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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIME ENOUGH AT LAST ***
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science Fiction January 1953.
+Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright
+on this publication was renewed.
+
+
+
+
+     _The atomic bomb meant, to most people, the end. To Henry Bemis it
+     meant something far different--a thing to appreciate and enjoy._
+
+
+
+
+                     Time Enough At Last
+
+                     By Lynn Venable
+
+
+For a long time, Henry Bemis had had an ambition. To read a book. Not
+just the title or the preface, or a page somewhere in the middle. He
+wanted to read the whole thing, all the way through from beginning to
+end. A simple ambition perhaps, but in the cluttered life of Henry
+Bemis, an impossibility.
+
+Henry had no time of his own. There was his wife, Agnes who owned that
+part of it that his employer, Mr. Carsville, did not buy. Henry was
+allowed enough to get to and from work--that in itself being quite a
+concession on Agnes' part.
+
+Also, nature had conspired against Henry by handing him with a pair of
+hopelessly myopic eyes. Poor Henry literally couldn't see his hand in
+front of his face. For a while, when he was very young, his parents
+had thought him an idiot. When they realized it was his eyes, they got
+glasses for him. He was never quite able to catch up. There was never
+enough time. It looked as though Henry's ambition would never be
+realized. Then something happened which changed all that.
+
+Henry was down in the vault of the Eastside Bank & Trust when it
+happened. He had stolen a few moments from the duties of his teller's
+cage to try to read a few pages of the magazine he had bought that
+morning. He'd made an excuse to Mr. Carsville about needing bills in
+large denominations for a certain customer, and then, safe inside the
+dim recesses of the vault he had pulled from inside his coat the
+pocket size magazine.
+
+He had just started a picture article cheerfully entitled "The New
+Weapons and What They'll Do To YOU", when all the noise in the world
+crashed in upon his ear-drums. It seemed to be inside of him and
+outside of him all at once. Then the concrete floor was rising up at
+him and the ceiling came slanting down toward him, and for a fleeting
+second Henry thought of a story he had started to read once called
+"The Pit and The Pendulum". He regretted in that insane moment that he
+had never had time to finish that story to see how it came out. Then
+all was darkness and quiet and unconsciousness.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Henry came to, he knew that something was desperately wrong with
+the Eastside Bank & Trust. The heavy steel door of the vault was
+buckled and twisted and the floor tilted up at a dizzy angle, while
+the ceiling dipped crazily toward it. Henry gingerly got to his feet,
+moving arms and legs experimentally. Assured that nothing was broken,
+he tenderly raised a hand to his eyes. His precious glasses were
+intact, thank God! He would never have been able to find his way out
+of the shattered vault without them.
+
+He made a mental note to write Dr. Torrance to have a spare pair made
+and mailed to him. Blasted nuisance not having his prescription on
+file locally, but Henry trusted no-one but Dr. Torrance to grind those
+thick lenses into his own complicated prescription. Henry removed the
+heavy glasses from his face. Instantly the room dissolved into a
+neutral blur. Henry saw a pink splash that he knew was his hand, and a
+white blob come up to meet the pink as he withdrew his pocket
+handkerchief and carefully dusted the lenses. As he replaced the
+glasses, they slipped down on the bridge of his nose a little. He had
+been meaning to have them tightened for some time.
+
+He suddenly realized, without the realization actually entering his
+conscious thoughts, that something momentous had happened, something
+worse than the boiler blowing up, something worse than a gas main
+exploding, something worse than anything that had ever happened
+before. He felt that way because it was so quiet. There was no whine
+of sirens, no shouting, no running, just an ominous and all pervading
+silence.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Henry walked across the slanting floor. Slipping and stumbling on the
+uneven surface, he made his way to the elevator. The car lay crumpled
+at the foot of the shaft like a discarded accordian. There was
+something inside of it that Henry could not look at, something that
+had once been a person, or perhaps several people, it was impossible
+to tell now.
+
+Feeling sick, Henry staggered toward the stairway. The steps were
+still there, but so jumbled and piled back upon one another that it
+was more like climbing the side of a mountain than mounting a
+stairway. It was quiet in the huge chamber that had been the lobby of
+the bank. It looked strangely cheerful with the sunlight shining
+through the girders where the ceiling had fallen. The dappled sunlight
+glinted across the silent lobby, and everywhere there were huddled
+lumps of unpleasantness that made Henry sick as he tried not to look
+at them.
+
+"Mr. Carsville," he called. It was very quiet. Something had to be
+done, of course. This was terrible, right in the middle of a Monday,
+too. Mr. Carsville would know what to do. He called again, more
+loudly, and his voice cracked hoarsely, "Mr. Carrrrsville!" And then
+he saw an arm and shoulder extending out from under a huge fallen
+block of marble ceiling. In the buttonhole was the white carnation Mr.
+Carsville had worn to work that morning, and on the third finger of
+that hand was a massive signet ring, also belonging to Mr. Carsville.
+Numbly, Henry realized that the rest of Mr. Carsville was under that
+block of marble.
+
+Henry felt a pang of real sorrow. Mr. Carsville was gone, and so was
+the rest of the staff--Mr. Wilkinson and Mr. Emory and Mr. Prithard,
+and the same with Pete and Ralph and Jenkins and Hunter and Pat the
+guard and Willie the doorman. There was no one to say what was to be
+done about the Eastside Bank & Trust except Henry Bemis, and Henry
+wasn't worried about the bank, there was something he wanted to do.
+
+He climbed carefully over piles of fallen masonry. Once he stepped
+down into something that crunched and squashed beneath his feet and he
+set his teeth on edge to keep from retching. The street was not much
+different from the inside, bright sunlight and so much concrete to
+crawl over, but the unpleasantness was much, much worse. Everywhere
+there were strange, motionless lumps that Henry could not look at.
+
+Suddenly, he remembered Agnes. He should be trying to get to Agnes,
+shouldn't he? He remembered a poster he had seen that said, "In event
+of emergency do not use the telephone, your loved ones are as safe as
+you." He wondered about Agnes. He looked at the smashed automobiles,
+some with their four wheels pointing skyward like the stiffened legs
+of dead animals. He couldn't get to Agnes now anyway, if she was safe,
+then, she was safe, otherwise ... of course, Henry knew Agnes wasn't
+safe. He had a feeling that there wasn't anyone safe for a long, long
+way, maybe not in the whole state or the whole country, or the whole
+world. No, that was a thought Henry didn't want to think, he forced it
+from his mind and turned his thoughts back to Agnes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+She had been a pretty good wife, now that it was all said and done. It
+wasn't exactly her fault if people didn't have time to read nowadays.
+It was just that there was the house, and the bank, and the yard.
+There were the Jones' for bridge and the Graysons' for canasta and
+charades with the Bryants. And the television, the television Agnes
+loved to watch, but would never watch alone. He never had time to read
+even a newspaper. He started thinking about last night, that business
+about the newspaper.
+
+Henry had settled into his chair, quietly, afraid that a creaking
+spring might call to Agnes' attention the fact that he was momentarily
+unoccupied. He had unfolded the newspaper slowly and carefully, the
+sharp crackle of the paper would have been a clarion call to Agnes. He
+had glanced at the headlines of the first page. "Collapse Of
+Conference Imminent." He didn't have time to read the article. He
+turned to the second page. "Solon Predicts War Only Days Away." He
+flipped through the pages faster, reading brief snatches here and
+there, afraid to spend too much time on any one item. On a back page
+was a brief article entitled, "Prehistoric Artifacts Unearthed In
+Yucatan". Henry smiled to himself and carefully folded the sheet of
+paper into fourths. That would be interesting, he would read all of
+it. Then it came, Agnes' voice. "Henrrreee!" And then she was upon
+him. She lightly flicked the paper out of his hands and into the
+fireplace. He saw the flames lick up and curl possessively around the
+unread article. Agnes continued, "Henry, tonight is the Jones' bridge
+night. They'll be here in thirty minutes and I'm not dressed yet, and
+here you are ... _reading_." She had emphasized the last word as
+though it were an unclean act. "Hurry and shave, you know how smooth
+Jasper Jones' chin always looks, and then straighten up this room."
+She glanced regretfully toward the fireplace. "Oh dear, that paper,
+the television schedule ... oh well, after the Jones leave there won't
+be time for anything but the late-late movie and.... Don't just sit
+there, Henry, hurrreeee!"
+
+Henry was hurrying now, but hurrying too much. He cut his leg on a
+twisted piece of metal that had once been an automobile fender. He
+thought about things like lock-jaw and gangrene and his hand trembled
+as he tied his pocket-handkerchief around the wound. In his mind, he
+saw the fire again, licking across the face of last night's newspaper.
+He thought that now he would have time to read all the newspapers he
+wanted to, only now there wouldn't be any more. That heap of rubble
+across the street had been the Gazette Building. It was terrible to
+think there would never be another up to date newspaper. Agnes would
+have been very upset, no television schedule. But then, of course, no
+television. He wanted to laugh but he didn't. That wouldn't have been
+fitting, not at all.
+
+He could see the building he was looking for now, but the silhouette
+was strangely changed. The great circular dome was now a ragged
+semi-circle, half of it gone, and one of the great wings of the
+building had fallen in upon itself. A sudden panic gripped Henry
+Bemis. What if they were all ruined, destroyed, every one of them?
+What if there wasn't a single one left? Tears of helplessness welled
+in his eyes as he painfully fought his way over and through the
+twisted fragments of the city.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He thought of the building when it had been whole. He remembered the
+many nights he had paused outside its wide and welcoming doors. He
+thought of the warm nights when the doors had been thrown open and he
+could see the people inside, see them sitting at the plain wooden
+tables with the stacks of books beside them. He used to think then,
+what a wonderful thing a public library was, a place where anybody,
+anybody at all could go in and read.
+
+He had been tempted to enter many times. He had watched the people
+through the open doors, the man in greasy work clothes who sat near
+the door, night after night, laboriously studying, a technical journal
+perhaps, difficult for him, but promising a brighter future. There had
+been an aged, scholarly gentleman who sat on the other side of the
+door, leisurely paging, moving his lips a little as he did so, a man
+having little time left, but rich in time because he could do with it
+as he chose.
+
+Henry had never gone in. He had started up the steps once, got almost
+to the door, but then he remembered Agnes, her questions and shouting,
+and he had turned away.
+
+He was going in now though, almost crawling, his breath coming in
+stabbing gasps, his hands torn and bleeding. His trouser leg was
+sticky red where the wound in his leg had soaked through the
+handkerchief. It was throbbing badly but Henry didn't care. He had
+reached his destination.
+
+Part of the inscription was still there, over the now doorless
+entrance. P-U-B--C L-I-B-R---. The rest had been torn away. The place
+was in shambles. The shelves were overturned, broken, smashed, tilted,
+their precious contents spilled in disorder upon the floor. A lot of
+the books, Henry noted gleefully, were still intact, still whole,
+still readable. He was literally knee deep in them, he wallowed in
+books. He picked one up. The title was "Collected Works of William
+Shakespeare." Yes, he must read that, sometime. He laid it aside
+carefully. He picked up another. Spinoza. He tossed it away, seized
+another, and another, and still another. Which to read first ... there
+were so many.
+
+He had been conducting himself a little like a starving man in a
+delicatessen--grabbing a little of this and a little of that in a
+frenzy of enjoyment.
+
+But now he steadied away. From the pile about him, he selected one
+volume, sat comfortably down on an overturned shelf, and opened the
+book.
+
+Henry Bemis smiled.
+
+There was the rumble of complaining stone. Minute in comparison with
+the epic complaints following the fall of the bomb. This one occurred
+under one corner of the shelf upon which Henry sat. The shelf moved;
+threw him off balance. The glasses slipped from his nose and fell with
+a tinkle.
+
+He bent down, clawing blindly and found, finally, their smashed
+remains. A minor, indirect destruction stemming from the sudden,
+wholesale smashing of a city. But the only one that greatly interested
+Henry Bemis.
+
+He stared down at the blurred page before him.
+
+He began to cry.
+
+
+                    THE END
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIME ENOUGH AT LAST ***
\ No newline at end of file
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIME ENOUGH AT LAST ***</div>
+
+<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p>
+<p class="center">This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science Fiction January 1953. Extensive
+research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was
+renewed.</p></div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img class="img1" src="images/cover.png" width="400" height="580" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The atomic bomb meant, to most people, the end.<br />
+To Henry Bemis it meant something far different&mdash;a
+thing to appreciate and enjoy.</i></p></div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h1>Time Enough At Last</h1>
+
+<h2>By Lynn Venable</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/f1.png" alt="F" width="34" height="50" /></div>
+<p>or a long time, Henry
+Bemis had had an ambition.
+To read a book. Not just the title
+or the preface, or a page somewhere
+in the middle. He wanted
+to read the whole thing, all the way
+through from beginning to end. A
+simple ambition perhaps, but in the
+cluttered life of Henry Bemis, an
+impossibility.</p>
+
+<p>Henry had no time of his own.
+There was his wife, Agnes who
+owned that part of it that his employer,
+Mr. Carsville, did not buy.
+Henry was allowed enough to get to
+and from work&mdash;that in itself being
+quite a concession on Agnes' part.</p>
+
+<p>Also, nature had conspired
+against Henry by handing him with
+a pair of hopelessly myopic eyes.
+Poor Henry literally couldn't see his
+hand in front of his face. For a
+while, when he was very young, his
+parents had thought him an idiot.
+When they realized it was his eyes,
+they got glasses for him. He was
+never quite able to catch up. There
+was never enough time. It looked
+as though Henry's ambition would
+never be realized. Then something
+happened which changed all that.</p>
+
+<p>Henry was down in the vault of
+the Eastside Bank &amp; Trust when it
+happened. He had stolen a few
+moments from the duties of his
+teller's cage to try to read a few
+pages of the magazine he had
+bought that morning. He'd made
+an excuse to Mr. Carsville about
+needing bills in large denominations
+for a certain customer, and
+then, safe inside the dim recesses of
+the vault he had pulled from inside
+his coat the pocket size magazine.</p>
+
+<p>He had just started a picture article
+cheerfully entitled "The New
+Weapons and What They'll Do To
+YOU", when all the noise in the
+world crashed in upon his ear-drums.
+It seemed to be inside of
+him and outside of him all at once.
+Then the concrete floor was rising
+up at him and the ceiling came
+slanting down toward him, and for
+a fleeting second Henry thought of
+a story he had started to read once
+called "The Pit and The Pendulum".
+He regretted in that insane
+moment that he had never had
+time to finish that story to see how
+it came out. Then all was darkness
+and quiet and unconsciousness.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/w2.png" alt="W" width="54" height="50" /></div>
+<p>hen Henry came to, he
+knew that something was
+desperately wrong with the Eastside
+Bank &amp; Trust. The heavy steel
+door of the vault was buckled and
+twisted and the floor tilted up at a
+dizzy angle, while the ceiling
+dipped crazily toward it. Henry
+gingerly got to his feet, moving
+arms and legs experimentally. Assured
+that nothing was broken, he
+tenderly raised a hand to his eyes.
+His precious glasses were intact,
+thank God! He would never have
+been able to find his way out of the
+shattered vault without them.</p>
+
+<p>He made a mental note to write
+Dr. Torrance to have a spare pair
+made and mailed to him. Blasted
+nuisance not having his prescription
+on file locally, but Henry trusted
+no-one but Dr. Torrance to
+grind those thick lenses into his
+own complicated prescription. Henry
+removed the heavy glasses from
+his face. Instantly the room dissolved
+into a neutral blur. Henry
+saw a pink splash that he knew was
+his hand, and a white blob come up
+to meet the pink as he withdrew his
+pocket handkerchief and carefully
+dusted the lenses. As he replaced
+the glasses, they slipped down on
+the bridge of his nose a little. He
+had been meaning to have them
+tightened for some time.</p>
+
+<p>He suddenly realized, without
+the realization actually entering his
+conscious thoughts, that something
+momentous had happened, something
+worse than the boiler blowing
+up, something worse than a gas
+main exploding, something worse
+than anything that had ever happened
+before. He felt that way because
+it was so quiet. There was no
+whine of sirens, no shouting, no
+running, just an ominous and all
+pervading silence.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/h2.png" alt="H" width="39" height="50" /></div>
+<p>enry walked across the slanting
+floor. Slipping and stumbling
+on the uneven surface, he
+made his way to the elevator. The
+car lay crumpled at the foot of the
+shaft like a discarded accordian.
+There was something inside of it
+that Henry could not look at, something
+that had once been a person,
+or perhaps several people, it was
+impossible to tell now.</p>
+
+<p>Feeling sick, Henry staggered
+toward the stairway. The steps were
+still there, but so jumbled and piled
+back upon one another that it was
+more like climbing the side of a
+mountain than mounting a stairway.
+It was quiet in the huge chamber
+that had been the lobby of the
+bank. It looked strangely cheerful
+with the sunlight shining through
+the girders where the ceiling had
+fallen. The dappled sunlight glinted
+across the silent lobby, and everywhere
+there were huddled lumps
+of unpleasantness that made Henry
+sick as he tried not to look at them.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Carsville," he called. It was
+very quiet. Something had to be
+done, of course. This was terrible,
+right in the middle of a Monday,
+too. Mr. Carsville would know
+what to do. He called again, more
+loudly, and his voice cracked
+hoarsely, "Mr. Carrrrsville!" And
+then he saw an arm and shoulder
+extending out from under a huge
+fallen block of marble ceiling. In
+the buttonhole was the white carnation
+Mr. Carsville had worn to
+work that morning, and on the
+third finger of that hand was a massive
+signet ring, also belonging to
+Mr. Carsville. Numbly, Henry realized
+that the rest of Mr. Carsville
+was under that block of marble.</p>
+
+<p>Henry felt a pang of real sorrow.
+Mr. Carsville was gone, and so was
+the rest of the staff&mdash;Mr. Wilkinson
+and Mr. Emory and Mr.
+Prithard, and the same with Pete
+and Ralph and Jenkins and Hunter
+and Pat the guard and Willie the
+doorman. There was no one to say
+what was to be done about the
+Eastside Bank &amp; Trust except Henry
+Bemis, and Henry wasn't worried
+about the bank, there was something
+he wanted to do.</p>
+
+<p>He climbed carefully over piles
+of fallen masonry. Once he stepped
+down into something that crunched
+and squashed beneath his feet and
+he set his teeth on edge to keep
+from retching. The street was not
+much different from the inside,
+bright sunlight and so much concrete
+to crawl over, but the unpleasantness
+was much, much worse.
+Everywhere there were strange, motionless
+lumps that Henry could not
+look at.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, he remembered Agnes.
+He should be trying to get to Agnes,
+shouldn't he? He remembered
+a poster he had seen that said, "In
+event of emergency do not use the
+telephone, your loved ones are as
+safe as you." He wondered about
+Agnes. He looked at the smashed
+automobiles, some with their four
+wheels pointing skyward like the
+stiffened legs of dead animals. He
+couldn't get to Agnes now anyway,
+if she was safe, then, she was safe,
+otherwise ... of course, Henry
+knew Agnes wasn't safe. He had a
+feeling that there wasn't anyone
+safe for a long, long way, maybe
+not in the whole state or the whole
+country, or the whole world. No,
+that was a thought Henry didn't
+want to think, he forced it from his
+mind and turned his thoughts back
+to Agnes.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/s3.png" alt="S" width="32" height="50" /></div>
+<p>he had been a pretty good
+wife, now that it was all said
+and done. It wasn't exactly her
+fault if people didn't have time to
+read nowadays. It was just that
+there was the house, and the bank,
+and the yard. There were the Jones'
+for bridge and the Graysons' for canasta
+and charades with the
+Bryants. And the television, the
+television Agnes loved to watch, but
+would never watch alone. He never
+had time to read even a newspaper.
+He started thinking about last
+night, that business about the newspaper.</p>
+
+<p>Henry had settled into his chair,
+quietly, afraid that a creaking
+spring might call to Agnes' attention
+the fact that he was momentarily
+unoccupied. He had unfolded
+the newspaper slowly and carefully,
+the sharp crackle of the paper
+would have been a clarion call to
+Agnes. He had glanced at the headlines
+of the first page. "Collapse Of
+Conference Imminent." He didn't
+have time to read the article. He
+turned to the second page. "Solon
+Predicts War Only Days Away."
+He flipped through the pages faster,
+reading brief snatches here and
+there, afraid to spend too much
+time on any one item. On a back
+page was a brief article entitled,
+"Prehistoric Artifacts Unearthed In
+Yucatan". Henry smiled to himself
+and carefully folded the sheet of
+paper into fourths. That would be
+interesting, he would read all of it.
+Then it came, Agnes' voice. "Henrrreee!"
+And then she was upon
+him. She lightly flicked the paper
+out of his hands and into the fireplace.
+He saw the flames lick up
+and curl possessively around the
+unread article. Agnes continued,
+"Henry, tonight is the Jones' bridge
+night. They'll be here in thirty minutes
+and I'm not dressed yet, and
+here you are ... <i>reading</i>." She had
+emphasized the last word as though
+it were an unclean act. "Hurry and
+shave, you know how smooth Jasper
+Jones' chin always looks, and then
+straighten up this room." She
+glanced regretfully toward the fireplace.
+"Oh dear, that paper, the
+television schedule ... oh well, after
+the Jones leave there won't be time
+for anything but the late-late
+movie and.... Don't just sit there,
+Henry, hurrreeee!"</p>
+
+<p>Henry was hurrying now, but
+hurrying too much. He cut his leg
+on a twisted piece of metal that had
+once been an automobile fender.
+He thought about things like lock-jaw
+and gangrene and his hand
+trembled as he tied his pocket-handkerchief
+around the wound. In
+his mind, he saw the fire again,
+licking across the face of last night's
+newspaper. He thought that now
+he would have time to read all the
+newspapers he wanted to, only now
+there wouldn't be any more. That
+heap of rubble across the street had
+been the Gazette Building. It was
+terrible to think there would never
+be another up to date newspaper.
+Agnes would have been very upset,
+no television schedule. But then, of
+course, no television. He wanted to
+laugh but he didn't. That wouldn't
+have been fitting, not at all.</p>
+
+<p>He could see the building he was
+looking for now, but the silhouette
+was strangely changed. The great
+circular dome was now a ragged
+semi-circle, half of it gone, and one
+of the great wings of the building
+had fallen in upon itself. A sudden
+panic gripped Henry Bemis. What
+if they were all ruined, destroyed,
+every one of them? What if there
+wasn't a single one left? Tears of
+helplessness welled in his eyes as he
+painfully fought his way over and
+through the twisted fragments of
+the city.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/h4.png" alt="H" width="39" height="50" /></div>
+<p>e thought of the building
+when it had been whole. He remembered
+the many nights he had
+paused outside its wide and welcoming
+doors. He thought of the
+warm nights when the doors had
+been thrown open and he could see
+the people inside, see them sitting
+at the plain wooden tables with the
+stacks of books beside them. He
+used to think then, what a wonderful
+thing a public library was, a
+place where anybody, anybody at
+all could go in and read.</p>
+
+<p>He had been tempted to enter
+many times. He had watched the
+people through the open doors, the
+man in greasy work clothes who
+sat near the door, night after night,
+laboriously studying, a technical
+journal perhaps, difficult for him,
+but promising a brighter future.
+There had been an aged, scholarly
+gentleman who sat on the other side
+of the door, leisurely paging, moving
+his lips a little as he did so, a
+man having little time left, but rich
+in time because he could do with it
+as he chose.</p>
+
+<p>Henry had never gone in. He had
+started up the steps once, got almost
+to the door, but then he remembered
+Agnes, her questions and
+shouting, and he had turned away.</p>
+
+<p>He was going in now though, almost
+crawling, his breath coming
+in stabbing gasps, his hands torn
+and bleeding. His trouser leg was
+sticky red where the wound in his
+leg had soaked through the handkerchief.
+It was throbbing badly
+but Henry didn't care. He had
+reached his destination.</p>
+
+<p>Part of the inscription was still
+there, over the now doorless entrance.
+P-U-B&mdash;C L-I-B-R&mdash;-. The
+rest had been torn away. The place
+was in shambles. The shelves were
+overturned, broken, smashed, tilted,
+their precious contents spilled in
+disorder upon the floor. A lot of the
+books, Henry noted gleefully, were
+still intact, still whole, still readable.
+He was literally knee deep in
+them, he wallowed in books. He
+picked one up. The title was "Collected
+Works of William Shakespeare."
+Yes, he must read that,
+sometime. He laid it aside carefully.
+He picked up another. Spinoza. He
+tossed it away, seized another, and
+another, and still another. Which
+to read first ... there were so many.</p>
+
+<p>He had been conducting himself
+a little like a starving man in a delicatessen&mdash;grabbing
+a little of this
+and a little of that in a frenzy of
+enjoyment.</p>
+
+<p>But now he steadied away. From
+the pile about him, he selected one
+volume, sat comfortably down on
+an overturned shelf, and opened
+the book.</p>
+
+<p>Henry Bemis smiled.</p>
+
+<p>There was the rumble of complaining
+stone. Minute in comparison
+with the epic complaints following
+the fall of the bomb. This
+one occurred under one corner of
+the shelf upon which Henry sat.
+The shelf moved; threw him off
+balance. The glasses slipped from
+his nose and fell with a tinkle.</p>
+
+<p>He bent down, clawing blindly
+and found, finally, their smashed
+remains. A minor, indirect destruction
+stemming from the sudden,
+wholesale smashing of a city. But
+the only one that greatly interested
+Henry Bemis.</p>
+
+<p>He stared down at the blurred
+page before him.</p>
+
+<p>He began to cry.</p>
+
+<p class="p1">&mdash;&mdash;<b>THE END</b>&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIME ENOUGH AT LAST ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #32633 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32633)
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Time Enough at Last, by Lynn Venable
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Time Enough at Last, by Lyn Venable
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Time Enough at Last
+
+Author: Lyn Venable
+
+Release Date: June 1, 2010 [EBook #32633]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIME ENOUGH AT LAST ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p>
+<p class="center">This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science Fiction January 1953. Extensive
+research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was
+renewed.</p></div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img class="img1" src="images/cover.png" width="400" height="580" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The atomic bomb meant, to most people, the end.<br />
+To Henry Bemis it meant something far different&mdash;a
+thing to appreciate and enjoy.</i></p></div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h1>Time Enough At Last</h1>
+
+<h2>By Lynn Venable</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/f1.png" alt="F" width="34" height="50" /></div>
+<p>or a long time, Henry
+Bemis had had an ambition.
+To read a book. Not just the title
+or the preface, or a page somewhere
+in the middle. He wanted
+to read the whole thing, all the way
+through from beginning to end. A
+simple ambition perhaps, but in the
+cluttered life of Henry Bemis, an
+impossibility.</p>
+
+<p>Henry had no time of his own.
+There was his wife, Agnes who
+owned that part of it that his employer,
+Mr. Carsville, did not buy.
+Henry was allowed enough to get to
+and from work&mdash;that in itself being
+quite a concession on Agnes' part.</p>
+
+<p>Also, nature had conspired
+against Henry by handing him with
+a pair of hopelessly myopic eyes.
+Poor Henry literally couldn't see his
+hand in front of his face. For a
+while, when he was very young, his
+parents had thought him an idiot.
+When they realized it was his eyes,
+they got glasses for him. He was
+never quite able to catch up. There
+was never enough time. It looked
+as though Henry's ambition would
+never be realized. Then something
+happened which changed all that.</p>
+
+<p>Henry was down in the vault of
+the Eastside Bank &amp; Trust when it
+happened. He had stolen a few
+moments from the duties of his
+teller's cage to try to read a few
+pages of the magazine he had
+bought that morning. He'd made
+an excuse to Mr. Carsville about
+needing bills in large denominations
+for a certain customer, and
+then, safe inside the dim recesses of
+the vault he had pulled from inside
+his coat the pocket size magazine.</p>
+
+<p>He had just started a picture article
+cheerfully entitled "The New
+Weapons and What They'll Do To
+YOU", when all the noise in the
+world crashed in upon his ear-drums.
+It seemed to be inside of
+him and outside of him all at once.
+Then the concrete floor was rising
+up at him and the ceiling came
+slanting down toward him, and for
+a fleeting second Henry thought of
+a story he had started to read once
+called "The Pit and The Pendulum".
+He regretted in that insane
+moment that he had never had
+time to finish that story to see how
+it came out. Then all was darkness
+and quiet and unconsciousness.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/w2.png" alt="W" width="54" height="50" /></div>
+<p>hen Henry came to, he
+knew that something was
+desperately wrong with the Eastside
+Bank &amp; Trust. The heavy steel
+door of the vault was buckled and
+twisted and the floor tilted up at a
+dizzy angle, while the ceiling
+dipped crazily toward it. Henry
+gingerly got to his feet, moving
+arms and legs experimentally. Assured
+that nothing was broken, he
+tenderly raised a hand to his eyes.
+His precious glasses were intact,
+thank God! He would never have
+been able to find his way out of the
+shattered vault without them.</p>
+
+<p>He made a mental note to write
+Dr. Torrance to have a spare pair
+made and mailed to him. Blasted
+nuisance not having his prescription
+on file locally, but Henry trusted
+no-one but Dr. Torrance to
+grind those thick lenses into his
+own complicated prescription. Henry
+removed the heavy glasses from
+his face. Instantly the room dissolved
+into a neutral blur. Henry
+saw a pink splash that he knew was
+his hand, and a white blob come up
+to meet the pink as he withdrew his
+pocket handkerchief and carefully
+dusted the lenses. As he replaced
+the glasses, they slipped down on
+the bridge of his nose a little. He
+had been meaning to have them
+tightened for some time.</p>
+
+<p>He suddenly realized, without
+the realization actually entering his
+conscious thoughts, that something
+momentous had happened, something
+worse than the boiler blowing
+up, something worse than a gas
+main exploding, something worse
+than anything that had ever happened
+before. He felt that way because
+it was so quiet. There was no
+whine of sirens, no shouting, no
+running, just an ominous and all
+pervading silence.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/h2.png" alt="H" width="39" height="50" /></div>
+<p>enry walked across the slanting
+floor. Slipping and stumbling
+on the uneven surface, he
+made his way to the elevator. The
+car lay crumpled at the foot of the
+shaft like a discarded accordian.
+There was something inside of it
+that Henry could not look at, something
+that had once been a person,
+or perhaps several people, it was
+impossible to tell now.</p>
+
+<p>Feeling sick, Henry staggered
+toward the stairway. The steps were
+still there, but so jumbled and piled
+back upon one another that it was
+more like climbing the side of a
+mountain than mounting a stairway.
+It was quiet in the huge chamber
+that had been the lobby of the
+bank. It looked strangely cheerful
+with the sunlight shining through
+the girders where the ceiling had
+fallen. The dappled sunlight glinted
+across the silent lobby, and everywhere
+there were huddled lumps
+of unpleasantness that made Henry
+sick as he tried not to look at them.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Carsville," he called. It was
+very quiet. Something had to be
+done, of course. This was terrible,
+right in the middle of a Monday,
+too. Mr. Carsville would know
+what to do. He called again, more
+loudly, and his voice cracked
+hoarsely, "Mr. Carrrrsville!" And
+then he saw an arm and shoulder
+extending out from under a huge
+fallen block of marble ceiling. In
+the buttonhole was the white carnation
+Mr. Carsville had worn to
+work that morning, and on the
+third finger of that hand was a massive
+signet ring, also belonging to
+Mr. Carsville. Numbly, Henry realized
+that the rest of Mr. Carsville
+was under that block of marble.</p>
+
+<p>Henry felt a pang of real sorrow.
+Mr. Carsville was gone, and so was
+the rest of the staff&mdash;Mr. Wilkinson
+and Mr. Emory and Mr.
+Prithard, and the same with Pete
+and Ralph and Jenkins and Hunter
+and Pat the guard and Willie the
+doorman. There was no one to say
+what was to be done about the
+Eastside Bank &amp; Trust except Henry
+Bemis, and Henry wasn't worried
+about the bank, there was something
+he wanted to do.</p>
+
+<p>He climbed carefully over piles
+of fallen masonry. Once he stepped
+down into something that crunched
+and squashed beneath his feet and
+he set his teeth on edge to keep
+from retching. The street was not
+much different from the inside,
+bright sunlight and so much concrete
+to crawl over, but the unpleasantness
+was much, much worse.
+Everywhere there were strange, motionless
+lumps that Henry could not
+look at.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, he remembered Agnes.
+He should be trying to get to Agnes,
+shouldn't he? He remembered
+a poster he had seen that said, "In
+event of emergency do not use the
+telephone, your loved ones are as
+safe as you." He wondered about
+Agnes. He looked at the smashed
+automobiles, some with their four
+wheels pointing skyward like the
+stiffened legs of dead animals. He
+couldn't get to Agnes now anyway,
+if she was safe, then, she was safe,
+otherwise ... of course, Henry
+knew Agnes wasn't safe. He had a
+feeling that there wasn't anyone
+safe for a long, long way, maybe
+not in the whole state or the whole
+country, or the whole world. No,
+that was a thought Henry didn't
+want to think, he forced it from his
+mind and turned his thoughts back
+to Agnes.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/s3.png" alt="S" width="32" height="50" /></div>
+<p>he had been a pretty good
+wife, now that it was all said
+and done. It wasn't exactly her
+fault if people didn't have time to
+read nowadays. It was just that
+there was the house, and the bank,
+and the yard. There were the Jones'
+for bridge and the Graysons' for canasta
+and charades with the
+Bryants. And the television, the
+television Agnes loved to watch, but
+would never watch alone. He never
+had time to read even a newspaper.
+He started thinking about last
+night, that business about the newspaper.</p>
+
+<p>Henry had settled into his chair,
+quietly, afraid that a creaking
+spring might call to Agnes' attention
+the fact that he was momentarily
+unoccupied. He had unfolded
+the newspaper slowly and carefully,
+the sharp crackle of the paper
+would have been a clarion call to
+Agnes. He had glanced at the headlines
+of the first page. "Collapse Of
+Conference Imminent." He didn't
+have time to read the article. He
+turned to the second page. "Solon
+Predicts War Only Days Away."
+He flipped through the pages faster,
+reading brief snatches here and
+there, afraid to spend too much
+time on any one item. On a back
+page was a brief article entitled,
+"Prehistoric Artifacts Unearthed In
+Yucatan". Henry smiled to himself
+and carefully folded the sheet of
+paper into fourths. That would be
+interesting, he would read all of it.
+Then it came, Agnes' voice. "Henrrreee!"
+And then she was upon
+him. She lightly flicked the paper
+out of his hands and into the fireplace.
+He saw the flames lick up
+and curl possessively around the
+unread article. Agnes continued,
+"Henry, tonight is the Jones' bridge
+night. They'll be here in thirty minutes
+and I'm not dressed yet, and
+here you are ... <i>reading</i>." She had
+emphasized the last word as though
+it were an unclean act. "Hurry and
+shave, you know how smooth Jasper
+Jones' chin always looks, and then
+straighten up this room." She
+glanced regretfully toward the fireplace.
+"Oh dear, that paper, the
+television schedule ... oh well, after
+the Jones leave there won't be time
+for anything but the late-late
+movie and.... Don't just sit there,
+Henry, hurrreeee!"</p>
+
+<p>Henry was hurrying now, but
+hurrying too much. He cut his leg
+on a twisted piece of metal that had
+once been an automobile fender.
+He thought about things like lock-jaw
+and gangrene and his hand
+trembled as he tied his pocket-handkerchief
+around the wound. In
+his mind, he saw the fire again,
+licking across the face of last night's
+newspaper. He thought that now
+he would have time to read all the
+newspapers he wanted to, only now
+there wouldn't be any more. That
+heap of rubble across the street had
+been the Gazette Building. It was
+terrible to think there would never
+be another up to date newspaper.
+Agnes would have been very upset,
+no television schedule. But then, of
+course, no television. He wanted to
+laugh but he didn't. That wouldn't
+have been fitting, not at all.</p>
+
+<p>He could see the building he was
+looking for now, but the silhouette
+was strangely changed. The great
+circular dome was now a ragged
+semi-circle, half of it gone, and one
+of the great wings of the building
+had fallen in upon itself. A sudden
+panic gripped Henry Bemis. What
+if they were all ruined, destroyed,
+every one of them? What if there
+wasn't a single one left? Tears of
+helplessness welled in his eyes as he
+painfully fought his way over and
+through the twisted fragments of
+the city.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/h4.png" alt="H" width="39" height="50" /></div>
+<p>e thought of the building
+when it had been whole. He remembered
+the many nights he had
+paused outside its wide and welcoming
+doors. He thought of the
+warm nights when the doors had
+been thrown open and he could see
+the people inside, see them sitting
+at the plain wooden tables with the
+stacks of books beside them. He
+used to think then, what a wonderful
+thing a public library was, a
+place where anybody, anybody at
+all could go in and read.</p>
+
+<p>He had been tempted to enter
+many times. He had watched the
+people through the open doors, the
+man in greasy work clothes who
+sat near the door, night after night,
+laboriously studying, a technical
+journal perhaps, difficult for him,
+but promising a brighter future.
+There had been an aged, scholarly
+gentleman who sat on the other side
+of the door, leisurely paging, moving
+his lips a little as he did so, a
+man having little time left, but rich
+in time because he could do with it
+as he chose.</p>
+
+<p>Henry had never gone in. He had
+started up the steps once, got almost
+to the door, but then he remembered
+Agnes, her questions and
+shouting, and he had turned away.</p>
+
+<p>He was going in now though, almost
+crawling, his breath coming
+in stabbing gasps, his hands torn
+and bleeding. His trouser leg was
+sticky red where the wound in his
+leg had soaked through the handkerchief.
+It was throbbing badly
+but Henry didn't care. He had
+reached his destination.</p>
+
+<p>Part of the inscription was still
+there, over the now doorless entrance.
+P-U-B&mdash;C L-I-B-R&mdash;-. The
+rest had been torn away. The place
+was in shambles. The shelves were
+overturned, broken, smashed, tilted,
+their precious contents spilled in
+disorder upon the floor. A lot of the
+books, Henry noted gleefully, were
+still intact, still whole, still readable.
+He was literally knee deep in
+them, he wallowed in books. He
+picked one up. The title was "Collected
+Works of William Shakespeare."
+Yes, he must read that,
+sometime. He laid it aside carefully.
+He picked up another. Spinoza. He
+tossed it away, seized another, and
+another, and still another. Which
+to read first ... there were so many.</p>
+
+<p>He had been conducting himself
+a little like a starving man in a delicatessen&mdash;grabbing
+a little of this
+and a little of that in a frenzy of
+enjoyment.</p>
+
+<p>But now he steadied away. From
+the pile about him, he selected one
+volume, sat comfortably down on
+an overturned shelf, and opened
+the book.</p>
+
+<p>Henry Bemis smiled.</p>
+
+<p>There was the rumble of complaining
+stone. Minute in comparison
+which the epic complaints following
+the fall of the bomb. This
+one occurred under one corner of
+the shelf upon which Henry sat.
+The shelf moved; threw him off
+balance. The glasses slipped from
+his nose and fell with a tinkle.</p>
+
+<p>He bent down, clawing blindly
+and found, finally, their smashed
+remains. A minor, indirect destruction
+stemming from the sudden,
+wholesale smashing of a city. But
+the only one that greatly interested
+Henry Bemis.</p>
+
+<p>He stared down at the blurred
+page before him.</p>
+
+<p>He began to cry.</p>
+
+
+<p class="p1">&mdash;&mdash;<b>THE END</b>&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
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+</body>
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@@ -0,0 +1,671 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Time Enough at Last, by Lyn Venable
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Time Enough at Last
+
+Author: Lyn Venable
+
+Release Date: June 1, 2010 [EBook #32633]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIME ENOUGH AT LAST ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+
+This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science Fiction January 1953.
+Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright
+on this publication was renewed.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+     _The atomic bomb meant, to most people, the end. To Henry Bemis it
+     meant something far different--a thing to appreciate and enjoy._
+
+
+
+
+                     Time Enough At Last
+
+                     By Lynn Venable
+
+
+For a long time, Henry Bemis had had an ambition. To read a book. Not
+just the title or the preface, or a page somewhere in the middle. He
+wanted to read the whole thing, all the way through from beginning to
+end. A simple ambition perhaps, but in the cluttered life of Henry
+Bemis, an impossibility.
+
+Henry had no time of his own. There was his wife, Agnes who owned that
+part of it that his employer, Mr. Carsville, did not buy. Henry was
+allowed enough to get to and from work--that in itself being quite a
+concession on Agnes' part.
+
+Also, nature had conspired against Henry by handing him with a pair of
+hopelessly myopic eyes. Poor Henry literally couldn't see his hand in
+front of his face. For a while, when he was very young, his parents
+had thought him an idiot. When they realized it was his eyes, they got
+glasses for him. He was never quite able to catch up. There was never
+enough time. It looked as though Henry's ambition would never be
+realized. Then something happened which changed all that.
+
+Henry was down in the vault of the Eastside Bank & Trust when it
+happened. He had stolen a few moments from the duties of his teller's
+cage to try to read a few pages of the magazine he had bought that
+morning. He'd made an excuse to Mr. Carsville about needing bills in
+large denominations for a certain customer, and then, safe inside the
+dim recesses of the vault he had pulled from inside his coat the
+pocket size magazine.
+
+He had just started a picture article cheerfully entitled "The New
+Weapons and What They'll Do To YOU", when all the noise in the world
+crashed in upon his ear-drums. It seemed to be inside of him and
+outside of him all at once. Then the concrete floor was rising up at
+him and the ceiling came slanting down toward him, and for a fleeting
+second Henry thought of a story he had started to read once called
+"The Pit and The Pendulum". He regretted in that insane moment that he
+had never had time to finish that story to see how it came out. Then
+all was darkness and quiet and unconsciousness.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Henry came to, he knew that something was desperately wrong with
+the Eastside Bank & Trust. The heavy steel door of the vault was
+buckled and twisted and the floor tilted up at a dizzy angle, while
+the ceiling dipped crazily toward it. Henry gingerly got to his feet,
+moving arms and legs experimentally. Assured that nothing was broken,
+he tenderly raised a hand to his eyes. His precious glasses were
+intact, thank God! He would never have been able to find his way out
+of the shattered vault without them.
+
+He made a mental note to write Dr. Torrance to have a spare pair made
+and mailed to him. Blasted nuisance not having his prescription on
+file locally, but Henry trusted no-one but Dr. Torrance to grind those
+thick lenses into his own complicated prescription. Henry removed the
+heavy glasses from his face. Instantly the room dissolved into a
+neutral blur. Henry saw a pink splash that he knew was his hand, and a
+white blob come up to meet the pink as he withdrew his pocket
+handkerchief and carefully dusted the lenses. As he replaced the
+glasses, they slipped down on the bridge of his nose a little. He had
+been meaning to have them tightened for some time.
+
+He suddenly realized, without the realization actually entering his
+conscious thoughts, that something momentous had happened, something
+worse than the boiler blowing up, something worse than a gas main
+exploding, something worse than anything that had ever happened
+before. He felt that way because it was so quiet. There was no whine
+of sirens, no shouting, no running, just an ominous and all pervading
+silence.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Henry walked across the slanting floor. Slipping and stumbling on the
+uneven surface, he made his way to the elevator. The car lay crumpled
+at the foot of the shaft like a discarded accordian. There was
+something inside of it that Henry could not look at, something that
+had once been a person, or perhaps several people, it was impossible
+to tell now.
+
+Feeling sick, Henry staggered toward the stairway. The steps were
+still there, but so jumbled and piled back upon one another that it
+was more like climbing the side of a mountain than mounting a
+stairway. It was quiet in the huge chamber that had been the lobby of
+the bank. It looked strangely cheerful with the sunlight shining
+through the girders where the ceiling had fallen. The dappled sunlight
+glinted across the silent lobby, and everywhere there were huddled
+lumps of unpleasantness that made Henry sick as he tried not to look
+at them.
+
+"Mr. Carsville," he called. It was very quiet. Something had to be
+done, of course. This was terrible, right in the middle of a Monday,
+too. Mr. Carsville would know what to do. He called again, more
+loudly, and his voice cracked hoarsely, "Mr. Carrrrsville!" And then
+he saw an arm and shoulder extending out from under a huge fallen
+block of marble ceiling. In the buttonhole was the white carnation Mr.
+Carsville had worn to work that morning, and on the third finger of
+that hand was a massive signet ring, also belonging to Mr. Carsville.
+Numbly, Henry realized that the rest of Mr. Carsville was under that
+block of marble.
+
+Henry felt a pang of real sorrow. Mr. Carsville was gone, and so was
+the rest of the staff--Mr. Wilkinson and Mr. Emory and Mr. Prithard,
+and the same with Pete and Ralph and Jenkins and Hunter and Pat the
+guard and Willie the doorman. There was no one to say what was to be
+done about the Eastside Bank & Trust except Henry Bemis, and Henry
+wasn't worried about the bank, there was something he wanted to do.
+
+He climbed carefully over piles of fallen masonry. Once he stepped
+down into something that crunched and squashed beneath his feet and he
+set his teeth on edge to keep from retching. The street was not much
+different from the inside, bright sunlight and so much concrete to
+crawl over, but the unpleasantness was much, much worse. Everywhere
+there were strange, motionless lumps that Henry could not look at.
+
+Suddenly, he remembered Agnes. He should be trying to get to Agnes,
+shouldn't he? He remembered a poster he had seen that said, "In event
+of emergency do not use the telephone, your loved ones are as safe as
+you." He wondered about Agnes. He looked at the smashed automobiles,
+some with their four wheels pointing skyward like the stiffened legs
+of dead animals. He couldn't get to Agnes now anyway, if she was safe,
+then, she was safe, otherwise ... of course, Henry knew Agnes wasn't
+safe. He had a feeling that there wasn't anyone safe for a long, long
+way, maybe not in the whole state or the whole country, or the whole
+world. No, that was a thought Henry didn't want to think, he forced it
+from his mind and turned his thoughts back to Agnes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+She had been a pretty good wife, now that it was all said and done. It
+wasn't exactly her fault if people didn't have time to read nowadays.
+It was just that there was the house, and the bank, and the yard.
+There were the Jones' for bridge and the Graysons' for canasta and
+charades with the Bryants. And the television, the television Agnes
+loved to watch, but would never watch alone. He never had time to read
+even a newspaper. He started thinking about last night, that business
+about the newspaper.
+
+Henry had settled into his chair, quietly, afraid that a creaking
+spring might call to Agnes' attention the fact that he was momentarily
+unoccupied. He had unfolded the newspaper slowly and carefully, the
+sharp crackle of the paper would have been a clarion call to Agnes. He
+had glanced at the headlines of the first page. "Collapse Of
+Conference Imminent." He didn't have time to read the article. He
+turned to the second page. "Solon Predicts War Only Days Away." He
+flipped through the pages faster, reading brief snatches here and
+there, afraid to spend too much time on any one item. On a back page
+was a brief article entitled, "Prehistoric Artifacts Unearthed In
+Yucatan". Henry smiled to himself and carefully folded the sheet of
+paper into fourths. That would be interesting, he would read all of
+it. Then it came, Agnes' voice. "Henrrreee!" And then she was upon
+him. She lightly flicked the paper out of his hands and into the
+fireplace. He saw the flames lick up and curl possessively around the
+unread article. Agnes continued, "Henry, tonight is the Jones' bridge
+night. They'll be here in thirty minutes and I'm not dressed yet, and
+here you are ... _reading_." She had emphasized the last word as
+though it were an unclean act. "Hurry and shave, you know how smooth
+Jasper Jones' chin always looks, and then straighten up this room."
+She glanced regretfully toward the fireplace. "Oh dear, that paper,
+the television schedule ... oh well, after the Jones leave there won't
+be time for anything but the late-late movie and.... Don't just sit
+there, Henry, hurrreeee!"
+
+Henry was hurrying now, but hurrying too much. He cut his leg on a
+twisted piece of metal that had once been an automobile fender. He
+thought about things like lock-jaw and gangrene and his hand trembled
+as he tied his pocket-handkerchief around the wound. In his mind, he
+saw the fire again, licking across the face of last night's newspaper.
+He thought that now he would have time to read all the newspapers he
+wanted to, only now there wouldn't be any more. That heap of rubble
+across the street had been the Gazette Building. It was terrible to
+think there would never be another up to date newspaper. Agnes would
+have been very upset, no television schedule. But then, of course, no
+television. He wanted to laugh but he didn't. That wouldn't have been
+fitting, not at all.
+
+He could see the building he was looking for now, but the silhouette
+was strangely changed. The great circular dome was now a ragged
+semi-circle, half of it gone, and one of the great wings of the
+building had fallen in upon itself. A sudden panic gripped Henry
+Bemis. What if they were all ruined, destroyed, every one of them?
+What if there wasn't a single one left? Tears of helplessness welled
+in his eyes as he painfully fought his way over and through the
+twisted fragments of the city.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He thought of the building when it had been whole. He remembered the
+many nights he had paused outside its wide and welcoming doors. He
+thought of the warm nights when the doors had been thrown open and he
+could see the people inside, see them sitting at the plain wooden
+tables with the stacks of books beside them. He used to think then,
+what a wonderful thing a public library was, a place where anybody,
+anybody at all could go in and read.
+
+He had been tempted to enter many times. He had watched the people
+through the open doors, the man in greasy work clothes who sat near
+the door, night after night, laboriously studying, a technical journal
+perhaps, difficult for him, but promising a brighter future. There had
+been an aged, scholarly gentleman who sat on the other side of the
+door, leisurely paging, moving his lips a little as he did so, a man
+having little time left, but rich in time because he could do with it
+as he chose.
+
+Henry had never gone in. He had started up the steps once, got almost
+to the door, but then he remembered Agnes, her questions and shouting,
+and he had turned away.
+
+He was going in now though, almost crawling, his breath coming in
+stabbing gasps, his hands torn and bleeding. His trouser leg was
+sticky red where the wound in his leg had soaked through the
+handkerchief. It was throbbing badly but Henry didn't care. He had
+reached his destination.
+
+Part of the inscription was still there, over the now doorless
+entrance. P-U-B--C L-I-B-R---. The rest had been torn away. The place
+was in shambles. The shelves were overturned, broken, smashed, tilted,
+their precious contents spilled in disorder upon the floor. A lot of
+the books, Henry noted gleefully, were still intact, still whole,
+still readable. He was literally knee deep in them, he wallowed in
+books. He picked one up. The title was "Collected Works of William
+Shakespeare." Yes, he must read that, sometime. He laid it aside
+carefully. He picked up another. Spinoza. He tossed it away, seized
+another, and another, and still another. Which to read first ... there
+were so many.
+
+He had been conducting himself a little like a starving man in a
+delicatessen--grabbing a little of this and a little of that in a
+frenzy of enjoyment.
+
+But now he steadied away. From the pile about him, he selected one
+volume, sat comfortably down on an overturned shelf, and opened the
+book.
+
+Henry Bemis smiled.
+
+There was the rumble of complaining stone. Minute in comparison which
+the epic complaints following the fall of the bomb. This one occurred
+under one corner of the shelf upon which Henry sat. The shelf moved;
+threw him off balance. The glasses slipped from his nose and fell with
+a tinkle.
+
+He bent down, clawing blindly and found, finally, their smashed
+remains. A minor, indirect destruction stemming from the sudden,
+wholesale smashing of a city. But the only one that greatly interested
+Henry Bemis.
+
+He stared down at the blurred page before him.
+
+He began to cry.
+
+
+                    THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Time Enough at Last, by Lyn Venable
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Time Enough at Last, by Lyn Venable
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Time Enough at Last
+
+Author: Lyn Venable
+
+Release Date: June 1, 2010 [eBook #32633]
+[Most recently updated: May 28, 2023]
+
+Language: English
+
+Produced by: Greg Weeks and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIME ENOUGH AT LAST ***
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+
+This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science Fiction January 1953.
+Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright
+on this publication was renewed.
+
+
+
+
+     _The atomic bomb meant, to most people, the end. To Henry Bemis it
+     meant something far different--a thing to appreciate and enjoy._
+
+
+
+
+                     Time Enough At Last
+
+                     By Lynn Venable
+
+
+For a long time, Henry Bemis had had an ambition. To read a book. Not
+just the title or the preface, or a page somewhere in the middle. He
+wanted to read the whole thing, all the way through from beginning to
+end. A simple ambition perhaps, but in the cluttered life of Henry
+Bemis, an impossibility.
+
+Henry had no time of his own. There was his wife, Agnes who owned that
+part of it that his employer, Mr. Carsville, did not buy. Henry was
+allowed enough to get to and from work--that in itself being quite a
+concession on Agnes' part.
+
+Also, nature had conspired against Henry by handing him with a pair of
+hopelessly myopic eyes. Poor Henry literally couldn't see his hand in
+front of his face. For a while, when he was very young, his parents
+had thought him an idiot. When they realized it was his eyes, they got
+glasses for him. He was never quite able to catch up. There was never
+enough time. It looked as though Henry's ambition would never be
+realized. Then something happened which changed all that.
+
+Henry was down in the vault of the Eastside Bank & Trust when it
+happened. He had stolen a few moments from the duties of his teller's
+cage to try to read a few pages of the magazine he had bought that
+morning. He'd made an excuse to Mr. Carsville about needing bills in
+large denominations for a certain customer, and then, safe inside the
+dim recesses of the vault he had pulled from inside his coat the
+pocket size magazine.
+
+He had just started a picture article cheerfully entitled "The New
+Weapons and What They'll Do To YOU", when all the noise in the world
+crashed in upon his ear-drums. It seemed to be inside of him and
+outside of him all at once. Then the concrete floor was rising up at
+him and the ceiling came slanting down toward him, and for a fleeting
+second Henry thought of a story he had started to read once called
+"The Pit and The Pendulum". He regretted in that insane moment that he
+had never had time to finish that story to see how it came out. Then
+all was darkness and quiet and unconsciousness.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Henry came to, he knew that something was desperately wrong with
+the Eastside Bank & Trust. The heavy steel door of the vault was
+buckled and twisted and the floor tilted up at a dizzy angle, while
+the ceiling dipped crazily toward it. Henry gingerly got to his feet,
+moving arms and legs experimentally. Assured that nothing was broken,
+he tenderly raised a hand to his eyes. His precious glasses were
+intact, thank God! He would never have been able to find his way out
+of the shattered vault without them.
+
+He made a mental note to write Dr. Torrance to have a spare pair made
+and mailed to him. Blasted nuisance not having his prescription on
+file locally, but Henry trusted no-one but Dr. Torrance to grind those
+thick lenses into his own complicated prescription. Henry removed the
+heavy glasses from his face. Instantly the room dissolved into a
+neutral blur. Henry saw a pink splash that he knew was his hand, and a
+white blob come up to meet the pink as he withdrew his pocket
+handkerchief and carefully dusted the lenses. As he replaced the
+glasses, they slipped down on the bridge of his nose a little. He had
+been meaning to have them tightened for some time.
+
+He suddenly realized, without the realization actually entering his
+conscious thoughts, that something momentous had happened, something
+worse than the boiler blowing up, something worse than a gas main
+exploding, something worse than anything that had ever happened
+before. He felt that way because it was so quiet. There was no whine
+of sirens, no shouting, no running, just an ominous and all pervading
+silence.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Henry walked across the slanting floor. Slipping and stumbling on the
+uneven surface, he made his way to the elevator. The car lay crumpled
+at the foot of the shaft like a discarded accordian. There was
+something inside of it that Henry could not look at, something that
+had once been a person, or perhaps several people, it was impossible
+to tell now.
+
+Feeling sick, Henry staggered toward the stairway. The steps were
+still there, but so jumbled and piled back upon one another that it
+was more like climbing the side of a mountain than mounting a
+stairway. It was quiet in the huge chamber that had been the lobby of
+the bank. It looked strangely cheerful with the sunlight shining
+through the girders where the ceiling had fallen. The dappled sunlight
+glinted across the silent lobby, and everywhere there were huddled
+lumps of unpleasantness that made Henry sick as he tried not to look
+at them.
+
+"Mr. Carsville," he called. It was very quiet. Something had to be
+done, of course. This was terrible, right in the middle of a Monday,
+too. Mr. Carsville would know what to do. He called again, more
+loudly, and his voice cracked hoarsely, "Mr. Carrrrsville!" And then
+he saw an arm and shoulder extending out from under a huge fallen
+block of marble ceiling. In the buttonhole was the white carnation Mr.
+Carsville had worn to work that morning, and on the third finger of
+that hand was a massive signet ring, also belonging to Mr. Carsville.
+Numbly, Henry realized that the rest of Mr. Carsville was under that
+block of marble.
+
+Henry felt a pang of real sorrow. Mr. Carsville was gone, and so was
+the rest of the staff--Mr. Wilkinson and Mr. Emory and Mr. Prithard,
+and the same with Pete and Ralph and Jenkins and Hunter and Pat the
+guard and Willie the doorman. There was no one to say what was to be
+done about the Eastside Bank & Trust except Henry Bemis, and Henry
+wasn't worried about the bank, there was something he wanted to do.
+
+He climbed carefully over piles of fallen masonry. Once he stepped
+down into something that crunched and squashed beneath his feet and he
+set his teeth on edge to keep from retching. The street was not much
+different from the inside, bright sunlight and so much concrete to
+crawl over, but the unpleasantness was much, much worse. Everywhere
+there were strange, motionless lumps that Henry could not look at.
+
+Suddenly, he remembered Agnes. He should be trying to get to Agnes,
+shouldn't he? He remembered a poster he had seen that said, "In event
+of emergency do not use the telephone, your loved ones are as safe as
+you." He wondered about Agnes. He looked at the smashed automobiles,
+some with their four wheels pointing skyward like the stiffened legs
+of dead animals. He couldn't get to Agnes now anyway, if she was safe,
+then, she was safe, otherwise ... of course, Henry knew Agnes wasn't
+safe. He had a feeling that there wasn't anyone safe for a long, long
+way, maybe not in the whole state or the whole country, or the whole
+world. No, that was a thought Henry didn't want to think, he forced it
+from his mind and turned his thoughts back to Agnes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+She had been a pretty good wife, now that it was all said and done. It
+wasn't exactly her fault if people didn't have time to read nowadays.
+It was just that there was the house, and the bank, and the yard.
+There were the Jones' for bridge and the Graysons' for canasta and
+charades with the Bryants. And the television, the television Agnes
+loved to watch, but would never watch alone. He never had time to read
+even a newspaper. He started thinking about last night, that business
+about the newspaper.
+
+Henry had settled into his chair, quietly, afraid that a creaking
+spring might call to Agnes' attention the fact that he was momentarily
+unoccupied. He had unfolded the newspaper slowly and carefully, the
+sharp crackle of the paper would have been a clarion call to Agnes. He
+had glanced at the headlines of the first page. "Collapse Of
+Conference Imminent." He didn't have time to read the article. He
+turned to the second page. "Solon Predicts War Only Days Away." He
+flipped through the pages faster, reading brief snatches here and
+there, afraid to spend too much time on any one item. On a back page
+was a brief article entitled, "Prehistoric Artifacts Unearthed In
+Yucatan". Henry smiled to himself and carefully folded the sheet of
+paper into fourths. That would be interesting, he would read all of
+it. Then it came, Agnes' voice. "Henrrreee!" And then she was upon
+him. She lightly flicked the paper out of his hands and into the
+fireplace. He saw the flames lick up and curl possessively around the
+unread article. Agnes continued, "Henry, tonight is the Jones' bridge
+night. They'll be here in thirty minutes and I'm not dressed yet, and
+here you are ... _reading_." She had emphasized the last word as
+though it were an unclean act. "Hurry and shave, you know how smooth
+Jasper Jones' chin always looks, and then straighten up this room."
+She glanced regretfully toward the fireplace. "Oh dear, that paper,
+the television schedule ... oh well, after the Jones leave there won't
+be time for anything but the late-late movie and.... Don't just sit
+there, Henry, hurrreeee!"
+
+Henry was hurrying now, but hurrying too much. He cut his leg on a
+twisted piece of metal that had once been an automobile fender. He
+thought about things like lock-jaw and gangrene and his hand trembled
+as he tied his pocket-handkerchief around the wound. In his mind, he
+saw the fire again, licking across the face of last night's newspaper.
+He thought that now he would have time to read all the newspapers he
+wanted to, only now there wouldn't be any more. That heap of rubble
+across the street had been the Gazette Building. It was terrible to
+think there would never be another up to date newspaper. Agnes would
+have been very upset, no television schedule. But then, of course, no
+television. He wanted to laugh but he didn't. That wouldn't have been
+fitting, not at all.
+
+He could see the building he was looking for now, but the silhouette
+was strangely changed. The great circular dome was now a ragged
+semi-circle, half of it gone, and one of the great wings of the
+building had fallen in upon itself. A sudden panic gripped Henry
+Bemis. What if they were all ruined, destroyed, every one of them?
+What if there wasn't a single one left? Tears of helplessness welled
+in his eyes as he painfully fought his way over and through the
+twisted fragments of the city.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He thought of the building when it had been whole. He remembered the
+many nights he had paused outside its wide and welcoming doors. He
+thought of the warm nights when the doors had been thrown open and he
+could see the people inside, see them sitting at the plain wooden
+tables with the stacks of books beside them. He used to think then,
+what a wonderful thing a public library was, a place where anybody,
+anybody at all could go in and read.
+
+He had been tempted to enter many times. He had watched the people
+through the open doors, the man in greasy work clothes who sat near
+the door, night after night, laboriously studying, a technical journal
+perhaps, difficult for him, but promising a brighter future. There had
+been an aged, scholarly gentleman who sat on the other side of the
+door, leisurely paging, moving his lips a little as he did so, a man
+having little time left, but rich in time because he could do with it
+as he chose.
+
+Henry had never gone in. He had started up the steps once, got almost
+to the door, but then he remembered Agnes, her questions and shouting,
+and he had turned away.
+
+He was going in now though, almost crawling, his breath coming in
+stabbing gasps, his hands torn and bleeding. His trouser leg was
+sticky red where the wound in his leg had soaked through the
+handkerchief. It was throbbing badly but Henry didn't care. He had
+reached his destination.
+
+Part of the inscription was still there, over the now doorless
+entrance. P-U-B--C L-I-B-R---. The rest had been torn away. The place
+was in shambles. The shelves were overturned, broken, smashed, tilted,
+their precious contents spilled in disorder upon the floor. A lot of
+the books, Henry noted gleefully, were still intact, still whole,
+still readable. He was literally knee deep in them, he wallowed in
+books. He picked one up. The title was "Collected Works of William
+Shakespeare." Yes, he must read that, sometime. He laid it aside
+carefully. He picked up another. Spinoza. He tossed it away, seized
+another, and another, and still another. Which to read first ... there
+were so many.
+
+He had been conducting himself a little like a starving man in a
+delicatessen--grabbing a little of this and a little of that in a
+frenzy of enjoyment.
+
+But now he steadied away. From the pile about him, he selected one
+volume, sat comfortably down on an overturned shelf, and opened the
+book.
+
+Henry Bemis smiled.
+
+There was the rumble of complaining stone. Minute in comparison with
+the epic complaints following the fall of the bomb. This one occurred
+under one corner of the shelf upon which Henry sat. The shelf moved;
+threw him off balance. The glasses slipped from his nose and fell with
+a tinkle.
+
+He bent down, clawing blindly and found, finally, their smashed
+remains. A minor, indirect destruction stemming from the sudden,
+wholesale smashing of a city. But the only one that greatly interested
+Henry Bemis.
+
+He stared down at the blurred page before him.
+
+He began to cry.
+
+
+                    THE END
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIME ENOUGH AT LAST ***
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Time Enough at Last, by Lynn Venable
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+<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Time Enough at Last, by Lyn Venable</p>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
+at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
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+country where you are located before using this eBook.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Time Enough at Last</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Lyn Venable</div>
+<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 1, 2010 [eBook #32633]<br />
+[Most recently updated: May 28, 2023]</p>
+<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p>
+  <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by:
+  Greg Weeks and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net</p>
+<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIME ENOUGH AT LAST ***</div>
+
+
+<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p>
+<p class="center">This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science Fiction January 1953. Extensive
+research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was
+renewed.</p></div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img class="img1" src="images/cover.png" width="400" height="580" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The atomic bomb meant, to most people, the end.<br />
+To Henry Bemis it meant something far different&mdash;a
+thing to appreciate and enjoy.</i></p></div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h1>Time Enough At Last</h1>
+
+<h2>By Lynn Venable</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/f1.png" alt="F" width="34" height="50" /></div>
+<p>or a long time, Henry
+Bemis had had an ambition.
+To read a book. Not just the title
+or the preface, or a page somewhere
+in the middle. He wanted
+to read the whole thing, all the way
+through from beginning to end. A
+simple ambition perhaps, but in the
+cluttered life of Henry Bemis, an
+impossibility.</p>
+
+<p>Henry had no time of his own.
+There was his wife, Agnes who
+owned that part of it that his employer,
+Mr. Carsville, did not buy.
+Henry was allowed enough to get to
+and from work&mdash;that in itself being
+quite a concession on Agnes' part.</p>
+
+<p>Also, nature had conspired
+against Henry by handing him with
+a pair of hopelessly myopic eyes.
+Poor Henry literally couldn't see his
+hand in front of his face. For a
+while, when he was very young, his
+parents had thought him an idiot.
+When they realized it was his eyes,
+they got glasses for him. He was
+never quite able to catch up. There
+was never enough time. It looked
+as though Henry's ambition would
+never be realized. Then something
+happened which changed all that.</p>
+
+<p>Henry was down in the vault of
+the Eastside Bank &amp; Trust when it
+happened. He had stolen a few
+moments from the duties of his
+teller's cage to try to read a few
+pages of the magazine he had
+bought that morning. He'd made
+an excuse to Mr. Carsville about
+needing bills in large denominations
+for a certain customer, and
+then, safe inside the dim recesses of
+the vault he had pulled from inside
+his coat the pocket size magazine.</p>
+
+<p>He had just started a picture article
+cheerfully entitled "The New
+Weapons and What They'll Do To
+YOU", when all the noise in the
+world crashed in upon his ear-drums.
+It seemed to be inside of
+him and outside of him all at once.
+Then the concrete floor was rising
+up at him and the ceiling came
+slanting down toward him, and for
+a fleeting second Henry thought of
+a story he had started to read once
+called "The Pit and The Pendulum".
+He regretted in that insane
+moment that he had never had
+time to finish that story to see how
+it came out. Then all was darkness
+and quiet and unconsciousness.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/w2.png" alt="W" width="54" height="50" /></div>
+<p>hen Henry came to, he
+knew that something was
+desperately wrong with the Eastside
+Bank &amp; Trust. The heavy steel
+door of the vault was buckled and
+twisted and the floor tilted up at a
+dizzy angle, while the ceiling
+dipped crazily toward it. Henry
+gingerly got to his feet, moving
+arms and legs experimentally. Assured
+that nothing was broken, he
+tenderly raised a hand to his eyes.
+His precious glasses were intact,
+thank God! He would never have
+been able to find his way out of the
+shattered vault without them.</p>
+
+<p>He made a mental note to write
+Dr. Torrance to have a spare pair
+made and mailed to him. Blasted
+nuisance not having his prescription
+on file locally, but Henry trusted
+no-one but Dr. Torrance to
+grind those thick lenses into his
+own complicated prescription. Henry
+removed the heavy glasses from
+his face. Instantly the room dissolved
+into a neutral blur. Henry
+saw a pink splash that he knew was
+his hand, and a white blob come up
+to meet the pink as he withdrew his
+pocket handkerchief and carefully
+dusted the lenses. As he replaced
+the glasses, they slipped down on
+the bridge of his nose a little. He
+had been meaning to have them
+tightened for some time.</p>
+
+<p>He suddenly realized, without
+the realization actually entering his
+conscious thoughts, that something
+momentous had happened, something
+worse than the boiler blowing
+up, something worse than a gas
+main exploding, something worse
+than anything that had ever happened
+before. He felt that way because
+it was so quiet. There was no
+whine of sirens, no shouting, no
+running, just an ominous and all
+pervading silence.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/h2.png" alt="H" width="39" height="50" /></div>
+<p>enry walked across the slanting
+floor. Slipping and stumbling
+on the uneven surface, he
+made his way to the elevator. The
+car lay crumpled at the foot of the
+shaft like a discarded accordian.
+There was something inside of it
+that Henry could not look at, something
+that had once been a person,
+or perhaps several people, it was
+impossible to tell now.</p>
+
+<p>Feeling sick, Henry staggered
+toward the stairway. The steps were
+still there, but so jumbled and piled
+back upon one another that it was
+more like climbing the side of a
+mountain than mounting a stairway.
+It was quiet in the huge chamber
+that had been the lobby of the
+bank. It looked strangely cheerful
+with the sunlight shining through
+the girders where the ceiling had
+fallen. The dappled sunlight glinted
+across the silent lobby, and everywhere
+there were huddled lumps
+of unpleasantness that made Henry
+sick as he tried not to look at them.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Carsville," he called. It was
+very quiet. Something had to be
+done, of course. This was terrible,
+right in the middle of a Monday,
+too. Mr. Carsville would know
+what to do. He called again, more
+loudly, and his voice cracked
+hoarsely, "Mr. Carrrrsville!" And
+then he saw an arm and shoulder
+extending out from under a huge
+fallen block of marble ceiling. In
+the buttonhole was the white carnation
+Mr. Carsville had worn to
+work that morning, and on the
+third finger of that hand was a massive
+signet ring, also belonging to
+Mr. Carsville. Numbly, Henry realized
+that the rest of Mr. Carsville
+was under that block of marble.</p>
+
+<p>Henry felt a pang of real sorrow.
+Mr. Carsville was gone, and so was
+the rest of the staff&mdash;Mr. Wilkinson
+and Mr. Emory and Mr.
+Prithard, and the same with Pete
+and Ralph and Jenkins and Hunter
+and Pat the guard and Willie the
+doorman. There was no one to say
+what was to be done about the
+Eastside Bank &amp; Trust except Henry
+Bemis, and Henry wasn't worried
+about the bank, there was something
+he wanted to do.</p>
+
+<p>He climbed carefully over piles
+of fallen masonry. Once he stepped
+down into something that crunched
+and squashed beneath his feet and
+he set his teeth on edge to keep
+from retching. The street was not
+much different from the inside,
+bright sunlight and so much concrete
+to crawl over, but the unpleasantness
+was much, much worse.
+Everywhere there were strange, motionless
+lumps that Henry could not
+look at.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, he remembered Agnes.
+He should be trying to get to Agnes,
+shouldn't he? He remembered
+a poster he had seen that said, "In
+event of emergency do not use the
+telephone, your loved ones are as
+safe as you." He wondered about
+Agnes. He looked at the smashed
+automobiles, some with their four
+wheels pointing skyward like the
+stiffened legs of dead animals. He
+couldn't get to Agnes now anyway,
+if she was safe, then, she was safe,
+otherwise ... of course, Henry
+knew Agnes wasn't safe. He had a
+feeling that there wasn't anyone
+safe for a long, long way, maybe
+not in the whole state or the whole
+country, or the whole world. No,
+that was a thought Henry didn't
+want to think, he forced it from his
+mind and turned his thoughts back
+to Agnes.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/s3.png" alt="S" width="32" height="50" /></div>
+<p>he had been a pretty good
+wife, now that it was all said
+and done. It wasn't exactly her
+fault if people didn't have time to
+read nowadays. It was just that
+there was the house, and the bank,
+and the yard. There were the Jones'
+for bridge and the Graysons' for canasta
+and charades with the
+Bryants. And the television, the
+television Agnes loved to watch, but
+would never watch alone. He never
+had time to read even a newspaper.
+He started thinking about last
+night, that business about the newspaper.</p>
+
+<p>Henry had settled into his chair,
+quietly, afraid that a creaking
+spring might call to Agnes' attention
+the fact that he was momentarily
+unoccupied. He had unfolded
+the newspaper slowly and carefully,
+the sharp crackle of the paper
+would have been a clarion call to
+Agnes. He had glanced at the headlines
+of the first page. "Collapse Of
+Conference Imminent." He didn't
+have time to read the article. He
+turned to the second page. "Solon
+Predicts War Only Days Away."
+He flipped through the pages faster,
+reading brief snatches here and
+there, afraid to spend too much
+time on any one item. On a back
+page was a brief article entitled,
+"Prehistoric Artifacts Unearthed In
+Yucatan". Henry smiled to himself
+and carefully folded the sheet of
+paper into fourths. That would be
+interesting, he would read all of it.
+Then it came, Agnes' voice. "Henrrreee!"
+And then she was upon
+him. She lightly flicked the paper
+out of his hands and into the fireplace.
+He saw the flames lick up
+and curl possessively around the
+unread article. Agnes continued,
+"Henry, tonight is the Jones' bridge
+night. They'll be here in thirty minutes
+and I'm not dressed yet, and
+here you are ... <i>reading</i>." She had
+emphasized the last word as though
+it were an unclean act. "Hurry and
+shave, you know how smooth Jasper
+Jones' chin always looks, and then
+straighten up this room." She
+glanced regretfully toward the fireplace.
+"Oh dear, that paper, the
+television schedule ... oh well, after
+the Jones leave there won't be time
+for anything but the late-late
+movie and.... Don't just sit there,
+Henry, hurrreeee!"</p>
+
+<p>Henry was hurrying now, but
+hurrying too much. He cut his leg
+on a twisted piece of metal that had
+once been an automobile fender.
+He thought about things like lock-jaw
+and gangrene and his hand
+trembled as he tied his pocket-handkerchief
+around the wound. In
+his mind, he saw the fire again,
+licking across the face of last night's
+newspaper. He thought that now
+he would have time to read all the
+newspapers he wanted to, only now
+there wouldn't be any more. That
+heap of rubble across the street had
+been the Gazette Building. It was
+terrible to think there would never
+be another up to date newspaper.
+Agnes would have been very upset,
+no television schedule. But then, of
+course, no television. He wanted to
+laugh but he didn't. That wouldn't
+have been fitting, not at all.</p>
+
+<p>He could see the building he was
+looking for now, but the silhouette
+was strangely changed. The great
+circular dome was now a ragged
+semi-circle, half of it gone, and one
+of the great wings of the building
+had fallen in upon itself. A sudden
+panic gripped Henry Bemis. What
+if they were all ruined, destroyed,
+every one of them? What if there
+wasn't a single one left? Tears of
+helplessness welled in his eyes as he
+painfully fought his way over and
+through the twisted fragments of
+the city.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<div class="figleft"><img src="images/h4.png" alt="H" width="39" height="50" /></div>
+<p>e thought of the building
+when it had been whole. He remembered
+the many nights he had
+paused outside its wide and welcoming
+doors. He thought of the
+warm nights when the doors had
+been thrown open and he could see
+the people inside, see them sitting
+at the plain wooden tables with the
+stacks of books beside them. He
+used to think then, what a wonderful
+thing a public library was, a
+place where anybody, anybody at
+all could go in and read.</p>
+
+<p>He had been tempted to enter
+many times. He had watched the
+people through the open doors, the
+man in greasy work clothes who
+sat near the door, night after night,
+laboriously studying, a technical
+journal perhaps, difficult for him,
+but promising a brighter future.
+There had been an aged, scholarly
+gentleman who sat on the other side
+of the door, leisurely paging, moving
+his lips a little as he did so, a
+man having little time left, but rich
+in time because he could do with it
+as he chose.</p>
+
+<p>Henry had never gone in. He had
+started up the steps once, got almost
+to the door, but then he remembered
+Agnes, her questions and
+shouting, and he had turned away.</p>
+
+<p>He was going in now though, almost
+crawling, his breath coming
+in stabbing gasps, his hands torn
+and bleeding. His trouser leg was
+sticky red where the wound in his
+leg had soaked through the handkerchief.
+It was throbbing badly
+but Henry didn't care. He had
+reached his destination.</p>
+
+<p>Part of the inscription was still
+there, over the now doorless entrance.
+P-U-B&mdash;C L-I-B-R&mdash;-. The
+rest had been torn away. The place
+was in shambles. The shelves were
+overturned, broken, smashed, tilted,
+their precious contents spilled in
+disorder upon the floor. A lot of the
+books, Henry noted gleefully, were
+still intact, still whole, still readable.
+He was literally knee deep in
+them, he wallowed in books. He
+picked one up. The title was "Collected
+Works of William Shakespeare."
+Yes, he must read that,
+sometime. He laid it aside carefully.
+He picked up another. Spinoza. He
+tossed it away, seized another, and
+another, and still another. Which
+to read first ... there were so many.</p>
+
+<p>He had been conducting himself
+a little like a starving man in a delicatessen&mdash;grabbing
+a little of this
+and a little of that in a frenzy of
+enjoyment.</p>
+
+<p>But now he steadied away. From
+the pile about him, he selected one
+volume, sat comfortably down on
+an overturned shelf, and opened
+the book.</p>
+
+<p>Henry Bemis smiled.</p>
+
+<p>There was the rumble of complaining
+stone. Minute in comparison
+with the epic complaints following
+the fall of the bomb. This
+one occurred under one corner of
+the shelf upon which Henry sat.
+The shelf moved; threw him off
+balance. The glasses slipped from
+his nose and fell with a tinkle.</p>
+
+<p>He bent down, clawing blindly
+and found, finally, their smashed
+remains. A minor, indirect destruction
+stemming from the sudden,
+wholesale smashing of a city. But
+the only one that greatly interested
+Henry Bemis.</p>
+
+<p>He stared down at the blurred
+page before him.</p>
+
+<p>He began to cry.</p>
+
+
+<p class="p1">&mdash;&mdash;<b>THE END</b>&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIME ENOUGH AT LAST ***</div>
+<div style='text-align:left'>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Updated editions will replace the previous one&#8212;the old editions will
+be renamed.
+</div>
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