Asimov, Isaac Earth Is Room Enough

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been before and he waited for the quiver of the Word that would
reduce his vortices to non-existence.
But he did not falter. Through non-space and non-time, he
plunged toward union with the Primum Mobile; the seat that
encompassed all that Is, Was, Would Be, Had Been, Could Be and
Might Be.
And as he thought that, he burst through and was part of it, his
being expanding so that momentarily he, too, was part of the All. But
then it was mercifully veiled from his senses, and the Chief was a still,
small voice within him, yet all the more impressive in its infinity for
all that.
"My son," the voice said, "I know why you have come."
"Then help me, if that be your will."
"By my own will," said the Chief, "an act of mine is irrevocable.
All your mankind, my son, yearned for life. All feared death. All
evolved thoughts and dreams of life unending. No two groups of men;
no two single men; evolved the same afterlife, but all wished life. I
was petitioned that I might grant the common denominator of all
these wishes-life unending. I did so."
"No servant of yours made that request."
"The Adversary did, my son."
Etheriel trailed his feeble glory in dejection and said in a low
voice, "I am dust in your sight and unworthy to be in your presence,
yet I must ask a question. Is then the Adversary your servant also?"
"Without him I can have no other," said the Chief, "for what
then is Good but the eternal fight against Evil?"
And in that fight, thought Etheriel, I have lost.
R.E. paused in sight of town. The buildings were crumbling.
Those that were made of wood were already heaps of rubble. R.E.
walked to the nearest such heap and found the wooden splinters
powdery and dry.
He penetrated deeper into town and found the brick buildings
still standing, but there was an ominous roundness to the edges of the
bricks, a threatening flakiness.
"They won't last long," said a deep voice, "but there is this
consolation, if consolation it be; their collapse can kill no one."
R.E. looked up in surprise and found himself face to face with a
cadaverous Don Quixote of a man, lantern-jawed, sunken-cheeked.
His eyes were sad and his brown hair was lank and straight. His
clothes hung loosely and skin showed clearly through various rents.
"My name," said the man, "is Richard Levine. I was a professor
of history once-before this happened."
"You're wearing clothes," said R.E. "You're not one of those
resurrected."
"No, but that mark of distinction is vanishing. Clothes are
going."
R.E. looked at the throngs that drifted past them, moving slowly
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and aimlessly like motes in a sunbeam. Vanishingly few wore clothes.
He looked down at himself and noticed for the first time that the seam
down the length of each trouser leg had parted. He pinched the fabric
of his jacket between thumb and forefinger and the wool parted and
came away easily.
"I guess you're right," said R.E.
"If you'll notice," went on Levine, "Mellon's Hill is flattening
out."
R.E. turned to the north where ordinarily the mansions of the
aristocracy (such aristocracy as there was in town) studded the slopes
of Mellon's Hill, and found the horizon nearly flat.
Levine said, "Eventually, there'll be nothing but flatness,
featurelessness, nothingness-and us."
"And Indians," said R.E. "There's a man outside of town waiting
for Indians and wishing he had a musket."
"I imagine," said Levine, "the Indians will give no trouble. There
is no pleasure in fighting an enemy that cannot be killed or hurt. And
even if that were not so, the lust for battle would be gone, as are all
lusts."
"Are you sure?"
"I am positive. Before all this happened, although you may not
think it to look at me, I derived much harmless pleasure in a
consideration of the female figure. Now, with the unexampled
opportunities at my disposal, I find myself irritatingly uninterested.
No, that is wrong. I am not even irritated at my disinterest."
R.E. looked up briefly at the passers-by. "I see what you mean." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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