The Year's Best SF 08 # 1990

by Gardner Dozois (ed)

what will happen to me when he’s born?

  When they came back from Spain was when he agreed to the Mayo Clinic, still all beat up from the plane crashes six years before in Africa, liver and spleen shot to hell, brain too, nerves, can’t write or can’t stop: all day on one damned sentence for the Kennedy book but a hundred thousand fast words, pure shit, for the bullfight article. Paris book okay but stuck. Great to find the trunks in the Ritz but none of the stuff Hadley lost.

  Here it stops. A frozen tableau:

  Afternoon light slanting in through the tall cloudy windows of the Cambon bar, where he had liberated, would liberate, the hotel in August 1944. A good large American-style martini gulped too fast in the excitement. The two small trunks unpacked and laid out item by item. Hundreds of pages of notes that would become the Paris book. But nothing before ’23, of course. the manuscripts The novel and the stories and the poems still gone. One moment nailed down with the juniper sting of the martini and then time crawling rolling flying backwards again—

  no control?

  Months blurring by, Madrid Riviera Venice feeling sick and busted up, the plane wrecks like a quick one-two punch brain and body, blurry sick even before them at the Finca Vigia, can’t get a fucking thing done after the Nobel Prize, journalists day and night, the prize bad luck and bullshit anyhow but need the $35,000

  damn, had to shoot Willie, cat since the boat-time before the war, but winged a burglar too, same gun, just after the Pulitzer, now that was all right

  slowing down again—Havana—the Floridita—

  Even Mary having a good time, and the Basque jai alai players too though they don’t know much English, most of them, interesting couple of civilians, the doctor and the Kraut lookalike, but there’s something about the boy that makes it hard to take my eyes off him, looks like someone I guess, another round of Papa Dobles, that boy, what is it about him? and then the first round, with lunch, and things speeding up to a blur again.

  out on the Gulf a lot, enjoying the triumph of The Old Man and the Sea, the easy good-paying work of providing fishing footage for the movie, and then back into 1951, the worst year of his life that far, weeks of grudging conciliation, uncontrollable anger, and black-ass depression from the poisonous critical slime that followed Across the River, bastards gunning for him, Harold Ross dead, mother Grace dead, son Gregory a dope addict hip-deep into the dianetics horseshit, Charlie Scribner dead but first declaring undying love for that asshole Jones

  most of the forties an anxious blur, Cuba Italy Cuba France Cuba China found Mary kicked Martha out, thousand pages on the fucking Eden book wouldn’t come together Bronze Star better than Pulitzer

  Martha a chromeplated bitch in Europe but war is swell otherwise, liberating the Ritz, grenades rifles pistols and bomb runs with the RAF, China boring compared to it and the Q-ship runs off Cuba, hell, maybe the bitch was right for once, just kid stuff and booze

  marrying the bitch was the end of my belle epoch, easy to see from here, the thirties all sunshine Key West Spain Key West Africa Key West, good hard writing with Pauline holding down the store, good woman but sorry I had to

  sorry I had to divorce

  stopping

  Walking Paris streets after midnight:

  I was never going to throw back at her losing the manuscripts. Told Steffens that would be like blaming a human for the weather, or death. These things happen. Nor say anything about what I did the night after I found out she really had lost them. But this one time we got to shouting and I think I hurt her. Why the hell did she have to bring the carbons what the hell did she think carbons were for stupid stupid stupid and she crying and she giving me hell about Pauline Jesus any woman who could fuck up Paris for you could fuck up a royal flush

  it slows down around the manuscripts or me—

  golden years the mid-twenties everything clicks Paris Vorarlburg Paris Schruns Paris Pamplona Paris Madrid Paris Lausanne

  couldn’t believe she actually

  most of a novel dozens of poems stories sketches—contes, Kitty called them by God woman you show me your conte and I’ll show you mine

  so drunk that night I know better than to drink that much absinthe so drunk I was half crawling going up the stairs to the apartment I saw weird I saw God I saw I saw myself standing there on the fourth landing with Hadley’s goddamn bag

  I waited almost an hour, that seemed like no time or all time, and when he, when I, when he came crashing up the stairs he blinked twice, then I walked through me groping, shook my head without looking back and managed to get the door unlocked

  flying back through the dead winter French countryside, standing in the bar car fighting hopelessness to Hadley crying so hard she can’t get out what was wrong with Steffens standing gaping like a fish in a bowl

  twisting again, painlessly inside-out, I suppose through various dimensions, seeing the man’s life as one complex chord of beauty and purpose and ugliness and chaos, my life on one side of the Moebius strip consistent through its fading forty-year span, starting, starting, here:

  the handsome young man sits on the floor of the apartment holding himself, rocking racked with sobs, one short manuscript crumpled in front of him, the room a mess with drawers pulled out, their contents scattered on the floor, it’s like losing an arm a leg (a foot a testicle), it’s like losing your youth and along with youth

  with a roar he stands up, eyes closed fists clenched, wipes his face dry and stomps over to the window

  breathes deeply until he’s breathing normally

  strides across the room, kicking a brassiere out of his way

  stands with his hand on the knob and thinks this:

  life can break you but you can grow back strong at the broken places

  and goes out slamming the door behind him, somewhat conscious of having been present at his own birth.

  With no effort I find myself standing earlier that day in the vestibule of a train. Hadley is walking away, tired, looking for a vendor. I turn and confront two aspects of myself.

  “Close your mouth, John. You’ll catch flies.”

  They both stand paralyzed while I slide open the door and pull the overnight bag from under the seat. I walk away and the universe begins to tingle and sparkle.

  I spend forever in the black void between timespaces. I am growing to enjoy it.

  I appear in John Baird’s apartment and set down the bag. I look at the empty chair in front of the old typewriter, the green beer bottle sweating cold next to it, and John Baird appears, looking dazed, and I have business elsewhere, elsewhen. A train to catch. I’ll come back for the bag in twelve minutes or a few millennia, after the bloodbath that gives birth to us all.

  25. A Moveable Feast

  He wrote the last line and set down the pencil and read over the last page sitting on his hands for warmth. He could see his breath. Celebrate the end with a little heat.

  He unwrapped the bundle of twigs and banked them around the pile of coals in the brazier. Crazy way to heat a room but it’s France. He cupped both hands behind the stack and blew gently. The coals glowed red and then orange and with the third breath the twigs smoldered and a small yellow flame popped up. He held his hands over the fire, rubbing the stiffness out of his fingers, enjoying the smell of the birch as it cracked and spit.

  He put a fresh sheet and carbon into the typewriter and looked at his penciled notes. Final draft? Worth a try:

  Ernest M. Hemingway,

  74 rue da Cardinal Lemoine,

  Paris, France

  UP IN MICHIGAN

  Jim Gilmore came to Horton’s Bay from Canada. He bought the blacksmith shop from old man Hortom

  Shit, a typo. He flinched suddenly, as if struck, and shook his head to clear it. What a strange sensation to come out of nowhere. A sudden cold stab of grief. But larger somehow than grief for a person.

  Grief for everybody, maybe. For being human.

  From a typo?

  He went to the window and opened it in spite of
the cold. He filled his lungs with the cold damp air and looked around the familiar orange and grey mosaic of chimney pots and tiled roofs under the dirty winter Paris sky.

  He shuddered and eased the window back down and returned to the heat of the brazier. He had felt it before, exactly that huge and terrible feeling. But where?

  For the life of him he couldn’t remember.

  HONORABLE MENTIONS

  1990

  Brian W. Aldiss, “A Life of Matter and Death,” Interzone 38.

  ———, “A Tupolev Too Far,” Other Edens III.

  Ray Aldridge, “We Were Butterflies,” F & SF, Aug.

  Patricia Anthony, “For No Reason,” IAsfm, Sept.

  ———, “Lunch With Daddy,” Pulphouse 8.

  Isaac Asimov, “Fault-Intolerant,” IAsfm, May.

  ———, “Kid Brother,” IAsfm, Mid-Dec.

  Scott Baker, “The Jamesburg Incubus,” Alien Sex.

  John Barnes, “My Advice to the Civilized,” IAsfm, Apr.

  S. M. Baxter, “A Journey to the King Planet,” Zenith 2.

  Greg Bear, “Heads,” Interzone 37 & 38.

  Amy Bechtel, “Look Closer,” Analog, Jun.

  M. Shayne Bell, “Dry Niger,” IAsfm, Aug.

  ———, “Earthlonging,” Amazing, Jan.

  Gregory Benford, “The Rose and the Scalpel,” Amazing, Jan.

  ———, “Warstory,” IAsfm, Jan.

  Terry Bisson, “Over Flat Mountain,” Omni, Jun.

  ———, “The Two Janets,” IAsfm, Nov.

  Michael Blumlein, “Bestseller,” F & SF, Feb.

  ———, “Shed His Grace,” Semiotext[e] SF.

  R. V. Branham, “And Ghost Stories,” IAsfm, Jul.

  Alan Brennert, “Her Pilgrim Soul,” Her Pilgrim Soul.

  ———, “Sea-Change,” F & SF, Feb.

  F. Alexander Brejcha, “The New Land,” Analog, Jun.

  Poppy Z. Brite, “His Mouth Will Taste of Wormwood,” Borderlands.

  John Brunner, “The Pronounced Effect,” Weird Tales, Summer.

  Edward Bryant, “Slippage,” Walls of Fear.

  Lois McMaster Bujold, “Weatherman,” Analog, Feb.

  Pat Cadigan, “Fool to Believe,” IAsfm, Feb.

  Richard Calder, “The Lilim,” Interzone 34.

  Jonathan Carroll, “The Art of Falling Down,” Walls of Fear.

  ———, “My Zoondel,” Weird Tales, Winter.

  ———, “The Sadness of Detail,” Omni, Feb.

  Michael Cassutt, “At Risk,” IAsfm, Jul.

  ———, “Curious Elation,” F & SF, Sept.

  Robert R. Chase, “Transit of Betelgeuse,” Analog, May.

  Rob Chilson, “Gerda and the Wizard,” IAsfm, Mar.

  Kathryn Cramer, “The End of Everything,” IAsfm, Oct.

  Nancy Collins, “The Two-Headed Man,” Pulphouse 9.

  Ronald Anthony Cross, “Two Bad Dogs,” IAsfm, Sept.

  Tony Daniel, “The Passage of Night Trains,” IAsfm, Mid-Dec.

  Jack Dann and Gregory Frost, “The Incompleat Ripper,” Starshore 1.

  Avram Davidson, “Have You Tried Gummies?” IAsfm, 2 A.M., Aug.

  ———, “Limekiller At Large,” IAsfm, Jun.

  ———, “Mr. Rob’t E. Hoskins,” F & SF, Apr.

  ———, “Seeomancer,” IAsfm, Feb.

  Bernard Deitchman, “Lord of Fishes,” Analog, Aug.

  Bradley Denton, “Captain Coyote’s Last Hunt,” IAsfm, Mar.

  ———, “The Chaff He Will Burn,” F & SF, Apr.

  Paul Di Fillippo, “Harlem Nova,” Amazing, Sept.

  Janet Kagan, “The Flowering Inferno,” IAsfm, Mar.

  ———, “Getting the Bugs Out,” IAsfm, Nov.

  James Patrick Kelly, “The Propagation of Light in a Vacuum,” Universe 1.

  John Kessel, “Buddha Nostril Bird,” IAsfm, Mar.

  Damian Kilby, “Daniel’s Labyrinth,” Universe 1.

  ———, “Travelers,” IAsfm, Feb.

  Garry Kilworth, “In the Country of the Tattooed Men,” Omni, Sept.

  Kathe Koja, “True Colors,” IAsfm, Jan.

  Stephen Kraus, “Beyond the Barrier,” F & SF, Dec.

  ———, “Checksum,” Analog, Jan.

  Nancy Kress, “Touchdown,” IAsfm, Oct.

  R. A. Lafferty, “The Story of Little Briar-Rose, A Scholarly Study,” Strange Plasma 2.

  R. M. Lamming, “Waspsongs,” More Tales from the Forbidden Planet.

  Geoffrey A. Landis, “The City of Ultimate Freedom,” Universe 1.

  ———, “Projects,” IAsfm, Jun.

  ———, “Realm of the Sences,” IAsfm, Mid-Dec.

  David Langford, “Ellipses,” More Tales from the Forbidden Planet.

  Roberta Lannes, “Saving the World at the New Moon Hotel,” Alien Sex.

  Joe R. Lansdale, “The Pit,” Pulphouse 9.

  Ursula K. Le Guin, “Unlocking the Air,” Playboy, Dec.

  Jonathan Lethem, “A Mirror for Heaven,” MZB’s Fantasy Magazine, 9.

  ———, “The Buff,” Pulphouse 8.

  ———, “My Neighbor Bob,” Journal Wired, Summer/Fall.

  ———, “Noodling,” Journal Wired, Spring.

  Thomas Ligotti, “The Lost Art of Twilight,” Weird Tales, Summer.

  Richard A. Lupoff, “At Vega’s Taqueria,” Amazing, Sept.

  Bruce McAllister, “Angels,” IAsfm, May.

  Thomas M. Disch, “Celebrity Love,” Interzone 35.

  ———, “The 21st of June,” Voice Literary Supplement 85.

  Gardner Dozois, “Après Moi,” Omni, Nov.

  L. Timmel Duchamp, “The Forbidden Words of Margaret A.,” Pulphouse 8.

  J. R. Dunn, “Stout Hearts,” Amazing, Mar.

  Thomas A. Easton, “Matchmaker,” Analog, Aug.

  George Alec Effinger, “Fatal Disk Error,” Amazing, May.

  Greg Egan, “Axiomatic,” Interzone 41.

  ———, “The Moral Virologist,” Pulphouse 8.

  ———, “The Safe-Deposit Box,” IAsfm, Sept.

  Harlan Ellison, “Scartaris, June 28th,” Borderlands.

  Carol Emshwiller, “Peri,” Strange Plasma 3.

  M. J. Engh, “Moon Blood,” Universe 1.

  ———, “Penelope Comes Home,” Walls of Fear.

  Sharon N. Farber, “Space Aliens Saved My Marriage,” IAsfm, Dec.

  Marina Fitch, “Just Give Me Your Hand,” Pulphouse 8.

  ———, “The River Remembers,” Pulphouse 7.

  Michael F. Flynn, “The Common Goal of Nature,” Analog, Apr.

  ———, “The Feeders,” Analog, Jan.

  ———, “Mammy Morgan Played the Organ, Her Daddy Beat the Drum,” Analog, Nov.

  Karen Joy Fowler, “Lieserl,” IAsfm, Jul.

  Robert Frazier, “Descent Into Eden,” Amazing, Sept.

  ———, “Giant, Giant Steps,” Amazing, May.

  Esther M. Friesner, “Blunderbore,” IAsfm, Sept.

  ———, “The Curse of Psamlahkithotep,” F & SF, May.

  ———, “Up The Wall,” IAsfm, Apr.

  R. Garcia y Robertson, “Four Kings and an Ace,” F & SF, Nov.

  ———, “The Great Fear,” Weird Tales, Winter.

  ———, “Not Fade Away,” IAsfm, Sept.

  ———, “Ontogeny Recapitulates Phylogeny,” Pulphouse 8.

  ———, “The Spiral Dance,” F & SF, May.

  William Gibson and Bruce Sterling, “The Angel of Goliad,” Interzone 40.

  Lisa Goldstein, “The Blue Love Potion,” IAsfm, Jun.

  ———, “Midnight News,” IAsfm, Mar.

  Alan Ira Gordon, “The Bulgarian Poetess Takes A Green Card,” Starshore 2.

  Steven Gould, “Simulation Six,” IAsfm, Mar.

  John Gribbin, “Insight,” Zenith 2.

  Nicola Griffith, “Down the Path of the Sun,” Interzone 34.

  John Griesemer, “Box of Li
ght,” IAsfm, Nov.

  Joe Haldeman, “Passages,” Analog, Mar.

  Karen Haber, “His Spirit Wife,” F & SF, Aug.

  ———, “3 Rms, Gd View,” IAsfm, Mid-Dec.

  Rory Harper, “God’s Bullets,” Aboriginal SF, Nov–Dec.

  Gregor Hartmann, “O Time, Your Pyramids,” Universe 1.

  Daniel Hatch, “Den of Foxes,” Analog, Dec.

  Howard V. Hendrix, “The Voice of the Dolphin in Air,” Starshore 2.

  Nina Kiriki Hoffman, “Stillborn,” Borderlands.

  Alexander Jablokov, “The Place of No Shadows,” IAsfm, Nov.

  Phillip C. Jennings, “The Betrothal,” IAsfm, Oct.

  ———, “The Gadarene Dig,” IAsfm, Dec.

  K. W. Jeter, “The First Time,” Alien Sex.

  Kij Johnson, “Solving the Homeless Problem,” Pulphouse 8.

  Gwyneth Jones, “Forward Echoes,” Interzone 42.

  Ian R. MacLeod, “Green,” IAsfm, Mid-Dec.

  ———, “l/72nd Scale,” Weird Tales, Fall.

  ———, “Well-Loved,” Interzone 34.

  Paul J. McAuley, “Exiles,” Interzone 41.

  Ian McDonald, “Fronds,” Amazing, Jul.

  ———, “Toward Kilimanjaro,” IAsfm, Aug.

  ———, “Winning,” Zenith 2.

  Maureen McHugh, “The Queen of Marincite,” IAsfm, Mar.

  Bridget McKenna, “Evenings, Mornings, Afternoons,” IAsfm, Dec.

  Judith Moffett, “Final Tomte,” F & SF, Jun.

  ———, “The Ragged Rock,” IAsfm, Dec.

  Pat Murphy, “Bones,” IAsfm, May.

  ———, “The Eradication of Romantic Love,” Interzone 42.

  Jamil Nasir, “The Allah Stairs,” Tales of the Unanticipated 7.

  ———, “The Book of St. Farrin,” Universe 1.

  Kim Newman, “The Original Dr. Shade,” Interzone 36.

  Larry Niven, “Madness Has Its Place,” IAsfm, Jun.

  Gene O’Neill, “Awaken, Dragon,” F & SF, May.

  Gerald Pearce, “Kindred of the Crescent Moon,” Weird Tales, Summer.

  Lawrence Person, “Frames of Light,” IAsfm, Dec.

  Rachel Pollack, “The Woman Who Didn’t Come Back,” MTFT Forbidden Planet.

  Tom Purdom, “A Proper Place to Live,” IAsfm, Jan.

  W. T. Quick, “Whatever Gets You Through the Night,” Amazing, Mar.

  Robert Reed, “Chaff,” F & SF, May.

  ———, “The Utility Man,” IAsfm, Nov.