[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
I went on calling her "Mary" since she obviously preferred it and that was how I thought of her anyhow,
but the name that she had once had kept running through my mind. Allucquere . . . Allucquere . . . I rolled
it around my tongue and wondered how it was spelled.
Then suddenly I knew how it was spelled. My pesky packrat memory had turned up the right tab and
now was pawing away at the shelves in the back of my mind where I keep the useless junk that I don't
think about for years on end and am helpless to get rid of. There had been a community, a colony that
used an artificial language, even to given names?
The Whitmanites, that was it?the anarchist-pacifist cult that got kicked out of Canada, then failed to
make a go of it in Little America. There was a book, written by their prophet. The Entropy of Joy?I had
not read it but I had skimmed it once; it was full of pseudomathematical formulas for achieving happiness.
Everybody is for "happiness", just as they are against "sin", but the cult's practices kept getting them in
hot water. They had a curious and yet very ancient solution to their sexual problems, a solution which
appeared to suit them but which produced explosive results when the Whitmanite culture touched any
other pattern of behavior. Even Little America had not been far enough away for them; I had heard
somewhere that the remnants had emigrated to Venus?in which case they must all be dead by now.
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I put it out of my mind. If Mary were a Whitmanite, or had been reared that way, that was her business.
I certainly was not going to let the cult's philosophy cause us a crisis now or ever; marriage is not
ownership and wives are not property.
If that were all there was to what Mary did not want me to know about her, then I simply would not
know it. I had not been looking for virginity wrapped in a sealed package; I had been looking for Mary.
XXII
The next time I mentioned tempos pills, she did not argue but suggested that we hold it down to a
minimum dose. It was a fair compromise?and we could always take more.
I prepared it as injections so that it would take hold faster. Ordinarily I watch a clock after I've taken
tempus; when the second hand stops I know that I'm loaded. But my shack has no clocks and neither of
us was wearing ringwatches. It was just sunrise and we had been awake all night, cuddled upon a big low
half-moon couch in front of the fireplace.
We continued to lie there for a long time, feeling good and dreamy, and I was half considering the idea
that the drug had not worked. Then I realized that the sun had stopped rising. I watched a bird fluttering
past the view window. If I stared at him long enough, I could see his wings move.
I looked back from it to my wife, admired the long sweep of her limbs and the sudden, rising curves.
The Pirate was curled up on her stomach, a cubical cat, with his paws tucked in as a muff. Both of them
seemed asleep. "How about some breakfast?" I said, "I'm starved."
"You fix it," she answered. "If I move, I'll disturb Pirate."
"You promised to love, honor, and fix me breakfast," I replied and tickled the soles of her feet. She
gasped and drew up her legs; the cat squawked and landed on the floor.
"Oh dear!" she said, sitting up. "You made me move too fast and now I've offended him."
"Never mind the cat, woman; you're married to me." But I knew that I had made a mistake. In the
presence of others, people not under the drug, one should move with great care. I simply hadn't thought
about the cat; no doubt he thought we were behaving like drunken jumping jacks. I intentionally slowed
down and tried to woo him.
No use?he was streaking toward his door. I could have stopped him, for to me his movement was a
molasses crawl, but had I done so I would simply have frightened him more. I let him go and went to the
kitchen.
Do you know, Mary was right; tempus fugit drug is no good for honeymoons. The ecstatic happiness
that I had felt before was masked by the euphoria of the drug, though I did not feel the loss at the time
because the drug's euphoria is compelling. But the loss was real; I had substituted for the true magic a
chemical fake.
And there are some precious things which cannot or should not be hurried. Mary was right, as usual.
Nevertheless it was a good day?or month, however you care to look at it. But I wished that I had stuck
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
to the real thing.
Late that evening we came out of it. I felt the slight irritability which marks the loosening hold of the drug,
found my ringwatch and timed my reflexes. When they were back to normal I timed Mary's, whereupon
she informed me that she had been out of it for twenty minutes or so?pretty accurate matching of dosage
to have been based on body weights alone.
"Do you want to go under again?" she asked me.
I pulled her to me and kissed her. "No; frankly, I'm glad to be back."
"I'm so glad."
I had the usual ravenous appetite that one has afterward no matter how many times one eats while
under; I mentioned it. "In a minute," she said. "I want to call Pirate. He has not been in all day."
I had not missed him during the day?or "month"?just past; the euphoria is like that. "Don't worry about
it," I told her. "He often stays out all day."
"He has not before."
"He has with me," I answered.
"I think I offended him?I know I did." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szkicerysunki.xlx.pl
I went on calling her "Mary" since she obviously preferred it and that was how I thought of her anyhow,
but the name that she had once had kept running through my mind. Allucquere . . . Allucquere . . . I rolled
it around my tongue and wondered how it was spelled.
Then suddenly I knew how it was spelled. My pesky packrat memory had turned up the right tab and
now was pawing away at the shelves in the back of my mind where I keep the useless junk that I don't
think about for years on end and am helpless to get rid of. There had been a community, a colony that
used an artificial language, even to given names?
The Whitmanites, that was it?the anarchist-pacifist cult that got kicked out of Canada, then failed to
make a go of it in Little America. There was a book, written by their prophet. The Entropy of Joy?I had
not read it but I had skimmed it once; it was full of pseudomathematical formulas for achieving happiness.
Everybody is for "happiness", just as they are against "sin", but the cult's practices kept getting them in
hot water. They had a curious and yet very ancient solution to their sexual problems, a solution which
appeared to suit them but which produced explosive results when the Whitmanite culture touched any
other pattern of behavior. Even Little America had not been far enough away for them; I had heard
somewhere that the remnants had emigrated to Venus?in which case they must all be dead by now.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
I put it out of my mind. If Mary were a Whitmanite, or had been reared that way, that was her business.
I certainly was not going to let the cult's philosophy cause us a crisis now or ever; marriage is not
ownership and wives are not property.
If that were all there was to what Mary did not want me to know about her, then I simply would not
know it. I had not been looking for virginity wrapped in a sealed package; I had been looking for Mary.
XXII
The next time I mentioned tempos pills, she did not argue but suggested that we hold it down to a
minimum dose. It was a fair compromise?and we could always take more.
I prepared it as injections so that it would take hold faster. Ordinarily I watch a clock after I've taken
tempus; when the second hand stops I know that I'm loaded. But my shack has no clocks and neither of
us was wearing ringwatches. It was just sunrise and we had been awake all night, cuddled upon a big low
half-moon couch in front of the fireplace.
We continued to lie there for a long time, feeling good and dreamy, and I was half considering the idea
that the drug had not worked. Then I realized that the sun had stopped rising. I watched a bird fluttering
past the view window. If I stared at him long enough, I could see his wings move.
I looked back from it to my wife, admired the long sweep of her limbs and the sudden, rising curves.
The Pirate was curled up on her stomach, a cubical cat, with his paws tucked in as a muff. Both of them
seemed asleep. "How about some breakfast?" I said, "I'm starved."
"You fix it," she answered. "If I move, I'll disturb Pirate."
"You promised to love, honor, and fix me breakfast," I replied and tickled the soles of her feet. She
gasped and drew up her legs; the cat squawked and landed on the floor.
"Oh dear!" she said, sitting up. "You made me move too fast and now I've offended him."
"Never mind the cat, woman; you're married to me." But I knew that I had made a mistake. In the
presence of others, people not under the drug, one should move with great care. I simply hadn't thought
about the cat; no doubt he thought we were behaving like drunken jumping jacks. I intentionally slowed
down and tried to woo him.
No use?he was streaking toward his door. I could have stopped him, for to me his movement was a
molasses crawl, but had I done so I would simply have frightened him more. I let him go and went to the
kitchen.
Do you know, Mary was right; tempus fugit drug is no good for honeymoons. The ecstatic happiness
that I had felt before was masked by the euphoria of the drug, though I did not feel the loss at the time
because the drug's euphoria is compelling. But the loss was real; I had substituted for the true magic a
chemical fake.
And there are some precious things which cannot or should not be hurried. Mary was right, as usual.
Nevertheless it was a good day?or month, however you care to look at it. But I wished that I had stuck
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
to the real thing.
Late that evening we came out of it. I felt the slight irritability which marks the loosening hold of the drug,
found my ringwatch and timed my reflexes. When they were back to normal I timed Mary's, whereupon
she informed me that she had been out of it for twenty minutes or so?pretty accurate matching of dosage
to have been based on body weights alone.
"Do you want to go under again?" she asked me.
I pulled her to me and kissed her. "No; frankly, I'm glad to be back."
"I'm so glad."
I had the usual ravenous appetite that one has afterward no matter how many times one eats while
under; I mentioned it. "In a minute," she said. "I want to call Pirate. He has not been in all day."
I had not missed him during the day?or "month"?just past; the euphoria is like that. "Don't worry about
it," I told her. "He often stays out all day."
"He has not before."
"He has with me," I answered.
"I think I offended him?I know I did." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]