It seems I arrived in time, I thought, and hopefully not too late.
“Are you a relative of his?” I asked. My attitude was most peaceable.
He grinned.
“I am his friend. His closest friend in this town. A childhood friend, you might say.”
’This is most touching,” I said. “But I am his relative.
Same as a brother. Let’s go in together and see what his friend and brother can do for poor Rimeyer.”
“Maybe his brother has already done enough for Rimeyer.”
“Really now… I only arrived yesterday.”
“You wouldn’t, by any chance, have other brothers around here?”
“I don’t think there are any among your friends, with the exception of Rimeyer.”
While we were carrying on with this nonsense, I was studying him most carefully. He didn’t look too nimble a type — even considering my defective shoulder. But he kept his hands in his pockets all the time, and although I didn’t think he would risk shooting in the hotel, I was not of a mind to chance it. Especially as I had heard of quantum dischargers with limited range.
I have been told critically many times that my intentions are always clearly readable on my face. And Oscar was apparently an adequately keen observer. I was coming to the conclusion that he obviously did not have anything there at all, that the hands-in-the-pocket act was a bluff. He moved aside and said, “Go on in.”
We entered. Rimeyer was indeed in a bad way. He lay on the couch covered with a torn drape, mumbling in delirium. The table was overturned, a broken bottle stained the middle of the floor, and wet clothes were strewn all over the room. I approached Rimeyer and sat down by him so as not to lose sight of Oscar, who stood by the window, half-sitting on the sill.
Rimeyer’s eyes were open. I bent over him.
“Rimeyer,” I called. “It’s Ivan. Do you recognize me?”
He regarded me dully. There was a fresh cut on his chin under the stubble.
“So you got there already…” he muttered. “Don’t prolong the Fishers… doesn’t happen… don’t take it so hard…
bothered me a lot… I can’t stand…”
It was pure delirium. I looked at Oscar. He listened with interest, his neck stretched out.
“Bad when you wake up…” mumbled Rimeyer. “Nobody… wake up… they start… then they don’t wake up…”
I disliked Oscar more and more. I was annoyed that he should be hearing Rimeyer’s ravings. I didn’t like his being here ahead of me. And again, I didn’t like that cut on Rimeyer’s chin — it was quite fresh. How can I be rid of you, red-haired mug, I wondered.
“We should call a doctor,” I said. “Why didn’t you call a doctor, Oscar? I think it’s delirium tremens.”
I regretted the words immediately. To my considerable surprise, Rimeyer did not smell of alcohol at all, and Oscar apparently knew it. He grinned and said, “Delirium tremens? Are you sure?”
“We have to call a doctor at once,” I said. “Also, get a nurse.”
I put my hand on the phone. He jumped up instantly and put his hand on mine.
“Why should you do it?” he said. “Better let me call a doctor. You are new here and I know an excellent doctor.”
“Well, what kind of a doctor is he?” I objected, studying the cut on his knuckles — which was also quite new.
“An exemplary doctor. Just happens to be a specialist on the DT’s.”
Rimeyer said suddenly, “So I commanded… also spracht Rimeyer… alone with the world…”
We turned to look at him. He spoke haughtily, but his eyes were closed, and his face, draped in loose, gray skin, seemed pathetic. That swine Oscar, I thought, where does he get the gall to linger here? A sudden wild thought flashed through my head — it seemed at that moment exceedingly well conceived: to disable Oscar with a blow to the solar plexus, tie him up, and force him then and there to expose everything he knew. He probably knew quite a lot. Possibly everything. He looked at me, and in his pale eyes was a blend of fear and hatred.
“All right,” I said. “Let the hotel call the doctor.”
He removed his hand and I called service. While waiting for the doctor, I sat by Rimeyer, and Oscar walked from corner to corner, stepping over the liquor puddle. I followed him out of the corner of my eye. Suddenly he stooped and picked up something off the floor. Something small and multicolored.
“What have you got there?” I inquired indifferently.
He hesitated a bit and then threw a small flat box with a polychrome sticker on my knees.
“Ah!” I said, and looked at Oscar. “ Devon.”
” Devon,” he responded. “Strange that it’s here rather than in the bathroom.”
The devil, I thought. Maybe I was still too green to challenge him openly. I still knew but very little of this whole mess.
“Nothing strange about that,” I said at random. “I believe you distribute that repellent. It’s probably a sample which fell out of your pocket.”
“Out of my pocket?” He was astonished. “Oh, you think that I… But I finished my assignments a long time ago, and now I’m just taking it easy. But if you’re interested, I can be of some help.”
That s very interesting, I said. “I will consult -”
Unfortunately, the door flew open at this point, and a doctor accompanied by two nurses entered the room.
The doctor turned out to be a decisive individual. He gestured me off the couch and flung the drape off Rimeyer. He was completely naked.
“Well, of course,” said the doctor. “Again…”
He raised Rimeyer’s eyelid, pulled down his lower lip, and felt his pulse. “Nurse — cordeine! And call some chambermaids and have them clean out these stables till they shine.” He stood up and looked at me. “A relative?”
“Yes,” I said, while Oscar kept still.
“You found him unconscious?”
“He was delirious,” said Oscar.
“You carried him out here?”
Oscar hesitated.
“I only covered him with the drape,” he said. “When I arrived, he was lying as he is now. I was afraid he would catch cold.”
The doctor regarded him for a while, and then said, “In any case, it is immaterial. Both of you can go. A nurse will stay with him. You can call this evening. Goodbye.”
“What is the matter with him, Doctor?” I asked.
“Nothing special. Overtired, nervous exhaustion… besides which he apparently smokes too much. Tomorrow he can be moved, and you can take him home with you. It would be unhealthy for him to stay here with us. There are too many amusements here.
Goodbye.”
We went out into the corridor.
“Let’s go have a drink,” I said.
“You forgot that I don’t drink,” corrected Oscar.
“Too bad. This whole episode has upset me. I’d like a snort. Rimeyer always was such a healthy specimen.”
“Well, lately he has slipped a lot,” said Oscar carefully.
“Yes, I hardly recognized him when I saw him yesterday.”
“Same here,” said Oscar. He didn’t believe a word of it, and neither did I.
“Where are you staying?” I asked.
“Right here,” said Oscar. “On the floor below, number 817.”
“Too bad that you don’t drink. We could go to your room and have a good talk.”
“Yes, that wouldn’t be a bad idea. But, regretfully, I am in a great rush.” He was silent awhile. “Let me have your address. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be back and drop in to see you.
About ten — will that suit you? Or you can ring me up.”
“Why not?” I said and gave him my address. “To be honest with you, I am quite interested in Devon.”
“I think we’ll be able to come to an understanding,” said Oscar. “Till tomorrow!”
He ran down the stairs. Apparently he really was in a hurry. I went down in the elevator and sent off a tel
egram to Matia: “Brother very ill, feeling very lonesome, but keeping up spirits, Ivan.” I truly did feel very much alone. Rimeyer was out of the game again, at least for a day. The only hint he had given me was the advice about the Fishers. I had nothing more definite. There were the Fishers, who were located somewhere in the old subway; there was Devon, which in same peripheral way could have something to do with my business, but also could just as well have no connection with it at all; there was Oscar, clearly connected with Devon and Rimeyer, a player sufficiently ominous and repulsive, but undoubtedly only one of many such unpleasant types on the local cloudless horizons; then again there was a certain “Buba,” who supplied pore-nose with Devon… After all, I have been here just twenty-four hours, I thought. There is time. Also, I could still count on Rimeyer in the final analysis, and there was the possibility of finding Peck. Suddenly I remembered the events of the night before and sent a wire to Sigmund: “Amateur concert on the twenty-eighth, details unknown, Ivan.” Then I beckoned to a porter and inquired as to the shortest way to the old subway.
CHAPTER NINE
“You would do better to come at night. It’s too early now.”
“I prefer now.”
“Can’t wait, eh? Perhaps you’ve got the wrong address?”
“Oh no, I haven’t got it wrong.”
“You must have it now, you are sure?”
“Yes, now and not later.”
He clicked his tongue and pulled on his lower lip. He was short, well knit, with a round shaved head. He spoke hardly moving his tongue and rolling his eyes languidly under the lids. I thought he had not had enough sleep. His companion, sitting behind the railing in an easy chair, apparently also had missed some. But he did not utter a word and didn’t even look in my direction. It was a gloomy place, with stale air and warped panels which had sprung away from the walls. A bulb, dimmed with dust, hung shadeless from the ceiling on a dirty cable.
“Why not come later?” said the round-head. “When everybody comes.”
“I just got the urge,” I said diffidently.
“Got the urge…” He searched in his table drawer. “I don’t even have a form left. Eli, do you have some?”
The latter, without breaking his silence, bent over and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper from somewhere near the railing.
The round-head said, yawning, “Guys that come at break of day… nobody here… no girls… they’re still in bed.” He proffered the form. “Fill it out and sign. Eli and I will sign as witnesses. Turn in your money. Don’t worry, we keep it honest. Do you have any documents?”
“None.”
“That’s good, too.”
I scanned the form. “In open deposition and of my own free will, I, the undersigned, in the presence of witnesses, earnestly request to be subjected to the initiation trials toward the mutual quest of membership in the Society of VAL.” There were blank spaces for signature of applicant and signatures of witnesses.
“What is VAL?” I asked.
“That’s the way we are registered,” answered round-head.
He was counting my money.
“But how do you decipher it?”
“Who knows? That was before my time. It’s VAL, that’s all there is to it. Maybe you know, Eli?” Eli shook his bead lazily. “Well, really, what do you care?”
“You are absolutely right.” I inserted my name and signed.
Round-head looked it over, signed it, and passed the form to Eli.
“You look like a foreigner,” he said.
“Right.”
“In that case, add your home address. Do you have relatives?”
“No.”
“Well then, you don’t have to. All set, Eli? Put it in the folder. Shall we go?”
He lifted up the gate in the railway and walked me over to a massive square door, probably left over from the days when the subway had been fitted out as an atomic shelter.
“There is no choice,” he said as though in self-defense.
He pulled the slides and turned a rusty handle with considerable effort. “Go straight down the corridor and then you’ll see for yourself.”
I thought that I heard Eli snickering behind him. I turned around. A small screen was fitted in the railing in front of Eli. Something was moving on the screen, but I could not see what it was. Round-bead put all his weight on the handle and swung back the door. A dusty passage became visible. For a few seconds he listened and then said, “Straight down this corridor.”
“What will I find there?” I said.
“You’ll get what you were looking for. Or have you changed your mind?”
All of which was clearly not what I was looking for, but as is well known, nobody knows anything until he has tried it himself I stepped over the high sill and the door shut behind me with a clang. I could hear the latches screeching home.
The corridor was lit by a few surviving lamps. It was damp, and mold grew an the cement walls. I stood still awhile, listening, but there was nothing to be heard but the infrequent tap of water drops. I moved forward cautiously. Cement rubble crunched underfoot. Soon the corridor came to an end, and I found myself in a vaulted, poorly lit concrete tunnel. When my eyes accommodated to the darkness, I discerned a set of tracks.
The rails were badly rusted and puddles of dark water gleamed motionless along their length. Sagging cables hung from the ceiling. The dampness seeped to the marrow of my bones. A repulsive stench of sewer and carrion filled my nostrils. No, this was not what I was looking for. I was not of a mind to fritter away my time and thought of going back and telling them that I would be back some other time. But first, simply out of curiosity, I decided to take a short walk along the tunnel. I went to the right toward the light of distant bulbs. I jumped puddles, stumbled over the rotting ties, and got entangled in loose wires. Reaching a lamp, I stopped again.
The rails had been removed. Ties were strewn along the walls, and holes filled with water gaped along the right of way. Then I saw the rails. I have never seen rails in such a condition. Some were twisted into corkscrews. They were polished to a high shine and reminded me of gigantic drill bits. Others were driven with titanic force into the floor and walls of the tunnel. A third group were tied into knots. My skin crawled at this sight. Some were simple knots, some with a single bow, some with a double bow like shoelaces. They were mauve and brown.
I looked ahead into the depths of the tunnel. The smell of rotting carrion wafted out of it, and the dim yellow lights winked rhythmically as though something swayed in the draft, covering and uncovering them periodically. My nerves gave way.
I felt that this was nothing more than a stupid joke, but I couldn’t control myself. I squatted down and looked around. I soon found what I was looking for — a yard-long piece of reinforcing rod. I stuck it under my arm and went ahead. The iron was wet and cold and rough with rust.
The reflection of the winking lights glinted on slippery wet walls. I had noticed some time back the round, strange-looking marks on them, but at first did not pay them any attention. Then I became interested and examined them more closely. As far as the eye could reach, there were two sets of round prints on the walls at one-meter intervals. It looked as though an elephant had run along the wall — and not too long ago at that. On the edge of one of the prints, the remains of a crushed centipede still struggled feebly. Enough, I thought, time to go back. I looked along the tunnel. Now I could plainly see the swaying curves of black cables under the lamps. I took a better grip on the rod and went ahead, holding close to the wall.
The whole thing was getting through to me. The cables sagged under the arch of the tunnel, and on them, tied by their tails into hairy clusters, hung hundreds upon hundred of dead rats, swaying in the draft. Tiny teeth glinted horribly in the semi-dark, and rigid little legs stuck out in all directions.
The clusters stretched in long obscene garlands into the distance. A thick, nauseating stench oozed from under the arch and flowed along the tunnel, as palpabl
e as glutinous jelly.
There was a piercing screech and a huge rat scurried between my feet. And then another and another. I backed up.
They were fleeing from there, from the dark where there was not a single lamp. Suddenly, warm air came pulsing from the same direction. I felt a hollow space with my elbow and pressed myself into the niche. Something live squirmed and squeaked under my heel; I swung my iron rod without looking. I had no time for rats, because I could hear something running heavily but softly along the tunnel, splashing in the puddles. It was a mistake to get involved in this business, thought I. The iron rod seemed very light and insignificant in comparison with the bow-tied rails. This was no flying leech, nor a dinosaur from the Kongo… don’t let it be a giganto-pithek, I thought, anything but a giganto-pithek. These donkeys would have the wit to catch one and let it loose in the tunnel. I was thinking very poorly in those few seconds. And suddenly for no reason at all I thought of Rimeyer. Why had he sent me here? Had he gone out of his mind? If only it was not a giganto-pithek!
It raced by me so fast that I couldn’t discern what it was.
The tunnel boomed from its gallop. Then there was the despairing scream of a caught rat right close by and… silence. Cautiously I peeked out. He stood about ten paces away directly under one of the lamps, and my legs suddenly went limp from relief.
“Smart-alec entrepreneurs,” I said aloud, almost crying. “They would dream up something like this.”
He heard my voice and raising his stern legs, pronounced: “Our temperature is two meters, twelve inches, there is no humidity, and what there isn’t is not there.”
“Repeat your orders,” I said, approaching him.
He let the air out of his suction cups with a loud whistle, twitched his legs mindlessly, and ran up on the ceiling.
“Come down,” I said sternly, “and answer my question.”
He hung over my head, this poor long-obsolete cyber, intended for work an the asteroids, pitiable and out of place, covered with flakes of corrosion and blobs of black underground dirt.
“Get down,” I barked.
He flung the dead rat at me and sped off into the dark.
The Final Circle of Paradise Page 12
