“The Jig and the Jap. Yes.”
“And it never occurred to you that your final perception in the Phasmaworld—the letter ‘double-U’ which transformed into upraised muscular arms and then buttocks, bringing on the threat of death— it never occurred to you that this image was composed of two letters, ‘J,’ facing each other? Jig and Jap. J and J.”
Gretchen was thunderstruck. “And that’s the double implication you were trying to find last night, Subadar?”
“Indeed yes. Your exploration made you aware of the Golem, but it also made the Golem aware of you and your potential menace. I said that the motives of id-creatures are satisfaction and survival. The Golem must survive, so it is now attacking the danger; not Miz Winifred Ashley, no, you. I suspected the possibility and gave instructions, which is why staff was following you to protect.”
“Just me alone or Blaise, too?”
“I anticipated for both, and particularly for Dr. Shima. Please not to resent plain speaking, Miz Nunn, but where you have much strength, the doctor has weakness. You are the New Primal Man. Dr. Shima, despite all brilliance, may be one of the expendables. We cannot know Nature’s standards for her pinnacle.”
“Ummm.” Gretchen thought that over. “Maybe. No matter. He is protected?”
Ind’dni sighed. “Alas, staff has lost him.”
“Lost him? How? Where?”
“I need not point out the finesses of our mutual profession, Miz Nunn. You do know that whilst tailing a subject half the art lies in recognition of customary behavior patterns so that one is never at total loss.”
“Yes, I know that. And?”
“Dr. Shima abruptly broke usual, familiar patterns, and staff was at total loss.”
“How did Blaise break his usual patterns?”
“I am saddened to suggest that he has probably gone into fugue again.”
“Mr. Wish?”
Ind’dni nodded.
“Did the Golem bring it on?”
Ind’dni shrugged helplessly.
“Who’s Mr. Wish following?”
Ind’dni shrugged again.
“My God! My God! It’s all falling apart. Those damned bee-ladies… Everything’s falling apart.”
“We must not despair, madame.”
“No. No, you’re right. We’ve got to act.” Gretchen took a deep breath of resolution. “Yes. Act hard and fast.”
“Staff is doubling energies.”
“Thank you, Subadar, but I mean me.”
“Ah? What do you contemplate?”
“Is this being taped?”
“Recording can be ended immediately if you so desire.”
“No. I’m going to do something rotten brutal and I want to go on record.”
“Yours the honor, Miz Nunn.”
Gretchen firmed her lips. “I’m going to the P.L.O. pyramid for a meeting with the PloFather. I’m going to negotiate a contract on Winifred Ashley, the Queen Bee who’s holding the hive together and providing the Golem with a home. I’ll be accessory to murder.”
“Say, rather, an instigator?”
“Then both, and I’ll take what’s coming to me—with honor, at least. The only way to destroy that damn horror is destroy the Queen and her hive.”
Ind’dni sighed again. “You know, of course, that I cannot permit.”
“I know, but you cannot stop. By the time you and Legal have me gagged in the slammer, the contract will be signed and nobody can stop the P.L.O. soldiers. Christ Jesus, Subadar!” Gretchen shouted. “The wolf on the fold. Your words. The wolf! The wolf!”
She was headlong out of the office before he could answer.
* * *
“The name is Wish, dear lady. You may call me Mr. Wish.”
Regina inspected Mr. Wish. “You seem to be a harmless young man, and quite attractive. May I ask why you’re foolish enough to follow me?”
“But I’m not following you, dear lady. I’m following something else, something extraordinary, and our paths happen to coincide.”
“What are you following?”
“Ah!” Under his glassy exterior Mr. Wish was excited. “You seem to be a harmless lady and quite attractive, so I’ll confide in you. I’m drawn by something new. I play a private game, a fun sort of paper chase or treasure hunt, and suddenly I find myself drawn by a novel trail of clues. They magick me. They beckon me. They hypnotize me.”
“What are these mysterious magic clues?”
“Double death; given and received.”
“Good heavens, Mr. Wish!”
“Merely poesy, dear lady.”
“Oh, you’re a poet, are you?”
“A poet of destruction. A singer of the re-establishment.”
“The Establishment? I find that a contradiction in terms, Mr. Wish. No poet of any merit was ever reconciled to the Establishment.”
“You misheard me, dear lady. I am a poet of the RE-establishment. I am a singer of the thanatatic.”
“And what, pray, is the thanatatic?”
“It is the deep, basic human urge to re-establish the state of the universe as it was before it was disrupted by the emergence of life.”
“Disrupted? You are anti-life?”
“I am the enemy of disruption, of anything that mars the pristine logic of nature, and whenever life attempts to end its intrusion on the perfection by destroying itself, I’m drawn to help. That is my treasure hunt.”
“You must be an unusual poet, Mr. Wish, and I should like to hear your verse. Will you read for me? Here is my card. I receive Thursday afternoons. There will be other guests and, to be sure, refreshments. Now, au revoir. I must be getting along. I have an appointment.”
“So have I, and it seems in the same direction. Shall we?”
They continued together through the malignant streets and alleys of the Guff, casually detouring around rubbish, trash, and rotting forms that once were alive. All this they accepted as, indeed, did everyone. This was the advanced twenty-second century and a price must be paid for progress. Regina chatted graciously about poesy and the decorative arts, but seemed almost as excited as Mr. Wish.
“You’ve confided in me, sir,” she said at last, “and I will reciprocate by confiding in you. I’m reaching the end of a treasure hunt, too. A friend, or rather the husband of a friend, attended a party at my place on the first Opsday. He is a collector of oddments and he revealed something that thrilled me. He owns a treasure I’ve yearned for, an original pianola roll of the ‘Internationale’ by Pottier and Degeyter. He was generous enough to offer it as a gift, and I accepted. The gentleman lives here. Goodbye again, sir.”
Regina turned into a magnificent Oasis and Mr. Wish followed. She regarded him. He smiled. “My trail ends here, too, dear lady. Another odd coincidence.”
She was flustered as she was passed through by Security, but not too badly. Yet she was rattled enough not to notice that Mr. Wish had been passed under her aegis. They entered the express elevator together and were shot skyward.
“I’m for thirty-one,” Regina said.
“So am I, but not to be alarmed, dear lady. There are four apartments to the floor. Coincidence once more, and I shall compose an epic on the coincidence of Thanatos for your next Thursday afternoon.”
But when Droney Lafferty opened the door for Regina, he stared and exclaimed, “What? You too, doctor?”
Mr. Wish smiled into the piebald face. “The name is Wish, sir. You may call me Mr. Wish. I’ve come to help you.”
He glided past them into the apartment. Lafferty lifted an arm to block him, suddenly smiled raffishly and permitted him to pass. Mr. Wish gazed glassily at the illuminated vitrines displaying Lafferty’s curious collections; sundials, ear trumpets, walking sticks, matchbook porn, lurid French letters, and death masks of Lucrezia Borgia, Eleanor Gwyn, Catherine II, Pauline Borghese, Emma Hamilton, Lola Montez, Elizabeth I, and Elizabeth III.
“Now don’t let’s have another awkward scene, doctor. Sit down and behave. An audience may add something extra.”
“The name is Wish, sir. You may call me Mr. Wish,” Shima said and sat down obligingly, his eyes fixed on infinity.