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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..4f45de8 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #63631 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63631) diff --git a/old/63631-h.zip b/old/63631-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9cf54fd..0000000 --- a/old/63631-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/63631-h/63631-h.htm b/old/63631-h/63631-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 5195e0a..0000000 --- a/old/63631-h/63631-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1104 +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 "Phone Me in Central Park", by James Mcconnell. - </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;} - -/* 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 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } -.ph1 { font-size: medium; margin: .83em auto; } - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of "Phone Me In Central Park", by James McConnell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: "Phone Me In Central Park" - -Author: James McConnell - -Release Date: November 4, 2020 [EBook #63631] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK "PHONE ME IN CENTRAL PARK" *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>"Phone Me in Central Park"</h1> - -<h2>By JAMES McCONNELL</h2> - -<p>There should be an epitaph for every<br /> -man, big or little, but a really grand<br /> -and special one for Loner Charlie.</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Planet Stories Fall 1954.<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>Charles turned over on his side to look at her. She lay quietly in the -other bed, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was blonde to -perfection, exquisitely shaped, and the rich promise of her body was -exposed to his view.</p> - -<p>"Why?" he thought as he looked at her. "Why did it have to happen like -this?"</p> - -<p>The whole thing was still like a dream to him, and as yet he couldn't -decide whether it was a good or a bad dream. A year ago she had been -unattainable, a face to conjure with in erotic dreams, far beyond his -ken. A year ago she had been a public idol, the most popular actress of -the day. And he had been a nobody, full of a nobody's idle hopes and -schemes.</p> - -<p>And now he was lying in the bed next to hers in her swank Manhattan -apartment in the most exclusive hotel in town. The unrealness of the -situation overwhelmed him. His mind was a picture of confused thoughts. -Meanings and answers to his questions slithered out of his reach.</p> - -<p>"God," he said. It was not an exclamation, nor yet an expletive. It was -a mere statement of fact.</p> - -<p>A thought teased at him. Charles looked at the woman again and decided -that she still looked beautiful in spite of the harshness of the -room's lighting. He touched buttons by the edge of the bed and the -illumination quieted to a soft glow, wrapping her in a radiant halo. -Charles smiled wanly and got up. He stood by the bed looking at her.</p> - -<p>"I could have fallen in love with you once. A year ago, perhaps, or -longer. But not now. Not now." He turned away and walked to the window. -"Now the world is dead. The whole world is dead."</p> - -<p>New York lay quietly below him. It was the hour of indecision when -day has not quite made up its mind to leave and night has not yet -attacked in force. The streetlights were already on, making geometric -patterns through the dusk of Central Park. Some of the billboards were -shining, their relays activated by darkness-sensitized solenoids. A -reddish-orange pallor hung from the sky.</p> - -<p>It had been very pleasant that afternoon. She had given of herself -freely, warmly, and Charles had accepted. But then he had known -that she would. It was not him, it was the circumstances. Under the -circumstances, she would have given herself to any man—</p> - -<p>"Why did it have to be her—or me? Why should it have to happen to -anybody! Why!"</p> - -<p><i>She would have given herself to any man—</i></p> - -<p>His thoughts beat a rapid crescendo, activating emotions, stimulating -sensations of angry rage. He wanted to cry, to weep angry tears of -protest.</p> - -<p>To any man, WHO HAPPENED TO BE THE LAST MAN ON EARTH!</p> - -<p>Charles picked up a heavy book end off the table and crashed it through -the thick pane of window glass.</p> - -<p>A gust of wind from the outside breezed through the shattered opening, -attacking his olfactory patch with the retching smell of decaying -flesh. Charles ignored it. Even smells had lost their customary -meanings.</p> - -<p>He felt the rage build up inside again, tearing at his viscera. His -stomach clenched up like an angry fist.</p> - -<p>"But I don't want to be the last man alive!" he shouted. "I don't know -what to do! I don't know where to go, how to act! I just don't know—"</p> - -<p>A paroxysm of sobbing shook his body. Trembling, he dropped to his -knees, his head against the cold firmness of the sill, his hands -clutched tightly around the jagged edges of the window pane. In spite -of the sharp pain that raced through his system, in spite of the -bright, warm, red stream that trickled down his face, he knelt by the -window for several minutes.</p> - -<p>"<i>Maybe I'm not the last!</i>"</p> - -<p>The thought struck him with suddenness, promisingly, edged with -swelling comfort to fill his emptiness.</p> - -<p>Charles got up slowly, noticing for the first time that his fingers -were badly cut. He wrapped a handkerchief around them and forgot them. -He had to know—he had to find out.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>As he turned to leave, he noticed again the woman lying in radiant -state upon the bed. He walked to her side and leaned over, kissing her -gently on the forehead. As he straightened up, his leg caught against -her arm, pushing it slightly. The woman's arm slipped from its position -and dangled from the edge of the bed like a crazy pendulum. Charles -picked it up and folded it across her now cold breasts. He started -to pull the sheet over her nude form, then stopped, smiling at his -conventionality. After all, it didn't make any difference now.</p> - -<p>The phonograph was near the door. On sudden impulse he switched it -on, turned the volume up full, and in grim jest left it playing -Rachmaninoff's <i>Isle of the Dead</i> on full automatic. The music haunted -him down the hall to the elevator that he had to run himself.</p> - -<p>The lobby was littered with debris, human and otherwise. Charles -ignored it. The street that led towards the Bureau of Vital Statistics -was a mess of desolate carnage. Charles overlooked it. Shop fronts -smashed, stores looted, gyro-cars wrecked, proud buildings defaced.</p> - -<p>"That was it," he said to himself. "Pride. We called this the 'Proud -Era.' Everything was better and bigger and nicer to have. Buildings -were taller, men were healthier, most of the problems of humanity -seemed licked, or nearly so. It was a time of free power, each small -unit of population, each section of town operating on perpetual, -ever-lasting, automatic atomic piles.</p> - -<p>"We were free. We seemed, almost, to have accomplished something. The -world was running well. No wonder we called it the 'Proud Era.' Life -was fun, just a bowl of cherries, until...."</p> - -<p>Two years ago the animals had started dying. Strangely enough the -rats had gone first, to anybody's notice. Sales of poison dropped, -scientific laboratories chained to a perpetual rodent-cycle began to -complain bitterly.</p> - -<p>Then the lovers who hunted out and haunted the lonely lanes through the -countryside began to remark that the locusts were late that year. The -Southern states joyously reported that mosquito control was working to -an unprecedented degree. The largest cotton crop ever was forecast and -rumors from Mexico had it that no one had died from scorpion bite in -several weeks.</p> - -<p>A month later the meat animals, the birds and the household pets -began dropping as rapidly as the flies which had dropped earlier. -Congress was called into special session, as were all of the national -governments around the world. The U.N. met at emergency sessions to -cope with the situation. The president of the world-wide Society for -the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals committed suicide.</p> - -<p>Within a year it was obvious to everyone that man was the only animal -left on earth.</p> - -<p>The panic which had begun with the death of the animals was quieted -somewhat by the fact that humans seemed immune to the pandemic. But the -lakes full of dead fish caused a great stink and residents along the -coasts began to move inland. Sales of perfumes and deodorants soared.</p> - -<p>Then just one year ago, the first human became infected with the -strange malady. Within six months, half of the world's population was -gone. Less than a month ago no more than a few thousand people remained -in New York. And now....</p> - -<p>"I've got to find out," Charles told himself. He meant it, of course, -but in a sense he was afraid—afraid that his trip to the Bureau might -give him an answer he didn't dare listen to. "But I've got to try." He -walked on down the bloody street.</p> - -<p>Before the plague the Bureau of Vital Statistics had been one of man's -crowning achievements. Housed as it was in a huge metallic globe of -a building, it contained computers which kept exact account of every -human on earth.</p> - -<p>Compulsory registration and the classification of each individual by -means of the discrete patterns of his brain waves had accomplished for -man what no ordinary census could have. The machine knew who was alive, -who was dead, and where everybody was.</p> - -<p>Once a year the Bureau issued The Index, an exact accounting of Earth's -four billion inhabitants. Four billion names and addresses, compressed -into microprint, a tremendous achievement even for the "Proud Era." -In all of his life, Charles had never once glanced at The Index. -The average person had little necessity to do so since the Bureau -information service would answer questions free of charge at any time.</p> - -<p>Reaching the gigantic building, Charles pushed aside the body of a -young man and walked into the main foyer. Passing behind once-guarded -doors, he entered the giant computer room and paused in admiration.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Only once, before the plague, had he seen the interior of this room. -But he still remembered it and he still recalled the powerful emotional -experience it had been those many years ago.</p> - -<p>All children had to have a brain-wave recording made by the Bureau -during the first month of their life. And again at the age of 10 each -child returned to the Bureau for a recheck. It was for this latter -recording that Charles had come to the Bureau some twenty-two years -before and a friendly guard had let him peep briefly into the computer -room. The impression of intense activity, of organized confusion, of -mechanical wonder had remained with him the rest of his life.</p> - -<p>"So different now," he thought, surveying the room. "Now it's empty, so -empty." The machine seemed to reflect the stillness, the very deadness -of the world. The silence became unbearable.</p> - -<p>Charles walked to the master control panel. With newly acquired -dexterity he switched the computer screens on and watched them glow -to life. All around the world sensitive receiving stations pulsed to -activity, sending out searching fingers, hunting for elusive patterns -of neutral energy, mapping and tabulating the results.</p> - -<p>The main computer screen dominated one wall of the room. Other smaller -screens clustered around it. On these screens could be graphed the -population of any and every part of the globe. An illuminated counter -immediately above it would give the numerical strength of the area -being sampled while the screen would show population density by -individual pinpoints of light that merged to form brightness patterns.</p> - -<p>"I'll try New York first," he said to himself, knowing that he was a -coward, afraid to check the whole world from the start. "I'll start -with New York and work up."</p> - -<p>Charles activated the switches that would flash a schematic map of New -York on the screen. "There's bound to be somebody else left here. After -all, there were at least twenty of us just a couple of days ago." And -one of them, a beautiful woman, had invited him up to her apartment, -not because she liked him, but because....</p> - -<p>The main screen focused itself, the patterns shifting into a -recognizable perceptual image.</p> - -<p>"Why, it was just yesterday (or was it the day before?) that ten of -us, at least, met here to check the figures. There were lots of us -alive then." Including the blond young woman who had died just this -afternoon....</p> - -<p>Charles stopped talking and forced his eyes upwards. Peripheral vision -caught first the vague outlines of the lower part of the map. His eyes -continued to move, slowly, reluctantly. They caught the over-all relief -of Greater New York City—and then concentrated on the single, shining -dot at the very heart of the map—and he understood.</p> - -<p>His eyes stabbed quickly for the counter above the screen.</p> - -<p>One.</p> - -<p>He gasped.</p> - -<p>The counter read <i>one</i>.</p> - -<p>Charles was by himself, the last person alive in all of New York City.</p> - -<p>He began to tremble violently. The silence of the room began to press -quickly in on him. His frantic fingers searched for the computer -controls.</p> - -<p>New York State. One.</p> - -<p>The entire United States. One.</p> - -<p>The western hemisphere, including islands.</p> - -<p>(Was that a point of light in Brazil? No. Just a ghost image).</p> - -<p>One.</p> - -<p>The Pacific area, Asia, Australia, Asia Minor, Russia and the Near -East, Africa and then Europe.</p> - -<p>England!</p> - -<p>There was a light in England! Someone else still lived! The counter -clicked forward.</p> - -<p>Two!</p> - -<p>His trembling stopped. He breathed again.</p> - -<p>"Of course. London was at least as populous as New York City before the -plague. It's only logical that—"</p> - -<p>He stopped. For even as he spoke, the light winked out! The counter -clicked again.</p> - -<p>One.</p> - -<p>Alone.</p> - -<p>Alone!</p> - -<p>Charles screamed.</p> - -<p>The bottom dropped out from under him!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Why?</p> - -<p>Such a simple question, but in those three letters lay the essence of -human nature. Why. The drive of curiosity. Stronger, in a way, than -the so-called "basic" drives: hunger, thirst, sex, shelter, warmth, -companionship, elimination. Certainly more decisive in the history of -the race. Man began to think, to differentiate himself from the other -animals, when he first asked the question: "Why?"</p> - -<p>But thinking about "why" didn't answer the question itself, Charles -thought. He looked around him. He was sitting on a bench in Central -Park, alone except for a few stray corpses. But the park was fairly -free of bodies.</p> - -<p>"You've got about ten minutes warning," he said to himself. "I guess -that most people wanted to die inside of something—inside of anything. -Not out in the unprotected open."</p> - -<p>The silence was like a weight hanging around his neck. Not an insect -noise, not the chirp of a bird, not the sound of a car nor the scream -of a plane. Not even a breeze to whisper among the leaves, he thought. -Civilization equals life equals noise. Silence equals....</p> - -<p>Why. His mind kept returning to the question. Of all the people on -earth, me. The last. Why me?</p> - -<p>Average, that's what he was. Height: 5'11". Weight: 165. Age: 32. -Status: Married, once upon a time.</p> - -<p>The Norm, with no significant departures, all down the line. Church -member, but not a good one. Could that be it? Could the most normal be -the most perfect? Had he led the best of all possible lives? Was that -it? Had God, in His infinite wisdom and mercy, spared his life, saved -him, singled him out because he was most nearly a saint, most nearly -Christ-like, most nearly....</p> - -<p>Lies—His mind snapped back to reality. He half smiled. Saint? Christ? -The Second Coming?</p> - -<p>He was no saint.</p> - -<p>Charles sighed.</p> - -<p>What about—?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Chance. That was it! The laws of probability, the bell-shaped curve, -normal distribution, rectilinear regression. More people per square -foot in New York than elsewhere. The first person who died was from New -York, so the last person who gave way to the disease should come from -here too. Spin the wheel; throw the dice; toss the coin.</p> - -<p>So simple to explain by the laws of chance. No need for any underlying -assumptions about good and evil, no need for teleological arguments -concerning cause and effect. Simply explain it by chance. Somebody had -to be the last to go and that was—</p> - -<p>"No," Charles said, standing up in the quiet of the spring evening. -"No, chance won't do it. No man can reckon with chance. The mind -rejects such things. There must be something beyond mere accident. -There must be!"</p> - -<p>He sighed slowly.</p> - -<p>"So now I'm a hermit, whether or not I like it," he said in derision to -the gravel path as he walked along it. "A hermit in the midst of a city -of millions of—No, I forgot. There aren't any more people, are there?" -It was hard to realize, even now. "A hermit, alone—and I haven't even -got a cave...."</p> - -<p>Charles stopped walking suddenly. No cave, he thought. No place to -sleep out the long one, no place to rest while time came to change -things around and make them for the better. No place to hide.</p> - -<p>And suddenly it was the most important thing in life to him to find his -"cave."</p> - -<p>It took him almost an hour to find the proper tools, and better than -two hours more of hard, nighttime work to get the hole dug to his -satisfaction. It took almost three hours to find the right sort of -casket, durable but not too heavy for one man to handle. He carted it -out to a grassy plot close to the center of the park where the grave -was. He let the coffin down slowly into the depression, then piled up -loose dirt on the sloping sides of the hole so that the rain would wash -it down over him.</p> - -<p>"I can't very well bury myself," he said. "I guess it will rain after -I'm gone." He looked carefully down at the metallic container.</p> - -<p>Wait now. There was something wrong, something missing. It was—oh, -yes, he caught it. It was the stone. There wasn't any stone to go at -the head of the grave. "I'll have to fix that."</p> - -<p>A sheet of metal, bent double, served for the monument proper. A nearby -tool shed yielded up a can of paint and a brush. By the glow of one of -the streetlights Charles worked out the inscription.</p> - -<p>"It ought to be something impressive," he thought out loud. "Something -fitting the occasion."</p> - -<p>What did one say on these situations? There was so little chance to -practice up for things like this. But it ought to be good, it ought to -be proper.</p> - -<p>"'In this now hallowed corner of the planet Earth—' No. That sounds -too ... too...."</p> - -<p>Make it simple, he thought. And he finally wrote:</p> - -<p class="ph1">HERE LIES THE BODY OF<br /> -THE LAST MAN ON EARTH</p> - -<p>Yes. That was it. Simple. Let whoever came afterwards figure out the -rest. Let them decide. He smiled and finished the painting.</p> - -<p>Charles was hungry. He got up and started for one of the restaurants -near the park. Later on, when there was more time, he'd find a piece -of granite and move it to the plot. He could spend his free time -carving on it, copying the inscription. He would make it into a real -shrine; maybe he would practice up a bit and try to carve a statue to -go with the stone.</p> - -<p>Somehow, though, since things were ready and it didn't make too much -difference, it seemed to Charles that he'd probably have a long time -to wait. "Maybe it's just a disease, and I'm immune. I was immune to -smallpox. The vaccination never took. That's probably it."</p> - -<p>He smiled. Strange, but now he wanted very much to go on living, -alone or not. There were things he could do, ways to keep occupied. -He wouldn't mind it so much. But he wanted more and more desperately -with each passing second to retain his foothold on the tenuous path of -physical existence.</p> - -<p>The tantalizing thought of "why" puzzled its way back into his mind. -But it seemed less pressing now that he had almost come to the -conclusion that he would live for a long time. Later, in a few days -perhaps, he would think about it. In a little while he'd have plenty of -opportunity for hunting down the answer. This seemed good to him, for -now he thought he almost had the answer, if there were an answer. He -thought he had seen the solution peering out at him from the recesses -of his mind, and he didn't like the expression on its face. Better to -forget.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Charles reached the broad boulevard. There was a large cafe just across -from him, its front window caved in by a large truck. He stumbled and -almost fell as he stepped from the curb.</p> - -<p>"Look at me, nervous as a cat."</p> - -<p>He was trembling noticeably as he started across the street.</p> - -<p>"I—" He started to say something, to think something. But some hidden -part of his mind clamped down, obscuring the thought, rejecting the -concept.</p> - -<p>The tremor turned to a shake before he reached the far curb, and the -first burst of wild pain came as he laid his shoulder against the door -to the restaurant. This was the way the plague began, but—His mind -quickly repressed the idea. It couldn't be the plague. He was immune!</p> - -<p>Another burst of pulsating, shattering pain crashed through his body, -tearing down the defenses of his mind, putting an end of his thoughts -of immunity. Colors flared before his eyes, a persistent, irresistible -susurrus flooded his ears.</p> - -<p>He wanted to protest, but there was no one to listen to him. He -appealed to every divinity he knew, all the time knowing it would be -useless. His body, out of his voluntary control, tried to run off in -all directions at once.</p> - -<p>Charles struggled to end his body's disorganized responses, to -channelize all his energy into one direction. His mind came back into -action. He set up his goal; everything else seemed irrelevant: he had -to get back to the park, to his hermit's cave, to his long, narrow -home. He couldn't die until then.</p> - -<p>Ten minutes.</p> - -<p>He was allotted ten minutes before the end.</p> - -<p>It could have been ten years or ten seconds, for now objective time -meant nothing to him. It was not a matter of measuring seconds and -minutes. It was a matter of forgetting time and measuring space.</p> - -<p>He concentrated on the grave; he forced his body to become an unwilling -machine. While he could, he walked, forcing himself on. When his legs -gave way, he crawled. When his knees buckled, he rolled. When his -stomach protested, he vomited. It made no difference.</p> - -<p>Charles refused to think. Machines, especially half-broken machines, do -not think; they only work. Sweating, straining, bleeding, retching, he -pushed himself towards his goal, trying to add one final touch of grace -and custom to the rude irrationalness of it all.</p> - -<p>His eyes gave out a few feet from the pit. He felt his way towards it. -Convulsions shook his body like a cat shakes a captive mouse. He humped -his body forward between the seizures, hands outstretched, searching -for the grave.</p> - -<p>And then he was upon it. One arm reached out for grass, and clutched -bare space instead.</p> - -<p>He was home.</p> - -<p>He gathered energy from his final reservoirs of strength for one final -movement that would throw him headlong into the shallow grave. He -tensed his muscles, pulled his limbs up under him and started to roll -into the hole.</p> - -<p>Instantly the thought struck him with paralyzing devastation. The -answer to it all poked its face out from the recesses of his mind and -sapped the last bit of his energy, corroding his nerves and dying -muscles. Now he knew, and the knowing was the end of it.</p> - -<p>He collapsed at the edge of the pit. Only one arm hung loosely down -into it, swinging senseless in the air, pointing accusingly at the -empty coffin.</p> - -<p>The world will end, not with a bang, nor with a whimper, but with the -last man's anguished cry at the unreasonableness of it all.</p> - -<p>Charles screamed.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The large, invisible, ovular being that hung suspended over the Empire -State Building rested from its exertion. Soon it was approached by -another of its kind.</p> - -<p>"It is finished?" asked the second.</p> - -<p>"Yes. Just now. I am resting."</p> - -<p>"I can feel the emptiness of it."</p> - -<p>"It was very good. Where were you?"</p> - -<p>"On the next planet out. No beauty to it at all; no system. How was -yours?"</p> - -<p>"Beautiful," said the first. "It went according to the strictest -semantic relationship following the purest mathematical principles. -They made it easy for me."</p> - -<p>"Good."</p> - -<p>"Well, where to now?"</p> - -<p>"There's another system about four thoughts away. We're due there soon."</p> - -<p>"All right. Let's go."</p> - -<p>"What's that you have there?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, this?" replied the first. "It's a higher neural order compendium -the Things here made up. It's what I used."</p> - -<p>"You can't take it with you, you know. They don't allow souvenirs."</p> - -<p>"I know."</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>"All right, all right. You're so good, see if you can compute the -scatter probability."</p> - -<p>The first being moved imperceptably and the heavy plastoid binding of -the book disappeared. The thousands of pages dropped softly, caught -at the wind like hungry sails, separated, and pulled by the fingers of -gravity, went their disparate ways.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Here a page scuttled into a broken window of the Chrysler Building -(read the names: Aabat, Aabbs, Aabbt).</p> - -<p>Here a page landed upright on the head of one of the library lions -and sloughed softly to the ground (read the names: Looman, Loomana, -Loomanabsky).</p> - -<p>Here another page crept in between the cracks of a pier on the -riverfront, dropping gently to the caressing eddies of the water (read -the names: Smith, Smitha, Smitj).</p> - -<p>And here two pages danced down into Central Park, pirouetted, -promenaded, and finally came to rest against a propped-up piece of -metal (read the names: Whit, Whita, Whitacomb).</p> - -<p>It was not until the dusty morning sun stirred up the breezes that they -fluttered down into the shallow hole beneath, unnoticed. The writing on -the metal, until then partially obscured by the papers, became legible:</p> - -<p class="ph1">HERE LIES THE BODY OF<br /> -THE LAST MAN ON EARTH—<br /> -CHARLES J. ZZYZST<br /> -GO TO HELL!</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's "Phone Me In Central Park", by James McConnell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK "PHONE ME IN CENTRAL PARK" *** - -***** This file should be named 63631-h.htm or 63631-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/6/3/63631/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: "Phone Me In Central Park" - -Author: James McConnell - -Release Date: November 4, 2020 [EBook #63631] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK "PHONE ME IN CENTRAL PARK" *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - "Phone Me in Central Park" - - By JAMES McCONNELL - - There should be an epitaph for every - man, big or little, but a really grand - and special one for Loner Charlie. - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Planet Stories Fall 1954. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -Charles turned over on his side to look at her. She lay quietly in the -other bed, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was blonde to -perfection, exquisitely shaped, and the rich promise of her body was -exposed to his view. - -"Why?" he thought as he looked at her. "Why did it have to happen like -this?" - -The whole thing was still like a dream to him, and as yet he couldn't -decide whether it was a good or a bad dream. A year ago she had been -unattainable, a face to conjure with in erotic dreams, far beyond his -ken. A year ago she had been a public idol, the most popular actress of -the day. And he had been a nobody, full of a nobody's idle hopes and -schemes. - -And now he was lying in the bed next to hers in her swank Manhattan -apartment in the most exclusive hotel in town. The unrealness of the -situation overwhelmed him. His mind was a picture of confused thoughts. -Meanings and answers to his questions slithered out of his reach. - -"God," he said. It was not an exclamation, nor yet an expletive. It was -a mere statement of fact. - -A thought teased at him. Charles looked at the woman again and decided -that she still looked beautiful in spite of the harshness of the -room's lighting. He touched buttons by the edge of the bed and the -illumination quieted to a soft glow, wrapping her in a radiant halo. -Charles smiled wanly and got up. He stood by the bed looking at her. - -"I could have fallen in love with you once. A year ago, perhaps, or -longer. But not now. Not now." He turned away and walked to the window. -"Now the world is dead. The whole world is dead." - -New York lay quietly below him. It was the hour of indecision when -day has not quite made up its mind to leave and night has not yet -attacked in force. The streetlights were already on, making geometric -patterns through the dusk of Central Park. Some of the billboards were -shining, their relays activated by darkness-sensitized solenoids. A -reddish-orange pallor hung from the sky. - -It had been very pleasant that afternoon. She had given of herself -freely, warmly, and Charles had accepted. But then he had known -that she would. It was not him, it was the circumstances. Under the -circumstances, she would have given herself to any man-- - -"Why did it have to be her--or me? Why should it have to happen to -anybody! Why!" - -_She would have given herself to any man--_ - -His thoughts beat a rapid crescendo, activating emotions, stimulating -sensations of angry rage. He wanted to cry, to weep angry tears of -protest. - -To any man, WHO HAPPENED TO BE THE LAST MAN ON EARTH! - -Charles picked up a heavy book end off the table and crashed it through -the thick pane of window glass. - -A gust of wind from the outside breezed through the shattered opening, -attacking his olfactory patch with the retching smell of decaying -flesh. Charles ignored it. Even smells had lost their customary -meanings. - -He felt the rage build up inside again, tearing at his viscera. His -stomach clenched up like an angry fist. - -"But I don't want to be the last man alive!" he shouted. "I don't know -what to do! I don't know where to go, how to act! I just don't know--" - -A paroxysm of sobbing shook his body. Trembling, he dropped to his -knees, his head against the cold firmness of the sill, his hands -clutched tightly around the jagged edges of the window pane. In spite -of the sharp pain that raced through his system, in spite of the -bright, warm, red stream that trickled down his face, he knelt by the -window for several minutes. - -"_Maybe I'm not the last!_" - -The thought struck him with suddenness, promisingly, edged with -swelling comfort to fill his emptiness. - -Charles got up slowly, noticing for the first time that his fingers -were badly cut. He wrapped a handkerchief around them and forgot them. -He had to know--he had to find out. - - * * * * * - -As he turned to leave, he noticed again the woman lying in radiant -state upon the bed. He walked to her side and leaned over, kissing her -gently on the forehead. As he straightened up, his leg caught against -her arm, pushing it slightly. The woman's arm slipped from its position -and dangled from the edge of the bed like a crazy pendulum. Charles -picked it up and folded it across her now cold breasts. He started -to pull the sheet over her nude form, then stopped, smiling at his -conventionality. After all, it didn't make any difference now. - -The phonograph was near the door. On sudden impulse he switched it -on, turned the volume up full, and in grim jest left it playing -Rachmaninoff's _Isle of the Dead_ on full automatic. The music haunted -him down the hall to the elevator that he had to run himself. - -The lobby was littered with debris, human and otherwise. Charles -ignored it. The street that led towards the Bureau of Vital Statistics -was a mess of desolate carnage. Charles overlooked it. Shop fronts -smashed, stores looted, gyro-cars wrecked, proud buildings defaced. - -"That was it," he said to himself. "Pride. We called this the 'Proud -Era.' Everything was better and bigger and nicer to have. Buildings -were taller, men were healthier, most of the problems of humanity -seemed licked, or nearly so. It was a time of free power, each small -unit of population, each section of town operating on perpetual, -ever-lasting, automatic atomic piles. - -"We were free. We seemed, almost, to have accomplished something. The -world was running well. No wonder we called it the 'Proud Era.' Life -was fun, just a bowl of cherries, until...." - -Two years ago the animals had started dying. Strangely enough the -rats had gone first, to anybody's notice. Sales of poison dropped, -scientific laboratories chained to a perpetual rodent-cycle began to -complain bitterly. - -Then the lovers who hunted out and haunted the lonely lanes through the -countryside began to remark that the locusts were late that year. The -Southern states joyously reported that mosquito control was working to -an unprecedented degree. The largest cotton crop ever was forecast and -rumors from Mexico had it that no one had died from scorpion bite in -several weeks. - -A month later the meat animals, the birds and the household pets -began dropping as rapidly as the flies which had dropped earlier. -Congress was called into special session, as were all of the national -governments around the world. The U.N. met at emergency sessions to -cope with the situation. The president of the world-wide Society for -the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals committed suicide. - -Within a year it was obvious to everyone that man was the only animal -left on earth. - -The panic which had begun with the death of the animals was quieted -somewhat by the fact that humans seemed immune to the pandemic. But the -lakes full of dead fish caused a great stink and residents along the -coasts began to move inland. Sales of perfumes and deodorants soared. - -Then just one year ago, the first human became infected with the -strange malady. Within six months, half of the world's population was -gone. Less than a month ago no more than a few thousand people remained -in New York. And now.... - -"I've got to find out," Charles told himself. He meant it, of course, -but in a sense he was afraid--afraid that his trip to the Bureau might -give him an answer he didn't dare listen to. "But I've got to try." He -walked on down the bloody street. - -Before the plague the Bureau of Vital Statistics had been one of man's -crowning achievements. Housed as it was in a huge metallic globe of -a building, it contained computers which kept exact account of every -human on earth. - -Compulsory registration and the classification of each individual by -means of the discrete patterns of his brain waves had accomplished for -man what no ordinary census could have. The machine knew who was alive, -who was dead, and where everybody was. - -Once a year the Bureau issued The Index, an exact accounting of Earth's -four billion inhabitants. Four billion names and addresses, compressed -into microprint, a tremendous achievement even for the "Proud Era." -In all of his life, Charles had never once glanced at The Index. -The average person had little necessity to do so since the Bureau -information service would answer questions free of charge at any time. - -Reaching the gigantic building, Charles pushed aside the body of a -young man and walked into the main foyer. Passing behind once-guarded -doors, he entered the giant computer room and paused in admiration. - - * * * * * - -Only once, before the plague, had he seen the interior of this room. -But he still remembered it and he still recalled the powerful emotional -experience it had been those many years ago. - -All children had to have a brain-wave recording made by the Bureau -during the first month of their life. And again at the age of 10 each -child returned to the Bureau for a recheck. It was for this latter -recording that Charles had come to the Bureau some twenty-two years -before and a friendly guard had let him peep briefly into the computer -room. The impression of intense activity, of organized confusion, of -mechanical wonder had remained with him the rest of his life. - -"So different now," he thought, surveying the room. "Now it's empty, so -empty." The machine seemed to reflect the stillness, the very deadness -of the world. The silence became unbearable. - -Charles walked to the master control panel. With newly acquired -dexterity he switched the computer screens on and watched them glow -to life. All around the world sensitive receiving stations pulsed to -activity, sending out searching fingers, hunting for elusive patterns -of neutral energy, mapping and tabulating the results. - -The main computer screen dominated one wall of the room. Other smaller -screens clustered around it. On these screens could be graphed the -population of any and every part of the globe. An illuminated counter -immediately above it would give the numerical strength of the area -being sampled while the screen would show population density by -individual pinpoints of light that merged to form brightness patterns. - -"I'll try New York first," he said to himself, knowing that he was a -coward, afraid to check the whole world from the start. "I'll start -with New York and work up." - -Charles activated the switches that would flash a schematic map of New -York on the screen. "There's bound to be somebody else left here. After -all, there were at least twenty of us just a couple of days ago." And -one of them, a beautiful woman, had invited him up to her apartment, -not because she liked him, but because.... - -The main screen focused itself, the patterns shifting into a -recognizable perceptual image. - -"Why, it was just yesterday (or was it the day before?) that ten of -us, at least, met here to check the figures. There were lots of us -alive then." Including the blond young woman who had died just this -afternoon.... - -Charles stopped talking and forced his eyes upwards. Peripheral vision -caught first the vague outlines of the lower part of the map. His eyes -continued to move, slowly, reluctantly. They caught the over-all relief -of Greater New York City--and then concentrated on the single, shining -dot at the very heart of the map--and he understood. - -His eyes stabbed quickly for the counter above the screen. - -One. - -He gasped. - -The counter read _one_. - -Charles was by himself, the last person alive in all of New York City. - -He began to tremble violently. The silence of the room began to press -quickly in on him. His frantic fingers searched for the computer -controls. - -New York State. One. - -The entire United States. One. - -The western hemisphere, including islands. - -(Was that a point of light in Brazil? No. Just a ghost image). - -One. - -The Pacific area, Asia, Australia, Asia Minor, Russia and the Near -East, Africa and then Europe. - -England! - -There was a light in England! Someone else still lived! The counter -clicked forward. - -Two! - -His trembling stopped. He breathed again. - -"Of course. London was at least as populous as New York City before the -plague. It's only logical that--" - -He stopped. For even as he spoke, the light winked out! The counter -clicked again. - -One. - -Alone. - -Alone! - -Charles screamed. - -The bottom dropped out from under him! - - * * * * * - -Why? - -Such a simple question, but in those three letters lay the essence of -human nature. Why. The drive of curiosity. Stronger, in a way, than -the so-called "basic" drives: hunger, thirst, sex, shelter, warmth, -companionship, elimination. Certainly more decisive in the history of -the race. Man began to think, to differentiate himself from the other -animals, when he first asked the question: "Why?" - -But thinking about "why" didn't answer the question itself, Charles -thought. He looked around him. He was sitting on a bench in Central -Park, alone except for a few stray corpses. But the park was fairly -free of bodies. - -"You've got about ten minutes warning," he said to himself. "I guess -that most people wanted to die inside of something--inside of anything. -Not out in the unprotected open." - -The silence was like a weight hanging around his neck. Not an insect -noise, not the chirp of a bird, not the sound of a car nor the scream -of a plane. Not even a breeze to whisper among the leaves, he thought. -Civilization equals life equals noise. Silence equals.... - -Why. His mind kept returning to the question. Of all the people on -earth, me. The last. Why me? - -Average, that's what he was. Height: 5'11". Weight: 165. Age: 32. -Status: Married, once upon a time. - -The Norm, with no significant departures, all down the line. Church -member, but not a good one. Could that be it? Could the most normal be -the most perfect? Had he led the best of all possible lives? Was that -it? Had God, in His infinite wisdom and mercy, spared his life, saved -him, singled him out because he was most nearly a saint, most nearly -Christ-like, most nearly.... - -Lies--His mind snapped back to reality. He half smiled. Saint? Christ? -The Second Coming? - -He was no saint. - -Charles sighed. - -What about--? - - * * * * * - -Chance. That was it! The laws of probability, the bell-shaped curve, -normal distribution, rectilinear regression. More people per square -foot in New York than elsewhere. The first person who died was from New -York, so the last person who gave way to the disease should come from -here too. Spin the wheel; throw the dice; toss the coin. - -So simple to explain by the laws of chance. No need for any underlying -assumptions about good and evil, no need for teleological arguments -concerning cause and effect. Simply explain it by chance. Somebody had -to be the last to go and that was-- - -"No," Charles said, standing up in the quiet of the spring evening. -"No, chance won't do it. No man can reckon with chance. The mind -rejects such things. There must be something beyond mere accident. -There must be!" - -He sighed slowly. - -"So now I'm a hermit, whether or not I like it," he said in derision to -the gravel path as he walked along it. "A hermit in the midst of a city -of millions of--No, I forgot. There aren't any more people, are there?" -It was hard to realize, even now. "A hermit, alone--and I haven't even -got a cave...." - -Charles stopped walking suddenly. No cave, he thought. No place to -sleep out the long one, no place to rest while time came to change -things around and make them for the better. No place to hide. - -And suddenly it was the most important thing in life to him to find his -"cave." - -It took him almost an hour to find the proper tools, and better than -two hours more of hard, nighttime work to get the hole dug to his -satisfaction. It took almost three hours to find the right sort of -casket, durable but not too heavy for one man to handle. He carted it -out to a grassy plot close to the center of the park where the grave -was. He let the coffin down slowly into the depression, then piled up -loose dirt on the sloping sides of the hole so that the rain would wash -it down over him. - -"I can't very well bury myself," he said. "I guess it will rain after -I'm gone." He looked carefully down at the metallic container. - -Wait now. There was something wrong, something missing. It was--oh, -yes, he caught it. It was the stone. There wasn't any stone to go at -the head of the grave. "I'll have to fix that." - -A sheet of metal, bent double, served for the monument proper. A nearby -tool shed yielded up a can of paint and a brush. By the glow of one of -the streetlights Charles worked out the inscription. - -"It ought to be something impressive," he thought out loud. "Something -fitting the occasion." - -What did one say on these situations? There was so little chance to -practice up for things like this. But it ought to be good, it ought to -be proper. - -"'In this now hallowed corner of the planet Earth--' No. That sounds -too ... too...." - -Make it simple, he thought. And he finally wrote: - - HERE LIES THE BODY OF - THE LAST MAN ON EARTH - -Yes. That was it. Simple. Let whoever came afterwards figure out the -rest. Let them decide. He smiled and finished the painting. - -Charles was hungry. He got up and started for one of the restaurants -near the park. Later on, when there was more time, he'd find a piece -of granite and move it to the plot. He could spend his free time -carving on it, copying the inscription. He would make it into a real -shrine; maybe he would practice up a bit and try to carve a statue to -go with the stone. - -Somehow, though, since things were ready and it didn't make too much -difference, it seemed to Charles that he'd probably have a long time -to wait. "Maybe it's just a disease, and I'm immune. I was immune to -smallpox. The vaccination never took. That's probably it." - -He smiled. Strange, but now he wanted very much to go on living, -alone or not. There were things he could do, ways to keep occupied. -He wouldn't mind it so much. But he wanted more and more desperately -with each passing second to retain his foothold on the tenuous path of -physical existence. - -The tantalizing thought of "why" puzzled its way back into his mind. -But it seemed less pressing now that he had almost come to the -conclusion that he would live for a long time. Later, in a few days -perhaps, he would think about it. In a little while he'd have plenty of -opportunity for hunting down the answer. This seemed good to him, for -now he thought he almost had the answer, if there were an answer. He -thought he had seen the solution peering out at him from the recesses -of his mind, and he didn't like the expression on its face. Better to -forget. - - * * * * * - -Charles reached the broad boulevard. There was a large cafe just across -from him, its front window caved in by a large truck. He stumbled and -almost fell as he stepped from the curb. - -"Look at me, nervous as a cat." - -He was trembling noticeably as he started across the street. - -"I--" He started to say something, to think something. But some hidden -part of his mind clamped down, obscuring the thought, rejecting the -concept. - -The tremor turned to a shake before he reached the far curb, and the -first burst of wild pain came as he laid his shoulder against the door -to the restaurant. This was the way the plague began, but--His mind -quickly repressed the idea. It couldn't be the plague. He was immune! - -Another burst of pulsating, shattering pain crashed through his body, -tearing down the defenses of his mind, putting an end of his thoughts -of immunity. Colors flared before his eyes, a persistent, irresistible -susurrus flooded his ears. - -He wanted to protest, but there was no one to listen to him. He -appealed to every divinity he knew, all the time knowing it would be -useless. His body, out of his voluntary control, tried to run off in -all directions at once. - -Charles struggled to end his body's disorganized responses, to -channelize all his energy into one direction. His mind came back into -action. He set up his goal; everything else seemed irrelevant: he had -to get back to the park, to his hermit's cave, to his long, narrow -home. He couldn't die until then. - -Ten minutes. - -He was allotted ten minutes before the end. - -It could have been ten years or ten seconds, for now objective time -meant nothing to him. It was not a matter of measuring seconds and -minutes. It was a matter of forgetting time and measuring space. - -He concentrated on the grave; he forced his body to become an unwilling -machine. While he could, he walked, forcing himself on. When his legs -gave way, he crawled. When his knees buckled, he rolled. When his -stomach protested, he vomited. It made no difference. - -Charles refused to think. Machines, especially half-broken machines, do -not think; they only work. Sweating, straining, bleeding, retching, he -pushed himself towards his goal, trying to add one final touch of grace -and custom to the rude irrationalness of it all. - -His eyes gave out a few feet from the pit. He felt his way towards it. -Convulsions shook his body like a cat shakes a captive mouse. He humped -his body forward between the seizures, hands outstretched, searching -for the grave. - -And then he was upon it. One arm reached out for grass, and clutched -bare space instead. - -He was home. - -He gathered energy from his final reservoirs of strength for one final -movement that would throw him headlong into the shallow grave. He -tensed his muscles, pulled his limbs up under him and started to roll -into the hole. - -Instantly the thought struck him with paralyzing devastation. The -answer to it all poked its face out from the recesses of his mind and -sapped the last bit of his energy, corroding his nerves and dying -muscles. Now he knew, and the knowing was the end of it. - -He collapsed at the edge of the pit. Only one arm hung loosely down -into it, swinging senseless in the air, pointing accusingly at the -empty coffin. - -The world will end, not with a bang, nor with a whimper, but with the -last man's anguished cry at the unreasonableness of it all. - -Charles screamed. - - * * * * * - -The large, invisible, ovular being that hung suspended over the Empire -State Building rested from its exertion. Soon it was approached by -another of its kind. - -"It is finished?" asked the second. - -"Yes. Just now. I am resting." - -"I can feel the emptiness of it." - -"It was very good. Where were you?" - -"On the next planet out. No beauty to it at all; no system. How was -yours?" - -"Beautiful," said the first. "It went according to the strictest -semantic relationship following the purest mathematical principles. -They made it easy for me." - -"Good." - -"Well, where to now?" - -"There's another system about four thoughts away. We're due there soon." - -"All right. Let's go." - -"What's that you have there?" - -"Oh, this?" replied the first. "It's a higher neural order compendium -the Things here made up. It's what I used." - -"You can't take it with you, you know. They don't allow souvenirs." - -"I know." - -"Well?" - -"All right, all right. You're so good, see if you can compute the -scatter probability." - -The first being moved imperceptably and the heavy plastoid binding of -the book disappeared. The thousands of pages dropped softly, caught -at the wind like hungry sails, separated, and pulled by the fingers of -gravity, went their disparate ways. - -Here a page scuttled into a broken window of the Chrysler Building -(read the names: Aabat, Aabbs, Aabbt). - -Here a page landed upright on the head of one of the library lions -and sloughed softly to the ground (read the names: Looman, Loomana, -Loomanabsky). - -Here another page crept in between the cracks of a pier on the -riverfront, dropping gently to the caressing eddies of the water (read -the names: Smith, Smitha, Smitj). - -And here two pages danced down into Central Park, pirouetted, -promenaded, and finally came to rest against a propped-up piece of -metal (read the names: Whit, Whita, Whitacomb). - -It was not until the dusty morning sun stirred up the breezes that they -fluttered down into the shallow hole beneath, unnoticed. The writing on -the metal, until then partially obscured by the papers, became legible: - - HERE LIES THE BODY OF - THE LAST MAN ON EARTH-- - CHARLES J. ZZYZST - GO TO HELL! - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's "Phone Me In Central Park", by James McConnell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK "PHONE ME IN CENTRAL PARK" *** - -***** This file should be named 63631.txt or 63631.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/6/3/63631/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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