Push water moon
19 In the starlight, and now the increasing moonlight, Carsons Hill began to stand forth, blocking off the stars to the west. In the blackness of that silhouette, near its crest, I seemed to catch a hint of reddish glow—a fire had been built in the amphitheater. "Ratlit. Oh, nasty Ratty, awful little boy! He wouldnt get my medicine. But youll get it for me, won't you, Vyme? I'm going to die in about ten minutes, Vyme. I don't want to die. Not like this. The world is so ugly and painful now. I don't want to die here." He started to run. No, nothing, mother. Im sorry. ... I stopped to help someone who was lost. What would have got him first, the cold? Tom reached him and held his arm. The boy looked helpless and afraid and sad. The cosmic religious sense and the integrity potential of man are the dominant themes of the most readably provocative theological s-f since A Canticle for Leibowitz—R. A. Lafferty's first novel, The Past Master(Ace, 1968). Here he offers a report on scientists and philosophers and the PTA and things. The Ramparts gathered around. The beefy man started to make out the papers. I gave her a long look. Id always known Frenchy was odd, by the old standards. But as things were now it was saner to be odd. Still, all this cryptic hide-and-seek, all this prescient stuff, made me wonder. Five oclock. Five-thirty. A quarter of six. He picked his way to the concrete wall, scaled it and left the devastation behind. He knew, though, hed have to return, perhaps several times. No one could tell when it would be over. The police reports were meaningless. He returned to the apartment to console Fay, who felt guilty about sending him on a wild-goose chase. Then he pedaled downtown to a war-surplus store. His lungs still burned from the smoke. He decided to buy Arvin a gas mask and one for himself. The flopper just looked at him, dumb and trembling. Tentatively, it started sweeping again. I know all about their taboos, I broke in. Dont worry. I’ve lived in the Orient, remember?” It was spring, and Earths corruption grew leprous with blossoms. From the graves with their memorial trees and cleansing waters arose a dreadful stench. Millions of creatures, forced to descend into the domains of death, were becoming flies, butterflies, worms, toads, frogs. They buzzed, croaked, screeched, rattled, already involved in the death struggle. But since Yechida was totally inured to the habits of Earth, all this seemed to her part of life. She sat on a park bench staring up at the moon, which from the darkness of the nether world is sometimes recognized as a memorial candle set in a skull. Like all female corpses, Yechida yearned to perpetuate death, to have her womb became a grave for the newly dead. But she couldn’t do that without the help of a male with whom she would have to copulate in the hatred which corpses call love. It almost seems that the trend is to using the label when it seems helpful, and omitting it when it does not. One hesitates to make any assumption of such widespread sanity, but the magazine situation almost requires it. Some readers, and most writers, will already have noticed that thisAnnual contains no Honorable Mentions listing. For the last two or three years, the attempt to compile such a list has been increasingly frustrating. The diffusion is too great: Even if it were within my powers to be certain I have seen everything entitled to consideration in a given year, I no longer know where to draw the line. Sabina had no plans and saw no reason to refuse the invitation. When Amity added,Please say yes. Id be grateful for your company tonight, she accepted. Must be eighteen months, I said. But my wifes out of town and I thought I’d drop by for old time’s sake.” I looked down the long bar and round at the booths against the opposite wall, and added, “It looks as though you don’t see anybody much any more. I never saw the place so empty at this time of evening. Will you have one?” Bound for San Joaquin Delta aboard night boat this evening, on the trail of P. Dupree. May be away for several days. Will wire details and developments if so. Next my real sweetheart, Ruthie, where are ya. Honey, you were the greatest, really perfect-I mean it, baby- He kissed a dark girl in a red dress who cried a little and hid her face on his broad shoulder. And Frank-” He reached down and grabbed the skinny pop-eyed guy by the sleeve. “What can I tell you? A sweetheart?” The skinny guy was blinking, all choked up; the big man thumped him on the back. “Sol and Ernie and Mack, my writers, Shakespeare should have been so lucky-” One by one, they came up to shake the big mans hand as he called their names; the women kissed himand cried. “My stand-in,” the big man was calling out, and “my caddy,” and “now,” he said, as the room quieted a little, people flushed and sore-throated with enthusiasm, “I want you to meet my handler.”.
