The Best from Fantasy & Science Fiction 8 - [Anthology]

by Edited by Alfred Bester

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  ~ * ~

  ISAAC ASIMOV

  Isaac Asimov and I have a number of passions in common: We are both addicted to girls & science to gags & spoofs & specters, to gyneolatry & speculation . . . Those of you who share yet another similarly initialed enthusiasm with us will take particular delight in the following story; but even readers without such special tastes will relish a delightful departure in Osimov style and humor, and the ingenious solution of a riddle which has gone unanswered for over 80 years.

  THE UP-TO-DATE SORCERER

  It always puzzled me that Nicholas Nitely, although a Justice of the Peace, was a bachelor. The atmosphere of his profession, so to speak, seemed so conducive to matrimony that surely he could scarcely avoid the gentle bond of wedlock.

  When I said as much over a gin and tonic at the Club recently, he said, “Ah, but I had a narrow escape some time ago,” and he sighed.

  “Oh, really?”

  “A fair young girl, sweet, intelligent, pure yet desperately ardent, and withal most alluring to the physical senses for even such an old fogy as myself.”

  I said, “How did you come to let her go?”

  “I had no choice.” He smiled gently at me and his smooth, ruddy complexion, his smooth gray hair, his smooth blue eyes, all combined to give him an expression of near-saintliness. He said, “You see, it was really the fault of her fiance—”

  “Ah, she was engaged to someone else.”

  “—and of Professor Wellington Johns, who was, although an endocrinologist, by way of being an up-to-date sorcerer. In fact, it was just that—” He sighed, sipped at his drink, and turned on me the bland and cheerful face of one who is about to change the subject.

  I said firmly, “Now, then, Nitely, old man, you cannot leave it so. I want to know about your beautiful girl—the flesh that got away.”

  He winced at the pun (one, I must admit, of my more abominable efforts) and settled down by ordering his glass refilled. “You understand,” he said, “I learned some of the details later on.”

  ~ * ~

  Professor Wellington Johns had a large and prominent nose, two sincere eyes and a distinct talent for making clothes appear too large for him. He said, “My dear children, love is a matter of chemistry.”

  His dear children, who were really students of his, and not his children at all, were named Alexander Dexter and Alice Sanger. They looked perfectly full of chemicals as they sat there holding hands. Together, their age amounted to perhaps 45, evenly split between them, and Alexander said, fairly inevitably, “Vive la chérie!”

  Professor Johns smiled reprovingly. “Or rather endocrinology. Hormones, after all, affect our emotions and it is not surprising that one should, specifically, stimulate that feeling we call love.”

  “But that’s so unromantic,” murmured Alice. “I’m sure I don’t need any.” She looked up at Alexander with a yearning glance.

  “My dear,” said the professor, “your blood stream was crawling with it at that moment you, as the saying is, fell in love. Its secretion had been stimulated by”—for a moment he considered his words carefully, being a highly moral man—”by some environmental factor involving your young man, and once the hormonal action had taken place, inertia carried you on. I could duplicate the effect easily.”

  “Why, Professor,” said Alice, with gentle affection. “It would be delightful to have you try,” and she squeezed Alexander’s hand shyly.

  “I do not mean,” said the professor, coughing to hide his embarrassment, “that I would personally attempt to reproduce—or, rather, to duplicate—the conditions that created the natural secretion of the hormone. I mean, instead, that I could inject the hormone itself by hypodermic or even by oral ingestion, since it is a steroid hormone. I have, you see,” and here he removed his glasses and polished them proudly, “isolated and purified the hormone.”

  Alexander sat erect. “Professor! And you have said nothing?”

  “I must know more about it first.”

  “Do you mean to say,” said Alice, her lovely brown eyes shimmering with delight, “that you can make people feel the wonderful delight and heaven-surpassing tenderness of true love by means of a ... a pill?”

  The professor said, “I can indeed duplicate the emotion to which you refer in those rather cloying terms.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  Alexander raised a protesting hand. “Now, darling, your ardor leads you astray. Our own happiness and forthcoming nuptials make you forget certain facts of life. If a married person were, by mistake, to accept this hormone—”

  Professor Johns said, with a trace of hauteur, “Let me explain right now that my hormone, or my amatogenic principle, as I call it—” (for he, in common with many practical scientiests, enjoyed a proper scorn for the rarefied niceties of classical philology).

  “Call it a love-philtre, Professor,” said Alice, with a melting sigh.

  “My amatogenic cortical principle,” said Professor Johns, sternly, “has no affect on married individuals. The hormone cannot work if inhibited by other factors, and being married is certainly a factor that inhibits love.”

  “Why, so I have heard,” said Alexander, gravely, “but I intend to disprove that callous belief in the case of my own Alice.”

  “Alexander,” said Alice. “My love.”

  The professor said, “I mean that marriage inhibits extra-marital love.”

  Alexander said, “Why, it has come to my ears that sometimes it does not.”

  Alice said, shocked, “Alexander!”

  “Only in rare instances, my dear, among those who have not gone to college.”

  The professor said, “Marriage may not inhibit a certain paltry sexual attraction, or tendencies toward minor trifling, but true love, as Miss Sanger expressed the emotion, is something which cannot blossom when the memory of a stern wife and various unattractive children hobbles the subconscious.”

  “Do you mean to say,” said Alexander, “that if you were to feed your love-philtre—beg pardon, your amatogenic principle—to a number of people indiscriminately, only the unmarried. individuals would be affected?”

  “That is right. I have experimented on certain animals which, though not going through the conscious marriage rite, do form monogamous attachments. Those with the attachments already formed are not affected.”

  “Then, Professor, I have a perfectly splendid idea. Tomorrow night is the night of the Senior Dance here at college. There will be at least fifty couples present, mostly unmarried. Put your philtre in the punch.”

  “What? Are you mad?”

  But Alice had caught fire. “Why, it’s a heavenly idea, Professor. To think that all my friends will feel as I feel! Professor, you would be an angel from heaven.—But oh, Alexander, do you suppose the feelings might be a trifle uncontrolled? Some of our college chums are a little wild and if, in the heat of the discovery of love, they should, well, kiss—”

  Professor Johns said, indignantly, “My dear Miss Sanger. You must not allow your imagination to become overheated. My hormone induces only those feelings which lead to marriage and not to the expression of anything that might be considered indecorous.”

  “I’m sorry,” murmured Alice, in confusion. “I should remember, Professor, that you are the most highly moral man I know—excepting always dear Alexander—and that no scientific discovery of yours could possibly lead to immorality.”

  She looked so woebegone that the professor forgave her at once.

  “Then you’ll do it, Professor?” urged Alexander. “After all, assuming there will be a sudden urge for mass marriage afterward, I can take care of that by having Nicholas Nitely, an old and valued friend of the family, present on some pretext. He is a Justice of the Peace and can easily arrange for such things as licenses and so on.”

  “I could scarcely agree,” said the professor, obviously weakening, “to perform an experiment without the consent of those experimented upon. It would
be unethical.”

  “But you would be bringing only joy to them. You would be contributing to the moral atmosphere of the college. For surely, in the absence of overwhelming pressure toward marriage, it sometimes happens even in college that the pressure of continuous propinquity breeds a certain danger of-of-”

  “Yes, there is that,” said the professor. “Well, I shall try a dilute solution. After all, the results may advance scientific knowledge tremendously and, as you say, it will also advance morality.”

  Alexander said, “And, of course, Alice and I will drink the punch, too.”

  Alice said, “Oh, Alexander, surely such love as ours needs no artificial aid.”

  “But it would not be artificial, my soul’s own. According to the professor, your love began as a result of just such a hormonal effect, induced, I admit, by more customary methods.”

  Alice blushed rosily. “But then, my only love, why the need for the repetition?”

  “To place us beyond all vicissitudes of Fate, my cherished one.”

  “Surely, my adored, you don’t doubt my love.”

  “No, my heart’s charmer, but—”

  “But? Is it that you do not trust me, Alexander?”

  “Of course I trust you, Alice, but—”

  “But? Again but!” Alice rose, furious. “If you cannot trust me, sir, perhaps I had better leave—” And she did leave indeed, while the two men stared after her, stunned.

  Professor Johns said, “I am afraid my hormone has, quite indirectly, been the occasion of spoiling a marriage rather than of causing one.”

  Alexander swallowed miserably, but his pride upheld him. “She will come back,” he said, hollowly. “A love such as ours is not so easily broken.”

  ~ * ~

  The Senior Dance was, of course, the event of the year. The young men shone and the young ladies glittered. The music lilted and the dancing feet touched the ground only at intervals. Joy was unrestrained.

  Or, rather, it was unrestrained in most cases. Alexander Dexter stood in one corner, eyes hard, expression icily bleak. Straight and handsome he might be, but no young woman approached him. He was known to belong to Alice Sanger, and under such circumstances, no college girl would dream of poaching. Yet where was Alice?

  She had not come with Alexander and Alexander’s pride prevented him from searching for her. From under grim eyelids, he could only watch the circulating couples cautiously.

  Professor Johns, in formal clothes that did not fit although made to measure, approached him. He said, “I will add my hormone to the punch shortly before the midnight toast. Is Mr. Nitely still here?”

  “I saw him a moment ago. In his capacity as chaperon he was busily engaged in making certain that the proper distance between dancing couple was maintained. Four fingers, I believe, at the point of closest approach. Mr. Nitely was most diligently making the necessary measurements.”

  “Very good. Oh, I had neglected to ask: Is the punch alcoholic? Alcohol would affect the workings of the amatogenic principle adversely.”

  Alexander, despite his sore heart, found spirit to deny the unintended slur upon his class. “Alcoholic, Professor? This punch is made along those principles firmly adhered to by all young college students. It contains only the purest of fruit juices, refined sugar, and a certain quantity of lemon peel-enough to stimulate but not inebriate.”

  “Good,” said the professor. “Now I have added to the hormone a sedative designed to put our experimental subjects to sleep for a short time while the hormone works. Once they awaken, the first individual each sees—that is, of course, of the opposite sex—will inspire that individual with a pure and noble ardor that can end only in marriage.”

  Then, since it was nearly midnight, he made his way through the happy couples, all dancing at four-fingers distance, to the punch bowl.

  Alexander, depressed nearly to tears, stepped out to the balcony. In doing so, he just missed Alice, who entered the ballroom from the balcony by another door.

  “Midnight,” called out a happy voice. “Toast! Toast! Toast to the life ahead of us.”

  They crowded about the punch bowl; the little glasses were passed round.

  “To the life ahead of us,” they cried put and, with all the enthusiasm of young college students, downed the fiery mixture of pure fruit juices, sugar, and lemon peel, with—of course—the professor’s sedated amatogenic principle.

  As the fumes rose to their brains, they slowly crumpled to the floor.

  Alice stood there alone, still holding her drink, eyes wet with unshed tears. “Oh, Alexander, Alexander, though you doubt, yet are you my only love. You wish me to drink and I shall drink.” Then she, too, sank gracefully downward.

  ~ * ~

  Nicholas Nitely had gone in search of Alexander, for whom his warm heart was concerned. He had seen him arrive without Alice and he could only assume that a lovers’ quarrel had taken place. Nor did he feel any dismay at leaving the party to its own devices. These were not wild youngsters, but college boys and girls of good family and gentle upbringing. They could be trusted to the full to observe the four-finger limit, as he well knew.

  He found Alexander on the balcony, staring moodily out at a star-riddled sky.

  “Alexander, my boy.” He put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “This is not like you. To give way so to depression. Chut, my young friend, chut.”

  Alexander’s head bowed at the sound of the good old man’s voice. “It is unmanly, I know, but I yearn for Alice. I have been cruel to her and I am justly treated now. And yet, Mr. Nitely, if you could but know—” He placed his clenched fist on his chest, next his heart. He could say no more.

  Nitely said, sorrowfully, “Do you think because I am unmarried that I am unacquainted with the softer emotions? Be undeceived. Time was when I, too, knew love and heartbreak. But do not do as I did once and allow pride to prevent your reunion. Seek her out, my boy, seek her out and apologize. Do not allow yourself to become a solitary old bachelor such as I, myself.—But, tush, I am puling.”

  Alexander’s back had straightened. “I will be guided by you, Mr. Nitely. I will seek her out.”

  “Then go on in. For shortly before I came out, I believe I saw her there.”

  Alexander’s heart leaped. “Perhaps she searches for me even now. I will go— But, no. Go you first, Mr. Nitely, while I stay behind to recover myself. I would not have her see me a prey to womanish tears.”

  “Of course, my boy.”

  ~ * ~

  Nitely stopped at the door into the ballroom in astonishment. Had a universal catastrophe struck all low? Fifty couples were lying on the floor, some heaped together most indecorously.

  But before he could make up his mind to see if the nearest were dead, to sound the fire alarm, to call the police, to anything, they were rousing and struggling to their feet

  Only one still remained. A lonely girl in white, one arm outstretched gracefully beneath her fair head. It was Alice Sanger and Nitely hastened to her, oblivious to the rising clamor about him.

  He sank to his knees. “Miss Sanger. My dear Miss Sanger. Are you hurt?”

  She opened her beautiful eyes slowly, and said, “Mr. Nitely! I never realized you were such a vision of loveliness.”

  “I?’ Nitely started back with horror, but she had now risen to her feet and there was a light in her eyes such as Nitely had not seen in a maiden’s eyes for thirty years—and then only weakly.

  She said, “Mr. Nitely, surely you will not leave me?”

  “No, no,” said Nitely, confused. “If you need me, I shall stay.”

  “I need you. I need you with all my heart and soul. I need you as a thirsty flower needs the morning dew. I need you as Thisbe of old needed Pyramus.”

  Nitely, still backing away, looked about hastily, to see if anyone could be hearing this unusual declaration, but no one seemed to be paying any attention. As nearly as he could make out, the air was filled with other declarations of similar sort,
some being even more forceful and direct.

  His back was up against a wall, and Alice approached him so closely as to break the four-finger rule to smithereens. She broke, in fact, the no-finger rule, and at the resulting mutual pressure, a certain indefinable something seemed to thud away within Nitely.

  “Miss Sanger. Please.”

  “Miss Sanger? Am I Miss Sanger to you?” exclaimed Alice, passionately. “Mr. Nitely! Nicholas! Make me your Alice, your own. Marry me. Marry me!”

  All around there was the cry of “Marry me. Marry me!” and young men and women crowded around Nitely, for they knew well that he was a Justice of the Peace. They cried out, “Marry us, Mr. Nitely. Marry us!”