The Genie of Sutton Place

by George Selden

  “And this is Mr. Dickin—” I stopped. Because I thought Mr. Dickinson might be about to die.

  He was staring at Dooley and shaking like a frightened leaf. He put his hand up over his eyes—as if by not seeing a genie you could make him not be—and the three of us thought he was going to faint. But the scholar got the best of him, and he lowered his hand and said, almost calmly, “You know—I believe I shall give up the study of crockery.”

  “This is the man who translated the spell for us, Dooley.”

  “Sayidee,” said Dooley. (That means “master” in Arabic.) Then he added, “My everlasting thanks!” And he did a grand obeisance.

  “There’s so much I can learn from you!” The frenzy of knowledge overtook the professor. Not many men have the opportunity of picking a genie’s brains. “First of all—”

  “Not now!” I shouted. “We have to get Sam back into shape.”

  Dooley lifted his right hand and clicked his fingers … Then clicked them again, and his genie’s outfit changed into a chauffeur’s uniform.

  For a minute we waited … Nothing happened.

  “Did it work?” I worried.

  “Behold!” Dooley gestured toward the door.

  There was Sam!… More hugs. And laughing. And congratulations.

  (Sam told us later that he’d suddenly become a man again, stretched out in the sarcophagus. And clothed, too—which was considerate on Dooley’s part, since none of the ladies in the museum had to scream or be embarrassed. By moving the lid just a little bit, he’d been able to stand up. But that scared the wits out of a guard who was in the room. He thought the Pharaoh was coming back to life. When he saw that it was only a mortal man, he said, “Hey, what were you doin’ inside that sarcophagus?” Sam looked at him coldly and said—it was just in the air that day—“Research.”)

  We explained to Mr. Dickinson about Mr. Bassinger being my dog, and after a few deep breaths he was able to swallow the truth—having just seen a genie rise out of a rug. “Most extraordinary!” he gulped. But then that childlike pleasure that scholars take in telling you something that they’ve uncovered came into his voice, and he burbled, “But now I really must show you what else is concealed in the carpet. It’s a veritable library. You see that green vine—”

  “That’s the spell—”

  “Correct. One line of the verse on each side of the carpet. But now—that red line in back of it—even more intricately worked—with those glorious purple leaves—that, too, is writing. And far more difficult to decipher. I’ve only translated the first few words so far.”

  “May we hear them, sayidee?” said Dooley softly, trying to damp his excitement down.

  Mr. Dickinson squinted into the border. “‘Yet should the—the love-sick fool—surrender the Great Ring—’ I don’t understand that.”

  “This ring, sayidee.” Dooley held up his left hand. “My Magic and my Immortality are melded together within it.”

  “Most impressive!”

  But Dooley’s smile was not at all happy. “From the vantage point of a man, perhaps. Read on, sayidee.”

  “‘Yet should the love-sick fool surrender the Great Ring—and should some mortal maiden receive the gift from him—as token of his love—thenceforth’—mmm—‘thenceforth he shall be even as other men.’”

  “The true runes of my release!” burst out Dooley. “Woven around me these centuries! Ah, Wizard, Wizard—” he shook his head, but I think it was in a forgiving way—“in your kindness was always cruelty—in your cruelty always kindness, too.”

  “Does that mean you can be a man?”

  “It does, little master. Indeed it does … The life of man—it lasts no longer than the scent of jasmine on the air … Yet it is sweet nonetheless.”

  “It’s what you’ve wanted, though, isn’t it?”

  “More than the jeweled throne of Haroun Al-Raschid itself! To be free, little master—free of the bondage of magic and the prison of immortality.”

  “No question about who the ‘mortal maiden’ is in this case. Rose would jump at the chance to wear that thing. But will it fit her?—it’s awfully big.”

  “This ring fits any finger upon which it is put.”

  “You better watch out—she’ll think that it’s an engagement ring.”

  His grin lit up the whole Al-Hazred room.

  “Well, goodbye, everybody,” said Sam.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” I demanded.

  “Right back to my box. If he calls off my spell.” Dooley and I locked eyes with each other. We’d completely forgotten. “You’ve got to face up to it, Tim. Only one of us can be a man. If he turns human, I turn dog.”

  “Alas, alas,” moaned Dooley. He’d had such hopes. “Halfway between my magic and an animal is where the two of us long to be.”

  “Mm-mmm—” Mr. Dickinson had kept on reading the rug, while listening to us talk. “You needn’t worry about that at all.”

  “Hey!—wouldn’t you worry,” barked Sam, “if you were—”

  “Mr. Bassinger—please! The vine goes on. Just listen to what else it says: ‘But let his works be permanent, even should he choose man’s lowly fate—’ still speaking of the genie, of course—‘for I did make him to create great things.’”

  “Ah, blessed be his wizardry in the end,” said Dooley.

  “You mean—I’m a great thing?” Sam asked bassetly.

  “I think you’re great, Sam.” I put my arm around his waist.

  “No doubt about it,” said Madame Sosostris and patted his head.

  “Let’s go home right away and try it out,” I said.

  We made an arrangement that Dooley would come over every day and tell Mr. Dickinson all that he wanted to know about Near Eastern archaeology, literature, and architecture—and even crockery, if he was still interested in it. The condition was, however, that the professor should keep his mouth shut, so Dooley wouldn’t be annoyed by autograph hunters and other nuisances. To celebrate this bonanza of knowledge that he thought was in store for him, Mr. Dickinson asked Madame Sosostris out for a drink … I think it must have been about the first time in thirty years that he’d asked a lady to have a drink.

  Good old Madame S.! As she sat down and started to lace her sneakers, I thought about asking her to come back and watch the climax—if there was one—at Sutton Place. But she seemed so pleased to be asked for the drink that I decided to wait and call her tomorrow. And when I get back next September, I’m going to help her have her breakthrough.

  The last thing in the Al-Hazred room was for Dooley to point a finger down toward his former prison cell and command it, “Upon the wall, thou deadly web!” The carpet flew up to its proper position. “And never hold my soul again!”

  * * *

  All the way over to Sutton Place, at first in the taxi, then even more strongly going up in the elevator, as the changes came closer and closer and closer, the three of us shared a sensation of wonder. There was something tremendous about to end—Dooley’s magic, after a thousand years—and something risky was going to begin: the two of them, choosing to be men. It was funny and important, and sort of frightening. But nobody wanted to talk about it out loud. We all kept quiet and just drank the feeling of strangeness in.

  Until we were in the hall outside Aunt Lucy’s door. Dooley stopped, frowned, and put his hand on my shoulder. “My master—think what it is you do.”

  “Are you getting cold feet?”

  “Not I! Oh, not I. But the truth that the Wizard worked into me compels me to say—you surrender a slave, as I am now, for whom most men would give their lives. When the ring is off my finger—” He jerked his hands open, and something I couldn’t see was released. “It bears thought.”

  So I thought about it … I was giving up an awful lot. Sure bets at the race track, automobiles, the latest clothes. In finding Dooley I’d had more luck than any other kid I know … But the way I feel about luck is, when you get it, you use it hard. Then you giv
e it back, and you don’t try to hog it … And exactly the same thing is true of magic.

  “My mind’s made up. Both of you are on your way.” I reached for the buzzer.

  But before I could press it, Dooley lifted me up and gave me one last monstrous hug. Sam did, too … And that’s the last of the hugs, I guess. From now on, it’ll have to be man to man—handshakes and things like that.

  Maybe not, though. While we were waiting for Rose to open the door, Sam said, “Gosh, I hope I make a go of it!”

  “Mr. Bassinger,” said Dooley, who was all self-confidence now, “do you love Master Timothy Farr?”

  “Of course I love Tim! I love Tim and you and Rose and Lucy—and I think I could almost love anybody.”

  “Then that will suffice. ’Tis said among the Immortals that love is the practice of humanity. Though difficult—very difficult.”

  “For Lord’s sake!” Rose was goggle-eyed. “The rolling stone rolls ‘round again. Miss Lucy—you’ve got company.”

  “Why, Sam—” Aunt Lucy came into the hall—“and Dooley—”

  For a moment the air was thick with embarrassed memory of what had happened the night before.

  But I took her hand—a little con-job, I admit—and said, “Aunt Lucy, everything is fine. Believe me!—everything is fine.”

  “Miss Farr,” said Sam, “I want to apologize for my—my ungentlemanly conduct.”

  “Forget it, Sam. We all have our lapses.”

  “Do we ever!”

  “And I’m not Miss Farr—I’m Lucy, as you know. The first time Timmy brought you here you stayed for lunch—Will you do so now? We’ll begin again—”

  “I’d love to!”

  So that took care of them.

  “Aunt Lucy,” I said, “there’s one thing, though—am I going to military school?”

  “You’re going to any school you’d like to.”

  “Public.” That took care of me. “Rose, Dooley has a present for you. It’s—” Then I bit my tongue. It was his gift, after all. I was dying to watch him put the ring upon her finger—but I know I’ve got to curb this tendency to look in on other people’s lives. “It’s something he’ll tell you about himself.”

  Sam and Aunt Lucy settled into some chatter, Rose went to set another place at the table, and I, who had suddenly had an idea, said, “Dooley, there is one thing I’d like—” My last chance to get it.

  We went to my bedroom, and, when I told Dooley, he laughed and said, “Strange. My last act of magic.” But he did what I asked … We both admired it for a while.

  “Master Timothy—” he was on his way to the kitchen, where Rose could be heard humming excitedly—“a record should be kept. I shall tell our scholar Dickinson all that I can recollect from the years in which I served the Wizard—the palaces and mountains and towers. But I fear that as my manhood masters me, my memory will fade. And something also should be preserved of this wondrous summer of parakeets and dogs and men … For even great deeds that are done by magic can be forgotten utterly.”

  * * *

  So that’s what I’m doing—keeping a record …

  It’s way after lunch, and I’m taking a breather … I keep looking up at my mirror—my antique American bull’s-eye mirror! It may seem small and unimportant—and also a waste of good magic—and it isn’t reasonable, I know, but I’m glad that it was Dooley’s last deed as a genie …

  In the kitchen Rose and Dooley are laughing. They practiced a new duet about an hour ago. I think it was something from opera … And in the living room Sam is laughing, too. He doesn’t sound one bit like a dog. At lunch he was really great. Just as good as Aunt Lucy at filling up pauses and making it all sound interesting. That’s a sign of manhood, too, I guess.

  In a few days I’m off to the wilds of upstate New York … And I’m glad. Now that everything is normal around here, I’m sure that I’ll have more fun at camp.

  But I’m also pretty positive that I made the right decision—to leave it all up to nature … Human nature, that is.

  BY GEORGE SELDEN

  The Genie of Sutton Place

  The Cricket in Times Square

  Tucker’s Countryside

  I See What I SEE!

  Copyright © 1973 George Selden Thompson

  All rights reserved: Second printing, 1973

  ISBN 0-374-32527-8

  Adapted from a television play, The Genie of Sutton Place, © 1957 by Kenneth Heuer and George Selden Thompson

  Published simultaneously in Canada by Doubleday Canada Ltd., Toronto

  eISBN 9781466863637

  First eBook edition: January 2014