Isaac Asimov Presents: The Great SF Stories Vol. 11 (1949) by Isaac Asimov

Author:Isaac Asimov
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2013-07-09T04:00:00+00:00

THE WORDS OF GURU

Stirring Science Stories June by C. M. Kornbluth

Another short but wonderful story by the very young Kornbluth. It appeared in Stirring Science Stories, a short-lived but exciting magazine edited by Cyril's friend Donald A. Wollheim, which was a major market for a number of young New York fans-to-be-writers. Many of the stories in its pages were collaborations (regardless of whose name was on them) but this one was Kornbluth's.

(When Don Wollheim edited Stirring and its companion magazine Cosmic, he had an operating budget that included zero dollars for writers—if I recall correctly. He had to call upon the members of the Futurians therefore to supply him with the material to keep going till the magazines caught on and he could afford to pay. Even I submitted a story called "The Secret Sense"—one of my lesser works, I think. Cyril was by far the most active contributor, I think, and the best. It wasn't Don's fault that the combination of no budget and World War II made continuation impossible. And, by the way, since I whined in the previous introduction about being only 20 as an excuse for imperfection, this story appeared when Cyril was only 18.—I.A.)

Yesterday, when I was going to meet Guru in the woods a man stopped me and said: "Child, what are you doing out at one in the morning? Does your mother know where you are? How old are you, walking around this late?"

I looked at him, and saw that he was white-haired, so I laughed. Old men never see; in fact men hardly see at all. Sometimes young women see part, but men rarely ever see at all. "I'm twelve on my next birthday," I said. And then, because I would not let him live to tell people, I said, "and I'm out this late to see Guru."

"Guru?" he asked. "Who is Guru? Some foreigner, I suppose? Bad business mixing with foreigners, young fellow. Who is Guru?"

So I told him who Guru was, and just as he began talking about cheap magazines and fairy tales I said one of the words that Guru taught me and he stopped talking. Because he was an old man and his joints were stiff he didn't crumple up but fell in one piece, hitting his head on the stone. Then I went on.

Even though I'm going to be only twelve on my next birthday I know many things that old people don't. And I remember things that other boys can't. I remember being born out of darkness, and I remember the noises that people made about me. Then when I was two months old I began to understand that the noises meant things like the things that were going on inside my head. I found out that I could make the noises too, and everybody was very much surprised. "Talking!" they said, again and again. "And so very young! Clara, what do you make of it?" Clara was my mother.

And Clara would say: "I'm sure I don't know.

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