The Postman by David Brin Page B

about power levels from the Fort Rock reservoir.… Telephones were out, but he was still, oddly enough, getting Eugene on his computer data net.…”
    Abby looked at him. Apparently much of what he had said about the letter writer might as well have been in a foreign language to her. “Machine shop” and “data net” could have been ancient, magical words of power.
    “Why didn’t you bring us any letters, here in Pine View?” she asked quite suddenly.
    Gordon blinked at the non sequitur. The girl wasn’t stupid. One could tell such things. Then why had everything he said, when he arrived here, and later at the party, been completely misunderstood? She still thought he was a
mailman
, as, apparently, did all but a few of the others in this small settlement.
    From whom did she imagine they’d get mail?
    She probably didn’t realize that the letters he carried had been sent long ago, from dead men and women to other dead men and women, or that he carried them for … for his own reasons.
    The myth that had spontaneously developed here in Pine View depressed Gordon. It was one more sign of the deterioration of civilized minds, many of whom had once been high school and even college graduates. He considered telling her the truth, as brutally and frankly as he could, to stop this fantasy once and for all. He started to.
    “There aren’t any letters because …”
    He paused. Again Gordon was aware of her nearness, the scent of her and the gentle curves of her body. Of her trust, as well.
    He sighed and looked away. “There aren’t any letters for you folks because … because I’m coming west out of Idaho, and nobody back there knows you, here in Pine View. From here I’m going to the coast. There might even be some large towns left. Maybe …”
    “Maybe someone down there will write to us, if we send them a letter first!” Abby’s eyes were bright. “Then, when you pass this way again, on your way back to Idaho, you could give us the letters they send, and maybe do another play-act for us like tonight, and we’ll have so much beer and pie for you you’ll bust!” She hopped a little on the edge of the bed. “By then I’ll be able to read better, I promise!”
    Gordon shook his head and smiled. It was beyond his right to dash such dreams. “Maybe so, Abby. Maybe so. But you know, you may get to learn to read easier than that. Mrs. Thompson’s offered to put it up for a vote to let me stay on here for a while. I guess officially I’d be schoolteacher, though I’d have to prove myself as good a hunter and farmer as anybody. I could give archery lessons.…”
    He stopped. Abby’s expression was open-mouthed in surprise. She shook her head vigorously. “But you haven’t heard! They voted on it after you went to take your bath. Mrs. Thompson should be ashamed of trying to bribe a man like you that way, with your important work having to be done!”
    He sat forward, not believing his ears. “What did you say?” He had formed hopes of staying in Pine View for at least the cold season, maybe a year or more. Who could tell? Perhaps the wanderlust would leave him, and he could finally find a home.
    His sated stupor dissipated. Gordon fought to hold back his anger. To have the chance revoked on the basis of the crowd’s childish fantasies!
    Abby noticed his agitation and hurried on. “That wasn’t the only reason, of course. There was the problem of there being no woman for you. And then …” Her voice lowered perceptibly. “And then Mrs. Howlett thought you’d be perfect for helping me and Michael finally have a baby.…”
    Gordon blinked. “Um,” he said, expressing the sudden and complete contents of his mind.
    “We’ve been trying for five years,” she explained. “We really want children. But Mr. Horton thinks Michael can’t ’cause he had the mumps
really
bad when he was twelve. You remember the real bad mumps, don’t you?”
    Gordon nodded, recalling friends who had died. The