Microcosmic God (54 page)

“Mac—are there munitions in the castle?”

“No, dammit, Richter’s sending that! I think I’m driving him under, LaFarge! But—he’s going to see to it that if bombs are dropped, we get them, too!”

The circling P-37 waggled its wings and started to climb. I could almost feel the crisp bur of its radio, calling for bombs. A flight of Blenheims swelled up out of the west, wheeled toward us.

“Right-o, Mac,” I said quietly. “We better get as near underground as we can.” I put an arm around him. He leaned so heavily against me that my legs hurt me. He was dead beat. “Chin up,” I gritted, and began dragging him across the garden.

Outside the walls there was a flash of flame, and the ground shook. It shook again, and again. Ahead of us, Richter floundered crazily. When we reached the castle door I propped Mac against the jamb and looked back while I got my wind.

The whole skyline was aflame. There was gasoline there, but plenty. A huge Kurier waddled into the air, and a Hurricane cut it down, and I wondered why in hell they tried to get that monster into the air at a time like this. A bomb landed just outside the wall and blew it inward, and the debris swept Richter off his feet. I mean that word for word. I looked at his body and saw that he was all broken up about it. When the rubble hit Richter, Mac shrieked and passed out.

I’d no sooner got him inside when the next load of eggs were laid on the roof right over our heads. Richter’s message had been right. There was an ammunition dump in the castle. The whole bloody business came crashing and crushing down on us. So they got us and most of the other imperials. But we got an air field and an ammunition dump. And Richter. We got game, set and match.

Theodore Sturgeon sold his first short story in May 1938, to the McClure Newspaper Syndicate. He was 20 years old, a seaman in the merchant marine. In January of 1939 he moved to New York City and began to write full-time. The only markets he successfully sold to were the newspaper syndicate, which primarily bought short-short stories from him, and, beginning in May 1939, two magazines edited by John W. Campbell, Jr.:
Astounding Science-Fiction
and
Unknown
(the latter specialized in fantasy and horror).

Sturgeon shipped out again between July and October of 1939, doing some writing while at sea, and then returned to New York. In March of 1940 he married his high school sweetheart Dorothe Fillingame, and moved from Manhattan to Staten Island (his birthplace). Their daughter Patricia was born in December 1940, and in June 1941 the three of them left New York and moved to the British West Indies, to manage a resort hotel in Jamaica owned by Sturgeon’s mother’s family.

Sturgeon’s last McClure story was published in March 1940. He did some writing for hire in 1940 and 1941, primarily scripts for comic books, but most of his income until he left New York was from selling stories to
Astounding
and
Unknown
. Sturgeon’s bibliography shows him appearing regularly in the two magazines over a five-year period, but this is misleading. In fact, the move to the tropics, which was intended to make it easier for him to write, resulted in his doing no writing at all between July 1941 and April 1944. All of the Sturgeon stories that appeared in
Astounding
and
Unknown
in 1941, 1942, and 1943 were written and sold by June of 1941.

The first volume of
The Complete Stories of Theodore Sturgeon
covered the period from December 1937, when the story he sold in May 1938 was penned, until spring of 1940. The stories in this second volume were all written between April of 1940 and June 1941. All were published in
Astounding
or
Unknown
except for “The Anonymous,”
presumably submitted to Campbell and rejected, and “Two Sidecars,” an unpublished story that contains no fantasy or science fiction element and therefore could not have been aimed at Campbell. There is evidence that Sturgeon wrote other non-fantasy stories during this period, but no manuscripts survive. It is also probable that he submitted a few stories to other fantasy magazines, but without success.

The period covered in Volume 1 was well documented in Sturgeon’s correspondence; he was writing regularly to his mother, who was living in Scotland, and to his fiancée in Philadelphia. By contrast, there is almost no documentation of the chronology, or circumstances of writing, of the stories in this volume; Ted had stopped writing to his fiancée now that she was his wife and living in the same house, and he wrote much less frequently to his mother. No other correspondence (or record-keeping) survives. As a result, the sequence of stories in this volume is somewhat arbitrary. “Cargo” belongs near the beginning; “The Jumper” near the end; and some of the other stories can be dated at least within a few months. But the precise order of composition is unknown. (Campbell did not necessarily publish them in the order received.)

“Cargo”:
first published in
Unknown
, November 1940. Probably written in June, 1940. Sturgeon’s introduction to the story in his 1948 collection
Without Sorcery
reports:

The story of the origin of “Cargo” will gladden the heart of the string-saver. The reader may remember that in “The Ultimate Egoist” the protagonist at one point debated the advisability of going to sea. In the first draft of that tale, he actually did, and for some three thousand words found himself on a tankship on which weird things happened. I realized suddenly that I was getting far away from my story, and cut back. But instead of throwing away these extraneous pages, I saved them and expanded them: “Cargo” is the result
.

Some surviving manuscript pages among Sturgeon’s papers confirm this, although in fact the primary contribution of the “Egoist” pages seems to be paragraphs 2–6 of “Cargo” and the general idea of a story about strange events on a renegade oil tanker engaged in war profiteering. Sturgeon’s papers also yield the first few pages of a 1939 story (probably never finished) again about a renegade tanker and a skipper referred to as the Old Man.

The rich detail in the story is attributable to the author’s extensive experience as a merchant seaman between 1937 and 1939, serving primarily
on “coastwise” oil tankers—New York to Texas and sometimes further south. No Atlantic crossings. (Although in 1937 Sturgeon fantasized about a trip to Spain on an oil tanker. He told his mother, in a letter written at sea on September 6,
I hope to be in Europe within the next month or so, but I doubt whether I’ll be able to see you. I’ll only be in port 18 hours and it will be a Spanish port at that. The whole idea is strictly mercenary on my part, because the oil companies are paying huge bonuses to crews entering the
[Spanish Civil]
war zone. As for the theoretical side of it, you can be sure I’ll ship on a cargo of Loyal oil. Texas Co., like all the others, sells to both sides.
)

“Cargo” was also included in the last collection of Sturgeon stories published in his lifetime,
Alien Cargo
(1984). Introducing the story in that book, TS wrote:

—either alien, or very definitely not alien, just different. Depends on how you use the word. Also written in ’39 or early ’40; England was at war, and I wrote out of my experience in the Merchant Marine. Also, it was a fun story. Later on, I stopped writing fun stories for a very long time. I got pretty grim, I did …
(I can’t think of any period when Sturgeon was actively writing for which this comment seems accurate.)

In an undated letter probably written in late August, 1940, Sturgeon told his mother:
You notice this missive is written in two types. I just got this, my precious, back
. (He’s referring to his typewriter with a script typeface, on which he wrote most of these early stories.)
It wrote my baby masterpiece, “Cargo,” and then quit—absolutely refused to write another word until it was rebuilt. I didn’t mind—it was a great big check for a lovely yarn about a crummy old outlaw tankship that was taken over by war refugees—all the Little People who didn’t like bombs and shells and thought that this country would be a nice haven. Ye ed. was nuts about it, bought it on sight, and begged me for a sequel
. (Sturgeon’s concern for his mother—he urges in the same letter that she return to the U.S. in order to escape the war in Europe—may have helped inspire the story-idea).

Unknown
typically ran story blurbs (teasers written by the editor) in as many as three places: on the cover, on the contents page, and on the title page of the story. The title page blurb for “Cargo” read: THE OLD TRAMP STEAMER WAS UTTERLY DISREPUTABLE AND MANNED BY A CREW OF WANTED MEN. AND SOMEWHERE OFF THE COAST OF EUROPE SHE PICKED UP THE WEIRDEST CARGO ON RECORD!

“Shottle Bop”:
first published in
Unknown
, February 1941. This one is the descendant of a story called “Abraxas,” written January 1940. The first seven pages of the earlier story survive among Sturgeon’s papers, and they tell basically the same story as the opening pages of “Shottle Bop.” On January 26, 1940, TS wrote to Dorothe:

Hope I never have to live thru another such week … Sunday settled down to work on “Abraxas.” Finished it Tuesday morning; no sleep Sun or Mon … stopping only to eat, eating only oatmeal and cocoa because that’s all there was … took it down to JC, came home and passed out … up at 9:30 that nite, over to Woodie’s; bed again at 2, slept till 2 Wed. afternoon … so to work again on “Salty Peanut.” It came back. “Abraxas” came back. I’m working for nothing and the more I work the lousier it is and the less I eat … you
would
ask me to write a letter instead of a card … Wed. nite worked all nite. Thursday nite worked till twelve, went over to Martin’s where I met my two protegés … they wanted some back-number McClure releases so brought them home with me … bull-session lasted until ten this morning … so that’s two more nites without sleep … didn’t known then about “Abraxas”; was hoping for a check. Hung around until 2nd mail, still nothing, called up JC who said come down and talk it over … dead on my feet I went down, first to McClure’s to pick up a life-saving finn for the rent … they’ve owed it to me for two weeks but I was saving it for just this eventuality … JC commented as I expected and feared he would; story had too many ramifications, spread out so much it couldn’t support its weight … tremendous amount of material in it; comedy, horror, Gnosticism, Basilidian Philosopy, possession, and so on … hero wound up to be not only the Messiah but the f—ing Holy Ghost … too big … JC calmly suggests that I knock it down and make at least five shorts out of it … so as soon as I get to bed, which is right after I finish this, will get to work on it … and that means another two day stretch with oatmeal and cocoa … good diet. Vitamins ABB1CD and roughage … pound of sugar every three days, can of milk every day. Thrive on it
.

The opening paragraph of “Abraxas” is:
Seems to me either you have an inferiority complex or you just don’t admit you have one. Phooey. There, in its entirety, was my attitude on the day I bought bottles
.

At the time he began writing this story (the evidence from his correspondence is that he didn’t write the published version till spring or summer), Sturgeon was living at 146 Tenth Avenue, Manhattan, not far from the Shottle Bop’s fictional location.

TS’s introduction to “Shottle Bop” in
Without Sorcery:

This one almost disqualified the book-title. I maintain stoutly, however, that the plot strikes sorcery only a glancing blow. The verse was included as an experiment to see if I could get the two-bits a line the magazine was paying for poetry, with verse put into the body of a story. I didn’t get it, a fact which has denied posterity, to its great benefit, several bushels of my doggerel. I think it pertinent to cite this story as an example of the “blind grope” technique of story telling. Start with a situation, give it a vaguely directional push, and let happen what may. If the author does not know what is to happen next, the reader cannot possibly know
.

The blurb on the original magazine cover read: A VERY QUAINT LITTLE STORE, WITH A SIGN THAT SAID ONLY ‘SHOTTLE BOP—WE SELL BOTTLES WITH THINGS IN THEM.’ BUT THE THINGS IN THE BOTTLES WERE—THINGS!

“Yesterday Was Monday”:
first published in
Unknown
, June 1941. Because John Campbell had already selected it for his 1948 anthology
From Unknown Worlds
, this gem was not included in Sturgeon’s first collection
Without Sorcery
(also 1948). It continued to be overlooked until
The Golden Helix
, 1979. Sturgeon’s introduction to the story from the 1979 collection:

“Where do you get your crazy ideas?”

Every writer gets this question in various inflections, some of them downright insulting. Where this one came from is a mystery; why I set about writing it is another. Everything I had said about “The Ultimate Egoist”
[earlier in the same collection]
applies to this one too: I was a beginner, I was unpracticed, I was eager—ready to write everything that came into my head. Often I would write myself into situations in which I had no idea where I was going or what might happen before the end. I do not recommend this as a technique; but if it does happen and you find a way out, you have written a story which doesn’t ‘telegraph’ to the reader what the ending will be. If the author doesn’t know, the reader can’t
.

This is one of those. And also: it was fun to do
.

“Yesterday Was Monday” is an example, like “Microcosmic God,” of Sturgeon presenting an idea that is not new to fantasy or science fiction (or literature in general), but executing it so well that it is the Sturgeon version that leaves a permanent impression on anyone who encounters it. It seems likely that Robert A. Heinlein’s short novel “The Unpleasant Profession of Jonathan Hoag” and the “heaven” sequences in
Stranger in a Strange Land
were influenced by this story; one also hears
its echoes in the many “constructed realities” of Philip K. Dick, especially
The Cosmic Puppets
and
Time Out of Joint
.