 Radio 59 WROW, first on the dial. And now, another tale well calculated to keep you in... Suspense. Elemental, adapted for suspense from a story by Stephen Vincent Benet. Thirsty people everywhere prefer ice-cold Pepsi-Cola. And because it's light, it refreshes without filling. Charlie, be sociable. I am, Kay. Pepsi is a favorite of thirsty people from Maine to Hawaii, from Alaska to Florida. Charlie. It's perfect for parties or picnics, so serve Pepsi to your guests. It's helpful, but... This is the sociable part. Keep plenty of Pepsi ice-cold and ready. Remember, it goes fast because everybody likes Pepsi. Singing still sounds more inviting. May I? Be sociable. Look more. Keep up to date with Pepsi. Drink light, refreshing Pepsi. Stay young and fair, and never dare be sociable. Have a Pepsi. But singing doesn't say, pick up an extra carton of Pepsi today. Better yet, get a case. You do that. A young man, an assistant in history at Harvard University, sits across from his host at Little Dinner for Two, in a big, ugly residence on Madison Avenue. And now the after-dinner talk is somehow drifted to elementals. I was speaking, Mr. Latimer, of the elementals of life itself. What rules this curious thing called human existence? What forces way at most holy and make it a pageant or tragedy, or only a gray succession of lackluster days? I'm afraid I haven't thought about that too much, Mr. Slake. A historian? Well, I don't suppose it can be helped these days. Would you care for more abacchio, or perhaps the cocreate? No, no thanks. Nothing more. It was delicious. How nice of you to be so pleased. I must confess, I found the bavette prepared, shall we say, a little beyond al dente. Still, your pleasure allows me to excuse the oversight. Your gratification is my own. I thought it was perfect. Good. The abacchio, the little spring lamb, was actually less than six pounds on the hoof, barely able to walk, I should say. Six pounds? A little less, and all the way from Rome. I suppose it's a shame in a way, but then, refinement of appetite is bound to lead to what I imagine you think of as cruelty. I do think it's cruel. I don't see why refinement of appetite, as you call it, should necessarily lead to cruelty. Don't you? What do you say to a bit of pasticeria, and an excellent masala, I stumbled on in Sicily? Impossible. Ah, that's too bad. Tonight, I have wanted to especially honor you for your flawless translation of Wiu Chardini. Thank you. And forgive me, it's just too much. Lately. Perhaps a little later, the beautiful country cheese bell, pice, and pears. But for now, my question, Mr. Latimer, was about essentials. What would you say was the essential invisible power that rules all human affairs? I really couldn't say. Unless you mean God. I was thinking of something quite different. And it was you who clarified it for me in your remarkably terse version of the chapter on the merry diversions of His Highness, Prince Alessandro. Prince Alessandro. Yes, I remembered His Highness very well. And I remember the agony of the translation, the endless searching for the exact word in each sentence of the chapter, describing the 15th century Prince in his refined and exquisite delights. And then I heard Slake's voice again, soft and purring like a gigantic cat. I understand you're engaged to be married, Mr. Latimer. Yes, sir, I am. So you will forgive me if I presume that you're in luck. You embarrass me. But I think you can presume that we both are. That is to say I love Catherine and Catherine loves me. Awesome. Catherine Vane, I believe? Yes, Catherine Vane. Would you say then that love was one of the powers that guide the destiny of men? Yes, I would. Wouldn't you? On the contrary. I venture to say that love is the most fragile of things, always evanescent, disappearing. Much too delicate to last. And yet love has been known to build empires. Such romantic nonsense. Hate and fear and hunger have created empires. They always will. There are only three prime movers in this vagrant piece of oddity we pleased to call the human soul. I don't believe you. I see. Do you think love can hold out against fear? Yes. And love can stand against hate? Yes. And do you think love can survive hunger? Yes, I most certainly do. Very well then. Let's get back to Alessandro and the two lovers whose devotion was a proverb in his court. Are you willing to undergo anything in life or death for each other? Alessandro was a mad man. Perhaps. In any case, he suggested, as you remember, a test of this immortal emotion. A very simple test. Hardly simple. His highness was well known for his cruel and sensitive torture. But only with reason. And in this case, a reward was offered if they withstood the ordeal. And it was liberal enough. A duke them for the man, a permanent revenue for them both, and titles of honor for each. Why death, of course. Why not? Carried out by one of Alessandro's curious methods of making people die. True. But even so, Guiuchardini says the lovers were genuinely delighted to accept the test. They embraced it, he said, as if they were to dance together at feast day with great nobleness and joy of heart. But as you know, the test, unfortunately, was an elemental one. Hunger. Hunger for ten days. That's all, Mr. Lennemann. Yes, but in separate cubicles with no knowledge of time. An inconvenience, perhaps, but not in any... Having to stare at each other through a glass partition but unable to speak. Yes. Wasn't that a pretty idea? And on the tenth day, the partition removed and one small piece of bread thrown into them. It wasn't a fair test. By no means a fair test. Giving them food and then making them wait a half hour before touching it. And yet if this elemental love of theirs had been greater than elemental hunger for one half hour, they both would have had their hearts desire forever. But it was the means, the dragging out of starvation. It was hunger. The elemental. We, Uchardini, says, it was difficult at first for the men to take them to execution to separate them. They had torn and entwined their way into such a deadly knot in their death grapple for that one small piece of bread. They acted as any two people would have acted. Any two would have been the same. Any two would not. They failed because their love wasn't big enough, certainly. But some people would have been big enough. Some loves would. Some people would have been big enough, you say. I wonder. I very much wonder, Mr. Latimer, just what people you mean. Oh, dozens. Most people are half of them at any rate even now. Mr. Latimer, would you? Would I be willing to undergo Alessandro's test? To prove what? That love was durable? That man was not ridden and spurred by fear and hate and hunger alone? Surely, Slake and his comfortable boredom was playing hypothetical games. And you dragged me back four centuries to play with him. Well, Mr. Latimer, does it frighten you? Or would you be willing to wager your future professorship, say, on your and one woman's ability to withstand Alessandro's test? Are you absolutely sure of yourself and the lady in question? This strikes me as an elaborate joke, Mr. Slake. But, of course, I'm sure. Very well, then. Suppose we try it. What? Mr. Slake, the premise is preposterous. As to the stakes, I could hardly ask you to put up your lives in forfeit. Things being what they are. But a written promise from you that you would give up your present career forever and enter any business I wished you to at a salary entirely at my discretion. That would be quite sufficient in case either one of you failed. You can't be serious, Mr. Slake. The idea would be fantastic if it weren't so insolent. Should the test be withstood successfully, and I should not require more than 20 minutes duration for the final bread to stay in your common cubicle, a check for $20,000 to be delivered to you the same day. $20,000. It meant that Catherine and I could marry at once instead of waiting another year. It meant leisure for research. It meant a home and children. It meant security. Everything that Catherine and I wanted most in life. But the conditions were so unreal, so lost and antiquated I could only feel as though I were caught in a silken net and unable to get out. Well, Mr. Latimer, I offer. And I refuse. It's idiotic. Idiotic? Will you remember it that way when you're poor and at your wit's end? Will you remember that you might have had $20,000 for the asking in exchange for a little courage? I don't know. But I'll be frank with you, Mr. Slake. If you'd made your incredible offer to me alone, I'd have jumped at it. But as it is... Of course, young lady. Miss Vane would be unable to bear it. What are you doing? Nothing, Mr. Latimer, nothing. Million notation. You see, I have a whim since you are so obdurate. I should like very much to find out what Miss Catherine Vane will say to this trifling experiment of mine. In just a moment, we will return for the second act of... Suspense. You know, folks, your good, fake, barbecued steak on your table is the finest compliment you can pay your guests. That's why when you've got the best meat there is, it's important to get the best flavor out of it. May I recommend using French's Worcestershire and your barbecue sauce? You see, French's Worcestershire has 15 different spices and other ingredients blended into it. Not two or three measly old things, but 15. This French's Worcestershire recipe of spices and other ingredients grown hot or sweet barbecue sauce brings out every last bit of the wonderful, juicy flavor in food where you can barely keep your mouth from watering. See the difference French's Worcestershire makes in your barbecue sauce. Send for this special offer. Get 12 delicious new barbecue sauce recipes. Just write Barbecue Book, Box 5-6. That's Box 5-6, Rochester, New York. Good evening, Mr. Latimer. Good evening, Mr. Slake. Everything perfectly all right, Mr. Latimer? Everything entirely satisfactory. Oh, charming. You're admirable guests, Mr. Latimer, you and Miss Vane. I really wished for you a dinner tonight. The beef scatter traveled too much whipped cream in it, but the fish was perfection. Prodetto, you know. An ancient Spartan federation. Oh, dear, dear, I forgot. My apologies. And by the way, I trust you understand the inconvenience of no soap or toothpaste. Cleansing to be sure, but also edible. I am sorry. I have no complaints. No complaints? Very well then. Good night. The door closed on the bloody color of Slake's superbly well-fed face. And I turned away to look at the little white dents my teeth had made in the flesh of my wrist. I forced my eyes up and away from those pale hunger markings. Away and around the walls of the neat, luxuriously decorated box of a room I had come to know completely by heart. How long had it been? Slake visited us twice a day. And how many times did he come already? Eight, I think. Yes, I can still remember that much. Eight. That would be four days of short time. And how long ago it seemed that the contracts were drawn. As you see, my dears, a miniature apartment on the third floor. Seven rooms and all, and all sound approved. I use it whenever a problem chances to come up that I wish to think over entirely undisturbed. We could carry out our little experiment here in perfect peace. And, Catherine, you understand this is simply a cruel and useless charade. It's insane, and I refuse $20,000 for one week's lack of occupation. Yes, Mr. Slake, if we win. And, of course, you will. In consideration of the fact that neither of you in all probability possesses a renaissance physique, I would be willing to shorten the time to seven days. But what in the world is there in it for you? Amusement. In the old days, they had gladiatorial games, and that was as it should be. You see, I agree with you and Aldo Roman, who said that the only needs in life are bread and circuses. And this is my circus. You may have the bread if you can wait for it. The answer is no. Oh, Sherry, darling, just think now. It's everything we want, Sherry. Everything, no. And it's ours if we only have the courage to take it. Of course, Mr. Latimer, if you have doubts, I'd be willing if necessary to carry out the experiment with Ms. Vane alone. The conditions might have to be altered somewhat, but the terms would be the same. Oh, yes, Sherry, yes. I'd rather have it that way, really, I would. Then there would only be one of us, but it would be for both. The first day wasn't bad at all. After all, two ordinary human beings physically fit enough, not weakling. The Slake had given us Bibles and other religious works. It seemed ridiculous to think we couldn't hold out seven days without food. But the second day was worse, in a way, than the fourth. The pain had been sharper than. And toward the end of the day, the giddiness was bad. It made your body feel light all over, like a cork. And with it, the fierce and intermittent spurts of pain as if it were filled with burning air. And then as time went by, my sense of time went with it. There was only pain now. Terrible, terrible pain. Pain that was as much a part of me as my ticking heart. And then Slake came again. How many times he had visited I no longer knew. Still no complaints, Mr. Ledema? Still no complaint. I'm sorry to have taken away your books, but the teeth marks and the leather binding of the Hindu book gave me no other choice. I'm sure you understand. I understand. And after all, it's for me a question of hours, shall we say? Hours. Hours? Or shall we say days? Days, is it days? I'm afraid you'll have to puzzle that out for yourself, Mr. Ledema. In just a moment, we will return for the concluding act of... Munch, munch, munch a bunch of burritos. Corn chips is not polite to smack your lips. But you can't help it with burritos, corn chips. Munch, munch, munch a bunch of burritos. Corn chips. That's right, burritos, corn chips. So crisp and light there's contentment in every munch. Serve them at outdoor parties, as snacks or with dips. Burritos, corn chips are so good with cold drinks, everyone will want a munch of munch. Burritos have a flavor no other kind of chip can match. Munch, munch, munch a bunch of burritos. Corn chips. Burritos are golden chips of corn just made to munch. Keep burritos, corn chips on hand for the perfect warm weather between meal treat. Serve them with sandwiches, salads. Burritos, corn chips are full of good, crisp, refreshing flavor. F-R-I-T-O-S. Burritos, corn chips. Munch, munch, munch a bunch of burritos. Corn chips. Right here, Mr. Ledema. I'm afraid I shall have to withdraw from the counter. Really? When only a few more hours would have brought us to the interesting part? Yeah. According to the agreement, Mr. Ledema. I don't care about the agreement. Neither of you may be released without the full written consent of the other. I'll find it so she just look at her. A little less plump perhaps. A forfeiture clause would be invoked, of course. I don't care. And I could use your brains for, let us say, 10 years. Anything. She can't walk anymore, she can't move, don't you see? You know, Mr. Ledema, the favorite Roman breakfast was bread dipped in wine. Get her to sign. Don't touch me, Mr. Ledema. Don't touch me. Please, please. What an exhibition of temper. What a pitiful exhibition. I'll see what the young lady has to say. I remember that Slate came back and said that Catherine had refused to sign. But I don't remember being carried down the corridor and placed in the other cubicle. I remember only colors that streak before my eyes like blots of livid light. Piercing colors of sunset orange and scarlet and bright green. Reeling dreams like the patterns a madman draws in the air. And at the end of it, a collapse and a broken piece. A piece so complete that I thought I had died. But turning on my couch, I saw another figure in the room. And between our two couches, there was something on the floor. Something solid and white. A piece of bread. And now the figure on the other couch stirred. Its great eyes stared at the bread. The thing on the other couch had seen the food, too. And wanted it as bitterly as I wanted it. But I was careful. I put my hand slowly in front of me like the paws of a cat. And carefully slid to the floor. I waited on all fours for a moment. Waiting to see what that woman would do. But she didn't get down from the couch to fight me for the food. She wasn't able. She could only lie there and stare at it with hopeless eyes. Who was that strange gaunt woman who didn't move to take the bread from me? I reached out slowly. Very slowly. And I touched the bread. Its surface was rough and pleasant. Good, good bread. And it was mine. In a minute I'd feel that first sweet taste of it on my tongue. But there was something wrong. And I couldn't think of what it was. So I brought the bread carefully to my mouth. And a crumb would be lost. Sherwood. Sherry. Oh, Sherry, dear, Sherry, dear. I'm so hungry. Catherine, Catherine, Catherine, Catherine, that was it. That's what I forgot. It was Catherine who was hungry. And she'd have to eat right now. That was Catherine. That lean image of fever on the couch was Catherine. And she was hungry. I began the immense journey across the floor to the other couch. Catherine was hungry, so she must be fed. Dear Sherry. Catherine. You're doling. Bread. Eat it. No, you're first, dear. You're hungrier. No, dear. No. Got the bread. Yes. We've got to wait. If you can. I'll try. Time. All over. Well, pick it up, you babies. Pick it up. It's yours. Do you think I'm going to feed you? You've been listening to Elemental. Adapted for Suspense from a story by Stephen Vincent Benet. In a moment the names of our players and a word about next week's story of Suspense. Hi, this is Dennis James. Say, remember way back when this melody was popular? There's something very special about a long time favorite, isn't there? Well, folks feel the same way about one of Kellogg's favorites. Kellogg's All Brand. Going on 41 years now, it's been America's most popular good food way to fight irregularity from lack of bulk. Because it's whole brand, Kellogg's All Brand gentles away irregularity safely and reliably. And because it's deep toasted for extra crispness, it never gets mushy in milk. There's only one All Brand, Kellogg's All Brand. That's A-L-B-R-A-N. Kellogg's All Brand. Heard in tonight's story were Phil Meeder as Latimer, Santos Ortega as Slake, and Ellen McCrae as Catherine. Listen again next week when we return with 60 Grand Missing by Robert Arthur. Another tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.