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Sixty?
Besides, it would mean promotion for him....And Shekt was so old, the next
Census would probably get him anyway, so it would involve very little harm for
him. Practically none at all.
The technician had decided. His hand reached for the communicator, and he
punched the combination that would lead directly to the private room of the
High Minister of all Earth, who, under the
Emperor and Procurator, held the power of life and death over every man on
Earth.
It was evening again before the misty impressions within Schwartz s skull
sharpened through the pink pain. He remembered the trip to the low, huddling
structures by the lakeside, the long crouching wait in the rear of the car.
And then--what? What? His mind yanked away at the sluggish thoughts....Yes,
they had come for him. There was a room, with instruments and dials, and two
pills.... That was it. They had given him pills, and he had taken them
cheerfully. What had he to lose? Poisoning would have been a favor.
And then--nothing.
Wait! There had been flashes of consciousness...People bending over
him...Suddenly he remembered the cold motion of a stethoscope over his
chest....A girl had been feeding him.
It flashed upon him that he had been operated upon and, in panic, he flung the
bed sheets from him and sat up.
A girl was upon him, hands on his shoulders, forcing him back onto the
pillows. She spoke soothingly, but he did not understand her. He tensed
himself against the slim arms, but uselessly. He had no strength.
He held his hands before his face. They seemed normal. He moved his legs and
heard them brush against the sheets. They couldn t have been amputated..
He turned to the girl and said, without much hope, Can you understand me? Do
you know where I am? He scarcely recognized his own voice.
The girl smiled and suddenly poured out a rapid patter of liquid sound.
Schwartz groaned. Then an older man entered, the one who had given him the
pills. The man and the girl spoke together, the girl turning to him after a
while, pointing to his lips and making little gestures of invitation to him.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
What? he said.
She nodded eagerly, her pretty face glowing with pleasure, until, despite
himself, Schwartz felt glad to look at it.
You want me to talk? he asked.
The man sat down upon his bed and motioned him to open his mouth. He said,
Ah-h-h, and
Schwartz repeated Ah-h-h while the man s fingers massaged Schwartz s Adam s
apple.
What s the matter? said Schwartz peevishly, when the pressure was removed.
Are you surprised I can talk? What do you think I am?
The days passed, and Schwartz learned a few things. The man was Dr. Shekt--the
first human being he knew by name since he had stepped over the rag doll. The
girl was his daughter, Pola. Schwartz found that he no longer needed to shave.
The hair on his face never grew. It frightened him. Did it ever grow?
His strength came back quickly. They were letting him put on clothes and walk
about now, and were feeding him something more than mush.
Was his trouble amnesia, then? Were they treating him for that? Was all this
world normal and natural, while the world he thought he remembered was only
the fantasy of an amnesic brain?
And they never let him step out of the room, not even into the corridor. Was
he a prisoner, then?
Had he committed a crime?
Page 30
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
There never can be a man so lost as one who is lost in the vast and intricate
corridors of his own lonely mind, where none may reach and none may save.
There never was a man so helpless as one who cannot remember.
Pola amused herself by teaching him words. He was not at all amazed at the
ease with which he picked them up and remembered. He remembered that he had
had a trick memory in the past; that memory, at least, seemed accurate. In two
days he could understand simple sentences. In three he could make himself
understood.
On the third day, however, he did become amazed. Shekt taught him numbers and
set him problems. Schwartz would give answers, and Shekt would look at a
timing device and record with rapid strokes of his stylus. But then Shekt
explained the term logarithm to him and asked for the logarithm of two.
Schwartz picked his words carefully. His vocabulary was still minute and he
reinforced it with gestures. I--not--say. Answer--not--number.
Shekt nodded his head excitedly and said, Not number. Not this, not that;
part this, part that.
Schwartz understood quite well that Shekt had confirmed his statement that the
answer was not an even number but a fraction and therefore said, Point three
zero one zero three
--and--more--numbers.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Enough!
Then came the amazement. How had he known the answer to that? Schwartz was
certain that he had never heard of logarithms before, yet in his mind the
answer had come as soon as the question was put. He had no idea of the process
by which it had been calculated. It was as if his mind were an independent
entity, using him only as its mouthpiece.
Or had he once been a mathematician, in the days before his amnesia?
He found it exceedingly difficult to wait the days out. Increasingly he felt
he must venture out into the world and force an answer from it somehow. He
could never learn in the prison of this room, where
(the thought suddenly came to him) he was but a medical specimen.
The chance came on the sixth day. They were beginning to trust him too much,
and one time when Shekt left he did not lock the door. Where usually the door
so neatly closed itself that the very crack of its joining the wall became
invisible, this time a quarter inch of space showed. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Sixty?
Besides, it would mean promotion for him....And Shekt was so old, the next
Census would probably get him anyway, so it would involve very little harm for
him. Practically none at all.
The technician had decided. His hand reached for the communicator, and he
punched the combination that would lead directly to the private room of the
High Minister of all Earth, who, under the
Emperor and Procurator, held the power of life and death over every man on
Earth.
It was evening again before the misty impressions within Schwartz s skull
sharpened through the pink pain. He remembered the trip to the low, huddling
structures by the lakeside, the long crouching wait in the rear of the car.
And then--what? What? His mind yanked away at the sluggish thoughts....Yes,
they had come for him. There was a room, with instruments and dials, and two
pills.... That was it. They had given him pills, and he had taken them
cheerfully. What had he to lose? Poisoning would have been a favor.
And then--nothing.
Wait! There had been flashes of consciousness...People bending over
him...Suddenly he remembered the cold motion of a stethoscope over his
chest....A girl had been feeding him.
It flashed upon him that he had been operated upon and, in panic, he flung the
bed sheets from him and sat up.
A girl was upon him, hands on his shoulders, forcing him back onto the
pillows. She spoke soothingly, but he did not understand her. He tensed
himself against the slim arms, but uselessly. He had no strength.
He held his hands before his face. They seemed normal. He moved his legs and
heard them brush against the sheets. They couldn t have been amputated..
He turned to the girl and said, without much hope, Can you understand me? Do
you know where I am? He scarcely recognized his own voice.
The girl smiled and suddenly poured out a rapid patter of liquid sound.
Schwartz groaned. Then an older man entered, the one who had given him the
pills. The man and the girl spoke together, the girl turning to him after a
while, pointing to his lips and making little gestures of invitation to him.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
What? he said.
She nodded eagerly, her pretty face glowing with pleasure, until, despite
himself, Schwartz felt glad to look at it.
You want me to talk? he asked.
The man sat down upon his bed and motioned him to open his mouth. He said,
Ah-h-h, and
Schwartz repeated Ah-h-h while the man s fingers massaged Schwartz s Adam s
apple.
What s the matter? said Schwartz peevishly, when the pressure was removed.
Are you surprised I can talk? What do you think I am?
The days passed, and Schwartz learned a few things. The man was Dr. Shekt--the
first human being he knew by name since he had stepped over the rag doll. The
girl was his daughter, Pola. Schwartz found that he no longer needed to shave.
The hair on his face never grew. It frightened him. Did it ever grow?
His strength came back quickly. They were letting him put on clothes and walk
about now, and were feeding him something more than mush.
Was his trouble amnesia, then? Were they treating him for that? Was all this
world normal and natural, while the world he thought he remembered was only
the fantasy of an amnesic brain?
And they never let him step out of the room, not even into the corridor. Was
he a prisoner, then?
Had he committed a crime?
Page 30
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
There never can be a man so lost as one who is lost in the vast and intricate
corridors of his own lonely mind, where none may reach and none may save.
There never was a man so helpless as one who cannot remember.
Pola amused herself by teaching him words. He was not at all amazed at the
ease with which he picked them up and remembered. He remembered that he had
had a trick memory in the past; that memory, at least, seemed accurate. In two
days he could understand simple sentences. In three he could make himself
understood.
On the third day, however, he did become amazed. Shekt taught him numbers and
set him problems. Schwartz would give answers, and Shekt would look at a
timing device and record with rapid strokes of his stylus. But then Shekt
explained the term logarithm to him and asked for the logarithm of two.
Schwartz picked his words carefully. His vocabulary was still minute and he
reinforced it with gestures. I--not--say. Answer--not--number.
Shekt nodded his head excitedly and said, Not number. Not this, not that;
part this, part that.
Schwartz understood quite well that Shekt had confirmed his statement that the
answer was not an even number but a fraction and therefore said, Point three
zero one zero three
--and--more--numbers.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Enough!
Then came the amazement. How had he known the answer to that? Schwartz was
certain that he had never heard of logarithms before, yet in his mind the
answer had come as soon as the question was put. He had no idea of the process
by which it had been calculated. It was as if his mind were an independent
entity, using him only as its mouthpiece.
Or had he once been a mathematician, in the days before his amnesia?
He found it exceedingly difficult to wait the days out. Increasingly he felt
he must venture out into the world and force an answer from it somehow. He
could never learn in the prison of this room, where
(the thought suddenly came to him) he was but a medical specimen.
The chance came on the sixth day. They were beginning to trust him too much,
and one time when Shekt left he did not lock the door. Where usually the door
so neatly closed itself that the very crack of its joining the wall became
invisible, this time a quarter inch of space showed. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]