The Devil's Mirror (11 page)

‘Are you going straight
HOME
?’ asked the
COP
.

‘I guess so,’ Fred said indecisively.

‘Why don’t you stop off first for a quickie?’ the
COP
advised, with, a wink. ‘Might do you a world of good. You do have a
GIRL
, don’t you?’

‘Of course!’ said Fred, insulted by the question. ‘What do you think I am, a
FAG
?’

‘No offence,’ said the
COP
. ‘A fellow doesn’t have to be a
F
ederally
A
uthorised
G
ay
not to have a cute little
G
overnment
I
nspected
R
egulation
L
adylove
stashed away somewhere. There’s no law says you have to. Not yet.’

‘Well,’ said Fred, ‘maybe I
will
drop in on Gladys for a while, at that.’

‘Atta boy! But just sit here for a few minutes and have a little nip first.’

‘Will do, Doc,’ said Fred. ‘And thanks.’

‘Just doing my job,’ said the
COP
, and roared away on his cycle.

Fred reached into the
G
overnment
L
icensed
O
verall
V
ariable
E
mergency
compartment and pulled out a frosted plastic bottle containing a clear liquid. The label read ‘Beefeater
GIN
.’ Fred had often wondered about that label. It didn’t make any sense. That picture of a funny-looking dude in old fashioned clothes, like something out of a deck of cards, and he didn’t seem to be eating, and what the hell was beef, and what was it all doing on a bottle of
G
overnment
I
nspected
N
europharmaceutical,
anyway? Fred shrugged off those questions and took a long swig from the bottle. Ah, he felt better already. He sat there at the roadside a few more minutes, watching the other
CAR
s whizz by. He took a second jolt from the
GIN
bottle. Then, hoping his adrenalin count was low enough by now, he touched the starter button. The engine hummed into life, and—making sure to signal this time—he pulled smoothly on to the road.

Should he pay a call on Gladys? He had given that
COP
the impression that he would, but now he didn’t know. Gladys was a wonderful
GIRL
, beautiful, understanding, a good listener, great in the
S
tandard
A
ccepted
C
opulation
K
ip
—‘She should be, considering the salary I pay her every month!’—but, somehow, he felt he should go directly
HOME
; Edna was waiting for him. She was a good woman, and she worked hard making their
H
ouseholder
-
O
wned
M
arital
E
stablishment
cosy. He could always see Gladys over the weekend, maybe Thursday.

Still, he did feel the need of something.
GIN
wasn’t enough. Maybe...

‘I wonder,’ he murmured. ‘It’s been a long time...’ When he was a child, it had always been so reassuring, always made him feel good. And it would only take a few minutes, not like visiting Gladys. He’d be
HOME
in time for dinner.

The church, its Gothic lines softened by the shade of blight-proof plastic elms, stood on a quiet side street. Fred parked at the curb, fed a dollar to the meter, and climbed the wide stone stairs.

Inside, it was deliciously cool and silent, except for an organ softly playing Bach. Incense subtly spiced the air. The harsh rays of the late afternoon sun were dimmed to a restful glow by stained glass windows. Only a handful of parishioners were here at this hour, some kneeling, some seated placidly in meditation. The pastor, a serene, white-haired man, was lighting candles. He nodded benignly to Fred and lifted his hand in blessing.

Fred fell to his knees before the altar. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head. Soon, a feeling of well-being began to steal over him. It wasn’t the
GIN
, he knew that. It was something more. It was radiating as if from the altar itself, enveloping him, reaching into his body and mind, restoring him, soothing his nerves, bringing him peace and contentment. As he knelt, and as the comfort and solace continued to emanate from the altar like a pulsing hypnotic vibration beyond the range of human hearing, tears of joy appeared at the corners of Fred’s eyes and made their way down his cheeks. He wasn’t ashamed of them. He knew he had done the proper thing, coming here. Why had he delayed so long? He would tell Edna, and they would come here together, often, regularly, and be renewed, reborn. It was so simple, really, and so right, to bring one’s troubles to
GOD
.

After all, He was a
G
overnment
O
perated
D
eity.

Come close. Closer. Lean over me. Put your ear to my mouth. I’m not strong; I think I’m dying; I can barely speak. Listen carefully. At the end of this street, at the corner, on the east side, there’s a small white house with a green roof. A brick path leads to the door. Snapdragons are planted along the path. You can’t miss it. There’s a wreath on the door—it’s old and blackened, and looks like an emblem of death, but don’t be put off by that, it’s just an old Christmas wreath, hung there many years ago and never taken down. No meaning to that, just laziness, apathy, inertia. The door is unlocked. Go in. The house is unoccupied. Nobody home. You’ll see a stairway leading to the second floor. Climb the stairs and go into the master bedroom. That’s the one with the yellow-and-green striped wallpaper. You’ll see a closet. Open it. Several suits are hanging there. Look for one made of charcoal grey hopsack, with a lining of red silk. The jacket has two inside pockets. Left one contains a small notebook bound in black imitation leather. Do
not
open it and read it. For your own sake I tell you this. Burn it. Burn it in the fireplace right there in the master bedroom. Then go back to the closet and look for what’s called a jump suit, not on a hanger, just on a nail in the back, behind the suits, a blue terry-cloth jump suit with a broken zipper. In one of the pockets, I don’t remember which, you’ll find a key ring with three keys on it. Take this and walk downstairs again, to the library. In the library you’ll see a grey metal file cabinet. One of the three keys on that ring unlocks it. Try them all until you find the right one. Open the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. Disregard the folders you’ll see there. Not important. Pull the drawer out as far as you can and you’ll see an envelope taped to the drawer just behind the last folder. Remove it. Open it. There’s another key inside. Put it in your pocket. Don’t bother to lock the file cabinet again. The key opens a locker in that big bus terminal about half a mile from here—you know the one. Go to the terminal (take a cab, we don’t have much time) and open the locker and take out what you find there. A package wrapped in brown paper. Looks like a book. It is, in fact. Don’t open the package there. Go to the men’s room, and lock yourself in one of the booths (make sure you have some small change). Tear off the wrappings and open the book. You’ll discover that it’s hollow, the pages have been cut away to form a small compartment containing a tobacco tin. Open the tin and you’ll find another locker key. Put it in your pocket. Flush the toilet once or twice to allay suspicion. TRUST NO ONE. When you leave the booth, dump the wrapping and the book and the tobacco tin in the container provided for soiled paper towels. Now you must buy a round-trip ticket to Midburg. A short trip, forty-five miles. Possibly fifty. During the bus ride, don’t talk to any of the other passengers. Best thing is to pretend to be asleep, but only
pretend,
because you are the guardian of the key and it must not fall into any hands but yours. Be alert at all times. When you arrive at the Midburg bus terminal, go directly to the lockers and open the one that fits the key you found in the book. In this second locker, you’ll find another package just like the first, brown paper, yes another book. Take it to the men’s room. Same routine, booth, flush the toilet, et cetera. Inside
this
book you’ll find a rather large, rusty, old-fashioned, ornamental key. Put it in your pocket. Dispose of the book and wrapping as before. Take the next bus back
here.
Return to the house with the snapdragons. Go down to the wine cellar. The door is locked, but the big rusty key opens it. Enter the cellar and go directly to the wine bottles. Ignore all but the white wines, the French white wines. Lift each bottle until you find one that’s a fake, empty. Pull out the cork. Shake out the little key you find there. It opens a large metal strongbox you’ll find in the
top
drawer of the file cabinet in the study—that’s why I told you to leave the files open. Lock the wine cellar again when you leave it, and
break
the key. It’s very old and rusty, and you should have no difficulty. Throw the broken pieces into one of the file drawers and
lock
the cabinet again after taking out the strongbox. Open the strongbox with the little key from the wine bottle. Inside the strongbox you’ll find a smaller strongbox with a combination lock. The combination is simply the six digits of my birthday, multiplied by seven. I was born on Christmas in the year of the Great Fire. Any almanac will give you that. When you open this second strongbox, you’ll see an ordinary wooden cigar box. Inside it is a photograph of me as a youth in uniform, and a photograph of a young lady in a flowered hat, and a withered carnation, and a packet of old letters tied with a lavender ribbon, and a prayer book, and a rosary, and a comb I thinks and possibly a pill bottle containing an obsolete prescription surely gone stale and useless by now, and a small pistol that’s lost its firing pin. Some of these objects belonged to my mother. All of them are without any value whatsoever—except for one. And that one is beyond price. It has been with me for more years than I can tell you. In clumsy hands, it invariably causes impotence, or blindness, or insanity, or agonising death. Sometimes all four, in that order. But used correctly, it bestows upon its owner a multitude of blessings. A sweet breath. Perfect pitch. Unfailing virility. The power to bend a dime with two fingers. X-ray vision. Invisibility, at will. The gift of healing by the laying on of hands. Raising the dead. Luck at all games of chance. Ability to complete
The Tunes
crossword puzzle in under ten minutes. Power to make any woman in the world do whatever you wish. Seeing in the dark. A dazzling smile. Pleasing personality. Photographic memory. Beautiful handwriting. The gift of the gab. The faculty of flight. How to lose ten pounds in two weeks without dieting. How to make friends. How to get into Heaven. Power to kill with a glance. Answers to puzzling questions: riddle of the Sphinx, what song the Sirens sang, how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, what happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object, if a tree falls on a desert island does it make any sound, is there life after death, what was Judy Garland’s real name? Long-sought secret of perpetual motion. Short cuts to becoming a black belt in karate, Grand Master at Chess, expert folder of paper aeroplanes, bestselling author. How to get an audience with the Pope. Repair your own television set. Turn base metals into gold. Conquer insomnia. Attain peace of mind. What happened to the Lost Tribes of Israel. Where to find the score of Peri’s
Dafne
, lost for centimes, said to be the first opera. How to temper copper in the forgotten manner of the ancient Egyptians. Secret of eternal youth. Secret of immortality. Secret love-rites of the Hollywood stars. How to get on the cover of
Time.
How to mate a great cup of coffee. How to be two inches taller. How to read minds. How to foretell the future. How to swim. How to roller-skate. How to be happy. Bring the cigar box back here to me, with all its contents intact. I will then look at those items one by one until I find the one that bestows these gifts and powers, and I will bequeath it to you. Why not? It’s of no use to me anymore. I’m dying. I know what you’re thinking: why am I dying if I possess the secret of immortality? Ah, why indeed? Because I committed the sin of sins, for which no one can be forgiven. The sin without a name it’s called, but it has a name, a name no one dare utter, no one dire think. And so my magic charm has lost its power to help me. I am unworthy. Lean closer. I’m sinking fast. Can you hear me? Forget about all those keys and bus trips. Get a blowtorch, something to slice steel, go directly to the file cabinet and burn your way into the top drawer and into both strongboxes and directly to the cigar box and bring it quickly to me
now.
The reason you must bring it to me, the reason I can’t simply
tell
you which of the objects in the cigar box is the magic charm, is that I don’t remember. My memory is dying with my body. But if I
see
them, touch them, then my memory will come alive and I can give it to you and instruct you in its proper use and you will live a life of great merit and bliss. You will lead the world out of chaos and into a golden age. You will raise Eve from the dust and make her mother to a race of gods. You will, yourself, be a god. You will be God. But I must have those talismans in my fingers, because I don’t remember whether it’s the pistol, or the pill bottle, or the rosary, or the letters, or the lavender ribbon around the letters, or the

She was lovely and graceful and serene, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she were none of these. All that mattered was that she was female. And that mattered very much indeed, for she was said to be the last woman.

As such, she was the hope of the earth, a prize to be fought over. Her two suitors—the last of their sex—stood now in the twilight of their world, prepared to duel to the death. The winner would become a new Adam, in an Eden of ashes and rubble.

‘Put away your weapons,’ she said. ‘There has been enough dying. Let us decide this thing by reason. Which of you is the better man?’

‘My name is John,’ said the one who limped and was bald, ‘and I am the better man. It is true that I am no kid as they say, and my sight is no longer what it should be, and I am deaf in one ear, and I seem to have developed this cough, and my teeth are false, and I really cannot say to what extent my genes may be affected by radiation, but I am educated, skilled in many crafts and, I hope, wise with the experience of my years.’