Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 53 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

WITHOUT LOVE And Tiger admitted that he was at Gayne, not only be- cause of its remoteness, but also to be near the cemetery. “Hop on,” he said. “T'll take you out. There’s an old subway running in that direc- tion. I go there often.” I climbed into the saddle behind him. It was cold at Rosemont cemetery; snow drifted slowly and Tiger and I pulled the hoods out of our collars and the mittens out of our cuffs and slipped them on. We drove through the deserted alleys, the three wheels of the cart leaving broad regular tracks in the fresh snow. Be- tween the houselike tombs we drove till we came to the plot and the tomb of Team 135 H.E. and stopped beside the water-streaked, yellowish cement wall. The tomb had a window about five feet up, deeply recessed, with an iron grill across it. A wisteria had climbed up the wall and hung from the grill, dry and brown, nodding with the fall of snow. 23 We sat in silence, then Tiger got off, opened the cart, switched on the torkle. He went to the grill and twisted the combination of the lock. It had long been the custom to make recordings of the most personal essence of those who had died, and these records were kept behind the grill, the combination of which was only known to the friends and relations of the departed. They could be opened and the, recordings could be played on the torkle coils which were available at the gate house. But we had no need to go there. We had our own equipment, and so we sat there in the drifting snow and let the spirit, the essence, of Menilissa join us once more in a deeply satisfying communion. Our breath hung misty in the still cold air. The snow flakes fell, One of them drifted against the heated coil, which sputtered. Tiger said: “It’s a little out of whack. I held it against a spy-phone one day and gave comicloooks.conn