The Ninth Configuration

The Ninth Configuration Read Free Page A

Book: The Ninth Configuration Read Free
Author: William Peter Blatty
Tags: Fiction, Psychological
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that, and on the wall behind the desk, photos of President Lyndon Johnson and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, in matching frames and posed in attitudes suggesting that the two were no longer speaking.
    “Here,” said Fell as he tossed the folders onto the desk. “Here’s a present for you: case histories of the men.”
    Fell’s eye fell inadvertently on a book in Kane’s valise. It was a Roman Catholic missal. For the briefest instant he pondered its implications; then he looked up again at Kane.
    “May I give you some advice?” said Fell.
    The office door flew open, banging against the wall with a crash that loosened plaster from the ceiling. “Can I come in?” asked Cutshaw, the astronaut. He slammed the door behind him and marched toward Kane. “I’m Billy Cutshaw,” he announced with menace. “So you’re the new boy.”
    Kane finished shelving some books and turned. “Yes, I’m Colonel Hudson Kane.”
    “Do I call you Hud?”
    “Why not call me Colonel?”
    “Are you the one that makes the chicken?”
    “Colonel Kane’s a psychiatrist,” offered Fell, flopping down on the seat of a large bay window.
    “Sure. And they told me you were a doctor,” Cutshaw rebutted. He pointed at Fell: “This man treats crocodiles for acne. Listen, pack up and leave, Hud! I don’t give a shit if you’re Shirley MacLaine! I am acting on orders to inform you that you’re on the way out! Get moving! Get your ass into gear!” He knocked Kane’s suitcase off the desk.
    Kane stared calmly. “Someone ‘ordered’ you?” he asked. “Who ordered you, Cutshaw?”
    “Unseen forces far too numerous to enumerate. Check the file; it’s all in the file!” Cutshaw had seized the dossiers on the desk and was rapidly scanning the names on their covers, tossing one folder and then another on the floor. “It’s all in the file,” he announced excitedly, “under the heading ‘Mysterious Voices.’ Joan of Arc was not demented; she had acutely sensitive hearing!” Cutshaw threw away all the folders but one. “Hah! Here it is! My file! This is it! Here, read it, Hud. Read it out loud. It’s my therapy.”
    “Why don’t we—”
    “Read it or I’ll go crazy, dammit! I swear it! And you’ll be responsible!”
    “All right, Cutshaw.” Kane took the folder from the astronaut’s hand.
    “Sit down.”
    Cutshaw swooped to Fell and sat on his lap. Something crunched. Cutshaw said, “I think the end of the world just came for that bag of Fritos in my pocket.”
    Fell continued looking into his coffee mug, his expression unchanged.
    “Would you please tell Fromme I’d like my pants,” he said to the astronaut.
    “ ‘Consider the lilies of the field. ’ ”
    Then Cutshaw leaped up from Fell’s lap and glided to a straight-backed wooden chair by the desk. He stared up unblinkingly at Kane. “I’m waiting,” he told him.
    Kane began to read: “Cutshaw, Billy Thomas, Captain, United States Marine Corps….”
    Cutshaw silently formed the words with his lips as Kane continued to read aloud:
    “… Two days prior to a scheduled space shot, subject officer, while dining on the base, was observed to pick up a plastic catsup bottle, squeeze a thin red line across his throat, and then stagger and fall heavily across a table then occupied by the director of the National Space Administration, gurgling, ‘Don’t-order-the swordfish. ’ ” There ensued a silence of several seconds. Kane’s eyes were fixed on the file. Fell picked lint from his shirt.
    Cutshaw’s hand flew up to a medal that hung from his neck. “You’re looking at my medal!” he snapped at Kane. “Stop looking at my medal!”
    “I’m not.”
    “Yes, you are! You covet it!”
    Kane looked down at the file. Once more he began to read. “ ‘On the following —’ ”
    “Isn’t it beautiful?”
    “Yes, it’s—”
    “Son of a bitch! I knew it. You were looking at it!”
    “Sorry.”
    “Sure, you’re sorry! What good is

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