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.First, there had been the bullet-swept hell of the attack on Hill 23 and thena long time in the hospitals field hospital, base hospital, State-sidehospital.There had been the irony of the cease-fire order two days after theslaughter of the Fourth Platoon.There had been the letters to write, so manyof them and so many lies to tell.The folks at home always wanted the comfortof knowing that their Tommy or Bill or Dave had found death to be not crueland merciless but something that had come quickly and painlessly, for all itsgrim finality.There had been the day of his discharge from service and the strange feel ofcivilian clothes.There had been a period of restlessness, a period duringwhich the peacetime world seemed a shallow and insignificant thing and thememory of the Fourth was strong within him as something irretrievably lost; acomradeship forged by war and never to be found again in the gentle fires ofpeace.Page 197 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlThen he had received the letter from Computer Research Center, and theinvitation to come toArizona and work with Dr.Clarke, himself.Clarke had written: ".Thetheory you set forth in your thesis can, I think, be worked out here atComputer Research Center and an experimental model of such a 'brain'constructed.I asked for your assistance eighteen months ago, but our littlesemi-military Center lacked the influence to have a combat officer recalledfrom active duty "His theory had been valid, and Computer Research Center was no longer smalland unimportant.TheKnight-Clarke Master Computer was a reality and Center had become the mostpowerful factor in the western hemisphere.The restlessness had faded away ashe adjusted himself to taking up his old way of life and he forgot the war inthe fascination of creating something from metal and plastic that was, in away, alive.In four years he had found his place in life again and the ghosts of theFourth lay dormant in his mind;splendid and glorious in the way they had fought and died but no longerstirring the restlessness and the sense of something lost.Then he met Cullin again.* * *Punta Azul was a cluster of adobes drowsing on the northeastern shore of theGulf of California, away from the tourist routes and accessible only by a longand rough desert road.Nothing ever happened in Punta Azul; it was a goodplace for a man to rest, to fish, to sit in the cool adobe cantina andexchange bits of philosophy with its proprietor, Carlos Hernandez.And it was a good place to do a little amateur-detective checking on asuspicion.It was siesta time and everyone in Punta Azul was observing that tradition butKnight andCarlos and even their own conversation had dwindled off into silence.Knightwas nursing a glass of beer, putting off the time when he would have to leavethe cool cantina and drive the long, hot miles back to the border, whileCarlos was at the other end of the bar, idly polishing his cerveza glasses andsinging in a soft voice:"Yo soy la paloma errante "He was a big man, with a fierce black mustache that made him resemble PanchoVilla of old.He sang softly, in a clear, sweet tenor.Why, Knight wondered,do so many big men sing tenor and so many small men sing baritone?"El nido triste donde naci" Knight listened, unconsciously making a mental translation of the words intoEnglish:I am the wandering dove that seeksThe sad nest where I was bornHow old was "La Paloma?" Music, like men, had to possess more than asuperficial worth to be remembered.Novelty tunes, like the little Caesars andNapoleons, lived their brief span and were forgotten while the music thatappealed to the hearts of men never died.People had a habit of rememberingthe things that appealed to them and finally forgetting the others.Once there had been a man named Benedict Arnold.No living person had everseen him; they knew him only from the books of history.At one time he hadbeen hated but no one bothered, any more, to hate him.He was no longer ofinterest or importance to anyone.And once there had been another man that no living person had ever seen.LikeBenedict Arnold, he was known to them only through the books of history.Buthe had appealed to something in other men, so they had built a monument in hishonor and there he sat carved in stone, tall and gaunt.The sculptor had beenPage 198 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmla master, and the things about the figure that appealed to other men were inhis face; the understanding and the gentle compassion.People came to look athim, the loud of mouth suddenly still and the hard of face softening [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.First, there had been the bullet-swept hell of the attack on Hill 23 and thena long time in the hospitals field hospital, base hospital, State-sidehospital.There had been the irony of the cease-fire order two days after theslaughter of the Fourth Platoon.There had been the letters to write, so manyof them and so many lies to tell.The folks at home always wanted the comfortof knowing that their Tommy or Bill or Dave had found death to be not crueland merciless but something that had come quickly and painlessly, for all itsgrim finality.There had been the day of his discharge from service and the strange feel ofcivilian clothes.There had been a period of restlessness, a period duringwhich the peacetime world seemed a shallow and insignificant thing and thememory of the Fourth was strong within him as something irretrievably lost; acomradeship forged by war and never to be found again in the gentle fires ofpeace.Page 197 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlThen he had received the letter from Computer Research Center, and theinvitation to come toArizona and work with Dr.Clarke, himself.Clarke had written: ".Thetheory you set forth in your thesis can, I think, be worked out here atComputer Research Center and an experimental model of such a 'brain'constructed.I asked for your assistance eighteen months ago, but our littlesemi-military Center lacked the influence to have a combat officer recalledfrom active duty "His theory had been valid, and Computer Research Center was no longer smalland unimportant.TheKnight-Clarke Master Computer was a reality and Center had become the mostpowerful factor in the western hemisphere.The restlessness had faded away ashe adjusted himself to taking up his old way of life and he forgot the war inthe fascination of creating something from metal and plastic that was, in away, alive.In four years he had found his place in life again and the ghosts of theFourth lay dormant in his mind;splendid and glorious in the way they had fought and died but no longerstirring the restlessness and the sense of something lost.Then he met Cullin again.* * *Punta Azul was a cluster of adobes drowsing on the northeastern shore of theGulf of California, away from the tourist routes and accessible only by a longand rough desert road.Nothing ever happened in Punta Azul; it was a goodplace for a man to rest, to fish, to sit in the cool adobe cantina andexchange bits of philosophy with its proprietor, Carlos Hernandez.And it was a good place to do a little amateur-detective checking on asuspicion.It was siesta time and everyone in Punta Azul was observing that tradition butKnight andCarlos and even their own conversation had dwindled off into silence.Knightwas nursing a glass of beer, putting off the time when he would have to leavethe cool cantina and drive the long, hot miles back to the border, whileCarlos was at the other end of the bar, idly polishing his cerveza glasses andsinging in a soft voice:"Yo soy la paloma errante "He was a big man, with a fierce black mustache that made him resemble PanchoVilla of old.He sang softly, in a clear, sweet tenor.Why, Knight wondered,do so many big men sing tenor and so many small men sing baritone?"El nido triste donde naci" Knight listened, unconsciously making a mental translation of the words intoEnglish:I am the wandering dove that seeksThe sad nest where I was bornHow old was "La Paloma?" Music, like men, had to possess more than asuperficial worth to be remembered.Novelty tunes, like the little Caesars andNapoleons, lived their brief span and were forgotten while the music thatappealed to the hearts of men never died.People had a habit of rememberingthe things that appealed to them and finally forgetting the others.Once there had been a man named Benedict Arnold.No living person had everseen him; they knew him only from the books of history.At one time he hadbeen hated but no one bothered, any more, to hate him.He was no longer ofinterest or importance to anyone.And once there had been another man that no living person had ever seen.LikeBenedict Arnold, he was known to them only through the books of history.Buthe had appealed to something in other men, so they had built a monument in hishonor and there he sat carved in stone, tall and gaunt.The sculptor had beenPage 198 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmla master, and the things about the figure that appealed to other men were inhis face; the understanding and the gentle compassion.People came to look athim, the loud of mouth suddenly still and the hard of face softening [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]