Read Online Welcome to the Monkey House: The Special Edition by Gregory D. Sumner Kurt Vonnegut - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gregory D. Sumner Kurt Vonnegut
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from gruesome beginnings, sexual enthusiasm could grow and grow.
“You’re a very typical nothinghead,” said Billy. “If you dare to think about it now, you’ll realize that you’re angry because I’m such a bad lover, and a funny-looking shrimp besides. And what you can’t help dreaming about from now on is a really suitable mate for a Juno like yourself.
“You’ll find him, too—tall and strong and gentle. The nothinghead movement is growing by leaps and bounds.”
“But—” said Nancy, and she stopped there. She looked out a porthole at the rising sun.
“But what?”
“The world is in the mess it is today because of the nothingheadedness of olden times. Don’t you see?” She was pleading weakly. “The world can’t afford sex anymore.”
“Of course it can afford sex,” said Billy. “All it can’t afford anymore is reproduction.”
“Then why the laws?”
“They’re bad laws,” said Billy. “If you go back through history, you’ll find that the people who have been most eager to rule, to make the laws, to enforce the laws and to tell everybody exactly how God Almighty wants things here on Earth—those people have forgiven themselves and their friends for anything and everything. But they have been absolutely disgusted and terrified by the natural sexuality of common men and women.
“Why this is, I do not know. That is one of the many questions I wish somebody would ask the machines. I do know this: The triumph of that sort of disgust and terror is now complete. Almost every man and woman looks and feels like something the cat dragged in. The only sexual beauty that an ordinary human being can see today is in the woman who will kill him. Sex is death. There’s a short and nasty equation for you: ‘Sex is death. Q. E. D.’
“So you see, Nancy,” said Billy, “I have spent this night, and many others like it, attempting to restore a certain amount of innocent pleasure to the world, which is poorer in pleasure than it needs to be.”
Nancy sat down quietly and bowed her head.
“I’ll tell you what my grandfather did on the dawn of his wedding night,” said Billy.
“I don’t think I want to hear it.”
“It isn’t violent. It’s—it’s meant to be tender.”
“Maybe that’s why I don’t want to hear it.”
“He read his bride a poem.” Billy took the book from the table, opened it. “His diary tells which poem it was. While we aren’t bride and groom, and while we may not meet again for many years, I’d like to read this poem to you, to have you know I’ve loved you.”
“Please—no. I couldn’t stand it.”
“All right, I’ll leave the book here, with the place marked, in case you want to read it later. It’s the poem beginning:
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.”
Billy put a small bottle on top of the book. “I am also leaving you these pills. If you take one a month, you will never have children. And still you’ll be a nothinghead.”
And he left. And they all left but Nancy.
When Nancy raised her eyes at last to the book and bottle, she saw that there was a label on the bottle. What the label said was this: WELCOME TO THE MONKEY HOUSE .
(1968)
LONG WALK TO FOREVER
T HEY HAD GROWN UP next door to each other, on the fringe of a city, near fields and woods and orchards, within sight of a lovely bell tower that belonged to a school for the blind.
Now they were twenty, had not seen each other for nearly a year. There had always been playful, comfortable warmth between them, but never any talk of love.
His name was Newt. Her name was Catharine. In the early afternoon, Newt knocked on Catharine’s front door.
Catharine came to the door. She was carrying a fat, glossy magazine she had been reading. The magazine was devoted entirely to brides. “Newt!” she said. She was surprised
“You’re a very typical nothinghead,” said Billy. “If you dare to think about it now, you’ll realize that you’re angry because I’m such a bad lover, and a funny-looking shrimp besides. And what you can’t help dreaming about from now on is a really suitable mate for a Juno like yourself.
“You’ll find him, too—tall and strong and gentle. The nothinghead movement is growing by leaps and bounds.”
“But—” said Nancy, and she stopped there. She looked out a porthole at the rising sun.
“But what?”
“The world is in the mess it is today because of the nothingheadedness of olden times. Don’t you see?” She was pleading weakly. “The world can’t afford sex anymore.”
“Of course it can afford sex,” said Billy. “All it can’t afford anymore is reproduction.”
“Then why the laws?”
“They’re bad laws,” said Billy. “If you go back through history, you’ll find that the people who have been most eager to rule, to make the laws, to enforce the laws and to tell everybody exactly how God Almighty wants things here on Earth—those people have forgiven themselves and their friends for anything and everything. But they have been absolutely disgusted and terrified by the natural sexuality of common men and women.
“Why this is, I do not know. That is one of the many questions I wish somebody would ask the machines. I do know this: The triumph of that sort of disgust and terror is now complete. Almost every man and woman looks and feels like something the cat dragged in. The only sexual beauty that an ordinary human being can see today is in the woman who will kill him. Sex is death. There’s a short and nasty equation for you: ‘Sex is death. Q. E. D.’
“So you see, Nancy,” said Billy, “I have spent this night, and many others like it, attempting to restore a certain amount of innocent pleasure to the world, which is poorer in pleasure than it needs to be.”
Nancy sat down quietly and bowed her head.
“I’ll tell you what my grandfather did on the dawn of his wedding night,” said Billy.
“I don’t think I want to hear it.”
“It isn’t violent. It’s—it’s meant to be tender.”
“Maybe that’s why I don’t want to hear it.”
“He read his bride a poem.” Billy took the book from the table, opened it. “His diary tells which poem it was. While we aren’t bride and groom, and while we may not meet again for many years, I’d like to read this poem to you, to have you know I’ve loved you.”
“Please—no. I couldn’t stand it.”
“All right, I’ll leave the book here, with the place marked, in case you want to read it later. It’s the poem beginning:
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.”
Billy put a small bottle on top of the book. “I am also leaving you these pills. If you take one a month, you will never have children. And still you’ll be a nothinghead.”
And he left. And they all left but Nancy.
When Nancy raised her eyes at last to the book and bottle, she saw that there was a label on the bottle. What the label said was this: WELCOME TO THE MONKEY HOUSE .
(1968)
LONG WALK TO FOREVER
T HEY HAD GROWN UP next door to each other, on the fringe of a city, near fields and woods and orchards, within sight of a lovely bell tower that belonged to a school for the blind.
Now they were twenty, had not seen each other for nearly a year. There had always been playful, comfortable warmth between them, but never any talk of love.
His name was Newt. Her name was Catharine. In the early afternoon, Newt knocked on Catharine’s front door.
Catharine came to the door. She was carrying a fat, glossy magazine she had been reading. The magazine was devoted entirely to brides. “Newt!” she said. She was surprised
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