by Mike Resnick
“My father used to tell me a bedtime story when I went to sleep,” said Julia. “Would you tell me a fairy tale?”
“You’ve never asked me for one,” I blurted out.
“You don’t know any,” she replied.
I had to admit she was right.
“I’ll be happy to,” said Philip. “Shall we lower the light a little—just in case you fall asleep?”
She nodded, spread her pillows out, and lay her head back on one of them.
He reached for the lamp in the wall above the nightstand—the only thing I’d added to the room since he’d left. When he couldn’t find a switch, he remembered that it worked by voice command and ordered it to dim itself. Then, in the same room where she had told him a fairy tale almost every night, he told one to her.
“Once there was a young man,” he began.
“No,” said Julia. He stopped and looked at her curiously. “If this is a fairy tale, he has to be a prince.”
“You’re right, of course. Once there was a prince,”
She nodded her approval. “That’s better.” Then: “What was his name?”
“What do you think his name was?”
“Prince Philip,” said Julia.
“You’re absolutely right,” he replied. “Once there was a prince named Philip. He was a very well-behaved young man, and tried always to do the bidding of the King and Queen. He studied chivalry and jousting and any number of princely things—but when his classes were done and his weapons were polished and put away and he’d finished his dinner, he would go to his room and read about fabulous places like Oz and Wonderland. He knew that such places couldn’t exist, but he wished they could, and every time he found a book or a holo about a new one he would read it or watch it, and wish that somehow, someday he could visit such places.”
“I know just how he felt!” said Julia with a happy smile on the wrinkled face that I still loved. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to walk along the yellow brick road with the Scarecrow and the Tin Man, or to have a conversation with the Cheshire Cat, or visit the Walrus and the Carpenter?”
“That’s what Prince Philip thought too,” he agreed. He leaned forward dramatically. “And then one day he made a wonderful discovery.”
She sat up and clapped her hands together in her excitement. “He learned how to get to Oz!”
“Not Oz, but an even more wonderful place.”
She leaned back, suddenly tired from her efforts. “I’m very glad! Is that the end?”
He shook his head. “No, it isn’t. Because you see, nobody in this place looked like the Prince or his parents. He couldn’t understand the people who lived there and they couldn’t understand him. And they were afraid of anyone who looked and sounded different.”
“Most people are,” she said sleepily, her eyes closed. “Did he wear a Halloween costume too?”
“Yes,” said Philip. “But it was a very special costume.”
“Oh?” she said, opening her eyes again. “How?”
“Once he put it on, he could never take it off again,” explained Philip.
“A magic costume!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, but it meant that he could never be the King of his parents’ country, and his father the King was very, very angry at him. But he knew he would never have another chance to visit such a wondrous kingdom again, so he donned the costume and he left his palace and went to live in the magical kingdom.”
“Was the costume uncomfortable to put on?” she asked, her voice very briefly more alert than it had been.
“Very,” he answered, which was something I’d never thought about before. “But he never complained, because he never doubted that it was worth it. And he went to this mystical land, and he saw a thousand strange and beautiful things. Every day there was a new wonder, every night a new vision.”
“And he lived happily ever after?” asked Julia.
“So far.”
“And did he marry a beautiful princess?”
“Not yet,” said Philip. “But he has hopes.”
“I think that’s a beautiful fairy tale,” she said.
“Thank you, Julia.”
“You can call me Mother,” she said, her voice sharp and cogent. “You were right to go.” She turned to me, and somehow I could tell it was the old Julia, the real Julia, looking at me. “And you had better make your peace with our son.”
And as quickly as she said it, the old Julia vanished as she did so often these days, and she was once again the Julia I’d grown used to for the past year. She lay back on the pillow, and looked at our son once more.
“I’ve forgotten your name,” she said apologetically.
“Philip.”
“Philip,” she repeated. “What a nice name.” A pause. “Is it Halloween?”
Before he could answer she was asleep. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek with his misshapen lips, then stood up and walked to the door.
“I’ll leave now,” he said as I followed him out of her room.
“Not yet,” I said.
He stared at me expectantly.
“Come on into the kitchen,” I said.
He followed me down the shabby hallway, and when we got there I pulled out a couple of beers, popped them open, and poured two glasses.
“Did it hurt that much?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s over and done with.”
“There really are crystal mountains?”
He nodded.
“And flowers that talk?”
“Yes.”
“Come into the living room with me,” I said, heading out of the kitchen. When we got there I sat in an easy chair and gestured for him to sit down on the sofa.
“What is this about?” he asked.
“Was it really that special?” I asked. “That much of an honor?”
“There were more than six thousand candidates for the position,” he said. “I beat them all.”
“It must have cost them a pretty penny to make you what you are.”
“More than you can imagine.”
I took a sip of my beer. “Let’s talk.”
“We’ve talked about Mother,” he replied. “All that’s left is the Pythons, and I haven’t kept up with them.”
“There’s more.”
“Oh?”
“Tell me about Wonderland,” I said.
He stayed for three days, slept in the long-unused guest room, and then he had to go back. He invited me to come visit him, and I promised I would. But of course I can’t leave Julia, and by the time she’s gone I’ll probably be a little too old and a little too infirm, and it’s a long, grueling, expensive trip.
But it’s comforting to know that if I ever do find a way to get there, I’ll be greeted by a loving son who can show his old man around the place and point out all the sights to him.
CONTRIBUTORS
Carol Resnick claims to be a non-writer, but she has co-authored two screenplays.
Gardner Dozois is a multiple Nebula winner as a writer, a multiple Hugo winner as an editor, and has been a Worldcon Guest of Honor.
Nancy Kress is a multiple Hugo and Nebula winner.
Harry Turtledove is an international bestseller and Hugo winner.
Connie Willis has won more Hugos and more Nebulas than any other writer in history, and has been a Worldcon Guest of Honor.
Laura Resnick is a Campbell Award winner.
Janis Ian is a superstar in the music field, a Grammy winner, and a science fiction writer.
Ralph Roberts is a publisher, and the author of more than one hundred books and four screenplays.
Barry Malzberg is a multiple Hugo and Nebula nominee, and won the very first John Campbell Memorial Award.
John Scalzi is a Campbell and Hugo Award winner, as well as a Nebula, Norton, and multiple Hugo nominee.
Nick DiChario is a Campbell, World Fantasy, and multiple Hugo Award nominee.
Kristine Kathryn Rusch has won Hugos as both an editor and
a writer, is a Campbell winner, and is the former editor of both F&SF and Pulphouse.
Michael Stackpole is a New York Times bestseller.
Susan Shwartz is a multiple Hugo and Nebula nominee.
Lou Anders is a Hugo and Chesley winner, and a multiple Hugo nominee for Best Editor.
Michael Swanwick is a 5-time Hugo winner, and a Nebula, Sturgeon, and World Fantasy winner as well.
Kay Kenyon is a Campbell, Philip K. Dick, and multiple Endeavor Award nominee.
David Brin is a Nebula winner, a multiple Hugo winner, and has been a Worldcon Guest of Honor.
Jack McDevitt is a Nebula winner, and a multiple Hugo and Nebula nominee.
Eric Flint is the author of numerous bestsellers, publisher of the Grantville Gazette, and former editor of Jim Baen’s Universe.
Kevin J. Anderson is the author of more than 40 international bestsellers, and is a Nebula nominee.
Robert Silverberg is a multiple Hugo and Nebula winner, a Nebula Grandmaster, and a former Worldcon Guest of Honor.
Catherine Asaro is a multiple Nebula winner.
Sheila Williams is a Hugo winner and multiple Hugo nominee as Best Editor.
Michael A. Burstein is a Campbell winner and a multiple Hugo nominee.
Robert J. Sawyer is the winner of the Hugo, Nebula, Aurora and Campbell Awards, as well as being a publisher.
Lezli Robyn is an Ictineus winner, and a Campbell and Aurealis nominee.
James Patrick Kelly is a multiple Hugo winner and a Nebula winner.
Bill Fawcett is the author and/or editor and/or packager of more than three hundred books.
Kij Johnson is a multiple Nebula winner, a Sturgeon Award winner, and a Hugo nominee.
Brad R. Torgersen is a Writers of the Future winner, and a 2012 Hugo, Nebula and Campbell nominee.
WIN SOME, LOSE SOME
August 2012
Win Some, Lose Some by Mike Resnick was published by ISFiC Press, 707 Sapling Lane, Deerfield, Illinois 60015. One thousand copies have been printed by Thomson-Shore, Inc. The typeset is Adobe Garamond and ITC Anna, printed on 50# Nature’s Natural. The binding cloth is Arrestox B Mahogany. Book design by Robert T. Garcia, Garcia Publishing Services, Woodstock, Illinois
