The Demon

by Hubert Selby Jr.

  Could be, smiling.

  As Harry walked back to the office he felt a slight twinge of apprehensive nausea, but quickly shoved aside the vague thoughts that were trying desperately to define themselves. It was nobodys business if he wanted to have lunch with some broad, and whats the big deal? It aint interfering with anything, and it sure as hell aint hurting anybody.

  He got back to the office even later than usual, and could feel the eyes burning into his back, and the clock, as if they were trying to brand him with the time. He squeezed his pencil hard as he rustled papers, announcing the fact that he had just returned, his inner voice telling all and sundry to go to hell, and that goes double for you Wentworth.

  The next day he managed to keep his anger alive, having nurtured it from time to time during the night, but could not seem to focus it or direct it—it just seemed to be there, jumbling around inside him trying to find a way out. He slowly ate his cheese danish and sipped his coffee until it was too cold to enjoy, but continued to sip it anyway, not starting work until both were finished.

  When he finally did start working, he attacked his calculator and almost shoved his pencil through the pad a few times, then jammed the papers into the proper order. He worked as slowly as possible, trying not to finish the job until late in the afternoon, but there was so little left to do that he finished before lunch in spite of his efforts. When he finished the goddamn job, he tossed his pencil on the desk and left for lunch.

  She was just getting on line when he got there. As they talked and moved slowly along the line, picking up plates of food, the turbulence within him subsided, and when they were finally settled at a table, he quickly became involved with

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  her. The strain drained from his arms and back and he could feel himself relaxing as they talked about nothing in particular.

  Halfway through lunch he could feel a knot forming in his gut, a small one, and it started tugging at the back of his throat, and he could feel a change flow through him inwardly and outwardly. He could feel his thigh muscles twitching and he could feel his eyes closing slightly as he looked at her, the tip of his tongue wetting his upper lip, and his hand reached over and brushed a few crumbs off her lap and then his open hand was on her thigh and he looked more intently into her eyes, unclothing her and himself, feeling somewhere within him another Harry looking at what was happening and wanting to want to stop. She returned his gaze and put her hand on top of his and smiled in answer to whatever he was saying.

  When they left, they walked along the street for a while, Harry leaning out of the way of passers-by and brushing her tit with the upper part of his arm and smiling into her eyes, and feeling that tug in his gut as the other Harry tried to pull him away from the game, but it was completely out of control and Harry was more a witness to his actions than the creator of them; and they talked about movies and then skin flicks, and Harry could feel the knot tightening, and the tugging increasing, and was aware, too, of the passing of time and an intense feeling of the intoxication of danger, but first and foremost he felt a rapport with his lust as he looked at her. He led her to the side of a building, out of the stream of people, and stood almost touching her as he told her that he would like to fuck the ass off her, continuing to look at her, the naked thrust of his lust exciting her; then, taking her hand, he led her to the Hotel Splendide, all his various feelings welling into one turbulence of excitement.

  When they left, Harry went to a nearby bar and sat in the corner trying to disentangle the mass and mess of feelings within him. He did not understand them. It was as if he was sorry for not getting back to work on time, as if he had done

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  something wrong, but did not know what; having a vague desire to change something, but not knowing what. He finished his drink and thought about going back to the office, but the mere thought made him turn red and he could feel his skin flush and the sweat form under his eyes and at the base of his spine. He could not go back to the office a couple of hours late. He tried to force himself, but the ability to move had been taken from him. He was paralyzed. He ordered another drink, then decided to call and tell them he was sick and was going home. He called Louise and told her he had gotten violently ill after eating and was on his way home, that he had spent over an hour in the rest room and this was the first chance he had to call, and he could feel that other Harry watching him and could feel his head shaking and he finally mumbled a goodbye and hung up the phone.

  He slowly sipped his drink and thought of getting drunk, but somehow the idea not only did not appeal to him, he did not know exactly how to go about it, never having been able to force down enough liquor to get drunk. When it started to make him woozy, he stopped.

  As he sipped his third drink he tried to find something to rage about, something to isolate and attack, something that would prove to be the reason for the disturbing and unfamiliar feelings burning through him, but there was no coordination within him between desire and ability. Eventually he gave up trying and finished his drink and left.

  The next day he left the house at the usual time, so his mother would not question him, then called in sick. He still could not accept the idea of explaining his absence the previous afternoon, and even in the quiet of his room he could not fabricate a story that he would be able to relate believably. By taking off today there would be no doubt that he really was sick, and they probably would not question him.

  He went to Forty-second Street and sat through a couple of old westerns, then walked up to Bryant Park and sat on a bench, avoiding all eyes, even those of the pigeons. He felt strangely conspicuous and had the vague feeling that people

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  were looking at him and wondering what he was doing there. He stayed there as long as he could, watching the pigeons peck away at food thrown them, vaguely hearing the music of the recorded concert and trying to get involved with the way in which the sunlight glanced off the leaves of trees and slanted through the branches, casting moving shadows . . . the flowers, shrubs, statues ... to no avail. No matter how hard he tried to stay on the bench and wish time by, he could not and had to get up and walk around the perimeter of the park, keeping his eyes on the path.

  He continued walking until he reached the library and went inside hoping to get involved with something in there, but all he could do was wander aimlessly through rooms and tiers of books until he once more found himself in Bryant Park. He walked to Forty-second Street, then down to Times Square and another movie. He tried to sit through both films, but had to leave after seeing the second half of one and the first half of another. He rode the train back to Brooklyn and went to Caseys.

  He walked to the end of the bar, where Tony and Al were sitting. Holy Krist, look whos here. It must be Sunday.

  Yeah, or six oclock. Hi, whatta ya say?

  Hi.

  Holy shit Harry, whats the occasion, your boss die or something? both of them laughing as Harry pulled up a stool and sat.

  Up yours Al—hey Pat, give me a beer. Youd better give them one too, they look like theyre waiting for a live one.

  Thats the kind of talk I like to hear, quickly draining the glass and pushing it forward.

  All shit aside though Harry, whats the occasion?

  Nothing. Why? Cant a guy take a day off without everybody going apeshit?

  Yeah, sure, laughing, but not you. You never take a day off and then come here.

  Well, I am today. Im taking a day off and Im going to have a couple of beers.

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  Yeah, how come?

  I thought I/d do a survey.

  Yeah, what kind of survey?

  An investigation into the nature of being a bum, and I cant think of anyone better qualified to help me than you guys.

  Hey, I resemble that remark, laughing, Pat joining them.

  You think just because I dont go to an office every day—

  Whata ya mean, aint this our office—

  Yeah, all of them laughing. Your />
  think because I dont ride the subway, I dont work? Look, I bet I work harder playing the horses than you do at your job. They all laughed again.

  Yeah, I bet you do.

  Speaking of jobs, how come you took a day off? Aint you afraid your job will disappear?

  Harry smiled at their laughter. I thought I/d live dangerously.

  Well, I always said, you hang around Caseys long enough and youll see a miracle, and Im seeing one. Harry taking a day off from work and sitting in Caseys. This calls for a toast. Tony raised his glass, then Al raised his. To Harry the Hump, and they drained their glasses, then put them down on the bar as Harry smiled, trying to stay involved in their game to keep from going back inside himself.

  Hey Pat, give us three more.

  Hey, man, why dont you come to the Fort with us tonight? There should be some good fights.

  Yeah, the main events got a couple of welters that look pretty good.

  Yeah? shrugging, maybe I will.

  Harry drifted through the day, sipping on his beer, staying with his third one for an hour, Al and Tony trying to get him to keep up with them. Harry listened, smiled, laughed, talked, not completely involved with any of it, but not involved with that twinge inside either.

  He went to the fights with them, and a couple of other

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  guys, after stopping in an Italian restaurant, and could feel himself relaxing slightly as they sat in the outdoor arena. It was a clear night and there was a pleasant breeze from the harbor and he got caught up in the horsing around of the guys, and then the action of the rights. Most of the prelims were pretty good bouts, one was really good, a knock-down, drag-out kind of fight, but the main event was a real winner and Harry got completely caught up in the excitement and was standing along with everyone else and yelling and cheering.

  After the fights, they all went back to Caseys, but after a short time Harry waved goodbye and went home. He lay in his bed thinking about the day, then yesterday and the past weeks and months, and suddenly a cold knot twisted in his gut and he involuntarily raised his knees to relieve the pressure, and when the knot finally started dissolving, he no longer reviewed the day or any other part of his life, but closed his eyes and, with the aid of the beer he had drunk, drifted off into a shallow sleep.

  If, indeed, such restlessness could be called sleep. He was not twisted, turned and tormented during the night, but was part of a continuing dream—maybe it only occurred once and he dreamed that it happened over and over again—that did not drag him from unconsciousness, but kept him just on the brink of wakefulness so that his mind and spirit never got the complete rest they needed. It was such a simple dream that it almost did not seem worth dreaming. A dream that is going to keep you from getting the proper rest should at least be a little, spectacular, or loaded with sexual symbols.

  Certainly not as simple as driving along the street in a normal flow of traffic and seeing the brake lights go on on the car in front of you and you lift your foot from the accelerator and it gets caught under the brake pedal and you get closer and closer to the car in front of you as you struggle to get your foot out from under the pedal so you can jam down on it and not hit the car in front, and, of course, everything is happening in slow motion and it seems like you go

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  through this time after time and you never hit the car in front of you, but you never find out exactly what happens either. . ..

  Harry did not remember

  the dream in the morning, though he had a vague idea that he had dreamed something, but he felt sluggish and more or less dragged himself through his shower and shave. His step, as he went down the stairs to the kitchen, was slow and flat.

  As was

  his voice. He could hear it when he said good morning to his folks.

  Are you all right, Harry?

  Yeah, sure Pop, why?

  Well, I dont know exactly, its just that you seem sort of out—well, out of sorts lately. I cant quite put my finger on it, but you just dont seem to be yourself.

  Gee, trying to manage as sincere a look as possible, I dont know. Theres nothing wrong.

  Harry bought a paper and tried to concentrate on it as he rode to work, but his mind kept drifting back to his fathers question and he kept asking himself if something was wrong. What could be wrong? Things werent going exactly right lately, things were getting a little goofed at work and Went-worth seemed to be getting on his back, but there was nothing wrong. At least not that he could pinpoint. He tried to get involved in the comic strips, but the vague uneasiness persisted and he kept dismissing questions from his mind. If anything was wrong, it wasnt his fault. That he was sure of.

  Harry had been sitting at his desk a few minutes when Louise came over and asked him how he was feeling.

  Pretty good. I think I/ll live.

  Well thats good to hear. Have a stomach virus?

  He suddenly felt trapped and had a second of panic until he remembered that he had told Louise that he had gotten sick after eating and had to go home.

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  Yeah, I sure did. Couldnt stray too far from home, smiling at her knowingly.

  I thought you might be coming down with something.

  Why? frowning.

  O, you just didnt seem to be your usual self. You know, not as relaxed and sort of preoccupied. But Im glad youre all right now, patting him on the shoulder, then going back to her desk.

  Harry puzzled over his coffee and cheese danish and wondered what in the hell was going on, why people were sticking their noses in his business. He wished to krist they/d keep them where they belonged. The only thing wrong with him was them.

  He worked aggressively that morning and by the time he became aware of people coming and going and realized it was time for lunch, he felt relaxed. He looked at the work on his desk. He had done a good mornings work. Damn good. The Wilson job was all ready to go and neatly packaged.

  He nodded at the work he had done and left for lunch feeling exhilarated. He started walking along Fifth Avenue, but by the time he reached the first corner the exhilaration was replaced with that vague uneasiness, and he turned and went to the coffee shop in the building to eat lunch. When he finished, he went back to the office and spent the remainder of the hour in the lounge.

  For the next week, until the company outing on the following Friday, Harry had his lunch sent up from the coffee shop and spent the hour in the lounge reading, having absolutely no desire to go out for lunch, unable to force himself even if he thought of trying. He had gotten a few science fiction books from the neighborhood library and read them on the subway as well as at lunch time, and they seemed to absorb the energy from the surface of his mind and he could ignore any twinge he might feel.

  Although he wanted to, he could not keep up his aggressive attitude toward work. He would manage it for an hour or two, but that was all, and then usually because he had fallen

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  behind schedule again and had to work frantically to finish the job.

  From time to time Harry White would start to question himself about his inability to work consistently as he once had, and his inability to leave the office for lunch, but as soon as he could feel these questions vaguely forming, a fear gripped him and he shoved them aside and inundated his mind with something, anything, else to avoid facing those questions.

  The day before the company outing Mr. Wentworth called Harry into his office. Harry knew it was serious when Mr. Wentworth told him to sit down, and something inside him turned over and a slight twinge of nausea tugged at the back of his throat. I wanted you to hear this from me, Harry, rather than at the banquet tomorrow night. As you know our firm is growing rapidly, and, I say this with pride, growing at a very accelerated pace. As a matter of fact our growth over these last two years has been phenomenal.

  Thats wonderful, trying to look dutifully impressed.

  Thats right, it is. Now, because of this growth a need for more executive-level personnel
has developed, and just recently the title of junior vice-president was created—he looked at Harry for a moment, leaning back in his chair. Harry could feel the ball in his gut leap up and jam itself in his throat— and its been given to Davis—plop, down it goes, twisting his windpipe and groveling around in his bowels—upon my recommendation. And I want to tell you why. You are sharper than Davis—Harry could feel his eyes blinking, and he hoped to krist he wasnt going to cry. He didnt really want to, but he could feel a pressure behind his eyes and could feel a tired sadness veil itself over them, and he tried desperately to keep the proper expression on his face, whatever in the hell that was. He sure as krist didnt know—you have more imagination and have the capability of being more aggressive; in other words, you have all the attributes of a successful corporate executive (o for krists sake shut up and let me get out of here)

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  except the most essential, leaning forward to emphasize the point—consistency and reliability. I would like to see you as junior vice-president, I think you could give a lot to the firm, but I cannot depend on you. Davis may not have much to get him beyond a junior vice-presidency, but he is reliable and consistent. He is a family man, with three children. A man who has settled into life and does a good job every day. You see, thats the important thing. He doesnt skyrocket one day just to fizzle out the next. And thats more important than aggressive imagination to the firm at this point in time, and in this particular position.

  Now, I do not know whats been happening with you lately, but I cannot rely on you the way I could. When I need something done, I want to be able to push this button and know that it will be done, no questions, no delays. Lately I cant even find you when I need you, so obviously youre no help to me when something suddenly needs attention. You seem (holy krist, stop the shit. Let me get out of here) to have acquired an irresponsible attitude, and you can take it from me, there is nothing more detrimental to a successful career. Personally, I think its time you thought about settling down, raising a family, accepting the responsibilities of a man. Theres nothing like it for giving you a clear perspective on life and clearing away the fog from the goals we want to attain. Personally, I think its the incentive you need.