Steel by Richard Matheson Page A

or forgot to bring it.
    Hurrying back to his betrothed’s house, he rang the bell.
    Mrs. O’Shea answered. Frank asked, “Where’s your daughter?”
    â€œYou can’t see her now,” Mrs. O’Shea said.
    â€œI simply must,” Frank demanded. He rushed past Mrs. O’Shea and dashed up the stairs.
    He found his bride sitting on the bed in her petticoat polishing the shoes she was going to wear.
    She jumped up. “What’s the matter with you!” she cried.
    â€œGive me one of your shoes,” he gasped. “I almost forgot. It would have been doom if I’d forgotten.”
    He reached for a shoe. She drew back.
    â€œGet out of here!” she cried, pulling on her bathrobe.
    â€œGive me a shoe!”
    She said, “No. What am I supposed to wear? Galoshes?”
    â€œAll right,” he said, plunged into her closet and came out with an old shoe.
    â€œI’ll take this,” he said and ran from the room.
    She remembered something and her wail followed him out. “You aren’t supposed to see me before we get married!”
    â€œThat’s just a silly superstition!” he called back as he jumped down the staircase.
    In the kitchen he handed the shoe to Mr. O’Shea who was sipping coffee and smoking his pipe.
    â€œGive it to me,” said Frank.
    Mr. O’Shea said, “I’d like to.”
    Frank was oblivious. “Hand the shoe to me and say ‘I transfer authority,’” he said.
    Mr. O’Shea’s mouth fell open. He took the shoe and handed it back dumbly.
    â€œI transfer authority,” he said.
    Then he blinked. “Hey, wait!”
    But Frank was gone. He jumped back upstairs.
    â€œNo!” she yelled as he ran into her room again. “Get the hell out of here!”
    He hit her on the head with the shoe. She howled. He swept her into his arms and kissed her violently.
    â€œMy dearest wife,” he said and ran out.
    She burst into tears. “No, I’m not going to marry him!” She threw the polished shoes at the wall. “I don’t care if he’s the last man in the world. He’s awful!”
    After a while she picked up the shoes and polished them again.
    About then Frank was downtown making sure the caterer had used exactly the right ingredients in the cake. Then he bought Fulvia a paper hat to wear when she ran from the church to the sedan. He went to every second hand store in town and bought all the old shoes he could to use as a defense against malign spirits.
    By the time the wedding hour came he was exhausted.
    He sat in the church anteroom, panting, running over the list he’d made to make sure nothing had been forgotten.
    The organ started to play. And she came down the aisle with her father. Frank stood looking at her, still breathing quite heavily.
    Then his eyebrows flew up as he noticed that a latecomer was just entering the front door.
    â€œOh, no!” he cried, covering his face with his hands. “I’m going to go up in a puff of smoke!”
    But he didn’t.
    When he opened his eyes, his bride was holding his hand tightly.
    â€œYou see, Frank,” she comforted, “you were full of baloney all the time.”
    The ceremony was performed. And he was so numbed with surprise and shock and bewilderment that he forgot about shoes and bouquets and hats and rice and everything.
    As they rode to the hotel in the hired limousine, she stroked his hand.
    â€œSuperstition,” she cooed. “It’s the bunk.”
    â€œBut—” Frank offered.
    â€œShush,” she said, pressing shut his protest with a kiss. “Aren’t you still alive?”
    â€œYes,” said Frank, “and I can’t understand it.”
    At the door to their hotel room Frank looked at her. She looked at him. The bellboy looked away.
    Finally she said, “Carry me across the threshold, darlin’.”
    He smiled a flimsy