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diff --git a/23889.txt b/23889.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d976036 --- /dev/null +++ b/23889.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1685 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Charley de Milo, by +Laurence Mark Janifer AKA Larry M. Harris + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Charley de Milo + +Author: Laurence Mark Janifer AKA Larry M. Harris + +Illustrator: Ed Emshwiller + +Release Date: December 18, 2007 [EBook #23889] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHARLEY DE MILO *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Bruce Albrecht, Stephen Blundell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + CHARLEY + de MILO + + By LARRY M. HARRIS + + Illustrated by Emsh + + + _It isn't at all obvious--at first thought--that + having two perfectly good, usable arms could be a + real handicap to a man...._ + + + "To be, or not to be--that is the question. + Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer + The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, + Or to take arms ..." + _Hamlet_, Act III, Scene I + + +The rocket was on the way up, but Professor Lightning didn't seem to +care. Outside the cooktent Wrout flapped his arms and, on that signal, +Seaman started up the big electric band, whooping it up with John Philip +Sousa for openers, while all over the midway the lights snapped on, big +whites and yellows, reds, greens, purples and dusky violets framing, in +a titillating dimness, the front flap of the girlie tent. The outside +talkers were busy outside the spectacle tents like Wicks' Hell Drivers, +Biggest Auto Show in Fifty States--outside the grind shows, the eats, +the rides: "Here and now, for the fourth part of one single dollar bill, +the most amazing ..." "... Terrifying and strange beings from the +farthest reaches of the Earth who will exhibit ..." "... Dances learned +at the Court of the Sultan, Ay-rab dances right here, right on the +inside, for only--" + +And the crowd, filing in, laughed and chattered and shrieked on swooping +rides, the Great Crane, the Space Race, the Merry-Go-Round and the +Horses, threw down money to win a kewpie doll, a Hawaiian lei, a real +life-size imitation scale model of Luna in three real dimensions ... +living it up on the first show, while the rocket climbed on and out, and +bubbled excitement in the blood. + +The rocket was up: the carnival was open. But Professor Lightning didn't +seem to care. He sat in the cooktent with his eyes hooded and hidden +under the unshaded glow of a hundred-and-fifty-watt Forever bulb, while +Charley de Milo fidgeted his feet, and listened, and tried to cut the +old man off. + +"Look, professor," he said nervously, "why don't we talk about it later? +Table it, till after the show?" He scratched the side of his head with +his left foot. "I got to go on in a couple of minutes," he said. "I can +hear the talker going now. I got to--" + +"Forget the show," Professor Lightning said. His voice was flatter and +harsher, and his face more tense, than Charley ever remembered seeing +it. "The show isn't important." + +Charley blinked, trying to understand. "But, Professor--" + +"Listen to me," Professor Lightning said. "The world is at the beginning +of a new cultural revolution. Since the Cold War melted, and freedom of +inquiry and research began to live again on both sides of the old Iron +Curtain, science has begun a new Renaissance. The cultural interflow +has--" + +"Please, professor," Charley said miserably, rubbing his toes together. +"There isn't much time before I got to go on. And you ought to be +inside the Science tent, too, because any minute--" + +"If I am not in the tent," Professor Lightning said calmly, "I will not +appear in the show. It does not matter." + +"But they'll fire you," Charley said. He grabbed for a cigarette with +his right foot and got it into his mouth. Striking a match with his left +foot, he lit the cigarette and blew out a long, ragged plume of smoke. +"If you're not there on time," he said in strained tones, "they'll fire +you. And what about me?" + +Professor Lightning gestured with both big hands. It was the same +movement he used every night, when he showed the crowd there were no +wires or batteries secreted on his person. Charley half-expected him to +grab hold of a couple of light bulbs and show them glowing in his fists. +But the gesture was meant, this time, as an aid to relaxation. "Don't +worry," Professor Lightning said, in a grating sort of caricature of a +soothing tone. "If they fire me ... well, then, they save me the trouble +of quitting. And as for you, my boy, a carnival job should be the +furthest thing from your thoughts." + +"Well, it isn't," Charley said sourly. "And if you'll excuse me, +professor, I care how I get the money to eat, even if you don't. I got a +good job--" + +"You won't need your job," Professor Lightning said, "if you'll listen +to me." + +Charley made up his mind. Much as he hated to be impolite, there were +some things more important than social forms, he decided. He stood up. +"After the show, professor," he said with firmness, and went out of the +cooktent, heading at a rapid dogtrot for the big tent at the other side +of the midway. As he reached it he could see Dave Lungs, the outside +talker, climb up on the front platform to begin his spiel. + +"Marvels of the world!" Dave announced without preliminary. "Wonders of +the natural universe! Surprises and startling sights for every member of +the family!" By the time he had got that far, a crowd was beginning to +collect in front of the platform. "For the fourth part of a single +dollar bill--" Dave went on, but Charley didn't have the time to listen; +he was in the bally. + +He lifted the backflap of the tent with one foot, and wriggled inside. + +As he made his way to the cluster of people near the front flap, past +the booths and stands, he felt an enormous sense of relief. He had made +it--with all of fifty seconds to spare. + +Ned and Ed stood next to him. "Where you been?" Ed said in a nasal +whisper. + +"I got held up," Charley explained. "Professor Lightning, he was talking +to me, and--" + +"Later," Ned said. His voice was lower and throatier than Ed's; it was +the only way Charley could tell them apart, but then, he thought, nobody +ever had to tell them apart. They were, like all Siamese twins, always +together. "We're going on," Ned said, and he and his twin moved forward. + +Charley moved into place behind them, and came out blinking in the glare +of the front platform. + +"Siamese twins," Dave was shouting. "A contemporary marvel of science, +ladies and gentlemen--and here we have ..." + +Charley stepped forward as Ned and Ed stepped back into the shadows +again. + +"... Charley de Milo! Ladies and gentlemen, the world-wide fame of this +brave and talented boy is stupendous! His feats of skill will amaze you! +Watch him thread a needle! Watch him comb his hair! And all for one thin +quarter, ladies and gentlemen, only the fourth part--" + +The electronic band choked on Sousa, coughed and began again with +Kabalevsky. Charley watched the audience below, staring up at him, +hundreds of faces. He heard their gasp as he flexed his shoulders and +turned. He grinned down, taking a second longer than usual, and then +stepped back, still grinning. + +"Charley de Milo, the Armless Wonder!" Dave said. "And many more sights +inside, ladies and gentlemen, sights to amaze you, sights to chill your +very blood, sights ..." + + * * * * * + +One-thirty, and the last show over. The rocket had come down for the +night; all over the midway lights were blinking off and silence was +creeping, like a stain, over the ground. Professor Lightning was sitting +on his bunk, in the small tent he shared with Erma the Fish Girl. Erma +was out drinking with Dave Lungs and some of the others, and only the +professor and Charley de Milo were in the room. Charley was sitting on +Erma's bunk, looking resigned. + +"Well, if you still want to talk to me," he said, "now's your chance. +O.K.?" + +"I certainly want to talk to you," Professor Lightning said firmly. "I +want to tell you of the most important moment of your life." + +Charley tried to think of something to say to this, but there wasn't +anything. He shifted on the bunk, scratched at his nose with his left +foot, and grinned spastically. "Sure," he said at random. "And, by the +way, I'm sorry about before, professor. But the show was going on, +and--" + +"The show," Professor Lightning said, in tones of the utmost contempt. +"Forget about the show--now, and tomorrow, and forever." + +"But--" + +"No words," Professor Lightning said, raising a hand delicately. +"Please. Allow me to tell you of my invention." + +Charley sighed and lay back on the bed. "Invention, professor?" he said. +"You mean sort of a machine?" + +For some reason, Professor Lightning looked irritated. "It's not a +machine," he said flatly. Then he sighed and his tone changed. "Charley, +my boy," he said, "do you remember what I was telling you before? About +how the world has entered a new Age of Science? How new inventions, new +discoveries, are coming along every day?" + +"Well, sure," Charley said. "The papers talk about it every once in a +while. You know, I see the papers, or the Chicago _American_, anyhow. My +mother sends it to me. She likes the columns." + +"Why," Professor Lightning went on, as if he hadn't been listening at +all, "right here in Wrout's Carnival Shows, we have things that just +didn't exist ten or fifteen years ago. The electronic band. The Forever +bulb." + +"That's right," Charley put in. "And look at Joe Wicks. Why, he can do +tricks with all those new things they got on cars, tricks nobody ever +did before or even thought about in the old days." + +"And more fundamental discoveries," the professor said. "Chadwick's Law +of Dimensionality, Dvedkin and the Ontological Mean ... oh, I keep up +with the literature. No matter what's happened to me, I keep up with the +literature." + +Charley sighed, very softly so as not to injure the professor's +feelings. But he did hope the old man wasn't going to start on all those +stories about his lost career again. Charley knew--everybody in the +Wrout show did--that Professor Lightning had been a real professor once, +at some college or other. Biology, or Biological Physics, or something +else--he'd taught classes about it, and done research. And then there +had been something about a girl, a student the professor had got himself +involved with. Though it was pretty hard to imagine the professor, +white-haired and thin the way he was now, chasing after a girl. + +He'd been fired, or something, and he'd drifted for a while and then got +himself an act and come with a Carnival. Charley knew the whole story. +He didn't want to hear it again. + +But the professor said: "I'm as good as I ever was--better than I ever +was, my boy. I've been keeping up, doing experiments. I've been quiet +about it." + +Everybody, Charley thought, knew about Professor Lightning and his +experiments. If they kept the old man happy, kept him contented and +doing shows, why not? After all, the old guy didn't drink or anything +really serious; if he wanted to play around with test tubes and even +Bunsen burners, people figured, why, let him. + +But Professor Lightning thought nobody knew. Well, he had been a real +professor once, which is to say a square. Some people never really +adjusted to carny life--where everybody knows everything. + +Charley figured maybe it was better to act surprised. "Really?" he said. +"Experiments?" + +Professor Lightning looked pleased, which satisfied Charley. "I've been +on the track of something big," he said. He seemed to be talking more to +himself than to Charley. "Something new," he said. "And at last ... at +last, my boy, I've found it. I'll be famous, Charley, famous--and so +will you!" + +"That's nice," Charley said politely. Then he blinked. "But what do you +mean," he added, "me?" + +"I want you to help me," the professor said. He leaned forward, and in +the dim light of the tent's single lamp, his eyes glittered. "I want you +to come with me." + +"Come with you?" Charley said, and swallowed hard. He'd never thought, +the way some did, that the old man was crazy. But it did look as if he'd +slipped a couple of cogs for sure and for real. "Where?" Charley said. + +"Washington," the professor said instantly. "New York. London, Paris. +Rome. The world, Charley. The world that's going to do us homage." + +Charley shifted a little in the bed. "Look, professor," he said, "I've +got a job, right here in the carny. I couldn't leave here. So suppose we +just--" + +"Your job?" the professor said. "Your job's gone, my boy. Wait. Let me +tell you what I've discovered. Let me tell you what has +happened--happened to you, my boy. To you, and to me." + +Charley sat upright, slowly. "Well," he said, "all right, professor." + +Professor Lightning beamed, and his eyes glittered brighter and +brighter. "Limb regeneration," he said, and his voice was as soft and +quiet as if he'd been talking about the most beautiful woman in the +world. "Limb regeneration." + + * * * * * + +Charley waited a long minute before he admitted to himself that he +didn't have the faintest idea what the professor was talking about. +"What?" he said at last. + +Professor Lightning shook his head slightly. "Charley," he said softly, +"you're an Armless Wonder. That's right, isn't it?" + +"Sure it is, professor," Charley said. "You know that. I was born that +way. Made a pretty good thing out of it, too." + +"Well," Professor Lightning said, "you don't have to be one. Can you +realize that?" + +Charley nodded slowly. "Sure I don't," he said. "Only it's pretty good +money, you know? And there's no sense in sitting around back home and +feeling sorry for myself, is there? I mean, this way I can make money +and have a job and--" + +"No," Professor Lightning said emphatically. + +Charley blinked. "No?" he said. + +Professor Lightning shook his head, meaningfully. "Charley, my boy," he +said, "I don't mean that you should go home and mope. But think about +this: suppose you had your arms? Suppose you had two arms, just like +everybody else." + +"Why think about anything like that?" Charley said. "I mean, I am what I +am. That's the way things are. Right?" + +"Wrong," Professor Lightning said. "I can give you arms, Charley. I can +make you normal. Just like everybody else." + +"Well," Charley said. After a few seconds he said: "Gee." Then he said: +"You're kidding me, professor." + +"I'm perfectly serious," Professor Lightning said. + +"But--" + +"Let me show you," Professor Lightning said. He stood up and went to the +flap of the tent. "Come with me," he said, and Charley got up, dumbly, +and followed him out into the cool darkness outside. + +Later, Charley couldn't remember all that Professor Lightning had showed +him or told him. There were some strange-looking animals called +salamanders; Professor Lightning had cut their tails off and they'd +grown new tails. That, he said, happened in nature. But he had gone a +step farther. He had isolated the particular factor that made such +regrowth possible. + +Charley remembered something about a molecular lattice, but it didn't +make any sense to him, and was only a puzzle. But the professor told him +all about the technique, in a very earnest and scientific voice that was +convincing to listen to, and showed him mice that he'd cut the tails off +of, and the mice had brand-new tails, and even feet in one or two cases. +There were a whole lot of small animals in cages, all together in back +of the professor's tent, and Charley looked at all of them. The +professor had a flashlight, and everything was very clear and bright. + +When the demonstration was over, Charley had no doubts at all. It was +obvious to him that the professor could do just what he said he could +do: grow limbs on things. Charley scratched his head with his left foot, +nervously. + +"That's why I came to you," the professor said. "I need a human +being--just to show the scientific world that my technique works on +human beings. And I've worked with you for a number of years now, +Charley." + +"Five," Charley said. "Five since you came with Wrout." + +"I like you," the professor said. "I want to make you the first, the +very first, person to be helped by my technique." + +Charley shifted his feet. "You mean you want to give me arms," he said. + +"That's right," the professor said. + +"No," Charley said. + + * * * * * + +Professor Lightning nodded. "Now, then," he said. "We'll get right to +work on ... Charley, my boy, what did you say?" + +Charley licked his lips. "I said no," he said. + +Professor Lightning waited a long minute. "You mean you don't believe +me," he said at last. "You think I'm some sort of a crackpot." + +"Not at all," Charley said politely. "I guess if you say you can do this +... well, I see all the animals, and everything, and I guess you can do +it. That's O.K." + +"But you're doubtful," Professor Lightning said. + +Charley shook his head. "No," he said. "You can do it, all right. I +guess I'm sure of that, professor." + +[Illustration] + +"Then," the professor said, in a tenser voice, "you think it might be +dangerous. You think you might be hurt, or that things might not work +out right, or--" + +"Gee," Charley said, "I never thought of anything like that, professor. +I know you wouldn't want to hurt me." + +"I certainly wouldn't," Professor Lightning said. "I want to help you. I +want to make you normal. Like everybody else." + +"Sure," Charley said uncomfortably. + +"Then you'll do it," Professor Lightning said. "I knew you would, +Charley. It's a great opportunity. And I offered it to you because +you--" + +"Gee, I know," Charley said, feeling more uncomfortable than ever. "And +don't think I don't appreciate it. But look at it my way, professor." He +paused. "Suppose I had two arms--just like everybody else, the way you +tell me. What would happen to me?" + +"Happen?" Professor Lightning blinked. "Why, Charley ... why, you could +do anything you liked. Anything. You'd have the same opportunities as +anybody else. You could be ... well, my boy, you could be anything." + +"Could I?" Charley said. "Excuse me for talking about this, professor, +but I've had a lot of time to think about it. And it's all sort of new +to you. I mean, you weren't born the way I was, and so you just don't +understand it." + +Professor Lightning said: "But, my boy--" + +"No." Charley said. "Let me explain this. Because it's important." He +cleared his throat, sat down on the ground and fumbled for a cigarette. +He found one in his shirt pocket, carried it to his lips with his right +foot, and lit a match with his left. When he was smoking easily, he went +on. + +"Professor, do you know how old I am?" he said. "I'm forty-two years +old. Maybe I don't look it, but that's how old I am. Now, I've spent all +my life learning to do one thing, and I do a pretty good job of it. +Anyhow, good enough to get me a spot with Wrout's show, and probably +with anybody else I wanted to work for." + +"But your arms--?" the professor said. + +"That's what I mean," Charley said. "I don't have any arms. I never had +any. Maybe I miss 'em, a little--but everything I do is based on the +fact that I don't have 'em. Now, professor, do you know what I am?" + +Professor Lightning frowned. "What you are?" he said. + +"I'm an Armless Wonder," Charley said. "That's a pretty good thing to +be. In a carny, they look up to an Armless Wonder--he's a freak, a born +freak, and that's as high as you can go, in a carny. I get a good +salary--I send enough to my mother and my sister, in Chicago, for them +to live on. And I have what I need myself. I've got a job, professor, +and standing, and respect." He paused. "Now, suppose I had arms. I'd +have to start from scratch, all over again. I'd have to start from the +bottom up, just learning the basic elements of any job I signed on for. +I'd be a forty-two-year-old man doing the work of an eighteen-year-old. +And not making much money. And not having much standing, or respect." + +Charley took the cigarette out of his mouth with his right foot, held it +for a second and put it back. + +"I'd be normal," he said. "I'd be just like everybody else, professor. +And what do I want anything like _that_ for?" + + * * * * * + +Professor Lightning tried everything, but it wasn't any good. "Fame," he +said, and Charley pointed out, calmly and reasonably, that the kind of +fame he'd get from being an experimental subject was just like being a +freak, all over again--except that it would wear off, and then, he +asked, where would he be? Professor Lightning talked about Man's Duty to +Science, and Charley countered with Science's Duty to Man. Professor +Lightning tried friendship, and argument, and even force--but nothing +worked. Incredible as it seemed to the professor, Charley was content to +remain a freak, an Armless Wonder. More, he seemed to be proud and happy +about it. + +It was too bad that the professor didn't think of the one argument that +might have worked. In the long run, it wouldn't have made any +difference, perhaps--but it would have cleared matters up, right there +and then. Because the one workable argument had a good chance of +succeeding. + +But, then, Professor Lightning really didn't understand carny. He never +thought of the one good argument, and after a while he gave up, and went +away. + +Of course, that was several days later. Professor Lightning told Charley +that he was leaving for New York, and Charley said: "What? In the middle +of the season?" Then he told Wrout, and Wrout screamed and ranted and +swore that Professor Lightning would never work in carny again. "I'll +have you blacklisted!" he roared. + +And Professor Lightning shrugged and smiled and went away to pack. He +took all his notebooks, and all the cages with little animals in them, +and he didn't seem at all disturbed. "I'll find another subject," he +told Charley, when he left. "When they find out what I've got, in New +York, they'll provide me with subjects by the hundred. I did want to +help you ..." + +"Thanks," Charley said honestly. + +"... But that's the way things are, I suppose," Professor Lightning +said. "Maybe some day you'll realize." + +Charley shook his head. "I'm afraid not, professor," he said, and +Professor Lightning shook Charley's foot, and left, and Charley went +back to work in the freak show, and for a while he didn't even think +about Professor Lightning. Then, of course, the news began to show up in +the Chicago _American_, which Charley got two or three days late because +his mother sent it to him by mail. + +At first Charley didn't realize that Dr. Edmund Charles Schinsake was +Professor Lightning, but then the _American_ ran his picture; that was +the day Professor Lightning was awarded a medal by the AMA, and Charley +felt pleased and happy for the old man. It looked as it he'd got what he +wanted. + +Charley, of course, didn't think much about the professor's "limb +regeneration"; he didn't need it, he thought, and he didn't want it, and +that was that. + +And then, one night, he was dropped from the bally, and he asked Dave +Lungs about it, and Dave said: "Well, we want the biggest draw we can +get, out there before the show," and put Erma, the Fish Girl, out in his +place. And Charley started to wonder about that, and after a few days +had gone by he found himself talking about it, to Ed Baylis, over in the +cooktent while they were having lunch. + +Baylis was a little man of sixty or so, with a wrinkled face like a +walnut and a powerful set of lungs; he was Wrout's outside talker for +the girlie show. "Because I'm old," he said, grinning. "I don't have +trouble with the girls. And if I got to take one off the bally or out of +the show there's no personal stuff that would make it tough, see what I +mean?" + +"That's what I'm worried about," Charley said. + +"What?" Ed asked. He speared a group of string beans with his fork and +conveyed them to his mouth. Charley, using his right foot, did the same. + +"The bally," Charley said. "The way things are, Dave took me off, and +I'm worrying about it." + +"Maybe some kind of a change," Ed said. + +Charley shook his head. "He said ... he said he wanted the biggest draw +out there. Now, you know I'm a big draw, Ed. I always have been." + +"Sure," Ed said. He chewed another mouthful and swallowed. "Still, +people want a change now and then. Doesn't have to mean anything." + +"Maybe not," Charley said uncomfortably. But he wasn't convinced. + + * * * * * + +The season drew to a close, and Charley went off to the Florida Keys, +where he spent a month living with some friends before holing up with +his mother and sister for the winter. He was offered a job in New York, +at a year-round flea museum in Times Square, but after some thought he +decided against it. He'd never had to work winters, and he wasn't going +to start. + +After all, he was still doing well, wasn't he? He told himself +emphatically that he was. He was an Armless Wonder, a born freak, the +top of the carny ladder, with a good job wherever he cared to look for +one. + +He had to tell himself that quite a few times before he began to believe +it. + +Spring came, and then summer, and Charley kissed his mother and his +sister good-by and joined Wrout's Carnival Shows in Summit, Idaho, three +days before their opening. He didn't notice much change from previous +years, but it took an effort not to notice some things. + +Not like the new man who'd taken Professor Lightning's place--a tall +thin youngster who had an Electric Chair act. Or like the periodic +quarrels between Ned and Ed; it seemed they'd met a girl over the winter +season, and disagreed about her. Ed thought she was perfectly wonderful; +Ned couldn't see her for beans. + +No, things like that were a part of carny; you got used to them, as the +show rolled along year after year, and paid no more attention to them +than a housewife pays to rather uninteresting back-fence gossip. + +It was something else that had changed, something important. + +His contract, for instance. It was made out for the same pay as he'd +been getting, but the option periods were shortened up; suddenly, +Charley was living from season to season, with almost no assurance of +continuous, steady work. Old man Wrout had looked a little less than +happy when he'd given Charley the contract; he'd almost seemed ashamed, +and he hadn't really looked Charley in the eye once. But when Charley +asked what was wrong, he got no answer. + +Or none that meant anything. "It's just the way things are," Wrout +muttered. "Don't make no difference, kid." + +But it did make a difference. Charley wasn't out in the bally any more, +either; he was backstage among the second-rate acts, the tattooed man +and the fire-eater and the rest, while Erma and Ned and Ed and the +top-liners took their bows out before the crowd, pulling them in, and +got the gasps and the applause. + +The crowds in front of his own platform, inside during the show, were +smaller, too. At first Charley thought that was due to the bally itself, +but as the season began and wore on, the crowds continued to shrink +beyond all expectation. Counting as he worked, combing his hair with one +foot, drawing little sketches for the customers ("Take one home for only +one extra dime, a treasured souvenir especially personalized for you by +Charley de Milo")--counting the house, he discovered one evening that he +was the smallest draw in the tent. The tattooed man did better than +Charley de Milo, which was enough of a disgrace; the rest were so far +ahead that Charley didn't even want to think about it. + +His first idea was that somebody was out to get him. He could feel the +muscles of his shoulders and back bunching up when he tried thinking +what to do about the sabotage that had struck him; but an Armless Wonder +has one very real disadvantage. He can comb his own hair and brush his +own teeth; he can feed himself and--with proper clothing--dress himself; +he can open doors and shut windows and turn the pages of books. But he +can't engage in a free-for-all fight, not without long and careful +training in that style of battle known as _savate_, or boxing with the +feet. Charley had never learned _savate_; he had never needed it. + +For the first time since he could remember, he felt helpless. He wasn't +normal; he couldn't do what any normal man could do. He wanted to find +the man who was sabotaging his show, and beat him into a confession, and +throw him off the lot-- + +And he couldn't. + +The muscles of his back pulled and pulled at him. He clenched his jaw. +Then Dave Lungs came over to his platform and he forced himself to +relax, sweating. There were four or five people behind Dave, ordinary +marks with soft, soft faces and round eyes. While Dave talked Charley +went through his act; perhaps ten other marks were scattered in the +tent, standing at other platforms, watching other acts even without Dave +there to guide them and talk them up. + +And when he was through Dave sold exactly one of the sketches Charley +had done. One. An old man bought it, a chubby little Santa Claus of a +man with eyes that twinkled and a belly that undoubtedly shook like a +jelly bowl when it was freed from its expensive orlon confines. Dave +went off to the next platform, where Erma stood, and the marks followed +him, and more drifted over. Erma had ten customers, Charley noticed, and +he grabbed a handkerchief from the platform floor and wiped his damp +face with one foot. + + * * * * * + +_Something's wrong_, he thought stupidly, and he must have said it aloud +because, at his feet, a high, thin old voice said: "What was that, son? +Did you say something?" + +"Nothing at all," Charley mumbled, and looked down. The Santa Claus man +was staring up at him. "Show's over," Charley said, more curtly than he +meant. He took a deep breath and set his feet more firmly on the +platform, but it didn't do any good. He was like a coiled spring, +waiting for release. + +"I don't expect any show," Santa Claus said. "Really I don't. But I did +want to talk to you for a few minutes, if you don't mind." + +"I'm not in a talking mood," Charley said. "Sorry." He was ashamed of +the words as soon as he brought them out; that was no way to treat any +stranger, not even a mark. But it was a long second before he could say +anything else. Santa Claus stood watching him patiently, holding +Charley's sketch by one corner in his left hand. + +"I'm sorry," Charley said at last. "It ... must be the heat. I'm kind of +on edge." + +"Of course," Santa Claus said. "I understand. Really I do." + +There was a little silence. Dave and the crowd trailed away from Erma +and headed for Senor Alcala, the fire-eater at the end of the row. +Charley barely heard Dave's spiel; he licked his lips and said: "You +wanted to talk to me." + +"Now," Santa Claus said, "I don't want you to be ashamed of anything. +There's nothing personal in this, really there isn't. But I do want to +help if I can, help anyone who needs help." + +"I don't need help," Charley said. "I'm sorry." He tried to keep his +voice gentle. The old man obviously meant well; there was no sense in +hurting him. + +"It's your ... infirmity," Santa Claus said. "Boy, have they been +keeping the news from you?" + +"News?" Charley said, with a sudden sick feeling. + +"In New York," Santa Claus said. "There's a doctor there--a man who can +help people like you. He has a new technique. I was reading in the +papers just the other day--there was a man injured in a railroad +accident, who lost one arm and one leg. This doctor used him as his +first subject." + +"He said he'd find another one," Charley put in without thinking. + +"Another?" + +"It doesn't matter," Charley said. "You were going to suggest that I go +and see this doctor. Is that right?" + +"Well," Santa Claus said, seeming oddly embarrassed, "it can't hurt, you +know. And it might help. Really it might. And then ... then you might +not have to ... have to be the way you are, and do what you do." + +Charley took a long breath. "I'll think about it," he said, in the very +politest tone he could manage. + +"I only want to help," Santa Claus said. + +"I'm sure you do," Charley said. "And thanks." + +"If there's anything I can do--" + +Charley smiled down. "That's all right," he said. "Thanks. But I guess +you'd better join the rest--if you want to see the show at all." + +Santa Claus said: "Oh. Of course." He turned and found the group just +leaving Senor Alcala's platform, and scurried off to catch up with them. +Charley stared at his retreating back, fighting to stay calm. + +That was the way marks were, of course, and there wasn't anything to be +done about it. It was always "the way you _have_ to be," and "the things +you _have_ to do." It never seemed to enter their heads that pity was +unnecessary baggage where a born freak was concerned, any more than it +had entered Professor Lightning's head. A born freak, Charley reflected, +had a pretty good life of it, all told; why, even marriage wasn't out of +the question. Charley knew of some very happy ones. + +But the marks pitied you, Charley thought. And maybe it wasn't +especially smart to tell them anything different; pity, as much as +anything else, keep them coming. Pity, and a kind of vicarious victory. +When Charley threaded a needle, he was telling all the marks: "It +doesn't matter what kind of accident happens to you--you can overcome +it. You can go on and do anything. It's all what you make +it--everything, every bad turn life hands you can be made into something +better. If I can do it, you can do it." + +That was what the marks felt, Charley thought. It was wrong-headed, it +was stupid, and it could be a simple nuisance--but it brought in the +dough. Why argue with it? Why try to change it? + +Charley nearly grinned. The crowd of marks moved on down the other side +of the tent, and Charley watched them. Ned and Ed drew the biggest +crowd, an attentive, almost rapt crew who could be suckered into buying +anything the Siamese twins wanted to sell them. Dave milked them for all +they were worth, and Charley nodded quietly to himself. Dave was a good +carny man. + +He worked for the good of the show. Or--did he? + +Dave had taken him off the bally. Did Dave have some reason to hate him? +Could Dave be out to get him? + +Charley couldn't think why, but it was a lead, the only one he had. And +if Dave did turn out to be behind everything that was happening, Charley +knew exactly what he was going to do. + +He couldn't beat Dave himself. + +But he had friends-- + + * * * * * + +After the show, that night, Charley went hunting for Ed Baylis. Ed had +been around Wrout's a long time, and if anything were going on Ed would +know about it. Charley went down to the girlie tent, and found Ed just +clearing up. All over the midway, the lights were going out, and the +Mars Race game gave one final roar and came to a halt. The last +customers were leaving. + +Ed looked up when he came over. Charley didn't ease into the subject; he +couldn't. "Something's wrong," he said at once. "I'm off the bally, and +the crowds are going down. I don't like it, Ed." + +Baylis shrugged. "Who would?" he said. + +"But--something's wrong," Charley said. "Ed, you know what's happening. +You get the word. Let me in on it." + +"I don't know anything about this," Ed said at once. But his face was +still, his eyes shuttered in the darkness. + +Charley kept after him. They went behind the girlie tent, talking +softly. Overhead a rocket burned by, but neither man looked up. + +At last Ed sighed. "Just forget about it," he said. "Just do your job. +That's all that matters. You don't want to know anything else." + +"Why don't I?" Charley said. "Sure I do. And it's no good telling me to +do my job. The way things are running, Ed, I'm not going to _have_ a job +very long." + +"There's nothing you can do about it," Ed said. "Believe me. You don't +want to know because knowing wouldn't do you any good. And you wouldn't +believe me if I told you." + +"Try me," Charley said. "Go ahead." He scratched at one shin with the +other foot. + +"Well," Ed began, and then stopped. He shook his head. "Look, Charley, +let me tell this my way. Something like this happened before. A long +while back--before the Cold War started, let alone ended." + +"Go ahead," Charley said. A drop of sweat ran slowly down his forehead. +He tried to ignore it. + +"Did I ever tell you I used to talk for a strong-man act?" Ed said. "Not +a sideshow talker, nothing like that; this guy had an act of his own, +full tent and flies. Gondo, his name was, and I can still see those +flies: _Eighth Wonder of the World_ up on top, red on blue, and just +_Gondo_ underneath, pure white with red outlining. Class, but flashy, if +you see what I mean. You never saw the like, kid." + +Charley shook his head. "O.K.," he said. "But what does this have to do +with--" + +"Well," Ed cut in, "that was years ago; I was a youngster, pretty well +just setting out. And Gondo drew crowds--big crowds. Lifting a wagonload +of people on his back--that was one of his tricks. I think Sandow +himself used to do it, but he had nothing on Gondo; the guy had style. +Class. And he was a draw; I was working for J. C. Hobart Shows then, and +there was nothing on the lot to top him." + +Ed paused, rubbing at his chin reflectively. + +"Then the crowds started to fall off," he said. "Just like with you, +Charley. And nobody knew why. Gondo was doing the same act--no change +there. So the change had to be some place else." + +"Same with me," Charley said. + +"Sure," Ed said. "The same with you. Charley, do you follow the +papers?" + +"I guess so," Charley said. "One, anyway. My mother sends it to me from +Chicago. She likes the--" + +"Sure," Ed said. "Well, did you ever hear about a Dr. Schinsake? Edmund +Charles Schinsake?" + +Charley snorted in surprise. "Who do you think you are?" he said. "Santa +Claus?" + +"What?" + +"Nothing," Charley said. "It's just ... well, nothing. But sure, I know +the guy. And so do you." He explained. + +"Professor Lightning?" Ed said. "I never saw a picture. But it doesn't +matter--except maybe it'll make the guy easier to see. Because this is +it, Charley; I think you ought to go and see him." + +There was a little silence. + +"You, too?" Charley said. "You mean, so I can stop being a poor, poor +cripple and stop making lots of money? Is that what you're talking +about?" + +"Listen, Charley," Ed said. "I--" + +"Just give up," Charley cut in. "That's what you want me to do. Just +give up and go to the good old doctor and ask him to give me some arms. +Is that what you wanted to tell me about this Gondo of yours? How he +just gave up and got a nice little white cottage some place and got a +nice little low-paying job and lived unhappily ever after, because a +carny isn't a healthy, well-adjusted life? Is that it, Ed?" + +Ed Ribbed at his chin. "No, Charley," he said. "No, kid. Not at all. But +I think you ought to--" + +"Well, I won't," Charley said. "Look, Ed: I want you to get this +straight. I don't care who's against me, or what they've got planned. +I'm not going to give up. I'm going to find out what's going on, and I'm +going to lick it. Have you got it?" + +Ed sighed. "I've got it," he said. "But, Charley: there are some things +you don't lick." + +"I'll find out," Charley said. "Believe me, Ed. I'll find out." + + * * * * * + +But nobody else knew a thing--or, at least, nobody was willing to talk. +Ned and Ed offered any help they could give--but said nothing that +helped. Erma was puzzled, but ignorant; Senor Alcala knew nothing, and +no one else was any better off, as far as Charley could discover. + +After a week, Charley decided there was only one person for him to see. +Ed Baylis had recommended him, and so had the little Santa Claus. +Professor Lightning didn't look like much of a lead, but there was +nothing else left. The audience was still dropping, little by little, +and Charley knew perfectly well that something had to be done, and fast. + +Getting a leave of absence was even easier than he'd expected it to be; +and that was just one more proof of how far his standing with the show +had dropped. People just didn't care; he wasn't a draw any more. + +And his standing with the carny was all he had left. He had caught +himself, lately, wondering if he would really be so badly off with two +arms, like everybody else. The idea frightened him, but the way it kept +coming back frightened him even more. + +Leaving the carny lot, of course, he put on his sandals; outside the +carnival, he had to wear shoes. They were laceless, of course, and made +to be kicked off easily. Charley slipped into them and thought wryly of +the professor and his "scientific Renaissance." The shoes were a new +plastic, lightweight and long-lasting, but the dyeing problem hadn't +quite been solved. Instead of a quiet, dull brown, they were a garish +shade that almost approached olive drab. + +[Illustration] + +Well, he thought, nothing's perfect. He shrugged into a harness and had +his single suitcase attached to it; the harness and case were +lightweight, too, and Charley headed for the station walking easily. + +He climbed aboard the train and dropped his suitcase into the Automatic +Porter, and then went to find a seat. The only one available was next to +a middle-aged man chewing a cigar in a sour silence. Charley slipped +into his seat without a word, and hoped the man would ignore him. He had +a face like an overripe summer squash, and his big hands, clasped in his +lap, were fat and white, covered with tiny freckles. Charley leaned back +and closed his eyes. + +A minute or so passed in silence. + +Then a voice said: "Heading for New York?" + +"That's right," Charley said tiredly. He opened his eyes. The +middle-aged man was leaning toward him, smelling of his cheap cigar. + +"Likewise," the man said. His voice was hoarse and unpleasant. "I +thought you might be." + +"That's right," Charley said. "Long trip." He hoped desperately that the +man would leave him alone. He wasn't on display now; he wanted the time +to think, to try and figure out what had been happening. He had to have +some questions to ask Professor Lightning, and that meant that he had to +have some sort of plan of action. + +"Going to see that doctor," the middle-aged man said. "That right?" + +"That's right," Charley said. Apparently Professor Lightning had become +a nine-day wonder; anyone going to New York was presumed to be going to +see him. + +Then Charley corrected himself. Not anyone. + +Any cripple. + +"Get the arms fixed, right?" the middle-aged man said. + +"That's right," Charley said for the third time. Maybe the man would +take the hint. + +But he had no such luck. "That's a fine thing the doctor is doing," he +said. "I mean, helping all these people. Don't have to be ... well, +look, bud, don't take me personally." + +"I don't mind," Charley said. "I'm used to it." + +"Sure," the man said. "Hey, by the way. My name's Roquefort. Al +Roquefort." + +"Charley de Milo," Charley said. + +"Glad to know you," the man said. "So while we're traveling companions, +you might say ... might as well get to be friendly." + +"Sure," Charley said tiredly. He looked round the car. A great many +people seemed to be heading East. There were no other seats. Charley +sighed and shrugged himself deeper into the upholstery. + +"You know," Roquefort said suddenly, "I can't help thinking." + +"Oh?" Charley said, fidgeting his feet. + +"That's right," Roquefort said. "I mean, all these people. And Dr. +Schinsake. I remember once, I went to a circus, or a sideshow." + +"Carnival, probably," Charley put in, knowing exactly what was coming. + +"Something like that," Roquefort said. "Anyhow, they had this sideshow, +and there was a man there without any legs. Did all kinds of tricks--got +along real good. But I can't help thinking now: he wouldn't have to get +along that way any more. Because this doctor would fix him up." + +"I guess so," Charley said wearily. + +"Sure," Roquefort said. "It's a great thing, what he's doing. All these +freak shows ... you understand, it's just a name for them--" + +"I understand," Charley said. "Don't worry about it." He shifted his +feet nervously. Shoes always felt a little uncomfortable, even +lightweight sandals; he felt trapped in them. Now, if he had arms and +hands ... + +He choked the thought off before it got any further. + +"All these shows," Roquefort said, "why, there isn't any need for them +any more. I mean the people without legs, or arms, anyhow. See? Because +this doctor--" + +"I see," Charley said. + +"Why, anybody works in a show like that, I mean without arms or +legs--why, he's just crazy, that's all. When he can get help, I mean." + +"Sure," Charley said uneasily. "Sure, he's just crazy." + +Roquefort chomped on his cigar and looked solemn and well-informed. +Charley shivered slightly, and wondered why. + +"Just crazy." Was that what they thought, he wondered. Was that what +they were thinking when they looked up at him? + +He shivered again and slipped his shoes off quietly. Immediately, he +felt a little better. + +But not very much. + + * * * * * + +New York was a madhouse worse than any carnival Charley had ever seen. +He made his way, harness and suitcase on his back, through the station +crowds and out into the taxi ramp. A line of the new cabs stood there, +and Charley managed to grab one inches ahead of a woman with a small, +crying child in tow. He gestured to the driver with his head, and the +door slid open. He stepped inside, released the catch that let his +suitcase thump to the floor, and sat down with a sigh. + +"Tough, hey?" the cabbie said. His glowing nameplate read _David Peters +Wells_. He turned around, showing a face that had little in common with +the official license photo, under his name. He was swarthy and short, +with large yellowing teeth and tiny eyes. "Where to, Mac?" he said. + +Charley licked his lips. "I really don't know," he said. + +The cabbie blinked. "What?" + +"I'm going to need some help," Charley said. "I want to find a Dr. +Schinsake, but I don't know where he is. If you can drive me to a +drugstore, where we can look him up in a phone book--" + +"Dr. Schinsake?" the driver said. "That's the guy who grows things? I +mean, arms and legs? Like that?" + +"That's right," Charley said. + +"O.K., buddy," the driver said. "Just hang on." The cab started with a +cough and a roar, and shot out of the terminal like a bazooka shell. +Over the noise of travel, the cabbie said: "Going to get yourself fixed +up? No offense, Mac." + +"No offense," Charley said. "I'm just going to talk to him." + +"Oh," the cabbie said. "Sure." There was silence for a second. Then the +cabbie turned around. The machine shot ahead, down a wide avenue filled +with cars. Charley took a deep breath and forgot to let it go. "You +know," the cabbie said, "I seen something funny the other day." + +"Really?" Charley said, through clenched teeth. + +The cabbie turned back casually, flicked the wheel to avoid an oncoming +truck, and continued: "Funny, yeah. Went to the Flea Museum ... you +know, the sideshow here, on Forty-second?" + +"I know it," Charley said. He'd been offered winter work in the place +several times, though he'd never accepted. Everyone in carny life knew +of the place. + +"And, anyhow, I went down the other day, and there was this guy ... he +was like you, Mac, I mean no arms. You don't mind me talking about it?" + +Apparently everybody thought he was sensitive on the subject, Charley +reflected tiredly. "I don't mind," he said. + +"Sure," the cabbie said. A red light showed ahead and the cab screeched +to a halt. "Anyhow, there he was, like a freak, you know? Hell, Mac, I +was mad. I mean mad. The guy wants me to pay money to see him; he don't +want to go get cured. He's like lazy, Mac. Lazy. Wants to sit around and +let me pay money I work hard for, like some kind of a stuffed exhibit he +thinks he is." The light changed; the cab shuddered and moved on. "And +this doctor right here in the same city. Now, what do you think of +that?" + +Charley shrugged. "I wouldn't know," he said cautiously. He took out a +cigarette with his left foot, lit it with his right, and slid both feet +back into his shoes. "Nearly there?" he asked. + +"No offense, Mac," the cabbie said, sounding obscurely troubled. "We're +there in a minute." He turned and stared narrowly at Charley. The cab +shot blindly on. "Say, listen. That with the cigarette. You belong to +some kind of sideshow? I mean, no offense--" + +"No offense," Charley said. "That's right. I'm with a carnival." + +"We'll, you're doing the right thing," the cabbie said, turning back to +the road again. Amazingly, there was no obstruction before them. "I +mean, a guy has to be honest. With this doctor around, you can't be a +no-arms guy any more; it's not fair. Right?" + +Charley licked his lips. The cab stopped. + +"Here we are," the driver announced. + +Charley indicated his grouch-bag, still heavy with dollar bills, hanging +round his neck. With scrupulous care, the driver extracted one bill. +"Keep the change," Charley said. "And thanks for the conversation." + +He stepped out, hooking the suitcase to his harness as he did so. And +there, in front of him, was a small white-faced stone building. The cab +roared away behind him, and Charley started across the sidewalk. + +Now, in New York, he had found out what he was going to ask Professor +Lightning. And it was the one thing he hadn't thought possible. + + * * * * * + +One flight of stairs led straight up from the doorway, and Charley took +it slowly. At the top was a great wooden door with a brass plate +screwed to it, and on the brass plate a single name was incised: _Dr. +E. C. Schinsake_. There was nothing else. Charley slipped the shoe off +his right foot, and rang the bell. + +A voice inside said: "Who's there? Who is it, please?" + +"It's me, professor," Charley called. He slipped the sandal back on. +"Charley de Milo. I came to see you." + +"Charley--" There was a second of silence. "Charley de Milo?" Professor +Lightning's grating voice said. "From the show?" Footsteps came across a +room, and the door swung open. Professor Lightning stood inside, just as +tall and white-haired as ever, and Charley blinked, looking at him, and +past him at the room. + +People didn't live in rooms like that, he thought. They were only for +the movies, or maybe for millionaires, but not for people, real people +that Charley himself knew to talk to. + +The furniture--a couch, a few chairs and tables, a phonograph--was +glitteringly new and expensive-looking. The walls were freshly painted +in soft, bright colors, and pictures hung on them, strange-looking +pictures Charley couldn't make sense out of. But they looked right, +somehow, in that room. + +On the floor there was a rug deeper and softer-looking than any Charley +had ever seen. And, away to the right, two floor-length windows +sparkled, hung with great drapes and shining in the daylight. There were +flowers growing outside the sills, just visible above the window frames. +Charley gulped and took a breath. + +"Come in," Professor Lightning said. "Come in." In the midst of the riot +of wealth, the professor didn't seem to have changed at all. He was +still wearing the same ratty robe he'd worn in the carnival, his hair +was still as uncombed. It was only on second glance that Charley saw the +look in his eyes. Professor Lightning was Dr. Schinsake now; the eyes +said that, and were proud of it. And the world agreed with Dr. +Schinsake. + +Charley came into the bright room and stood quietly until Dr. Schinsake +asked him to sit down. + +"Well, now, my boy," he said. "You haven't given me a word since you +rang the bell, and I would like to know why you're here. Frankly, you're +lucky to catch me in; but we were up late last night, working in the +labs. I'm afraid I overslept a little." His eyes shone with the mention +of his laboratories. It was a far cry from the back of the science tent, +Charley supposed. + +But he'd come for a definite purpose. He licked his lips, waited a +second, and said: "Professor, it's about my arms. What you said you +could do." + +"Your arms?" The old man frowned. "Now? You've come to me ... Charley, +my boy, tell me why. Tell me why you have changed your mind now." + +Charley nodded. "I ... I didn't start out here to ask you about my +arms," he said. "But on the way I started putting things together. +Professor, why do people come to side-shows?" + +The old man shrugged. "Entertainment," he said. + +"Sure, but there are all kinds of entertainment," Charley said. "Like +strong men. There used to be a lot of strong men in carnivals, but there +aren't any more. And now I know why. Ed Baylis started to tell me, but I +... well, never mind." + +"Charley," the old man said. "What do strong men have to do with--" + +"Let me tell you, professor," Charley said. "People don't care about +strong men any more; there are too many gadgets around. Nobody has to be +a strong man; nobody wants to watch one. They're useless. See?" + +"Everyone can be his own strong man," the old man said. + +"Right," Charley said. "The chain hoist--machines like that--they killed +off the whole act. Years ago. And you've killed off the Armless Wonders +and the Legless Wonders, professor. You've done it, all at once." + +Professor Lightning shook his head. "I don't see--" he began. + +"Anybody can grow new arms," Charley said. "So the man without +arms--he's not an object of pity any more. He's just some guy who +doesn't want to work. Nobody wants to go and see him; let him grow arms, +if he doesn't want to be called a lazy bum. See?" + +There was a little silence. + +"I see," Professor Lightning said slowly. "Without pity, without a +strong sense of identification, there is no audience." + +"For me there isn't," Charley said. "Or for anybody like me." + +Professor Lightning nodded. "Well," he said. "I hardly meant to ... +well, Charley, you came for something else." His face seemed to +lengthen. "And I must tell you ... Charley, I have been doing a lot of +work. I am hardly a professional scientist; I have been away too long." + +"But--" + +"It is true," Professor Lightning said sadly. "Never mind; I've had my +one discovery--how much an accident, no one may ever know. But I +neglected to widen the scope of what I had done; I generalized too +rapidly, my boy." He took a deep breath. "The method, the technique, is +very complex," he said. "But imagine it this way: a man comes to New +York. He explores it. Later, when he goes home, he is asked to draw a +map of it--and he can do so, because he has the experience. He has the +memory of New York, locked in his mind." + +Charley nodded. "What does that have to do with me?" he said. + +"The cells ... the cells of the body seem to have such a memory," the +professor said. "It is the basis of my technique." + +Charley nodded. "O.K.," he said "I don't care how it works, so long as +it-- It does work, doesn't it?" + +The professor shook his head. Very slowly, he said: "Not for you, my +boy. Not for you." He paused. "You see, you were born without arms. In +such a case the cellular memory does not seem to exist--like a man who +has never been to New York. He cannot draw the map. He has no memory to +begin with." + +The silence this time was a long one. + +At last Charley said: "But somebody could tell him. I mean about New +York, so he could draw the map." + +"Perhaps," the professor said. "We are working on it. Some day--" + +"But not today," Charley said. "Is that it?" + +"I ... I'm afraid so," the professor said. + +Charley sat for a long time, thinking. He pictured the carnival, and the +shrinking audiences. Could he explain to them why he couldn't get arms? +Would any audience stop to listen and digest the truth? Charley thought +of the armless man in the Flea Museum, and decided slowly that no +explanation would be good enough. People didn't stop to make small +distinctions. Not in a sideshow. Not in a carnival. + +No. + +There was only one thing he could do; he saw that clearly. But it took +him a long time to find the right words. At last he had them. + +"Professor," he said, "suppose I go right back to being a sideshow +exhibit--but with a limited audience." + +Professor Lightning looked puzzled. "What do you mean?" he said. + +"Well," Charley said, carefully and with a sudden, surprising feeling of +hope, "you don't happen to need a new guinea pig, do you?" + + +THE END + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Astounding Science Fiction_ May 1959. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Charley de Milo, by +Laurence Mark Janifer AKA Larry M. 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