Джон Пристли - The Doomsday Men

Andrea was there, thank goodness, to drown him in her great dark glances. Her father was there, coolly smoking a cigar, as if this really were a party. And now Malcolm saw her two uncles for the first time: Paul with his thick eyebrows and dark short beard, a kind of brooding brilliance about him; and the strange John with his falling lock of hair and his queer visionary’s eyes. All three brothers were quite different, and it was as if they represented three different qualities of our species, for Henry seemed the embodiment of ruthless power, Paul of searching mind, and John of intuitions and dreams and visions; yet there was also a definite likeness between the three, something dark, twisted, remote, they had in common, like the branches of one sinister tree. And it caught at Malcolm’s heart to remember that Andrea too had flowered from this same tree. He stared at her as if to discover where it had flawed her, and it seemed as if she knew what he was thinking and wondering, for suddenly she looked deeply troubled. Meanwhile, as if to give the scene its crowning oddity, John was stormily improvising at the piano. He played well too, though there was his own quality in the music, now despairing in great descending chords, now rising and clashing into some disturbing triumph. Malcolm, busy with his unspoken commerce with Andrea, only half-heard him. Hooker, who like many mathematically-minded fellows was extremely fond of music, listened carefully. Jimmy Edlin stared about him, and moved restlessly and impatiently, and appeared to be on the point of interrupting at any moment.

Then John came down from the piano, and stood near his two brothers. It was he who opened the fantastic proceedings. “You three men,” he began, looking at them in his queer blind fashion, “are here because you may be said to represent the world of men we wish to destroy.” He spoke in a careful, soft but clear voice that was peculiarly intimidating. “We intended to justify ourselves before the whole world, for we are not criminals-”

This was too much for Jimmy. “Why, you’re the biggest criminals who ever lived.”

“Keep quiet, you,” said Henry MacMichael sharply. “If you don’t, you’ll be taken outside, where a lot of things might happen to you.”

Before John could resume, there came a knock. It was Kaydick, who stood just inside the door.

“All the messages have gone,” he reported to John respectfully, “just as you commanded. All the broadcasting systems will now have received them. To the two here in America, I spoke myself over the telephone. The messages were received as you said they would be, in a spirit of mockery. They laughed,” added Kaydick bitterly.

“I had already heard, in the depths of my mind, the fools laughing,” observed John calmly, while Malcolm and Hooker and Jimmy exchanged quick glances. “You can do no more. You have told all those who have served us faithfully to be present here early in the morning, to receive my final blessing?”

“I have. And you have their prayers to-night, Father. But you have not told us what will be the exact hour and the final signal.”

“Wait,” said John, and turned to his brothers. They withdrew into the alcove, to talk privately. Kaydick waited with his back to the door, so that the remaining four, who had now risen and were all grouped near the fireplace, were left to themselves.

“If only one of us could get near a telephone,” Jimmy groaned softly.

“I could,” Andrea whispered, “but what use would it be?”

“I don’t know,” said Jimmy, whispering too, “but it’s the only thing I can think of-and for God’s sake, let’s try it. Here, when we know the time and the signal business, for the love of Pete make an excuse and slip out, and telephone this fellow here-” he pressed a slip of paper into her hand “-his name’s Charlie Atwood and at least he’s got a plane and he knows me and knows there’s something wrong-and tell him from me what’s happening and he’s got to try and stop it some way or other-”

“Please, Andrea,” said Malcolm urgently, trying to repeat in one deep glance all that he had said to her that afternoon.

She nodded. There was no time for more. They separated as the three MacMichaels came out of the alcove. Andrea, whom Malcolm was watching anxiously, now leaned back in her chair and he thought he saw her tremble slightly. But now, at least, he knew that the long spell was broken, that she had come out of the evil dream, had turned from death to life; and even though he was terribly anxious, and could believe now that this dreadful lunacy might soon sweep them all away, underneath that anxiety there was a kind of deep solemn joy.

“Ask two of your men to come in here,” John said to Kaydick. They must have been waiting on the other side of the door, for now he brought them in at once, and Jimmy recognised them as two of the men who had been with him in the car. And now they were not only armed with revolvers, which protruded from their pockets, but also with short powerful shot-guns. Kaydick stationed one of them near the door, and the other not far from the wall opposite, commanding the group round the fire from another angle. Then he looked enquiringly at his leader.

“At ten o’clock exactly,” said John, “and from nine-thirty onwards we three alone will be in the tower. I shall be on the platform, praying, and when all is ready and the hour comes, three times I shall raise my hands. You will station the brethren on the hill-side, where they may watch and pray, but the servers must remain on guard until the very end, and from nine onwards you will station them round the tower. These two will remain here until we have done, and then take these three men away and keep guard over them until the morning. You have done well, Brother Kaydick, and will find your reward in a life more blessed and enduring than this.”

“And I hope you burn and freeze in hell!” muttered Jimmy, as his old enemy prepared to depart.

“And now,” said John, turning after Kaydick had gone, “you shall hear us. Will you speak first, Henry?”

The sombre heavy figure stirred, then put down the cigar, almost as if he were performing a symbolic act. But Andrea spoke first, rising hurriedly.

“Father,” she said faintly, “may I go? I’m sorry-but all this-now when it’s really here-I feel-”

“Yes, Andrea my dear,” he told her, “off you go.”

“Wait,” said John, rather sharply for him, turning his queer blind gaze on her. And Malcolm, his own blood stopping, saw her falter and blench. “What is in your heart, Andrea?”

“Oh!-let her go, John,” said his brother impatiently, and then waited until she had gone, the man stationed at the door opening it for her carefully. Malcolm breathed again.

“You think we’re mad,” said Henry heavily, addressing himself chiefly to Malcolm, probably because it was not long since they had talked together. “Well, we’re not. And we’re only doing what we are doing after many years of careful consideration. But I’ll speak for myself. I’m a man of business, of affairs, of action, and a very successful one. I began with many advantages, as you probably know, and I’ve improved on those advantages. There aren’t many things I couldn’t buy, even in these times. I can look at life not from the bottom, as a poor failure, but from the top, as a man of wealth and power, not kicked about the world but treated everywhere with respect. I don’t know what life’s always been like-I don’t pretend to have much imagination and I’ve never been interested in the past-but I say that as it is here and now life’s not worth having. It isn’t even for me, let alone the millions of poor devils who wonder where the next loaf of bread’s coming from, who sweat their guts out just continuing to exist and feel more misery. I’ve struck many a balance, not only with my own life but with hundreds of other people’s, and there’s always a debit, way down on the side of anxiety and disappointment and suffering and despair. They talk a lot about love, for instance, but even that only takes away your guard, leaves you wide open, to suffer not only for yourself but for somebody else, as I’ve seen twice in my own life. Then again, we may be inventive but we can’t grow up fast enough to use our inventions properly. I’ve gone over all the systems of production and distribution they try or clamour for, and not one of them represents a single grain in contentment and happiness. There’s always a snag that was forgotten. There’s always the iron law of diminishing returns. And the more there are of us in the world, the more anxiety and discontent and fear and misery. I pondered for years how to make the best use of my money. Patching people up in hospitals so that they’ll have more pain later on? Colleges where they teach the poor young devils to want more than they can ever get? Then I saw that the best thing I could do was to help put an end to it all. Why, there are millions and millions of poor fools now wondering when next they’ll have a good night’s sleep. Now, with luck, we’ll all sleep well to-morrow night.” And he gave a final shrug of his heavy shoulders.