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.S.Whatever the case, Matthew Fortree and Severeign Saxon are indeed gone, vanished without a trace or clue except for a remarkably nasty figurine showing a fresh, poisonously green surface where it was snapped in two, which is the only even number that is a prime.* * * *Human history is, among other things, the story of continual improvement in the quality of life, as science has given us greater creature comforts, longer life spans, increasing range in travel and communications.But it’s possible that we’ve passed our zenith, for unless we develop new and safe sources of energy, our technological civilization cannot be maintained at its present level and our descendants may be forced back to more primitive modes of life.Brian Aldiss has written before of the downfall of civilization, in such novels as Greybeard and Earthworks, but in the following tale he reminds us that different people have contrasting responses to change.What, after all, determines the quality of anyone’s life?* * * *MY LADY OF THE PSYCHIATRIC SORROWSBrian W.AldissGODDARD WORKED WITH the northern reindeer herds all that long winter.With the other skin-clad men, he followed the migratory pattern of the animals in their search for lichens through snow or shine.He slept by beggarly fires under pines or under the stars.His whole life was encompassed by the sad guilts in reindeer eyes, by clouds of reindeer breath hanging in the crisp air.The herd consisted of some hundred thousand beasts.They moved in good mild order, with their attendant pest-army of mosquitoes and bloodsucking flies.Their antlers appeared like a moving forest.For Goddard, it was a Pleistocene way of life.But when spring came he was paid off and began to walk south, back to Scally and the children, with his dog Gripp at his side.He walked for sixteen days, steadily.The climate grew wanner.The steaks in his pack began to stink, but still he ate them.Every now and then, he came to villages or mills; always he avoided them.At last, he was among the vales of the Gray Horse.He walked through sparse forests, where the beech, birch, and hazel bushes were putting forth green leaves.Through the trees, standing by the old highway, was his home.His father was working in the garden.Goddard called to him, and the guard dogs, Chase and Setter, started furious barking.“How are the children?” Goddard asked his father, embracing the old man.His father was still upright, though the winter months seemed to have shrunk him.“Come and see.They aren’t half growing big!”“You’ve made out?”“Fine, Tom.And I’ve not heard of a case of plague all winter.”“Good.”“It’ll mean that people will be coming back…”As they spoke, they walked together, close, to the rear of the house, where the windmill stood on the rise above their small stream.Gripp kept to God-dard’s heel.The children were there—Derek wading in the stream, June kneeling on the bank.Both were picking reeds.They dropped them and ran with cries of delight into their father’s embrace.He rolled on the ground with them, all three of them laughing and crying.“You don’t half smell animal, Dad!”“I’ve been an animal…” He was proud of them, both so big and strong, neither older than seven, their eyes clear, their glance candid—as their mother’s once had been.Granddad roasted one of the rotting steaks and they all ate, throwing gristle and bone to the dogs.After, Goddard slept in a downstairs room.He woke once.The sun had gone.His father and the children were in the other room, weaving hurdles from willow sticks by the light of two candles.They called to him affectionately; but when he had urinated outside, he staggered back to his cot and slept again.In the morning they swarmed over him once more.He kissed and hugged them, and they screamed at his rough lips and beard.“It’s a holiday today.What shall we do?”“Go and see Mother, of course.Let’s feed the animals first.”The goat, the two sows, the chickens, the rabbits were fed.Leaving the dogs on guard, they all set out along the vale to see Mother.The children snatched up sticks from ditches, leaning heavily on them and saying in their clear voices, “Now we are old children.” Their laughter seemed to settle about Goddard’s heart.A stramineous sun broke through the mists.Where the track turned, they saw the bulk of the planetoid ahead, and the children set up a muted cheer.Goddard said to his father, turning from that shadow-shrouded form, “I don’t reckon I could bear life without the kids and all their happiness
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