George remembered riding on the El with
the sad girl across from him. Then there was
nothing--nothing but blackness, and a voice....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
April 1954
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
_This, he thought, is a crazy way to die._
"_You're not dying, George. You're just beginning to live._"
_He started, tried to see her. I didn't say anything!_
_"Yes you did," she insisted, in that same low voice. "You said, 'This
is a crazy way to die.'"_
_George tried to prop himself up on his elbows--but suddenly he
realized that he had no elbows!_
_"Don't worry, George. Just rest. You'll be all right."_
_How--where am I?_
_"Just rest," she repeated, and then she was gone. George thought about
her for a long time, before dropping off to sleep._
* * * * *
It was a cold night, and lonely, for George Jameson. He paced the floor
of his apartment, back and forth, into the kitchen, into the hall,
through the bedroom, back and forth.
"God!" he said, although there was no one there to hear him. "Two
years! And where am I?"
Angrily, he reached for his coat. Maybe some fresh air would do him
good. He buttoned the coat, fumbled for his overcoat.
Then he walked outdoors.
It was snowing. The clean, white, slippery kind of snow that stays
for a while, then quickly turns into Chicago slush. Instinctively,
he turned his collar up against the cold, and headed for the El, a
sentimental relic of the 20th century just past.
The snow was coming down in big, lazy flakes that caught themselves in
the wind and buffeted against his overcoat. Streetlights cast weird
shadows across the white. George could hear the faint _crunch-crunch_
his shoes made. Half-turning he looked at his tracks behind him.
"Damn white stuff!" He hunched his shoulders more, pulled his neck down
into the folds of his collar. "Puts a pure clean blanket over the whole
world--but all you have to do is walk on it and you can see the dirt
underneath!"
George climbed the steps to the elevated, bought a ticket to anywhere.
Then he sat down and waited for a train.
There was a girl waiting with him. She was pretty. George watched her
until the train pulled in, wondering what she was doing wandering
around Chicago at this time of night.
She got on the train with him, sat down in the seat across from him.
The train whined into motion.
"Hello," she said after a while.
"Hello," he replied, startled by her voice. _People on elevated trains
don't go around saying "hello" to each other!_
"Do you mind awfully much if I talk to you?"
"Go ahead." _Nor_, he thought, _do they ask such questions of strange
men._
"Do you ever get lonely here in Chicago?"