The Deal

As persons of his nature and calling are reputed to be, he was distinctly respectable. A bit short, or course, but dapper, waistcoated. His voice was marginally high, refined, his speech a whisker pedantic sounding. Grey hair, well kept, far enough off his forehead to make it clear that there were no cliched bumps there. The only unusual thing was that he was suddenly there.

“I won’t stomp around the bush”, he said without preamble. Forget the nonsense about three wishes, for anybody with any wits uses one of them to require an infinite number more. There is, however a time limit. One revolution of your planet round its sun plus a further revolution about its axis. I do have discretion to offer an extension, but have rather much given up doing so as, for reasons inexplicable to me, all candidates seem to refuse.

“There must be a catch”, I first thought and then said, going on “presumably I have to sign away an entity that I am far from sure exists?” “Goodness no!” replied he “that concept made Goethe a useful penny (well, mark) and the opera did well also. However, I am not even sure that either the place or the time he dreamed up exists, and, though I cannot deny enjoying a little mischief at times the accusations of masochism offend me deeply.”

“Howsoever” he went on, before proceeding there is some small print that She-who-must-be-obeyed insists be read to you. It is a tedious tautology about this part of the multiverse that diktats of She-who-must-be-obeyed must be – er – obeyed. So saying he took a crumpled, mottled parchment from one of his capacious trouser pockets and either read a well known text or recited it from memory it – it was not easy to determine which.

“Firstly,” he read “a wish does not have to be voiced but it must be vocalised and be an intentional invocation of this deal. Secondly, a wish is liable to be interpreted fully literally as vocalised. Thirdly, no wish can be countermanded or in any way modified by a subsequent wish. Fourthly, no wish may significantly duplicate a previous wish. Finally, it must be recognised that you are not the only one to whom this deal is offered. Local clusters are selected by an algorithm whose inner workings are not disclosed. You are advised to take note of the fact that not all inhabitants of this planet are universally benign. No wish can deliberately have a deleterious effect upon a person who is not a member of the local cluster. If any wish does have a deleterious effect upon a person who is a member of the same local cluster as the generator of that wish, the subject of that effect can have no possible means of identifying the originator of the wish. Any attempt to determine whether any person is a member of a cluster may have adverse consequences. Here endeth. Do you accept the deal?”

“Gobsmacked” was the word that came into mind, followed by “bewongled” which wasn’t even a word. The legalistic niceties of this pact with – well with whomsoever it was a pact – seemed to be a minefield. “Walk away” was my first thought. This was followed by considerations that I could agree, but only the avail myself of the offered powers, if indeed they were real, after mature contemplation. On the other hand, a refusal would probably be irrevocable. So I nodded. Nothing more seemed to be needed. He was no longer in sight. I could not decide if the slight odour was pleasant or not.

_____________

Jack, my neighbour-but-one was a small man in more ways than one. In all ways in fact. Small wife. Small house. Thus it was no surprise that the car that appeared in his drive was also small. No surprise until consideration of his small income and small standing with the credit reference companies gave rise to a pondering as to how he came to afford this, and a number of other modest luxuries that appeared shortly thereafter. Was he, I wondered, a member of my “cluster”, employing the powers in a highly modest way typical of the man.

The Lamborghini was great. The man just delivered it, together with keys and all the papers that have to go with a car, insurance, tax etc., required a signature, declined the offer of a cup of tea, and walked off in the direction of the tube station. Paying for petrol, and a much better lock on the garage and an alarm was not going to be a problem. Fortunately. Most fortunately. My first attempt at a wish to arrange my finances would have had me OK for a while, and I only drew it back when I remembered the conditions about duplicate wishes. Attempt number two not only set me up for life, inflation proof and not likely to arouse the suspicions of Her Majesty’s little men’s, or those of the neighbours. Formulating that wish was the best two sleepless two nights work I had ever done.

The first real spin in the car was great fun. Initially on the near empty motorway I obeyed the speed limit. Then thought “why” and put my foot down. I knew it would go at 217mph, but 140 seemed quite enough fun for now. The wail of a police siren was not unexpected, even secretly hoped for. “Make him ignore me” I nearly wished, but then remembered and checked just in time “Make me permanently immune to police action for speeding” I corrected myself. Sure enough he turned off at the next junction. That was fun, quite enough fun. My return home was illegal but not quite so fast. This car was a beast and I was only almost sure I could control it. As I parked it, Jack gave me a look that made me wonder.

Te second joy ride started like the first, except that I established experimentally that I could whoosh past speed cameras without being flashed. Then onto the motorway and up to speed. One might have thought that, having reached 150mph and deciding that this was enough for today, but that the car continued to accelerate with neither brake, clutch or accelerator pedal, nor the handbrake responding and that the steering wheel was locked might have concentrated the mind. Not so, it diluted it. A large number of brain cycles went wasted on “Help, what is happening? Lambos just don't do this, Oh I see, its that Jack, getting revenge for my using my wishes to better effect than he had the wits to do”. Finally my mind turned to getting out of the situation, but it was not working at all well. All my carefully honed skills in formulating wishes to achieve the desired objectives within the constraints failed me. “Stop this car. Let me live” I wished.

The lorry that pulled out of the entry slip road was responsible for the former. The driver was eventually acquitted on the grounds that he could not have been expected to judge my enormous speed with any accuracy, and even if had he done so he could have reasonably have anticipated that I would get into the outer lane and pass him safely. The paramedics achieved the latter part of the wish, in the deepest puzzlement that I had survived what should most certainly have been a fatal accident.

Much of my year and a day in hospital passed first in a coma, the rest in a daze. It was a couple of weeks before my discharge, when I was provided with a letter to use at airports should I ever be well enough to travel or if ever MRI was contemplated, explaining the junk-yard of titanium plates, screws and pieces that littered my body. I lay in my private room looking out of the window. A face appeared at the window. Obviously a short man, for he had to bob repeatedly up to see in. Grey hair, well kept, high smooth forehead. Half recognised only before he disappeared. There couldn't really have been that slight, odd odour – the window was shut.

I am home now. It will be patent that memory of these events has finally returned fairly fully. Life is OK, if less enjoyable than before. I have a top-of-range wheelchair and all the appliances I could wish for. Most friends still keep in touch. On my return I learned that neighbour Jack had fallen from a ladder. Broken neck, dead. Wasn’t me. Honest. Fairly sure.