she’d gone Harold trudged upstairs, donned his pajamas and brushed his teeth.
“How’s your planter coming?” Rachel asked as he sank down on the bed.
“My—?” He stared at her. “Oh. Fine, fine.”
“That’s nice,” said Rachel, lowering her blinders. “Well, goodnight.”
Harold looked over his shoulder at her. She was rather an attractive woman when you paid attention. Long, dark hair, well-formed features, ivory-like shoulders, full, rising-
In 1984 ½ one will be freely permitted to
—
Harold shuddered. Hastily, he switched off the lamp and thudded back on his pillow. I must be losing my senses, he thought. Things like that just weren’t—
Another 1984 ½ practice could be the mutual exchange of-
Harold flung himself over and buried his inflamed face in the pillow.
This from the government of the United States of America!
I am going to stop
thinking
about it, vowed Harold, his breakfast Postum turning to acid in his stomach.
“What’s a double flip-flop?” Rachel asked, crunching bacon. Harold went ashen. “A double—?”
“Flip-flop,” finished Rachel. “You mumbled it in your sleep.”
“I haven’t the faintest
glug
,” said Harold, addressing his last word to the cup.
Driving to work that morning he almost rammed two cars, one hydrant and an overweight receptionist from Glendora. Each time it was because he almost flung the booklet from his car, then, each time, relented.
When he arrived at the office there was an envelope from the United States Printing Office on his desk. That would be the rest of the pamphlets he’d sent for. He slid the envelope into his topcoat pocket, thinking that there was more to this situation than just personal outrage. The government was dealing in prophecies of a decidedly unwholesome nature. Excluding the immediate question of how they were doing it there remained the vital pertinence—Was this nefarious promulgation to go unopposed?
Not likely, resolved citizen Rumsey.
But where to begin? There was a definite flavor of conspiracy in this. If men in the government could actually predict the future should not the fact be emblazoned on the front pages of every newspaper in the country? Why should such a miracle be confined to a notation on a government publication bulletin?
And why such a subject?
But he wasn’t going to think about that part of it. That wasn’t—
A double flip-flop is an inspired combination of the Samurai demivolt and
—
I say avaunt!—raged Harold within. There was some monstrous cabal afoot. No time for crudities.
“Are you staring at me?” asked Rachel.
“What?” Harold twitched on the bed.
“You were staring at me.” Rachel stood before him in the adhesive transparency of her nightgown.
“I—?” said Harold. “N-not at all. I was—thinking.”
“Oh. I thought you were staring at me.”
She turned and padded into the bathroom to wash her face. Harold exhaled gusty breath. Despicable, he thought. I’ve got to
watch
myself. He lay there staring at Rachel’s plump abundance. I wonder, the thought came, what it would be like to—
He jammed his eyes shut. “Con
-trol
,” he muttered between gritted teeth.
A few minutes later Rachel flicked off the bathroom light and padded back to bed. Harold pretended to sleep. He felt the mattress yield beneath her settling weight, then heard the lamp switched off.
He opened his eyes. Next to him Rachel was twisting onto her side with a delicate sigh. He turned his head a bit and saw the dark outline of her beside him. He could reach out and—
Empathy twitched his hand. He forced his lids shut and counted. One-two-three-four—
“
Yi
!”
A gasping Rachel jerked her hand back from his chest.
“What are you
doing
?” demanded Harold.
“I was just going to—to kiss you goodnight,” said Rachel. “Why?”
“
Nothing. Nothing
.”
“Are you cold?”
“
Of course not
.”
“You’re shivering.”
“
I am not shivering
.”
“Well, you
“How’s your planter coming?” Rachel asked as he sank down on the bed.
“My—?” He stared at her. “Oh. Fine, fine.”
“That’s nice,” said Rachel, lowering her blinders. “Well, goodnight.”
Harold looked over his shoulder at her. She was rather an attractive woman when you paid attention. Long, dark hair, well-formed features, ivory-like shoulders, full, rising-
In 1984 ½ one will be freely permitted to
—
Harold shuddered. Hastily, he switched off the lamp and thudded back on his pillow. I must be losing my senses, he thought. Things like that just weren’t—
Another 1984 ½ practice could be the mutual exchange of-
Harold flung himself over and buried his inflamed face in the pillow.
This from the government of the United States of America!
I am going to stop
thinking
about it, vowed Harold, his breakfast Postum turning to acid in his stomach.
“What’s a double flip-flop?” Rachel asked, crunching bacon. Harold went ashen. “A double—?”
“Flip-flop,” finished Rachel. “You mumbled it in your sleep.”
“I haven’t the faintest
glug
,” said Harold, addressing his last word to the cup.
Driving to work that morning he almost rammed two cars, one hydrant and an overweight receptionist from Glendora. Each time it was because he almost flung the booklet from his car, then, each time, relented.
When he arrived at the office there was an envelope from the United States Printing Office on his desk. That would be the rest of the pamphlets he’d sent for. He slid the envelope into his topcoat pocket, thinking that there was more to this situation than just personal outrage. The government was dealing in prophecies of a decidedly unwholesome nature. Excluding the immediate question of how they were doing it there remained the vital pertinence—Was this nefarious promulgation to go unopposed?
Not likely, resolved citizen Rumsey.
But where to begin? There was a definite flavor of conspiracy in this. If men in the government could actually predict the future should not the fact be emblazoned on the front pages of every newspaper in the country? Why should such a miracle be confined to a notation on a government publication bulletin?
And why such a subject?
But he wasn’t going to think about that part of it. That wasn’t—
A double flip-flop is an inspired combination of the Samurai demivolt and
—
I say avaunt!—raged Harold within. There was some monstrous cabal afoot. No time for crudities.
“Are you staring at me?” asked Rachel.
“What?” Harold twitched on the bed.
“You were staring at me.” Rachel stood before him in the adhesive transparency of her nightgown.
“I—?” said Harold. “N-not at all. I was—thinking.”
“Oh. I thought you were staring at me.”
She turned and padded into the bathroom to wash her face. Harold exhaled gusty breath. Despicable, he thought. I’ve got to
watch
myself. He lay there staring at Rachel’s plump abundance. I wonder, the thought came, what it would be like to—
He jammed his eyes shut. “Con
-trol
,” he muttered between gritted teeth.
A few minutes later Rachel flicked off the bathroom light and padded back to bed. Harold pretended to sleep. He felt the mattress yield beneath her settling weight, then heard the lamp switched off.
He opened his eyes. Next to him Rachel was twisting onto her side with a delicate sigh. He turned his head a bit and saw the dark outline of her beside him. He could reach out and—
Empathy twitched his hand. He forced his lids shut and counted. One-two-three-four—
“
Yi
!”
A gasping Rachel jerked her hand back from his chest.
“What are you
doing
?” demanded Harold.
“I was just going to—to kiss you goodnight,” said Rachel. “Why?”
“
Nothing. Nothing
.”
“Are you cold?”
“
Of course not
.”
“You’re shivering.”
“
I am not shivering
.”
“Well, you
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