The Old Man and Mr. Smith Read online

  ‘He hasn’t slept for weeks,’ said the first male nurse.

  ‘Can you take him back without waking him?’ asked Dr Kleingeld.

  ‘We can try.’

  The nurses tried to take charge of Luther Basing. He woke with a roar, and sent both nurses flying. Dr Kleingeld rose in terror.

  The Old Man reached out, touched Luther, and asked with great directness, ‘How did you recognize me?’

  Luther’s eyes disappeared in the folds of his face as he strained to remember. ‘A celestial choir … I used to sing in one … till my voice broke … a million years ago … more.’

  ‘You can’t have been a cherub. Their voices never break. Unfortunately. Their voices are as shrill as they always were, but they are more often off the note than before, out of sheer routine.’

  ‘I don’t know where it was … but I knew you straightaway, see … when I came in here.’

  ‘Don’t allow it to worry you. The imagination is an uncanny substitute for experience. Nothing that has ever lived has truly died, it has merely changed. Nature is a grand dilapidated library of all that has ever been. You cannot find your way about it, and yet it is all there, somewhere. Often humans can catch a glimpse of this or that as it passes by on the wavelength of their minds. A moment of comprehension, a spark of light is all that is necessary to briefly illuminate previously unsuspected places in unknown worlds or long-past times. Everything is available to everyone, sometimes only inches out of sight.’

  The big man grinned. ‘I know now where I know you from,’ he said.

  ‘Where?’

  He tapped his grotesque head with a chubby finger. ‘The mind.’

  The Old Man nodded gravely, and said to Dr Kleingeld, ‘He’ll give you no further trouble. And incidentally, he’s not mad. He is merely visionary. It is the rarest, the most precious form of sanity.’

  Luther Basing turned to the two male nurses. ‘OK, fellers, let’s go. Time for dinner.’ And he picked them up, one under each arm, and carried them squirming out of the room.

  ‘I suppose you’re very proud of yourself,’ said Dr Kleingeld, resentfully.

  ‘I never think in those terms. I have nobody to compare myself with.’

  ‘What can I say in my report?’

  ‘Tell the truth.’

  ‘You want them to think I’m crazy?’

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  The Old Man had been given a tranquillizer, and was pretending to sleep in order to avoid conversation with the pretty black nurse who had administered the pill. He just had no stomach for small talk. There was too much to think about.

  When she had left the ward, he noticed between half-open lids that an oriental gentleman in hospital clothes was picking his way among the beds in the half light of the late afternoon.

  The Old Man opened his eyes. ‘What are you doing here, Smith?’ he asked sternly.

  ‘Sh! Sh!’ the oriental gentleman implored. ‘I am trying out my disguise. I am Toshiro Hawamatsu. So far, so good. I’m leaving soon, whether you accompany me or not.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘New York. Washington is for you. Big moral issues, pressure groups, corruption in high places, all of that. New York’s for me. They even call it the Big Apple. Remember the small apple, in that garden whose name always escapes me, the one in which I had to learn to slither? It’s all physical. Drugs, prostitution, accompanied by high moral postures. It’s my scene, as they say.’

  ‘What are you going to do about money?’

  Millions of yen began to materialize between the sheets and blanket of the Old Man’s bed.

  ‘Thanks, or rather, Domo aregato gozaimas,’ said the grateful Mr Smith, as he swept the money into his meagre pockets. ‘I had already stolen some. Nothing easier in hospital. There’s a room downstairs where the patients’ valuables are kept. All I need now are some clothes, and a pair of glasses. Oh!—’

  He had spotted a pair of reading-glasses on the bedside table next to that of the Old Man’s, belonging to an invalid who was at present asleep. Mr Smith removed them deftly from an open paperback, the pages of which began to close slowly.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ chided the Old Man. ‘You don’t even need glasses. Neither of us do. That poor fellow does.’

  ‘If you’re going to be convincing as a Japanese, you’ve got to have glasses, whether you need them or not.’

  ‘What do I do if he wakes up and asks me if I know where his glasses are?’

  ‘If he wakes up, you go to sleep. Simple as that.’

  ‘And what about my legal dollars?’

  ‘Come with me. I’m going down to the X-ray room to collect some clothes. There’s bound to be money in the pockets. Enough to see us through. Then I’m catching what is known as a Greyhound bus at seven thirty. It gets us to New York around midnight or just after.’

  ‘You go ahead. I’ll follow.’

  ‘But if you miss the bus?’

  ‘I’ll find you in some den of iniquity.’

  ‘There are many in New York, I’m glad to say. I’ve heard of a gay bath-house and sauna called Oscar’s Wilde Life on 42nd Street.’

  ‘I dread to think what a gay bath-house is – aquatic orgies of some kind?’

  ‘No. Rather, homosexual low-jinx.’

  ‘Really? Are there such things?’

  ‘I always forget how naïve you are.’

  ‘Why would a Japanese businessman go there?’

  ‘By the time I reach the place, I’ll no longer be Japanese. I will have changed my yen into dollars at a bureau de change, and can revert to being myself, or rather, a version of myself acceptable to the Americans. I am going to the baths not so much in order to begin a form of inspection of the Earth’s depravities as to find some imaginative togs left by the naked bathers in the locker room.’

  ‘Gracious, you simply can’t acquire a wardrobe by stealing, I won’t allow it. Not while you’re with me.’

  ‘I won’t steal indiscriminately. I’ll leave the clothes there that I steal here. Exchange is no robbery.’

  ‘Fair exchange is no robbery. What’s wrong with the clothes you hope to steal here?’

  ‘I can’t imagine myself eager to keep any of the clothes I steal here. Have you seen some of the people who come here to have X-rays done?’ He lifted his eyes to illustrate the incurable dullness of such people, and therefore of the clothes. Two FBI men entered the ward, as inconsiderate of those asleep as if they had been parked cars.

  Mr Smith disappeared with alacrity.

  ‘Smith’s got out again,’ said one of them.

  ‘Who was that standing by your bed just now?’ asked the other.

  ‘Nobody.’ The Old Man blushed as circumstances compelled him to fib again.

  ‘I coulda sworn I caught oriental features, Korean or Vietnamese …’

  ‘I saw no one. Look, gentlemen, Mr Smith is a gregarious character. He may be anywhere in this vast hospital, making friends and gossiping. Have you tried the coffee shop?’

  ‘OK, Al, let’s get going. We gotta find him. He’s gotta be some place.’

  ‘Maternity?’ quipped the second FBI man.

  ‘That’ll be the day,’ laughed the other.

  As soon as they had gone, Mr Smith materialized. ‘I’m off now,’ he said.

  The Old Man started. ‘You gave me a shock. I thought you’d gone.’

  Offended, Mr Smith disappeared again.

  The sick man in the next bed had been woken up by the FBI men, and had sought consolation in his bedside thriller.

  ‘Have you seen my glasses?’ he asked.

  The Old Man was about to answer in the negative when he reflected that the telling of white lies was in danger of becoming a habit, a dangerous habit which could chip at the very base of his morality.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied robustly. ‘They were stolen by Mr Smith.’

  ‘Smith,’ echoed the sick man. ‘That’s too bad. I can’t see a thing without them.’

  ‘Those were FBI men in here just now,’ said the Old Man by way of encouragement. ‘They’re looking for Smith.’

  The sick man brightened. ‘Because he stole my glasses?’

  ‘Yes,’ the Old Man surrendered. The truth was a confounded nuisance at times, and prolonged uninteresting conversations indefinitely.

  * * *

  The conference in Dr Kleingeld’s study was a difficult one. The doctor now sat at his desk, on a swivel chair, which he used incessantly to engage in, or disengage from, conversation. At the moment, he had his back to the others. Gonella walked hither and thither nervously, whereas the other FBI men sat perched on the arms of chairs, or else leaned against other furniture. Chief Eckhardt of the 16th Precinct was also present, as was Deputy Director of the FBI, Gontrand B. Harrison, whom Gonella had urgently asked to be present. Both were seated in armchairs.

  ‘Where do we go from here?’ he asked.

  ‘Let’s retrace our steps, shall we?’ suggested Gonella.

  ‘That’s constructive thinking,’ declared Harrison.

  Gonella read from notes: ‘Chief Eckhardt, you were called in, as I understand it, when the cashier of the Waxman Cherokee Hotel, Doble K. Ruck, took a series of banknotes given to the chief concierge of the hotel, René Leclou, by Godfrey, to the Pilgrim Consolidated Bank for verification. After only about a minute to a minute and a half, the manager of the “K” Street branch of the bank, Lester Kniff, pronounced the banknotes to be forgeries …’

  Dr Kleingeld spun round in his chair to face the assembly. He spoke in his non-consultancy voice, loud, clear and discordant.

  ‘We’ve been through all this before, and several times, gentlemen. This is not a trial as yet, but merely a psychic phenomenon. No amount of reiteration of insignifica
nt details is going to help. And I deny that it’s constructive thinking, Mr Harrison. It’s just a muddle-headed bureaucratic time-waste, a favourite time-waste in high places.’

  ‘I resent that,’ said Mr Harrison.

  ‘The fact is that I am neither willing to confirm or deny that those two men are not who they say they are.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ snarled Harrison.

  ‘I questioned that too. I asked God Four what he expected me to do. He replied, “Tell the truth.” “D’you want them to think I’m crazy?” I remember saying. I knew full well the natural reaction to my stance, and yet I see no alternative to it.’

  ‘Doctor,’ appealed Gonella, ‘we’re four men who hold down great jobs. Can we afford to go on record as saying that a couple of old guys who’ve developed a repertoire of parlour tricks are conceivably God and the Devil? Come on – we’d be laughed out of court. And – well, there’s enough people out there just waiting to take our jobs – but that’s a subject I’m not even going into.’

  ‘Let us, for a moment, look at it another way,’ said Dr Kleingeld, recovering his composure, and with it, most of his somewhat suspect authority. ‘Let us divorce this incident from religion. Religion, supposedly the great consolation, the great uplifter, actually makes people nervous.’

  ‘I resent that,’ said Mr Harrison.

  ‘It is nevertheless true, in my experience. Let us treat what has happened as science fiction. Judging by the television, the invasion of this planet by a wobbling jelly, or wise little sexless busybodies with huge heads and the bodies of starved children, is quite rational, and the forces of law combat the invaders, eventually involving the armed forces of the nations, or else the saccharine goodwill of mankind, helped by all the violins Hollywood can muster. Millions follow such stories, and are deeply affected by them. They are entirely credible as the next step for the testing of our military capacity to its utmost, or else as hymns to universal peace, love spread on man’s soul like honey on yesterday’s toast. Remember, way back in the days of radio, how Orson Welles panicked the American public by graphically broadcasting, blow by blow, the invasion of the world by Martians? Nobody has ever panicked the public by suggesting God and Satan have paid us a visit.’

  ‘That’s what you’re asking us to do,’ said Gonella.

  ‘I’m saying it can’t be done. What’s wrong with us that it can’t be done? Every presidential candidate has to pretend to be deeply involved with prayer, even if he only goes through the motions for the sake of appearances. Prayers at home, on solemn occasions – it’s part of the American tradition – and yet the idea of the physical apparition of the object of our prayers is deemed impossible, even blasphemous. Easier to believe in a menacing jelly or a dinosaur survived from the time of the Creation.’

  ‘Do you pray, sir?’ Harrison asked.

  ‘No,’ replied Dr Kleingeld.

  ‘I thought not. I happen to. That is perhaps why I so bitterly resent all you say. Let me add that this is not a university lecture, but a very precise and very real emergency. Tomorrow morning, Godfrey and Smith are coming up before a judge on a charge of forgery and grand larceny. In view of their age, we hoped you could suggest some kind of extenuating circumstances of a mental nature which would militate in their favour before a judge who only has limited time at his disposal and no opportunity to find out even that which I have managed to find out about the case. But obviously, such help from you is too much to ask.’

  ‘You want me to cheat, as we all cheat all the time, with little things, in little ways. You want me to say that the two old men are not quite responsible for their actions, that they require probation, to protect society, like delinquents in their second adolescence, that they need help, which sounds so generous, but is the first of the very few steps leading to permanent incarceration. I just want to say that the words used by God Four in calming God Three displayed enormous authority, absolute intellectual integrity, and an enviable economy of means, which all of us could emulate with advantage.’

  ‘That is your last word?’

  ‘Oh no, I have no knowledge of what my last word will be. I can only say that while you were speaking, I prayed for the first time in my life … as an experiment.’

  ‘Come, gentlemen,’ said Mr Harrison, rising. ‘I won’t dwell on my disappointment. Chief Eckhardt, you’ll just have to go ahead with the prosecution, treating this as a normal case. As for the abnormal aspects of the case, we would be best advised to forget them, and never bring them up again.’

  ‘Yes, sir. OK,’ and Eckhardt added, as a quiet afterthought, ‘What if they disappear during the hearing?’

  ‘The FBI will do all in its power to prevent such an event.’

  ‘Easy to say, sir. You haven’t seen the way it happens.’

  ‘We’ve got quite an armoury of tricks up our sleeves too, Chief.’

  ‘Yes, sir. That’s wonderful to know.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Gonella summed up. ‘So let me get this straight, just so we all understand. We charge these old guys as common criminals, and we try to avoid all reference about how the money was produced, i.e., from a pocket. No mention of the Spanish or Greek coins. Just the plain facts, as it relates to the phoney notes, and nothing else.’

  ‘Right,’ said Harrison with a cursory glance at Dr Kleingeld, who was sitting with a smile on his lips, his eyes shut, his fingers forming a tent before his face. ‘We can discuss the technicalities back at the office, or else at the 16th Precinct. This is internal business. OK, let’s go.’

  The door opened before they had a chance to reach it. It was the two FBI men.

  ‘They’ve gone,’ said the first one, breathless.

  ‘Gone? Both of them?’ cried Gonella.

  ‘Yeah. The old guy, goes by the name of Godfrey, he was in bed, see, at four forty-three, and he said like he thought the other guy, Smith, might be in the coffee shop, seeing as he was outa his bed at that time. We couldn’t find Smith, so we returned to talk to Godfrey, but he’d gone, see. Mr Courland, in the next bed, says he was there one moment, gone the next.’

  ‘That’s it, that’s it,’ wailed Eckhardt, who recognized the symptoms.

  ‘Also said Smith stole his glasses.’

  ‘One thing at a time,’ Harrison snapped. He was all for clarity.

  ‘Smith, or Godfrey, or some other person, stole the clothes off this guy, Mr Xyliadis, while he was down in the X-ray unit.’

  A dark, bald, stout man appeared, dressed in striped undergarments, with a borrowed dressing gown over them, and clearly very angry indeed.

  ‘It’s a goddam disgrace,’ he shouted. ‘I come here for my half-yearly check-up regular as clockwork – have done every six months for the last ten years – except last year when I was in Salonika – I leave my outer garments in the changing room same as always—’

  ‘Take down the particulars, someone,’ cried Harrison.

  ‘OK, I’ll handle it,’ snapped Chief Eckhardt.

  ‘The rest of you – listen here – I’m going to take this matter as high as it will go – to the President himself if need be.’

  ‘The President?’ asked Gonella, incredulous. ‘Isn’t it just a little premature?’

  ‘No, sir,’ hissed Harrison, between dentures set in determination. ‘You realize this may be a patrol from another planet, or something the goddam Soviets are trying out before they use it? This is too big for us to hold, and it may just be that time is of the essence. Let’s go, fellers.’

  They were averted in their departure by a merry peal of laughter from an unusually serene Dr Kleingeld.

  ‘A patrol from another planet? What did I tell you? That is easier for us to countenance and lay on the President’s desk than a divine visitation.’

  ‘Is that all you have to say?’ asked Harrison, resentful of even seconds wasted.

  ‘No. I have just had a most uplifting experience for someone who has spent over sixty years without a prayer. The first time I try it, it is answered.’

  ‘What did you pray for?’ asked Gonella, already sneering in advance.

  ‘I prayed for the two old boys to disappear. Lucky judge in the morning. He’ll never know what he has missed! And lucky us!’

  ‘Come on. We’ve wasted enough time,’ ordered Harrison, and the officers streamed back to their squealing tyres, their screaming brakes, and their wailing sirens, the signature tune and incidental music for the Valkyries of public order.