 Worried about income tax? Wonder if spring will ever come? Want to get away from it all? We offer you escape. You're alone in your bookline study listening to the idiot gibberings of a parrot and beside you caressing you as an invisible thing, a loathsome thing from which you must escape. Escape produced by William M. Ropeson and carefully contrived to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Today we escape to the West End of London to a little house just off Hyde Park where lived a man who didn't like people. Today we escape in the remarkable tale of Robert Hitchens. Our love came to Professor Gildia. It has been said that no night ever passes over London town that sees not some strange and curious event. Some occurrence too incredible to bear repeating in the light of day. How horribly true are those words? It's been over a year now since the night I first met the amazing Professor Gildia. I had delivered a sermon at the rectory of St. Swithin in the East End and was passing through the foyer in departure when I was accosted brusquely by an odd little man. Remarkably sharp-featured his face adorned by a pointed black goatee. Hold me a moment please. I believe you're Father Murchison? Yes, that's right, but I don't think I've had the pleasure of- Perhaps you've heard of me. My name's Gildia, Professor Gildia. Gildia? Why, yes, you're the famous psychologist. Yes, yes, psychologist, biologist, anthropologist, philosopher, and that takes care of that. Sir, I never attend religious services. It appears you've done so tonight. I came for one reason to hear you. Find out why an otherwise normal colleague of mine thinks you're the most convincing speaker he's ever listened to. And did you find out? No, your talk was intelligent, logical, therefore it could never convince anybody of anything. Thank you. You're a direct man, Professor Gildia. No time to be anything else. Like you have you dying with me, Father Murchison? Say, a week from tonight, seven o'clock, I live at number 100 Hyde Park in the West End. Can't you make it two weeks? I'm preaching at St. Saviour's that nice, just around the corner from the park. And I'm afraid it'll have to be nearer eight-thirty than seven. The service isn't over so early. We can't even agree on a time for dinner. Very well, eight-thirty, two weeks. Good night, sir. Perhaps if I had known then what I... I would no matter. I kept the appointment, of course. After an excellent dinner, we climbed the stairs to Gildia's study. A large book-lined room running the wind to the house with windows at the end overlooking the park. In front of those windows stood the one in Congress thing in the room. A cage holding a large gray parrot. In fact, as I recall, it was the parrot that was responsible for my first becoming aware of what exact opposites Gildia and I really were. The same parrot that was responsible for so many other things that happened later. Quiet, Napoleon. One day that infernal squawking of yours will drive me to wring your neck. Somehow it surprises me, Gildia. I mean, you're keeping a pet. I possess a parrot, Father Murchison. That's all. Made a study of the imitative faculties of animals some months ago. Bought the bird, then never got rid of it. I see. Started the bad habit of scratching the fool thing's head. It loves it, you see. In five minutes you'll be screaming for more of it. Why would it surprise you so much if I kept a pet? Because I believe you're the most self-sufficient man I ever met. More than that, actually. I detest affection, any display of sentimentality. But you do feel the need of close human sympathy in your life. None whatsoever. A reasonable amount of companionship naturally, but that's all. Father Murchison, I'm one person who does not love his fellow men. Nonetheless, some of your discoveries have been of great benefit to mankind. Entirely accidental. I thought you would be liking your coffee now, sir. No, it's pitting. Put it down the table, please. Thank you, sir. Will there be anything else? No, that's all pitting. Yes, sir. An excellent servant there. I know nothing of pitting's thoughts or feelings, nor he of mine. Perfect relationship. And if a crisis occurred, if you needed to call on him as a friend, it would take a considerable crisis. What about the parrot? Surely you must regard it with some affection, otherwise you'd get rid of it. Napoleon? Merely a specimen. Birds of the void of sentimentality as I am. He can only imitate whatever he sees and hears. Gildia, have you ever been in love? Neither with anyone in particular, nor with love itself. Being in love as you put it, or having someone in love with me, would be the most monstrous and horrible situation I could possibly imagine. All of a sudden, I feel a very great sense of pity. For whom? For you. Yet, as different as we were, my life dedicated to all humanity, and Gildia's life stripped of its own humanity, I called again at the house at Hyde Park many times, and we became friends. We talked away many evening hours and the months had followed, sitting by the book-covered table in the long study, the grey parrot chattering away in the background, with the lamp light barely reaching the farther corners. It was on such a night, not long ago, that the thing began. Gildia had seemed uncommonly nervous since dinner, and it spent much of the time pacing in front of the windows that faced the power. I found it muchess and I can't seem to relax tonight. I never feel a completely unaccountable presentiment, a sense that something remarkable was about to happen. Oh yes, usually it never did. Turned out to be the effect of too much coffee. No, it's not that coffee doesn't bother me, nothing does. Well then, suppose you stop pacing the floor and sit down, you're wearing me out. You noticed how well Napoleon's learned to imitate your voice? Yes, I have, and it's almost insulting at times. The worst thing is feeling such a strong compulsive to do something which I know to be ridiculous. Exactly what is it you're talking about, Gildia? It's foolish even to mention it, but I wonder if you'll pardon me for a few minutes. Of course. Help yourself to more coffee, I'll be right back. Oh my! I walked over and stood stroking the feathers of the parrot through the bars of his cage. I'd grown rather fond of the ugly bird, but it always startled me to hear him mimic some phrase of mine or Gildia's. Napoleon? You're a true creature of the devil. Creature devil, creature devil! I happened to glance out of the window toward the park across the street. The arc lamp at the corner threw a dim gleam across a bench, set just inside the pailing. And I was surprised to see Professor Gildia moving about the bench, peering under it, behind it, staring into the shadows nearby. He kept this up for some minutes, then crossed the street and came back toward the house. In a moment I heard him ascending the stairs. Oh, the merchants. Has anyone entered this room since I went out? I know. You mean pitting, of course. He hasn't been in. Strange. Very strange. I saw you across the street in the park. What were you doing? I thought I saw something, wonder what it was that saw. Did you find out? No. I'm from the parrot. I've never made a sound like that before. What do you mean, he seems all right? Napoleon, stop that! What was it you thought you saw? As you said, most likely it was the coffee. Only I'm very much afraid that... Oh, no, no. And this day and age, it's impossible. It was nearly a week later that I received a phone call in my quarters at the rectory. Father Merteson here. This is Pitting, sir. Professor Gildia's man. Oh, yes, Pitting. How are you? Very well. Thank you, sir. The master would greatly appreciate your calling at the house this evening if it's convenient, sir. Oh, anything wrong? I could not say, sir. But why didn't he phone himself? He isn't ill. I think not. He suggested eight o'clock, sir. May I tell him you'll come? Yes. Yes, by all means. Tell him I'll be there a day. I'm speaking about the bush, Father Merteson. I am nervous. Of course I am. Plenty of reason for it. Oh, you're working too hard. Now I'm working too hard. The other night it was coffee. As a matter of fact, it's neither one. Be quiet, Napoleon! Maybe you'd better tell me just what is the matter, Gildia. Do you feel the presence in this room of any one beside the two of us? Well, there's Napoleon, of course. No, no, I don't mean the parity. He senses it too, though. Senses what? When you were here last week, I left the house for a few minutes. You remember? Yes. I'd been watching someone sitting on that bench across in the park, a shadowy sort of figure. I had to find out what it was. But you found nothing. You told me when you came back. That's right. But I left the front door open. When I came back in, I felt suddenly that someone or something had entered ahead of me. Oh, come on, really, Gildia. I knew also that they'd found their way to this room. But I was here all the time. No one came in. Father Murchison, whoever or whatever came into the house that night came into this room is still here right now. You, Gildia, are scientists. Yes, ridiculous, isn't it? It's true. I'm only able to feel its presence. Napoleon can see it. Look at him now. Now, wouldn't you say he was watching something over there in the far corner of the room? No, I'd say he's just being as foolish as a parrot usually is. You, a skeptic? About this, yes. You've been working too hard. You need a vacation. I haven't told you the worst part of it. Would you say that I'm an attractive man? Frankly, no. Oh, I suppose to be a certain type of society woman. No, no, no. That's not what I'm talking about. Well, then what are you talking about? I don't know whether this intruder is a woman, man, child, animal, but whatever it is, it holds a vast affection for me. What? Can you imagine anything so utterly monstrous, horrible? Murchison, the thing is in love with me. I could not, would not accept Gildia's belief, and yet the alternative was even more frightful. But I could only decide that the long hours of study and lecturing had affected his mind, had brought him in fact with a verge of insanity. I persuaded him finally to get away for a while, leave the house, forget his professional problems, take a short trip. I accompanied him to Victoria Station, saw him off on the boat train, and then caught up in my duties, I had little time to consider the strange affair for nearly ten days. Father Murchison here. I hope I haven't disturbed you. Professor Gildia, then you're back in London. Yes, I've been back for three days. You should have called me. How was the trip? Right, pleasant. I took message on a Channel Coaster. The sea air was wonderful. You weren't troubled on the trip? Oh, no. We didn't hear for me. What? Then you needed to... Could you come over here tonight? You mean now? Yes, if you could. You see, I can prove it to you now. Very well. I shall come right over. I stood there by the phone and shivered. The thing had become so real to him now that he felt he could go away and leave it, then come back and find it waiting for him. I didn't call you when I first came back. I wanted to be sure. So I've waited three days, and every day has been worse than the one before. In what way? What do you mean? I mean, the thing was waiting for me here. Glad I was back fond all over me. It was more insistently obnoxious all the time. Gildia, do you mean you've seen the thing? No, no, I haven't seen it. I haven't heard it, but I know it's here. I can feel it, sense it. Try to put it in words, and it becomes absurd. If you'd like some unsolicited advice, call in a doctor, have him look you over. And what doctor in London knows any more about the human mind than I do? I know, but when it's your own mind... No, no, no. You're thinking of hysteria, hallucination. I know all the symptoms. It's not that simple. Anyway, I told you I could prove it to you. You'll notice I've thrown a cover of Napoleon's cage. Yes, I've been wondering about it. Part of my proof. He's been here, you know, all the time I was gone here in this room. Yes, but I... I want you to get behind those curtains with me. Then I'll reach out and pull the cloth off his cage. I don't want him to see us. I don't know what you're hoping to prove. But, uh... All right, come on. Ready? I'll uncover him. He crouched there behind the curtains, watching the parrot. He protested while it being so rudely disturbed by some unseen agency. Climbed about the cage with claws and beak, pecked at crumbs, appeared entirely normal. After time, he began to fix his attention on a spot across the room. There was nothing there. Watch him. Look at him now. In the parrot's mind, at least someone or something was approaching the cage. And yet, the room was empty. Whatever it was, apparently, had reached the cage now. And the Napoleon welcomed it with friendly chortling. The hairs rose on the back of my neck. For the bird was cooing and gurgling as he did when I, a gildier, scratched the tethers on his head. I could almost fancy it that I saw a long white ghostly finger reaching through the bars at the cage. Watch him and listen to him. He's talking to the thing, imitating it. See what you think. The bird was moving about in the cage now, nodding his head in a very peculiar manner, uttering the most extraordinary sounds. He began to realize that he was imitating the thing he saw standing by his cage. And then the full horror of it came over me. I tried to hide the thought from Gildier, but he'd already seen it in my eye. So you see it too. That's all I wanted to know. That I wasn't imagining it. No point in hiding there any longer. That was my proof. But perhaps someone was here while you were gone. I have question pitting and the cook. No one has been here. It can't be. Such a thing just can't be. Father, where is it now? Can you tell me where it is? Not exactly somewhere in the room, not too far away. I can feel that. Napoleon, of course, can see it. There is some rational explanation, Gildier. There has to be. You're whistling in the dark, Father. You recognize the same thing I did. I know what you mean, of course. I can't stand much more of it. There's really something I can fight, strike out at. I'm not a coward, but I can't see it here. I can only feel it trying to touch me somehow, trying to get close to me, drooling with desire and affection, fondness for me. I can't keep it away. It gets closer all the time. Gildier, you've got to get hold of yourself. Get hold of myself! She saw the way that parent imitated the thing, those mannerisms, that gibberish. You know what it means as well as I do. I saw it, but it can't... Can't you feel how hideous it is for me? I can't stop it. That thing makes love to me, caresses me, and whatever it is it has no mind. You saw that! That thing is a slobbering idiot! I walked home at a late hour, trying desperately to think of some reasonable answer to the whole strange affair. I could not accept Gildier's explanation of the actions of the parent, though the bird had produced an extraordinary illusion of a reasonable presence in that room. In a day gone by, perhaps I might have been called in to deal with an evil spirit. I thought of retribution. Gildier had always borne an unnatural distaste for human love. Was he now being forced to endure the unnatural love of some monstrous being as punishment? I cast such thoughts away from me, yet I could not quite accept the only other reasonable solution that my friend was insane. It was very late when I fell asleep. The following evening I preached at Warwick Chapel and returned to my quarters about nine. I found that Pitting had called a short time before and left a rather puzzling message. Implore that you come to Hyde Park at once. Otherwise I cannot answer for the consequences. But what is it you're trying to say, Pitting? He's not himself. In what way is he not himself? You only suggest, sir, that you talk to him yourself. Here we are. I'll leave you now, sir. Oh. Come in. Gildier, what in the name of heaven is wrong? Pitting said you'd been upset, but he didn't say... In human machine. What happened? What did he do? Nothing. That's just it. Nothing. But I don't see then what you... You warned me about it once. You said I'd meet a crisis, need him as a friend, and he wouldn't be there when it happened. I'm going to call a doctor. I've never seen you in a state like this before. Doctor, I'm all right now. A little while anyway. At least I think I am. Then what was it? What happened? That thing touched me. Rarely touched me. I mean, for the first time. It's only been trying to before. The only way I can put it is... it rubbed itself against my soul. It was horrible. Now, Gildier, you've got to... Don't tell me you've got to get hold of myself. I know what I'm saying. I'm sorry. If you'd felt it yourself, you'd know what I mean. It was disgusting, filthy. It had lasted one more minute. I know I should have gone screaming mad, but you don't... You don't feel it now. No, not now. I lost my head, I guess. I struck out with my fists. I tore it myself, screamed for help. Pitting came and thought I was drunk. But I could feel it touching me, this sickening, soft, tender inside of me. But it left you then. You forced it away. Yes, it's still here in the room somewhere, but it hasn't tried to touch me again. Now, that settles it. Gildier, you're leaving here tonight. It didn't follow you when you took the trip before. It stayed here. That's one way you can be free of it. Then you believe in the thing, too. Believe it's real. It's real for you, and that's enough. Now, if I remember it, you were giving a lecture at Oxford You're going on up there now. I'll help you pack it. You could do that. I could save the Groveners and I'd take a train in the morning. It's right near the station. And it's all agreed. I'll get it. Wait, wait. Look at Napoleon. Standing there by his cage. He's talking to it. Imitating it. Can you imagine what that thing must look like? Never mind. Let me help you start packing. But I didn't tell you what it really did this evening. What came closer to driving me insane. It doesn't matter. The thing kissed me, Martison. But not from the outside. What? I could feel it warm and wet, kissing my lips from the inside. Gildia stayed at the hotel that night and caught the train out to Oxford the next morning. Four days later, I received a wire from him. I'm still feeling a bit shaky, but everything else is all right. No sign of any visitor. Why don't you try to come up for the lecture Friday night and please get rid of Napoleon for me? Signed Gildia. On sudden impulse, I decided to accept his invitation. My train was late and I arrived at Oxford with only time enough to go directly to the seminar. I slid into my seat just as Gildia was introduced and began his talk. He was pale and perhaps a bit drawn, but seemed otherwise composed and in control of himself. As I sat there, my mind wandered away from his talk, seeking some solution for the horrible problem which I regarded as being as much my own as Gildia's. I decided I would try to persuade him to sell the house and hide park place, since his strange fixation seemed to be bound up with it. I tried to find lodgings elsewhere. Some ten minutes passed when suddenly I noticed Gildia was becoming very nervous. He faltered in his talk. Seemed to be confused. He stood there on the platform, deathly pale. His hands out as though pushing something away from him. I knew what was wrong. Pardon me. Pardon me, please. Could I get through? Pardon me. Let me to him, please. Pardon me. I'm his friend. Gildia. Gildia, can you hear me? Well, I just... Yes. Everything's all right. It came here. Found me out. It robbed up against me on the platform. It's no use. Take me back to London. We arrived back in London late the next afternoon. Gildia was a broken old man. He shivered continually, troubled as though shaken by a chill. He claimed to sense the awful presence of that thing always nearby us, accompanying us. And he was constantly terror-stricken, lest it might try to touch him again. I stayed with him in the house in Hyde Park. And as night drew on, we sat in the long bookfield study on the second floor. Pitting brought coffee to us and then withdrew. We found little to talk about. And the silence of the room seemed doubly oppressive without the familiar chatter of the parrot in the background. What did you do with him, Marston? Napoleon, I mean. I warded him with a pet shop in Shaftesbury Avenue. I thought you might want him back again after you'd reconsidered. No, no, no. I don't want him back. You still can't feel its presence, can you? No, Gildia. I'm afraid I can't. Mr. Heaven, I couldn't. It's in here with us now, you know. Now, please, please. It doesn't matter. That's no use. I can't fight it any longer. There's no way to fight it. Perhaps that may be the answer to stop fighting it. You said yourself that you felt it was fond of you, meant you no harm. Then why not stop fighting? Try to return its fondness, its love, if you will. You don't know what you're asking. Even the thought of it sickens me. Fondness, love for that thing? Perhaps it may be the only way out. Then there's no way out. I tell you, Marston, I've only one feeling for that creature, that hatred. Hatred, disgust, and hatred. Try to be calm. Wait. Wait. What is it? Perhaps that's it. Listen. Whatever you are, beast or devil, I hate you, do you hear? I hate you! Marston, that's doing it. It's recoiling with drawing. I can feel it. Gildia, please. I hate you! I hate you! Marston, it wants to leave. It's beginning to hate me too, but it wants to leave now. Open the door. Go downstairs and open the front door. Open the front door and let it out. All right, Gildia. If you'll feel better about it. I can't wait to go along, but I know how to fight it now. Go, Marston, and hurry. I hate you! I hate you! I ran down the stairs and threw open the front door. I stood there, breathing in the night air. It was clear and cold, and the stars hung overhead. I looked across to the park, saw the glow from the street lamp falling on the empty bench directly opposite. And at that moment came a sound that froze my blood with horror. I stood there, paralyzed, unable to move. Seconds passed, perhaps minutes I don't know. I don't know how long I stood there. I glanced across at the empty bench, and for one moment thought I saw a shadow sitting on it. A big shadow as Gildia saw it one night weeks before. Then the bench was empty, and I heard Pitting running downstairs. Father Merchison, come quickly. Professor Gildia, it was his heart, I think. Yes, yes, I believe it was his heart. But Father Merchison, he's lying up there now, sir. He's dead. Dead? Dead, Pitting? I hope so. I sincerely hope so. Escape, produced by William M. Robson and directed by Norman McDonnell. Today brought you How Love Came to Professor Gildia by Robert Hitchens. Adapted for radio by Les Crutchfield, with Louis Van Rooton as Professor Gildia, Parley Baer as Father Merchison, Harry Bartell as Pitting, and Paul Fries as the parrot. Music was conceived by Psy Theuer with Richard Orant of the console. Next week When the coming weekend offers little to stir the imagination, when routine inactivity stares you in the face, when you're already tired of doing nothing, we offer you escape. Next week, we bring you another exciting story of high adventure. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.