Button, Button
The package was lying by the front door-a cube-shaped carton sealed
with tape, their name and address printed by hand: "Mr. and Mrs.
Aurthur Lewis, 21 7 E. Thirty-seventh Street, New York, New York 10016."
Norma picked it up, unlocked the door, and went into the apartment. It
was just getting dark.
After she put the lamb chops in the broiler, she sat down to open the
package.
Inside the carton was a push-button unit fastened to a small wooden
box. A glass dome covered the button. Norma tried to lift it off, but it was
locked in place. She turned the unit over and saw a folded piece of paper
Scotch-taped to the bottom of the box. She pulled it off: "Mr. Steward will
call on you at 8:00P.M."
Norma put the button unit beside her on the couch. She reread the
typed note, smiling.
A few moments later, she went back into the kitchen to make the salad.
The doorbell rang at eight o'clock. ''I'll get it," Norma called from the
kitchen. Arthur was in the living room, reading.
There was a small man in the hallway. He removed his hat as Norma
opened the door.
"Mrs. Lewis?" he inquired politely.
"Yes?"
''I'm Mr. Steward."
"Oh, yes." Norma repressed a smile. She was sure now it was a sales
pitch.
"May I come in?" asked Mr. Steward.
''I'm rather busy," Norma said, ''I'll get you your whatchamacallit,
though." She started to turn.
"Don't you want to know what it is?"
Norma turned back. Mr. Steward's tone had been offensive. "No, I
don't think so," she replied.
"It could prove very valuable," he told her.
"Monetarily?" she challenged.
Mr. Steward nodded. "Monetarily," he said.
Norma frowned. She didn't like his attitude. "What are you trying to
sell?" she asked.
''I'm not selling anything," he answered.
Arthur came out of the living room. "Something wrong?"
Mr. Steward introduced himself.
"Oh, the-" Arthur pointed toward the living room and smiled. "What
is that gadget, anyway?"
"It won't take long to explain," replied Mr. Steward. "May I come in?"
"If you're selling something-," Arthur said.
Mr. Steward shook his head. "''m not."
Arthur looked at Norma. "Up to you," she said.
He hesitated. "Well, why not?" he said.
They went into the living room and Mr. Steward sat in Norma's chair. He
reached into an inside coat pocket and withdrew a small sealed enve~
lope. "Inside here is a key to the bell~unit dome," he said. He set the
envelope on the chair~side table. "The bell is connected to our office."
"What's it for?" asked Arthur.
"If you push the button," Mr. Steward told him, "somewhere in the
world someone you don't know will die. In return for which you will
receive a payment of $50,000."
Norma stared at the small man. He was smiling.
"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked him.
Mr. Steward looked surprised. "But I've just explained," he said.
"Is this a practical joke?" asked Arthur.
"Not at all. The offer is completely genuine."
"You aren't making sense," Arthur said. "You expect us to believe-"
"Whom do you represent?" demanded Norma.
Mr. Steward looked embarrassed. ''I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to tell
you that," he said. "However, I assure you, the organization is of inter-
national scope."
"I think you'd better leave," Arthur said, standing.
Mr. Steward rose. "Of course."
"And take your button unit with you."
"Are you sure you wouldn't care to think about it for a day or so?"
Arthur picked up the button unit and the envelope and thrust them
into Mr. Steward's hands. He walked into the hall and pulled open the
door.
'Til leave my card," said Mr. Steward. He placed it on the table by the
door.
When he was gone, Arthur tore it in half and tossed the pieces onto
the table.
Norma was still sitting on the sofa. "What do you think it was?" she
asked.
"I don't care to know," he answered.
She tried to smile but couldn't. "Aren't you curious at all?"
"No." He shook his head.
After Arthur returned to his book, Norma went back to the kitchen and
finished washing the dishes.
"Why won't you talk about it?" Norma asked.
Arthur's eyes shifted as he brushed his teeth. He looked at his
with tape, their name and address printed by hand: "Mr. and Mrs.
Aurthur Lewis, 21 7 E. Thirty-seventh Street, New York, New York 10016."
Norma picked it up, unlocked the door, and went into the apartment. It
was just getting dark.
After she put the lamb chops in the broiler, she sat down to open the
package.
Inside the carton was a push-button unit fastened to a small wooden
box. A glass dome covered the button. Norma tried to lift it off, but it was
locked in place. She turned the unit over and saw a folded piece of paper
Scotch-taped to the bottom of the box. She pulled it off: "Mr. Steward will
call on you at 8:00P.M."
Norma put the button unit beside her on the couch. She reread the
typed note, smiling.
A few moments later, she went back into the kitchen to make the salad.
The doorbell rang at eight o'clock. ''I'll get it," Norma called from the
kitchen. Arthur was in the living room, reading.
There was a small man in the hallway. He removed his hat as Norma
opened the door.
"Mrs. Lewis?" he inquired politely.
"Yes?"
''I'm Mr. Steward."
"Oh, yes." Norma repressed a smile. She was sure now it was a sales
pitch.
"May I come in?" asked Mr. Steward.
''I'm rather busy," Norma said, ''I'll get you your whatchamacallit,
though." She started to turn.
"Don't you want to know what it is?"
Norma turned back. Mr. Steward's tone had been offensive. "No, I
don't think so," she replied.
"It could prove very valuable," he told her.
"Monetarily?" she challenged.
Mr. Steward nodded. "Monetarily," he said.
Norma frowned. She didn't like his attitude. "What are you trying to
sell?" she asked.
''I'm not selling anything," he answered.
Arthur came out of the living room. "Something wrong?"
Mr. Steward introduced himself.
"Oh, the-" Arthur pointed toward the living room and smiled. "What
is that gadget, anyway?"
"It won't take long to explain," replied Mr. Steward. "May I come in?"
"If you're selling something-," Arthur said.
Mr. Steward shook his head. "''m not."
Arthur looked at Norma. "Up to you," she said.
He hesitated. "Well, why not?" he said.
They went into the living room and Mr. Steward sat in Norma's chair. He
reached into an inside coat pocket and withdrew a small sealed enve~
lope. "Inside here is a key to the bell~unit dome," he said. He set the
envelope on the chair~side table. "The bell is connected to our office."
"What's it for?" asked Arthur.
"If you push the button," Mr. Steward told him, "somewhere in the
world someone you don't know will die. In return for which you will
receive a payment of $50,000."
Norma stared at the small man. He was smiling.
"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked him.
Mr. Steward looked surprised. "But I've just explained," he said.
"Is this a practical joke?" asked Arthur.
"Not at all. The offer is completely genuine."
"You aren't making sense," Arthur said. "You expect us to believe-"
"Whom do you represent?" demanded Norma.
Mr. Steward looked embarrassed. ''I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to tell
you that," he said. "However, I assure you, the organization is of inter-
national scope."
"I think you'd better leave," Arthur said, standing.
Mr. Steward rose. "Of course."
"And take your button unit with you."
"Are you sure you wouldn't care to think about it for a day or so?"
Arthur picked up the button unit and the envelope and thrust them
into Mr. Steward's hands. He walked into the hall and pulled open the
door.
'Til leave my card," said Mr. Steward. He placed it on the table by the
door.
When he was gone, Arthur tore it in half and tossed the pieces onto
the table.
Norma was still sitting on the sofa. "What do you think it was?" she
asked.
"I don't care to know," he answered.
She tried to smile but couldn't. "Aren't you curious at all?"
"No." He shook his head.
After Arthur returned to his book, Norma went back to the kitchen and
finished washing the dishes.
"Why won't you talk about it?" Norma asked.
Arthur's eyes shifted as he brushed his teeth. He looked at his
reflection in the bathroom mirror.
"Doesn't it intrigue you?"
"It offends me," Arthur said.
"I know, but"-Norma rolled another curler in her hair-"doesn't it
intrigue you, too?"
"You think it's a practical joke?" she asked as they went into the bed-
room.
"If it is, it's a sick one."
Norma sat on her bed and took off her slippers. "Maybe it's some kind
of psychological research."
Arthur shrugged. "Could be."
"Maybe some eccentric millionaire is doing it."
"Maybe."
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
Arthur shook his head.
"Why?"
"Because it's immoral," he told her.
Norma slid beneath the covers. "Well, I think it's intriguing," she said.
Arthur turned off the lamp and leaned over to kiss her. "Good night,"
he said.
"Good night." She patted his back.
Norma closed her eyes. Fifty thousand dollars, she thought.
In the morning, as she left the apartment, Norma saw the card halves on the table. Impulsively, she dropped them into her purse. She locked the
front door and joined Arthur in the elevator.
While she was on her coffee break, she took the card halves from the
purse and held the torn edges together. Only Mr. Steward's name and
telephone number were printed on the card.
After lunch, she took the card halves from her purse again and Scotch-
taped the edges together. "Why am I doing this?" she thought. Just before five, she dialed the number.
"Good afternoon," said Mr. Steward's voice.
Norma almost hung up but restrained herself. She cleared her throat.
"This is Mrs. Lewis," she said.
"Yes, Mrs. Lewis," Mr. Steward sounded pleased.
''I'm curious."
"That's natural," Mr. Steward said.
"Not that I believe a word of what you told us."
"Oh, it's quite authentic," Mr. Steward answered.
"Well, whatever-" Norma swallowed. "When you said someone in
the world would die, what did you mean?''
"Exactly that," he answered. "It could be anyone. All we guarantee is
that you don't know them. And, of course, that you wouldn't have to
watch them die."
"For $50,000," Norma said.
"That is correct."
She made a scoffing sound. "That's crazy."
"Nonetheless, that is the proposition", Mr. Steward said. "Would you
like me to return the button unit?"
Norma stiffened. "Certainly not." She hung up angrily.
The package was lying by the front door; Norma saw it as she left the ele-
vator. Well, of all the nerve, she thought. She glared at the carton as she
unlocked the door. I just won't take it in, she thought. She went inside
and started dinner.
Later, she went into the front hall. Opening the door, she picked up the
package and carried it into the kitchen, leaving it on the table.
She sat in the living room, looking out the window. After a while, she
went back into the kitchen to turn the cutlets in the broiler. She put the
package in a bottom cabinet. She'd throw it out in the morning.
"Maybe some eccentric millionaire is playing games with people," she
said.
Arthur looked up from his dinner. "I don't understand you."
"What does that mean?''
"Let it go," he told her.
Norma ate in silence. Suddenly, she put her fork down. "Suppose it's
a genuine offer?" she said.
Arthur stared at her.
"Suppose it's a genuine offer?"
"All right, suppose it is?" He looked incredulous. "What would you like
to do? Get the button back and push it? Murder someone?"
Norma looked disgusted. "Murder."
"How would you define it?"
"If you don't even know the person?" Norma said.
Arthur looked astounded. "Are you saying what I think you are?"
"If it's some old Chinese peasant ten thousand miles away? Some dis-
eased native in the Congo?"
"How about a baby boy in Pennsylvania?" Arthur countered. "Some
beautiful little girl on the next block?"
"Now you're loading things."
"The point is, Norma," he continued, "what's the difference whom
you kill? It's still murder."
"The point is," Norma broke in, "if it's someone you've never seen in
your life and never will see, someone whose death you don't even have
to know about, you still wouldn't push the button?"
Arthur stared at her, appalled. "You mean you would?"
"Fifty thousand dollars, Arthur."
"What has the amount-"
"Fifty thousand dollars, Arthur," Norma interrupted. "A chance to take
that trip to Europe we've always talked about."
"Norma, no."
"A chance to buy that cottage on the island."
"Norma, no." His face was white.
She shuddered. "All right, take it easy," she said. "Why are you getting
so upset? It's only talk."
After dinner, Arthur went into the living room. Before he left the table,
he said, ''I'd rather not discuss it anymore, if you don't mind."
She got up earlier than usual to make pancakes, eggs, and bacon for
Arthur's breakfast.
"What's the occasion?" he asked with a smile.
"No occasion." Norma looked offended. "I wanted to do it, that's all."
"Good," he said. ''I'm glad you did."
She refilled his cup. "Wanted to show you I'm not-" She shrugged.
"Not what?"
"Selfish."
"Did I say you were?"
"Well"-she gestured vaguely-"last night ... "
Arthur didn't speak.
"All that talk about the button," Norma said. "I think you-well, mis-
understood me."
"In what way?" His voice was guarded.
"I think you felt" -she gestured again-"that I was only thinking of
myself."
"Oh."
"I wasn't."
"Norma-"
"Well, I wasn't. When I talked about Europe, a cottage on the island-"
"Norma, why are we getting so involved in this?
"'I'm not involved at all." She drew in a shaking breath. "I'm simply
trying to indicate that-"
"What?"
"That I'd like for us to go to Europe. Like for us to have a cottage on
the island. Like for us to have a nicer apartment, nicer furniture, nicer
clothes, a car. Like for us to finally have a baby, for that matter."
"Norma, we will," he said.
"When?"
He stared at her in dismay. "Norma-"
"When?!"
"Are you"-he seemed to draw back slightly-"are you really saying-"
''I'm saying that they're probably doing it for some research project!"
she cut him off. "That they want to know what average people would do
under such a circumstance! That they're just saying someone would die,
in order to study reactions, see if there'd be guilt, anxiety, whatever! You
don't think they'd kill somebody, do you?!"
Arthur didn't answer. She saw his hands trembling. After a while, he
got up and left.
When he'd gone to work, Norma remained at the table, staring into
her coffee. I'm going to be late, she thought. She shrugged. What differ-
ence did it make? She should be home, anyway, not working in an office.
While she was stacking dishes, she turned abruptly, dried her hands, and
took the package from the bottom cabinet. Opening it, she set the but-
ton unit on the table. She stared at it for a long time before taking the key
from its envelope and removing the glass dome. She stared at the but-
ton. How ridiculous, she thought. All this furor over a meaningless
button.
Reaching out, she pressed it down. For us, she thought angrily.
She shuddered. Was it happening? A chill of horror swept across her.
In a moment, it had passed. She made a contemptuous noise.
Ridiculous, she thought. To get so worked up over nothing.
She threw the button unit, dome, and key into the wastebasket and
hurried to dress for work.
She had just turned over the supper steaks when the telephone rang.
She picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Mrs. Lewis?"
"Yes?"
"This is the Lenox Hill Hospital."
She felt unreal as the voice informed her of the subway accident-the
shoving crowd, Arthur pushed from the platform in front of the train. She
was conscious of shaking her head but couldn't stop.
As she hung up, she remembered Arthur's life-insurance policy for
$25,000, with double indemnity for-
"No." She couldn't seem to breathe. She struggled to her feet and
walked into the kitchen numbly. Something cold pressed at her skull as
she removed the button unit from the wastebasket. There were no nails
or screws visible. She couldn't see how it was put together.
Abruptly, she began to smash it on the sink edge, pounding it harder
and harder, until the wood split. She pulled the sides apart, cutting her
fingers without notlcing. There were no
transistors in the box, no wires or tubes.
The box was empty.
She whirled with a gasp as the telephone
rang. Stumbling into the living room, she
picked up the receiver.
"Mrs. Lewis?" Mr. Steward asked.
It wasn't her voice shrieking so; it couldn't be. "You said I wouldn't know the one
that died!"
"My dear lady," Mr. Steward said. "Do you really think you knew your husband?"
"Doesn't it intrigue you?"
"It offends me," Arthur said.
"I know, but"-Norma rolled another curler in her hair-"doesn't it
intrigue you, too?"
"You think it's a practical joke?" she asked as they went into the bed-
room.
"If it is, it's a sick one."
Norma sat on her bed and took off her slippers. "Maybe it's some kind
of psychological research."
Arthur shrugged. "Could be."
"Maybe some eccentric millionaire is doing it."
"Maybe."
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
Arthur shook his head.
"Why?"
"Because it's immoral," he told her.
Norma slid beneath the covers. "Well, I think it's intriguing," she said.
Arthur turned off the lamp and leaned over to kiss her. "Good night,"
he said.
"Good night." She patted his back.
Norma closed her eyes. Fifty thousand dollars, she thought.
In the morning, as she left the apartment, Norma saw the card halves on the table. Impulsively, she dropped them into her purse. She locked the
front door and joined Arthur in the elevator.
While she was on her coffee break, she took the card halves from the
purse and held the torn edges together. Only Mr. Steward's name and
telephone number were printed on the card.
After lunch, she took the card halves from her purse again and Scotch-
taped the edges together. "Why am I doing this?" she thought. Just before five, she dialed the number.
"Good afternoon," said Mr. Steward's voice.
Norma almost hung up but restrained herself. She cleared her throat.
"This is Mrs. Lewis," she said.
"Yes, Mrs. Lewis," Mr. Steward sounded pleased.
''I'm curious."
"That's natural," Mr. Steward said.
"Not that I believe a word of what you told us."
"Oh, it's quite authentic," Mr. Steward answered.
"Well, whatever-" Norma swallowed. "When you said someone in
the world would die, what did you mean?''
"Exactly that," he answered. "It could be anyone. All we guarantee is
that you don't know them. And, of course, that you wouldn't have to
watch them die."
"For $50,000," Norma said.
"That is correct."
She made a scoffing sound. "That's crazy."
"Nonetheless, that is the proposition", Mr. Steward said. "Would you
like me to return the button unit?"
Norma stiffened. "Certainly not." She hung up angrily.
The package was lying by the front door; Norma saw it as she left the ele-
vator. Well, of all the nerve, she thought. She glared at the carton as she
unlocked the door. I just won't take it in, she thought. She went inside
and started dinner.
Later, she went into the front hall. Opening the door, she picked up the
package and carried it into the kitchen, leaving it on the table.
She sat in the living room, looking out the window. After a while, she
went back into the kitchen to turn the cutlets in the broiler. She put the
package in a bottom cabinet. She'd throw it out in the morning.
"Maybe some eccentric millionaire is playing games with people," she
said.
Arthur looked up from his dinner. "I don't understand you."
"What does that mean?''
"Let it go," he told her.
Norma ate in silence. Suddenly, she put her fork down. "Suppose it's
a genuine offer?" she said.
Arthur stared at her.
"Suppose it's a genuine offer?"
"All right, suppose it is?" He looked incredulous. "What would you like
to do? Get the button back and push it? Murder someone?"
Norma looked disgusted. "Murder."
"How would you define it?"
"If you don't even know the person?" Norma said.
Arthur looked astounded. "Are you saying what I think you are?"
"If it's some old Chinese peasant ten thousand miles away? Some dis-
eased native in the Congo?"
"How about a baby boy in Pennsylvania?" Arthur countered. "Some
beautiful little girl on the next block?"
"Now you're loading things."
"The point is, Norma," he continued, "what's the difference whom
you kill? It's still murder."
"The point is," Norma broke in, "if it's someone you've never seen in
your life and never will see, someone whose death you don't even have
to know about, you still wouldn't push the button?"
Arthur stared at her, appalled. "You mean you would?"
"Fifty thousand dollars, Arthur."
"What has the amount-"
"Fifty thousand dollars, Arthur," Norma interrupted. "A chance to take
that trip to Europe we've always talked about."
"Norma, no."
"A chance to buy that cottage on the island."
"Norma, no." His face was white.
She shuddered. "All right, take it easy," she said. "Why are you getting
so upset? It's only talk."
After dinner, Arthur went into the living room. Before he left the table,
he said, ''I'd rather not discuss it anymore, if you don't mind."
She got up earlier than usual to make pancakes, eggs, and bacon for
Arthur's breakfast.
"What's the occasion?" he asked with a smile.
"No occasion." Norma looked offended. "I wanted to do it, that's all."
"Good," he said. ''I'm glad you did."
She refilled his cup. "Wanted to show you I'm not-" She shrugged.
"Not what?"
"Selfish."
"Did I say you were?"
"Well"-she gestured vaguely-"last night ... "
Arthur didn't speak.
"All that talk about the button," Norma said. "I think you-well, mis-
understood me."
"In what way?" His voice was guarded.
"I think you felt" -she gestured again-"that I was only thinking of
myself."
"Oh."
"I wasn't."
"Norma-"
"Well, I wasn't. When I talked about Europe, a cottage on the island-"
"Norma, why are we getting so involved in this?
"'I'm not involved at all." She drew in a shaking breath. "I'm simply
trying to indicate that-"
"What?"
"That I'd like for us to go to Europe. Like for us to have a cottage on
the island. Like for us to have a nicer apartment, nicer furniture, nicer
clothes, a car. Like for us to finally have a baby, for that matter."
"Norma, we will," he said.
"When?"
He stared at her in dismay. "Norma-"
"When?!"
"Are you"-he seemed to draw back slightly-"are you really saying-"
''I'm saying that they're probably doing it for some research project!"
she cut him off. "That they want to know what average people would do
under such a circumstance! That they're just saying someone would die,
in order to study reactions, see if there'd be guilt, anxiety, whatever! You
don't think they'd kill somebody, do you?!"
Arthur didn't answer. She saw his hands trembling. After a while, he
got up and left.
When he'd gone to work, Norma remained at the table, staring into
her coffee. I'm going to be late, she thought. She shrugged. What differ-
ence did it make? She should be home, anyway, not working in an office.
While she was stacking dishes, she turned abruptly, dried her hands, and
took the package from the bottom cabinet. Opening it, she set the but-
ton unit on the table. She stared at it for a long time before taking the key
from its envelope and removing the glass dome. She stared at the but-
ton. How ridiculous, she thought. All this furor over a meaningless
button.
Reaching out, she pressed it down. For us, she thought angrily.
She shuddered. Was it happening? A chill of horror swept across her.
In a moment, it had passed. She made a contemptuous noise.
Ridiculous, she thought. To get so worked up over nothing.
She threw the button unit, dome, and key into the wastebasket and
hurried to dress for work.
She had just turned over the supper steaks when the telephone rang.
She picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Mrs. Lewis?"
"Yes?"
"This is the Lenox Hill Hospital."
She felt unreal as the voice informed her of the subway accident-the
shoving crowd, Arthur pushed from the platform in front of the train. She
was conscious of shaking her head but couldn't stop.
As she hung up, she remembered Arthur's life-insurance policy for
$25,000, with double indemnity for-
"No." She couldn't seem to breathe. She struggled to her feet and
walked into the kitchen numbly. Something cold pressed at her skull as
she removed the button unit from the wastebasket. There were no nails
or screws visible. She couldn't see how it was put together.
Abruptly, she began to smash it on the sink edge, pounding it harder
and harder, until the wood split. She pulled the sides apart, cutting her
fingers without notlcing. There were no
transistors in the box, no wires or tubes.
The box was empty.
She whirled with a gasp as the telephone
rang. Stumbling into the living room, she
picked up the receiver.
"Mrs. Lewis?" Mr. Steward asked.
It wasn't her voice shrieking so; it couldn't be. "You said I wouldn't know the one
that died!"
"My dear lady," Mr. Steward said. "Do you really think you knew your husband?"
Richard Matheson, 1970.
Photo of Frank Langella from The Box, 2009. Warner Brothers Entertainment.
Richard Matheson, 1970.
Photo of Frank Langella from The Box, 2009. Warner Brothers Entertainment.
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