from science fiction by
Theodore Sturgeon

Independent means. Such independence means all Four Freedoms plus a good many more. Small prep schools—in small towns and with, comparatively, small fees—gray as Groton, followed by tiny, honored colleges on which the ivy, if not the patina, is quite as real as Harvard’s, make it possible to grow up in one of the most awesome independencies of all, the freedom from Life. In most cases it takes but six or so post-graduate weeks for trauma and tragedy to set in, and for the discoveries to be made that business is not necessarily conducted on the honor system, that the reward for dutifully reporting the errors of the erring gets you, not a mark toward your Good Citizen Button, but something more like a kick in the teeth, and finally, that the world is full of people who never heard of your family and wouldn’t give a damn if they had.

Not that he didn’t face the world, just as squarely and as valiantly as he had been taught to do. But it happened that, all unknowing, he gave the world nothing worth abraiding, and the world was therefore, as far as he could know, a smooth place to live with.

“You got to make allowances,” Noat said to the tape. “This old thing’s stretched, but you see I know just how much it’s stretched. 14 inches here is 14 and 17/32nds actual. That’s one way to make allowances. Then,” he went on, laying the tape against a piece of square stock that was chucked in a highly individual wood lathe, “if the tape says 14 on the chair, and I mark it the same 14 on the lumber, it comes out right and it makes no never mind what it is actual. People,” he said, rounding at last on Smith, who prepared himself for some profound truth, “fret too much.”

Smith lived for a moment with that feeling one has when mounting ten steps in the dark, then discovers there are only nine stairs. He grasped wildly at what he thought the man had been talking about. “People are all right. I mean, I like people.”

Noat considered this, or a turning chisel he had obviously made from an old screwdriver, carefully. Smith could not stand the contemplative silence, and ran on. “Why, I do everything for people. I join every club or lodge in town that does any good for people, and I work hard at it. I guess I wouldn’t do that if I didn’t like people.”

“You don’t do that for yourself.” It was, if a statement, agreement and a compliment; if a question, a searching, even embarrassing one, calling for more insight than Smith had or dared to have. It was voiced as a statement, but so nearly as a question that Smith could not be sure.

“I said I want her back.”

“I know. You didn’t say you need her.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“No, it ain’t.”

Oddly enough, Dad never did become a radio man. He seemed satisfied to be the first in the neighborhood to own a set, then to build a set [...], and first in the state to be on the receiving end of a court-order restraining him from using his equipment.

“You’re still here,” I said incredulously.

“Did you think I’d go back inside?”

“I thought the wind, or the gods, or my alarm clock would take you away.”

“You said that beautifully,” she breathed, as I put the coat around her shoulders. I thought I had too. I notched her high up in my estimation as a very discerning girl.

“I know what I want!” I flared.

He crackled the paper nervously. “My,” he said as if to himself, “this is worse than I thought.” Before I could interrupt, he said, “Half of humanity doesn’t know what it wants or how to find out. The other half knows what it wants, hasn’t got it, and is going crazy trying to convince itself that it already has it.”

Each note was more than polished—burnished. As music is defined as a succession of notes, so the Largo was a thing surpassing music; for its rests, its upbeats, its melodic pauses were silences blended in harmony, in discord. Only Drecksall’s genius could give tangible, recognizable tone to silence. The music created scales and keys and chords of silence, which played in exquisite counterpoint with the audible themes.

It was dedicated to Drecksall himself, because he was a true genius, which means that everything in the universe which was not a part of him existed for him.

Music is a science as well as an art, and it is a shocking thing to those who think that musicians are by nature incompetent and impractical, to discover that more often than not a musician has a strong mechanical flair.

Have you ever been afraid to die, seeing Death looking right at you; closer than that; have you seen Death turn away from you because He knows you must follow Him? Have you seen that, and been afraid?

Well, this was worse.

‘Do you know what I’ve been hanging onto? The idea that, for all its error, for all its stupidity, this One Humanity idea on Borinquen was a principle? I hated it, but because it was a principle, I could respect it. It’s Costello – Costello, who doesn’t gamble, but who uses fear to change the poker rules – Costello, who doesn’t eat your food, but makes you fear poison – Costello, who can see three hundred years of safe interstellar flight, but who through fear makes the watch officers doubt themselves without a witness – Costello, who runs things without being seen!

‘My God, Costello doesn’t care! It isn’t a principle at all. It’s just Costello spreading fear anywhere, everywhere, to make himself strong!’