Pulp Fiction, 1955 · page 90 of 146
Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 56 — page 90: what you’re looking at
A restored page from Pulp Fiction, 1955. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
PERSONAL CALL dubious, He didn’t much care for Maxwell. A lot of them were none too fond of Maxwell. This was the first time Maxwell had ever made a mental contact with Earth. He had no wife, and never spoke of his relations. In spaceports and outposts from here to Antares he went off without a backward glance. He did not go roistering with a gang from the ship. He was a lone wolf, drinking where the rest of the crew could not find him. Some of them made wild guesses about his past— about the disappointments and bitterness that must have made him what he was today. He never gave himself away. He never told them about that woman who had deserted him and left him with a bleak mistrust that hardened into a protective shell. Let them have their silly affairs, let them have their personal calls to their wives and sweethearts: he would let no woman into his life, and certainly not into his mind. But now, as the ship seemed to recede and he reached out to make contact with the 89 widow on Earth, he felt a certain mocking interest. He speculated on what kind of woman Wilson might have married. Poor, stupid Wilson, dead because of his own carelessness. And he wondered, wryly, what sort of reaction she would have to the contents of his own mind—the unremoved memories of cheap women in the frontier towns, the blurred folly of drunken ramblings through the streets of cities on harsh, primitive planets. Then he was there. 9 oh room, he saw through jer eyes, was simply fur- nished. It was almost as austere as the cabin of a spaceship. And as he saw this, he was aware of the reasons for it—the reasons leapt up from her mind into his, and he knew that she was having a struggle to go on living, that there were times when there seemed to be no purpose in going on, and yet that she had courage. He said drily: “Sorry to intrude.” ‘Lam glad to havea visitor.” comicloooks.com