But I guess that's what he wants. I hope so, anyhow.
Did we get or learn anything from our unexpected confrontation with the Pekes ? he wondered.
It showed us, he decided, that the difference between say myself and the average Negro is so damn slight, by every truly meaningful criterion, that for all intents and purposes it doesn't exist.
When something like that, a contact with a race that's not Homo sapiens, occurs, at last we can finally see this. And I don't mean just myself; it was given to me to see this from the start. I mean the ordinary (statistically speaking) fat, mean slob who plops down next to you in a jet-hopper, snatches up a homeopape that someone's left, reads a headline, and then begins to spout right and left his miserable opinions. So maybe, in the final analysis, this is what won the election for Jim.
Could it be ? Admittedly, we can never be certain. But we can make an educated guess and say yes, maybe so. Maybe it was.
In that case, the whole wretched fracas was worth while.
'All the time you've been standing there in your dreams of self-glory,' Pat said archly, 'I've been on the vids getting hold of people for our party. Mr. Turpin can't come or doesn't care to come, which is more likely, but he's sending a few of his carefully cultivated big-time employees - an administrative assistant named Donald Stanley, for instance, whom he said we ought to meet. He didn't say why.'
'I know why,' Sal said. 'Tito Cravelli mentioned him, and anyhow I met him personally on our trip to alter-Earth. Stanley was directly in charge of the defective 'scuttler and, in a sense, was responsible for getting the entire project going. Yes, Stanley certainly should be part of this gettogether.
And I hope you called Tito. Our man in the world.'
'I'll call him now,' Pat said, 'and can you think of anyone else ?'
'The more the better,' Sal said, beginning finally to get into the spirit of the thing.
At night Darius Pethel worked alone in his closed-up store. Something tapped on the window, and he glanced up, startled. There, on the dark sidewalk, stood Stuart Hadley.
Going to the front door, Pethel unlocked it. Opening it he said, 'I thought you emigrated.'
'Cut it out. You know we all came back." Shoulders hunched, Hadley entered the store. The familiar place where he had worked so long.
'How was it over there ?'
'Awful.'
'So I heard,' Pethel said. 'I suppose you want your job back. With each and every trimming.'
'Why not ? I'm as good as I ever was.' Restlessly, Hadley roamed about the marginal shadowy spaces of the store. 'You'll be glad to hear I'm back with my wife. Sparky returned to the Golden
Door satellite; they're going to open it again. In spite of Jim Briskin's election. I guess there's going to be a showdown fight.' He added,, 'Frankly I couldn't care less. I've got my own problems. Well ? What do you say ? Can I come back ?' He tried to make it sound casual.
'No reason why not,' Pethel said.
'Thanks.' Hadley looked relieved. Very much so.
'Some of you fellas got killed, I read. Nasty.'
'That's right, Dar; you've got it. They attacked us and the U.S. military unit accompanying us fought them off bangupwise until the entrance, or maybe I should say exit, was reopened. I'd rather not talk about it, to tell you the truth. So many verflugender hopes went down the drainpipe when that failed, mine and a lot of other people's. Now it's all up to the new president; we'll wait, bide our time, see what he can dream up, I guess. That's about all we can do, whether we like it or not.'
'You can write letters to homeopapes.'
Hadley glared at him in mute outrage. 'Some joke. You're personally okay, Dar; you're all set.
But what about the rest of us ? Briskin better come up with something, or it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better.'
'How do you like knowing you're going to have a col for president ?'
'I voted for him, along with the others.' Hadley wandered back to the locked front door of the store. 'Can I start tomorrow ?'
'Sure. Come in at nine.'
'You think life is worth living, Dar ? Hadley demanded suddenly.
'Who knows. And if you have to ask, there's something wrong with you. What's the matter, are you sick or something ? I'm not hiring anybody who's a nut or mentally flammy; you better get straightened out before you show up here tomorrow morning.'
'The compassionate employers.' Hadley shook his head. 'Sorry I asked. I should have known better.'
'That emigration stunt with that this-Olt girl didn't apparently teach you anything; you're as fouled up as ever. What's the matter, can't you accept life as it is ? You've always got to pine after what isn't ? A hell of a lot of men would envy you your job; you're incredibly darn lucky to gel it back.'
'I know that.'
'Then why don't you calm down ? What's the matter ?'
'When you had hopes once,' Hadley explained after a pause, 'it's always hard to go on after you give them up. It's not so hard to give them up; that part is easy. After all, you've got to, sometimes. But afterward ...' He gestured, grunting, '... What takes their place ? Nothing. And the emptiness is frightening. It's so big. It sort of absorbs everything else; sometimes it's bigger than the whole world. It grows. It becomes bottomless. Do you know what I'm talking about ?'
'No,' Pethel said. Nor did he particularly care.
'You're lucky. Maybe it'll never hit you, or anyhow not until old age, until you're a hundred and fifty or so.' Hadley gazed at him. 'I envy you.'
'Take a pill,' Pethel said.
'I'd be glad to take a pill, if I knew of one. I don't think they'd help, though. I feel like taking a long walk; maybe I'll walk all night. You give a darn ? Do you want to come along ? Hell no, you don't. I can see that.'
Pethel said, 'I've got work to do; I don't have time to stroll around taking in the sights. I tell you what, Hadley. When you come back to work tomorrow - listen to this - I'll give you a raise. Does that cheer you up ?' He peered at him, trying to see.
'Yes,' Hadley said, but without conviction.
'I thought it would.'
'Maybe Briskin will go back to advocating planet-wetting.'
'Would that interest you ? That tired old nothing program ?'
Opening the door, Hadley moved back outside into the dark sidewalk. 'Anything would interest me. To be honest. I'd buy anything, right now.'
Gloomily, knowing that he had failed somewhere in this interchange with Hadley, Darius Pethel said, 'Some employee you're going to make.'
'I can't help it,' Hadley pointed out. 'Maybe 'I'll change, though, in time; maybe something'll come along. God, I'm still hoping!' He seemed amazed, even a little disgusted with himself.
'You know what you could try for a change ?' Pethel said. 'Showing up a little early, a few minutes before nine. It might alter your life. Even more than that moronic attempt to escape by sneaking off with that girl to that weird world where those semi-apes live. Try it. See if I'm not right.'
Hadley eyed him. 'You mean it. And that's the whole point; that's why we don't understand each other. Maybe I should feel sorry for you instead of trying to get you to feel sorry for me. You know, maybe someday you'll suddenly crack up completely, fly into a million pieces, without warning. And I'll limp on for years. Never really give up, never actually stop. Interesting.'
'For a person who used to be optimistic...'
'I've aged,' Hadley said briefly. 'That experience on that alter-world did it to me. Can't you see it in my face ?' He nodded goodbye to Darius Pethel, then. 'See you tomorrow. Bright and early.'
As he shut the door, Pethel said to himself, I hope he can still peddle 'scuttlers. We'll see about that. If not, he's out. For good. As far as I'm concerned, he's just back here on probation, and he's lucky to get that.