SELLER OF THE SKY
BY DAVE DRYFOOS
No one took Old Arch seriously; he was just an
ancient, broken-down wanderer who went about seeking
alms and spreading tales of the great Outside. But
sometimes children are curious and believing when
adults are cynical and doubting....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, February 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
There have always been the touched, the blessés, God's poor. Such a onewas Old Arch. Archer Jakes, the Wanderer of the Plains.
They say he was born on Earth in 3042 and taken to Mazzeppa as a child.That he learned pilotage and mining. But that he was injured in acave-in on Hurretni in 3068 or thereabouts, and then his wife died in alanding accident and his child was taken from him and adopted by peoplehe never could find.
Those things are too far distant in time and space to be verified now.But it is a fact that by 4000, when my grandfather Hockington Hammerwas growing up in New Oshkosh, Old Arch was a familiar figure in allthe Domed Cities of the Plains.
He looked ancient then, with his deformed back that people touched forluck, and his wild hair and beard, and ragged castoff clothing. On hisback he carried a roll of cloth he called his bed, though it lookedlike no bed any City man had ever seen. In his right hand he carrieda staff of wood, unless someone bought it from him and gave him aplastic rod in its place. And in his left he carried what he called abilly can, which was a food container with a loop of wire across thetop for a handle, and the bottom blackened by what he said was fire.
It would have been like no fire any City man had ever seen. Even thewater in the can would be poison to a City man. When he came in theairlocks the guards would make him throw it away.
"Why the lock?" he'd demand, coming into a City. "Why the lock and whythe plastic bubble over all and why the guards? There's no pollution.Am I not alive?"
The guards would touch his hump and make circular motions at the sidesof their heads and raise their eyebrows as if to say, "Yes, you'realive. But are you not crazy?"
Still they would admit him, the only nonresident to walk between theDomed Cities of the Plains and enter all of them; the only man to passunharmed through the camps of the Outsiders who lived in the open onthe Plains at the heart of the North American Continent of Earth.
And Old Arch would go to the residence buildings and he'd knock onsomeone's door—any door, chosen at random—and he'd say, "Have youseen the sky and do you know it's blue? Have you felt the soft kiss ofthe breezes? I can show you where to breathe fresh air."
Maybe the people would say, "Phew! Does it smell like you, this freshair?" and slam the door in his face.
Or maybe they'd say, "Come on around to the back, Old Man, and we'llfind you something to eat."
Then Old Arch would shoulder his bed and pick up his billy can and hisstaff and walk down the stairs and go around to the back and walk upthe stairs to the rear door.
It might be an hour before he appeared there—it might be two. When hedid, the people would ask, "Why didn't you say something? You shouldhave known they wouldn't let you in the elevator! And twenty flightsdown and twenty flights up again is too much for a man of your years."
Then, the next time he came they would do the same thing again.
In the kitchen he would refuse