By KEITH LAUMER
it could be
ANYTHING
and action, shows us a different side of his talent
in this original, exciting and thought-provoking
exploration of the meaning of meaning.
"She'll be pulling out in aminute, Brett," Mr. Phillipssaid. He tucked his railroader'swatch back in his vest pocket."You better get aboard—if you'restill set on going."
"It was reading all them booksdone it," Aunt Haicey said."Thick books, and no pictures inthem. I knew it'd make trouble."She plucked at the faded hand-embroideredshawl over her thinshoulders, a tiny bird-like womanwith bright anxious eyes.
"Don't worry about me," Brettsaid. "I'll be back."
"The place'll be yours whenI'm gone," Aunt Haicey said."Lord knows it won't be long."
"Why don't you change yourmind and stay on, boy?" Mr.Phillips said, blinking up at theyoung man. "If I talk to Mr.J.D., I think he can find a job foryou at the plant."
"So many young people leaveCasperton," Aunt Haicey said."They never come back."
Mr. Phillips clicked his teeth."They write, at first," he said."Then they gradually lose touch."
"All your people are here,Brett," Aunt Haicey said. "Haven'tyou been happy here?"
"Why can't you young folks becontent with Casperton?" Mr.Phillips said. "There's everythingyou need here."
"It's that Pretty-Lee done it,"Aunt Haicey said. "If it wasn'tfor that girl—"
A clatter ran down the line ofcars. Brett kissed Aunt Haicey'sdry cheek, shook Mr. Phillips'hand, and swung aboard. Hissuitcase was on one of the seats.He put it up above in the rack,and sat down, turned to waveback at the two old people.
It was a summer morning.Brett leaned back and watchedthe country slide by. It was nicecountry, Brett thought; mostlyin corn, some cattle, and away inthe distance the hazy blue hills.Now he would see what was onthe other side of them: the cities,the mountains, and the ocean. Upuntil now all he knew about anythingoutside of Casperton waswhat he'd read or seen picturesof. As far as he was concerned,chopping wood and milking cowsback in Casperton, they might aswell not have existed. They werejust words and pictures printedon paper. But he didn't want tojust read about them. He wantedto see for himself.
Pretty-Lee hadn't come tosee him off. She was probablystill mad about yesterday. Shehad been sitting at the counterat the Club Rexall, drinking asoda and reading a movie magazinewith a big picture of an impossiblypretty face on the cover—thekind you never see justwalking down the street. He hadtaken the next stool and ordereda coke.
"Why don't you read somethinggood, instead of that pap?"he asked her.
"Something good? You meansomething dry, I guess. Anddon't call it ... that word. Itdoesn't sound polite."
"What does it say? That somebodynamed Doll Starr is fed upwith glamor and longs for a simplehome in the country and lotsof kids? Then why doesn't shemove to Casperton?"
"You wouldn't understand,"said Pretty-Lee.
He took the magazine, leafedthrough it. "Look at this: allabout people who give partiesthat cost thousan