The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  “That’s the only way I could work everything in. The parade alone will take three hours, and my speech and yours together will run a full hour.”

  “But I haven’t any—”

  “The speech is all written out for you. All that’s needed is for you to read it in your own inimitable voice. And by the way, Red, your voice does sound wonderful.”

  “You’ve heard it before?”

  “Of course. In the newsreels, before you started off on those daring adventures through the unexplored islands. It will be a thrill to see you face to face—and that’s what millions of Australians are saying. But we’ll hold the parade down to three hours. Then there’ll be two hours to look in on the Wembridge Recreation Halls—and there’s a treat for you. Two hours of dancing—then the banquet, the speeches, and—”

  “Not so fast. You make me dizzy.”

  “And then comes the big surprise. She’ll arrive from Melbourne at ten.”

  “She—who?”

  “Ah-ha, Red Stephens, wouldn’t you act innocent—as if you didn’t know. I’ll give you a gentle hint. Her initials are R.L., and she’s been waiting for three years to marry you. Everything’s all planned, Red. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

  CHAPTER V

  Bands blared, paper floated down from the office windows, and the crowds yelled till they were hoarse. Everyone was having an immensely fine time except the sun-tanned young American who was being celebrated.

  The breezes blew through his sandy hair as he stood in the rear seat of the official car so gaily decked with red, white, and blue crepe streamers. He cut a handsome figure, simply by riding along, waving his hands, hiding his amazement with a gentle smile.

  When he caught sight of his shadow sliding along the pavement at the feet of the crowds he thought he must have resembled some fantastic bird with a blunt beak and a ruffled topknot and one lone flapping wing.

  “So this is how it feels to be a hero,” he muttered to himself.

  “You’re doing all right, buddy,” came a whispered answer at his ear.

  “Yeah? Wait till the speech making starts. I’ll choke down like a monkey swallowing a coconut.”

  “I’ll be with you, buddy. You know what Hester Wembridge says. You don’t dare let the people down.”

  “I’m getting weak at the knees,” Red Stephens’ groan reached the ears of Miss Wembridge. She bade him sit down with her and the colonel, and she promised they would take time out for a lunch before the speeches started.

  By the time the fanfare was over Red Stephens had had too much.

  “I’ve got to get out of sight of these crowds,” he wailed, weaving groggily. “I’m drunk from all this cheering. It’s the toughest deal I’ve had since that big herd of monkeys in the jungle—”

  He stopped short. Hester Wembridge was looking at him with narrowed eyes, but she quickly smiled and went on in her chatty conversational manner.

  “So you do remember something of your past, my friend.”

  “Ah—er—just a bad dream I had once.”

  “Well, keep right on dreaming you’re Red Stephens. That’s all that matters now. Do you understand?”

  Her final words were edged with a rasping tone that contrasted with her usual soft-spoken manner.

  The colonel had lost the trail of the conversation, but Hester Wembridge put him back on. The hero of the day, she explained, wasn’t feeling so well. The crowd had worn him down, and he was inclined to be a bit erratic anyway—a hangover from an injury.

  “We’ll work in an hour’s rest in some quiet cafe,” the colonel said. “Better disguise yourself, Red, so the people won’t know you. If you had some dark glasses—”

  “These will do,” Red Stephens said, drawing the thick-lensed spectacles from his pocket.

  He had seen so many thousand faces in the past four hours of parading that the quadrupling effect of the spectacles had little noticeable effect for the first few minutes. He was still going around in dizzy circles even after the crowds were left behind.

  The colonel, now adorned with four heads, led the way into a cafe. A four-faced head-waiter conducted the party to a secluded table.

  The four-faced colonel fell into conversation with four-faced Hester Wembridge, and four-faced Jalbeau sat glumly across from the dizzy young hero. It was highly confusing.

  To make matters worse, the invisible Longworth kept whispering over Red’s shoulder. “Food, food! By George, I think I’ll join you.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Red Stephens hissed.

  “What’s that?” The colonel looked up sharply. He had just mentioned to Hester Wembridge that he would ask the newspapers to refer to her, henceforth, as the good angel. The interpolation of “Don’t you dare,” nettled him.

  “Sorry,” Red Stephens said in confusion. “I meant that for—for Jalbeau. He doesn’t dare pay the checks, I meant.”

  “Did I say anything about paying the checks?” Jalbeau growled.

  “You looked like you wanted to,” Red pursued, his hands groping at the table. “Sorry, Jalbeau, we can’t let you pay for all thirteen of us. I mean—”

  “Thirteen!” the colonel exploded. All four of his faces glared at Stephens. “What do you mean, thirteen?”

  “Maybe I miscounted,” Red mumbled.

  “I never eat at a table of thirteen,” the colonel barked.

  “Need another guest, buddy?” the invisible Longworth whispered. “I could be persuaded to join you.”

  “Hell, no—don’t!” Red blurted aloud.

  For a moment his three visible companions stared, but the colonel sagely observed that the jungle had been known to do strange things to people.

  “I tell you he’s excited from the parade,” Hester Wembridge said hastily. She smiled and patted the colonel’s hand. “So you think the newspapers would like to refer to me as the—the what?”

  “The good angel,” the colonel said, softening. But in the minutes that followed he kept one or more of his skeptical faces glued on the young American.

  Red Stephens suddenly forgot all his dizziness and embarrassment. He was discovering something.

  It was like the light of dawn. All at once he was seeing—seeing as he had never seen before.

  At first the strangeness of it all made him doubt his senses. But he remembered that first breath-taking glimpse of Hester Wembridge’s four faces—only one of them her usual charming face.

  That charming face, he recalled vividly, had been the face at his left. And that was the very face which was smiling at the colonel so prettily at this very moment.

  Each of her other faces was occupied in one way or another—one of them glancing at him from time to time very cynically, another focusing a certain cruelty of expression upon anyone and everyone—the waitress, the colonel, or himself.

  The left-most face was, in the case of all three of these persons, the face for public consumption. It was Jalbeau’s left-most face that maintained the same impenetrable wax mask that Red always saw without his glasses. Among his other faces was one whose eyes continually darted and flashed as if on the lookout for trouble.

  It was Hester Wembridge’s first face on the left—that face alone—that her admiring public saw. If the colonel could have seen her second face, ugh! Could he have called her an angel?

  Colonel Moberly’s collection of visages was scarcely less interesting, though there was no sharp contrast between the first face and his second. Red caught the interpretation. There was less difference between the colonel’s public personality and his inner self.

  One of the colonel’s faces, however, showed a depth of feeling—a revelation of pain and worry.

  That was proof to Red that through all this day of celebration and frivolity Colonel Moberly was gathering up for the hell that lay ahead. His show of high spirit would end on the stroke of midnight when the perilous expedition took off for the island of G.

  Bad news broke up the cafe party.

  Reporter
s stormed in to find Hester Wembridge. The report had just come from Melbourne that the largest Wembridge recreation hall had been blown up by saboteurs. It was a major disaster. Hundreds of United Nations’ soldiers had been killed. Would Miss Wembridge make a statement for the press?

  “Of course she’ll make a statement,” Colonel Moberly asserted stoutly while the woman beside him caught her breath.

  The tense moment ushered in by this shock caught Red Stephens with his spectacles off. He saw Hester Wembridge’s face turn pale, saw her lips quiver. She spoke with deep emotion.

  Of course the newspapers would be careful with their handling of such a story. Even though it was a major disaster, nothing must be written that would be bad for the soldiers’ morale.

  “But certainly you must not repress the facts,” she said bravely, and her words brought admiring glances from every newsman.

  “A two column story on the front page, perhaps?” one of them suggested.

  “Our morale,” she repeated fervently. The newsmen felt the strength of her argument. Some of them were considerate enough to promise only a brief story on the second page. After all, they mentioned, this was not the first time that saboteurs had struck at the recreation halls.

  “It’s the fourth time,” one of the reporters snapped, “and I’m for spreading headlines all over the front page. If we can’t stop these saboteurs, then we’d better lock up the recreation halls.”

  The irate reporter stormed out, taking two or three others with him. But the rest stood by, fascinated by Hester Wembridge’s apparent courage. She was a woman who could keep her chin up, no matter what tragedies befell the allies.

  “My secretary, Mr. Jalbeau, will prepare my statement for the press within half an hour,” she said, managing a brave smile. “Meanwhile I suggest you keep the public attention focused on the name of our young hero, Red Stephens.”

  The flash cameras meanwhile had done their worst, catching Red and his party from all angles. As soon as the newsmen chased off, Red Stephens donned his spectacles.

  Again he was looking upon twelve faces, and what he saw in them he would never forget.

  Colonel Moberly’s strong features were courage personified. He was doing his utmost to impart strength to Hester Wembridge.

  But the hidden expressions of Hester and Jalbeau were unmistakable. They were exchanging sly, satisfied winks. To Red the unspoken conversation couldn’t have been any more obvious if they had shouted through loud speakers.

  CHAPTER VI

  “Longworth, are you there?”

  “Present, buddy,” came the whisper.

  “Did you see what I saw?”

  “‘If you mean Jalbeau, I can’t figure him. He didn’t even give her a sympathetic look. And that woman is under stress, losing all these halls—”

  “You’re not seeing straight, Longworth,” Red replied. “Take a look through these lenses.”

  He left the spectacles lying on the table as he followed the party out of the cafe. Glancing backward he saw Longworth appear long enough to pick them up, then vanish.

  Longworth rejoined him in visible form as he taxied to his next appointment. For the present the two of them were alone. It gave them a chance to air their opinions in private.

  “Remarkable specs,” Longworth said, handing them back to Red. “I’d like to keep them, but most of the time they’d be no good to me. The instant I go invisible they lose their effect. You keep them for me.”

  “Why the hell don’t you stay visible?”

  “Buddy, I wish I could. But it’s too hard work. Can’t stand it more than a few minutes at a time. But don’t worry about me. I enjoy getting around. Wouldn’t mind this new life a bit if it didn’t leave me so helpless. Before I can eat or drink or change my shirt I have to turn into flesh and blood—my kind of flesh and blood. It’s not so handy.”

  “It’s damned handy for me to have you sticking around,” Red Stephens said. “But the big question of the moment is, did you catch a glimpse of the angel’s secret faces?”

  “No. She and her elephantine friend Jalbeau were already shoving off in a taxi. I went invisible and climbed in beside them, only to find the specs wouldn’t work. I didn’t dare turn visible to make them work. But anyhow I got an earful.”

  “Of grief over the explosion?”

  “Anything but grief.” The big Englishman’s face was white with quiet anger. “You’re right, buddy.”

  “What’d they say?”

  “They’re rotten, the whole crew of them—Jap pilot, French maid, Jalbeau and the angel. And there must be more to the network, taking care of the sabotage.”

  “What’d they say?” Red Stephens repeated, breathing pent-up rage.

  “They congratulated themselves on timing this Melbourne firecraker to pop off right when they had a hero under the spotlight. It takes the people’s minds off their troubles to have a hero, they said.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Well—Longworth hesitated. His eyes leveled at Red, “Maybe I’d better watch you through the glasses to see whether you can take it.”

  “I can take it,” Red snapped. “Come on, let’s have the worst.”

  “Okay. They said that the smartest thing they’d got away with was checking off the real Red Stephens. By getting a couple of treacherous natives to murder him, they were sure that the island of G was safe for the Japs.”

  “Is that so? There’ll be another murder—”

  “And finally they, said that their luckiest break was picking up that dumb cluck to take Red Stephens’ place. With him to lead the trek across the island of G, the Japs would trap the native army and cut it down in one fell swoop.”

  With those words Longworth passed out of sight.

  “Hell, fellow, don’t leave me!” Red Stephens gasped. “I’m in a devil of a mess. Are you there, Longworth?”

  “Right with you,” Longworth whispered. “And I’ll stay with you, buddy. You’ve got to go through with it, no matter what the cost. They’re depending on you. And Wembridge is right about that much—you’re in, and you don’t dare let down your confidence.”

  Near the entrance to one of Sydney’s army recreation halls, Red Stephens stepped down from the taxi, apparently alone. Before he had thought to put on his spectacles a girl called him by name.

  Dozens of soldiers and their girl friends who were clustered around the dance hall entrance turned to give him a hero’s welcome. But a moment later the one particular girl with the jewel-spangled ribbon in her blonde hair cornered him.

  Before he could get his guard up she was kissing him.

  “Gee, Red, it’s sure enough you, isn’t it? I thought I’d die waiting.”

  “Gosh, this is a surprise,” Red Stephens gasped, doing his best to smile big enough for the occasion. “You’re—you’re—”

  “Yes, I’m hours early. The colonel told you I wouldn’t be in till ten. But I decided to buy my wedding outfit here. And it’s a good thing I left Melbourne when I did, or I’d have been caught in that terrible explosion. These Wembridge halls—”

  The girl stopped, choking with mixed emotions. But she wasn’t going to let tragedy quench her excitement.

  “I’ve got a lot to tell you sometime, Red, but now—gee, I’m all thrills just being with you again. You still love me just the same, don’t you? Nothing’s happened, has it, Red? You look all confused.”

  A whisper in Red’s ear said, “Her picture, buddy. I gave it to you in Singapore.”

  “Yes,—er—you, everything’s swell.” Red mustered his confidence as he brought a snapshot from his pocket. “See, I—”

  The girl gave a little shriek of joy. “You’re still carrying my picture! I might have known. Gee, Red, I hate to tell you but I haven’t got my wedding gown yet, and there’s a lot of things to do, and the colonel said he had you on a strict schedule—”

  “Minute by minute—”

  “But I’ll see you right after the banquet, before the speeches.
And right afterward we’ll be married—and then—”

  “And then the colonel and I leave for the island of G,” Red said bitterly. “That’s the way when you’re a hero.”

  “We won’t talk about that,” the girl said. She threw her arms around him for another kiss and leaving him covered with embarrassment she trotted on down the street.

  The recreation hall crowds swept him through the entrance and onto the dance floor, for he was too much bedazzled by the swift turn of events to offer any resistance.

  “She didn’t even tell me her name,” he whispered, knowing that the invisible Longworth was at his side.

  “Ruth Lee,” came Longworth’s whisper. “She used to help out on our programs. She’s a swell kid, you lucky dope. Shall I be your best man?”

  Red didn’t answer. He was wearing his spectacles again. He had joined the dance and was thoroughly absorbed by the sea of faces floating around him. He began muttering dismally. How deceitful those charming faces were.

  “What did you say?” the girl in his arms asked him.

  “Nothing . . . Just thinking.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Okay, sister. I just said that when a girl smiles at a guy she’s dancing with, he oughtn’t to get dizzy over it. She’s got her eyes on three other guys at the same time.”

  “That’s a hot one,” said the girl. “Are you just now getting that figured out?”

  Her charm face smiled at him. Her hidden face gave him a scornful look. And one of the other two faces winked at a handsome sailor who was dancing past.

  “Why the scowl?” Longworth whispered.

  “Don’t bather me. I’m doing some tall thinking.”

  “Big decision to make, buddy?”

  “Damned right,” Red snapped. “I’m to meet Ruth Lee right after the banquet to talk over this wedding business. Do I wear these specs or don’t I?”

  “You wear ’em,” said Longworth wisely.

  CHAPTER VII

  The banquet was over. Within fifteen minutes the program of speeches would open.

  Fifteen minutes in which to talk things over with the future Mrs. Red Stephens!