The Dream Merchants Part 27

Rocco pushed him near it and he sat there quietly watching the operator thread the film into the sprockets. He felt good just watching him.

They began to draw the curtains over the windows and gradually the room grew dark. Then it was pitch-black and he couldn't see anything. He wanted desperately to light a cigarette, but he remembered he couldn't smoke sitting near the film as he was. He heard the faintly familiar buzz as the carbon sparks caught, and then the strong bright light flashed on the screen.

Words flashed on. At first they were blurred and then they were clear and distinct as the operator set the focus on his lens. Johnny read the words, his lips moving as he pa.s.sed over them.

To the soldiers at Long Island State Hospital: The motion-picture equipment and the film you are about to see has been donated to us by Mr. Peter Kessler, president of Magnum Pictures, Inc. He has made this presentation to us on behalf of the more than fifty of his co-workers and employees who have served with us during the past war, many of whom have not returned.

We can do no more than say "Thanks" to Mr. Kessler for his kind and generous gift and express our appreciation by enjoying the show that is about to follow.

SIGNED: Col. James F. Arthur, U.S.A.

Commanding Officer,

Long Island State Hospital

The words flashed from the screen almost before Johnny could grasp their meaning. He had been frozen to his chair when Peter's name had flashed on the screen, but now it was gone.

And in its place came the familiar trade-mark, the opening shot that identified every Magnum Picture: the big champagne bottle with the champagne flowing into a gla.s.s until the gla.s.s was filled to the brim. Then the words covering the whole screen in Gothic lettering: MAGNUM PICTURES.

PRESENTS.

Johnny's voice reached Rocco's ears in an agonized whisper. "Take me out of here, Rock!" it said with suppressed intensity. "Take me out!"

For a moment Rocco stood still in surprise. He didn't understand it. Johnny had been so eager to see the picture, and now before it began he wanted to leave. He leaned forward. "What'sa matter, Johnny?" he whispered in his ear. "Yuh sick?"

He could see Johnny's fists clenched on the arm of the chair as he replied: "No. Just take me out, that's all. Take me out!"

He steered the wheelchair to the door and out. The bright lights in the hall hurt his eyes and he blinked for a moment; then he looked at Johnny.

Johnny's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, so tight that tears stood in the corners of them. His face was white and strained and drops of sweat stood out on his pallid skin.

Quickly Rocco pushed him back to his room and helped him into bed. Johnny's body was trembling. Gently Rocco covered him and stood near him. "Was it somebody you knew, Johnny?" he asked gently.

Johnny's eyes opened suddenly and stared at him. Accidentally Rocco had stumbled on the truth. He must not know any more. "No," he said slowly. What was that thing he had heard the doctors talking about the other day-claustrophobia, the fear of being shut up in a small place and not being able to get out. Make Rocco think that was what had been the matter with him.

"Suddenly I couldn't stand it in there any more," he said. "I felt I would never get out." He laughed self-consciously. "I must have that claustro-er-something the doctors talk about."

Rocco looked at him but didn't answer. His mind was working. Johnny wasn't fooling him this time. He was going to find the real reason behind the way Johnny had acted. If he had really been afraid of being cooped up in there, he never would have been able to stay in this room so long a time.

The girl came out of the officer's room. She smiled at Rocco. "You may go in now, sergeant. Captain Richards will see you."

He thanked her and went into the little office. He drew himself to attention and saluted the officer.

The officer negligently returned his salute and looked up at him wearily. "Sit down, sergeant," he said in a tired voice. "We don't hold with the formalities in here."

Rocco sat down in a chair opposite the officer's desk. The officer looked down at the paper on his desk and then up at Rocco. "Your request is a most unusual one, sergeant," he remarked.

Rocco leaned forward in his chair. "It's the only way I believe we can help him, sir."

The officer grunted and looked down at the paper on his desk again. He studied it for a few minutes and then spoke. "I have Corporal Edge's service record here as you requested, but there is nothing on it that would give us any clues as to his family or friends or background. He took no life insurance from us and the only one to be notified in case of injury to him is one Joseph Turner, now deceased." He took a pipe from his desk and filled it with tobacco. He held a match to it until it was drawing comfortably. He looked over at Rocco. "You say he says he has no place to go and that he wants to remain here."

Rocco nodded.

The captain shook his head. "Well, there's no way we can force the man to leave short of bodily ejection if he doesn't want to. The only thing I can see is to transfer him to a mental hospital."

Rocco jumped to his feet. "There's no reason for that, sir," he said quickly. "Johnny's all right. There's no more the matter with him than there is with me."

"You seem to know him very well," the officer said.

"We were buddies," Rocco answered simply. "We were in the same outfit overseas. I sent him on that mission on which he got hurt and Joe got killed."

The officer nodded his head slowly. "I see," he said, "and you feel responsible for him?"

"Sort of," Rocco admitted.

"Is that why you stayed in?" the officer asked.

"Yes, sir," Rocco answered.

The officer was silent for a while and then he spoke. "I commend you for your feelings, sergeant, but if all the people in the service took their responsibilities as deeply as you, we would have more orderlies in the hospitals than patients."

Rocco made no reply.

The officer continued: "That, however, does not resolve our problem. Have you any further suggestions?"

Rocco leaned forward in his seat. He spoke anxiously. "If you could get Joe Turner's service record, maybe something on it would give us an idea of Johnny's background."

The captain thought that over. "And if we did, sergeant, we are not allowed to investigate any further." He paused for a moment and then added: "Officially."

Rocco smiled understandingly at him. "I know that, sir," he said, "but I might accidentally stumble across something that would be of great help."

The captain stood up. He returned Rocco's smile. "Accidentally, of course."

Rocco got to his feet. "Then you will try to get a copy of Joe's service record, sir?"

The captain nodded his head.

Rocco stood on the street in front of the building. The sign over the doorway read: "Magnum Pictures Company, Inc." He hesitated a moment and then entered the building. He was in a small reception room.

A girl's face peeked through a small window at him. "No hiring done here, soldier," she said.

"I'm not looking for a job, miss," he said. "I came to see someone."

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," she said. "Whom did you wish to see?"

Rocco took the slip of paper from his pocket and looked at it. "Mr. Peter Kessler."

"Your name, sir?" she inquired.

"Sergeant Savold, Rocco Savold," he answered.

"Won't you sit down, please?" she said. "I'll see if Mr. Kessler can see you."

Rocco sat down. He sat there for almost fifteen minutes. He wondered if the girl had forgotten about him. The window flew up suddenly and the girl's face looked out at him.

"I have Mr. Kessler's secretary on the phone. What do you wish to see Mr. Kessler about? He's very busy at the moment. If you tell her your business, she will put you down for an appointment."

Rocco hesitated for a second. He didn't want to talk with the secretary, but she would have to do if he couldn't talk directly with Mr. Kessler. He nodded.

The girl handed a phone through the open window to him. "h.e.l.lo," he said into it.

The secretary's voice was briskly efficient and impersonal. "I'm Miss Andersen, Mr. Kessler's secretary. Can I help you?"

"I-uh, I don't know, miss," he said, "I wanted to speak to Mr. Kessler on a personal matter."

"You can speak with me," the pleasant impersonal voice replied, "I'm also his personal secretary."

He thought for a second. She would have to do. "I wanted to speak to him about Johnny Edge," he said. There was a sudden silence on the other end of the phone. "Did you hear me, miss?" he asked anxiously.

The voice that spoke now was a different one from that he had heard before. "I heard you," it said. It was very faint, he could hardly hear her. "You wanted to speak about Johnny Edge?"

"That's right, miss," he said, suddenly excited. "Do you know him?"

"Yes," she answered. "Is he all right?"

"Sure," he said, smiling into the phone, "sure."

"Thank G.o.d," came the fervent whisper back into his ear.

10.

Rocco pushed the wheelchair into a small walk on the far end of the grounds. They were almost a quarter of a mile away from the hospital. It was quiet here. Tall hedges growing on either side of the walk, small beds of flowers s.p.a.ced carefully between them. The wheelchair stopped. Johnny looked up.

Rocco's hands were going through his pockets.

"What are you lookin' for, Rock?" he asked.

"My cigarettes," Rocco answered. "I'm fresh out."

"Take mine," Johnny said, reaching into his pocket. There weren't any there. Puzzled, he looked in the other pocket of his blouse. It was empty too. Funny, he thought; he had put some there just before they left. "I'm out too," he said.

Rocco looked at him strangely. "Yuh mind if I run back to the canteen an' get some?" he asked. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Go ahead," Johnny said. "I'll be all right."

Rocco turned and started back. Johnny turned the wheelchair into the sun and leaned his head back. He could feel the warm rays of it on his face. It felt good. His hand hung over the sides of the chair and toyed with the long blades of gra.s.s. Idly he pulled at a few and stuck them in his mouth. They tasted a bitter green. He smiled to himself. "You can't taste a color," he thought. He sat there basking pleasantly in the sun.

He felt drowsy and lazy. It would be good to get out of the chair and lie down in the cool gra.s.s and rest. He turned his head to one side and looked at the ground. It would be good, but it was not for him. He would not walk on the gra.s.s and throw himself on the ground as he used to. It was for others to do, not him. He shut his eyes again and faced the sun.

He heard footsteps behind him. "Rocco?" he asked without turning his head or opening his eyes. "Give me a cigarette."

He felt a hand place a cigarette between his lips. He heard a match striking. He drew on the cigarette and felt the smoke going deep into his lungs. "It's nice out here," he said.

"You like it, Johnny?" It was a familiar voice, but not Rocco's.

He opened his eyes suddenly and spun the chair around. A cry burst from his lips. "Peter!"

Peter stood there, his face pale and drawn, his eyes wet with tears. He shook his head. "Yes, Peter," he said slowly. "Didn't you want to see me, Johnny?"

Johnny sat there completely still, his cigarette frozen to his lips. He couldn't speak.

Peter moved closer to him and took his hand.

He could feel the warmth of Peter's hand on his and suddenly his feelings rose in his throat and began to choke him. He leaned forward over Peter's hand and began to cry.

Peter's other hand rested on Johnny's hair. "Johnny," he said, his voice shaking, "Johnny, did you think you could always hide from those who love you?"