The Perfectionists - Arnold Castle

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
The Perfectionists by Arnold Castle? Is there something wrong with you?
Do you fail to fit in with your group? Nervous, anxious,
ill at ease, happy about it? Lucky you. Frank Pembroke
sat behind the desk of his shabby little office over

(00:22):
Lamarque's Liquors in downtown Los Angeles and waited for his
first customer. He had been in business for a week
and as yet had had no callers. Therefore, it was
with a mingled sense of excitement and satisfaction that he
greeted the tall, dark, smooth faced figure that came up

(00:42):
the stairs and into the office shortly before noon. Good day, Sir,
said Pembroke, with an amiable smile. I see my advertisement
has interested you. Please stand in that corner for just
a moment. Opening the desk drawer, which was almost empty,
Pembroke removed an automatic pistol fitted with a silencer. Pointing

(01:04):
it at the amazed customer, He fired four twenty two
caliber longs into the narrow chest. Then he made a
telephone call and sat down to wait. He wondered how
long it would be before his next client would arrive.
The series of events leading up to Pembroke's present occupation
had commenced on a dismal, overcast evening in the South Pacific.

(01:26):
A year earlier, bound for Sydney, two days out of Valpreso,
the Colombian tramp steamer Elena Mia had encountered a dense,
greenish fog which seemed vaguely redolent of citrus trees. Standing
on the forward deck, Pembroke was one of the first
to perceive the peculiar odor and to spot the immense

(01:48):
gray hulk wallowing in the murky distance. Then the explosion
had come from far below the water line, and the
decks were awash with frantic crewmen, officers, and the handful
of passengers. Only two lifeboats were launched before the Elen
Amia went down. Pembroke was in the second. The roar

(02:09):
of the sinking ship was the last thing he heard
for some time. Pembroke came as close to being a
professional adventurer as one can in these days of regimented travel,
organized peril, and political restriction. He had made for himself
a substantial fortune through speculation in a great variety of properties,

(02:29):
real and otherwise. Life had given him much and demanded little.
Which was perhaps the reason for his restiveness. Loyalty to
person or to people was a trait Pembroke had never
recognized in himself, nor had it ever been expected of him,
And yet he greatly envied those staunch patriots and lovers

(02:50):
who could find it in themselves to elevate the glory
and safety of others above that of themselves. Lacking such loyalties,
Pembroke adapt it quickly to the situation in which he
found himself. When he regained consciousness, he awoke in a
small room in what appeared to be a typical modern
American hotel. The wallet in his pocket contained exactly what

(03:12):
it should, approximately three hundred dollars. His next thought was
a food. He left the room and descended via the
elevator to the restaurant. Here he observed that it was
early afternoon. Ordering a full dinner for he was unusually hungry,
he began to study the others in the restaurant. Many

(03:33):
of the faces seemed familiar the crew of the ship.
Probably he also recognized several of the passengers, However, he
made no attempt to speak to them. After his meal,
he bought a good corona and went for a walk.
His situation could have been any small Western American seacoast city.

(03:53):
He heard the hiss of the ocean in the direction
the afternoon sun was taking in his full gated walk,
so soon approaching the beach on the sand, he saw
a number of sun bathers. One in particular, an attractive
woman of about thirty, tossed back her long chestnut locks
and gazed up intently at Pembroke as he passed. Seldom

(04:15):
had he enjoyed so ingenuous an invitation. He halted and
stared down at her for a few moments. Are you
looking for someone? She inquired? Much of the time, said
the man. Could it be me? It could be, Yet
you seem unsure, she said. Pembroke smiled uneasily. There was

(04:38):
something not entirely normal about her conversation, though the rest
of her compensated for that. Tell me what's wrong with me?
She went on urgently. I'm not good enough, am I?
I mean, there's something wrong with the way I look
or act. Isn't there? Please help me? Please? You're not
casual enough, for one thing, said Pembroke, deciding to play

(05:02):
along with her for the moment. You're too tense. Also,
you're a bit knock kneed, not that it matters, Is
that what you wanted to hear? Yes, yes, I mean
I suppose so I can try to be more casual,
but I don't know what to do about my knees,
she said, wistfully, staring across at the smooth tan limbs.

(05:26):
Do you think I'm okay? Otherwise? I mean as a whole,
I'm not so bad? Am I? Oh? Please tell me?
How about talking it over at supper to night? Pembroke proposed,
maybe with less distraction, I'll have a better picture of
you as a whole. Oh that's very generous of you,

(05:46):
the woman told him. She scribbled a name and an
address on a small piece of paper and handed it
to him any time after six, she said. Pembroke left
the beach and walked through several small specialties shops. He
tried to get the woman off his mind, but the
oddness of her conversation continued to bother him. She was

(06:08):
right about being different, but it was her concern about
being different that made her so How to explain that
to her? Then he saw the weird little glass statuette
among the usual bric a brac It rather resembled a
ground hog, had seven fingers on each of its six limbs,
and smiled up at him as he stared, Can I

(06:30):
help you, sir? A middle aged saleswoman inquired, Oh, good heavens,
what is that thing doing here? Pembroke watched with lifted
eyebrows as the clerk whisked the bizarre statuette underneath the counter.
What the hell was that? Pembroke demanded, Oh you know?

(06:51):
Or don't you? Oh my, she concluded, are you one
of the strangers? And if I were well, I'd certainly
appreciate it if you'd tell me how I walk. She
came around in front of the counter and strutted back
and forth. A few times. They tell me I lean

(07:11):
too far forward, she confided, But I should think you'd
fall down if you didn't. Don't try to go so
fast and you won't fall down, suggested Pembroke, you're in
too much of a hurry. Also, those fake flowers on
your blouse make you look frumpy. Well, I'm supposed to

(07:31):
look frumpy, the woman retorted, that's the type of person
I am. But you can look frumpy and still walk natural,
can't you? Every one says you can. Well, they've got
a point, said Pembroke. Incidentally, just where are we anyway?
What city is this? Puerto Pacifico, she told him. Isn't

(07:55):
that a lovely name? It means peaceful port in Spanish.
That was fine. At least he now knew where he was,
but as he left the shop, he began checking off
every West Coast state city, town and inlet. None, to
the best of his knowledge, was called Porto Pacifico. He

(08:16):
headed for the nearest service station and asked for a map.
The attendant gave him one, which showed the city, but
nothing beyond. Which way is it to San Francisco? Asked Pembroke.
That all depends on where you are. The boy returned, OK,
then where am I? Pardon me, there's a customer. The

(08:39):
boy said, this is Porto Pacifico. Pembroke watched him hurry
off to service a car with a sense of having
been given the run around. To his surprise, the boy
came back a few minutes later after servicing the automobile,
say I've just figured out who you are. The youngster
told him, I'd suer appreciate it if you'd give me

(09:00):
a little help on my lingo. Also, you gas up
the car first, then try to sell them the oil. Right, right,
said Pembroke wearily. What's wrong with your lingo other than
the fact that it's not colloquial enough, not enough slang. Huh, Well,
I guess I'll have to concentrate on that. How about

(09:22):
the smile, perfect, Pembroke told him. Yeah, said the boy, delightedly,
say come back again. Huh. I sure appreciate the help.
Keep the map. Thanks. One more thing, Pembroke said, what's
over that way outside the city sand? How about that way,

(09:45):
he asked, pointing north, and that way pointing south, more
of the same. Any railroads that we ain't got buses, airlines?
The kid shook his head. Some city. Yeah, it's kind
of isolated. A lot of shipstock here, though, all cargo ships.

(10:10):
I'll bet no passengers, said Pembroke. Right, said the attendant,
giving with his perfect smile. No getting out of here,
is there, that's for sure, the boy said, walking away
to wait on another customer. If you don't like the
place you've had it, Pembroke returned to the hotel. Going

(10:32):
to the bar, he recognized one of the elen Amias
paying passengers. He was a short, rectangular little man in
his fifties named Spencer. He sat in a booth with
three young women, all lovely, all effusive. The topic of
the conversation turned out to be precisely what Pembroke had predicted. Well, Louisa,

(10:54):
I'd say, your only fault is the way you keep
wiggling your shoulders up and down. Wine should try holding straight.
I thought it made me look sexy, the redhead said, petulantly.
Just be yourself, gal, Spencer drawled, jabbing her intimately with
a fat elbow, and you'll qualify me me. The blond

(11:17):
with a feather cut, was insisting, what is wrong with me?
You're perfect, sweetheart, he told her, taking her hand. Ah,
come on, she pleaded. Everyone tells me I chew gum
with my mouth open. Don't you hate that? Nah, that's
part of your charm, Spencer assured her. How about me, sugar,

(11:41):
asked the girl with the coal black hair. Ah, you're
perfect too, You are all perfect. I've never seen such
a collection of dolls as parade around this here city.
Come on, kids, how about another round? But the dolls
had apparently lost interest in him. They got up one
by one and walked out of the bar. Pembroke took

(12:03):
his rum and tonic and moved over to Spencer's booth. Okay,
if I join you, sure, said the fat man. Wonder
what the hell got into those babes You said they
were perfect. They know they're not. You've got to be
rough with them in this town, said Pembroke. That's all
they want from us. Mister, you've been doing some thinking,

(12:27):
I can see, said Spencer, peering at him suspiciously. Maybe
you figured out where we are. Your BET's as good
as mine, said Pembroke. It's not Wellington, and it's not Brisbane,
and it's not Long Beach, and it's not Tahiti. There
are a lot of places it's not. But where the
hell it is, you tell me. And by the way,

(12:49):
he added, I hope you like it in Porto Pacifico,
because there isn't any place to go from here, and
there isn't any way to get there if there were.
Pardon me, gentlemen, but I'm Joe Valencia, manager of the hotel.
I would be very grateful if you would give me
a few minutes of honest criticism. Ah no, not you too,

(13:11):
groaned Spencer. Look, Joe, what's the gag? You are newcomers,
mister Spencer, Valencia explained, you are therefore in an excellent
position to point out our faults as you see them. Well,
so what, demanded Spencer. I've got more important things to
do than to worry about your troubles. You look okay

(13:34):
to me, mister Valencia, said Pembroke. I've noticed that you
walk with a very slight limp. If you had a
bad leg, I should think you would do better to
develop a more pronounced limp, otherwise you may appear to
be self conscious about it. Spencer opened his mouth to protest,
but saw with amazement that it was exactly this that

(13:56):
Valencia was seeking. Pembroke was amused at his companion's reaction,
but observed that Spencer still failed to see the point. Also,
there is a certain effeminineness in the way in which
you speak, said Pembroke. Try to be a little more direct,
a little more brusque, speak in a monotone. It will
make you more acceptable. Thank you very much, said the manager.

(14:21):
There is much food for thought in what you have said,
mister Pembroke. However, mister Spencer, your value has failed to
prove itself. You have only yourself to blame. Co Operation
is all we require of you. Valencia left, Spencer ordered
another martini. Neither he nor Pembroke spoke for several minutes.

(14:43):
Somebody's crazy around here, the fat man muttered. After a
few minutes, Is it me, Frank? No, you just don't
belong here in this particular place, said Pembroke, thoughtfully, You're
the wrong type. But they couldn't know that ahead of time.
The way they operate, it's a pretty hit or misoperation.

(15:03):
But they don't care one bit about us. Spencer. Consider
the men who went down with the ship. That was
just part of the game. What the hell are you saying,
asked Spencer, in disbelief. You figure they sunk the ship,
Valencia and the waitress and three babes. Ah, Come on,
it's what you think that will determine what you do, Spencer.

(15:26):
I suggest you change your attitude, play along with them
for a few days, till the picture becomes a little
clearer to you. We'll talk about it again. Then Pembroke
rose and started out of the bar. A policeman entered
and walked directly to Spencer's table loitering at the juke box.
Pembroke overheard the conversation. You, Spencer, that's right, said the

(15:51):
fat man, sullenly. What don't you like about me? The truth? Buddy? Ah? Hell,
nothing's wrong you at all, and nothing will make me
say there is, says Spencer. You're the guy all right?
Too bad, Mac, said the cop. Pembroke heard the shots
as he strolled casually out into the brightness of the

(16:13):
hotel lobby. While he waited for the elevator, he saw
them carrying the body into the street. How many others,
he wondered, had gone out on their backs during their
first day in Port Pacifico. Pembroke shaved, showered, and put
on his new suit and shirt he had bought. Then
he took Mary Ann, the woman he had met on

(16:33):
the beach, out to dinner. She would look magnificent even
when fully clothed, he decided, and the pale charchouse scown
she wore hardly placed her in that category. Her conversation
seemed considerably more normal after the other denizens of Porto Pacifico,
Pembroke had listened to that afternoon. After eating, they danced

(16:54):
for an hour, had a few more drinks, then went
to Pembroke's room. He still knew nothing about her and
had almost exhausted his critical capabilities. But not once had
she become annoyed with him. She seemed to devour every
factual point of imperfection about herself that Pembroke brought to
her attention, and fantastically enough, she actually appeared to have

(17:15):
overcome every little imperfection he had been able to communicate
to her. It was in the privacy of his room
that Pembroke became aware of just how perfect physically Mary
Anne was. Too perfect, no freckles or moles anywhere on
the visible surface of her brown skin, which was more
than a mere sampling. Furthermore, her face and body were

(17:38):
meticulously symmetrical, and she seemed to be wholly amidextrous. With
so many beautiful women in Porto Pacifico, said Pembroke probingly,
I find it hard to understand why there are so
few children. Yes, children are decorative, aren't they, said Mary Anne.
I do wish there were more of them. Why not

(18:01):
have a couple of your own? He asked, Oh, they're
only given to maternal types. I'd never get one anyway,
I won't ever marry, she said, I'm the paramour type.
It was obvious that the liquor had been having some effect.
Either that or she had a basic flaw of loquoecity

(18:21):
that no one else had discovered. Pembroke decided he would
have to cover his tracks carefully. What type am I?
He asked? Silly, you're real. You're not a type at all,
Mary Anne, I love you very much, Pembroke murmured, gambling
everything on this one throw. When you go to Earth,

(18:43):
I'll miss you terribly. Oh but you'll be dead by then,
she pouted. So I mustn't fall in love with you.
I don't want to be miserable if I pretended I
was one of you. If I left on the boat
with you, they'd let me go to Earth with you,
wouldn't they. Oh yes, I'm sure they would. Mary Anne,

(19:05):
you have two other flaws I feel I should mention. Yes,
please tell me in the first place, said Pembroke, You
should be willing to fall in love with me, even
if I will eventually make you unhappy. How can you
be the paramour type if you refuse to fall in
love foolishly, and when you have fallen in love, you

(19:27):
should be very loyal. I'll try, she said, unsurely. What else.
The other thing is that as my mistress, you must
never mention me to any one. It would place me
in great danger. I'll never tell anyone anything about you,
she promised. Now, try to love me, Pembroke said, drawing

(19:52):
her into his arms and kissing with little pleasure, the smooth,
warm perfection of her tanned cheeks. Love me, my sweet, beautiful,
affectionate Marianne, my paramour. Making love to Marianne was something
short of ecstasy, not for any obvious reason, but because
of subtle, little factors that make a woman a woman.

(20:14):
Marianne had no pulse. Marianne did not perspire. Marianne did
not fatigue gradually, but all at once. Marianne breathed regularly.
Under all circumstances. Marianne talked and talked and talked, But
then Marianne was not a human being. When she left

(20:35):
the hotel at midnight, Pembroke was quite sure that she
understood his plan, and that she was irrevocably in love
with him. Tomorrow might bring his death. But it might
also ensure his escape. After forty two years of searching
for a passion, for a cause, for a loyalty, Frank
Pembroke had at last found his Earth and the human

(20:58):
race that peopled it, and Mary Anne would help him
to save it. The next morning, Pembroke talked to Valencia
about hunting. He said that he planned to go shooting
out on the desert which surrounded the city. Valencia told
him that there were no living creatures anywhere but in
the city. Pembroke said he was going out anyway. He

(21:20):
picked up mary Anne at her apartment and together they
went to a sporting goods store. As he guessed, there
was a goodly selection of firearms, despite the fact that
there was nothing to hunt and only a single target
range within the city. Everything, of course, had to be
just like Earth. That, after all, was the purpose of
Porto Pacifico. By noon, they had rented a jeep and

(21:44):
were well away from the city. Pembroke and mary Anne
took turns firing at the paper targets they had purchased.
At twilight, they headed back to the city on the outskirts,
where the sand and soil were mixed and no footprints
would be left. Pembroke hopped off. Mary Anne would go
straight to the police in report that Pembroke had attacked

(22:06):
her and that she had shot him. If necessary, she
would conduct the authorities to the place where they had
been target shooting, but would be unable to locate the
spot where she had buried the body. Why had she
buried it because at first she was not going to
report the incident. She was frightened it was not airtight,

(22:28):
but there would possibly be no further investigation, and they
certainly would not prosecute Marianne for killing an earthman. Now
Pembroke had himself to worry about. The first step was
to enter smoothly into the new life he had planned.
It wouldn't be so comfortable as the previous one, but
should be considerably safer. He headed slowly for the old

(22:51):
part of town, aging his clothes against buildings and fences
as he walked. He had already torn the collar of
the shirt and discarded his belt. By morning, his beard
would grow to blacken his face, and he would look
weary and hungry and aimless. Only the last would be
a deception. Two weeks later, Pembroke phoned mary Anne. The

(23:14):
police had accepted her story without even checking, and when
when would she be seeing him again? He had aroused
her passion, and no amount of long distance love would
requite it. Soon, he assured her. Soon, because after all,
you do owe me something. She added, and that was bad,

(23:35):
because it sounded as if she had been giving some
womanly thought to the situation. A little more of that
and she might go to the police again, this time
for vengeance. Twice during his wanderings, Pembroke had seen the
corpses of earthmen being carted out of buildings. They had
to be earthmen because they bled. Mary Anne had admitted

(23:56):
that she did not. There would be very few earthmen
left in poor Pacifico, and it would be simple enough
to locate him if he were reported as being on
the loose. There was no out but to do away
with mary Anne. Pembroke headed for the beach he knew
she invariably went there. In the afternoon. He loitered around

(24:16):
the stalls where hot dogs and soft drinks were sold,
leaning against a post in the hot sun, hat pulled
down over his forehead. Then he noticed that people all
about him were talking excitedly. They were discussing a ship.
It was leaving that afternoon. Anyone who could pass the
interview would be sent to Earth. Pembroke had visited the

(24:39):
docks every day without being able to learn when the
great exodus would take place. Yet he was certain the
first lap would be by water rather than by spaceship,
since no one he had talked to the city had
ever heard of spaceships. In fact, they knew very little
about their masters. Now the ship had and was to

(25:00):
leave shortly. If there was any but the most superficial examination,
Pembroke would no doubt be discovered and exterminated. But since
no one seemed concerned about anything but his own speech
and behavior, he assumed that they had all qualified in
every other respect. The reason for transporting Earth people to
this planet was, of course, to apply a corrective to

(25:23):
any of the Pacifico's aberrant mannerisms or articulation. This was
the polishing up phase. Pembroke began hobbling toward the docks.
Almost at once he found himself face to face with
Mary Anne. She smiled happily when she recognized him. That
was a good thing. It is a sign of poor
breeding to smile at tramps. Pembroke admonished her, in a whisper,

(25:47):
walk on ahead. She obeyed, He followed. The crowd grew thicker.
They neared the docks, and Pembroke saw that there were
now set up on the roped off wharves small interviewing boots.
When it was their turn, he and mary Anne each
went into separate ones. Pembroke found himself alone in the
little room. Then he saw that there was another entity

(26:10):
in his presence, confined beneath the glass dome. It looked
rather like a groundhog and had seven fingers on each
of its six limbs, but it was larger and hairer
than the glass one he had seen at the gifts store,
with four of its limbs. It tapped on an intricate
keyboard in front of it. What is your name, inquired

(26:30):
a metallic voice from a speaker on the wall. I'm
Jerry Newton, got no middle name, Pembroke said, in a
surly voice. Occupation. I work a lot of trades. Fishermen,
fruit picker, fightin' range fires, vineyards, car washer, anything you name.
It been out of work for a long time now,

(26:50):
though going on five months. These here are hard times,
no matter what they say. What do you think of
the Chinese situation? The voice inquired, which situation's at? Where Seattle?
Seattle stay to Washington? And so it went for about

(27:11):
five minutes. Then he was told he was qualified as
a satisfactory surrogate for a mid twentieth century American male,
a tinerant type. You understand your mission, Newton, the voice asked.
You are to establish yourself on earth. In time, you
will receive instructions, then you will attack. You will not
see us, your master's again, until the atmosphere has been

(27:33):
sufficiently chlorinated. In the meantime, serve us well. He stumbled
out toward the docks, then looked about for Mary Anne.
He saw her at last behind the ropes, her lovely
face in tears. Then she saw him, waving frantically. She
called his name several times. Pembroke mingled with the crowd,

(27:54):
moving toward the ship, ignoring her. But still the woman
persisted in her shouting. Sidling up to a well dressed
man about town type, Pembroke winked at him and snickered,
you frank, He asked, hell, no, but some poor punk's
sure red in the face. I'll bet the man about

(28:14):
town said with a chuckle. Those high strung paramour types
always raisin a ruckus. They never do pass the interview.
Don't know why they even make em. Suddenly, Marianne was quiet.
Ambulance squad Pembroke's companion explained, they'll take her off to
the buggy house for a few days and bring her

(28:36):
out fresh and ignorant of the day she was assembled.
Don't know why they keep makin em, as I say,
but I guess there's call for that type up there
on earth. Yeah, I reckon there is at that, said Pembroke,
snickering as he moved away from the other. And why not, Hey,
why not? Pembroke went right on hating himself, however, till

(28:58):
the night he was deposited in a field outside of Ensenada,
Broke but happy with two other itinerant types. They separated
in San Diego, and it was not long before Pembroke
was explaining to the police how he had drifted far
from the scene of the sinking of the Elenemia on
a piece of wreckage, and he was picked up by
a Chilean trawler. How he had then made his way,

(29:21):
with much suffering, up the coast to California. Two days later,
his identity established and his circumstances again solvent, he was
headed for Los Angeles to begin his save Earth campaign.
Now seated at his battered desk in the shabby rented
office over Lamarq's Liquors, Pembroke gazed without emotion at the

(29:42):
two demolished pacificos that laid sprawled, one atop the other
in the corner. His watch said one fifteen. The man
from the FBI should arrive soon. There were footsteps on
the stairs for the third time that day, not the brisk,
efficient steps of a federal official, but the hesitant, self
conscious steps of a junior clerk type. Pembroke rose as

(30:06):
the young man appeared at the door. His face was smooth, unpimpled,
clean shaven without sweat on a warm summer afternoon. Are
you doctor, Vaughan Schubert, the newcomer asked, peering into the room.
You see I've got a problem. The four shots from
Pembroke's pistol solved his problem effectively. Pembroke tossed his third

(30:26):
victim onto the pile, then opened a can of lagger,
quaffing it appreciatively. Seating himself once more, he leaned back
in the chair, both feet upon the desk. He would
be out of business soon once the FBI agent had
got there. Pembroke was only in it to get the
proof he would need to convince people of the truth
of his tale. But in the meantime he allowed himself

(30:48):
to admire the clipping of the newspaper ad he had
run in all the Los Angeles papers for the past week.
The little ad that had saved mankind from God knew
what insidious menace? It read, Are you imperfect? Let doctor
van Schubert point out your flaws. It is his goal
to make you the average for your type. Fee three

(31:10):
dollars and seventy five cents money back if not satisfied.
End of the Perfectionists by Arnold Castle.