What will the world be like, the day after Tomorrow, for the lonely oneswho will have talents that others will half fear, half envy? William Gerkendescribes this strange world in which young and old will have to findnew values and pursue new dreams, as they search for the answer....
When he opened the door to the shed that day, and sawthe axe suspended in mid-air, he understood what was wrong.
He had been living withus for a week before I foundout he was a Lifter. Even thediscovery was an accident. Ihad started for the store, butthen remembered a chore Iwanted him to do. I heard thesounds of wood-choppingcoming from the shed, so Iwent behind the house to thesmall wooden structure. Imust have gasped or something,because he turnedaround to look at me, droppingthe axe he had poisedover a block of wood as heturned. Only he hadn't beenholding the axe; it had beenhanging in mid-air withoutsupport.
The first time I saw himwas when he knocked on mydoor. I don't think I'll everforget how he looked—talland thin, old clothes and oldershoes, an unruly mop ofblond hair. It was only when Ilooked at his face that I realizedthat he was more than amere boy of eighteen or nineteen.The tired lines aroundhis mouth, the sad, maturelook in his eyes, the stoop alreadyevident in his youngshoulders; he had been forcedto mature too quickly, andseemed to have knowledge aboy his age had no right to beburdened with.
"I—I was wondering if Imight get a bite to eat, sir,"he said.
I grinned. No matter howhe looked, he was no differentfrom anyone else his agewhere food was concerned."Sure; come on in and rest aspell," I told him. "Marty, canyou fix a plate of something?We've got a guest." Marty—mywife—glanced through thekitchen doorway. After a cursorylook at the boy, shesmiled at him and went backto work.
"Sit down, son, you lookpretty done-in. Come far today?"
He nodded. "Guess itshows, huh?" he said, brushingthe road dust from histrousers.
"Uh-huh. Where you from?Not around here, I know."
"Far back as I can remember,Oregon has been home."
It wasn't hard to guess whyhe was almost a thousandmiles from home. During thewar, over ten million Americanfamilies had been separated,their way of life destroyedby the hell of atomic bombings.Ever since its end, peoplehad been seeking theirloved ones; many, only tofind them dead or dying.Sometimes the searchesstretched across continents oroceans. In that respect theboy sitting opposite me wasno different from hundredsof others I've seen in the pastten years. The only differencewas in his face.
"Looking for your family,"I said, making it a statement.
"Yessir." He smiled, asthough the sentence had doublemeaning.
After he had eaten, he wentdown to the town store tolook through its records.They all do. They turn thepages of the big stopoverbook, hoping a relative orfriend had passed through thesame town. Then they signthe book, put down the dateand where they're headed, andset out once more. Almost alltowns have stopover booksnowadays, and a good thing,too. They helped me findMarty back in '63, when thetruce was finally signed. Infact, I found her right here inthis town. We got married,settled down, and haven'tbeen more than a hundredmiles away since then.
Martha called me into thekitchen almost as soon as hewas gone. "He's a nice boy."
"That he is," I agreed. "Youknow, I've been thinking; wecould use a young fellaaround here to help with thework."
"If h