Roger Zelazny - Doorsways in the Sand

I found it eventually, of course, but not before seeing the party through to the dust-and-ashes stage. As everyone else present was headed along paths that led in the same direction, I did not feel too far removed from the action. Through the haze, the sound, the booze, everything came to seem normal, appropriate and unusually bright, even the re-entrance of Merimee, clad only in a garland of bay leaves and mounted on the small gray donkey that made its home in one of the back rooms. A grinning dwarf preceded him with a pair of cymbals. For a while, nobody seemed to notice. The procession halted before me.

"Fred?"

"Yes?"

"Before I forget, if you should oversleep in the morning and I'm gone when you get up, the bacon is in the lower drawer on the right in the refrigerator, and I keep the bread in the cupboard to the left. The eggs are in plain sight. Help yourself."

"Thanks. I'll remember that."

"One other thing ... "

He leaned forward and lowered his voice.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," he said.

"Oh?"

"About this trouble in which you find yourself?"

"Yeah?"

"I do not know quite how to put it ... But ... Do you think it possible you could be killed as a result?"

"I believe so."

"Well-only if it grows extremely pressing, mind you-but I have some acquaintances of a semi-savory sort. If ... If it becomes necessary for your own welfare that some individual predecease you, I would like you to have my phone number committed to memory. Call if you must, identify him and mention where he can be found. I am owed a few favors. That can be one."

"I ... I don't really know what to say. Thank you, of course. I hope I don't have to take you up on it. I never expected-"

"It is the least I could do to protect your Uncle Albert's investment."

"You knew of my Uncle Albert? Of his will? You never mentioned-"

"Knew of him? Al and I were schoolmates at the Sorbonne. Summers we used to run arms to Africa and points east. I blew my money. He hung onto his and made more. A bit of a poet, a bit of a scoundrel. It seems to run in your family. Classical mad Irishmen, all of you. Oh yes, I knew Al."

"Why didn't you mention this years ago?"

"You would have thought I was just pulling it on you to get you to graduate. That would not have been fair-interfering with your choices. Now, though, your present problems override my reticence."

"But-"

"Enough!" he said. "Let there be revelry!"

The dwarf banged the cymbals mightily, and Merimee extended his hand. Someone placed a bottle of wine in it. He threw back his head and drew a long, deep swig. The donkey began to prance. A sleepy-eyed girl seated near the hanging beads suddenly sprang to her feet, tearing at her hair and blouse buttons, crying, "Evoe! Evoe!" the while.

"See you around, Fred."

"Cheers."

At least, that is sort of how I remember it. Oblivion had crept perceptibly nearer by then, was almost touching my collar. I leaned back and let it go to work.

Sleep, that unwrinkleth the drip-dry garment of concern, found me later at that dust-and-ashes place where the people go out one by one. I made it to the mattress in the corner, sprawled there and said good night to the ceiling.

Then-

With the water streaming in the basin, lather on my face, Merimee's razor in my hand and me in the mirror, the mists fell away and there was Mt. Fuji. From this station, couched in the center of my most recent dark space, was the thing I had sought, freed by whatever arcane cue had just occurred:

DO YOU HEAR ME, FRED?

YES.

GOOD. THE UNIT IS PROPERLY PROGRAMMED. OUR PURPOSES WILL BE SERVED.

WHAT ARE OUR PURPOSES?

A SINGLE TRANSFORMATION IS ALL THAT WILL BE NECESSARY NOW.

WHAT SORT OF TRANSFORMATION?

PASSAGE THROUGH THE MOBILATOR OF THE N-AXIAL INVERSION UNIT.

YOU MEAN THE CENTRAL COMPONENT OF THE RHENNIUS MACHINE?

AFFIRMATIVE.

WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO RUN THROUGH IT?

YOURSELF.

MYSELF?

YOURSELF.

WHY?

VITAL TRANSFORMATION.

OF WHAT SORT?

INVERSION, OF COURSE.

WHY INVERT?

NECESSARY. IT WILL SET EVERYTHING IN PROPER ORDER.

BY REVERSING ME?

EXACTLY.

COULD IT BE DANGEROUS TO MY HEALTH?

NO MORE THAN MANY OTHER THINGS YOU DO IN THE COURSE OF YOUR DAILY AFFAIRS.

WHAT ASSURANCE HAVE I OF THIS?

MINE.

IF I RECALL CORRECTLY, YOU ARE A RECORDING.

I-XXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXI-XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXI-XXXSPE ICUSPEICUSPEICUSPE ICUSPEICUSXXXXXXXXXXX PEICXXXUSPEIXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

NEVER MIND.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXDO YOU HEAR ME, FRED? DO YOU HEAR ME, FRED?

STILL HERE.

WILL YOU DO IT?

JUST ONCE THROUGH THE THING?

CORRECT. BY NO MEANS MORE THAN THAT.

WHY NOT? WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF I REPEATED IT?

I AM HAMPERED BY THE LACK OF AN ALGEBRAIC SOLUTION TO A GENERAL EQUATION OF THE FIFTH DEGREE.

JUST TELL ME IN PLAIN WORDS.

IT WOULD BE DANGEROUS TO YOUR HEALTH.

HOW DANGEROUS?

TERMINALLY SO.

I AM NOT CERTAIN I LIKE THE IDEA.

NECESSARY. IT WILL SET EVERYTHING IN PROPER ORDER.

YOU ARE SURE THAT IT WILL HAVE THE EFFECT OF MAKING THINGS CLEARER, OF BRINGING SOME ORDER TO THE PRESENT MUDDLED SITUATION?

OH YESXXXXXXXYESXXYESXXYESYESYES YESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESXXXXXXXXYES.

I AM GLAD YOU ARE SO CONFIDENT.

THEN YOU WILL DO IT?

IT IS SUFFICIENTLY BIZARRE TO BE A HAIR OF THE DOG.

PLEASE CLARIFY.

YES. AFFIRMATIVE. I WILL DO IT.

YOU WILL NOT HAVE REGRETS.

LET US HOPE. WHEN SHOULD I BE ABOUT IT?

AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

ALL RIGHT I WILL THINK OF SOME WAY TO GET AT IT AGAIN.

THAT THEN IS ALLOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

There it was, in its entirety. Instant replay-only in less time than it took me to raise my hand to my cheek and cut a highway through the lather. My nameless respondent had come through all right, and this time he had promised a satisfying result. I began to hum. Even a shaky assurance of enlightenment is better than indefinite uncertainty.

When I had finished, I bypassed the front room and made my way into the kitchen. It was a narrow place, with a sink full of dirty dishes and the smell of curry in the air. I set about assembling a meal.

In the lower right-hand drawer of the refrigerator, lying atop the package of bacon, I discovered a note. It said simply: "Remember the number and what I said about calling it."

So I ran the digits through my mind, over and over, as I scrambled, fried and toasted. Then, just as I was sitting down to eat, the donkey came into the kitchen and stared at me.

"Coffee?" I suggested.

"Stop that!"

"What?"

"Those numbers. It is extremely irritating."

"What numbers?"

"The ones you are thinking. They are swarming like insects."

I spread marmalade on a piece of toast and took a bite.

"Go to hell," I said. "My uses for telepathic donkeys are limited, and what I do in the privacy of my own mind is my business."

"The human mind, Mister Cassidy, is seldom worth the visit. I assure you I did not request the assignment of monitoring yours. It is obvious now that I erred in mentioning a creature courtesy you cannot appreciate. I suppose that I should apologize."

"Go ahead."

"You go to hell."

I started in on the eggs and bacon. A minute or two passed.

"My name is Sibla," the donkey said.

I decided that I did not really care and went on eating.

"I am a friend of Ragma-and Charv."

"I see," I said, "and they sent you to spy on me, to poke around in my mind."

"That is not so. I was assigned the job of protecting you until you were fit to receive a message and act on it."

"How were you to protect me?"