Go away, shrieked the senator. Go away and leave me. Let me be alone.
You are alone, said the thing in the comer. You are more alone than any man has ever been before.
* * *
Chairman Leonard: You represent an insurance company, do you not, Mr. Markely? A big insurance company. Mr. Markely: That is correct. Chairman Leonard: And every time a person dies, it costs your company money? Mr. Markely: Well, you might put it that way if you wished, although it is scarcely the case— Chairman Leonard: You do have to pay out benefits on deaths, don’t you? Mr. Markely: Why, yes, of course we do. Chairman Leonard: Then I can’t understand your opposition to life continuation. If there were fewer deaths, you’d have to pay fewer benefits. Mr. Markely: All very true, sir. But if people had reason to believe they would live virtually forever, they’d buy no life insurance. Chairman Leonard: Oh, I see. So that’s the way it is. From the Records of a hearing before the science subcommittee of the public policy committee of the World House of Representatives.
* * *
The senator awoke. He had not been dreaming, but it was almost as if he had awakened from a bad dream—or awakened to a bad dream—and he struggled to go back to sleep again, to gain the Nirvana of unawareness, to shut out the harsh reality of existence, to dodge the shame of knowing who and what he was.
But there was someone stirring in the room, and someone spoke to him and he sat upright in bed, stung to wakefulness by the happiness and something else that was almost worship which the voice held.
“It’s wonderful, sir,” said Otto. “There have been phone calls all night long. And the telegrams and radiograms still are stacking up.”
The senator rubbed his eyes with pudgy fists.
“Phone calls, Otto? People sore at me?”