Feeling vaguely uneasy, Robert joined his parents at the wall screen. The announcer was spouting excitedly about the mysterious New York disaster of the early morning, and a TV aircar had evidently carried the cameras in close, for the pictures on the screen were exceptionally sharp and clear. Robert stared at the video image as he picked up the announcer’s words:
“…had no explanation to offer for the disaster. Some observers near the cleavage area claimed to have seen a waterspout in New York harbor immediately after the disaster occurred, but reports have been inconsistent. This afternoon trawlers and dredges of the International Coast Guard dragged the harbor for debris from the shattered section of the city, but nothing was recovered, even at depths of three hundred feet.
“In a moment we will have a roundup of reactions from the various world capitals, but first a special on-the-spot interview with an eyewitness to the mysterious calamity.”
The camera shifted to an ID shot of Manhattan Island from the air, then moved in to a downtown street scene. Crowds of people, police, and uniformed troops were milling around; the mike picked up a babble of frightened voices. Then the camera centered on a reporter with a hand mike, interviewing a short, balding man dressed in longshoremen’s clothes: “…Mr. Jacob Pitkin of 124 Dykeman Street, 17th level…Mr. Pitkin, I understand you were returning home from work when the disaster occurred.”
“Yes, sir, that’s right, I was actually walking right where it struck, not ten seconds before.”
“Can you tell us in your own words what you saw?”
“Yes, sir! I sure can! I was walking north about five o’clock in the morning when I thought I heard a truck coming. So I looked back over my shoulder. I was right, I saw the headlights plain as day, and then the next second the whole street was gone, truck and all.”
“You didn’t feel any tremor or see any buildings crashing?”
“Nothing at all. Not even any noise, at first. It was just there one second and gone the next. And then I heard a roar like the time the gas tanks blew over in Newark District, and I saw this waterspout coming up where the street had been—”
Impatiently, Gail Benedict flipped channels, but everywhere it was the same story. One channel was broadcasting an interview with the Russian delegate to the Joint Conference, who insisted angrily that the disaster had been caused by the explosion of a concealed atomic stockpile, but even he acknowledged that no seismograph had recorded any shock wave. On another channel the announcer was just finishing: “…attempted to contact Dr. John McEvoy, Director of Research at Telcom Laboratories, but Dr. McEvoy could not be reached by broadcast time…” Gail and Ed Benedict exchanged glances, and then Gail reached over to flick off the screen.
“Well, was it an earthquake?” Robert asked.
“Without a seismograph record?” Ed Benedict asked sourly. “Who taught you geology?”
“Well what was it, then?”
Gail looked grim. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t any earthquake.” She stood up abruptly and went out in the kitchen, looking more upset than Robert could ever remember. His father just sat glumly, not inviting conversation. Robert shucked his wet boots, now acutely aware that something was seriously wrong.
Something had taken a chunk off the end of Manhattan during the night. If not an earthquake, then what? And why the tension here at home? Mom and Dad were usually as close as hand and glove; this strained silence just wasn’t like them. Something had upset them badly, something neither of them wanted to bring out into the open. And it had to do with the disaster in New York.
Robert continued to puzzle over it as he joined his parents for the beginning of a silent meal. Why were they so disturbed about what happened in Manhattan District? Ed’s work was in Cambridge, at the Big Mental Adjustment Laboratory of the far-flung Hoffman Medical Center complex. Robert knew that his father was a research psychologist with more experience with problems of human adaptability than anyone else in the country, but he’d never gotten this stirred up about anything that Robert could recall. The same with Gail, who sometimes worked with her husband on special projects but spent most of her time keeping the Benedict household together and working with the Right of Privacy League.
No matter how he looked at it, it didn’t add up. What was more, he had a queasy feeling that whatever it was had to do with him as well. Robert knew his parents too well to be easily fooled. They would sometimes block or sidestep indirect questions and subterfuge, but they never dodged a direct frontal attack. He fiddled with his food as the silence deepened, then took the bull by the horns. “Okay,” he said, looking his mother straight in the eye. “Let’s have it. Something’s wrong here, and I’m right in the middle of it. What’s the trouble?”
Gail’s hand came up to push her hair back from her ear. She glanced at her husband and went on eating. Finally Ed shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong,” he said awkwardly.
Robert was silent a moment. Then he said, “One time you told me to call you on it flat-footed if I ever caught you lying. So I’m calling you. If you’re not lying at least you’re dodging. Something’s wrong. You’ve never been like this before.”
More silence. “Did you cross the Threshold today?” Gail asked at last.
“Well, of course!” Robert blinked; he hadn’t expected that question. “I mean, I usually do, don’t I? You know that.”
“But you were late getting home tonight,” Ed said. “How come?”
“I walked down from Thompson’s Hill.”
“That’s quite a walk. You usually short-cut.”
“Well, I know. But today there was something funny about the Other Side.”
Gail looked up at him. “Funny?”
“Well—different, then,” Robert said. “I was even going to ask you about it. Something was out of whack over there; it even scared me a little, and that’s the first time that ever happened.”
Both the older Benedicts had stopped eating. Ed cleared his throat. “Robert, this may be more important than you realize. What was different when you crossed the Theshold today? You know the Other Side far better than we do. Can you tell us what it was?”
“It wasn’t anything so terrible,” Robert said. “I—I mean, there just seemed to be—that is, I had this strange feeling that somebody…or something…” He bogged down, unable to find the right words to describe exactly what had given him the sudden jolt he had experienced this afternoon. It was the same old story as so many times before: none of the words he could find seemed to be the right ones.
Because there was no describing the Other Side. He’d never been able to. He’d never been able to say, in so many words, what he saw there, or what he did there, or what happened to him, or anything. There weren’t any words on this side to tell anybody those things. And the things on this side, and the words to describe them, never seemed to apply to the Other Side, either.
“Just do the best you can,” Gail urged him. “I know it’s hard, but try. It’s important, maybe very important.”
Robert shook his head. “All I can say is that it was different. I’ve always gone back and forth without any hindrance before, any time I wanted to. Nothing on the Other Side ever seemed to bother me, or touch me. I mean, the Thresholds are there, and sometimes when I cross through they’re around nearby and sometimes they’re not, but it never seemed to make any difference. This time it did. At least, it seemed to. All of a sudden I had the strangest feeling that they knew I was there, as if they were really aware of me for the first time. And somehow this time I couldn’t move as freely as I always have. It even seemed hard to come back out again. As if something there were trying to hold me.” He spread his hands helplessly.