Donald E. Wollheim (ed) by Avon Science Fiction Reader 02

Author:Avon Science Fiction Reader 02
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-09-01T15:47:16+00:00

"Da you like to dance?" '

"Indeed I do. I enjoy dancing better than any other form of amusement."

"There's the phonograph," he suggested.

"And we have the record of that very waltz. I'll start it while you roll up the rug."

A moment later, the phonograph began to send forth its regular cadences, and Eve fluttered into Broderick's arms. He was accustomed enough to the feel of a woman's body in close proximity to his, but Eve was unquestionably different. The fragrance of her hair, the gentle heaving of her womanly bosom, the touch of her fingers on his arm thrilled him with ecstatic, yet pure emotions.

And if she charmed him by her mere proximity, her incomparable skill as a dancer fascinated him. Though he danced with original abandon, following no set rules or conventional steps, she followed him as "i her muscles were dominated synchronously by the same nerves which actuated his.

The great clock in the hall boomed out ten resonant strokes.

"The witching hour," smiled Eve, "I have a fairy godfather who is more exacting than Cinderella's godmother by two hours; and unless I obey him, I am in danger of losing the gifts he bestowed upon me."

Broderick took the hint and his departure.

The daily meetings soon became a matter of custom rather than appointment. Though her chess playing, her athletic prowesses, her music, and her dancing had in turn attracted and charmed him, Broderick soon discovered that he enjoyed conversing with her most of all. There seemed to be no subject in literature, art, science or philosophy interesting to him, which was not at least passably familiar to Eve. He learned that she had been abroad for a year, and had a fluent command of French, German, Italian . and Spanish.

One evening the talk turned to John Stuart Mill. "What is your idea of perfect happiness?" she asked.

Fervently he responded, "My idea of perfect happiness is to hold you in my arms and press my lips against yours."

Surprised and hurt by his seeming rudeness, she frowned, "Oh, you don't mean that. It's so unworthy of you."

Genuine contrition gripped him. "No, I didn't mean it exactly that way. But if you ask me to paint a picture of Paradise, it would include a little six-room bungalow, presided over by the one perfect woman in the world. There would be a lawn, and a garden, and two or three youngsters to rush out and meet me when I came home tired after the day's work."

"That's a little better."

"Oh, it's very commonplace, and rather lacking in ambition, I know, but I'm dreadfully selfish, and I think that the greatest happiness comes to a man through his own home and family. Now tell me what your idea of happiness is."

"Oh, I've had such lofty aspirations—altogether impossible and impractical, I fear. If I could only accomplish something really big—something which

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would be a blessing to all humanity—like the invention of the radio, for instance, then I should indeed be happy. But, of course, that can never be.

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