FOREVER IS NOT SO LONG
By F. Anton Reeds
Given that much-sought knowledge of
the future, how many would have courage
to enjoy what life was to be theirs?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Astounding Science-Fiction May 1942.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
September, 1931.
The lights of Europe still burned.
The black hulk of Ploving Manor was broken by the squares of brilliant, friendly light from its many windows that gave the old country seat almost a cheerful aspect. From the stone terrace to the south of Professor Ploving's study long strings of bobbing, soft-glowing lanterns stretched across the close-cropped lawn to the dark outline of the orchard. Beyond the orchard was the pounding beat of the Channel.
On a platform under the lights young men and young women danced to the strange new throbbing music from the Americas. It was a pulsing tom-tom beat, that music, that called for a measure of gay abandon and a great deal of muscular dexterity. But not quite the same sort of abandon that their mothers and father had known. For those lovely women at the terrace tables and the gray-templed men at their sides had been the fabulous, almost forgotten "lost generation" of an almost forgotten "post-war" period. These youngsters dancing under the English stars and pressing hands in the orchard's shadow were the fortunate chosen ones who would build at last the brave new world that had been their fathers' dream.