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st one to find out。 And the clues they'd left behind them！ A blind； deaf and dumb man would have bee suspicious。 Not Jack。 He pottered about his dull business and never noticed the tang of the adulterer's cologne； nor the abnormal regularity with which his wife changed the bed…linen。
He was no less disinterested in events when his younger daughter Amanda confessed her lesbianism to him。 His response was a sigh and a puzzled look。
〃Well； as long as you don't get pregnant； darling；〃 he replied； and sauntered off into the garden； blithe as ever。
What chance did a fury have with a man like that？
To a creature trained to put its meddling fingers into the wounds of the human psyche； Polo offered a surface so glacial； so utterly without distinguishing marks； as to deny malice any hold whatsoever。
Events seemed to make no dent in his perfect indifference。 His life's disasters seemed not to scar his mind at all。 When； eventually； he was confronted with the truth about his wife's infidelity （he found them screwing in the bath） he couldn't bring himself to be hurt or humiliated。
〃These things happen；〃 he said to himself； backing out of the bathroom to let them finish what they'd started。
〃Che sera； sera。〃 Che sera； sera。 The man muttered that damn phrase with monotonous regularity。 He seemed to live by that philosophy of fatalism； letting attacks on his manhood； ambition and dignity slide off his ego like rain…water from his bald head。
The Yattering had heard Polo's wife confess all to her husband （it was hanging upside down from the light…fitting； invisible as ever） and the scene had made it wince。 There was the distraught sinner； begging to be accused； bawled at； struck even； and instead of giving her the satisfaction of his hatred； Polo had just shrugged and let her say her piece without a word of interruption； until she had no more to embosom。 She'd left； at length； more out of frustration and sorrow than guilt； the Yattering had heard her tell the bathroom mirror how insulted she was at her husband's lack of righteous anger。 A little while after she'd flung herself off the balcony of the Roxy Cinema。
Her suicide was in some ways convenient for the fury。 With the wife gone； and the daughters away from home； it could plan for more elaborate tricks to unnerve its victim； without ever having to concern itself with revealing its presence to creatures the powers had not marked for attack。
But the absence of the wife left the house empty during the days； and that soon became a burden of boredom the Yattering found scarcely supportable。 The hours from nine to five； alone in the house； often seemed endless。 It would mope and wander； planning bizarre and impractical revenges upon the Polo…man； pacing the rooms； heartsick； panioned only by the clicks and whirrs of the house as the radiators cooled； or the refrigerator switched itself on and off。 The situation rapidly became so desperate that the arrival of the midday post became the high…point of the day； and an unshakeable melancholy would settle on the Yattering if the postman had nothing to deliver and passed by to the next house。
When Jack returned the games would begin in earnest。 The usual warm…up routine： it would meet Jack at the door and prevent his key from turning in the lock。 The contest would go on for a minute or two until Jack accidentally found the measure of the Yattering's resistance； and won the day。 Once inside； it would start all the lampshades swinging。 The man would usually ignore this performance； however violent the motion。 Perhaps he might shrug and murmur： 〃Subsidence；〃 under his breath； then； inevitably； 〃Che sera； sera。〃 In the bathroom； the Yattering would have squeezed toothpaste around the toilet…seat and have plugged up the shower…head with soggy toilet…paper。 It would even share the shower with Jack； hanging unseen from the rail that held up the shower curtain and murmuring obscene suggestions in his ear。 That was always successful； the demons were taught at the Academy。 The obscenities in the ear routine never failed to distress clients； making them think they were conceiving of these pernicious acts themselves； and driving them to self…disgust； then to self…rejection and finally to madness。 Of course； in a few cases the victims would be so inflamed by these whispered suggestions they'd go out on the streets and act upon them。 Under such circumstances the victim would often be arrested and incarcerated。 Prison would lead to further crimes； and a slow dwindling of moral reserves…and the victory was won by that route。 One way or another insanity would out。
Except that for some reason this rule did not apply to Polo； he was imperturbable： a tower of propriety。
Indeed； the way things were going the Yattering would be the one to break。 It was tired； so very tired。 Endless days of tormenting the cat； reading the funnies in yesterday's newspaper； watching the game shows： they drained the fury。 Lately； it had developed a passion for the woman who lived across the street from Polo。 She was a young widow； and seemed to spend most of her life parading around the house stark naked。 It was almost unbearable sometimes； in the middle of a day when the postman failed to call； watching the woman and knowing it could never cross the threshold of Polo's house。
This was the Law。 The Yattering was a minor demon； and his soul…catching was strictly confined to the perimeters of his victim's house。 To step outside was to relinquish all powers over the victim： to put itself at the mercy of humanity。
All June； all July and most of August it sweated in its prison； and all through those bright； hot months Jack Polo maintained plete indifference to the Yattering's attacks。
It was deeply embarrassing； and it was gradually destroying the demon's self…confidence； seeing this bland victim survive every trial and trick attempted upon him。
The Yattering wept。
The Yattering screamed。
In a fit of uncontrollable anguish； it boiled the water in the aquarium； poaching the guppies。
Polo heard nothing。 Saw nothing。
At last； in late September； the Yattering broke one of the first rules of its condition； and appealed directly to its masters。
Autumn is Hell's season； and the demons of the higher dominations were feeling benign。 They condescended to speak to their creature。
〃What do you want？〃 asked Beelzebub； his voice blackening the air in the lounge。
〃This man。 。 。〃 the Yattering began nervously。
〃Yes？〃
〃This Polo。 。 。〃
〃Yes？〃
〃I am without issue upon him。 I can't get panic upon him； I can't breed fear or even mild concern upon him。 I am sterile； Lord of the Flies； and I wish to be put out of my misery。〃 For a moment Beelzebub's face formed in the mirror over the mantelpiece。
〃You want what？〃 Beelzebub was part elephant； part wasp。 The Yattering was terrified。
〃I…want to die。〃
〃You cannot die。〃
〃From this world。 Just die from this world。 Fade away。
Be replaced。〃
〃You will not die。〃
〃But I can't break him！〃 the Yattering shrieked； tearful。
〃You must。〃
〃Why？〃
〃Because we tell you to。〃 Beelzebub always used the Royal 〃we〃； though unqualified to do so。
〃Let me at least know why I'm in this house；〃 the Yattering appealed。 〃What is he？ Nothing！ He's nothing！〃 Beelzebub found this rich。 He laughed； buzzed； trumpeted。
〃Jack Johnson Polo is the child of a worshipper at the Church of Lost Salvation。 He belongs to us。〃
〃But why should you want him？ He's so dull。〃
〃We want him because his soul was promised to us； and his mother did not deliver it。 Or herself e to that。 She cheated us。 She died in the arms of a priest； and was safely escorted to…〃 The word that followed was anathema。 The Lord of the Flies could barely bring himself to pronounce it。
〃…Heaven；〃 said Beelzebub； with infinite loss in his voice。
〃Heaven；〃 said the Yattering； not knowing quite what was meant by the word。
〃Polo is to be hounded in the name of the Old One； and punished for his mother's crimes。 No torment is too profound for a family that has cheated us。〃
〃I'm tired；〃 the Yattering pleaded； daring to approach the mi