"Yes. Yes, I suppose so. You know more about this than we do, but my
husband can be so obstinate--"
"I'm not being obstinate. This was all your idea, and now I want to
see what happens."
Arl said, "There'll be quite a mess. Not only will Narka be angry with
us, but the call will be coming through from all over, and none of our
subjects can go over without my permission. You know what that means?"
George asked him what.
"That means that there'll be a lot of situations where poltergeists
should have appeared, sort of like the old _deux ex machina_ of your
early literature, only they won't. That, my friend, will cause a mess."
George laughed. "I don't know. I've known a lot of people to get along
well enough without your poltergeists. Everyone I've ever known, in
fact. All my life."
Myra shrugged helplessly. "Honest, Arl, I'm sorry. It's just that
George is so ordinary."
George scowled. He had been on the verge of relenting. He definitely
had been on the verge of relenting. But that did it. He wouldn't relent
now.
"Can't you make him?" Myra demanded.
"No. That's the difficulty. I can't. The caller must either be unaware
or willing, and your husband is neither. There isn't a thing I can do
about it until he changes. Ordinarily, I could do many things so that
he'd see it our way--but that would necessitate popping in and out of
the fourth dimension, and without George's help, I can't do that. It
all rests with George."
"Well, maybe we can _make_ him cooperate."
"How do you mean, make him?"
"I mean physically. There are two of us and one of him and maybe we
can make him."
* * * * *
Myra advanced, and Arl was a little slower, but presently he got the
idea, and he too came toward George. "Stay back," George warned. "Keep
away from me or I'll never change my mind, and then you'll be stuck
here forever."
"He's right," Arl said.
"No, he's not. We can make him. We can force him to change his mind."
Myra was so close now that George could reach out and touch her. He
backed up a step. Myra was young and strong and she was athletic. Every
curve of her lithe body was deceptively strong and beautiful at the
same time, and George was developing that spare tire around his middle.
It was small but it was there and George knew he was anything but
athletic. He did not want to fight with Myra, especially when Arl, who
was a head taller than George, would be helping her. It definitely was
unwise.
Myra's first attack was merely speculative. She pushed George to see if
he would fight back. He backed up two or three steps, and then he was
sitting on the sofa.
Arl was much less speculative. He reached down and yanked George to
his feet. Then he began to shake George.
"Hey, stop it!" George's wipe sounded like a rattle.
"We won't stop until you change your mind," Myra told him, and to show
that she was serious, she poked her fist in George's stomach, hard.
He felt the air _woosh_ out of his lungs, and then he was sitting on
the sofa again. At another time he might have thought this was getting
monotonous, but he didn't think so now. When Arl picked him up again,
he tried to cringe away, but Arl held him tight.
He butted his head at Arl, and the king stumbled back and away from
him, losing his grip on George's shoulders. George didn't back up; he
stalked after the king, and when he reached him he balled his right
fist and struck out with it.
* * * * *
The contact was a bit painful, but George was happy with the result.
Arl stumbled and fell. He was all stretched out on the floor, and he
didn't try to get up.
"I did that," George said.
"You stinker. My own husband, and what a stinker you turned out to be."
"Now, my dear--" George began, sure of himself. But the words caught in
his throat. Myra threw herself at him, bodily, and George sat down. He
was sitting on the floor and then he was down flat and Myra was sitting
on his chest, and those two hammers hitting his face were her fists.
They hurt.
Myra and George had had fights before. George was not a violent man, he
knew that. He always wanted to settle things with words, and whenever
Myra lost her temper he would make it a point not to be around because
he thought she could beat him, and if she did that once, there'd be no
living with her. But now he couldn't make it a point not to be around
because Myra was sitting on his chest and he couldn't get up.
George heaved up and over, and he felt Myra roll off him. Then he sat
up and he pulled Myra across his knees. She struggled, but he held
her down with one hand and with the other he did the only thing that
a husband should do in a case like this. He spanked her. At first she
was volubly indignant, but then she began to whimper, and George didn't
stop until she was howling. He pushed her away and stood up, smoothing
the crease in his trousers. Arl's head was propped up on one elbow now,
and Arl had a dark discoloration around one of his eyes, but the look
he gave George was one of pure admiration.
"I wish I had the nerve to do that to Narka," he sighed. "That's what
she needs. I can see it now. That's what she needs."
George strode around the room jauntily. "You can if you want to, Arl.
Just because you're a king doesn't mean that you can't." Then he
turned to Myra. She was just getting up, blowing her nose in a dainty
little handkerchief.
At first George couldn't quite fathom the look she gave him. She was
angry, of course. But she was something more than angry. "George," she
said, and his name came out in a long sigh, and he knew that for the
first time he had made a conquest of his wife.
"I'll be in our city apartment," he told her. "If you want me, that's
where I'll be. And I guess you both realize my mind is made up. Arl
will remain here until I'm good and ready to send him back. Good night."
George went outside, got into the car, drove it down the dirt road to
the highway, and headed for the city.
He was whistling.
* * * * *
George sat on his stool at the bar and ordered a straight bourbon. He
had changed his mind about going to his apartment immediately. Instead,
he had gone to this bar. He had something to celebrate. Something told
him that this business was far from finished yet, but he didn't care.
It was incredibly fantastic, but he relished the prospect of more
dealings with King Arl, and with Myra, too.
He lifted the tumbler of bourbon to his lips and sipped it. But then he
set the glass down on the bar, hard, and it toppled over. Something had
plunked on his head.
"Hey," the bartender roared "That's good bourbon. You just spilled it
all over. Now you'll say it's my fault and you'll want another."
"No," George said absently. "Forget it."
Something plunked on his head again. He put his hand up and plucked at
his hair. The thing was wet and slimy. It was a little red frog. George
held it out in front of him and then he placed it down on the bar.
"Now, look," the bartender was getting angry. "You think you're a wise
guy or something? Who ast you to bring them little animals in here?
This is a respectable joint, and I got my customers to think of."
George said he was sorry. Plunk! Another frog came down on his head. He
felt it hop off, and then he saw it alight on the bartender's shoulder.
"Yoiks! Cut it out, bud! I'm warning you, cut it out." He was a little
fat man with a bald head and his face was all red, almost like the
frogs. "You stop that, bud. I don't wanna play games with you."
George said he was sorry again and he watched the bartender brush at
the frog with one hand. It landed on the bar then it jumped twice and
landed on the hand of a customer two stools down from George.
It was a lady but she let out a very unladylike howl and stalked out
of the bar.
"She went out without paying her bill!" the bartender told George. "So
you owe me for it. Three-fifty."
George wondered about this. Arl said he was helpless without George's
call, so this couldn't be Arl's work. Someone wanted to come through
from the four dimensional world, and that someone had been receiving
the call from George. He had been sipping his bourbon, minding his own
business, yet he had given the call. He had been unaware of it but he
had been giving it, and that could be embarrassing. As it was now.
"Three-fifty," the bartender said. "Three-fifty or I'm gonna force
myself to call a cop."
George handed over the money and left hurriedly.
* * * * *
He sat near the front of the trolley car, hoping that no more frogs
would fall. He could have walked home, but that would have taken much
longer, and there might be more frogs. This way, he was taking a chance
that they wouldn't fall in the trolley car, and, if they did, he'd
ignore them.
Three more stops and George would be home. He closed his eyes and
sighed contentedly. He would be safe then. He didn't want any more
frogs falling in public. Not while he was around.
Something soft but firm pressed his lap, and George opened his eyes. He
yowled. He couldn't help it. It was only a little yowl, but several
people looked at him. And then they began to yowl, especially one buxom
middle-aged lady. "It's indecent," she cried. "Utterly, thoroughly and
obnoxiously indecent. Somebody call a policeman at the next corner."
The driver looked in the mirror, astonished, and nodded. George blinked
his eyes, but when he opened them she was still there. She sat in his
lap and she was very beautiful. She didn't have a stitch of clothing on.
"Please," George pleaded. "Go away! Please go away. Go away and put
some clothing on and then come back if you want, but not like this!"
"You sent for me. You were in such a hurry you didn't even give me a
chance to dress. Now you want to send me back. What's the matter, don't
you like me?"
George felt the flush spread over his face; "Please," he said again.
"Go away. Everyone's staring at us."
"Okay," she pouted. "Okay. I'll go away. Just put that call out again
and I'll be able to do it." Her hair was long and billowing, the color
of copper, and it tickled George's face. "But I'll be back. Don't you
worry. I'll be back. And--if you see Arl--tell him I'm looking for him.
Just wait till I get my hands on him, you just wait--"
George blinked. The lovely creature was gone.
He had not been aware of the fact that the trolley had stopped. Now a
policeman stood in the aisle next to him.
"How'd you do it, pal? Come on, how'd you do it? I saw the girl and
she was naked as Lady Godiva. Just try to explain your way out of this
one...."
"It was utterly indecent," the buxom woman said. "I was going to visit
my little grandchildren, but how can I after that? How can I?"
"That," George told her acidly, "is your problem."
"A wise guy, too, eh?" The officer was belligerent.
"It's not too difficult to explain, officer. Something like hypnotism.
Something very much like it. It's called psychokinesis, I think."
"Psychokinesis, psychoshminesis. You just come on down with me and
explain it to the sergeant."
George went with him and he explained it to the sergeant, but it did
no good. The sergeant listened and then his face got very red. He had
a thick neck and his uniform collar was too tight for it, and his neck
got all red, too. He told George he could cool off his mental powers in
jail overnight and pay a twenty-five dollar fine.
... They gave George breakfast early in the morning. It wasn't very
good, but he was hungry and he ate all of it. Then he hurried out of
his cell and left the stationhouse. The whole cell was filled with
little red frogs, and he could hear the patrolmen bellowing as he
left, but he hurried down the stairs and flagged a taxi.
* * * * *
He tried to relax in the apartment, but it was no good. He thought of
the girl who had materialized in his lap, and he knew she was Narka. He
wished she would come back because he wanted to see what would happen
when she met Arl. And there were other reasons, too. He wondered if
she would be wearing clothing. And the next thought, of course, was a
logical one: what kind of clothing would a fourth dimensional queen
wear?
At ten the doorbell rang.
He opened the door, and Myra came in. Behind her was Arl, and George
had never seen anyone so frightened as Arl looked.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" George demanded.
"Nothing--yet. I just read in the newspaper about you and the naked
girl in your lap--mass hypnotism, the report said. But we both know it
wasn't. It was Narka. Where is she?"
George said not to worry because she had gone back to the world
of the red frogs, and then Myra grabbed his shoulder and spun him
around sharply. She often did that when she was angry and wanted his
attention, and George had never done anything about it. He didn't do
anything this time, either. He just looked at her, and she removed her
hand from his shoulder. Her face was very white when she spoke.
"What was she doing in your lap, George?"
"What do you think she was doing?"
"That's what I'm asking you. Please, George. I'm sorry about yesterday.
I don't know what got into me. I never should have tried to hit you. A
wife has no business trying to hit her husband."
"Nuts," George said. "You just thought you could get away with it,
that's all. Now that you know you can't, you're trying to say you're
sorry. Nuts."
Then he looked at Arl fondly. Arl was to thank for all this. If it
hadn't been for Arl, he would still be henpecked. Myra didn't look like
the type that would henpeck her husband, but George smiled ruefully at
this thought. She was the type, and she did it every chance she got.
Only she wouldn't do it anymore. Arl had been _that_ catalyst. "Arl,"
George said, "I could love you like a brother."
"What about my wife?" Arl still wanted to know. "Where's my wife?"
"I told you, she went back. For some clothing, I think."
"Then she was sitting in your lap with no clothing on!" Myra said
indignantly.
"Yes, she was."
"What was she doing in your lap with no clothing on?"
"You asked me that once."
"Please, George. What!"
"She was sitting," George said. He winked at Arl, but Arl only
shuddered. Now _there_ is one henpecked king, George thought.
Then he stood up expectantly. A frog had plunked down on his head.
* * * * *
The look of expectancy on George's face faded. He waited, but there was
nothing of Narka. No more frogs fell.
"That was tentative," Arl said.
"What do you mean, tentative?"
"I mean a tentative breakthrough into this dimension. Someone changed
his mind. But I shouldn't say someone and I shouldn't say his. It was
Narka." He was trembling.
"Get a hold on yourself, Arl. This is not the end of the world."
"You don't know Narka."
"You've just got to know how to handle women, that's all. Let them
think they have the upper hand, and you're through. Just show them
who's boss, that's all."
Myra seemed on the verge of snorting. But instead she smiled brightly
at Arl. "George is certainly right."
"Of course I'm right. Buck up, Arl."
"Well, it's easy to say. But I can't."
George snorted himself and went for the bourbon bottle. He had never
taken a drink before mid-afternoon in his life, but now he figured a
lot of changes had to be made. Necessary changes.
"I have a terrific idea," Arl said.