One fine morning, Jim Hatfield presented himself at the Hacienda loco plátano under the guise of Janus Beauregarde, assistant to Dr. Chicane Milchrot. Nothing could be done about Jim’s height but his grey eyes were somewhat shielded behind large, black-framed spectacles and his eyebrows had been plucked and peaked. His nose had been reshaped into a moderate hatchet-shape, to mimic of Gyorgy Yabu’s. One tooth was missing from the front right. Jim had grown long fingernails, though not quite so long as those sported by the ancient Chinese. And he walked with short, mincing steps, as if hampered by skirts. He carried with him especially elaborate stationary with Chicane Milchrot’s heading and writing in order to introduce himself in his boss’s absence. Anything impressive was guaranteed to work with Gyorgy Yabu. He liked show.
“So,” said Gyorgy by way of a conversation opener, “you’re Dr. Milchrot’s assistant. How come you wasn’t here before?”
“I was left behind,” Jim said in his smooth, slightly East European accent, “to carry out further experiments, of course.”
“Ah. Good. Good,” said Yabu for lack of anything else to say.
“May I see the machine, please, yes?” And Jim-Janus bowed slightly from the waist.
“Well, yes. Of course! Raght this way, mah man.”
On the way down to the basement, Yabu was conniving how to get information from this Janus Beauregarde guy. He figured it would not be too difficult as second raters or second seaters were ever ready to show off their stuff in the absence of their overlords. All he had to do was ask, really. And so, when they stood before the machine, he did.
“Ah!” shouted Janus, throwing up his hands in glee. “The Chicane Disintegrator! How wonderful it is, no?”
“How th’hell does this dang thang work?”
Janus-Jim took a deep breath.
“Simple,” he silvered. “Let me give you an example. When certain crystals are placed in water, they dissolve and disappear. You would not know that they had ever been there.”
“What are crystals? You don’t mean the ones that’re worth money, do ya?”
“I am talking about salt or sugar.” Yabu nodded, mouth open in comprehension. “If, by evaporation or by some other fashion, you lessen the amount of water–et voilá!–there you have crystals again, visible and the same as before. It is by this evaporation process that you, an organic being made up of the same crystals, can be dissolved into the cosmos. Then, by a subtle reversal of fortune, your bits and pieces are reassembled elsewhere.”
Jim-Janus rolled his eyes to the ceiling, hoping this mishmash made sense, for, truly, the body was not made up of crystals, though it was of the same substance as the rest of the cosmos. Yabu, however, thought Janus was looking to heaven for insight and thanks for a job well done, something that he himself did often enough.
Nevertheless, “This is stupid,” he cried. “It is a monstrous assertion that we could be dispersed by some disruptin’ power.”
“The objection is an obvious one. But it is working, no? This is how Dr. Milchrot’s Chicane Disintegrator works, I assure you. He has carefully instructed me in all its various phases and conundrums and I can assure you there is a visible framework that requires that every crystal flies back into its true place,” lied Jim, Janus-faced. “You may smile, Mr. Yabu, sir, but your incredulity and your smile may soon be replaced by quite another emotion. After all, we have disappeared many, no?”
“Where did they go?”
“Ah! It would not be a secret if I told you, would it?”
“Yes. I see your point. You know,” and Yabu kind of giggled, indicating the kitchen above with his head, “sometimes I’d like to disappear–but only fer awhile, y’ understand.”
“I could arrange it.”
“Could you?” Yabu bit his lip, shifted his eyes round a bit. “Does it hurt?”
“No one has ever complained,” replied Janus in a reassuring but no less conspiratorial voice.
Yabu shrugged his shoulders. “I’m ready, then. Perhaps I c’n relieve some o’ th’ stress ‘n strain o’ home life. If ya know what I mean.”
“Yes. There is something I would impress upon you, Mr. Yabu, which may help you to grasp the idea. You have heard in Oriental magic and Western occultism of the phenomenon of the ‘apport’ of objects, when suddenly brought from a distance to appear in a new place, yes?”
“I don’t understand this term ‘apport,’” said Yabu shaking his head. “I’m not good at scientific stuff. As long as it works is good enough for me.”
“It is the loosening of molecules, their conveyance upon an etheric wave and their reassembling, each exactly in its place drawn together by the irresistible laws of physics and philosophy.”
“I do not believe in apports, Mr. Beauregarde, since I do not understand them. Since I do not believe in them, they do not exist. My time is valuable and if we are t’ have any sorta demonstration, I wanna proceed right this minute, without farther ado.” Gyorgy Yabu’s haughtiness hid an inner trepidation, as could be seen by the constant shifting of his feet and the little cough he occasioned throughout his demand.
“Yes,” said Janus, approaching the machine and placing a hand against its smooth, shiny surface. “This is the machine that is destined to be famous, altering the balance of power in the country. Who holds this, rules the world.” Jim tried to hold back the rising sourness from his stomach. Sometimes, playing a part was not so tasteful. “Now, Mr. Yabu, will you dare to sit upon the chair and allow me to demonstrate upon your own body the capabilities of this new force?”
But Gyorgy Yabu had not the courage of a lion and anything in the nature of defiance or threat, real or otherwise, roused him to an instant frenzy and he spluttered and gaggled as if speaking in tongues. Then, “I shall go.”
“Perhaps you’re life is too valuable–”
“It is monstrous, this contraption,” said Yabu in awe-struck wonder. “The nearest approach to this thing I’ve ever seen is the ‘lectric chair at Sing Sing. This ain’t gonna fry my ass, is it?”
“I guarantee its safety,” said Janus, bowing. “I would be held for manslaughter if anything befell you, no?”
“That would be poor consolation t’ me, leavin’ the work unfinished. Let you, at least, go first, an’ then I c’n follow.”
“And who would work the machine then?”
“Ah! Good point.” Yabu stamped his foot.
Personal danger had never assailed Gyorgy Yabu before and the idea that this scientific work might leave him unfinished hit him hard. He hesitated. Before he could make up his mind, Janus pushed him forward and into the chair. Janus put his hand to the handle. It clicked. Then, for a moment, there was a sensation of confusion and a mist before his eyes. When this cleared, Mr. Yabu, with an odious smile, was standing beside Janus, his usually apple-red cheeks drained of blood and color, staring over his shoulder.
“Well, get on with it!” he said.
Janus pulled himself up. “It is all over. You responded admirably.”
Although he himself was amazed, Jim had never seen a man so utterly upset. His nerve, for a moment completely failed him and he grasped Yabu’s arm with a shaking hand.
“My, God, Mr. Beauregard, it is true! I vanished from there and now I’m here. There’s no doubt about it. There was an instant of vacancy as I’ve never felt before and. . .how long was I away?”
“Two or three minutes. I clicked this lever, if it is a lever, into a new slot and there you were, standing where you now stand, looking a little bewildered but otherwise the same as ever.” Janus mopped his brow with a gig red handkerchief. He was horrified–even at the perfect coolness of his operation. But he managed a cool, “It is an interesting process, is it not? When you consider the tremendous inocuity of the Professor, it is strange to think that he is at present a molecular cloud suspended somewhere. He is now, of course, entirely busy on a mission of mercy. If we choose to leave him in suspension, there is nothing on god’s earth to prevent us.” Janus smiled broadly, revealing long yellow teeth. “Do you know. . .I have discovered that the hair of the body, being at an entirely different vibration to other living organic tissues, can be included or excluded at will. It would interest me to see the bear without his bristles. Behold him!” And Jim-Janus, without the slightest idea what he was doing, flicked a small lever and Yabu stood before him, bald as a jaybird. He could hardly keep from roaring with laughter at the joke he played.
Perhaps at the wide-eyed laughter of Janus Beauregarde and, perhaps, the evil glint in his eyes tipped Yabu off, for his hand shot up to his head and he became conscious of his condition. His huge head was as bald as a baby’s ass and as smooth as a girl’s lily white breast. The next instant, he sprang forward and seized Janus by the throat, hurling him to the ground.
“For God’s sake be careful!” shouted Janus. “If you kill me, you can never get matters right again.”
“Really?” snarled Yabu from betwixt his clenched teeth. Then he began babbling again, as he ever did when excited and out of sorts. “This violence is quite unnecessary. It is not a harmless joke–”
“It was my wish to demonstrate the power of the machine. I imagined that you wanted a full demonstration. No offense, I assure you, Mr. Yabu. None in the world.”
“You will fix me. Do not take any liberties.”
Janus was let go and rose on shaky legs. He approached The Lagniappe. For all of his bravado, could Jim bring this off? Damn him for getting a big head! Now he understood the problem of the actor who loses himself in his role–no control. He took a deep breath. He pulled the same lever in the opposite direction and, in an instant, there was Gyorgy Yabu with his tangled mane once more. Gyorgy stroked his head affectionately with his hands, passing them over his cranium to be sure that the hair restoration was complete. Then he turned an angry visage on Janus Beauregarde.
“You done taken a liberty, Mr. Beauregarde, that woulda had very serious consequences to yoreself. However. . .I am content to accept yore explanation that you only did it fer purposes of demonstration. Now, if I may ask you a few direct questions upon this remarkable power which you claim to have discovered for me. . .”
“I am ready to answer anything save what the source of power is. That is my secret–and that of the great Chicane Milchrot, my inestimable teacher.”
“Do you seriously inform us that no one in the world knows of this except yoreself and Milchrot?”
“No one has the least inkling.” Finally, Jim Hatfield spoke the truth. Nevertheless, he broke out in a tingly, cold sweat.
“How does it work?”
“Well,” Jim collected himself for another salvo from neverneverland, “it acts vertically. Certain currents are above you and certain others are below you and they set up vibrations. But the process could be lateral. If it were so conducted, it would have the same effect and cover a space in proportion to the strength of the current.”
“And you have sold this secret as a monopoly to only me, yes?” Gyorgy rubbed his hands together.
“Yes, sir. When the money is paid over, you shall have such power as no man ever yet has had. You don’t even now the extent of the possibilities if placed in capable hands, hands which did not fear to wield the weapon which they held. They are. . .immeasurable.” A gloating, evil smile passed over Janus’ face. “Conceive a quarter of Bexar gone in the flick of a switch. Poof! The people we’ve been doing so far are peanuts. Imagine the effect of such a current. . .”
“Why,” Yabu burst into laugher, “I could imagine the whole Pecos Valley being swept clean, and not one man, woman or child left of all those teeming millions to disturb my peace. No Injuns. No immigrants. No darkies. Nobody to stand in my way.”
These words filled Jim with horror–the air of exultation with which they were pronounced. But, then, to hide his disgust, Janus himself broke into a genial, yellow-toothed smile and held out his well-manicured hand.
“Well, Mr. Beauregarde, I must congratulate you and Dr. Chicane Milchrot. There is no doubt that you have come upon a remarkable property of naytcha which you have succeeded in harnessin’ for my use. That this use should also have a destructive power is no doubt very deplorable but science knows no distinctions of the sort, following knowledge where it may lead, no? Apart from the principle involved, you have, I suppose, no objection to my examinin’ the construction of the miraculous Lagniappe?”
“None in the least. The machine is merely the body. It is the soul of it, the animating principle, which you can never hope to capture. It is so scientifically etheric.”
“Exactly. . .but the mere mechanism. . .”
For some time, Gyorgy Yabu walked around The Lagniappe and fingered its several parts and levers. Then he hoisted himself into the insulated chair.
“Ah. Would you care for another excursion into the cosmos?” asked Janus.
“Later, perhaps, later. But meanwhile. . .is there not some leakage of. . .electricity? I can distinctly feel a weak current passing through me.”
“Impossible! It is quite insulated.”
“But I assure ya, Ah do feel it.” He got down from the chair and indicated that Janus take his place.
Janus sat down. “I can feel nothing.”
“There is not a tingling down your spine?”
Janus closed his eyes and considered. “No, sir. I do not observe it.”
There was a sharp click and Janus disappeared.
“Good heavens,” said Yabu, smiling benignly. “Dear me. I may have inadvertently touched the handle. One is very liable to have awkward incidents with a rough model of this kind. This never should certainly be guarded. Hmm. . .it is in the number three slot. That must be th’ slot that causes disinteegration. Yes. I c’n operate this. Yes. Quite adequately indeed.” And he moved the lever again. A white, slightly shaken Janus Beauregarde reappeared. “Enjoy yore trip? I was so excited I guess I didn’t watch what I was doin’. Didja notice it?”
“I may have noticed it, yes, Mr. Yabu. But I do not burden my mind with such small details.
“There are many slots and I do not know their purpose. I might make the matter worse if I experiment with the unknown, don’tcha think? Perhaps it is best to leave matters as they are, in yore hands. For the moment.”
“And you would–”
“Exactly. It is better so. With your interesting personality distributed throughout the cosmos, this machine is worthless and certain people. . .if you get my drift. . .”
“The first duty of a loyal citizen is to prevent murder,’ said Janus.
“Enough! Enough!” said Yabu, holding up his hand. “The theme will not bear discussion. It has already disengaged my thoughts too long from matters of more importance.”
And Yabu stalked out of the basement, leaving Janus, aka Jim Hatfield, alone, still with the problem of finding and re-rendering the disappeared. He looked again at the machine. . .so many levers. . .was there perhaps a storage bin? He looked around for Milchrot’s plans.
Tags: crawford, disappearing, jim hatfield, rendition, secor
