Transcriber's note.
This etext was produced from Analog February 1963.Extensive research did not uncover anyevidence that the copyright on this publication was renewed.
SomethingWill Turn Up
Some things can't be simply inverted, after all....
by
David Mason
Illustrated by Brotman
"You, Mr. Rapp?"
Stanley Rapp blinked, considering the matter. He always thought overeverything very carefully. Of course, some questions were easier toanswer than others. This one, for instance. He had very few doubts abouthis name.
"Uh," Stanley Rapp said. "Yes. Yes."
He stared at the bearded young man. Living in the Village, even on thebetter side of it, one saw beards every day, all shapes and sizes ofbeard. This one was not a psychoanalyst beard, or a folk singer beard;not even an actor beard. This was the scraggly variety, almost certainlya poet beard. Mr. Rapp, while holding no particular prejudice againstpoets, had not sent for one, he was sure of that.
Then he noticed the toolcase in the bearded young man's hand, letteredlarge LIGHTNING SERVICE, TV, HI-FI.
"Oh," Stanley said, nodding. "You're the man to fix the TV set."
"You know it, Dad," the young man said, coming in. He shut the doorbehind him, and stared around the apartment. "What a wild pad. Where theidiot box, hey?"
The pleasantly furnished, neat little apartment was not what Mr. Rapphad ever thought of as a "wild pad." But the Village had odd standards,Mr. Rapp knew. Chacun a son gout, he had said, on moving into theapartment ten years ago. Not aloud, of course, because he had only takenone year of French, and would never have trusted his accent. But chacuna son gout, anyway.
"The television set," Mr. Rapp said, translating. "Oh, yes." He went tothe closet door and opened it. Reaching inside, he brought out animposingly large TV set, mounted on a wheeled table. The beardedrepairman whistled.
"In the closet," the repairman said, admiringly. "Crazy. You go in thereto watch it, or you let it talk to itself?"
"Oh. Well, I don't exactly watch it at all," Mr. Rapp said, a littlesadly. "I mean, I can't. That's why I called you."
"Lightning's here, have no fear," the bearded one said, approaching theset with a professional air. "Like, in the closet, hey." He bent overthe set, appraisingly. "I thought you were a square, Pops, but I can seeyou're.... Hey, this is like too much. Man, I don't want to pry, but whyis this box upside down?"
"I wish I knew," Mr. Rapp said. He sat down, and leaned back, sighing.This was going to be difficult, he knew. He had already had to explainit to the last three repairmen, and he was getting tired of explaining.Although he thought, somehow, that this young man might understand it alittle more quickly than the others had.
"I've had a couple of other repairmen look it over," Mr. Rapp told thebearded one. "They ... well, they gave up."
"Dilettantes," commented the beard.
"Oh, no," Mr. Rapp said. "One of them was from the company that made it.But they couldn't do anything."
"Let's try it," the repairman said, plugging the cord into a wallsocket. He returned to the set, and switched it on, without changingits upside down position. The big screen lit almost at once; a painedface appeared, with a large silhouetted hammer striking the image'sforehead in a