Philip Dick - The Hanging Stranger

At five oclock Ed Loyce washed up, tossed on his hat and coat, got his car out and headed across town toward his TV sales store. He was tired. His back and shoulders ached from digging dirt out of the basement and wheeling it into the back yard. But for a forty-year-old man he had done okay. Janet could get a new vase with the money he had saved; and he liked the idea of repairing the foundations himself.

It was getting dark. The setting sun cast long rays over the scurrying commuters, tired and grim-faced, women loaded down with bundles and packages, students, swarming home from the university, mixing with clerks and businessmen and drab secretaries. He stopped his Packard for a red light and then started it up again. The store had been open without him; hed arrive just in time to spell the help for dinner, go over the records of the day, maybe even close a couple of sales himself. He drove slowly past the small square of green in the center of the street, the town park. There were no parking places in front of LOYCE TV SALES AND SERVICE. He cursed under his breath and swung the car in a U-turn. Again he passed the little square of green with its lonely drinking fountain and bench and single lamppost.

From the lamppost something was hanging. A shapeless dark bundle, swinging a little with the wind. Like a dummy of some sort. Loyce rolled down his window and peered out. What the hell was it? A display of some kind? Sometimes the Chamber of Commerce put up displays in the square.

Again he made a U-turn and brought his car around. He passed the park and concentrated on the dark bundle. It wasnt a dummy. And if it was a display it was a strange kind. The hackles on his neck rose and he swallowed uneasily. Sweat slid out on his face and hands.

It was a body. A human body.

Look at it! Loyce snapped. Come on out here!

Don Fergusson came slowly out of the store, buttoning his pin-stripe coat with dignity. This is a big deal, Ed. I cant just leave the guy standing there.

See it? Ed pointed into the gathering gloom. The lamppost jutted up against the skythe post and the bundle swinging from it. There it is. How the hell long has it been there? His voice rose excitedly. Whats wrong with everybody? They just walk on past!

Don Fergusson lit a cigarette slowly. Take it easy, old man. There must be a good reason, or it wouldnt be there.

A reason! What kind of a reason?

Fergusson shrugged. Like the time the Traffic Safety Council put that wrecked Buick there. Some sort of civic thing. How would I know?

Jack Potter from the shoe shop joined them. Whats up, boys?

Theres a body hanging from the lamppost, Loyce said. Im going to call the cops.

They must know about it, Potter said. Or otherwise it wouldnt be there.

I got to get back in. Fergusson headed back into the store. Business before pleasure.

Loyce began to get hysterical. You see it? You see it hanging there? A mans body! A dead man!

Sure, Ed. I saw it this afternoon when I went out for coffee.

You mean its been there all afternoon?

Sure. Whats the matter? Potter glanced at his watch. Have to run. See you later, Ed.

Potter hurried off, joining the flow of people moving along the sidewalk. Men and women, passing by the park. A few glanced up curiously at the dark bundleand then went on. Nobody stopped. Nobody paid any attention.

Im going nuts, Loyce whispered. He made his way to the curb and crossed out into traffic, among the cars. Horns honked angrily at him. He gained the curb and stepped up onto the little square of green.

The man had been middle-aged. His clothing was ripped and torn, a gray suit, splashed and caked with dried mud. A stranger. Loyce had never seen him before. Not a local man. His face was partly turned away, and in the evening wind he spun a little, turning gently, silently. His skin was gouged and cut. Red gashes, deep scratches of congealed blood. A pair of steel-rimmed glasses hung from one ear, dangling foolishly. His eyes bulged. His mouth was open, tongue thick and ugly blue.

For Heavens sake, Loyce muttered, sickened. He pushed down his nausea and made his way back to the sidewalk. He was shaking all over, with revulsionand fear.

Why? Who was the man? Why was he hanging there? What did it mean?

Andwhy didnt anybody notice?

He bumped into a small man hurrying along the sidewalk. Watch it! the man grated. Oh, its you, Ed.

Ed nodded dazedly. Hello, Jenkins.

Whats the matter? The stationery clerk caught Eds aim You look sick.

The body. There in the park.

Sure, Ed. Jenkins led him into the alcove of LOYCE TV SALES AND SERVICE. Take it easy.

Margaret Henderson from the jewelry store joined them. Something wrong?

Eds not feeling well.

Loyce yanked himself free. How can you stand here? Dont you see it? For Gods sake

Whats he talking about? Margaret asked nervously.

The body! Ed shouted. The body hanging there!

More people collected. Is he sick? Its Ed Loyce. You okay, Ed?

The body! Loyce screamed, struggling to get past them. Hands caught at him. He tore loose. Let me go! The police! Get the police!

Ed

Better get a doctor!

He must be sick.

Or drunk.

Loyce fought his way through the people. He stumbled and half fell. Through a blur he saw rows of faces, curious, concerned, anxious. Men and women halting to see what the disturbance was. He fought past them toward his store. He could see Fergusson inside talking to a man, showing him an Emerson TV set. Pete Foley in the back at the service counter, setting up a new Philco. Loyce shouted at them frantically. His voice was lost in the roar of traffic and the murmuring around him.

Do something! he screamed. Dont stand there! Do something! Somethings wrong! Somethings happened! Things are going on!

The crowd melted respectfully for the two heavy-set cops moving efficiently toward Loyce.

Name? the cop with the notebook murmured.

Loyce. He mopped his forehead wearily. Edward C. Loyce. Listen to me. Back there

Address? the cop demanded. The police car moved swiftly through traffic, shooting among the cars and buses. Loyce sagged against the seat, exhausted and confused. He took a deep shuddering breath.

1368 Hurst Road.

Thats here in Pikeville?

Thats right. Loyce pulled himself up with a violent effort. Listen to me. Back there. In the square. Hanging from the lamppost

Where were you today? the cop behind the wheel demanded.

Where? Loyce echoed.

You werent in your shop, were you?

No. He shook his head. No, I was home. Down in the basement.

In the basement?

Digging. A new foundation. Getting out the dirt to pour a cement frame. Why? What has that to do with

Was anybody else down there with you?

No. My wife was downtown. My kids were at school. Loyce looked from one heavy-set cop to the other. Hope flickered across his face, wild hope. You mean because I was down there I missedthe explanation? I didnt get in on it? Like everybody else?

After a pause the cop with the notebook said: Thats right. You missed the explanation.

Then its official? The bodyits supposed to be hanging there?

Its supposed to be hanging there. For everybody to see.

Ed Loyce grinned weakly. Good Lord. I guess I sort of went off the deep end. I thought maybe something had happened. You know, something like the Ku Klux Klan. Some kind of violence. Communists or Fascists taking over. He wiped his face with his breast-pocket handkerchief, his hands shaking. Im glad to know its on the level.

Its on the level. The police car was getting near the Hall of Justice. The sun had set. The streets were gloomy and dark. The lights had not yet come on.

I feel better, Loyce said. I was pretty excited there, for a minute. I guess I got all stirred up. Now that I understand, theres no need to take me in, is there?