To Invade New York.... Read online

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  "TO INVADE NEW YORK...."

  It would be foolish to do a thing a hard way, when there is such an easy way. In a technically dependent culture, people become quite helpless, really....

  BY IRWIN LEWIS

  ILLUSTRATED BY LEO SUMMERS

  He was a tall, learned-looking man, about fifty, slightly stooped, witha bulging midriff, tortoise-shell glasses, graying hair, and a strangelook in his eyes. I'd noticed him standing outside Shannon's Bar forabout ten minutes, pacing back and forth. Then he came in and sat downnext to me. It was late afternoon, before the rush hour, and we were theonly customers in the place.

  Jimmy, the bartender, put down the towel with which he'd been idlywiping glasses, and came over. "What'll it be?"

  The stranger jumped nervously and looked blank for a moment. "Uh ... er... a glass of beer, please. _Root_ beer."

  Jimmy snorted. "Try the candy store down the block."

  "Oh," said the stranger, obviously upset. "Then let me have a glass ofregular beer--mild, please."

  I smiled at Jimmy as he filled a glass. All sorts came into Shannon's.Outside, the traffic on Third Avenue was only a faint hum.

  The stranger licked the foam tentatively and wrinkled his nose indistaste. He put the glass back on the bar and shook his head.

  "_Pro superi! quantum mortalia pectora caecae, Noctis habent._"

  "Huh?" said Jimmy.

  The stranger smiled briefly. "That is Latin. It means, Oh, ye gods, whatdarkness of night there is in mortal minds."

  Jimmy shrugged and went back to wiping glasses. The stranger nodded tome. "Ovid said that. He was a wise man."

  "Friend of yours?" I asked, just to be polite.

  "He died nearly two thousand years ago." He tasted the beer again andpushed it away. "Permit me to introduce myself. I am Horace HowardClarke, associate professor of Roman History at one of the universitiesin the city."

  I introduced myself and we shook hands. "Tell me," he said, "do youbelieve New York can be conquered?"

  One of those kind, I thought. And here I was with an hour to kill beforemeeting my date. "Lots of people have taken it in," I started.

  "I don't mean that kind. I mean physically invaded."

  "Pretty big job, I'd think."

  "Very simple." He dropped a small metal disk on the bar. "This could doit--or at least help."

  I picked up the metal disk. "Why, it's a subway token."

  "_Almost_ a subway token," he said. "And therein lies the key toconquest. That--and the green lights." I edged away from him. This Ididn't need! He leaned towards me. "If only I could convince someone,"he said, his lips tight. "Perhaps you will believe me."

  I got to my feet. "Sorry. But I've got a date."

  "Please!" The voice was firm, all of a sudden. "It is vital!" Ihesitated and Jimmy came over, in case there was trouble.

  "Well," I said, deciding to humor him, "if it won't take long."

  "_Brevis esse laboro, obscurus fio._"

  "Oh?"

  "If I labor to be brief, I become obscure."

  I sighed. A long-winded one. And in Latin, yet!

  He motioned to Jimmy. "Let this gentleman have another drink,bartender." He moved closer to me. "I will tell you what I know," hesaid. "If you believe, perhaps you will be able to do something aboutit. This much is certain. Very little time remains before disasterstrikes!"

  * * * * *

  It all began (he said) prosaically enough on the Tuesday of last week,on the third floor of the Public Library at 42nd Street, in Room 315.There, as you probably know, one may obtain books on most subjects byfilling out a slip, receiving an odd or even number, and retiring toeither the odd or even Reading Room, where your number will eventuallyflash on a lighted board. At the time I was engrossed in a study of theearly life of Publilius Syrus and, I must admit, glanced only casuallyat the card given me by the young man at the desk. I saw that it was 18and proceeded into the Even room on the right for what I knew from pastexperience would be a tedious wait.

  Ah! Had I but paid more attention to the card handed me! But "_Adpoenitendum properat, cito qui judicat_." "He makes speed to repentancewho judges hastily." The card which I thought was numbered 18, wasactually 81. I had inadvertently glanced at it upside down. Had theRoman numeral system been used, as I have long advocated, thisunfortunate accident could not have occurred: a XVIII cannot be mistakenfor LXXXI no matter which way it is turned!

  Be that as it may, number 18 flashed on the board in a surprisinglyshort time and I hastened to obtain the book from the extremely harriedyoung lady behind the counter. I returned to my chair at one of the longreading tables. When I opened the book, which was of a disturbing bluecolor, I was highly irritated to learn that this was not a biography ofPublilius Syrus; furthermore it was not even in Latin. I removed myglasses to make certain (someday I shall simply _have_ to get bifocals)and saw that it was a foreign cookbook.

  Annoyed, I snatched the book from the table and started to return to thecounter. As I did so, a green slip of paper fluttered from between thepages. I glanced at it idly. There was an address on it, scrawled inalmost illegible block letters. "432 West 28th Street." Being of a tidynature, I slipped the bit of paper into my pocket and turned, only tofind my way blocked by a rather large man wearing a trench coat withupturned collar. He tapped the book significantly and whispered,"Eight-thirty tonight. You know the place."

  With that he strode rapidly from the room, giving me no chance to askhim what he was talking about. Irritated, I returned to the counterwhere a smallish man, wearing a loud-checked suit was arguing with theyoung lady. He was holding a number card.

  "But I tell you," said the harassed young lady, "number 18 was flashedon the board and the book was picked up."

  The little man clucked impatiently and waved the card. "But I havenumber 18," he said shrilly, "and I must have the book!"

  Normally I am not a fast thinker. Years of teaching Roman history toclasses of dozing students, interested only in easy credits, are notreckoned to sharpen one's wits. However, I instantly realized what musthave happened. I tapped the little man on the shoulder.

  "Pardon me, sir," I whispered, "is this your book?" He whirled aroundviolently. He had a thin, sharp-pointed face with deep-set eyes, heavybrow and a receding chin that terminated in a little scrub of a beard.Rudely he snatched the book from my hand and began leafing through itwith shaking fingers.

  I started to say, "If Roman numerals had been used instead of--" but sawhe was paying no attention to me, so I headed for the Main Room to getanother card. I had no sooner reached the entrance when I was confrontedby the little bearded man again. His mouth was agape with distress, hisloud-checked bowtie askew. He waved the book in my face. "Didn't youfind anything in here?" he demanded.

  "Not really," I said. "I have no interest in French cooking."

  He shook his head vigorously. "I mean _inside_ the book!"

  "Quiet, please," said the guard at the entrance, holding his finger tohis lips disapprovingly. I continued into the Main Room, the little manscurrying alongside me.

  "Please," he pleaded, "think. Wasn't there _something_ in the book?"

  Irked at his persistence, I was about to move on, when I remembered."Why, yes," I said, slowly. "There _was_ something. This." I fished thebit of green paper from my pocket. He snatched it from me, uttered asqueak of delight, and hurried away.

  * * * * *

  Relieved that this untidy business was finally done with, I decided toforego Publilius Syrus for the day, since I was no longer in the mooda
nd I had some important papers to edit. So I returned to my home, arather large and comfortable room on the first floor of a convertedbrownstone in lower Manhattan. I had no sooner settled down at my deskwhen there came an urgent knock on my door. I slipped on my glasses andopened the door. Imagine my amazement and irritation when the little manfrom the library scuttled into the room. He hurried to the window andpulled down the blind. Then he firmly removed my hand from the doorknob,closed the door and locked it. He leaned against the door, facing me.

  "There _is_ no 432 West 28th Street," he announced, angrily.

  "The information does not impress