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Authors: Fritz Leiber
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went to Washington with a couple of veterinary doctors who knew about doping race horses and a satchel of sensational Mexican and Central American newspaper clippings about murders and rapes and such committed by peons supposedly crazed with marijuana.”
“A lot of writers jumped on that bandwagon,” Franz put in. “The hero would take one drag of a strange cigarette and instantly start having weird hallucinations, mostly along the lines of sex and bloodshed. Say, maybe I could suggest a ‘Weird Underground’ episode bringing in the Narcotics Bureau,” he added thoughtfully, more to himself than them. “It’s a thought.”
“And the agonies of cold-turkey withdrawal were part of that mythos picture,” Saul took up, “so that when the beats and hippies and such began taking drugs as a gesture of rebellion against the establishment and their parents’ generation, they started having all the dreadful hallucinations and withdrawal agonies the cop-invented mythos told them they would.” He smiled crookedly. “You know, I’ve sometimes thought it was very similar to the long-range effects of war propaganda on the Germans. In World War Two they committed all the atrocities, and more, that they were accused of, mostly falsely, in World War One. I hate to say it, but people are always trying to live up to worst expectations.”
Gun added, “The hippie-era analogue to the SS Nazis being the Manson Family.”
“At any rate,” Saul resumed, “that’s what I learned when I was rushing around the Hashbury at dead of night, giving Thorazine to flipping flower children per anum . I couldn’t use a hypodermic needle because I wasn’t a real nurse yet.”
Gun put in reflectively, “That’s how Saul and I met.”
“But it wasn’t to Gun I was giving the rectal Thorazine,” Saul amended. “—that would have been just too romantic—but to a friend of his, who’d O.D.’ed, then called him up, so he called us. That’s how we met.”
“My friend recovered very nicely,” Gun put in.
“How did you both meet Cal?” Franz asked.
“When she moved here,” Gun said.
“At first it was only as if a silence had descended on us,” Saul said thoughtfully. “For the previous occupant of her room had been exceptionally noisy, even for this building.”
Gun said, “And then it was as if a very quiet but musical mouse had joined the population. Because we became aware of hearing flute music, we thought it was, but so soft we couldn’t besure we weren’t imagining it.”
“At the same time,” Saul said, “we began to notice this attractive, uncommunicative, very polite young woman who’d get on or off at four, always alone and always opening and closing the elevator gates very gently.”
Gun said, “And then one evening we went to hear some Beethoven quartets at the Veterans Building. She was in the audience and we introduced ourselves.”
“All three of us taking the initiative,” Saul added. “By the end of the concert we were pals.”
“And the next weekend we were helping her redecorate her apartment,” Gun finished. “It was as if we’d known each other for years.”
“Or at least as if she’d known us for years,” Saul qualified. “We were a lot longer learning about her—what an incredibly overprotected life she’d led, her difficulties with her mother…”
“How hard her father’s death hit her…” Gun threw in.
“And how determined she was to make a go of things on her own and”—Saul shrugged—“and learn about life.” He looked at Franz. “We were even longer discovering just how sensitive she was under that cool and competent exterior of hers, and also about her abilities in addition to the musical.”
Franz nodded, then asked Saul, “And now are you going to tell me the story about her you’ve been saving?”
“How did you know it was going to be about her?” the other inquired.
“Because you glanced at her before you decided not to tell it at the
“A lot of writers jumped on that bandwagon,” Franz put in. “The hero would take one drag of a strange cigarette and instantly start having weird hallucinations, mostly along the lines of sex and bloodshed. Say, maybe I could suggest a ‘Weird Underground’ episode bringing in the Narcotics Bureau,” he added thoughtfully, more to himself than them. “It’s a thought.”
“And the agonies of cold-turkey withdrawal were part of that mythos picture,” Saul took up, “so that when the beats and hippies and such began taking drugs as a gesture of rebellion against the establishment and their parents’ generation, they started having all the dreadful hallucinations and withdrawal agonies the cop-invented mythos told them they would.” He smiled crookedly. “You know, I’ve sometimes thought it was very similar to the long-range effects of war propaganda on the Germans. In World War Two they committed all the atrocities, and more, that they were accused of, mostly falsely, in World War One. I hate to say it, but people are always trying to live up to worst expectations.”
Gun added, “The hippie-era analogue to the SS Nazis being the Manson Family.”
“At any rate,” Saul resumed, “that’s what I learned when I was rushing around the Hashbury at dead of night, giving Thorazine to flipping flower children per anum . I couldn’t use a hypodermic needle because I wasn’t a real nurse yet.”
Gun put in reflectively, “That’s how Saul and I met.”
“But it wasn’t to Gun I was giving the rectal Thorazine,” Saul amended. “—that would have been just too romantic—but to a friend of his, who’d O.D.’ed, then called him up, so he called us. That’s how we met.”
“My friend recovered very nicely,” Gun put in.
“How did you both meet Cal?” Franz asked.
“When she moved here,” Gun said.
“At first it was only as if a silence had descended on us,” Saul said thoughtfully. “For the previous occupant of her room had been exceptionally noisy, even for this building.”
Gun said, “And then it was as if a very quiet but musical mouse had joined the population. Because we became aware of hearing flute music, we thought it was, but so soft we couldn’t besure we weren’t imagining it.”
“At the same time,” Saul said, “we began to notice this attractive, uncommunicative, very polite young woman who’d get on or off at four, always alone and always opening and closing the elevator gates very gently.”
Gun said, “And then one evening we went to hear some Beethoven quartets at the Veterans Building. She was in the audience and we introduced ourselves.”
“All three of us taking the initiative,” Saul added. “By the end of the concert we were pals.”
“And the next weekend we were helping her redecorate her apartment,” Gun finished. “It was as if we’d known each other for years.”
“Or at least as if she’d known us for years,” Saul qualified. “We were a lot longer learning about her—what an incredibly overprotected life she’d led, her difficulties with her mother…”
“How hard her father’s death hit her…” Gun threw in.
“And how determined she was to make a go of things on her own and”—Saul shrugged—“and learn about life.” He looked at Franz. “We were even longer discovering just how sensitive she was under that cool and competent exterior of hers, and also about her abilities in addition to the musical.”
Franz nodded, then asked Saul, “And now are you going to tell me the story about her you’ve been saving?”
“How did you know it was going to be about her?” the other inquired.
“Because you glanced at her before you decided not to tell it at the
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