Fantazius Mallare & the Dark Eidolon by Ben Hecht

Author:Ben Hecht [Ben Hecht, Clark Ashton Smith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction : Horror/Decadence
ISBN: 978-1-909923-13-3
Publisher: Elektron Ebooks

CHAPTER VIII

From the Journal of Mallare dated January.

“I am the one who contemplates. I am the Knowing One. There is nothing I do not know. It is amazing to be Mallare. I have triumphed over five worlds. I look down upon a rabble of Mallares. There are five Mallares – five sullen looking madmen. One of them sits and listens to voices. Another of them wanders about, staring with sad eyes at intolerable visions. Another of them lies on his back, babbling excitedly with the darkness. Another of them eats and sleeps like a prosperous grocer. And there is a fifth Mallare who weeps. A baffling rogue who puts his arms around me and blubbers on my shoulder like a lodge brother. He says nothing, and of them all I dislike him the most.

“His silence is mysterious. His tears are uncomfortable. A distressing ass, weeping, blubbering. He implores me. Aha, I have it. I know his secret. He is memory – a memory of myself followed around like a heart-broken mother a wayward son. Five Mallares, five sinister comedians to entertain me. And I, what can I call myself – pure reason? No, a disgusting title. Rather, Unreason, since I am after all the Indifferent One. But all this is a quibble inspired by modesty. I am God. I am that which men have worshipped – the aloof one, the pitiless and amused one.

“The five tribes of Mallare rage and curse beneath me, fill the air with profanations, weep and gibber in the night. But I sit inviolate and wait for them – even for that blubbering one whose tongue is thick with tears and whose idiot eyes implore me – and they return. They raise their faces to me, their God, and fall prostrate before my smile.

“Yes, it is the weeping one who causes me the most trouble. A reluctant worshipper who annoys me. He clings like another phantom. A meddlesome imbecile who keeps buttonholing me and pouring out tales of woe. And who keeps my name on his lips. I can see it moving on his lips. But he is dumb. I have his secret though. This dumb one came to me in the snow. I was faint. Hunger had thrown me to the ground. When I stood up he was beside me. His lips moved excitedly but they made no sound. And we walked home together.

“Who is this pathetic intruder?” I thought. ‘He walks beside me gesturing with his lips and weeping, weeping. He falls on my neck and embraces me. His eyes roll with panic. What new variant of madness is this?’

“It is curious that of all the Mallares he alone is speechless. The others keep up their incessant babbling and screaming – true citizens of Bedlam. But this dumb one who attached himself to me in the snow, even his lips have stopped moving now, except to form my name slowly as he blubbers on my shoulder.

“I am kind to him and forgiving. I smile. I even coax him to speak, to move his lips once more.

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