“Sure, I know that,” the little man said. “Makes it tough, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” Sidney agreed. He was suddenly shaken with a sense of confusion. “How long have you been looking for Smith? Why don’t you go back to your office and get the right address?”
“Hmmphf. They won’t know anything there. I been after Smith for six months now, and the way it looks, I’ll be after him six years before I find him. But I can’t stand here all day and waste my time. Got to be getting on. Goodbye.”
Sidney watched in puzzled silence as the man moved off at a shuffling gate, pushing the truck ahead of him, and glancing at the numbers on the doors he passed.
SUDDENLY, SIDNEY was angry. This nonsense was ceasing to be funny. He’d go back to that stupid starter and get this matter straightened out once and for all. Time was money, and he was wasting it like a spendthrift. Or, rather, this silly building was wasting it for him. In a mood of cold determination, Sidney punched the bell for the elevator. The doors slid open almost instantly.
“Going up?”
“No, I’m going down!” Sidney said.
The elevator operator, a young man with black hair and large eyes, looked at him curiously. “Down, sir?”
“Yes, that’s what I said.”
“But our elevators don’t run down, sir,” the young man said, as if stating a simple, well-known fact. “We only go up.”
“Now see here, young man, this impudence is going to get you in serious trouble,” Sidney cried, thoroughly enraged. “How do people get out of this blasted building if the elevators don’t run down.”
The young man looked honestly puzzled. “When people leave, they go up to the lobby and out into the street.”
“They go up to the lobby and out into the street, eh?” Sidney said in a controlled but trembling voice. “Take me to the manager of this building then, please. I’ve got a lot to talk to that person about.” He stepped into the elevator, his arms crossed at a determined angle.
“Why, of course, sir!”
They went swiftly upward for a half dozen floors, and then the elevator came to a smooth stop. “Here you are, sir,” the young man said, as the doors opened. “It’s just to the right.”
“Thank you!” Sidney’s voice was cold with sarcasm.
He strode to the right down a well-lighted, wide corridor. There were doors on either side, with numbers and firm names on them. But after walking to the end of the corridor, Sidney couldn’t find the Building Manager’s office. He retraced his steps slowly, frowning and angry. Another stupid error! Couldn’t these people get one thing straight! You asked for one thing, they told you another. They sent you off on wild-goose chases, wasted your time scandalously, and talked gibberish about elevators that only ran up. It was a crying shame that such a place should be so horribly mismanaged. Emboldened by his sense of outrage, he opened the next door on his right, on which was printed the sign: “Courtley Bros. Attorneys.”
THREE SOLMEN-FACED men sitting at a round table glanced up at him with polite interest.
“Please forgive me for barging in this way,” Sidney said, “but I’m looking for the manager of the building. The elevator man said it was on this floor, but obviously—”
“Sit down, please,” one of the men said in a grave voice. He was middle-aged, and dressed somberly in gray. His skull was pink and bald with a corona of white hair about the edge. “We were discussing some matters pertaining to a rather large estate.”
Unwillingly, Sidney took the fourth chair at the round, polished table. “I hate to intrude, but I’ve been having a time of it getting around in this building.”
The men regarded him politely, but with no show of understanding.
“I mean, things seem frightfully confused here,” Sidney said.
“I hadn’t noticed it,” one of the men said. “But let’s get back to business. You feel, then, we should sell all of the common stock?”
The question was evidently addressed to Sidney. They all waited for his answer.
“Now, see here—” Sidney began.
But got no further. “Well, we’ll consider it settled then,” the bald-headed man said, giving him a warm smile.
“But this is a mistake,” Sidney said. “You’re confusing me with someone else. I’ve never seen any of you before in my life. I’m an insurance man. I don’t know anything about this estate you’re talking about.” His voice was high with desperation, and there was sweat on his brow.
“Well, that’s as it should be,” one of the men observed, and his companions nodded in agreement.
Sidney felt he was among mad men. “Please, can you tell me how to get to the Building Manager’s office. That’s the only reason I stopped in here. You see—”
“Why, of course,” one of the men interrupted. It’s down two flights, but you’ll have to walk, I’m afraid. You see, the elevators don’t run down.”
Sidney jumped to his feet and bolted through the door. Outside, he mopped his perspiring forehead, while • panic and reason fought for control of his senses. Reason, after a long battle, won out. His pulses subsided, and he drew a deep breath. Two floors down, they’d said. Well, he’d give it a try. And if he ran into anymore monkeyshines, he’d just clear out. He recalled the date, June 11th. Nothing wrong with that. If it had been April Fool’s day, he’d have had his answer to this nonsense. But on a normal day in June, it was totally inexplicable.
SIDNEY PROWLED along the corridor until he found a door with the words ‘STAIRWAY’ painted on it. He pushed it open and trotted briskly down two flights of cement stairs. There, he tried a steel door with glazed glass windows set in the upper half. It was locked.
Sidney’s patience and nerve broke. He swore wildly and hammered on the door. What was wrong? Had everyone suddenly gone mad? Was there no sense or order left in the world? As these questions wheeled wildly in his mind, he continued his blows on the door.
But there was no answer. Then Suddenly, after an interval of fruitless hammering on the door, Sidney’s brain began to function intelligently again. He stopped pounding the door and collected himself into a reasoning unit once more. Very well, he thought, I’ll clear out of this madhouse. I’ve tried my best to get some sensible cooperation, but to no avail. I’ll walk down these steps to the lobby, if it takes me two hours. And then I’ll step out of this building and call it good riddance. Fortified by this plan of action, Sidney started briskly down the stairs. One flight, two flights, three, he took the steps two at a time, feeling that every minute was bringing him closer to sanity and escape.
Then the stairs ended against a blank wall.
Sidney was too stunned for an instant to do anything but stare in pop-eyed incredulity at this barrier.
“It’s—it’s ridiculous,” he whispered. “It—it doesn’t make sense.”
He felt the rough cement wall with the tip of his fingers, pushed against it with his shoulder, and studied it from floor to ceiling for some crack or aperture that would indicate the presence of an opening or a door. But there was none. He could go no further. He was trapped. Vainly, he attempted to guess what floor he was on. He had gone originally to the tenth. Then up an undetermined number of floors, and down two. Then down three more. Up ten, up X. and down five. Where did that leave him? There was no way of telling. And even if he knew, what good would that do?
Sidney toiled upward to the next floor and tried the door. It swung inward and he stepped into a wide, well-lighted corridor that was precisely like the others he had seen in the building.
A MAN IN a gray, double-breasted suit was walking toward him, whistling aimlessly. He was a slender man, about fifty, with rosy cheeks, and a thin inquiring face. He wore a flower in his buttonhole, and exuded an air of jaunty well-being.
“Pardon me, sir,” Sidney said. “Could you direct me to the manager of this building?”
“Why certainly! I’m the manager of the building. What did you wish to see me about?”
Sidney almost fainted with relief. He smiled and patted his damp brow with his handkerchief. “I’ve had quite a time finding you,” he said.
“Well, that’s too bad.” The manager had a sympathetic voice. “You should have inquired of someone. Practically anyone in the building could have told you where I could be reached. But come along. We’ll step into my office.”
“Fine,” Sidney said.
They walked the length of the corridor and turned right. There, twenty feet from the intersection, were two camp chairs. The manager sat down in one and waved Sidney to the other. Sidney looked up and down the corridor, and again the overwhelming sense of confusion swept over him. “This is your office?”
“Why, yes. I move about frequently, so this arrangement suits me perfectly. Now, what is it you wish to talk about?”
Sidney sat down and crossed his legs. His manner was determined and righteous. “I have a rather serious complaint to bring to your attention. First, your directory is totally valueless. Secondly, the elevator starter in the lobby is either a liar or a moron. Thirdly, your elevator operators are impudent and—”
“I’m afraid I can’t remember all of that at one time,” the manager said. “Let’s start again. What was that about the directory?”
“It makes no sense. The names aren’t in alphabetical order. And there are no office numbers listed.” The manager frowned slightly. “Well, I see nothing unusual in that. But go on.”
SIDNEY POUNDED a knee with his fist. “Nothing unusual, eh? Well, how do people find their way around, tell me that?”
“Have you met any other people who seemed lost?” the manager inquired in a soft voice.
“Well . . . no,” Sidney admitted slowly. “But take that starter. He told me there was an information booth on the tenth floor. You know very well there isn’t.”
“No? Well, there might have been, you know.”
“There might have been! Is that the way you run this building?”
“But why not? Frankly, I don’t see where you have any legitimate complaints, sir. All of these things you’ve mentioned are quite usual and customary here. But what was that about the elevator operator?”
“He wouldn’t take me down! He said your elevators don’t run down.” Sidney’s voice had taken on a high and trembling note.
“He was quite right.”
“Well, how do I get out?”
“You go up, of course, and walk out the lobby, the same way you came in.”
“I didn’t come in the top of your blasted building!” Sidney screamed, “I’m no bird. I came in at the bottom.”
“Oh, dear me.” The manager regarded Sidney with an odd expression of curiosity and pity. “You came in from the bottom, eh?”
“Yes, I came in at the bottom.” Sidney’s voice had lost its pitch and volume. He repeated the manager’s question in a dull hopeless voice.
“Well, that’s interesting,” the manager said. “Somebody should have fixed that doorway, I suppose. It’s caused trouble before. Tell you what: You wait here and I’ll go off and see what I can do for you. Won’t be a minute.”
He smiled and walked briskly away. Sidney smoked a cigarette and waited. Time passed slowly. Twenty minutes, thirty minutes, an hour. There were eight cigarette stubs on the floor at Sidney’s feet.
He jumped to his feet, cursing under his breath, and strode off in the direction the manager had taken. Turning a corner, he bumped into a man who carried a blanket over his arm.
“Do you know where I might find the building manager?” Sidney said.
“At his home, I suppose,” the man answered. “He left here about an hour ago.”
“When will he be back?”
“That’s an odd question,” the man said, grinning. “He won’t be back at all, of course.”
“Won’t be back at all?”
“Of course not. His job ended today.”
“He’s retired?”
“I suppose you could say that. He’s had the blooming job all day. That’s enough for a man, I say.”
“You mean he’s only the manager for one day?”
“That’s the rule, as you should know. Goodbye.”
SIDNEY WAS left alone in the clean empty corridor. His mind was spinning slowly and effortlessly. He knew he should be angry—but at what? Vaguely, he realized that there were things he should be doing, action to be taken, to get out of this monstrous area of insanity. But everything was vague. That was the trouble. It was also the blessing. Not knowing sharply and precisely what to do, he could do nothing.
From somewhere came an earlier thought of his: Sometimes the abnormal takes the most commonplace of forms. What did that mean? Also, skirting his consciousness, was the manager’s bland comment: Somebody should have fixed that doorway . . .
Through his comfortably vague thoughts came a vision as sharp as a needlepoint. A vision of doorways, strange but familiar, innocent but dangerous, into which people with address cards in their hands walked confidently and blindly. In every city, in every country, there might be such doorways—doorways that hadn’t been fixed!
Sidney turned and with slow faltering steps walked back along the corridor. From a side door, the one he had used himself, came a man with a flushed angry face and bewildered eyes. The man carried a brief case under one arm, and held a card in his hand. He was a fat man, with a heavy jaw and thinning black hair.
“Hey, you,” he said to Sidney. “I’ve been getting the run around in this damn building for the past half hour. It’s 10 East Fifth Avenue, isn’t it?”
“Well, it might be,” Sidney answered.
“You mean, you don’t know?”
“Well, not exactly.”
The man swore. “Are you all nuts in here? Starters, elevator men, cleaning women, are you all nuts? Will you tell me where the hell I can get a straight answer, please?”
“You’ll have to see the building manager.”
The man looked relieved. “Well, where is he?”
“His office is just around the corner,” Sidney said.
“Well, thanks. Thanks a lot. I’ll burn his ears, let me tell you.”
With that the man clutched the brief case under his arm and walked down the corridor with angry, determined strides.
Sidney sighed. And then, with only the faintest curiosity stirring in his soul, he went slowly toward the elevators that only and forever travelled upward.
SOME WOLVES CAN’T KILL
First published in the September 1951 issue of Amazing Stories.
To Cynthia, Percy was no more than a sheep. But when it came to fox hunting, he was literally a wolf!
CHAPTER I
“PERCIVAL, nothing is more important than fox-hunting with the van Rensalers.” Percival Pettibone knew then that the argument was over. When his wife used that particular tone it was an indication that logic and reason were of no avail. His wife used that tone quite a lot, Percival reflected moodily, glancing at her as she sat in her favorite chair lazily turning the pages of a fashion magazine.
“I know you’re awfully keen on it, Cynthia,” he said. “I suppose we can pinch a bit here and there and make out all right.”
A line of annoyance tightened about his wife’s lips. “I do wish you could cooperate with me for once without reminding me immediately what a hardship it will wreak on you.”
“Dear, I meant nothing of the sort. But with doing over the garden and your car this season, I am a little strapped. This fox-hunting is an extra I hadn’t counted on.”
“You talk as if you expect to bring your own horse. The van Rensalers supply those, you know.”
“Yes, of course. But there are still riding clothes for both of us, and the trip to their place, and—”
Cynthia put her magazine down with a gesture that silenced her husband in mid-sentence. “I really don’t wish to hear any more about it, Percival. It’s enough, I should think, that I don’t have adequate clothes, or sufficient servants, without your att
empting to destroy our one chance to get to know the best people in the county. The van Rensalers have invited us fox-hunting next week-end and we are going. That’s all there is to it.”
“Yes, my dear,” Percy said, resignedly.
His wife returned to her magazine, and Percy, studying her covertly over the edge of his paper, wondered why he never found the courage to stick to his guns against her. She was a lovely thing to look at, of course; but that wasn’t it. Not any more. Once Percy had been thrilled by her remote glacial beauty, but now it meant less to him than the chromium fixtures in the bathrodm. Cynthia was a blonde and shining woman, and her body was slender and perfectly conditioned; but Percy knew her to be an empty temple.
She put her magazine aside and rose gracefully. “This bickering about our poverty has given me a headache. I’m going upstairs to rest. Please don’t disturb me when you come to bed.”
“I may take a walk,” Percy said. “I don’t feel tired.”
“Very well. I’ll say goodnight then.”
When she had retired to the upper floor of their spacious suburban home, Percy wandered disconsolately about the living room, his thoughts in a lackadaisical turmoil. This fox-hunting was ridiculous! He was strained to the limits as it was to keep this house going, to provide the sort of background that Cynthia considered essential to her happiness. He wished he could chuck it all and lie on a beach the rest of his life; but of course he couldn’t. Somehow he’d raise the money to include fox-hunting in their budget.
AFTER a few pointless turns about the room Percy slipped into a jacket and went onto the porch. It was a cool peaceful night, ideal for a walk. He set off down the sidewalk that wound circuitously toward the village, and gradually a semblance of peace returned to his soul. Outside under a dark sky Percy always felt more secure, more at home. Something about nighttime’s velvety secretness attracted him strongly. The night was gentle and protective, unlike the bright and bitter day where people could watch your every move and sit in judgment on your slightest act.
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 278
