alive, I tell you! They can't kill it!"
Jack started at the vehemence in the old motorman's voice.
"Get out of here," the engineer said suddenly. "Get out of here, ya—"
Larue, taken aback, stood in the front of the car for a moment.
"Why you old devil!" he came back. "What's got into you ? You're scared, eh? You're scared because they're going to take down this rotten old el. Yeh, because you know when the el conies
down, Nevers, you're finished, too. You ain't no good without it, are you? I know that. Nothing else you can do!" The laborer slammed the compartment door and departed.
That night in his little room on Nestor Street, Larue's conscience won through the liquor. He felt remorseful about old Pete Nevers. After all, he'd known the old man for years. Nothing too chummy, mind you, for Nevers kept everybody sort of at arm's length, but he had ridden the old man's train for what seemed like ages. Of course, it was tough to have them pulling down the el, taking away your means of livelihood, Pete. All of a sudden, Larue got the idea he must see Nevers. That was it. He knew the old man lived across the river near the desolate el yards where the old tired trains waited, sorr.e for eternity, others newer, for the ne:;t day, those next days that now were limited. Larue pulled on his jacket and barged down the stairs into the street.
It was dark as he headed for the el station. On the platform at 109th he waited, vaguely wondering why he was doing this, and then thinking over a whole chain of circumstances, little kindnesses Nevers had done, money he'd lent Larue . . . and not all of it paid back the foundry worker recalled guiltily.
It always amazed Larue. The rest of the el workers were chronic complainers. "Hardly enough to keep your face fed," was their line. Nevers was not one to complain. Maybe a man like that could find something else. Certainly he was reliable. Larue considered the opportunities in his foundry. Watchman, or something. That was it!
A train rumbled into the station and Larue boarded it. This wouldn't be one of Nevers* runs. He'd made his last trip and was already through. The elevated scraped its way out of 109th and poked along between the glaringly lighted tenements and finally onto the West River Bridge. The night was warm, and Larue poked his bare forearm out the window, letting the holtish breeze nudge it as the train reached the peak of the bridge
RIDE THE EL TO DOOM
103
middle and then started down toward the opposite end. Beyond was the West River stop, and then several minutes away was the Fender Street stop. Larue got off. He'd been up to Nevers* place once before.
HE WALKED along the still, dark streets until lie came to a dingy building, even older and more run-down than his own. He mounted the steps to the third floor and knocked on the door.
"Come in," said the old man's voice, and Larue went inside.
"Ah, my friend," said the molortnan.
"Hello, Pete/' said the foundry worker nervously. "I had to come over. Sorry about getting sore this afternoon. That was very dumb of me. After all, I know the time you've been in. this business, it's kinda tough to have them take away your living, but—" he brightened, "I be: you can find plenty else. I was even thinking about the foundry. . . ."
"Jack," said the old motorraan raising a hand, "don't worry about me or the el."
"Damnit, I don't care about the el," said Larue. "I just want to help you tie in to something else."
Nevers shook his head quietly. "I can't never leave the el," he stated simply.
Larue took some gum out of his pocket, bit into a piece and offered one to the old man.
"No thanks. Nice of you to come, Larue, but you see it's not so simple as me just changing jobs. It's like, well, like taking one of those cars and doing something else with it. I'm kinda the el, that's all."'
Larue's glance took in the bare room. Poor old fellow, probably didn't have enough to eat as it was. There wasn't a sign of food anywhere.
"I just wanted to know how it was, Pete."
He crossed to the motorman and stuck out his hand. The old man grasped it appreciatively in a strong grasp. His handshake was surprisingly steel-like as he shook his head l^T.i-1 i^at £ r.o. i 2-Ctft
v.urry. If the el, she gees, my troubles are over all the same."
Larue wrinkled his head perplexedly.
"I'd like to see if we couldn't do thing for you at the foundry."
The old man disengaged his hand from the laborer's and put it heavily on Larue's shoulder.
"Thanks, lad," he said, "thanks, but t won't be needing anything."
Larue groped his way down the stairs and out into the street, feeling that he hadn't accomplished very much. There was a chilliness that he carried with him as he walked toward the Fender Street station. He remembered how very cold the old man's hand had been. Oh well, he'd done his best.
He shrugged and mounted the steps to the elevated platform. On the way home, from force of habit he stood in the very front of the first car as it rocked back across the river. But Larue found himself more and more concerned with the old man despite his unsatisfactory visit. His hands felt the metal sides of the car, and the coldness of the steel reminded him of the old man's handshake. He shook his head. Nevers probably wasn't any loo well.
NOT many days later, Jack boarded the el and saw somebody outside Nevers' compartment at the head of the train. Another elderly gentleman, he was, with a frayed el-line coat and a heavy gold chain across his vest. Larue shrugged to himself. Even the conductors would be in a tough spot when they pulled down the old structure. As the cars neared Jack's station, he pushed forward to say hello to Pete. The other elder!)' man looked at him closely but seemed to accept him on Nevers' warm welcome.
Pete shook his head with that same dogged stiffness that Larue had noticed be fore.
"Sure," the foreman of his foundry
RIDE THE EL TO DOOM
told Jack, "sure Larue, we can use a reliable old codger around here. We just lost two men from the watchman detail.''
That night Larue went again to Pete's lodgings to break the good news. Instead of Nevers, he found the aged conductor, Phil pot.
"Haven't seen him," said the old era-
"Haven's seen him," said the old employee. "You know, Larue, he spends more and more time down at the yards jusl sitting. . . . Funny, ain't it? Yup, sitting in the empty el cars."
Larue scratched his head: "Well, what are you doing over here?"
"Ohhh," the old conductor laughed, "I've kinda moved in here with Pete. You know the el ain't so high these days, boy. Not much money, and looks like even that was going to end when they start gouging and cutting and pulling us all to pieces."
Larue leaned against the door as Phil-pot began reminiscing.
"Yup, the iron horse on stilts they used to call us. Those were the days when the cl was the way to go places. Not all your fancy damn underground trains and busses and all that. You took the el, mister, or you didn't go."
"Yeah," said Jack, "Yeah, but don't waste time worrying about that, Mr. Phil-pot. You fellows got to get out and get something new."
"Mebbe, mebbc not," said the conductor. "I don't mind working, mind you. I never been one too look off center at work, but Pete, young fella, he worries me. This is getting him down. Since I moved in here—it's been a few days now —he hasn't et a thing." He paused, and then cackled as a thought occurred to him.
"I think he's living on that same juice as he sucks up into his train. He gets his nourishment sitting there at the throttle. No, sir, haven't seen him et a thing. 'Course he never was the kind of fella who brought the stuff in his pockets and munched away on the job. I never seen him do that in all the years I've worked