Philip Dick - THE MAN WHO JAPED

Mrs. Birmingham glanced at him quizzically, then folded up her statement and stepped back. Allen walked from the stage, down the steps and across the crowded room to the table at which his wife sat.

"Come on," he said to her. "We might as, well leave."

As the two of them pushed outside they heard Mrs. Birmingham droning into the next indictment.

"We will now undertake the case of R.P., a boy, age nine, who did willingly and knowingly on the morning of October 21, 2114, scrawl certain pornographic words on the wall of the community bathroom of the second floor of this housing unit."

"Well," Allen said to his wife, as the door was locked after them, "that's that."

She nodded.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"It seems so unreal."

"It's real. We have two weeks to get out. Temporary difficulty." He shook his head. "What a travesty."

Loitering in the corridor was Mr. Wales, a folded newspaper under his arm. As soon as he saw Allen and Janet he walked hesitantly forward. "Mr. Purcell."

Allen halted. "Hello, Mr. Wales. We missed you."

"I wasn't in there." Mr. Wales seemed both apologetic and animated. "Mr. Purcell, my new lease came through. That's why I wasn't there; I'm not part of this unit any more."

"Oh," Allen said. So they hadn't eased him out; they had bought up a superior lease and presented it to him. Presumably Mr. Wales was ignorant of the purpose of his good fortune; after all, he had his own problems.

"What was it like in there?" Mr. Wales asked. "Somebody told me you were up again."

"I was," Allen admitted.

"Serious?" Mr. Wales was concerned.

"Not too serious." Allen patted the little fellow on the arm. "It's all over now."

"I hope because I wasn't—"

"Made no difference at all. But thanks anyhow."

They shook hands. "Drop by and see us," Mr. Wales said. "My wife and I. We'd be glad to have you."

"Okay," Allen said, "we'll do that. When we're in the neighborhood."

After returning Janet to the apartment, Allen walked the long way to Telemedia and his new office. His staff was subdued; they greeted him and swiftly returned to their work. His two-hour absence testified to a block meeting; they all knew where he had been.

In his office he examined a summary of the day's schedule. The tree packet was in process, and for that he was glad. He called a few T-M officials in, discussed technical problems, then sat alone for awhile, smoking and meditating.

At eleven-thirty Mrs. Sue Frost, in a long coat, looking handsome and efficient, bustled cheerfully in to pay a visit.

"I won't take up much of your time," she announced. "I realize how busy you are."

"Just sitting here," he murmured. But she went on:

"We were wondering if you and your wife are free, tonight. I'm having a little Juggle get-together at my place, just a few people; we'd particularly like you two to be there. Mavis will be there, so will Mrs. Hoyt and perhaps—"

He interrupted: "You want my resignation? Is that it?"

Flushing, she said: "As long as we're going to be getting together I thought it might be a good opportunity to discuss further some of the—"

"Let's have a direct answer," he said.

"All right," she said. In a tight, controlled voice she said, "We'd like your written resignation."

"When?"

"As soon as possible."

He said, "You mean now?"

With almost perfect composure Sue Frost said, "Yes. If it's convenient."

"What if it isn't?"

For a moment she did not seem to understand.

"I mean," he said, "what if I refuse to resign?"

"Then," she said, facing him calmly, "you'll be discharged."

"As of when?"

Now, for the first time, she floundered. "Mrs. Hoyt will have to approve. As a matter of fact—"

"As a matter of fact," he said, "it takes full Committee action. My lease is good until the sixth and it'll be at least that long before you can legally get me out of T-M. Meanwhile I'm still Director. If you want me you can call me here at my office."

"You're serious?" she said, in a strained voice.

"I am," Allen said. "Has this ever happened before?"

"N-no."

"I didn't think so." He picked up some papers from his desk and began to study them; in the time he had left there was a great deal of work to be done.

All alone, Mr. Wales surveyed his new apartment in unit R6 of leasing zone 28. A life-long dream was fulfilled. He had advanced not one but two zones toward omphalos. The Housing Authority had investigated his petition, seen the utter virtue of his life, his devotion to public good.

Moving about the room, Mr. Wales touched walls, the floor, gazed out the window, inspected the closet. He ran his hands over the stove, marvelling at his gain. The former tenants had even left their Edufactured objects: clock, shaving wand, small appliances.

To Mr. Wales it seemed unbelievable that his trivial person had been recognized. Petitions lay in ten-foot heaps on the desks at the Housing Authority. Surely there was a God. Surely this proved that the gentle and the meek, the unassuming won out in the end.

Seating himself, Mr. Wales opened a package and brought forth a vase. He had acquired it as a gift for his wife, a celebration present. The vase was green and blue and speckled with light. Mr. Wales turned it around, blew on the smooth glazed surface, held it tightly in his hands.

Then he thought about Mr. Purcell. He remembered all the times Mr. Purcell had stuck up for victims in the weekly block meetings. All the kind words he had put in. The encouragement he had given the tormented in their trial.

Mr. Wales thought how Allen Purcell must have looked coming up before the last block meeting. The dogs tearing at him. The female bitches guzzling at his throat.

Suddenly Mr. Wales shouted: "I betrayed him! I let them crucify him!"

Anguished, he rocked back and forth. Then he sprang to his feet and hurled the vase against the wall. The vase burst, and bits of green and blue and speckled light danced around him.

"I'm a Judas," Mr. Wales said to himself. He covered his eyes with his fingers so he would not have to look at the apartment. He hated the apartment. Now he had what he had always wanted, and he didn't want it.

"I've changed my mind!" he shouted. But nobody heard him. "You can have it back!"

The room was silent.

"Go away!" Mr. Wales cried.

He opened his eyes. The room was still there. It did not respond; it did not leave.

Mr. Wales began gathering up the fragments of vase. The bits of glass cut his fingers. He was glad.

The next morning Allen arrived promptly at eight o'clock at his office in the Telemedia building. As the staff appeared for work, he called them into his office until all thirty-three of them were present. The hundreds of assignment workers continued at their desks throughout the building as Allen addressed their executive department heads.

"Yesterday my resignation was requested. It's involved with the fracas that took place here Monday afternoon. I refused to resign, so I'm still Director, at least until the Committee can assemble and fire me."

The staff took the news with aplomb. One member, head of the layout department, asked: "How long will you remain in your estimation?"

"A week or so," Allen answered. "Maybe a little longer."

"And you intend to continue work during that time?"

"I'll work to the best of my ability," Allen said. "There's plenty to do and I want to get into it. But you're entitled to know the situation."

Another member of the staff, a trim woman with glasses, asked: "You're the legal Director, is that correct? Until they fire you—"

"Until dismissal papers are served, I'm the sole legal Director of this Trust; I'm your boss, with the powers im- plicit and explicit in that capacity. Naturally my policies here will be highly suspect. Probably the next Director will cancel them all, straight across the board."