Ring Once for Death
Robert Arthur
Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Amazing Stories March 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
RING ONCE FOR DEATH
BY ROBERT ARTHUR
Illustrator: Ernie Barth
_The power of the old gods was certainly nothing for Mark and Edith--a modern, twentieth-century couple--to worry about. After all--everybody dies!_
* * * * *
]
Twenty years had left no trace inside Sam Kee's little shop on MottStreet. There were the same dusty jars of ginseng root and tigers'whiskers, the same little bronze Buddahs, the same gim-cracks mixedwith fine jade. Edith Williams gave a little murmur of pleasure as thedoor shut behind them.
"Mark," she said, "it hasn't changed! It doesn't look as if a thinghad been sold since we were here on our honeymoon."
"It certainly doesn't," Dr. Mark Williams agreed, moving down thenarrow aisle behind her. "If someone hadn't told us Sam Kee was dead,I'd believe we'd stepped back twenty years in time, like they do inthose scientific stories young David reads."
"We must buy something," his wife said. "For a twentieth anniversarypresent for me. Perhaps a bell?"
From the shadowy depths of the shop a young man emerged, American indress and manner despite the Oriental contours of his face and eyes.
"Good evening," he said. "May I show you something?"
"We think we want a bell," Dr. Williams chuckled. "But we aren't quitesure. You're Sam Kee's son?"
"Sam Kee, junior. My honored father passed to the halls of hisancestors five years ago. I could just say that he died--" black eyestwinkled--"but customers like the more flowery mode of speech. Theythink it's quaint."
"I think it's just nice, and not quaint at all," Edith Williamsdeclared. "We're sorry your father is dead. We'd hoped to see himagain. Twenty years ago when we were a very broke young couple on ahoneymoon he sold us a wonderful rose-crystal necklace for halfprice."
"I'm sure he still made a profit." The black eyes twinkled again. "Butif you'd like a bell, here are small temple bells, camel bells, dinnerbells...."
But even as he spoke, Edith Williams' hand darted to something at theback of the shelf.
"A bell carved out of crystal!" she exclaimed. "And rose-crystal atthat. What could be more perfect? A rose-crystal wedding present and arose-crystal anniversary present!"
The young man half stretched out his hand.
"I don't think you want that," he said. "It's broken."
"Broken?" Edith Williams rubbed off the dust and held the lovelybell-shape of crystal, the size of a pear, to the light. "It looksperfect to me."
"I mean it is not complete." Something of the American had vanishedfrom the young man. "It has no clapper. It will not ring."
"Why, that's right." Mark Williams took the bell. "The clapper'smissing."
"We can have another clapper made," his wife declared. "That is, ifthe original can't be found?"
The young Chinese shook his head.
"The bell and the clapper were deliberately separated by my fathertwenty years ago." He hesitated, then added: "My father was afraid ofthis bell."
"Afraid of it?" Mark Williams raised his eyebrows.
The other hesitated again.
"It will probably sound like a story for tourists," he said. "But myfather believed it. This bell was supposedly stolen from the temple ofa sect of Buddhists somewhere in the mountains of China's interior.Just as many Occidentals believe that the Christian Judgement Day willbe heralded by a blast on St. Peter's trumpet, so this small sect issaid to believe that when a bell like this one is rung, a bell carvedfrom a single piece of rose crystal, and consecrated by ceremonieslasting ten years, any dead within sound of it will rise and liveagain."
"Heavenly!" Edith Williams cried. "And no pun intended. Mark, thinkwhat a help this bell will be in your practise when we make it ringagain!" To the Chinese she added, smiling: "I'm just teasing him. Myhusband is really a very fine surgeon."
The other bowed his head.
"I must tell you," he said, "you will not be able to make it ring.Only the original clapper, carved from the same block of rose crystal,will ring it. That is why my father separated them."
Again he hesitated.
"I have told you only half of what my father told me. He said that,though it defeats death, Death can not be defeated. Robbed of hischosen victim, he takes another in his place. Thus when the bell wasused in the temple of its origin--let us say when a high priest or achief had died--a slave or servant was placed handy for Death to takewhen he had been forced to relinquish his grasp upon the importantone."
He smiled, shook his head.
"There," he said. "A preposterous story. Now if you wish it, the bellis ten dollars. Plus, of course, sales tax."
"The story alone is worth more," Dr. Williams declared. "I think we'dbetter have it sent, hadn't we, Edith? It'll be safer in the mail thanin our suitcase."
"Sent?" His wife seemed to come out of some deep feminine meditation."Oh, of course. And as for its not ringing--I shall make it ring. Iknow I shall."
"If the story is true," Mark Williams murmured, "I hope not...."
* * * * *
The package came on a Saturday morning, when Mark Williams wascatching up on the latest medical publications in his untidy,book-lined study. He heard Edith unwrapping paper in the hall outside.Then she came in with the rose-crystal bell in her hands.
"Mark, it's here!" she said. "Now to make it ring."
She plumped herself down beside his desk. He took the bell and reachedfor a silver pencil.
"Just for the sake of curiosity," he remarked, "and not because Ibelieve that delightful sales talk we were given, let's see if it willring when I tap. It should, you know."
He tapped the lip of the bell. A muted _thunk_ was the only response.Then he tried with a coin, a paper knife, and the bottom of a glass.In each instance the resulting sound was nothing like a bell ringing.
"If you've finished, Mark," Edith said then, with feminine tolerance,"let me show you how it's done."
"Gladly," her husband agreed. She took the bell and turned away for amoment. Then she shook the bell vigorously. A clear, sweet ringingshivered through the room--so thin and etherial that small involuntaryshivers crawled up his spine.
"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "How did you do that?"
"I just put the clapper back in place with some thread," Edith toldhim.
"The clapper?" He struck his forehead with his palm. "Don't tellme--the crystal necklace we bought twenty years ago!"
"Of course." Her tone was composed. "As soon as young Sam Kee told usabout his father's separating the clapper and the bell, I rememberedthe central crystal pendant on my necklace. It _is_ shaped like a bellclapper--we mentioned it once.
"I guessed right away we had the missing clapper. But I didn't say so.I wanted to score on you, Mark--" she smiled affectionately athim--"and because, you know, I had a queer feeling Sam Kee, junior,wouldn't let us have the bell if he guessed we had the clapper."
"I don't think he would." Mark Williams picked up his pipe and rubbedthe bowl with his thumb. "Yet he didn't really believe that story hetold us any more than we do."
"No, but his father did. And if old Sam Kee had told it tous--remember how wrinkled and wise he seemed?--I do believe we'd havebelieved the story."
"You're probably right." Dr. Williams rang t
he bell and waited. Thethin, sweet sound seemed to hang in the air a long moment, then wasgone.
"Nope," he said. "Nothing happened. Although, of course, that may bebecause there was no deceased around to respond."
"I'm not sure I feel like joking about the story." A small frowngathered on Edith's forehead. "I had planned to use the bell as adinner bell and to tell the story to our guests. But now--I'm notsure."
Frowning, she stared at the bell until the ringing of the telephone inthe hall brought her out of her abstraction.
"Sit still, I'll answer." She hurried out. Dr. Williams, turning therose crystal bell over in his hand, could hear the sudden tension inher voice as she answered. He was on his feet when she reentered.
"An emergency operation at the hospital," she sighed. "Nice youngman--automobile accident. Fracture of the skull, Dr. Amos says. Hewouldn't have disturbed you but you're the only brain man in town,with Dr. Hendryx away on vacation."
"I know." He was already in the hall, reaching for his hat. "Man'swork is from sun to sun, but a doctor's work is never done," hemisquoted.
"I'll drive you." Edith followed him out. "You sit back and relax foranother ten minutes...."
* * * * *
Two hours later, as they drove homeward, the traffic was light, whichwas fortunate. More than once Mark, in a frowning abstraction, foundhimself on the left of the center line and had to pull back into hisown lane.
He had lost patients before, but never without a feeling of personaldefeat. Edith said he put too much of himself into every operation.Perhaps he did. And yet--No, there was every reason why the young manshould have lived. Yet, just as Mark Williams had felt that he hadbeen successful, the patient had died.
In twenty years of marriage, Edith Williams had learned to read histhoughts at times. Now she put a hand comfortingly on his arm.
"These things happen, darling," she said. "You know that. A doctor canonly do so much. Some of the job always remains in the hands ofNature. And she does play tricks at times."
"Yes, confound it, I know it," her husband growled. "But I resentlosing that lad. There was no valid reason for it--unless there wassome complication I overlooked." He shook his head, scowling. "Iordered an autopsy but--Yes, I'm going to do that autopsy myself. I'mgoing to turn back and do it now. I have to know!"
He pulled abruptly to the left to swing into a side road and turn.Edith Williams never saw the car that hit them. She heard the franticblare of a horn and a scream of brakes, and in a frozen instantrealized that there had been someone behind them, about to pass. Thenthe impact came, throwing her forward into the windshield andunconsciousness.
* * * * *
Edith Williams opened her eyes. Even before she realized that she waslying on the ground and that the figure bending over her was a StateTrooper, she remembered the crash. Her head hurt but there was noconfusion in her mind. Automatically, even as she tried to sit up, sheaccepted the fact that there had been a crash, help had come, and shemust have been unconscious for several minutes at least.
"Hey, lady, take it easy!" the Trooper protested. "You had a bad bump.You got to lie still until the ambulance gets here. It'll be along infive minutes."
"Mark," Edith said, paying no attention. "My husband! Is he allright?"
"Now lady, please. He's being taken care of. You--"
But she was not listening. Holding to his arm she pulled herself to asitting position. She saw their car on its side some yards away, othercars pulled up around them, a little knot of staring people. Saw themand dismissed them. Her gaze found her husband, lying on the ground afew feet away, a coat folded beneath his head.
Mark was dead. She had been a doctor's wife for twenty years, andbefore that a nurse. She knew death when she saw it.
"Mark." The word was spoken to herself, but the Trooper took it for aquestion.
"Yes, lady," he said. "He's dead. He was still breathing when I gothere, but he died two, three minutes ago."
She got to her knees. Her only thought was to reach his side. Shescrambled across the few feet of ground to him still on her knees andcrouched beside him, fumbling for his pulse. There was none. There wasnothing. Just a man who had been alive and now was dead.
Behind her she heard a voice raised. She turned. A large, disheveledman was standing beside the Trooper, talking loudly.
"Now listen, officer," he was saying, "I'm telling you again, itwasn't my fault. The guy pulled sharp left right in front of me. Not athing I could do. It's a wonder we weren't all three of us killed. Youcan see by the marks on their car it wasn't my fault--"
Edith Williams closed her mind to the voice. She let Mark's hand liein her lap as she fumbled in her bag, which was somehow still clutchedin her fingers. She groped for a handkerchief to stem the tears whichwould not be held back. Something was in the way--something smooth andhard and cold. She drew it out and heard the thin, sweet tinkle of thecrystal bell. She must have dropped it automatically into her bag asthey were preparing to leave the house.
The hand in her lap moved. She gasped and bent forward as herhusband's eyes opened.
"Mark!" she whispered. "Mark, darling!"
"Edith," Mark Williams said with an effort. "Sorry--damned careless ofme. Thinking of the hospital...."
"You're alive!" she said. "You're _alive_! Oh, darling, darling, liestill, the ambulance will be here any second."
"Ambulance?" he protested. "I'm all right now. Help me--sit up."
"But Mark----"
"Just a bump on the head." He struggled to sit up. The State Troopercame over.
"Easy, buddy, easy," he said, his voice awed. "We thought you weregone. Now let's not lose you a second time." His mouth was tight.
"Hey, I'm sure glad you're all right!" the red-faced man said in arush of words. "Whew, fellow, you had me all upset, even though itwasn't my fault. I mean, how's a guy gonna keep from hitting youwhen--when----"
"Catch him!" Mark Williams cried, but the Trooper was too late. Theother man plunged forward to the ground and lay where he had fallenwithout quivering.
* * * * *
The clock in the hall struck two with muted strokes. Cautiously EdithWilliams rose on her elbow and looked down at her husband's face. Hiseyes opened and looked back at her.
"You're awake," she said, unnecessarily.
"I woke up a few minutes ago," he answered. "I've been lyinghere--thinking."
"I'll get you another phenobarbital. Dr. Amos said for you to takethem and sleep until tomorrow."
"I know. I'll take one presently. You know--hearing that clock justnow reminded me of something."
"Yes?"
"Just before I came to this afternoon, after the crash, I had astrange impression of hearing a bell ring. It sounded so loud in myears I opened my eyes to see where it was."
"A--bell?"
"Yes. Just auditory hallucination, of course."
"But Mark--"
"Yes?"
"A--a bell did ring. I mean, I had the crystal bell in my bag and ittinkled a little. Do you suppose--"
"Of course not." But though he spoke swiftly he did not soundconvincing. "This was a loud bell. Like a great gong."
"But--I mean, Mark darling--a moment earlier you--had no pulse."
"No pulse?"
"And you weren't--breathing. Then the crystal bell tinkled andyou--you...."
"Nonsense! I know what you're thinking and believe me--it's nonsense!"
"But Mark." She spoke carefully. "The driver of the other car. You hadno sooner regained consciousness than he--"
"He had a fractured skull!" Dr. Williams interrupted sharply. "Theambulance intern diagnosed it. Skull fractures often fail to showthemselves and then--bingo, you keel over. That's what happened. Nowlet's say no more about it."
"Of course." In the hall, the clock struck the quarter hour. "Shall Ifix the phenobarbital now?"
"Yes--no. Is David home?"
"Has he phoned? He knows he's supposed to be in by midnight at thelatest."
"No, he--hasn't phoned. But there's a school dance tonight."
"That's no excuse for not phoning. He has the old car, hasn't he?"
"Yes. You gave him the keys this morning, remember?"
"All the more reason he should phone." Dr. Williams lay silent amoment. "Two o'clock is too late for a 17-year-old boy to be out."
"I'll speak to him. He won't do it again. Now please, Mark, let me getyou the phenobarbital. I'll stay up until David--"
* * * * *
The ringing phone, a clamor in the darkness, interrupted her. MarkWilliams reached for it. The extension was beside his bed.
"Hello," he said.
