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Edited by Judith Merril The paper fluttered down. He yanked a dresser drawer open and snatched out spool-looking things, both hands full. Then he practically dived under the bed, his elbows thudding on the floor, to-hurt hard. And there was only a wiggle or two and his shoes slumped away from each other. I met you under the balloon, on the occasion of your return from Norway. You asked if it was mine; I said it was. The balloon, I said, is a spontaneous autobiographical disclosure, having to do with the unease I felt at your absence, and with sexual deprivation, but now that your visit to Bergen has been terminated, it is no longer necessary or appropriate. Removal of the balloon was easy; trailer trucks carried away the depleted fabric, which is now stored in West Virginia, awaiting some other time of unhappiness, sometime, perhaps, when we are angry with one another. He got the chores all finished and made himself some supper and after supper sat beside the stove, listening to the ticking of the clock, loud in the silent house, and the crackle of the fire. "No. I want glasses just like those which were broken. Oh heavens, what will I do?" People began, in a curious way, to locate themselves in relation to aspects of the balloon: "Ill be at that place where it dips down into Forty-seventh Street almost to the sidewalk, near the Alamo Chile House," or "Why dont we go stand on top, and take the air, and maybe walk about a bit, where it forms a tight, curving line with the façade of the Gallery of Modern Art — " Marginal intersections offered entrances within a given time duration, as well as 'warm, soft, lazy passages' in which ... But it is wrong to speak of 'marginal intersections'. Each intersection was crucial, none could be ignored (as if, walking there, you might not find someone capable of turning your attention, in a flash, from old exercises to new exercises). Each intersection was crucial, meeting of balloon and building, meeting of balloon and man, meeting of balloon and balloon. Except that where Wrixton was bound was not a restaurant. Rather, it was the Reception Saloon at Sutter and Karny, the traditional first stop on the businessmans nightly eating and drinking revel along the Cocktail Route. Quincannon was only a few yards behind him, and when he himself entered he saw the banker head straight for an empty section at the far end of the long, polished mahogany bar and there stand, or rather hunch, with his elbows propped on the gleaming bar top. He waited until the banker had been served a large pony of brandy, then sauntered ahead and bellied up next to him. Well, I didnt—I mean, well, the boys at school talk about it in the playground. I’m getting pretty big now, dad, nearly eleven. I ought to know what they mean by now. "And?" The teller looked up from the note and Roche made a small threatening motion with the bottle. At the same time he began to regret that he had demanded so much. Two thousand dollars would have got him out of his immediate troubles. Ten thousand might get him a bullet in the back from some hidden guard. She too sat up and stared at him. She brushed a remaining leaf from her breast.I want you to do the thing because I want most to lie by you. I will always lie by you and not by our stinking men, if you shed the blood of the cruncher. If you will not do this for me, I swear I will go with the other stinking men and lie by them. "I think pictures add another dimension to an office," he said "Constable had a way with water, an eye for minute detail. I often think he sketched every leaf. Maile, now ... " Weve discussed it. If I do investigate, I’ll need as much information as possible. You will cooperate, won’t you? You have great faith in Robadur, Jim said. "Anything else wrong?" (Who Can Replace a Man? Best SF Stories of Brian Aldiss should be just out from Harcourt, Brace, and World.)* * * *.