Read Online You're All Alone (illustrated) by Fritz Leiber - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Fritz Leiber
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halfway up the next semi-flight of stairs. It crouched on the top step, its bugged green eyes peering down.
One of the notes came back to Carr’s mind: “Some animals are really alive.”
There were footsteps. Carr shrank back into the recess. The door opened, the music suddenly swelled, and a gray-haired lady in a blue and white dress looked out and called, “Gigolo! Here, Gigolo!”
She had Jane’s small chin and short straight nose, behind veils of plumpness. She was rather dumpy. Her face had a foolish look.
And she must be short-sighted, for although she looked up the stairs, she didn’t see the cat, nor did she notice Carr. Feeling uncomfortably like a prowler, he started to step forward, then realized that she was so close he would give her a fright.
“Gigolo!” she called again. Then, to herself, “That cat!” A glance toward the dead bulb in the ceiling and a distracted headshake. “Gigolo!”
She backed inside. “I’m leaving it open, Gigolo,” she called. “Come in when you want to.”
Carr stepped out of the recess with a husky, “Excuse me,” but the opening notes of the fast third movement drowned him out.
He crossed to the door. The green eyes at the top of the stairs followed him. He raised his hand to knock. But at the same time he looked through the half-open door, across a tiny hall, into the living room.
It was small, with too much heavy furniture and too many lace runners and antimacassars. He could see the other end of the red davenport and the slippered feet of the old man sitting in it. The woman had returned to the straight-backed chair across the room and was sitting with her hands folded, her lips worriedly pursed.
Between them was the piano, an upright.
There was no one sitting at it.
To Carr, the rest of the room seemed to darken and curdle as he stared at the rippling keys.
Then he puffed out his breath. Of course, it must be some kind of electric player.
Again he started to knock, hesitated because they were listening to the music.
The woman moved uneasily on her chair. Her lips anxiously puckered and relaxed, like those of a fish behind aquarium glass. Finally she said, “Aren’t you tiring yourself, dear? You’ve been at it for hours.”
Carr looked toward the man, but he could still see only the slippered feet. There was no reply.
The piano stopped. Carr took a step forward. But just then the woman got up. He expected her to do something to the mechanism, but instead she began to stroke the air a couple of feet above the piano bench, Carr felt himself shivering.
“There, there, dear,” she said, “that was very pretty, I know, but you’re really spending too much time on your music. At your age a girl ought to be with other young people.” She bent her head as if she were looking around the shoulder of someone seated at the piano, wagged her finger, and said, “Look at the circles under those eyes.”
FOR CARR, time stopped, as if a clockworks universe hesitated before the next tick. In that frozen pause only his thoughts moved. It was true, then. Tom Elvested. . . The dumpy man . . . The room clerk . . . The Negress . . . Marcia in her bedroom . . . Last night with Jane—the bar, the music shop, the movie house, the chess players . . . The horizontal mannequin . . . The tobacconist . . . And now this old woman . . . All, all automatons, machines!
Or else (time moved again) this old woman was crazy.
Yes, that was it. Crazy. Behaving in her insanity as if her absent daughter were actually there. Believing it.
He clung to that thought.
“Really, Jane,” the old woman was saying vapidly, “you must rest.”
The slippered feet protruding from the davenport twisted. A weary voice said, “Now don’t worry yourself over Jane, Mother.”
The woman straightened. “Too much practicing is bad for anyone. It’s undermining her health.”
The davenport creaked. The man came into sight, not quite as old as Carr had guessed, but tired-looking.
One of the notes came back to Carr’s mind: “Some animals are really alive.”
There were footsteps. Carr shrank back into the recess. The door opened, the music suddenly swelled, and a gray-haired lady in a blue and white dress looked out and called, “Gigolo! Here, Gigolo!”
She had Jane’s small chin and short straight nose, behind veils of plumpness. She was rather dumpy. Her face had a foolish look.
And she must be short-sighted, for although she looked up the stairs, she didn’t see the cat, nor did she notice Carr. Feeling uncomfortably like a prowler, he started to step forward, then realized that she was so close he would give her a fright.
“Gigolo!” she called again. Then, to herself, “That cat!” A glance toward the dead bulb in the ceiling and a distracted headshake. “Gigolo!”
She backed inside. “I’m leaving it open, Gigolo,” she called. “Come in when you want to.”
Carr stepped out of the recess with a husky, “Excuse me,” but the opening notes of the fast third movement drowned him out.
He crossed to the door. The green eyes at the top of the stairs followed him. He raised his hand to knock. But at the same time he looked through the half-open door, across a tiny hall, into the living room.
It was small, with too much heavy furniture and too many lace runners and antimacassars. He could see the other end of the red davenport and the slippered feet of the old man sitting in it. The woman had returned to the straight-backed chair across the room and was sitting with her hands folded, her lips worriedly pursed.
Between them was the piano, an upright.
There was no one sitting at it.
To Carr, the rest of the room seemed to darken and curdle as he stared at the rippling keys.
Then he puffed out his breath. Of course, it must be some kind of electric player.
Again he started to knock, hesitated because they were listening to the music.
The woman moved uneasily on her chair. Her lips anxiously puckered and relaxed, like those of a fish behind aquarium glass. Finally she said, “Aren’t you tiring yourself, dear? You’ve been at it for hours.”
Carr looked toward the man, but he could still see only the slippered feet. There was no reply.
The piano stopped. Carr took a step forward. But just then the woman got up. He expected her to do something to the mechanism, but instead she began to stroke the air a couple of feet above the piano bench, Carr felt himself shivering.
“There, there, dear,” she said, “that was very pretty, I know, but you’re really spending too much time on your music. At your age a girl ought to be with other young people.” She bent her head as if she were looking around the shoulder of someone seated at the piano, wagged her finger, and said, “Look at the circles under those eyes.”
FOR CARR, time stopped, as if a clockworks universe hesitated before the next tick. In that frozen pause only his thoughts moved. It was true, then. Tom Elvested. . . The dumpy man . . . The room clerk . . . The Negress . . . Marcia in her bedroom . . . Last night with Jane—the bar, the music shop, the movie house, the chess players . . . The horizontal mannequin . . . The tobacconist . . . And now this old woman . . . All, all automatons, machines!
Or else (time moved again) this old woman was crazy.
Yes, that was it. Crazy. Behaving in her insanity as if her absent daughter were actually there. Believing it.
He clung to that thought.
“Really, Jane,” the old woman was saying vapidly, “you must rest.”
The slippered feet protruding from the davenport twisted. A weary voice said, “Now don’t worry yourself over Jane, Mother.”
The woman straightened. “Too much practicing is bad for anyone. It’s undermining her health.”
The davenport creaked. The man came into sight, not quite as old as Carr had guessed, but tired-looking.
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