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landing again. I was shaking all over. Scenes from the old horror story wound through my mind despite
my earlier proclamation. Bolts in the neck . . . A series of heavy stitches across the forehead . . .
malevolent eyes, eyes of a dead man . . .
The changes, I said. What
It became necessary to adapt my circulatory system to my newer form, He said. It was eerie
talking to Him and not being able to see Him. My mind conjured up worse apparitions, I was sure, than
the one He must truly have possessed at that point. It could not support the tissue I was making. I
restructured it into a triple pump with external as well as internal vessels.
I sat down on the top step because I did not trust myself to remain standing. I see, I said, seeing
nothing. I have this complex about seeming stupid. It comes from having lived with Harry Leach for so
many years. He would explain something to me, something so com-plex that only a team of specialists
could fully under-stand it, and then he would say, See? And if I said no, he sulked and slunk around
looking for simpler language to put it in, inevitably putting it so simply as to em-barrass both of us. He
never inferred that I was not as swift as he, but the aura of his frustration made me feel somehow
inadequate. It was years and years, until I was finished with interning and had gained some confidence as
a full-fledged doctor working on my own, that I came to understand myself in this respect, this
threaten-ing inferiority complex. I understand it now. I still can't shake it.
He went on. And my eyes were insufficient. I did away with those. Other systems are more efficient.
A great number of organs Jacob, in short, I am not human not even android any longer. Not even
re-motely.
Frankenstein!
Nonsense! Or was it?
For a time, we honored silence. It was the old in-feriority thing again as I groped about for some
under-standing, some interpretation that would present my mind's eye with a coherent theory-picture. It
was hard, sweaty work, even though it was totally mental. Finally, I said, What good are you like this?
Are you even mobile?
No. Too much tissue.
If you're not mobile, I said, They'll get you in a few days. Sooner or later, they'll find out we
crossed them, and they'll come here and find you waiting for them like a plastic duck in a shooting
gallery.
No, He said confidently. His voice was still garbled and strange. I can never die, Jacob.
Invulnerability now? Are you certain it will hold up even to nuclear weapons? They'll use limited
atomics, I should think, if there is no other way to get to you. They hated you that much. And they will
hate you more when they see whatever it is you have come to be. And when they fully understand that
you think you can give men unlimited Me spans.
It was laughter, I think, that rolled up from that cold cellar. At least, it was as close as He could come
to making the sound of mirth now that He had forsaken human form. Instead of conveying good humor,
how-ever, it left me uneasy and with a nagging desire to keep looking over my shoulder. I'm not
invulnerable, Jacob. I am not, you see, the immovable object. I am the irresistible force.
I'm afraid you've lost me, I said.
No mind.
Silence a minute.
Did you bring food? He asked.
Three wolves.
Throw them down. I'll get them when you have gone. You'll have to do some more work for me.
The beef is almost finished. I'll need more than three wolves.
How much more?
As much as you can bring me, Jacob.
I had better go hunting now while I'm a little fresh so that I can sleep later, I said.
Jacob?
Yes?
Don't give up on me, Jacob. Keep your faith a little longer. Not much longer. One more day, Jacob.
Things are moving faster than I had expected. Faster and faster all the time.
I got up and went out for the wolves. I threw them down the steps one at a time. Each landed with a
sickening plop and bled on the floor. I closed the door and stood in the living room, listening. A few
seconds passed, then I heard a heavy, rapid breathing sound, a wet slithering, and a short series of deep,
guttural sounds of joy. Then silence. I got more shells from the gun cabinet, drank a cup of coffee, and
went outside again, looking for something else to kill . . .
VIII
Dry, bullet-like flakes of snow blew in sheets across the wintry landscape. The wind had picked up a
bit and was punctuated by stiff gusts that almost rocked me off my feet. The clouds were so low that they
seemed to pick up the glitter of them and reflect it yet again.
I was feeling terribly alone, and the desolation of the blizzard did not help to relieve my spirits any. I
have always been what some people call a loner, one of those types who seldom find a deep need for the
companionship of other people. Oh, there is Harry, of course. It is hard to imagine what the world would
be like without Harry and his pot gut, his rather rank little cigars, his bushy eyebrows raised in surprise or
lowered in consternation when he had to re-explain something to me. Harry was a fixture of the reality of
this world, a familiar rock formation that would always exist. There had been women, too. There had
been many women, really, but only two that counted. Yes, Jake Kennelmen had been in love twice, the
loner him-self. The first time had been with Jenny, blonde and thin with breasts like apples stuffed
beneath her blouse, all out-thrusting and ripe. Cool Jenny with all of her books, her Salinger and Heller
books, everything else that was resurrected avant-garde. Why I loved her, I don't know, though there
was more to her than the hip, suave, cool, beautiful exterior. There was a basic tenderness to her, an
animal warmth, a place to go and find sympathy and understanding after a journey on rough seas. And
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