models, guaranteed against all physical wear. From $7,600 to our $15,000
de luxe model.
“No,” said Smith.
“Yes,” said Braling.
“Naturally,” said Braling Two.
“How long has this gone on?”
“I’ve had him for a month. I keep him in the cellar in a toolbox. My
wife never goes downstairs, and I have the only lock and key to that box.
Tonight I said I wished to take a walk to buy a cigar. I went down cellar and
took Braling Two out of his box and sent him back up to sit with my wife
while I came on out to see you, Smith.”
“Wonderful! He even smells like you: Bond Street and Melachrinos!”
“It may be splitting hairs, but I think it highly ethical. After all, what
my wife wants most of all is me. This marionette is me to the hairiest
detail. I’ve been home all evening. I shall be home with her for the next
month. In the meantime another gentleman will be in Rio after ten years of
waiting. When I return from Rio, Braling Two here will go back in his box.”
Smith thought that over a minute or two. “Will he walk around
without sustenance for a month?” he finally asked.
“For six months if necessary. And he’s built to do everything—eat,
sleep, perspire—everything, natural as natural is. You’ll take good care of
my wife, won’t you, Braling Two?”
“Your wife is rather nice,” said Braling Two. “I’ve grown rather fond
of her.”
Smith was beginning to tremble. “How long has Marionettes, Inc.,
been in business?”
“Secretly, for two years.”
“Could I—I mean, is there a possibility——” Smith took his friend’s
elbow earnestly. “Can you tell me where I can get one, a robot, a
marionette, for myself? You will give me the address, won’t you?”
“Here you are.”
Smith took the card and turned it round and round. “Thank you,” he
said. “You don’t know what this means. Just a little respite. A night or so,
once a month even. My wife loves me so much she can’t bear to have me
gone an hour. I love her dearly, you know, but remember the old poem:
‘Love will fly if held too lightly, love will die if held too tightly.’ I just want
her to relax her grip a little bit.”
“You’re lucky, at least, that your wife loves you. Hate’s my problem.
Not so easy.”
“Oh, Nettie loves me madly. It will be my task to make her love me
comfortably.”
“Good luck to you, Smith. Do drop around while I’m in Rio. It will
seem strange, if you suddenly stop calling by, to my wife. You’re to treat
Braling Two, here, just like me.”
“Right! Good-by. And thank you.”
Smith went smiling down the street. Braling and Braling Two turned
and walked into the apartment hall.
On the crosstown bus Smith whistled softly, turning the white card in
his fingers: Clients must be pledged to secrecy, for while an act is pending
in Congress to legalize Marionettes, Inc., it is still a felony, if caught, to use
one.
“Well,” said Smith.
Clients must have a mold made of their body and a color index check
of their eyes, lips, hair, skin, etc. Clients must expect to wait for two
months until their model is finished.
Not so long, thought Smith. Two months from now my ribs will have a
chance to mend from the crushing they’ve taken. Two months from now my
hand will heal from being so constantly held. Two months from now my
bruised underlip will begin to reshape itself. I don’t mean to sound
ungrateful...
He flipped the card over.
Marionettes, Inc., is two years old and has a fine record of satisfied
customers behind it. Our motto is “No Strings Attached.” Address: 43 South
Wesley Drive.
The bus pulled to his stop; he alighted, and while humming up the
stairs he thought, Nettie and I have fifteen thousand in our joint bank
account. I’ll just slip eight thousand out as a business venture, you might
say. The marionette will probably pay back my money, with interest, in
many ways. Nettie needn’t know. He unlocked the door and in a minute was
in the bedroom. There lay Nettie, pale, huge, and piously asleep.
“Dear Nettie.” He was almost overwhelmed with remorse at her
innocent face there in the semidarkness. “If you were awake you would
smother me with kisses and coo in my ear. Really, you make me feel like a
criminal. You have been such a good, loving wife. Sometimes it is impossible
for me to believe you married me instead of that Bud Chapman you once
liked. It seems that in the last month you have loved me more wildly than
ever before.”
Tears came to his eyes. Suddenly he wished to kiss her, confess his
love, tear up the card, forget the whole business. But as he moved to do
this, his hand ached and his ribs cracked and groaned. He stopped, with a
pained look in his eyes, and turned away. He moved out into the hall and
through the dark rooms.
