The Brass Bottle Page #8

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all that again.

You tried your way, Harold,

you told the truth.

See your reward?

Well, that's because

I couldn't prove it.

You're the only one

who can convince them

you're a genie.

Not with words alone, my boy.

Remember the difficultly

I had convincing you?

All right.

Maybe a little hocus,

but no pocus.

So be it.

On the morrow,

I shall be at thy side

and we shall vanquish

thy enemies together.

Know that

I am Fakrash-al-Aamash,

an Efreet of the Green Jinn,

Master of the Palace

of the Mountain of the Clouds

above the city of Babel

in the Garden of Irem.

Know also that King Solomon,

on whom be peace,

became exceedingly wroth

at a fancied wrong

and commanded that I be

imprisoned in a bottle of brass

and cast into the sea,

there to abide the day of doom.

But verily, it came to pass--

Gentlemen,

don't you think

we've wasted enough time?

I think so, Senator Grindle.

From a psychiatric viewpoint,

it's quite obvious,

Mr. Fakrash is setting up

an insanity defense of his own.

Oh, thou of little faith,

I warn thee--

- Don't-- don't lose your temper.

Mr. Fakrash,

that theatrical costume,

this ridiculous performance.

If you and Mr. Ventimore expect

to get away with this farce,

you're either imbeciles

or fools.

Let the rat

that is between the paws

of the leopard

refrain from words

of provocation.

- Control thyself.

Just-- just give them proof.

- Verily.

I shall transport this building

and these misbegotten

unbelievers

to the top of Mount Ararat.

- No, no, no, no.

- And there let them rot.

- Nothing so drastic.

Keep it simple.

Very well.

Behold.

How in the world?

Well, speak up.

Have I convinced thee?

Amazing.

Gentlemen,

it's obviously mass hypnosis.

Hypnosis?

The word is unfamiliar to me.

Hallucination,

induced through the power

of suggestion.

And is this hallucination

as well?

Senator,

it has thy name

inscribed upon it.

Why,

this gavel was a gift

from my colleagues.

I-- I left it on my desk

in Washington.

I stopped off there just now

and picked it up.

Naturally, gentlemen,

that one is a duplicate.

A childish and transparent

bit of trickery.

Trickery, thou sayest?

My patience is exhausted.

Small minds should have

small bodies to match.

Really, Mr. Fakrash?

Change them back to normal.

Please.

I do so with great

reluctance, Harold.

We--

we'll have a short recess.

Mr. Fakrash, Mr. Ventimore,

please step into the anteroom.

He-- he must be.

But he couldn't be.

There's no other explanation.

Gentlemen,

you really don't believe?

You can't be serious.

I'm afraid we are serious--

But I'm up for re-election.

Now, why the long face?

They must be convinced now.

But how will they

convince anyone else?

People will think they're crazy.

The same things will happen

to them that happened to me.

Your way doesn't work either.

All you've done

is start a chain reaction

that will spread more

and more trouble

for more and more people.

Then, you wish me

to undo what I have done?

I wish you could undo

everything you've done

since I let you

out of that bottle.

It is possible.

You mean,

you really can turn things back

the way they were?

It is within my power.

What were you waiting for?

Why didn't you do it

when the trouble first started?

I made a vow to serve you.

I was seeking a way to do it.

You found it.

Turn everything back.

Very well.

I will erase memory of me

and everything that I have done

from the minds

of everyone but you.

Why not me?

Well, you can't want that.

I can still gratify

your every wish.

Give you anything you want,

even Sylvia.

Mr. Fakrash,

we have a few

"wisely-was-it-writtens," too.

I learned one at school.

What we obtain too easily,

we esteem too lightly

and it has little value.

I always thought that

was for squares until now.

Then, it will make you happy

if I erase all memory of me

from your mind, too?

It will.

So be it.

Farewell, my son,

and may peace be with thee

and may thy friends

never be deprived

of thy presence for truly thou

are an excellent young man.

Goodbye, Mr. Fakrash.

I'm starving, Harold,

why can't you just tell

Mr. Beevor

we're going to lunch?

He doesn't like to be disturbed

when he's with a client.

He's waiting to see this sketch.

May I help you?

Yes,

I'm looking for Mr. Ventimore.

- That's me.

- My name is Wackerbath.

- Samuel Wackerbath?

- That's right.

Mr. Ventimore,

I've decided you are the man

to design Wackerbath City.

Oh, please, excuse me.

You, gentlemen, evidently

have business to discuss.

Mr. Wackerbath,

may I present my fiancee,

Ms. Kenton.

- Delighted.

How do you do?

Uh, I'll be waiting

at the restaurant.

No, please, don't go.

My new partner

and his wife are joining me.

Here, let's all

have lunch together.

Oh, here they are.

Ms. Kenton, may I present

Mr. and Mrs. Fakrash.

- How do you do?

- And the young man

whose drawings we discussed,

Harold Ventimore.

A genuine pleasure,

Mr. Ventimore.

Well, thank you, sir.

Well, we were just about

to go to lunch.

Well, let's go.

I'm looking forward to a long

and happy association, my son.

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