A Thousand Deaths (45 page)

Courane knew, even in his dream, that he was probably there to get killed off, because he usually got killed off in his stories. At the moment, though, he didn't see anything threatening except possibly the object tangled in the tree roots. Naturally, he went directly to the object. There was no point in dithering around.

Courane found a Fiesta teapot just like the one his mother had back before the Nazi invasion of Poland. He picked it up: a Mango Red Fiesta teapot made by Homer Laughlin. The cheerful color had become scarce and thus collectible after the red-orange glaze was declared a vital war material in 1943. That was because of its radioactive uranium content. Soon Mango Red was discontinued; it returned in 1959, but the glaze was then depleted of its U-235 isotope and was never the same again. The color was dropped permanently in 1972.

In any event, Courane rubbed the teapot primarily for plot purposes. A genie appeared and offered him a free wish. "Okay," said Courane, "but let me think about it for a moment."

"Sure," said the genie. "I understand that this is a major decision in your life. If you're not very careful, there will be all sorts of fatal ironies to deal with."

Courane rubbed his square but graying jaw. He needed a shave. Toilet articles and bathroom sinks were frequently missing in his dreams. "Don't expect me to make the typical, trite old mistakes that everyone else makes," he said.

The genie sighed, evidently bored already. "I don't believe there
are
many new ones."

Courane considered his choice seriously. "Okay," he said, "how about eliminating all political corruption throughout the United States on the local, state, and federal levels?"

The genie shook his head ruefully. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Courane. There are some situations beyond even the vast magical powers of a genie. Every month we get a printout of the currently popular but undoable requests. Yours has been hovering around number three for some time now."

"Uh huh," said Courane, disappointed. "So, out of curiosity, what's been at numbers one and two?"

"Well, for some people the common wish is that characters on daytime serials could just behave with the common sense God gave a goose, instead of like high school sophomores. I can't grant that wish because for some reason, just as in the case of political corruption, the conventions of soap opera writing seem to be fundamental to the continuation of human life as we know it.

"For other people, the wish is for Honey Pílar's home phone number. Absolutely impossible, too, forbidden by the highest echelons of the Powers That Be. Anyway, the phone number of the world's most desirable woman is unlisted, and these days we respect the rights of the individual to privacy. Put Miss Pílar out of your mind. It's hopeless, and rightly so."

"Well, thanks anyway," said Courane, turning to walk away through the forest, which had become groves of Spanish-moss-hung cypress trees in a southern swamp.

"Hey, you still have a wish!" called the genie.

Courane thought again for a moment. "In that case, I'd like to see the Cleveland Indians win the World Series."

The genie's shoulders slumped. "Good grief," he said, defeated. "The Cleveland Indians? Look, I may be magic, but I'm not omnipotent. You leave me no choice. Let me see if I can circumvent the Unshakable and Immutable Laws of Fate and Destiny and get back to you about Honey Pílar's private phone number. I've got a brother-in-law who was a studio engineer on A
Life in Lace."

Just then Courane awoke to find himself truly in a cypress swamp, up to his knees in the muddy, stinking water. He had a Mango Red Fiesta teapot in his hands, though, so he rubbed it.

A genie appeared. The genie was huge and black-skinned, looking very much like Rex Ingram in the four-star 1940 remake of
The Thief of Bagdad
with Sabu. Courane himself was now definitely into middle age, and putting on weight. He wasn't nearly as rugged and heroic as his mental image of himself, which may explain why he turned up dead during the closing credits of so many fantasy and science fiction short stories.

Courane was not handsome—he reminded many people of the good-hearted slob from Brooklyn who was a mandatory cast member in most 1940s World War II movies. The Brooklyn serviceman was usually played by someone like William Bendix, someone who would never make it to the end of the film alive. When you saw William Bendix or Ernest Borgnine (in later years), you knew they'd be swell guys, but they'd generally have to die tragically and you'd find yourself weeping in the dark. William Bendix never got the girl and he never lived through a war movie. Borgnine did better in
Marty,
but then he became the fall guy of the postwar era.

Anyway, however you imagine Courane, as William Bendix or Ernest Borgnine, he was always the cheerful, doomed schmo who should've been buried beneath the center field grass of Ebbets Field. There would've been a kind of poetic loveliness to that, but such an ending had never been in Courane's cards. Instead, he passed his time waiting for the cold, final finger of mortality to tap him on the shoulder. He had grown wary over the years.

This time was no different; he was suspicious as soon as the genie spoke. "You get three wishes," said the giant phantom genially.

"Three?" said Courane, surprised. "I just dreamed that I only got one."

"Can't help that. Dreams are dreams and this is this. You're a trifle on edge, but you're not panicking under the circumstances. I compliment you on your cool demeanor."

"Oh," said Courane, "I run into you supernatural critters all the time."

"Uh huh," said the genie. "Now, we have a lot of ground to cover, mainly your three wishes and your ultimate catastrophe, to be exact. So may I suggest we get going?"

"I'm not going to throw up my hands in despair, you know," said Courane bravely. "I've studied and read three-wish stories and the like for decades. I think I've got a great shot at fighting you to a standstill, if not achieving outright victory for myself for the first time in a long while."

"Believe what you choose," said the genie, laughing in his deep, Rex Ingram voice. "All right, what's your first wish?"

"No problem. I'm not going to wish for anything clever, because that's how the greedy characters always got themselves in trouble. Like the guys in the stories by Fredric Brown and John Collier and Roald Dahl. Remember the fool in Threesie,' by Ted Cogswell, who had one wish left and asked for three more wishes, and had to go through the unutterably horrible de-souling machine forever and forever, in an eternally endless loop? Not for me, buddy. I want a winning lottery ticket worth maybe a million dollars. I'll even pay the taxes on it."

"Are you
crazy?"
cried the genie. "You've got three wishes that you could use for your own, if not worldwide benefit. And all you're asking for is a tedious stack of cash?"

"Money's good," said Courane. "And a lottery ticket will keep the IRS from wondering where it all came from. I won't be suspected of committing a crime, or any of your other possible evil loopholes."

"But it's so banal, so mundane, so
trivial!
" shouted the genie in disgust. "I haven't had a wish as lame as that in centuries! It's... it's absolutely
stupid!"

"Would it be wiser to ask for a beautiful woman instead?"

The genie drew a huge hand over his weary black eyes. "I can't
bear
dealing with unimaginative, no-brain idiots like you!"

"Your opinion of my wishes doesn't matter. I can ask for whatever I want, however dumb you may think it is. I know what I'm doing."

"Not according to your track record."

"Just keep your promise," said Courane. "First, give me the lottery ticket. Next, get back in the teapot and I'll summon you again in a fortnight to tell you what I've decided on for my second wish."

"If it's as puny a wish as your first," said the genie, "I may just break a rule or two and twist your damned head clean off. Who'd know?"

"The Powers That Be," said Courane calmly. "They'd know."

That shut the genie up, all right. He dissolved into smoke and flowed himself back into the teapot. The precious lottery ticket lay on the ground where he'd been standing.

Courane picked it up and put it in his shirt pocket. Then, cradling the teapot carefully like a fullback about to hurdle a goal- line defense, he splashed out of the water and onto firm ground. He'd left his car somewhere around here.

 

Two weeks later, after reading a lot more fantasy short stories, Courane was positive he knew what the best possible second wish should be. Before he called forth the genie, he discussed his wish with his new wife. It had been a very busy, very exciting two weeks, and Courane's life had changed a great deal.

The first thing he'd done with his lottery winnings was make a good down payment on a small but entirely charming house in the nice part of the Garden District not far from Commander's Palace. Next, he began a lightning courtship of Miss Eileen Brant, who was his ideal woman. She was startled by his attentions; in other stories, she never knew Courane was even alive. Now, however, he had the confidence given to him by the house and the remaining money, and the two unwished wishes still in the bank.

Courane told Miss Brant about the genie and the teapot ten days after making the first wish. She was dubious at first, of course, but was finally persuaded by his evident sincerity and levelheadedness. They were married on the thirteenth day. Courane had never had many friends, but Eileen Brant was very popular, and her friends showed Courane a cordial acceptance he'd never known before.

The morning after his wedding night, Courane arose to a feeling that had been desperately rare during his adventurous life. Could it be... happiness?

"It's about time," he murmured, removing the Mango Red Fiesta teapot from beneath his pillow. Not wanting to disturb his bride, he carried the teapot quietly downstairs to the kitchen. He opened a bottle of Coke (a ten-ounce green returnable, the best kind) and sat down at the table. Then he rubbed the teapot.

The mighty genie appeared during a long roll of thunder that could be heard only in Courane's kitchen.
"Bismillah"
said the genie in his deep voice. (It meant, "In the name of God.")

"Morning," said Courane.

The genie glanced around approvingly. "Nice house," he said. "And you're married now? Fine. You've found a good woman. Perhaps you're not the complete dolt I thought you were at our last meeting."

"Thank you," said Courane. "Can I get you something?"

The genie laughed. "Very amusing, mortal! But do not think that you won't pay for foolishness, as I have warned you. I trust that you are prepared to make your second wish?"

"You bet," said Courane. He gulped some Coke, took a deep breath, and let it go. "I wish... I wish I knew what to wish for."

There was a long, shocked silence in Courane's kitchen. Finally, the genie bent down and bowed before his master. "How truly wise," he said. "No one has ever made that superb demand before. Yes, you will know. Summon me whenever you choose to make your final wish." Then the genie quietly flowed himself down the spout of the teapot.

Courane was still trembling when Eileen came into the kitchen. "You should've waited for me, darling," she said.

"I went ahead, just in case anything went wrong."

"And?"

"And nothing. I think I impressed the genie. I get the idea they're pretty hard to impress, too. Thank you for listening to me and helping me. I'm convinced we got the wish just right."

She came over to the table and kissed him. "Do you know yet? What your third wish is going to be?"

Courane shook his head. "It's starting to come, but it's still too hazy."

"So in the meantime," she said, "upstairs? We've got a couple of hours before we have to pass by my mama's."

Courane stood up, finished the bottle of Coke, and took Eileen's hand. He felt a touching kind of shyness as they went back to bed.

Later that day, while he sat on his mother-in-law's plastic- wrapped sofa in her neat little shotgun house on Annunciation Street, Courane sipped iced tea and wondered how he'd know when he knew what to wish for. Now and then, a stray idea would catch his imagination.
I know,
he'd think,
I'll wish for an end to the drug problem.
He'd test that choice for a few seconds, and then he'd think,
I know. I'll wish for a successful and inexpensive treatment for AIDS.
One wish seemed to be just as important and worthwhile as the next. How would he know?

"—is it?"

Courane looked up. His wife was looking at him over the lip of her flamingo-decorated iced tea glass, looking at him with some concern. He realized that her mother had just spoken to him, but he had no idea what she'd said. "I'm sorry?" he said.

"Sandor," said Mrs. Brant. "Never known anybody named Sandor before. What kind of name is it?"

"It's actually pronounced 'Shonder,' " he said. "It's Hungarian for 'Alexander.' I was named after my grandfather."

He felt very uncomfortable. It was tough enough to get
any
mother-in-law to like him—he knew that for a fact from other stories—without carrying his own fate and destiny around in a bright red-orange teapot. Actually, Eileen had persuaded him to leave the teapot at home as they were leaving for her mother's house. Courane couldn't stop thinking about it, though.

He was grateful to Eileen when she said, "We've got to go, Mama. We promised some friends we'd see them this afternoon, and then we have to go home and pack for the honeymoon."

Courane stood up and placed his iced tea tumbler on the little folding table.
I know,
he thought,
I'll wish that the economy would improve for everybody.
He let Eileen lead him outside. He stopped to kiss his mother-in-law and accept a tall plastic Mardi Gras cup filled with frozen seafood gumbo.

"Y'all call me when you get to Chicago," said Eileen's mother. "I'll be worrying until I hear. And take a sweater. It's cold up there."

I know,
thought Courane,
I'll wish for an end to all racial and ethnic prejudice around the world.
And then he was sitting in his maroon Renault Alliance while Eileen drove them home.