Read Online Time and the Riddle: Thirty-One Zen Stories by Howard Fast - Free Book Online

paper on the table. Martin and Doris followed him and looked at the date.
    â€œThey print those headlines in a place on Forty-eighth Street,” Doris said knowingly.
    â€œAh! And the inside pages as well?” The devil riffled the pages.
    â€œSuppose you let me have a look at the last page?” Martin said.
    â€œAh—that costs.”
    â€œMister, go away. There is no devil and you’re some kind of a nut. My wife has to go to work.”
    â€œBut you don’t? No job. Bless your hearts, what does a devil do to prove himself. My driving license? Or this?” Blue points of fire danced on his fingernails. “Or this?” Two horns appeared on his forehead, glistened a moment, and then disappeared. “Or this?” He held up finger and thumb and a twenty-dollar antique gold piece appeared between them. He tossed it to Martin, who caught it and examined it carefully.
    â€œTricks, tricks,” said the devil. “Look into your own heart if you doubt me, my boy. Do we deal? I sell—you buy—one copy of tomorrow’s Wall Street Journal . Yes?”
    â€œWhat price?” Doris demanded, precise, businesslike, and to the point, while her husband stared bemused at the coin.
    â€œThe usual price. The price never changes. A human soul.”
    â€œWhy?” Martin snapped, holding out the coin.
    â€œKeep it, my son,” the devil said.
    â€œWhy a human soul? What do you do with them? Collect them? Frame them?”
    â€œThey have their uses, oh yes, indeed. It would make for a long, complicated explanation, but we value them.”
    â€œI don’t believe I have a soul,” Martin said bluntly.
    â€œThen what loss if you sell it to me? To sell what you do not own without deceiving the purchaser, that is good business, Martin—all profit and no loss.”
    â€œI’ll sell mine,” Doris said.
    â€œOh? Would you? But that won’t do.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œNo—it just wouldn’t do.” He looked at his watch, a beautiful old pocket watch, gold and set with rubies and with little imps crawling all over it. “You know, I don’t have all the time in the world. You must decide.”
    â€œFor Christ’s sake,” Doris said, “sell him your damn soul or do we spend the rest of our lives in this lousy three-room rathole? Because if that’s the case, you spend them alone, Marty boy. I am sick to death of your sitting around on your ass while I work my own butt off. You’re a loser, sweety, and this is probably the last chance.”
    â€œGood girl,” the devil said approvingly. “She has a head on her shoulders, Martin.”
    â€œHow do I know—”
    â€œMartin, Martin, what do you have to lose?”
    â€œMy soul.”
    â€œWhose existence you sensibly doubt. Come, Martin—”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œOld-fashioned but simple. I have the contract here, all very direct and legal. You read it. A pinprick, a drop of blood on your signature, and tomorrow’s Wall Street Journal is yours.”
    Martin Chesell read the contract. A pin appeared like magic in the devil’s hand. A thumb was pricked, and Martin found himself smearing a drop of blood across his signature.
    â€œAll of which makes it legal and binding,” the devil said, smiling and handing Martin the paper. Doris forgot her job and Martin forgot his erstwhile soul, and they flung the paper open with trembling hands, riffled to the last page, where the New York Stock Exchange companies and prices were printed, and scanned the list. The devil watched this with benign amusement, until suddenly Martin whirled and cried:
    â€œYou bastard—this is a rotten day. Everything is down.”
    â€œHardly, Martin, hardly,” the devil replied soothingly. “Everything is never down. Some are up, some are down. I will admit that today is hardly the most inspiring of days, but there is a surprise or