Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 72 — page 54: what you’re looking at

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

In any age a Pagliacci may sing, and find himself living the tragic story of the clown in love So Lovely, So Lost by James Causey PENING NIGHT. THE () stage was starkly medieval, all sawdust and three rings and the glistening tightrope wires. From their cages beasts snarled and trumpeted. The ringmaster snapped his whip and bowed to the eight giant lenses that stared bleakly down. In back of those lenses was our audience. Sixty mil- lions of audience, scattered throughout the hemisphere. In the wings, Lisa trembled againstme.I whispered:“‘Your - cue. She nodded, squeezed my hand. The drums rolled. Watching her move on- stage, | wanted to cry. She was lovely. It was the way she moved like a hawk against the wind, the breathless lilt in her voice, the magic I’d taught 33 her. Next to me, Paul Chanin grinned. ‘“‘Nervous, Midge?’ “No,” I said. I'd never liked Paul. He was too smug, too sleekly handsome. [ hadn’t liked the way he’d been smiling at Lisa these last few days of rehearsal, or the way she’d smiled back. But Paul was good—for a human. He could do a one-armed planche on the high wire, he could cartwheel blindfolded over gleaming coals. And he could sing. We went onstage together, Paul leaping lithe and splendid in crimson tights, me flounder- ing clumsily after with my baggy pants and wistfully painted clown face, blowing kisses to the blazing arcs abové, now weeping in mock fury as Paul made love to Lisa. Then I leaped thirty feet in the air and hung from comicloooks.conm