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she only goes out at night. . .
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In this part of the country, folks think that Doc Judd carries magic in his black leather satchel. He's that good. Ever since I lost my leg in the sawmill, I’ve been all-around handyman at the Judd place. Lots of times when Doc gets a night call after a real hard day, he’s too tired to drive, so he hunts me up and I become a chauffeur too. With the shiny plastic leg that Doc got me at a discount, I can stamp the gas pedal with the best of them. We roar up to the farmhouse and, while Doc goes inside to deliver a baby or swab grandma’s throat, I sit in the car and listen to them talk about what a ball of fire the old Doc is. In Groppa County, they’ll tell you Doc Judd can handle anything. And I nod and listen, nod and listen. But all the time I’m wondering what they’d think of the way he handled his only son falling in love with a vampire. . . It was a terrifically hot summer when Steve came home on vacation—real blister weather. He wanted to drive his father around and kind of help with the chores, but Doc said that after the first |
A number of things and people live in the shadows of this strange FANTASTIC UNIVERSE of ours. William Tenn, whose Of All Possible Worlds (Ballantine) was reviewed here some time back, and who has a disturbing familiarity with such matters, introduces us to the lonely and lovely Tatiana.
