Evan Hunter

“ Perry stared at me curiously. "It's not a very well known story," he said, "but I still don't think you will get away with it—no matter how much innocence you profess."
"What in the name of God are you talking about?" I asked.
He slapped the back of his hand onto the manuscript. "This. The Facts In The Case of M. Valdemar. That's what."
"That's not the title I gave it," I said indignantly.
"No, but it's the title Poe gave it."
My mouth fell open. "Who? Who?"
"Stop sounding like an owl. Poe. Edgar Allan...."
"No," I said.
"Yes. Poe. Carrying this a bit far, aren't you, old boy?" ”

“ So I nodded. "You're right. We're incredibly backward—but we don't have to remain that way forever. Take your Rigel IV libraries, for example. I'll bet your stories could teach us a lot."
NATURALLY.
"And," I continued, gaining confidence now, "you said you were on vacation, absorbing some of our literature—puny as it is.... Have you had a taste of anything besides Poe and Shakespeare?"
NO. SHOULD I?
"Should you? Why you've barely scraped our culture! Tell you what! Maybe we can make a deal—"
DEAL? WHAT'S THAT?
"I mean, a trade. While you're on vacation I'll swap writers with you. ”

“ The typewriter didn't seem to care much. It didn't form a single word. I threw the carriage all the way to the right, stalked to the closet and slammed my rainy-day hat onto my head, even though it wasn't raining.
At the door, I shot a hot glance at the machine, and then walked out, slamming the flimsy wood behind me.
I went straight to the pawn shop. I slammed the glass door behind me, hard enough so that I thought it'd shatter, and then I stalked over to the counter. The old man was nowhere in sight. I banged my fist on the wooden counter top. ”

“ I watched the madly clacking keys with my eyes bugging. But I managed to keep my voice a polite sneer.
"Backward race? You seem to think Poe and Shakespeare were pretty progressive boys. We've got hundreds more, you know. What's your claim to fame?"
MY CLAIM TO FAME? ISN'T IT ENOUGH THAT I'M REACHING YOU ALL THE WAY FROM RIGEL IV? ”

“ In the window."
"You're mistaken," he said.
"I'm not mistaken. Don't be foolish. I came in here this afternoon and bought a typewriter. A Remington Noiseless portable. It cost me five dollars, and...."
He shook his head vigorously. "Oh, no, no. You're mistaken."
"Oh hell, there's no sense talking to you. When will your boss be back?"
"I have no boss," he said indignantly. "I am my own boss. I own this shop."
"Oh," I said, "I see. Well, this fat guy probably works for you then. Is he out to supper?"
His eyes narrowed. "There is no fat guy working for me. There is nobody working for me. ”

“ I stabbed out at the shift key, and locked it in place.
DON'T THANK ME. I'M JUST TRYING TO ESTABLISH SOME SORT OF RAPPORT BETWEEN US.
"Well, I certainly do appreciate your efforts. You are real, aren't you? I mean, it's not the salami or anything."
NO, IT'S NOT THE SALAMI OR ANYTHING. GOD, YOU ARE AN IDIOT, AREN'T YOU?
I shrugged. "Not really. I'm not quite used to holding conversations with typewriters, though. I usually ... well, that is to say typewriters haven't usually answered me back."
ARE YOU A WRITER? ”

“ STOP SHOUTING!
"I'm not shouting. Besides, with your damned upper case, you always look as if you're shouting."
IT WAS YOU WHO SUGGESTED UPPER CASE.
"You won't get away with this," I said, shaking my finger at the machine. "I'll get to the bottom of it, and when I do I'll have you licked. You wait and see."
I'LL WAIT, the machine typed.
I nodded my head emphatically. It was almost noon, and I had a lot to do. I tossed one more fiery glance at the typewriter, and then left it alone on the table.
I went into twelve pawn shops before I found the fat old man. ”

“ RELAX. IF YOU DIDN'T LIKE THAT STORY, I KNOW A LOT OF OTHERS.
"Why are you doing this to me? Why don't you just go back where you came from?"
WHY AM I DOING WHAT TO YOU? I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU, YOU IDIOT.
"I don't want your help. I want to muddle along on my own. I want to...." ”

“ You don't mean you actually have one yourself!" There was enough disdain in my voice to get a harsh clatter from the keys with a lot of meaningless gibberish. I reached over and flicked it back into caps.
YOU'RE SO STUPID I DON'T KNOW WHY I BOTHER WITH YOU! STYLE? I COULD TELL YOU STORIES THAT WOULD CURL YOUR HAIR! THE LIBRARIES HERE ON RIGEL IV MAKE YOUR POE AND SHAKESPEARE LOOK LIKE OLD MAIDS!
I sat back in my chair and got a crafty feeling. Before I knew it I said, "Prove it!"
There was silence for a moment. The keys just remained dead. I reached forward and tapped the machine. ”