The Complete Stories of Philip K. Dick Vol. 2 Read Online Free Page A

her slim legs below the hem of the robe. "How nice you look today."
    She laughed. "Be careful! Maybe I shouldn't let you in after all."
    They looked at one another, half amused, half frightened. Presently Bob said, "If you want, I'll -"
    "No, for God's sake." She caught hold of his sleeve. "Just get out of the doorway so I can close it. Mrs Peters across the street, you know."
    She closed the door. "And I want to show you something," she said. "You haven't seen it."
    He was interested. "An antique? Or what?"
    She took his arm, leading him toward the dining-room. "You'll love it, Bobby." She stopped wide-eyed. "I hope you will. You must; you must love it. It means so much to me –
he
means so much."
    "He?" Bob frowned. "Who is he?"
    Doris laughed. "You're jealous! Come on." A moment later they stood before the clock, looking up at it. "He'll come out in a few minutes. Wait until you see him. I know you two will get along fine."
    "What does Larry think of him?"
    "They don't like each other. Sometimes when Larry's here he won't come out. Larry gets mad if he doesn't come out on time. He says -"
    "Says what?"
    Doris looked down. "He always says he's been robbed, even if he did get it wholesale." She brightened. "But I know he won't come out because he doesn't like Larry. When I'm here alone he comes right out for me, every fifteen minutes, even though he really only has to come out on the hour."
    She gazed up at the clock. "He comes out for me because he wants to. We talk; I tell him things. Of course, I'd like to have him upstairs in my room, but it wouldn't be right."
    There was a sound of footsteps on the front porch. They looked at each other, horrified.
    Larry pushed the front door open, grunting. He set his briefcase down and took off his hat. Then he saw Bob for the first time.
    "Chambers. I'll be damned." His eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?" He came into the dining-room. Doris drew her robe about her helplessly, backing away.
    "I -" Bob began. "That is, we -" He broke off, glancing at Doris. Suddenly the clock began to whirr. The cuckoo came rushing out, bursting into sound. Larry moved toward him.
    "Shut that din off," he said. He raised his fist toward the clock. The cuckoo snapped into silence and retreated. The door closed. "That's better." Larry studied Doris and Bob, standing mutely together.
    "I came over to look at the clock," Bob said. "Doris told me that it's a rare antique and that -"
    "Nuts. I bought it myself." Larry walked up to him. "Get out of here." He turned to Doris. "You too. And take that damn clock with you."
    He paused, rubbing his chin. "No. Leave the clock here. It's mine; I bought it and paid for it."
    In the weeks that followed after Doris left, Larry and the cuckoo clock got along even worse than before. For one thing, the cuckoo stayed inside most of the time, sometimes even at twelve o'clock when he should have been busiest. And if he did come out at all he usually spoke only once or twice, never the correct number of times. And there was a sullen, uncooperative note in his voice, a jarring sound that made Larry uneasy and a little angry.
    But he kept the clock wound, because the house was very still and quiet and it got on his nerves not to hear someone running around, talking and dropping things. And even the whirring of a clock sounded good to him.
    But he didn't like the cuckoo at all. And sometimes he spoke to him.
    "Listen," he said late one night to the closed little door. "I know you can hear me. I ought to give you back to the Germans – back to the Black Forest." He paced back and forth.
    "I wonder what they're doing now, the two of them. That young punk with his books and his antiques. A man shouldn't be interested in antiques; that's for women."
    He set his jaw. "Isn't that right?"
    The clock said nothing. Larry walked up in front of it. "Isn't that right?" he demanded. "Don't you have anything to say?"
    He looked at the face of the clock. It was almost eleven, just a