Ted really loved his wife, but somehow
the blonde next door kept popping into his
dreams--and making them a vivid reality....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
September 1951
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
_El outer-thought, "I've had all I want of it, haven't you?"_
_Nothing from Bee for seconds, and then: "I--don't know. I suppose.
You've been inner-thinking, El. You've been brooding?"_
_"I've been brooding. When did our bodies go, Bee?"_
_"When Lust was killed. I think we made a mistake, El. I think, at the
time, we were bemused. He wasn't the best of the gods, but he had his
points. We've been inner-thinking alike, dear. This plane isn't enough.
But what--" Silence._
_She thought, "Over the hills? This isn't all of our land. There are
people in Valdora."_
_"Not--the kind of people I want to be. And how about the others, how
about the Assembly? Will they feel as we do?"_
_"Why not? Don't they miss the colors they can't see, the grass they
can't smell, the streams they can't hear? Weren't they human, too,
once?"_
_"They were. And perhaps they think as we do. But they won't project
anyone to Valdora. We don't want any part of that town. However, dear,
I'll bring it up. If I had a belly, I'd have a bellyful of this."_
_In the glade they couldn't see, above the stream they couldn't hear,
the Assembly met._
_"New business?" the Peak thought._
_"I've some," Bee thought. "It's--it may be mutiny."_
_"We'll listen," Peak answered. "Speaking for myself, and myself alone,
I'm ready to listen to mutiny. So long as it doesn't involve Valdora.
I wouldn't be surprised if the others agree. Could it concern the
resurrection of a minor god who grew major?"_
_"Lust," Bee agreed. "I want a body."_
_Peak was silent as the affirmative thoughts poured in from the entire
assembly. Then Peak thought, "I'm sure we won't need a vote on that.
And_ how _would we resurrect Lust?"_
_"Not by importing Valdorans," Bee answered._
_"Nor Velugians," someone thought._
_"Nor any of the others," Peak summed up for them. "So--...."_
_The scientist Lern thought, "Is this the only planet in the galaxy?
Why confine our thinking?"_
_"Not that bloody Mars," Peak thought. "I'll veto that, every time."_
_"Earth?" Bee suggested. "What's wrong with Earth?"_
_Ha thought, "It would take too long to answer that one. From what I've
heard of it, they're less ardent than arduous. How many lovers have
they developed? Major league lovers, that is."_
_Bee protested, "One could be developed. The material's there, and the
planet's attainable. I say let's project one of us in some innocent
guise, some animal who talks the language."_
_"But who'd volunteer?" Lern wanted to know._
_"No volunteers," Peak decided. "Ha will go, to improve his education.
What he doesn't know about Earth needs knowing."_
_Lern thought, "How can we keep him minor, if we resurrect him? This
Lust has a terrible appetite."_
_"That," answered Peak, "will be your job. You'll have to think of
something that will keep his weight and power constant."_
_Ha was doing no outer-thinking; Ha was inner-thinking about Earth, and
bodies._
* * * * *
Ted Truesdale was sitting on the back porch, supposedly enjoying the
sun. He was, in reality, enjoying the view. The blonde who'd bought the
house directly behind them, and considerably below them, was out on her
patio.
She _was_ enjoying the sun. She wore a skimpy halter and a pair of
shorts that were. She was well oiled and lying on her stomach. The tan
of her shoulders and along the back of her legs was a fine wheat brown
and she was due to turn over.
Ted was not lascivious, though Ann Truesdale had frequently stated he
almost was. Ted, to put it honestly, was thirty-nine and worrying about
the forties. It didn't seem logical that he would feel any different
at forty than he had at thirty-nine. He'd noticed no change between
thirty-nine and sixteen; he was a healthy man.
But there were so many stories about the forties--and the fifties
followed them so closely.
Now, the blonde was about to turn over. She had one hand, palm
downward, on the blanket beneath her and--
And from the doorway, Ann Truesdale said, "Theodore Truesdale, you
licentious old man. I never realized why you sat out--"
He turned to face his wife. His voice was a model of outraged
innocence. "For heaven's sake, Ann--"
She sighed, staring at him. She was small and dark and well put
together, and didn't look at all like a woman who could devote every
conscious hour to the house. But she was.
"Ogling," she said.
"Oh, Ann--you'd think I was--" He shook his head.
"You are. Infidelity can be mental, I read somewhere."
"You _read_?"
"Don't be superior. I was looking up a recipe in Maitland's magazine,
I think, and I saw the picture of this man staring, as you just were,
and--"
"You've answered my question," he interrupted. "Ann, I love _you_."
"Well, that's a strange way to show it, I must say, just eating that
divorcee with your eyes. You should have a job, something to do. You've
too much energy to just sit around like this, Ted."
Ted sighed. At thirty-nine, he had retired. At sixteen, he'd thought he
was the new Bellows, having facility with a brush and being no slouch
with the horsehide. The St. Paul Saints had shattered the baseball
dream, and Ted's own objective self appraisal had killed the Bellows
hope.
* * * * *
He had turned to commercial art and had done extremely well from the
start. At thirty-nine, he'd retired.