The Complete Short Stories

I was equally annoyed. One of my VT sets had been steadily producing a transliteration of James Joyce’s Ulysses in terms of a Hellenic Greek setting, a pleasant academic exercise which would have provided an objective test of Joyce’s masterpiece by the degree of exactness with which the transliteration matched the original Odyssey. This too had been destroyed.

We watched Studio 5 in the bright morning light. The cerise Cadillac had disappeared somewhere, so presumably Aurora was driving around Vermilion Sands, astounding the caf crowds.

I picked up the terrace telephone and sat on the rail. ‘I suppose I might as well call everyone up and see what they can do.’

I dialled the first number.

Raymond Mayo said: ‘Write some myself? Paul, you’re insane.’

Xero Paris said: ‘Myself? Of course, Paul, with my toes.’

Fairchild de Mille said: ‘It would be rather chic, but..

Kurt Butterworth said, sourly: ‘Ever tried to? How?’

Marlene McClintic said: ‘Darling, I wouldn’t dare. It might develop the wrong muscles or something.’

Sigismund Lutitsch said. ‘No, no. Siggy now in new zone. Electronic sculpture, plasma in super-cosmic collisions. Listen—’

Robin Saunders, Macmillan Freebody and Angel Petit said: ‘No.’

* * *

Tony brought me a drink and I pressed on down the list. ‘It’s no good,’ I said at last. ‘No one writes verse any more. Let’s face it. After all, do you or I?’

Tony pointed to the notebook. ‘There’s one name left — we might as well sweep the decks clean before we take off for Red Beach.’

‘Tristram Caldwell,’ I read. ‘That’s the shy young fellow with the footballer’s build. Something is always wrong with his set. Might as well try him.’

A soft honey-voiced girl answered the phone.

‘Tristram?’ she purred. ‘Er, yes, I think he’s here.’

There were sounds of wrestling around on a bed, during which the telephone bounced on the floor a few times, and then Caldwell answered.

‘Hello, Ransom, what can I do for you?’

‘Tristram,’ I said, ‘I take it you were paid the usual surprise call last night. Or didn’t you notice? How’s your VT set?’

‘VT set?’ he repeated. ‘It’s fine, just fine.’

‘What?’ I shouted. ‘You mean yours is undamaged? Tristram, pull yourself together and listen to me!’ Quickly I explained our problem, but Tristram suddenly began to laugh.

‘Well, I think that’s, just damn funny, don’t you? Really rich. I think she’s right. Let’s get back to the old crafts—’

‘Never mind the old crafts,’ I told him irritably. ‘All I’m interested in is getting some copy together for the next issue. If your set is working we’re saved.’

‘Well there, wait a minute, Paul. I’ve been slightly preoccupied recently, haven’t had a chance to see the set.’

I waited while he wandered off. From the sounds of his footsteps and an impatient shout of the girl’s, to which he replied distantly, it seemed he had gone outside into the yard. A door slammed open somewhere and there was a vague rummaging. A curious place to keep a VT set, I thought. Then there was a loud hammering noise.

Finally Tristram picked up the phone again. ‘Sorry, Paul, but it looks as if she paid me a visit too. The set’s a total wreck.’ He paused while I cursed the air, then said: ‘Look, though, is she really serious about the hand-made material? I take it that’s what you were calling about?’

‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘Believe me, I’ll print anything. It has to get past Aurora, though. Have you got any old copy lying around?’

Tristram chuckled again. ‘You know, Paul, old boy, I believe I have. Rather despaired of ever getting it into print but I’m glad now I held on to it. Tell you what, I’ll tidy it up and let you have it tomorrow. Few sonnets, a ballad or two, you should find it interesting.’

He was right. Five minutes after I opened his parcel the next morning I knew he was trying to fool us.

‘This is the same old thing,’ I explained to Tony. ‘That cunning Adonis. Look at these assonances and feminine rhymes, the drifting caesura — the unmistakable Caidwell signature, worn tapes on the rectifier circuits and a leaking condenser. I’ve been having to re-tread these for years to smooth them out. He’s got his set there working away after all.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Tony asked. ‘He’ll just deny it.’

‘Obviously. Anyway, I can use the material. Who cares if the whole issue is by Tristram Caldwell.’

I started to slip the pages into an envelope before taking them round to Aurora, when an idea occurred to me.