Man with raised hand.

The Man Who Saved New York

By Ray Cummings

Porky’s ego wouldn’t stay in his own body, and that, believe it or not, was what saved the city!

Of course, as you know, I didn’t figure in the excitement over the Green Giant. The newspapers and the radio boys never mentioned me, or Lisbeth, or Baldy or even Porky Jenks. Why would they? We have kept strictly silent about the whole affair. Not from shyness; none of us are against a little wholesome publicity. But it never does one any good to be billed as a first class candidate for the nut-house. So that Green Giant who waded around in the ocean off Sandy Hook will remain a mystery.

Not that I can actually explain him. I can’t. He’s as much a mystery to me as to anybody else. But, as it happened, there probably never would have been any Green Giant at all if it hadn’t been for me. I don’t mind telling the real facts, but I think it’s quite a bit safer for them just to go as fiction. You can take them or leave them, so to speak.

And there’s another angle to the thing. The war actually would have been won by now—if Lisbeth hadn’t queered it. Hitler would have been smashed and everything would have been just swell. I had it all planned—and then Lisbeth put the jinx on it. I’m sorry about that. But you’ll realize there’s not a thing I could have done.

The queer affair began last Spring—a warmish afternoon when I was sitting in my study trying to figure out a plot. Porky Jenks came in to see me. I used to know Porky quite well, but hadn’t seen him for a couple of years. He was a likeable young fellow, always with a ready laugh which is what made him so fat, I suppose. But this was a different Porky. He wedged himself down, collapsing in my only armchair. His clothes were rumpled as though he’d slept in them; his collar was wilted, hanging soggily on his bulging throat. His thin sandy hair was plastered on his sweating forehead; he pulled out a big blue handkerchief and mopped his face and just stared at me with pale blue eyes that looked haunted.

“Well, well, Porky, glad to see you,” I said. “How are you?”

“I’m awful,” he declared. Just out of habit, I suppose, he tried to laugh, but it was only a wan, sickly grin. “There’s—something the matter with me, Ray. Something terrible. That’s why I’ve come to you, see? You’re up on all that nutty stuff—the bizarre, the queer, the unbelievable—”

“Oh,” I said.

He stared at me with that haunted look. “Listen,” he said, “do I look crazy? Insane? A maniac? Tell me I’m not, Ray.”

“You’re not,” I said. “Cheer up. What have you been doing with yourself? Last I heard you were just finishing college.”

“I’m a hardware salesman. Retail trade. That is, I was, but what with the war and all, it’s no good.”

“Tough luck,” I said.

“It’s just as well. Walking so much made my feet hurt—they just wouldn’t stand it.” He sighed heavily. “Maybe that’s why I’m in 4-F, too. That and my weight—my heart. But that’s nothing serious—”

“Oh well, that’s fine,” I agreed. “But now—you’ve got some other trouble?”

The haunted look came back into his earnest eyes. “I’ll have to tell you,” he agreed. “After all, that’s what I came here for.” He gulped. “Listen,” he said, “hang onto yourself—you’ll get a shock. The thing hit me just about a week ago. Like a bolt from the blue—I didn’t have any warning at all. I was feeling perfectly all right, honest.”

“What hit you?” I prompted.

“I was just sitting by the window of my boarding house room.” His voice had that awed, solemn tone like you use telling a ghost story. “When all of a sudden I wasn’t myself at all. I was sitting in the chair all right—I knew that. But also I was a man walking down the street past my window.”

“You were—what?”

“A man walking past my window,” he repeated drably. “A perfectly strange man—and I was worried because I was late getting home and my wife’d give me hell. I was henpecked, scared to death of her, see?”

“No, I don’t see,” I declared.

His fat hands made a hopeless gesture. “Well, that’s what I mean, Ray. You think I’m crazy. That’s why I can’t go see a doctor. He’d just slam me into an asylum or something.” His chubby hands reached out and gripped my arm. “Listen—you’ve got to believe me. Anyway—I can show you—give you a demonstration—it’s easy enough.”

“Is it?” I said.

“Sure it is. You see, my ego, id, personality or something, doesn’t seem to want to stay put in my body any more. It—it wants to wander—”

“Let’s get this straight,” I interrupted. “You say you suddenly usurped the mind and body of some strange man walking down the street—”

“Yes, that’s it! Usurpsed! That’s a good word, Ray. I was sort of conscious that he was confused, too—my usurping him that way. He kind of resented it for a second or two—and then I guess he went blank. Anyway, I was in full control—”

“And what did you do? With him, I mean.”

“Oh. Well, I remember I decided I wouldn’t bother going back to my wife—his wife, I mean.”

I could only nod.

“So I went into a Bar and Grill and started to absorb whiskeys and soda and to the devil with his wife.”

“And then?” I prompted.

“Well, I can remember getting pretty blurry eventually. Seems like I was telling the bartender all my secret thoughts about the wife.” He smiled wryly. “And then I—well, you can’t blame me, Ray—it occurred to me I might be getting into some sort of jam. So I just—withdrew.”

“Withdrew?”

“I gave that little fellow back his body,” Porky said. He shrugged. “What else could I do? I just jerked myself back to my own body—in the chair by the window, see?”

For a minute I couldn’t think of anything to say. I’ve juggled with weird things like that for years—but strictly on paper, you understand. Now, meeting one in real life gave me a creepy feeling. Because Porky was telling me the truth. I wouldn’t doubt it. He was plainly about frightened out of his wits.

“You say you can do this any time you like?” I said at last.

“Sure I can. That’s just the trouble—sometimes it’s almost involuntarily, if I’m dozing, half asleep for instance, I just seem suddenly to slip into it. I got into a nasty jam just last night.”

He waited for me to ask him, what? But I just stared at him.

“Seems a man and his wife were having a big argument—the room over me in my boarding house,” he went on. “I could hear them. I don’t know what possessed me but all of a sudden I decided to take the wife’s part. So I did. She was a little woman, but when my—my personality got control of her—she’d always been meek, see? Afraid of the big bruiser, see? Well, anyway, it seems I changed all that in a hurry—” Porky smiled weakly. “Sort of hard to explain—”

“I get what you mean. Go on.”

“Well, the little woman took a few socks at him which surprised him—”

“I should think it might,” I commented.

“And just as he was socking back at her—”

“You withdrew?”

“Yes—yes I did. And that’s what worries me too, Ray. Not just for myself—this damned thing, see? It can work injustice to other people—”

“Easily,” I agreed. “That henpecked husband getting home drunk, for instance.”

“That’s what I mean.” He was still gripping my arm and his hands were shaking. “Ray, listen—a fellow oughtn’t to be able to do a thing like this. It’s not normal, is it?”

“No,” I admitted. “No—certainly not exactly normal. But you’re not sick, Porky? Nothing seems to be the matter with you—except this, of course?”

“No. If I wouldn’t be so scared I guess I’d feel all right.” He shuddered. “But what am I going to do? Want me to show you how the thing works? It’s easy enough. Let’s look out your window here. You just pick out anybody—anybody at all—”

It was just then that Lisbeth and Baldy Green walked in on us. Lisbeth is my daughter. She’s a nice girl. And good looking—a mop of unruly, wavy brown hair, and a figure with curves in all the right places. She wants to be a career girl—a news photographer, newspaper reporter of the sob sister style maybe, with a big by-line and write feature articles; and maybe hold down the City Desk job and publish the newspaper. A few little odds and ends like that. Baldy is a cartoonist on one of the big dailies. Middle aged, with a wife and six kids. A good friend of mine; and he had just gotten Lisbeth a job on his paper. Neither he nor Lisbeth had ever met Porky Jenks. I introduced them now. And then—because you had to do something to explain Porky’s frightened aspect—and maybe I didn’t look too normal either—I thought I’d better explain the problem in hand.

Well, as you can imagine, Lisbeth and Baldy were pretty nonplussed. And skeptical. But Porky, more gloomy than ever at all this discussion, waved away their doubts.

“Then let me show you,” he declared. “Pick anybody out there on the street. Anybody at all.” He shoved his armchair up to my open window, with us three standing around behind him.

“Will it—will it hurt him?” Lisbeth asked.

“It won’t hurt Porky,” I said. “But it might very easily hurt the other fellow.” I must admit the thing had me pretty jittery. I could begin to see the possibilities of what might happen. The hazards, so to speak. I gripped Porky by the shoulder. “Now listen,” I told him. “You’ve evidently had a lot of luck so far. You haven’t killed anybody, have you?”

He gulped. “Killed anybody? Oh my heavens no! How could I—”

“Listen—suppose while you—er—have possession of some stranger—suppose you got killed?” I suggested. “Or committed suicide for instance?”

“Oh please—please be careful,” Lisbeth put in.

“It isn’t Porky I’m worried about, it’s the other fellow,” I said. “Look here, Porky—it only takes you a second to—withdraw, as you put it?”

“Why—yes. Less than that, maybe. Instantaneous maybe—”

“And so you’d be sitting here in your chair, but the other fellow would be dead.”

“Don’t quibble,” Baldy said. “Let’s see him do it. That’s the important part.” Baldy also has a good imagination, which is why his cartoons are so successful. “If he can do a thing like that, it’s a gift,” Baldy added with mounting enthusiasm. “Why, we can capitalize on it in a thousand ways—maybe make a fortune—”

“I just want to get rid of it,” Porky said. “But here goes—just so you won’t think I’m crazy.”

Well, he showed us, all right. A meek-looking old woman with a shawl over her head and an umbrella under her arm happened to come along, and at the busy intersection just under my window she stood looking confused, as though afraid of the traffic.

“Try her,” Baldy suggested. “She looks like a weak character. You can take possession of a weak one better, can’t you?”

“Doesn’t seem to make any difference,” Porky said. “All right, she’ll do. Now just watch. Keep your eyes on her.”

We were all of us pretty tense, I guess. I recall that I was trying to watch the old woman, and Porky simultaneously. There was the old woman, standing on the corner, nervously waiting for the light to change; and then when it did, she seemed afraid to start across because cars were turning from the side street. And here in his chair, Porky just took a good, intense look at his victim. That was queer too. I saw a sort of predatory look jump into his pale blue eyes. And then he sat back in his chair with a hand up to his forehead.

Then it happened. Down on the corner the old woman seemed to start; for a second she looked dazed; I think she gave a twitch. Here in the chair was a thud. That was Porky’s head falling back inert against the chair; and there he lay, motionless, in a trance. Lisbeth noticed him and gave a frightened little gasp.

“He’s all right,” I murmured.

“Shut up,” Baldy admonished. “Look—oh migosh, look at the old woman!”

She was something to look at, no argument on that. The light had changed back, but that didn’t stop her. With imperious, if shaking steps, she strode out from the curb, holding up a hand to stop the traffic. By some miracle nothing hit her. And at the exact center of the intersection she stopped.

“Oh-h,” I heard Baldy murmur. “She’s gonna direct the traffic!”

That undoubtedly was her general idea. She had the closed umbrella gripped in her hand, holding it over her head as she gestured for the cars to stop, or come forward. It was quite a sight. And in a minute or two there were a lot of sounds —cars honking, the drivers yelling; the grinding, bumping crash of a couple of minor collisions. How long it went on I have no idea. I was pretty scared. The vague impulse came to me that I ought to give Porky’s inert body a shake to rouse him; but I didn’t dare. What that would have done, heaven only knows. Anyway, down in the street policemen were coming on the run. The scene down there was quite a mess, with that old woman still vigorously telling the traffic what it ought to do. Nothing had yet hit her. Then the policemen reached her; gripped her. The vague thought struck me that Porky would probably think this the proper time to withdraw. Evidently he did. I saw the old woman stiffen and then go limp in the policemen’s arms; and here in the chair Porky gave a twitch, with his head coming up, his eyes open staring at me, and a nervous smile on his lips.

That was all there was to it. Just as simple as that.... Porky was the first of us to speak.

“Well, there you are,” he said.

“How’d it work?”

“Take a look,” I told him.

He looked. “See?” he said. “That’s what I mean. I got her in trouble and I didn’t intend it, honest.”

Beyond any doubt the old woman was in trouble. Four policemen were telling her off; and then a radio car came and they bundled her into it.

“That’s tough,” Baldy murmured. “How’s she gonna explain it? She’ll wind up in Bellevue.”

“Well, he didn’t intend it,” Lisbeth said. Then she turned on me. “Why don’t you go down there and do something about it? Get her off—you can just tell them—”

“Not me,” I said. “You go. And I’ll come to the asylum and try and get you out. This whole thing is crazy, and anybody connected with it—”

“It may be crazy, but it works,” Baldy declared. “Listen, you lugs, don’t you realize what we’ve got? A gold mine! Fame! Fortune! Why listen, we’ll put Porky in the movies—”

“I don’t want to go in the movies,” Porky said. “I just want to get rid of—”

“He doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to,” Lisbeth put in.

“That’s silly,” I told Baldy. “What would it look like in the movies? Like nothing. Just trick photography.”

“Well then, vaudeville,” Baldy declared. “The scientific wonder of the age. He takes possession of various people in the audience—”

“Wouldn’t that make a hit with them!” I retorted.

“It would not!”

“I’ll bet we could get a thousand a week for it,” Baldy insisted.

“I won’t do it,” Porky said. “I’d wind up in the insane asylum, or in jail. Listen, I came here to see Ray, just to ask him would he please—”

It was then that the big idea came to me. The war! Money is a wonderful thing, but what with all the publicity the war gets, naturally it’s on your mind even more than money. How could we use Porky’s gift to help with the war? I’ve always had a vivid imagination, and this thing seemed suddenly to give it an immense stimulus. Lisbeth was about to tell Baldy and me again that Porky didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to do, but I silenced her.

“Look here, Porky,” I demanded, “why did you make that old woman direct traffic?”

“I dunno, it just occurred to me. When I was a kid I always wanted to be a policeman when I grew up.”

“That’s it!” Baldy exclaimed. “His subconscious! You see—”

I interrupted him. “Porky, listen, could you take possession of somebody who’s out of sight?”

“Sure I could,” he agreed readily. “Remember? I told you—that woman in the room above me, arguing with her husband. I couldn’t see them.”

“All right. Now then, could you—” Baldy interrupted me. He happened to be looking out the window. Down the street from me there’s an Undertaking Parlour, with a Neon sign of ghastly green. “Say,” he exclaimed, “here’s a thought! I wonder could he take possession of a corpse, for instance? There’s probably one over there in that Undertaker’s place. Suppose he made it come walking out! Think of how wonderful it would—”

“I’m thinking about it and I won’t do it,” Porky declared.

“I should say not,” Lisbeth agreed. “Dad, listen, he’s told you ten times all he wants is to—”

“Don’t be gruesome,” I told Baldy. “I’m thinking of something important.”

“Like what?” Lisbeth demanded.

“The war,” I said. “I’ve got it all worked out.”

I told them. And I must say, it sounded even more feasible, telling it, that it did thinking it up. Nazi submarines are always lurking off our coast. We know that.

“Like this,” I said. “We go down near Sandy Hook. Porky doesn’t actually have to see his victim—that’s been demonstrated. So he just mentally selects one of the lurking submarines and takes possession of its Commander.”

“Do I?” Porky said.

“You do.”

“And then what do I do?”

“You have him run his submarine up on the shore and smash it,” I told him enthusiastically. “Maybe the crew would get suspicious and stop you? If they did—then all you have to do is open valve and sink the sub. Or blow it up with one of its own torpedoes. I’m no expert on submarines, but don’t you see, when you’re the Commander you’ll know all about them. No trouble at all to find a dozen ways of blasting the whole thing to smithereens.”

“And kill himself, too,” Lisbeth murmured. “Dad, I thought you had better sense than—”

“Not at all,” I explained. “In one split second he jumps out to the safety of his own body which is with us on shore. That’s been demonstrated. Why, the thing’s perfect. One sub gone. Then he jumps into another one! And another! The Battle of the Atlantic is the big hitch in our war effort. You know that. Why, this will—”

Baldy was beginning to get the bigness of my idea. “It’s perfect!” he exclaimed. “Why, listen, when Hitler finds his subs just aren’t coming back, he’ll be afraid to send any more out! Then we can get busy on the Japs. Take a Jap battleship, for instance. Or a Jap General, ordering all his men in the wrong direction! What chaos! What a cinch for our forces—”

“Well, I won’t do it,” Porky said. “It just wouldn’t work and I won’t do it.”

“Why wouldn’t it work?” I demanded. “Lisbeth, stop trying to tell me he doesn’t have to do what he doesn’t want to do. He does have to. This is too important a thing—”

“It might work with just the first submarine,” Porky admitted. “But how do I know I can jump out of the Commander’s body with everything exploding around me? I never tried anything like that. Suppose I calculate it wrong and I’m dead before I jump. How do I know whether I can jump out of a dead body or not? I never tried it—”

That made Baldy mad. “Listen, you big hunk of junk,” he said, “are you going to put your own personal safety ahead of a chance to win the war for Uncle Sam?”

“More than just a chance—practically a sure thing,” I agreed.

“That’s because you and Baldy aren’t taking the chance,” Lisbeth put in. “You two are safe and he gets killed. For just one submarine. It’s suicide—just plain suicide and I won’t let him do it.”

“All right, I’ll try it,” Porky said suddenly. “I’m no coward, if you go and put it that way. Only I sure hope it works.”

I patted him on the back. “Good boy. That’s the stuff. Now listen, everybody, this thing will have to be kept absolutely secret, of course.”

“Of course—definitely,” Baldy agreed.

“We’ll just go ahead and do it and say nothing,” I went on. “The war will be won in a hurry—and why it got won will be the mystery. Who cares, so long as we win it?”

Well, we planned the thing for about an hour. It was so simple, though, there really wasn’t much planning to do. We decided that about eleven o’clock that same night, we’d all go quietly down near Coney Island or somewhere and go to work on the first sub that came within Porky’s range. The range was an unknown quantity, of course. But, so far as any of us could figure, there wasn’t any reason why Porky’s astral body couldn’t jump a mile—ten miles, for instance—just as well as from my window down into the street.

“Well, let’s go to dinner,” I said at last.

“I was thinking I would take Lisbeth to dinner,” Porky said. “Just to talk things over, you know.” He gazed at Lisbeth with sort of shy confusion I expect you’d call it, and she gazed back.

“I’d like that,” Lisbeth said. “Come on, let’s go.”

“And you be back here by eleven o’clock promptly,” I warned.

“Yes, of course—sure we will,” Porky agreed.

“Because the war depends on you.”

“Should you go A. W. O. L.,” Baldy put in—and he didn’t smile when he said it—“I will personally see that you get put into an insane asylum for the rest of your natural life.”

It occurred to me to mention that Porky could jump out of an insane asylum without much trouble, but I decided to keep that thought to myself. Lisbeth and Porky departed with more promises; and Baldy and I had dinner and loafed around discussing the thing, waiting impatiently for eleven o’clock. About quarter past eleven Lisbeth and Porky came back. You’d have thought they might have spent the evening soberly discussing the weird, dangerous things into which Porky was about to plunge. Not at all. They had been to a double-feature movie—“Love’s Lingering,” and “Passion’s Pretty Flowers,” or something like that. They were very happy about it. But they sobered down when I mentioned that Porky had the fate of the war on his hands; and by the time we got down to the seashore Porky was looking a little white around the gills.

“I sure hope this thing works,” he said weakly.

“Of course it will,” Baldy and I assured him. We sat him down on the sand. It was a lonely stretch, with the waves rolling up in long rhythmic lines of white and the open sea a deep purple with leaden clouds overhead and a wan moon trying to break through.

“Now then, make yourself comfortable,” I told Porky as we stretched him out on the sand. “We’ll be right here by you all the time.”

That didn’t seem to comfort him much. “I sure hope this thing works,” he said.

With the fate of the war at stake, I sure hoped so myself; but I wasn’t going to express any doubts about it. Baldy and I sat down and lighted up our pipes.

“Just keep your mind on the nearest submarine Commander,” I said. “And then jump into him and go to work. Then—withdraw. You’ll be back here with us instantaneously and we’ll start you right off again, it’s a cinch,” I assured him.

“I sure hope so,” he agreed.

“Nazi submarine Commander,” Baldy put in with sudden thought. “There might be a U. S. sub out there, Porky. Now listen—don’t you get this thing mixed—”

“It’s just plain suicide—that’s what it is,” Lisbeth murmured resentfully. But Baldy and I silenced her.

And then Porky went to work. He was stretched on the sand with head and shoulders propped up by his elbows behind him. We all held our breaths. For a minute or two Porky just stared moodily out at the purple sea. Concentrating. Lisbeth was sitting beside him; she seemed afraid to look at him.

“I won’t let him do it,” she muttered.

“Shut up,” Baldy growled. “You’ll break the spell.”

Then suddenly Porky gave a twitch. His body stiffened, then went limp. There was a little thud as his head and shoulders fell back onto the sand. Lisbeth gave a suppressed cry. Baldy and I exhaled; and then went back to puffing at our pipes. You’ve got to have poise in a thing like that; take it in stride, so to speak.

“Well, he’s at work,” Baldy murmured at last. “Pretty soon we ought to be getting results.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “I’ll bet those Nazi sailors on the sub are getting kind of surprised, just about now.”

I could picture it. A startled wonderment spreading around the sub at the queer actions of the Commander. Or maybe the whole thing was exploding just about now.

More time passed. On the sand beside us Porky’s body lay inert. You could hardly tell that he wasn’t dead. I could feel Lisbeth’s gaze roving Baldy and me as though we were a couple of murderers. Then all of a sudden Lisbeth gave a sharp, startled cry.

“Oh, my heavens! Look! Look there!”

We all saw it at once. Out in front of us, half a mile out maybe, the purple sea suddenly heaved up. There was a great cascade of water out of which a monstrous dark green shape rose towering two or three hundred feet into the air. The Green Giant! There he was. How can I describe him? I can’t. Not adequately, because he was too awesome, too weird, too incredible—but there he was. A great green man-shape.

The pallid moonlight shone on him—a green giant who must have been five or six hundred feet tall. He was wading waist deep in the water—wading, not at us, thank heavens, but parallel to the beach, toward Sandy Hook by the entrance to New York Harbor. The moonlight shone on his glistening torso—green scales and a slimy sea-look as though algae and barnacles might be clustered on it. A Green Giant almost in human form. Anyway, I remember that he had a browny chest that bulged out over the ocean surface; wide thick shoulders and monstrous arms that dangled down into the water as he strode forward, with a line of white waves churning at his waist. I saw his face plainly. You couldn’t call it human, but that was its general idea. He was breathing through his mouth now with a snort that was a gruesome rumbling roar; but I could see that he had gills or some such apparatus in the sides of his neck.

For a minute maybe Baldy and I and Lisbeth must have just sat there stricken, numb, with the body of Porky beside us. And then suddenly an immense amount of amazing things began to happen all more or less simultaneously. In the town behind us the air-raid siren began wailing. Then searchlights from several spots on shore sprang like great waving silver swords in the sky. Then, far out to sea there was the drone of planes.

An air raid! New York City being raided by Nazi planes! The Green Giant had nothing to do with the first alarm here on shore. It was planes coming in from the ocean. We heard them; and in a few seconds we saw them—four of them, flying low; Nazi planes—the moonlight disclosed it. Who am I to try to picture exactly what happened next? It was quite a chaos. All I can remember is that one of the planes swerved low pretty close over the Green Giant. I imagine that Nazi pilot was sort of startled—can you blame him? Anyway, suddenly the giant let out a bellow of anger; his hand reached up a hundred feet or so over his head and grabbed the plane—seized it, crunched it maybe and then flung it away. The plane was a long finger of yellow-red flames as it fell hissing into the sea.

I recall I heard Baldy mutter: “Ah—good work! Very neat!”

Good work! That tipped me off. I admit that in all the chaos the main fact had not yet occurred to me. You’ve guessed it. Porky! By some mischance for Hitler, quite evidently Der Fuehrer had selected this particular night for his threatened bombing of New York. Here were his bombing planes—four of them. And there was Porky, in the person of that astonishing green giant, going to work on them. Those Nazi pilots evidently got rattled. They gave up their ideas of heading up the bay and for a moment were circling here like a flock of confused birds. They were too far away now for Porky to clutch at them, so he stooped. One of his hands came up out of the sea with a monstrous dripping boulder. He flung it, and another plane crashed.

There was worse than chaos out in front of us now. A lot of our own planes were coming, interceptors that went like wasps after the two remaining Nazis. One of Hitler’s prides seemed to be shot down; and Porky accounted for the other one—that green giant leaped into the air with a marvelous standing high jump, grabbed the Nazi plane with both hands and tore it into bits. But now a new element entered into the thing. Hitler evidently had a few subs around here. One of them obviously let loose a couple of torpedos at the giant. Distinctly I saw two explosions at the giant’s waistline—torpedos that must have gone right into him and exploded inside. Anyway, he doubled up with a bellowing roar of pain that rattled our ear-drums and then he went down, sinking with a cataclysmic rush of white waves over him.

I recall my fleeting thought that this would be just the proper time for Porky to withdraw. And he did. As the green giant fell and disappeared, the body of Porky here on the sand gave a convulsive shudder and in another instant Porky was sitting up, blinking, with a hand rubbing his forehead, and the other hand shoving away Lisbeth who was clutching at him.

“W-well,” Porky said. “Here you are. What happened?”

“Plenty,” I said. “A very great deal. But you did fine, Porky.”

Baldy was on his feet, holding off Lisbeth who was struggling to get at Porky. “Say, listen, you lug,” Baldy demanded, “where in the devil did you ever pick up that giant? It happened to work out all right, but—”

“Why—I dunno,” Porky said. “He was just lying around down there—”

“On his way in from Atlantis maybe?” Baldy was sarcastic.

“I dunno. I was concentrating on a sub Commander—how bestial they are—you know, that sort of stuff—and all of a sudden I sort of slid into that giant.” Porky shuddered. “It was—horrible. But—when I saw those Nazi planes, I did my best.”

“You did wonderful,” I agreed.

“You saved New York from maybe a nasty air raid. Now listen, the U-boat Commanders are still out there. All we have to do—”

“If we had any sense we’d be getting out of here before we get into real trouble,” Lisbeth observed suddenly.

I could see that she had something there. This section of the beach was no longer lonely. Spectators were beginning to mill around; and there were Coast Guards, with searchlights darting at us, and planes roaring overhead.

“Come on, let’s duck,” I agreed. “We’ll come back tomorrow night when things have quieted down a bit.”

Baldy and I planned it enthusiastically all the way back to the city. Barring the sudden advent of green giants and such, the thing obviously was absolutely simple. We four could tour all the coasts. And then maybe arrange to get abroad. I figured three months—if Porky could hold out—would wind up the war.

That next day, Baldy and I made charts in regular military fashion, outlining our exact plan of campaign. We didn’t see Porky or Lisbeth that afternoon, or evening. They had wanted to have dinner together again, but had promised faithfully to report at my study by eleven p.m. They came, right on the dot. And they were both beaming.

“Well,” I said. “Here you are. That’s fine. And you look in good shape for a swell night’s work, Porky.”

“Yes, sir,” Porky agreed. “I’m all right. But you see, sir—there’s—er—something we want to tell you.”

That “sir” sounded sort of queer, but I admit I didn’t get the idea.

“He loves me and I love him and so it’s all settled,” Lisbeth said.

I saw that Baldy looked startled. What I looked like I don’t know. “What’s all settled?” I demanded.

“Us—er—we’re engaged,” Porky stammered. “That is—”

“It absolutely is,” Lisbeth beamed. “He loves me and I love him. Definitely.”

To say that I was nonplussed would be putting it mildly. But I have always prided myself on having a true sense of values. What’s the problem of a daughter compared to the problem of winning the war? Nothing. Nothing at all.

“Well, we’ll talk about that later,” I decided firmly. “Right now we’ve got a war on our hands. Come on, let’s get going.”

But Porky didn’t look at all as thought he were ready to start. “Well,” he said, “that’s another thing I—er—have to tell you.” He looked very pleased. “I haven’t got it any more. I’ve lost it.”

Baldy came to life. “What’s that mean?” he demanded. “What in the devil haven’t you got any more? What have you lost?”

“My—my gift—that’s what you called it,” Porky said. “It’s gone. Vanished. I can’t do it any more. I tried—honest I did—but it’s gone.”

Lisbeth made an expressive gesture like one who wants to indicate that a fairy has just flown out the window.

“He tried,” she said. “He really did.”

“I’m no coward,” Porky added. “Didn’t I do fine last night? But it’s gone—I’m quite normal now.” He said that last with a very evident relish.

“Because now your soul and heart and ego and such are all tied up with Lisbeth,” Baldy said sarcastically.

“That’s it,” Lisbeth retorted. “And you don’t need to be sarcastic about it. He and I figured it all out—why would his ego want to roam abroad when it’s in my keeping—forever?” She and Porky were holding onto each other’s hands and gazing with that dying calf look. “He belongs to me now,” Lisbeth added. “His ego doesn’t want to go adventuring. Besides, if it did, I wouldn’t let it.”

And there you are. I’m sorry about not being personally able to win the war, but you can see, there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the July 1943 issue
of Science Fiction Stories.