Strange Alliance - Bryce Walton

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Strange Alliance by Bryce Walton. Doctor Sperrague stopped running, breathing
deeply and easily. Where he paused in the middle of
the narrow, winding road, he glanced at his watch nine
a m. He was vaguely perplexed because he did not

(00:23):
react more emotionally to the blood staining his slender hands.
It was fresh blood, though just beginning to coagulate. It
was dabbled over his brown serge suit, splotching the neatly
starched white cuffs of his shirt. His wife always did
them up so nicely, with a peasant's love for trivial detail.

(00:43):
He had always hated the silent ignorance of the peasants
who surrounded the little college where he taught psychology. He
supposed that he had begun to hate his wife too,
when he realized, after taking her from a local barnyard
and marrying her, that she could never be anything but
a slow, low eyed, shuffling peasant. He walked on with

(01:04):
brisk health down the narrow dirt road that led toward
Glen Oaks. Elm trees lined the road. The morning air
was damp and cool. Dew kept the yellow dust settled
where spots of sunlight came through leaves and speckled it.
Birds darted freshly through thickly hung branches. He had given
perennial lectures on hysterical episodes. Now he realized that he

(01:28):
was the victim of such an episode. He had lost
a number of minutes from his own memory. He remembered
the yellow, staring eyes of the breakfast eggs gazing up
at him from a sea of grease. He remembered his
wife screaming. After that, only blankness. He stopped on a
small bridge crossing Calvert's Creek, wiped the blood carefully from

(01:49):
his hands with a green silk handkerchief. He dropped the
stained silk into the clear water. Silver flashes darted up
nibbled the cloth as it floated down. He watched it
for a moment, then went on along the shaded road.
This was his chance to escape from Glen Oaks. That
was what he had wanted to do ever since he
had come here five years ago to teach. He had

(02:12):
a good excuse now to get away from the shambling peasants,
whom he hated and who returned the attitude wholeheartedly. The
typical provincial's hatred of culture and learning. Then he entered
the damp, chilled shadows of the thick wood that separated
his house from the college grounds. It was thick, dense, dark.

(02:33):
One small corner of it seemed almost ordinary. The rest
was superstition, haunted, mysterious, and brooding. This forest had provided
doctor sperchag many hours of escape. He had attempted to introspect,
but had never found satisfactory causes for his having found
himself running through these woods at night in his bare feet,

(02:55):
nor why he sometimes hated the sunlight and the dank shadows.
Someone else was in this forest with him. It did
not disturb him. Whatever was here was not alien to
him or the forest. His eyes probed the mist that
slithered through the ancient mossy trees and hanging vines. He listened, looked,

(03:17):
but found nothing. Birds chittered, but that was all. He
sat down, his back against a spongy tree trunk fondled
dark green moss. As he sat there, he knew he
was waiting for someone. He shrugged. Mysticism was not even
interesting to him ordinarily. Still, though a behaviorist, he upheld

(03:40):
certain instinctual motivation theories, and though reluctantly he granted freud
contributory significance. He could be an avotist, a victim of
unconscious regression, or a prey of some insidious influence, some
phenomena or rather childish science had not yet become aware of.

(04:00):
But it was of no importance. He was happier now
than he had ever been. He felt free, young, and
new life seemed worth living. Abruptly, with a lithe liquid ease,
he was on his feet, body tense alert. Her form

(04:21):
was vaguely familiar. As she ran toward him, she dodged
from his sight, then reappeared as the winding path cut
behind screens of foliage. She ran with long, smooth grace,
and he had never seen a woman run like that.
A plain skirt was drawn high to allow long bronzed
legs free movement. Her hair streamed out a cloud of

(04:45):
red gold. She kept looking backwards, and it was obvious
someone was chasing her. He began sprinting easily toward her,
and as the distance shortened, he recognized her. Edith Bailey,
a second year psychology g major who had been attending
his class as two semesters. Very intelligent, reclusive, not a

(05:07):
local grown product. Her work had a grimness about it,
as though psychology were a dire obsession, especially abnormal psychology.
One of her theme papers had been an exhaustive, mature
but somehow overly determined treatise on self induced hallucination and
auto suggestion. He had not been too impressed because of

(05:29):
an unjustified emphasis on supernatural myth and legend, including where
Wolve's vampires and the like. She sprang to a stop,
like a cornered deer as she saw him suddenly blocking
the path. She turned, then stopped and turned back slowly.
Her eyes were wide, cheeks flushed, taut, breasts rose and

(05:52):
fell deeply, and her hands were poised for flight. But
she wasn't looking at his face. Her gaze was on
the blood spattering his clothes. He was breathing deeply, too.
His heart was swelling with exhilaration. His blood flowed hotly.

(06:13):
Something of the whirling ecstasy he had known back in
his student days as a track champion returned to him,
the mad bursting of the wind against him, the wild
passion of the dash. A burly figure came lurching after
her down the path, a tramp, evidently from his filthy
smoke sodden clothes and thick stubble of beard. He recalled

(06:35):
the trestle west of the forest, where the bendlestiffs from
the Pacific fruit line jungled up at nights or during
long layovers. Sometimes they came into the forest. He was big, fat,
and awkward. He was puffing and blowing, and he began
to groan as Doctor Sperragg's fist thudded into his flesh.

(06:56):
The degenerate fell to his knees, his broken face blowing
out bloody. Finally, he rolled onto his side with a long,
sighing moan, lay limply, very still. Doctor Sperraggue's lips were
thin white. As he kicked savagely, he heard a popping.

(07:16):
The bum flopped sideways into a pile of dripping leaves.
He stepped back, looked at Edith Bailey. Her full red
lips were moist and gleaming. Her oddly opaque eyes glowed
strangely at him. Her voice was low, yet somehow very intense.

(07:39):
Wonderful laboratory demonstration. Doctor, But I don't think many of
your student embryos would appreciate it, Doctor sperag nodded, smiled gently.
No an unorthodox case a cigarette, and she took one.

(08:04):
Their smoke mingled with a dissipating morning mist, and he
kept on staring at her, a pronounced sweater girl with
an intellect. This, this he could have loved. He wondered
if it were too late. Doctor Sperhag had never been
in love. He wondered if he were now with this

(08:25):
fundamental archetypal beauty. By the way, he was saying, what
are you doing in this evil wood? Then she took
his arm, very naturally easily. They began walking slowly along
the cool dim path. Two principal reasons. One, I like

(08:47):
it here. I come here often. Two I knew you
always walk along this path, always late for your eight
o'clock class. I've often watched you walking here. You walk beautifully.
He did not comment. It seemed unnecessary. Now the morning's
almost gone. She observed, the sun will be out very

(09:11):
warm in a little while. I hate the sun. On
an impulse, he said, I'm going away. I've wanted to
get out of this obscene nest of provincial stupidity from
the day I first came here, and now I've decided
to leave. What are you escaping from? He answered, softly.

(09:34):
I don't know. Something frudiant, no doubt, something buried, something
buried deep, something too distasteful to recognize, she laughed. I
knew you were human and not the cynical pseudo intellectual
you pretended to be disgusting? Isn't it what being human?

(09:59):
I mean? I suppose. So I'm afraid we're getting an
extraordinarily prejudiced view. I can't help being a snob here.
I despise and loathe peasants and I, she admitted, which
is merely to say, probably that we loathe all humanity.

(10:21):
Tell me about yourself, he said, finally, gladly. I like
doing that to one who will understand. I'm nineteen. My
parents died in Hungary during the war. I came here
to America to live with my uncle. But by the
time I got here, he was dead too, and he
left me no money, so there was no sense in

(10:44):
being grateful for his death. I got a part time
job and finished high school in Chicago. I got a
scholarship to this place. Her voice trailed off. She was
staring at him. Hungary, he said, and repeated it. Why

(11:06):
I came from Hungary. Her grip on his arm tightened
I knew somehow. I remember Hungary. It's ancient horror. My
father inherited an ancient castle. I remember long, cold corridors
and sticky dungeons and combobbed rooms thick with dust. My

(11:31):
real name is Berman. I changed it because I thought
Bailey more American, both from Hungary, mused doctor Sparhack. I
remember very little of Hungary. I came here when I
was three. All I remember the ignorant peasants, their dumb,

(11:51):
blind superstition. They're hatred for. You're afraid of them, aren't you?
She said? He started the peasants. I he shook his head.
Perhaps you're afraid, she said, Would you mind telling me, doctor,
how these fears of yours manifest themselves? He hesitated, They walked. Finally,

(12:20):
he answered, I've never told any one but you. There
are hidden fears, and they revealed themselves consciously in the
absurd fear of seeing my own reflection, of not seeing
my shadow of she breathed sharply. She stopped walking, turned

(12:42):
stared at him, Not seeing your reflection? He nodded, not
seeing your shadow? Yes, and the full moon a fear
of the full moon too, But how did you know?

(13:04):
And you're allergic to certain metals too, for instance silver.
He could only nod. And you go out in the
night sometimes and do things, but you don't remember what.
He nodded again. Her eyes glowed brightly. I know, I know,

(13:25):
I've known those same obsessions ever since I can remember.
Doctor Sperhagu felt strangely uneasy. Then a kind of dreadful loneliness. Superstition,
he said, our old world background, where superstition is the rule, old,
very old superstition. Frightened by them when we were young.

(13:45):
Now now those old childhood fixations revealed themselves in crazy symptoms.
He took off his coat, threw it into the brush.
He rolled up his shirt sleeves, no blood visible. Now
he should be able to catch the little local passenger
train out of Glen Oaks without any trouble. But why

(14:08):
should there be any trouble the blood? He thought too,
that he might have killed the tramp. That popping sound.
She seemed to sense his thoughts. She said quickly, I'm
going with you, doctor, He said nothing. It seemed part

(14:30):
of the inevitable pattern. They entered the town, even for
mid morning. The place was strangely silent, damply hot, and
still the town consisted of five blocks of main street,
from which cow paths wound off aimlessly into fields, woods, meadows,

(14:51):
and hills. There were always a few shuffling, dull eyed
people lolling about in the dusty heat. Now there were
no people at all. As they crossed over toward the
shady side, two freshly clothed kids ran out of Davis's
filling station, stared at them like vacant eyed lambs, then

(15:11):
turned and spurted inside Ken Wagner's Shoe Hospital. Doctor Spehog
turned his dark head. His companion apparently hadn't noticed anything
ominous or peculiar, but to him, the whole scene was morose, fetid,
and brooding. They walked down the cracked concrete walk past

(15:31):
the big plate glass window of Murphy's General Store, which
were kind of fetish in Glen Oak's, But doctor Spehogue
wasn't concerned with the cultural significance of the windows. He
was concerned with not looking into it, and oddly, he
never did look at himself in the glass. Neither did
he look across the street, though the glass did pull

(15:53):
his gaze into it with an implacable, somewhat terrible insistence
and he stared. He dared at that portion of the
glass which was supposed to reflect Edith Bailey's material self,
but didn't reflect anything, not even a shadow. They stopped.

(16:14):
They turned slowly toward each other. He swallowed hard, trembled slightly,
and then he knew deep and dismal horror. He studied
that section of the glass where her image was supposed
to be. It still wasn't. He turned and she was
still standing there well. And then she said, in a

(16:43):
hoarse whisper, your reflection, where is it? And all he
could say was and yours? Little bits of chuckling laughter

(17:06):
echoed in the incohate madness of his suddenly whirling brain,
echoing years of lecture on cause and effect logic, little
bits of chuckling laughter. He grabbed her arm. We can
see our own reflections, but we can't see each other's.

(17:30):
She shivered. Her face was terribly white. What what's the answer? No,
he didn't have it figured out. Let the witches figure
it out. Let some old forbidden books, do it. Bring
the problem to some warlock, but not to him. He
was only a doctor of philosophy and psychology. But maybe hallucinations,

(17:56):
he muttered, faintly negative hallucination. Doctor, did you ever hear
the little joke about the two psychiatrists who met one
morning and said, you're feeling excellent today? How am I feeling?
He shrugged. We have insight into each other's abnormality, but

(18:20):
are unaware of the same in ourselves. That's the whole
basis for psychiatry, isn't it In a way, But this
is physical functional when psychiatry presents situations where his voice
trailed off, I have it figured this way, how eager

(18:44):
she was, somehow it didn't matter much now to him.
We're conditioned to react to reality in certain accepted ways.
For instance, that we're supposed to see our shadows, so
we see them, but in our case they were never
really there to see or normalcy is maintained that way.
But the constant auto illusion must always lead to neuroticism

(19:06):
and pathology, the hidden fears. But these fears must express themselves,
so they do so in more socially acceptable ways. Her
voice suddenly dropped as her odd eyes flickered across the street.
But we see each other as we really are, she
whispered tensely. Though we could never have recognized the truth

(19:28):
in ourselves. He turned slowly, his mouth twitched with a
growing terrible hatred. They were coming for him now. Four
men with rifles were coming toward him, stealthily creeping. They
were as though it were some pristine scene with caves
in the background. They were bent slightly, stalking, hunters and

(19:52):
hunted and the law of the wild, and two of
them stopping in the middle of the street. The other
two branched circled, came at him from either side, clumping
down the walk. George recognized them all the town Marshal
Bill Conway and Mike Lash, Harry Hutchinson, and Dwight Farrigan.
Edith Bailey was backed up against the window. Her eyes

(20:14):
were strangely dilated, but the faces of the four men
exuded cold, animal hate and bloodlust. Edith Bailey's lips said faintly,
what what are we going to do? He felt so calm,
he felt his lips Writhe back in a snarl, the

(20:37):
wind tingled on his teeth. I know now, he said,
I know about the minutes I lost, I know why
they're after me. You'd better get away. But but why
the guns? I murdered my wife? She served me greasy eggs. God,

(20:59):
she was an animal, just a dumb beast. Conway called
his rifle crooked in easy, promising grace. All right, doc,
come along without any trouble. Though I just assumed you
made a break. I'd like to shoot you dead, doctor.
And what have I done? Exactly, said doctor Spehragu. He's

(21:22):
hog wild, yelled Mike Lash, cutting her up all that way,
Let's string him up. Conway yelled something about a fair trial,
though not with much enthusiasm. Edith screamed as they charged
toward them, a wild and human cry. Doctor Spehraggu's eyes
flashed up the narrow street. Let's go, he said to

(21:44):
Edith Bailey. They'll see running they've never seen before. They
can't touch us. They ran, They heard the sharp crack
of rifles. They saw the dust spurting up. Doctor Spehog
heard himself howling as he became aware of peculiar stings
in his body, painless, deeply penetrating sensations that made themselves
felt all over his body, as though he were wakening

(22:07):
from a long paralysis. Then the mad yelling faded rapidly
behind them. They were running, streaking out of the town
with inhuman speed. They struck out in long, easy strides
across the meadow toward the dense woods that brooded beyond
the college. Her voice gasped exultingly. They couldn't hurt us,

(22:28):
They couldn't they tried, He nodded, straining eagerly toward he
knew not what, nosing into the fresh wind, how swiftly
and gracefully they could run. Soon they lost themselves in
the thick, dark forest. Shadows hid them. Days later, the

(22:50):
moon was full. It edged over the low hill flanking
glen oaks on the east. June bugs buzzed ponderously, like
armor plated dragons toward them. Lights glowing faintly from the town.
Frogs croaked from the swampy meadows in the creek. They
came up slowly to stand silhouetted against the glowing moon,

(23:11):
Nosing hungrily into the steady aromatic breeze blowing from the
Conway farm below. They glided effortlessly down, then across the
sharp bladed marsh grass, leaping high with each bound as
they came disdainfully close to this silent farmhouse. A column
of pale light from a coal oil lamp came through
the living room window and hayload, a neglected flower bed.

(23:33):
Sorrow and fear clung to the house. The shivering shadow
of a gaunt woman was etched against the half drawn shade.
The two standing outside the window called the woman's shadow trembled,
Then a long, rigid finger of steel projected itself beneath
the partially raised window. The rifle cracked, almost against the

(23:54):
faces of the two. He screamed hideously as his companion
dropped without a sound, twitching, twitching. He screamed again and
began dragging himself away toward the sheltering forest intently and desperately.
The rifle cracked again. He gave up. Then he sprawled

(24:15):
out flatly on the cool, damp, moon bathed path. His
hot tongue lapped feverishly at the wet grass. He felt
the persistent impact of the rifle's breath against him, and
now there was a wave of pain. The full moon
was fading into black mental clouds. As he feebly attempted

(24:35):
to lift his bleeding head. He thought with agonized irony,
provincial fools, stupid, superstitious idiots, and that damned missus Conway,
the most stupid of all. Only she would have thought

(24:55):
to load her dead husband's rifle with silver bullets. Damned peasants,
Total darkness blotted out futile reverie. End of Strange Alliance
by Bryce Walton