pieces, but I think that may have been outside on the grass—"
"Outside, there isn't any grass!"
"There was then. It was, of course, where the old typhoid pits had been in—"
"OH, GOD!"
"—the great epidemic of—"
" Herk! "
"What was that?"
"Herk!" THEY had control again. The phone, as a sheet of lightning exploded against the window and lit up everything in the room, went "Pzzt!"
"Herk! Herk! Herk! "
Hurley said in alarm, "Hullo, are you still there?"
The wall shrieked, "YAR—RAAAGGHHH!"
All the phones went dead.
He rose up. He ran. He flew. He had lift-off. He was up off the ground flying, turning into a blur. Auden's brain said, " My God, he can do it! " He didn't need his brain. His legs had turned into flywheels. They were flying. No, they were not sparks: it was the metal eyelets in his shoelaces—they had turned into sparks. He was glittering in the sun. Auden said, "My God, I can do it!" His feet were not touching the ground, they were hydroplaning. He had reached bow wave speed and only the minimum keel was on the surface and to the accompaniment of swelling music PT 109 was up off the water with all guns blazing shooting torpedoes as it went.
Spencer shrieked, "You can do it!" He could. Spencer shrieked, "You can!" Spencer shrieked, "GO! GO!"
He was going. The Tibetan, making for the hill with a fistful of money, looked back to sneer. He saw something the size of the Incredible Hulk moving at the speed of The Unbelievable Blur and he didn't sneer. Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive— The Tibetan, turning, still running, did a sort of trip-skip, then a hop to recover, opened his mouth, closed it again and ran .
Huh, huh, huh, huh! It was a tea kettle steaming up getting ready to blow the lid off. He heard the crowd start to roar. His feet didn't belong to him anymore, they belonged to posterity. He heard posterity roar: the crowd, the fans, the blurred faces in the stands on their feet shouting. Auden, running, no longer running, reaching Zen, passing enlightenment, unstoppable, unstopping, hit the first pain barrier at the fifty-yard mark.
The first pain barrier at the fifty-yard mark was as nothing. His brain, astounded, said to the first barrier at the fifty-yard mark, "Ha, ha!" The barrier came and went. It was still there as a faint twinge in the region of the left ventricle. The left ventricle was as nothing. All the people and traffic on the street were going: they were fading, doing a dissolve. The music in his ears was swelling. The music he heard was Chariots of Fire . He was going so fast that he was traveling in slow motion. Time for important flashbacks in his life—God, he could hardly wait for the movie! Auden, talking to his brain, said, "Flashbacks!" He hit the pain barrier at the seventy-five-yard mark and his brain said, "Aghhh!"
"GO! GO!" It was Spencer shouting, jumping up and down clutching his stopwatch. He saw the Tibetan weave his way in and out of a crowd of people standing there watching like hurdles and then Auden, not weave at all, but cleave through them like a dreadnought. Some dreadnought. If they had had dreadnoughts like that at the battle of the Dardanelles the fleet would have been in Constantinople for breakfast.
Seventy-five-yard pain barrier nothing. He had not even worked up a healthy sweat. Auden, traveling on winged feet, the air whistling cleanly in his ears and blowing out wax and all his inferiority, yelled to the Tibetan with no breathlessness at all , "Give me a race! Run faster! At least make a contest of it!" His brain was working overtime keeping his lungs supplied with air. His brain yelled at him, "Don't waste time with useless taunts!" So much for his brain. Useless taunts were what raised man up from the animals. Auden, as the Tibetan reached the bottom of the ninety-degree hill and turned back to glance at him with fear on his face, yelled, "Sagarmatha Hill—think you can make it?" The Tibetan went up the hill
"Outside, there isn't any grass!"
"There was then. It was, of course, where the old typhoid pits had been in—"
"OH, GOD!"
"—the great epidemic of—"
" Herk! "
"What was that?"
"Herk!" THEY had control again. The phone, as a sheet of lightning exploded against the window and lit up everything in the room, went "Pzzt!"
"Herk! Herk! Herk! "
Hurley said in alarm, "Hullo, are you still there?"
The wall shrieked, "YAR—RAAAGGHHH!"
All the phones went dead.
He rose up. He ran. He flew. He had lift-off. He was up off the ground flying, turning into a blur. Auden's brain said, " My God, he can do it! " He didn't need his brain. His legs had turned into flywheels. They were flying. No, they were not sparks: it was the metal eyelets in his shoelaces—they had turned into sparks. He was glittering in the sun. Auden said, "My God, I can do it!" His feet were not touching the ground, they were hydroplaning. He had reached bow wave speed and only the minimum keel was on the surface and to the accompaniment of swelling music PT 109 was up off the water with all guns blazing shooting torpedoes as it went.
Spencer shrieked, "You can do it!" He could. Spencer shrieked, "You can!" Spencer shrieked, "GO! GO!"
He was going. The Tibetan, making for the hill with a fistful of money, looked back to sneer. He saw something the size of the Incredible Hulk moving at the speed of The Unbelievable Blur and he didn't sneer. Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive— The Tibetan, turning, still running, did a sort of trip-skip, then a hop to recover, opened his mouth, closed it again and ran .
Huh, huh, huh, huh! It was a tea kettle steaming up getting ready to blow the lid off. He heard the crowd start to roar. His feet didn't belong to him anymore, they belonged to posterity. He heard posterity roar: the crowd, the fans, the blurred faces in the stands on their feet shouting. Auden, running, no longer running, reaching Zen, passing enlightenment, unstoppable, unstopping, hit the first pain barrier at the fifty-yard mark.
The first pain barrier at the fifty-yard mark was as nothing. His brain, astounded, said to the first barrier at the fifty-yard mark, "Ha, ha!" The barrier came and went. It was still there as a faint twinge in the region of the left ventricle. The left ventricle was as nothing. All the people and traffic on the street were going: they were fading, doing a dissolve. The music in his ears was swelling. The music he heard was Chariots of Fire . He was going so fast that he was traveling in slow motion. Time for important flashbacks in his life—God, he could hardly wait for the movie! Auden, talking to his brain, said, "Flashbacks!" He hit the pain barrier at the seventy-five-yard mark and his brain said, "Aghhh!"
"GO! GO!" It was Spencer shouting, jumping up and down clutching his stopwatch. He saw the Tibetan weave his way in and out of a crowd of people standing there watching like hurdles and then Auden, not weave at all, but cleave through them like a dreadnought. Some dreadnought. If they had had dreadnoughts like that at the battle of the Dardanelles the fleet would have been in Constantinople for breakfast.
Seventy-five-yard pain barrier nothing. He had not even worked up a healthy sweat. Auden, traveling on winged feet, the air whistling cleanly in his ears and blowing out wax and all his inferiority, yelled to the Tibetan with no breathlessness at all , "Give me a race! Run faster! At least make a contest of it!" His brain was working overtime keeping his lungs supplied with air. His brain yelled at him, "Don't waste time with useless taunts!" So much for his brain. Useless taunts were what raised man up from the animals. Auden, as the Tibetan reached the bottom of the ninety-degree hill and turned back to glance at him with fear on his face, yelled, "Sagarmatha Hill—think you can make it?" The Tibetan went up the hill
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