Read Online Crompton Divided by Robert Sheckley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Sheckley
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11
Crompton had not been prepared for the squalid depravity of Loomis’s employ. Now, sitting in the curtained quiet of his hotel room, he was filled with doubts. It had occurred to him to wonder whether he actually wanted a creature like Loomis taking up room in his mind.
Loomis was going to be trouble. He really didn’t want him around. But unfortunately, he had to have him. Reintegration was impossible without all of the original components.
But perhaps it would not be so bad. Dan Stack, the third component of Crompton’s mind, would doubtless serve as an equipoise to Loomis’s base impulses, once he was found and assimilated. And Loomis himself might be expected to show some gratitude for this rescue from his pointless and repetitive existence. If the man possessed the slightest bit of moral rectitude, he might be expected to keep himself under restraint until such time as his qualities had been assimilated into the new and integrated personality that Crompton was planning to become.
Encouraged by this line of thought, Crompton put away his cards and straightened up his room. With set jaw and determined eye, he straightened his tie and went out into the street.
He boarded a cruising ornithopter and gave its driver Loomis’s home address. He was not interested in the alien sights on all sides of him, sights which Playboy magazine had voted ‘Most Far-out in the Galaxy’ for three consecutive years. The ornithopter flapped to a graceful landing on the front lawn of aluminium-sided ranch house with car-port, jalousies, a Florida room, a swimming pool, and a hibiscus tree. Crompton paid the driver (a freckled CCNY student on a working vacation). Trying to maintain his composure, he went up to the front door and rang the chimes.
The door opened. A girl of about five in a soiled T-shirt looked up at him. ‘Whaddaya want?’
‘Ah – is Mr. Loomis in?’
‘What do you want him for?’
‘That is a personal matter,’ Crompton said.
‘I don’t like you,’ the child said.
‘Gwendkwifer,’ a woman’s voice called from behind the child. ‘Come here, please.’
The little girl went away. A dark and boldly attractive young woman looked out at Crompton. ‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Crompton. I am here to see Mr. Loomis on a matter of considerable importance to both of us.’
‘If you’re a bill collector, forget it, he’s broke.’
‘It is nothing like that,’ Crompton said.
A man’s voice from within the house said, ‘Get out of the way, Gilliam. I can handle this.’
The door opened. Mr. Loomis looked out at Mr. Crompton.’
Tableau!
Parts of the same personality recognize each other instantly, and through any disguise. The moment is always the same, almost sickening in its intensity, a moment so paradoxically and simultaneously attractive and repulsive that response is momentarily arrested while one tries to think of something to say. For what do you say after the initial shock has worn off? Should you take an informal line? (‘Hello, missing personality-segment, always glad to see a part of myself, come in and take your shoes off. …’) Or is it a time for caution? (‘Oh, you ’ve popped up again. I do hope you’ll watch your manners this time. …’)
So it was that these two fragments of a single personality gazed upon each other without speaking. Crompton saw the signs of a decaying Durier body. He observed Loomis’s neat, handsome features, somewhat blurry now, characterologically gone to fat. He noticed the smooth, thinning brown hair artfully cut, and the brilliant eyes around which was a trace of cosmetics. And you could depend on Crompton not to overlook the self-indulgent twist to Loomis’s mouth and the complacent slouch of his body.
Here was the stereotype of the Sensualist, the man who lives only for pleasure and slothful ease. Here was the embodiment of the Sanguine Humor of Fire, caused by too much hot blood, tending to make a
11
Crompton had not been prepared for the squalid depravity of Loomis’s employ. Now, sitting in the curtained quiet of his hotel room, he was filled with doubts. It had occurred to him to wonder whether he actually wanted a creature like Loomis taking up room in his mind.
Loomis was going to be trouble. He really didn’t want him around. But unfortunately, he had to have him. Reintegration was impossible without all of the original components.
But perhaps it would not be so bad. Dan Stack, the third component of Crompton’s mind, would doubtless serve as an equipoise to Loomis’s base impulses, once he was found and assimilated. And Loomis himself might be expected to show some gratitude for this rescue from his pointless and repetitive existence. If the man possessed the slightest bit of moral rectitude, he might be expected to keep himself under restraint until such time as his qualities had been assimilated into the new and integrated personality that Crompton was planning to become.
Encouraged by this line of thought, Crompton put away his cards and straightened up his room. With set jaw and determined eye, he straightened his tie and went out into the street.
He boarded a cruising ornithopter and gave its driver Loomis’s home address. He was not interested in the alien sights on all sides of him, sights which Playboy magazine had voted ‘Most Far-out in the Galaxy’ for three consecutive years. The ornithopter flapped to a graceful landing on the front lawn of aluminium-sided ranch house with car-port, jalousies, a Florida room, a swimming pool, and a hibiscus tree. Crompton paid the driver (a freckled CCNY student on a working vacation). Trying to maintain his composure, he went up to the front door and rang the chimes.
The door opened. A girl of about five in a soiled T-shirt looked up at him. ‘Whaddaya want?’
‘Ah – is Mr. Loomis in?’
‘What do you want him for?’
‘That is a personal matter,’ Crompton said.
‘I don’t like you,’ the child said.
‘Gwendkwifer,’ a woman’s voice called from behind the child. ‘Come here, please.’
The little girl went away. A dark and boldly attractive young woman looked out at Crompton. ‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Crompton. I am here to see Mr. Loomis on a matter of considerable importance to both of us.’
‘If you’re a bill collector, forget it, he’s broke.’
‘It is nothing like that,’ Crompton said.
A man’s voice from within the house said, ‘Get out of the way, Gilliam. I can handle this.’
The door opened. Mr. Loomis looked out at Mr. Crompton.’
Tableau!
Parts of the same personality recognize each other instantly, and through any disguise. The moment is always the same, almost sickening in its intensity, a moment so paradoxically and simultaneously attractive and repulsive that response is momentarily arrested while one tries to think of something to say. For what do you say after the initial shock has worn off? Should you take an informal line? (‘Hello, missing personality-segment, always glad to see a part of myself, come in and take your shoes off. …’) Or is it a time for caution? (‘Oh, you ’ve popped up again. I do hope you’ll watch your manners this time. …’)
So it was that these two fragments of a single personality gazed upon each other without speaking. Crompton saw the signs of a decaying Durier body. He observed Loomis’s neat, handsome features, somewhat blurry now, characterologically gone to fat. He noticed the smooth, thinning brown hair artfully cut, and the brilliant eyes around which was a trace of cosmetics. And you could depend on Crompton not to overlook the self-indulgent twist to Loomis’s mouth and the complacent slouch of his body.
Here was the stereotype of the Sensualist, the man who lives only for pleasure and slothful ease. Here was the embodiment of the Sanguine Humor of Fire, caused by too much hot blood, tending to make a
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