The Short Happy Life of the Brown Oxford and Other Classic Stories

by Philip K. Dick

  Shadrach tensed. His fingers closed over the money. From outside came a sound, the melodic ring of the signal wire stretched along the pavement.

  Dinggg!

  Shadrach dropped the money into the till and pushed the drawer closed. He stood up slowly and walked toward the door, listening. At the door, he snapped off the light and waited in the darkness, staring out.

  He could see no car there. The rain was pouring down, swirling with the wind; clouds of mist moved along the road. And something was standing beside the pumps.

  He opened the door and stepped out. At first, his eyes could make nothing out. Then the old man swallowed uneasily.

  Two tiny figures stood in the rain, holding a kind of platform between them. Once, they might have been gaily dressed in bright garments, but now their clothes hung limp and sodden, dripping in the rain. They glanced half-heartedly at Shadrach. Water streaked their tiny faces, great drops of water. Their robes blew about them with the wind, lashing and swirling.

  On the platform, something stirred. A small head turned wearily, peering at Shadrach. In the dim light, a rain-streaked helmet glinted dully.

  “Who are you?” Shadrach said.

  The figure on the platform raised itself up. “I’m the King of the Elves and I’m wet.”

  Shadrach stared in astonishment.

  “That’s right,” one of the bearers said. “We’re all wet.”

  A small group of Elves came straggling up, gathering around their king. They huddled together forlornly, silently.

  “The King of the Elves,” Shadrach repeated. “Well, I’ll be darned.”

  Could it be true? They were very small, all right, and their dripping clothes were strange and oddly colored.

  But Elves?

  “I’ll be darned. Well, whatever you are, you shouldn’t be out on a night like this.”

  “Of course not,” the king murmured. “No fault of our own. No fault…” His voice trailed off into a choking cough. The Elf soldiers peered anxiously at the platform.

  “Maybe you better bring him inside,” Shadrach said. “My place is up the road. He shouldn’t be out in the rain.”

  “Do you think we like being out on a night like this?” one of the bearers muttered. “Which way is it? Direct us.”

  Shadrach pointed up the road. “Over there. Just follow me. I’ll get a fire going.”

  He went down the road, feeling his way onto the first of the flat stone steps that he and Phineas Judd had laid during the summer. At the top of the steps, he looked back. The platform was coming slowly along, swaying a little from side to side. Behind it, the Elf soldiers picked their way, a tiny column of silent dripping creatures, unhappy and cold.

  “I’ll get the fire started,” Shadrach said. He hurried them into the house.

  Wearily, the Elf King lay back against the pillow. After sipping hot chocolate, he had relaxed and his heavy breathing sounded suspiciously like a snore.

  Shadrach shifted in discomfort.

  “I’m sorry,” the Elf King said suddenly, opening his eyes. He rubbed his forehead. “I must have drifted off. Where was I?”

  “You should retire, Your Majesty,” one of the soldiers said sleepily. “It is late and these are hard times.”

  “True,” the Elf King said, nodding. “Very true.” He looked up at the towering figure of Shadrach, standing before the fireplace, a glass of beer in his hand. “Mortal, we thank you for your hospitality. Normally, we do not impose on human beings.”

  “It’s those Trolls,” another of the soldiers said, curled up on a cushion of the couch.

  “Right,” another soldier agreed. He sat up, groping for his sword. “Those reeking Trolls, digging and croaking—”

  “You see,” the Elf King went on,”as our party was crossing from the Great Low Steps toward the Castle, where it lies in the hollow of the Towering Mountains—”

  “You mean Sugar Ridge,” Shadrach supplied helpfully.

  “The Towering Mountains. Slowly we made our way. A rain storm came up. We became confused. All at once a group of Trolls appeared, crashing through the underbrush. We left the woods and sought safety on the Endless Path—”

  “The highway. Route Twenty.”

  “So that is why we’re here.” The Elf King paused a moment. “Harder and harder it rained. The wind blew around us, cold and bitter. For an endless time we toiled along. We had no idea where we were going or what would become of us.”

  The Elf King looked up at Shadrach. “We knew only this: Behind us, the Trolls were coming, creeping through the woods, marching through the rain, crushing everything before them.”

  He put his hand to his mouth and coughed, bending forward. All the Elves waited anxiously until he was done. He straightened up.

  “It was kind of you to allow us to come inside. We will not trouble you for long. It is not the custom of the Elves—”

  Again he coughed, covering his face with his hand. The Elves drew toward him apprehensively. At last the king stirred. He sighed.

  “What’s the matter?” Shadrach asked. He went over and took the cup of chocolate from the fragile hand. The Elf King lay back, his eyes shut.

  “He has to rest,” one of the soldiers said. “Where’s your room? The sleeping room?”

  “Upstairs,” Shadrach said. “I’ll show you where.”

  Late that night, Shadrach sat by himself in the dark, deserted living room, deep in meditation. The Elves were asleep above him, upstairs in the bedroom, the Elf King in the bed, the others curled up together on the rug.

  The house was silent. Outside, the rain poured down endlessly, blowing against the house. Shadrach could hear the tree branches slapping in the wind. He clasped and unclasped his hands. What a strange business it was—all these Elves, with their old, sick king, their piping voices. How anxious and peevish they were!

  But pathetic, too; so small and wet, with water dripping down from them, and all their gay robes limp and soggy.

  The Trolls—what were they like? Unpleasant and not very clean. Something about digging, breaking and pushing through the woods…

  Suddenly, Shadrach laughed in embarrassment. What was the matter with him, believing all this? He put his cigar out angrily, his ears red. What was going on? What kind of joke was this?

  Elves? Shadrach grunted in indignation. Elves in Derryville? In the middle of Colorado? Maybe there were Elves in Europe. Maybe in Ireland. He had heard of that. But here? Upstairs in his own house, sleeping in his own bed?

  “I’ve heard just about enough of this,” he said. “I’m not an idiot, you know.”

  He turned toward the stairs, feeling for the banister in the gloom. He began to climb.

  Above him, a light went on abruptly. A door opened.

  Two Elves came slowly out onto the landing. They looked down at him. Shadrach halted halfway up the stairs. Something on their faces made him stop.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked hesitantly.

  They did not answer. The house was turning cold, cold and dark, with the chill of the rain outside and the chill of the unknown inside.

  “What is it?” he said again. “What’s the matter?”

  “The King is dead,” one of the Elves said. “He died a few moments ago.”

  Shadrach stared up, wide-eyed. “He did? But—”

  “He was very cold and very tired.” The Elves turned away, going back into the room, slowly and quietly shutting the door.

  Shadrach stood, his fingers on the banister, hard, lean fingers, strong and thin.

  He nodded his head blankly.

  “I see,” he said to the closed door. “He’s dead.”

  The Elf soldiers stood around him in a solemn circle. The living room was bright with sunlight, the cold white glare of early morning.

  “But wait,” Shadrach said. He plucked at his necktie. “I have to get to the filling station. Can’t you talk to me when I come home?”

  The faces of the Elf soldiers were serious an
d concerned.

  “Listen,” one of them said. “Please hear us out. It is very important to us.”

  Shadrach looked past them. Through the window he saw the highway, steaming in the heat of day, and down a little way was the gas station, glittering brightly. And even as he watched, a car came up to it and honked thinly, impatiently. When nobody came out of the station, the car drove off again down the road.

  “We beg you,” a soldier said.

  Shadrach looked down at the ring around him, the anxious faces, scored with concern and trouble. Strangely, he had always thought of Elves as carefree beings, flitting without worry or sense—

  “Go ahead,” he said. “I’m listening.” He went over to the big chair and sat down. The Elves came up around him. They conversed among themselves for a moment, whispering, murmuring distantly. Then they turned toward Shadrach.

  The old man waited, his arms folded.

  “We cannot be without a king,” one of the soldiers said. “We could not survive. Not these days.”

  “The Trolls,” another added. “They multiply very fast. They are terrible beasts. They’re heavy and ponderous, crude, bad-smelling—”

  “The odor of them is awful. They come up from the dark wet places, under the earth, where the blind, groping plants feed in silence, far below the surface, far from the sun.”

  “Well, you ought to elect a king, then,” Shadrach suggested. “I don’t see any problem there.”

  “We do not elect the King of the Elves,” a soldier said. “The old king must name his successor.”

  “Oh,” Shadrach replied. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that method.”

  “As our old king lay dying, a few distant words came forth from his lips,” a soldier said. “We bent closer, frightened and unhappy, listening.”

  “Important, all right,” agreed Shadrach. “Not something you’d want to miss.”

  “He spoke the name of him who will lead us.”

  “Good. You caught it, then. Well, where’s the difficulty?”

  “The name he spoke was—was your name.”

  Shadrach stared. “Mine?”

  “The dying king said: ‘Make him, the towering mortal, your king. Many things will come if he leads the Elves into battle against the Trolls. I see the rising once again of the Elf Empire, as it was in the old days, as it was fore—”

  “Me!” Shadrach leaped up. “Me? King of the Elves?”

  Shadrach walked about the room, his hands in his pockets. “Me, Shadrach Jones, King of the Elves.” He grinned a little. “I sure never thought of it before.”

  He went to the mirror over the fireplace and studied himself. He saw his thin, graying hair, his bright eyes, dark skin, his big Adam’s apple.

  “King of the Elves,” he said. “King of the Elves. Wait till Phineas Judd hears about this. Wait till I tell him!”

  Phineas Judd would certainly be surprised!

  Above the filling station, the sun shown, high in the clear blue sky.

  Phineas Judd sat playing with the accelerator of his old Ford truck. The motor raced and slowed. Phineas reached over and turned the ignition key off, then rolled the window all the way down.

  “What did you say?” he asked. He took off his glasses and began to polish them, steel rims between slender, deft fingers that were patient from years of practice. He restored his glasses to his nose and smoothed what remained of his hair into place.

  “What was it, Shadrach?” he said. “Let’s hear that again.”

  “I’m King of the Elves,” Shadrach repeated. He changed position, bringing his other foot up on the running board. “Who would have thought it? Me, Shadrach Jones, King of the Elves.”

  Phineas gazed at him. “How long have you been—King of the Elves, Shadrach?”

  “Since the night before last.”

  “I see. The night before last.” Phineas nodded. “I see. And what, may I ask, occurred the night before last?”

  “The Elves came to my house. When the old king died, he told them that—”

  A truck came rumbling up and the driver leaped out. “Water!” he said. “Where the hell is the hose?”

  Shadrach turned reluctantly. “I’ll get it.” He turned back to Phineas. “Maybe I can talk to you tonight when you come back from town. I want to tell you the rest. It’s very interesting.”

  “Sure,” Phineas said, starting up his little truck. “Sure, Shadrach. I’m very interested to hear.”

  He drove off down the road.

  Later in the day, Dan Green ran his flivver up to the filling station.

  “Hey, Shadrach,” he called. “Come over here! I want to ask you something.”

  Shadrach came out of the little house, holding a waste-rag in his hand.

  “What is it?”

  “Come here.” Dan leaned out the window, a wide grin on his face, splitting his face from ear to ear. “Let me ask you something, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Is it true? Are you really the King of the Elves?”

  Shadrach flushed a little. “I guess I am,” he admitted, looking away. “That’s what I am, all right.”

  Dan’s grin faded. “Hey, you trying to kid me? What’s the gag?”

  Shadrach became angry. “What do you mean? Sure, I’m the King of the Elves. And anyone who says I’m not—”

  “All right, Shadrach,” Dan said, starting up the flivver quickly. “Don’t get mad. I was just wondering.”

  Shadrach looked very strange.

  “All right,” Dan said. “You don’t hear me arguing, do you?”

  By the end of the day, everyone around knew about Shadrach and how he had suddenly become the King of the Elves. Pop Richey, who ran the Lucky Store in Derryville, claimed Shadrach was doing it to drum up trade for the filling station.

  “He’s a smart old fellow,” Pop said. “Not very many cars go along there any more. He knows what he’s doing.”

  “I don’t know,” Dan Green disagreed. “You should hear him, I think he really believes it.”

  “King of the Elves?” They all began to laugh. “Wonder what he’ll say next.”

  Phineas Judd pondered. “I’ve known Shadrach for years. I can’t figure it out.” He frowned, his face wrinkled and disapproving. “I don’t like it.”

  Dan looked at him. “Then you think he believes it?”

  “Sure,” Phineas said. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I really think he does.”

  “But how could he believe it?” Pop asked. “Shadrach is no fool. He’s been in business for a long time. He must be getting something out of it, the way I see it. But what, if it isn’t to build up the filling station?”

  “Why, don’t you know what he’s getting?” Dan said, grinning. His gold tooth shone.

  “What?” Pop demanded.

  “He’s got a whole kingdom to himself, that’s what—to do with like he wants. How would you like that, Pop? Wouldn’t you like to be King of the Elves and not have to run this old store any more?”

  “There isn’t anything wrong with my store,” Pop said. “I ain’t ashamed to run it. Better than being a clothing salesman.”

  Dan flushed. “Nothing wrong with that, either.” He looked at Phineas. “Isn’t that right? Nothing wrong with selling clothes, is there, Phineas?”

  Phineas was staring down at the floor. He glanced up. “What? What was that?”

  “What you thinking about?” Pop wanted to know. “You look worried.”

  “I’m worried about Shadrach,” Phineas said. “He’s getting old. Sitting out there by himself all the time, in the cold weather, with the rain water I running over the floor—it blows something awful in the winter, along the highway—”

  “Then you do think he believes it?” Dan persisted. “You don’t think he’s getting something out of it?”

  Phineas shook his head absently and did not answer.

  The laughter died down. They all looked at one another.

  That night, as Shadrach was
locking up the filling station, a small figure came toward him from the darkness.

  “Hey!” Shadrach called out. “Who are you?”

  An Elf soldier came into the light, blinking. He was dressed in a little gray robe, buckled at the waist with a band of silver. On his feet were little leather boots. He carried a short sword at his side.

  “I have a serious message for you,” the Elf said. “Now, where did I put it?”

  He searched his robe while Shadrach waited. The Elf brought out a tiny scroll and unfastened it, breaking the wax expertly. He handed it to Shadrach.

  “What’s it say?” Shadrach asked. He bent over, his eyes close to the vellum. “I don’t have my glasses with me. Can’t quite make out these little letters.”

  “The Trolls are moving. They’ve heard that the old king is dead, and they’re rising, in all the hills and valleys around. They will try to break the Elf Kingdom into fragments, scatter the Elves—”

  “I see,” Shadrach said. “Before your new king can really get started.”

  “That’s right.” The Elf soldier nodded. “This is a crucial moment for the Elves. For centuries, our existence has been precarious. There are so many Trolls, and Elves are very frail and often take sick—”

  “Well, what should I do? Are there any suggestions?”

  “You’re supposed to meet with us under the Great Oak tonight. We’ll take you into the Elf Kingdom, and you and your staff will plan and map the defense of the Kingdom.”

  “What?” Shadrach looked uncomfortable. “But I haven’t eaten dinner. And my gas station—tomorrow is Saturday, and a lot of cars—”

  “But you are King of the Elves,” the soldier said.

  Shadrach put his hand to his chin and rubbed it slowly.

  “That’s right,” he replied. “I am, ain’t I?”

  The Elf soldier bowed.

  “I wish I’d known this sort of thing was going to happen,” Shadrach said. “I didn’t suppose being King of the Elves—”

  He broke off, hoping for an interruption. The Elf soldier watched him calmly, without expression.

  “Maybe you ought to have someone else as your king,” Shadrach decided. “I don’t know very much about war and things like that, fighting and all that sort of business.” He paused, shrugged his shoulders. “It’s nothing I’ve ever mixed in. They don’t have wars here in Colorado. I mean they don’t have wars between human beings.”