Read Online Crompton Divided by Robert Sheckley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Sheckley
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man unduly mirthful and overfond of fleshy gratifications. In Loomis resided all of Crompton’s potentialities for pleasure, untimely ripped from him and set up as an entity in itself – Loomis, the pure pleasure principle, vitally necessary to the Crompton mind body.
This pleasure principle, which Crompton had always imagined as existing in vacuo , seemed to be endowed with a personality of its own, to say nothing of the unexpected complication of a wife and child.
‘Well well well,’ Loomis said, grinning and rocking on his heels. ‘I always figured you’d look me up one of these days.’
‘Who is this creep?’ Gilliam asked. (The actual word she used was nmezpelth , a bit of Trastanian slang she had picked up from her far-traveling tap-dancing father. Nmezpelth means ‘diseased slime-mold’ and carries the connotation of ‘dismal repetition of undesirable actions.’)
‘He is my only living relative,’ Loomis said.
Gilliam peered suspiciously at Crompton. ‘Is he a second cousin or something?’
‘Afraid not,’ Loomis said. ‘Biologically he is a sort of combination brother and father to me. I don’t believe there’s a word to describe the relationship.’
‘You told me you were an orphan!’
Loomis shrugged. ‘Well, you told me you were a virgin.’
‘You bastard! What is this all about?’
Loomis said, ‘Oh well, these things always come out in the end, don’t they? Gilliam, I have a confession to make. The fact is, I’m not actually a person at all. I am no more than a portion of this person’s personality.’
‘That’s really funny,’ Gilliam said, laughing unpleasantly. ‘You’re always bragging about how big a man you are, and now I find out you’re not even a man at all.’
Loomis smiled. ‘My dear, you couldn’t even satisfy a Durian android; God help us both if I’d been a man!’
‘Now that ,’ Gilliam said, her voice rising to a scream, ‘is just too damn much! Baby, I’m splitting because you are not where it’s at.’
‘Go back to the job where I found you. What was it – graveyard-shift waitress at the Last Chance Simulacrum Café? Doubtless that is more your speed.’
‘I’m going!’ Gilliam shouted. ‘I’ll send for my clothes! You’ll hear from my lawyer!’
She scooped up Gwendkwifer, who screamed, ‘I don’t want to go! I want to see what happens next to Daddy!’
‘Precocious little thing,’ Loomis remarked to Crompton. ‘Good-bye, my dears,’ he said, as Gilliam and Gwendkwifer exited.
12
‘Well, alone at last,’ Loomis said, bolting the door. He looked Crompton up and down and didn’t seem too pleased with what he saw. ‘Did you have a pleasant trip here, Alistair? And do you expect to stay long?’
‘That depends,’ Crompton said.
‘Well, come into my parlor and let’s have a gab.’
Loomis’s parlor was a wonder and a revelation. Crompton almost stumbled as his feet sank into the deep-piled Oriental rug. The lighting in the room was dim and golden, and a succession of faint and disturbing shadows writhed and twisted across the walls, coiling and closing, transmuting into animals and the blotchy forms of children’s nightmares, and disappearing into the mosaic ceiling. Crompton had heard of shadow songs, but had never before seen one.
Loomis said, ‘It’s playing a rather fragile little piece called “Descent to Xanadu.” How do you like it?’
Crompton shrugged. ‘It must have been very expensive.’
Loomis shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know. It was a gift. Won’t you sit down?’
Crompton settled into a deep armchair that conformed to his contours and began, very gently, to massage his back.
‘Something to drink?’ Loomis asked.
‘Depolymerized sarsaparilla, if you have it,’ Crompton said.
Loomis went to get drinks. Crompton heard a melody that seemed to originate in his own head. The tune was slow and sensuous, and unbearably poignant. It seemed to Crompton that he had heard it
This pleasure principle, which Crompton had always imagined as existing in vacuo , seemed to be endowed with a personality of its own, to say nothing of the unexpected complication of a wife and child.
‘Well well well,’ Loomis said, grinning and rocking on his heels. ‘I always figured you’d look me up one of these days.’
‘Who is this creep?’ Gilliam asked. (The actual word she used was nmezpelth , a bit of Trastanian slang she had picked up from her far-traveling tap-dancing father. Nmezpelth means ‘diseased slime-mold’ and carries the connotation of ‘dismal repetition of undesirable actions.’)
‘He is my only living relative,’ Loomis said.
Gilliam peered suspiciously at Crompton. ‘Is he a second cousin or something?’
‘Afraid not,’ Loomis said. ‘Biologically he is a sort of combination brother and father to me. I don’t believe there’s a word to describe the relationship.’
‘You told me you were an orphan!’
Loomis shrugged. ‘Well, you told me you were a virgin.’
‘You bastard! What is this all about?’
Loomis said, ‘Oh well, these things always come out in the end, don’t they? Gilliam, I have a confession to make. The fact is, I’m not actually a person at all. I am no more than a portion of this person’s personality.’
‘That’s really funny,’ Gilliam said, laughing unpleasantly. ‘You’re always bragging about how big a man you are, and now I find out you’re not even a man at all.’
Loomis smiled. ‘My dear, you couldn’t even satisfy a Durian android; God help us both if I’d been a man!’
‘Now that ,’ Gilliam said, her voice rising to a scream, ‘is just too damn much! Baby, I’m splitting because you are not where it’s at.’
‘Go back to the job where I found you. What was it – graveyard-shift waitress at the Last Chance Simulacrum Café? Doubtless that is more your speed.’
‘I’m going!’ Gilliam shouted. ‘I’ll send for my clothes! You’ll hear from my lawyer!’
She scooped up Gwendkwifer, who screamed, ‘I don’t want to go! I want to see what happens next to Daddy!’
‘Precocious little thing,’ Loomis remarked to Crompton. ‘Good-bye, my dears,’ he said, as Gilliam and Gwendkwifer exited.
12
‘Well, alone at last,’ Loomis said, bolting the door. He looked Crompton up and down and didn’t seem too pleased with what he saw. ‘Did you have a pleasant trip here, Alistair? And do you expect to stay long?’
‘That depends,’ Crompton said.
‘Well, come into my parlor and let’s have a gab.’
Loomis’s parlor was a wonder and a revelation. Crompton almost stumbled as his feet sank into the deep-piled Oriental rug. The lighting in the room was dim and golden, and a succession of faint and disturbing shadows writhed and twisted across the walls, coiling and closing, transmuting into animals and the blotchy forms of children’s nightmares, and disappearing into the mosaic ceiling. Crompton had heard of shadow songs, but had never before seen one.
Loomis said, ‘It’s playing a rather fragile little piece called “Descent to Xanadu.” How do you like it?’
Crompton shrugged. ‘It must have been very expensive.’
Loomis shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know. It was a gift. Won’t you sit down?’
Crompton settled into a deep armchair that conformed to his contours and began, very gently, to massage his back.
‘Something to drink?’ Loomis asked.
‘Depolymerized sarsaparilla, if you have it,’ Crompton said.
Loomis went to get drinks. Crompton heard a melody that seemed to originate in his own head. The tune was slow and sensuous, and unbearably poignant. It seemed to Crompton that he had heard it
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