The Sinful Ones by Fritz Leiber Read Free Book Online Page B

more so, there was no squawk when he boldly clutched the two glasses and returned with them to Jane.
    She applauded soundlessly.
    He bowed and set down the drinks with flourish. They sipped.
    She smiled. “That’s another of my theories about life. You can get away with anything if you really want to. Other people can’t stop you, because of the rhythm. No matter what happens, they have to keep on dancing. They’re stuck. They can only interfere with you if interfering happens to fit the rhythm. Otherwise you’re safe.”
    And rather true, thought Carr. Most people, himself included, went through life in fear and more or less controlled trembling, thinking that if they made the slightest move to assert themselves, they’d be jumped on. They fancied that everyone else was watching them, waiting for them to make a mistake. But actually the other people were as scared as you, or more so. And they rather liked you to make missteps and mistakes, because that eased their worried about themselves. There definitely was a sort of rhythm to life—or at least a counterpoint of opposed timidities. Take that bartender, who was busy with glasses and bottles again. He hadn’t even looked in their direction. He was probably embarrassed at having neglected to wait on them, and more relieved than annoyed at what Carr had done.
    “Don’t you believe me even now?” she pressed. “You can get away with things. I’ll prove it to you again.”
    A vague suspicion Carr had entertained when he’d first seen Jane, that she was some sort of shoplifter or petty criminal, flickered again in his mind, only to die immediately.
    “You’re a funny girl,” he said. “What’s made you this way? Who’s—” He checked himself when she frowned. “Well, here’s a question maybe I can ask,” he went on. “What startled you so when you sat down at my desk this afternoon? You seemed to sense something in me that terrified you. What was it?”
    She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know.” But again her eyes were sphinxlike. “Maybe,” she said, “it was just that I realize you were alive.”
    “That’s queer,” he said gravely, “because you know, twice today I’ve had an—an illusion of—”
    “Don’t,” she said, touching his hand. She looked at her glass for a moment, rubbed the beads of moisture, curved her hand around it wonderingly. “It’s good to be alive,” she said intensely. “Good. Of course the really marvelous thing would be to be back in the safe old pattern and still alive. But that’s impossible.”
    “And the safe old pattern is…?” he prompted.
    She shook her head and looked away. He dropped the question.
    More people began to drift in. Carr and Jane finished their drinks, talking about the old advertisements and prints—how they had such a nostalgic feel because, unlike genuine artistic creations, they died with their decade, became dried funeral wreaths and faded love-letters. More people came in. Soon all the other booths were filled and there weren’t many empty spaces at the bar. Jane was becoming uneasy.
    “Let’s go somewhere else,” she said abruptly, standing up.
    Carr started to say something, but she had slipped around a couple approaching their booth and was striding to the door. A fear took hold of him that she would get away like this afternoon and he would never see her again. He jerked a dollar bill from his pocketbook and dropped it on the table. With nettling rudeness the newcomers shoved past him and sat down. But there was no time to be sarcastic. Jane was already mounting the stairs. Carr ran after her.
    She was waiting outside. He took her arm.
    “Do people get on your nerves?” he asked.
    She did not answer. It was too dark to see her face. The pavement under their feet was uneven and slippery. He put his arm around her waist.
    The alley came to an end. They emerged into a street where the air had that intoxicating glow it displays in the centers of big cities at nigh.