Free Time and the Riddle: Thirty-One Zen Stories by Howard Fast Page A

long as you understand the feeling is mutual.”
    â€œLovely—and I have had it, ducky. Words cannot portray my feelings for you. You disgust me. You also turn my stomach. You also stink—and now I intend to have a nap. So just get out of here!”
    Martin went into the living room, and she slammed the door behind him—and there was a gentle knock at the door to the apartment. Martin opened the door, and there was the devil.
    â€œGreetings, my lad,” he said with a great good nature.
    â€œYou got one hell of a nerve!” Martin exclaimed. “You miserable son of a bitch—after what you did to me, to come back here!”
    â€œWhat I did? Martin, Martin, you are understandably angry—but that kind of wild talk—not good.”
    â€œYou tricked me into that.”
    â€œMartin, my boy,” the devil said kindly, “did we or did we not make an honest trade, a bargain in kind, merchandise given, merchandise taken? Did we not?”
    â€œYou knew what would happen.”
    â€œAnd just what did happen, Martin? Why get so upset? I gave you the Wall Street Journal for tomorrow and you found yourself not unexpectedly short of cash. Lesson number one—money makes money. How easily learned—and you complain.”
    â€œBecause I blew my one lousy chance,” Martin said. “One lousy chance out of a while lifetime, and I blew it. One chance to come out on top, and I threw it away.”
    â€œMartin.”
    â€œNo, it doesn’t matter to you. Well—me, I am sick and tired of you, so out. Just get the hell out!”
    â€œMartin,” the devil said placatingly.
    â€œOut!”
    â€œReally, Martin.”
    â€œAre you trying to tell me you didn’t know what would happen?”
    â€œMartin, of course I knew what would happen. I have been at this so long, and people are so wretchedly predictable. But what happened today is of no importance.”
    â€œNo importance?”
    â€œNone whatsoever. The really important thing is that you sold me your soul, Martin. That’s the nitty-gritty of it. Riches? No problem. Wealth, power, success? No problem, Martin. It all follows. Once you have sold your soul to me, everything comes to you—everything, Martin. Dear lad—you look so blue, so morbid. Cheer up. The Wall Street Journal —who needs it? Do you want a tip for tomorrow? Cimeron Lead—four dollars a share. It will close at seven. Buy a few shares; pin money, but buy a few shares.”
    â€œWith what?” Martin asked sourly.
    â€œMoney—dear Martin, there is money wherever you look. For example, you have a bit of insurance on your wife, don’t you?”
    â€œWe each have a policy for twenty thousand.”
    â€œVery nice beginning money, Martin. Fortunes have been built on less. And you don’t really like her at all, do you?”
    â€œWhy wouldn’t you make a deal for her soul this morning?” Martin asked suddenly.
    â€œDear Martin—her soul is worthless. In the five years of your marriage you have shriveled it to nothing. You have a talent for destruction, Martin. Her soul is almost nonexistent, and she’s not very pleasant to be with, is she, Martin?”
    Martin nodded.
    â€œAnd she’s so despondent today—it would be understandable that she should leap from an eleventh-story window. Poor girl, but some win and some lose, Martin,”
    â€œI wouldn’t collect on the insurance for ten days,” Martin said.
    â€œGood thinking. I like that. Now you are using your head, lad. Rest assured,. I have a better tip for next week. Tips, opportunities, good liquor, rich food, uncomplaining women, and money—so much money. Dear Martin, why do you hesitate?”
    Martin went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. There were the sounds of a short scuffle—and then a long, awful scream. When Martin came out of the bedroom, the devil sighed and said,