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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf 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..a3db779 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51698 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51698) diff --git a/old/51698-h.zip b/old/51698-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 8ac5d03..0000000 --- a/old/51698-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51698-h/51698-h.htm b/old/51698-h/51698-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 110639e..0000000 --- a/old/51698-h/51698-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1289 +0,0 @@ -<!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=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Little Man Who Wasn't Quite, by William W. 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Stuart - -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/license - - -Title: The Little Man Who Wasn't Quite - -Author: William W. Stuart - -Release Date: April 8, 2016 [EBook #51698] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE MAN WHO WASN'T QUITE *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="385" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<h1>THE LITTLE MAN WHO WASN'T QUITE</h1> - -<p>By WILLIAM W. STUART</p> - -<p>Illustrated by WALKER</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Galaxy Magazine December 1961.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3"><i>You could say Jonesy and/or I were not<br /> -all there, but I don't see it that way.<br /> -How much of Stanley was or wasn't there?</i></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Have you ever been clear down there on skid row? Oh, sure, every city -has one and no doubt you have given it one of those look-away-quick -side glances. That isn't what I mean.</p> - -<p>What I mean is, have you ever been really <i>down</i> there?</p> - -<p>Probably not. And, if you haven't, I could make a suggestion.</p> - -<p>Don't go.</p> - -<p>Skid row is a far, remote way and there are all kinds of horrors down -there, the seen and the unseen. To each his own, as they say, and -everyone there has his own personal collection. All right. General -opinion is to let them be there and the hell with them, people and -horrors too, if there is a distinction. Unfortunate, but what can you -do? Nothing. Look the other way. That's all right with me. I don't -know anything better to do about the horrors that are, or that may be -on skid row than to hope they will stay there where they belong—and -let me forget them.</p> - -<p>That's why I'm writing this. I want to do the story of what I saw, -and what I think I saw or felt, and what I didn't see, to get it off -my mind. Then I am going to do my damnedest not to think of the whole -thing.</p> - -<p>Me, I know about skid row because I was there. That's my personal -problem and another story, before this one, and the hell with that, -too. I once had a wife and a couple of kids. I had a lot of problems -and then no wife and no kids and I made it to skid row. It was easy. -For a while I was there, all the way down, where the gutter was -something I could look up to. Well, turned out I had friends who -wouldn't quit. By their efforts plus, as they say, the grace of God, I -came off it; most of the way off it, at least. No credit to me, but not -too many ever manage to make a round trip of it.</p> - -<p>Who are the misfits and derelicts on skid row? Anybody; nobody. -Individuals, if they are individuals, come and go. The group, with -few exceptions, is always the same. It is built of the world's -rejects—lost souls, bad dreams; shadowy, indistinct shapes, not a part -of life nor yet quite altogether out of it, either.</p> - -<p>I was down there. I left. But I kept passing by every once in a while -to pay a little visit. For that I had two reasons. One, I could -sometimes pick up a lead on something for a Sunday feature for my -paper. The other—just taking another look now and then at where and -what I had been was a sort of insurance for me.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>So, from time to time I would stop by The Yard for an evening. I would -spring for a jug. I was welcome. Those in the regular group knew me and -they held me in no more than the same contempt they had for each other -and themselves. Being no stranger—or, perhaps, not too much less -strange—I fitted well enough with the misfits of that half-world where -the individual rarely stands out enough to be noticeable.</p> - -<p>Wino Jones, though, and his friend Stanley were, each in his own way, -quite noticeable.</p> - -<p>I first ran across Wino Jones and Stanley one early spring evening. -It was a Thursday. I was beat. It had been a tough week—a political -scandal, a couple of fires and a big "Missing Kid—Fiend" scare. Turned -out the kid had skipped school to catch a triple-feature horror show -and was scared to go home when she came out late, so she went to hide -out at Grandma's. The suspect fiend was a cockfight sportsman from the -Caribbean colony smuggling home his loser under his leather jacket.</p> - -<p>But it had been a rough week with a lot of chasing around and getting -no place that left me in one of those hell-with-it moods. Like, maybe, -I ought to take a week or so off and—and the hell with that. It was -time for me to pay a little remembrance-of-things-not-so-far-past visit -down on the row.</p> - -<p>I left the city room, tired, dirty, needing a shave. Where I was -headed, this would put me ahead of the fashion parade, but it would -serve. I stopped for a bowl of chili at Mad Miguel's and then wandered -down to those four blocks on South River Street, known as Bug Alley, -that make up the hard-core skid-row section of our city.</p> - -<p>Across from St. Vincent's in Scott Square, called the Yard, by the old -wall, there was a group of six or eight passing the time and a nearly -dead jug. I shambled over and squatted down. Got a hard, bloodshot look -or two, but not because the jug in the public park was against the law. -Even if I was the law, so what? These, they made the jail now and then, -if there were too many complaints, if they made a disturbance. But not -even the jail wanted them. The hard looks wondered only if the jug -should be passed to me or by me.</p> - -<p>I lit a cigarette, took a couple of drags and handed it on. Bootnose -Bailey, big, old, bald, with the cast-iron stomach and leather liver, -settled the jug question by handing it to me. I lifted it, letting only -the smallest trickle of the sticky sweet cheap wine past. It is not -for me; no more. It is sickening stuff. But, as always, the effort of -holding back left me shaking. All right; with shaking, I had plenty -of company. The next man looked pleased at the two gulps left in the -bottle and drained it.</p> - -<p>"Ed?" Bootnose asked in his hoarse canned-heat whisper. "You gonna -spring for a jug?"</p> - -<p>I squatted a minute or so and then stood and started fumbling around -through all my pockets. This is local protocol. Coin by coin, I spread -a dollar and a half in silver out on the flat collection stone in front -of me. A huge, powerful-looking colored man, new to me, hunkered down -against the wall, smiled gently and added a quarter. Bootnose scooped -it up and went to make the run for the jug.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I was, I guess, stretching the ground rules a little by the way I -stared at the big fellow. But he surprised me mildly. For one thing, -he looked in good shape; strong, no shakes, no fevered ghosts back of -the bloodshot curtain of the eyes. And, apart from that, you don't find -very many Negroes on skid row, at least in our area. I don't know why.</p> - -<p>"Jones," he said, softly, politely, "Wino Jones. You're Ed? Ed, this -here is my friend Stanley." He waved a big hand at a wispy little man -beside him.</p> - -<p>Funny I hadn't seen Stanley before, but there he was. That I want to -make clear. Stanley was there; no question about it. Only he was such a -totally remote, insignificant, unobtrusive little man, it is hard for -me to remember him even now. Hard to remember what he <i>was</i> like, that -is. He wasn't colored. He was small. His eyes, his hair, I don't know. -He must have had some or I would have noticed. And he had a sort of -sour, distant, hurt bitterness about him, I recall, and that is about -all I can recall ever seeing in Stanley. Except for the last time I saw -him—he looked mean then.</p> - -<p>This time, I smiled and nodded. "Wino Jones, Stanley, welcome to our -city, our little garden spot."</p> - -<p>"There now, Stanley," Jones beamed, "he can see you well enough. You're -doing fine, Stanley, getting better all the time. You <i>do</i> see him -plain, don't you, Ed?"</p> - -<p>"Huh? Yeah, sure I see him. Why not? Does he think he's invi—"</p> - -<p>Jones interrupted me, "Look, there comes Mr. Bailey back already."</p> - -<p>Well, it was a little odd. But then, down there the odd is normal, the -normal odd. I didn't think anything of it.</p> - -<p>I sat a couple of hours. One jug went and then another. It did seem -to me that Wino Jones missed by a lot on proving out his nickname. At -least he didn't love up the passing bottle as though it might be the -last one in the world—which, as every skid-row pro desperately fears, -it might very well turn out to be.</p> - -<p>Stanley's drinking? I didn't notice.</p> - -<p>After a while I wandered off. My appreciation of the fact that I was -able to wander off was shored up again and I was glad enough to get -back to work the next day without thinking anything much more about it.</p> - -<p>I didn't think about Wino Jones or Stanley again till the first of the -next week. Then I was on early shift at the paper, due in at six A.M. -At quarter to, I yawned my way out of Mad Miguel's after coffee, an egg -and hotcakes. Mig's hotcakes were hot, too; made them with chili. Hard -on the stomach, but they popped the old eyelids open in the morning. As -I stood a minute in the doorway, my watering eyes spotted Wino Jones -coming out of the alley that led around to Mig's kitchen side. He saw -me but, thoughtfully, didn't crack till I gave him a, considering the -time, reasonably bright hello.</p> - -<p>"How's it, Ed? You going on early, uh?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah, Wino—ah—Jonesy. Mind if I call you Jonesy?" He didn't. "What's -with you? Been washing a dish for the Mig?"</p> - -<p>He nodded. Some of the upper-level boys from the row worked off and -on at odd jobs like that. It didn't make Jones unique, but it made him -stand out a little.</p> - -<p>"Me and Stanley, we like a little change in our pockets. Right, -Stanley?"</p> - -<p>He looked down and a little to one side, just as though he were asking -agreement from someone. Only there wasn't anyone there. There wasn't -anyone in sight on the block but Jones and me.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>But Jones smiled and nodded warmly at the short vacancy beside him and -then looked back at me. "Stanley here, he come by to meet me after -work. Mr. Mig, he let me fix us a bite of breakfast when I finish up -the night."</p> - -<p>I looked again at where Stanley was supposed to be standing and then, -blankly, back at Jones. He shrugged almost unnoticeably and, I thought, -barely shook his head.</p> - -<p>"Well-l—" he said, "I expect me and Stanley better drift back on down -to the Yard before some fuzz comes along and fans us down."</p> - -<p>"Yeah?" I said. "Yeah. So long, Jonesy—Stanley."</p> - -<p>I don't know why I added the "Stanley" but, obscurely, it seemed to -please Jones. He gave me a big smile and then walked off down the -street, chatting companionably to—no one. I didn't get it. Well, -Stanley present or absent rated very low on the list of the problems I -was going to worry about. I went to work.</p> - -<p>I ran into Jones every morning during the week I was on early; Jones, -coming off work, with Stanley—who wasn't there. Odd, sure. But if -Jones was stringing a way-out gag or playing with a mild hallucination, -still it was nothing to me.</p> - -<p>I did mention it to Mig, who only said, "Si, these one big hombre eat -big. He like two plate eat for breakfast, plate he wash, bueno, what -for I complain?"</p> - -<p>So that was all. Nothing.</p> - -<p>Toward the end of the next week, I wandered down to the Yard again and -joined the little group of exponents of gracious almost-living by the -wall. Jones wasn't there. But as I was settling down I glanced over -at the Broad Street side of the square and I saw him strolling along -toward us. He was smiling, talking, gesturing. He was alone. I looked -twice. There was no one with Jones.</p> - -<p>I settled down, took a drag or two on a smoke and passed it along. -Lifted a jug. Got back the old lost, gone, miserable feel of the thing -again. I looked up then at Jones who was just coming around the mangy -clump of bushes by the path. With him was a sour, whispy, scarcely -noticeable little man. Stanley.</p> - -<p>"Evening, Jonesy," I said, "and Stanley. Good to see you again." I -meant it even though, come to think, it didn't really clear anything -up. Jones gave me his smile and Stanley nodded suspiciously.</p> - -<p>They moved in and joined the group. Somebody made a run; a couple. The -talk staggered around as usual. Topics: booze; money, yesterday's and -tomorrow's; booze; women—only occasionally and with mild, decayed -interest; booze.</p> - -<p>Jones put in a soft word or two from time to time until he finally -stood up, stretched and said he was going up to Mig's. Stanley stayed. -I know he did. I watched him. Afterward, I tried to remember if he said -anything, but that I couldn't recall.</p> - -<p>I went on home myself a while after Jones left. Stanley was still -there, though, when I glanced back from Broad Street, I couldn't pick -him out in the dim moon and street light.</p> - -<p>Still nothing much, eh?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The next week I came on work at ten and I didn't see Jones—or not see -Stanley—all week. Friday, I was back down at the Yard. That was out -of my pattern. Usually one visit in a month or so was plenty. But now, -for whatever reason, I was getting kind of interested in Jones—and -Stanley.</p> - -<p>This time Jones was there hunkered down against the wall when I -wandered up. Coaster Joe squatted on one side of him. On the other -side, no one. I looked; I looked close. There was no one there. Still, -when I nodded around, I nodded at the empty space. Noticed that -Bootnose Bailey was missing. A mild surprise. Bootnose and a bottle -were nearly as much Yard fixtures as Gen. Scott in bronze and pigeons. -I settled in. A little time and a jug went by. I still didn't see -Stanley.</p> - -<p>My curiosity finally insisted on a remark. "Jonesy, I—haven't seen -Stanley tonight."</p> - -<p>Jones smiled, not quite as easy and relaxed as usual. "Stanley isn't -around tonight. He went someplace."</p> - -<p>"Oh? Well, that's good." It seemed a safe statement. If Stanley had -been in jail, Jones would have said so. Any other place was bound to be -better. I was being unjustifiably nosy, but curiosity wouldn't let me -drop it. "Where did he go?"</p> - -<p>Jones shrugged. Then, seriously, "To tell the truth, Ed, I don't -rightly know. Fact is, I been a mite worried about old Stanley lately."</p> - -<p>No one else was paying any attention to us. "So? How's that?"</p> - -<p>"Well—" He shrugged again and then made a decision. "You know, Ed, -it's a sort of a odd thing about Stanley. If you have a little time...?"</p> - -<p>"Time is what I have."</p> - -<p>Jones sighed. "It might turn out to be a problem, I think. Bothers me -some. It would be a kindness if you would let me talk to you about it."</p> - -<p>I stood up. Jones, making a gesture that clearly set him apart, put -a quarter on the flat collection stone as he got up to join me. We -strolled off through the dusk in the park, quietly. Jones, even in a -state of some unease, was a comfortable presence. Over on the Broad -Street side of the Yard, we sat down on a bench.</p> - -<p>"Don't rightly know how to begin," Jones said, scratching his head with -a fielder's-mitt-sized hand, "but—Ed, I expect you noticed something -funny about Stanley? Or maybe about me?"</p> - -<p>"I noticed that sometimes I see Stanley and sometimes I don't. And -that sometimes you act as though you see him when he positively is not -there."</p> - -<p>"Um, yes. Makes you kind of unusual too, Ed. Because with Stanley it -is mostly like this—when he is around, I mean. There are people who -see him; a few. But most people, they can't see Stanley at all. With -you, seems like it changes. Uptown you can't see him; down here you -can."</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"Now me, I see him most all the time. All the time when he's around, -that is; when he hasn't gone off someplace, like tonight. But most -people, what you might call really normal people—no offense, Ed—they -can't ever see Stanley."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It sounded silly. But Jones said it with a calm conviction that -carried weight. If I couldn't believe it exactly, I didn't disbelieve -him either. You hear plenty of queer stories on skid row—dreams, -nightmares, nonsense. There used to be one crummy, rummy old bum -around called Gov'nor who used to claim he really had been a governor. -He drank down some office duplicator fluid and died. Police routine -checked. He was an ex-governor. Probabilities eliminate no remote -possibilities; if you flip a coin long enough, someday it will stand on -edge.</p> - -<p>"How do you figure that?" I asked Jones.</p> - -<p>"I don't want to sound like I think I am a brain," Jones said. "I only -read some. But these men down here—you might say, couldn't you, that -they are maybe men who don't have much of a hold on the world any more?"</p> - -<p>"True."</p> - -<p>"And the world holds them mighty lightly. They are nothing. Nobody pays -them attention. They are outside of everything. They are pretty much -outside the world, even. Now you, Ed—you are mostly a part of the -normal world. But one time you were all the way on down here, right? So -you—"</p> - -<p>"I have a feeling for it? Something like that?"</p> - -<p>"Something like that. And so down here you are like the others; you can -see Stanley. Uptown, you couldn't see him."</p> - -<p>"Sounds nuts. But how? Why?"</p> - -<p>"That goes back, way back. Stanley and me, we were kids together. -Stanley, his people were what down there they call 'trash.' Fourteen, -fifteen kids. Who was whose pa, who would know? Or care? And Stanley, -he was kind of the runt of the whole litter. Nobody paid him any mind. -He never talked much 'cause nobody listened. Got to be a real dopey, -dreamy, moody kid. Not ever sick, but sickly. He was more like nothing -than any kid I ever did see.</p> - -<p>"Me, I lived down the road a piece from Stanley. I don't know why, but -he took to following me around. Mostly because everyone else ran him -off, I expect. I don't guess I was real good to poor Stanley, but I let -him tag along. You would hardly know he was there; no trouble. And he -struck me so sort of lost and pitiful, you know? I never had the heart -to chase him. After a while, it got to where he even took to trailing -along after me to school.</p> - -<p>"Now that was a funny thing; kind of got me to wondering. There was -a white kid down in that part of the country, running along after a -colored boy to a colored school. You would expect that to attract a -good deal of attention, wouldn't you? Maybe stir up a big storm in the -county. But nobody ever hardly seemed to notice Stanley at all. There -wasn't anything ever said about it.</p> - -<p>"Well, you know, Ed, any kid, even Stanley, he wants some attention, -some affection from someone. Stanley, all he ever had was me and I -never more than about put up with him when we were kids. And any kid -likes to feel kind of important sometime. Be noticed. Be king of the -hill at recess. Win a spelling bee. Whup somebody, or even be the kid -that gets made to stay after school the most. He wants to feel like -he is somebody. Only Stanley, he never could. Seemed like the more he -wanted to push out into things, the more he would get shy and not able -to, and he would pull away back inside even more. He never could talk -much hardly, even to me. Got so I would scarcely know he was around -myself."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"He lost touch with the world?" I put in. "Well, that happens. There -are oddballs all over, you know."</p> - -<p>"Oh, sure—sure there are, Ed," said Jones. "But Stanley wasn't like -that, not exactly; or only. Seemed like it was as much the world lost -touch with Stanley as it was the other way. He always did feel a -resentment about it, too, and I believe it turned him pretty bitter way -down someplace. 'Course he never did say much, but I could tell. I got -the feeling."</p> - -<p>"So? How did you come here?"</p> - -<p>"Well, my mammy, she passed on and there wasn't anything to hold me -back there around home, so I left. Stanley, he tagged right along after -me. Like a shadow. You might say he was a sort of a shadow's shadow, -huh? We bummed around. I worked here and there. Then I found out—we -found out—that most people couldn't even see Stanley at all any more."</p> - -<p>"He got so far out he was really gone?"</p> - -<p>"Only it was kind of pitiful the way it made Stanley mad. Me, I got -vagged a few times. Only Stanley, he could be right beside me and spit -in the sheriff's face and they wouldn't touch him. They wouldn't even -know he was there. When I was locked up, he could walk in and out to -visit me. Nobody ever stopped him. Nobody saw him—except, we found out -then, that some of the prisoners could see Stanley plain enough."</p> - -<p>"Oh?" I said.</p> - -<p>"Yes. And that's the way it has been. Seems like the only people who -can see Stanley are people like, well, like the ones down here around -the Yard. The ones who are—how would you say it?—in the world but not -of it, huh? I read that somewhere. People who are far enough out can -see Stanley; only he is farther out than any of them."</p> - -<p>"Hm-m. Well, the world being what it is, maybe Stanley is lucky."</p> - -<p>"Ed, you don't really mean that."</p> - -<p>He was right, of course. This world positively was not built according -to any specifications of mine, but still it is my world and I guess I -am pretty fond of it at that. Couldn't ever have managed to leave skid -row if I weren't.</p> - -<p>"So," Jones said, "poor Stanley, he always has been mighty dependent on -me; more, maybe, since we been moving around. Until just lately."</p> - -<p>"Kind of a damn nuisance, huh?"</p> - -<p>"It never bothered me too much. Of course it keeps me down around -this part of every town we make and maybe this isn't the kind of life -I would have picked for myself. But Stanley has made me feel sort -of responsible. And some kind of responsibility is good for a man, -wouldn't you say?"</p> - -<p>I couldn't argue with it; not me. Anyway, it proved what I had felt -from the start—Wino Jones wasn't a real or a natural skid-row type; he -was forcing himself.</p> - -<p>"Well, Ed, Stanley has been trailing me around all the years—only -somehow I don't believe Stanley ever did really like me much. He -followed me because he couldn't do anything else, but he never took -to me. I guess maybe I couldn't ever quite look up to him the way he -wanted. So I suppose he has always been looking for something else. -Well, before we came here, we were stopping in a mission one evening -and I looked around when I finished my soup and I couldn't see Stanley. -It gave me a turn. But after a little while, there he was again. I -asked him where he went. He couldn't or wouldn't ever tell me much, -only that there was someplace he was trying to get to and friends he -wanted to meet.</p> - -<p>"'I can almost get there,' Stanley told me. 'There's the border and -over there on the other side, they want me. I can feel they want me. -They understand that I am important to them. They want me to come. If I -could just find the way across to—'</p> - -<p>"He never told me who it was wanted him, or where, or what for. But -ever since then, every once in a while I would look around and Stanley -would be gone. First part of this last week he was gone again—and -when he came back, he was changed. He was kind of superior-acting. Not -pleasant. Wherever he was trying to get, he had got there. 'Now,' he -told me, 'I have friends who know I am somebody.' He was real set up -over it. Tonight he went back again."</p> - -<p>"Where?" I wanted to know.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Jones shook his head. "I told him, 'Stanley, we been together a long -time. You got friends besides me, I'm glad. Only, you know, I kind of -feel responsible. Maybe I ought to meet your friends, huh? Why don't -you take me to meet them?'</p> - -<p>"'No,' says Stanley. 'Oh, no.' He wouldn't hear of it. I got to stay -here and wait for him, he tells me."</p> - -<p>"Well, sure," I told Jones. "How could you go with a man into his -dream?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah—only Stanley did take old Mr. Bootnose Bailey with him."</p> - -<p>"<i>What?</i>" I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>"Uh-huh. Stanley said he was going to prove it to me. He said he would -take somebody along with him to this place and then he would bring one -of his friends back here to visit. He said that would show me, would -show everybody. And you know, Ed, I don't believe I much liked the way -poor Stanley looked when he said that. He looked kind of mean."</p> - -<p>"But they went? Both of them? And that's why old Bootnose isn't around?"</p> - -<p>Jones nodded. "Yeah. Stanley promised Mr. Bootnose something would -give him a real boot. They went. Stanley, last thing he said before I -watched the two of them just sort of fade out, he said he would be back -tomorrow evening. He wanted me to be sure to wait for him in the Yard. -And fact is, Ed, I'm kind of uneasy about it all," he added.</p> - -<p>There it was, Jonesy's story. A nonsense story? Sure. But it left -me feeling a little uneasy too. We talked it back and forth a while -longer, Jones and me, and the more we talked the more uneasy I got. -Foolish or not, Jones himself believed it. He wasn't trying to con me -into anything. There was no other point to it. And—well, maybe it was -simply the fact that Jones was a good deal of man. What he said had a -real conviction to it. Even if the story was hard to believe, still -there was what I had seen—and not seen—of Stanley. And even if there -was nothing that seemed particularly threatening about the business, it -made the two of us uneasy.</p> - -<p>There was nothing for us to do about it, though. I went on home to my -apartment after I promised Jones I would be around the next night when -Stanley, alone or with company, was due back. I don't know what Jones -expected. I don't know what I expected. But Stanley's friend, no; we -didn't expect that.</p> - -<p>The next day I was filling in on the desk, but my mind must have been -fumbling around with Stanley's other world. I fumbled all day and -finished by crossing up a couple of headlines. So I left the office -with the managing editor's curses ringing in my ears, even though he -had to admit that the "Present Stench—Future Disaster" line from the -sewer gas story did fit very nicely over the item on the mayoralty -campaign.</p> - -<p>I was down at the Yard a little after five. Jones came along a few -minutes later. The group was there. It always is, except when there is -a city clean-up. Then it moves over behind the church. Today there was -a tension. Jones was smiling, gentle and friendly as always, but there -were nerves back of it. Probably the others were mostly just suffering -dry nerves. But I was rattled enough so I fumbled a five out and put -it on the rock. That, naturally, meant that Coaster Joe and Feeny, who -moved the quickest, went to make a run and didn't come back. With the -right change for the jug, the wino never skips; with change to bring -back, always.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Well, some more silver was painfully dredged up, mostly by Jones, and -somebody else went. The wine went around and I admit that this time I -took a swallow or two on my turn. I noticed Jones did too. Not much; -a little. We were cold sober. Too cold, actually. I needed the little -wine I had in me and a lot more.</p> - -<p>That bottle and another went around. So did the talk. I was leaning on -the wall next to Jones. Neither of us had much to say. Finally, it was -just coming on dusk, I asked him, "You're sure he'll come here? Are you -sure he'll show at all?"</p> - -<p>"He'll be here. Most any time now, Ed. I can feel it. Can't you?"</p> - -<p>I could feel something, but it was only a contagion of tension, I told -myself.</p> - -<p>Then Jones said, "Look there," and pointed.</p> - -<p>I followed the line of his big, pink-nailed, black finger off along the -path through the park from Broad Street, a little hazy in the summer -evening. There was nothing. Then there was a darker spot in the haze -and then, not more than about twenty feet away, just about to pass back -of the row of bushes along the path, I saw Stanley. Tonight he seemed, -somehow, a more positive presence, even at that distance. There was a -cocky bounce in his walk and a tilt to his chin that announced "Here is -someone to reckon with." Other eyes in our little circle turned his way -as he passed behind the bushes. A couple of seconds more and he came -around the near side and moved in to join us.</p> - -<p>"Hello there, Wino," he said to Jones and there was condescension in -it. "Fellows, I want"—proudly—"you should meet a friend of mine."</p> - -<p>Around the bushes came a shape, a dark shape; Stanley's friend, from -some other place or world. In our group, Saint Betty, a retired queen, -choked on the jug and handed it to me. I shoved it along to Jones. The -paralyzing effect of Stanley's friend can be measured in the fact that -the jug went three times around that thirsty circle—and no one even -lifted it to his lips till it fell in the dust at my feet.</p> - -<p>Stanley's friend was there all right; really there. What did I say he -was like? A dark shape? Yes. But that dark shape and the detail of that -shape came through as clear as a hot blue flame to me.</p> - -<p>You weren't ever down that way, right? Not to stay, at least. Well, -one thing people there have in common is the horrors. Not just the -ordinary day-to-day horrors of a hard life but the big horrors. The -D.T.s. How do they go? The detail varies. With everyone, there is -something that really panics him, gives him that sense of unreasoning, -helpless, screaming fear. With a lot of people it is snakes. That's -the traditional. With others, it can be heights, or closed rooms; -rats, maybe. With me, it has always been spiders, ugly, hairy-legged, -bloat-bellied.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" width="376" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>The horrors. The height man, when he gets them, will have the sensation -of falling, helplessly, endlessly. Once I had spiders. There were -hordes, millions of great, stickily scrabbling, poisonous spiders -crawling, crawling all over me, over everything—until I woke wrapped -up like an iced tamale in the cold wet sheet that is called "calming -restraint" in psycho wards.</p> - -<p>Stanley's friend? Well, it's an ugly thought, but consider those -spiders of mine. And consider people. People, mostly, have religion. -"God made man in his image," they say, except God, of course, is the -infinitely greater. Now suppose that spiders had a god. A spider god. -"God made spiders in his image," the spiders might say, right? So -such a spider god, that almighty apotheosis of spiderdom—<i>that</i> was -Stanley's friend as I saw him.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I don't know how I could see a thing like that. Maybe I didn't see it, -exactly. But absolutely, in some way, by whatever means, the positive -perception of such a thing burned itself into my eyes and mind.</p> - -<p>The other fellows? No one screamed aloud, although my mind was -screaming. Horrors were not less horrible to us, only less unfamiliar -than to other people. One by one, the others quivered to shaky feet and -they stumbled off through the evening. The jug, three-quarters full -yet, stayed there in the dust of the Yard, forgotten.</p> - -<p>How long it was, I don't know. Not long—and then only Jones and I -were left with Stanley and Stanley's friend. The rest of the park was -empty. Across Bug Alley in front of the church an old woman carrying a -sack of rubbish was impelled to look our way. She screeched in a high, -disappearing pitch and crumpled to the walk. The church was dark and -silent.</p> - -<p>Jones stood there, big, powerful, leaning against the wall. He smiled -at Stanley, but it was a weak, sick smile. How he managed that much, -I'll never know. Weak, trembling, stomach churning, I dragged myself up.</p> - -<p>"Uh—well," I mumbled, "f'you fellows will excuse me—guess I better be -moving along."</p> - -<p>Stanley's lip curled. He was irritated. I couldn't help that.</p> - -<p>"You see?" It wasn't speech, but the thought came plainly from -Stanley's friend, out of a churning of black, hungry thoughts, "You see -how it is? Even now, not even such as these will welcome us as friends -and equals."</p> - -<p>"Yes," snapped Stanley, "I see. I should have known. All right then, -we'll do it your way. We will show them all."</p> - -<p>I stumbled a step or two toward the path.</p> - -<p>"Wino," said Stanley, "Wino Jones. We are going over to the other side -now. But we will be back, you hear me? You just wait."</p> - -<p>"Sure, Stanley," said Jones, still gentle, kind. "Only, Stanley, are -you sure?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sure," said Stanley. He turned to his friend. "Come on. Let's go."</p> - -<p>They moved together toward the bushes.</p> - -<p>Stanley looked back over his shoulder at Jones. "We'll be back," he -said, "we'll be back, Wino. You be looking for us."</p> - -<p>Then they were gone. Thank the good Lord, they were gone.</p> - -<p>"Well," I quavered at Jones, "you did say you were kind of uneasy about -him, didn't you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Jones, "that's right. You going on home now, Ed?"</p> - -<p>"You bet!"</p> - -<p>"I don't like to impose, but would you mind if I kind of tagged along? -I don't feel too good—after that thing with Stanley, built of all -those thousands of hissing, wiggling snakes."</p> - -<p>With Jones, it had been snakes, not spiders. The others—to each his -own? Somehow that made it seem even worse. Jones wanted to come along -with me? I was glad and grateful. I don't know that I could have stood -being alone that night.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Up in my apartment, we turned on all the lights. Had a couple -of nightcaps. Sat up all night in my luxurious eight-by-ten -living-dining-kitchen area for modern living. We talked a little, but -not about Stanley and his friend. It was too fresh and we were too -shaken. It seemed safer not to mention it.</p> - -<p>I suppose we must have dozed off and on. In the morning, I woke up. I -still had the shakes. No hangover, but the shakes.</p> - -<p>"Jonesy," I said. "Jonesy, I guess maybe I ought to be getting along to -work. What are you going to do?"</p> - -<p>He woke up, full awake, like that. "I'm not going back," he said. "You -know?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah."</p> - -<p>"I got a feeling. I got kind of a feeling that maybe I am sort of -Stanley's doorway or gate back here, if you know what I mean. He was -always nearer to me than anyone. You notice he kept telling me to wait -for him? I think maybe he needs to feel around and find me to make his -way back across from wherever he went. So, if I'm not there, if he -can't locate me, could be he won't be able to make his way back—with -his friends. I think I better stay as far away from down there as I -can get. You reckon there might be some kind of job I could do on that -paper you work for?"</p> - -<p>"Sure," I said. I knew they needed some men in the circulation -department. "That isn't so very far away, though, is it?" I had a sense -that he was right about Stanley.</p> - -<p>"Not miles. Distance, like that, I don't think it makes much difference -where Stanley is. It's the Yard and all that, huh? Seems to be like if -I get a steady job, get to be a real, steady, normal citizen, that's -what would make me hard for Stanley to find."</p> - -<p>"Yes," I said, "I see. The more you are a full part of this world, the -farther away you will be from that other one—and Stanley."</p> - -<p>"That's it."</p> - -<p>"I hope so. Lord, I hope so. You come along down with me this morning. -We'll get you a job if we have to kill someone to make a vacancy ... -Jonesy, that—that thing, spiders, snakes—you are sure it was real? It -was actually here, I mean? And might come back if Stanley can make the -way—in force?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Ed. You didn't really have to ask, did you?"</p> - -<p>"No," I said.</p> - -<p>And that's it and that's all.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Since then—well, Jones is working for the paper. He got to be -assistant circulation manager in less than a year. He is as respectable -and non-skid-row a citizen as there is in town. Has a girl; getting -married next month.</p> - -<p>Me? I'm the same, maybe a little better. I go every other week to -visit my kids and Jennie, my ex, has taken to staying around now. We -even talk a little bit and, last time, I took her some flowers and she -blushed like a bride. Something might even come of it—given enough -time.</p> - -<p>I have checked back on the Yard a few times but so far, at least, -nothing more than the standard rack-up of ordinary horrors. I am not -going to check any more. What for? Such a thing as Stanley's friend, -you couldn't fight, and I wouldn't know what direction to run. If those -things ever find a way over here, where would they be coming from? I -don't know. From inside, maybe, Jones says. How do you run from that?</p> - -<p>Best, I think, forget it. I intend to try. And, so help me, I am -through with skid row. Who wouldn't be?</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little Man Who Wasn't Quite, by -William W. Stuart - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE MAN WHO WASN'T QUITE *** - -***** This file should be named 51698-h.htm or 51698-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/6/9/51698/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Stuart - -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/license - - -Title: The Little Man Who Wasn't Quite - -Author: William W. Stuart - -Release Date: April 8, 2016 [EBook #51698] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE MAN WHO WASN'T QUITE *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - - THE LITTLE MAN WHO WASN'T QUITE - - By WILLIAM W. STUART - - Illustrated by WALKER - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Galaxy Magazine December 1961. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - - You could say Jonesy and/or I were not - all there, but I don't see it that way. - How much of Stanley was or wasn't there? - - -Have you ever been clear down there on skid row? Oh, sure, every city -has one and no doubt you have given it one of those look-away-quick -side glances. That isn't what I mean. - -What I mean is, have you ever been really _down_ there? - -Probably not. And, if you haven't, I could make a suggestion. - -Don't go. - -Skid row is a far, remote way and there are all kinds of horrors down -there, the seen and the unseen. To each his own, as they say, and -everyone there has his own personal collection. All right. General -opinion is to let them be there and the hell with them, people and -horrors too, if there is a distinction. Unfortunate, but what can you -do? Nothing. Look the other way. That's all right with me. I don't -know anything better to do about the horrors that are, or that may be -on skid row than to hope they will stay there where they belong--and -let me forget them. - -That's why I'm writing this. I want to do the story of what I saw, -and what I think I saw or felt, and what I didn't see, to get it off -my mind. Then I am going to do my damnedest not to think of the whole -thing. - -Me, I know about skid row because I was there. That's my personal -problem and another story, before this one, and the hell with that, -too. I once had a wife and a couple of kids. I had a lot of problems -and then no wife and no kids and I made it to skid row. It was easy. -For a while I was there, all the way down, where the gutter was -something I could look up to. Well, turned out I had friends who -wouldn't quit. By their efforts plus, as they say, the grace of God, I -came off it; most of the way off it, at least. No credit to me, but not -too many ever manage to make a round trip of it. - -Who are the misfits and derelicts on skid row? Anybody; nobody. -Individuals, if they are individuals, come and go. The group, with -few exceptions, is always the same. It is built of the world's -rejects--lost souls, bad dreams; shadowy, indistinct shapes, not a part -of life nor yet quite altogether out of it, either. - -I was down there. I left. But I kept passing by every once in a while -to pay a little visit. For that I had two reasons. One, I could -sometimes pick up a lead on something for a Sunday feature for my -paper. The other--just taking another look now and then at where and -what I had been was a sort of insurance for me. - - * * * * * - -So, from time to time I would stop by The Yard for an evening. I would -spring for a jug. I was welcome. Those in the regular group knew me and -they held me in no more than the same contempt they had for each other -and themselves. Being no stranger--or, perhaps, not too much less -strange--I fitted well enough with the misfits of that half-world where -the individual rarely stands out enough to be noticeable. - -Wino Jones, though, and his friend Stanley were, each in his own way, -quite noticeable. - -I first ran across Wino Jones and Stanley one early spring evening. -It was a Thursday. I was beat. It had been a tough week--a political -scandal, a couple of fires and a big "Missing Kid--Fiend" scare. Turned -out the kid had skipped school to catch a triple-feature horror show -and was scared to go home when she came out late, so she went to hide -out at Grandma's. The suspect fiend was a cockfight sportsman from the -Caribbean colony smuggling home his loser under his leather jacket. - -But it had been a rough week with a lot of chasing around and getting -no place that left me in one of those hell-with-it moods. Like, maybe, -I ought to take a week or so off and--and the hell with that. It was -time for me to pay a little remembrance-of-things-not-so-far-past visit -down on the row. - -I left the city room, tired, dirty, needing a shave. Where I was -headed, this would put me ahead of the fashion parade, but it would -serve. I stopped for a bowl of chili at Mad Miguel's and then wandered -down to those four blocks on South River Street, known as Bug Alley, -that make up the hard-core skid-row section of our city. - -Across from St. Vincent's in Scott Square, called the Yard, by the old -wall, there was a group of six or eight passing the time and a nearly -dead jug. I shambled over and squatted down. Got a hard, bloodshot look -or two, but not because the jug in the public park was against the law. -Even if I was the law, so what? These, they made the jail now and then, -if there were too many complaints, if they made a disturbance. But not -even the jail wanted them. The hard looks wondered only if the jug -should be passed to me or by me. - -I lit a cigarette, took a couple of drags and handed it on. Bootnose -Bailey, big, old, bald, with the cast-iron stomach and leather liver, -settled the jug question by handing it to me. I lifted it, letting only -the smallest trickle of the sticky sweet cheap wine past. It is not -for me; no more. It is sickening stuff. But, as always, the effort of -holding back left me shaking. All right; with shaking, I had plenty -of company. The next man looked pleased at the two gulps left in the -bottle and drained it. - -"Ed?" Bootnose asked in his hoarse canned-heat whisper. "You gonna -spring for a jug?" - -I squatted a minute or so and then stood and started fumbling around -through all my pockets. This is local protocol. Coin by coin, I spread -a dollar and a half in silver out on the flat collection stone in front -of me. A huge, powerful-looking colored man, new to me, hunkered down -against the wall, smiled gently and added a quarter. Bootnose scooped -it up and went to make the run for the jug. - - * * * * * - -I was, I guess, stretching the ground rules a little by the way I -stared at the big fellow. But he surprised me mildly. For one thing, -he looked in good shape; strong, no shakes, no fevered ghosts back of -the bloodshot curtain of the eyes. And, apart from that, you don't find -very many Negroes on skid row, at least in our area. I don't know why. - -"Jones," he said, softly, politely, "Wino Jones. You're Ed? Ed, this -here is my friend Stanley." He waved a big hand at a wispy little man -beside him. - -Funny I hadn't seen Stanley before, but there he was. That I want to -make clear. Stanley was there; no question about it. Only he was such a -totally remote, insignificant, unobtrusive little man, it is hard for -me to remember him even now. Hard to remember what he _was_ like, that -is. He wasn't colored. He was small. His eyes, his hair, I don't know. -He must have had some or I would have noticed. And he had a sort of -sour, distant, hurt bitterness about him, I recall, and that is about -all I can recall ever seeing in Stanley. Except for the last time I saw -him--he looked mean then. - -This time, I smiled and nodded. "Wino Jones, Stanley, welcome to our -city, our little garden spot." - -"There now, Stanley," Jones beamed, "he can see you well enough. You're -doing fine, Stanley, getting better all the time. You _do_ see him -plain, don't you, Ed?" - -"Huh? Yeah, sure I see him. Why not? Does he think he's invi--" - -Jones interrupted me, "Look, there comes Mr. Bailey back already." - -Well, it was a little odd. But then, down there the odd is normal, the -normal odd. I didn't think anything of it. - -I sat a couple of hours. One jug went and then another. It did seem -to me that Wino Jones missed by a lot on proving out his nickname. At -least he didn't love up the passing bottle as though it might be the -last one in the world--which, as every skid-row pro desperately fears, -it might very well turn out to be. - -Stanley's drinking? I didn't notice. - -After a while I wandered off. My appreciation of the fact that I was -able to wander off was shored up again and I was glad enough to get -back to work the next day without thinking anything much more about it. - -I didn't think about Wino Jones or Stanley again till the first of the -next week. Then I was on early shift at the paper, due in at six A.M. -At quarter to, I yawned my way out of Mad Miguel's after coffee, an egg -and hotcakes. Mig's hotcakes were hot, too; made them with chili. Hard -on the stomach, but they popped the old eyelids open in the morning. As -I stood a minute in the doorway, my watering eyes spotted Wino Jones -coming out of the alley that led around to Mig's kitchen side. He saw -me but, thoughtfully, didn't crack till I gave him a, considering the -time, reasonably bright hello. - -"How's it, Ed? You going on early, uh?" - -"Yeah, Wino--ah--Jonesy. Mind if I call you Jonesy?" He didn't. "What's -with you? Been washing a dish for the Mig?" - -He nodded. Some of the upper-level boys from the row worked off and -on at odd jobs like that. It didn't make Jones unique, but it made him -stand out a little. - -"Me and Stanley, we like a little change in our pockets. Right, -Stanley?" - -He looked down and a little to one side, just as though he were asking -agreement from someone. Only there wasn't anyone there. There wasn't -anyone in sight on the block but Jones and me. - - * * * * * - -But Jones smiled and nodded warmly at the short vacancy beside him and -then looked back at me. "Stanley here, he come by to meet me after -work. Mr. Mig, he let me fix us a bite of breakfast when I finish up -the night." - -I looked again at where Stanley was supposed to be standing and then, -blankly, back at Jones. He shrugged almost unnoticeably and, I thought, -barely shook his head. - -"Well-l--" he said, "I expect me and Stanley better drift back on down -to the Yard before some fuzz comes along and fans us down." - -"Yeah?" I said. "Yeah. So long, Jonesy--Stanley." - -I don't know why I added the "Stanley" but, obscurely, it seemed to -please Jones. He gave me a big smile and then walked off down the -street, chatting companionably to--no one. I didn't get it. Well, -Stanley present or absent rated very low on the list of the problems I -was going to worry about. I went to work. - -I ran into Jones every morning during the week I was on early; Jones, -coming off work, with Stanley--who wasn't there. Odd, sure. But if -Jones was stringing a way-out gag or playing with a mild hallucination, -still it was nothing to me. - -I did mention it to Mig, who only said, "Si, these one big hombre eat -big. He like two plate eat for breakfast, plate he wash, bueno, what -for I complain?" - -So that was all. Nothing. - -Toward the end of the next week, I wandered down to the Yard again and -joined the little group of exponents of gracious almost-living by the -wall. Jones wasn't there. But as I was settling down I glanced over -at the Broad Street side of the square and I saw him strolling along -toward us. He was smiling, talking, gesturing. He was alone. I looked -twice. There was no one with Jones. - -I settled down, took a drag or two on a smoke and passed it along. -Lifted a jug. Got back the old lost, gone, miserable feel of the thing -again. I looked up then at Jones who was just coming around the mangy -clump of bushes by the path. With him was a sour, whispy, scarcely -noticeable little man. Stanley. - -"Evening, Jonesy," I said, "and Stanley. Good to see you again." I -meant it even though, come to think, it didn't really clear anything -up. Jones gave me his smile and Stanley nodded suspiciously. - -They moved in and joined the group. Somebody made a run; a couple. The -talk staggered around as usual. Topics: booze; money, yesterday's and -tomorrow's; booze; women--only occasionally and with mild, decayed -interest; booze. - -Jones put in a soft word or two from time to time until he finally -stood up, stretched and said he was going up to Mig's. Stanley stayed. -I know he did. I watched him. Afterward, I tried to remember if he said -anything, but that I couldn't recall. - -I went on home myself a while after Jones left. Stanley was still -there, though, when I glanced back from Broad Street, I couldn't pick -him out in the dim moon and street light. - -Still nothing much, eh? - - * * * * * - -The next week I came on work at ten and I didn't see Jones--or not see -Stanley--all week. Friday, I was back down at the Yard. That was out -of my pattern. Usually one visit in a month or so was plenty. But now, -for whatever reason, I was getting kind of interested in Jones--and -Stanley. - -This time Jones was there hunkered down against the wall when I -wandered up. Coaster Joe squatted on one side of him. On the other -side, no one. I looked; I looked close. There was no one there. Still, -when I nodded around, I nodded at the empty space. Noticed that -Bootnose Bailey was missing. A mild surprise. Bootnose and a bottle -were nearly as much Yard fixtures as Gen. Scott in bronze and pigeons. -I settled in. A little time and a jug went by. I still didn't see -Stanley. - -My curiosity finally insisted on a remark. "Jonesy, I--haven't seen -Stanley tonight." - -Jones smiled, not quite as easy and relaxed as usual. "Stanley isn't -around tonight. He went someplace." - -"Oh? Well, that's good." It seemed a safe statement. If Stanley had -been in jail, Jones would have said so. Any other place was bound to be -better. I was being unjustifiably nosy, but curiosity wouldn't let me -drop it. "Where did he go?" - -Jones shrugged. Then, seriously, "To tell the truth, Ed, I don't -rightly know. Fact is, I been a mite worried about old Stanley lately." - -No one else was paying any attention to us. "So? How's that?" - -"Well--" He shrugged again and then made a decision. "You know, Ed, -it's a sort of a odd thing about Stanley. If you have a little time...?" - -"Time is what I have." - -Jones sighed. "It might turn out to be a problem, I think. Bothers me -some. It would be a kindness if you would let me talk to you about it." - -I stood up. Jones, making a gesture that clearly set him apart, put -a quarter on the flat collection stone as he got up to join me. We -strolled off through the dusk in the park, quietly. Jones, even in a -state of some unease, was a comfortable presence. Over on the Broad -Street side of the Yard, we sat down on a bench. - -"Don't rightly know how to begin," Jones said, scratching his head with -a fielder's-mitt-sized hand, "but--Ed, I expect you noticed something -funny about Stanley? Or maybe about me?" - -"I noticed that sometimes I see Stanley and sometimes I don't. And -that sometimes you act as though you see him when he positively is not -there." - -"Um, yes. Makes you kind of unusual too, Ed. Because with Stanley it -is mostly like this--when he is around, I mean. There are people who -see him; a few. But most people, they can't see Stanley at all. With -you, seems like it changes. Uptown you can't see him; down here you -can." - -"What?" - -"Now me, I see him most all the time. All the time when he's around, -that is; when he hasn't gone off someplace, like tonight. But most -people, what you might call really normal people--no offense, Ed--they -can't ever see Stanley." - - * * * * * - -It sounded silly. But Jones said it with a calm conviction that -carried weight. If I couldn't believe it exactly, I didn't disbelieve -him either. You hear plenty of queer stories on skid row--dreams, -nightmares, nonsense. There used to be one crummy, rummy old bum -around called Gov'nor who used to claim he really had been a governor. -He drank down some office duplicator fluid and died. Police routine -checked. He was an ex-governor. Probabilities eliminate no remote -possibilities; if you flip a coin long enough, someday it will stand on -edge. - -"How do you figure that?" I asked Jones. - -"I don't want to sound like I think I am a brain," Jones said. "I only -read some. But these men down here--you might say, couldn't you, that -they are maybe men who don't have much of a hold on the world any more?" - -"True." - -"And the world holds them mighty lightly. They are nothing. Nobody pays -them attention. They are outside of everything. They are pretty much -outside the world, even. Now you, Ed--you are mostly a part of the -normal world. But one time you were all the way on down here, right? So -you--" - -"I have a feeling for it? Something like that?" - -"Something like that. And so down here you are like the others; you can -see Stanley. Uptown, you couldn't see him." - -"Sounds nuts. But how? Why?" - -"That goes back, way back. Stanley and me, we were kids together. -Stanley, his people were what down there they call 'trash.' Fourteen, -fifteen kids. Who was whose pa, who would know? Or care? And Stanley, -he was kind of the runt of the whole litter. Nobody paid him any mind. -He never talked much 'cause nobody listened. Got to be a real dopey, -dreamy, moody kid. Not ever sick, but sickly. He was more like nothing -than any kid I ever did see. - -"Me, I lived down the road a piece from Stanley. I don't know why, but -he took to following me around. Mostly because everyone else ran him -off, I expect. I don't guess I was real good to poor Stanley, but I let -him tag along. You would hardly know he was there; no trouble. And he -struck me so sort of lost and pitiful, you know? I never had the heart -to chase him. After a while, it got to where he even took to trailing -along after me to school. - -"Now that was a funny thing; kind of got me to wondering. There was -a white kid down in that part of the country, running along after a -colored boy to a colored school. You would expect that to attract a -good deal of attention, wouldn't you? Maybe stir up a big storm in the -county. But nobody ever hardly seemed to notice Stanley at all. There -wasn't anything ever said about it. - -"Well, you know, Ed, any kid, even Stanley, he wants some attention, -some affection from someone. Stanley, all he ever had was me and I -never more than about put up with him when we were kids. And any kid -likes to feel kind of important sometime. Be noticed. Be king of the -hill at recess. Win a spelling bee. Whup somebody, or even be the kid -that gets made to stay after school the most. He wants to feel like -he is somebody. Only Stanley, he never could. Seemed like the more he -wanted to push out into things, the more he would get shy and not able -to, and he would pull away back inside even more. He never could talk -much hardly, even to me. Got so I would scarcely know he was around -myself." - - * * * * * - -"He lost touch with the world?" I put in. "Well, that happens. There -are oddballs all over, you know." - -"Oh, sure--sure there are, Ed," said Jones. "But Stanley wasn't like -that, not exactly; or only. Seemed like it was as much the world lost -touch with Stanley as it was the other way. He always did feel a -resentment about it, too, and I believe it turned him pretty bitter way -down someplace. 'Course he never did say much, but I could tell. I got -the feeling." - -"So? How did you come here?" - -"Well, my mammy, she passed on and there wasn't anything to hold me -back there around home, so I left. Stanley, he tagged right along after -me. Like a shadow. You might say he was a sort of a shadow's shadow, -huh? We bummed around. I worked here and there. Then I found out--we -found out--that most people couldn't even see Stanley at all any more." - -"He got so far out he was really gone?" - -"Only it was kind of pitiful the way it made Stanley mad. Me, I got -vagged a few times. Only Stanley, he could be right beside me and spit -in the sheriff's face and they wouldn't touch him. They wouldn't even -know he was there. When I was locked up, he could walk in and out to -visit me. Nobody ever stopped him. Nobody saw him--except, we found out -then, that some of the prisoners could see Stanley plain enough." - -"Oh?" I said. - -"Yes. And that's the way it has been. Seems like the only people who -can see Stanley are people like, well, like the ones down here around -the Yard. The ones who are--how would you say it?--in the world but not -of it, huh? I read that somewhere. People who are far enough out can -see Stanley; only he is farther out than any of them." - -"Hm-m. Well, the world being what it is, maybe Stanley is lucky." - -"Ed, you don't really mean that." - -He was right, of course. This world positively was not built according -to any specifications of mine, but still it is my world and I guess I -am pretty fond of it at that. Couldn't ever have managed to leave skid -row if I weren't. - -"So," Jones said, "poor Stanley, he always has been mighty dependent on -me; more, maybe, since we been moving around. Until just lately." - -"Kind of a damn nuisance, huh?" - -"It never bothered me too much. Of course it keeps me down around -this part of every town we make and maybe this isn't the kind of life -I would have picked for myself. But Stanley has made me feel sort -of responsible. And some kind of responsibility is good for a man, -wouldn't you say?" - -I couldn't argue with it; not me. Anyway, it proved what I had felt -from the start--Wino Jones wasn't a real or a natural skid-row type; he -was forcing himself. - -"Well, Ed, Stanley has been trailing me around all the years--only -somehow I don't believe Stanley ever did really like me much. He -followed me because he couldn't do anything else, but he never took -to me. I guess maybe I couldn't ever quite look up to him the way he -wanted. So I suppose he has always been looking for something else. -Well, before we came here, we were stopping in a mission one evening -and I looked around when I finished my soup and I couldn't see Stanley. -It gave me a turn. But after a little while, there he was again. I -asked him where he went. He couldn't or wouldn't ever tell me much, -only that there was someplace he was trying to get to and friends he -wanted to meet. - -"'I can almost get there,' Stanley told me. 'There's the border and -over there on the other side, they want me. I can feel they want me. -They understand that I am important to them. They want me to come. If I -could just find the way across to--' - -"He never told me who it was wanted him, or where, or what for. But -ever since then, every once in a while I would look around and Stanley -would be gone. First part of this last week he was gone again--and -when he came back, he was changed. He was kind of superior-acting. Not -pleasant. Wherever he was trying to get, he had got there. 'Now,' he -told me, 'I have friends who know I am somebody.' He was real set up -over it. Tonight he went back again." - -"Where?" I wanted to know. - - * * * * * - -Jones shook his head. "I told him, 'Stanley, we been together a long -time. You got friends besides me, I'm glad. Only, you know, I kind of -feel responsible. Maybe I ought to meet your friends, huh? Why don't -you take me to meet them?' - -"'No,' says Stanley. 'Oh, no.' He wouldn't hear of it. I got to stay -here and wait for him, he tells me." - -"Well, sure," I told Jones. "How could you go with a man into his -dream?" - -"Yeah--only Stanley did take old Mr. Bootnose Bailey with him." - -"_What?_" I exclaimed. - -"Uh-huh. Stanley said he was going to prove it to me. He said he would -take somebody along with him to this place and then he would bring one -of his friends back here to visit. He said that would show me, would -show everybody. And you know, Ed, I don't believe I much liked the way -poor Stanley looked when he said that. He looked kind of mean." - -"But they went? Both of them? And that's why old Bootnose isn't around?" - -Jones nodded. "Yeah. Stanley promised Mr. Bootnose something would -give him a real boot. They went. Stanley, last thing he said before I -watched the two of them just sort of fade out, he said he would be back -tomorrow evening. He wanted me to be sure to wait for him in the Yard. -And fact is, Ed, I'm kind of uneasy about it all," he added. - -There it was, Jonesy's story. A nonsense story? Sure. But it left -me feeling a little uneasy too. We talked it back and forth a while -longer, Jones and me, and the more we talked the more uneasy I got. -Foolish or not, Jones himself believed it. He wasn't trying to con me -into anything. There was no other point to it. And--well, maybe it was -simply the fact that Jones was a good deal of man. What he said had a -real conviction to it. Even if the story was hard to believe, still -there was what I had seen--and not seen--of Stanley. And even if there -was nothing that seemed particularly threatening about the business, it -made the two of us uneasy. - -There was nothing for us to do about it, though. I went on home to my -apartment after I promised Jones I would be around the next night when -Stanley, alone or with company, was due back. I don't know what Jones -expected. I don't know what I expected. But Stanley's friend, no; we -didn't expect that. - -The next day I was filling in on the desk, but my mind must have been -fumbling around with Stanley's other world. I fumbled all day and -finished by crossing up a couple of headlines. So I left the office -with the managing editor's curses ringing in my ears, even though he -had to admit that the "Present Stench--Future Disaster" line from the -sewer gas story did fit very nicely over the item on the mayoralty -campaign. - -I was down at the Yard a little after five. Jones came along a few -minutes later. The group was there. It always is, except when there is -a city clean-up. Then it moves over behind the church. Today there was -a tension. Jones was smiling, gentle and friendly as always, but there -were nerves back of it. Probably the others were mostly just suffering -dry nerves. But I was rattled enough so I fumbled a five out and put -it on the rock. That, naturally, meant that Coaster Joe and Feeny, who -moved the quickest, went to make a run and didn't come back. With the -right change for the jug, the wino never skips; with change to bring -back, always. - - * * * * * - -Well, some more silver was painfully dredged up, mostly by Jones, and -somebody else went. The wine went around and I admit that this time I -took a swallow or two on my turn. I noticed Jones did too. Not much; -a little. We were cold sober. Too cold, actually. I needed the little -wine I had in me and a lot more. - -That bottle and another went around. So did the talk. I was leaning on -the wall next to Jones. Neither of us had much to say. Finally, it was -just coming on dusk, I asked him, "You're sure he'll come here? Are you -sure he'll show at all?" - -"He'll be here. Most any time now, Ed. I can feel it. Can't you?" - -I could feel something, but it was only a contagion of tension, I told -myself. - -Then Jones said, "Look there," and pointed. - -I followed the line of his big, pink-nailed, black finger off along the -path through the park from Broad Street, a little hazy in the summer -evening. There was nothing. Then there was a darker spot in the haze -and then, not more than about twenty feet away, just about to pass back -of the row of bushes along the path, I saw Stanley. Tonight he seemed, -somehow, a more positive presence, even at that distance. There was a -cocky bounce in his walk and a tilt to his chin that announced "Here is -someone to reckon with." Other eyes in our little circle turned his way -as he passed behind the bushes. A couple of seconds more and he came -around the near side and moved in to join us. - -"Hello there, Wino," he said to Jones and there was condescension in -it. "Fellows, I want"--proudly--"you should meet a friend of mine." - -Around the bushes came a shape, a dark shape; Stanley's friend, from -some other place or world. In our group, Saint Betty, a retired queen, -choked on the jug and handed it to me. I shoved it along to Jones. The -paralyzing effect of Stanley's friend can be measured in the fact that -the jug went three times around that thirsty circle--and no one even -lifted it to his lips till it fell in the dust at my feet. - -Stanley's friend was there all right; really there. What did I say he -was like? A dark shape? Yes. But that dark shape and the detail of that -shape came through as clear as a hot blue flame to me. - -You weren't ever down that way, right? Not to stay, at least. Well, -one thing people there have in common is the horrors. Not just the -ordinary day-to-day horrors of a hard life but the big horrors. The -D.T.s. How do they go? The detail varies. With everyone, there is -something that really panics him, gives him that sense of unreasoning, -helpless, screaming fear. With a lot of people it is snakes. That's -the traditional. With others, it can be heights, or closed rooms; -rats, maybe. With me, it has always been spiders, ugly, hairy-legged, -bloat-bellied. - -The horrors. The height man, when he gets them, will have the sensation -of falling, helplessly, endlessly. Once I had spiders. There were -hordes, millions of great, stickily scrabbling, poisonous spiders -crawling, crawling all over me, over everything--until I woke wrapped -up like an iced tamale in the cold wet sheet that is called "calming -restraint" in psycho wards. - -Stanley's friend? Well, it's an ugly thought, but consider those -spiders of mine. And consider people. People, mostly, have religion. -"God made man in his image," they say, except God, of course, is the -infinitely greater. Now suppose that spiders had a god. A spider god. -"God made spiders in his image," the spiders might say, right? So -such a spider god, that almighty apotheosis of spiderdom--_that_ was -Stanley's friend as I saw him. - - * * * * * - -I don't know how I could see a thing like that. Maybe I didn't see it, -exactly. But absolutely, in some way, by whatever means, the positive -perception of such a thing burned itself into my eyes and mind. - -The other fellows? No one screamed aloud, although my mind was -screaming. Horrors were not less horrible to us, only less unfamiliar -than to other people. One by one, the others quivered to shaky feet and -they stumbled off through the evening. The jug, three-quarters full -yet, stayed there in the dust of the Yard, forgotten. - -How long it was, I don't know. Not long--and then only Jones and I -were left with Stanley and Stanley's friend. The rest of the park was -empty. Across Bug Alley in front of the church an old woman carrying a -sack of rubbish was impelled to look our way. She screeched in a high, -disappearing pitch and crumpled to the walk. The church was dark and -silent. - -Jones stood there, big, powerful, leaning against the wall. He smiled -at Stanley, but it was a weak, sick smile. How he managed that much, -I'll never know. Weak, trembling, stomach churning, I dragged myself up. - -"Uh--well," I mumbled, "f'you fellows will excuse me--guess I better be -moving along." - -Stanley's lip curled. He was irritated. I couldn't help that. - -"You see?" It wasn't speech, but the thought came plainly from -Stanley's friend, out of a churning of black, hungry thoughts, "You see -how it is? Even now, not even such as these will welcome us as friends -and equals." - -"Yes," snapped Stanley, "I see. I should have known. All right then, -we'll do it your way. We will show them all." - -I stumbled a step or two toward the path. - -"Wino," said Stanley, "Wino Jones. We are going over to the other side -now. But we will be back, you hear me? You just wait." - -"Sure, Stanley," said Jones, still gentle, kind. "Only, Stanley, are -you sure?" - -"I'm sure," said Stanley. He turned to his friend. "Come on. Let's go." - -They moved together toward the bushes. - -Stanley looked back over his shoulder at Jones. "We'll be back," he -said, "we'll be back, Wino. You be looking for us." - -Then they were gone. Thank the good Lord, they were gone. - -"Well," I quavered at Jones, "you did say you were kind of uneasy about -him, didn't you?" - -"Yes," said Jones, "that's right. You going on home now, Ed?" - -"You bet!" - -"I don't like to impose, but would you mind if I kind of tagged along? -I don't feel too good--after that thing with Stanley, built of all -those thousands of hissing, wiggling snakes." - -With Jones, it had been snakes, not spiders. The others--to each his -own? Somehow that made it seem even worse. Jones wanted to come along -with me? I was glad and grateful. I don't know that I could have stood -being alone that night. - - * * * * * - -Up in my apartment, we turned on all the lights. Had a couple -of nightcaps. Sat up all night in my luxurious eight-by-ten -living-dining-kitchen area for modern living. We talked a little, but -not about Stanley and his friend. It was too fresh and we were too -shaken. It seemed safer not to mention it. - -I suppose we must have dozed off and on. In the morning, I woke up. I -still had the shakes. No hangover, but the shakes. - -"Jonesy," I said. "Jonesy, I guess maybe I ought to be getting along to -work. What are you going to do?" - -He woke up, full awake, like that. "I'm not going back," he said. "You -know?" - -"Yeah." - -"I got a feeling. I got kind of a feeling that maybe I am sort of -Stanley's doorway or gate back here, if you know what I mean. He was -always nearer to me than anyone. You notice he kept telling me to wait -for him? I think maybe he needs to feel around and find me to make his -way back across from wherever he went. So, if I'm not there, if he -can't locate me, could be he won't be able to make his way back--with -his friends. I think I better stay as far away from down there as I -can get. You reckon there might be some kind of job I could do on that -paper you work for?" - -"Sure," I said. I knew they needed some men in the circulation -department. "That isn't so very far away, though, is it?" I had a sense -that he was right about Stanley. - -"Not miles. Distance, like that, I don't think it makes much difference -where Stanley is. It's the Yard and all that, huh? Seems to be like if -I get a steady job, get to be a real, steady, normal citizen, that's -what would make me hard for Stanley to find." - -"Yes," I said, "I see. The more you are a full part of this world, the -farther away you will be from that other one--and Stanley." - -"That's it." - -"I hope so. Lord, I hope so. You come along down with me this morning. -We'll get you a job if we have to kill someone to make a vacancy ... -Jonesy, that--that thing, spiders, snakes--you are sure it was real? It -was actually here, I mean? And might come back if Stanley can make the -way--in force?" - -"Yes, Ed. You didn't really have to ask, did you?" - -"No," I said. - -And that's it and that's all. - - * * * * * - -Since then--well, Jones is working for the paper. He got to be -assistant circulation manager in less than a year. He is as respectable -and non-skid-row a citizen as there is in town. Has a girl; getting -married next month. - -Me? I'm the same, maybe a little better. I go every other week to -visit my kids and Jennie, my ex, has taken to staying around now. We -even talk a little bit and, last time, I took her some flowers and she -blushed like a bride. Something might even come of it--given enough -time. - -I have checked back on the Yard a few times but so far, at least, -nothing more than the standard rack-up of ordinary horrors. I am not -going to check any more. What for? Such a thing as Stanley's friend, -you couldn't fight, and I wouldn't know what direction to run. If those -things ever find a way over here, where would they be coming from? I -don't know. From inside, maybe, Jones says. How do you run from that? - -Best, I think, forget it. I intend to try. And, so help me, I am -through with skid row. Who wouldn't be? - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little Man Who Wasn't Quite, by -William W. 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