LITERARY PAGE
The Oaken Door
(Eli. Note.—“The Oaken 0001'“
wo:', second prize in the recent
Marshall - Case - Haycox short
story contest. Norris Yates, the
author, is now a private in the
U.S. army. He was formerly a
Sophomore in journalism at the
'University.
By PRIVATE NORRIS YATES
CCHULTZ peered warily this
v/ay and that. His eyes pene
trated the darkness with the
sharpness cf those of a lynx. The
guaard was headed toward the
far end of the bridge. Schultz
listened a moment to the patter
ing' sound of his footsteps as they
receded, then, satisfied that he
was alone on that half of the
bridge, he flung his legs over the
rail and planted his feet upon
the iron rungs of the ladder that
led down to the docks below. An
other quick glance around reas
sured him that his presence was
unknown, and without further de
lay he swung nimbly down to
the pier beneath.
The instant his feet landed on
the planking he drew his revolv
er and darted sidewise in order
to place himself under the bridge
and render himself invisible from
above. In spite of the marky gr ay
fog that hovered over the water
front he was not at all sure that
he iiad not been seen. The
wharves were crawling with
guards these days, and nobody
was going to jump on him in the
dark and maybe take him alive.
Not that he wanted any shoot
jug right now either, seeing as
lion, he had this suitcase full of
T.N T. and caps. Half a dozen of
these demolition jobs for the jer
ries had only increased his re
spect for the stuff. You had to
plat’, your jobs carefully. Tiie
charges had to be set just so.
and timed just right. If the tim
ing was too slow, the layout
might be discovered before it
blew. If it was too fast and you
happened to be working for the
ting away —well, that might b3
just too bad.
For that matter, if you want
ed to go on living while you were
working for the jerries every
thing about a job had to be
planred and carried out just so,
from your first move to the lasl,
which was not until after you
had made your getaway. The
gic who played it safe lived; the
g; who took chances soon
ki-.v- d himself goodbye.
The jerries* must have the
»vo idea about playing safe. II'
sro had to hand it to them.
A[ d from the guy who had first
contacted him and gol him in
terested li - had never seen a sin
git one of them. They sent his?
ortit rs and directions to a P.O.
box which he held under an as
sm; od luurv* in a strange town.
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In fact they were so damned se
cret that at first he suspected
them of trying- to pull a double
cross. But his pay always came
through within a few days after
each job, and it was in good U.S.
greenbacks too, no checks. And
there was plenty of it. So much,
in fact, that if the Germans told
him to try blowing up the Nor
folk navy yard itself he believed
he'd go ahead and tackle the job
without turning a hair. If he
could only keep that kind of
dough rolling in until the end of
this war he would be rich enough
to have almost anything he'd
ever wanted. He would like to
travel around awhile first. May
be go on a world cruise. Then
when he’d got some class he’d
like to buy a big ranch mansion
in South America and live like a
king, with servants and greasers
galore to wait on him.
As to who won the war, why he
didn’t give a hoot. Hover it came
out, it couldn’t affect him in the
least. He would just as soon the
U.S. won, he had no grudge
against this country. He just
happened to be working for the
other side
nan
i^T length he picked up the suit
^ case of explosive and pro
ceeded cautiously along the dock
until he espied the shadowy form
of a warehouse looming up in
front of him. He knew this to be
the loading terminal of Weckert
and Sens, the building he had
been hired to destroy.
He circled noiselessly to the
rear of the structure and entered
a four-foot wide alley formed by
the rear walls of Weckert's and
another warehouse. If it had been
dark in the open wharf, it was
inky-black in this narrow well.
Here he knew he was tolerably
safe from detection.
He groped along the wall with
his fingers. There was a door
back here. He had located it last
night when he scouted the job.
Ah. there it was. Now to open
it. His fingers found the knob,
but they also encountered the
corrugated steel sides of a pad
lock. He frowned irritatedly. The
door had been open last night.
This would delay him a good ten
minutes. Not that he didn’t have
ithe time, but in a deal like this
every minute was precious. He
wanted to keep Iris moves up to
schedule.
Drawing a fine, hooked wire
from his pocket, he fell to work
picking at the tumblers of the
lock. He worked steadily and
with complete concentration.
Sooner than he had hoped the
tumblers yielded to his gentle but
expert probing.
OCHULTZ snapped on a tiny
' flashlight and with his gun
ready in his other hand, prowled
through the black maw of the
warehouse. He found to his sur
prise that the building was al
most empty of goods. Only one
corner was occupied by the
crates of machine parts with
which the place had supposedly
been crammed. Everything
seemed to be askew tonight, for
some reason. Schultz concluded
that the rest of the shipment
must already have been loaded
on the ships.
For the moment he hesitated,
debating whether or not it was
worthwhile to go ahead and blow
the place up. Finally he decided
that since he was being paid to
do the job it didn't matter whe
ther the joint were full or empty.
The jerries could kick through in
full in either case if they wanted
more of his service in the future.
Being by now quite sure that
he was alone in the building, he
began the task of planting the
charges of T.N.T. He opened his
satchel, took out the first pair of
sticks, and set them by the door
of the manager's office. He af
fixed the detonators and connect
ed them to a coil of wire which
he also produced from the satchel.
In each of the building's four
corners he set other charges.
Down the center of the ware
house he placed the remaining
sticks in half a dozen deposits
of two each. Every section of the
place would be thoroughly blast
ed.
He connected the wire to each
charge and carried both ends of
the coil to the side entrance,
where he fastened them to the
poles of a small time clock that
These Things
Two things I know as calm and sweet as recollection.
The sharp virginity of daphne,
Crystal-bowled,
In a smoke filled room.
The fresh complacency of sidewalk puddles,
After rain,
Mirroring a brightening day.
*
•Mildred Wilson.
Literary Page Staff:
Editor: Carol Greening
Contributors:
Private Norris Yates
Mildred Wilson
he took from his coat pocket.
This little mechanism was a truly
marvelous creation. Schultz nev
er handled one without feeling a
genuine admiration for the name
less nazi genius who had first
devised it. All you had to do was
twiddle a little knob, and the in
strument would blow up any
electrically wired charge or sys
tem of charges at any time you
wanted.
He set the mechanism ■ to go off
at two thirty-one. It was now
twelve thirty-one. That gave him
two hours. He synchronized his
pocket watch with the timeelock.
Two hours gave him plenty of
time in which to get away. When
the blast went off he would be
drinking beer in Charlie’s place,
being seen by plenty of people
who knew' him well and would
vouch for him.
He was through at last. He
cast a final glance around the
silent building. Everything was
jake. He picked up the satchel
and started for the door. Sud
denly he stopped. It came to his
mind that he had not given the
manager’s office the usual once
over. He cursed. The jerries liked
to have papers proving their acts
of sabotage. They got sore if he
didn’t get them some. Scowling,
he laid down the satchel and ran
swifttly back across the floor un
til he came to the office.
Schultz found the manager’s
door to be locked. Moreover, it
appeared to be of very heavy con
struction. He whipped out his
handkerchief and folded it about
his gun several times. Placing
the muzzle against the lock, he
fired three shots. Then he pushed
on the door, found that it swung
open, and entered.
Hastily he searched the man
ager's desk, scooping several im
portant looking packets of papers
into his pocket. He finished his
duty and was turning to leave
when he espied a door directly
A Ratonitz Raises Again
THE YOUNG MATRIARCH By
G. B. Stern. MacMillan. S3.
■•It was Anastasia’s voice, mer
ry, confident, eternally impeni
tent. rising in shrill good fellow
ship with Francis Power's butler
outside in the hall, the voice that
always preceded her like a flour
ish of trumpets. All the family
clattered their knives and forks,
flung down their table napkins,
turned towards the door in a
chorus of laughter and scoldings.
“ 'No, no, it is not at all nec
essary that you apologize, Wal
ters; if it is that they have be
gun already, I will make no bones
out of that; I blame me my curl
ing-tongs!—you who have a wife
in the kitchen, you will under
stand how we suffer from the
back hair. . .
This, then, the zenith of G. B.
Stern's latest addition to the
Rakonitz saga, "The Young Ma
triarch." In a magnificent re
trospect passage. Miss Stern cre
ates a wondrous dinner-party,
which is the wedding feast for
Dietrich, and Annette, for many
years an unacknowledged mem
ber of the family, and now at
last his wife. Anastasia Rakon
itz, the old matriarch, is there,
and under her protective wing, a
miserable slatternly fortune-tell
er, hauled from the paws of jus
tice. Toni, the fifteen-year old,
is there on sufferance. Really too
young for the party, she drinks
in every luscious detail of the far
cical feast. The full spirit of the
whole tribe is brought out with
more skill in this passage than
anywhere else in the book.
For those who already have
seen the rich tapestry of the Rak
onitz family, woven with such
humor and imagination by G. B.
Stern, the publication of “the
Young Matriarch" will be very
welcome. In response to public
demand, Miss Stern, with her
salt and savor, created a new ma
triarch, which, phoenix-like, arose
from the ashes of the old. The
Phoenix, indeed, is the symbol
Chosen to represent Toni’s suc
cessor, and Miss Stern went the
whole way in open the book at
the cremation of Toni, and placing
the spot light on the child Baba,
Toni’s daughter, who was to take
her place.
But this is enough to tell the
reader that this book carries on
the same brilliant theme of the
other Rakonitz books. For those
who have never been introduced
to the Jewish family, this new
book is a good starting place, for
there is enough retrospect as well
as a very complete family tree so
that one may sort out the char
acters and their background
without too much confusion.—
C.G.
behind the desk that looked as if
it might be the entrance to a
vault.
For a moment he gazed at it,
then curiosity got the better of
him. He stepped behind the desk
to investigate. He found the djff
to be constructed of very sond
hardwood panels and secured
by a spring lock on the outside.
Unsnapping this, he pulled the
door open and walked into what
seemed to be a filing room.
By the sickly beam from his
small flashlight he beheld a win
dowless cubicle about fifteen feet
square lined with a dozen or
more steel filing cabinets. As he
stood surveying the chamber, the
door behind him swung shut with
a click. The sound temporarily
startled him. Then he saw that
the portal had merely closed be
cause of its automatic stop.
Flashing his light once more
around the room, he decided that
he sure didn't have time to
search through all those cases.
Not with the time clock already
ticking cff the minutes. He s^'
round and took hold of the door
knob. For some reason or other
the door wrould not open. He rat
tled it vigorously, but it held fast.
Stepping backward, he scanned
it in puzzlement. Had he forgot
ten to fasten that springlock?
He grasped the knob again and
jerked the door back and forth.
Ten to one that was what he’d
done. If he wasn't a saphead!
Well, he didn’t have time to moon
about it. He drew his gun and
held it about at the place where
he judged the spring lock to be
on the outside of the door. Then
he fired. Nothing happened.
Humph! This shot would have to
be pretty good, as it w'as his last
one. Schultz placed his ear to
the crack between door and
jamb and carefully joggled the
door in its moorings,
strained to catch the faint noise
(Please turn to page seven)
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