"It could be" was the title of a headlined article on the subject by the same Professor Greathouse mentioned above. It could be, he said, that the world on which the green rain fell incessantly was the real world. It could be that the wart-hogs were real and the people a dream. It could be that rats in the stomach were normal, and other methods of digestion were chimerical.
And then a very great man went on the air in worldwide broadcast with a speech that was a ringing call for collective sanity. It was the hour of decision, he said. The decision would be made. Things were at an exact balance, and the balance would be tipped.
"But we can decide. One way or the other, we will decide. I implore you all in the name of sanity that you decide right. One world or the other will be the world of tomorrow. One of them is real and one of them is a dream. Both are with us now, and the favor can go to either. But listen to me here: whichever one wins, the other will have always been a dream, a momentary madness soon forgotten. I urge you to the sanity which in a measure I have lost myself. Yet in our darkened dilemma I feel that we yet have a choice. Choose!"
And perhaps that was the turning point.
The mad dream disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. The world came back to normal with an embarrassed laugh. It was all over. It had lasted from its inception six weeks.
*
Bascomb Swicegood, a morning type, felt excellent this morning. He breakfasted at Cahill’s, and he ordered heavily as always. And he listened with half an ear to the conversation of two girls at the table next to his.
"But I should know you," he said.
"Of course. I’m Teresa."
"I’m Agnes," said Agnes.
"Mr. Swicegood, how could you forget? It was when the dreams first came, and you overheard me telling mine to Agnes. Then you ran after us in the street because you had had the same dream, and I wanted to have you arrested. Weren’t they horrible dreams? And have they ever found out what caused them?"
"They were horrible, and they have not found out. They ascribe it to group mania, which is meaningless. And now there are those who say that the dreams never came at all, and soon they will be nearly forgotten. But the horror of them! The loneliness!"
"Yes, we hadn’t even pediculi to curry our body hair. We almost hadn’t any body hair."
Teresa was an attractive girl. She had a cute trick of popping the smallest rat out of her mouth so it could see what was coming into her stomach. She was bulbous and beautiful. "Like a sackful of skunk cabbage," Bascomb murmured admiringly in his head, and then flushed green at his forwardness of phrase.
Teresa had protuberances upon protuberances and warts on warts, and hair all over her where she wasn’t warts and bumps. "Like a latrine mop!" sighed Bascomb with true admiration. The cracked clang of Teresa’s voice was music in the early morning.
All was right with the earth again. Gone the hideous nightmare world when people had stood barefaced and lonely, without bodily friends or dependents. Gone that ghastly world of the sick blue sky and the near-absence of entrancing odor.
Bascomb attacked manfully his plate of prime carrion. And outside the pungent green rain fell incessantly.
Shatter the Wall
by Sydney Van Scyoc
They were a charming family and everybody loved them to death—especially Amanda!
There he stood, Bass McDowall, life-size on the Wall. She made herself look at the hateful broad-shouldered image with the deliberately penetrating black eyes. She made herself watch his boy-image bend over Kippie’s slender girl-image, made herself listen to his mellow voice gasp, "Kippie, sweetie-bug."
Savagely she thrust upward on the ebony lever. Bass McDowall, Wall idol, and Kippie lurched and disappeared. Lights glowed from fixtures recessed into the ceiling, illuminating the long, windowless Wall room.
Kathryn, whose hair was a snug, dark Kippie-cap, leaped from the Wall seat. "Don’t turn it off now! Couldn’t you even tell, Mother? He’s going to kiss her! Turn it back on this minute!"
Amanda stationed herself before the lever, shaking her head. "Not until I’ve spoken to you," she said. "Kathryn, I don’t think you realize yet what it means, but you’re the youngest person, the very youngest, living in this city."
"Quit calling me that! Everyone has to call me Kippie." She cocked her dark head, Kippie-like. The red mark caused by the constant prodding of her index finger against her cheek glared. "Bass loves Kippie. He called her sweetie-bug."
"I refuse to call you Kippie." She folded her arms. "I don’t want to discuss your name again, Kathryn."
"It will be Kippie." She squirmed into a Kippie-like position. "Soon as I’m twenty-one, I’ll change it. You wait!"
"Perhaps you will, Kathryn. But I’ll never call you Kippie."
"Oh, quit being silly and turn it on. He might kiss her again." She focused her blue eyes upon the Wall. "Turn it on."
"Kathryn, I want to talk to you, and I intend to do so without Bass McDowall staring over my shoulder." She sat down beside her daughter. "Now, Kathryn, you’re nineteen years old, and you’re certainly attractive by any—"
"I don’t have dimples like Kippie does." Remembering, she poked her finger back into her cheek.
"I’m not talking about Kippie." She stared at the finger sunk into her daughter’s cheek, wondering how many times she had explained that it wouldn’t cause a dimple. "I want you to get married, Kathryn."
*
"I’ve told you a million times, I won’t. You’re always after me!" she wailed. "Bass won’t ever marry anyone, not even Kippie, and she’s got dimples. Bass says—"
"Bass McDowall is not a real person. He’s only an actor."
"He’s the realest thing in the world. But he won’t marry me, so you’d better forget it." She stepped to turn the Wall on again.
Instantly the ash tray was in Amanda’s hand, the massive glass tray Dell had given her. She hurled it at the Wall, which shattered with a brittle explosive splintering.
Kathryn jumped back, wailing. "I hate you!" Frantically she manipulated the lever and twisted the ebony dials. "Bass, come back. Bass!"
Amanda patted the Wall seat. "Sit down, Kathryn."
Finally the girl sat down, sullenly rubbing her eyes with her fists.
"Kathryn, have you noticed that we never see infants on the Wall? We never see small children, either, because, Kathryn, you’re the youngest person in this city. The week after you were born, the city hospital’s obstetrical ward closed permanently."
Kathryn sobbed convulsively. "Who needs babies? I want Bass!"
"The human race needs babies! Kathryn, you sit so complacently in front of your Wall and pretend there isn’t a world! There won’t be unless you wake up."
"Don’t be silly!"
"I’m not. Kathryn, you may be the youngest person in the world, for all I know. Forty or fifty years from now this planet will be cluttered with blank Walls. There’ll be no one to watch them."
"Well, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m not different, like you."
"Kathryn, marry. Have children. Persuade your friends at the office—"
She laughed shrilly, rocking back against the Wall seat. "Friends! They hate me, every one of them, and I hate them. Even if Bass did marry me, they’d only take him away."
Amanda clutched her