"But you're going to?"
I shrugged in a gesture of helplessness. "How can I? An unprovoked
attack against a poor old man is dynamite. It puts me in the driver's
seat. I can write an article that will make every mealy-mouthed
hypocrite who spoke against me tonight eat his words."
* * * * *
The fire in her eyes died. "It's always something," she said wearily.
"Year after year, you've come up with one reason or another to stay in
the rotten business. And what does it amount to? Mud-slinging! I'm
beginning to think you like it!"
She'd never come out so bluntly and, deep down, I felt my resentment
pressing like the sharp edge of a coiled spring. Originally, getting
into the newspaper game had been a sort of fluke. Majoring in physical
ed at college, I often covered the various sports events for the campus
paper. One day, a big-time scandal broke, involving gamblers and one of
the teams, and I found myself in a perfect spot to do an exclusive for a
city paper. My stuff was run verbatim under a by-line and afterward
picked up by the wire services.
Later, with a trick knee keeping me out of the war, I managed to talk
myself into a job with the newspaper that had run my expose. I was
goaded by a feeling that I ought to be doing something bigger than
teaching children how to play games.
From the very start, I discovered I had a peculiar talent. If I found
myself anywhere near a skeleton in a closet, I could plainly hear its
rattle. Before long, my reputation was firmly established.
Nan, whom I'd met at college, knew of my ambition to teach and began
planning toward that end as soon as we married. She started what she
called a quitting fund. This was to stake a move to a small town where
her uncle was principal of the high school. He was supposed to help me
get a foothold in the new career.
But then Tommy was born and there were bills to pay. After that there
were other reasons, like car payments. By the end of the war, the
teaching plans were no longer discussed, and Nan and I had drawn so far
apart that even the bickering between us had ceased.
Finally, when Tommy was about ten, she suddenly let me have it.
It seems the kid was running around with a tough crowd. She wanted to
get him away from the city. He needed the fresh air and the decent,
normal home-life of a small town, she said. And she meant every word of
it.
Luckily, Jones had come along right about then and offered me a job on
his newspaper, back in the old home town. He had an idea he could drive
the opposition paper out of business by featuring yellow journalism at
the local level. That's where I came in. With my ability to make the
news bleed, he figured he could cinch it. For that reason, he was
willing to double my present salary. So I accepted.
Nan, of course, was furious, even though I pointed out the extra dough
meant we could start planning again. She didn't calm down until I
promised to quit the job after six months.
* * * * *
Yes, it was always something. She was right enough about that. But she
had no right to make such an issue of things. I started to tell her
that, then stopped. Maybe she was picking a quarrel to make me forget
about the old man and the story. I threw a fast block into my
resentment.
"Honey," I said, "don't be unreasonable. Remember this job with Jones
was supposed to get Tommy away from the city, and the extra dough was
all part of that big plan for the teaching business."
"What plan?" she flared. "There never was a plan except to pamper your
vanity! Big-shot Potter, the whiz-bang newspaperman! That's all you've
ever been interested in!"
I had to take a deep breath to keep from yelling back at her. "You're
not being very fair about this. I did it all with you and Tommy in
mind."
Her voice lowered. "Is that so? Well, how about the promise to quit in
six months? We've saved the money. What marvelous thing do you have in
mind for me and Tommy now?"
That _hurt_. As a matter of fact, I'd been quite enjoying the stint with
Jones. My series on juvenile delinquency had just about doubled
circulation and that gave me a deep sense of accomplishment. Then, too,
writing the stuff against the Mayor and the rest of the town's
big-wigs--in keeping with Jones' political ambitions--nurtured a feeling
of power that was very satisfying.
Frankly, the meeting earlier that evening had set me down harder than I
cared to admit. Now, with every chance for a comeback, Nan wanted me to
pass!
"Listen," I snarled, "so it's hot. So don't take it out on me!"
Her fists bunched and the color drained from her face. Knowing the
signs, I could tell this was going to be a lulu.
But the door flew open and Tommy came clomping through the hallway and
into the front room. He's a big kid for his age, mentally and
physically. He spotted the old man right away.
"Gol_lee_!" he breathed excitedly. "Who's the creep?"
"Never mind," Nan said, quickly recovering her composure. "He's had an
accident. Just get some money from your father and go to the drugstore
for more bandages. I'll need them."
I gave him a buck and he ran out the kitchen way, slamming the back door
so hard, the whole house shook.
The old man's eyes flickered open. He looked at me first, then at Nan.
"Well," he said in a peculiar muffled tone that suggested he was
speaking through an obstruction like a fencing mask, "isn't this cozy!"
I immediately threw a lot of questions at him. His name, he said, was
Ashe--just plain Ashe. He couldn't remember any other name. He couldn't
remember why he'd been beaten up, nor what had led up to it. He was very
confused. He thought maybe it would all come back to him later. However,
he did remember my rescuing him and he appreciated that very much.
Hearing him say so gave me a nice, tingling glow. I invited him to stay
for dinner and he accepted.
* * * * *
Nan objected. "There's only salad," she wailed. "It was too hot to
cook."
"Salad's fine," I told her.
"Oh, Ted, please!"
"Listen here," I said coldly, "I've invited Ashe to stay and he's
accepted. Why all the fuss?"
She gave me a hurt look, turned, flounced into the kitchen. I started to
follow, thinking I'd made a mistake in being so brusque. Then I thought,
the heck with it. Let her take it any way she wanted.
Sweat was plastering my shirt and pants to me like a skindiver's outfit.
I needed a shower. I told Ashe to rest easy and went into the bathroom.
When I came out, Tommy had returned. He and the old man were busily
gabbing. Nan, standing by the kitchen door, frantically signaled me to
join her. In the kitchen, she backed me against the sink. "Get him out
of here!"
"Why?" I asked, startled.
"There's something wrong with him."
"Wrong?"
"He gives me the willies."
"It's just the heat," I scoffed.
"If you must know, he--he leered at me! While you were in the shower. It
was awful!"
"Nan, do you think that kind of yarn is going to stop me from writing
about what happened tonight? It won't. And you can make up your mind I'm
keeping the job. When I get through with the people in this town,
they'll know they've been dealing with Edward Potter!"
Tight-lipped, she went to the refrigerator for the supper.
As soon as we'd sat down, Ashe began to talk. He kept it up through the
entire meal. He'd been everywhere and done everything, to hear him tell
it. Tommy, listening bug-eyed, kept asking questions. It sort of got me.
The hero of the affair, to my own son, was Ashe!
It was Nan who finally blew the whistle.
"Mr. Ashe," she said, her voice honed to a razor-edge, "I'm sure Ted
would be much more interested in knowing what led up to the fight
tonight--or are you still confused?"
There was a beat of three while he studied Nan carefully. Then he said,
"It's quite apparent, Mrs. Potter, that you've absolutely no use for me.
This shows discernment. Most likely, with a woman's instinct, you've hit
upon at least part of the truth. Because of that, it might be wise to
lay all my cards on the table. But I warn you, it will be hard to
believe."
"That," said Nan, leaning back with a gleam of triumph in her eyes,
"I'll bet on!"
* * * * *
It was hard to believe, all right. So hard, in fact, that I thought he
was just pulling Nan's leg.
He said he'd come from another world, outside our solar system, where
people existed in a kind of liquid state, bouncing about, for the most
part, like large water-filled bladders. They were, however, capable of
taking almost any shape their superior minds willed. They could flatten
and drift about in the water, or they could inflate and rise in the air.
They could even become facsimiles of other living things, taking on the
shape, texture and coloration, a capability which aided greatly in their
main function of traveling as missionaries of goodness amongst the
peoples of the Galaxy. For they were perfect--as perfect as angels.
As he talked, Nan's face got redder and redder. Finally, when I couldn't
keep from snickering, she jumped up, grabbed her empty plate and headed
for the kitchen.
"Don't rush off, honey," I said innocently.
She stopped at the kitchen door and glared at me. "I guess I know when
I'm being kidded!"
"But," said Ashe in his cold, dry purr, "I'm not kidding."
It seemed to me the joke had gone far enough. "Don't tell me," I said
sarcastically, "that you're a missionary to Earth!"
"No," he admitted. "I'm here because I was banished."
"Oh. A sort of fallen angel!"
"Exactly."
Another chill scurried along my spine. It was his tone of voice more
than anything. But then, too, his eyes had a dull, black humorlessness
about them.
Nan returned to the table and sat down. I noticed a band of perspiration
mustaching her upper lip. Indeed, I seemed to have grown much hotter
myself.
Irritably, I said, "Ashe, it's too damn warm for games. If you don't
want to explain what happened this evening, that's your privilege. But,
as you know, the story means a lot to me. And I did stick my neck out
for you!"