hen I got back I had Charles make some coffee. That was one of the things I enjoyed most about this new-found power, the ability to get the little things done without wasting any time over them.
"Can you do laundry," I asked Charles.
"What am I, your skivvy?" he grumbled.
"Yes, that's exactly what you are. You're here to do things for me and that includes all the little chores like food to eat, coffee to drink and clean clothes. Oh, and the bed-clothes, too. In fact especially the bed-clothes."
"Why don't I just make new ones?"
"And what would I do with the old ones?"
"Throw them away."
"Some day I'm going to have to teach you about conservation. For now, clean the sheets and towels for they're all brand new but make me a couple of pairs of top-of-the-range jeans, a couple of casual shirts, a good pair of shoes and socks and underwear to match. Oh, and bag up the old stuff ready for the bin men."
"Your wish is my command, O Magnificent One," he said sarcastically.
"You've been reading too many fairy tales. Now we are going to read. You need an education."
"What? You moronic cretin. I have more knowledge in the tip of my little finger than you have in the entire pathetic lump of grey matter you call a brain."
"I'll say one thing for you; your insults are certainly inventive. If I wasn't feeling so good, I might get upset. Now shut up and pay attention."
I picked up one of the glossy women's magazines and started to leaf through it. As I did I commented on the women in the pictures. My comments were mostly uncomplimentary as I find most fashion models skinny and hard-faced and some of them downright ugly. I read some articles; 'How to Have a Hot Holiday Romance', '21 Things Your Best Friend Won't Tell You', "Are You Good In Bed - Take Our Reader Survey', 'Top Fashion Model Reveals Her Exclusive Beauty Tips.
"Right, that was utter tosh," I said, flinging the magazine aside. "The first thing you need to know is that all so-called 'life-style' magazines are fantasy. They present a world that the magazine people think we should want to aspire to. That was an example of what they think women want to be like."
"I don't understand a word," he said superciliously. "Your explanation was as much drivel as the magazine."
I picked up a men's magazine. It was equally as bad. 'Top Tips on Being a Great Stud', '50 Guaranteed Chat-up Lines', 'Are You Getting Enough Vitamin B?', and a plethora of articles about cars and boy's toys. The only improvement was that the women were more attractive.
"And that was the life-style that magazine editors think men should aspire to. Do you see the difference?"
"Do you really want all these artefacts? You can have them, you know," he said avoiding the question.
"No, of course not. What would I do with them?"
"Not even a car. I've noticed that cars are quite a status symbol in your barbarous culture."
"I'll think about cars later. Now did you notice the differences between the two magazines?"
"Of course."
"Well? What are they?"
"I am in some kindergarten class? Oh, very well." A deep sigh. "The first magazine was full of ugly women and pictures of what you call 'make-up' and the other one was full of pictures of mechanical toys but the women were better."
"Jesus Christ, you're supposed to have a brain the size of a planet and that's all you can see?"
"'Brain the size of a planet'? I like that. What about the other ones?"
"The soft porn? They're designed for men, too."
I picked one up and opened it.
"Now, that's better," he said. "That's a real woman and she's making the right signals."
"Right signals?"
"Come and fuck me."
This was going absolutely nowhere. I threw the magazine down in disgust. "Of course they're giving these signals, you moron. This is a porn magazine. These are professional porn models. The models in the men's mag were giving the same signals, just more subtly. You're hopeless. I'm going for a walk."
The walk calmed me down a bit. Enough, anyway to start talking to Charles again. I showed him the city: the tenements and the houses, the shops and the offices, the theatres and the cafes. the streets and the alleys. He made out as if he was unimpressed.
"Why do you uncultured apes make everything so complicated? Why do you not all live in the same sort of dwellings and work in the same sort of buildings? They're all different shapes and sizes and placed totally haphazardly. Your streets are all different sizes and built to no discernable pattern. You don't even have a uniform method of transport. How you manage to survive without going completely insane is beyond me."
It was such a contrived and stupid argument that it was clear he was still sulking about our earlier argument. I did not dignify it with a response.
Instead I asked a question that had been bothering me. "How come, when I want you to make something, I have to imagine it in detail but we can talk without effort?"
He cheered up instantly for here was another opportunity for him to parade his cleverness. "It's quite obvious really. As I am part of you, communication between us is direct. When you speak to me I pick up many of the nuances and unspoken subtleties that are in your mind. When you want me to make something, you have to focus on it so I can learn about it."
"So you admit you don't know everything, then?"
"Of course not. I've only been in your world for two days. How could I possibly be expected to know everything about it in that time, especially as your primitive concept of culture insists on making everything unnecessarily complicated?"
Chalk one up for the bad guys, then.
We had lunch in a small café. I gave Charles his head and let him look around though I had to remind him not to stare.
"No accountants, then?" I asked at one point.
"No, not today," he answered hastily. I suspected he hadn't been looking.
After lunch we went to the supermarket. Charles demanded to know why when he could conjure up all the food I wanted. I tried to explain that, as he could only create the food I could imagine, my diet would get pretty boring after a while. Not surprisingly, he took the opportunity to again complain about our primitive over-complexity. I bought a few items but spent most of the time wandering up and down the rows of shelves.
"I want you to remember these, Charles. I'm going to try cooking and I shall want you to produce the ingredients."
When I was standing in the check-out queue he suddenly asked, "Why are you standing here?"
"I'm waiting to pay."
"Pay? You mean exchange tokens? Why don't you just walk out with your items? You can, you know."
I was startled. It hadn't even occurred to me to do that. Of course, if he could spirit me into a nightclub without a problem, he could escort me out of a supermarket with stolen goods. Being possible did not make it right. "No. You can make as much cash as I need, so I'll pay."
"Your problem is you're coward at heart. You've no balls. No backbone. A real man would just take what he wanted. That's the only rule for success."
Perhaps he was right. Perhaps I was a wimp. I didn't believe I was. I preferred to think I was cautious. I wanted to use his powers carefully. Partly I didn't trust him. His solutions were too simplistic and direct. If I was to follow his advice to the letter, I was certain I would be in prison within a week, or at least in some sort of trouble. But the deeper reason was that I was still not convinced his powers were permanent. One day, I believed in my heart of hearts, I would wake up and he'd be gone. In preparation for that day I wanted to make sure that everything I achieved was on a solid footing so it would survive without him.
All the time we had been out, Charles had been bringing women to my attention. As I was still coming down from the previous night, I took only a vague interest. Finally I grew tired of his nagging.
"Charles, will you stop going on about women, please. I've told you today I'm not interested."
"But you should be interested. It is imperative that you are."
"Why?"
"Why? I hardly thought I would have to explain something so obvious that even a cretin like you should understand. Breeding. The top male has the best choice of mates and the more he impregnates, the more powerful he is. It's your duty to screw as many females as you can. Breed them. Pass on your genes, pathetic as they are."
I was so surprised I almost swerved into a lamp post and had to stop at the side of the road.
"That idea is so stupid it barely justifies commenting on. Firstly, people are not cows or walruses. We do not 'breed females'. We find mates and make lasting commitments to each other. Secondly, humans share child rearing. Unlike cows or walruses, males do not simply leave the females to rear the young - and, before you make some stupid comment about over-complication, let me tell you that many species on this world behave the same way. Thirdly, I am not ready to 'breed'. I'm not ready to take on the responsibility of raising children. You're arrival has opened up a whole wheen of possibilities and I intend to explore some of them before I settle down. Finally, humans form monogamous relationships - one man and one woman. It's the natural order of things."
"I think you'll find it's not," he said in his usual smug tone.
"Okay, men do tend to like a bit of choice but a woman would not be happy sharing a man with another woman."
"You're wrong there."
"How can you say that? What do you know about marriage?"
"What about Debbie and Harry? They would be happy to share you."
"But that was just fun. I'm talking about marriage."
"If, by marriage you mean a long-term commitment, you've got it with these two. All you have to do is ask."
"Huh?"
"Pick up the phone," he challenged. "Go on. Call them up and ask them to come and live with you. They'll be over in a shot, the pair of them."
I was shaken and drove the rest of the way home in a very thoughtful mood. Would they really move in with me if I wanted them to? Would they really be happy sharing me? It went against everything I had been led to believe about marriage and relationships. In fact it shook them to the foundations. And the most disturbing thing was - I suspected he was right.