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  They cannot, being human, partake of infinity; they can partake of only what they know. They cannot, being created from the consciousness of the writer, partake of what he does not know but what is only close to him. Trapped within the consciousness of the writer, the penitentiary of his being, as the writer is himself trapped in the Skipstone of his mortality, Lena and her dead emerge in the year 1975 to the town of Ridgefield Park, New Jersey, and there they inhabit the bodies of its fifteen thousand souls, and there they are, there they are yet, dwelling amidst the refineries, strolling on Main Street, sitting in the Rialto theatre, shopping in the supermarkets, pairing off and clutching one another in the imploded stars of their beds on this very night at this very moment, as that accident, the author, himself one of them, has conceived them.

  It is unimaginable that they would come, Lena and the dead, from the heart of the Galaxy Called Rome to tenant Ridgefield Park, New Jersey … but more unimaginable still that from all the Ridgefield Parks of our time we will come and assemble and build the great engines which will take us to the stars and some of the stars will bring us death and some bring life and some will bring nothing at all but the engines will go on and on and so after a fashion, in our fashion — will we.

  Agony Column

  GENTLEMEN:

  I enclose my short story, “Three for the Universe,” and know you will find it right for your magazine, Astounding Spirits.

  Yours very truly,

  MARTIN MILLER

  DEAR CONTRIBUTOR:

  Thank you for your recent submission. Unfortunately, although we have read it with great interest, we are unable to use it in Astounding Spirits. Due to the great volume of submissions we receive, we cannot grant all contributors a personal letter, but you may be sure that the manuscript has been reviewed carefully and its rejection is no comment upon its literary merit but may be dependent upon one of many factors.

  Faithfully,

  THE EDITORS

  DEAR EDITORS:

  The Vietnam disgrace must be brought to an end! We have lost on that stained soil not only our national honor but our very future. The troops must be brought home and we must remember that there is more honor in dissent than in unquestioningly silent agreement.

  Sincerely,

  MARTIN MILLER

  DEAR SIR:

  Thank you for your recent letter to the Editors. Due to the great volume of worthy submissions we are unable to print every good letter we receive and therefore’ regretfully inform you that while we will not be publishing it, this is no comment upon the value of your opinion.

  Very truly yours,

  THE EDITORS

  DEAR CONGRESSMAN FORTHWAITE:

  I wish to bring your attention to a serious situation which is developing on the West Side. A resident of this neighborhood for five years now, I have recently observed that a large number of streetwalkers, dope addicts and criminal types are loitering at the intersection of Columbus Avenue and 24th Street at almost all hours of the day, offending passers-by with their appearance and creating a severe blight on the area. In addition, passers-by are often threateningly asked for “handouts” and even “solicited.” I know that you share with me a concern for a Better West Side and look forward to your comments on this situation as well as some kind of concrete action.

  Sincerely,

  MARTIN MILLER

  DEAR MR. MILLOW:

  Thank you for your letter. Your concern ~or our West Side is appreciated and it is only through the efforts and diligence of constituents such as yourself that a better New York can be conceived. I have forwarded your letter to the appropriate precinct office in Manhattan and you may expect to hear from them soon.

  Gratefully yours,

  ALWYN D. FORTHWAITE

  DEAR GENTLEMEN:

  In May of this year I wrote Congressman Alwyn D. Forthwaite a letter of complaint, concerning conditions on the Columbus Avenue — West 24th Street intersection in Manhattan and was informed by him that this letter was passed on to your precinct office. Since four months have now elapsed, and since I have neither heard from you nor observed any change in the conditions pointed out in my letter, I now write to ask whether or not that letter was forwarded to you and what you have to say about it.

  Sincerely,

  MARTIN MILLER’

  DEAR MR. MILNER:

  Our files hold no record of your letter.

  N. B. Karsh

  Captain, #33462

  DEAR SIRS:

  I have read Sheldon Novack’s article in the current issue of Cry with great interest but feel that I must take issue with his basic point, which is that sex is the consuming biological drive from which all other activities stem and which said other activities become only metaphorical for. This strikes me as a bit more of a projection of Mr. Novack’s own functioning than that reality which he so shrewdly contends he apperceives.

  Sincerely,

  MARTIN MILLER

  DEAR MR. MILTON:

  Due to the great number of responses to Sheldon A. Novack’s “Sex and Sexuality: Are We Missing Anything?” in the August issue of Cry, we will be unable to publish your own contribution in our “Cry From the City” Column, but we do thank you for your interest.

  Yours,

  THE EDITORS

  DEAR MR. PRESIDENT:

  I was shocked by the remarks apparently attributed to you in today’s. newspapers on the public assistance situation. Surely, you must be aware of the fact that social welfare legislation emerged from the compassionate attempt of 1930 politics to deal with human torment in a systematized fashion, and although many of the cruelties you note are inherent to the very system, they do not cast doubt upon its very legitimacy. Our whole national history has been one of coming to terms with collective consciousness as opposed to the law of the jungle, and I cannot understand how you could have such a position as yours.

  Sincerely,

  MARTIN MILLER

  DEAR MR. MELLER:

  Thank you very much for your letter of October 18th to the President. We appreciate your interest and assure you that without the concern of citizens like yourself the country would not be what it has become. Thank you very much and we do look forward to hearing from you in the future on matters of national interest.

  MARY L. McGINNITY

  Presidential Assistant

  GENTLEMEN:

  I enclose herewith my article, “Welfare: Are We Missing Anything?” which I hope you may find suitable for publication in Insight Magazine.

  Very truly yours,

  MARTIN MILLER

  DEAR CONTRIBUTOR:

  The enclosed has been carefully reviewed and our reluctant decision is that it does not quite meet our needs at the present time. Thank you for your interest in Insight.

  THE EDITORS

  DEAR SENATOR PARTCH:

  Your vote on the Armament Legislation was shameful.

  Sincerely,

  MARTIN MILLER

  DEAR DR. MALLOW:

  Thank you for your recent letter to Senator O. Stuart Partch and for your approval of the Senator’s vote.

  L. T. WALTERS

  Congressional Aide

  DEAR SUSAN SALTIS:

  J think your recent decision to pose nude in that “art-photography” series in Men’s Companion was disgraceful, filled once again with those timeless, empty rationalizations of the licentious which have so little intrinsic capacity for damage except when they are subsumed, as they are in your case, with abstract and vague “connections” to platitudes so enormous as to risk the very demolition of the collective personality.

  Yours very truly,

  MARTIN MILLER

  DEAR SIR:

  With pleasure and in answer to your request, we are enclosing a photograph of Miss Susan Saltis as she appears in her new movie, Chariots to the Holy Roman Empire.

  Very truly yours,

  HENRY T. WYATT

  Publicity Director

  GENTLEMEN:

  I won
der if Cry would be interested in the enclosed article which is not so much an article as a true documentary of the results which have been obtained from my efforts over recent months to correspond with various public figures, entertainment stars, etc., etc. It is frightening to contemplate the obliteration of self which the very devices of the 20th Century compel, and perhaps your readers might share my (not so retrospective) horror.

  Sincerely,

  MARTIN MILLER

  DEAR SIR:

  As a potential contributor to Cry I am happy to offer you our “Writer’s Subscription Discount,” meaning that for only $5.50 you will receive not only a full year’s subscription (28% below newsstand rates, 14% below customary subscriptions) but in addition our year-end special issue, Cry in the Void, at no extra charge.

  SUBSCRIPTION DEPT.

  DEAR CONTRIBUTOR:

  Thank you very much for your article, “Agony Column.” It has been considered here with great interest and it is the consensus of the Editorial Board that while it has unusual merit it is not quite right for us. We thank you for your interest in Cry and look forward to seeing more of your work in the future.

  Sincerely,

  THE EDITORS

  DEAR CONGRESSMAN FORTHWAITE:

  Nothing has been done about the conditions I mentioned in my letter of about a year ago. Not one single thing!

  Bitterly,

  MARTIN MILLER

  DEAR MR. MILLS:

  Please accept our apologies for the delay in answering your good letter. Congressman Forthwaite has been involved, as you know, through the winter in the Food Panel and has of necessity allowed some of his important correspondence to await close attention. Now that he has the time he thanks you for your kind words of support.

  Yours truly,

  ANN ANANAURIS

  DEAR SIR:

  The Adams multiple murders are indeed interesting not only for their violence but because of the confession of the accused that he “did it so that someone would finally notice me.” Any citizen can understand this — the desperate need to be recognized as an individual, to break past bureaucracy into some clear apprehension of one’s self-worth, is one of the most basic of human drives, but it is becoming increasingly frustrated today by a technocracy which allows less and less latitude for the individual to articulate his own identity and vision and be heard. Murder is easy: it is easy in the sense that the murderer does not need to embark upon an arduous course of training in order to accomplish his feat; his excess can come from the simple extension of sheer human drives … aided by basic weaponry. The murderer does not have to cultivate “contacts” or “fame” but can simply, by being there, vault past nihilism and into some clear, cold connection with the self. More and more the capacity for murder lurks within us; we are narrow and driven, we are almost obliterated from any sense of existence, we need to make that singing leap past accomplishment and into acknowledgment and recognition. Perhaps you would print this letter?

  Hopefully,

  MARTIN MILLER

  DEAR SIR:

  Thank you for your recent letter. We regret being unable to use it due to many letters of similar nature being received, but we look forward to your expression of interest.

  Sincerely,

  JOHN SMITH For the Editors

  DEAR MR. PRESIDENT:

  I intend to assassinate you. I swear that you will not live out the year. It will come by rifle or knife, horn or fire, dread or terror, but it will come, and there is no way that you can AVOID THAT JUDGMENT TO BE RENDERED UPON YOU.

  Fuck You,

  MARTIN MILLER

  DEAR REVEREND MELLBOW:

  As you know, the President is abroad at the time of this writing, but you may rest assured that upon his return your letter, along with thousands of other and similar expressions of hope, will be turned over to him and I am sure that he will appreciate your having written.

  Very truly yours,

  MARY L. McGINNITY

  Presidential Assistant

  Final War

  “ ‘Twas a mad stratagem, to shoe a troop of horse with felt …”

  —Lear, Act III

  HASTINGS had never liked the new Captain.

  The new Captain went through the mine field like a dancer, looking around from time to time to see if anyone behind was looking at his trembling rear end. If he found that anyone was, he immediately dropped to the end of the formation, began to scream threats, told the company that the mine field would go up on them. This was perfectly ridiculous because the company had been through the mine field hundreds of times and knew that all of the mines had been defused by the rain and the bugs. The mine field was the safest thing going. It was what lay around the mine field that was dangerous. Hastings could have told the new Captain all of this if he had asked.

  The new Captain, however, was stubborn. He told everyone that, before he heard a thing, he wanted to become acclimated.

  Background: Hastings’ company was quartered, with their enemy, on an enormous estate. Their grounds began in a disheveled forest and passed across the mine field to a series of rocks or dismally piled and multicolored stones which formed into the grim and blasted abutments two miles away. Or, it began in a set of rocks or abutments and, passing through a scarred mine field, ended in an exhausted forest two miles back. It all depended upon whether they were attacking or defending; it all depended upon the day of the week. On Thursdays, Saturdays and Tuesdays, the company moved east to capture the forest; on Fridays, Sundays and Wednesdays, they lost the battles to defend it. Mondays, everyone was too tired to fight. The Captain stayed in his tent and sent out messages to headquarters; asked what new course of action to take. Headquarters advised him to continue as previously.

  The forest was the right place to be. In the first place, the trees gave privacy, and in the second, it was cool. It was possible to play a decent game of poker, get a night’s sleep. Perhaps because of the poker, the enemy fought madly for the forest and defended it like lunatics. So did Hastings’ company. Being there, even if only on Thursdays, Saturdays and Tuesdays, made the war worthwhile. The enemy must have felt the same way, but they, of course, had the odd day of the week. Still, even Hastings was willing to stay organized on that basis. Monday was a lousy day to get up, anyway.

  But, it was the new Captain who wanted to screw things up. Two weeks after he came to the company, he announced that he had partially familiarized himself with the terrain and on this basis, he now wanted to remind the company not to cease fighting once they had captured the forest. He advised them that the purpose of the war went beyond the forest; it involved a limited victory on ideological issues, and he gave the company a month to straighten out and learn the new procedure. Also, he refused to believe his First Sergeant when the First Sergeant told him about the mine field but sent out men at night in dark clothing to check the area; he claimed that mines had a reputation for exploding twenty years later. The First Sergeant pointed out that it was not twenty years later, but the Captain said this made no difference; it could happen anytime at all. Not even the First Sergeant knew what to do with him. And, in addition to all of these things, it was rumored that the Captain talked in private to his officers of a total victory policy, was saying things to the effect that the war could only be successful if taken outside of the estate. When Hastings had grasped the full implication of all of this, he tried to imagine for a while that the Captain was merely stupid but, eventually, the simple truth of the situation came quite clear: the new Captain was crazy. The madness was not hateful: Hastings knew himself to be quite mad. The issue was how the Captain’s lunacy bore on Hastings’ problem: now, Hastings decided, the Captain would never approve his request for convalescent leave.

  This request was already several months old. Hastings had handed it to the new Captain the day that the new Captain had come into the company. Since the Captain had many things on his mind at this time—he told Hastings that he would have to become acclimated to the new situation�
��Hastings could understand matters being delayed for a short while. But still, nothing had been done, and it was after the election; furthermore, Hastings was getting worse instead of better. Every time that Hastings looked up the Captain to discuss this with him, the Captain fled. He had told the First Sergeant that he wanted Hastings to know that he felt he was acting irresponsibly and out of the network of the problem. This news, when it was delivered, gave Hastings little comfort. I am not acting irresponsibly, he told the First Sergeant who listened without apparent interest, as a matter of fact, I’m acting in quite a mature fashion. I’m trying to get some leave for the good of the company. The First Sergeant had said that he guessed he didn’t understand it either and he had been through four wars, not counting eight limited actions. He said that it was something which Hastings would have to work out for his own satisfaction.

  Very few things, however, gave Hastings that much satisfaction, anymore. He was good and fed up with the war for one thing and, for another, he had gotten bored with the estate even if the company hadn’t: once you had seen the forest, you had seen all of it that was worthwhile. Unquestionably, the cliffs, the abutments and the mine field were terrible. It might have been a manageable thing if they could have reached some kind of understanding with the enemy, a peaceful allotment of benefits, but it was obvious that headquarters would have none of this and besides, the enemy probably had a headquarters, too. Some of the men in the company might have lived limited existences; this might be perfectly all right with them, but Hastings liked to think of himself as a man whose horizons were, perhaps, a little wider than those of the others. He knew the situation was ridiculous. Every week, to remind him, reinforcements would come from somewhere in the South and tell Hastings that they had never seen anything like it. Hastings told them that this was because there had never been anything like it: not ever. Since the reinforcements had heard that Hastings had been there longer than anyone, they shut up then and left him alone. Hastings did not find that this improved his mood, appreciably. If anything, it convinced him that his worst suspicions were, after all, completely justified.