The Gallery by Rog Phillips
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THE GALLERY
By ROG PHILLIPS
ILLUSTRATOR LLEWELLYN
_Aunt Matilda needed him desperately, but when he arrived she did not want him and neither did anyone else in his home town._
I was in the midst of the fourth draft of my doctorate thesis when AuntMatilda's telegram came. It could not have come at a worse time. Thedeadline for my thesis was four days away and there was a minimum offive days of hard work to do on it yet. I was working around the clock.
If it had been a telegram informing me of her death I could not havetaken time out to attend the funeral. If it had been a telegram sayingshe was at death's door I'm very much afraid I would have had to callthe hospital and order them to keep her alive a few days longer.
Instead, it was a tersely worded appeal. ARTHUR STOP COME AT ONCE STOPAM IN TERRIBLE TROUBLE STOP DO NOT PHONE STOP AUNT MATILDA.
So there was nothing else for me to do. I laid the telegram aside andkept on working on my thesis. That is not as heartless as it might seem.I simply could not imagine Aunt Matilda in terrible trouble. The end ofthe world I could imagine, but not Aunt Matilda in trouble.
Wherever he went Arthur felt the power behind the lens.]
She was the classic flat-chested ageless spinster living alone in themidst of her dustless bric-a-brac and Spode in a frame house of the samevintage as herself at the edge of the classic small town of Sumac, nearthe southwest corner of Wisconsin. I had visited her for two days over ayear ago, and she had looked exactly the same as she had when I stayedwith her when I was six all summer, and there was no question but whatshe would some day attend my funeral when I died of old age, and shewould still look the same as always.
* * * * *
There was no conceivable trouble of terrestrial origin that could touchher--or would want to. And, as it turned out, I was right in thatrespect.
I was right in another respect too. By finishing my thesis I became aPh.D. on schedule, and if I had abandoned all that and rushed to Sumacthe moment I received the telegram it could not have materially alteredthe outcome of things. And Aunt Matilda, hanging on the wall of mystudy, knitting things for the Red Cross, will attest to that.
You, of course, might argue about her being there. You might even insistthat I am hanging on her wall instead. And I would have to agree withyou, since it all depends on the point of view and as I sit here typingI can look up and see myself hanging on her wall.
But perhaps I had better begin at the beginning when, with my thesisbehind me, I arrived on the 4:15 milk run, as they call the train thatstops on its way past Sumac.
I was in a very disturbed state of mind, as anyone who has ever turnedin a doctorate thesis can well imagine. For the life of me I couldn't besure whether I had used _symbol_ or _token_ on line 7, sheet 23, of mythesis, and it was a bad habit of mine to unconsciously interchange themunpredictably, and I knew that Dr. Walters could very well vote againstacceptance of my thesis on that ground alone. Also, I had thought of amuch better opening sentence to my thesis, and was having to use willpower to keep from rushing back to the university to ask permission tochange it.
I had practically no sleep during the fourteen-hour run, and what sleepI did have had been interrupted by violent starts of awaking with aconviction that this or that error in the initial draft of my thesis hadnot been corrected by the final draft. And then, of course, I would haveto think the thing through and recall when I had made the correction,before I could go back to sleep.
So I was a wreck, mentally, if not physically, when I stepped off thetrain onto the wooden depot platform that had certainly been built inthe Pleistocene Era, with my oxblood two-suiter firmly clutched in myleft hand.
With snorts of steam and the loud clanking of loose drives, the traingot under way again, its whistle wailing mournfully as the last emptycoach car sped past me and retreated into the distance.
As I stood there, my brain tingling with weariness, and listened to theabsolute silence of the town triumph over the last distant wail of thetrain whistle, I became aware that something about Sumac was different.
What it was, I didn't know. I stood where I was a moment longer, tryingto analyze it. In some indefinable way everything looked unreal. Thatwas as close as I could come to it, and of course having pinned it downthat far I at once dismissed it as a trick of the mind produced bytiredness.
I began walking. The planks of the platform were certainly real enough.I circled the depot without going in, and started walking in thedirection of Aunt Matilda's, which was only a short eight blocks fromthe depot, as I had known since I was six.
The feeling of the unreality of my surroundings persisted, and with itcame another feeling, of an invisible pressure against me. Almost aresentment. Not only from the people, but from the houses and even thetrees.
* * * * *
Slowly I began to realize that it couldn't be entirely my imagination.Most of the dozen or so people I passed knew me, and I rememberedsuddenly that every other time I had come to Aunt Matilda's they hadstopped to talk with me and I had had to make some excuse to escapethem. Now they were behaving differently. They would look at me absentlyas they might at any stranger walking from the direction of the depot,then their eyes would light up with recognition and they would opentheir lips to greet me with hearty welcome.
Then, as though they just thought of something, they would change, andjust say, "Hello, Arthur," and continue on past me.
It didn't take me long to conclude that this strange behavior wasprobably caused by something in connection with Aunt Matilda. Had sheperhaps been named as corespondent in the divorce of the local minister?Had she, of all people, had a child out of wedlock?
Things in a small town can be deadly serious, so by the time herfamiliar frame house came into view down the street I was ready to keepa straight face, no matter what, and reserve my chuckles for the privacyof her guest room. It would be a new experience, to find Aunt Matildaguilty of any human frailty. It was slightly impossible, but I hadprepared myself for it.
And that first day her behavior convinced me I was right in myconclusion.
She appeared in the doorway as I came up the front walk. She wasbreathing hard, as though she had been running, and there was a duststreak on the side of her thin face.
"Hello, Arthur," she said when I came up on the porch. She shook my handas limply as always, and gave me a reluctant duty peck on the cheek,then backed into the house to give me room to enter.
I glanced around the familiar surroundings, waiting for her to blurt outthe cause of her telegram, and feeling a little guilty about not havingcome at once.
I felt the loneliness inside her more than I ever had before. There wasa terror way back in her eyes.
"You look tired, Arthur," she said.
"Yes," I said, glad of the opportunity she had given me to explain. "Ihad to finish my thesis and get it in by last night. Two solid years ofhard work and it had to be done or the whole thing was for nothing.That's why I couldn't come four days ago. And you seemed quite insistentthat I shouldn't call." I smiled to let her know that I remembered aboutparty lines in a small town.
"It's just as well," she said. And while I was trying to decide what theantecedent of her remark was she said, "You can go back on the morningtrain."
"You mean the trouble is over?" I said, relieved.
"Yes," she said. But she had hesitated.
It was the first time I had ever seen her tell a lie.
"You must be hungry," she rushed on. "Put your suitcase in the room andwash up." She turned her back to me and hurried into the kitchen.
I looked around the room for other changes. The boat picture that hadhung to the right of the front door was not there. On the floor underwhere it should have been I caught the flash of light from a shard ofglass. Next to it, the drape framing the window was not hanging right.
On impulse I went over and peeked behind the drape. There, leaningagainst the wall, was the boat picture with fragments of splinteredglass still in it.
* * * * *
From the evidence it appeared that Aunt Matilda had either been tryingto hang the picture where it belonged, or taking it down, and it hadslipped out of her hands and fallen, and she had hidden it behind thedrape and hastily swept up the broken glass.
But why? Even granting that Aunt Matilda might behave in such an erraticfashion (which was obvious from the evidence), I couldn't imagine asensible reason.
It occurred to me, facetiously, that she might have gone in for picturesof musclemen, and, seeing me coming up the street, she had rushed theminto hiding and brought out the old pictures.
That could account for the evidence--except for one thing. I hadn'tdallied. She could not possibly have seen me earlier than sixty secondsbefore I came up the front walk.
Still, the telegrapher at the depot could have called her and told her Iwas here when he saw me get off the train.
I shrugged the matter off and went to the guest room. It too was thesame as always, except for one thing. A picture.
It was a color photograph of the church, taken from the street. Thepicture was in a frame, but without glass over it, and was abouteighteen inches wide and thirty high.
It was a very good picture. Very lifelike. There was a car parked at thecurb in front of the church, and someone inside the car smoking acigarette, and it was so real I would have sworn I could see thestreamer of smoke rising from the cigarette moving.
The odor of good food came from the kitchen, reminding me to get busy. Iopened my two-suiter and took out my toilet kit and went to thebathroom.
I shaved, brushed my teeth, and combed my hair. Afterward I popped intomy room just for a second to put my toilet kit on the dresser, andhurried to the dining room.
Something nagged at the back of my mind all the time I was eating. Afterdinner Aunt Matilda suggested I'd better get some sleep. I couldn'targue. I was already asleep on my feet. Her fried chicken and creamedgravy and mashed potatoes had been an opiate.
I didn't even bother to hang up my clothes. I slipped into the heaven ofcomfort of the bed and closed my eyes. And the next minute it wasmorning.
Getting out of bed, I stopped in mid motion. The picture of the churchwas no longer on the wall. And as I stared at the blank spot where ithad been, the thing that had nagged me during dinner last night finallyleaped into consciousness.
When I had dashed into the room and out again last night on the way tothe dining room I had glanced briefly at the picture and something hadbeen different about it. Now I knew what had been different.
The car had no longer been in front of the church.
* * * * *
I lit a cigarette and sat on the edge of the bed. I thought about thatpicture, and simply could not bring myself to believe the accuracy ofthat fleeting impression.
Aunt Matilda had slipped into my room and removed the picture while Islept. That was obvious. Why had she done that? The fleeting impressionthat I couldn't be positive about would give her a sensible reason.
I studied my memory of that picture as I had closely studied it. It hadbeen a remarkable picture. The more I recalled its details the moreremarkable it became. I couldn't remember any surface gloss or grainingto it, but of course I had not been looking for such things. Only anexpert photographer would notice or recognize such technical details.
My thoughts turned in the direction of Aunt Matilda--and her telegram.Her source of income, I knew, was her part of the estate of mygrandfather, and amounted to something like thirty thousand dollars. Iknew that she was terrified of touching one cent of the capital, andlived well within the income from good sound stocks.
* * * * *
I took her telegram out of the pocket of my coat which was hanging overthe back of a chair. COME AT ONCE STOP AM IN TERRIBLE TROUBLE ... Theonly kind of terrible trouble Matilda could be in was if some swindlertalked her out of some of her capital! And that definitely would not beeasy to do. I grinned to myself at the recollection of her worryingherself sick once over what would happen to her if there was arevolution and the new government refused to honor the old governmentbonds.
Things began to make sense. Her telegram, then those pictures movedaround in the front room, and the one she had forgotten to hide, in theguest room. If the other pictures were anything like it, I could see howAunt Matilda might cash in on part of her securities to invest in whatshe thought was a sure thing.
But sure things are only as good as the people in control of them. Manya sure thing has been lost to the original investors by stupid decisionsleading to bankruptcy, and many a seemingly sure thing has fleeced a lotof innocent victims.
Slowly, as I thought it out, I became sure that that was what hadhappened.
Then why Aunt Matilda's about-face, hiding the pictures and telling meto go back to Chicago? Had she threatened whoever was behind this, andgotten her money back? Or had she again become convinced that herfinancial venture was sound?
In either case, why was she trying to keep me from knowing about thepictures?
I made up my mind. Whether Aunt Matilda liked it or not, I was going tostay until I got to the bottom of things. What Aunt Matilda evidentlydidn't realize was that no inventor who really had something would wastetime trying to find backing in a place like Sumac.
Getting dressed, I decided that first on the agenda would be to findwhere Matilda had hidden those pictures, and get a good look at them.
That was simpler than I expected it to be. When I came out of my room Istuck my head in the kitchen doorway and said good morning to her, andshe leaped to her feet to get some breakfast ready for me. It wasobvious that she was anxious to get me fed and out of the house.
Then I simply took the two steps past the bathroom door to the door toher bedroom and went in. The pictures were stacked against the side ofher dresser. The one of the church was the first one. It was on itsside.
With a silent whistle of amazement I bent down to watch it. The car wasnot parked at the curb in it, but there were several children walkingalong, obviously on their way to school. And they were walking. Moving.
* * * * *
I picked up the picture. It was as heavy as it should be, but not more.A faint whisper of sound seemed to come from it. I put my ear closer andheard children's voices. I explored with my ear close to the surface,and found that the voices were loudest when my ear was closest to theone talking, as though the voices came out of the picture directly fromthe images!
All it needed to be perfect was a volume control somewhere. I searched,and found it behind the upper right corner of the picture. I twisted itvery slowly, and the voices became louder. I turned it back to theposition it had been in.
The next picture was of the railroad depot. The telegrapher and baggageclerk were going around the side of the depot towards the tracks. Afreight train was rushing through the picture.
Even as I watched it in the picture, I heard the wail of a train whistlein the distance, and it was coming from
I put the pictures back the way they had been, and stole softly fromAunt Matilda's bedroom to the bathroom, and closed the door.
"No wonder Aunt Matilda invested in this thing!" I said to my image inthe mirror as I shaved.
Picture TV would make all other TV receivers obsolete! Full color TV atthat! And with some new principle in stereophonic sound!
What about the fact that neither picture had been plugged into anoutlet? Probably run by batteries.
What about the lack of weight? Obviously a new TV principle wasinvolved. Maybe it required fewer circuits and less power.
What about the broadcasting end, the cameras? Permanently set up? Whatabout the broadcast channels?
There had been ten or twelve pictures. I'd only looked at two. Was eacha different scene? Twelve different broadcasting stations in Sumac?
It had me dizzy. Probably the new TV principle was so simple that allthat could be taken care of without millions of dollars worth ofequipment.
A new respect for Aunt Matilda grew in me. She had latched on to a moneymaker! It didn't hurt to know that I was her favorite nephew, either.With my Ph.D. in physics, and my aunt as one of the stockholders, Icould probably land a good job with the company. What a deal!
By the time I finished shaving I was whistling. I was still whistlingwhen I went into the kitchen for breakfast.
"You'll have to hurry, Arthur," Aunt Matilda said. "Your train leaves inforty-five minutes."
"I'm not leaving," I said cheerfully.
I went over to the bright breakfast nook and sat down, and took acautious sip of coffee. I grunted my approval of it and looked aroundtoward Aunt Matilda, smiling.
She was staring at me with wide eyes. She looked as haggard as thoughshe had just heard she had a week to live.
"But you must go!" she croaked as though my not going were unthinkable.
"Nonsense, you old fox," I said. "I know a good thing as well as you do.I want to get a