Read Online What Thin Partitions by Mark Clifton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark Clifton
Ads: Link
at the Swami in his black cloak and nearly white turban, and then looked away.
"Remember semantics,” I murmured to him, as I pulled out Sara's chair for her. I seated her to the left of the Swami. I seated Auerbach to the right of him. If the lieutenant was, by chance, in cahoots with the Swami, I would foil them to the extent of not letting them sit side by side at least. I sat down at the opposite side of the table from the Swami. The lieutenant sat down between me and Sara.
The general manager came through the door at that instant, and took charge immediately.
"All right now,” Old Stone Face said crisply, in his low, rumbling voice, “no fiddle faddling around. Let's get down to business."
The Swami closed his eyes.
"Please be seated,” he intoned to Old Stone Face. “And now, let us all join hands in an unbroken circle."
Henry shot him a beetlebrowed look as he sat down between Auerbach and me, but at least he was cooperative to the extent that he placed both his hands on top of the table. If Auerbach and I reached for them, we would be permitted to grasp them.
I leaned back and snapped off the overhead light to darken the room in an eerie, blue glow.
We sat there, holding hands, for a full ten minutes. Nothing happened.
It was not difficult to estimate the pattern of Henry's mind. Six persons, ten minutes, equals one man-hour. One man-hour of idle time to be charged into the cost figure of the antigrav unit. He was staring fixedly at the cylinders which lay in random positions in the center of the table, as if to assess their progress at this processing point. He stirred restlessly in his chair, obviously dissatisfied with the efficiency rating of the manufacturing process.
The Swami seemed to sense the impatience, or it might have been coincidence.
"There is some difficulty,” he gasped in a strangulated, high voice. “My guides refuse to come through."
"Harrumph!” exclaimed Old Stone Face. It left no doubt about what he would do if his guides did not obey orders on the double.
"Someone in this circle is not a True Believer!” the Swami accused in an incredulous voice.
In the dim blue light I was able to catch a glimpse of Sara's face. She was on the verge of breaking apart. I managed to catch her eye and flash her a stern warning. Later she told me she had interpreted my expression as stark fear, but it served the same purpose. She smothered her laughter in a most unladylike sound somewhere between a snort and a squawk.
The Swami seemed to become aware that somehow he was not holding his audience spellbound.
"Wait!” he commanded urgently; then he announced in awestricken tones, “I feel a presence!"
There was a tentative, half-hearted rattle of some castanets which could have been managed by the Swami wiggling one knee, if he happened to have them concealed there. This was followed by the thin squawk of a bugle-which could have been accomplished by sitting over toward one side and squashing the air out of a rubber bulb attached to a ten-cent party horn taped to his thigh.
Then there was nothing. Apparently his guides had made a tentative appearance and were, understandably, completely intimidated by Old Stone Face. We sat for another five minutes.
"Harrumph!” Henry cleared his throat again, this time louder and more commanding.
"That is all,” the Swami said in a faint, exhausted voice. “I have returned to you on your material plane."
The handholding broke up in the way bits of metal, suddenly charged positive and negative, would fly apart. I leaned back again and snapped on the white lights. We all sat there a few seconds, blinking in what seemed a sudden glare.
The Swami sat with his chin dropped down to his chest. Then he raised stricken, liquid eyes.
"Oh, now I remember where I am,” he said. “What happened? I never know."
Old Stone Face threw him a look of withering scorn. He picked up one of the cylinders and hefted it in the palm of his hand. It did not fly upward to
"Remember semantics,” I murmured to him, as I pulled out Sara's chair for her. I seated her to the left of the Swami. I seated Auerbach to the right of him. If the lieutenant was, by chance, in cahoots with the Swami, I would foil them to the extent of not letting them sit side by side at least. I sat down at the opposite side of the table from the Swami. The lieutenant sat down between me and Sara.
The general manager came through the door at that instant, and took charge immediately.
"All right now,” Old Stone Face said crisply, in his low, rumbling voice, “no fiddle faddling around. Let's get down to business."
The Swami closed his eyes.
"Please be seated,” he intoned to Old Stone Face. “And now, let us all join hands in an unbroken circle."
Henry shot him a beetlebrowed look as he sat down between Auerbach and me, but at least he was cooperative to the extent that he placed both his hands on top of the table. If Auerbach and I reached for them, we would be permitted to grasp them.
I leaned back and snapped off the overhead light to darken the room in an eerie, blue glow.
We sat there, holding hands, for a full ten minutes. Nothing happened.
It was not difficult to estimate the pattern of Henry's mind. Six persons, ten minutes, equals one man-hour. One man-hour of idle time to be charged into the cost figure of the antigrav unit. He was staring fixedly at the cylinders which lay in random positions in the center of the table, as if to assess their progress at this processing point. He stirred restlessly in his chair, obviously dissatisfied with the efficiency rating of the manufacturing process.
The Swami seemed to sense the impatience, or it might have been coincidence.
"There is some difficulty,” he gasped in a strangulated, high voice. “My guides refuse to come through."
"Harrumph!” exclaimed Old Stone Face. It left no doubt about what he would do if his guides did not obey orders on the double.
"Someone in this circle is not a True Believer!” the Swami accused in an incredulous voice.
In the dim blue light I was able to catch a glimpse of Sara's face. She was on the verge of breaking apart. I managed to catch her eye and flash her a stern warning. Later she told me she had interpreted my expression as stark fear, but it served the same purpose. She smothered her laughter in a most unladylike sound somewhere between a snort and a squawk.
The Swami seemed to become aware that somehow he was not holding his audience spellbound.
"Wait!” he commanded urgently; then he announced in awestricken tones, “I feel a presence!"
There was a tentative, half-hearted rattle of some castanets which could have been managed by the Swami wiggling one knee, if he happened to have them concealed there. This was followed by the thin squawk of a bugle-which could have been accomplished by sitting over toward one side and squashing the air out of a rubber bulb attached to a ten-cent party horn taped to his thigh.
Then there was nothing. Apparently his guides had made a tentative appearance and were, understandably, completely intimidated by Old Stone Face. We sat for another five minutes.
"Harrumph!” Henry cleared his throat again, this time louder and more commanding.
"That is all,” the Swami said in a faint, exhausted voice. “I have returned to you on your material plane."
The handholding broke up in the way bits of metal, suddenly charged positive and negative, would fly apart. I leaned back again and snapped on the white lights. We all sat there a few seconds, blinking in what seemed a sudden glare.
The Swami sat with his chin dropped down to his chest. Then he raised stricken, liquid eyes.
"Oh, now I remember where I am,” he said. “What happened? I never know."
Old Stone Face threw him a look of withering scorn. He picked up one of the cylinders and hefted it in the palm of his hand. It did not fly upward to
Similar Books
The Valentine Date: Long Distance, Billionaires and Former Bad Boy's Collection
Mel Ryle, N.K. Pockett, Ashley Winters
