"Judith Merril - Lost Masters" - читать интересную книгу автора (Merril Judith)

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Introduction
At last, Volume 4 of the Lost Masters series. This volume contains the (nearly) complete works of
Judith Merril, along with her (auto)biography. There are 5 short stories missing (which, by the way, are
all available in print in Homecalling: The Complete Short Fiction of Judith Merril. If you have a copy of
this book, or your library does, drop me an email at [email protected], and let me know).
Some of her non-fiction essays are here, all genre related.
Enjoy.

That Only A Mother
Margaret reached over to the other side of the bed where Hank should have been. Her hand
patted the empty pillow, and then she came altogether awake, wondering that the old habit should
remain after so many months. She tried to curl up, cat-style, to hoard her own warmth, found she
couldn't do it any more, and climbed out of bed with a pleased awareness of her increasingly clumsy
bulkiness.
Morning motions were automatic. On the way through the kitchenette, she pressed the button that
would start breakfast cookingтАФthe doctor had said to eat as much breakfast as she couldтАФand tore
the paper out of the facsimile machine. She folded the long sheet carefully to the "National News"
section, and propped it on the bathroom shelf to scan while she brushed her teeth.
No accidents. No direct hits. At least none that had been officially released for publication. Now,
Maggie, don't get started on that. No accidents. No hits. Take the nice newspaper's word for it.
The three clear chimes from the kitchen announced that breakfast was ready. She set a bright
napkin and cheerful colored dishes on the table in a futile attempt to appeal to a faulty morning appetite.
Then, when there was nothing more to prepare, she went for the mail, allowing herself the full pleasure
of prolonged anticipation, because today there would surely be a letter.
There was. There were. Two bills and a worried note from her mother:
"Darling, why didn't you write and tell me sooner? I'm thrilled, of course, but, well one hates to
mention these things, but are you certain the doctor was right? Hank's been around all that uranium or
thorium or whatever it is all these years, and I know you say he's a designer, not a technician, and he
doesn't get near anything that might be dangerous, but you know he used to, back at Oak Ridge. Don't
you think, of course, I'm just being a foolish old woman, and I don't want you to get upset. You know
much more about it than I do, and I'm sure your doctor was right. He should knowтАж"
Margaret made a face over the excellent coffee, and caught herself refolding the paper to the
medical news.
Stop it, Maggie, stop it! The radiologist said Hank's job couldn't have exposed him. And the
bombed area we drove pastтАжNo, no. Stop it, now! Read the social notes or the recipes, Maggie
girl.
A well-known geneticist, in the medical news, said that it was possible to tell with absolute
certainty, at five months, whether the child would be normal, or at least whether the mutation was likely
to produce anything freakish. The worst cases, at any rate, could be prevented. Minor mutations, of
course, displacements in facial features, or changes in brain structure could not be detected. And there
had been some cases recently, of normal embryos with atrophied limbs that did not develop beyond
the seventh or eighth month. But, the doctor concluded cheerfully, the worst cases could now be
predicted and prevented.
 "Predicted and prevented." We predicted it, didn't we? Hank and the others, they predicted
it. But we didn't prevent it. We could have stopped if in '46 and '47. NowтАж