Madball

by Fredric Brown

  He hadn't, but she thought of and told him throughout the rest of dinner a hundred little things. None was remotely relevant. It was over dessert that Dr. Magus thought of the question he should have asked first of all.

  "Ah - Miss Plackett, was his leg set under a general or a local anesthetic?"

  "A general, Sodium Pentothal. He was still suffering somewhat from shock and still in pain from cuts and bruises so Dr. Kramer decided on a general anesthetic.

  "Do not people often talk deliriously when they are coming out of an anesthetic? Sometimes nonsense, of course, but such nonsense as can come from things that are deep in their subconscious minds, things that are desperately important to them."

  "Yes, doctor. And Mr. Irby did rave a bit when he was coming out. But I'm afraid that it was all in the nonsense category, to me, and that I don't remember any of it." Dr. Magus leaned earnestly forward. "Will you try very hard to remember, my dear? It's just possible that even a phrase or word of that seeming nonsense would refer back to his childhood, would mean something to me, would give me the very key I am searching for."

  "I'll try my best, doctor. Let me think." She paused, staring off into space. "Some of it was swearing - I remember the word, 'Jeez,' a corruption of 'Jesus,' I suppose. And - and there was a number, but I can't remember what the number was."

  Dr. Magus found that he was holding his breath; he had to let it out carefully before he could speak. He said softly. "I wonder - I punished him once, when he was about six years old, for using that very word, 'Jeez, ' Miss Plackett. I didn't think of the punishment as being a severe one but - just possibly it was one that affected him psychologically more severely than I suspected. I temporarily deprived him of some toy soldiers he was very fond of. I believe there were, ah, forty-two of them."

  "That's the number, doctor! He'd say, 'Forty-two, Jeez!' and then laugh. He said that several times. Oh, doctor, I do hope that's helpful. And I see now what you mean about things that sounded like nonsense to me being important to you. There was another phrase-" She stared into space again. Dr. Magus didn't move a muscle.

  "Something about pickles," she said. "No, it was pickle punks, or pickled punks. And something about 'it,' whatever 'it' was, being stuffed in a two-headed calf."

  Dr. Magus let himself relax very slowly. His head was swimming a little; he didn't trust his voice for a moment. Then he said, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that doesn't mean anything to me either. But the swear word and the oblique reference to the toy soldiers may be very valuable. I'll think about it and try to follow it farther. Thank you very much, my dear. And may we finish this delightful meal with a spot of brandy?"

  Champagne would have been better, magnums of champagne, for forty-two thousand wonderful reasons. But alas that would have been out of character for a professor in search of the reason for his son's waywardness.

  But he could and did insist on the best brandy they had, and he could and did touch his brandy glass to hers and say, "To you, Miss Plackett, with my deepest gratitude."

  And his smile was beautiful.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  SAMMY WANDERED LONELY as a cloud. Jesse had knocked off a little early, just early enough to be sure of getting a seat in the poker game that was starting in the G-top.

  And now the model show had closed, the unborn show had closed, the merry-go-round and most of the other shows had closed. Only the hanky panks and the grab joint and a few other things that didn't take much extra overhead to keep operating still ran to get a few more dimes or quarters from the few marks who still hung around the midway.

  Sammy wandered once around outside the tops and then once around the midway, not knowing quite what to do with himself. If only Mr. Evans wasn't mad at him! But he was, and now he was afraid of Mr. Evans. Mr. Evans might hit him again if he even asked to see those books. And he wanted to see those pictures again, especially the ones in that big expensive-looking book, the first one he'd looked at. He remembered what the simpler ones of those pictures were like, but the others were getting foggy in his mind and he wanted to see them again.

  He walked slowly, trying to remember. Someone behind him said, "Hello, Sammy."

  Sammy turned and his face brightened with a smile. "Hi, Mr. Magus." He saw that Mr. Magus looked happy, very very happy. There was a gentle smile on his face, but the real happiness showed in his eyes. It made Sammy feel good all over to look at Mr. Magus's eyes. He liked to see people happy. He said, "Gee, you look purty, Mr. Magus." Purty, or even pretty, wasn't exactly the word he wanted but it was the only word he could think of. Besides the happiness, there was the way Mr. Magus was dressed; he'd never seen Mr. Magus all dressed up like he was now. "Gee, the way you're all dressed up."

  Mr. Magus put a finger to his lips and leaned forward confidentially. "Don't tell anyone, Sammy, but I'm to be Queen of the May."

  "What's that, Mr. Magus?"

  "It is a consummation most devoutly to be wished for. Sammy, I have a thought. There is welling up within me the desire to talk, and it occurs to me that you are the perfect audience for the occasion. In fact, you are the one and only person in this tinseled charnel house to whom I may, within reasonable limits, unburden myself. Will you listen to me?"

  "Sure, Mr. Magus. Gee, I am listening to you."

  "Ah, yes. But under better and more relaxed circumstances. In the privacy of my little mitt camp and over a flagon of - Do you drink, Sammy?"

  "Not much, Mr. Magus. Jesse lets me have a drink once in a while. Once I had three but it made me feel funnylike. I like cotton candy better."

  "Ah, cotton candy. Is the booth still open?"

  "Gee, I don't know. I can see if it is."

  Mr. Magus reached in his pocket and took out a fifty-cent piece. "Go see if it is, Sammy."

  "Spend all of this?"

  "By all means, if your stomach will stand the gaff." Sammy raced to the booth. The Cotton Candy Lady was just closing but when he showed her the money and told her he wanted five cones of cotton candy, she sighed and turned the machine back on and poured more pink sugar into it. He ate the first cone of it while she was making the other four.

  He raced back. The light was on inside the mitt camp. He called out Mr. Magus's name and Mr. Magus called, "Come in, Sammy."

  Mr. Magus had his coat and tie off. He'd spread a blanket on the ground and was sitting on it leaning back against the foot locker. A whisky bottle stood on the little table where he could reach up and get it easily.

  "Pull up a corner of blanket and sit down, Sammy," he said.

  Sammy sat down, but Mr. Magus just sat looking at him, not talking like he said he was going to talk at all, just looking at Sammy. Mr. Magus looked like he was thinking hard.

  Sammy ate cotton candy and it was good, but he kept wishing Mr. Magus would start talking. He didn't always understand much of what Mr. Magus said, but he liked the smooth sound of his voice.

  But he finished two more cones of cotton candy before Mr. Magus spoke at all. Then he asked a question. "Sammy, could I trust you to do something for me and never tell anyone?"

  "Gee, sure. Anything, Mr. Magus."

  "You won't even tell Jesse?" Mr. Magus wasn't smiling.

  "Not even tell Jesse. If you say not, Mr. Magus."

  "I say not. And I believe you, Sammy. Listen now, and I'll explain it to you. Listen carefully. I'll try to use all words that you understand and you concentra ... you think hard. First, you know Barney King, don't you? He's talker for the unborn show."

  Sammy nodded. "I know Mr. King."

  Mr. Magus spoke very slowly. "I want to play a joke on Mr. King, Sammy. Just a joke, but I don't want him to know about it or to know I did it. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Mr. Magus. You want to play a joke on Mr. King."

  "Right. Now, Sammy, just before I met you on the midway I'd looked in the G-top and Mr. King was playing poker there. In a few minutes now, after you finish that God-awful mess of cotton candy you're eating, we'll go out together and
you'll wait till I look in the G-top and make sure Mr. King is still playing. I can't play the joke on him unless he's still there. Understand so far, Sammy?"

  Sammy nodded and stuffed more cotton candy into his mouth.

  "If he is, we'll walk down to the unborn show. And you wait in front. You lean against the ticket booth and watch back toward the direction of the G-top, where Mr. King will be. You watch while I go around to the side of the top and under the canvas. Mr. King sleeps there, inside the unborn show top, in a bed roll, and that's where I'm going to get the joke ready for him. Still with me, Sammy?"

  "Yes, Mr. Magus. I wait outside and watch while you go in to play a joke on Mr. King."

  "Good boy. And while I'm in there - it will be only a few minutes - you watch and if you see Mr. King coming back, you start to sing."

  "Sing what, Mr. Magus?"

  "Sing anything. Any song you know. You can sing, can't you?"

  "Yes, Mr. Magus. I can sing 'Three Blind Mice' and -"

  "That will be fine, Sammy. If you see Mr. King coming, you sing 'Three Blind Mice' - or if you forget that sing anything, just so you sing loud enough that I'll be sure to hear you. This is very important, Sammy. All right, you're through with that damn floss candy now. Lick off your fingers and let's get going."

  Mr. Magus took a flashlight from the foot locker and put it in his pocket, then went out.

  Sammy followed him to the G-top but waited outside because if he went in Jesse would see him and might tell him to go to sleep and quit wandering around and he didn't want to go to sleep now because after he stood watch for Mr. Magus, Mr. Magus might still talk to him like he said he was going to. Mr. Magus came out and said, "Okay, Sammy, he's still playing."

  He followed Mr. Magus to the front of the unborn show. Mr. Magus showed him just where to stand and which way to watch - as though he didn't know that. Then he asked, "And if you see Mr. King coming, what are you going to do?"

  "Sing 'Three Blind Mice,' real loud."

  "That's my boy, Sammy. And then, after you've sung it, you go back to the mitt camp. I'll be there already, around the back way. Now you don't think about anything else. You just watch and be ready to sing."

  Mr. Magus patted him on the arm and disappeared into the shadows.

  Mr. King didn't come.

  After a few minutes Mr. Magus was there beside him again. He said, "Good work, Sammy. Thanks a lot. And now you're going to forget all about this. You're not even going to tell Jesse. It just never happened. Right, Sammy?"

  "Sure, Mr. Magus."

  "You see, the joke wouldn't be funny if Mr. King ever learned, from anybody, that I'd been there tonight. And now let's go back to my place."

  "Do you still want to talk to me, Mr. Magus?"

  "Try me and see, Sammy."

  And then they were back in the mitt camp, sitting as they were before. Dr. Magus picked up the whisky bottle and grinned at Sammy. He handed it across. "Have one, Sammy. In fact, have the three Jesse allows you, but not all at once. Only remember this - he didn't tell you exactly how big those brinies could be. So take a long one."

  Sammy took a long one, and it almost choked him and made his eyes water. But even so it tasted so much better and so much smoother that he didn't mind it as much. He looked at the bottle and saw that it was different; it had paper on it, a label; the color was darker. He looked at the label again before he passed it back. He asked, "What does it say on there, Mr. Magus?"

  Mr. Magus smiled "What it says is irrelevant, Sammy. What it should say is just two words, Drink Me, in big type. Have you ever read - had read to you - Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass?"

  And Mr. Magus looked genuinely shocked when Sammy said he'd never heard of them. "Have they got pitchers in them?" he asked.

  "Yes, they have pictures. Very good drawings. But it's the stories that really matter. I wish I had one of them here, Sammy; I'm in just the mood to read aloud from Lewis Carroll. But about the label on the bottle. It's in the first book and Alice finds it just after she gets down the rabbit hole. She finds a bottle with a label that says Drink Me and a cake with a tag that says Eat Me. But Lewis Carroll, the man who wrote the stories, had the labels mixed because when Alice drank from the bottle it made her smaller and eating the cake made her bigger again.

  "But Mr. Carroll got that wrong because he wasn't really Mr. Carroll at all; he was a minister named Dodgson, and a teetotaler, so he didn't understand about drinking. Only small men drink, Sammy - but so many of us are small men. Small men drink because drinking makes them bigger for a while and frees them from the bitter knowledge of how small they are. For a while, no matter how short a while, they can stride like giants, reach for stars. It's all illusion, yes, but who can say the dull world of sobriety is not also an illusion, and certainly a less happy one. Do you not agree?"

  Sammy said, "Gee, Mr. Magus, I dunno." But he didn't really care because he liked the sound of Mr. Magus's voice and he liked the roll and march of the strange words. But there was something he wanted to know. "Tell me some more about my being rich, Mr. Magus."

  "Your being ... Oh, yes, Sammy. Well, there isn't much to tell except that you will be. And what will you do with your money? Besides, of course, buying a cotton candy spinner and hiring an expert operator to run it for you."

  "Gee, I dunno. I guess maybe I'd get myself a woman."

  Mr. Magus's eyes widened. "Haven't you ever had a woman, Sammy?"

  Sammy shook his head. "But I know how, Mr. Magus. I seen pitchers. Mr. Evans's got books with pitchers and I seen them, honest. Only now Mr. Evans doesn't like me any more and won't let me look at them. Do you have any pitchers like that?"

  "Some very lovely ones, Sammy. But only in my mind. I fear I cannot show them to you."

  "Why can't you show them to me, Mr. Magus?"

  "As I told you, Sammy, they are in my mind. Don't you have some pictures in your mind? Of course you have. Close your eyes and think of - of the merry-go-round. Doesn't a picture of it come into your head?" Sammy nodded.

  Mr. Magus's eyes twinkled at him. "Why can't you show it to me, Sammy?"

  Sammy grinned and didn't answer. But he understood now what Mr. Magus had meant.

  "You see, Sammy, those are the best kinds of pictures to have. You can't lose them and nobody can take them away from you. Only people whose minds can't hold pictures for them want pornographic pictures to look at. Pictures in the mind are better by far because they are things one has already experienced and can re-experience by remembering them - and with tactile sensations as well as merely visual ones."

  "But how can I get pitchers like that, Mr. Magus?"

  "There is only one way, Sammy. But, ah, I fear I do see practical difficulties in your case, not insurmountable ones - no difficulty and few women are completely insurmountable - and yet-" Mr. Magus stared darkly at the bottle and then handed it over to Sammy wordlessly. Sammy drank from it and handed it back.

  Sammy said, "But when I'm rich like you say I'm gonna be, with paper money, then I can have a woman. Mr. King, he told me that's what I'd need"

  "Mr. King has a point there. I had not thought of that possibility, being personally prejudiced against the commercialization of such transactions. But granting them to be better than no transactions at all, which I freely grant - yes, Sammy, in your particular case Mr. King indubitably has a point. But if - I mean when you become rich you must be careful in deciding what woman to offer paper money to. Some would slap you in the face and some would call copper. You sound as though you've been thinking seriously about this, Sammy."

  "Gee, I have, Mr. Magus. About Miss Trixie. I like Miss Trixie a lot and Mr. King said she'd do it for paper money. She wouldn't slap me or call copper, would she?"

  "Ummm, a most fortunate choice, in a way. Your own instincts and Barney King's advice are equally good I am tempted, I am very strongly tempted-"

  Mr. Magus took a billfold out of his hip pocket and took a piece of paper money from it, stare
d at the money.

  "Is this a tenner that I see before me?" Then he sighed and put the money back. "No, Sammy, it would be wrong for me to give you that money. For me to give you money for that purpose would be playing God. And I am too small a man, even in my cups, to play God."

  He took another drink, a long one, from the bottle. "You see, Sammy, there are factors involved not even my madball could tell me. There is Jesse. While I do not personally approve of Jesse's, uh, philosophy, there is the undeniable fact that because of it you have a degree of security that would be impossible for you to have otherwise, outside the confines of an institution. You were in an institution before Jesse found you, weren't you?"

  "I was in a place, Mr. Magus. They kept me there. I guess it was an ins - what you said."

  "And you didn't like it?"

  "I hated it. I ran away. I like here better, the carney."

  "And by giving you money I might be jeopardizing your chances of staying here. It might lead to either of two things - Jesse learning about it and kicking you out, as he might, or you yourself deciding to run away from Jesse. Sammy, all my humanitarian and Pindarean instincts tell me that all is nothing beside the fact that you are apparently ready for a great experiment and that it should not be denied you, whatever the consequences. Yet I am stopped by the ugly specter of my common sense which tells me - what it tells me."

  "You mean you don't think I should have a woman?"

  "I did not say that, Sammy. Please remember that I did not say that. I mean only that I do not believe in omniscience, even my own. Get thee behind me, Sammy. And hie thee hence that I may Morpheus woo. Good night."

  "Good night, Mr. Magus. And thanks for the cotton candy and everything."

  Lonely as a cloud, Sammy wandered. The midway was dark now except for the few bulbs that burned all night. His stomach felt warm from the drinks he'd had from Mr. Magus's bottle and his head felt light. And it had been wonderful having Mr. Magus talk for so long, just to him. Despite the loneliness of the deserted lot he felt almost happy now, almost satisfied to be alone.