"I thought I'd leave a sort of monument--"
"Who's going to read it?" she asked practically.
"No one, probably. It was just a foolish idea." He concentrated on it.
In a few moments the granite wall was bare. "I still don't understand
how you could be alive now," he said puzzled.
"But I am. I don't see how you do that--" she gestured at the chair and
wall--"But I'll accept the fact that you can. Why don't you accept the
fact that I'm alive?"
"Don't get me wrong," the man said. "I want company very much,
especially female company. It's just--Turn your back."
She complied, with a questioning look. Quickly he destroyed the stubble
on his face and created a clean pair of pressed pants and a shirt.
Stepping out of his tattered uniform, he put on the new clothes,
destroyed the rags, and, on an afterthought, created a comb and
straightened his tangled brown hair.
"All right," he said. "You can turn back now."
"Not bad," she smiled, looking him over. "Let me use that comb--and
would you please make me a dress? Size twelve, but see that the weight
goes in the right places."
* * * * *
On the third attempt he had the thing right--he had never realized how
deceptive the shapes of women could be--and then he made a pair of gold
sandals with high heels for her.
"A little tight," she said, putting them on, "and not too practical
without sidewalks. But thanks much. This trick of yours really solves
the Christmas present problem, doesn't it?" Her dark hair was shiny in
the noon sun, and she looked very lovely and warm and human.
"See if _you_ can create," he urged, anxious to share his startling new
ability with her.
"I've already tried," she said. "No go. Still a man's world."