Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 43 — page 11: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION effort to ease some of the tiredness from his muscles. At a quarter past seven there was a knock at the door. He roused himself, said: *“Come in, Irene.”’ She was pretty and blonde, and since she first came to act as maid a few months back, she had liked Michel. She came around the end of the bed and set the tray with his tea on it within his reach. “Nightmares again, Mr. Michel?” she said, sympa- thetically. He managed a wan smile. Everyone in the boarding house knew about his night- mares by now. “Worse than usual,” he admitted. “It’s getting me down, Irene.” She looked at him out of wide, blue eyes that seemed too big for her pretty face, and said: “You ought to see a doctor, Mr. Michel.” He said, without looking at her: “I’m going to. A psy- chiatrist, that is. Today.” “That’s a good idea, Mr. Michel,” said Irene, approy- ingly, filling his cup. She sugared it and handed it to him. “You should have done it before, like I said.” He took the tea with a word of thanks, repeated: “‘Well, I’m doing it now.” She paused on the way out, asked: ““Would you like break- fast up here, sir ?’’ He thought for a _ brief agonising instant of the empty chatter of a boarding house breakfast and concluded that his temporary mastery of his ragged nerves would never stand it. He nodded accept- ance, and she went out. He drank his tea in long gulps and went to shave. His hand was unsteady, and he cut himself twice, and noticed that daylight revealed the pouches under his eyes better than the flame of his lighter. _ He staunched the cuts and regarded himself thoughtfully as he dressed. Good-looking he had never claimed to be, but it was essential to his job that he make the best of what he had. This had to stop. He didn’t like to think what 10 comicloooks.conrn