The Eternal Stooge
by Irwin Shapiro
A Modern Doctor Faustus Sells his Soul to Old Mephistopheles!
Larry Simms could feel his heart pounding as he mounted the steps to the stage, where a single unshaded bulb threw a harsh light on the dusty boards, on the bare brick wall and the few flats leaning against it. This was the moment he had been waiting for. . . .
Fifteen years ago he had come to New York, fresh from a brilliant career at drama school. He was young, ambitious, talented; he could play anything from Aaron Slick of Punkin Crick to Hamlet; he would take Broadway by storm. It turned out that Broadway was not so easy to storm.
Larry managed to get some walk-ons and bit parts, did a few seasons in summer stock, played the lead in a couple of turkeys that closed after two or three nights. Between making the rounds of agents and producers Larry clerked in a bookshop, sold ties in a department store, was a bus boy in the Automat and a guide on a sight-seeing bus. It was the old, familiar Broadway story.
And then, just as he was ready to give up, Larry was spotted in an agent’s office by Mac Horton. Horton was already known as a knockabout, slapstick comedian. He was looking for a stooge, and Larry proved to be a perfect foil for the pudgy, round-faced, fast-talking comic. As first it was wonderful. Larry was teamed up with one of the biggest names in show business, and he was making money. But Larry soon discovered that being Horton’s stooge was a lifetime career. He was typed, and no producer would consider him for a serious role.
As the years went by, Larry grew tired of the countless custard pies flung in his face. of the vast river of seltzer squirted at him, of the kicks and cuffs and slaps Horton bestowed on various parts of his anatomy. He was tired of the ridiculous costumes that became his trade mark on the TV screens of the nation. And, most of all, he was tired of being the butt of Horton’s endless practical jokes. For Horton was one of those natural clowns with a wide streak of cruelty, the life-of-the-party type, an irrepressible cut-up in real life as he was on the stage. He had ruined more than one budding romance of Larry’s with his insulting gags.
Several months ago Larry had learned that Gil Garrison, a rising young director, was planning a production of Dr. Faustus, Christopher Marlowe’s classic play of the man who sold his soul to the devil. Larry had made up his mind to break away from Horton, and this was the way to do it. Larry spent every minute of his spare time studying the play. He would show them all—Horton, Garrison, the critics, the public! At last he would see his name up in lights on Broadway, as a star in the legitimate theatre…
So it was no wonder that Larry’s heart was pounding, now that he was actually standing on the stage, ready to try out for the role. Garrison was seated at a table near the footlights, together with his assistants. Garrison indicated a chair near him and held out a copy of the script. Larry shook his head.
“I’lI take it from here, Gil,” Larry said. “And I don’t need a script. I know this play backwards and forward.”
“OK, Larry. How about starting off with the Helen of Troy speech.”
“Right.” Larry’s heart was no longer pounding. He felt confident and very sure of himself. Looking past Garrison at the darkened auditorium, where a few people sat in the front row, he began:
Was this the face that launch’d a thousand
ships,
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?–
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a
kiss …
There was a hush in the theatre when Larry finished the speech, and he knew he was in. After so much waiting he was on the verge of making his youthful dreams come true. He was sure of it.
Garrison nodded thoughtfully. “Mmm… Now give us that bit where Faustus calls up Mephistopheles. I’ll cue you.”
Larry cleared his throat and launched into the black magic incantation, written in Latin, with which Faustus invoked the devil. His voice soared into the theatre, rich and vibrant:
Sint mihi dii Acherontis propitii! Valeat numen triplex Jehovae! Ignei, aerit, aquatane spiritus, salvete…
He had almost reached the end of the speech when there was a commotion in the wings. Larry whirled around, gaping. There stood Mephistopheles, the devil’s helper, grinning and yelling! And then Larry saw that it was only Mac Horton rigged out in a Mephistopheles costume —Mac Horton pulling another of his famous practical jokes. Horton capered around the stage, kicking Larry in the backside, making faces and absurd noises. And behind Horton came a photographer, snapping pictures.
Horton mopped his sweating face with a handkerchief and stepped out of character. He slapped Larry on the back, roaring, “Atta boy, Larry! You really had ’em going! What a gag! What a publicity stunt, huh, kids?”
Garrison was shaking with laughter.
“You clowns!” he said, throwing his hands in a helpless gesture. “You certainly had me fooled! I thought Larry was serious! I should have known better. Not that my show can’t stand a little publicity!”
“Gil,” Larry said quietly, “I was serious. I still am. I didn’t know a thing about this gag. I swear I—”
“OK, OK, I can go along with a gag!” howled Garrison. He waved Larry away. “Now get out, the two of you–I’ve got a play to cast!”
Horton had stripped off the Mephistopheles costume.
“Aw, you can go to the devil! Yuk, yuk! Owoo! Wait’ll I get hold of my script writer! So long, Gil! See you for lunch at Sardi’s! Those pictures ought to hit the Sunday papers. We should make the columns, too. If we don’t, there’ll be the devil to pay! Yuk, yuk! Look, Ma–I’m ad libbing! G’bye, all you nice people!”
Horton threw his arm around Larry and walked toward the stage door.
“How did you find out?” asked Larry, shrinking from Horton’s touch. “How did you know about this?”
“Oh, I got ways of finding out things, kid! Me and J. Edgar Hoover! Pretty cute stunt, huh, boy? Do we kill ’em or do we kill ’em!”
They were out in the narrow, deserted alley next to the theatre. In the dim light that filtered between the buildings Larry stared at Hortons pudgy, flushed face.
“You swine,” Larry said. “You filth. I could kill you, you—”
Horton giggled. “Flattery will get you nowhere, pal!”
Without thinking, as if compelled by some power outside himself, Larry began to intone the Latin incantation from the play: Sint mihi dii Acherontis propiti! Valeat numen triplex Jehovae! Ignei, aerii, aquatane spiritus, salvete…
The earth seemed to shudder underfoot. A shadow fell over them, and Horton’s mouth fell open in idiotic amazement. Beside Larry stood Mephistopheles, the devil’s helper–and this time Larry knew it was no actor in costume. “At your service, sir,” said Mephistopheles, bowing.
Larry gasped. This was frightening, and beyond his understanding, but his heart was filled with a wild glee. He pointed to Horton. Smiling a crooked little smile, Mephistopheles waved his hand toward Horton in a curious gesture. There was a rumble of thunder, and sheets of flame sprang up around Horton.
“Wh-wh-wha–!’ Horton blubbered. He shrieked for help, but it was no use. The flame roared, rising higher and higher. Then it died down, as suddenly as it had appeared, and there was no trace of Horton at all.
“I’m free of you, Horton!” shouted Larry. “Free of you at last! Free! Free to do what I want!”
Mephistopheles coughed discreetly. “Not quite, my friend. Your soul belongs to the devil now. Sorry, but we really must be going.”
Somewhere a bell tolled, its reverberations throbbing in the air. Again thunder rumbled. Larry was blinded by a dazzling white light. A cloud of dense smoke enveloped him, choking him with the stench of burning brimstone. After a moment of intense darkness, Larry found himself in what seemed to be a huge cavern, roughly shaped like a theatre, And on the stage, before an audience that writhed and cried out in agony, was Horton, sweating and capering.
“Behold your enemy!” Mephistopheles said. “He is doomed to spend all eternity performing the same routine, repeating the same corny gags- -unless he can make the audience laugh! Only the laughter of the crowd can release him. But the amusing thing, my friend, is that the audience cannot laugh, ever! That is their torture–to watch Horton’s performances to the end of time! Droll, is it not?”
Larry laughed until tears streamed from his eyes. “Terrific! You’ve got my soul, but it’s worth it! Oh, this is terrific–just what Horton deserves!”
He was still laughing when Mephistopheles tapped him on the shoulder with a boney, claw-like hand. “I neglected to mention, my friend, that there is a punishment for you, too. After all, you are responsible for Horton’s death. You are a murderer, you know.”
“But he had it coming!” protested Larry. “You know that!’ So you’ll let me off easy, won’t you? You will, won’t you?”
“Nothing could be easier than the task allotted to you, my friend. You have only one thing to do for all eternity–act as Horton’s stooge!”
And Mephistopheles’ crooked little smile was almost sympathetic as he dragged Larry, screaming, down the aisle toward the stage.
From The Unseen, Issue No. 8, Jan 1953, pp. 24-25.
Illustrations from the original publication, illustrator unknown.
Source: Comic Book Plus
Ephemera 