Futuria Fantasia, Spring 1940

by Various

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  futuria fantasia

  Spring 1940

  vol. 1. no. 4.

  Ray D. Bradbury editor

  ten cents

  _CONTENTS_]

  COVER Hannes Bok

  3 GOLGONO AND SLITH Ray Bradbury

  4 HEIL! Lyle Monroe

  7 THE PHANTOMS J.E. Kelleam

  8 THOTS ON THE WORLD STATE Hank Kuttner

  9 WOULD YOU? J.H. Haggard

  10 THE PIPER Ron Reynolds

  14 THE ITCHING HOUR Damon Knight

  15 THE FLIRTENFLOG Hannes V. Bok

  16 BOKARICATURE Hannes V. Bok

  17 NINEVAH J.E. Kelleam

  18 advertisements

  19 ART: CREATURES FROM LORELEI Hannes V. Bok

  FUTURIA FANTASIA IS PUBLISHED IRREGULARLY AND GESTATED AT THE DOW-JONESBUYING LEVEL OF TEN CENTS AN ISSUE. THE FIFTH ISSUE WILL BE SCARING YOUAROUND ABOUT HALLOWEEN--SEND YOUR DIME TO EDITOR BRADBURY AT #3054 1/2W. 12th St. Los Angeles, Calif. CONTRIBUTIONS WILL BE HAPPILY FONDLEDAND SEWED UP IN A GREEN VELVET SACK. ALL STORIES SUBMITTED MUST BESHAVED AND IN THE COMPANY OF ADULT MARTIANS.

  gorgono _and_ slith--

  "Let us, by all means, be lucid," said Gorgono to Slith. Slith flutteredhis reptile tongue and turned his morbid eyes to me. "Yes," he said,"let us, certainly be lucid, Bradbury. From now on use a contents pagein Futuria Fantasia." And he spanked his tail slickly on my typewriter.

  I don't mind Slith so much, he's only a little anachronistic reptile, adescendent of happier days in dinosaurial dawndom. I never feared Slith.But Gorgono!

  Gorgono pierced me with his slanting green, clear eyes, heavy-lidded,extending one claw and attempting to keep it from shaking while hispointed ears stood up straight. A moment before he had been huntingfleas in the fertile hair that clothed his muscular limbs, but now hewas serious; so very serious it frightened me.

  And when the thunder-voiced, evil-eyed, shaggy haired and monstrousGorgono reclined on the shelf over my head, saliva drooling with silentprecision from his pendulous lips, and gave orders I hastened to obeythem. Gorgono was the voice of the critics--the ogre of opinion, theharsh guttural commandment of style and fashion. And now Gorgono hadgrumbled, "Number your pages from now on, MISTER Bradbury or else YOURnumber'll be up. Why, Gad, man, the last issue of Futuria Fantasia Ididn't know if I was coming or going, the way you heiroglyphed thesheets. And I might add, you're going to use even margins from here onin."

  "Okay, okay, okay," I said, slinking with flushed visage behind mystencils. "But from now on Futuria Fantasia will be ten cents straightan issue. Ten cents straight." "Agreed," snapped Gorgono, "if you areneater. But you must be new, neotiric, different." Then I flashed themthe newly processed cover done by Bok. "Gods!" bellowed Gorgono. "Thatis stupendous! A fine beginning, mortal, a very fine beginning!" Slithagreed by pounding vigorously on the table with his scaly rump. "Andwait until you read Monroe's yarn," I jubilantly exclaimed. "It's notscience-fiction, but it's certainly a fine bit of story." "Yes," saidGorgono, "this issue looks much better. Glad to see you've added two newauthors, Damon Knight and Joe Kelleam from Astounding. I'll have toremind the fans to send in their dimes for this issue and perhapssupport you a little more than they have with letters. But we'll seeabout that." He got up, stretched, yawned, and vanished in a belchingball of flame. "Yes," said Slith, "we'll see!" And he too vanished witha sharp pop. All was quiet. I went back to my stencils and my opium.

  THE EDITOR.

  HEIL!

  by _LYLE MONROE_

  "How dare you make such a suggestion!"

  The state physician doggedly stuck by his position. "I would not makeit, sire, it your life were not at stake. There is no other surgeon inthe Fatherland who can transplant a pituitary gland but Doctor Lans."

  "You will operate!"

  The medico shook his head. "You would die, Leader. My skill is notadequate. And unless the operation takes place at once, you will_certainly_ die."

  The Leader stormed about the apartment. He seemed about to give way toone of the girlish bursts of anger that even the inner state cliquefeared so much. Surprisingly he capitulated.

  "Bring him here!" he ordered.

  DOCTOR LANS FACED THE LEADER with inherent dignity, a dignity andpresence that three years of "protective custody" had been unable toshake. The pallor and gauntness of the concentration camp lay upon him,but his race was used to oppression. "I see," he said. "Yes, I see ... Ican perform that operation. What are your terms?"

  "Terms?" The Leader was aghast. "Terms, you filthy swine? You are beinggiven a chance to redeem in part the sins of your race!"

  The surgeon raised his brows. "Do you not think I _know_ that you wouldnot have sent for me had there been any other course available to you?Obviously, my services have become valuable."

  "You'll do as you are told! You and your kind are lucky to be alive."

  "Nevertheless I shall not operate without my fee."

  "I said you were lucky to be alive--" The tone was an open threat.

  Lans spread his hands. "Well--I am an old man...."

  The Leader smiled. "True. But I am informed that you have a--afamily...."

  The surgeon moistened his lips. His Emma--they would hurt his Emma ...and his little Rose. But he must be brave, as Emma would have him be. Hewas playing for high stakes--for all of them. "They cannot be worse offdead," he answered firmly, "than they are now."

  It was many hours before the Leader was convinced that Lans could not bebudged. He should have known--the surgeon had learned fortitude at hismother's breast.

  "What is your fee?"

  "A passport for myself and my family."

  "Good riddance."

  "My personal fortune restored to me--"

  "Very well."

  "--to be paid in gold before I operate!"

  The Leader started to object automatically, then checked himselfquickly. Let the presumptuous fool think so! It could be corrected afterthe operation.

  "And the operation to take place in a hospital on foreign soil."

  "Preposterous."

  "I must insist."

  "You do not trust me?"

  Lans stared straight back into his eyes without replying. The Leaderstruck him, hard, across the mouth. The surgeon made no effort to avoidthe blow, but took it, with no change of expression.

  "YOU ARE WILLING TO GO THROUGH WITH IT, SAMUEL?" The younger man lookedat Doctor Lans without fear as he answered,

  "Certainly, Doctor."

  "I can not guarantee that you will recover. The Leader's pituitary glandis diseased; when I exchange it for your healthy one your younger onemay not be able to stand up under it--that is the chance you take.Besides--a complete transplanting has never been done before."

  "I know it--but I'm out of the concentration camp!"

  "Yes. Yes, that is true. And if you do recover, you are free. And I willattend you myself, until you are well enough to travel."

  Samuel smiled. "It will be a positive joy to be sick in a country wherethere are no concentration camps!"

  "Very well, then. Let us commence."

  They returned to the silent, nervous group at the other end of the room.Grimly the money was counted out, every penny that the famo
us surgeonhad laid claim to before the Leader had decided that men of his religionhad no need for money. Lans placed half of the gold in a money belt andstrapped it around his waist. His wife concealed the other halfsomewhere about her ample person.

  IT WAS AN hour and twenty minutes later that Lans put down the lastinstrument, nodded to the surgeons assisting him, and commenced to stripoff operating gloves. He took one last look at his two patients beforehe left the room. They were anonymous under the sterile gowns anddressings. Had he not known, he could not have guessed dictator fromoppressed. Come to think of it, with the exchange of those two tinyglands there was something of the dictator in his victim and somethingof the victim in the dictator.

  DOCTOR LANS RETURNED TO THE hospital later in the day, after seeing hiswife and daughter safely settled in a first class hotel. It was anextravagence, in view of his uncertain prospects as a refugee, but theyhad enjoyed no luxuries for years back _there_--he didn't consider ithis home country--and it was justified this once.

  He inquired at the office of the hospital for his second patient. Theclerk looked puzzled. "But he is not here...."

  "Not here?"

  "Why, no. He was moved at the same time as His Excellency--back to yourcountry."

  Lans did not argue. The trick was obvious; it was too late to doanything for poor Samuel. He thanked his God that he had had theforesight to place himself and his family beyond the reach of suchbrutal injustice before operating. He thanked the clerk and left.

  THE LEADER RECOVERED CONSCIOUSNESS AT LAST. His brain was confused--thenhe recalled the events before he had gone to sleep. The operation!--itwas over! And he was alive! He had never admitted to anyone how terriblyfrightened he had been at the prospect. But he had lived--he had lived!He groped around for the bellcord, and failing to find it, graduallyforced his eyes to focus on the room. What outrageous nonsense was this?This was no sort of a room for the Leader to convalesce in. He took inthe dirty white-washed ceiling, and the bare wooden floor with distaste.And the bed! It was no more than a cot!

  He shouted. Someone came in, a man wearing a uniform of a trooper in hisfavorite corps. He started to give him the tongue-lashing of his life,before having him arrested. But he was cut short.

  "Cut out the racket, you unholy pig!"

  At first he was too astounded to answer, then he shrieked, "Stand atattention when you address the Leader! Salute!"

  The trooper looked dumbfounded at the sick man--so totally different inappearance from the Leader, then guffawed. He stepped to the cot, strucka pose with his right arm raised in salute. He carried a rubbertruncheon in it. "Hail to our Leader!" he shouted, and brought his armdown smartly. The truncheon crashed into the sick man's cheek bone.

  Another trooper came in to see what the noise was while the first wasstill laughing at his wittcism. "What's up, Jon? Say, you'd better nothandle that monkey too rough--he's still carried on the hospital list."He glanced casually at the bloody face.

  "Him? Didn't you know?" Jon pulled him to one side and whispered.

  The second man's eyes widened; he grinned. "So? They don't want him toget well, eh? Well, I could use a little exercise this morning--"

  "Let's get Fats," the other suggested. "He's always so very amusing withhis ideas."

  "Good idea." He stepped to the door and bellowed, "Hey, Fats!"

  They didn't really start in on him until Fats was there to help.

  THE END

  the phantoms

  _by_----Joseph E. Kellerman

  All day they played among the purple flowers That lay like frozen flames upon the lawn; Or dreamed within the shadows of the towers Whose turret tops were painted as the dawn. Bright was the garden; peace went everywhere There was no breath of movement nor any sound Save butterflies that clove the heavy air, Or when the bright fruit dropped slowly to the ground. Then the flowers drooped, from sliver thorns that tore; Too soon the sun had died in amber smoke, And frightened now but silent as before The phantoms watched the garden change its cloak. Great sable moths flew out, and one by one The towers melted with the fallen sun.

  * * * * *

  This is a plug [1] for the Voice of the IMAGI-NATION. price 10c from Box 6475 Met Sta Los Angeles Cal.

  [Footnote 1: The Art (Widner & otherwise) is a bit better.]

  _THOUGHTS ON THE_ WORLDSTATE

  _by henry kuttner_

  [Sidenote: The hideous Mr. Kuttner returns with an equally hideous tale.We absolutely guarantee this story will induce nausea and slightregurgitation. Lead on, McKuttner!]

  I have, as usual, been brooding over the intricacies of moderncivilization. It seems to me that life is a peculiarly futile business.This mood of mine may, perhaps, be attributed to my recent tragicencounter with a horse at the corner of 42nd and Broadway.

  I shall not dwell upon that incident, save to mention briefly thathorses should, at least, be careful of what they eat. One never knowsthe result of the most innocent action, and that, by imperceptibledegrees, brings me to the subject of this article, PLAYING FAIR WITHFANS, or, FANTASTIC DECENCY.

  It has been said (and very loudly, too) that fans fight a lot. Well, Ido not care to refute that; I happen to know that a Californian fan, aMr. Ackerman, is in the habit of knocking down visitors and kicking themin strategic places. The question naturally arises, does fantasy lead tosadism?

  I am reminded of the remarkable case of Scarlett O'God, an ardent fanwhose tininess led to her being occasionally called by the diminutive,or fanny. This may seem somewhat confusing at first glance. Let us,therefore, go hastily on to the next paragraph.

  I should, perhaps, mention a mysterious white-bearded gentleman calledTarboth the damned, or Toby, since he played a significant role in theincident. It was he who listened, toying at his beard idly, whileScarlett feverishly upheld her position against the onslaughts of herfoes. Just what caused the argument I cannot recall at the moment. Nordoes it matter especially. I believe it had something to do withScarlett's being locked out of the Sanctuary, or Washroom, by previousarrivals.

  Mocked, scorned, and jeered at, Scarlett at first said nothing.Ultimately, however, she lost her temper and cursed her enemies roundly."I would," she observed with feeling, "sell my soul to the devil inorder to obtain vengeance!"

  At this moment the white-bearded gentleman smiled unpleasently andvanished. Simultaneously lightning struck the Sanctuary and demolishedit, to the natural discomfiture of the occupants. Laughing in atriumphant manner, Scarlett departed.

  But the seeds of doom were already sown within her soul. Not until shewas soaked to the skin did she realize the ghastly and hideous truth.Then, looking up, she saw that above her hovered a small black cloud,from which rain was steadily descending. As she realized the terror ofher position, black horror flooded the girl. SHE HAD BECOME ALLERGIC TOWEATHER!

  Well, after that, of course, matters got steadily worse. She was drivenfrom home, after blasting the bathtub and spoiling a valuable Angorakitten. (It was later made into a muff, but moths got into it. That,however, is another story, and not an especially good one.)

  Poor Scarlett was excluded from all fan gatherings. Sun stroke andeclipse were her constant companions. She came with the deluge and wasgone with the wind.

  The girl was utterly friendless. She roamed wildly here and there,haggard, careworn and miserable, in a tattered gown made from the coversof AMAZING STORIES. At night people could hear her moaning under theirwindows, and they huddled closer to the fire, whispering, "Fetch aft therum, Darby! Evil walks abroad tonight and I feel my soul shudder in me.No soda, thanks!"

  Hopeless and forlorn, Scarlett stowed away on a schooner out for HongKong. But she was discovered, cursed for a Jonah, and set ashore on acannibal isle in the South Seas.

  It was a blessing in disguise. The natives mistook her for a goddess.They were used to bad weather, and did not attribute the altered climateto Scarlett.

  So they garla
nded her with leis and made her their queen.

  And she rained happily ever after.

  Would you stroll with me, my loved one 'Neath the pale Venusian Moon, Where its misty orb goes drifting, Waning, darling, all too soon? Would you gaze into the rainbow Where the lunar moonbeams play, Could it be you'd softly answer "Yes, for all those things I pray?" If it's so, my darling, kick me, For I'd surely be a ninny, Making love by Venus moonlight-- When--you see--there isn't any!

  by J. HARVEY HAGGARD

  _THE PIPER_

  _ron reynolds_

  "LORD! HE'S THERE AGAIN! HE'S THERE! LOOK!" the old man croaked, jabbinga calloused finger at the burial hill. "Old Piper again! As crazy as aloon! Every year that way!"

  The Martian boy at the feet of the old man stirred his thin reddish feetin the soil and affixed his large green eyes upon the burial hill wherethe Piper stood. "Why does he do that?" asked the boy.

  "Ah?" The old man's leathery face rumpled into a maze of wrinkles. "He'scrazy, that's what. Stands up there piping on his music from sunsetuntil dawn."

  The thin piping sounds squealed in the dusk, echoed back from the lowhills, were lost in melancholy silence, fading. Then louder, higher,insanely, crying with shrill voice.

  The Piper was a tall, gaunt man, face as pale and wan as Martian moons,eyes electrical purple, standing against the soft of the dusking heaven,holding his pipe to his lips, playing. The Piper--a silhouette--asymbol--a melody.