Philip Jose Farmer - After King Kong Fell

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PHILIP JOSE FARMER

After King Kong Fell

Philip Jose Farmer is a grandfather who writes about

grandfathers in a way few grandfathers write. He has been a

reader of science fiction since 1928 and a writer of science

fiction since the early Fifties, when he won a award as the most

promising new writer of 1952. He won a Hugo for his 1967

novella "Riders of the Purple Wage" and another in 1972 for his

novel To Your Scattered Bodies Go, which is the first novel in

his popular Riverworld series. He was guest of honor at the 1968

World Science Fiction Convention in Oakland. After working as

a technical writer in Los Angeles, he has returned to prolific

full-time writing in which he is fascinated as much by the heroes

of his youth as by the characters he creates. In recent times he has

written popular biographies of such fictional characters as Tar-

zan and Doc Savage and is at work on a biography of Allan

Quatermain. He recently completed a screen treatment for the

motion picture Doc Savage: Arch enemy of Evil. In the following

story he continues his mythmaking.

The first half of the movie was grim and gray and somewhat tedious. Mr. Howller did not mind. That

was, after all, realism. Those times had been grim and gray. Moreover, behind the tediousness was

the promise of something vast and horrifying. The creeping pace and the measured ritualistic

movements of the actors gave intimations of the workings of the gods. Unhurriedly, but with utmost

confidence, the gods were directing events toward the climax.

Mr. Howler had felt that at the age of fifteen, and he felt it now while watching the show on TV

at the age of fifty-five. Of course, when he first saw it in 1933, he had known what was coming.

Hadn't he lived through some of the events only two years before that?

The old freighter, the Wanderer, was nosing blindly through the fog toward the surf like roar of

the natives' drums. And then: the commercial. Mr. Howller rose and stepped into the hall and

called down the steps loudly enough for Jill to hear him on the front porch. He thought,

commercials could be a blessing. They give us time to get into the bathroom or the kitchen, or

time to light up a cigarette and decide about continuing to watch this show or go on to that show.

And why couldn't real life have its commercials?

Wouldn't it be something to be grateful for if reality stopped in midcourse while the Big Salesman

made His pitch? The car about to smash into you, the bullet on its way to your brain, the

first cancer cell about to break loose, the boss reaching for the phone to call you in so he can

fire you, the spermatozoon about to be launched toward the ovum, the final insult about to be

hurled at the once, and perhaps still, beloved, the final drink of alcohol which would rupture the

abused blood vessel, the decision which would lead to the light that would surely fail?

If only you could step out while the commercial interrupted these, think about it, talk about it,

and then, returning to the set, switch it to another channel.

But that one is having technical difficulties, and the one after that is a talk show whose guest

is the archangel Gabriel himself and after some urging by the host he agrees to blow his trumpet,

and...

Jill entered, sat down, and began to munch the cookies and drink the lemonade he had prepared for

her. Jill was six and a half years old and beautiful, but then what granddaughter wasn't

beautiful? Jill was also unhappy because she had just quarreled with her best friend, Amy, who had

stalked off with threats never to see Jill again. Mr. Howller reminded her that this had happened

before and that Amy always came back the next day, if not sooner. To take her mind off of Amy, Mr.

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Philip Jose Farmer - After King Kong Fell

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