possible surgery - and he wouldn't tell me for fear it would cause me worry. The idiot! No wonder he was so miserable, and it never once occurred to him that his misery made me far more unhappy than knowing about it would have. Honestly! A man shouldn't be allowed out without a keeper."
"But why are you so happy now?"
"Because he passed the stone. He just passed it a little while ago and the first thing he did was to call me, which was very thoughtful of him - and about time. He sounded so happy and cheerful. It was just as though my old Kevin had come back to me. It was as though he had become exactly like the photograph that - "
Then, in half a shriek, "Where's the photograph?"
I was on my feet, preparing to leave. I was walking rather briskly toward the door, saying, "I destroyed it. That's why he passed the stone. Otherwise - "
"You destroyed it? You - "
I was outside the door. I didn't expect gratitude, of course, but what I was expecting was murder. I didn't wait for the elevator but hastened down the stairs as quickly as I reasonably could, the sound of her long wail penetrating the door and reaching my ears for a full two flights.
I burned the scraps of the photograph when I got home.
I have never seen her since. From what I have been told, Kevin has been a delightful and loving husband and they are most happy together, but the one letter I received from her - seven pages of small writing, and nearly incoherent - made it plain that she was of the opinion that the kidney stone was the full explanation of Kevin's ill humor, and that its arrival and departure in exact synchronization with the photograph was sheer coincidence.
She made some rather injudicious threats against my life and, quite anticlimactically, against certain portions of my body, making use of words and phrases I would have sworn she had never heard, much less employed.
And I suppose she will never kiss me again, something I find, for some odd reason, disappointing.
To the Victor
I don't often see my friend George, but when I do I make it a practice to ask after this small demon he claims he can call up.
"A bald and aged science fiction writer," he would say to me, "has stated that any technology sufficiently advanced beyond the customary would seem like magic. And yet, my small friend Azazel is no extraterrestrial oddity, but a bona fide demon. He may only be two centimeters high, but he can do amazing things. - How did you find out about him?"
"By listening to you."
George drew his face into vertical disapproving lines and said sepulchrally, "I never discuss Azazel."
"Except when you're talking," I said. "What's he been doing lately?"
George fetched a sigh from the region of his toes and expelled it, fairly beer-laden, into the unoffending atmosphere. "There," he said, "you touch a bit of sadness within me. My young friend, Theophilus, is a little the worse for our efforts, mine and Azazel's, although we meant well." He lifted his mug of beer to his face and then went on.
My friend Theophilus [said George], whom you have never met for he moves in circles rather higher than the sordid ones you frequent, is a refined young man who is a great admirer of the graceful lines and divine carriage of young women - something to which I am fortunately immune - but who lacked the capacity to inspire reciprocation in them.
He would say to me, "I can't understand it, George. I have a good mind; I am an excellent conversationalist: witty, kind, reasonably good-looking - "
"Yes," I would reply, "you do have eyes, nose, chin, and mouth all in the usual places and in the usual number. I'll go that far."
" - and incredibly skilled in the theory of love, although I haven't actually been given much chance to put it into practice, and yet I seem to be unable to attract attention from these delightful creatures. Observe that they seem to be all about us, and yet not one makes the slightest attempt to scrape up an acquaintance with me, although I sit here with the most genial expression on my face."
My heart bled for