Z
BY CHARLES L. FONTENAY
Time reversal exists at the sub-atomic level
according to Feynman's Theory—and according to
that same theory any entity can exist in three
places at one time.... Does this explain, the
strange co-existence of Summer, Mark and Wyn?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, June 1956.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
What scientific or supernatural principle is behind the mysteriousappearances recorded some years ago by Mr. Charles Fort, I'm sure Idon't know. It could, of course, be the same as that behind the suddenappearance of Wyndham Storm in Central Park, but I don't believe I'veheard of a case that exactly paralleled this one.
I gather from a perusal of Mr. Fort's works that it is not uncommon forthese unheralded visitors to come onstage without the formality ofclothing; but I don't believe it's customary for them to bring theirwives along.
I got caught in a thunderstorm that night in Central Park—not NewYork's Central Park, but Allertown's Central Park, which isn't as big.Having no raincoat—the skies had appeared clear when I left home forthe movies—I took refuge in the big octagonal bandstand.
The storm was brief, but spectacular; one of those violent affairs thatoften mark the arrival of a cold front to dispel an unusually intensemidsummer heat wave. The rain slashed across the park in wind-whippedsheets, managing to drench me even in my shelter. Big trees bowedlow and reluctantly hurled away leaves and limbs. Thunder rolledincessantly and the lightning made an eerie daylight of the blackness.
Suddenly, there was a terrific clap of thunder and a fiery flash thatblotted out everything around me. Shaken, I picked myself up from thefloor of the bandstand, still not sure I hadn't been struck. Blue smokewas boiling away from a wrecked tree about thirty feet away, in themidst of a clump of charred, waving shrubbery.
And like Venus rising from the foam the naked woman stepped out of theshrubbery, followed by the naked man.
My first impulse was to laugh at these two whom the storm had chasedfrom their hiding place and to be astonished at their brashness indisrobing completely in the heart of the park. Then it occurred to methat the lightning must have stripped them. They might be hurt.
I jumped from the bandstand and walked swiftly over to them. To myutter amazement, the young woman promptly threw her arms around my neckand said:
"Whatever has just happened, Don, I want you to know it's you I love."
Then she kissed me.
"What on earth!" I exclaimed, disengaging myself. The man was lookingfrom one to the other of us, mutely.
"I'm Summer Storm and this is my husband, Wyn Storm, and we live at 138March Street," she said, all in a rush. "Oh, Don, I'm sorry you don'tknow us any more, but I should have known from the way Wyn was actingand everything that's going to happen...."
"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" I interrupted. "I don't know you. Howdid you know my name?"
She didn't answer, but just stood there, looking at me intently. Iaverted my eyes. I was beginning to recover from shock enough to beembarrassed.
"How about this?" I asked the man. "Why should I know you,