L sprague de camp, p.9
L Sprague De Camp, page 9
For several days he avoided the office. They got up late, dressed and ate quickly, and left the apartment. He could have used his cars, or the yacht, or his recently acquired airplane, to escape the dread Johnson's desk aroused in him. But swift, aimless travel for its own sake had ceased to be entertaining.
He began to prefer walking. He liked the Haroun-al Raschid feeling that mixing with his subjects, unbeknownst to them, gave him. But — Gloria was not an athletic girl. She preferred high heels to walking shoes, and after ten blocks complained until he called a taxi. Nor could he leave her and walk alone. They'd never be happy apart.
Gloria did let him take her to a serious play. Considering that he had promised not to try to change her, he thought he had done pretty well. It was a great change from movies, musicals and farces, and he enjoyed it. But when they left, Gloria was sullen.
"What's the trouble?" he asked.
She thrust out her chin. "I don't know much about plays, but —"
"— but you know what you like," he finished for her.
"Yes."
He lit a cigarette and asked: "What didn't you like about it?"
"I don't like that deep stuff. What have I got to do with the Irish revolution? I like plays —"
"— that remind you of us. Isn't that right?"
She looked hurt. "You never let me finish —"
He wanted to tell her that she didn't have to, but, no matter how much she annoyed him at times, his love for her kept his tongue in cheek. He said: "Don't you ever get tired of that subject? It isn't inexhaustible."
"It is to me. Love —"
"I know. Love is a woman's whole life." He put his hands on her shoulders. "I don't want to hurt you, darling, but I honestly don't think we're important enough to occupy your whole mind for the length of time you're going to live."
She pressed her fist against her face to keep from crying furiously. All the way home he had to protest that his nerves were touchy and that he really loved the nickname, and her, and the inexhaustible subject of themselves.
He wished Johnson would hurry his reply to the letter. Johnson would know how to fix things. It wouldn't be so bad if he could only have some time to himself. Like most people, Gloria was good enough company when taken in reasonably small doses. But twenty-four hours a day, every day, would wear anybody's company thin. If only Johnson would deliver him from her damned bridge parties, her shopping excursions, and the afternoon teas she was going in for! He didn't object to them, for her. But, hell, she might show a little consideration for him.
Every man settling into marriage routine has to make some sacrifice of bachelor privileges. But nobody in history ever had to contend with as much as Hale.
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Chapter XVI
A call from the clipping bureau brought him down in a hurry. With Gloria hanging on his arm he burst into his private office, ripped open the letter, and frenziedly read it without stopping to sit down.
Dully he heard Gloria ask: "What's wrong, Billie-willie?"
He collapsed into his chair and read the letter again. But nothing in it had changed:
-
In the future, William, I can only ask you to be more cautious in employing your catalytic power. For the present I must admit myself as powerless as yourself, and can only offer my deepest sympathy.
Please do not let your unfortunate situation dishearten you. Though we generally live to regret our romantic outbursts of emotion, they also have their pleasant aspects. If you will concentrate on your wife's charmingly affectionate nature, and the undeniable gratification of an eternal love, I believe you can learn to tolerate the smaller inconveniences.
-
Hale stared blindly at the letter. He was tied to her and her stupid little feminine amusements forever, and nothing could be done to correct his insane blunder.
"Is it very bad news, Billie-willie?"
Billie-willie — Billie-willie
He was standing before her with his right fist cocked, and she was recoiling in startled terror from the threat. It shocked him almost as much as it did her. He poured out apologies and tried to take her in his arms. It got him nowhere.
His mind was quite clear, though that didn't make him hate himself any the less. He hated that beautiful, imbecilic face; but he also loved it so that the thought of marring a line of it horrified him. He hated her eternal presence — the swift clatter of her heels, her meaningless soprano chatter, her enormous cowlike eyes — but he also loved her for these things. That, he thought, had been part of his spell. He'd hog-tied himself beautifully. He couldn't get away from her; loving her as he did, he couldn't have the satisfaction of slapping her down when she drove him frantic, or at least cowing her into not calling him "Billie-willie"; and she'd never change.
That had been part of the spell, too. Of course, she had no doubt had some ability to learn at the time the spell was cast. Did that mean that she still had that ability, since she was supposed to be the same, or did it mean that she couldn't learn because learning would mean changing her nature? It was a nice paradox; the kind that Hale had once enjoyed teasing his brain with. But he didn't feel much like logical riddles just then. Time would tell about Gloria, and meanwhile there was more to Johnson's letter. He mumbled, "I'm sorry," and sat down.
-
Since there is nothing to be gained by further dwelling on that subject, permit me to go on to another matter. Our plans for a loan, through the bank we control, to the dictatorships, and the ceding to them of colonies that produce vital raw materials, are progressing splendidly.
You already know that America's aid to the democracies, may, unless counteracted, have the undesirable effect of forcing the aggressors into war, economic paralysis, or revolution. In Washington a movement will shortly arise to fortify certain Pacific islands. The primary purpose of this is to create another crisis between the isolationist and interventionist camps, but it will have the secondary effect of diverting armaments to some extent from the European democracies.
Should the movement succeed, it would be a serious blow to the aggressor bloc. At present their energies are concentrated on isolating a single important colonial empire — the one we were discussing the day before I left. The western trade and military routes of this empire can already be shut off instantly. The only route left open to defend it is through the Pacific.
If America fortifies these Pacific islands, the empire would no longer be isolated, and the autocracies would be compelled to fight a defensive as well as an offensive war, which they would inevitably lose.
Consequently, I want to direct a powerful opposition against Pacific island fortification. I have made certain that the movement for creating these bases is strong enough not to give up without a battle; on the other hand you must not arouse enough opposition to defeat the motion entirely. Our purpose is to draw out the struggle indefinitely, to hold up fortification and the production of munitions, thus diverting armaments from the democracies, while giving them the false hope that they are going to be supplied very shortly, and keeping the dictatorships aware of the threat of Pacific fortification, which at any moment might become an actuality.
If you feel uncertain about the method of undertaking this task, call me on the overseas telephone, at the bank's number that you will find on the letterhead. In the event of my being elsewhere at the moment, the bank will arrange a telephone connection between us. I should prefer, however, that you solve the problem yourself, as a concrete example of ruling.
-
Go ahead, Hale, he thought bitterly, go on and rule. You're Lucifer's partner; you have all the power. What if you do bungle? How much worse can you wreck anybody's life than you have your and Gloria's. That was all he could think of. She was huddled in her chair, sobbing dismally. Why was he making her unhappy? It wasn't her fault. It was his own idiotically romantic haste to win her, his thoughtless, ignorant way of casting an irrevocable spell. He couldn't pass the guilt to her, as he had tried like a coward to do.
Her repressed sobbing grew to an accusing wail. "I know what it is! You don't love me nay more, Billie-willie!"
"Darling," he whispered humbly, "I didn't mean it. My nerves got the better of me. It won't happen again, because I really do love you —" And so forth. It was as true as it was false. He loved her as much as he hated always having to be with her. At least, he was pleasantly surprised to observe, he had restrained his twinge of revulsion at the use of his nickname.
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Chapter XVII
Banner shook his head. "I don't understand what you're driving at, son. Either you've got a terrific grudge against the government, or you're getting kind of hysterical, the way you've been acting up. That's why I came up here to your place."
Hale looked at his cigarette and said nothing. To an outsider he must have seemed rather jittery, making impassioned speeches at all the businessmen's associations that he could get entrance to, haranguing them to get together in opposing fortifications and rearmament, to send telegrams to Washington, to demand action from newspapers.
"Tell me what it is, Bill," Banner pleaded, his voice paternally troubled. "None of us like the idea of spending billions on arms, but you don't see us acting like nuts."
"Daddy!" Gloria protested.
"Well, maybe that is putting it a little strongly. But you haven't been acting like a normal human being. This rearmament business can't mean all that to you." he hesitated; then, craftily: "Unless you've got some deal up your sleeve and won't tell your father-in-law."
"I just don't like it," muttered Hale evasively.
"Oh, cut it out! I'm not a kid. You don't just not like a thing and spend all your time making speeches against it to anyone who'll listen. What's your angle? If you don't want to tell me, say so." He added unconvincingly, "I don't mind."
When he saw that no explanation was coming, Banner turned to Gloria. "Mind getting my pipe and pouch? They're in my topcoat."
Hale and Gloria both started and went pale. She glanced appealingly at him as she half rose uncertainly out of her chair.
"I'll go with you, Gloria!" Hale cried, unconsciously loud. "I left something in my coat pocket, too."
The color came back to her face. They left the room together. The longer they were married, it seemed to Hale, the more confining the spell became. Neither spoke until they returned. Banner complained: "I don't know what's got into you, Bill. Gloria could have brought whatever you left in your coat. Don't you two see enough of each other all day?"
Gloria collapsed into a chair, and Hale clenched his jaws to keep from shouting.
Hale lay awake, staring at the shaded bulb and hating himself. The faint light didn't disturb him; on the contrary, it gave him a sense of security. Had either of them awakened and found it too dark to see the other, there would have been a small panic until the light could be clicked on.
If he could only make a break — run away, kill himself or her, anything! But that, of course, was impossible. Being away from her was worse than death; and anyhow they were immortal.
Immortal! Lord, no, he prayed, let it not be that; not living in hopeless, dismal proximity forever and ever, until the end of time!
His cruelty to her was cowardice; he lacked the courage to assume responsibility for his own incompetence. From then on, he swore, he would be gentle and considerate with her, to ease the suffering he had caused her.
But he knew he wouldn't because he couldn't. As long as he allowed himself to brood and writhe, it was natural that he should ignore her presence when he could, lash out at her when he was irritated, and perhaps even strike her. He would torture himself by tormenting her, but he would make her suffer more, so that he would feel better by contrast.
He cursed himself for thinking such thoughts. But when he crushed that obsession back into his subconsciousness, another rose to torment him. What was the point in being Lucifer's partner, if he couldn't learn to use his power? He was faced with a problem that, he knew, Johnson considered pitifully simple. Oppose Pacific island fortification.
Yeah? How. Go ahead and oppose. He had tried as hard as he could, and was getting nowhere, because he didn't know how to use Johnson's methods of moving the right pawn and waiting with perfect and justified confidence for the results. Of course, he could buy up all the newspapers in the country. That ought to work.
But there was Johnson's fat face grinning sardonically at him. "I wouldn't have to spend a cent," he taunted. "I'd just make a telephone call. See? Not even two calls."
"Damn you!" Hale's mind screamed. "I'm not licked yet, you soft white devil! I'll find a way!"
"Yeah?" Johnson smirked. "How?"
"I'll make a telephone call."
One telephone call — but to whom? Hale didn't know. He had proved himself a failure. He couldn't make a simple telephone call.
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Chapter XVIII
Gloria sat in her easy-chair knitting. You may think that knitting needles are silent. Hale found they weren't. They have a metallic click, shrill enough to make itself heard over every other sound. That is bad enough, but occasionally they halt while the knitterpicks up a dropped stitch, and you grit your teeth and wait for the deadly click, click, click to resume.
Hale knew he was getting neurotic. He detested himself for his weakness, but saw no way of correcting it. Who, in his predicament, wouldn't feel helpless and incompetent? From behind that desk, Johnson had been able to draw in all the complex threads of greed, hope, ambition and fear, and by pulling the correct thread to rule the world.
Out in the loft were the baffling index cabinets, waiting passively to give up their universal knowledge. But Hale cringed at the thought of approaching them. All around the private office were tall, gloomy bookshelves filled with volumes on law, medicine, science, government, economics, statistics; revolutionary, counter-revolutionary, and status-quo propaganda; lists of pressure groups, with their methods and aims and weaknesses; encyclopedias, year-books — everything was there for him — everything that is, but skill and understanding.
He forced his mind to attack the problem calmly, one thing at a time. "Right now the men in power are strong interventionists, with all the prestige of office and the means of propaganda at their disposal. On my side, the isolationists are divided and spread all over the country. The idea is to get all these scattered isolationists together."
The telephone rang. "Mr. William Hale?"
"Yeah."
"Transatlantic telephone call. Will you please stay near our telephone until we connect your party? Thank you."
It was Johnson, of course, perhaps calling to jeer at him.
"Hello. Hale speaking."
"Hello, William!" Johnson's cheerful, very human voice responded. "I must say it's certainly fine to hear you. How are you?"
"You know how I am," Hale snapped, and was instantly sorry.
For Johnson said: "Oh, I'm sorry, William. I wish I could do something to make you less miserable." The voice brightened. "At any rate, I've given you something to take your mind off yourself. You know I could have done the job myself without much trouble, but it was you I was worried about. How are you progressing?"
"Lousy."
"I know. I'm sorry to hear it. But cheer up; it doesn't matter very much. The main thing is getting your mind off your personal worries, and practicing up a bit in practical ruling. Do you know why you're not progressing, William?"
"Yeah, I'm just a flop that's all. Any time you want to unload me, go ahead. I can't even run my own life right."
"Oh, come, William! I can't very well do that. An efficient businessman lives up to his word. What confidence would you have in me if I broke our contract simply because you don't know all I know? No, William. When I make a contract, I regard it as an unbreakable obligation, just as any other responsible businessman —"
"O.K.," Hale broke in to stop the flow of words. "I get you."
"Splendid. I want us to understand each other. Now, putting aside the notion that you are a failure, let us consider why you are not progressing. You remember the letter I wrote you, don't you?"
"Yeah."
"Did you read it carefully? I think you missed something. You see, William, I've had daily reports of your activities sent here, so I could correct your mistakes whenever necessary. I don't want you to feel hurt or think I'm snooping. Nothing of the sort. Any efficient businessman takes pains to see that his associates are doing their jobs as well as possible, for the sake of the business.
"The point you missed is that I didn't ask you to create opposition. That is unnecessary, because it already exists. All that is lacking is centralization and direction, plus some other vital element I want you to discover for yourself."
