Coordinated cannon worm
The Camiroi child will have failed in business once, at age ten, and have learned patience and perfection of objective by his failure. He will have acquired the techniques of falsification and conmanship. Thereafter he will not be easily deceived by any of the citizens of any of the worlds. The Camiroi child will have become a complex genius and a simple saint; the latter reduces the index of Camiroi crime to near zero. He will be married and settled in those early years of greatest enjoyment. coordinated cannon worm Thats the one we want! Muller yelled into the wind. I can tell you, it like to broke our hearts the way Clarissa May done us. Ifn I told LeRoy once, I told him a thousand times, no good would ever come of her messin’ with that Cuddard boy. His daddy is trashy. Ever so often they take him in for drunk and put him on the county road gang sixtyor ninety days, and that Stubbins child he married, she’s next door to feeble-witted. But children get to a certain size and know everything and turn their backs on you like an enemy. You write this up nice and in it put the message her momma and daddy want her home bad, and maybe she’ll see itand come on in. You know what the Good Book says about sharper’n a sarpent’s tooth. I pray to the good Lord they had the sense to drive that fool car up to Georgia and get married up at least. Him nineteen and her seventeen. The young ones are going clean out of hand these times. One night racing through this county the way they do, showing off, that Cuddard boy is going to kill hisself and my child, too. "This one didnt until last night." Whats he waiting for? the woman asked. Another dollar?” Jolo Trevnik locked the weathered door of his downtown Adonis League and wondered, as he wondered every night, why he tried to carry on. Once, his culture clinic had been definitely uptown and well filled with rounded young men who slung medicine balls at each other and tested their biceps in crucifix poses on the wall-bars. You know what Monica said to me? he asked. She said, It was the greatest experience of my life. My God, if I had had a life like Monica’s, I would be sitting on a mountain wearing a yellow robe, shuddering whenever a man came within fifty miles.” Twenty-eight, ten, today. Doesnt it? he countered. They have to keep it killed off, if man is to prosper. So they have to deprecate it, to keep their conscience clear. If we granted the goonie equal intelligence with man, could we use it for food? Enslave it for labor?” Fabulation, then, means a return to a ... less realistic and more artistic kind of narrative: more shapely; more evocative; more concerned with ideas and ideals, less concerned with things. I am not proposing here an airy program for the future. I am talking about what is going on all around us. The silence was shattered by a pounding on the office door, and a white-faced and furious Dr. Bronson burst in upon him. Mangon reached the staircase, picked up the dictaphone and returned to Alto with it. He grinned happily, his jaw working wildly as he struggled to speak. Strangled sounds quavered in his throat. Half-heartedly I picked my old flying helmet off the back seat and began to carry it around the cars. Two of the spectators drove off before I could reach them. As I hovered about uncertainly, wondering why on earth a retired and well-to-do Air Force officer should be trying to collect these few dollar bills, Van Eyck stepped behind me and took the helmet from my hand. He jumped. He tried to clear his mind for supreme effort. There was nourging time to start. He knew he couldnt persuade it by bits and pieces, first slowly then full ahead. Time either progressed or it didn’t. He had to take one viewpoint or the other. Then, without knowing exactly when it happened, his mind took command... Why cant we go home now, Daddy? asked Mike, the youngest, and the small tanned face I saw there in the skimpy shade of the olive tree was mostly a matter of eyes —all else, hair, cheeks, thumb-sized mouth, jelly-bean body and usually flailing arms and legs, were mere accessories to the round, blue, endlessly wondering eyes.(The Wells of Why’”… It would make a poem, I thought, if a poem were needed, and if I wasn’t so damned tired. And I also thought, “Oh, God! It begins. Five years old. No, not quite. Four.”) When the door closed behind them, shutting off the ear-blasting noise, Hitchcock turned on Reese. The day before the first threatening message was delivered..
