Read Online A Fisherman of the Inland Sea: Stories by Ursula K. Le Guin - Free Book Online
Authors: Ursula K. Le Guin
Tags: Fiction
Ads: Link
walked through the great elms and chestnuts
that stood twenty meters high, not between them. He walked to the elevators and pressed the buttons and came to the Health
Center.
“Oh, but Esther was released this morning!” the nurse said, smiling.
“Released?”
“Yes. The little black girl came with your wife’s note, first thing this morning.”
“May I see the note?”
“Sure. It’s in her file, just hold on—” She handed it over. It was not a note from Susan. It was in Esther’s scrawling hand,
addressed to Isaac Rose. He unfolded it.
I am going up in the mountains for a while.
With love,
Esther.
Outside the Health Center he stood looking down the corridors. They ran to left, to right, and straight ahead. They were 2.2
meters high, 2.6 meters wide, painted light tan, with colored stripes on the grey floors. The blue stripes ended at the door
of the Health Center, or started there, ending and starting were the same thing, but the white arrows set in the blue stripes
every 3 meters pointed to the Health Center, not away from it, so they ended there, where he stood. The floors were light
grey, except for the colored stripes, and perfectly smooth and almost level, for in Area 8 the curvature of Spes was barely
perceptible. Lights shone from panels in the ceilings of the corridors at intervals of 5 meters. He knew all the intervals,
all the specifications, all the materials, all the relationships. He had them all in his mind. He had thought about them for
years. He had reasoned them. He had planned them.
Nobody could be lost in Spes. All the corridors led to known places. You came to those places following the arrows and the
colored stripes. If you followed every corridor and took every elevator, you would never get lost and always end up safe where
you started from. And you would never stumble, because all the floors were of smooth metal polished and painted light grey,
with colored stripes and white arrows guiding you to the desired end.
Ike took two steps and stumbled, falling violently forward. Under his hands was something rough, irregular, painful. A rock,
a boulder, protruded through the smooth metal floor of the corridor. It was dark brownish grey veined with white, pocked and
cracked; a little scurf of yellowish lichen grew near his hands. The heel of his right hand hurt, and he raised it to look
at it. He had grazed the skin in falling on the rock. He licked the tiny film of blood from the graze. Squatting there, he
looked at the rock and then past it. He saw nothing but the corridor. He would have nothing but the rock, until he found her.
The rock and the taste of his own blood. He stood up.
“Esther!”
His voice echoed faintly down the corridors.
“Esther, I can’t see. Show me how to see!”
There was no answer.
He set off, walking carefully around the rock, walking carefully forward. It was a long way and he was never sure he was not
lost. He was not sure where he was, though the climbing got steeper and harder and the air began to be very thin and cold.
He was not sure of anything until he heard his mother’s voice. “Isaac, dear, are you awake?” she asked rather sharply. He
turned and saw her sitting beside Esther on an outcropping of granite beside the steep, dusty trail. Behind them, across a
great dropping gulf of air, snow peaks shone in the high, clear light. Esther looked at him. Her eyes were clear also, but
dark, and she said, “Now we can go down.”
T HE A SCENT OF THE N ORTH F ACE
From the diary of Simon Interthwaite of the First Lovejoy Street Expedition
2/21.
Robert has reached Base Camp with five Sherbets. He brought several copies of the
Times
from last month, which we devoured eagerly. Our team is now complete. Tomorrow the Advance Party goes up. Weather holds.
2/22.
Accompanied Advance Party as far as the col below The Verandah before turning back. Winds up to 40 mph in gusts, but weather
holds. Tonight Peter
that stood twenty meters high, not between them. He walked to the elevators and pressed the buttons and came to the Health
Center.
“Oh, but Esther was released this morning!” the nurse said, smiling.
“Released?”
“Yes. The little black girl came with your wife’s note, first thing this morning.”
“May I see the note?”
“Sure. It’s in her file, just hold on—” She handed it over. It was not a note from Susan. It was in Esther’s scrawling hand,
addressed to Isaac Rose. He unfolded it.
I am going up in the mountains for a while.
With love,
Esther.
Outside the Health Center he stood looking down the corridors. They ran to left, to right, and straight ahead. They were 2.2
meters high, 2.6 meters wide, painted light tan, with colored stripes on the grey floors. The blue stripes ended at the door
of the Health Center, or started there, ending and starting were the same thing, but the white arrows set in the blue stripes
every 3 meters pointed to the Health Center, not away from it, so they ended there, where he stood. The floors were light
grey, except for the colored stripes, and perfectly smooth and almost level, for in Area 8 the curvature of Spes was barely
perceptible. Lights shone from panels in the ceilings of the corridors at intervals of 5 meters. He knew all the intervals,
all the specifications, all the materials, all the relationships. He had them all in his mind. He had thought about them for
years. He had reasoned them. He had planned them.
Nobody could be lost in Spes. All the corridors led to known places. You came to those places following the arrows and the
colored stripes. If you followed every corridor and took every elevator, you would never get lost and always end up safe where
you started from. And you would never stumble, because all the floors were of smooth metal polished and painted light grey,
with colored stripes and white arrows guiding you to the desired end.
Ike took two steps and stumbled, falling violently forward. Under his hands was something rough, irregular, painful. A rock,
a boulder, protruded through the smooth metal floor of the corridor. It was dark brownish grey veined with white, pocked and
cracked; a little scurf of yellowish lichen grew near his hands. The heel of his right hand hurt, and he raised it to look
at it. He had grazed the skin in falling on the rock. He licked the tiny film of blood from the graze. Squatting there, he
looked at the rock and then past it. He saw nothing but the corridor. He would have nothing but the rock, until he found her.
The rock and the taste of his own blood. He stood up.
“Esther!”
His voice echoed faintly down the corridors.
“Esther, I can’t see. Show me how to see!”
There was no answer.
He set off, walking carefully around the rock, walking carefully forward. It was a long way and he was never sure he was not
lost. He was not sure where he was, though the climbing got steeper and harder and the air began to be very thin and cold.
He was not sure of anything until he heard his mother’s voice. “Isaac, dear, are you awake?” she asked rather sharply. He
turned and saw her sitting beside Esther on an outcropping of granite beside the steep, dusty trail. Behind them, across a
great dropping gulf of air, snow peaks shone in the high, clear light. Esther looked at him. Her eyes were clear also, but
dark, and she said, “Now we can go down.”
T HE A SCENT OF THE N ORTH F ACE
From the diary of Simon Interthwaite of the First Lovejoy Street Expedition
2/21.
Robert has reached Base Camp with five Sherbets. He brought several copies of the
Times
from last month, which we devoured eagerly. Our team is now complete. Tomorrow the Advance Party goes up. Weather holds.
2/22.
Accompanied Advance Party as far as the col below The Verandah before turning back. Winds up to 40 mph in gusts, but weather
holds. Tonight Peter
Similar Books
