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Fantasy & Science Fiction, April 1955

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  • 62

    ship. We're going to have to haveyour promises that you won't leavethe house and that you won't lookout the windows. We'll keep themcurtained, of course, so that youwon't break your word inadvert-ently."

    "If that's the way you want it,"Haggerty said.

    "Mr. White?" Lieutenant Maloneasked.

    "Got my promise," Whitey toldhim.

    Haggerty said softly, "You rathersurprise me, gentlemen. You con-tinually speak of the danger herebut I notice that you don't carrysidearms."

    "The danger isn't of the type fromwhich a gun could protect you."Benton shifted his shoulders, asthough the very idea was repug-nant. "I'm afraid you'll have to wearblindfolds for the short walk to ourquarters." He brought two darkcloths from his pocket.

    Haggerty went to a closet andbrought forth two lightweight space-suits and helmets, handed one toWhitey and began climbing intohis own.

    "You won't need those," DaveMalone sighed. "Don't you noticethat neither of us is wearing one?It's an A-II 12 Earth-type planet.We can even eat the plant life."

    Two Step Haggerty stuck hislower lip out truculently. "Instruc-tions to travelers in space are towear suits ,whenever on a strangeplanet. You never know." He

    FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

    continued to climb into .his suit.Malone insisted, "But I just told

    you ..."Steven Benton said, "Let them

    wear them, if they want to, Dave.They'll be a little uncomfortable is

    11 "a .When the two were spacesuited

    and blindfolded, they, were ledthrough the space lock and down aportable ramp to the ground. Forseveral hundred yards they couldfeel turf underfoot, then theyentered another door.

    Turf on a spaceport. That'd tellyou how many ships landed here!

    Inside, their bandages were re-moved and they let their eyes goaround the large living room.

    Two Step Haggerty took off hishelmet and laid it on a sofa. He indi-cated the room with its, automaticbar, its autochef, its books, movieprojector, phonovision set.

    "You do all right here," he said."How often do they send yousupplies?"

    Dave Malone went to the autobarand punched buttons. "Would youtwo gentlemen like an Old Fash-ioned? They come about twice ayear. "

    "An Old Fashioned's fine." Hag-gerty took the drink offered him."Don't land, eh? Just drop the stuffand leave." He sank down into thesofa next to Whitey.

    "That's right," Dave Malonesaid, taking a sip of his own drink.

    Steve Benton snapped suddenly,"How did you know? How did you

  • ALL THE WORLD LOVES A LUVVER

    know they dropped the suppliesrather than landing and unloadingthe ordinary way?"

    Two Step Haggerty grinned atthe gaunt faced spaceman. "Oh oh.I made a slip that time, didn't I?Whitey, show them our credentials."-

    Whitey unhurriedly put his drinkdown on a coffee table, put his handin his side pocket and brought forthhis stun gun. He pointed it in thegeneral direction of the two space-men, and looked at them unblink-ingly.

    There was a full n\'o minutes ofshocked silence, during which timeTwo Step Haggerty grinned atthem.

    "Surprise, boys!"Steve Benton said through tight

    lips, "What is this supposed tomean? You realize, of course, thatthis is a Space Forces SecurityBase."

    Haggerty took a long pull athisdrink. "You ain't just a-whistlin'Terra Forever. We know it. Matter offact, we've been looking for it fortwo months now. You'd be sur-prls.ed, Lieutenant, how hard it is todig up information on SecurityBase I645R."

    "No we wouldn't," Dave Malonegrowled, his face so red with angerthe freckles were almost su bmerged.

    Steve Benton slumped back intoa chair. "What do vou want?"he said flatly. "How did you knowabout this base?"

    "Take the last question first,"Two Step Haggerty said easily.

    63

    "Me and Whitey, here, was tryingto can a mark a few months back.Got him tight, see? Kept him thatway, three, four days. Fourth daywe forgot all about conning him,"

    "Why?" Malone blurted."Because he was so gone he forgot

    the promise he,-made to you boys.He told us about Security Base1645R. And that brings us to thefirst question you asked, Lieutenant,What we want."

    He finished off his drink and setthe glass down on the coffee table."We want a couple of luvven, Lieu-tenant. "

    The sil e nee was preg nan t.Through it Two Step Haggerty satrelaxed, one leg crossed over theother. Whitey sat imperturbably,the gun negligently pointed at aspot approximately half way be-tween the two space men.

    Dave Malone said, "Nothing iswrong with your ship, then?"

    Haggerty shook his head. Smiledat them pleasantly.

    Steven Benton snapped, "Youdon't know what you're talkingabout. You don't k.now what you'reasking. "

    Haggerty nodded. "Yes we do.And it's not exactly a matter of ask-ing. We want two luvvers. That's acorny name you dreamed up forthem, by the way." .

    Benton flushed. "It's a nicknameI , .. I kind of thought up for myown use wben I was alone here. TheBureau of Xenobiology has a morescientific -"

  • 64

    "OK, OK. So we'll call 'em luv-vers. Somehow Whitey and me, wedidn't pick up much Latin backwhen we was taking our doctor's de-grees. At any rate we're going to taketwo of them with us. I'm afraid ifyou boys give us too much troublethat Whitey'll have to put a coupleof large holes in you."

    He yawned widely. "Come tothink of it, he might have to do itanyway. You never know."

    "If you saw a luvver," Benton bitout angrily, "you'd never leave thisplanet. You wouldn't be able totear yourselves away. Don't be fools.Let us take you back to your shipand you can leave. Your criminalrecords mean nothing to us - I sup-pose you have them."

    Whitey smiled faintly at that,jiggled the barrel of the stun gun upand down to express his amusement.

    Haggerty said, "Tell us all aboutit, Lieutenant. Maybe we didn't getall the dope from old man Mac-bride. Tell us all about the luvver."

    Benton's lips clamped shut.Haggerty said softly, "Just in the

    way of convincing you that we'repretty tough boys, I could haveWhitey here put some light throughyour redhead pal. In fact, now thatI think of it, he could put some light

    . through both of you. I got a sneak-ing suspicion that some place in thishouse there's some copies of reportsyou've made to the Space ForceHigh Command all about theluvvers."

    Steven Benton shifted in his chair.

    FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

    He said, "All right. You'd find thereports anyway. What do you wantto know?"

    -"First off, whata they look like?How big are they?"

    What amounted almost to a glazecame over the eyes of the SpaceLieutenant. He said, "Why, they'rethe cutest little animals you eversaw." He made vague motions withhis hands. "Maybe this big, but,well, they're cuddlesome. You wantto, well, pick them up, holdthem .. ."

    "Cuddlesome," Haggerty repeated,shaking his head. "Brother, you'vereally got it. Listen, skip the de-scription, you better start at thebeginning."

    Benton thought back. "The be-ginning," he said. "I suppose thebeginning is a description of the/uvver's peculiar defensive mecha-nism." He looked at the gunmen."You're familiar with some of thestrange methods of defense animalshave acquired even on Terra. Youhave the turtle which carries his fortaround with him; the porcupine,with its needles; the flying fish, thekangaroo. "

    "Okay, okay," Haggerty said."So every animal has its own defensemechanism."

    "Some of them go beyond tbeusual physical attributes," Bentonsaid. "Take the chameleon, whichcan camouflage itself by changingits color to blend with its surround-ings and fool the optic nerves. Thenthere's the wart hog, so ugly that

  • ALL THE WORLD LOVES A LUVVER

    it frightens its potential enemies.And -"

    Whitey waggled his gun. "OK.We got that."

    Steve Benton nodded. "All right.As Mr. Macbride evidently has toldyou. the lttvvel' has the strangest de-fense method of all. Through somemeans, unknown to us, it has thepower of inspiring affection in alllife forms with which it comes incontact. "

    Dave Malone put in, by way ofemphasis, "That doesn't sound likemuch at first. But what Stevemeans is really undying affection."He began making the vague descrip-tive gestures his partner had beenusing a moment' before. "They'reabout this big. And when you firstsee them " His voice wenthusky. " well, it does somethinginside you. You want to . . ."

    "I know," Haggerty said. "They'recuddlesome." He looked at Whiteyand said, "I can't wait till I see youwith one."

    Benton went on. "Understand,everything. not just everybody, lovesa luvvel'. Nothing could dream ofhurting one. In fact, its big diffi-culty is in keeping other animalsaway. They'll follow a luvver indroves, adoringly. Omnivorous, likeman, it never has trouble securingall the meat it wants. Its animalvictims just come close and lovinglylet themselves be killed and eaten.Or perhaps I should say eaten andkilled. The luwel' is biophagous."

    "The little darling," Malone mur-

    65

    mured, as if every trait of the crea-ture was equally endearing.

    Haggerty noted the importantpoint. "Eat everything a man eats?Then we haven't got any feedingproblem - don't even need all thatguck we laid in from the All PlanetsPettery.... But you guys meanto say the other animals just standstill and serve themselves for din-ner?"

    "The ability of the It/wer to createaffection," said Benton, a triflepedantically as if he was quotingfrom his report, "is stronger eventhan the instinct of self-preserva-tion. "

    Two Step Haggerty leaned for-ward, his eyes narrow. "You mean,for instance, that if a luvver wantedto eat one of you guys, you'd let itdo it?"

    "Happily, we aren't faced withthat problem. The luvvers don'tseem to care for human flesh. Al-though I assume they'd eat it ifnothing else was available."

    Haggerty nodded. "How'd youfirst discover the things?"

    Steve Benton closed his eyeswearily and looked back over thevears. "Let's see, it was twelve, no,thirteen years ago. I landed here ina one man scout when the fleet washolding ~naneuvers in this sector. Itbecame impossible for me to leavebut I was able to contact my supe-riors and explain the situation." Headded, wryly, "They were a bitskeptical, at first."

    """hat happened?"

  • 66

    "It's a long story. Before it wasthrough, four other men, wholanded and were then ordered off theplanet and back to their ships, weredead. Two died of acute melan-cholia, the others were suicides.They couldn't bear to be kept awayfrom the luvvers. At any rate, itwound up with me assigned perma-nently to this base and the wholesubject being treated as top, topsecret."

    .Haggerty jerked his thumb atDave Malone, who had sat scowlingthrough this. "Where does the red-head come in?"

    "About eight years ago a freighterin distress had to land here. I gavethem the usual warnings and every-body on board obeyed them exceptDave." He grinned sourly at hisfriend. "Dave had too much curi-osity for his own good. He sneakedfrom the ship, saw a luvver, and, ofcourse, had to stay."

    Two Step Haggerty rubbed thetip of his nose thoughtfully. "Andexcept for old man Macbride and hisdaughter, nobody else has beenhooked, eh?"

    "That's right. About two yearsago Macbride's sporter was forceddown here and while we were repair-ing the jets, his daughter managedto get out one night and barelyspotted a luvver. I got there in timeto slug her on the jaw before it gottoo close, and then we gave her aheavy dose of lethe drug. We had totake her father in on the secret then,so that when she awoke, two days

    FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

    later, out in space, he would knowenough to bring her back in case sheremembered and had to return."

    Dave Malone said bitterly, "Wemight have known the old jerkwould slip up some day and let thesecret out. How many more has hetold?"

    Haggerty grinned at him. "No-body else." He assumed a mockingexpression. "Secrets like this areimportant. They oughta be kept."He indicated Whitey with a thumb."Whitey here made sure Macbridewould never tell no more secrets."

    The redhead was shocked. "Youmean you killed him?"

    "I wouldn't put it that way. Let'sjust say he died of over-ventilationof the left lung. I wish to hell we'dgot a better description of justwhere your planet was located fromhim. It took us two months to findit."

    Steve Benton said bitterly, "Idon't know what your game is, Hag-gerty, but I _can't see why it wasnecessary to eliminate Macbride.Now that you have the full story,you can see how impossible is what-ever scheme you had in mind. Weare not police, and, while I admitthat this must go into my report, wewill not hinder your leaving. I sug-gest that you let us blindfold youand lead you back to your ship."

    Haggerty came to his feet andmade his way to the automatic bar.He pushed studs and brought forthtwo icy glasses. then returned to hisplace on the sofa. He handed one of

  • ALL THE WORLD LOVES A LUVVER

    the drinks to his companion. "Meand Whitey's taking two of themback with US," he said.

    "Impossible!""Why?""Look what it would mean if you

    took a fuvver back to civilizationwith you. Suppose you put one in azoo. Millions of persons would crowdthe place, day and night, trying toget a loving glimpse. Hundreds ofthousands would try to bribe, steal,fight over it in an attempt to acquireit for themselves."

    "Ummmm," Haggerty said. "Butwe're not going to put them in azoo. We're going to just show thelittle rascals to a few selected guys -guys with lots of dough."

    The implications of his words sankinto the spacemen. "You meanyou'd have the brutal ..."

    He nodded pleasantly. "You niceboys would be surprised what somefolks like me and Whitey will do formoney. Especially the amount ofmoney we could squeeze out of somebid duffer who was allowed to spota fuvver and then wanted to see itagain."

    Steve Benton still had his holecard. "You've got one big drawback.In order to do all this you're goingto have to be exposed to a fuvveryourself. Under its influence youwon't be able to hurt it in any way.Certainly you aren't going to beable to take if off this planet, simplybecause it wouldn:t want to go, andyou won't have the ability to workagainst its wishes." He shook his

    head decisively. "You just can'tcomprehend your reaction as soonas you see your first fuvver."

    Haggerty came to his feet. "I'lladmit, boys, that that is the delicatepoint. But we think we've got itlicked. That's the why-for of thespacesuits and these special helmets.You see, when I got to thinkingabout old man Macbride's story, itcame to me that this defense theIttvver's got has to work through themind. Nothing else makes sense.The animal's exercising some tele-pathic power."

    "That's probably right," SteveBenton admitted. "We've alreadydecided tha t on our own."

    Two Step Haggerty picked uphis space helmet. "And that's wherethese come in. About three yearsago this professor on Mars comesout with this here material that'llshield off telepathy. Got lead in it,titanium, several other things. Idon't understand it, myself. But I'mgambling it'll shield us from fuvvers."

    He slipped the helmet over hishead. "Come on, Whitey. Let's getgoing. Might as well check it nowas ever." He jerked his head at thespacemen. "Okay, you boys go first."

    Dave Malone looked at SteveBenton.

    Haggerty chuckled drily. "Don'ttry it, boys. Don't ever get into theother man's game. See Whitey,there? See that pale look he's gotaround the gills? That's the wayWhitey looks when he thinks hemight get a chance to ventilate

  • 68

    somebody. It's a caution the wayWhitey likes to ventilate folks. Bedead people all around if I didn'thold him down."

    Their faces flat, Steven Bentonand Dave Malone led the waythrough the front door and out ontothe tarmac of the spaceport. Thetwo gunmen followed easily enoughin their light spacesuits.

    Benton turned and looked atthem quizzically.

    "What's the matter now?" Hag-gerty growled. He motioned Bentonon with a thumb.

    "There's your first luvver," SteveBenton said. His gaunt face hadrelaxed and now an adoring expres-sion came over it. His eyes shone hisaffection.

    Haggerty stared. "So that's it,eh?"

    The little animal had been drows-ing in the shade of the small hangarat the field's edge. It was about thesize ofa fox terrier and in appearancesomewhat resembled a marmoset.It looked over at them'wistfully.

    Dave Malone sighed aloud.Haggerty said, "It's a cute little

    thing all right. How am I supposedto feel if it's getting to me?"

    Lieutenant Steve Benton shot anincredulous stare at him. "You mean . . you mean you're not affected?"

    The luvver detached itself fromthe shadow of the hangar andstrolled languidly toward them.Haggerty stooped down, brought itup into his arms. It stared at himwith limpid eyes, unafraid. There

    FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

    seemed to be a slight surprise in itsintelligent face, thus to be handledso cavalierly, but not in ten thou-sand years had one of its kind foundharm at the hands of another livingcreature. It didn't bother to attempt-escape.

    "This one a special trained pet?"Haggerty said.

    Steve Benton said, "No. No,they're all like that. They cuddleup to anybody, anything. Noth-ing'd dream of hurting one.How can anybody ... how canyou? Don't you see its eyes? Don'tyou feel its ... its love?" He wasrestraining himself with effort, see-ing the animal in another man'sarms.

    Dave Malone took a protestingstep forward, and found a gungrinding into his back.

    Whitey said, "Calm down, Buster.""There's another one," Haggerty

    said. "Keep these guys covered whileI get it." He strode off, the luvverunder one arm.

    "Look," Steve Benton began des-perately to Whitey, "you can't dothis. There are angles you don'tknow about. You haven't enoughinformation to have a clear picture.Look. I'll use any influence I canmuster to -"

    "Shut up." Whitey said."But -"The finger on the trigger tightened

    slightly. "Shut up," Whitey re-peated.

    Haggerty returned with the otherIt/we,.. "Here we are," he said. He

  • ALL TIlE WORLD LOVES A LUVVER

    looked at the two spacemen and hiseyes went thoughtful. "How longbefore your next ship comes withsupplies?"

    "Four months," Malone bit out.Two Step Haggerty said, "Tell

    you what I'm going to do, boys.I'm going to give you a break. Iknow better than to have the deathsof a couple of space forces officers onmy hands." He grinned. "Fourmonths from now Whitey and me'llhave enough dough to buy us outof any other rap in th61 system."

    "I doubt it," Dave Malone saidbitterly.

    "Why?" Haggerty growled backat him. "It's a cinch."

    Steven Benton said, "We told youyou couldn't get away with this,Haggerty, and we meant it."

    "Come on, Whitey," Haggertysaid. "Let's get back to the ship.They haven't got any weapons onthem. They can't stop us. Let's getgoing."

    They backed toward the ship,Whitey's gun covering the space-men, slipped inside through thespacelock.

    Dave Malone and Steve Bentoncleared away from the firing zone.

    69

    They watched after the ship long,long after it was out of sight in theblueness of the sky.

    Malone said sadly, "Imagine tak-ing two of the darlings away from

    "us."They wouldn't believe me,"

    Steve Benton said. "They wouldn'tlisten. The one important thingevidently never occurred to them.They learned about the defensivemechanism of the luvver." A shiverof horror went through him. "Butthey never bothered to find outabout its offensive mechanism, itsmeans of killing its prey. I did tellthem it was biophagous . . . but Ithink they were rather proud ofknowing little Latin and less Greek."

    Dave Malone said sadly, "Thepoor little darlings .. They'll haveto eat human flesh, and they don'treally like it at all."

    Benton nodded dolorous agree-ment.

    "And after they've killed andeaten those two men, the onlyliving food on the spaceship, they'llbe all alone out there until they dieof starvation...."

    The two officers stared mournfullyinto the depths of space.

  • F&SF has brought yi:Jtt JYJme broadly and S(}f71e quietly funny items fr(}f71Punch; but here, fr(}f71 that rewarding weekly, is a vision of the future whichis satiric, half-farcical . .. and not at all ftmny.

    On the liVay to Her Sifferbj J. B. MORTON

    IT WAS A COLD MORNING IN JUNE. Merivale was a light-heartedClive Merivale set off to walk to his young man, given to gay pranks. Heoffice in the West End. When he glanced over his shoulder and sawcame to a corner, round which was that there were already a dozensituated the block of buildings inqueuers neatly arran/ted behind him.which he worked, he paused to . He buttoned his overcoat and lookedlight his pipe, and before it was lit to his front, trying to adopt the pa-several people had fallen in behind tient attitude of the practised rhim. For this was the year 1960, and queuer. Those behind him knewthe habit of forming a queue for no that a queue often remained motion-particular reason had become uni- less for a long time, and they settledversal in London. The docility of down to wait. A woman with athe public had been considerably basket, and with an eye for sym-increased by a series of instructions metry, stepped into the vacant placeissued by various Government De- beside Merivale, who took a steppartments. It was pointed out that forward, peered round the corner,forming queues was a kind of mili- and shook his head, as though hetary movement which, would dis- had seen a solid line ahead of him.cipline the public, relieve the ob- After five minutes he shuffled for-structions in the streets, and dis- ward t\yO paces, which brought himcourage the idle from crossing the level with the corner; then, afterroad without a sufficiently good another minute, he rounded thereason. There were the normal queues corner.outside shops and television thea- "Why, my goodness," said thetres, and at helicopter stops. But woman at his side, "we're at the verypedestrians now had a tendency to head of the queue! Isn't that a bit ofget into a queue whenever a street luck?"was even slightly overcrowded. "Yes, isn't it?" said Merivale.

    Copyright, 1954. by J. B. AlOT/on

    7

  • ON THE WAY TO HER SISTER

    "First time it's happened to mefor months," said the woman in apleased tone.

    "Really?" said Merivale. "Con-gratulations to us, eh?"

    "You've said it," replied thewoman. "We can go ahead with it,can't we?"

    "I don't see why not," said Meri-vale, moving forward gingerly."Can't rush it," he added. "It mucksup the formation behind. They getall ragged. Must take it slowly."

    So he took it slowly, with a decentpause between each forward shuffle.And in this way the leading filereached the entrance doors of thebuilding, on one side of which a bigbrass plate announced "Baldicott,Baldicott, Baldicott and Trudge,Assessors of Chemical FertilizerAccessories. "

    "Is this where we go?" asked thewoman.

    "I suppose so," said Merivale. "Inoticed a queue coming towards usfrom the other direction, and thenew regulation says that when twoqueues meet, the larger must turnsharp right. I think we're the largerof the two." He stepped back fromthe entrance, as though to makesure. Then, with the woman still athis side, he shuffled slowly down apassage. At the foot of broad stairshe made a long pause, to give thefollowers time to close up. He couldhear a small boy crying with rage,and an irritable voice said, ''I'msure I ~on't know where they'retaking us."

    71

    "Cut out the grousing!'.' a manshouted. "It doesn't help."

    Merivale and his companion be-gan to ascend the stairs - a stepand a pause, a step and a pause.

    "Anyone can tell you're good atthis," said the woman. "Some ofthem just dash on when there'snothing ahead. Unfair on everyone,I call it. Puts the wind up the onesat the back, who can't see what'sgoing on and don't like those sud-den spurts. And a spurt alwaysmeans a long wait further on."

    "That's what I always say," Meri-vale answered.

    "I suppose there'll be a back wayout - down back stairs or some-thing," said the woman.

    "I expect so," said Merivale."We'd all look pretty silly if wecouldn't get out."

    "1 would," said the woman. "I'msupposed to be going to see my sister.Luckily she lives near here."

    "She ought to have joined thequeue," said Merrivale.

    That made the woman laughheartily. "Mohammed coming tothe mountain," she said, "only hername isn't Mohammed. It's Alice."And she laughed more loudly thanever.

    A tenor voice in ,the rear beganto sing. "There's a long, long traila-winding. "

    "Cut out the singing!" shoutedthe angry man. "It doesn't help."

    "Well, I happen to think it doeshelp," said the haughty voice of agirl.

  • 72-

    "No accounting for .tastes.""You keep your tastes to your-

    self.""Thanks, I will, and no help

    needed from you.""Polite, aren't you?""We're nearly there, Dick," said a

    patient, motherly voice to the rag-ing boy.

    "Nearly where?" asked someonepatiently.- "You wouldn't be any the wiser if

    you knew," said the mother.Meanwhile Merivale was at the

    top of the first flight of stairs. Aman came out of a door, stopped,and flinched in mock alarm. "Morn-ing, Merivale," he said, "I seeyou've brought the family."

    "He must have jumped thequeue," said the woman. "How didhe know your name?"

    "He must have guessed it," saidMerivale.

    "Ah, go on!" said the woman, andhowled with laughter.

    The ascent of the second flight ofstairs began. Merivale was wonder-ing what on earth to do with thecrowd which stretched down behindhim, along the passage and out intothe street. Peering over the well ofthe stairs he could see the solid mass.Presently there was a commotionbelow. Looking back, Merivale sawthat Mr. John Baldicott was tryingto push his way up the stairs. Therewere cries of exasperation.

    "Who does he think he is? ..Take your place! Hey! Youcan't do that! It's a damned

    FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

    scandal! . . Stop shoving I .Chuck him out! . . ."

    Mr. John Baldicott took no noticeof all this abuse. He barged his wayto the head of the first flight anddisappeared through a door. Hisraised voice could be heard saying"Who the devil are all these people,Clayton?" He found it difficult tobelieve that they had all come tohave chemical fertilizer accessoriesassessed.

    "He seems to live here, the luckybrute," said Merivale's companion."I wonder how many more floorsthere are."

    "Four more," said Merivale."You've done this before, then?""Every day," said Merivale."Phugh!" said the woman.When they reached the second

    landing Merivale said, "I'll go andask someone."

    He stepped quickly forward, en-tered the room where he worked,and waited a moment or two. Hecould hear a dull murmur outside.Then he came out again on to thelanding and addressed the multitude.

    "We're to go back," he said.A roar of wrath greeted the words.

    Merivale held up his hand for si-lence. "It's only fair," he said,"that the head of the queue shouldnow become its tail. I'm quite readyto go last. We'll just all turn round,and those at the back will be infront. O.K.?"

    The people in the middle realizedthat they were getting the worst ofboth worlds, and they - protested

  • ON THE WAY TO HER SISTER

    loudly. They would still be in themiddle.

    "It's the fairest way," said Meri-vale. "I'm the biggest loser."

    "What price me?" said the woman."I don't know why we ever came inhere at all."

    "Nor do I," said Merivale. "Butthere it is. Let's get a move on."

    Sulkily the throng turned about,and began, by instinct, to shuffieslowly down the stairs, until some-one shouted, "Get a move on!"

    Merivale and his companion fellin at the rear. When he came to thehead of the stairs Merivale paused.

    "I'll have to go back a minute,"he said. "I left my hat in that room."

    73

    "I'll keep your place," said thewoman, glancing round to see ifthere were any newcomers.

    "Thanks," said Merivale."I expect we'll meet again," she

    said, "next time I have to go to mysister's.' ,

    Merivale went back into the roomand, from a window, watched thequeue emerging from the entranceand beginning to break up intounits. But the pavement was verycrowded, and soon those who hadgot away quickly enough began tore-form and to proceed in a slowand orderly manner in the directionfrom which they had originallycome.

    GROUSE ARE SCARCE THIS YEAR

    WHILE grouse are being harried through the heatherLike remnants of a persecuted raceOr Buchan heroes, though they have to face

    Only hill-foxes, beaters, guns, and the weather,Recal1 that should the nations altogether

    Lose patience with each other, in that caseThe barren moors would be the safest place,

    Perhaps, for birds of quite another feather.Poor Man, one of a few survivors only,

    His food what he can find, a cave his house,Shy as the wildest beasts, and occupied

    Always with staying alive, and always lonely,May well be kept awake at night by grouse

    Calling in thousands on the mountainside.

    PETER DICKINSO~

  • The theme of The Man Without a Shadow goes back at least I42 years, toAdelbert von Chamisso's THE WONDROUS TALE OF PETER SCHLEMlHL;but, like all the great themes of fantasy, it remains inexhaustible. NowMarc Brandel brings to it the insight of a skilled novelist (whose THE TIMEOF THE FIRE was last year's most successful fusion of murder mystery withpenetrating study of character) to create this sensitive and moving story.

    Caff the Firff Shadowby MARC BRANDEL

    IN EVERY WAY BUT ONE ERNIE COMBS makes that black thing move like. was a very ordinary young man. His that? Why doesn't it bump intosingle difference from other 'people things?"came to light on his fifth birthday "That's my shadow," his fatherand, though it seemed trifling told him. And then because heenough to him at the time, its was a man of an exact practicaldiscovery cut his life as sharply nature: "When the sun hits some-into two parts as a crippling acci- thing solid," he explained, "the

    .dent. light can't get through. So thatIt was a sunny day at the begin- makes a dark patch on the ground.

    ning of June and Ernie's father, It's called a shadow."who was a clerk in a chemical supply Ernie nodded wisely, not under-company, had promised to take standing, and trotted on for a whilehim rowing on the lake in Central in silence. Then: "why don't I havePark. They were walking through a ... a whatyousaid?" he askedthe zoo. Ernie, an affectionate casually.child, holding on to his father's hand "Shadow. Of course you do. Ev-was trotting to keep up, when it erybody has a shadow." His fatherhappened. For some time he had stopped suddenly, looking at thebeen watching his father's shadow ground, at his own shadow spread-moving smoothly without effort ing like a dark pool of oil away fromover the rough path in front of them. his feet. Then he moved a little toIt puzzled him. one side. He stepped away from his

    "Dad," he asked presently, "what son altogether. He walked aroundCopyright, 1954. by Marc Brandel

    74

  • CAST niE FIRST SHADOW

    in front of him and stared at theground again.

    "Move," he said at last in an odd,coated voice.

    Ernie obediently moved."Again," his father almost shouted.

    "Jump up and down. Wave yourarms."

    Ernie did. People stopped towatch. His father seized him bythe hand, dragging him away.

    "We're going home," he said.Ernie could feel his father's distressseeping into his own hand like apainful current. He began to cry.

    "You promised we'd go on thelake. "

    "We're going home," his fatherrepeated.

    Ernie's mother was surprised tosee them home so soon. His fatherexplained. She frowned in disbelief.He made Ernie show her. And thenthey tried everything. They stoodhim in front of every window in thehouse. They banked whole batteriesof lighted bulbs behind him. Theymade him stand in every positionthey could think of. They made himmove around and they made himkeep still.

    None of it did any good. The factremained: in every other way a per-fectly ordinary child, Ernie cast noshadow.

    They thumped and prodded him.In his experimental zeal his fatherstuck a pin into Ernie's arm. Erniecried. He was solid enough, at leastto the touch, though he cried lessfrom pain than because he couldn't

    75

    understand what he had done tofrighten and anger his parents thisway: he didn't understand what hewas being punished for.

    Ernie's mother and father werenever able to decide on the causeof their son's peculiarity, or on apossible cure for it. But on one thingthey were in perfect agreement.They were determined to keep itdark. They both felt it was an un-natural and shameful thing, a dread-ful family stigma they must bear insecret. If they had been asked whythey felt that way they would havereplied indignantly, as somethingtoo obvious to need explaining:"Because everybody else has ashadow, of course!"

    But they couldn't really expectto keep it a secret for ever. Theycould make Ernie stay indoors onsunny days. They could keep himaway from lighted places wherestrangers might notice his awfuldifference. But the law compelledthem to send him to school. .

    Ernie's school days were a repeti-tious ordeal. At each new schoolthere would be a fresh beginning,the other children accepting him asone of themselves. Timidly, fearfullyhe would try to make friends: hewould forget sometimes for a wholehour at a time that he was any dif-ferent from them. But sooner orlater the end would always come.They always found out. Their firstfear and awe would turn quickly tohate and derision. Ernie would arrivehome one day with a split lip or a

  • 76

    black eye. There would be thefamiliar scene: his mother holdinghim against her - "My poor baby.What have we done to deserve this?"- his father regarding him withresentful pity. .

    Ernie's parents would move toa different neighborhood. Erniewould be sent to yet another school.

    But until he was twelve Erniehimself never quite gave up hope.Every morning as soon as he awokehe would feel his way out of bed andwith his eyes still closed plant him-self in front of the window in hisroom. Then, willing the improbablewith all his strength, he would slowlyopen his eyes. An unbroken stringof failures depressed but did nottotally dishearten him. The morningof his twelfth birthday was his finalhope. He had heard that every sevenyears you changed completely. Itwas exactly seven years since thefirst discovery of his difference. Thatmorning he willed harder and longer'than ever. One thing at least abouthim still hadn't changed. He nevertried again: from then on Ernieaccepted his afRiction as permanent.

    In many ways this acceptancemade things easier for him: heentered less resentfully into hisparents' sad conspiracy to keep hisstigma a secret. He became adeptat avoiding bright open spaces, atstaying in the shadows where hisown lack of one didn't matterbecause it was unnoticeable. Hemanaged to stay at one school for awhole three years.

    FANTASY AND S1::IENCE FICTION

    At eighteen Ernie Combs was a 'pale, rather tall young man with apleasant ordinary face and no re-markable aptitudes or intelligence.His parents had never dared to haveother children. The series of fur-nished apartments in which theylived had never been more thanshamed hiding places. His fatherhad long ceased to be either practi-calor exact: he avoided his son inconvenient saloons. His mother hadtaken to vague good works. Ernieunderstood he had ruined theirlives. He left home without regretto make his own furtive place in theworld.

    He had put in a lot of thoughtabout his choice of a career, tendingat first towards coal mining or darkroom work in photography. Buthe had later abandoned them bothas unrealistic. It was in just suchplaces that a sudden beam of lightcould most easily betray him. Hehad come to see that his best hope .lay not in total darkness, but inindirect lighting. The job's onlyother essentials were: it must be ina tall building on the south side ofthe street so he could enter and leave /without risk, and there must alwaysbe plenty of people about in thelobby and elevators. There wassafety for Ernie in crowds and con-fusion.

    He found what he wanted withoutmuch trouble and was taken on ata dim little salary in the stockroom of a warehouse just off FourthAvenue. The fluorescent lights all

  • CAST THE FIRST SHADOW

    over the ceiling, the racks and boxesof merchandise all over the floorcast such a profusion ofshadows thathis would never be missed.

    He rented a furnished roomnearby and settled into a cautiousroutine. For the first time in thirteenyears Ernie felt safe.

    At first that was all he asked. Itwas more than enough for him. Butthen after a surprisingly short timeit wasn't. After only a few weeksErnie began to feel there must bemore to living - or should be-than safety. He was lonely; hewanted friends; he longed for thesame things other, ordinary peoplehad.

    And gradually out of this desirehope came back into his life. It wasno longer the hope of losing his ownpeculiarity. It was a truer, braverhope of finding someone who sharedit. It was impossible, Ernie felt, thathe should be unique. Somewherethere must be another like himself.

    He began to search for that other,and at once lost his sense of aimless-ness. He was no longer lonely: wan-dering all over the city, peering intocorners, following each stealthy fig-ure who kept to the shadows, as hedid, for fear of being found out.

    He was astounded how many therewere to follow, how many peoplethere were in New York alone whoseemed afraid of showing themselvesin the light for one reason or an-other. But Ernie had no furtherinterest in them once he was suretheir reasons were different from

    77his. He was far too ordinary a youngman to feel any kinship with theotherwise afflicted. He felt no pityfor them even. He abandoned themwithout a qualm, in fact with acertain contempt, and pressed onin his search.

    As part of it he had taken to walk-ing up and down Fourth Avenueduring his lunch hour. There werealways a good many people aroundat that time and something aboutthe neighborhood, perhaps the samething that had first attracted himto it, made him feel particularlyhopeful there.

    The first time he saw her it waslittle more than a glimpse. He hadbecome expert by then at spottingstealth in others and his attentionwas drawn to the girl twenty yardsaway. She was about his age, tall andslight, with a pale scared face anddisheveled hair. He hurried afterher at once, but she was hurryingtoo, dodging in and out of the crowdwithout ever getting separated fromit and avoiding the fronts of build-ings in a familiar way. Though hethrew aside all caution as he pursuedher up the avenue she was too quickfor him. He lost her outside theArmory and was late getting back .for work.

    From then on it was her he wassearching for. But it was almost amonth before he saw her again, inthe same place, and this time shewas coming towards him. She washurrying as before, her white facelowered, her eyes intently watching

  • 78

    the ground in front of her. Erniewatched - it too. She reached anintersection a few yards away andwas forced to stop at the curb. Thesun shone on her soft brown hair,so carelessly parted at the side. Astream of cars momentarily blockedher from sight. There was a suddengap between a Buick and a Ford.Ernie's glance swept the street infront of her graceful feet. He almostfainted with joy. It was true: hissearch was over: he was no longeralone.

    She cast no shadow.He started to run towards her and

    then checked himself. He had caughtthat look of shamed fear in her eyeswhich he had so often felt in hisown. She thought herselfdiscovered.He stopped and turned and startedback up the avenue, walking nowbeside her. She glanced at him inpanic: she had brown eyes and woreno makeup and was beautiful, henoticed. They walked along a footapart until they reached the nextintersection. The light was againstthem. It was Ernie's moment toreveal himself to her.

    "Look," he whispered. "Look,"and pointed to the sunlit ground infront of them.

    He had to wait perhaps a second.It seemed like an hour. Then sheturned her face to his and her eyesbrimmed with tears. He graspedthe cold hand hanging by her side.

    "You," they both said at once.There was no need for either of themto say more.

    FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

    It is an adage that opposites at-tract each other. But there is a kindof love that flowers between themutually afflicted that is different,gentler, in a way less selfish thanany love the more fortunate canknow. When one of the disparagedfinds another and they fall in lovethere is a quality to their tenderness,a recognition, a shared gratitude thatsets their love apart too.

    Her name was Christine. Theywalked together all that afternoon,still holding hands, uncaring, de-lighting in the blankness of thesidewalk that stretched before them.They hardly spoke, but by nightfall,when they made their way back toher room, they had interchanged allthose secret intimacies that onlythey - even more than most lovers- could have understood about eachother.

    They wen t to her room becauseit was larger than his, with a washbasin and a tour-burner stove, andbecause Christine seemed to havean even greater fear of public placesthan Ernie did. That room soonbecame the only home Ernie hadever known. He was, for a while,marvelously happy there. Christinewas a strange shy girl, but he ac-cepted her strangeness as a reflectionof his own. It seemed, at first, per-fectly natural to him.

    He could understand, for instance,her hunger for reassurance. "Doyou really think I'm beautiful?" shewas forever asking.

    "Of course!" Ernie did.

  • CAST TIlE FIRST SHADOW

    "Why? I mean, how do I look?To you."

    Ernie would tell her, describingher mouth, her nose, her dark andlovely eyes. She never seemed toget tired of having him do this.

    "Why don't you look in the mir-ror?" he teased her once.

    But there was no mirror in theroom. "It got broken," Christinetold him.

    "Seven years' bad luck."She trembled and he put his arms

    contritely around her. "1 didn'tmean that. Ah, Christine, you areso beautiful."

    She loved, too, to have him combher hair. It was long and soft andsilky and badly cut. She cut it her-self. "But I'm terribly clumsy atit," she said. "I never seem to beable to get the parting straight. AndI can't bear going to the hairdresser."

    He could understand that. Hehated it too. With the bright lightsoverhead and the white sheet aroundhim, his own visits to the barberwere a recurrent risk. The troublewas Christine hated going anywhere.She rlidn't have to work: her mothersent her a check every month on thecoudition that she stay out of thestate of Virginia. She even hatedgoing to the bank to cash it.

    It began to get on his nerves alittle. Since his discovery that hewasn't unique a change had takenplace in Ernie. He was no longerquite so ashamed of his .peculiarity.He thought ofall the ordinary thingshe had always longed to do, and now

    79

    that he had someone like himselfto do them with, he longed forthem all the more. Besides he wasproud of Christine: he wanted toshow her off.

    They argued about it for hours.It was the cause of their first nearquarrel. They made it up at once,but the dissension remained. Untilat last one Saturday night when theyhad been cooped up in the room allday Ernie put his foot down.

    "I've had enough of it" he said."I'm fed up with this never goinganywhere. You'd think we werefreaks or something. I mean. . . .You know, like midgets. Look, we'llgo to one of those dance places wherethey have flickering lights." Hehad seen them in the movies. "We'llbe perfectly safe there."

    "Oh, no, please, darling.""And put some lipstick on." She

    still never wore makeup."Couldn't we just stay here?

    Please!""Come on."Finally, reluctantly she was forced

    to give in. She found an old lipstickat the bottom ofa trunk and smearedit ineptly on her mouth. She had nocompact. Ernie fetched a towel andhelped her.

    Outside the house they had an-other near quarrel. This time be-cause Ernie insisted on taking ataxi. He won again. Christine hud-dled miserably in a corner and whenthey reached the dance hall peeredonce with panic stricken eyes up thestairs and refused to go any farther.

  • io

    Ernie shrugged and stubbornly ledthe way. She followed him at adistance like an Arab's wife.

    ]they had neither of them everlearnt to dance. They sat at atable holding hands and watchingthe couples on the floor. Ernie lovedit. He was delighted by the loudbad music and the tawdry glamor.It was just what he had longed forall his life: "to be out with a beauti-ful girl" - "having a good time" -"just like anyone else." The clichesran through his mind like an en-dorsement, adding to his pleasure.

    Christine sat tensely by his sideand had several drinks to relax her.Unaccustomed to them she beganafter a while to enjoy herself too.When they Jeft at midnight she feltquite reckless and almost gay.

    Ernie joined her in the lobby andhelped her on with her coat. Shewas smiling as they started downthe stairs. Several people cranedto look at her. Ernie felt a suddenoverpowering pride. He noticed thatthe walls of the stairwell were ambermirrors, deliberately flattering tothe danc.e hall's customers. Hecaught Christine excitedly by thehand.

    "Look, darling," he said. "Seefor yourself what a handsume cou-ple we make. How beautiful you

    FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

    are." And turned her to face theglass beside them.

    She drew quickly back, but notquickly enough. He felt her tryingto tear her hand from his and lookingin the mirror saw his own pleas-antly reflected face, his sharp bluesuit and loosely knotted tie.

    He dropped her hand as if it hadbitten him and watched her runsobbing from him down the stairs.But he didn't go after her.

    Ernie suddenly understood! Heunderstood what others had feltabout him all his life, his parents'distress and why his schoolmateshad first feared and then hated anddespised him. He not only under-stood. In his ordinary way he agreedwith them. He saw it all now, forthe first time, through their eyes.

    When he reached the street hedidn't try to find Christine. Hewalked off towards his own roomwhistling a superior little tune hehad picked up in the dance hall.How dared she have lied to him likethat! he thought. He and Christinewere not commonly different, equallyoutcast, as she had pretended, at all.And no wonder she had always madesuch a mess of cutting her own hair.

    She not only cast no shadow.The monstrous, the unnatural girl

    had no reflection.

  • i{ecommended i{eadingby THE EDITOR

    SCIENCE FICTION HAS GOT OFF TO Aslow start in 1955. As I write thiscolumn, most of January's bookshave been received, and some ofFebruary's; and the total crop isthree anthologies, ranging from poorto fine, two paperback novels, bothwretched, and two absurd ."non-fiction" books about flying ~ucers.I think we can safely postpone con-sideration of 1955 till next month,and devote these pages to some oflast year's books hitherto overlookedor only briefly cited here.

    Two of 1954's all-too-few distin-guished novels of science fiction ap-peared only just in time to bementioned in last month's "Best"list, and deserve longer notice. F &SFreaders know well the adroit talentsof Chad Oliver, who was first dis-covered by this magazine. (Turn tothe end of this issue for his latestshort story.) SHADOWS IN THE SUN(Ballantine, $2*; paper, 35c) is hisfirst adult novel (he wrote a finejuvenile, MISTS OF DAWN, two yearsearlier), and clearly establishes himas one of the leading young talentsin the field. Or maybe one shouldstrike that word young; so markedhave been the advances of suchwriters as Oliver, Anderson and

    81

    Matheson - along with others whohave yet to produce a full-lengthbook, such as Beaumont, Dick andSheckley - that the "young tal-ents" seem almost to have seized theleadership away from the (relatively)Old Guard. Oliver is a trainedprofessional anthropologist as wellas a skilled writer; and he uses hisknowledge of anthropological field~techniques to revitalize completelythe familiar theme of There-Are-Alien-Observers-Among-Us. I can'tthink of anyone who has more sen-sibly and convincingly portrayedmembers of a highly advanced civili-zation who are not supermen, or whohas treated more logically and hu-manly the problems of one of us inadjusting to such a culture.

    The name of Shepherd Mead maywell be unfamiliar to sJ. readers-though I hope some of you haveread his delightfully acute observa-tions on HOW TO SUCCEED IN BUSI-NESS WITHOUT REALLY TRYING. Mr.Mead is himself a successful business-man, and a satiric traitor to hisexecutive class; the same devastat-ingly accurate wit that marked hishow-to volume recurs in the form ofa science fiction novel in THE BIGBALL OF WAX (Simon & Schuster,

  • 82

    $3.50*). As a novel, it's good: livelystorytelling, fine detailed expositionof a Madison Avenue-dominatedfuture culture. And as a satire it'swonderful: Kornbluth and possiblyVonnegut are the only authors I canthink of in the sJ. field who haveapproached its pertinency and bite.

    Other late 1954 novels deservebriefer mention. In YEAR OF CON-SENT (Dell, 25c), Kendell FosterCrossen also depicts a governmentof advertising technicians and de-velops his background detailedly andintelligently, but weakens the bookwith an uncompulsive spy-thrillerplot, lacking much surprise or sus-pense. The novel's ingenious ex-trapolation merits praise; but bothMead and Pohl-Kornbluth (in THESPACE MERCHANTS) have treated thesame theme in better stories. RogerDee's AN EARTH GONE !\lAD (Ace,35c) is routine cosmic melodrama inthe manner of a road company vanVogt, far removed from the origi-nality of Dee's best shorter stories.And Donald Suddaby's VILLAGEFANFARE (Oxford University Press,$1.55*) proves that imported Brit-ish sJ. can be as crude and inept asany home-grown product, despitea fine premise (a time-travelingObserver in Much Swayford, Salop,in the year 1903) that I wish hadoccurred to a better writer.

    Among "pure" fantasy novels, J.R. R. Tolkien's THE FELLOWSHIP OFTHE RING (Houghton MitHin, $5*)may well be the major achievementof the year or even of the decade. I

    THE EDITORS

    cautiously say may because this200,000-word titan is only the in-troductory portion of a trilogy, anunrounded fragment - and a frag-ment of such weight is a littledifficult to assay. Tolkien has gonefar beyond his memorable THE HOB-BIT (though with many of the samecharacters) to develop an entirehistory, mythology and symbolismas complex (and as endless) asWagner's elaborations upon the leg-end of another Ring. For whollycreated and self-consistent absolutefantasy, written in superb prose andreplete with both adventure andhumor, the only book even remotelycomparable is THE WORM OVRABO-ROS. In this first section, at least,Tolkien lacks Eddison's depth ofcharacterization and his sense ofnarrative form; but there arc richtreasures of beauty and imaginationhere for the patient reader. Anotherfantasy novel highly praised bygeneral reviewers will seem less im-pressive to the habituated reader.Douglas Wallop's THE YEAR THEYANKEES LOST THE PENNANT (Nor-ton, $2.95*) is just another Pact-with-the-Devil story, somewhatbrightened by its Major Leaguebaseball setting.

    One belatedly received book isl:ereby added, retroactively, to theBest-of-54 list: Lord Dunsany's THESWORD OF WELLERAN AND OTHER

    TALES OF ENCHANTMENT (DevinAdair, $3*). Here Lord and LadyDunsany have selected 16 storiesfrom 7 long-out-of-print volumes,

  • RECO~ENDED READING

    dating as far back as 1908 - "thestories," we are told, "by which theauthor most wishes to be remem-bered." I'm not sure if the wish will'be fulfilled; these are stories inDunsany's early vein of sheer poeticmyth-creation, and many readerswill continue to remember his drywit and half-realistic satire in suchlater stories as the narratives ofJorkens - or indeed the very latestDunsany tale in this issue. But thesefantasy-prose-poems are in their wayquite perfect; and the aspiring critic(or writer) could hardly find a betterexercise than in analyzing why thetitle-tale of Welleran is a completelysuccessful epic myth, while RobertE. Howard's not wholly dissimilaradventures of Conan - of whichthe newest collection is 'CONAN THEBARBARIAN (Gnome, $3*) - arecrude failures.

    I'm sorry that' the InternationalFantasy Award committee hasdropped its non-fiction prize; itwould have been a pleasure to votefor Daniel Lang's THE MAN IN THETHICK LEAD SUIT (Oxford UniversityPress, $3.50*). This New Yorkerseries of essays on the human, per-sonal side of spaceflight and nuclearresearch - the adj ustment of Peene-munde scientists to Texas, the re-action of Las Vegas to the A-bomb,the conversion of a nuclear physi-cist to the Episcopal ministry-would have been pure science fiction

    83

    only a decade ago, and of the highestHeinleinesque quality; Eric Sev-areid's introduction labels this per-ceptive reportage as "quietly superb," and I'll go along with thatdescription.

    In other non-fiction, John Har-den's TAR HEEL GHOSTS (Universityof North Carolina, $3*) is onlypassable -largely routine haunt-ings, indifferently written, but witha few oddly provocative cases. JackSnow's WHO'S WHO IN oz (Reilly &Lee, $3'75*) is, however, a must forevery reader who enjoyed MartinGardner's recent F &SF articles onOz and -its creator. Mr. Snow andhis collaborator (Prof. H. M. Wog-glebug, T.E., of course - who else?)offer sketches of every character toappear in any of the 39 Oz books,synopses of all 39 plots, compactbiographical notes on every writerand illustrator of the series, andskilled discussion of many arguablepoints in the chronology and historyof Oz. This last aspect causes me towonder why these dea thless chron-icles have not attracted a group ofenthusiastic amateur scholars similarto the Baker Street Irregulars. If anyof you are interested in an informalorganization for the purpose of ~lishing Oz as the BSI do the Canonof Sherlock Holmes, drop me a noteand I'll see that it reaches Mr. Snow,who should be the logical focus ofsuch a group.

    Books marked with an asterisk may be ordered through F&SF's Readers' Book Service. Fordetails, see page 2.

  • A great many science fiction writers are also editors; it's almost an occupa-tional ailment. But Alan E. Nourse has gone the rest of us one better: he isauthor, editor and puhJisher - founder and proprietor of the ChamberlainPress. And I hope that his mail brings him MSS as attractive as thrJSewhich FrtrSF receive! from him, such as this simple and touching fantasy ofenduring love.

    erhe Canvas ~agby ALAN E. NOURSE

    THE TELEPHONE JANGLED JUST AS - I don't know. Frankie's decidedJoe Baker got himself settled in the that this is the night to finish thebathtub. He growled something inventory. No other night will do.poisonous, and dashed the length of And you know Frankie -"the rooming house hallway to his Joe shook the water out of hisbare little room at the end, robe- ears, and consigned Frankie to thetails flying, splattering water far and eighth circle of Nether Hell. A chillwide as he reached for the offending of disappointment stabbed throughinstrument. Then Jeannie's voice him, all out of proportion to the im-was tinkling in his ear; his annoy- portance of an hour delay in theirance vanished, and his heart skipped dinner date. But then, he was suretwice in dreadful premonition. he heard the same disapfX?intment

    Jeannie was laughing. "I must in Jeannie's voice, and felt some-have dragged you out of the shower! what mollified. It was almost as ifYou sound like you've hurdled bar- she knew what a special date it wasriers." going to be. "How about nine,

    "Many barriers," said Joe, slap then? I'll meet you there."ping at the trickle of water meander- "We should- be finished by then.ing down his leg. His feet were I'll be hungry, too -"planted in an expanding puddle. "Sky's the limit tonight. Even on"There's nothing wrong - is there?" barriers to hurdle -" He wondered

    "Nothing drastic." Jeannie's voice vaguely how a girl who spent all daywas warm. "I'll have to be" late to- serving out food could bear to looknight, is all. Maybe an hour or more at it at night - much Jess eat it.

    84

  • THE CANVAS BAG

    Jeannie's laugh was echoing in hisears as he hung up, and blinkedsourly around the room. An extrahour to kill, then. He could hardlybear: it. It was a rather drab room,with a single window that stared outon the main street catching the hotIndiana sun. Not a bad room, if youliked cheap boarding houses. Fromthe window he could see the wholetown before him, and he stared downfor a moment or two before turningaway, allowing his mind to driftback to his first impression of it theday he'd dropped off the freight carsix weeks before.

    A grubby little dump town, hehad thought. A good place to stopfor the night, and then move on.They probably wouldn't favor gen-tlemen of the road around here, any-way. Nothing unusual, his thinkingthat - the usual chain of thoughtsthat went through his mind when hehit a little Midwest town with itsdusty streets and its dirty framehouses. It was even an ordinarylooking diner where he had beensitting, perusing the hectographedbill-of-fare when the girl behind the

    . counter had come over, and he hadlooked up and seen Jeannie...

    He gave a little laugh now, andfished clean clothes from the bureau.A starched shirt had always been atrial for Joe; he struggled into itmanfully, grinning at himself in themirror. So very much could happenin six short weeks! One's ideas oftowns and people and everythingcould change so rapidly. He whistled

    8'S

    a little tune, regarding -his broadtanned face and unkempt brownhair as he whirled the tie. Not a badface, Joe Baker. Not bad at all. Youcould see how a gal" might go for it.And tonight, she simply had to gofor it. He'd never asked a girl tomarry him before in his whole life.She couldn't refuse, not tonight-

    But the thought of marriage madehim feel a little strange. It was boundto happen sometime, he had toldhimself. A man can't tramp theroads forever. Someday the timewould come to stop. It had alwaysbeen some time in the dim, distantfuture, with Joe. But it wasn't anymore. Tonight the time had corne ~

    And then his eye fell on the littleblue canvas bag on the floor in thecorner.

    He blinked at the bag. The bagblinked back -at him. He gave anervous little laugh, and kicked thebag, and it went skidding across thefloor.

    "Good-bye, Bag," he said glee-fully. "I won't need you any more.Our drifting days are over...."

    For a girl who had inventoried allevening, Jeannie was bright and chip-per when Joe met her corning out ofthe diner. But then, she was one ofthose curious girls who seem to havetotally unlimited energy, and be-come the more beautiful the wearierthey are. She was ~lender and dark,with wide gray eyes set in a narrowelfin face. Like a queen, Joe thought,as she came down the steps - or at

  • 86

    least a princess. She kissed himlightly, and he slipped his arm aroundher as they walked around back toher old coupe. "He's an old tyrant,that Frankie," she was saying.

    "Let me take you away from allthis," said Joe, gallantly. "Let metake you on the wings of the wind.The Pleasure Palace awaits -"

    She laughed, and Joe slipped eas-ily into the driver's seat. "The Spoonfor dinner?" Jeannie asked.

    "The Spoon! A pox upon theSpoon! This is our night, kiddie-nothing but the best." He lookeddown at her and kissed her on thenose. "You know that place on thepoint - down by the bend of theriver? Steaks an inch thick, theysay, and dancing on the terrace."He slid the car out into the roadtraffic. "Tonight we celebrate."

    "!t's very, very expensive, I'veheard."

    "Eat, drink, and be merry -"Worry flickered in her gray eyes.

    "You're - you're not heading outagain, are you, Joe?"

    He smiled. "'Fraid not. Not achance. I'm thinking of retiringfrom the road."

    She snuggled closer and threw herhead back happily. "For good?"

    "For good.""Then we do have something to

    celebrate."

    The place was crowded when theyarrived, but the waiter found them atable for two looking out on thebroad river. Across the room the

    FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

    orchestra was playing quietly whenthey ordered, and then they were ineach other's arms, whirling grace-fully to the music. It was a strangeworld for Joe - a warm, soft worldof love and sweet smells and greatcleanliness, and he could hardlvfocus his thoughts as she pressed hc'rsoft cheek to his. He had missed somuch, all these years of driftingfrom town to town, never satisfied,never stopping. He had waited foryears, and now he was sure, beyonddoubt, that the long years of waitinghad been entirely worth it. "I'vegot a secret, Jeannie," he whisperedas they moved into the shadows ofthe terrace.

    "Don't tell me," she whisperedback.

    "Why not?""Because then it wouldn't be a

    secret, would it?""But some secrets are for two

    people, they aren't any good forjust one." Her ear was inches fromhis lips.' "I love you, Jeannie. Didyou know that?"

    She nodded."I want you to marry me."He thought he felt her arms'

    tighten for a moment, and theydanced silently, close together in awonderful haze that required nowords. But when she turned her faceup to him, her eyes were sober andtroubled. "Are you sure you wantthat?" she asked.

    ''I'm not fooling, Jeannie."She turned her face away. "Oh, I

    know you're not, Joe - but do you

  • THE CANVAS BAG

    k!zow what you want to do? Do youreally want to stop drifting, take ahouse, settle down for good? Doyou really think you could do that?"

    "I wouldn't be asking you if Ihadn't thought it through, wouldI?" There was a puzzled note in hisvoice, and he frowned. Somethingdeep inside him had gone cold, astrange sort of pain he had never feltbefore. "I've been on the road for along time, I know; but a man getstired ofdrifting after a while. Sooneror later he finds a girl that makes itall seem silly." His words faltered;somehow, he couldn't get the rightones to come out. The coldness in hischest deepened. "Look, Jeannie-the road is a hard life, there isn'tany softness or friendship or happi-ness out there - why would any-body choose it? Why should I everwant to go back?"

    He broke off, realizing that hewas raising his voice. He blinked atJeannie in dismay, and she lookedaway, shaking her head and guidingthem back to their seats. She lookedup at him strangely. "You don'thave to convince me, Joe. I believeit." She paused. "I wonder if youbelieve it...."

    His voice choked in his throat."I only know how I feel, and I knowit's true. I wouldn't have asked youotherwise."

    She nodded, staring at the check-ered tablecloth for a long moment.Then she looked him straight in theeyes. "I want you to tell me some-thing, Joe," she said quietly. "I

    87

    want you to tell me how old you"are.

    Joe stared at her, and very slowlyset down his glass. Something wasdrumming in his head, a frightfuldeafening sound that chilled him tothe bone. "Why, I'm ... thirty-ish, or so," he said vaguely, wrin-kling his forehead. "Thirty-one, Ithink, or thirty-two ... " Heblinked at her. "I don't know, it'ssomewhere around there."

    "But can't you remember, Joe?"Her eyes were wide.

    "Well, of course I can, I suppose!I had a birthday last February-"The drumming in his ears grewlouder. "No, that was Pete Hower'sbirthday. We were on the road to-gether. Funny guy, Pete, he-"

    "Please, Joe!"A chill ran up his back. It was as

    if he had suddenly glanced over hisshoulder and seen a vast pit openingup behind him. He saw Jeannie'sworried face, and he wracked hisbrains trying to remember, and hismind met with nothing but abys-mal blankness. He stared at her inalarm. "Jeannie, I can't remember!"

    "Oh, Joe! Think! You've got to!""But what difference does it

    make?""Joe -" The girl's voice was

    trembling, close to tears. "Think,Joe. Go back. Back to where youwere before you came here, andwhere you went before that. Here- here's some paper. Write it down.Try to remember, Joe."

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    He took the pencil numbly.Slowly, from the drumming in hishead things were beginning to creepinto his mind, incredible things. "I- I just came East from Fargo sixweeks ago," he faltered. "Hopped afreight. Ran into some trouble withthe cops and had a fight. And thenI'd been in Minot for a while beforethat -"

    "How long?""Couple of months. I was working

    my way East, thought I'd work thedocks for a while -"

    "And where were you beforeMinot?"

    "Santa Monica. Diving job. I al-most got killed - that chilled meon the coast. Came up from SanDiego before that - hit Dago on atramp steamer that had come throughthe canal from Acapulco. And thenbefore that there was the war...."

    A horrible thought flashed throughJoe Baker's mind. A fiendish voicewas screaming in his ear: Which war,joe, which war?

    And then, in a terrifying flash, he.remembered. The muddy fog clearedfrom his mind, and his memorywhirled back and back, and his facewent white in the dim light of theplace.

    There was the fighting on Anzio,a.nd the storming of Monte Cas-sma -

    And then there was the girl inPittsburgh who'd cleaned him outthat night at Jardine's - god! thatseemed like a century agol And thelogging up in Canada before that -

    FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

    And the long depression years be-fore that, in the hobo jungles -

    And the job he'd lost when hisboss went down in the crash -

    And th~ run-in with the Bostoncops in that bootlegging deal whichcouldn't go wrong-

    And the cattle-herding jaunt downthrough Wyoming and Coloradoand Oklahoma before that - howlong was that trip? Four years?Must have been, with all the timehe'd wasted with the girl in Den-ver-

    Joe Baker stared at the girl a~rossthe table from him, his mind scream-ing. He could amost see the blue can-vas bag by his side, he could feel theexcitement again as he had packed itfull, ready for another move, andanother, and another.... With asudden horrified rush he picked upthe paper and pencil and beganscratching down places, times, dis-tances, something clutching in hischest as he wrote:

    The mustering out after the ar-mistice, and the long trip home fromFrance-

    The days of drifting through Eu-rope after the turn of the century -

    The shouting, savage cavalrycharges against the Spanish inCuba-

    The bitter hatred of the Kansasfarmers when the railroads wentthrough-

    The hum of hoofbeats on theNevada prairie, the wild screams ofthe Indian raiders -

    The crash of artillery, the bitter

  • THE CANVAS BAG

    sharp voice of the longrifles atChickamauga -

    He remembered them. He remem-bered them all.

    Joe Baker sat back in his chair,finally, his hands trembling. It wasutterly incredible, of course. But itwas true. He'd just never thought ofit before. He'd drifted - from townto town, from job to job, anywherethe moment seemed to suggest.Drifted, and stopped for a while, anddrifted again. He'd never thought ofthe past, for the past was filled withpain and loneliness, and such thingsseldom encourage reminiscence. Ithad simply never occurred to him tostop and think how long he'd drifted,nor what might happen if he evertried to stop.

    And he had drifted for a hundredand fifty years.

    He stared at the girl's frightenedface. "You knew - somehow youknew -"

    She nodded. "I didn't know whatit was. I knew you were different,somehow. At first I thought it wasjust that you'd been traveling a longtime that it was a part of a personal-ity you'd built up on the road. Ifelt it the first moment I saw you.And then I began to realize that thedifference was something else - ButI didn't realize how long you'vebeen going -"

    "But my face!" he cried. "Mybody! How could it be possible?Why is it that I'm not okl, shriv-eled, dead?"

    "I don't know."

    "But it couldn't happen!"Jeannie shook her head weakly.

    "There's something else far moreimportant."

    "What's that?""What makes you do it.""I tell you I don't know.""But you must have remembered

    the time passing!" she burst out.Joe shook his head. "I just never

    stopped to think. Why should Ihave? There've never been friends,or family, or anyone to hang ontoalong the way. It never matteredwhat time it was, or what day it was- all that mattered was whether itwas winter or summer, whether itwas hot or cold, whether I was fullor hungry.... Jeannie, does itmatter now? I love you, I want tostop, now, I want to marry you -"

    And then they were dancing again,and she was fighting to hold back thetears, clinging to him like a lostchild. "Yes, yes - tomorrgw, Joe-we can get the papers. Don't ever goaway from me, Joe. Oh, I'mafraid -"

    "Don't be, don't be-""I can't help it. I'm afraid to

    morrow -"He put a finger to her lips. '"To-

    morrow we'll get a license. Thenwe'll be married. I've never wantedto stop before. But I do now, morethan anything on Earth. And I will."

    The drive back into town wasvery quiet.

    It was very late when he cameback to his room. He dreaded to re-

  • 9

    turn. If there were only somethingthey could do, some place to go now;while he knew he could! But therewas nothing to do until tomorrow,and he was cold with fear. He walkedinto the room and snapped on thelights and the coldness tightened inhis chest.

    His eyes fell on the blue canvas bag.It was old and threadbare and

    exceedingly dusty. The dust from athousand long roads, of a thousandcountries was ground into its fiber,and it seemed a thing alive, a livingentity with a power of its own worndeep into its creases and leather-work. An ordinary old-fashionedtraveling bag, really; over the yearshe had become attached to it withan unreasoning fondness. It was hishome, his only solid, dependableconnection with the world throughwhich he had been drifting like aghost. A sound, sturdy friend, al-ways there, carrying his few pos-sessions. He had tramped miles, once,to recover it when it had been leftbehind. Once it had been stolen,and he had killed a man to get itback-

    And now he hated it.But even as he looked at it, the

    drums were beating in his ears again- his own pulse? He didn't know.He stared at the bag, and phantomsbegan to flicker through his mind,tormenting him. The miles had beenlong and dusty - but they hadbeen free miles. He had been lonely,desperately lonely - but always, hehad been free. And now . . .

    FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

    He took the bag up on his lap,unzippered it, and watched it fallopen into the familiar creases. Oncethere had been buttons on it, longago. Now a zipper replaced the but-tons - but it was still the same oldbag. Inside, there were odds and.ends. A pack of cigarettes, slightlymildewed, and an ancient straight-razor. A couple of unused rifle shells,a pair of stick-on rubber soles for hisshoes, a shabby torn bandana. Likean overpowering wind the memoriesfiltered through his mind, the call ofthe road, the long dark nights underthe glistening star blanket. And nowhe would stop, throwaway the bag,

    .go off and settle down in a house,take work in the quarry outsidetown every day.... Once stopped,he could never drift again.

    The coldness deepened. Nervouslyhe dropped the bag on the floor,kicked it across the room. It wasnonsense to think that way. Hehated the road and all the lonelinessit had meant. He wouldn't go back- not with a girl like Jeannie tokeep him from ever being lonelyagam-. The chill grew into panic. He satdown on the bed, trembling. Hewas afraid. He was fighting now, anda voice was whispering in his ear,You've got to go, Joe, you can't stop,never, never - run now, before youhurt her any more! You can never stopdrifting, Joe -

    He gripped the bedstead untilhis knuckles turned white. Why?He strained his memory, trying to

  • THE CANV AS BAG

    think back, trying to remember howit had started, so long ago. It was asthough a great hand were pushinghim, drawing him toward the canvasbag, urging him to pack it up, takeit and race away, like the wind, ontothe road again - But he didn'twant to go, he wanted a wife, ahome-

    Home, Joe? You hated your home!No, no, he thought. A line of

    sweat was standing out on his upperlip. I didn't I didn't hate it, I wasyoung, I didn't understand, I didn'tknow-

    You threw a curse on your home,Joe. Remember? You screamed it inyour mother's face, you reviled herand packed your canvas bag-

    I didn't know what I was doing,he thought. I was foolish, I couldn'thave known-

    But you said it, Joe - rememberwhat you said?

    No!I'll never come home if I live a

    thousand years -He clutched at the bag, and his

    hand anchored on the grip, and hefelt it start tugging at him. He letout a cry, and threw it on the floor.Frantically he jerked the telephonefrom the hook, dialed Jeannie's num-ber, and heard her sleepy voice onthe wire. "Jeannie, you've got tohelp me," he choked. "Come over,please, I can't help myself -"

    There had been other times he'dtried. He remembered them, now,horrible struggles that had nearlykilled him with torment until he

    91

    gave up. He had never believed inghosts and witchcraft and curses, butsomething was forcing him now,something within him so cold, sodark and powerful that he couldnever hope to fight it. He sat on theedge of the bed, gritting his teeth.and the voice was crying louder andlouder, you can never stop, Joe, nomatter what happens, you'll neverhave a home again, never, never,never-

    The room was empty when shearrived. She choked back a sob, andclosed the door behind her, andleaned exhausted against the wall.She was too late. The dresser draw-ers were ripped open, a dirty socklay under the bed, a handkerchiefwas crumpled on the bureau. He wasgone, and so was the canvas bag.

    And then her eye fell on a foldedwhite paper on the floor. She pickedit up with trembling fingers, andrecognized it. With a little cry sheplunged it into her pocket, and fleddown the front stairs, her coat flyingbehind her as she ran.

    The street was dark and deserted.A street light shone across thestreet, and another, up near the endof town, made a baleful yellow blotchin the darkness. She ran faster, herheels snapping harshly on the drypavement, and she turned into a .lighted building at' the end of thestreet.

    A sleepy clerk looked up at herand blinked. "Was - was a youngmai1 in here?"

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    The clerk nodded suspiciously."Bus to Chicago. Getting ready toleave."

    She threw her money down, andsnatched up the little white ticket.Seconds later she was running downthe bus lane to the large coach withCHICAGO across the front. Shestumbled up the steps, and then shesaw him.

    He was sitting near the back, eyesclosed, face deathly white. In hisarms he was clutching his blue can-vas bag, and his whole body wastrembling. Slowly she moved back,sank down in the seat beside him."Oh, Joe, Joe-"

    "Jeannie, I'm sorry - I just can'thelp it-"

    FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

    "I know, Joe."He looked at her, his eyes widen-

    ing. She shook her head, and tookhis heavy hand in hers. Then he sawthe ticket.

    "Jeannie -""Hush. Don't say it.""But you don't know what you're

    doing! We can never have a home,darling - never. No matter howhard we try. Think of the long,homeless roads, Jeannie - all overthe world, on and on - maybe evento the stars -"

    She smiled, nodding gently. "Butat least you won't be lonely now."

    "Jeannie, you can't-""I can," she said, and rested her

    head quietly against his shoulder.

    THE NATIONAL SOCIETY FOItClllrrLED CHILDItEN AND ADULTS, INC.JI S. LASALLE STUET, CHICAGO 3, ILL.

  • It's a strange and moving story that Walter Miller has chosen to tell on this-his first (and very welcome!) appearance in F&SF. In the background is ahitter history of atomic devastation and of man's deliberate conscious crea-tion of a new Dark Age. But this is no hitter story; for in the foreground standslittle Brother Francis of Utah, gentle, humble, fallibly human - and thisloving account of his trials glows with the light that must lie at the heartof the Darkest Age_

    A Canticle for Leibowitzby WALTER M. MILLER, JR.

    BROTHER FRANCIS GERARD OF UTAH

    would never have discovered thesacred document, had it not beenfor the pilgrim with girded loinswho appeared during that youngmonk's Lenten fast in the desert.Never before had Brother Francisactually seen a pilgrim with girdedloins, but that this one was the bonafide article he was convinced at aglance. The pilgrim was a spindlyold fellow with a staff, a baskethat, and a brushy beard, stainedyellow about the chin. He walkedwith a limp and carried a smallwaterskin over one shoulder. Hisloins truly were girded with a raggedpiece of dirty burlap, his only cloth-ing except for hat and sandals.He whistled tunelessly on his way.

    The pilgrim came shuffling downthe broken trail out of the north,and he seemed to be heading toward

    93

    the Brothers of Leibowitz Abbeysix miles to the south. The pilgrimand the monk noticed each otheracross an expanse of ancient rubble.The pilgrim stopped whistling andstared. The monk, because of certainimplications of the rule of solitudefor fast days, quickly averted hisgaze and continued about his busi-ness of hauling large rocks withwhich to complete the wolf-proofingof his temporary shelter. Somewhatweakened by' a ten day diet of cactusfruit, Brother Francis found thework made him exceedingly dizzy;the landscape had been shimmeringbefore his eyes and dancing withblack specks, and he was at firstuncertain that the bearded appa-rition was not a mirage induced byhunger, but after a moment it calledto him cheerfully, "Ola allay!"

    It was a pleasant musical voice.

  • 94

    The rule of silence forbade theyoung monk to answer, except bysmiling shyly at the ground.

    "Is this here the road to theabbey?" the wanderer asked.

    The novice nodded at the groundand reached down for a chalk-likefragment of stone. The pilgrimpicked his way toward him throughthe rubble. "What you doing withall the rocks?" he wanted to know.

    The monk knelt and hastily wrotethe words "Solitude & Silence" ona large flat rock, so that the pilgrim- if he could read, which was statis-tically unlikely - would know thathe was making himself an occasionof sin for the penitent and wouldperhaps have the grace to leave inpeace.

    "Oh, well," said the pilgrim. Hestood there for a moment, lookingaround, then rapped a certain largerock with his staff. "That lookslike a handy crag for you," he of-fered helpfully, then added: "Well,good luck. And may you find aVoice, as y' seek."

    Now Brother Francis had no im-mediate intuition that the strangermeant "Voice" with a capital V,but merely assumed that the oldfellow had mistaken him for a deafmute. He glanced up once again asthe pilgrim shuffled away whistling,sent a swift silent benediction afterhim for safe wayfaring, and wentback to his rock-work, building acoffin-sized enclosure in which hemight sleep at night without offering

    . himself as wolf-bait.

    FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

    A sky-herd of cumulus clouds,on their way to bestow moist bless-ings on the mountains after havingcruelly tempted the desert, offeredwelcome respite from the searingsunlight" and he worked rapidly tofinish before they were gone again.He punctuated his labors with whis-pered prayers for the certainty ofa true Vocation, for this was thepurpose of his inward quest whilefasting in the desert.

    At last he hoisted the rock whichthe pilgrim had suggested.

    The color of exertion drainedquickly from his face. He backedaway a step and dropped the stoneas if he had uncovered a serpent.

    A rusted metal box lay half-crushed in the rubble ... only arusted metal box.

    He moved toward it curiously,then paused. There were things, andthen there were Things. He crossedhimself hastily, and muttered briefLatin at the heavens. Thus forti-fied, he readdressed himself to thebox.

    "Apage Satanas!"He threatened it with the heavy

    crucifix of his rosary."Depart, a Foul Seductorl"He sneaked a tiny aspergillum

    from his robes and quickly spatteredthe box with holy water before itcould realize what he was about.

    "If thou be creature of the Devil,begone!"

    The box showed no signs of with-ering, exploding, melting away. Itexuded no blasphemo~s ichor. It

  • A CANTICLE FOR LEJBOWIlZ

    only lay quietly in its place andallowed the desert wind to evaporatethe sanctifying droplets. .

    "So be it," said the brother, andknelt to extract it from its lodging.He sat down on the rubble and spentnearly an hour battering it openwith a stone. The thought crossedhis mind that such an archeologicalrelic - for such it obviously was -might be the Heaven-sent sign ofhis vocation but he suppressed thenotion a~ quickly as it occurred tohim. His abbot had warned himsternly against expecting any directpersonal Revelation of a spectacularnature. Indeed, he had gone forthfrom the abbey to fast and do pen-ance for 40 days that he might berewarded with the inspiration of acalling to Holy Orders, but to ex-pect a vision or a voice crying"Francis, where art thou?" wouldbe a vain presumption. Too manynovices had returned from theirdesert vigils with tales of omens andsigns and visions in the heavens, andthe good abbot had adopted a firmpolicy regarding these. Only theVatican was qualified to decide theauthenticity of such things. "Anattack of sunstroke is no indicationthat you are fit to profess the solemnvows of the order," he had growled.And certainly it was true that onlyrarely did a call from Heaven comethrough any device other than theinward ear, as a gradual congealing ofinner certain ty.

    Nevertheless, Brother Francisfound himself handling the old metal

    95

    box with as much reverence as waspossible while battering at it. '

    It opened suddenly, spilling someof its contents. He stared for a longtime before daring to touch, and acool thrill gathered along his spine.Here was antiquity indeed! And asa student of archeology, he couldscarcely believe his wavering vision.Brother Jeris would be frantic withenvy, he thought, but quickly re-pented this unkindness and mur-mured his thanks to the sky forsuch a treasure.

    He touched the articles gingerly- they were real enough - andbegan sorting through them. Hisstudies had equipped him to recog-nize a screwdriver - an instrumentonce used for twisting threaded bitsof metal into wood - and a pair ofcutters with blades no longer thanhis thumbnail, but strong enough tocut soft bits of -metal or bone.There was an odd tool with a rottedwooden handle and a heavy coppertip to which a few flakes of moltenlead had adhered, but he could makenothing of it. There was a toroidalroll of gummy black stuff, too fardeteriorated by the centuries forhim to identify, There were strangebits of metal, broken glass, and anassortment of tiny tubular thingswith wire whiskers of the typeprized by the hill pagans as charmsand amulets, but thought by somearcheologists to be remnants of thelegendary machina analytica, sup-posedly dating back to the Ddugeof Flame.

  • 96

    All these and more he examinedcarefully and spread on the wideflat stone. The documents he saveduntil last. The documents, as always,were the real prize, for so few papershad survived the angry bonfires ofthe Age of Simplification, when eventhe sacred writings had curled andblackened and withered into smokewhile ignorant crowds howled ven-gence. .

    Two large folded papers and threehand-scribbled notes constituted hisfind. All were cracked and brittlewith age, and he handled themtenderly, shielding them from thewind with his robe. They werescarcely legible and scrawled inthe hasty characters of pre-DelugeEnglish - a tongue now used, to-gether with Latin, only by mon-astics and in the Holy Ritual. Hespelled it out slowly, recognizingwords but uncertain of meanings.One note said: Pound pastrami,can kraut, six bagels, for Emma.Another ordered: Don't forget topick up form 1040 for Uncle Reve-nue. The third note was only acolumn of figures with a circledtotal from which another amountwas subtracted and finally a per-centage taken, followed by the worddamn! From this he could deducenothing, except to check the a-rithmetic, which proved correct.

    Of the two larger papers, onewas tightly rolled and began tofall to pieces when he tried to openit; he could make out the wordsRACING FORM, but nothing more.

    FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

    He laid it back in the box for laterrestorative work.

    The second large paper was asingle folded sheet, whose creaseswere so brittle that he could onlyinspect a little of it by partingthe folds and peering between themas best he could.

    A diagram . . . a web of whitelines on dark paper!

    Again the cool thrill gatheredalong his spine. I t was a blueprint-that exceedingly rare class ofancientdocument most prized by studentsof antiquity, and usually most chal-lenging to interpreters and searchersfor meaning.

    And, as if the find itself werenot enough of a blessing, amongthe words written in a block at thelower corner of the document wasthe name of the founder of hisorder - of the Blessed Leibowitzhimself!

    His trembling hands threatenedto tear the paper in their happyagitation. The parting words ofthe pilgrim tumbled back to him:"May you find a Voice, as y' seek."Voice indeed, with V capitalized andformed by the wings of a descendingdove and illuminated in three colorsagainst a background of gold leaf.V as in Vere dignum and Vtdi aquam,at the head of a page of the Missal.V, he saw quite clearly, as inVocation.

    He stole another glance to makecertain it was so, then breathed,"Beate Leibowitz, ora pro me. . . .Sal/cte Leibowitz, exaudi me," the

  • A CANTICLE FOR LEIBOWITZ

    second invocation being a ratherdaring one, since the founder of hisorder had not yet been declared asaint.

    Forgetful of his abbot's warning,he climbed quickly to his feet andstared across the shimmering terrainto the south in the direction takenby the old wanderer of the burlaploincloth. But the pilgrim had longsince vanished. Surely an angel ofGod, if not the Blessed Leibowitzhimself, for had he not revealedthis miraculous treasure by pointingout the rock to be moved andmurmuring that prophetic fare-well?

    Brother Francis stood basking inhis awe until the sun lay red on thehills and evening threatened toengulf him in its shadows. At lasthe stirred, and reminded himselfof the wolves. His gift included noguarantee of charismata for sub-duing the wild beast, and he has-tened to finish his enclosure beforedarkness fell on the desert. Whenthe stars came out, he rekindledhis fire and gathered his daily repastof the small purple cactus fruit,his only nourishment except thehandful of parched corn brought tohim by the priest each Sabbath.Sometimes he fou1'ld himself staringhungrily at the lizards which scur-ried over the rocks, and was trou bledby gluttonous nightmares.

    But tonight his hunger was lesstroublesome than an impatient urgeto run back to the abbey and an-nounce his wondrous encounter to

    97

    his brethren. This, of 'course, wasunthinkable. Vocation or no, hemust remain here until the end ofLent, and continue as if nothingextraordinary had occurred.

    A cathedral will be built uponthis site, he thought dreamily ashe sat by the fire. He could see itrising from the rubble of the ancientvillage. magnificent spires visiblefor miles across the desert....

    But cathedrals were for teemingmasses of people. The desert washome for only scattered tribes ofhuntsmen and the monks of theabbey. He settled in his dreamsfor a shrine, attracting rivers ofpilgrims with girded loins....He drowsed. When he awoke,the fire was reduced to glowingembers. Something seemed amiss.Was he quite alone? He blinkedabout at the darkness.

    From beyond the bed of reddishcoals, the dark wolf blinked back.The monk yelped and dived forcover.

    The yelp, he decided as he laytrem