Many Dimensions, Charles Williams [black authors fiction TXT] 📗
- Author: Charles Williams
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hemisphere of danger and distress; and over that danger and that
distress floated, ironically effective, the Stone. Of the two the Mayor
suffered the more, for he had the keener sight, and at the same time
the remembrance of his own son struck at his heart. He saw the silent
railways and the idle workers at the same time that he heard the moans
of the dying man and knew them for the moans of one among thousands. He
turned sharply on the Minister.
“Is there no way of administering relief,” he asked, “by the most
careful vigilance?”
“There is no way to protect the Stone if we’are to use the Stone,” Mr.
Gartef Browne said. “And now, gentlemen?”
“I cannot believe it,” the Mayor cried out. “Is the mind of man
incapable of dealing with this problem? Or is the Stone sent to mock
us?”
“Well… mock?” the Minister asked, “mock?… But I think probably
its value has been much exaggerated. We have, of course-”
“But I have seen these things happen,” the Mayor said.
“No doubt, no doubt. As I was saying,” the Minister went on, “we have,
of course, our own scientists at work on it. Analysing, you know.”
“Who are your scientists?” the Mayor asked.
“Sir Giles Tumulty primarily,” the other answered. He had never heard
of Sir Giles till the previous evening, but his
manner implied that the name ought to settle the Mayor, “And no doubt
he—they—will find some means to isolate the curative while—shall we
say inhibiting?—the non-curative elements. But you must give us time.”
“And am I to go back to Rich and tell the people to die?” the Mayor
asked.
“You talk as if your townsfolk were all the people,” Merridew muttered.
“Aren’t there any others to watch for the people than you? What of the
Unions? Are my members to starve that your townsfolk may be more
cheerful?”
“It seems,” the Mayor said heavily, “that this Stone is a very subtle
thing.”
Mr. Garterr Browne felt that his own mind was at least as good as the
Stone if it came to subtlety. It had been a difficult situation, and
now everything was coming right. He looked almost gratefully at Mr.
Merridew, but received no answering glance. The General Secretary was
beginning to feel anxious about the future.
“At least,” the Mayor said suddenly, “you will have the whole matter
laid before Parliament, so that we may know what resolution is come to,
and for what reason.”
“I very certainly will not,” Mr. Garterr Browne said, startled at this
new threat of tempest. “Why, Parliament isn’t even sitting. I shall let
the Cabinet know. Can’t you trust us to do our best?”
Neither of his visitors seemed anxious to do so. Both of them were
thinking of the crowds, of voices crying out questions, of the demand
of the common people for security and food and content. In the faint
noise of the traffic of London that came to them in the room there
seemed to be something which must either be laid hold of or itself lay
hold. Merridew saw before him the massed ranks of his Conference. There
was here a thing which allowed, it seemed, of no arrangement; here was
no question of percentages and scales and wage-modifications over long
periods—things that could be explained and defended. If it got out, if
the Stone were used publicly, the whole of his Unions would be raging
round him, and all the allied trades. Yet if the Stone were refused, he
seemed to see in the upright and dangerous figure of the Mayor a threat
of other action, of the outbreak of the sick and the friends of the
sick. He foresaw division and angry strife, and suddenly looking at the
Home Secretary he cried out in answer to the plaintive appeal-“But this
is civil war!”
The Mayor looked over at him. “I do not think you are wrong, Mr.
Secretary,” he said. “We are coming perhaps to evil days.”
“But really, gentlemen,” the Minister began, and then changing his
intention addressed himself to the Mayor. “Do you not see,” he said,
“that more will suffer if the Stone is used than if it is kept secret?
I am sure we all sympathize with those who are in need’of one sort or
another, but you cannot build up a house by pulling it down, nor do
good to some by doing harm to many. Besides, so little has really been
discovered about this… discovery that it’s too soon to take a gloomy
view. You, I am sure, Mr. Mayor, will explain this to the people of
Rich.”
“And if the people of Rich lynch me in the street I shall think it
natural,” the Mayor answered.
There was a knock at the door and a secretary entered. “Lord Birlesmere
is very anxious to-see you, sir,” he said. “He telephoned from the
Foreign Office Just now to know if he could come across.”
“Of course, of course,” Mr. Garterr Browne answered, and then, as the
secretary went out, turned to his visitors. “Well,” he said, “I must
break off the discussion. But please don’t let there be any
misunderstanding. The Government will take steps to find out what the
truth really is. As I said before, there is always likely to be
exaggeration. And then I will let you know its decision. Pray,
gentlemen, exercise all your restraining influence, and do not let
there be any talk of civil war. This is a civilized community. Your
interests—the interests of those you represent—townsfolk or unionists—
will be safe in our hands. I shall be writing to you both in a few
days. No, Mr. Mayor, I can’t discuss it further at present. Important
things are bound to take time.”
As the two were ushered out Mr. Garterr Browne shook his head
thoughtfully at the still ominous storm. “What is quite certain,”
he said, “is that no one must be allowed to believe in this Stone
any more. It simply must not be allowed.”
THE REFUSAL OF LORD ARGLAY
Wandsworth?” Professor Palliser said, staring at Sir Giles. “Why did
you go there?”
“Can’t you guess?” Sir Giles asked. “Then I suppose you won’t guess
what happened. Well, I don’t mind telling you, Palliser, that for once
neither did I. Nor the Governor, who is a beefy lump of idiocy. He got
quite upset when he saw it.”
“Saw what?” Palliser asked. “What have you been doing?”
“I’ll tell you,” Sir Giles answered. “I ought to have foreseen perhaps—but one doesn’t know what the logic of the damned thing is. Well, I
went to Wandsworth. You know what they have at Wandsworth?”
“Not specially,” Palliser said. “A common, isn’t there? And a prison?”
“And a Hottentot missionary college, and a seminary for barmaids,” Sir
Giles added. “What do they have at Wandsworth Prison early in the
mornings?”
“Parades?” Palliser, all at sea, ventured. “Breakfast? Chapel?”
“Try all three,” Sir Giles answered. “Executions, Palliser. That’s what
I went for. There aren’t so many that I could afford to miss one,
especially just after Birlesmere had given me a practically free hand.
So I got a letter out of him and the Home Office scullion and down I
went. After all, I argued, if this infernal Stone is a kind of
rendezvous of the past and the future and every sort of place I didn’t
see why it shouldn’t push a man over an interruption, like death. There
is only one kind Of death which is fixed and that’s execution. Even at
hospitals you can’t be certain to an hour or two, and anyhow very often
there people don’t die intelligently; they lose themselves and drift.
But the fellow who’s going to be executed knows about it all right. The
ape-creature who called himself the Governor wouldn’t let on to me
whether he usually drugged the victin, but I saw to it he didn’t drug
this one. I wanted all the intelligence I could find—not that there was
much anyhow; he was an undersized slug who’d poisoned a woman because
she’d run away with him without having any money, so far as I could
understand. Not that it mattered. I got there before he’d had his
breakfast, and had a little talk, asked him if he’d like to live and so
on. The warder had been cleared out of the cell, so it was all right. I
don’t know what the wretched creature thought I was offering him, but
he screamed with gratitudequite a fascinating ten minutes, all twisting
and slobbering. In fact, I began to think I shouldn’t get the idea into
the maggot-hole he had for a brain, but I did, and made him have a good
breakfast too. Then the chaplain came in and talked about life in
heaven, but my murderer was all for life on earth, and I was worth a
dozen mongrel-faced chaplains to him. So he was pinioned so that he
could hold one of the Stones—you ought to have seen the Governor
looking like a Sunday school superintendent in a night club or
something worse—and I told him to put everything he knew into choosing
to live. And off we went—he and the hangman and the chaplain and the
Governor and I and everyone. The funniest thing you ever saw, Palliser-if you ever did see anything funny. And there was the trap and
everything. Well, do you know it was only then it occurred to me that I
ought to be underneath—in the pit thing he drops into. It delayed
matters a bit, but at last they grasped what I wanted: anyone except a
malformed baby of two months would have understood me sooner than that
Governor: and round and down I went. And down he came.”
Sir Giles paused. “And now,” he resumed, “what do you think happened?”
“How do I know?” Palliser exclaimed. “He was dead?”
“No,” Sir Giles said thoughtfully. “No, I shouldn’t say he was dead.”
“He was alive!” Palliser cried. “Does it really do away with death?”
“Well, yes, I suppose in a way he was alive,” Sir Giles said. “He was
quite conscious and so on—one could see that. The only thing was that
his neck was broken.”
Palliser gaped at him. In a moment Sir Giles resumed. “There he was.
Neck broken, everything as it should be, the body dead so to speak. But
he wasn’t. I can see now that it was my fault in a way. I was thinking
in terms of continuation of life, so I put him on to that idea, and of
course he swilled it down with his coffee. But we both forgot to
arrange the conditions, so that the ordinary physical process wasn’t
interfered with. Yet on the other hand his consciousness just stopped
there, in his body or wherever it lives. A damn funny result,
Pallister. If you could have seen his eyes while he hung there kicking—”
Palliser interrupted. “But what did you do?” he asked.
Sir Giles shrugged. “O well,.they cut him down, and stuck him in a bed
somewhere privately, and the chaplain postponed any more of the
resurrection and the life, and the Governor went off to get more
instructions. And I hung about a bit—in fact, I’ve been there all day
on and off; but there doesn’t seem to be any change. There he lies, all
broken up, and just his eyes awake. No use at all to me or anyone, damn
and blast him for a verminous puppy-dog!”
Palliser moved uneasily. “I’m beginning to be afraid of it,” he said.
“I wish
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