The Complete Short Stories (33 page)

‘Pilot?’ said George. ‘What
are you talking about — pilot!’

Miss Pinkerton sighed. ‘A
tiny man half the size of my finger,’ she declared. ‘He sat on a tiny stool. He
held the little tiny steering-wheel with one hand and waved with the other.
Because, there was something like a sewing-machine fixed near the rim, and he
worked the tiny treadle with his foot. Mr Lake was not attacked.’

‘Don’t be so damn silly,’
said George.

‘You don’t mean this?’
the reporter asked her with scrutiny.

‘Of course I do.’

‘I would like to know
something,’ George demanded.

‘You only saw the
underside of the saucer, George.’

‘You said nothing about
any pilot at the time,’ said George. ‘I saw no pilot.’

‘Mr Lake got a fright
when the saucer came at him. If he hadn’t been dodging he would have seen for
himself.’

‘You mentioned no pilot,’
said George. ‘Be reasonable.’

‘I had no chance,’ said
she. She appealed to the cameraman. ‘You see, I know what I’m talking about. Mr
Lake thought he knew better, however. Mr Lake said, “It’s a forgery.” If there’s
one thing I do know, it’s china.’

‘It would be most
unlikely,’ said George to the reporter. ‘A steering-wheel and a treadle machine
these days, can you credit it?’

‘The man would have
fallen out,’ the cameraman reflected.

‘I must say,’ said the
reporter, ‘that I favour Mr Lake’s long-range theory. The lady may have been
subject to some hallucination, after the shock of the saucer.

‘Quite,’ said George. He
whispered something to the photographer. ‘Women!’ Miss Pinkerton heard him
breathe.

The reporter heard him
also. He gave a friendly laugh. ‘Shall we continue with Mr Lake’s account, and
then see what we can make of both stories?’

But Miss Pinkerton had
come to a rapid decision. She began to display a mood hitherto unknown to
George. Leaning back, she gave way to a weak and artless giggling. Her hand
fluttered prettily as she spoke between gurgles of mirth. ‘Oh, what a mess!
What an evening! We aren’t accustomed to drink, you see, and now oh dear, oh
dear!’

‘Are you all right,
Laura?’ George inquired severely.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ said
Miss Pinkerton, drowsy and amiable. ‘We really oughtn’t to have done this,
George. Bringing these gentlemen out. But I can’t keep it up, George. Oh dear,
it’s been fun though.’

She was away into her
giggles again. George looked bewildered. Then he looked suspicious.

‘It’s definitely the
effect of this extraordinary phenomenon,’ George said firmly to the press.

‘It was my fault, all my
fault,’ spluttered Miss Pinkerton.

The reporter looked at
his watch. ‘I can quite definitely say you saw a flying object?’ he asked. ‘And
that you were both put out by it?’

‘Put down that it was a
small, round, flatish object. We both agree to that,’ George said.

A spurt of delight arose
from Miss Pinkerton again.

‘Women, you know! It
always comes down to women in the finish,’ she told them. ‘We had a couple of
drinks.’

‘Mr Lake had rather more
than I did,’ she added triumphantly.

‘I assure you,’ said
George to the reporter.

‘We might be fined for
bringing the press along, George. It might be an offence,’ she put in.

‘I assure you,’ George
insisted to the photographer, ‘that we had a flying saucer less than an hour
ago in this room.’

Miss Pinkerton giggled.

The reporter looked
round the room with new eyes; and with the air of one to whom to understand all
is to forgive all, he folded his notebook. The cameraman stared at the pool of
sherry, the overturned flowers, the broken glass and china. He packed up his
camera, and they went away.

George gave out the tale
to his regular customers. He gave both versions, appealing to their reason to
choose. Further up the road at her corner shop, Miss Pinkerton smiled
tolerantly when questioned. ‘Flying saucer? George is very artistic,’ she would
say, ‘and allowances must be made for imaginative folk.’ Sometimes she added
that the evening had been a memorable one, ‘Quite a party!’

It caused a certain
amount of tittering in the neighbourhood. George felt this; but otherwise, the
affair made no difference between them. Personally, I believe the story, with a
preference for Miss Pinkerton’s original version. She is a neighbour of mine. I
have reason to believe this version because, not long afterwards, I too
received a flying visitation from a saucer. The little pilot, in my case, was
shy and inquisitive. He pedalled with all his might. My saucer was Royal
Worcester, fake or not I can’t say.

The Pearly Shadow

‘I’ll track him down,’ said Mr Neviss. ‘I’ll
be relentless.’

Dr Felicity Grayland
offered him a caramel of which there was a bowl on her table (for the
children?).

‘Thanks. I’ll do away
with him,’ said Mr Neviss, ‘as soon as I get my hands on him.’

‘Yes, Mr Neviss,’ said
Felicity, who was a resident psychiatrist at the nursing home. ‘We’ll
both
do
away with him, in fact. That’s what we’re here for. I see you’re down as Mr O.
Neviss. What does “O” stand for?’

‘I can’t think of anyone
I dislike more,’ Mr Neviss said. ‘I’ll break his—’

‘Mr Neviss,’ said
Felicity. ‘Relax. Just relax.’

‘O stands for Olaf. It
isn’t easy to relax,’ said the patient, ‘with him standing there.’ He pointed
to a spot behind her chair.

Felicity leaned back. ‘Please
describe this pearly shadow, Olaf,’ she said. ‘Simply tell me what you see,
with the details. Call me Felicity —please do.’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘you
can see for yourself. He’s standing behind you.

‘What is he doing?’
Felicity inquired.

‘Just standing,’ said Mr
Neviss. ‘He’s always just standing, except when I try to get hold of him, and
then —’Try,’ said Felicity, ‘to relax. What exactly do you mean by a
pearly
shadow?’

‘For goodness’ sake,
woman,’ said the patient, ‘look round and see for yourself.’

Indulgently, with a
small smile, she looked round, and looked back very quickly at her patient. ‘That’s
the way — keep relaxed,’ she said, helping herself to a sweet. ‘Now, tell me,
when did this pearly shadow business first start?’

Felicity gave Olaf an
hour. Then she showed him out to the nurse, who conveyed him to an attendant,
to take him to his ward. Felicity lingered outside her consulting-room. She
hesitated, then entered abruptly. Yes, the pearly shadow was still there.

She gave the matter a
moment’s thought before deciding to see the Chief about herself. Overwork,
clearly. As she reached for the house phone, the nurse entered with the
appointment book. ‘Only one more patient today, doctor,’ said the nurse
pleasantly.

‘Oh,’ Felicity said, ‘I
thought Neviss was the last.’ She looked at the book. ‘P. Shadow,’ she
repeated. ‘He must be a new patient; have we got his previous record?’

‘It’s on your desk,’
said the nurse. ‘Will I show him in?’

‘I’m here already,’ said
the pearly shadow.

The nurse jumped. ‘Oh,
Mr Shadow,’ she said, ‘you should have waited in the waiting-room, you know.

‘Sit down, Mr Shadow,’
said Felicity, as the nurse withdrew. She opened a drawer and took out a packet
of cigarettes. ‘Cigarette?’

‘Thank you,’ said the
patient hoarsely, while Felicity glanced at his record.

‘I shouldn’t really
offer you cigarettes,’ she smiled. ‘I see you’ve had lung trouble.
And
anaemia.

‘I’m very bloodless,’
said the pearly shadow, ‘and my voice has almost gone.

‘But,’ said the pearly
shadow, as Felicity tried to distinguish his features, ‘I’ve come here about my
nerves, you know. There’s something on my mind.’

This put Felicity
finally at her ease. She applied herself calmly to the problem before her. The
luminous vagueness of the patient’s face became irrelevant. ‘I see you’re down
as P. Shadow. What does “P” stand for?’

‘Pearly. You can call me
Pearly.’

‘Just relax,’ said
Felicity. ‘Pearly, relax.’

‘It isn’t easy to relax,’
said the pearly shadow, ‘when every hand is against you.

‘Everyone is against me.
You,’ he continued, ‘are against me. You want to do away with me. You intend to
exterminate me.’

‘Relax, Mr Shadow,’ said
Felicity, who did not really believe in first-name relationships with patients.
‘Now, tell me, what gives you this idea?’

‘You told Neviss you’d
both get rid of me. That’s what you’re here for, I heard,’ said the pearly
shadow. ‘You’re giving him sedatives, aren’t you? You’re going to work me out
of his system, aren’t you?’

Felicity kept her eye
fixed on what looked like a pearl tie-pin at the level of his chest. ‘I can’t
discuss another patient’s treatment with you,’ she explained. ‘That would be
unethical. One patient has nothing to do with another.’

‘They gave him a drug
last night,’ the pearly shadow said, ‘and I nearly died of it. If you give him
anything stronger I shall probably fade away.

‘You’re trying to murder
me,’ the patient insisted. ‘You and all the rest of them. I know.’

Felicity gave him an
hour. Then she opened the door and let him out. She carefully wrote her report
on P. Shadow, and took it to the nurse. It was her habit to exchange a friendly
few words with the nurse, after the last patient had left. Felicity leaned in
the doorway. ‘Another day over, nurse,’ she remarked. ‘It’s been rather a bore.
In fact,’ she went on, ‘we don’t get any interesting cases these days. All
quite cut to the pattern, these days. Take those last two, for instance. Neviss
— illusions of being haunted; perfectly simple. Shadow — straightforward
illusions of persecution. Now, if you’d been here last year, we had some really
complicated… Nurse! What’s wrong with you?’

‘He walked right through
me,’ said the nurse, heaving, ‘and he came out at the other side.’

‘You’ve been overworking,
Nurse,’ Felicity said. ‘Take a sweet, a cigarette … Here’s some water. Now
relax… just relax. He could not have walked right through you, but I think I
know what you mean. He is a very insubstantial type.’ Felicity regarded the
prosperous shape of the nurse. ‘Did you feel any sensation when he appeared to
walk through you?’

‘Well, he’s luminous,
isn’t he? Where’s he gone?’

‘Home, I imagine. He’s
an out-patient. If you’re feeling better, Nurse, I’m afraid I have to close the
office. It’s been a heavy day.’

Felicity was still firmly decided to
consult the Chief about herself and her confused delusion, but it was too late.
Everyone had gone home.

Dr Felicity Grayland, as
she left her office, regretted that she had not been able to remember the name
of the nurse, and so make her chatty interlude more personal. She rarely
remembered the names of the people around her or of the people she met. Without
referring to the cards, she did not remember many of her patients. She drove
home, trying hard, for some reason, to think of her last patient’s name. She
had no success, and when she put the car away she deliberately gave up.

Her supper of mixed
green salad, Roquefort cheese and fruit, with brown bread and butter, was laid
out on the dining-room table. Felicity set about it with relish, reading the
morning’s newspaper. She could never read the papers until the evening. Now she
also remembered that she had decided to see the Chief about herself.

About herself? Herself?
Why? There must be some mistake. She went into the sitting-room and turned on
the television, tuning in to a quiz show, her favourite programme. The subject
was the Armada. What age exactly was Philip of Spain when he embarked upon this
enterprise? The girl student with black glossy hair and round-eyed glasses, who
was already winning thousands of pounds, opened her mouth confidently to
answer. But just at that moment the television turned itself off although the
lights were still on. ‘I hate quiz programmes,’ said a thin voice. ‘They get too
much money.

Felicity looked round
and saw that patient of hers. The name?

‘How did you get in
here?’ she said.

‘Through the door.’

The front door was
locked, but she supposed he meant that he always proceeded like a ghost through
walls and doors.

‘If you want to consult
me professionally,’ Felicity said, ‘you’ll have to see me at my office in the
clinic. This is my home, Mr
—
?’

‘P. Shadow,’ he said. ‘First
name, Pearly. I prefer not to attend that clinic. I frighten the nurses.’

Felicity was used to
strange patients, but she was thoroughly annoyed that her privacy had been
violated. Quite sensibly, she didn’t see the point of arguing with Shadow.
Instead, she decided to ring a colleague to see if he would come round and help
her to chuck out the unwanted patient. She phoned a number while P. Shadow made
himself comfortable in an armchair with the newspaper.

There was no reply to
the number Felicity rang. She paused a moment and started looking up another
number in her address book.

She came to the name she
was looking for: Margaret Arkans, a gynaecologist married to James Arkans,
another gynaecologist. When she thought of them, sun-bronzed, young, with white
teeth flashing as they laughed, she felt a fool.

The shadow sat on. He
had put aside her paper and from what she could make out of his features, he
looked more anxious than before.

‘Mr Shadow, what’s
troubling you?’ she said.

‘I gather you’re looking
for medical friends,’ said the pearly shadow. ‘They might advise you to take a
sleeping pill or something.’

‘Undoubtedly,’ said
Felicity, beginning to see some way out of the situation. ‘I’ll take a sleeping
pill anyway.