The Complete Stories (Page 45)

"Why not?"’

"None of yoour workers have come in."

"No, poor sjouls. They’ll take a holiday just at first. You’ve got to expect that. After all, it isn’t every day that the world comes to an end. Frankly, it’s just as well. It: gives me a chance to straighten out my personal correspondence without interruptions. Telephone hasn’t rung once."

He stood u;,p and went to the window. "It’s a great improvement. No blinding sun amy more and the snow’s gone. There’s a pleasant light and a

pleasant warmth. Very good arrangement. . . . But now, if you don’t mind, I’m rather busy, so if you’ll excuse me-"

A great, hoarse voice interrupted with a, "Just a minute, Horatio," and a gentleman, looking remarkably like Billikan in a somewhat craggier way, followed his prominent nose into the office and struck an attitude of offended dignity which was scarcely spoiled by the fact that he was quite naked. "May I ask why you’ve shut down Bitsies?"

Billikan looked faint. "Good Heavens," he said, "it’s Father. Wherever did you come from?"

"From the graveyard," roared Billikan, Senior. "Where on Earth else? They’re coming out of the ground there by the dozens. Every one of them naked. Women, too."

Billikan cleared his throat. "I’ll get you some clothes, Father. I’ll bring them to you from home."

"Never mind that. Business first. Business first."

R.E. came out of his musing. "Is everyone coming out of their graves at the same time, sir?"

He stared curiously at Billikan, Senior, as he spoke. The old man’s appearance was one of robust age. His cheeks were furrowed but glowed with health. His age, R.E. decided, was exactly what it was at the moment of his death, but his body was as it should have been at that age if it functioned ideally.

Billikan, Senior, said, "No, sir, they are not. The newer graves are coming up first. Pottersby died five years before me and came up about five minutes after me. Seeing him made me decide to leave. I had had enough of him when . . . And that reminds me." He brought his fist down on the desk, a very solid fist. "There were no taxis, no busses. Telephones weren’t working. I had to walk. I had to walk twenty miles."

"Like that?" asked his son in a faint and appalled voice.

Billikan, Senior, looked down upon his bare skin with casual approval. "It’s warm. Almost everyone else is naked. . . . Anyway, son, I’m not here to make small talk. Why is the factory shut down?"

"It isn’t shut down. It’s a special occasion."

"Special occasion, my foot. You call union headquarters and tell them Resurrection Day isn’t in the contract. Every worker is being docked for every minute he’s off the job."

Billikan’s lean face took on a stubborn look as he peered at his father. "I will not. Don’t forget, now, you’re no longer in charge of this plant. I am."

"Oh, you are? By what right?"

"By your will."

"All right. Now here I am and I void my will."

"You can’t, Father. You’re dead. You may not look dead, but I have witnesses. I have the doctor’s certificate. I have receipted bills from the undertaker. I can get testimony from the pallbearers."

Billikan, Senior, stared at his son, sat down, placed his arm over the back of the chair, crossed his iegs and said, "If it conies to that, we’re all dead, aren’t we? The world’s come to an end, hasn’t it?"

"But you’ve been declared legally dead and 1 haven’t."

"Oh, we’ll change that, son. There are going to be more of us than of you and votes count."

Billikan, Junior, tapped the desk firmly with the flat of his hand and flushed slightly. "Father, I hate to bring up this particular point, but you force me to. May I remind you that by now 1 am sure that Mother is sitting at home waiting for you; that she probably had to walk the streets-uh- naked, too; and that she probably isn’t in a good humor."

Billikan, Senior, went ludicrously pale. "Good Heavens!"

"And you know she always wanted you to retire."

Billikan, Senior, came to a quick decision. "I’m not going home. Why, this is a nightmare. Aren’t there any limits to this Resurrection business? It’s -it’s-it’s sheer anarchy. There’s such a thing as overdoing it. I’m just not going home."

At which point, a somewhat rotund gentleman with a smooth, pink face and fluffy white sideburns (much like pictures of Martin Van Buren) stepped in and said coldly, "Good day."

"Father," said Billikan, Senior.

"Grandfather," said Billikan, Junior.

Billikan, Grandsenior, looked at Billikan, Junior, with disapproval. "If you are my grandson," he said, "you’ve aged considerably and the change has not improved you."

Billikan, Junior, smiled with dyspeptic feebleness, and made no answer.

Billikan, Grandsenior, did not seem to require one. He said, "Now if you two will bring me up to date on the business, I will resume my managerial function."

There were two simultaneous answers, and Billikan, Grandsenior’s, florid-ity waxed dangerously as he beat the ground peremptorily with an imaginary cane and barked a retort.

R.E. said, "Gentlemen."

He raised his voice. "Gentlemen!"

He shrieked at full long-power, "GENTLEMEN!"

Conversation snapped off sharply and all turned to look at him. R.E.’s angular face, his oddly attractive eyes, his sardonic mouth seemed suddenly to dominate the gathering.

He said, "I don’t understand this argument. What is it that you manufacture?"

"Bitsies," said Billikan, Junior.

"Which, I take it, are a packaged cereal breakfast food-"