THE CURE-ALL MACHINE
Bernadette Miller
Henry found the machine by accident. He was a meek accountant plodding along in a dreary electronics firm, and saddled with a coarse, domineering wife. To escape his unhappiness, he’d become a film buff. One Saturday afternoon, enthusiastic over an Ingmar Bergman preview, he arrived at the Greenwich Village theater an hour early and decided to wander around, window shopping. On a narrow side street off Waverly Place, in the cluttered window of Abraham’s Curio Shop, there glittered an odd, metallic cube. Henry paused to examine it, shading his eyes from the sun’s glare. Wide as a shoe box, the cube had a green knob, and above that a small printed card that read FRONT. Sprouting from the top, like antennae, were two levers: the left painted silver; the right, gold. Impetuously, he stepped inside the musty shop crammed with exotic wares, reminiscent of the biblical Middle East. Hearing the doorbell tinkle, a swarthy young man wearing a skull cap of many colors emerged leisurely from the rear, threading his way among tambourines, frolicking camels, and kissing shepherds.
“I’d like to see that unusual thing in the window,” Henry said.
“Which unusual thing?”
“That metal cube with the knob and levers.”
“Oh, you mean the Cure-All Machine.” The young man removed the heavy object and placed it in Henry’s hands.
He turned it about for inspection. Each side had a knob: green, yellow, red, and a larger black one in back. He tugged gently at the gold lever; it wouldn’t budge.
Juggling the cube, he heard something rustle inside, but couldn’t find an opening.
“Why is it called a Cure-All Machine?”
The young man shrugged. “Don’t know. Some flipped-out professor talked me into buying it this morning.”
“Well, I’ll take it!” Henry said, watching the cube sparkle. “It has a mysterious, fascinating quality.”
Excited over this strange purchase, he postponed the film and caught the East Side subway to his small Bronx apartment, which his wife had decorated with garish furniture and idiotic ornaments. In the peppermint-striped living room, he set the cube on the gilded coffee table; then he called out for Evelyn to come and look.
Annoyed because her hair was only half-set, his fat wife appeared in gaudy orange robe, her lips pursed as though expecting every plan to turn sour. Hands fisted on hips, she glanced at the object, and said, “Now what in hell is that, Mr. Smart?”
“A Cure-All Machine,” he replied timidly, worried she’d disapprove. “Intriguing, isn’t it?”
“Intriguing, hell! If you think I’ll allow that monstrosity in my lovely home, you’re nuts. Get rid of it this minute!” In a huff, she snapped back a bleached hank of hair and flounced into the ebony bathroom, where she spent most of her time.
Fond of the object by now, especially since Evelyn had rejected it, Henry sat disconsolately on the leopard-skin sofa. “Hmmm, I wonder why it’s called a Cure-All Machine,” he mused, and pressed the green knob on the FRONT side. Instantly, a slot opened at the bottom of the cube, and a printed card slipped out. It read:
* Test Case No. 2... Your name, please? I am called Havohej. Press the yellow knob, and I will satisfy your desires. All I ask in return is appreciation. **
Aha! A sort of modern Aladdin’s Lamp--his Ship of Good Luck finally arrived! Filled with hope, he pressed the yellow knob. “This is Henry Farnsworth. Please, give me self-confidence. Make me aggressive so I can get a promotion, and--”
Before he finished, bluish smoke spiraled up from the gold lever. Astonished, Henry watched the smoke hover like a cloud above his head and then melt away. He felt a peculiar exhilaration, an ecstatic giddiness--like a mystical experience. As he sat there basking in riotous contentment, the red knob flashed on the machine and a card slipped out. It read: * You forgot to say thank you. **
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” he babbled happily but absentmindedly, for he began debating other requests. They were sensible things. For example, he often regretted that his marriage was empty, he and Evelyn barely tolerating each other. If only she were more sympathetic, understood his needing films as an outlet... He pressed the yellow knob, and asked that Evelyn be kinder. Sure enough, as soon as the smoke cleared, she appeared.
“Henry, I’ve been thinking... If that damn thing means that much to you, you can keep it!”
Elated by her acquiescent attitude, he watched her return thoughtfully to the bathroom. Right afterwards, however, the red knob flashed and another card slipped out. It read: * You didn’t say you love me. **
“Of course, I love you,” he whispered, puzzled at the machine’s petulant demand for affection. He studied the cube awhile. Havohej was very valuable; it shouldn’t just sit about. Jumping up, he stuffed it among the junk in the bedroom closet, where his wife wouldn’t discover it since she never cleaned the closets.
“Oh, I threw out the eyesore,” he explained later, and planned on making requests gradually to avoid aggravating his sensitive benefactor.
Monday, reporting to work, he was delighted by his cheerful manner. He’d always approached dreary Tenth Avenue with a sinking feeling that the squat gray corner building was his tomb. Now, he strode briskly through the dingy corridor toward his cubicle, and energetically attacked a pile of invoices. After lunch, the haughty president signaled him into the plush corner office with its paneling and mahogany desk.
“Farnsworth, I’ve been thinking... For thirty years you’ve done your job competently, never missed a day, never asked for a raise, never complained. Well, I’m promoting you to comptroller with appropriate salary.”
Overjoyed at this marvelous news, Henry could hardly wait to tell his wife. That evening, he hurriedly climbed the four flights in his brownstone, his heart palpitating from excitement and the hot, crowded subway. He sometimes suffered from a heart murmur, but now he had a cure. While Evelyn fussed in the bathroom, he finished his bowl of greasy stew, hauled out the machine, fondly patted the gold lever, and stated his request. After the smoke cleared, his heart never felt better. This time, though, he waited for the flashing red knob and card. It read:
* A pat on my lever is insufficient. To show proper thanks for my supreme generosity, worship me. **
“No!” It debased his pride, groveling to a machine. Besides, he’d always considered religious rites a bunch of nonsense. The next card read:
* Warning! Your rejection hurts my feelings. Console me at once with worship--or suffer a penalty! **
Henry thought for a moment, and pressed the yellow knob. “What penalty?”
The machine didn’t respond.
“What is the penalty!” he shouted, growing frantic.
His benefactor pouted in silence.
Fearful of punishment, he kneeled on the purple rug and bowed his head, hands steepled as for prayer. “Dear Havohej,” he mumbled, feeling foolish. “I love you, beg your forgiveness, and promise to obey your commands.”
It wasn’t so much worship of a machine that bothered him; after all, it was a silly formality--like praying to a church icon. But considering the cube’s excessive need for gratitude, he thought he should be handsomely rewarded. One night after arguing with Evelyn over seeing a Kubrick film, Henry recklessly requested that his crude, ignorant wife have a fatal accident. The very next morning, she slipped on a hair roller in the bathroom, banged her head against an iron Cupid, and died.
He attended the funeral and sadly returned home--feeling like a murderer. Filled with remorse, he wandered through the apartment, and glanced wistfully at her portrait on the shocking pink dresser. Finally, he sat on the sofa and stared glumly at the machine, now perched on the coffee table. The red knob flashed. Reluctantly, he reached for a long card, that began quite poetically:
* I am the Good Shepherd who leadeth thou into green pastures of delights: the comfort of thy soul. But...to repay my benevolence, you must erect for me in thy bedroom a shrine as per specifications on the ***Holy Testament*** cards that I shall emit forthwith. Sunday, at sunrise, pull the gold lever and say: Hail, oh Glorious Divine Machine--to Thee I owe all! Repeat the above every hour, ending at sunset. **
“Is that enough?” Henry muttered sarcastically, feeling somewhat bitter about the machine killing his wife. The next card read:
* Your attitude is not loving! To avert my wrath, you’d better offer me succulent sacrifices, such as tenderloin, medium rare, easy on the gravy, and a tossed salad--I prefer Roquefort dressing. Be sure the rolls are hot and crisp, not soggy! **
“But, Havohej, a machine can’t eat human food!”
* Despite my superb gifts, you insult me with heretical notions. Therefore, pull the silver lever to learn thy penalty. **
“No! Why should I pull the lever and suffer for it?”
* Foolish mortal. Get smart, Henry, and pull the lever--or you’ll be sorry! **
Bracing himself, he pulled the silver lever.
* As penance, you must worship me for an entire week, which you will celebrate every year as a holiday in remembrance of your joyful benefactor. Furthermore, your sacrificial dishes had better be gourmet, such as... Beef Wellington with Yorkshire Pudding. For dessert, let’s see now... Ah, flaming Cherries Jubilee! (This is tricky, so be careful.) Oh, I’d also like a bottle of good wine, and some lighted candles. Make sure they don’t over drip. **
Henry dropped the card in astonishment. “A week’s worship is impossible! I can’t take off from work whenever I feel like. Besides, there are important art films I haven’t seen. De Sica is due Wednesday, and Saturday I want to catch Kurosawa’s--”
* Oh, child of Havohej, I shall set thee on the righteous path. Forget such sinful ideas as art with its graven images, and concentrate solely on me--a wondrous being. **
“Forget art films?” cried Henry, horrified. “Forget the enjoyable hobby I’ve spent years studying? Never!”
* You are being stupid by shunning my commandments. But enough of this quibbling! Start praying, fast, or I’ll really get sore. And once my wrath is aroused, cities may burn down, a whole civilization scattered like seed in the wind... There’s just no telling how far “Okay!” Henry shouted, not finishing the card. He was thoroughly alarmed. The machine had become a Frankenstein’s monster, a glutton for adoration! Henceforth, he would avoid further requests, and devise a plan to dispose of his threatening benefactor.
That weekend he erected the shrine--a kind of tented minaret, squeezed between the bedroom closet and pink dresser. For hours he labored with knotty pine, hammer and nails, following the instructions of the *** Holy Testament *** cards. Worded in a peculiar archaic English, the meaning was often contradictory and obscure.
Improvising, he grabbed from the dresser Evelyn’s two pearly angels, crowning the striped canvas tent with the grinning cherubim, and installed Havohej on a fluffy, cotton-lined ledge within. He finished Saturday night, exhausted. Setting the alarm clock, he rose sleepily at dawn to being the rituals.
As the week progressed, Henry learned how draining continual worship can be. Unable to leave the apartment lest the machine need his services, he waited on the sofa, glancing at his watch to check the hour, and wracked his brain for a plan to destroy his captor. He felt like a prisoner in his own home, and yearned to see an art film to alleviate his misery.
By Thursday, he could bear it no longer. That morning, he slyly ordered some delicious sweet and sour spareribs from the Yin Yang Restaurant across the street.
Storing in the refrigerator the unconsumed Eggs Benedict served for breakfast, he purified the plate, as per the *** Holy Testament *** cards, and set the steaming spareribs on the shrine’s offering table. Then he spent the entire afternoon abjectly declaring his total love and obedience--interjecting for dramatic effect a fervent
“Amen!” and “Hallelujah!”
After awhile the cube began to radiate a warm glow, a golden aura that hovered over its levers like a halo. Henry, resting a moment, gaped at this strange sight, and noticed the red knob flashing. The card read, as though purring:
* More... more...”
Anxious now to appease his benefactor’s insatiable need for affection, he jumped up and wildly promised all sorts of goodies: a marble temple at Sutton Place, a cup of his blood poured daily over the altar, and other grandiose commitments he couldn’t possibly keep. Finally, he closed the velvet curtains, and sneaked out to Greenwich Village, where he saw an absorbing Fellini film. He returned several hours later, having thoroughly enjoyed himself, and feeling refreshed.
Entering the apartment, he heard an eerie hissing sound from the bedroom--like escaping steam. He rushed to the shrine and yanked apart the curtains. Bluish smoke billowed from the gold lever, the red knob flashing hysterically. For a moment he stood petrified with awe, not knowing what to expect. A card shot through the slot. It read, bitterly:
* Ah, the selfish wretch returns at last! The pure savor my omnipotence; they shall enter the kingdom of contentment. But the sinner who scorns my company--what a damned fool! **
“I only left for three hours,” Henry said sheepishly, wishing he hadn’t dropped by the Happy Hippie Bar for a cocktail. But what a relief--away from his tormentor!
The next card read, coaxingly: * Come, reconsider; it’s not too late. Cast aside your evil thoughts. Let thy heart dwell only on me, the Wonderful One. Just ask and it shall be given unto you. Everything... everything... **
“Except freedom,” he muttered in disgust.
The next card read, whiningly: * I am superior, magnificent, a glory of perfection! So, where are the converts you promised? Where are the pretty virgins? The candelabra? Exotic prayer beads? Where’s the mushroom pizza for my late-night snack! **
Fed up with the machine’s childish chatter, Henry said impatiently, “Okay, you shelled out a few nice things, but look what you want in return--my enslavement!” Wearily, he reached for the next card that struggled through the slot.
* ... You...You... abominable golden calf! For your impiety I shall cast you into hell! Miseries will be heaped upon your head--aye, unto your entire family, even the seventh generation! First, I’ll send a catastrophic flood; then, I’ll demolish survivors with fire and brimstone. Wailing in sackcloth and ashes, they’ll beg my forgiveness, but I’ll stand firm--not one drop of mercy! Oh, boy, just you wait; will I get even with you and yours! **
Furious, Henry hurled the card at his snarling benefactor. “Go ahead, do your worst! Demote me at work, bring Evelyn back--I don’t care. I’m sick and tired of your asinine demands and obnoxious bragging!” Then, too angry to weigh the consequences, he threw the machine on the shaggy rug, and gave it a swift kick--right in the gold lever. For several moments it writhed like some obscene animal, sputtering bluish smoke. Henry watched with satisfaction. Maybe, if angered enough, it would somehow self-destruct.
He suddenly felt a stabbing pain--like the onset of a heart attack. Clutching at his chest, he frantically sought a way to deactivate the machine before it destroyed
him, and impetuously pressed the black knob in back. His heaving benefactor shuddered with a violent tremor, and abruptly lay stock still, the smoke vanishing.
Weak from his ordeal, though the pain was gone, Henry bent for a final, somewhat mangled card that had wriggled through the slot. It read, as if gasping in rage:
