New Writings in SF 5 by John Carnell (ed.)

Author:John Carnell (ed.) [Carnell, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Short Story Collection
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

A glittering golden Puck stood on the blue carpet, bowed, winked and was gone. The long poem finished. Reb yawned, stretched, put her heel on the floor control in front of the divan; the Stereo went out in a momentary busyness of electrons. The room assumed its normal proportions; wall lighting flowed back softly. Gerry sat up, blinking. He’d been lulled by good food and liqueur and by the glimmering beauty of the Stereoplay, he’d almost managed to forget the pain that had been nagging away at the edge of his consciousness. Now, nearly instantly, he could feel it coming back. The house was very still; outside the wind called, emphasizing the isolation. The sound came dimly through the insulated walls. Now’s the time, honey. Just say out what you’ve got to say, it’ll be O.K. But play it straight. Don’t fool around, not any more…

Reb brushed a last nutshell off her lap, turned lazily. Eyes very deep blue, half shut. “Like it, Gerry?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it was great. Rebel…”

“Hmmm?” Sleepily.

“Something I had to ask…” His voice now he’d got to the point of no return sounded harsh in his ears, adolescent.

She rolled over the rest of the way towards him. “Hmm… Let it wait…”

“It can’t, bunny, not any more. I’m sorry—”

“It can,” she said. “Till morning. Better in the morning. Everything’s better in the morning…” She prodded him, playfully. “C’mon, Kaufman, quit worrying. Like the man said; lovers to bed, ’tis nearly fairy time…”

For a moment he seemed to sense the strain under the words; then the anger came again. He tried to move back and she wriggled carefully, trapping him. Caught his hand, guided it up to her breast. He let it lie there cupped round the warmth and fullness and things were how they’d been just once before a very long time ago. She pulled his head down and started using her mouth, not kissing yet, just brushing and touching with the lips. She was making the noise in her throat again like she always did, he used to wonder if it was an unconscious thing like the purring of a cat. His body reacted to her; he pulled her closer, felt gently at first, then more urgently the rhythmic pushing of her tongue. “That’s twice,” he thought, hopelessly. “That’s twice, Rebel, twice is twice too much…”

He pushed away. His arm when he lifted it felt heavy as lead. He swung his knuckles backwards across her cheek. The noise of the blow was flat and hard, its force knocked her against the cushions. She lay staring, throat moving, and seconds turned into a minute. Then she got up and walked off.

He lit a cigarette, trying to control his shaking. He said brutally, “I’ll leave on my own, don’t bother to have me thrown.”

She stood at the sideboard, back turned to him, doing something that made a chinking sound. She said dully, “Nobody going to throw you anywhere. But if you have no objections I need a drink.

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