The missile headed straight for the man reading the comic book.
The man with the pot belly and scruffy goatee full of food particles. .
So engrossed was the comic book guy in the latest exploits of Radioactive Man that at first he didn't even notice his impending doom. ..
Quietly mumbling as he read, he casually strolled along in his blue shorts and red sneakers.
But when he looked up and saw the missile almost on top of him, his eyes got all big and wide. In that moment, he made this realization.
"I've wasted my life," he muttered.
The inevitable explosion followed.
This was one of the many images that flashed through the overactive mind of Mr. Henry Bemis as he wandered about a bombed-out city.
As Mr. Bemis walked to and fro, a mysterious figure lurked nearby.
Some distance away, there were others watching Mr. Bemis, observing him.
Those others were not of this world.
"Time enough at last. Time enough at last."
As Mr. Bemis walked through the desolate ruins of the city, he repeated those words over and over again.
Previously, Mr. Bemis had uttered those words as a grievous lament.
The words were now a joyous refrain.
All because Mr. Bemis once was lost but was now reborn.
Oddly, the rebirth began shortly after Mr. Bemis emerged from a bank vault and discovered the city had been bombed..
When he encountered no other people, Mr. Bemis quickly took stock of his chances for ongoing survival. After a preliminary inventory, he found that he had plenty of food. Not just for the body but for the mind as well.
There were books, you see. Lots and lots of books.
And with no people to distract him or interrupt him (or berate him), he had lots of time to read.
All the time he wanted. All the time he needed.
And no people.
Mr. Bemis was glad about that. He rejoiced in that fact.
That was his downfall.
Shortly thereafter, he broke his glasses.
"It's not fair," he moaned. "There was time."
Thus, Mr. Bemis began his sad muttering: "Time enough at last, time enough at last." Over and over, he repeated the lament.
Mr. Bemis stopped his moaning and groaning long enough to remember a story he read. It was about a young physicist named Leonard who went to a movie marathon. Since the movies featured intelligent apes, Leonard anticipated hours of "ape-y goodness." Instead, he got hours of "ape-y blurriness" when he dropped his glasses and a friend stepped on them.
For Mr; Bemis, his present situation was much worse. How was he to occupy his time, his mind in a world with no people, if he could not read?
Mr. Bemis went through what any of us go through in a high-stress situation. At first, we feel only the anguish. But then we start to calm down and consider possible solutions.
For our Mr. Bemis, his solution lay in the realization that he lived in a city devoid of people but filled with all kinds of things.
The ruined rubble-city had canned foods, couches and books. Oh, so many books.
And possibly one other thing.
"Ah-ha!" Mr. Bemis said as he lit up.
There might also be eyeglasses.
Just as books had survived the big blast, maybe some eyeglasses had as well.
Upon making this realization, Mr. Bemis simply visited all the eye doctor offices and eyewear stores where he tried on all manner of glasses.
After all, what else had he to do?
Finally, he found a pair that allowed him to read for hours with only a minimal headache.
After that, Mr. Bemis was in paradise. He walked around reading books, occasionally stopping to eat canned peaches, green beans, deviled ham or other non-perishable delicacies.
At one point, however, he paused for a moment of silence. He thought about the story of Jonah. The way Jonah became angry about the loss of a plant that gave him shade. But he cared nothing about the people of a doomed city called Nineveh.
Mr. Bemis thought of his own sin in that regard.
He had mourned the loss of his eyeglasses while caring nothing for the people who were gone.
It didn't begin that way. When he first became acutely aware of the absence of people, he panicked. He ran around shouting, "Help! Help!"
But then he discovered the library, only partially damaged, filled with a treasure trove of books.
And he realized he had time enough at last.
In that moment, he was no longer sad about the absence of people.
In fact, he was glad they were gone.
In the next moment, he broke his glasses.
Having had time to consider that situation, Mr. Bemis realized it was poetic justice.
For just a moment, he had let bad things enter his heart: callousness and indifference to others. Not to mention pride and hubris.
So prideful had he been that he even pictured a missile heading for a lowly comic book reader.
No wonder his glasses broke.
Mr. Bemis regretted his fantasy. Who was he to despise comic book readers? Was it any different from how people despised him when they were around? The way they held him in contempt because he liked to read and enjoyed talking about interesting Dickens characters with unusual names?
Even his wife had treated him with such scorn that she blacked out all the verses in a book of poetry.
Yes, he had certainly been treated with scorn and contempt.
Still, it was not fitting to return such contempt. Once he realized the awfulness in his heart, Mr. Bemis sat down and bowed his head.
"I'm sorry, Lord," he whispered.
When a sense of peace washed over him, he rose and walked.
As he did, he smiled. He could still read. But now he would do it to honor this once-great civilization. To preserve its culture and honor the dead.
As he walked and smiled, Mr. Bemis read the story of a librarian. Sadly, this poor fellow was declared obsolete by a powerful state. As a result, the Librarian was to be executed through a televised explosion in his apartment.
Yet the Librarian was devious and crafty. He lured a high state leader to his apartment to share his fate. The state leader was, to say the least, very unhappy. You might even say the nameless fellow was in distress.
You see, in the story, the distressed leader had no name. So Mr. Bemis gave him the name "Fritz."
Now there was the matter of this impending explosion. Fritz and the Librarian certainly differed in how they responded to that. While the Librarian quietly read his Bible, the leader frantically pleaded to be let out. Luckily for him, he found an escape just before the explosion.
Unfortunately, since the events were televised, other state leaders had witnessed the cowardice of their comrade. It was unanimous: they declared their fellow leader obsolete.
Appropriately, the story was titled "The Obsolete Man." Mr. Bemis chuckled at the irony and poetic justice of it all.
Mr. Bemis noted the author was anonymous.
"Who is this wonderful storyteller?" Bemis asked aloud. "He's like O-Henry. He has these wonderful surprise endings."
Staggering slightly, Mr. Bemis laughed as he clapped his hands. Smiling broadly, he stooped to pick up a pile of books. Sighing wistfully, he hugged them. Then he tucked them under one arm.
"Now let's talk about this other story I read." As he talked, he held up a thin volume. "I don't read comic books, of course. I would if they were the only books left. But I did read a novelization of a movie. It's about a fellow named 'Batman.'
"While I think this 'Batman' is a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, I really like this other fellow, 'The Penguin.' " Bemis said the name in a dramatic whisper. Then he shuffled back and forth, doing a penguin-like walk as he performed a birdlike laugh.
"An absolutely delightful character!" he declared. "Though he might be better as a young club manager."
Grinning, Mr. Bemis held a finger to his chin. "And maybe there could be a crime boss. A woman. A black woman even. And her name could be 'Fish Mooney.'"
As his eyes widened, the bottle-cap glasses made his eyes even bigger.
"And maybe Batman's friend, that police commissioner. Gordon. Maybe he would be better as a young cop fighting a corrupt system."
Again, he laughed that birdlike laugh. "What do you know? I'm not only reading stories, I'm making up my own!"
Turning his gaze up, Mr. Bemis looked back and forth as he continued his improvisation.
"Maybe the Penguin could be a boxing manager. And he helps an up-and-coming fighter with a name like 'Rocky.'" With an almost manic smile, Mr. Bemis waved a fist at the sky. "Can't you hear the crowds shouting his name? 'Rocky! Rocky! Rocky!'"
With his face scrunched up in thought, Mr. Bemis again held a finger to his chin.
"Maybe Rocky fights a big guy named 'Mister X.' No, no. 'Mister T.' No, no. Needs more of a boxer name." With a big-eyed "ah-ha!" look, Bemis lifted a finger as high as he could. "I have it! 'Clubber Lang!'"
Mr. Bemis paused outside a demolished movie theater. The tilted marquee had only a few scattered letters. There, Mr. Bemis put his books down.
"Here's an idea," he said. Much like a boxer, Mr. Bemis held his hands up. "Maybe I could be the strongest smartest man in the world!"
At first, he assumed a ferocious look as he flexed both biceps. After that, he looked around.
"I guess I am," he said as he drooped slightly.
But then he looked again.
Down the next block was a very tall fellow, nine feet tall at least. He had an oversized bulbous bulging bald head. Trash swirled all around him.
This giant big-headed figure wore a long shiny silver robe with the pointed collars turned up. Like that singer. Elvis What's-His-Name.
"Greetings," a voice said.
With a bemused smile, Mr. Bemis walked over to the tall one. With one hand on his stomach and another behind his back, Mr. Bemis bowed. Then, in an unusually calm voice, he addressed the stranger.
"Good day to you, kind sir. Have you come to talk about books? Or perhaps to view the lovely skyscrapers with me?" With a goofy grin and big eyes, Mr. Bemis looked up and held a hand to the sky.
Looking back down, he smiled at the stranger. His biggest broadest smile yet.
And he bowed once again. A deep bow.
"Tell me, good sir, what is it you seek?"
Briefly, the tall stranger glanced around. Then:
"I seek men to serve. Are you the only one here?"
Holding out one hand, Mr. Bemis bowed his head.
"I am indeed, good sir. And since you are somehow able to speak without moving your lips, I shall assume you are a figment of my imagination. Good day to you, sir."
Mr. Bemis walked away, talking to himself in different voices as he told himself stories.
The tall stranger returned to his spaceship.
He was a Kanamit, and as he boarded his ship, he found three of his brother Kanamits looking through what humanoids would mistakenly call "periscopes." The silver rods were actually extensions of very sophisticated viewing devices.
There wasn't much to do on this ship. Especially since it was empty.
One Kanamit, the one closest to the entrance, left his viewing device. Turning to the Kanamit who just arrived, he offered a slight bow. Like most Kanamits, he wore the expression of a slightly disinterested, and dull, child.
"What news, brother?"
"Alas, brother. The news is not good. There is only one man here, and he is not a fit dinner. He appears to be quite insane."
"Elaborate, please."
"He spoke of skyscrapers but as you see the city is little more than rubble. And though I went to great effort to communicate with my mouth rather than my mind, the madman insisted my lips did not move."
"This is sad news indeed, brother."
"Verily. You recall what happened to our comrades when they ate that insane man."
Telepathically, they shared the images and listened to the voices from the troubling incident. Several of their dead-eyed brothers babbled about how they could turn the citizens of a planet against each other by turning their lights and engines on and off.
"We would do this street by street," one Kanamit said solemnly. "And conquer each planet without even taking up arms ourselves."
The solemn quiet words of this soft-voiced Kanamit were drowned out as two other Kanamits ran around shouting, "The monsters on Maple Street! The monsters are due on Maple Street!"
Another Kanamit, looking and acting quite dazed, spoke of bizarre alien races. In one race, each member had three arms and smoked cigarettes. In another race, each member had three eyes and served ice cream and coffee. Venusians and Martians, he called them.
Other insane Kanamits held up their fingers in an unusual "V" pattern as they shouted, "Live long and prosper!" One lone Kanamit quietly mumbled, "May the Force be with you."
One wide-eyed Kanamit insisted there was a man standing nearby. This man had thick dark eyebrows and a wry grin. He wore a black tie and black suit as he described the events taking place. He also told of talking dolls, tiny men in tiny spaceships, and a planet full of giants.
He told these tales while smoking a cigarette.
"They were obsessed with these 'cigarettes,' weren't they?" the new Kanamit arrival commented.
"Let us observe this person you just encountered," his brother Kanamit said.
The telepathic visions switched to Henry Bemis laughing and mumbling as he wandered the ruins.
"This one wouldn't make much of a meal," the brother Kanamit said as he imitated a humanoid sigh. "Not even a snack."
"Our fatty deposits should sustain us for a time," the Kanamit arrival said. As he patted his stomach, . he looked at the monitors that displayed empty rooms. "It is a shame, really. We have created such nice accommodations. Each room has a cube that turns around into a mirror. There's a also a sink that pulls out like a drawer."
Brother Kanamit held up a book. "I even have this cookbook prepared."
"Be careful not to leave it lying around. You do tend to forget things."
"I thought I'd leave it lying around on purpose. Just to demonstrate the inferior intelligence of our prey."
Now the other two crew members chimed in. "Remember when you left our turtle-headed pet behind on that one world? Afterwards he kept muttering, 'Phone home, phone home.'"
"Or how about the time you lost the control device to the ship's doors?"
"You even forgot where we parked!"
The back-from-the-outside Kanamit waved his finger. "Hold on to that book lest our prey see it and discern its purpose."
Telepathically, his forgetful brother snorted. "Do you really think mere livestock could decipher our language?"
Though the crew members communicated telepathically on occasion, they spent most of their time on their hobby: speaking out loud in colloquial English. It was a way to fight boredom during long periods of deep space flight.
Surprisingly, most of the races they encountered spoke English. Probably because the races had been drawn from one planet with a common core language. Taken as slaves, these humanoids had been deposited on various worlds in various galaxies. This was done by beings called the "Goa'uld."
Normally, when communicating with these former slaves, the Kanamits used their minds to operate machinery that created a mechanical voice. But on the ship, they talked out loud in English.
As part of their use of colloquial English, the crew members adopted English-type names: "Bob," "Fred," "Ted" and "Joe." They even practiced their English by debating routine issues in a question-and-answer formet with a memorized script.
"Fred" held up a finger as if he were a professor. "One might ask: why treat the livestock so kindly and humanely? Why not crowd herds of them into tiny little compartments?" He used his finger and thumb to gesture "tiny."
"Ah-ha!" Bob raised his hand as he answered. "Just as we go insane when we eat someone insane, we also experience extreme fear when we eat someone who is in a state of intense fear."
Professor Fred nodded. "Very good, my student." The finger went up again. "What do we call this condition?"
"'Mad Kanamit Disease.'"
Here, Ted interjected. "When you are a Kanamit, you literally are what you eat."
"An astute observation, Ted," Fred said with a slight bow.
Now Joe raised his hand. "Though the primitive humanoids are mere animals, we should let them know the rules."
"Quite right. We must have order. Let me rehearse for when we have cargo." Fred made a noise like he was clearing his throat. Then he spoke in the voice of a gentle narrator whose smooth cadence bore only a trace of mocking malice. "Please place all cigarette materials in the proper receptacles. And please conserve water. Most importantly, please eat. We wouldn't want you to lose weight."
With mouth open and the usual dull look, Joe nodded. "The beasts should obey the rules before being eaten."
Telepathically, they all snickered. Then Joe went on.
"Since this man is inedible, we should proceed to another planet.. What is our next destination?"
Ted held up a finger. "Wherever we are going, we should hurry. Before the livestock on some other planet destroy themselves. As these creatures did here."
Bob turned to Fred. "Where shall we proceed next, Chief?"
"One of the Visitors, Diana, has spoke of a suitable world. Primitive but densely populated."
"How did you learn of this?"
"Diana was my teacher once. It was she that taught me the procedures for deceiving a planet's population. This allows us to eat food that is not frightened so we do not become frightened ourselves."
As the others nodded, Fred directed his thoughts at a nearby console. For the amusement of his brothers, he spoke out loud.
"Computer. Set course for what is called 'the Milky Way galaxy.' We are going to a planet the inhabitants call 'Earth.'"
Ted made a face. "Another Earth? How many are there?"
The man on the ground had other concerns.
As he watched the saucer fly away, Henry Bemis smiled.
He thought of another story. When pursued by King Saul, David hid among the Philistines and pretended to be insane. Consequently, the Philistines took no interest in him.
Earlier, when Mr. Bemis spied the tall stranger following him, he hid his reaction. It was easy when he felt so joyous about his new life.
After that, he went into his act. It was a gamble but it worked.
By pretending to be insane, he made sure these other-worlders, these Philistines from space, would not bother with him.
Plopping down on a couch, Mr. Bemis cracked open a new book.