“It’s simple enough. Whatever you wish for, your worst enemy gets double.”
Edelstein thought about that. “So if I asked for a million dollars—”
“Your worst enemy would get two million dollars.”
“And if I asked for pneumonia?”
“Your worst enemy would get double pneumonia.”
Edelstein pursed his lips and shook his head. “Look, not that I mean to tell you people how to run your business, but I hope you realize that you endanger customer goodwill with a clause like that.”
“It’s a risk, Mr. Edelstein, but absolutely necessary on a couple of counts,” Sitwell said. “You see, the clause is a psychic feedback device that acts to maintain homeostasis.”
“Sorry, I’m not following you,” Edelstein answered.
“Let me put it this way. The clause acts to reduce the power of the three wishes and, thus, to keep things reasonably normal. A wish is an extremely strong instrument, you know.”
“I can imagine,” Edelstein said. “Is there a second reason?”
“You should have guessed it already,” Sitwell said, baring exceptionally white teeth in an approximation of a smile. “Clauses like that are our trademark. That’s how you know it’s a genuine hellish product.”
“I see, I see,” Edelstein said. “Well, I’m going to need some time to think about this.”
“The offer is good for thirty days,” Sitwell said, standing up. “When you want to make a wish, simply state it—clearly and loudly. I’ll tend to the rest.”
Sitwell walked to the door. Edelstein said, “There’s only one problem I think I should mention.”
“What’s that?” Sitwell asked.
“Well, it just so happens that I don’t have a worst enemy. In fact, I don’t have an enemy in the world.”
Sitwell laughed hard, then wiped his eyes with a mauve handkerchief. “Edelstein,” he said, “you’re really too much! Not an enemy in the world! What about your cousin Seymour, who you wouldn’t lend five hundred dollars to, to start a dry-cleaning business? Is he a friend all of a sudden?”
“I hadn’t thought about Seymour,” Edelstein answered.
“And what about Mrs. Abramowitz, who spits at the mention of your name, because you wouldn’t marry her Marjorie? What about Tom Cassiday in apartment 1C of this building, who has a complete collection of Goebbels’ speeches and dreams every night of killing all of the Jews in the world, beginning with you?… Hey, are you all right?”
Edelstein, sitting on the couch, had gone white and his hands were clasped tightly together again.
“I never realized,” he said.
“No one realizes,” Sitwell said. “Look, take it easy, six or seven enemies is nothing; I can assure you that you’re well below average, hatewise.”
“Who else?” Edelstein asked, breathing heavily.
“I’m not going to tell you,” Sitwell said. “It would be needless aggravation.”
“But I have to know who is my worst enemy! Is it Cassiday? Do you think I should buy a gun?”
Sitwell shook his head. “Cassiday is a harmless, half-witted lunatic. He’ll never lift a finger, you have my word on that. Your worst enemy is a man named Edward Samuel Manowitz.”
“You’re sure of that?” Edelstein asked incredulously.
“Completely sure.”
“But Manowitz happens to be my best friend.”
“Also your worst enemy,” Sitwell replied. “Sometimes it works like that. Goodbye, Mr. Edelstein, and good luck with your three wishes.”
“Wait!” Edelstein cried. He wanted to ask a million questions; but he was embarrassed and he asked only, “How can it be that hell is so crowded?”
“Because only heaven is infinite,” Sitwell told him.
“You know about heaven, too?”
“Of course. It’s the parent corporation. But now I really must be getting along. I have an appointment in Poughkeepsie. Good luck, Mr. Edelstein.”
Sitwell waved and turned and walked out through the locked solid door.
Edelstein sat perfectly still for five minutes. He thought about Eddie Manowitz. His worst enemy! That was laughable; hell had really gotten its wires crossed on that piece of information. He had known Manowitz for twenty years, saw him nearly every day, played chess and gin rummy with him. They went for walks together, saw movies together, at least one night a week they ate dinner together.
It was true, of course, that Manowitz could sometimes open up a big mouth and overstep the boundaries of good taste.
Sometimes Manowitz could be downright rude.
To be perfectly honest, Manowitz had, on more than one occasion, been insulting.
“But we’re friends,” Edelstein said to himself. “We are friends, aren’t we?”
There was an easy way to test it, he realized. He could wish for $1,000,000. That would give Manowitz $2,000,000. But so what? Would he, a wealthy man, care that his best friend was wealthier?
Yes! He would care! He damned well would care! It would eat his life away if a wise guy like Manowitz got rich on Edelstein’s wish.
“My God!” Edelstein thought. “An hour ago, I was a poor but contented man. Now I have three wishes and an enemy.”
He found that he was twisting his hands together again. He shook his head. This was going to need some thought. In the next week, Edelstein managed to get a leave of absence from his job and sat day and night with a pen and pad in his hand. At first, he couldn’t get his mind off castles. Castles seemed to go with wishes. But, on second thought, it was not a simple matter. Taking an average dream castle with a ten-foot-thick stone wall, grounds and the rest, one had to consider the matter of upkeep. There was heating to worry about, the cost of several servants, because anything less would look ridiculous.
So it came at last to a matter of money.
I could keep up a pretty decent castle on $2000 a week, Edelstein thought, jotting figures down rapidly on his pad.
But that would mean that Manowitz would be maintaining two castles on $4000 a week! By the second week, Edelstein had gotten past castles and was speculating feverishly on the endless possibilities and combinations of travel. Would it be too much to ask for a cruise around the world? Perhaps it would; he wasn’t even sure he was up to it. Surely he could accept a summer in Europe? Even a two-week vacation at the Fontainebleau in Miami Beach to rest his nerves.
But Manowitz would get two vacations! If Edelstein stayed at the Fontainebleau, Manowitz would have a penthouse suite at the Key Largo Colony Club. Twice.
It was almost better to stay poor and to keep Manowitz deprived.
Almost, but not quite. During the final week, Edelstein was getting angry and desperate, even cynical. He said to himself, I’m an idiot, how do I know that there’s anything to this? So Sitwell could walk through doors; does that make him a magician? Maybe I’ve been worried about nothing.
He surprised himself by standing up abruptly and saying, in a loud, firm voice, “I want twenty thousand dollars and I want it right now.”
He felt a gentle tug at his right buttock. He pulled out his wallet. Inside it, he found a certified check made out to him for $20,000.
He went down to his bank and cashed the check, trembling, certain that the police would grab him. The manager looked at the check and initialed it. The teller asked him what denominations he wanted it in. Edelstein told the teller to credit it to his account.
As he left the bank, Manowitz came rushing in, an expression of fear, joy and bewilderment on his face.
Edelstein hurried home before Manowitz could speak to him. He had a pain in his stomach for the rest of the day.
Idiot! He had asked for only a lousy $20,000. But Manowitz had gotten $40,000!
A man could die from the aggravation.