None But Lucifer

Chapter XXVII

THE HALES had a date with Banner at the Cordova. That put Hale in something of a fix. He disliked driving himself in heavy traffic. His chauffeur, since the change, had developed a driving technique alarmingly like the flight of a swooping swallow, in perfect confidence that he could avoid all obstacles by the necessary thickness of a razor blade. Hale couldn't reprimand the man, for fear he would carry out his oft-repeated threat to quit and go in business for himself.

Even the immutable Hamilton had lost an astonishing amount of his normal servility. "Y' see, Mr. Hale, I'm staying on because I think you're a jolly good bloke to work for. I like you. But if I change my mind, it'll be cheerio and good-by to you!"

Hale could hardly drag Gloria through the subways in an evening dress. So he put up with the chauffeur's tactics, pressing the floor with his foot at every intersection. At Sixth Avenue they were held up by fire engines. The familiar bells and sirens had been egregiously frequent lately, thought Hale. It hadn't occurred to him before that confidence with many people might result in their being careless with matches. It was a possibility; he'd have the office force get him up a report.

Just before they got to Longacre Square, the car stopped suddenly. There was a commotion up forward, and a spatter of shots, quite loud over the low roar of the theater district. Something hit Hale in the face; just a touch. It was a fragment of glass, not much bigger than a sand grain. There were three neat holes in the side window of the limousine, with spiderwebs of cracks around them. Past the chauffeur's head, Hale caught a brief glimpse of a man lying in the sidewalk. Then his view was cut off by swarms of civilians and cops.

The chauffeur talked to one cop who stood beside the car for a moment; then turned to the Hales. "Guy tries to hold up a jewelry store, all by himself, right under the nose of a flock of cops. Must have been overconfident, I guess. They got him, and a couple of folks got hit by strays. I don't know if they were — gee!" His eye fell on the three holes. "We almost got some ourselves!" Hale didn't see the sense in explaining that he and Gloria had been perfectly safe, no matter how much lead was flying around. It wouldn't have made the chauffeur happy to know that he was still vulnerable.

That was a concrete example of a tendency that had appeared in a report submitted to Hale two days previously at the office. There were fewer criminals, but more crime. Those who had robbed to keep alive had reformed, since it was so easy to make an honest living now. But those who robbed for the fun of it, who preferred one crooked dollar to two honest ones, were more active than ever, being full of confidence in their felonious plans.

IT was remarkable that Hale and Banner could talk at all in that noise. Stripped showgirls and dancers and strident comedians kept leaving the stage, to perform in the newer, more obtrusive manner among the customers' tables. Gloria had her chair turned away from Hale and her father and watched delightedly.

Banner passed a sheaf of papers back to Hale. "So what?" he grinned.

"Well, I just wanted to get your opinion," replied Hale evasively. "The graphs for last month show production at an increase, and sales are falling off pretty heavily ... enough to make you take notice, I think."

"Scared?"

"N-no." Hale smiled back, a trifle weakly. "I just wanted to find out what your opinion was. And you'll admit it's a pretty serious business when all the insurance companies go pfft."

"Oh, them. Nothing to worry about. Sure, the accident rates are up, and people aren't taking out policies any more. But the liquidation of the companies won't even make a ripple in our prosperity. I know one insurance man who says he's glad to get out of the business. Says what he's always wanted to do is cartooning, and he's perfectly confident he can make a go of it."

Banner had to stop while a group of girls, ostensibly goaded on by a ringmaster with a beribboned whip, surrounded him and kissed his leonine face. Gloria and the crowd got an immense kick out of the performance. When the performers had left, Banner scrubbed the lipstick off his face.

"My opinion?" he asked, still red and laughing. "This is a hell of a place to talk business. Well" — he drew his chair closer to Hale so he wouldn't have to shout —"naturally I spoke about the rise in inventories with a few of my biggest accounts. They feel the same as me — nothing to worry about."

"But look," Hale said earnestly, "if sales keep going down and production keeps rising —

Banner patted his son-in-law's arm. "You're hopping yourself up for nothing. What of it? Got to expect it. At first the people were starved for everything, and when they got the dough they bought everything in sight. Like a refugee from one of the poorer dictatorships. Ever see one? They can't get any kind of fat there. When they come here that's about all they eat — butter an inch thick and fat with or without meat. But when that particular hunger's satisfied, they quit. Same with our people. When they get about two of everything they need, they naturally stop buying so fast."

A fight had broken out among the customers; a small, slight man, who might, before the change, have been expected to have better sense, was wading into a two-hundred-pounder, swinging wildly. When a couple of waiters had carried off what was left of the little man, and the noise had subsided below boiler-factory level, Hale went on with his questions. "But what'll we do to get rid of our surplus if that's the case?"

"Sell, my boy! We'll sell!"

"But to whom?"

"That's the easiest part. The dictatorships have cut adrift from the economic world, with their principle of self-sufficiency. Won't work out, of course. All it really means is starving so you can pay for guns. Sooner or later news of how well off we are will leak into those countries, and they'll throw out the big shots and stop their self-sufficiency policy. We step in and sell 'em stuff!"

"Oh," said Hale. "Sure."

They sat in silence for a while. Hale stared indifferently past Gloria's lovely profile at the boisterous floor show. The crowd was clamorous and thirsty, and insisted on being part of the entertainment. Male and female drunks staggered out on the floor in imitation of the performers; the rest contented themselves with snatching entertainers to their tables and making them drink.

VISITING Europeans claimed to find a resemblance between decadent Roman carnivals and the pursuit of amusement in Hale's hemisphere. Hale was shrewd enough to see the difference. The effete Romans accepted entertainment passively. The Americans amused themselves. They drank whatever liquor was nearest to pure alcohol, usually out of the bottle; they danced the rowdiest dances imaginable; they stumbled onto the floor or stage and took over from the professionals. Merely watching tableaux of girls, no matter how naked, would have required too much disinterested contemplation, and Hale's hemisphere was anything but disinterested or contemplative. It demanded action, with itself as the most active participant. Its search for amusement, Hale had to admit to himself, was somewhat desperate.

"Nope," said Banner thoughtfully, "it isn't getting rid of our surplus that's worrying me."

"Isn't it?"

"No. Get this straight! I've got just as much self-confidence as the next guy! I know we've got a future no other country in history can match. Only" — he glared at the writhing mass of audience and performers —"a guy my age can't help stopping and thinking now and then. Look at them! They're what I'm worrying about, the half-witted nippleheads!"

"You're worried about them? How come?"

Banner filled a pipe with unnecessary care, as if daring the management to interfere. "They're not happy. Got more than they ever dreamed of and still they're not. Miserable, in fact —"

"They're —" Hale began trembling. He whispered: "What makes you say that?"

"Well, they are, only they don't know it. They're trying to convince themselves they're having a swell time. Only they're not. Here's how I look at it, Bill: Everything came too easily. I was brought up having whatever I liked; always lived that way. These poor devils never had anything. Now all they want is practically theirs for the asking. They can buy anything they want. But, hell, you can't keep buying like a maniac all your life. That hunger gets satisfied, same as any other."

Hale laughed derisively. "Anything they want is theirs ... so they're unhappy! You're crazy!"

"Maybe," Banner said obstinately. They paused while a drunk shuffled over and asked Gloria to dance. Hale knew why she clutched with horrified desperation at his hand. But Banner looked sentimental and mumbled something about their having been married nearly a year and still —

"Take yourself as an example," he said when the drunk had wandered off. "Remember when I offered you a job at ten thousand a year with hardly any work connected with it? How many guys would have thrown away a chance like that? At that time, I mean. But what did you do?"

"I had other plans," said Hale, wishing that Gloria would release his hand.

"Sure. Bigger plans. A damn big fortune. A twenty-nine-room apartment. Five cars — so you walk most of the time. Summer home you didn't step into all summer. Shooting lodge, and you never shoot anything —"

HALE sat still, knowing that if he took out a cigarette his hands would shake. "What are you getting at?"

"That yacht of yours. Say, even now, how many people can afford a yacht? But when did you go on a cruise last? A couple of times after you first got it, and then you lost interest. Same with these poor suckers. It isn't getting what you want that gives you the kick, especially if you get it easily."

"No?"

"Course not! It's the anticipation! Why, the day you crashed my office ... you certainly looked lousy, but underneath those rags and whiskers you were just about the happiest, most vital guy I'd seen in years! That's because you were anticipating —"

It was true; Hale could look back and see that.

"And ever since then you've been sort of lifeless. Understand what I mean? You just sit back now. You're about the unhappiest guy in the world. You don't give a damn about what you own. Take it for granted —"

Hale had to be honest with himself; he did derive no pleasure from his material possessions. But that was because of Johnson's trickery. The victorious struggle against Lucifer and the philosophy of Hell gave him enough satisfaction to compensate for everything else.

"Why, hell, Bill ... Gloria's practically your whole life. Being with her's about the only fun you get!"

Hale tried not to wince visibly. His only pleasure! Lord! He had to love her, but his spell didn't blind him, which was unfortunate. If it had, he might not have been so disgusted as he watched the delight that she got out of brawls like this one.

"I'll tell you, Bill, my idea is that getting over the buying craze is a healthy thing."

"Yeah? Why?" asked Hale, his voice almost normal again.

"Well, here's my analysis. What happens when all of a sudden you can get anything you want? You buy like mad, naturally. But you get over it. I think all this excitement and ... well, call it subconscious misery are just transition. See what I mean? These folks will adjust themselves to prosperity. They'll develop a sense of proportion, when they see that a new hat or shoes or a bigger house isn't the main thing in life. Then they'll settle down and think of really important matters.

"They think they can stop at success, but they can't. Success looks big to anybody who hasn't got it; he thinks he can ride along the rest of his life enjoying it. He can't. He has to get another goal."

Hale had already discovered that phenomenon. He knew that after even such a huge victory as defeating Lucifer, he'd have to find another mountain to roll his boulder up. He'd do it, too. He'd invade the other half of Hell and snatch it from Lucifer. There was an aim vast enough for anyone: all Hell a Utopia! But even after that he wouldn't rest. There would always be more goals to anticipate.

"So I guess I'm not really worried about them, after all," said Banner. "The dictatorships are about ready to cave in. You notice they're still beating their chests and roaring, but they aren't making any more concrete demands. There's a real sign of weakness for you! We'll pile up a little surplus, but when the dictatorships fall we'll have all we can do supplying those poor devils." He nodded complacently and shoved his chair back. "Go ahead and give the little woman a whirl, son. That sounds like a nice dance number."

Hale got up and opened his arms to Gloria. Her shiver of joy touched him. Her yielding body and generous affection were, for the moment, ends in themselves.

Even Banner, for whose shrewd intelligence Hale had great respect, found Hale's hemisphere nearly perfect. The period of adjustment would soon be over; the surplus would find markets. Lucifer would finally be dethroned. What more could he ask?

THAT WEEK the dictatorships collapsed, with hardly a shot. The strong men simply disappeared, and their oppressive bureaucracies slumped into ruins, leaving Europe a starving wreck.

And that same week Hale got a telegram from Johnson, saying that he would return on the 26th, and would Hale please meet him at the airport.

The 26th — The date had some obscure significance for Hale. Was it the anniversary of his partnership? Probably something like that. It made no difference. All that counted was his own anticipation. Johnson's wire had sounded cheerful enough, or at least had not been abusive. But Hale was willing to bet that Lucifer's repulsively fat face wouldn't be quite so jovial. That was anticipation — meeting the vanquished all-powerful!