The Ideal Read online

  That was the situation when I called for her one noon and took her over to van Manderpootz's laboratory. We were to lunch with him at the University Club, but we found him occupied in directing some experiment in the big laboratory beyond his personal one, untangling some sort of mess that his staff had blundered into. So Denise and I wandered back into the smaller room, perfectly content to be alone together. I simply couldn't feel hungry in her presence; just talking to her was enough of a substitute for food.

  "I'm going to be a good writer," she was saying musingly. "Some day, Dick, I'm going to be famous."

  Well, everyone knows how correct that prediction was. I agreed with her instantly.

  She smiled. "You're nice, Dick," she said. "Very nice."

  "Very?"

  "Very!" she said emphatically. Then her green eyes strayed over to the table that held the idealizator. "What crack-brained contraption of Uncle Haskel's is that?" she asked.

  I explained, rather inaccurately, I'm afraid, but no ordinary engineer can follow the ramifications of a van Manderpootz conception. Nevertheless, Denise caught the gist of it and her eyes glowed emerald fire.

  "It's fascinating!" she exclaimed. She rose and moved over to the table. "I'm going to try it."

  "Not without the professor, you won't! It might be dangerous."

  That was the wrong thing to say. The green eyes glowed brighter as she cast me a whimsical glance. "But I am," she said. "Dick, I'm going to — see my ideal man!" She laughed softly.

  I was panicky. Suppose her ideal turned out tall and dark and powerful, instead of short and sandy-haired and a bit — well, chubby, as I am. "No!" I said vehemently. "I won't let you!"

  She laughed again. I suppose she read my consternation, for she said softly, "Don't be silly, Dick." She sat down, placed her face against the opening of the barrel, and commanded. "Turn it on."

  I couldn't refuse her. I set the mirror whirling, then switched on the bank of tubes. Then immediately I stepped behind her, squinting into what was visible of the flashing mirror, where a face was forming, slowly — vaguely.

  I thrilled. Surely the hair of the image was sandy. I even fancied now that I could trace a resemblance to my own features. Perhaps Denise sensed something similar, for she suddenly withdrew her eyes from the tube and looked up with a faintly embarrassed flush, a thing most unusual for her.

  "Ideals are dull!" she said. "I want a real thrill. Do you know what I'm going to see? I'm going to visualize ideal horror. That's what I'll do. I'm going to see absolute horror!"

  "Oh, no you're not!" I gasped. "That's a terribly dangerous idea." Off in the other room I heard the voice of van Manderpootz, "Dixon!"

  "Dangerous — bosh!" Denise retorted. "I'm a writer, Dick. All this means to me is material. It's just experience, and I want it."

  Van Manderpootz again. "Dixon! Dixon! Come here." I said, "Listen, Denise. I'll be right back. Don't try anything until I'm here — please!"

  I dashed into the big laboratory. Van Manderpootz was facing a cowed group of assistants, quite apparently in extreme awe of the great man.

  "Hah, Dixon!" he rasped. "Tell these fools what an Emmerich valve is, and why it won't operate in a free electronic stream. Let 'em see that even an ordinary engineer knows that much."

  Well, an ordinary engineer doesn't, but it happened that I did. Not that I'm particularly exceptional as an engineer, but I did happen to know that because a year or two before I'd done some work on the big tidal turbines up in Maine, where they have to use Emmerich valves to guard against electrical leakage from the tremendous potentials in their condensers. So I started explaining, and van Manderpootz kept interpolating sarcasms about his staff, and when I finally finished, I suppose I'd been in there about half an hour. And then — I remembered Denise!

  I left van Manderpootz staring as I rushed back, and sure enough, there was the girl with her face pressed against the barrel, and her hands gripping the table edge. Her features were hidden, of course, but there was something about her strained position, her white knuckles —

  "Denise!" I yelled. "Are you all right? Denise!"

  She didn't move. I stuck my face in between the mirror and the end of the barrel and peered up the tube at her visage, and what I saw left me all but stunned. Have you ever seen stark, mad, infinite terror on a human face? That was what I saw in Denise's — inexpressible, unbearable horror, worse than the fear of death could ever be. Her green eyes were widened so that the whites showed around them; her perfect lips were contorted, her whole face strained into a mask of sheer terror.

  I rushed for the switch, but in passing I caught a single glimpse of — of what showed in the mirror. Incredible! Obscene, terror-laden, horrifying things — there just aren't words for them. There are no words.

  Denise didn't move as the tubes darkened. I raised her face from the barrel and when she glimpsed me she moved. She flung herself out of that chair and away, facing me with such mad terror that I halted.

  "Denise!" I cried. "It's just Dick. Look, Denise!"

  But as I moved toward her, she uttered a choking scream, her eyes dulled, her knees gave, and she fainted. Whatever she had seen, it must have been appalling to the uttermost, for Denise was not the sort to faint.

  * * * * *

  It was a week later that I sat facing van Manderpootz in his little inner office. The grey metal figure of Isaak was missing, and the table that had held the idealizator was empty.

  "Yes," said van Manderpootz. "I've dismantled it. One of van Manderpootz's few mistakes was to leave it around where a pair of incompetents like you and Denise could get to it. It seems that I continually overestimate the intelligence of others. I suppose I tend to judge them by the brain of van Manderpootz."

  I said nothing. I was thoroughly disheartened and depressed, and whatever the professor said about my lack of intelligence, I felt it justified.

  "Hereafter," resumed van Manderpootz, "I shall credit nobody except myself with intelligence, and will doubtless be much more nearly correct." He waved a hand at Isaak's vacant corner. "Not even the Bacon head," he continued. "I've abandoned that project, because, when you come right down to it, what need has the world of a mechanical brain when it already has that of van Manderpootz?"

  "Professor," I burst out suddenly, "why won't they let me see Denise? I've been at the hospital every day, and they let me into her room just once — just once, and that time she went right into a fit of hysterics. Why? Is she — ?" I gulped.

  "She's recovering nicely, Dixon."

  "Then why can't I see her?"

  "Well," said van Manderpootz placidly, "it's like this. You see, when you rushed into the laboratory there, you made the mistake of pushing your face in front of the barrel. She saw your features right in the midst of all those horrors she had called up. Do you see? From then on your face was associated in her mind with the whole hell's brew in the mirror. She can't even look at you without seeing all of it again."

  "Good — God!" I gasped. "But she'll get over it, won't she? She'll forget that part of it?"

  "The young psychiatrist who attends her — a bright chap, by the way, with a number of my own ideas — believes she'll be quite over it in a couple of months. But personally, Dixon, I don't think she'll ever welcome the sight of your face, though I myself have seen uglier visages somewhere or other."

  I ignored that. "Lord!" I groaned. "What a mess!" I rose to depart, and then — then I knew what inspiration means!

  "Listen!" I said, spinning back. "Listen, professor! Why can't you get her back here and let her visualize the ideally beautiful? And then I'll — I'll stick my face into that!" Enthusiasm grew. "It can't fail!" I cried. "At the worst, it'll cancel that other memory. It's marvelous!"

  "But as usual," said van Manderpootz, "a little late."

  "Late? Why? You can put up your idealizator again. You'd do that much, wouldn't you?"

  "Van Manderpootz," he observed, "is the very soul of generosity. I'd do it gladly, but
it's still a little late, Dixon. You see, she married the bright young psychiatrist this noon."

  Well, I've a date with Tips Alva tonight, and I'm going to be late for it, just as late as I please. And then I'm going to do nothing but stare at her lips all evening.

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: ee277db2-e390-4b41-9928-a7b4371d62fc

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 27 September 2010

  Created using: FictionBook Editor 2.4 software

  Document authors :

  Isais

  Source URLs :

  http://manybooks.net/

  Document history:

  1.0 — создание файла, скрипты — Isais.

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