One Was Stubborn

 

I was so groggy when I stepped off the conveyer belt and grabbed the scoop which lifted up to the medical department level that I didn’t even see a crazy college student swing off Level 20 in his antique Airable Swishabout—one of those things with signs over the dents saying, “Eve, Here’s Your Atom,” and “Ten Tubes All Disintegrating,” and “Hey, Babe, didn’t we meet on Mars?” You know the menace. Well, one of those blasted straight at me and I didn’t even have time to duck—and I probably couldn’t have anyway, thanks to my rheumatism.

 

And if I had been startled before, I was prostrate now. That Swishabout rattled to the right and left and above and below and was gone. I’d passed all the way through it!

 

I was almost scared to let go of the bucket and step out on the Eye Level for fear the invisible walk was not only invisible but also not there!

 

Somehow I hauled myself up to the sorting psycher while the beam calculators sized me up and then, when the flasher had blinked “Dr. Flerry” as its decision for me, I managed to sink down on the sofa which whisked me into his office.

 

The nurse smiled pleasantly and said, “Nervous disability is quite easy to correct and Dr. Flerry is expert. Please be calm.”

 

“I haven’t got any nervous disability,” I said. “I came up here to get tested for some glasses.”

 

She looked at one of those confounded charts that the sorting psycher forwards ahead of the patient, and when I saw her finger come down to “Stubborn” I knew she’d nod. She did. A thoroughly unmanageable young woman.

 

“You haven’t been brought to an eye doctor,” she said. “Dr. Flerry treats nervous disability only, as you must know.”

 

“I came for an eye test,” I said, “and I’m going to get an eye test. I don’t give a flimdoodle what that blathery card says; it’s eyes. Do you think a machine knows more about me than I do?”

 

“Sometimes a machine does. Now please don’t get upset.”

 

“I’m not upset. I guess I know when I need glasses and when I don’t need glasses. And if I want to be tested for glasses, I pretty well guess I’ll be tested for glasses!”

 

“You,” she said, “are obviously a stubborn sort of fellow.”

 

“I guess,” I said, “that I am the most stubborn fellow in this city if not in this whole country.”

 

“Don’t tell me,” she said.

 

Well, I don’t know why, but I felt a little better after that. And shortly, Dr. Flerry buzzered me into his inner office. He was one of these disgusting young fellows who think they know so much about the human body that they themselves can’t be human.

 

“Now be calm,” he said, “and tell me just what the trouble is.” He seemed to be in a sort of ecstatic state and he didn’t seem to take me seriously enough.

 

“I won’t be calm,” I said, “and I don’t have to tell you what the trouble is. You’ve got a psycher chart there that will tell you all about me even down to my last wart.”

 

“Yes,” he said, “you do have a wart. I shall have Dr. Dremster remove it before you go.”

 

“You won’t touch any wart of mine,” I said. “I came in here to get a pair of glasses, and by the eternal, I’ll get them if I have to sit here all night.”

 

I guess I had him there, for he sat and stared at me for some little time before he replied.

 

Finally he said, “Now just what is making you nervous?”

 

“I am not nervous!” I shouted. “I want glasses!”

 

“Ah,” he said. And then he sat back and pushed his head against a pad so the mechanical chair arm would put a lighted cigarette in his mouth. “My dear fellow, tell me just why you need a pair of glasses.”

 

“Because I need them, that’s why!”

 

“Reading glasses?”

 

“Reading glasses!” I said. “I never read any of the bilge the papers are ordered to publish.”

 

“Then you watch the televisor quite a bit?”

 

“I wouldn’t turn one of those things on for a million dollars. What do you ever hear but advertising and smoky bands, and what do you see but girls with legs? Bah!” I guess I was telling him now.

 

“Ah,” he said and thumped back with an elbow so that his chair’s arm would pour him a glass of water. “But you don’t need glasses to talk to people.”

 

“I never talk to people. I never talk to anybody except my wife and I don’t talk to her and she doesn’t listen to me any more than I listen to her. She never says three words a week to me anyway.” Which is the way things should be, of course.

 

“What, may I ask, is your business?”

 

“You’ve got a nerve to ask, but for your information I haven’t got any business. I retired off my farm about four years ago and I haven’t spent a happy hour since.”

 

“Ah,” he said.

 

“Don’t sit there saying ‘Ah’ like an idiot,” I said. “Get busy and fit me with a pair of glasses.”

 

“You haven’t said why you needed them. You can have them of course, but to give them to you I’ll have to know just what sort of glasses you mean. What convinced you that you should have them?”

 

I could see that I had scared Dr. Flerry into being polite to me, so I told him that I had seen a pair of legs without a torso and had first missed and then seen one of the Medical Center domes and how that crazy college student had run right through me.

 

Well, if Dr. Flerry hadn’t stopped laughing when he did I guess we would have mixed it up right then.

 

“What’s so funny?” I demanded.

 

“Why, my dear fellow,” said Dr. Flerry, “you don’t need any glasses. If you ever paid any attention to the newspapers or the televisors or talked to anyone, you’d understand what is happening.”

 

“And what,” said I, “is happening?”