The Demon (11 page)

 
Hey, man, why dont you come to the Fort with us tonight? There should be some good fights.

 
Yeah, the main events got a couple of welters that look pretty good.

Yeah? shrugging, maybe I will.

 
Harry drifted through the day, sipping on his beer, staying with his third one for an hour, Al and Tony trying to get him to keep up with them. Harry listened, smiled, laughed, talked, not completely involved with any of it, but not involved with that twinge inside either.

He went to the fights with them, and a couple of other

(73)

guys, after stopping in an Italian restaurant, and could feel himself relaxing slightly as they sat in the outdoor arena. It was a clear night and there was a pleasant breeze from the harbor and he got caught up in the horsing around of the guys, and then the action of the rights. Most of the prelims were pretty good bouts, one was really good, a knock-down, drag-out kind of fight, but the main event was a real winner and Harry got completely caught up in the excitement and was standing along with everyone else and yelling and cheering.

 
After the fights, they all went back to Caseys, but after a short time Harry waved goodbye and went home. He lay in his bed thinking about the day, then yesterday and the past weeks and months, and suddenly a cold knot twisted in his gut and he involuntarily raised his knees to relieve the pressure, and when the knot finally started dissolving, he no longer reviewed the day or any other part of his life, but closed his eyes and, with the aid of the beer he had drunk, drifted off into a shallow sleep.

              
If, indeed, such restlessness could be called sleep. He was not twisted, turned and tormented during the night, but was part of a continuing dream—maybe it only occurred once and he dreamed that it happened over and over again—that did not drag him from unconsciousness, but kept him just on the brink of wakefulness so that his mind and spirit never got the complete rest they needed. It was such a simple dream that it almost did not seem worth dreaming. A dream that is going to keep you from getting the proper rest should at least be a little, spectacular, or loaded with sexual symbols.

 
Certainly not as simple as driving along the street in a normal flow of traffic and seeing the brake lights go on on the car in front of you and you lift your foot from the accelerator and it gets caught under the brake pedal and you get closer and closer to the car in front of you as you struggle to get your foot out from under the pedal so you can jam down on it and not hit the car in front, and, of course, everything is happening in slow motion and it seems like you go

(74)

through this time after time and you never hit the car in front of you, but you never find out exactly what happens either. . ..

Harry did not remember

the dream in the morning, though he had a vague idea that he had dreamed something, but he felt sluggish and more or less dragged himself through his shower and shave. His step, as he went down the stairs to the kitchen, was slow and flat.

As was

his voice. He could hear it when he said good morning to his folks.

Are you all right, Harry?

Yeah, sure Pop, why?

 
Well, I dont know exactly, its just that you seem sort of out—well, out of sorts lately. I cant quite put my finger on it, but you just dont seem to be yourself.

 
Gee, trying to manage as sincere a look as possible, I dont know. Theres nothing wrong.

 
Harry bought a paper and tried to concentrate on it as he rode to work, but his mind kept drifting back to his fathers question and he kept asking himself if something was wrong. What could be wrong? Things werent going exactly right lately, things were getting a little goofed at work and Went-worth seemed to be getting on his back, but there was nothing wrong. At least not that he could pinpoint. He tried to get involved in the comic strips, but the vague uneasiness persisted and he kept dismissing questions from his mind. If anything was wrong, it wasnt his fault. That he was sure of.

 
Harry had been sitting at his desk a few minutes when Louise came over and asked him how he was feeling.

Pretty good. I think I/ll live.

Well thats good to hear. Have a stomach virus?

 
He suddenly felt trapped and had a second of panic until he remembered that he had told Louise that he had gotten sick after eating and had to go home.

(75)

 
Yeah, I sure did. Couldnt stray too far from home, smiling at her knowingly.

I thought you might be coming down with something.

Why? frowning.

 
O, you just didnt seem to be your usual self. You know, not as relaxed and sort of preoccupied. But Im glad youre all right now, patting him on the shoulder, then going back to her desk.

 
Harry puzzled over his coffee and cheese danish and wondered what in the hell was going on, why people were sticking their noses in his business. He wished to krist they/d keep them where they belonged. The only thing wrong with him was them.

 
He worked aggressively that morning and by the time he became aware of people coming and going and realized it was time for lunch, he felt relaxed. He looked at the work on his desk. He had done a good mornings work. Damn good. The Wilson job was all ready to go and neatly packaged.

 
He nodded at the work he had done and left for lunch feeling exhilarated. He started walking along Fifth Avenue, but by the time he reached the first corner the exhilaration was replaced with that vague uneasiness, and he turned and went to the coffee shop in the building to eat lunch. When he finished, he went back to the office and spent the remainder of the hour in the lounge.

 
For the next week, until the company outing on the following Friday, Harry had his lunch sent up from the coffee shop and spent the hour in the lounge reading, having absolutely no desire to go out for lunch, unable to force himself even if he thought of trying. He had gotten a few science fiction books from the neighborhood library and read them on the subway as well as at lunch time, and they seemed to absorb the energy from the surface of his mind and he could ignore any twinge he might feel.

 
Although he wanted to, he could not keep up his aggressive attitude toward work. He would manage it for an hour or two, but that was all, and then usually because he had fallen

(76)

behind schedule again and had to work frantically to finish the job.

 
From time to time Harry White would start to question himself about his inability to work consistently as he once had, and his inability to leave the office for lunch, but as soon as he could feel these questions vaguely forming, a fear gripped him and he shoved them aside and inundated his mind with something, anything, else to avoid facing those questions.

 
The day before the company outing Mr. Wentworth called Harry into his office. Harry knew it was serious when Mr. Wentworth told him to sit down, and something inside him turned over and a slight twinge of nausea tugged at the back of his throat. I wanted you to hear this from me, Harry, rather than at the banquet tomorrow night. As you know our firm is growing rapidly, and, I say this with pride, growing at a very accelerated pace. As a matter of fact our growth over these last two years has been phenomenal.

Thats wonderful, trying to look dutifully impressed.

 
Thats right, it is. Now, because of this growth a need for more executive-level personnel has developed, and just recently the title of junior vice-president was created—he looked at Harry for a moment, leaning back in his chair. Harry could feel the ball in his gut leap up and jam itself in his throat— and its been given to Davis—plop, down it goes, twisting his windpipe and groveling around in his bowels—upon my recommendation. And I want to tell you why. You are sharper than Davis—Harry could feel his eyes blinking, and he hoped to krist he wasnt going to cry. He didnt really want to, but he could feel a pressure behind his eyes and could feel a tired sadness veil itself over them, and he tried desperately to keep the proper expression on his face, whatever in the hell that was. He sure as krist didnt know—you have more imagination and have the capability of being more aggressive; in other words, you have all the attributes of a successful corporate executive (o for krists sake shut up and let me get out of here)

(77)

except the most essential, leaning forward to emphasize the point—consistency and reliability. I would like to see you as junior vice-president, I think you could give a lot to the firm, but I cannot depend on you. Davis may not have much to get him beyond a junior vice-presidency, but he is reliable and consistent. He is a family man, with three children. A man who has settled into life and does a good job every day. You see, thats the important thing. He doesnt skyrocket one day just to fizzle out the next. And thats more important than aggressive imagination to the firm at this point in time, and in this particular position.

 
Now, I do not know whats been happening with you lately, but I cannot rely on you the way I could. When I need something done, I want to be able to push this button and know that it will be done, no questions, no delays. Lately I cant even find you when I need you, so obviously youre no help to me when something suddenly needs attention. You seem (holy krist, stop the shit. Let me get out of here) to have acquired an irresponsible attitude, and you can take it from me, there is nothing more detrimental to a successful career. Personally, I think its time you thought about settling down, raising a family, accepting the responsibilities of a man. Theres nothing like it for giving you a clear perspective on life and clearing away the fog from the goals we want to attain. Personally, I think its the incentive you need.

 
But these are not the only reasons I recommended Davis for the position. You see, I have not changed my opinion and/or the evaluation of your ability. I think you have unlimited potential and can be a great asset to the firm. A great asset. But you are going to need a change of attitude to realize that potential, and I am hoping that this will shake you up enough to realize that you are jeopardizing a great future and that you will change your attitude.

 
I believe in our firm. I believe in it completely and absolutely. We are growing and will continue to grow as long as men are willing to dedicate their lives to it and give their absolute loyalty to it. Theres no other way. It is all in the attitude,

(78)

Harry. And I want you to be the asset I know you can be. Being passed over for a junior vice-presidency now is nothing, if you will just take my advice and change your attitude. You got me?

Yes . .. yes I have, Mr. Wentworth. I—

 
Good. Think over what I said. You know, Harry, someday you will thank me for this. You will look back on this day as the turning point in a spectacular career, Harry nodding his head and blinking his eyes rapidly. O.K., end of lecture. I will see you tomorrow.

 
See me tomorrow, going back to his desk and plopping in his chair, his eyes still blinking rapidly, the twisting ball still bouncing from his gut to his throat and lodging and tugging, see me tomorrow. Some day youll thank me for this. What kind of shit is that? Who the hell does he think hes talking to? I break my back for him and look what he does. . . . O screw it. He went to the mens room, pissed, splashed some cold water on his face and killed a few more minutes until it was time to leave.

 
The science fiction books didnt seem to help much during the ride home, as he wondered who Wentworth thought he was coming on so high and holy. You/d think I was the only one who played around with the broads. Who is he to talk???? Yeah, who are you to cast the first stone, you and your public relations team. . . . Ahhh, screw it ... its not the only job in the world . . . they need me more than I need them . . . just see what happens if I dont take care of the work . . . yeah, how long would Mr. junior veepee last then ... ah, I dont know ... I cant seem to figure . . . shit! What the—why cant they just get off my back . . . ahhh . . .

 
Tony, Mike and Steve were going to the ball game that night, so Harry went along with them. From time to time, during the night, Harry would find himself reaching down into the dark hostile corners of his mind to abuse Wentworth and let him know what an asshole he was, and he was going to

(79)

show him, but he had already dissipated a lot of his energy, and found himself partially involved in the excitement of the game, and so that inner hand was unable to bring the hate up into the light of the night.

(80)

4

                    
It was a perfect day for an outing, and the Wooddale Country Club was the perfect place. There was an eighteen-hole golf course, sunken gardens, a huge pool, impeccable grounds surrounded by pleasant woods, and all the other facilities and amenities of an exclusive country club.

 
Most of the others sat around the tables in the sun, or on the shaded patio. A few were on the tennis courts and Harry watched them for a while, then drifted along the fringe of the wooded area.

 
He enjoyed the time alone, not because it made him feel any closer to the trees that surrounded him, the birds that chirped and flew through the branches, the green spotted earth under him or the sun and blue sky over him; nor because of a fear of people or an inability to socialize—he had no real problems in that area—but rather he enjoyed the self-satisfied feeling he

(81)

experienced as he looked around at the vastness of the club, knowing there were people throughout the grounds involved in various activities and feeling that they were aware that he wasnt there and were wondering where he was.