drugstore, and many more cars,
parked or roaring by them, and people, people moving in and
out of the doorways and walking before the buildings and
getting into the cars and getting out of the cars; and it was
summer, and the light of late afternoon filtered down upon the
colors of the city and the colors of the garments the people wore
as they moved along the boulevard, as they loafed upon the
terraces, as they crossed the balconies, leaned on balustrades
and windowsills, emerged from a corner kiosk, entered one,
stood talking to one another; a woman walking a poodle
rounded a corner; rockets went to and fro in the high sky.
The world fell apart then and Render caught the pieces.
He maintained an absolute blackness, blanketing every
sensation but that of their movement forward.
After a time a dim light occurred, and they were still seated
in the Spinner, windows blanked again, and the air as they
breathed it became a soothing unguent.
"Lord," she said, "the world is so filled. Did I really see all of
that?"
"I wasn't going to do that tonight, but you wanted me to. You
seemed ready."
"Yes," she said, and the windows became transparent again.
She turned away quickly.
"It's gone," he said. "I only wanted to give you a glimpse."
She looked, and it was dark outside now, and they were
crossing over a high bridge. They were moving slowly. There
was no other traffic. Below them were the Flats, where an
occasional smelter flared like a tiny, drowsing volcano, spitting
showers of orange sparks skyward; and there were many stars:
they glistened on the breathing water that went beneath the
bridge; they silhouetted by pinprick the skyline that hovered
dimly below its surface. The slanting struts of the bridge
marched steadily by.
"You have done it," she said, "and I thank you." Then: "Who
are you, really?" (He must have wanted her to ask that.)
"I am Render," he laughed. And they wound their way
through a dark, now-vacant city, coming at last to their club
and entering the great parking dome.
Inside, he scrutinized all her feelings, ready to banish the
world at a moment's notice. He did not feel he would have to,
though.
They left the car, moved ahead. They passed into the club,
which he had decided would not be crowded tonight. They
were shown to their table at the foot of the bar in the small room
with the suit of armor, and they sat down and ordered the same
meal over again.
"No," he said, looking down, "it belongs over there."
The suit of armor appeared once again beside the table, and
he was once again inside his gray suit and black tie and silver
tie clasp shaped like a treelimb.
They laughed.
"I'm just not the type to wear a tin suit, so I wish you'd stop
seeing me that way."
"I'm sorry," she smiled. "I don't know how I did that, or
why."
"I do, and I decline the nomination. Also, I caution you once
again. You are conscious of the fact that this is all an illusion. I
had to do it that way for you to get the full benefit of the thing.
For most of my patients though, it is the real item while they
are experiencing it. It makes a counter-trauma or a' symbolic
sequence even more powerful. You are aware of the parameters
of the game, however, and whether you want it or not this gives
you a different sort of control over it than I normally have to
deal with. Please be careful."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
"I know. Here comes the meal we just had."
"Ugh! It looks dreadful! Did we eat all that stuff?"
"Yes," he chuckled. "That's a knife, that's a fork, that's a
spoon. That's roast beef, and those are mashed potatoes, those
are peas, that's butter . . ."
"Goodness! I don't feel so well."
". . . And those are the salads, and those are the salad
dressings. This is a brook troutmm! These are French fried
potatoes. This is a bottle of wine. Hmmlet's see Romanee-
Conti, since I'm not paying for itand a bottle of Yquem for the
trouHey!"
The room was
parked or roaring by them, and people, people moving in and
out of the doorways and walking before the buildings and
getting into the cars and getting out of the cars; and it was
summer, and the light of late afternoon filtered down upon the
colors of the city and the colors of the garments the people wore
as they moved along the boulevard, as they loafed upon the
terraces, as they crossed the balconies, leaned on balustrades
and windowsills, emerged from a corner kiosk, entered one,
stood talking to one another; a woman walking a poodle
rounded a corner; rockets went to and fro in the high sky.
The world fell apart then and Render caught the pieces.
He maintained an absolute blackness, blanketing every
sensation but that of their movement forward.
After a time a dim light occurred, and they were still seated
in the Spinner, windows blanked again, and the air as they
breathed it became a soothing unguent.
"Lord," she said, "the world is so filled. Did I really see all of
that?"
"I wasn't going to do that tonight, but you wanted me to. You
seemed ready."
"Yes," she said, and the windows became transparent again.
She turned away quickly.
"It's gone," he said. "I only wanted to give you a glimpse."
She looked, and it was dark outside now, and they were
crossing over a high bridge. They were moving slowly. There
was no other traffic. Below them were the Flats, where an
occasional smelter flared like a tiny, drowsing volcano, spitting
showers of orange sparks skyward; and there were many stars:
they glistened on the breathing water that went beneath the
bridge; they silhouetted by pinprick the skyline that hovered
dimly below its surface. The slanting struts of the bridge
marched steadily by.
"You have done it," she said, "and I thank you." Then: "Who
are you, really?" (He must have wanted her to ask that.)
"I am Render," he laughed. And they wound their way
through a dark, now-vacant city, coming at last to their club
and entering the great parking dome.
Inside, he scrutinized all her feelings, ready to banish the
world at a moment's notice. He did not feel he would have to,
though.
They left the car, moved ahead. They passed into the club,
which he had decided would not be crowded tonight. They
were shown to their table at the foot of the bar in the small room
with the suit of armor, and they sat down and ordered the same
meal over again.
"No," he said, looking down, "it belongs over there."
The suit of armor appeared once again beside the table, and
he was once again inside his gray suit and black tie and silver
tie clasp shaped like a treelimb.
They laughed.
"I'm just not the type to wear a tin suit, so I wish you'd stop
seeing me that way."
"I'm sorry," she smiled. "I don't know how I did that, or
why."
"I do, and I decline the nomination. Also, I caution you once
again. You are conscious of the fact that this is all an illusion. I
had to do it that way for you to get the full benefit of the thing.
For most of my patients though, it is the real item while they
are experiencing it. It makes a counter-trauma or a' symbolic
sequence even more powerful. You are aware of the parameters
of the game, however, and whether you want it or not this gives
you a different sort of control over it than I normally have to
deal with. Please be careful."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
"I know. Here comes the meal we just had."
"Ugh! It looks dreadful! Did we eat all that stuff?"
"Yes," he chuckled. "That's a knife, that's a fork, that's a
spoon. That's roast beef, and those are mashed potatoes, those
are peas, that's butter . . ."
"Goodness! I don't feel so well."
". . . And those are the salads, and those are the salad
dressings. This is a brook troutmm! These are French fried
potatoes. This is a bottle of wine. Hmmlet's see Romanee-
Conti, since I'm not paying for itand a bottle of Yquem for the
trouHey!"
The room was
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