Collected Short Fiction, page 891
Back to her place, now. It starts to rain. We stand outside, in the very spot where I stood when I polted her the last time. I can write the script effortlessly. “Why don’t you come inside for a while, Harry?”
“I’d love to.”
“Here, dry your feet on the doormat. Would you like some hot chocolate?”
“Whatever you’re having, Cindy.”
“No, whatever you’d like to have.”
“Hot chocolate would be fine, then.” Her parents aren’t home. Her older brother is fornicating in Scarsdale. The rain hammers at the windows. The house is big, expensive-looking, thick carpets, fancy draperies. Cindy in the kitchen, puttering at the stove. Harry in the living room, fidgeting at the bookshelves. Then Cindy and Harry, Harry and Cindy, warm and cozy, together on the couch. Hot chocolate: two sips apiece. Her lips near mine. Silently begging me. Come on, dope, bend forward. Be a mensh. We kiss. We’ve kissed before, but this time it’s with tongues. Christ. Christ. I don’t believe this. Suave old Casanova Blaufeld swinging into action like a well-oiled seducing machine. Her perfume in my nostrils, my tongue in her mouth, my hand on her sweater, and then, unexpectedly, my hand is under her sweater, and then, astonishingly, my other hand is on her knee, and up under her skirt, and her thigh is satiny and cool, and I sit there having this weird two-dimensional feeling that I’m not an autonomous human being but just somebody on the screen in a movie rated X, aware that thousands of people out there in the audience are watching me with held breath, and I don’t dare let them down. I continue, not letting myself pause to examine what’s happening, not thinking at all, turning off my mind completely, just going forward step by step. I know that if I ever halt and back off to ask myself if this is real, it’ll all blow up in my face. She’s helping me. She knows much more about this than I do. Murmuring softly. Encouraging me. My fingers scrabbling at our undergarments. “Don’t rush it,” she whispers. “We’ve got all the time in the world.” My body pressing urgently against hers. Somehow now I’m not puzzled by the mechanics of the thing. So this is how it happens. What a miracle of evolution that we’re designed to fit together this way! “Be gentle,” she says, the way girls always say in the novels, and I want to be gentle, but how can I be gentle when I’m riding a runaway chariot? I push, not with my mind but with my body, and suddenly I feel this wondrous velvety softness enfolding me, and I begin to move fast, unable to hold back, and she moves too and we clasp each other and I’m swept helter-skelter along into a whirlpool. Down and down and down. “Harry!” she gasps and I explode uncontrollably and I know it’s over. Hardly begun, and it’s over. Is that it? That’s it. That’s all there is to it, the moving, the clasping, the gasping, the explosion. It felt good, but not that good, not as good as in my feverish virginal hallucinations I hoped it would be, and a backwash of letdown rips through me at the realization that it isn’t transcendental after all, it isn’t a mystic thing, it’s just a body thing that starts and continues and ends. Abruptly I want to pull away and be alone to think. But I know I mustn’t, I have to be tender and grateful now, I hold her in my arms, I whisper soft things to her, I tell her how good it was, she tells me how good it was. We’re both lying, but so what? It was good. In retrospect it’s starting to seem fantastic, overwhelming, all the things I wanted it to be. The idea of what we’ve done blows my mind. If only it hadn’t been over so fast. No matter. Next time will be better. We’ve crossed a frontier; we’re in unfamiliar territory now.
Much later she says, “I’d like to know how you make things move without touching them.”
I shrug. “Why do you want to know?”
“It fascinates me. You fascinate me. I thought for a long time you were just another fellow, you know, kind of clumsy, kind of immature. But then this gift of yours. It’s ESP, isn’t it, Harry? I’ve read a lot about it. I know. The moment you knocked me down, I knew what it must have been. Wasn’t it?”
Why be coy with her?
“Yes,” I say, proud in my new manhood. “As a matter of fact, it’s a classic poltergeist manifestation. When I gave you that shove, it was the first I knew I had the power. But I’ve been developing it. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve been able to do lately.” My voice is deep; my manner is assured. I have graduated into my own fantasy self tonight.
“Show me,” she says. “Poltergeist something, Harry!”
“Anything. You name it.”
“That chair.”
“Of course.” I survey the chair. I reach for the power. It does not come. The chair stays where it is. What about the saucer, then? No. The spoon? No. “Cindy, I don’t understand it, but—it doesn’t seem to be working right now—”
“You must be tired.”
“Yes. That’s it. Tired. A good night’s sleep and I’ll have it again. I’ll phone you in the morning and give you a real demonstration.” Hastily buttoning my shirt. Looking for my shoes. Her parents will walk in any minute. Her brother. “Listen, a wonderful evening, unforgettable, tremendous—”
“Stay a little longer.”
“I really can’t.”
Out into the rain.
Home. Stunned. I push . . . and the shoe sits there. I look up at the light fixture. Nothing. The bulb will not turn. The power is gone. What will become of me now? Commander Blaufeld, space hero! No. No. Nothing. I will drop back into the ordinary rut of mankind. I will be . . . a husband. I will be . . . an employee. And push no more. And push no more. Can I even lift my shirt and flip it to the floor? No. No. Gone. Every shred, gone. I pull the covers over my head. I put my hands to my deflowered maleness. That alone responds. There alone am I still potent. Like all the rest. Just one of the common herd, now. Let’s face it: I’ll push no more. I’m ordinary again. Fighting off tears, I coil tight against myself in the darkness, and, sweating, moaning a little, working hard, I descend numbly into the quicksand, into the first moments of the long colorless years ahead.
What We Learned from this Morning’s Newspaper
Today’s newspaper is service oriented, offering its readers a necessary and non-varying record of our daily ephemerae. But does the dame hold true for tomorrow’s newspaper—when received today?
1.
I got home from the office as usual at 6:47 this evening and discovered that our peaceful street has been in some sort of crazy uproar all day. The newsboy it seems came by today and delivered the New York Times for Wednesday December 1 to every house on Redbud Crescent. Since today is Monday November 22 it follows therefore that Wednesday December 1 is the middle of next week. I said to my wife are you sure that this really happened? Because I looked at the newspaper myself before I went off to work this morning and it seemed quite all right to me.
At breakfast time the newspaper could be printed in Albanian and it would seem quite all right to you my wife replied. Here look at this. And she took the newspaper from the hall closet and handed it all folded up to me. It looked just like any other edition of the New York Times but I saw what I had failed to notice at breakfast time, that it said Wednesday December 1.
Is today the 22nd of November I asked? Monday?
It certainly is my wife told me. Yesterday was Sunday and tomorrow is going to be Tuesday and we haven’t even come to Thanksgiving yet. Bill what are we going to do about this?
I glanced through the newspaper. The front page headlines were nothing remarkable I must admit, just the same old New York Times stuff that you get any day when there hasn’t been some event of cosmic importance. NIXON, WITH WIFE, TO VISIT 3 CHINESE CITIES IN 7 DAYS. Yes. 10 HURT AS GUNMEN SHOOT WAY INTO AND OUT OF BANK. All right. GROUP OF 10, IN ROME, BEGINS NEGOTIATING REALIGNMENT OF CURRENCIES. Okay. The same old New York Times stuff and no surprises. But the paper was dated Wednesday December 1 and that was a surprise of sorts I guess.
This is only a joke I told my wife.
Who would do such a thing for a joke? To print up a whole newspaper? It’s impossible Bill.
It’s also impossible to get next week’s newspaper delivered this week you know or hadn’t you considered what I said?
She shrugged and I picked up the second section. I opened to page fifty which contained the obituary section and I admit I felt quite queasy for a moment since after all this might not be any joke and what would it be like to find my own name there? To my relief the people whose obituaries I saw were Harry Rogoff Terry Turner Dr. M. A. Feinstein and John Millis. I will not say that the deaths of these people gave me any pleasure but better them than me of course. I even looked at the death notices in small type but there was no listing for me. Next I turned to the sports section and saw KNICKS’ STREAK ENDED, 110-109. We had been talking about going to get tickets for that game at the office and my first thought now was that it isn’t worth bothering to see it. Then I remembered you can bet on basketball games and I knew who was going to win and that made me feel very strange. So also I felt odd to look at the bottom of page sixty-four where they had the results of the racing at Yonkers Raceway and then quickly flip flip flip I was on page sixty-nine and the financial section lay before my eyes. DOW INDEX RISES BY 1.61 TO 831.34 the headline said. National Cash Register was the most active stock closing at 273⁄8 off 1⁄4. Then Eastman Kodak 887⁄8 down 11⁄8. By this time I was starting to sweat very hard and I gave my wife the paper and took off my jacket and tie.
I said how many people have their newspaper?
Everybody on Redbud Crescent she said that’s eleven houses altogether.
And nowhere beyond our street?
No the others got the ordinary paper today we’ve been checking on that.
Who’s we I asked?
Marie and Cindy and I she said. Cindy was the one who noticed about the paper first and called me and then we all got together and talked about it. Bill what are we going to do? We have the stock market prices and everything Bill.
If it isn’t a joke I told her.
It looks like the real paper doesn’t it Bill?
I think I want a drink I said. My hands were shaking all of a sudden and the sweat was still coming. I had to laugh because it was just the other Saturday night some of us were talking about the utter predictable regularity of life out here in the suburbs the dull smooth sameness of it all. And now this. The newspaper from the middle of next week. It’s like God was listening to us and laughed up His sleeve and said to Gabriel or whoever it’s time to send those stuffed shirts on Redbud Crescent a little excitement.
2.
After dinner Jerry Wesley called and said we’re having a meeting at our place tonight Bill can you and your lady come?
I asked him what the meeting was about and he said it’s about the newspaper.
Oh yes I said. The newspaper. What about the newspaper?
Come to the meeting he said I really don’t want to talk about this on the phone.
Of course we’ll have to arrange a sitter Jerry.
No you won’t we’ve already arranged it he told me. The three Fischer girls are going to look after all the kids on the block. So just come over around quarter to nine.
Jerry is an insurance broker very successful at that he has the best house on the Crescent, two-story Tudor style with almost an acre of land and a big paneled rumpus room in the basement. That’s where the meeting took place. We were the seventh couple to arrive and soon after us the Maxwells the Bruces and the Thomasons came in. Folding chairs were set out and Cindy Wesley had done her usual great trays of canapés and such and there was a lot of liquor, self- service at the bar. Jerry stood up in front of everybody and grinned and said I guess you’ve all been wondering why I called you together this evening. He held up his copy of the newspaper. From where I was sitting I could make out only one headline clearly it was 10 HURT AS GUNMEN SHOOT WAY INTO AND OUT OF BANK but that was enough to enable me to recognize it as the newspaper.
Jerry said did all of you get a copy of this paper today?
Everybody nodded.
You know Jerry said that this paper gives us some extraordinary opportunities to improve our situation in life. I mean if we can accept it as the real December 1 edition and not some kind of fantastic hoax then I don’t need to tell you what sort of benefits we can get from it, right?
Sure Bob Thomason said but what makes anybody think it isn’t a hoax? I mean next week’s newspaper who could believe that?
Jerry looked at Mike Nesbit. Mike teaches at Columbia Law and is more of an intellectual than most of us.
Mike said well of course the obvious conclusion is that somebody’s playing a joke on us. But have you looked at the newspaper closely? Every one of those stories has been written in a perfectly legitimate way. There aren’t any details that ring false. It isn’t like one of those papers where the headlines have been cooked up but the body of the text is an old edition. So we have to consider the probabilities. Which sounds more fantastic? That someone would take the trouble of composing an entire fictional edition of the Times setting it in type printing it and having it delivered or that through some sort of fluke of the fourth dimension we’ve been allowed a peek at next week’s newspaper? Personally I don’t find either notion easy to believe but I can accept fourth-dimensional hocus-pocus more readily than I can the idea of a hoax. For one thing unless you’ve had a team the size of the Times’ own staff working on this newspaper it would take months and months to prepare it and there’s no way that anybody could have begun work on the paper more than a few days in advance because there are things in it that nobody could have possibly known as recently as a week ago. Like the Phase Two stuff and the fighting between India and Pakistan.
But how could we get next week’s newspaper Bob Thomason still wanted to know?
I can’t answer that said Mike Nesbit. I can only reply that I am willing to accept it as genuine. A miracle if you like.
So am I said Tim McDermott and a few others said the same.
We can make a pile of money out of this thing said Dave Bruce.
Everybody began to smile in a strange strained way. Obviously everybody had looked at the stock market stuff and the racetrack stuff and had come to the same conclusions.
Jerry said there’s one important thing we ought to find out first. Has anybody here spoken about this newspaper to anybody who isn’t currently in this room?
People said nope and uh-uh and not me.
Good said Jerry. I propose we keep it that way. We don’t notify the Times and we don’t tell Walter Cronkite and we don’t even let our brother-in-law on Dogwood Lane know, right? We just put our newspapers away in a safe place and quietly do whatever we want to do about the information we’ve got. Okay? Let’s put that to a vote. All in favor of stamping this newspaper top secret raise your right hand.
Twenty-two hands went up.
Good said Jerry. That includes the kids you realize. If you let the kids know anything they’ll want to bring the paper to school for show and tell for Christ’s sake. So cool it you hear?
Sid Fischer said are we going to work together on exploiting this thing or do we each act independently?
Independently said Dave Bruce.
Right independently said Bud Maxwell.
It went all around the room that way. The only one who wanted some sort of committee system was Charlie Harris. Charlie has bad luck in the stock market and I guess he was afraid to take any risks even with a sure thing like next week’s paper. Jerry called for a vote and it came out ten to one in favor of individual enterprise. Of course if anybody wants to team up with anybody else I said there’s nothing stopping anybody.
As we started to adjourn for refreshments Jerry said remember you only have a week to make use of what you’ve been handed. By the first of December this is going to be just another newspaper and a million other people will have copies of it. So move fast while you’ve got an advantage.
3.
The trouble is when they give you only next week’s paper you don’t ordinarily have a chance to make a big killing in the market. I mean stocks don’t generally go up fifty per cent or eighty per cent in just a few trading sessions. The really broad swings take weeks or months to develop. Still and all I figured I could make out all right with the data I had. For one thing there evidently was going to be a pretty healthy rally over the next few days. According to the afternoon edition of the Post that I brought home with me the market had been off seven on the 22nd, closing with the Dow at 803.15, the lowest all year. But the December 1 Times mentioned “`a stunning two-day advance” and the average finished at 831.34 on the 30th. Not bad. Then too I could work on margin and other kinds of leverage to boost my return. We’re going to make a pile out of this I told my wife.
If you can trust that newspaper she said.
I told her not to worry. When we got home from Jerry’s I spread out the Post and the Times in the den and started hunting for stocks that moved up at least ten percent between November 22 and November 30. This is the chart I made up:
Stock Nov 22 close Nov 30 high
Levitz Furniture 891⁄2 1033⁄4
Bausch & Lomb 133 149
Natomas 451⁄4 57
Disney 99 1163⁄4
EG&G 191⁄4 233⁄4
Spread your risk Bill I told myself. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Even if the newspaper was phony I couldn’t get hurt too badly if I bought all five. So at half past nine the next morning I phoned my broker and told him I wanted to do some buying in the margin account at the opening. He said don’t be in a hurry Bill the market’s in lousy shape. Look at yesterday there were 201 new lows this market’s going to be under 750 by Christmas. You can see from this that he’s an unusual kind of broker since most of them will never try to discourage you from placing an order that’ll bring them a commission. But I said no I’m playing a hunch I want to go all out on this and I put in buys on Levitz Bausch Natomas Disney and EG&G. I used the margin right up to the hilt and then some. Okay I told myself if this works out the way you hope it will you’ve just bought yourself a vacation in Europe and a new Chrysler and a mink for the wife and a lot of other goodies. And if not? If not you just lost yourself a hell of a lot of money Billy boy.
