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, 'Thisis a crazy way to die.'"
George tried to prop himself up on his elbows—but suddenly herealized 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 abouther for a long time, before dropping off to sleep.
It was a cold night, and lonely, for George Jameson. He paced the floorof 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. "Twoyears! And where am I?"
Angrily, he reached for his coat. Maybe some fresh air would do himgood. He buttoned the coat, fumbled for his overcoat.
Then he walked outdoors.
It was snowing. The clean, white, slippery kind of snow that staysfor a while, then quickly turns into Chicago slush. Instinctively,he turned his collar up against the cold, and headed for the El, asentimental relic of the 20th century just past.
The snow was coming down in big, lazy flakes that caught themselves inthe wind and buffeted against his overcoat. Streetlights cast weirdshadows across the white. George could hear the faint crunch-crunchhis shoes made. Half-turning he looked at his tracks behind him.
"Damn white stuff!" He hunched his shoulders more, pulled his neck downinto the folds of his collar. "Puts a pure clean blanket over the wholeworld—but all you have to do is walk on it and you can see the dirtunderneath!"
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 heruntil the train pulled in, wondering what she was doing wanderingaround 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 trainsdon'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 strangemen.
"Do you ever get lonely here in Chicago?"
George smiled. "Sometimes," he said. "You lonely, kid?"
"Awfully. I like to talk to strangers. Then I don't feel quite solonely."
"Oh."
She was quiet for a minute, her eyes friendly, but her trim body stiffagainst the city.
"Don't let the town get you down, kid." He was giving her advice!
She looked at him wistfully. "Maybe it's not so bad. Only the peoplewho are fitted to live in a world like this keep on living. There are alot of people who don't see it the way we do."
"Could be." She was a strange girl, he thought, to be talking this way.Young, pretty, and fed up already. "Why do you ride the El at night?"he asked.
She smiled. "I can meet people—other lonely peopl