Lovecraft's Fiction Volume II, 1926-1928 Page 7

  I did not move, and after a moment the man resumed his seat opposite me; smiling a ghastly smile as he opened his great bulging valise and extracted an article of peculiar appearance--a rather large cage of semi-flexible wire, woven somewhat like a baseball catcher's mask, but shaped more like the helmet of a diving-suit. Its top was connected with a cord whose other end remained in the valise. This device he fondled with obvious affection, cradling it in his lap as he looked at me afresh and licked his bearded lips with an almost feline motion of the tongue. Then, for the first time, he spoke--in a deep, mellow voice of a softness and calculation startlingly at variance with his rough corduroy clothes and unkempt aspect.

  "You are fortunate, sir. I shall use you first of all. You shall go into history as the first fruits of a remarkable invention. Vast sociological consequences--I shall let my light shine, as it were. I'm radiating all the time, but nobody knows it. Now you shall know. Intelligent guinea-pig. Cats and burros--it even worked with a burro. . . ."

  He paused, while his bearded features underwent a convulsive motion closely synchronized with a vigorous gyratory shaking of the whole head. It was as though he were shaking clear of some nebulous obstructing medium, for the gesture was followed by a clarification or subtilization of expression which hid the more obvious madness in a look of suave composure through which the craftiness gleamed only dimly. I glimpsed the difference at once, and put in a word to see if I could lead his mind into harmless channels. "You seem to have a marvelously fine instrument, if I'm any judge. Won't you tell me how you came to invent it?"

  He nodded.

  "Mere logical reflection, dear sir. I consulted the needs of the age and acted upon them. Others might have done the same had their minds been as powerful--that is, as capable of sustained concentration--as mine. I had the sense of conviction--the available will-power--that is all. I realized, as no one else has yet realized, how imperative it is to remove everybody from the earth before Quetzalcoatl comes back, and realized also that it must be done elgantly. I hate butchery of any kind, and hanging is barbarously crude. You know last year the New York legislature voted to adopt electric execution for condemned men--but all the apparatus they have in mind is as primitive as Stephenson's 'Rocket' or Davenports first electric engine. I knew of a better way, and told them so, but they paid no attention to me. God, the fools! As if I didn't know all there is to know about men and death and electricity--student, man and boy--technologist and engineer--soldier of fortune. . . ."

  He leaned back and narrowed his eyes.

  "I was in Maximillian's army twenty years and more ago. They were going to make me a nobleman. Then those damned greasers killed him and I had to go home. But I came back--back and forth, back and forth. I live in Rochester, New York. . . ."

  His eye grew deeply crafty, and he leaned forward, touching me on the knee with the fingers of a paradoxically delicate hand.

  "I came back, I say, and I went deeper than any of them. I hate greasers, but I like Mexicans! A puzzle? Listen to me, young fellow--you don't think Mexico is really Spanish, do you? God, if you knew the tribes I know! In the mountains--in the mountains--Anahuac--Tenochtitlan--the old ones. . . ."

  His voice changed to a chanting and not unmelodious howl.

  "Iä! Huitzilopotchli! . . . Hahuatlacatl! Seven, seven, seven . . . Xochimilca, Chalca, Tepaneca, Acolhua, Tlahuica, Tlascalteca, Azteca! . . . Iä! Iä! I have been to the Seven Caves of Chicomoztoc, but no one shall ever know! I tell you because you will never repeat it. . . ."

  He subsided, and resumed a conversational tone.

  "It would surprise you to know what things are told in the mountains. Huitzilopotchli is coming back . . . of that there can be no doubt. Any peon south of Mexico City can tell you that. But I meant to do nothing about it. I went home, as I tell you, again and again, and was going to benefit society with my electric executioner when that cursed Albany legislature adopted the other way. A joke, sir, a joke! Grandfather's chair--sit by the fireside--Hawthorne--"

  The man was chuckling with a morbid parody of good nature.

  "Why, sir, I'd like to be the first man to sit in their damned chair and feel their little two-bit battery current! It wouldn't make a frog's legs dance! And they expect to kill murderers with it--reward of merit--everything! But then, young man, I saw the uselessness--the pointless illogicality, as it were--of killing just a few. Everybody is a murderer--they murder ideas--steal inventions--stole mine by watching, and watching, and watching--"

  The man choked and paused, and I spoke soothingly.

  "I'm sure your invention was much the better, and probably they'll come to use it in the end."

  Evidently my tact was not great enough, for his response showed fresh irritation.

  " 'Sure,' are you? Nice, mild, conservative assurance! Cursed lot you care--but you'll soon know! Why, damn you, all the good there ever will be in that electric chair will have been stolen from me. The ghost of Nezahualpilli told me that on the sacred mountain. They watched, and watched, and watched--"

  He choked again, then gave another of those gestures in which he seemed to shake both his head and his facial expression. That seemed momentarily to steady him.

  "What my invention needs is testing. That is it--here. The wire hood or head-set is flexible, and slips on easily. Neckpiece binds but doesn't choke. Electrodes touch forehead and base of cerebellum--all that's necessary. Stop the head and what else can go? The fools up at Albany with their carved oak easy-chair, think they've got to make it a head-to-foot affair. Idiots!--don't they know that you don't need to shoot a man through the body after you've plugged him through the brain? I've seen men die in battle--I know better. And then their silly high-power circuit--dynamoes--all that. Why didn't they see what I've done with the storage-battery? Not a hearing--nobody knows--I alone have the secret alone--I and they, if I choose to let them. . . . But I must have experimental subjects--subjects--do you know whom I've chosen for the first?"

  I tried jocoseness, quickly merging into friendly seriousness, as a sedative. Quick thought and apt words might save me yet.

  "Well, there are lots of fine subjects among the politicians of San Francisco, where I come from! They need your treatment, and I'd like to help you introduce it! But really, I think I can help you in all truth. I have some influence in Sacramento, and if you'll go back to the States with me after I'm through with my business in Mexico, I'll see that you get a hearing."

  He answered soberly and civilly.

  "No--I can't go back. I swore not to when those criminals at Albany turned down my invention and set spies to watch me, and steal from me. But I must have American subjects. Those greasers are under a curse, and would be too easy; and the full-blood-Indians--the real children of the feathered serpent--are sacred and inviolate except for proper sacrificial victims . . . and even those must be slain according to ceremony. I must have Americans without going back--and the first man I chosoe will be signally honored. Do you know who he is?"

  I temporized desperately.

  "Oh, if that's all the trouble, I'll find you a dozen first-rate Yankee specimens as soon as we get to Mexico City! I know where there are lots of small mining men who wouldn't be missed for days--"

  But he cut me short with a new and sudden air of authority which had a touch of real dignity in it.

  "That'll do--we've trifled long enough. Get up and stand erect like a man. You're the subject I've chosen, and you'll thank me for the honor in the other world, just as the sacrificial victim thanks the priest for transferring him to eternal glory. A new principle--no other man alive has dreamed of such a battery, and it might never again be hit on if the world experimented a thousand years. Do you know atoms aren't what they seem? Fools! A century after this some dolt would be guessing if I were to let the world live!"

  As I arose at his command, he drew additional feet of cord from the valise and stood erect beside me; the wire helmet outstretched toward me in both hands, and a look of real exaltatio
n on his tanned and bearded face. For an instant he seemed like a radiant Hellenic mystagogue or hierophant:

  "Here, O Youth--a libation! Wine of the cosmos--nectar of the starry spaces--Linos--Iacchus--Ialemus--Zagreus--Dionysos--Atys--Hylas--sprung from Apollo and slain by the hounds of Argos--seed of Psamathe--child of the sun--Evoe! Evoe!"

  He was chanting again, and this time his mind seemed far back amongst the classical memories of his collect days. In my erect posture I noticed the nearness of the signal cord overhead, and wondered whether I could reach it through some gensture of ostensible response to his ceremonial mood. It was worth trying, so with an antiphonal cry of "Evoe!" I put my arms forward and upward toward him in a ritualistic fashion, hoping to give the cord a tug before he could notice the act. But it was useless. He saw my purpose, and moved one hand toward the right-hand coat pocket where my revolver lay. No words were needed, and we stood for a moment like carven figures. Then he quietly said, "Make haste!"

  Again my mind rushed frantically about seeking avenues of escape. The doors, I knew, were not locked on Mexican trains; but my companion could easily forestall me if I tried to unlatch one and jump out. Besides, our speed was so great that success in that direction would probably be as fatal as failure. The only thing to do was to play for time. Of the three-and-a-half hour trip a good slice was already worn away, and once we got to Mexico City the guards and police in the station would provide instant safety.

  There would, I thought, be two distinct times for diplomatic stalling. If I could get him to postpone the slipping on of the hood, that much time would be gained. If I could get him to postpone the slipping on of the hood, that much time would be gained. Of course I had no belief that the thing was really deadly; but I knew enough of madmen to understand what would happen when it failed to wrk. To his disappointment would be added a mad sense of my responsibility for the failure which would hold his attention and lead him into more or less extended searches for corrective influences. I wondered just how far his credulity went, and whether I could prepare in advance a prophecy of failure which would make the failure itself stamp me as a seer or initiate, or perhaps a god. I had enough of a smattering of Mexican mythology to make it worth trying; though I would try other delaying influences first and let the prophecy come as a sudden revelation. Would he spare me in the end if I could make him think me a prophet or divinity. Could I "get by" as Quetzalcoatl or Huitzilopotchli? Anything to drag matters out till five o'clock, when we were due in Mexico City.

  But my opening "stall" was the veteran will-making ruse. As the maniac repeated his command for haste, I told him of my family and intended marriage, and asked for the privilege of leaving a message and disposing of my money and effects. If, I said, he would lend me some paper and agree to mail what I should write, I could die more peacefully and willingly. After some cogitation he gave a favorable verdict and fished in his valise for a pad, which he handed me solemnly as I resumed my seat. I produced a pencil, artfully breaking the point at the outset and causing some delay while he searched for one of his own. When he gave me this, he took my broken pencil and proceeded to sharpen it with a large, horn-handled knife which had been in his belt under his coat. Evidently a second pencil-breaking would not profit me greatly.

  What I wrote, I can hardly recall at this date. It was largely gibberish, and composed of random scraps of memorized literature when I could think of nothing else to set down. I made my handwriting as illegible as I could without destroying its nature as writing; for I knew he would be likely to look at the result before commencing his experiment, and realized how he would react to the sight of obvious nonsense. The ordeal was a terrible one, and I chafed each second at the slowness of the train. In the past I had often whistled a brisk gallop to the sprightly "tac" of wheels on rails, but now the tempo seemed slowed down to that of a funeral march--my funeral march, I grimly reflected.

  My ruse worked till I had covered four pages, six by nine; when at last the madman drew out his watch and told me I could have but five minutes more. What should I do next? I was hastily going through the form of concluding the will when a new idea struck me. Ending with a flourish and handing him the finished sheets, which he thrust carelessly into his left-hand coat pocket, I reminded him of my influential Sacramento friends who would be so much interested in his invention.

  "Oughtn't I give you a letter of introduction to them?" I said. "Oughtn't I to make a signed sketch and description of your executioner so that they'll grant you a cordial hearing? They can make you famous, you know--and there's no question at all but that they'll adopt your method for the state of California if they hear of it through someone like me, whom they know and trust."

  I was taking this tack on the chance that his thoughts as a disappointed inventor would let him forget the Aztec-religious side of his mania for a while. When he vieered to the latter again, I reflected, I would spring the "revelation" and "prophecy." The scheme worked, for his eyes glowed an eager assent, though he bruskly told me to be quick. He furhter emptied the valies, lifting out a queer-looking congeries of glass cells and coils to which the wire from the helmet was attached, and delivering a fire of running comment too technical for me to follow yet apparently quite plausible and straightforward. I pretended to note down all he said, wondering as I did so whether the queer apparatus was really a battery after all. Would I get a slight shock when he applied the device? The man surely talked as if he were a genuine electrician. Description of his own invention was clearly a congenial task for him, and I saw he was not as impatient as before. The hopeful gray of dawn glimmered red through the windows before he wound up, and I gelt at last that my chance of escape had really become tangible.

  But he, too, saw the dawn, and began glaring wildly again. He knew the train was due in Mexico City at five, and would certainly force quick action unless I could override all his judgement with engrossing ideas. As he rose with a determined air, setting the battery on the seat beside the open valies, I reminded him that I had not made the needed sketch; and asked him to hold the headpiece so that I could draw it near the battery. He complied and resumed his seat, with many admonitions to me to hurry. After another moment I paused for some information, asking him how the victim was placed for execution, and how his presumable struggles were overcome.

  "Why," he replied, "the criminal is securely strapped to a post. It does not matter how much he tosses his head, for the helmet fits tightly and draws even closer when the current comes on. We turn the switch gradually--you see it here, a carefully arranged affair with a rheostat."

  A new idea for delay occurred to me as the tilled fields and increasingly frequent houses in the dawnlight outside told of our approach to the capital at last.

  "But," I said, "I must draw the helmet in place on a human head as well as beisde the battery. Can't you slip it on yourself a moment so that I can sketch you with it? The papers as well as the officials will want all this, and they are strong on completeness."

  I had, by chance, made a better shot than I had planned; for at my mention of the press the madman's eyes lit up afresh.

  "The papers? Yes--damn them, you can make even the papers give me a hearing! They all laughed at me and wouldn't print a word. Here, you hurry up! We've not a second to lose!"

  "Now, curse 'em, they'll print pictures! I'll revise your sketch if you make any blunders--must be accurate at any cost. Police will find you afterward--they'll tell how it works. Associated Press item--back up your letter--immortal fame. . . . Hurry, I say--hurry, confound you!"

  The train was lurching over the poorer roadbed near the city, and we swayed disconcertingly now and then. With this excuse I managed to break the pencil again, but of course the maniac at once handed me my own which he had sharpened. My first batch of ruses was about used up, and I felt that I should have to submit to the headpiece in a moment. We were still a good quarter-hour from the terminal, and it was about time for me to divert my companion to his religious side and spring the d
ivine prophecy.

  Mustering up my scraps of Nahuan-Aztec mythology, I suddenly threw down pencil and paper and commenced to chant.

  "Ia! Ia! Tloquenahuaque, Thou Who Art All In Thyself! Thou, too, Ipalnemoan, By Whom We Live! I hear, I hear! I see, I see! Serpent-bearing Eagle, hail! A message! A message! Huitzilopotchli, in my soul echoes thy thunder!"

  At my intonation the maniac stared incredulously through his odd mask, his handsome face shown in a surprise and perplexity which quickly changed to alarm. His mind seemed to go blank a moment, and then to recrystallize in another pattern. Raising his hands aloft, he chanted as if in a dream.

  "Mictlanteuctli, Great Lord, a sign! A sign from within thy black cave! Ia! Tonotiuh-Metztli! Cthulhu! Command, and I serve!"

  Now, in all this responsive gibberish there was one word which struck an odd chord in my memory. Odd, because it never occurs in any printed account of Mexican mythology, yet had been overheard by me more than once as an awe-struck whisper amongst the peons in my own firm's Tlaxcala mines. It seemed to be part of an exceedingly secret and ancient ritual; for there were characteristic whispered responses which I had caught now and then, and which were as unknown as itself to academic scholarship. This maniac must have spent considerable time with the hill peons and Indians, just as he had said; for surely such unrecorded lore could have come from no mere book-learning. Realizing the importance he must attach to this doubly esoteric jargon, I determined to strike at his most vulnerable spot and give him the gibberish responses the natives used.

  "Ya-R'lyeh! Ya-R'lyeh" I shouted. "Cthulhu fhtaghn! Nigurat-Yig! Yog-Sototl--"

  But I never had a chance to finish. Galvanized into a religious epilepsy by the exact response which his subconscious mind had probably not really expected, the madman scrambled down to a kneeling position on the floor, bowing his wire-helmeted head again and again, and turning it to the right and left as he did so. With each turn his obeisances became more profound, and I could hear his foaming lips repeating the syllable "kill, kill, kill," in a rapidly swelling monotone. It occurred to me that I had overreached myself, and that my response had unloosed a mounting mania which would rouse him to the slaying-point before the train reached the station.