Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  ALBERT ADDIN suddenly spied the oriental lamp lying over in a corner of the bedroom where, evidently, the explosion had knocked it. Suddenly a horrible premonition assailed him and sweat broke out on his brow.

  Genie.

  Genie. Lamp. The genie of the lamp. There was a lamp, and this hulk claimed to be a genie!

  Albert had read the Arabian Nights.

  But, no. Such things were impossible. This was an age of civili—Suddenly Albert recalled the fact that this lamp had been invisible when he’d first found it. He hadn’t considered that impossible. But, of course, he hadn’t considered invisibility impossible because the damned thing had been invisible, and that was that. Albert realized that his bewildered brain was chasing itself around in circles. He tried to get a grip on himself.

  “Look now,” he said determinedly. “You say you’re a genie. Okay, then, prove it!”

  Albert felt a surge of inner triumph as he saw the effect this demand had upon the creature who called himself George. The hulking fellow’s features creased in a look of infinitely insulted reproach. His brows knotted. He appeared stumped by the question. He looked like a police dog who had just been asked to show his badge.

  “Huh?” George managed.

  “I said prove it,” Albert repeated triumphantly. “Prove that you’re a genie!”

  “I yam, that’s all,” George declared with desperate intensity. “I yam a genie!”

  “Prove it,” Albert repeated his demand.

  “What’ll I do?” George muttered doggedly. “I yam a genie. Gimme somethin’ what I should do fer yuh.”

  Albert’s smile of triumph was almost satanical.

  “Go jump in the lake,” he sneered.

  There was a sudden “pop”, like the white splash of a flash bulb, and the gargantuan George was gone into thin air! Another “pop”, before Albert could catch his startled breath, and

  George stood once more before him in the bedroom—sopping wet, drenched to the skin!

  Albert blinked.

  “Wha—” he began.

  “I jumped,” George explained. “Brrrrrr,” he shook his soaked robes like a huge dog, “the lake’s cold, and wet!”

  Albert looked dazedly at the puddles around George’s great feet. He blinked, looking up at George, struggling futilely for words.

  “I kin do anything,” George announced with shy pride, “anything at all.”

  Albert Addin was the sort of person who could harbor strong suspicions, nourish dogged doubts. But when you put the evidence before him he believed, instantly and without quibbling.

  This was the case now. Albert was thunderstruck, but Albert believed. Implicitly. He had asked to be shown. He had been. Q.E.D.

  “So you are a genie,” Albert said at last. “Well I never—”

  ALBERT left the sentence unfinished, while the cogs in his mental adaptation machine whirled frantically into gear to meet this new state of affairs. Albert would have an unearthly fear over the possibility that things like ghosts, or genies, existed. Like many people, it was the unknown that terrified him. But confronted with something that he knew to be true, Albert Addin was made of sterner stuff. He faced facts, met issues. Now he was doing both.

  “So you’re a genie,” Albert said with some degree of calm. “Well, that’s nice and all that, old boy. But really, I’m afraid you’ll have to toddle along, go back to where you came from. There’s no use for you here, old man. Can’t use you, sorry.” He made his voice crisp, authoritative, and even waved his hand vaguely to round out his comments.

  “But yuh called!” George, the genie, had a desperate, pleading note in his voice. There was a look in his bovine eyes that tore at the very fiber of Albert’s heartstrings. “Yuh rubbed the lamp,” the genie was going on, “didn’ cha?” He gulped. “Yuh can’t call a guy fer a job, and then tell him there ain’t none. Not after he ain’t had no work in over a thousand years, yuh can’t!” In spite of himself, Albert felt like a man who has just slapped an orphan across its round little face.

  “Over a thousand years?” he said incredulously. “Does Madame Perkins know about this?”

  George, the genie, had tears in his eyes. His voice was a pleading croak. He’d removed his turban and was worrying it with his great paws, occasionally using it to dab at the corners of his moist eyes.

  “Over a thousand years,” he repeated. “Times has been tough, all over. Yuh ain’t gonna send me back now, are yuh? Yuh wouldn’t thrun me outta the foist job I get in over a thousand years, would yuh?”

  Somewhere within the narrow confines of Albert Addin’s breast, there was a warm and kindly heart. And now it was touched by a swift, wrenching surge of pity. He tried to make his expression a little bit more kindly, tried to think of something which he could say to soften the blow of the hulking monster.

  But George, the genie, was continuing desperately, apparently aware that his new-found employer wanted none of him.

  “Please, I kin do anything. Anything at all. Jest try me. Yuh seen how quick like I jumped into the lake, didn’cha? There ain’t nothing hardly

  I can’t do!”

  Albert, feeling like a stern but kindly padre in a Spanish Mission movie, shook his head slowly.

  “No. Sorry, old boy. Might think of you in the future. If you’ll just fill out a blank and leave your name with the girl at the desk, I’ll call you when anything comes up.”

  “Girl? Desk?” George was puzzled. “A, figure of speech,” Albert informed him.

  “I kin getcha any number of girls yuh might want,” George said in sudden inspiration.

  “No thanks,” Albert was firm. “I have one.”

  “How about palaces?” George suggested hopefully. “Yuh want I should make yuh a palace? I kin make foist rate palaces!”

  Albert shook his head again. “There’s nothing you can do for me, old man—as much as I’d like to help you out.”

  “Jools?” George inquired earnestly. “I kin getcha all sortsa jools. Roooopies, dimunds, hatfullsa jools. Assorted sulectshums, if yuh like ’em better dat way!”

  Albert wavered. Not at the declaration of power on George’s part, but because of the infinite look of dog-like pleading in his bovine eyes.

  “Frankly,” George babbled on, “I need the woik. I got refrunces, too!”

  ALBERT shook his head, then, with a start, looked at his watch. If was almost noon. He’d be late for luncheon if this lumbering lunkhead didn’t remove himself pretty quickly. And suddenly, for the first time, Albert realized what a problem George would present if he were discovered by any of the Mastiffs or their servants!

  “Look,” Albert said, less kind, now and more anxious. “Why don’t you call again some time. I’m in a hurry. I’ve an appointment.” Albert’s brow was suddenly moist with the perspiration of worry.

  “Yuh can’t walk out without yuh should look at my refrunces,” George pleaded desperately. He was digging deeply into his filthy bedsheeted, yellow robes, and now his paw came forth clutching some yellowed parchments. He handed these over to Albert. “See, refrunces, past guys what employed me, and for what I worked good.”

  Automatically, and against his better judgment, Albert found himself accepting the yellowed parchments. They were obviously ancient, and in a dirty state of near decay. But the fine script on them was still legible. His eyes popped open wide as he peered at the script.

  “Why,” said Albert amazedly, “I can read this script. It’s written in English!”

  “Yeah,” George nodded matter-of-factly. “It was writ by a magician who I last woiked for. He writ it in lang-witch which is plain no matter what langwitch yuh speaks. Like my talk. Anybody understands it.”

  “I haven’t time,” said Albert as the shock left him somewhat. “You tell me what these references say and then please vanish, or something. I’m going to be late for luncheon, and I can’t have you around!” Albert himself was growing a little desperate now.

  George looked suddenly s
heepish.

  “I can’t read so good,” he admitted, reddening. “I never learnt. Always too busy.”

  “You mean,” Albert was more amazed by this than by anything that had occurred so far, “you mean you’re a genie and you can’t read?”

  George nodded.

  “Me mudder made me get out an’ woik when I was young. I never got no educashun.”

  Albert glanced swiftly at the ancient script, the ancient script that read as modernly as a letter from one of his creditors.

  blockkq“To who it may concern: This gargantuan son of a stupid camel is a menace to any right-minded employer. Earnest, yes. Willing, of course. But blundering—May Allah forgive the words I have in my mind for him! He is all thumbs. Everything he does is reckoned in ghastly blundering which leads to stupendous calamity. Do not hire this half-witted oaf. If he does not eat you out of house and home, he will see to it that your brow becomes the resting place for the demons of madness. I have made the lamp by which he can be summoned invisible—in the hope that it will never be found again, and that he will languish through time in the ranks of the unemployed. If, by any chance, you have penetrated the cloak of invisibility around the lamp, and have summoned this lunk-headed lout, I can only wish you the patience and fortune of the Prophet.

  Signed: Achmed Smith

  President, Eastern Arabian

  Magician’s Union, Local 402”

  There was a new look in Albert’s eye as he turned from the letter to George, who stood watching him with a proudly sluggy smile, a look of a growing apprehension, the approaching desperation of fear.

  “You say you can’t read,” Albert muttered. “And this note makes it obvious.” He handed the parchment back to George, who replaced it tenderly beneath his filthy robes.

  “There’d be only one thing I need badly,” Albert mused. “That would be money, since I’m somewhat short now. However, that isn’t up your alley.

  The best favor you could do me,” he went on, voice louder, “is to beat it, vanish, scram, like a nice fellow.”

  Albert’s voice was pleading in its last notes, coaxing. “I’ve got enough to straighten out, without you around. Now won’t you go away, like a good fellow, for good?”

  GEORGE suddenly stopped looking worried, snapped his fingers as if recalling something.

  “I’ll betcha yuh don’t know it,” he said exultantly.

  “Know what?” Albert frowned.

  “The command what makes me go away fer good, instead of on errands fer yuh,” George said, now completely happy. “I’ll betcha don’t know it!”

  “What is it?” Albert felt horribly like a man upon whom a trap has fallen. “What’s the command?”

  George grew coy.

  “I don’t know, honest.” He gulped. “But I’m glad I don’t know, ’cause now I kin woik fer yuh, huh?”

  “Oh Lord,” Albert groaned, knees suddenly weak.

  There was a “pop” like the white flash of a photo bulb exploding. George was suddenly gone. Another “pop” and George was back. Albert blinked bewilderedly, frightenedly.

  “Here, whatcha wanted. What I overheard yuh mention,” George said ingratiatingly. And Albert was astonished to see a handful of green currency in the genie’s paw!

  Albert gulped. Money was money. Suddenly he felt that perhaps this wasn’t going to be quite so bad, that perhaps George would not be able to cause too much damage by staying around a bit. He took the bills.

  “Well,” Albert muttered indecisively, “this makes things a bit different. Thanks, old man, I was a bit short. Maybe you don’t have to leave right away.” Then, looking at his watch, he suddenly wheeled. “Almost late for luncheon,” he gasped. “Have to hurry. Try to be of some use around here while I’m gone. Get some wood for the fireplace. Be sort of a handy man, will you? We’ll talk things over when I come back. But mind you, don’t go running loose around here!”

  Then, turning, Albert hastily stepped out of the room. Once again his mental adjustment gears were stripping themselves to mesh in with this new light in which he now viewed George, the genie. And, as usual, the adaptation was working with brisk smoothness.

  It was just as well for Albert’s new state of mind in regard to George, that he didn’t see the hulking genie turn and gaze thoughtfully around the room after the door closed. For George’s gaze was fixed most strongly on the barren fireplace and the empty wood box beside it.

  CHAPTER III

  George Goes to Work

  IT WAS with mingled feelings that Albert Addin entered the oak-ceilinged dining room of Mastiff Manor. He was still pondering the amazing antics of George, the genie, who had popped into his existence so unceremoniously. His common sense bade him to accept such blessings without quibbling as to their source, but something else, possibly a sixth sense, seemed to be trying to warn him of impending disaster. If that scroll were right—With a shrug of his well-tailored shoulders, he dismissed the matter altogether. Which was thoroughly typical. When anything bothered him to the extent that it made him think there was only one result, it was consigned to oblivion.

  He slid into a chair to the right of Major Mastiff, conscious that he was late for luncheon by several minutes. The major was breathing heavily, which Albert knew, was a very bad sign.

  “Terribly sorry,” Albert apologized charmingly, “but I lost all track of time while I was looking out the window at your beautiful estate. It’s absolutely remarkable, Major, the way you keep it up. Absolutely remarkable.”

  The major sniffed, somewhat mollified, and Albert smiled happily at Margot. She smiled back, warmly and admiringly.

  Aunt Annabelle cleared her throat decisively. Her long face was set sternly and her uncompromising eyes regarded him suspiciously.

  “You spoke of a present,” she said in an unpleasantly business-like voice, “did you forget that too in your contemptation of nature’s wonders?” Albert swallowed suddenly. Hang it, he was in the soup now. He had utterly failed to realize that he simply couldn’t give Aunt Annabelle the lamp now. Something deeper than instinct told him that Aunt Annabelle and George would not get along.

  “Ha, ha,” he laughed weakly, “joking, always joking, aren’t you, Auntie, old bean?”

  Aunt Annabelle set her lips in distaste. “Don’t call me that,” she said frigidly, “and I wasn’t joking. I never joke.”

  “That’s right,” Albert stalled desperately for time, “you don’t. Just the other day we were talking about jokes down at the club and I said that in my opinion you—”

  “About the present,” Aunt Annabelle interrupted quietly but firmly, “you were saying?”

  “Well you see,” Albert struggled on manfully, “I—I knew how you liked surprises so I—I decided to wait until this evening and, and really surprise you.”

  “I detest surprises,” Aunt Annabelle said grimly.

  “You’ll love this one, though,” Albert almost choked with the desperate heartiness he put into his voice.

  Aunt Annabelle attacked her cutlet savagely and did not bother to reply. It was obvious, Albert thought gloomily, that the old girl still cherished her violent prejudice toward him.

  Except for this, the first part of the meal rambled along smoothly enough. Albert was beginning to breathe easily by the time the lemon pudding was served, but before he could sink a spoon into the dessert, there was a loud cry from the hall, and the next instant a red-faced, overalled figure burst into the dining room.

  ALBERT recognized him as Jeakes, the gardener, a quaint, highly-tempered old gentleman.

  Jeakes puffed furiously for an instant, and then strode to Major Mastiff’s chair. His small blue eyes were protruding like marbles and his face was stained a dull vermillion from the top of his collar to the roots of his white hair.

  “I queet,” he shouted suddenly, “I queet. I am through. Finished for good. Geeve me my money and I leave. I work here no more. “Ze new gardener he ees—”

  “Now, now Jeakes,” Major Mast
iff interrupted testily, “what’s the meaning of this? What’s all this nonsense about a new gardner?”

  “Ze new gardener,” Jeakes cried in a shrill voice, “he is here already. I hope you are satisfied. Ze beeg baboon has destroyed ze Mastiff Oak. You hear? He has cut down the Mastiff Oak. I queet. I am through. Zat tree she ees like a baby to me and now she is gone.”

  Major Mastiff’s face had drained of all color as Jeakes spoke. His large puffy body began to quiver.

  “Jeakes,” he cried hoarsely, “y—you’ve been drinking. You must be. The Mastiff Oak it—it—” Major Mastiff’s voice trailed away to an inaudible whisper. His breath came faster as he rose unsteadily from his chair. He turned, almost automatically, and moved heavily toward the door.

  “I’ll see,” he muttered, “I’ll see.” Albert winced. He knew the danger signals. He could tell from the angry red that circled the major’s neck that the great-grand-daddy of all Mastiff temper storms was brewing.

  But Albert knew that his skirts were clear. He knew that he would not be the victim of the latest Mastiff upheaval, so he relaxed comfortably, almost happy in the realization that some other poor chump was in for it this time. There were few things dearer to the major’s rock-like heart than his beautiful shade tree, Mastiff Oak. If someone had been idiotic enough to have it chopped down, that someone would regard being boiled in oil as a light penance after the major got through with him.

  Albert’s pleasant musings were disrupted by the sounds of a commotion outside the dining room door. He heard the major’s voice raised in stormy wrath, and the next instant he strode back into the room, dragging behind him a sulky lumbering figure, dressed in yellow silk and carrying a large business-like axe in his hands.

  Albert’s eyes popped open, and his stomach turned a slow nauseating flip-flop. For the figure with the major was George, the genie!

  THE major churned across the rug like a battleship and stopped in front of Albert. A finger the size of a banana shot out and wagged in front of the Addin nose.

  “As usual,” the major said in a hoarse, strangled voice, “I find myself coming to you for explanations when something ghastly and unnatural occurs. This man,” the major paused to glare at George, “says he is your gen—jin—I guess he means your vale t.” The major’s cheeks were the color of ripe beets now and his voice had sunk to a hissing whisper. “Answer me Addin, is this—this creature your valet?”