Page:Weird Tales Volume 9 Number 1 (1927-01).djvu/31



OU wonder what happened to Bleeker? And to Remington? They aren't the same men any more, are they?

Bleeker: who once stood straight-limbed, straight-backed and full-fleshed, walked with high-carried head, clear-glowing eyes and ruddy blond skin; Bleeker, who now walks with a bent shuffle, whose cuticle is so tightly drawn over his emaciated features that it looks like dirty white rubber stretched over a skull; Bleeker, whose eyes have gone blank and sunken in their sockets, whose mouth is tightened in the middle and loose at the corners, whose nose is pinched, whose hands tremble when he isn't taking care to hold himself in. I could tell you, something terrible happened to Bleeker.

And Remington: tall and compactly built, extremely fine-looking in rugged, chiseled fashion; Remington with the gift of tongues, with his ready capacity for eloquent speech that might have made of him a top-notch orator: Remington, whose dark skin is now pasty, whose black eyes brood over some inner tiling he must see eternally, but does not wish to; Remington, whose black hair is turning gray, whose magnificent tongue is frozen into stark silence. Something terrible happened to Remington, too. Remington saw a man's soul, dragged it out to light and made that man himself look at it. And it is something none of us may ever forget.

I don't know what you think of me. I don't care. Bleeker and Remington and I are bound by a tie that won't allow of our being away from each other long. We all saw something too hideous to believe. But I'd like to have you understand—if you can. Then perhaps you won't fret me any more by asking that harassing question, "What happened to Bleeker and Remington?"