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ghastly clown suit, running around annoying people?
I m- he stopped, and clapped the jester s hat onto his auburn thatch with a
tiny tingling of bells. He rose, rinsed out his coffee-bulb at the tap, and
put it into the drier for a moment. I have to go.
She didn t answer. The faxbox was purring, and she pulled a sheet out, read
it, threw it toward him on the counter. It s about you. Of course.
You re ridiculous.
He read it quickly. It said the Ticktockman was trying to locate him. He
didn t care, he was going out to be late again. At the door, dredging for an
exit line, he hurled back petulantly, Well, you speak with inflection, too!
Alice rolled her pretty eyes heavenward. You re ridiculous. The Harlequin
stalked out, slamming the door, which sighed shut softly, and locked itself.
There was a gentle knock, and Alice got up with an exhalation of exasperated
breath, and opened the door.
He stood there. I ll be back about ten-thirty, okay?
She pulled a rueful face. Why do you tell me that? Why? You know you ll
be late! You know it! You re always late, so why do you tell me these dumb
things? She closed the door.
On the other side, the Harlequin nodded to himself.
She s right. She s always right. I ll be late. I m always late. Why do
I tell her these dumb things?
He shrugged again, and went off to be late once more.
He had fired off the firecracker rockets that said: I will attend
the 115th annual International Medical
Association Invocation at 6:00 P.M. precisely. I do hope you will all be able
to join me.
The words had burned in the sky, and of course the authorities
were there, lying in wait for him. They assumed, naturally, that he
would be late. He arrived twenty minutes early, while they were setting up the
spiderwebs to trap and hold him, and blowing a large bullhorn, he
frightened and unnerved them so, their own moisturized encirclement
webs sucked closed, and they were hauled up, kicking and shrieking,
high above the amphitheater s floor. The Harlequin laughed and laughed, and
apologized profusely. The physicians, gathered in solemn conclave, roared
Page 21
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with laughter, and accepted the Harlequin s apologies with exaggerated bowing
and posturing, and a merry time was had by all, who thought the Harlequin was
a regular foofaraw in fancy pants; all, that is, but the authorities, who had
been sent out by the office of the Ticktockman, who hung there like so much
dockside cargo, hauled up above the floor of the amphitheater in a most
unseemly fashion.
(In another part of the same city where the Harlequin carried on his
activities, totally unrelated in every way to what concerns us here,
save that it illustrates the Ticktockman s power and import, a man
named Marshall
Delahanty received his turn-off notice from the Ticktockman s office.
His wife received the notification from the gray-suited minee who
delivered it, with the traditional look of sorrow plastered hideously across
his face. She knew what it was, even without unsealing it. It was a
billet-doux of immediate recognition to everyone these days. She
gasped, and held it as though it was a glass slide tinged with botulism, and
prayed it was not for her. Let it be for
Marsh, she thought, brutally, realistically, or one of the kids, but not for
me, please dear God, not for me. And then she opened it, and it was for Marsh,
and she was at one and the same time horrified and relieved. The next trooper
in the line had caught the bullet. Marshall, she screamed, Marshall!
Termination, Marshall! OhmiGod, Marshall, whattl we do, whattl we do,
Marshall, omigodmarshall... and in their home that night was the sound of
tearing paper and fear, and the stink of madness went up the flue and there
was nothing, absolutely nothing they could do about it.
(But Marshall Delahanty tried to run. And early the next day, when turn-off
time came, he was deep in the forest two hundred miles away, and the
office of the Ticktockman blanked his cardioplate, and Marshall [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]