Naked native women
After hesitation I agreed. My reasons were personal. I had just finished four hundred dollars worth of dental work. My mouth was a wet Fort Knox. In dreams I saw Communists mining my head for gold. An nodded. Inside every thin woman there is a fat woman, screaming ... ? —Time enough to learn the 2224 dances of Locar. They all looked at Anastasia Cherpas, at her beautiful hair, her determined blue eyes, and the two thin lines of blood. Well, they have to give us time to get around, for one thing. You wouldnt want to miss on your Insur, would you? Anyway, it’s more exciting. Come back inside, she always says. "I hope you didnt hurt yourself," he said, fussily ... too fussily. "Perhaps we should walk a little more slowly." Shotwell keeps the jacks and the rubber ball in his attaché case and will not allow me to play with them. He plays with them, alone, sitting on the floor near the console hour after hour, chanting onesies, twosies, threesies, foursies in a precise, well-modulated voice, not so loud as to be annoying, not so soft as to allow me to forget. I point out to Shotwell that two can derive more enjoyment from playing jacks than one, but he is not interested. I have asked repeatedly to be allowed to play by myself, but he simply shakes his head. “Why?” I ask. “Theyre mine,” he says. And when he has finished, when he has sated himself, back they go into the attaché case. I had an oil stove, but no oil. Oil was expensive and could be got only on the black market. Using the black market meant risking being shot, so I did without oil. I had a place I used as a kitchen, too. There was a bathroom along the corridor. One of the rooms I used had a balcony overlooking the street with a nice view of the weed-tangled park. I didnt pay rent for these rooms. My brother paid it under the impression that I had no money. Vagrancy was a serious crime, though prevalent, and my brother didnt want me to be arrested because it caused him trouble to get me out of jail or one of the transit camps in Hyde Park. Most controversial book of the year: Kingsley AmissNew Maps of Hell, the first extensive and informed critical survey of s-f by a literary figure quite unconnected with the field. Your editrix devoted much of her commentary in the last of these annuals to violent disagreement with Amis. I submit that the book, arguable in details, presents a knowledgeable, broad picture of s-f calculated to cause the general reader to respect and even to investigate it. "Thats new?" It took only a moment to reach Emorys door. I knocked twice and opened it, just as he growled, Come in. As most people know, the first man to fly was called Icarus, who should have had more sense. He and his father escaped from jail on an island (men of Alcatraz take note) by the expedient of attaching feathers to their arms with beeswax (it sounds reckless, I know, but this was before cellophane tape), and flapped away into the skies. Oh? Something in her eyes kept him from making anything of it. Oh,” he said mildly. “Ill take care of it.” Why? Whats the idea?.
