"Well, isn't that a 'different world?'"
"But it's _fiction_. I don't think of reality--"
He smiled gravely. "You don't think there are horrible monsters lurking
in the corners, or little people in the wallpaper, or strange eyes
floating around watching you--"
"If I did, I'd be in a booby-hatch!"
"Or you might be a research engineer!" He chuckled softly. "Ignorance
is bliss, Gwyn. And how much do you know about reality? What do you
know of the mysteries within the atom, or the strange way the Universe
seems to be expanding as if it had exploded and the stars, including
our sun, were still hurtling outward from the blast?"
"Sounds like a good way to go crazy!" She looked up, intently. "I've
never heard you talk like this."
"Well, you aren't quite so ignorant," he amended teasingly. "You
realize inwardly that your 'small town' isn't quite so contented as
it seems--that beneath the surface, there's unrest. So maybe you read
science-fiction because it deals with spectacular forms of unrest--men
risking their lives in space travel or on other planets, changes and
developments that cause revolutions or wars--and you find solace
in that. The little unrest in your 'small town' no longer seems so
bothersome."
"Mr. Morrow," she spoke icily. "I do _not_ enjoy having you pick my
mind apart!"
_Then why must you criticize me?_ he thought. But he didn't say it
aloud....
* * * * *
Sunday afternoon, they went swimming. There was a secluded strip of
beach where Morrow spread a blanket out on the sand, and after they
had swum and splashed and dived to near-exhaustion, they sprawled
themselves out on the blanket and let the warm sun dry their skin. Gwyn
lay on her stomach and removed her halter, then rolled her trunks into
a narrow band around her thighs. Morrow watched with mingled interest
and affection. Gwyn scowled at him, then pretended to ignore him.
When his skin began to sting through the sun-tan oil, Morrow suggested
they move into the shade of the trees. Gwyn struggled back into her
halter and sat up. They dragged the blanket back into the shade and sat
down again. Morrow put his arms around her, and they talked for a while.
When Gwyn came out of the bushes wearing her shorts and blouse, she
grinned and wrinkled her nose at him. "This has been wonderful, Bill. I
almost wish we could be like this forever!" She let him kiss her, then.
They rode back to town on his little motor-bike and had cokes and
hamburgers at a lunch-stand.
The second week passed without significance. The other engineers at the
labs treated him coolly, now. They'd be glad when he left. At home,
his diagrams were finished. He went over them again, checking them
thoroughly.
Friday, a telegram reached him at the labs.
STOCKTON, CALIFORNIA
AUGUST 20 1960
BILL MORROW
WESTERTON, NEW JERSEY
HIRED PLANE AND FLEW RECON. PERFECT SITE LOCATED NEVADA. LEASED
ABANDONED SAWMILL IN SIERRA NEVADAS NEAR HERE. WIRE E-T-A TO L.A.
INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT. MEET YOU THERE.