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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/30004-0.txt b/30004-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aaee233 --- /dev/null +++ b/30004-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,459 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30004 *** + +[Illustration] + + + _A grim tale of a future in which everyone is desperate to escape + reality, and a hero who wants to have his wine and drink it, too._ + + + A BOTTLE OF + _Old Wine_ + + By Richard O. Lewis + +Illustrated by KELLY FREAS + + +Herbert Hyrel settled himself more comfortably in his easy chair, +extended his short legs further toward the fireplace, and let his eyes +travel cautiously in the general direction of his wife. + +She was in her chair as usual, her long legs curled up beneath her, the +upper half of her face hidden in the bulk of her personalized, +three-dimensional telovis. The telovis, of a stereoscopic nature, +seemingly brought the performers with all their tinsel and color +directly into the room of the watcher. + +Hyrel had no way of seeing into the plastic affair she wore, but he +guessed from the expression on the lower half of her face that she was +watching one of the newer black-market sex-operas. In any event, there +would be no sound, movement, or sign of life from her for the next three +hours. To break the thread of the play for even a moment would ruin all +the previous emotional build-up. + +There had been a time when he hated her for those long and silent +evenings, lonely hours during which he was completely ignored. It was +different now, however, for those hours furnished him with time for an +escape of his own. + +His lips curled into a tight smile and his right hand fondled the +unobtrusive switch beneath his trouser leg. He did not press the switch. +He would wait a few minutes longer. But it was comforting to know that +it was there, exhilarating to know that he could escape for a few hours +by a mere flick of his finger. + +He let his eyes stray to the dim light of the artificial flames in the +fireplace. His hate for her was not bounded merely by those lonely hours +she had forced upon him. No, it was far more encompassing. + +He hated her with a deep, burning savagery that was deadly in its +passion. He hated her for her money, the money she kept securely from +him. He hated her for the paltry allowance she doled out to him, as if +he were an irresponsible child. It was as if she were constantly +reminding him in every glance and gesture, "I made a bad bargain when I +married you. You wanted me, my money, everything, and had nothing to +give in return except your own doltish self. You set a trap for me, +baited with lies and a false front. Now you are caught in your own trap +and will remain there like a mouse to eat from my hand whatever crumbs I +stoop to give you." + +But some day his hate would be appeased. Yes, some day soon he would +kill her! + +He shot a sideways glance at her, wondering if by chance she +suspected.... She hadn't moved. Her lips were pouted into a half smile; +the sex-opera had probably reached one of its more pleasurable moments. + +Hyrel let his eyes shift back to the fireplace again. Yes, he would kill +her. Then he would claim a rightful share of her money, be rid of her +debasing dominance. + + * * * * * + +He let the thought run around through his head, savoring it with mental +taste buds. He would not kill her tonight. No, nor the next night. He +would wait, wait until he had sucked the last measure of pleasure from +the thought. + +It was like having a bottle of rare old wine on a shelf where it could +be viewed daily. It was like being able to pause again and again before +the bottle, hold it up to the light, and say to it, "Some day, when my +desire for you has reached the ultimate, I shall unstopper you quietly +and sip you slowly to the last soul-satisfying drop." As long as the +bottle remained there upon the shelf it was symbolic of that pleasurable +moment.... + +He snapped out of his reverie and realized he had been wasting precious +moments. There would be time enough tomorrow for gloating. Tonight, +there were other things to do. Pleasurable things. He remembered the +girl he had met the night before, and smiled smugly. Perhaps she would +be awaiting him even now. If not, there would be another one.... + +He settled himself deeper into the chair, glanced once more at his wife, +then let his head lean comfortably back against the chair's headrest. +His hand upon his thigh felt the thin mesh that cloaked his body beneath +his clothing like a sheer stocking. His fingers went again to the tiny +switch. Again he hesitated. + +Herbert Hyrel knew no more about the telporter suit he wore than he did +about the radio in the corner, the TV set against the wall, or the +personalized telovis his wife was wearing. You pressed one of the +buttons on the radio; music came out. You pressed a button and clicked a +dial on the TV; music and pictures came out. You pressed a button and +made an adjustment on the telovis; three-dimensional, emotion-colored +pictures leaped into the room. You pressed a tiny switch on the +telporter suit; you were whisked away to a receiving set you had +previously set up in secret. + +He knew that the music and the images of the performers on the TV and +telovis were brought to his room by some form of electrical impulse +or wave while the actual musicians and performers remained in the +studio. He knew that when he pressed the switch on his thigh something +within him--his ectoplasm, higher self, the thing spirits use for +materialization, whatever its real name--streamed out of him along an +invisible channel, leaving his body behind in the chair in a conscious +but dream-like state. His other self materialized in a small cabin in a +hidden nook between a highway and a river where he had installed the +receiving set a month ago. + +He thought once more of the girl who might be waiting for him, smiled, +and pressed the switch. + + * * * * * + +The dank air of the cabin was chill to Herbert Hyrel's naked flesh. He +fumbled through the darkness for the clothing he kept there, found his +shorts and trousers, got hurriedly into them, then flicked on a pocket +lighter and ignited a stub of candle upon the table. By the wavering +light, he finished dressing in the black satin clothing, the white +shirt, the flowing necktie and tam. He invoiced the contents of his +billfold. Not much. And his monthly pittance was still two weeks +away.... + +He had skimped for six months to salvage enough money from his allowance +to make a down payment on the telporter suit. Since then, his +expenses--monthly payments for the suit, cabin rent, costly liquor--had +forced him to place his nights of escape on strict ration. He could not +go on this way, he realized. Not now. Not since he had met the girl. He +had to have more money. Perhaps he could not afford the luxury of +leaving the wine bottle longer upon the shelf.... + +Riverside Club, where Hyrel arrived by bus and a hundred yards of +walking, was exclusive. It catered to a clientele that had but three +things in common: money, a desire for utter self-abandonment, and a +sales slip indicating ownership of a telporter suit. The club was of +necessity expensive, for self-telportation was strictly illegal, and +police protection came high. + +Herbert Hyrel adjusted his white, silken mask carefully at the door and +shoved his sales slip through a small aperture where it was thoroughly +scanned by unseen eyes. A buzzer sounded an instant later, the lock on +the door clicked, and Hyrel pushed through into the exhilarating warmth +of music and laughter. + +The main room was large. Hidden lights along the walls sent slow beams +of red, blue, vermillion, green, yellow and pink trailing across the +domed ceiling in a heterogeneous pattern. The colored beams mingled, +diffused, spread, were caught up by mirrors of various tints which +diffused and mingled the lights once more until the whole effect was an +ever-changing panorama of softly-melting shades. + +The gay and bizarre costumes of the masked revelers on the dance floor +and at the tables, unearthly in themselves, were made even more so by +the altering light. Music flooded the room from unseen sources. +Laughter--hysterical, drunken, filled with utter abandonment--came from +the dance floor, the tables, and the private booths and rooms hidden +cleverly within the walls. + +Hyrel pushed himself to an unoccupied table, sat down and ordered a +bottle of cheap whiskey. He would have preferred champagne, but his +depleted finances forbade the more discriminate taste. + +When his order arrived, he poured a glass tumbler half full and consumed +it eagerly while his eyes scanned the room in search of the girl. He +couldn't see her in the dim swirl of color. Had she arrived? Perhaps she +was wearing a different costume than she had the night before. If so, +recognition might prove difficult. + +He poured himself another drink, promising himself he would go in search +of her when the liquor began to take effect. + +A woman clad in the revealing garb of a Persian dancer threw an arm +about him from behind and kissed him on the cheek through the veil which +covered the lower part of her face. + +"Hi, honey," she giggled into his ear. "Havin' a time?" + +He reached for the white arm to pull her to him, but she eluded his +grasp and reeled away into the waiting arms of a tall toreador. Hyrel +gulped his whiskey and watched her nestle into the arms of her partner +and begin with him a sinuous, suggestive dance. The whiskey had begun +its warming effect, and he laughed. + +This was the land of the lotus eaters, the sanctuary of the escapists, +the haven of all who wished to cast off their shell of inhibition and +become the thing they dreamed themselves to be. Here one could be among +his own kind, an actor upon a gay stage, a gaudy butterfly metamorphosed +from the slug, a knight of old. + +The Persian dancing girl was probably the wife of a boorish oaf whose +idea of romance was spending an evening telling his wife how he came to +be a successful bank president. But she had found her means of escape. +Perhaps she had pleaded a sick headache and had retired to her room. And +there upon the bed now reposed her shell of reality while her inner +self, the shadowy one, completely materialized, became an exotic thing +from the East in this never-never land. + +The man, the toreador, had probably closeted himself within his library +with a set of account books and had left strict orders not to be +disturbed until he had finished with them. + +Both would have terrific hangovers in the morning. But that, of course, +would be fully compensated for by the memories of the evening. + +Hyrel chuckled. The situation struck him as being funny: the shadowy +self got drunk and had a good time, and the outer husk suffered the +hangover in the morning. Strange. Strange how a device such as the +telporter suit could cause the shadow of each bodily cell to leave the +body, materialize, and become a reality in its own right. And yet ... + + * * * * * + +He looked at the heel of his left hand. There was a long, irregular scar +there. It was the result of a cut he had received nearly three weeks ago +when he had fallen over this very table and had rammed his hand into a +sliver of broken champagne glass. Later that evening, upon re-telporting +back home, the pain of the cut had remained in his hand, but there was +no sign of the cut itself on the hand of his outer self. The scar was +peculiar to the shadowy body only. There was something about the shadowy +body that carried the hurts to the outer body, but not the scars.... + +Sudden laughter broke out near him, and he turned quickly in that +direction. A group of gaily costumed revelers was standing in a +semi-circle about a small mound of clothing upon the floor. It was the +costume of the toreador. + +Hyrel laughed, too. It had happened many times before--a costume +suddenly left empty as its owner, due to a threat of discovery at home, +had had to press the switch in haste to bring his shadowy self--and +complete consciousness--back to his outer self in a hurry. + +A waiter picked up the clothing. He would put it safely away so that the +owner could claim it upon his next visit to the club. Another waiter +placed a fresh bottle of whiskey on the table before Hyrel, and Hyrel +paid him for it. + +The whiskey, reaching his head now in surges of warm cheerfulness, was +filling him with abandonment, courage, and a desire for merriment. He +pushed himself up from the table, joined the merry throng, threw his arm +about the Persian dancer, drew her close. + +They began dancing slowly to the throbbing rhythm, dancing and holding +on to each other tightly. Hyrel could feel her hot breath through her +veil upon his neck, adding to the headiness of the liquor. His feeling +of depression and inferiority flowed suddenly from him. Once again he +was the all-conquering male. + +His arm trembled as it drew her still closer to him and he began dancing +directly and purposefully toward the shadows of a clump of artificial +palms near one corner of the room. There was an exit to the garden +behind the palms. + +Half way there they passed a secluded booth from which protruded a long +leg clad in black mesh stocking. Hyrel paused as he recognized that part +of the costume. It was she! The girl! The one he had met so briefly the +night before! + +His arm slid away from the Persian dancer, took hold of the mesh-clad +leg, and pulled. A female form followed the leg from the booth and fell +into his arms. He held her tightly, kissed her white neck, let her +perfume send his thoughts reeling. + +"Been looking for me, honey?" she whispered, her voice deep and throaty. + +"You know it!" + +He began whisking her away toward the palms. The Persian girl was +pulled into the booth. + +Yes, she was wearing the same costume she had worn the night before, +that of a can-can dancer of the 90's. The mesh hose that encased her +shapely legs were held up by flowered supporters in such a manner as to +leave four inches of white leg exposed between hose top and lacy +panties. Her skirt, frilled to suggest innumerable petticoats, fell away +at each hip, leaving the front open to expose the full length of legs. +She wore a wig of platinum hair encrusted with jewels that sparkled in +the lights. Her jewel-studded mask was as white as her hair and covered +the upper half of her face, except for the large almond slits for her +eyes. A white purse, jewel crusted, dangled from one arm. + +He stopped once before reaching the palms, drew her closer, kissed her +long and ardently. Then he began pulling her on again. + +She drew back when they reached the shelter of the fronds. "Champagne, +first," she whispered huskily into his ear. + +His heart sank. He had very little money left. Well, it might buy a +cheap brand.... + + * * * * * + +She sipped her champagne slowly and provocatively across the table from +him. Her eyes sparkled behind the almond slits of her mask, caught the +color changes and cast them back. She was wearing contact lenses of a +garish green. + +He wished she would hurry with her drink. He had horrible visions of his +wife at home taking off her telovis and coming to his chair. He would +then have to press the switch that would jerk his shadowy self back +along its invisible connecting cord, jerk him back and leave but a small +mound of clothes upon the chair at the table. + +Deep depression laid hold of him. He would not be able to see her after +tonight until he received his monthly dole two weeks hence. She wouldn't +wait that long. Someone else would have her. + +Unless ... + +Yes, he knew now that he was going to kill his wife as soon as the +opportunity presented itself. It would be a simple matter. With the aid +of the telporter suit, he could establish an iron-clad alibi. + +He took a long drink of whiskey and looked at the dancers about him. +Sight of their gay costumes heightened his depression. He was wearing a +cheap suit of satin, all he could afford. But some day soon he would +show them! Some time soon he would be dressed as gaily.... + +"Something troubling you, honey?" + +His gaze shot back to her and she blurred slightly before his eyes. "No. +Nothing at all!" He summoned a sickly smile and clutched her hand in +his. "Come on. Let's dance." + +He drew her from the chair and into his arms. She melted toward him as +if desiring to become a part of him. A tremor of excitement surged +through him and threatened to turn his knees into quivering jelly. He +could not make his feet conform to the flooding rhythm of the music. He +half stumbled, half pushed her along past the booths. + +In the shelter of the palms he drew her savagely to him. "Let's--let's +go outside." His voice was little more than a croak. + +"But, honey!" She pushed herself away, her low voice maddening him. +"Don't you have a private room? A girl doesn't like to be taken +outside...." + +Her words bit into his brain like the blade of a hot knife. + +No, he didn't have a private room at the club like the others. A private +room for his telporter receiver, a private room where he could take a +willing guest. No! He couldn't afford it! No! _No!_ NO! His lot was a +cheap suit of satin! Cheap whiskey! Cheap champagne! A cheap shack by +the river.... + +An inarticulate cry escaped his twisted lips. He clutched her roughly to +him and dragged her through the door and into the moonlight, whiskey and +anger lending him brutal strength. + +He pulled her through the deserted garden. _All the others had private +rooms!_ He pulled her to the far end, behind a clump of squatty firs. +His hands clawed at her. He tried to smother her mouth with kisses. + +She eluded him deftly. "But, _honey_!" Her voice had gone deeper into +her throat. "I just want to be sure about things. If you can't afford +one of the private rooms--if you can't afford to show me a good time--if +you can't come here real often ..." + +The whiskey pounded and throbbed at his brain like blows from an unseen +club. His ego curled and twisted within him like a headless serpent. + +"I'll have money!" he shouted, struggling to hold her. "I'll have plenty +of money! After tonight!" + +"Then we'll wait," she said. "We'll wait until tomorrow night." + +"No!" he screamed. "You don't believe me! You're like the others! You +think I'm no good! But I'll show you! I'll show all of you!" + + * * * * * + +She had gone coldly rigid in his arms, unyielding. + +Madness added to the pounding in his brain. Tears welled into his eyes. + +"I'll show you! I'll kill her! Then I'll have money!" The hands +clutching her shoulders shook her drunkenly. "You wait here! I'll go +home and kill her now! Then I'll be back!" + +"Silly boy!" Her low laughter rang hollowly in his ears. "And just who +is it you are going to kill?" + +"My wife!" he cried. "My wife! I'll ..." + +A sudden sobering thought struck him. He was talking too much. And he +wasn't making sense. He shouldn't be telling her this. Anyway, he +couldn't get the money tonight even if he did kill his wife. + +"And so you are going to kill your wife...." + +He blinked the tears from his eyes. His chest was heaving, his heart +pounding. He looked at her shimmering form. "Y-yes," he whispered. + +Her eyes glinted strangely in the light of the moon. Her handbag glinted +as she opened it, and something she took from it glittered coldly in +her hand. + +"Fool!" + +The first shot tore squarely through his heart. And while he stood +staring at her, mouth agape, a second shot burned its way through his +bewildered brain. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Herbert Hyrel removed the telovis from her head and laid it +carefully aside. She uncoiled her long legs from beneath her, walked to +her husband's chair, and stood for a long moment looking down at him, +her lips drawn back in contempt. Then she bent over him and reached down +his thigh until her fingers contacted the small switch. + +Seconds later, a slight tremor shook Hyrel's body. His eyes snapped +open, air escaped his lungs, his lower jaw sagged inanely, and his head +lolled to one side. + +She stood a moment longer, watching his eyes become glazed and +sightless. Then she walked to the telephone. + +"Police?" she said. "This is Mrs. Herbert Hyrel. Something horrible has +happened to my husband. Please come over immediately. Bring a doctor." + +She hung up, went to her bathroom, stripped off her clothing, and slid +carefully out of her telporter suit. This she folded neatly and tucked +away into the false back of the medicine cabinet. She found a fresh pair +of blue, plastifur pajamas and got into them. + +She was just arriving back into the living room, tying the cord of her +dressing gown about her slim waist, when she heard the sound of the +police siren out front. + + +THE END + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _If Worlds of Science Fiction_ July + 1953. 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 Project Gutenberg's A Bottle of Old Wine, by Richard O. Lewis + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30004 *** diff --git a/30004-h/30004-h.htm b/30004-h/30004-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..743eaa4 --- /dev/null +++ b/30004-h/30004-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,793 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Bottle of Old Wine, by Richard O. Lewis + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,h2,.hd1,.hd2 {text-align: center;} + hr {width: 45%; margin: 2em auto; visibility: hidden;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .figl {float: left; clear: left; margin: 0 1em 1em 0; padding: 0; width: 341px;} + img {border: none;} + a:link,a:visited {text-decoration: none;} + p.cap:first-letter {float: left; margin-right: .05em; padding-top: .05em; font-size: 300%; line-height: .8em; width: auto;} + .dcap {text-transform: uppercase;} + .figt {float: left; clear: left; margin: 15px; padding: 0; width: 280px;} + .trn {border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; min-height: 230px;} + .trn p {margin: 15px;} + .sp1 {margin-right: 4em;} + .sp2 {margin-left: 2em; font-size: 200%;} + .hd1 {margin-bottom: 2em;} + .hd2 {margin-top: 2em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30004 ***</div> + +<div class="figl"><img src="images/001.png" width="341" height="500" alt="" title="" /></div> + +<div class="hd1"><p><big><i>A grim tale of a future in which everyone is desperate to escape +reality, and a hero who wants to have his wine and drink it, too.</i></big></p></div> + +<h1><span class="sp1">A BOTTLE OF</span><br /> +<span class="sp2"><i>Old Wine</i></span></h1> + +<h2>By Richard O. Lewis</h2> + +<p class="hd1">Illustrated by KELLY FREAS</p> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Herbert Hyrel</span> settled himself +more comfortably in his +easy chair, extended his short legs +further toward the fireplace, and let +his eyes travel cautiously in the general +direction of his wife.</p> + +<p>She was in her chair as usual, her +long legs curled up beneath her, +the upper half of her face hidden +in the bulk of her personalized, +three-dimensional telovis. The telovis, +of a stereoscopic nature, seemingly +brought the performers with +all their tinsel and color directly +into the room of the watcher.</p> + +<p>Hyrel had no way of seeing into +the plastic affair she wore, but he +guessed from the expression on the +lower half of her face that she was +watching one of the newer black-market +sex-operas. In any event, +there would be no sound, movement, +or sign of life from her for +the next three hours. To break the +thread of the play for even a moment +would ruin all the previous +emotional build-up.</p> + +<p>There had been a time when he +hated her for those long and silent +evenings, lonely hours during +which he was completely ignored. +It was different now, however, for +those hours furnished him with +time for an escape of his own.</p> + +<p>His lips curled into a tight smile +and his right hand fondled the unobtrusive +switch beneath his trouser +leg. He did not press the switch. +He would wait a few minutes +longer. But it was comforting to +know that it was there, exhilarating +to know that he could escape +for a few hours by a mere flick of +his finger.</p> + +<p>He let his eyes stray to the dim +light of the artificial flames in the +fireplace. His hate for her was not +bounded merely by those lonely +hours she had forced upon him. +No, it was far more encompassing.</p> + +<p>He hated her with a deep, burning +savagery that was deadly in its +passion. He hated her for her +money, the money she kept securely +from him. He hated her for the +paltry allowance she doled out to +him, as if he were an irresponsible +child. It was as if she were constantly +reminding him in every +glance and gesture, "I made a bad +bargain when I married you. You +wanted me, my money, everything, +and had nothing to give in return +except your own doltish self. You +set a trap for me, baited with lies +and a false front. Now you are +caught in your own trap and will +remain there like a mouse to eat +from my hand whatever crumbs I +stoop to give you."</p> + +<p>But some day his hate would be +appeased. Yes, some day soon he +would kill her!</p> + +<p>He shot a sideways glance at her, +wondering if by chance she suspected.... She +hadn't moved. Her +lips were pouted into a half smile; +the sex-opera had probably +reached one of its more pleasurable +moments.</p> + +<p>Hyrel let his eyes shift back to +the fireplace again. Yes, he would +kill her. Then he would claim +a rightful share of her money, be +rid of her debasing dominance.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">He let the</span> thought run +around through his head, savoring +it with mental taste buds. +He would not kill her tonight. No, +nor the next night. He would wait, +wait until he had sucked the last +measure of pleasure from the +thought.</p> + +<p>It was like having a bottle of +rare old wine on a shelf where it +could be viewed daily. It was like +being able to pause again and +again before the bottle, hold it up +to the light, and say to it, "Some +day, when my desire for you has +reached the ultimate, I shall unstopper +you quietly and sip you +slowly to the last soul-satisfying +drop." As long as the bottle remained +there upon the shelf it was +symbolic of that pleasurable moment....</p> + +<p>He snapped out of his reverie +and realized he had been wasting +precious moments. There would be +time enough tomorrow for gloating. +Tonight, there were other +things to do. Pleasurable things. +He remembered the girl he had +met the night before, and smiled +smugly. Perhaps she would be +awaiting him even now. If not, +there would be another one....</p> + +<p>He settled himself deeper into +the chair, glanced once more at his +wife, then let his head lean comfortably +back against the chair's +headrest. His hand upon his thigh +felt the thin mesh that cloaked his +body beneath his clothing like a +sheer stocking. His fingers went +again to the tiny switch. Again he +hesitated.</p> + +<p>Herbert Hyrel knew no more +about the telporter suit he wore +than he did about the radio in the +corner, the TV set against the wall, +or the personalized telovis his wife +was wearing. You pressed one of +the buttons on the radio; music +came out. You pressed a button +and clicked a dial on the TV; +music and pictures came out. You +pressed a button and made an adjustment +on the telovis; three-dimensional, +emotion-colored pictures +leaped into the room. You +pressed a tiny switch on the telporter +suit; you were whisked away to +a receiving set you had previously +set up in secret.</p> + +<p>He knew that the music and the +images of the performers on the +TV and telovis were brought to his +room by some form of electrical impulse +or wave while the actual musicians +and performers remained in +the studio. He knew that when he +pressed the switch on his thigh +something within him—his ectoplasm, +higher self, the thing spirits +use for materialization, whatever +its real name—streamed out of him +along an invisible channel, leaving +his body behind in the chair in a +conscious but dream-like state. His +other self materialized in a small +cabin in a hidden nook between a +highway and a river where he had +installed the receiving set a month +ago.</p> + +<p>He thought once more of the girl +who might be waiting for him, +smiled, and pressed the switch.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The dank air</span> of the cabin +was chill to Herbert Hyrel's +naked flesh. He fumbled through +the darkness for the clothing he +kept there, found his shorts and +trousers, got hurriedly into them, +then flicked on a pocket lighter and +ignited a stub of candle upon the +table. By the wavering light, he finished +dressing in the black satin +clothing, the white shirt, the flowing +necktie and tam. He invoiced +the contents of his billfold. Not +much. And his monthly pittance +was still two weeks away....</p> + +<p>He had skimped for six months +to salvage enough money from his +allowance to make a down payment +on the telporter suit. Since +then, his expenses—monthly payments +for the suit, cabin rent, costly +liquor—had forced him to place his +nights of escape on strict ration. He +could not go on this way, he realized. +Not now. Not since he had +met the girl. He had to have more +money. Perhaps he could not afford +the luxury of leaving the wine +bottle longer upon the shelf....</p> + +<p>Riverside Club, where Hyrel arrived +by bus and a hundred yards +of walking, was exclusive. It catered +to a clientele that had but +three things in common: money, a +desire for utter self-abandonment, +and a sales slip indicating ownership +of a telporter suit. The club +was of necessity expensive, for self-telportation +was strictly illegal, and +police protection came high.</p> + +<p>Herbert Hyrel adjusted his white, +silken mask carefully at the door +and shoved his sales slip through a +small aperture where it was thoroughly +scanned by unseen eyes. A +buzzer sounded an instant later, the +lock on the door clicked, and Hyrel +pushed through into the exhilarating +warmth of music and laughter.</p> + +<p>The main room was large. Hidden +lights along the walls sent slow +beams of red, blue, vermillion, +green, yellow and pink trailing +across the domed ceiling in a heterogeneous +pattern. The colored +beams mingled, diffused, spread, +were caught up by mirrors of various +tints which diffused and mingled +the lights once more until the +whole effect was an ever-changing +panorama of softly-melting shades.</p> + +<p>The gay and bizarre costumes of +the masked revelers on the dance +floor and at the tables, unearthly in +themselves, were made even more +so by the altering light. Music +flooded the room from unseen +sources. Laughter—hysterical, +drunken, filled with utter abandonment—came +from the dance floor, +the tables, and the private booths +and rooms hidden cleverly within +the walls.</p> + +<p>Hyrel pushed himself to an unoccupied +table, sat down and ordered +a bottle of cheap whiskey. He +would have preferred champagne, +but his depleted finances forbade +the more discriminate taste.</p> + +<p>When his order arrived, he +poured a glass tumbler half full +and consumed it eagerly while his +eyes scanned the room in search of +the girl. He couldn't see her in the +dim swirl of color. Had she arrived? +Perhaps she was wearing a +different costume than she had the +night before. If so, recognition +might prove difficult.</p> + +<p>He poured himself another drink, +promising himself he would go in +search of her when the liquor began +to take effect.</p> + +<p>A woman clad in the revealing +garb of a Persian dancer threw an +arm about him from behind and +kissed him on the cheek through +the veil which covered the lower +part of her face.</p> + +<p>"Hi, honey," she giggled into his +ear. "Havin' a time?"</p> + +<p>He reached for the white arm to +pull her to him, but she eluded his +grasp and reeled away into the +waiting arms of a tall toreador. +Hyrel gulped his whiskey and +watched her nestle into the arms of +her partner and begin with him a +sinuous, suggestive dance. The +whiskey had begun its warming effect, +and he laughed.</p> + +<p>This was the land of the lotus +eaters, the sanctuary of the escapists, +the haven of all who wished to +cast off their shell of inhibition and +become the thing they dreamed +themselves to be. Here one could +be among his own kind, an actor +upon a gay stage, a gaudy butterfly +metamorphosed from the slug, +a knight of old.</p> + +<p>The Persian dancing girl was +probably the wife of a boorish oaf +whose idea of romance was spending +an evening telling his wife how +he came to be a successful bank +president. But she had found her +means of escape. Perhaps she had +pleaded a sick headache and had +retired to her room. And there upon +the bed now reposed her shell of +reality while her inner self, the +shadowy one, completely materialized, +became an exotic thing from +the East in this never-never land.</p> + +<p>The man, the toreador, had +probably closeted himself within his +library with a set of account books +and had left strict orders not to be +disturbed until he had finished +with them.</p> + +<p>Both would have terrific hangovers +in the morning. But that, of +course, would be fully compensated +for by the memories of the evening.</p> + +<p>Hyrel chuckled. The situation +struck him as being funny: the +shadowy self got drunk and had a +good time, and the outer husk suffered +the hangover in the morning. +Strange. Strange how a device such +as the telporter suit could cause the +shadow of each bodily cell to leave +the body, materialize, and become +a reality in its own right. And +yet ...</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">He looked</span> at the heel of his +left hand. There was a long, +irregular scar there. It was the result +of a cut he had received nearly +three weeks ago when he had +fallen over this very table and had +rammed his hand into a sliver of +broken champagne glass. Later that +evening, upon re-telporting back +home, the pain of the cut had remained +in his hand, but there was +no sign of the cut itself on the hand +of his outer self. The scar was peculiar +to the shadowy body only. +There was something about the +shadowy body that carried the +hurts to the outer body, but not the +scars....</p> + +<p>Sudden laughter broke out near +him, and he turned quickly in that +direction. A group of gaily costumed +revelers was standing in a +semi-circle about a small mound of +clothing upon the floor. It was the +costume of the toreador.</p> + +<p>Hyrel laughed, too. It had happened +many times before—a costume +suddenly left empty as its +owner, due to a threat of discovery +at home, had had to press the +switch in haste to bring his shadowy +self—and complete consciousness—back +to his outer self in a +hurry.</p> + +<p>A waiter picked up the clothing. +He would put it safely away so that +the owner could claim it upon his +next visit to the club. Another +waiter placed a fresh bottle of +whiskey on the table before Hyrel, +and Hyrel paid him for it.</p> + +<p>The whiskey, reaching his head +now in surges of warm cheerfulness, +was filling him with abandonment, +courage, and a desire for +merriment. He pushed himself up +from the table, joined the merry +throng, threw his arm about the +Persian dancer, drew her close.</p> + +<p>They began dancing slowly to +the throbbing rhythm, dancing and +holding on to each other tightly. +Hyrel could feel her hot breath +through her veil upon his neck, adding +to the headiness of the liquor. +His feeling of depression and inferiority +flowed suddenly from him. +Once again he was the all-conquering +male.</p> + +<p>His arm trembled as it drew her +still closer to him and he began +dancing directly and purposefully +toward the shadows of a clump of +artificial palms near one corner of +the room. There was an exit to the +garden behind the palms.</p> + +<p>Half way there they passed a secluded +booth from which protruded +a long leg clad in black +mesh stocking. Hyrel paused as he +recognized that part of the costume. +It was she! The girl! The +one he had met so briefly the night +before!</p> + +<p>His arm slid away from the Persian +dancer, took hold of the mesh-clad +leg, and pulled. A female form +followed the leg from the booth +and fell into his arms. He held her +tightly, kissed her white neck, let +her perfume send his thoughts reeling.</p> + +<p>"Been looking for me, honey?" +she whispered, her voice deep and +throaty.</p> + +<p>"You know it!"</p> + +<p>He began whisking her away toward +the palms. The Persian girl +was pulled into the booth.</p> + +<p>Yes, she was wearing the same +costume she had worn the night +before, that of a can-can dancer of +the 90's. The mesh hose that encased +her shapely legs were held up +by flowered supporters in such a +manner as to leave four inches of +white leg exposed between hose top +and lacy panties. Her skirt, frilled +to suggest innumerable petticoats, +fell away at each hip, leaving the +front open to expose the full length +of legs. She wore a wig of platinum +hair encrusted with jewels that +sparkled in the lights. Her jewel-studded +mask was as white as her +hair and covered the upper half of +her face, except for the large +almond slits for her eyes. A white +purse, jewel crusted, dangled from +one arm.</p> + +<p>He stopped once before reaching +the palms, drew her closer, kissed +her long and ardently. Then he began +pulling her on again.</p> + +<p>She drew back when they +reached the shelter of the fronds. +"Champagne, first," she whispered +huskily into his ear.</p> + +<p>His heart sank. He had very little +money left. Well, it might buy +a cheap brand....</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">She sipped</span> her champagne +slowly and provocatively across +the table from him. Her eyes sparkled +behind the almond slits of her +mask, caught the color changes and +cast them back. She was wearing +contact lenses of a garish green.</p> + +<p>He wished she would hurry with +her drink. He had horrible visions +of his wife at home taking off her +telovis and coming to his chair. He +would then have to press the +switch that would jerk his shadowy +self back along its invisible connecting +cord, jerk him back and +leave but a small mound of clothes +upon the chair at the table.</p> + +<p>Deep depression laid hold of +him. He would not be able to see +her after tonight until he received +his monthly dole two weeks hence. +She wouldn't wait that long. Someone +else would have her.</p> + +<p>Unless ...</p> + +<p>Yes, he knew now that he was +going to kill his wife as soon as the +opportunity presented itself. It +would be a simple matter. With the +aid of the telporter suit, he could +establish an iron-clad alibi.</p> + +<p>He took a long drink of whiskey +and looked at the dancers about +him. Sight of their gay costumes +heightened his depression. He was +wearing a cheap suit of satin, all he +could afford. But some day soon he +would show them! Some time soon +he would be dressed as gaily....</p> + +<p>"Something troubling you, +honey?"</p> + +<p>His gaze shot back to her and +she blurred slightly before his eyes. +"No. Nothing at all!" He summoned +a sickly smile and clutched +her hand in his. "Come on. Let's +dance."</p> + +<p>He drew her from the chair and +into his arms. She melted toward +him as if desiring to become a part +of him. A tremor of excitement +surged through him and threatened +to turn his knees into quivering +jelly. He could not make his +feet conform to the flooding +rhythm of the music. He half stumbled, +half pushed her along past the +booths.</p> + +<p>In the shelter of the palms he +drew her savagely to him. "Let's—let's +go outside." His voice was little +more than a croak.</p> + +<p>"But, honey!" She pushed herself +away, her low voice maddening +him. "Don't you have a private +room? A girl doesn't like to be +taken outside...."</p> + +<p>Her words bit into his brain like +the blade of a hot knife.</p> + +<p>No, he didn't have a private +room at the club like the others. A +private room for his telporter receiver, +a private room where he +could take a willing guest. No! He +couldn't afford it! No! <i>No!</i> NO! +His lot was a cheap suit of satin! +Cheap whiskey! Cheap champagne! +A cheap shack by the +river....</p> + +<p>An inarticulate cry escaped his +twisted lips. He clutched her roughly +to him and dragged her through +the door and into the moonlight, +whiskey and anger lending him +brutal strength.</p> + +<p>He pulled her through the deserted +garden. <i>All the others had +private rooms!</i> He pulled her to +the far end, behind a clump of +squatty firs. His hands clawed at +her. He tried to smother her mouth +with kisses.</p> + +<p>She eluded him deftly. "But, +<i>honey</i>!" Her voice had gone deeper +into her throat. "I just want to be +sure about things. If you can't afford +one of the private rooms—if +you can't afford to show me a good +time—if you can't come here real +often ..."</p> + +<p>The whiskey pounded and +throbbed at his brain like blows +from an unseen club. His ego +curled and twisted within him like +a headless serpent.</p> + +<p>"I'll have money!" he shouted, +struggling to hold her. "I'll have +plenty of money! After tonight!"</p> + +<p>"Then we'll wait," she said. +"We'll wait until tomorrow night."</p> + +<p>"No!" he screamed. "You don't +believe me! You're like the others! +You think I'm no good! But I'll +show you! I'll show all of you!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">She had gone</span> coldly rigid in +his arms, unyielding.</p> + +<p>Madness added to the pounding +in his brain. Tears welled into his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I'll show you! I'll kill her! Then +I'll have money!" The hands +clutching her shoulders shook her +drunkenly. "You wait here! I'll go +home and kill her now! Then I'll +be back!"</p> + +<p>"Silly boy!" Her low laughter +rang hollowly in his ears. "And just +who is it you are going to kill?"</p> + +<p>"My wife!" he cried. "My wife! +I'll ..."</p> + +<p>A sudden sobering thought +struck him. He was talking too +much. And he wasn't making sense. +He shouldn't be telling her this. +Anyway, he couldn't get the money +tonight even if he did kill his wife.</p> + +<p>"And so you are going to kill +your wife...."</p> + +<p>He blinked the tears from his +eyes. His chest was heaving, his +heart pounding. He looked at her +shimmering form. "Y-yes," he whispered.</p> + +<p>Her eyes glinted strangely in the +light of the moon. Her handbag +glinted as she opened it, and something +she took from it glittered +coldly in her hand.</p> + +<p>"Fool!"</p> + +<p>The first shot tore squarely +through his heart. And while he +stood staring at her, mouth agape, +a second shot burned its way +through his bewildered brain.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Mrs. Herbert Hyrel</span> removed +the telovis from her +head and laid it carefully aside. +She uncoiled her long legs from beneath +her, walked to her husband's +chair, and stood for a long moment +looking down at him, her lips +drawn back in contempt. Then she +bent over him and reached down +his thigh until her fingers contacted +the small switch.</p> + +<p>Seconds later, a slight tremor +shook Hyrel's body. His eyes +snapped open, air escaped his lungs, +his lower jaw sagged inanely, and +his head lolled to one side.</p> + +<p>She stood a moment longer, +watching his eyes become glazed +and sightless. Then she walked to +the telephone.</p> + +<p>"Police?" she said. "This is Mrs. +Herbert Hyrel. Something horrible +has happened to my husband. +Please come over immediately. +Bring a doctor."</p> + +<p>She hung up, went to her bathroom, +stripped off her clothing, +and slid carefully out of her telporter +suit. This she folded neatly +and tucked away into the false back +of the medicine cabinet. She found +a fresh pair of blue, plastifur pajamas +and got into them.</p> + +<p>She was just arriving back into +the living room, tying the cord of +her dressing gown about her slim +waist, when she heard the sound of +the police siren out front.</p> + +<p class="hd2">THE END</p> + +<div class="trn"><div class="figt"><a href="images/002-2.jpg"><img src="images/002-1.jpg" width="280" height="200" alt="" title="" /></a></div> + +<p><big><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></big></p> + +<p>This etext was produced from <i>If Worlds of Science Fiction</i> July 1953. +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.</p></div> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30004 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/30004-h/images/001.png b/30004-h/images/001.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4d70f60 --- /dev/null +++ b/30004-h/images/001.png diff --git a/30004-h/images/002-1.jpg b/30004-h/images/002-1.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..19d3f09 --- /dev/null +++ b/30004-h/images/002-1.jpg diff --git a/30004-h/images/002-2.jpg b/30004-h/images/002-2.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9a4d7b4 --- /dev/null +++ b/30004-h/images/002-2.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4cbebe6 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #30004 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30004) diff --git a/old/30004-h.zip b/old/30004-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5518278 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30004-h.zip diff --git a/old/30004-h/30004-h.htm b/old/30004-h/30004-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aec91c6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30004-h/30004-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1210 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Bottle of Old Wine, by Richard O. 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Lewis + +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: A Bottle of Old Wine + +Author: Richard O. Lewis + +Illustrator: Kelly Freas + +Release Date: September 16, 2009 [EBook #30004] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOTTLE OF OLD WINE *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figl"><img src="images/001.png" width="341" height="500" alt="" title="" /></div> + +<div class="hd1"><p><big><i>A grim tale of a future in which everyone is desperate to escape +reality, and a hero who wants to have his wine and drink it, too.</i></big></p></div> + +<h1><span class="sp1">A BOTTLE OF</span><br /> +<span class="sp2"><i>Old Wine</i></span></h1> + +<h2>By Richard O. Lewis</h2> + +<p class="hd1">Illustrated by KELLY FREAS</p> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Herbert Hyrel</span> settled himself +more comfortably in his +easy chair, extended his short legs +further toward the fireplace, and let +his eyes travel cautiously in the general +direction of his wife.</p> + +<p>She was in her chair as usual, her +long legs curled up beneath her, +the upper half of her face hidden +in the bulk of her personalized, +three-dimensional telovis. The telovis, +of a stereoscopic nature, seemingly +brought the performers with +all their tinsel and color directly +into the room of the watcher.</p> + +<p>Hyrel had no way of seeing into +the plastic affair she wore, but he +guessed from the expression on the +lower half of her face that she was +watching one of the newer black-market +sex-operas. In any event, +there would be no sound, movement, +or sign of life from her for +the next three hours. To break the +thread of the play for even a moment +would ruin all the previous +emotional build-up.</p> + +<p>There had been a time when he +hated her for those long and silent +evenings, lonely hours during +which he was completely ignored. +It was different now, however, for +those hours furnished him with +time for an escape of his own.</p> + +<p>His lips curled into a tight smile +and his right hand fondled the unobtrusive +switch beneath his trouser +leg. He did not press the switch. +He would wait a few minutes +longer. But it was comforting to +know that it was there, exhilarating +to know that he could escape +for a few hours by a mere flick of +his finger.</p> + +<p>He let his eyes stray to the dim +light of the artificial flames in the +fireplace. His hate for her was not +bounded merely by those lonely +hours she had forced upon him. +No, it was far more encompassing.</p> + +<p>He hated her with a deep, burning +savagery that was deadly in its +passion. He hated her for her +money, the money she kept securely +from him. He hated her for the +paltry allowance she doled out to +him, as if he were an irresponsible +child. It was as if she were constantly +reminding him in every +glance and gesture, "I made a bad +bargain when I married you. You +wanted me, my money, everything, +and had nothing to give in return +except your own doltish self. You +set a trap for me, baited with lies +and a false front. Now you are +caught in your own trap and will +remain there like a mouse to eat +from my hand whatever crumbs I +stoop to give you."</p> + +<p>But some day his hate would be +appeased. Yes, some day soon he +would kill her!</p> + +<p>He shot a sideways glance at her, +wondering if by chance she suspected.... She +hadn't moved. Her +lips were pouted into a half smile; +the sex-opera had probably +reached one of its more pleasurable +moments.</p> + +<p>Hyrel let his eyes shift back to +the fireplace again. Yes, he would +kill her. Then he would claim +a rightful share of her money, be +rid of her debasing dominance.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">He let the</span> thought run +around through his head, savoring +it with mental taste buds. +He would not kill her tonight. No, +nor the next night. He would wait, +wait until he had sucked the last +measure of pleasure from the +thought.</p> + +<p>It was like having a bottle of +rare old wine on a shelf where it +could be viewed daily. It was like +being able to pause again and +again before the bottle, hold it up +to the light, and say to it, "Some +day, when my desire for you has +reached the ultimate, I shall unstopper +you quietly and sip you +slowly to the last soul-satisfying +drop." As long as the bottle remained +there upon the shelf it was +symbolic of that pleasurable moment....</p> + +<p>He snapped out of his reverie +and realized he had been wasting +precious moments. There would be +time enough tomorrow for gloating. +Tonight, there were other +things to do. Pleasurable things. +He remembered the girl he had +met the night before, and smiled +smugly. Perhaps she would be +awaiting him even now. If not, +there would be another one....</p> + +<p>He settled himself deeper into +the chair, glanced once more at his +wife, then let his head lean comfortably +back against the chair's +headrest. His hand upon his thigh +felt the thin mesh that cloaked his +body beneath his clothing like a +sheer stocking. His fingers went +again to the tiny switch. Again he +hesitated.</p> + +<p>Herbert Hyrel knew no more +about the telporter suit he wore +than he did about the radio in the +corner, the TV set against the wall, +or the personalized telovis his wife +was wearing. You pressed one of +the buttons on the radio; music +came out. You pressed a button +and clicked a dial on the TV; +music and pictures came out. You +pressed a button and made an adjustment +on the telovis; three-dimensional, +emotion-colored pictures +leaped into the room. You +pressed a tiny switch on the telporter +suit; you were whisked away to +a receiving set you had previously +set up in secret.</p> + +<p>He knew that the music and the +images of the performers on the +TV and telovis were brought to his +room by some form of electrical impulse +or wave while the actual musicians +and performers remained in +the studio. He knew that when he +pressed the switch on his thigh +something within him—his ectoplasm, +higher self, the thing spirits +use for materialization, whatever +its real name—streamed out of him +along an invisible channel, leaving +his body behind in the chair in a +conscious but dream-like state. His +other self materialized in a small +cabin in a hidden nook between a +highway and a river where he had +installed the receiving set a month +ago.</p> + +<p>He thought once more of the girl +who might be waiting for him, +smiled, and pressed the switch.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The dank air</span> of the cabin +was chill to Herbert Hyrel's +naked flesh. He fumbled through +the darkness for the clothing he +kept there, found his shorts and +trousers, got hurriedly into them, +then flicked on a pocket lighter and +ignited a stub of candle upon the +table. By the wavering light, he finished +dressing in the black satin +clothing, the white shirt, the flowing +necktie and tam. He invoiced +the contents of his billfold. Not +much. And his monthly pittance +was still two weeks away....</p> + +<p>He had skimped for six months +to salvage enough money from his +allowance to make a down payment +on the telporter suit. Since +then, his expenses—monthly payments +for the suit, cabin rent, costly +liquor—had forced him to place his +nights of escape on strict ration. He +could not go on this way, he realized. +Not now. Not since he had +met the girl. He had to have more +money. Perhaps he could not afford +the luxury of leaving the wine +bottle longer upon the shelf....</p> + +<p>Riverside Club, where Hyrel arrived +by bus and a hundred yards +of walking, was exclusive. It catered +to a clientele that had but +three things in common: money, a +desire for utter self-abandonment, +and a sales slip indicating ownership +of a telporter suit. The club +was of necessity expensive, for self-telportation +was strictly illegal, and +police protection came high.</p> + +<p>Herbert Hyrel adjusted his white, +silken mask carefully at the door +and shoved his sales slip through a +small aperture where it was thoroughly +scanned by unseen eyes. A +buzzer sounded an instant later, the +lock on the door clicked, and Hyrel +pushed through into the exhilarating +warmth of music and laughter.</p> + +<p>The main room was large. Hidden +lights along the walls sent slow +beams of red, blue, vermillion, +green, yellow and pink trailing +across the domed ceiling in a heterogeneous +pattern. The colored +beams mingled, diffused, spread, +were caught up by mirrors of various +tints which diffused and mingled +the lights once more until the +whole effect was an ever-changing +panorama of softly-melting shades.</p> + +<p>The gay and bizarre costumes of +the masked revelers on the dance +floor and at the tables, unearthly in +themselves, were made even more +so by the altering light. Music +flooded the room from unseen +sources. Laughter—hysterical, +drunken, filled with utter abandonment—came +from the dance floor, +the tables, and the private booths +and rooms hidden cleverly within +the walls.</p> + +<p>Hyrel pushed himself to an unoccupied +table, sat down and ordered +a bottle of cheap whiskey. He +would have preferred champagne, +but his depleted finances forbade +the more discriminate taste.</p> + +<p>When his order arrived, he +poured a glass tumbler half full +and consumed it eagerly while his +eyes scanned the room in search of +the girl. He couldn't see her in the +dim swirl of color. Had she arrived? +Perhaps she was wearing a +different costume than she had the +night before. If so, recognition +might prove difficult.</p> + +<p>He poured himself another drink, +promising himself he would go in +search of her when the liquor began +to take effect.</p> + +<p>A woman clad in the revealing +garb of a Persian dancer threw an +arm about him from behind and +kissed him on the cheek through +the veil which covered the lower +part of her face.</p> + +<p>"Hi, honey," she giggled into his +ear. "Havin' a time?"</p> + +<p>He reached for the white arm to +pull her to him, but she eluded his +grasp and reeled away into the +waiting arms of a tall toreador. +Hyrel gulped his whiskey and +watched her nestle into the arms of +her partner and begin with him a +sinuous, suggestive dance. The +whiskey had begun its warming effect, +and he laughed.</p> + +<p>This was the land of the lotus +eaters, the sanctuary of the escapists, +the haven of all who wished to +cast off their shell of inhibition and +become the thing they dreamed +themselves to be. Here one could +be among his own kind, an actor +upon a gay stage, a gaudy butterfly +metamorphosed from the slug, +a knight of old.</p> + +<p>The Persian dancing girl was +probably the wife of a boorish oaf +whose idea of romance was spending +an evening telling his wife how +he came to be a successful bank +president. But she had found her +means of escape. Perhaps she had +pleaded a sick headache and had +retired to her room. And there upon +the bed now reposed her shell of +reality while her inner self, the +shadowy one, completely materialized, +became an exotic thing from +the East in this never-never land.</p> + +<p>The man, the toreador, had +probably closeted himself within his +library with a set of account books +and had left strict orders not to be +disturbed until he had finished +with them.</p> + +<p>Both would have terrific hangovers +in the morning. But that, of +course, would be fully compensated +for by the memories of the evening.</p> + +<p>Hyrel chuckled. The situation +struck him as being funny: the +shadowy self got drunk and had a +good time, and the outer husk suffered +the hangover in the morning. +Strange. Strange how a device such +as the telporter suit could cause the +shadow of each bodily cell to leave +the body, materialize, and become +a reality in its own right. And +yet ...</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">He looked</span> at the heel of his +left hand. There was a long, +irregular scar there. It was the result +of a cut he had received nearly +three weeks ago when he had +fallen over this very table and had +rammed his hand into a sliver of +broken champagne glass. Later that +evening, upon re-telporting back +home, the pain of the cut had remained +in his hand, but there was +no sign of the cut itself on the hand +of his outer self. The scar was peculiar +to the shadowy body only. +There was something about the +shadowy body that carried the +hurts to the outer body, but not the +scars....</p> + +<p>Sudden laughter broke out near +him, and he turned quickly in that +direction. A group of gaily costumed +revelers was standing in a +semi-circle about a small mound of +clothing upon the floor. It was the +costume of the toreador.</p> + +<p>Hyrel laughed, too. It had happened +many times before—a costume +suddenly left empty as its +owner, due to a threat of discovery +at home, had had to press the +switch in haste to bring his shadowy +self—and complete consciousness—back +to his outer self in a +hurry.</p> + +<p>A waiter picked up the clothing. +He would put it safely away so that +the owner could claim it upon his +next visit to the club. Another +waiter placed a fresh bottle of +whiskey on the table before Hyrel, +and Hyrel paid him for it.</p> + +<p>The whiskey, reaching his head +now in surges of warm cheerfulness, +was filling him with abandonment, +courage, and a desire for +merriment. He pushed himself up +from the table, joined the merry +throng, threw his arm about the +Persian dancer, drew her close.</p> + +<p>They began dancing slowly to +the throbbing rhythm, dancing and +holding on to each other tightly. +Hyrel could feel her hot breath +through her veil upon his neck, adding +to the headiness of the liquor. +His feeling of depression and inferiority +flowed suddenly from him. +Once again he was the all-conquering +male.</p> + +<p>His arm trembled as it drew her +still closer to him and he began +dancing directly and purposefully +toward the shadows of a clump of +artificial palms near one corner of +the room. There was an exit to the +garden behind the palms.</p> + +<p>Half way there they passed a secluded +booth from which protruded +a long leg clad in black +mesh stocking. Hyrel paused as he +recognized that part of the costume. +It was she! The girl! The +one he had met so briefly the night +before!</p> + +<p>His arm slid away from the Persian +dancer, took hold of the mesh-clad +leg, and pulled. A female form +followed the leg from the booth +and fell into his arms. He held her +tightly, kissed her white neck, let +her perfume send his thoughts reeling.</p> + +<p>"Been looking for me, honey?" +she whispered, her voice deep and +throaty.</p> + +<p>"You know it!"</p> + +<p>He began whisking her away toward +the palms. The Persian girl +was pulled into the booth.</p> + +<p>Yes, she was wearing the same +costume she had worn the night +before, that of a can-can dancer of +the 90's. The mesh hose that encased +her shapely legs were held up +by flowered supporters in such a +manner as to leave four inches of +white leg exposed between hose top +and lacy panties. Her skirt, frilled +to suggest innumerable petticoats, +fell away at each hip, leaving the +front open to expose the full length +of legs. She wore a wig of platinum +hair encrusted with jewels that +sparkled in the lights. Her jewel-studded +mask was as white as her +hair and covered the upper half of +her face, except for the large +almond slits for her eyes. A white +purse, jewel crusted, dangled from +one arm.</p> + +<p>He stopped once before reaching +the palms, drew her closer, kissed +her long and ardently. Then he began +pulling her on again.</p> + +<p>She drew back when they +reached the shelter of the fronds. +"Champagne, first," she whispered +huskily into his ear.</p> + +<p>His heart sank. He had very little +money left. Well, it might buy +a cheap brand....</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">She sipped</span> her champagne +slowly and provocatively across +the table from him. Her eyes sparkled +behind the almond slits of her +mask, caught the color changes and +cast them back. She was wearing +contact lenses of a garish green.</p> + +<p>He wished she would hurry with +her drink. He had horrible visions +of his wife at home taking off her +telovis and coming to his chair. He +would then have to press the +switch that would jerk his shadowy +self back along its invisible connecting +cord, jerk him back and +leave but a small mound of clothes +upon the chair at the table.</p> + +<p>Deep depression laid hold of +him. He would not be able to see +her after tonight until he received +his monthly dole two weeks hence. +She wouldn't wait that long. Someone +else would have her.</p> + +<p>Unless ...</p> + +<p>Yes, he knew now that he was +going to kill his wife as soon as the +opportunity presented itself. It +would be a simple matter. With the +aid of the telporter suit, he could +establish an iron-clad alibi.</p> + +<p>He took a long drink of whiskey +and looked at the dancers about +him. Sight of their gay costumes +heightened his depression. He was +wearing a cheap suit of satin, all he +could afford. But some day soon he +would show them! Some time soon +he would be dressed as gaily....</p> + +<p>"Something troubling you, +honey?"</p> + +<p>His gaze shot back to her and +she blurred slightly before his eyes. +"No. Nothing at all!" He summoned +a sickly smile and clutched +her hand in his. "Come on. Let's +dance."</p> + +<p>He drew her from the chair and +into his arms. She melted toward +him as if desiring to become a part +of him. A tremor of excitement +surged through him and threatened +to turn his knees into quivering +jelly. He could not make his +feet conform to the flooding +rhythm of the music. He half stumbled, +half pushed her along past the +booths.</p> + +<p>In the shelter of the palms he +drew her savagely to him. "Let's—let's +go outside." His voice was little +more than a croak.</p> + +<p>"But, honey!" She pushed herself +away, her low voice maddening +him. "Don't you have a private +room? A girl doesn't like to be +taken outside...."</p> + +<p>Her words bit into his brain like +the blade of a hot knife.</p> + +<p>No, he didn't have a private +room at the club like the others. A +private room for his telporter receiver, +a private room where he +could take a willing guest. No! He +couldn't afford it! No! <i>No!</i> NO! +His lot was a cheap suit of satin! +Cheap whiskey! Cheap champagne! +A cheap shack by the +river....</p> + +<p>An inarticulate cry escaped his +twisted lips. He clutched her roughly +to him and dragged her through +the door and into the moonlight, +whiskey and anger lending him +brutal strength.</p> + +<p>He pulled her through the deserted +garden. <i>All the others had +private rooms!</i> He pulled her to +the far end, behind a clump of +squatty firs. His hands clawed at +her. He tried to smother her mouth +with kisses.</p> + +<p>She eluded him deftly. "But, +<i>honey</i>!" Her voice had gone deeper +into her throat. "I just want to be +sure about things. If you can't afford +one of the private rooms—if +you can't afford to show me a good +time—if you can't come here real +often ..."</p> + +<p>The whiskey pounded and +throbbed at his brain like blows +from an unseen club. His ego +curled and twisted within him like +a headless serpent.</p> + +<p>"I'll have money!" he shouted, +struggling to hold her. "I'll have +plenty of money! After tonight!"</p> + +<p>"Then we'll wait," she said. +"We'll wait until tomorrow night."</p> + +<p>"No!" he screamed. "You don't +believe me! You're like the others! +You think I'm no good! But I'll +show you! I'll show all of you!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">She had gone</span> coldly rigid in +his arms, unyielding.</p> + +<p>Madness added to the pounding +in his brain. Tears welled into his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I'll show you! I'll kill her! Then +I'll have money!" The hands +clutching her shoulders shook her +drunkenly. "You wait here! I'll go +home and kill her now! Then I'll +be back!"</p> + +<p>"Silly boy!" Her low laughter +rang hollowly in his ears. "And just +who is it you are going to kill?"</p> + +<p>"My wife!" he cried. "My wife! +I'll ..."</p> + +<p>A sudden sobering thought +struck him. He was talking too +much. And he wasn't making sense. +He shouldn't be telling her this. +Anyway, he couldn't get the money +tonight even if he did kill his wife.</p> + +<p>"And so you are going to kill +your wife...."</p> + +<p>He blinked the tears from his +eyes. His chest was heaving, his +heart pounding. He looked at her +shimmering form. "Y-yes," he whispered.</p> + +<p>Her eyes glinted strangely in the +light of the moon. Her handbag +glinted as she opened it, and something +she took from it glittered +coldly in her hand.</p> + +<p>"Fool!"</p> + +<p>The first shot tore squarely +through his heart. And while he +stood staring at her, mouth agape, +a second shot burned its way +through his bewildered brain.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Mrs. Herbert Hyrel</span> removed +the telovis from her +head and laid it carefully aside. +She uncoiled her long legs from beneath +her, walked to her husband's +chair, and stood for a long moment +looking down at him, her lips +drawn back in contempt. Then she +bent over him and reached down +his thigh until her fingers contacted +the small switch.</p> + +<p>Seconds later, a slight tremor +shook Hyrel's body. His eyes +snapped open, air escaped his lungs, +his lower jaw sagged inanely, and +his head lolled to one side.</p> + +<p>She stood a moment longer, +watching his eyes become glazed +and sightless. Then she walked to +the telephone.</p> + +<p>"Police?" she said. "This is Mrs. +Herbert Hyrel. Something horrible +has happened to my husband. +Please come over immediately. +Bring a doctor."</p> + +<p>She hung up, went to her bathroom, +stripped off her clothing, +and slid carefully out of her telporter +suit. This she folded neatly +and tucked away into the false back +of the medicine cabinet. She found +a fresh pair of blue, plastifur pajamas +and got into them.</p> + +<p>She was just arriving back into +the living room, tying the cord of +her dressing gown about her slim +waist, when she heard the sound of +the police siren out front.</p> + +<p class="hd2">THE END</p> + +<div class="trn"><div class="figt"><a href="images/002-2.jpg"><img src="images/002-1.jpg" width="280" height="200" alt="" title="" /></a></div> + +<p><big><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></big></p> + +<p>This etext was produced from <i>If Worlds of Science Fiction</i> July 1953. +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.</p></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Bottle of Old Wine, by Richard O. 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Lewis + +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: A Bottle of Old Wine + +Author: Richard O. Lewis + +Illustrator: Kelly Freas + +Release Date: September 16, 2009 [EBook #30004] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOTTLE OF OLD WINE *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + + _A grim tale of a future in which everyone is desperate to escape + reality, and a hero who wants to have his wine and drink it, too._ + + + A BOTTLE OF + _Old Wine_ + + By Richard O. Lewis + +Illustrated by KELLY FREAS + + +Herbert Hyrel settled himself more comfortably in his easy chair, +extended his short legs further toward the fireplace, and let his eyes +travel cautiously in the general direction of his wife. + +She was in her chair as usual, her long legs curled up beneath her, the +upper half of her face hidden in the bulk of her personalized, +three-dimensional telovis. The telovis, of a stereoscopic nature, +seemingly brought the performers with all their tinsel and color +directly into the room of the watcher. + +Hyrel had no way of seeing into the plastic affair she wore, but he +guessed from the expression on the lower half of her face that she was +watching one of the newer black-market sex-operas. In any event, there +would be no sound, movement, or sign of life from her for the next three +hours. To break the thread of the play for even a moment would ruin all +the previous emotional build-up. + +There had been a time when he hated her for those long and silent +evenings, lonely hours during which he was completely ignored. It was +different now, however, for those hours furnished him with time for an +escape of his own. + +His lips curled into a tight smile and his right hand fondled the +unobtrusive switch beneath his trouser leg. He did not press the switch. +He would wait a few minutes longer. But it was comforting to know that +it was there, exhilarating to know that he could escape for a few hours +by a mere flick of his finger. + +He let his eyes stray to the dim light of the artificial flames in the +fireplace. His hate for her was not bounded merely by those lonely hours +she had forced upon him. No, it was far more encompassing. + +He hated her with a deep, burning savagery that was deadly in its +passion. He hated her for her money, the money she kept securely from +him. He hated her for the paltry allowance she doled out to him, as if +he were an irresponsible child. It was as if she were constantly +reminding him in every glance and gesture, "I made a bad bargain when I +married you. You wanted me, my money, everything, and had nothing to +give in return except your own doltish self. You set a trap for me, +baited with lies and a false front. Now you are caught in your own trap +and will remain there like a mouse to eat from my hand whatever crumbs I +stoop to give you." + +But some day his hate would be appeased. Yes, some day soon he would +kill her! + +He shot a sideways glance at her, wondering if by chance she +suspected.... She hadn't moved. Her lips were pouted into a half smile; +the sex-opera had probably reached one of its more pleasurable moments. + +Hyrel let his eyes shift back to the fireplace again. Yes, he would kill +her. Then he would claim a rightful share of her money, be rid of her +debasing dominance. + + * * * * * + +He let the thought run around through his head, savoring it with mental +taste buds. He would not kill her tonight. No, nor the next night. He +would wait, wait until he had sucked the last measure of pleasure from +the thought. + +It was like having a bottle of rare old wine on a shelf where it could +be viewed daily. It was like being able to pause again and again before +the bottle, hold it up to the light, and say to it, "Some day, when my +desire for you has reached the ultimate, I shall unstopper you quietly +and sip you slowly to the last soul-satisfying drop." As long as the +bottle remained there upon the shelf it was symbolic of that pleasurable +moment.... + +He snapped out of his reverie and realized he had been wasting precious +moments. There would be time enough tomorrow for gloating. Tonight, +there were other things to do. Pleasurable things. He remembered the +girl he had met the night before, and smiled smugly. Perhaps she would +be awaiting him even now. If not, there would be another one.... + +He settled himself deeper into the chair, glanced once more at his wife, +then let his head lean comfortably back against the chair's headrest. +His hand upon his thigh felt the thin mesh that cloaked his body beneath +his clothing like a sheer stocking. His fingers went again to the tiny +switch. Again he hesitated. + +Herbert Hyrel knew no more about the telporter suit he wore than he did +about the radio in the corner, the TV set against the wall, or the +personalized telovis his wife was wearing. You pressed one of the +buttons on the radio; music came out. You pressed a button and clicked a +dial on the TV; music and pictures came out. You pressed a button and +made an adjustment on the telovis; three-dimensional, emotion-colored +pictures leaped into the room. You pressed a tiny switch on the +telporter suit; you were whisked away to a receiving set you had +previously set up in secret. + +He knew that the music and the images of the performers on the TV and +telovis were brought to his room by some form of electrical impulse +or wave while the actual musicians and performers remained in the +studio. He knew that when he pressed the switch on his thigh something +within him--his ectoplasm, higher self, the thing spirits use for +materialization, whatever its real name--streamed out of him along an +invisible channel, leaving his body behind in the chair in a conscious +but dream-like state. His other self materialized in a small cabin in a +hidden nook between a highway and a river where he had installed the +receiving set a month ago. + +He thought once more of the girl who might be waiting for him, smiled, +and pressed the switch. + + * * * * * + +The dank air of the cabin was chill to Herbert Hyrel's naked flesh. He +fumbled through the darkness for the clothing he kept there, found his +shorts and trousers, got hurriedly into them, then flicked on a pocket +lighter and ignited a stub of candle upon the table. By the wavering +light, he finished dressing in the black satin clothing, the white +shirt, the flowing necktie and tam. He invoiced the contents of his +billfold. Not much. And his monthly pittance was still two weeks +away.... + +He had skimped for six months to salvage enough money from his allowance +to make a down payment on the telporter suit. Since then, his +expenses--monthly payments for the suit, cabin rent, costly liquor--had +forced him to place his nights of escape on strict ration. He could not +go on this way, he realized. Not now. Not since he had met the girl. He +had to have more money. Perhaps he could not afford the luxury of +leaving the wine bottle longer upon the shelf.... + +Riverside Club, where Hyrel arrived by bus and a hundred yards of +walking, was exclusive. It catered to a clientele that had but three +things in common: money, a desire for utter self-abandonment, and a +sales slip indicating ownership of a telporter suit. The club was of +necessity expensive, for self-telportation was strictly illegal, and +police protection came high. + +Herbert Hyrel adjusted his white, silken mask carefully at the door and +shoved his sales slip through a small aperture where it was thoroughly +scanned by unseen eyes. A buzzer sounded an instant later, the lock on +the door clicked, and Hyrel pushed through into the exhilarating warmth +of music and laughter. + +The main room was large. Hidden lights along the walls sent slow beams +of red, blue, vermillion, green, yellow and pink trailing across the +domed ceiling in a heterogeneous pattern. The colored beams mingled, +diffused, spread, were caught up by mirrors of various tints which +diffused and mingled the lights once more until the whole effect was an +ever-changing panorama of softly-melting shades. + +The gay and bizarre costumes of the masked revelers on the dance floor +and at the tables, unearthly in themselves, were made even more so by +the altering light. Music flooded the room from unseen sources. +Laughter--hysterical, drunken, filled with utter abandonment--came from +the dance floor, the tables, and the private booths and rooms hidden +cleverly within the walls. + +Hyrel pushed himself to an unoccupied table, sat down and ordered a +bottle of cheap whiskey. He would have preferred champagne, but his +depleted finances forbade the more discriminate taste. + +When his order arrived, he poured a glass tumbler half full and consumed +it eagerly while his eyes scanned the room in search of the girl. He +couldn't see her in the dim swirl of color. Had she arrived? Perhaps she +was wearing a different costume than she had the night before. If so, +recognition might prove difficult. + +He poured himself another drink, promising himself he would go in search +of her when the liquor began to take effect. + +A woman clad in the revealing garb of a Persian dancer threw an arm +about him from behind and kissed him on the cheek through the veil which +covered the lower part of her face. + +"Hi, honey," she giggled into his ear. "Havin' a time?" + +He reached for the white arm to pull her to him, but she eluded his +grasp and reeled away into the waiting arms of a tall toreador. Hyrel +gulped his whiskey and watched her nestle into the arms of her partner +and begin with him a sinuous, suggestive dance. The whiskey had begun +its warming effect, and he laughed. + +This was the land of the lotus eaters, the sanctuary of the escapists, +the haven of all who wished to cast off their shell of inhibition and +become the thing they dreamed themselves to be. Here one could be among +his own kind, an actor upon a gay stage, a gaudy butterfly metamorphosed +from the slug, a knight of old. + +The Persian dancing girl was probably the wife of a boorish oaf whose +idea of romance was spending an evening telling his wife how he came to +be a successful bank president. But she had found her means of escape. +Perhaps she had pleaded a sick headache and had retired to her room. And +there upon the bed now reposed her shell of reality while her inner +self, the shadowy one, completely materialized, became an exotic thing +from the East in this never-never land. + +The man, the toreador, had probably closeted himself within his library +with a set of account books and had left strict orders not to be +disturbed until he had finished with them. + +Both would have terrific hangovers in the morning. But that, of course, +would be fully compensated for by the memories of the evening. + +Hyrel chuckled. The situation struck him as being funny: the shadowy +self got drunk and had a good time, and the outer husk suffered the +hangover in the morning. Strange. Strange how a device such as the +telporter suit could cause the shadow of each bodily cell to leave the +body, materialize, and become a reality in its own right. And yet ... + + * * * * * + +He looked at the heel of his left hand. There was a long, irregular scar +there. It was the result of a cut he had received nearly three weeks ago +when he had fallen over this very table and had rammed his hand into a +sliver of broken champagne glass. Later that evening, upon re-telporting +back home, the pain of the cut had remained in his hand, but there was +no sign of the cut itself on the hand of his outer self. The scar was +peculiar to the shadowy body only. There was something about the shadowy +body that carried the hurts to the outer body, but not the scars.... + +Sudden laughter broke out near him, and he turned quickly in that +direction. A group of gaily costumed revelers was standing in a +semi-circle about a small mound of clothing upon the floor. It was the +costume of the toreador. + +Hyrel laughed, too. It had happened many times before--a costume +suddenly left empty as its owner, due to a threat of discovery at home, +had had to press the switch in haste to bring his shadowy self--and +complete consciousness--back to his outer self in a hurry. + +A waiter picked up the clothing. He would put it safely away so that the +owner could claim it upon his next visit to the club. Another waiter +placed a fresh bottle of whiskey on the table before Hyrel, and Hyrel +paid him for it. + +The whiskey, reaching his head now in surges of warm cheerfulness, was +filling him with abandonment, courage, and a desire for merriment. He +pushed himself up from the table, joined the merry throng, threw his arm +about the Persian dancer, drew her close. + +They began dancing slowly to the throbbing rhythm, dancing and holding +on to each other tightly. Hyrel could feel her hot breath through her +veil upon his neck, adding to the headiness of the liquor. His feeling +of depression and inferiority flowed suddenly from him. Once again he +was the all-conquering male. + +His arm trembled as it drew her still closer to him and he began dancing +directly and purposefully toward the shadows of a clump of artificial +palms near one corner of the room. There was an exit to the garden +behind the palms. + +Half way there they passed a secluded booth from which protruded a long +leg clad in black mesh stocking. Hyrel paused as he recognized that part +of the costume. It was she! The girl! The one he had met so briefly the +night before! + +His arm slid away from the Persian dancer, took hold of the mesh-clad +leg, and pulled. A female form followed the leg from the booth and fell +into his arms. He held her tightly, kissed her white neck, let her +perfume send his thoughts reeling. + +"Been looking for me, honey?" she whispered, her voice deep and throaty. + +"You know it!" + +He began whisking her away toward the palms. The Persian girl was +pulled into the booth. + +Yes, she was wearing the same costume she had worn the night before, +that of a can-can dancer of the 90's. The mesh hose that encased her +shapely legs were held up by flowered supporters in such a manner as to +leave four inches of white leg exposed between hose top and lacy +panties. Her skirt, frilled to suggest innumerable petticoats, fell away +at each hip, leaving the front open to expose the full length of legs. +She wore a wig of platinum hair encrusted with jewels that sparkled in +the lights. Her jewel-studded mask was as white as her hair and covered +the upper half of her face, except for the large almond slits for her +eyes. A white purse, jewel crusted, dangled from one arm. + +He stopped once before reaching the palms, drew her closer, kissed her +long and ardently. Then he began pulling her on again. + +She drew back when they reached the shelter of the fronds. "Champagne, +first," she whispered huskily into his ear. + +His heart sank. He had very little money left. Well, it might buy a +cheap brand.... + + * * * * * + +She sipped her champagne slowly and provocatively across the table from +him. Her eyes sparkled behind the almond slits of her mask, caught the +color changes and cast them back. She was wearing contact lenses of a +garish green. + +He wished she would hurry with her drink. He had horrible visions of his +wife at home taking off her telovis and coming to his chair. He would +then have to press the switch that would jerk his shadowy self back +along its invisible connecting cord, jerk him back and leave but a small +mound of clothes upon the chair at the table. + +Deep depression laid hold of him. He would not be able to see her after +tonight until he received his monthly dole two weeks hence. She wouldn't +wait that long. Someone else would have her. + +Unless ... + +Yes, he knew now that he was going to kill his wife as soon as the +opportunity presented itself. It would be a simple matter. With the aid +of the telporter suit, he could establish an iron-clad alibi. + +He took a long drink of whiskey and looked at the dancers about him. +Sight of their gay costumes heightened his depression. He was wearing a +cheap suit of satin, all he could afford. But some day soon he would +show them! Some time soon he would be dressed as gaily.... + +"Something troubling you, honey?" + +His gaze shot back to her and she blurred slightly before his eyes. "No. +Nothing at all!" He summoned a sickly smile and clutched her hand in +his. "Come on. Let's dance." + +He drew her from the chair and into his arms. She melted toward him as +if desiring to become a part of him. A tremor of excitement surged +through him and threatened to turn his knees into quivering jelly. He +could not make his feet conform to the flooding rhythm of the music. He +half stumbled, half pushed her along past the booths. + +In the shelter of the palms he drew her savagely to him. "Let's--let's +go outside." His voice was little more than a croak. + +"But, honey!" She pushed herself away, her low voice maddening him. +"Don't you have a private room? A girl doesn't like to be taken +outside...." + +Her words bit into his brain like the blade of a hot knife. + +No, he didn't have a private room at the club like the others. A private +room for his telporter receiver, a private room where he could take a +willing guest. No! He couldn't afford it! No! _No!_ NO! His lot was a +cheap suit of satin! Cheap whiskey! Cheap champagne! A cheap shack by +the river.... + +An inarticulate cry escaped his twisted lips. He clutched her roughly to +him and dragged her through the door and into the moonlight, whiskey and +anger lending him brutal strength. + +He pulled her through the deserted garden. _All the others had private +rooms!_ He pulled her to the far end, behind a clump of squatty firs. +His hands clawed at her. He tried to smother her mouth with kisses. + +She eluded him deftly. "But, _honey_!" Her voice had gone deeper into +her throat. "I just want to be sure about things. If you can't afford +one of the private rooms--if you can't afford to show me a good time--if +you can't come here real often ..." + +The whiskey pounded and throbbed at his brain like blows from an unseen +club. His ego curled and twisted within him like a headless serpent. + +"I'll have money!" he shouted, struggling to hold her. "I'll have plenty +of money! After tonight!" + +"Then we'll wait," she said. "We'll wait until tomorrow night." + +"No!" he screamed. "You don't believe me! You're like the others! You +think I'm no good! But I'll show you! I'll show all of you!" + + * * * * * + +She had gone coldly rigid in his arms, unyielding. + +Madness added to the pounding in his brain. Tears welled into his eyes. + +"I'll show you! I'll kill her! Then I'll have money!" The hands +clutching her shoulders shook her drunkenly. "You wait here! I'll go +home and kill her now! Then I'll be back!" + +"Silly boy!" Her low laughter rang hollowly in his ears. "And just who +is it you are going to kill?" + +"My wife!" he cried. "My wife! I'll ..." + +A sudden sobering thought struck him. He was talking too much. And he +wasn't making sense. He shouldn't be telling her this. Anyway, he +couldn't get the money tonight even if he did kill his wife. + +"And so you are going to kill your wife...." + +He blinked the tears from his eyes. His chest was heaving, his heart +pounding. He looked at her shimmering form. "Y-yes," he whispered. + +Her eyes glinted strangely in the light of the moon. Her handbag glinted +as she opened it, and something she took from it glittered coldly in +her hand. + +"Fool!" + +The first shot tore squarely through his heart. And while he stood +staring at her, mouth agape, a second shot burned its way through his +bewildered brain. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Herbert Hyrel removed the telovis from her head and laid it +carefully aside. She uncoiled her long legs from beneath her, walked to +her husband's chair, and stood for a long moment looking down at him, +her lips drawn back in contempt. Then she bent over him and reached down +his thigh until her fingers contacted the small switch. + +Seconds later, a slight tremor shook Hyrel's body. His eyes snapped +open, air escaped his lungs, his lower jaw sagged inanely, and his head +lolled to one side. + +She stood a moment longer, watching his eyes become glazed and +sightless. Then she walked to the telephone. + +"Police?" she said. "This is Mrs. Herbert Hyrel. Something horrible has +happened to my husband. Please come over immediately. Bring a doctor." + +She hung up, went to her bathroom, stripped off her clothing, and slid +carefully out of her telporter suit. This she folded neatly and tucked +away into the false back of the medicine cabinet. She found a fresh pair +of blue, plastifur pajamas and got into them. + +She was just arriving back into the living room, tying the cord of her +dressing gown about her slim waist, when she heard the sound of the +police siren out front. + + +THE END + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _If Worlds of Science Fiction_ July + 1953. 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 Project Gutenberg's A Bottle of Old Wine, by Richard O. 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