Galaxy Science Fiction Super Pack #2. Edgar Pangborn

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      Edna hustled over excitedly. “Anything good on this week, Harry?”

      He looked down the listings, and frowned. “All old movies. Still only one channel. Still only from nine to eleven at night.” He gave it to her, turned away; then stopped and waited. He’d said the same thing last week. And she had said the films were all new to her.

      She said it now. “Why Harry, I’ve never seen this movie with Clark Gable. Nor the comedy with Red Skeleton. Nor the other five neither.”

      “I’m gonna lie down,” he said flatly. He turned and stepped forward, and found himself facing the stove. Not the door to the hall; the stove. “But the door....” he began. He cut himself short. He turned and saw the door a few feet to the left, beside the table. He went there and out and up the stairs (they too had moved; they too weren’t right) and into the bedroom and lay down. The bedroom was wrong. The bed was wrong. The windows were wrong.

      The world was wrong! Lord, the whole damned world was wrong!

      *

      Edna didn’t wake him, so they had a late lunch. Then he went back to the barn and let the four cows and four sheep and two horses into the pastures. Then he checked to see that Edna had fed the chickens right. They had only a dozen or so now.

      When had he sold the rest? And when had he sold his other livestock?

      Or had they died somehow? A rough winter? Disease?

      He stood in the yard, a tall, husky man with pale brown hair and a face that had once been long, lean and strong and was now only long and lean. He blinked gray eyes and tried hard to remember, then turned and went to the house. Edna was soaking dishes in the sink, according to regulations—one sinkful of dishwater a day. And one tub of bath water twice a week.

      She was looking at him. He realized his anger and confusion must be showing. He managed a smile. “You remember how much we got for our livestock, Edna?”

      “Same as everyone else,” she said. “Government agents paid flat rates.”

      He remembered then, or thought he did. The headache was back. He went upstairs and slept again, but this time he had dreams, many of them, and all confused and all frightening. He was glad to get up. And he was glad to hear Walt and Gloria talking to Edna downstairs.

      He washed his face, combed his hair and went down. Walt and Gloria were sitting on the sofa, Edna in the blue armchair. Walt was saying he’d gotten the new TV picture tube he’d ordered. “Found it in the supply bin this morning. Spent the whole day installing it according to the book of directions.”

      Harry said hi and they all said hi and he sat down and they talked about TV and gardens and livestock. Then Harry said, “How’s Penny?”

      “Fine,” Gloria answered. “I’m starting her on the kindergarten book next week.”

      “She’s five already?” Harry asked.

      “Almost six,” Walt said. “Emergency Education Regulations state that the child should be five years nine months old before embarking on kindergarten book.”

      “And Frances?” Harry asked. “Your oldest? She must be starting high....” He stopped, because they were all staring at him, and because he couldn’t remember Frances clearly. “Just a joke,” he said, laughing and rising. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”

      *

      They ate in the kitchen. They talked—or rather Edna, Gloria and Walt did. Harry nodded and said uh-huh and used his mouth for chewing.

      Walt and Gloria went home at ten-fifteen. They said goodbye at the door and Harry walked away. He heard Gloria whispering something about Doctor Hamming.

      He was sitting in the living room when Edna came in. She was crying. “Harry, please see the doctor.”

      He got up. “I’m going out. I might even sleep out!”

      “But why, Harry, why?”

      He couldn’t stand to see her crying. He went to her, kissed her wet cheek, spoke more softly. “It’ll do me good, like when I was a kid.”

      “If you say so, Harry.”

      He left quickly. He went outside and across the yard to the road. He looked up it and down it, to the north and to the south. It was a bright night with moon and stars, but he saw nothing, no one. The road was empty. It was always empty, except when Walt and Gloria walked over from their place a mile or so south. But once it hadn’t been empty. Once there’d been cars, people....

      He had to do something. Just sitting and looking at the sky wouldn’t help him. He had to go somewhere, see someone.

      He went to the barn and looked for his saddle. There was no saddle. But he’d had one hanging right behind the door. Or had he?

      He threw a blanket over Plum, the big mare, and tied it with a piece of wash line. He used another piece for a bridle, since he couldn’t find that either, and didn’t bother making a bit. He mounted, and Plum moved out of the barn and onto the road. He headed north, toward town.

      Then he realized he couldn’t go along the road this way. He’d be reported. Breaking travel regulations was a serious offense. He didn’t know what they did to you, but it wasn’t anything easy like a fine.

      He cut into an unfenced, unplanted field.

      His headache was back, worse now than it had ever been. His entire head throbbed, and he leaned forward and put his cheek against Plum’s mane. The mare whinnied uneasily, but he kicked her sides and she moved forward. He lay there, just wanting to go somewhere, just wanting to leave his headache and confusion behind.

      He didn’t know how long it was, but Plum was moving cautiously now. He raised his head. They were approaching a fence. He noticed a gate off to the right, and pulled the rope so Plum went that way. They reached the gate and he got down to open it, and saw the sign. “Phineas Grotton Farm.” He looked up at the sky, found the constellations, turned his head, and nodded. He’d started north, and Plum had continued north. He’d crossed land belonging both to himself and the Franklins. Now he was leaving the Franklin farm. North of the Franklins were the Bessers. Who was this Phineas Grotton? Had he bought out Lon Besser? But anything like that would’ve gotten around.

      Was he forgetting again?

      *

      Well, no matter. Mr. Grotton would have to excuse his trespass. He opened the gate, led Plum through it, closed the gate. He mounted and rode forward, still north, toward the small Pangborn place and after the Pangborns the biggest farm in the county—old Wallace Elverton’s place. The fields here, as everywhere in the county, lay fallow. Seemed as if the government had so much grain stored up they’d be able to get along without crops for years more.

      He looked around. Somehow, the country bothered him. He wasn’t sure why, but ... everything was wrong.

      His head weighed an agonized ton. He put it down again. Plum went sedately forward. After a while she stopped. Harry looked up. Another fence. And what СКАЧАТЬ