Transcriber's Note:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For a complete list, please see the end of this document.
This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction, December 1963.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyrighton this publication was renewed.
AND ALL THE EARTH A GRAVE
BY C.C. MacAPP
ILLUSTRATED BY GAUGHAN
There's nothing wrong withdying—it just hasn't everhad the proper sales pitch!
It all began when the new bookkeeping machine of a large Midwesterncoffin manufacturer slipped a cog, or blew a transistor, or something.It was fantastic that the error—one of two decimal places—shouldenjoy a straight run of okays, human and mechanical, clear down theline; but when the figures clacked out at the last clacking-outstation, there it was. The figures were now sacred; immutable; and itis doubtful whether the President of the concern or the Chairman ofthe Board would have dared question them—even if either of those twogentlemen had been in town.
As for the Advertising Manager, the last thing he wanted to do wasquestion them. He carried them (they were the budget for the comingfiscal year) into his office, staggering a little on the way, anddropped dazedly into his chair. They showed the budget for his owndepartment as exactly one hundred times what he'd been expecting. Thatis to say, fifty times what he'd put in for.
When the initial shock began to wear off, his face assumed anexpression of intense thought. In about five minutes he leaped fromhis chair, dashed out of the office with a shouted syllable or two forhis secretary, and got his car out of the parking lot. At home, hetossed clothes into a travelling bag and barged toward the door,giving his wife a quick kiss and an equally quick explanation. Hedidn't bother to call the airport. He meant to be on the next planeeast, and no nonsense about it....
With one thing and another, the economy hadn't been exactly inoverdrive that year, and predictions for the Christmas season weregloomy. Early [127]retail figures bore them out. Gift buying dribbledalong feebly until Thanksgiving, despite brave speeches by theAdministration. The holiday passed more in self-pity than inthankfulness among owners of gift-oriented businesses.
Then, on Friday following Thanksgiving, the coffin ads struck.
Struck may be too mild a word. People on the streets sawfeverishly-working crews (at holiday rates!) slapping up posters onbillboards. The first poster was a dilly. A toothy and toothsome youngwoman leaned over a coffin she'd been unwrapping. She smiled as ifshe'd just received overtures of matrimony from an eighty-year-oldbillionaire. There was a Christmas tree in the background, and thecoffin was appropriately wrapped. So was she. She looked as if she hadjust gotten out of bed, or were ready to get into it. For amorousyoung men, and some not so young, the message was plain. The motto,"The Gift That Will Last More Than a Lifetime", seemed hardly to thepoint.
Those at home were assailed on TV with a variety of bright and cleverskits of the same import. Some of them hinted that, if the younglady's gratitude were really precipitous, and the bedroom too faraway, the coffin might be comfy.
Of course the more settled elements of the population were notneglected. For the older married man, th