"That's good of you," Mr. Wayne said quite earnestly. "But there's that other matter my friends told me about, The ten years off my life."
"That can't be helped," Tompkins said, "and can't be refunded. My process is a tremendous strain on the nervous system, and life expectancy is shortened accordingly. That's one of the reasons why our so-called government has declared my process illegal,"
"But they don't enforce the ban very firmly," Mr. Wayne said.
"No. Officially the process is banned as a harmful fraud. But officials are men, too. They'd like to leave this earth, just like everyone else."
"The cost," Mr, Wayne mused, gripping his parcel tightly.
"And ten years off my life! For the fulfillment of my secret desires__ Really, I must give this some thought,"
"Think away," Tompkins said indifferently.
All the way home Mr. Wayne thought about it. When his train reached Port Washington, Long Island, he was still thinking. And driving his car from the station to his house, he was still thinking about Tompkins's crafty old face, and worlds of probability, and the fulfillment of desire.
But when he stepped inside his home, those thoughts had to stop. Janet, his wife, wanted him to speak sharply to the maid, who had been drinking again. His son, Tommy, wanted help with the sloop, which was to be launched tomorrow. And his baby daughter wanted to tell about her day in kindergarten.
Mr. Wayne spoke pleasantly but firmly to the maid. He helped Tommy put the final coat of copper paint on the sloop's bottom, and he listened to Peggy tell about her adventures in the playground.
Later, when the children were in bed and he and Janet were alone in their living room, she asked him if something was wrong.
"Wrong?"
"You seem to be worried about something," Janet said. "Did you have 'a bad day at the office?"
"Oh, just the usual sort of thing-"
He certainly was not going to tell Janet, or anyone else, that he had taken the day off and gone to see Tompkins in his crazy old Store of the Worlds, Nor was he going to speak about the right every man should have, once in his lifetime, to fulfill his most secret desires. Janet, with her good common sense, would never understand that.
The next days at the office were extremely hectic. All of Wall Street was in a mild panic over events in the Middle East and in Asia, and stocks were reacting accordingly. Mr. Wayne settled down to work. He tried not to think of the fulfillment of desire at the cost of everything he possessed, with ten years of his life thrown in for good measure. It was crazy! Old Tompkins must be insane!
On weekends he went sailing with Tommy. The old sloop was behaving very well, taking practically no water through her bottom seams. Tommy wanted a new suit of racing sails, but Mr. Wayne sternly rejected that. Perhaps next year, if 'the market looked better. For now, the old sails would have to do.
Sometimes at night, after the children were asleep, he and Janet would go sailing. Long Island Sound was quiet then and cool. Their boat glided past the blinking buoys, sailing toward the swollen yellow moon.
"I know something's on your mind," Janet said,
"Darling, please!"
"Is there something you're keeping from me?"
"Nothing!"
"Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?"
"Absolutely sure."
"Then, put your arms around me. That's right…"
And the sloop sailed itself for a while.
Desire and fulfillment… But autumn came and the sloop had to be hauled. The stock market regained some stability, but Peggy caught the measles. Tommy wanted to know the differences between ordinary bombs, atom bombs, hydrogen bombs, cobalt bombs and all the other kinds of bombs that were in the news. Mr. Wayne explained to the best of his ability. And the maid quit unexpectedly.
Secret desires were all very well. Perhaps he did want to kill someone or live on a South Sea island. But there were responsibilities to consider. He had two growing children and the best of wives.
'Perhaps around Christmastime…
But in midwinter there was a fire in the unoccupied guest room due to defective wiring. The firemen put out the blaze without much damage, and no one was hurt. But it put any thought of Tompkins out of his mind for a while. First the bedroom had to be repaired, for Mr, Wayne was very proud of his gracious old house.
Business was still frantic uncertain due to the international situation. Those Russians, those Arabs, those Greeks, those Chinese. The intercontinental missiles, the atom bombs, the Sputniks- Mr. Wayne spent long days at the office and sometimes evenings, too. Tommy caught the mumps. A part of the roof had to be reshingled. And then already it was time to consider the spring launching of the sloop,
A year had passed, and he'd had very little time to think of secret desires. But perhaps next year. In the meantime-
"Well?" said Tompkins. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, quite all right," Mr. Wayne said. He got up from the chair and rubbed his forehead.
"Do you want a refund?" Tompkins asked.
"No. The experience was quite satisfactory."
"They always are," Tompkins said, winking lewdly at the parrot. "Well, what was yours?"
"A world of the recent past," Mr. Wayne said.
"A lot of them are. Did you find out about your secret desire? Was it murder? Or a South Sea island?"
"I'd rather not discuss it," Mr. Wayne said pleasantly but firmly.
"A lot of people won't discuss it with me," Tompkins said sulkily. "I'll be damned if I know why."
"Because-well, I think the world of one's secret desire seems sacred, somehow. No offense____________________ Do you think you'll ever be able to make it permanent? The world of one's choice, I mean?"
The old man shrugged his shoulders, "I'm trying. If I succeed, you'll hear about it. Everyone will."
"Yes, I suppose so." Mr. Wayne undid his parcel and laid its contents on the table. The parcel contained a pair of army boots, a knife, two coils of copper wire and three small cans of corned beef.
Tompkins's eyes glittered for a moment. "Quite satisfac-tory," he said. "Thank you."
"Good-bye," said Mr. Wayne. "And thank you,"
Mr. Wayne left the shop and hurried down to the end of the lane of gray rubble. Beyond it, as far as he could see, lay flat fields of rubble, brown and gray and black. Those fields, stretching to every horizon, were made of the twisted corpses of buildings, the shattered remnants of trees and the fine white ash that once was human flesh and bone.
"Well," Mr. Wayne said to himself, "at least we gave as good as we got."
His year in the past had cost him everything he owned and ten years of life thrown in for good measure. Had it been a dream? It was still worth it! But now he had to put away all thought of Janet and the children. That was finished, unless Tompkins perfected his process. Now he had to think about his own survival.
He picked his way carefully through the rubble, determined to get back to the shelter before dark, before the rats came out. If he didn't hurry, he'd miss the evening potato ration.
How It Was When the Past Went Away
by Robert Silverberg
The day that an antisocial fiend dumped an amnesifacient drug into the city water supply was one of the finest that San Francisco had had in a long while. The damp cloud that had been hovering over everything for three weeks finally drifted across the bay into Berkeley that Wednesday, and the sun emerged, bright and warm, to give the old town its warmest day so far in 2003. The temperature climbed into the high twenties, and even those oldsters who hadn't managed to learn to convert to the centigrade thermometer knew it was hot. Air-conditioners hummed from the Golden Gate to the Embarcadero. Pacific Gas amp; Electric recorded its highest one-hour load in history between two and three in the afternoon. The parks were crowded. People drank a lot of water, some a good deal more than others. Toward nightfall, the thirstiest ones were already beginning to forget things. By the next morning, everybody in the city was in trouble, with a few exceptions. It had really been an ideal day for committing a monstrous crime.