A Stir of Echoes Read Free

play it straight," he asked, "or you gonna play it for the gallery?"
      "I'll be good, sir, Mr. Mesmer, sir."
      "You will like…" Phil leaned forward again, then settled back. "Well, let's forget the finger," he said. "Close your eyes."
      "Close my eyes," I said. I did.
      "Dark, isn't it?" said Frank.
      I opened my eyes. "Not now," I said.
      "Will you close your eyes, you clunk," Phil said. I did. I took a deep breath and settled back on the pillow. I could hear the slight breathings and chair-creaking’s of the others.
      "All right," said Phil, "I want you to listen to me now."
      I pretended to snore. I heard Elsie's explosive giggle; then I opened my eyes and looked at Phil's disgusted face.
      "All right, all right," I promised, "I'll be good." I closed my eyes. "Go ahead," I said, "I'll be good."
      "Honest Indian?" Phil enunciated.
      "That's pretty strong language to use in the company of these fine women," I said. "However, honest, as you say, Indian."
      "All right. Shut your eyes then, you bum."
      "Now that's a poor way to win my confidence," I said. "How am I supposed to venerate you when you talk to me like that? Alan Porter doesn't-"
      "Will you shut your fat eyes?" Phil interrupted.
      "Shut. Shut," I said. "You may fire when griddy, Redley."
      Phil took a deep and weary breath. "Oh, well," he said. Then he started talking again.
      "I want you to pretend you're in a theatre," he said. "An enormous theatre. You're sitting near the front. It's completely black inside."
      Across the room I heard Elizabeth's slight, apologetic throat-clearing.
      "There's no light in the theatre," Phil went on. "It's completely dark-like black velvet. The walls are covered with black velvet. The seats are all made of black velvet."
      "Expensive," I said.
      They all laughed. "Oh… shoot," Phil said. I opened my eyes and grinned at him.
      "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I said.
      "Oh… the heck you are."
      "Yes, I am. I am." I closed my eyes tight. "See? See? I'm back in the theatre again. I'm in the loges. What's playing?"
      "You are a son of a b," said Phil.
      "Sir," I said, "control. Go ahead. If I don't stay quiet, I give you permission to hit me on the head."
      "Don't think I won't," Phil said. "Someone hand me that lamp." He was quiet a moment. Then he said, "You really want to go on with it?"
      "Brother man," I said.
    "You…" Phil cleared his throat. "All right," he said, patiently.
      I won't go into the complete progression; it took too long. It's hard to get serious when you're in a group like that. Especially when Phil and I were so used to heckling each other. I'm afraid I broke up many a moment when he thought he had me. After a while Elsie got bored and went in the kitchen to get food ready. Frank began to talk softly with Anne and direct an occasional, acidulous comment our way. A good hour must have passed and we were still nowhere. I don't know why Phil kept on. He must have felt I was a challenge. At any rate, he wouldn't give up. He kept on with that theatre bit and, after a while, Frank stopped talking and watched and, except for a slight clinking of dishes in the kitchen, there was only the monotonous sound of Phil's voice, talking at me.
      "The walls are dark velvet, the floors are covered with dark velvet rugs. It's black inside, absolutely black. Except for one thing. In the whole pitch-black theatre there's only one thing you can see. The letters up on the screen. Tall, thin, white letters on the black, black screen. They spell sleep. Sleep. You're very comfortable, very comfortable. You're just sitting there and looking at the screen, looking, looking at that single word up there. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep."
      I'll never know what made it begin to work on me unless it was sheer repetition. I suspect my assurance that I couldn't be hypnotized helped too; an assurance of such illogical magnitude that I took it for granted. I didn't even