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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..323dfe4 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51531 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51531) diff --git a/old/51531-h.zip b/old/51531-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e876301..0000000 --- a/old/51531-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51531-h/51531-h.htm b/old/51531-h/51531-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index b72f8bd..0000000 --- a/old/51531-h/51531-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1499 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of With These Hands, by C. 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Kornbluth. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } -.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } -.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of With These Hands, by C.M. Kornbluth - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: With These Hands - -Author: C.M. Kornbluth - -Release Date: March 22, 2016 [EBook #51531] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WITH THESE HANDS *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="397" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<h1>With These Hands</h1> - -<p>By C. M. KORNBLUTH</p> - -<p>Illustrated by KARL ROGERS</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Galaxy Science Fiction December 1951.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3"><i>No self-respecting artist can object to<br /> -suffering for his art ... but not in a<br /> -society where art is outdated by technology!</i></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">I</p> - -<p>Halvorsen waited in the Chancery office while Monsignor Reedy disposed -of three persons who had preceded him. He was a little dizzy with -hunger and noticed only vaguely that the prelate's secretary was -beckoning to him. He started to his feet when the secretary pointedly -opened the door to Monsignor Reedy's inner office and stood waiting -beside it.</p> - -<p>The artist crossed the floor, forgetting that he had leaned his -portfolio against his chair, remembered at the door and went back for -it, flushing. The secretary looked patient.</p> - -<p>"Thanks," Halvorsen murmured to him as the door closed.</p> - -<p>There was something wrong with the prelate's manner.</p> - -<p>"I've brought the designs for the Stations, Padre," he said, opening -the portfolio on the desk.</p> - -<p>"Bad news, Roald," said the monsignor. "I know how you've been looking -forward to the commission—"</p> - -<p>"Somebody else get it?" asked the artist faintly, leaning against the -desk. "I thought his eminence definitely decided I had the—"</p> - -<p>"It's not that," said the monsignor. "But the Sacred Congregation -of Rites this week made a pronouncement on images of devotion. -Stereopantograph is to be licit within a diocese at the discretion of -the bishop. And his eminence—"</p> - -<p>"S.P.G.—slimy imitations," protested Halvorsen. "Real as a plastic -eye. No texture. No guts. <i>You</i> know that, Padre!" he said accusingly.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry, Roald," said the monsignor. "Your work is better than we'll -get from a stereopantograph—to my eyes, at least. But there are other -considerations."</p> - -<p>"Money!" spat the artist.</p> - -<p>"Yes, money," the prelate admitted. "His eminence wants to see the St. -Xavier U. building program through before he dies. Is that a mortal -sin? And there are our schools, our charities, our Venus mission. -S.P.G. will mean a considerable saving on procurement and maintenance -of devotional images. Even if I could, I would not disagree with his -eminence on adopting it as a matter of diocesan policy."</p> - -<p>The prelate's eyes fell on the detailed drawings of the Stations of the -Cross and lingered.</p> - -<p>"Your St. Veronica," he said abstractedly. "Very fine. It suggests one -of Caravaggio's care-worn saints to me. I would have liked to see her -in the bronze."</p> - -<p>"So would I," said Halvorsen hoarsely. "Keep the drawings, Padre." He -started for the door.</p> - -<p>"But I can't—"</p> - -<p>"That's all right."</p> - -<p>The artist walked past the secretary blindly and out of the Chancery -into Fifth Avenue's spring sunlight. He hoped Monsignor Reedy was -enjoying the drawings and was ashamed of himself and sorry for -Halvorsen. And he was glad he didn't have to carry the heavy portfolio -any more. Everything seemed so heavy lately—chisels, hammer, wooden -palette. Maybe the padre would send him something and pretend it was -for expenses or an advance, as he had in the past.</p> - -<p>Halvorsen's feet carried him up the Avenue. No, there wouldn't be -any advances any more. The last steady trickle of income had just -been dried up, by an announcement in <i>Osservatore Romano</i>. Religious -conservatism had carried the church as far as it would go in its -ancient role of art patron.</p> - -<p>When all Europe was writing on the wonderful new vellum, the church -stuck to good old papyrus. When all Europe was writing on the wonderful -new paper, the church stuck to good old vellum. When all architects -and municipal monument committees and portrait bust clients were -patronizing the stereopantograph, the church stuck to good old -expensive sculpture. But not any more.</p> - -<p>He was passing an S.P.G. salon now, where one of his Tuesday night -pupils worked: one of the few men in the classes. Mostly they consisted -of lazy, moody, irritable girls. Halvorsen, surprised at himself, -entered the salon, walking between asthenic semi-nude stereos executed -in transparent plastic that made the skin of his neck and shoulders -prickle with gooseflesh.</p> - -<p><i>Slime!</i> he thought. <i>How can they—</i></p> - -<p>"May I help—oh, hello, Roald. What brings you here?"</p> - -<p>He knew suddenly what had brought him there. "Could you make a little -advance on next month's tuition, Lewis? I'm strapped." He took a -nervous look around the chamber of horrors, avoiding the man's -condescending face.</p> - -<p>"I guess so, Roald. Would ten dollars be any help? That'll carry us -through to the 25th, right?"</p> - -<p>"Fine, right, sure," he said, while he was being unwillingly towed -around the place.</p> - -<p>"I know you don't think much of S.P.G., but it's quiet now, so this is -a good chance to see how we work. I don't say it's Art with a capital -A, but you've got to admit it's <i>an</i> art, something people like at a -price they can afford to pay. Here's where we sit them. Then you run -out the feelers to the reference points on the face. You know what they -are?"</p> - -<p>He heard himself say dryly: "I know what they are. The Egyptian -sculptors used them when they carved statues of the pharaohs."</p> - -<p>"Yes? I never knew that. There's nothing new under the Sun, is there? -But <i>this</i> is the heart of the S.P.G." The youngster proudly swung open -the door of an electronic device in the wall of the portrait booth. -Tubes winked sullenly at Halvorsen.</p> - -<p>"The esthetikon?" he asked indifferently. He did not feel indifferent, -but it would be absurd to show anger, no matter how much he felt -it, against a mindless aggregation of circuits that could calculate -layouts, criticize and correct pictures for a desired effect—and that -had put the artist of design out of a job.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="600" height="226" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>"Yes. The lenses take sixteen profiles, you know, and we set the -esthetikon for whatever we want—cute, rugged, sexy, spiritual, brainy, -or a combination. It fairs curves from profile to profile to give us -just what we want, distorts the profiles themselves within limits if it -has to, and there's your portrait stored in the memory tank waiting to -be taped. You set your ratio for any enlargement or reduction you want -and play it back. I wish we were reproducing today; it's fascinating to -watch. You just pour in your cold-set plastic, the nozzles ooze out a -core and start crawling over to scan—a drop here, a worm there, and it -begins to take shape.</p> - -<p>"We mostly do portrait busts here, the Avenue trade, but Wilgus, -the foreman, used to work in a monument shop in Brooklyn. He did -that heroic-size war memorial on the East River Drive—hired Garda -Bouchette, the TV girl, for the central figure. And what a figure! -He told me he set the esthetikon plates for three-quarter sexy, -one-quarter spiritual. Here's something interesting—standing figurine -of Orin Ryerson, the banker. He ordered twelve. Figurines are coming -in. The girls like them because they can show their shapes. You'd be -surprised at some of the poses they want to try—"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Somehow, Halvorsen got out with the ten dollars, walked to Sixth Avenue -and sat down hard in a cheap restaurant. He had coffee and dozed a -little, waking with a guilty start at a racket across the street. There -was a building going up. For a while he watched the great machines pour -walls and floors, the workmen rolling here and there on their little -chariots to weld on a wall panel, stripe on an electric circuit of -conductive ink, or spray plastic finish over the "wired" wall, all -without leaving the saddles of their little mechanical chariots.</p> - -<p>Halvorsen felt more determined. He bought a paper from a vending -machine by the restaurant door, drew another cup of coffee and turned -to the help-wanted ads.</p> - -<p>The tricky trade-school ads urged him to learn construction work and -make big money. Be a plumbing-machine setup man. Be a house-wiring -machine tender. Be a servotruck driver. Be a lumber-stacker operator. -Learn pouring-machine maintenance.</p> - -<p><i>Make big money!</i></p> - -<p>A sort of panic overcame him. He ran to the phone booth and dialed a -Passaic number. He heard the <i>ring-ring-ring</i> and strained to hear -old Mr. Krehbeil's stumping footsteps growing louder as he neared the -phone, even though he knew he would hear nothing until the receiver was -picked up.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><i>Ring—ring—ring.</i> "Hello?" grunted the old man's voice, and his face -appeared on the little screen. "Hello, Mr. Halvorsen. What can I do for -you?"</p> - -<p>Halvorsen was tongue-tied. He couldn't possibly say: I just wanted to -see if you were still there. I was afraid you weren't there any more. -He choked and improvised: "Hello, Mr. Krehbeil. It's about the banister -on the stairs in my place. I noticed it's pretty shaky. Could you come -over sometime and fix it for me?"</p> - -<p>Krehbeil peered suspiciously out of the screen. "I could do that," he -said slowly. "I don't have much work nowadays. But you can carpenter -as good as me, Mr. Halvorsen, and frankly you're very slow pay and I -like cabinet work better. I'm not a young man and climbing around -on ladders takes it out of me. If you can't find anybody else, I'll -take the work, but I got to have some of the money first, just for the -materials. It isn't easy to get good wood any more."</p> - -<p>"All right," said Halvorsen. "Thanks, Mr. Krehbeil. I'll call you if I -can't get anybody else."</p> - -<p>He hung up and went back to his table and newspaper. His face was -burning with anger at the old man's reluctance and his own foolish -panic. Krehbeil didn't realize they were both in the same leaky boat. -Krehbeil, who didn't get a job in a month, still thought with senile -pride that he was a journeyman carpenter and cabinetmaker who could -make his solid way anywhere with his tool-box and his skill, and -that he could afford to look down on anything as disreputable as an -artist—even an artist who could carpenter as well as he did himself.</p> - -<p>Labuerre had made Halvorsen learn carpentry, and Labuerre had been -right. You build a scaffold so you can sculp up high, not so it will -collapse and you break a leg. You build your platforms so they hold -the rock steady, not so it wobbles and chatters at every blow of the -chisel. You build your armatures so they hold the plasticine you slam -onto them.</p> - -<p>But the help-wanted ads wanted no builders of scaffolds, platforms and -armatures. The factories were calling for setup men and maintenance men -for the production and assembly machines.</p> - -<p>From upstate, General Vegetables had sent a recruiting team for farm -help—harvest setup and maintenance men, a few openings for experienced -operators of tank-caulking machinery. Under "office and professional" -the demand was heavy for computer men, for girls who could run the -I.B.M. Letteriter, esp. familiar sales and collections corresp., for -office machinery maintenance and repair men. A job printing house -wanted an esthetikon operator for letterhead layouts and the like. A.T. -& T. wanted trainees to earn while learning telephone maintenance. A -direct-mail advertising outfit wanted an artist—no, they wanted a -sales-executive who could scrawl picture-ideas that would be subjected -to the criticism and correction of the esthetikon.</p> - -<p>Halvorsen leafed tiredly through the rest of the paper. He knew he -wouldn't get a job, and if he did he wouldn't hold it. He knew it was -a terrible thing to admit to yourself that you might starve to death -because you were bored by anything except art, but he admitted it.</p> - -<p>It had happened often enough in the past—artists undergoing -preposterous hardships, not, as people thought, because they were -devoted to art, but because nothing else was interesting. If there -were only some impressive, sonorous word that summed up the aching, -oppressive futility that overcame him when he tried to get out of -art—only there wasn't.</p> - -<p>He thought he could tell which of the photos in the tabloid had been -corrected by the esthetikon.</p> - -<p>There was a shot of Jink Bitsy, who was to star in a remake of <i>Peter -Pan</i>. Her ears had been made to look not pointed but pointy, her upper -lip had been lengthened a trifle, her nose had been pugged a little and -tilted quite a lot, her freckles were cuter than cute, her brows were -innocently arched, and her lower lip and eyes were nothing less than -pornography.</p> - -<p>There was a shot, apparently uncorrected, of the last Venus ship coming -in at La Guardia and the average-looking explorers grinning. Caption: -"Austin Malone and crew smile relief on safe arrival. Malone says Venus -colonies need men, machines. See story p. 2."</p> - -<p>Petulantly, Halvorsen threw the paper under the table and walked -out. What had space travel to do with him? Vacations on the Moon and -expeditions to Venus and Mars were part of the deadly encroachment on -his livelihood and no more.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">II</p> - -<p>He took the subway to Passaic and walked down a long-still traffic -beltway to his studio, almost the only building alive in the slums near -the rusting railroad freightyard.</p> - -<p>A sign that had once said "F. Labuerre, Sculptor—Portraits -and Architectural Commissions" now said "Roald Halvorsen; Art -Classes—Reasonable Fees." It was a grimy two-story frame building with -a shopfront in which were mounted some of his students' charcoal figure -studies and oil still-lifes. He lived upstairs, taught downstairs -front, and did his own work downstairs, back behind dirty, ceiling-high -drapes.</p> - -<p>Going in, he noticed that he had forgotten to lock the door again. He -slammed it bitterly. At the noise, somebody called from behind the -drapes: "Who's that?"</p> - -<p>"Halvorsen!" he yelled in a sudden fury. "I live here. I own this -place. Come out of there! What do you want?"</p> - -<p>There was a fumbling at the drapes and a girl stepped between them, -shrinking from their dirt.</p> - -<p>"Your door was open," she said firmly, "and it's a shop. I've just -been here a couple of minutes. I came to ask about classes, but I don't -think I'm interested if you're this bad-tempered."</p> - -<p>A pupil. Pupils were never to be abused, especially not now.</p> - -<p>"I'm terribly sorry," he said. "I had a trying day in the city." Now -turn it on. "I wouldn't tell everybody a terrible secret like this, but -I've lost a commission. You understand? I thought so. Anybody who'd -traipse out here to my dingy abode would be <i>simpatica</i>. Won't you -sit down? No, not there—humor an artist and sit over there. The warm -background of that still-life brings out your color—quite good color. -Have you ever been painted? You've a very interesting face, you know. -Some day I'd like to—but you mentioned classes.</p> - -<p>"We have figure classes, male and female models alternating, on Tuesday -nights. For that I have to be very stern and ask you to sign up for -an entire course of twelve lessons at sixty dollars. It's the models' -fees—they're exorbitant. Saturday afternoons we have still-life -classes for beginners in oils. That's only two dollars a class, but you -might sign up for a series of six and pay ten dollars in advance, which -saves you two whole dollars. I also give private instructions to a few -talented amateurs."</p> - -<p>The price was open on that one—whatever the traffic would bear. It had -been a year since he'd had a private pupil and she'd taken only six -lessons at five dollars an hour.</p> - -<p>"The still-life sounds interesting," said the girl, holding her head -self-consciously the way they all did when he gave them the patter. -It was a good head, carried well up. The muscles clung close, not -yet slacked into geotropic loops and lumps. The line of youth is -heliotropic, he confusedly thought. "I saw some interesting things back -there. Was that your own work?"</p> - -<p>She rose, obviously with the expectation of being taken into the -studio. Her body was one of those long-lined, small-breasted, coltish -jobs that the pre-Raphaelites loved to draw.</p> - -<p>"Well—" said Halvorsen. A deliberate show of reluctance and then a -bright smile of confidence. "<i>You'll</i> understand," he said positively -and drew aside the curtains.</p> - -<p>"What a curious place!" She wandered about, inspecting the drums of -plaster, clay and plasticene, the racks of tools, the stands, the -stones, the chisels, the forge, the kiln, the lumber, the glaze bench.</p> - -<p>"I <i>like</i> this," she said determinedly, picking up a figure a -half-meter tall, a Venus he had cast in bronze while studying under -Labuerre some years ago. "How much is it?"</p> - -<p>An honest answer would scare her off, and there was no chance in the -world that she'd buy. "I hardly ever put my things up for sale," -he told her lightly. "That was just a little study. I do work on -commission only nowadays."</p> - -<p>Her eyes flicked about the dingy room, seeming to take in its scaling -plaster and warped floor and see through the wall to the abandoned slum -in which it was set. There was amusement in her glance.</p> - -<p><i>I am not being honest, she thinks. She thinks that is funny. Very -well, I will be honest.</i> "Six hundred dollars," he said flatly.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The girl set the figurine on its stand with a rap and said, half angry -and half amused: "I don't understand it. That's more than a month's pay -for me. I could get an S.P.G. statuette just as pretty as this for ten -dollars. Who do you artists think you are, anyway?"</p> - -<p>Halvorsen debated with himself about what he could say in reply:</p> - -<p><i>An S.P.G. operator spends a week learning his skill and I spend a -lifetime learning mine.</i></p> - -<p><i>An S.P.G. operator makes a mechanical copy of a human form distorted -by formulae mechanically arrived at from psychotests of population -samples. I take full responsibility for my work; it is mine, though -I use what I see fit from Egypt, Greece, Rome, the Middle Ages, the -Renaissance, the Augustan and Romantic and Modern Eras.</i></p> - -<p><i>An S.P.G. operator works in soft, homogeneous plastic; I work in -bronze that is more complicated than you dream, that is cast and -acid-dipped today so it will slowly take on rich and subtle coloring -many years from today.</i></p> - -<p><i>An S.P.G. operator could not make an Orpheus Fountain</i>—</p> - -<p>He mumbled, "Orpheus," and keeled over.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Halvorsen awoke in his bed on the second floor of the building. His -fingers and toes buzzed electrically and he felt very clear-headed. The -girl and a man, unmistakably a doctor, were watching him.</p> - -<p>"You don't seem to belong to any Medical Plans, Halvorsen," the doctor -said irritably. "There weren't any cards on you at all. No Red, no -Blue, no Green, no Brown."</p> - -<p>"I used to be on the Green Plan, but I let it lapse," the artist said -defensively.</p> - -<p>"And look what happened!"</p> - -<p>"Stop nagging him!" the girl said. "I'll pay you your fee."</p> - -<p>"It's supposed to come through a Plan," the doctor fretted.</p> - -<p>"We won't tell anybody," the girl promised. "Here's five dollars. Just -stop nagging him."</p> - -<p>"Malnutrition," said the doctor. "Normally I'd send him to a hospital, -but I don't see how I could manage it. He isn't on any Plan at all. -Look, I'll take the money and leave some vitamins. That's what he -needs—vitamins. And food."</p> - -<p>"I'll see that he eats," the girl said, and the doctor left.</p> - -<p>"How long since you've had anything?" she asked Halvorsen.</p> - -<p>"I had some coffee today," he answered, thinking back. "I'd been -working on detail drawings for a commission and it fell through. I told -you that. It was a shock."</p> - -<p>"I'm Lucretia Grumman," she said, and went out.</p> - -<p>He dozed until she came back with an armful of groceries.</p> - -<p>"It's hard to get around down here," she complained.</p> - -<p>"It was Labuerre's studio," he told her defiantly. "He left it to me -when he died. Things weren't so rundown in his time. I studied under -him; he was one of the last. He had a joke—'They don't really want my -stuff, but they're ashamed to let me starve.' He warned me that they -wouldn't be ashamed to let <i>me</i> starve, but I insisted and he took me -in."</p> - -<p>Halvorsen drank some milk and ate some bread. He thought of the change -from the ten dollars in his pocket and decided not to mention it. Then -he remembered that the doctor had gone through his pockets.</p> - -<p>"I can pay you for this," he said. "It's very kind of you, but you -mustn't think I'm penniless. I've just been too preoccupied to take -care of myself."</p> - -<p>"Sure," said the girl. "But we can call this an advance. I want to sign -up for some classes."</p> - -<p>"Be happy to have you."</p> - -<p>"Am I bothering you?" asked the girl. "You said something odd when you -fainted—'Orpheus.'"</p> - -<p>"Did I say that? I must have been thinking of Milles' Orpheus Fountain -in Copenhagen. I've seen photos, but I've never been there."</p> - -<p>"Germany? But there's nothing left of Germany."</p> - -<p>"Copenhagen's in Denmark. There's quite a lot of Denmark left. It was -only on the fringes. Heavily radiated, but still there."</p> - -<p>"I want to travel, too," she said. "I work at La Guardia and I've never -been off, except for an orbiting excursion. I want to go to the Moon -on my vacation. They give us a bonus in travel vouchers. It must be -wonderful dancing under the low gravity."</p> - -<p>Spaceport? Off? Low gravity? Terms belonging to the detested electronic -world of the stereopantograph in which he had no place.</p> - -<p>"Be very interesting," he said, closing his eyes to conceal disgust.</p> - -<p>"I <i>am</i> bothering you. I'll go away now, but I'll be back Tuesday night -for the class. What time do I come and what should I bring?"</p> - -<p>"Eight. It's charcoal—I sell you the sticks and paper. Just bring a -smock."</p> - -<p>"All right. And I want to take the oils class, too. And I want to bring -some people I know to see your work. I'm sure they'll see something -they like. Austin Malone's in from Venus—he's a special friend of -mine."</p> - -<p>"Lucretia," he said. "Or do some people call you Lucy?"</p> - -<p>"Lucy."</p> - -<p>"Will you take that little bronze you liked? As a thank you?"</p> - -<p>"I can't do that!"</p> - -<p>"Please. I'd feel much better about this. I really mean it."</p> - -<p>She nodded abruptly, flushing, and almost ran from the room.</p> - -<p><i>Now why did I do that?</i> he asked himself. He hoped it was because -he liked Lucy Grumman very much. He hoped it wasn't a cold-blooded -investment of a piece of sculpture that would never be sold, anyway, -just to make sure she'd be back with class fees and more groceries.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">III</p> - -<p>She was back on Tuesday, a half-hour early and carrying a smock. He -introduced her formally to the others as they arrived: a dozen or so -bored young women who, he suspected, talked a great deal about their -art lessons outside, but in class used any excuse to stop sketching.</p> - -<p>He didn't dare show Lucy any particular consideration. There were -fierce little miniature cliques in the class. Halvorsen knew they -laughed at him and his line among themselves, and yet, strangely, were -fiercely jealous of their seniority and right to individual attention.</p> - -<p>The lesson was an ordeal, as usual. The model, a muscle-bound young -graduate of the barbell gyms and figure-photography studios, was stupid -and argumentative about ten-minute poses. Two of the girls came near a -hair-pulling brawl over the rights to a preferred sketching location. A -third girl had discovered Picasso's cubist period during the past week -and proudly announced that she didn't <i>feel</i> perspective in art.</p> - -<p>But the two interminable hours finally ticked by. He nagged them into -cleaning up—not as bad as the Saturdays with oils—and stood by the -open door. Otherwise they would have stayed all night, cackling about -absent students and snarling sulkily among themselves. His well-laid -plans went sour, though. A large and flashy car drove up as the girls -were leaving.</p> - -<p>"That's Austin Malone," said Lucy. "He came to pick me up and look at -your work."</p> - -<p>That was all the wedge her fellow-pupils needed.</p> - -<p>"<i>Aus</i>-tin Ma-<i>lone</i>! <i>Well!</i>"</p> - -<p>"Lucy, darling, I'd love to meet a real <i>spaceman</i>."</p> - -<p>"Roald, darling, would you mind very much if I stayed a moment?"</p> - -<p>"I'm certainly not going to miss this and I don't care if you mind or -not, Roald, darling!"</p> - -<p>Malone was an impressive figure. Halvorsen thought: he looks as though -he's been run through an esthetikon set for 'brawny' and 'determined.' -Lucy made a hash of the introductions and the spaceman didn't rise to -conversational bait dangled enticingly by the girls.</p> - -<p>In a clear voice, he said to Halvorsen: "I don't want to take up too -much of your time. Lucy tells me you have some things for sale. Is -there any place we can look at them where it's quiet?"</p> - -<p>The students made sulky exits.</p> - -<p>"Back here," said the artist.</p> - -<p>The girl and Malone followed him through the curtains. The spaceman -made a slow circuit of the studio, seeming to repel questions.</p> - -<p>He sat down at last and said: "I don't know what to think, Halvorsen. -This place stuns me. Do you <i>know</i> you're in the Dark Ages?"</p> - -<p><i>People who never have given a thought to Chartres and Mont St. Michel -usually call it the Dark Ages</i>, Halvorsen thought wryly. He asked, -"Technologically, you mean? No, not at all. My plaster's better, my -colors are better, my metal is better—tool metal, not casting metal, -that is."</p> - -<p>"I mean <i>hand</i> work," said the spaceman. "Actually working by <i>hand</i>."</p> - -<p>The artist shrugged. "There have been crazes for the techniques of the -boiler works and the machine shop," he admitted. "Some interesting -things were done, but they didn't stand up well. Is there anything here -that takes your eye?"</p> - -<p>"I like those dolphins," said the spaceman, pointing to a perforated -terra-cotta relief on the wall. They had been commissioned by an -architect, then later refused for reasons of economy when the house -had run way over estimate. "They'd look bully over the fireplace in my -town apartment. Like them, Lucy?"</p> - -<p>"I think they're wonderful," said the girl.</p> - -<p>Roald saw the spaceman go rigid with the effort not to turn and stare -at her. He loved her and he was jealous.</p> - -<p>Roald told the story of the dolphins and said: "The price that the -architect thought was too high was three hundred and sixty dollars."</p> - -<p>Malone grunted. "Doesn't seem unreasonable—if you set a high store on -inspiration."</p> - -<p>"I don't know about inspiration," the artist said evenly. "But I was -awake for two days and two nights shoveling coal and adjusting drafts -to fire that thing in my kiln."</p> - -<p>The spaceman looked contemptuous. "I'll take it," he said. "Be -something to talk about during those awkward pauses. Tell me, -Halvorsen, how's Lucy's work? Do you think she ought to stick with it?"</p> - -<p>"Austin," objected the girl, "don't be so blunt. How can he possibly -know after one day?"</p> - -<p>"She can't draw yet," the artist said cautiously. "It's all -coordination, you know—thousands of hours of practice, training your -eye and hand to work together until you can put a line on paper where -you want it. Lucy, if you're really interested in it, you'll learn to -draw well. I don't think any of the other students will. They're in it -because of boredom or snobbery, and they'll stop before they have their -eye-hand coordination."</p> - -<p>"I <i>am</i> interested," she said firmly.</p> - -<p>Malone's determined restraint broke. "Damned right you are. In—" He -recovered himself and demanded of Halvorsen: "I understand your point -about coordination. But thousands of hours when you can buy a camera? -It's absurd."</p> - -<p>"I was talking about drawing, not art," replied Halvorsen. "Drawing -is putting a line on paper where you want it, I said." He took a deep -breath and hoped the great distinction wouldn't sound ludicrous and -trivial. "So let's say that art is knowing how to put the line in the -right place."</p> - -<p>"Be practical. There isn't any art. Not any more. I get around quite a -bit and I never see anything but photos and S.P.G.s. A few heirlooms, -yes, but nobody's painting or carving any more."</p> - -<p>"There's some art, Malone. My students—a couple of them in the -still-life class—are quite good. There are more across the country. -Art for occupational therapy, or a hobby, or something to do with the -hands. There's trade in their work. They sell them to each other, they -give them to their friends, they hang them on their walls. There are -even some sculptors like that. Sculpture is prescribed by doctors. The -occupational therapists say it's even better than drawing and painting, -so some of these people work in plasticene and soft stone, and some of -them get to be good."</p> - -<p>"Maybe so. I'm an engineer, Halvorsen. We glory in doing things the -easy way. Doing things the easy way got me to Mars and Venus and it's -going to get me to Ganymede. You're doing things the hard way, and your -inefficiency has no place in this world. Look at you! You've lost a -fingertip—some accident, I suppose."</p> - -<p>"I never noticed—" said Lucy, and then let out a faint, "Oh!"</p> - -<p>Halvorsen curled the middle finger of his left hand into the palm, -where he usually carried it to hide the missing first joint.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said softly. "An accident."</p> - -<p>"Accidents are a sign of inadequate mastery of material and equipment," -said Malone sententiously. "While you stick to your methods and I stick -to mine, <i>you can't compete with me</i>."</p> - -<p>His tone made it clear that he was talking about more than engineering.</p> - -<p>"Shall we go now, Lucy? Here's my card, Halvorsen. Send those dolphins -along and I'll mail you a check."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">IV</p> - -<p>The artist walked the half-dozen blocks to Mr. Krehbeil's place the -next day. He found the old man in the basement shop of his fussy house, -hunched over his bench with a powerful light overhead. He was trying to -file a saw.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Krehbeil!" Halvorsen called over the shriek of metal.</p> - -<p>The carpenter turned around and peered with watery eyes. "I can't see -like I used to," he said querulously. "I go over the same teeth on this -damn saw, I skip teeth, I can't see the light shine off it when I got -one set. The glare." He banged down his three-cornered file petulantly. -"Well, what can I do for you?"</p> - -<p>"I need some crating stock. Anything. I'll trade you a couple of my -maple four-by-fours."</p> - -<p>The old face became cunning. "And will you set my saw? My <i>saws</i>, I -mean. It's nothing to you—an hour's work. You have the eyes."</p> - -<p>Halvorsen said bitterly, "All right." The old man had to drive his -bargain, even though he might never use his saws again. And then the -artist promptly repented of his bitterness, offering up a quick prayer -that his own failure to conform didn't make him as much of a nuisance -to the world as Krehbeil was.</p> - -<p>The carpenter was pleased as they went through his small stock of wood -and chose boards to crate the dolphin relief. He was pleased enough to -give Halvorsen coffee and cake before the artist buckled down to filing -the saws.</p> - -<p>Over the kitchen table, Halvorsen tried to probe. "Things pretty slow -now?"</p> - -<p>It would be hard to spoil Krehbeil's day now. "People are always fools. -They don't know good hand work. Some day," he said apocalyptically, "I -laugh on the other side of my face when their foolish machine-buildings -go falling down in a strong wind, all of them, all over the country. -Even my boy—I used to beat him good, almost every day—he works a -foolish concrete machine and his house should fall on his head like the -rest."</p> - -<p>Halvorsen knew it was Krehbeil's son who supported him by mail, and -changed the subject. "You get some cabinet work?"</p> - -<p>"Stupid women! What they call antiques—they don't know Meissen, they -don't know Biedermeier. They bring me trash to repair sometimes. I make -them pay; I swindle them good."</p> - -<p>"I wonder if things would be different if there were anything left over -in Europe...."</p> - -<p>"People will still be fools, Mr. Halvorsen," said the carpenter -positively. "Didn't you say you were going to file those saws today?"</p> - -<p>So the artist spent two noisy hours filing before he carried his -crating stock to the studio.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Lucy was there. She had brought some things to eat. He dumped the -lumber with a bang and demanded: "Why aren't you at work?"</p> - -<p>"We get days off," she said vaguely. "Austin thought he'd give me the -cash for the terra-cotta and I could give it to you."</p> - -<p>She held out an envelope while he studied her silently. The farce was -beginning again. But this time he dreaded it.</p> - -<p>It would not be the first time that a lonesome, discontented girl chose -to see him as a combination of romantic rebel and lost pup, with the -consequences you'd expect.</p> - -<p>He knew from books, experience and Labuerre's conversation in the old -days that there was nothing novel about the comedy—that there had -even been artists, lots of them, who had counted on endless repetitions -of it for their livelihood.</p> - -<p>The girl drops in with groceries and the artist is pleasantly -surprised; the girl admires this little thing or that after payday and -buys it and the artist is pleasantly surprised; the girl brings her -friends to take lessons or make little purchases and the artist is -pleasantly surprised. The girl may be seduced by the artist or vice -versa, which shortens the comedy, or they get married, which lengthens -it somewhat.</p> - -<p>It had been three years since Halvorsen had last played out the farce -with a manic-depressive divorcee from Elmira: three years during which -he had crossed the mid-point between thirty and forty; three more years -to get beaten down by being unwanted and working too much and eating -too little.</p> - -<p>Also, he knew, he was in love with this girl.</p> - -<p>He took the envelope, counted three hundred and twenty dollars and -crammed it into his pocket. "That was your idea," he said. "Thanks. Now -get out, will you? I've got work to do."</p> - -<p>She stood there, shocked.</p> - -<p>"<i>I said get out. I have work to do.</i>"</p> - -<p>"Austin was right," she told him miserably. "You don't care how people -feel. You just want to get things out of them."</p> - -<p>She ran from the studio, and Halvorsen fought with himself not to run -after her.</p> - -<p>He walked slowly into his workshop and studied his array of tools, -though he paid little attention to his finished pieces. It would be -nice to spend about half of this money on open-hearth steel rod and -bar stock to forge into chisels; he thought he knew where he could get -some—but she would be back, or he would break and go to her and be -forgiven and the comedy would be played out, after all.</p> - -<p>He couldn't let that happen.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">V</p> - -<p>Aalesund, on the Atlantic side of the Dourefeld mountains of Norway, -was in the lee of the blasted continent. One more archeologist there -made no difference, as long as he had the sense to recognize the -propellor-like international signposts that said with their three -blades, <i>Radiation Hazard</i>, and knew what every schoolboy knew about -protective clothing and reading a personal Geiger counter.</p> - -<p>The car Halvorsen rented was for a brief trip over the mountains to -study contaminated Oslo. Well-muffled, he could make it and back in a -dozen hours and no harm done.</p> - -<p>But he took the car past Oslo, Wennersborg and Goteborg, along the -Kattegat coast to Helsingborg, and abandoned it there, among the -three-bladed polyglot signs, crossing to Denmark. Danes were as unlike -Prussians as they could be, but their unfortunate little peninsula was -a sprout off Prussia which radio-cobalt dust couldn't tell from the -real thing. The three-bladed signs were most specific.</p> - -<p>With a long way to walk along the rubble-littered highways, he stripped -off the impregnated coveralls and boots. He had long since shed the -noisy counter and the uncomfortable gloves and mask.</p> - -<p>The silence was eerie as he limped into Copenhagen at noon. He didn't -know whether the radiation was getting to him or whether he was tired -and hungry and no more. As though thinking of a stranger, he liked what -he was doing.</p> - -<p><i>I'll be my own audience, he thought. God knows I learned there isn't -any other, not any more. You have to know when to stop. Rodin, the -dirty old, wonderful old man, knew that. He taught us not to slick it -and polish it and smooth it until it looked like liquid instead of -bronze and stone. Van Gogh was crazy as a loon, but he knew when to -stop and varnish it, and he didn't care if the paint looked like paint -instead of looking like sunset clouds or moonbeams. Up in Hartford, -Browne and Sharpe stop when they've got a turret lathe; they don't put -caryatids on it. I'll stop while my life is a life, before it becomes -a thing with distracting embellishments such as a wife who will come -to despise me, a succession of gradually less worthwhile pieces that -nobody will look at.</i></p> - -<p><i>Blame nobody</i>, he told himself, lightheadedly.</p> - -<p>And then it was in front of him, terminating a vista of weeds and bomb -rubble—Milles' Orpheus Fountain.</p> - -<p>It took a man, he thought. Esthetikon circuits couldn't do it. There -was a gross mixture of styles, a calculated flaw that the esthetikon -couldn't be set to make. Orpheus and the souls were classic or later; -the three-headed dog was archaic. That was to tell you about the -antiquity and invincibility of Hell, and that Cerberus knows Orpheus -will never go back into life with his bride.</p> - -<p>There was the heroic, tragic central figure that looked mighty enough -to battle with the gods, but battle wasn't any good against the -grinning, knowing, hateful three-headed dog it stood on. You don't -battle the pavement where you walk or the floor of the house you're in; -you can't. So Orpheus, his face a mask of controlled and suffering -fury crashes a great chord from his lyre that moved trees and stones. -Around him the naked souls in Hell start at the chord, each in its own -way: the young lovers down in death; the mother down in death; the -musician, deaf and down in death, straining to hear.</p> - -<p>Halvorsen, walking uncertainly toward the fountain, felt something -break inside him, and a heaviness in his lungs. As he pitched forward -among the weeds, he thought he heard the chord from the lyre and didn't -care that the three-headed dog was grinning its knowing, hateful grin -down at him.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="600" height="386" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">VI</p> - -<p>When Halvorsen awoke, he supposed he was in Hell. There were the young -lovers, arms about each other's waists, solemnly looking down at him, -and the mother was placidly smoothing his brow. He stirred and felt his -left arm fall heavily.</p> - -<p>"Ah," said the mother, "you mustn't." He felt her pick up his limp arm -and lay it across his chest. "Your poor finger!" she sighed. "Can you -talk? What happened to it?"</p> - -<p>He could talk, weakly. "Labuerre and I," he said. "We were moving a big -block of marble with the crane—somehow the finger got under it. I -didn't notice until it was too late to shift my grip without the marble -slipping and smashing on the floor."</p> - -<p>The boy said in a solemn, adolescent croak: "You mean you saved the -marble and lost your finger?"</p> - -<p>"Marble," he muttered. "It's so hard to get. Labuerre was so old."</p> - -<p>The young lovers exchanged a glance and he slept again. He was half -awake when the musician seized first one of his hands and then the -other, jabbing them with stubby fingers and bending his lion's head -close to peer at the horny callouses left by chisel and mallet.</p> - -<p>"<i>Ja, ja</i>," the musician kept saying.</p> - -<p>Hell goes on forever, so for an eternity he jolted and jarred, and for -an eternity he heard bickering voices: "Why he was so foolish, then?" -"A idiot he could be." "Hush, let him rest." "The children told the -story." "There only one Labuerre was." "Easy with the tubing." "Let him -rest."</p> - -<p>Daylight dazzled his eyes.</p> - -<p>"Why you were so foolish?" demanded a harsh voice. "The sister says I -can talk to you now, so that is what I first want to know."</p> - -<p>He looked at the face of—not the musician; that had been delirium. But -it was a tough old face.</p> - -<p>"<i>Ja</i>, I am mean-looking; that is settled. What did you think you were -doing without coveralls and way over your exposure time?"</p> - -<p>"I wanted to die," said Halvorsen. There were tubes sticking in his -arms.</p> - -<p>The crag-faced old man let out a contemptuous bellow.</p> - -<p>"Sister!" he shouted. "Pull the plasma tubes out before more we waste. -He says he wants to die."</p> - -<p>"Hush," said the nurse. She laid her hand on his brow again.</p> - -<p>"Don't bother with him, Sister," the old man jeered. "He is a shrinking -little flower, too delicate for the great, rough world. He has done -nothing, he can do nothing, so he decides to make of himself a nuisance -by dying."</p> - -<p>"You lie," said Halvorsen. "I worked. Good God, how I worked! Nobody -wanted my work. They wanted me, to wear in their buttonholes like a -flower. They were getting to me. Another year and I wouldn't have been -an artist any more."</p> - -<p>"<i>Ja?</i>" asked the old man. "Tell me about it."</p> - -<p>Halvorsen told him, sometimes weeping with self-pity and weakness, -sometimes cursing the old man for not letting him die, sometimes -quietly describing this statuette or that portrait head, or raving -wildly against the mad folly of the world.</p> - -<p>At the last he told the old man about Lucy.</p> - -<p>"You cannot have everything, you know," said his listener.</p> - -<p>"I can have her," answered the artist harshly. "You wouldn't let me -die, so I won't die. I'll go back and I'll take her away from that -fat-head Malone that she ought to marry. I'll give her a couple of -happy years working herself to skin and bones for me before she begins -to hate it—before I begin to hate it."</p> - -<p>"You can't go back," said the old man. "I'm Cerberus. You understand -that? The girl is nothing. The society you come from is nothing. We -have a place here.... Sister, can he sit up?"</p> - -<p>The woman smiled and cranked his bed. Halvorsen saw through a picture -window that he was in a mountain-rimmed valley that was very green and -dotted with herds and unpainted houses.</p> - -<p>"Such a place there had to be," said the old man. "In the whole -geography of Europe, there had to be a Soltau Valley with winds and -terrain just right to deflect the dust."</p> - -<p>"Nobody knows?" whispered the artist.</p> - -<p>"We prefer it that way. It's impossible to get some things, but you -would be surprised how little difference it makes to the young people. -They are great travelers, the young people, in their sweaty coveralls -with radiation meters. They think when they see the ruined cities that -the people who lived in them must have been mad. It was a little travel -party like that which found you. The boy was impressed by something you -said, and I saw some interesting things in your hands. There isn't much -rock around here; we have fine deep topsoil. But the boys could get you -stone.</p> - -<p>"There should be a statue of the Mayor for one thing, before I die. -And from the Rathaus the wooden angels have mostly broken off. Soltau -Valley used to be proud of them—could you make good copies? And of -course cameras are useless and the best drawings we can do look funny. -Could you teach the youngers at least to draw so faces look like faces -and not behinds? And like you were saying about you and Labuerre, maybe -one younger there will be so crazy that he will want to learn it all, -so Soltau will always have an artist and sculptor for the necessary -work. And you will find a Lucy or somebody better. I think better."</p> - -<p>"Hush," warned the nurse. "You're exciting the patient."</p> - -<p>"It's all right," said Halvorsen eagerly. "Thanks, but it's really all -right."</p> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of With These Hands, by C.M. 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Kornbluth - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: With These Hands - -Author: C.M. Kornbluth - -Release Date: March 22, 2016 [EBook #51531] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WITH THESE HANDS *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - With These Hands - - By C. M. KORNBLUTH - - Illustrated by KARL ROGERS - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Galaxy Science Fiction December 1951. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - - No self-respecting artist can object to - suffering for his art ... but not in a - society where art is outdated by technology! - - -I - -Halvorsen waited in the Chancery office while Monsignor Reedy disposed -of three persons who had preceded him. He was a little dizzy with -hunger and noticed only vaguely that the prelate's secretary was -beckoning to him. He started to his feet when the secretary pointedly -opened the door to Monsignor Reedy's inner office and stood waiting -beside it. - -The artist crossed the floor, forgetting that he had leaned his -portfolio against his chair, remembered at the door and went back for -it, flushing. The secretary looked patient. - -"Thanks," Halvorsen murmured to him as the door closed. - -There was something wrong with the prelate's manner. - -"I've brought the designs for the Stations, Padre," he said, opening -the portfolio on the desk. - -"Bad news, Roald," said the monsignor. "I know how you've been looking -forward to the commission--" - -"Somebody else get it?" asked the artist faintly, leaning against the -desk. "I thought his eminence definitely decided I had the--" - -"It's not that," said the monsignor. "But the Sacred Congregation -of Rites this week made a pronouncement on images of devotion. -Stereopantograph is to be licit within a diocese at the discretion of -the bishop. And his eminence--" - -"S.P.G.--slimy imitations," protested Halvorsen. "Real as a plastic -eye. No texture. No guts. _You_ know that, Padre!" he said accusingly. - -"I'm sorry, Roald," said the monsignor. "Your work is better than we'll -get from a stereopantograph--to my eyes, at least. But there are other -considerations." - -"Money!" spat the artist. - -"Yes, money," the prelate admitted. "His eminence wants to see the St. -Xavier U. building program through before he dies. Is that a mortal -sin? And there are our schools, our charities, our Venus mission. -S.P.G. will mean a considerable saving on procurement and maintenance -of devotional images. Even if I could, I would not disagree with his -eminence on adopting it as a matter of diocesan policy." - -The prelate's eyes fell on the detailed drawings of the Stations of the -Cross and lingered. - -"Your St. Veronica," he said abstractedly. "Very fine. It suggests one -of Caravaggio's care-worn saints to me. I would have liked to see her -in the bronze." - -"So would I," said Halvorsen hoarsely. "Keep the drawings, Padre." He -started for the door. - -"But I can't--" - -"That's all right." - -The artist walked past the secretary blindly and out of the Chancery -into Fifth Avenue's spring sunlight. He hoped Monsignor Reedy was -enjoying the drawings and was ashamed of himself and sorry for -Halvorsen. And he was glad he didn't have to carry the heavy portfolio -any more. Everything seemed so heavy lately--chisels, hammer, wooden -palette. Maybe the padre would send him something and pretend it was -for expenses or an advance, as he had in the past. - -Halvorsen's feet carried him up the Avenue. No, there wouldn't be -any advances any more. The last steady trickle of income had just -been dried up, by an announcement in _Osservatore Romano_. Religious -conservatism had carried the church as far as it would go in its -ancient role of art patron. - -When all Europe was writing on the wonderful new vellum, the church -stuck to good old papyrus. When all Europe was writing on the wonderful -new paper, the church stuck to good old vellum. When all architects -and municipal monument committees and portrait bust clients were -patronizing the stereopantograph, the church stuck to good old -expensive sculpture. But not any more. - -He was passing an S.P.G. salon now, where one of his Tuesday night -pupils worked: one of the few men in the classes. Mostly they consisted -of lazy, moody, irritable girls. Halvorsen, surprised at himself, -entered the salon, walking between asthenic semi-nude stereos executed -in transparent plastic that made the skin of his neck and shoulders -prickle with gooseflesh. - -_Slime!_ he thought. _How can they--_ - -"May I help--oh, hello, Roald. What brings you here?" - -He knew suddenly what had brought him there. "Could you make a little -advance on next month's tuition, Lewis? I'm strapped." He took a -nervous look around the chamber of horrors, avoiding the man's -condescending face. - -"I guess so, Roald. Would ten dollars be any help? That'll carry us -through to the 25th, right?" - -"Fine, right, sure," he said, while he was being unwillingly towed -around the place. - -"I know you don't think much of S.P.G., but it's quiet now, so this is -a good chance to see how we work. I don't say it's Art with a capital -A, but you've got to admit it's _an_ art, something people like at a -price they can afford to pay. Here's where we sit them. Then you run -out the feelers to the reference points on the face. You know what they -are?" - -He heard himself say dryly: "I know what they are. The Egyptian -sculptors used them when they carved statues of the pharaohs." - -"Yes? I never knew that. There's nothing new under the Sun, is there? -But _this_ is the heart of the S.P.G." The youngster proudly swung open -the door of an electronic device in the wall of the portrait booth. -Tubes winked sullenly at Halvorsen. - -"The esthetikon?" he asked indifferently. He did not feel indifferent, -but it would be absurd to show anger, no matter how much he felt -it, against a mindless aggregation of circuits that could calculate -layouts, criticize and correct pictures for a desired effect--and that -had put the artist of design out of a job. - -"Yes. The lenses take sixteen profiles, you know, and we set the -esthetikon for whatever we want--cute, rugged, sexy, spiritual, brainy, -or a combination. It fairs curves from profile to profile to give us -just what we want, distorts the profiles themselves within limits if it -has to, and there's your portrait stored in the memory tank waiting to -be taped. You set your ratio for any enlargement or reduction you want -and play it back. I wish we were reproducing today; it's fascinating to -watch. You just pour in your cold-set plastic, the nozzles ooze out a -core and start crawling over to scan--a drop here, a worm there, and it -begins to take shape. - -"We mostly do portrait busts here, the Avenue trade, but Wilgus, -the foreman, used to work in a monument shop in Brooklyn. He did -that heroic-size war memorial on the East River Drive--hired Garda -Bouchette, the TV girl, for the central figure. And what a figure! -He told me he set the esthetikon plates for three-quarter sexy, -one-quarter spiritual. Here's something interesting--standing figurine -of Orin Ryerson, the banker. He ordered twelve. Figurines are coming -in. The girls like them because they can show their shapes. You'd be -surprised at some of the poses they want to try--" - - * * * * * - -Somehow, Halvorsen got out with the ten dollars, walked to Sixth Avenue -and sat down hard in a cheap restaurant. He had coffee and dozed a -little, waking with a guilty start at a racket across the street. There -was a building going up. For a while he watched the great machines pour -walls and floors, the workmen rolling here and there on their little -chariots to weld on a wall panel, stripe on an electric circuit of -conductive ink, or spray plastic finish over the "wired" wall, all -without leaving the saddles of their little mechanical chariots. - -Halvorsen felt more determined. He bought a paper from a vending -machine by the restaurant door, drew another cup of coffee and turned -to the help-wanted ads. - -The tricky trade-school ads urged him to learn construction work and -make big money. Be a plumbing-machine setup man. Be a house-wiring -machine tender. Be a servotruck driver. Be a lumber-stacker operator. -Learn pouring-machine maintenance. - -_Make big money!_ - -A sort of panic overcame him. He ran to the phone booth and dialed a -Passaic number. He heard the _ring-ring-ring_ and strained to hear -old Mr. Krehbeil's stumping footsteps growing louder as he neared the -phone, even though he knew he would hear nothing until the receiver was -picked up. - - * * * * * - -_Ring--ring--ring._ "Hello?" grunted the old man's voice, and his face -appeared on the little screen. "Hello, Mr. Halvorsen. What can I do for -you?" - -Halvorsen was tongue-tied. He couldn't possibly say: I just wanted to -see if you were still there. I was afraid you weren't there any more. -He choked and improvised: "Hello, Mr. Krehbeil. It's about the banister -on the stairs in my place. I noticed it's pretty shaky. Could you come -over sometime and fix it for me?" - -Krehbeil peered suspiciously out of the screen. "I could do that," he -said slowly. "I don't have much work nowadays. But you can carpenter -as good as me, Mr. Halvorsen, and frankly you're very slow pay and I -like cabinet work better. I'm not a young man and climbing around -on ladders takes it out of me. If you can't find anybody else, I'll -take the work, but I got to have some of the money first, just for the -materials. It isn't easy to get good wood any more." - -"All right," said Halvorsen. "Thanks, Mr. Krehbeil. I'll call you if I -can't get anybody else." - -He hung up and went back to his table and newspaper. His face was -burning with anger at the old man's reluctance and his own foolish -panic. Krehbeil didn't realize they were both in the same leaky boat. -Krehbeil, who didn't get a job in a month, still thought with senile -pride that he was a journeyman carpenter and cabinetmaker who could -make his solid way anywhere with his tool-box and his skill, and -that he could afford to look down on anything as disreputable as an -artist--even an artist who could carpenter as well as he did himself. - -Labuerre had made Halvorsen learn carpentry, and Labuerre had been -right. You build a scaffold so you can sculp up high, not so it will -collapse and you break a leg. You build your platforms so they hold -the rock steady, not so it wobbles and chatters at every blow of the -chisel. You build your armatures so they hold the plasticine you slam -onto them. - -But the help-wanted ads wanted no builders of scaffolds, platforms and -armatures. The factories were calling for setup men and maintenance men -for the production and assembly machines. - -From upstate, General Vegetables had sent a recruiting team for farm -help--harvest setup and maintenance men, a few openings for experienced -operators of tank-caulking machinery. Under "office and professional" -the demand was heavy for computer men, for girls who could run the -I.B.M. Letteriter, esp. familiar sales and collections corresp., for -office machinery maintenance and repair men. A job printing house -wanted an esthetikon operator for letterhead layouts and the like. A.T. -& T. wanted trainees to earn while learning telephone maintenance. A -direct-mail advertising outfit wanted an artist--no, they wanted a -sales-executive who could scrawl picture-ideas that would be subjected -to the criticism and correction of the esthetikon. - -Halvorsen leafed tiredly through the rest of the paper. He knew he -wouldn't get a job, and if he did he wouldn't hold it. He knew it was -a terrible thing to admit to yourself that you might starve to death -because you were bored by anything except art, but he admitted it. - -It had happened often enough in the past--artists undergoing -preposterous hardships, not, as people thought, because they were -devoted to art, but because nothing else was interesting. If there -were only some impressive, sonorous word that summed up the aching, -oppressive futility that overcame him when he tried to get out of -art--only there wasn't. - -He thought he could tell which of the photos in the tabloid had been -corrected by the esthetikon. - -There was a shot of Jink Bitsy, who was to star in a remake of _Peter -Pan_. Her ears had been made to look not pointed but pointy, her upper -lip had been lengthened a trifle, her nose had been pugged a little and -tilted quite a lot, her freckles were cuter than cute, her brows were -innocently arched, and her lower lip and eyes were nothing less than -pornography. - -There was a shot, apparently uncorrected, of the last Venus ship coming -in at La Guardia and the average-looking explorers grinning. Caption: -"Austin Malone and crew smile relief on safe arrival. Malone says Venus -colonies need men, machines. See story p. 2." - -Petulantly, Halvorsen threw the paper under the table and walked -out. What had space travel to do with him? Vacations on the Moon and -expeditions to Venus and Mars were part of the deadly encroachment on -his livelihood and no more. - - -II - -He took the subway to Passaic and walked down a long-still traffic -beltway to his studio, almost the only building alive in the slums near -the rusting railroad freightyard. - -A sign that had once said "F. Labuerre, Sculptor--Portraits -and Architectural Commissions" now said "Roald Halvorsen; Art -Classes--Reasonable Fees." It was a grimy two-story frame building with -a shopfront in which were mounted some of his students' charcoal figure -studies and oil still-lifes. He lived upstairs, taught downstairs -front, and did his own work downstairs, back behind dirty, ceiling-high -drapes. - -Going in, he noticed that he had forgotten to lock the door again. He -slammed it bitterly. At the noise, somebody called from behind the -drapes: "Who's that?" - -"Halvorsen!" he yelled in a sudden fury. "I live here. I own this -place. Come out of there! What do you want?" - -There was a fumbling at the drapes and a girl stepped between them, -shrinking from their dirt. - -"Your door was open," she said firmly, "and it's a shop. I've just -been here a couple of minutes. I came to ask about classes, but I don't -think I'm interested if you're this bad-tempered." - -A pupil. Pupils were never to be abused, especially not now. - -"I'm terribly sorry," he said. "I had a trying day in the city." Now -turn it on. "I wouldn't tell everybody a terrible secret like this, but -I've lost a commission. You understand? I thought so. Anybody who'd -traipse out here to my dingy abode would be _simpatica_. Won't you -sit down? No, not there--humor an artist and sit over there. The warm -background of that still-life brings out your color--quite good color. -Have you ever been painted? You've a very interesting face, you know. -Some day I'd like to--but you mentioned classes. - -"We have figure classes, male and female models alternating, on Tuesday -nights. For that I have to be very stern and ask you to sign up for -an entire course of twelve lessons at sixty dollars. It's the models' -fees--they're exorbitant. Saturday afternoons we have still-life -classes for beginners in oils. That's only two dollars a class, but you -might sign up for a series of six and pay ten dollars in advance, which -saves you two whole dollars. I also give private instructions to a few -talented amateurs." - -The price was open on that one--whatever the traffic would bear. It had -been a year since he'd had a private pupil and she'd taken only six -lessons at five dollars an hour. - -"The still-life sounds interesting," said the girl, holding her head -self-consciously the way they all did when he gave them the patter. -It was a good head, carried well up. The muscles clung close, not -yet slacked into geotropic loops and lumps. The line of youth is -heliotropic, he confusedly thought. "I saw some interesting things back -there. Was that your own work?" - -She rose, obviously with the expectation of being taken into the -studio. Her body was one of those long-lined, small-breasted, coltish -jobs that the pre-Raphaelites loved to draw. - -"Well--" said Halvorsen. A deliberate show of reluctance and then a -bright smile of confidence. "_You'll_ understand," he said positively -and drew aside the curtains. - -"What a curious place!" She wandered about, inspecting the drums of -plaster, clay and plasticene, the racks of tools, the stands, the -stones, the chisels, the forge, the kiln, the lumber, the glaze bench. - -"I _like_ this," she said determinedly, picking up a figure a -half-meter tall, a Venus he had cast in bronze while studying under -Labuerre some years ago. "How much is it?" - -An honest answer would scare her off, and there was no chance in the -world that she'd buy. "I hardly ever put my things up for sale," -he told her lightly. "That was just a little study. I do work on -commission only nowadays." - -Her eyes flicked about the dingy room, seeming to take in its scaling -plaster and warped floor and see through the wall to the abandoned slum -in which it was set. There was amusement in her glance. - -_I am not being honest, she thinks. She thinks that is funny. Very -well, I will be honest._ "Six hundred dollars," he said flatly. - - * * * * * - -The girl set the figurine on its stand with a rap and said, half angry -and half amused: "I don't understand it. That's more than a month's pay -for me. I could get an S.P.G. statuette just as pretty as this for ten -dollars. Who do you artists think you are, anyway?" - -Halvorsen debated with himself about what he could say in reply: - -_An S.P.G. operator spends a week learning his skill and I spend a -lifetime learning mine._ - -_An S.P.G. operator makes a mechanical copy of a human form distorted -by formulae mechanically arrived at from psychotests of population -samples. I take full responsibility for my work; it is mine, though -I use what I see fit from Egypt, Greece, Rome, the Middle Ages, the -Renaissance, the Augustan and Romantic and Modern Eras._ - -_An S.P.G. operator works in soft, homogeneous plastic; I work in -bronze that is more complicated than you dream, that is cast and -acid-dipped today so it will slowly take on rich and subtle coloring -many years from today._ - -_An S.P.G. operator could not make an Orpheus Fountain_-- - -He mumbled, "Orpheus," and keeled over. - - * * * * * - -Halvorsen awoke in his bed on the second floor of the building. His -fingers and toes buzzed electrically and he felt very clear-headed. The -girl and a man, unmistakably a doctor, were watching him. - -"You don't seem to belong to any Medical Plans, Halvorsen," the doctor -said irritably. "There weren't any cards on you at all. No Red, no -Blue, no Green, no Brown." - -"I used to be on the Green Plan, but I let it lapse," the artist said -defensively. - -"And look what happened!" - -"Stop nagging him!" the girl said. "I'll pay you your fee." - -"It's supposed to come through a Plan," the doctor fretted. - -"We won't tell anybody," the girl promised. "Here's five dollars. Just -stop nagging him." - -"Malnutrition," said the doctor. "Normally I'd send him to a hospital, -but I don't see how I could manage it. He isn't on any Plan at all. -Look, I'll take the money and leave some vitamins. That's what he -needs--vitamins. And food." - -"I'll see that he eats," the girl said, and the doctor left. - -"How long since you've had anything?" she asked Halvorsen. - -"I had some coffee today," he answered, thinking back. "I'd been -working on detail drawings for a commission and it fell through. I told -you that. It was a shock." - -"I'm Lucretia Grumman," she said, and went out. - -He dozed until she came back with an armful of groceries. - -"It's hard to get around down here," she complained. - -"It was Labuerre's studio," he told her defiantly. "He left it to me -when he died. Things weren't so rundown in his time. I studied under -him; he was one of the last. He had a joke--'They don't really want my -stuff, but they're ashamed to let me starve.' He warned me that they -wouldn't be ashamed to let _me_ starve, but I insisted and he took me -in." - -Halvorsen drank some milk and ate some bread. He thought of the change -from the ten dollars in his pocket and decided not to mention it. Then -he remembered that the doctor had gone through his pockets. - -"I can pay you for this," he said. "It's very kind of you, but you -mustn't think I'm penniless. I've just been too preoccupied to take -care of myself." - -"Sure," said the girl. "But we can call this an advance. I want to sign -up for some classes." - -"Be happy to have you." - -"Am I bothering you?" asked the girl. "You said something odd when you -fainted--'Orpheus.'" - -"Did I say that? I must have been thinking of Milles' Orpheus Fountain -in Copenhagen. I've seen photos, but I've never been there." - -"Germany? But there's nothing left of Germany." - -"Copenhagen's in Denmark. There's quite a lot of Denmark left. It was -only on the fringes. Heavily radiated, but still there." - -"I want to travel, too," she said. "I work at La Guardia and I've never -been off, except for an orbiting excursion. I want to go to the Moon -on my vacation. They give us a bonus in travel vouchers. It must be -wonderful dancing under the low gravity." - -Spaceport? Off? Low gravity? Terms belonging to the detested electronic -world of the stereopantograph in which he had no place. - -"Be very interesting," he said, closing his eyes to conceal disgust. - -"I _am_ bothering you. I'll go away now, but I'll be back Tuesday night -for the class. What time do I come and what should I bring?" - -"Eight. It's charcoal--I sell you the sticks and paper. Just bring a -smock." - -"All right. And I want to take the oils class, too. And I want to bring -some people I know to see your work. I'm sure they'll see something -they like. Austin Malone's in from Venus--he's a special friend of -mine." - -"Lucretia," he said. "Or do some people call you Lucy?" - -"Lucy." - -"Will you take that little bronze you liked? As a thank you?" - -"I can't do that!" - -"Please. I'd feel much better about this. I really mean it." - -She nodded abruptly, flushing, and almost ran from the room. - -_Now why did I do that?_ he asked himself. He hoped it was because -he liked Lucy Grumman very much. He hoped it wasn't a cold-blooded -investment of a piece of sculpture that would never be sold, anyway, -just to make sure she'd be back with class fees and more groceries. - - -III - -She was back on Tuesday, a half-hour early and carrying a smock. He -introduced her formally to the others as they arrived: a dozen or so -bored young women who, he suspected, talked a great deal about their -art lessons outside, but in class used any excuse to stop sketching. - -He didn't dare show Lucy any particular consideration. There were -fierce little miniature cliques in the class. Halvorsen knew they -laughed at him and his line among themselves, and yet, strangely, were -fiercely jealous of their seniority and right to individual attention. - -The lesson was an ordeal, as usual. The model, a muscle-bound young -graduate of the barbell gyms and figure-photography studios, was stupid -and argumentative about ten-minute poses. Two of the girls came near a -hair-pulling brawl over the rights to a preferred sketching location. A -third girl had discovered Picasso's cubist period during the past week -and proudly announced that she didn't _feel_ perspective in art. - -But the two interminable hours finally ticked by. He nagged them into -cleaning up--not as bad as the Saturdays with oils--and stood by the -open door. Otherwise they would have stayed all night, cackling about -absent students and snarling sulkily among themselves. His well-laid -plans went sour, though. A large and flashy car drove up as the girls -were leaving. - -"That's Austin Malone," said Lucy. "He came to pick me up and look at -your work." - -That was all the wedge her fellow-pupils needed. - -"_Aus_-tin Ma-_lone_! _Well!_" - -"Lucy, darling, I'd love to meet a real _spaceman_." - -"Roald, darling, would you mind very much if I stayed a moment?" - -"I'm certainly not going to miss this and I don't care if you mind or -not, Roald, darling!" - -Malone was an impressive figure. Halvorsen thought: he looks as though -he's been run through an esthetikon set for 'brawny' and 'determined.' -Lucy made a hash of the introductions and the spaceman didn't rise to -conversational bait dangled enticingly by the girls. - -In a clear voice, he said to Halvorsen: "I don't want to take up too -much of your time. Lucy tells me you have some things for sale. Is -there any place we can look at them where it's quiet?" - -The students made sulky exits. - -"Back here," said the artist. - -The girl and Malone followed him through the curtains. The spaceman -made a slow circuit of the studio, seeming to repel questions. - -He sat down at last and said: "I don't know what to think, Halvorsen. -This place stuns me. Do you _know_ you're in the Dark Ages?" - -_People who never have given a thought to Chartres and Mont St. Michel -usually call it the Dark Ages_, Halvorsen thought wryly. He asked, -"Technologically, you mean? No, not at all. My plaster's better, my -colors are better, my metal is better--tool metal, not casting metal, -that is." - -"I mean _hand_ work," said the spaceman. "Actually working by _hand_." - -The artist shrugged. "There have been crazes for the techniques of the -boiler works and the machine shop," he admitted. "Some interesting -things were done, but they didn't stand up well. Is there anything here -that takes your eye?" - -"I like those dolphins," said the spaceman, pointing to a perforated -terra-cotta relief on the wall. They had been commissioned by an -architect, then later refused for reasons of economy when the house -had run way over estimate. "They'd look bully over the fireplace in my -town apartment. Like them, Lucy?" - -"I think they're wonderful," said the girl. - -Roald saw the spaceman go rigid with the effort not to turn and stare -at her. He loved her and he was jealous. - -Roald told the story of the dolphins and said: "The price that the -architect thought was too high was three hundred and sixty dollars." - -Malone grunted. "Doesn't seem unreasonable--if you set a high store on -inspiration." - -"I don't know about inspiration," the artist said evenly. "But I was -awake for two days and two nights shoveling coal and adjusting drafts -to fire that thing in my kiln." - -The spaceman looked contemptuous. "I'll take it," he said. "Be -something to talk about during those awkward pauses. Tell me, -Halvorsen, how's Lucy's work? Do you think she ought to stick with it?" - -"Austin," objected the girl, "don't be so blunt. How can he possibly -know after one day?" - -"She can't draw yet," the artist said cautiously. "It's all -coordination, you know--thousands of hours of practice, training your -eye and hand to work together until you can put a line on paper where -you want it. Lucy, if you're really interested in it, you'll learn to -draw well. I don't think any of the other students will. They're in it -because of boredom or snobbery, and they'll stop before they have their -eye-hand coordination." - -"I _am_ interested," she said firmly. - -Malone's determined restraint broke. "Damned right you are. In--" He -recovered himself and demanded of Halvorsen: "I understand your point -about coordination. But thousands of hours when you can buy a camera? -It's absurd." - -"I was talking about drawing, not art," replied Halvorsen. "Drawing -is putting a line on paper where you want it, I said." He took a deep -breath and hoped the great distinction wouldn't sound ludicrous and -trivial. "So let's say that art is knowing how to put the line in the -right place." - -"Be practical. There isn't any art. Not any more. I get around quite a -bit and I never see anything but photos and S.P.G.s. A few heirlooms, -yes, but nobody's painting or carving any more." - -"There's some art, Malone. My students--a couple of them in the -still-life class--are quite good. There are more across the country. -Art for occupational therapy, or a hobby, or something to do with the -hands. There's trade in their work. They sell them to each other, they -give them to their friends, they hang them on their walls. There are -even some sculptors like that. Sculpture is prescribed by doctors. The -occupational therapists say it's even better than drawing and painting, -so some of these people work in plasticene and soft stone, and some of -them get to be good." - -"Maybe so. I'm an engineer, Halvorsen. We glory in doing things the -easy way. Doing things the easy way got me to Mars and Venus and it's -going to get me to Ganymede. You're doing things the hard way, and your -inefficiency has no place in this world. Look at you! You've lost a -fingertip--some accident, I suppose." - -"I never noticed--" said Lucy, and then let out a faint, "Oh!" - -Halvorsen curled the middle finger of his left hand into the palm, -where he usually carried it to hide the missing first joint. - -"Yes," he said softly. "An accident." - -"Accidents are a sign of inadequate mastery of material and equipment," -said Malone sententiously. "While you stick to your methods and I stick -to mine, _you can't compete with me_." - -His tone made it clear that he was talking about more than engineering. - -"Shall we go now, Lucy? Here's my card, Halvorsen. Send those dolphins -along and I'll mail you a check." - - -IV - -The artist walked the half-dozen blocks to Mr. Krehbeil's place the -next day. He found the old man in the basement shop of his fussy house, -hunched over his bench with a powerful light overhead. He was trying to -file a saw. - -"Mr. Krehbeil!" Halvorsen called over the shriek of metal. - -The carpenter turned around and peered with watery eyes. "I can't see -like I used to," he said querulously. "I go over the same teeth on this -damn saw, I skip teeth, I can't see the light shine off it when I got -one set. The glare." He banged down his three-cornered file petulantly. -"Well, what can I do for you?" - -"I need some crating stock. Anything. I'll trade you a couple of my -maple four-by-fours." - -The old face became cunning. "And will you set my saw? My _saws_, I -mean. It's nothing to you--an hour's work. You have the eyes." - -Halvorsen said bitterly, "All right." The old man had to drive his -bargain, even though he might never use his saws again. And then the -artist promptly repented of his bitterness, offering up a quick prayer -that his own failure to conform didn't make him as much of a nuisance -to the world as Krehbeil was. - -The carpenter was pleased as they went through his small stock of wood -and chose boards to crate the dolphin relief. He was pleased enough to -give Halvorsen coffee and cake before the artist buckled down to filing -the saws. - -Over the kitchen table, Halvorsen tried to probe. "Things pretty slow -now?" - -It would be hard to spoil Krehbeil's day now. "People are always fools. -They don't know good hand work. Some day," he said apocalyptically, "I -laugh on the other side of my face when their foolish machine-buildings -go falling down in a strong wind, all of them, all over the country. -Even my boy--I used to beat him good, almost every day--he works a -foolish concrete machine and his house should fall on his head like the -rest." - -Halvorsen knew it was Krehbeil's son who supported him by mail, and -changed the subject. "You get some cabinet work?" - -"Stupid women! What they call antiques--they don't know Meissen, they -don't know Biedermeier. They bring me trash to repair sometimes. I make -them pay; I swindle them good." - -"I wonder if things would be different if there were anything left over -in Europe...." - -"People will still be fools, Mr. Halvorsen," said the carpenter -positively. "Didn't you say you were going to file those saws today?" - -So the artist spent two noisy hours filing before he carried his -crating stock to the studio. - - * * * * * - -Lucy was there. She had brought some things to eat. He dumped the -lumber with a bang and demanded: "Why aren't you at work?" - -"We get days off," she said vaguely. "Austin thought he'd give me the -cash for the terra-cotta and I could give it to you." - -She held out an envelope while he studied her silently. The farce was -beginning again. But this time he dreaded it. - -It would not be the first time that a lonesome, discontented girl chose -to see him as a combination of romantic rebel and lost pup, with the -consequences you'd expect. - -He knew from books, experience and Labuerre's conversation in the old -days that there was nothing novel about the comedy--that there had -even been artists, lots of them, who had counted on endless repetitions -of it for their livelihood. - -The girl drops in with groceries and the artist is pleasantly -surprised; the girl admires this little thing or that after payday and -buys it and the artist is pleasantly surprised; the girl brings her -friends to take lessons or make little purchases and the artist is -pleasantly surprised. The girl may be seduced by the artist or vice -versa, which shortens the comedy, or they get married, which lengthens -it somewhat. - -It had been three years since Halvorsen had last played out the farce -with a manic-depressive divorcee from Elmira: three years during which -he had crossed the mid-point between thirty and forty; three more years -to get beaten down by being unwanted and working too much and eating -too little. - -Also, he knew, he was in love with this girl. - -He took the envelope, counted three hundred and twenty dollars and -crammed it into his pocket. "That was your idea," he said. "Thanks. Now -get out, will you? I've got work to do." - -She stood there, shocked. - -"_I said get out. I have work to do._" - -"Austin was right," she told him miserably. "You don't care how people -feel. You just want to get things out of them." - -She ran from the studio, and Halvorsen fought with himself not to run -after her. - -He walked slowly into his workshop and studied his array of tools, -though he paid little attention to his finished pieces. It would be -nice to spend about half of this money on open-hearth steel rod and -bar stock to forge into chisels; he thought he knew where he could get -some--but she would be back, or he would break and go to her and be -forgiven and the comedy would be played out, after all. - -He couldn't let that happen. - - -V - -Aalesund, on the Atlantic side of the Dourefeld mountains of Norway, -was in the lee of the blasted continent. One more archeologist there -made no difference, as long as he had the sense to recognize the -propellor-like international signposts that said with their three -blades, _Radiation Hazard_, and knew what every schoolboy knew about -protective clothing and reading a personal Geiger counter. - -The car Halvorsen rented was for a brief trip over the mountains to -study contaminated Oslo. Well-muffled, he could make it and back in a -dozen hours and no harm done. - -But he took the car past Oslo, Wennersborg and Goteborg, along the -Kattegat coast to Helsingborg, and abandoned it there, among the -three-bladed polyglot signs, crossing to Denmark. Danes were as unlike -Prussians as they could be, but their unfortunate little peninsula was -a sprout off Prussia which radio-cobalt dust couldn't tell from the -real thing. The three-bladed signs were most specific. - -With a long way to walk along the rubble-littered highways, he stripped -off the impregnated coveralls and boots. He had long since shed the -noisy counter and the uncomfortable gloves and mask. - -The silence was eerie as he limped into Copenhagen at noon. He didn't -know whether the radiation was getting to him or whether he was tired -and hungry and no more. As though thinking of a stranger, he liked what -he was doing. - -_I'll be my own audience, he thought. God knows I learned there isn't -any other, not any more. You have to know when to stop. Rodin, the -dirty old, wonderful old man, knew that. He taught us not to slick it -and polish it and smooth it until it looked like liquid instead of -bronze and stone. Van Gogh was crazy as a loon, but he knew when to -stop and varnish it, and he didn't care if the paint looked like paint -instead of looking like sunset clouds or moonbeams. Up in Hartford, -Browne and Sharpe stop when they've got a turret lathe; they don't put -caryatids on it. I'll stop while my life is a life, before it becomes -a thing with distracting embellishments such as a wife who will come -to despise me, a succession of gradually less worthwhile pieces that -nobody will look at._ - -_Blame nobody_, he told himself, lightheadedly. - -And then it was in front of him, terminating a vista of weeds and bomb -rubble--Milles' Orpheus Fountain. - -It took a man, he thought. Esthetikon circuits couldn't do it. There -was a gross mixture of styles, a calculated flaw that the esthetikon -couldn't be set to make. Orpheus and the souls were classic or later; -the three-headed dog was archaic. That was to tell you about the -antiquity and invincibility of Hell, and that Cerberus knows Orpheus -will never go back into life with his bride. - -There was the heroic, tragic central figure that looked mighty enough -to battle with the gods, but battle wasn't any good against the -grinning, knowing, hateful three-headed dog it stood on. You don't -battle the pavement where you walk or the floor of the house you're in; -you can't. So Orpheus, his face a mask of controlled and suffering -fury crashes a great chord from his lyre that moved trees and stones. -Around him the naked souls in Hell start at the chord, each in its own -way: the young lovers down in death; the mother down in death; the -musician, deaf and down in death, straining to hear. - -Halvorsen, walking uncertainly toward the fountain, felt something -break inside him, and a heaviness in his lungs. As he pitched forward -among the weeds, he thought he heard the chord from the lyre and didn't -care that the three-headed dog was grinning its knowing, hateful grin -down at him. - - -VI - -When Halvorsen awoke, he supposed he was in Hell. There were the young -lovers, arms about each other's waists, solemnly looking down at him, -and the mother was placidly smoothing his brow. He stirred and felt his -left arm fall heavily. - -"Ah," said the mother, "you mustn't." He felt her pick up his limp arm -and lay it across his chest. "Your poor finger!" she sighed. "Can you -talk? What happened to it?" - -He could talk, weakly. "Labuerre and I," he said. "We were moving a big -block of marble with the crane--somehow the finger got under it. I -didn't notice until it was too late to shift my grip without the marble -slipping and smashing on the floor." - -The boy said in a solemn, adolescent croak: "You mean you saved the -marble and lost your finger?" - -"Marble," he muttered. "It's so hard to get. Labuerre was so old." - -The young lovers exchanged a glance and he slept again. He was half -awake when the musician seized first one of his hands and then the -other, jabbing them with stubby fingers and bending his lion's head -close to peer at the horny callouses left by chisel and mallet. - -"_Ja, ja_," the musician kept saying. - -Hell goes on forever, so for an eternity he jolted and jarred, and for -an eternity he heard bickering voices: "Why he was so foolish, then?" -"A idiot he could be." "Hush, let him rest." "The children told the -story." "There only one Labuerre was." "Easy with the tubing." "Let him -rest." - -Daylight dazzled his eyes. - -"Why you were so foolish?" demanded a harsh voice. "The sister says I -can talk to you now, so that is what I first want to know." - -He looked at the face of--not the musician; that had been delirium. But -it was a tough old face. - -"_Ja_, I am mean-looking; that is settled. What did you think you were -doing without coveralls and way over your exposure time?" - -"I wanted to die," said Halvorsen. There were tubes sticking in his -arms. - -The crag-faced old man let out a contemptuous bellow. - -"Sister!" he shouted. "Pull the plasma tubes out before more we waste. -He says he wants to die." - -"Hush," said the nurse. She laid her hand on his brow again. - -"Don't bother with him, Sister," the old man jeered. "He is a shrinking -little flower, too delicate for the great, rough world. He has done -nothing, he can do nothing, so he decides to make of himself a nuisance -by dying." - -"You lie," said Halvorsen. "I worked. Good God, how I worked! Nobody -wanted my work. They wanted me, to wear in their buttonholes like a -flower. They were getting to me. Another year and I wouldn't have been -an artist any more." - -"_Ja?_" asked the old man. "Tell me about it." - -Halvorsen told him, sometimes weeping with self-pity and weakness, -sometimes cursing the old man for not letting him die, sometimes -quietly describing this statuette or that portrait head, or raving -wildly against the mad folly of the world. - -At the last he told the old man about Lucy. - -"You cannot have everything, you know," said his listener. - -"I can have her," answered the artist harshly. "You wouldn't let me -die, so I won't die. I'll go back and I'll take her away from that -fat-head Malone that she ought to marry. I'll give her a couple of -happy years working herself to skin and bones for me before she begins -to hate it--before I begin to hate it." - -"You can't go back," said the old man. "I'm Cerberus. You understand -that? The girl is nothing. The society you come from is nothing. We -have a place here.... Sister, can he sit up?" - -The woman smiled and cranked his bed. Halvorsen saw through a picture -window that he was in a mountain-rimmed valley that was very green and -dotted with herds and unpainted houses. - -"Such a place there had to be," said the old man. "In the whole -geography of Europe, there had to be a Soltau Valley with winds and -terrain just right to deflect the dust." - -"Nobody knows?" whispered the artist. - -"We prefer it that way. It's impossible to get some things, but you -would be surprised how little difference it makes to the young people. -They are great travelers, the young people, in their sweaty coveralls -with radiation meters. They think when they see the ruined cities that -the people who lived in them must have been mad. It was a little travel -party like that which found you. The boy was impressed by something you -said, and I saw some interesting things in your hands. There isn't much -rock around here; we have fine deep topsoil. But the boys could get you -stone. - -"There should be a statue of the Mayor for one thing, before I die. -And from the Rathaus the wooden angels have mostly broken off. Soltau -Valley used to be proud of them--could you make good copies? And of -course cameras are useless and the best drawings we can do look funny. -Could you teach the youngers at least to draw so faces look like faces -and not behinds? And like you were saying about you and Labuerre, maybe -one younger there will be so crazy that he will want to learn it all, -so Soltau will always have an artist and sculptor for the necessary -work. And you will find a Lucy or somebody better. I think better." - -"Hush," warned the nurse. "You're exciting the patient." - -"It's all right," said Halvorsen eagerly. "Thanks, but it's really all -right." - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of With These Hands, by C.M. 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