The Goblin Reservation

“And now,” said Ghost to Maxwell, “please tell us what you are. You are no ghost, apparently, or if you are, there’s been a vast improvement in procedure since the man I represent shuffled off his mortal coil.”

“It seems,” Maxwell told them, “that I’m a split personality. One of me, I understand, got in an accident and died.”

“But that’s impossible,” said Carol. “Split personality in the mental sense-sure, that can be understood. But physically…”

“There’s nothing in heaven or earth,” said Ghost, “that is impossible.”

“That’s a bad quotation,” said Oop, “and, besides, you misquoted it.”

He put a hand to his hairy chest and scratched vigorously with blunt fingers.

“You needn’t look so horrified,” he said to Carol. “I itch. I’m a brute creature of nature, therefore I scratch. And I’m not naked, either. I have a pair of shorts on.”

“He’s housebroken,” said Maxwell, “but just barely.”

“To get back to this split personality,” said the girl, “can you tell us what actually did happen?”

“I set out for one of the Coonskin planets,” said Maxwell, “and along the way somehow my wave pattern duplicated itself and I wound up in two places.”

“You mean there were two Pete Maxwells?”

“That’s the way of it.”

“If I were you,” said Oop, “I’d sue them. These Transportation people get away with murder. You could shake them down for plenty. Me and Ghost could testify for you. We went to your funeral.

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I think Ghost and I should sue as well. For mental anguish. Our best friend cold and rigid in his casket and us prostrate with grief.”

“We really were, you know,” said Ghost.

“I have no doubt of it,” said Maxwell.

“I must say,” said Carol, “that all three of you take it rather lightly. Here one good friend of three-”

“What do you want of us?” demanded Oop. “Sing hallelujahs, perhaps? Or bug out our eyes and be filled with the wonder of it? We lost a pal and now he’s back again and-”

“But one of him is dead!”

“Well,” said Oop, “as far as we were concerned, there was never more than one of him. And maybe this is better. Imagine the embarrassing situations that could develop if there were two of him.”

Carol turned to Maxwell. “And you?” she asked.

He shook his head. “In a day or two, I’ll take some serious thought of it. Right now, I guess, I’m putting off thinking about it. To tell you the truth, when I do think about it, I get a little numb. But tonight a pretty girl and two old friends and a great big pussy cat and a bottle of liquor to get rid of and later on some food.”

He gri

“I never saw such a crazy bunch,” she said. “I believe I like it.”

“I like it, too,” said Oop. “Say whatever you will of it, this civilization of yours is a vast improvement over the days of yore. It was the luckiest day of my life when a Time team snatched me hence just at the point when some of my loving brother tribesmen were about to make a meal of me. Not that I blame them particularly, you understand. It had been a long, hard winter and the snow was deep and the game had been very scarce. And there were certain members of the tribe who felt they had a score or two to settle with me-and I’ll not kid you; they may have had a score. I was about to be knocked upon the head and, so to speak, dumped into the pot.”

“Ca

“Why, naturally,” he told her. “In those rough and ready days, it was quite acceptable. But, of course, you wouldn’t understand. You’ve never been really hungry, I take it. Gut hungry. So shriveled up with hunger-”

He halted his talk and looked around.

“The thing that is most comforting about this culture,” he declared, “is the abundance of the food. Back in the old days we had our ups and downs. We’d bag a mastodon and we’d eat until we vomited and then we’d eat some more and-”

“I doubt,” Ghost said warningly, “that this is a proper subject for di

Oop glanced at Carol.

“You must say this much for me,” he insisted. “I’m honest. When I mean vomit, I say vomit and not regurgitate.”

The waiter brought the liquor, thumping the bottle and the ice bucket down upon the table.

“You want to order now?” he asked.

“We ain’t decided yet,” said Oop, “if we’re going to eat in this crummy joint. It’s all right to get liquored up in, but-”

“Then, sir,” the waiter said, and laid down the check.

Oop dug into his pockets and came up with cash. Maxwell pulled the bucket and the bottle close and began fixing drinks.

“We’re going to eat here, aren’t we?” asked Carol. “If Sylvester doesn’t get that steak you promised him, I don’t know what will happen. He’s been so patient and so good, with the smell of all the food…”

“He’s already had one steak,” Maxwell pointed out. “How much can he eat?”

“An unlimited amount,” said Oop. “In the old days one of them monsters would polish off an elk in a single sitting. Did I ever tell you-”

“I am sure you have,” said Ghost.

“But that was a cooked steak,” protested Carol, “and he likes them raw.

Besides, it was a small one.”

“Oop,” said Maxwell, “get that waiter back here. You are good at it. You have the voice for it.”

Oop signaled with a brawny arm and bellowed. He waited for a moment, then bellowed once again, without results.

“He won’t pay attention to me,” Oop growled. “Maybe it’s not our waiter. I never am able to tell them monkeys apart. They all look alike to me.”

“I don’t like the crowd tonight,” said Ghost. “I have been watching it.

There’s trouble in the air.”

“What is wrong with it?” asked Maxwell.

“There are an awful lot of creeps from English Lit. This is not their hangout. Mostly the crowd here are Time and Supernatural.”

“You mean this Shakespeare business?”

“That might be it,” said Ghost.

Maxwell handed Carol her drink, pushed another across the table to Oop.

“It seems a shame,” Carol said to Ghost, “not to give you one. Couldn’t you even sniff it, just a little?”

“Don’t let it bother you,” said Oop. “The guy gets drunk on moonbeams. He can dance on rainbows. He has a lot of advantages you and I don’t have. For one thing, he’s immortal. What could kill a ghost?”

“I’m not sure of that,” said Ghost.

“There’s one thing that bothers me,” said Carol. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” said Ghost.

“It’s this business of your not knowing who you are the ghost of. Is that true or is it just a joke?”

“It is true,” said Ghost. “And I don’t mind telling you, it’s embarrassing and confusing. But I’ve just plain forgotten. From England -that much, at least, I know. But the name I can’t recall. I would suspect most other ghosts-”

“We have no other ghosts,” said Maxwell. “Contacts with other ghosts, of course, and conversations and interviews with them. But no other ghost has ever come to live with us. Why did you do it, Ghost-come to live with us.”

“He’s a natural chiseler,” said Oop. “Always figuring out the angles.”

“You’re wrong there,” Maxwell said. “It’s damned little we can do for

Ghost.”

“You give me,” said Ghost, “a sense of reality.”

“Well, no matter what the reason,” said Maxwell, “I am glad you did it.”

“The three of you,” said Carol, “have been friends for a long, long time.”

“And it seems strange to you?” asked Oop.

“Well, yes, maybe it does,” she said. “I don’t know really what I mean.”

Sounds of scuffling came from the front of the place. Carol and Maxwell turned around in their chairs to look in the direction from which the scuffling came, but there wasn’t much that one could see.

A man suddenly loomed on top of the table and began to sing:

Hurrah for Old Bill Shakespeare;

He never wrote them plays;

He stayed at home, and chasing girls, Sang dirty rondelays