Erotic superheroine
Holy woman? Faugh! She is no more a nun than I am. Her name is Pauline Dupree, an accomplished actress and a cold-blooded multiple murderess. She shot one man to death in San Francisco and two more tonight on theIsland Star. Go out to the stars, young man, and grow up with the universe! What chapter? Still she did not move. After breakfast Vandervell walked out across the lava seams to the road. The stick-dancer stood by his hole above the bank, resting his hands on the two spears. The cone of the volcano, partly hidden by the dust, trembled behind his back. He watched Vandervell when he shouted across the road. Vandervell took a dollar bill from his wallet and placed it under a stone. The stick-man began to hum and rock on the balls of his feet. Reese looked worried. His idle hands, unnoticed, were nervously tearing notepad paper into progressively smaller and smaller bits. A pile of confetti-sized fragments collected on his blotter. Yes, shot. Is that how the attempt was made? Space:the dimensional framework in which we carry out the motions of existence. The distance between, and beyond. The unknown Out There, and the unknown Inside. An emptiness to be filled, a blankness to be filled in, an absolute intangible: we make it our metaphor, analogy, for even less concrete imperatives, think of it as an objective reality, speak of it like something to be cut up, sliced, boxed in, stretched out. (Close the lid on an empty shoebox. Measure precisely the 'volume of space' contained. Pick up the box; put it on a shelf. Tell me if it still contains the same space.) The planet spins, whirls, whizzes through space, and we retain the odd illusion that we exist inside measurable coordinates— parceling out plots of land, arguing proprietary rights in the very atmosphere clinging to the square of deeded ground, as though it were a 'known' volume of real space. "Not right now. I am watching the leaves. What shall we tell him?" The professor was fascinated.But even then, of course, mistakes must be made and some of your membership unmasked to the authorities. Dr. Tschirgi appends the following note to his paper: Several years ago, on the flattering but faulty assumption that I possessed some sort of expertise in fluid and electrolyte physiology, I was invited to be a guest discussant by the UCLA Medical Society for a series of scholarly case histories on thesalt-saving syndrome. This was a gracious attempt by the clinicians to recognize the unlikely chance that a physiologist might make a small but effective contribution to clinical pathology. At least it was felt that, what with Supreme Court concern over discriminatory practices and civil rights, such a comradely invitation might help to avert a menacing demonstration and boycott by the basic scientists. Having foolishly agreed to this exposure, I soon realized that I must either withdraw ignominiously or prepare some pseudo-erudite presentation with which to uphold the honor of Physiology.* * * * Im glad to hear it, the clerk said. That’s really the best way.”* * * * I recall your once saying to me that an experimentalfailureor thedisprovingof a theory was as important to the advancement of learning as a success would be. I know now that this is true. I am sorry, however, that my own contribution to the field must rest upon the ashes of the work of two men I regard so highly. A breakdown of function and structure, said Colles. An absolute lack of communication. Isnt it so?” Mr. Taylor, a trim, blond young man, who looked like an ad for expensive shirts, listened carefully, said nothing. Melchior looked impressed—and uncomprehending. Colles took his arm just above the elbow, pressed it. “Look at that fellow over there,” he said. “The one in the brown suit—see? Now: can I communicate with him? Or can you? On any save the most primitive level? No. Impossible, I assure you. I’ve only to look at him to know.” The crowd flowed across the street. The men in the car watched the vanishing brown suit. Jack FinneyI Love Galesburg in the Springtime,McC, Apr..
