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They lived in a house on the mountain Tlaxihuatl half a mile below the summit. The house was built on a lava flow like the hide of an elephant. In the afternoon and evening the man, Charles Vandervell, sat by the window in the lounge, watching the fire displays that came from the crater. The noise rolled down the mountain-side like a series of avalanches. At intervals a falling cinder hissed as it extinguished itself in the water tank on the roof. The woman slept most of the time in the bedroom overlooking the valley or, when she wished to be close to Vandervell, on the settee in the lounge. Just when he was about to go outside again, there were a couple of knocks on the door, and Jake shot his gun straight at the door. That pretty well tore the door to hell, and Jake didnt hear anybody yelling so he cussed because he figured he’d missed and ruined the door for nothing. I whacked the back of his red head, between a-little-too-playfully and not-too-hard. "Come on, kid-boy," I said. "Help me take care of puddles downstairs. Sandy, finish it up, huh?" I would have preferred to run home to our usual breakfast of canned milk and shredded wheat, but instead I watched, fascinated, as Mrs. Klevity struggled with lighting the kerosene stove. She bent so close, peering at the burners with the match flaring in her hand that I was sure the frowzy brush of her hair would catch fire, but finally the burner caught instead and she turned her face toward me. The performance began an hour later. The dark-rimmed clouds were lit by the sun setting behind the mesa, the air crossed by wraiths of cirrus like the gilded frames of the immense paintings to come. Van Eycks glider rose in a spiral towards the face of the first clouds, stalling and climbing again as the turbulent updraughts threw him across the air. Carlos sneered. His lips closed around his cigar and he began looking offended, even nasty. For it was gone. A huge, crescent-shaped bite had been taken out of the approaching skyline; rocks and debris were still rising from a crater that had not existed five seconds ago. Only the energy of an atomic bomb, exploded at precisely the right moment in his path, could have wrought such a miracle. And Cliff did not believe in miracles. There will be no today, despite the date on this newspaper. Never inThe New York Times—too whimsical! Goldy and I had enough presence of mind to join him. Concentrating desperately on the shape and form of the car, we blasted the air with our devotion to Sheppard Hall, our love of Convent Avenue and our eternal devotion to Lewisohn Stadium. Somehow it saved us. The room rumbled and twisted and reformed, and soon the eight of us were back in the tired old subway car that brought its daily catch of Beavers to 139th Street. Silence lengthened; the ticking of the watch became louder until it was the noise of a little frenzied machine clacking off irretrievable seconds. Then Susan raised her head.Im sorry, she said simply. “I don’t know what I shall be. So I can’t tell anyone, Miss Hutton. Not even you.” Purnies eyes stared, without seeing, at the panorama before him. The beach was deserted now, and his gaze was transfixed on a shimmering white square floating on the ocean. Across it, the last thing Purnie ever saw, was emblazoned the word FORBES. Mr. Spardleton nodded soberly.Very good, Mr. Saddle. Just how would you write a patent claim for such an invention? As he spoke Mr. Spardleton took the wrapper off a cigar. When he finished speaking he placed the cigar in his mouth, lit it, and blew great clouds of smoke toward the ceiling. The working day had started. Susan got up and collected the cups and saucers and coffee things, and went out of the office. That left me with a claim to talk about. I held her. The cool sweetness of her hand was total. I think I moaned. My moan set the gods cheering. Marilyn heard music. What with Alliluyeva and Glassboro, too, the Soviet-American dialogue gets steadily more sociable, if not more sensible. Even the Orange (Yellow/Red) Menace looms less lurid in the light of popular dissatisfaction, dissent, and spasmodic riot and rebellion, in the provinces of China as in the cities of America. And then there was The Report from Iron Mountain on the Possibility and Desirability of Peace(Dial, 1967). from Fantasy and Science Fiction I regarded his paternal discontent: It was nearly ten oclock when Sabina arrived at Carpenter and Quincannon, Professional Detective Services. The door was locked, and when she entered with her key she found no indication that John had yet put in an appearance. This was typical of him; he seldom arrived mornings before she did. His excuses included business matters, transportation difficulties, and late-night activities that resulted in oversleeping, but she suspected that an indolent tendency and abhorrence for the mundane tasks of running a detective agency were equally responsible..
