by Whit Burnett
in residence. Newsboys had built a fire in a refuse can, and taximen and journalists, tired of the plush and statuary of the lobby, were warming their hands around it. An ornate ledge
ran along beneath the windows of the top floor, and the griffin
leaped onto this.
"It won't be harmed," Gunar Vries told himself. "It's too
fabulous. Even an oaf can see." A look of being protected lay
in its eyes, a true and natural hauteur from an ancient epoch.
He closed the window, and in his mind's eye he saw the creature
continuing swiftly along the ledge, tail and wings spread out a
bit, a dark and slithering form against the faintly lighted sky.
He went to his desk, took up his pen, and wrote in postscript
on the letter to his president, "My dear friend: This evening I
saw one of the first griffins to return. Their coming, though unpredictable, was nevertheless inevitable. They will remain, I gather, until we decide our fate, one way or another." Hearing
a strange cry in the night, a mingling of lion's roar and eagle's
scream and more than both, he wrote further, "The cry of the
griffin in the great cities of the world will become as familiar as
the cry of the cock in the country, and even as the cock's cry
wakens us from sleep and is portentous of the morning when
we shall not be alive to hear it, so the cry of the griffin, on the
roofs above traffic, is troublous, calling us, humanity, to a cognizance of our existence and heralding our possible end."
WHEN Gunar awoke in the morning it was, as every day, to no
other thought but the Conference. Not until he passed the desk
on his return from his bath and saw that the three letters had
been taken up by his aide for mailing was he reminded of the
griffin. He stood still, startled and amused by such a dream.
Well, the times evoked it. He had never before worked under
such a strain, and the enigma of the times had taken form and
substance, emerged in his dream a thing in itself, had become a
living creature.
But as he was dressing, the laughter within ceased, and he
was overcome by melancholy. It came to him that the griffin
might have been other than a dream. His few hours of sleep
had been shallow and hot, as if he had slept in a thunderstorm;
remembering his sleep, he was almost certain he had not
Return of the GriHins • 5
dreamed. If the fabulous being had appeared, it had been an
actual one. But, of course, it had not appeared. He could negate
the event, he could prove it had been a dream by seeing again
his letter to his president, the signature constituting the end,
without postscript. He walked slowly to the door of the adjoining apartment, already tired as if at the end of the day. How old was he now? Fifty-six? And how long did men live, usually?
"Norbert, young man," he called, rapping at the half-open
door, "you've not posted the letters yet? The three letters?"
His aide appeared at the door, opening it wider. "They made
the plane at seven-thirty."
"The letter to the president?"
"All three were sealed," said Norbert, "and envelopes addressed. Did you wish to make changes?"
"A whim," he replied. He looked sharply at his aide. Norbert
wrote symphonies, the modem kind; his disharmonies were not
what they seemed but merged into a complete harmony. Was
he not the one to understand the griffin? "If I tell him," thought
Gunar, "if I tell him, laughing a little, with gestures, with shudders, why, two believing will make it untrue."
But Norbert seemed more erect than usual this morning, his
eyes bluer, his fair hair fairer. He liked parties, and the atmosphere for him was still charged with his virtuosity. The emissary decided that to explain the griffin to him would bring the creature down to the level of a piano recital and the sensual
laughter of short-armed women.
"Come," he said, signaling for Norbert to accompany him.
In the cab Gunar sat in a comer, holding his hat and gloves
on his crossed knees, listening to Norbert read foreign newspapers on the UN proceedings. The cab came to a halt as traffic changed, and he gazed into the street. In a basement tailor shop, the name on the window so worn that the dim light within turned the letters translucent and coppery, a tailor sat sewing at his machine while his wife sat by the window, drinking from
a cup.
As Gunar took in the shop and its occupants, he saw his
second griffin. She-it was a female, as he could tell by the Jack
of red feathers on her breast-was sliding along the fence below the row of basement shops, the eagle head lifted and stiff with impending alarm.
He grasped Norbert's hand, and the young man laid down
his paper. "You see," he said, as if he had tried before to convince his aide, "a female griffin."
Norbert bent across him to look. The griffin slipped down
the stairs into the tailor's shop, pushing the door open with a
claw, and for a moment Gunar saw, simultaneously, the eagle's
head through the window and the lion's tail waving on the
& • Nlneleen Tales of Terror
stairs. Persons passing paid no attention, or only slight, as to a
cat or a sparrow. The couple did not look up, neither the man
from his sewing nor the wife from her cup. Gunar Vries was
appalled. They went about their pursuits as before, while this
enigma, this beast of life or death, slid along their streets,
jangled their business bells.
"But are they so common a sight already?" he asked.
"What are?" Norbert had taken up his reading again, but
courteously allowed himself to be engaged in conversation.
"The griffins. A female went into the tailor shop and you
made no to-do about it."
"I didn't see one," said Norbert. "I didn't know what to look
for. I'm sorry. What is it like?"
Gunar Vries drew into his comer again. "It's not a thing that
you look for," he replied.
The delegates to the General Assembly of the United Nations assembled at their quarters. Gunar Vries sat in his place, his aide beside him, taking no part in the conversation before
the fall of the gavel. The chairman entered, and following at
his heels was a male griffin, larger, older than the one that had
slept in Gunar's room. The creature was hoary and unkempt.
Its eyes were yellow fire. It seated itself to the right of. the
chairman and with archaic grace surveyed the persons
assembled.
THAT evening after supper the president replied by telephone.
"Gunar, what's this talk of a griffin?" he asked. "It's a beast of
classical antiquity, is it not? Well, to what use are you putting
it?"
Ernest Gorgas was a fine man, and there was no one Gunar
respected more. But how impotent the president's voice, how
distant not only in space but in time! Gunar had the peculiar
anticipatory feeling of hearing it fade away, as if mankind were
running instantly into a post-historic age.
"Gunar," the president continued, his voice grinding into the
receiver, louder, adamant, yet deeply kind and respectful, "the
plea that you made to the Assembly today for international
unity was the most moving I have ever heard. And the delivery
of it-the eloquence, the impassioned tone! Maneuvering it
/>
the way you did was uncalled for and yet the most called-for
thing in the world. If you are in your way sidestepping praise,
being modest, bringing up this tale of a griffin coming to your
room with a warning, it's no use. Gunar, my friend, there is no
appointment that I have made in my term of office that has
given me greater satisfaction."
"Ernest," replied Gunar, "the man who feels that he is not
deserving of praise makes no move to sidestep it. He has a deaf
Retarn of the GriHins • 1
place in his ear the size of a pea, and with this he hears praise.
No, my friend, a male griffin was in my room last evening.
Since then I have seen two more. One, slipping along the street,
female and playing nervous; the other, a more bestial creature
and at the same time looking as if imbued with an omniscient
intelligence. It was sitting to the right of the chairman today
and commented often, succinctly, too. But though its voice was
louder than any there it went unheard. At the conclusion of my
speech it carne to me and told me that it had heard Dernosthenes, and that my eloquence exceeded his. It had been sent alone to take in the American Revolution and had heard Patrick Henry-it said that that gentleman's vigor did not touch mine. I did not take these comparisons as praise but was convinced that the precariousness of our times has never been equalled and that orators are made by the periods in which
they live."
A long pause followed. When the president spoke again the
subject was changed. He inquired about the discussions underway, Gunar's criticism and forecast of results.
Within another day the rumor had been circulated among
the delegates that Gunar Vries, emissary from S---, was suffering from hallucinations. The suspicion was not relayed to newsmen or to anyone outside the circle of official delegates. It
was a matter of respect not only for the member, as a distinguished person, and for his family, but for the delegates combined. If one was susceptible to weakness of this kind, it
might be construed that all were. The curious thing was that the
emissary seemed to be in full command of his intelligence while
at the Conference table. No criticism could be cast upon the
deft, perspicacious way in which he handled his country's interests. Not only this, he was one of the most energetic in tackling the problems of all humanity.
GUNAR Vries was called home on the second day after his
speech. Newsmen, inquiring of him the reason for his departure, were told that he believed that his president was in possession of information that could not be discussed by phone or letter or through a messenger. In Gunar's place, to be guided
by Norbert through the formalities, there appeared the youngest member of the supreme court of S---, a man not much older than Norbert, but with his own history up to ninety years
already in his eyes .
. Carrying his portfolio, Gunar Vries returned to S-. He
was met at the airport by the president, and together they were
driven to the palace. They dined and secluded themselves in
the president's study.
"Gunar," said Ernest, as they sat facing each other, "I
8
Nineteen Tales of Terror
•
could not ask for a better emissary. You have used the energy
of twelve men. Now, wound up as you are, you will think I am
crazy, you will think I am reckless putting your personal health
before the welfare of the nation. But I want you to take a rest
for awhile. Let someone else, not of your caliber but competent enough, assume your duties. You go to your farm, wear an old hat, go hunting, milk your cows, !lOW your wheat. We
need as many hands as we can get working the land, and as
much space yielding. Go home for a while, Gunar."
Gunar Vries had never been so frightened in his life. It was
like the fear, only worse, that he had experienced as a boy of
seventeen, when he had left his father and come to the city to
study, when for the first time he had lived alone. For several
days he bad been almost unable to breathe. He had thought he
would never again see his father or make a friend, he had
thought that he was trapped in that one room forever.
"Has any action of mine," Gunar now asked slowly, "met·
with your disapproval? Have you found that the ability I evidenced as your minister of foreign affairs, have you found that this ability falls short of my responsibility as a delegate to the
United Nations?"
Ernest gripped his forehead, half-hid his painful eyes with
his band. "They say that you see griffins."
"But I told you so myself."
"Doesn't it seem peculiar to you?"
"You prefer to quote the ones to whom it seems peculiar?
No, my friend, it is the most natural thing in the world."
"But you are the only one who sees them."
"Does that fact make the griffin non-existent?" He felt a
sharp derision coming on, took out his handkerchief and blew
his nose. He tried to suppress the snort, but could not. It was his
opinion of organized disorganization.
"If you take such a derogatory view of the Conference," the
president said, "you won't want to return."
"On the contrary," Gunar replied, leaning forward to stuff
his handkerchief away in his rear pocket. "They need me. They
can't do without me. The time will come, believe me, when
everyone there will see that creature sitting to the right of the
chairman. And what a creature! What a magnificent creature!"
"Gunar." The president hesitated. "Before you go home,
perhaps it would be wise for you to consult a psychiatrist. They
have not all gone to greener pastures in the United States.
There might be still a capable one or two practicing in France
or Switzerland."
"I would have no belief in him if he did not see griffins himself," replied Gunar, laughing a little. "But for your sake, to
Retam of tha GriHins • 1
relieve you of anxiety and shame, I shall resign from the UN
and from the Ministry. Name someone else to the post."
He wanted to rise from the chair, as a gesture fitting to climax, but found that he could not. His heart was palpitating.
Well, he had seen his father again, made a friend, and been in
so many rooms he could not remember them all. A boy's loneliness doesn't last, nor does that of a disgraced diplomat. You reach out for people:, you have no more enemies. • . •
GUNAR traveled home by train that night, and a female griffin
was co-occupant of his compartment. When he entered, she
was already asleep on the couch, eagle head tucked under
her right wing, left wing and left hindleg hanging to the floor.
He sat opposite her and watched her in the dimly lit, rocking
compartment.
He rode to his farm on the wagon of a neighbor. "You want
to surprise Mrs. Vries?" the neighbor asked. The man had
found Gunar, portfolio in hand, standing by his wagon, waiting
for him to come from the assessor's office.
"No," replied Gunar. "I just came home, that's all."
"You are tired from the Conference?" the neighbor inquired, believing that it was over. He noticed the diplomat's sagging shoulders and sadness, and he halted the horses.
"What's the world coming to?" he asked, gently, confidentially,
as if Gunar Vries wa
s the one to know.
And Gunar Vries laid his brow in his hand and wept, while
the morning sun got in under his overcoat collar and warmed
the nape of his neck.
For several days be went about his farm like a mari taking a
rest. He milked the cows, drove the tractor. There was a deep,
still pool in his forest and he went to bathe in it, likening it to
his loneliness. If he were drowning in it and cried out, no man
would be near enough to help him. But when he left the pool
and dressed again, his body was clean and deserving of respect
because of its contact with loneliness, and approaching the
fann he loved instantly from afar every small figure working.
Then one morning he saw on the roof of the east bam a
young male griffin, and he called to it. The creature turned its
large golden head slantwise.
"Come," coaxed Gunar, "a lamb? A pan of milk?" And
when the creature eyed him without replying, he added, "A
calf?"
The griffin dropped its beak and picked at something between its toes. "But I ate, just a couple of centuries ago. Caught four Arimaspi in a ravine."
ID
Nineteen Tales of Terror
•
ALICE begged Gunar to wait until she summoned Theodore,
but he said no, that he would probably meet the boy in the city.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, for she had given him an idea. "I intend
to speak on the steps of the Technological University anyway.
When the scientific students see my griffin, it will be a triumph,
believe me."
She went along the road with him, holding his elbow against
her side and crying, and he bent his head away, unable to bear
her grimaces. The griffin was slinking along the other side of
the fence, and in a fit of energy suddenly both flew and ran,
beating its wings close to earth, for a good half-mile down the
fence. Why couldn't she see a thing like that?
He halted and caressed her, pushing back her short, pale
hair. "Do you know that I love you?" he asked.
"Yes," she wept.
"The tour is a minor thing," he said . .. 1 make it simply to r�
turn to you. If I don't go, how much longer and of what consequence will our love be?"
WHEN he set out again, alone, the griffin was returning to meet
