improbable explanations I could contrive. You could not alter someone’s vision in such a way that he could see
through
other objects. Furthermore, the boundary of the sphere within which everything was invisible to me remained fixed no matter how I moved. No, it must be the objects that were altered, not my vision. Or perhaps the objects and my vision both. It was hard to think straight about these possibilities, but that seemed like a logically consistent alternative: an unaffected human being might be able to see everything; only I, or another altered person in the sphere, would be unable to see the altered matter.
Could there be another human being here?
My mind filled again with the vision of Wachs and Carillon bursting into flame. I knew with horrible certainty that neither of them had survived in any form. Looking out ahead of me I judged that they had been standing somewhere on what was now the charred perimeter encircling the apparent crater rim. In that band there was nothing but ash and cinder, not even the form of a tree; everything had been incinerated. All the other people had been standing farther out, where everything was untouched and exactly as before. Not quite as before: there was something different. Perhaps the fence in the background — I didn’t remember a fence. But someone else might have remained in the building, like me. Like that damned cat. If only that cat would stop howling, I might be able to think more clearly. No, there would not be anyone else left in the building. They had been quite thorough about clearing everyone out. Why, I began to ask myself, had I insisted on remaining? I alone. Never mind. No point in going over these things.
I experimented with the objects on the desk before me. I flipped through the pages of a book. I rapped a pen sharply on the desk top and listened to the clear tapping sound. I found a stapler and stapled together some papers. It all worked perfectly. I cannot tell you how uncanny it felt touching, holding, manipulating those objects without being able to see them, or myself, or anything else within twenty feet. The sounds and tactile sensations floated in front of me somewhere in thin air as if in another dimension. I didn’t know where to focus my eyes; I felt again a mounting nausea. I wished I could close my eyes.
My head ached excruciatingly. My entire body ached. With another dreadful shock of understanding, I realized that I must, almost certainly, be dying. God, I hoped that when they rescued me, they could see me somehow. How otherwise would they be able to give me medical help? I must be dying. I hoped not. Even in this horrible form I hoped that I could survive somehow. I had no idea what might have happened to my body. Leaning forward in the chair, and beginning with my feet, I ran my hands methodically over my entire body, trying to detect any tangible injury. Nothing, thank God, although how could you feel the effects of radiation with your hands? Even my clothing seemed to be absolutely intact. I loosened my necktie. As I ran my hands across my belly I realized that my bladder was painfully full and that it had been making me horribly uncomfortable for some time. I had to urinate at once. Twenty hours. Thirsty too. Weren’t headache, dizziness, and nausea symptoms of radiation poisoning? Probably I had only a few hours. Stop, and think through all the symptoms. But the most urgent thing was that I urinate.
Such is the power of civilization that it never occurred to me that I could do anything other than use the toilet. I knew there was one only a few yards away, but I had to figure out just where it was and then get myself there. I tried to reconstruct in my mind an image of the building from what I could remember of the day before. In the walls in front of me and to my left — I turned my head although there was nothing to see — were windows looking out over the lawn. Along the wall behind me were bookshelves, a blackboard, and the
through
other objects. Furthermore, the boundary of the sphere within which everything was invisible to me remained fixed no matter how I moved. No, it must be the objects that were altered, not my vision. Or perhaps the objects and my vision both. It was hard to think straight about these possibilities, but that seemed like a logically consistent alternative: an unaffected human being might be able to see everything; only I, or another altered person in the sphere, would be unable to see the altered matter.
Could there be another human being here?
My mind filled again with the vision of Wachs and Carillon bursting into flame. I knew with horrible certainty that neither of them had survived in any form. Looking out ahead of me I judged that they had been standing somewhere on what was now the charred perimeter encircling the apparent crater rim. In that band there was nothing but ash and cinder, not even the form of a tree; everything had been incinerated. All the other people had been standing farther out, where everything was untouched and exactly as before. Not quite as before: there was something different. Perhaps the fence in the background — I didn’t remember a fence. But someone else might have remained in the building, like me. Like that damned cat. If only that cat would stop howling, I might be able to think more clearly. No, there would not be anyone else left in the building. They had been quite thorough about clearing everyone out. Why, I began to ask myself, had I insisted on remaining? I alone. Never mind. No point in going over these things.
I experimented with the objects on the desk before me. I flipped through the pages of a book. I rapped a pen sharply on the desk top and listened to the clear tapping sound. I found a stapler and stapled together some papers. It all worked perfectly. I cannot tell you how uncanny it felt touching, holding, manipulating those objects without being able to see them, or myself, or anything else within twenty feet. The sounds and tactile sensations floated in front of me somewhere in thin air as if in another dimension. I didn’t know where to focus my eyes; I felt again a mounting nausea. I wished I could close my eyes.
My head ached excruciatingly. My entire body ached. With another dreadful shock of understanding, I realized that I must, almost certainly, be dying. God, I hoped that when they rescued me, they could see me somehow. How otherwise would they be able to give me medical help? I must be dying. I hoped not. Even in this horrible form I hoped that I could survive somehow. I had no idea what might have happened to my body. Leaning forward in the chair, and beginning with my feet, I ran my hands methodically over my entire body, trying to detect any tangible injury. Nothing, thank God, although how could you feel the effects of radiation with your hands? Even my clothing seemed to be absolutely intact. I loosened my necktie. As I ran my hands across my belly I realized that my bladder was painfully full and that it had been making me horribly uncomfortable for some time. I had to urinate at once. Twenty hours. Thirsty too. Weren’t headache, dizziness, and nausea symptoms of radiation poisoning? Probably I had only a few hours. Stop, and think through all the symptoms. But the most urgent thing was that I urinate.
Such is the power of civilization that it never occurred to me that I could do anything other than use the toilet. I knew there was one only a few yards away, but I had to figure out just where it was and then get myself there. I tried to reconstruct in my mind an image of the building from what I could remember of the day before. In the walls in front of me and to my left — I turned my head although there was nothing to see — were windows looking out over the lawn. Along the wall behind me were bookshelves, a blackboard, and the
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