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But then the other two, two who sat with them across the years of all their days, the two colleagues who had been visited upon them by the all-powerful word of Stalin himself. The Shchapalov woman, standing up in her bed, screamed monotonously. Her pink rayon nightgown was speckled with brown-black dots. Her knobby fingers tried to brush bugs out of her hair, off her face. The man in the undershirt who a few minutes before had been stomping his feet to the music stomped now more urgently, one hand still holding onto the lightcord. Soon the floor was slimy with crushed roaches, and he slipped. The light went out. The womans scream took on a rather choked quality, as though . . . "Now, wait a minute!" I do, though you realize Ill need to identify the letters as yours. So that, ironically, as s-f becomes increasingly respectable, John Campbell, its acknowledged father-figure, cant really claim his throne. He provides the continuity, he shaped much of the thought, he made many reputations. S-f narrowed from the vastness of space to the greater complexity of sociological s-f with him presiding. But now it is narrowing towardsthe highly focused,upside-down detail of“innerspace.” The tone is personal and subjective, the quality of expression important. . . . There is even a literary magazine: SF Horizons. Noneof this is Campbell’s style. Private Richard Starbuck was not thinking of death, although he knew he must surely die. He was thinking of the rifle which he felt securely on his shoulder and of the driving need he had to discharge its deadly pellets into human flesh. His urge to kill was dominant, but even so he was vaguely relieved that he had not been selected for the assassination squad (the suicide squad the men called it); for he still had a chance, a slim chance, to live; while the assassination squad was consigned to inevitable death. More coming, I expect. I put Arnie down and hold one of his cold hands. "Warden," I say, on my knees, on eye level with the chesssboard and its carved men. "Warden, can you put him in one of the banks?" Finally only her feet were sticking out from under the bed and they thrashed and waved and didnt go anywhere, so I got down on the floor and put my feet against hers and braced myself against the dresser and pushed. And pushed and pushed. Suddenly there was a going, a finishing, and my feet dropped to the floor. With an iron. A golf club, I mean. I was doing a little fishing with some friends up at St. Regis in the Adirondacks, and I brought the iron for my short shots. Theyre the worst part of my game, and when my friends left, I intended to stay on at our shack and do four or five hours of short putts. You see— So I finished the stanza I was translating before I got up. I confess, I fell asleep watching the loaf of rye bread on its emulsion of fungi-free earth. Id been up since the discovery— and sleep is a protective device against sustained excitement. Perhaps it hadnt been chloral hydrate. It was quiet in the laboratory, a single overhead light on the experiment. I had even cut off the Muzak the President feels will ease our progress. It must have been ten o'clock; it was dawn when I awoke. The eventual hearing aid came (unfortunately?)too late to get me into any part of social life, but theres plenty at home to keep me both busy and interested. I do all the work, inside and out... including mowing the lawn “with considerable cussing,” chasing rabbits and wood-chucks out of the garden which is “now going back to the wild state... I walk to the library and post office about twice a week, though old legs are beginning to rebel. And I loved walking as much as Thoreau did. Once in a great while I go on some short trip with a friend or relative. It was a trip to the castle’ built by the actor William Gillette, in Connecticut, that started ‘Enchantment.’...” Once upon a time, Popwas the complement, or maybe supplement, of Mom.Today it is simply the opposite: any opposite, (Anything Mom doesnt like cant be allbad.) Since it sometimes needs Susan Sontag to explain it, Popdoes not always mean 'popular'. Possibly the etymology is the third term of Snap! Crackle ! Pop!characteristics are: colourfulness (visual oraudible); an illusion of unpredictability achieved by the quantification of the commonplace (multiply the Campbell Soup can— amplify the 4/4march beat— divide Batman into his component dots— );and ideally, a certain glossiness typical of the classical (pre-TV, or "Gutenberg') decades of magazine and cereal-box advertising. Kenebucks hands clenched suddenly on the glass. He stared at Ian, and then burst out into a laugh that rang a little wildly against the emptiness of the large room. Exhausting but at least impersonal, these sounds Madame Gioconda could bear. At dusk, however, when the flyover quietened, they were overlaid by the mysterious clapping of her phantoms, the sourceless applause that rustled down onto the stage from the darkness around her, at first a few scattered ripples from the front rows that soon spread to the entire auditorium, mounting to a tumultuous ovation in which she suddenly detected a note of sarcasm, a single shout of derision that drove a spear of pain through her forehead, followed by an uproar of boos and catcalls that filled the tortured air, driving her away toward her couch where she lay gasping helplessly until Mangon arrived at midnight, hurrying onto the stage with his sonovac..
