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Ebook has 70 lines and 6644 words, and 2 pages

Release date: October 5, 2023

Original publication: New York, NY: Royal Publications, Inc, 1957

The LONG Question

Illustrated by GIGLIO

The applause was deafening.

Don Gerson was a tall, thin young man with a serious look. He did not wear glasses, but somehow he looked as if he ought to. He walked onto the stage with a kind of forced confidence and shook hands with Lonigan.

"Now, then, Don, we haven't told you very much about what we're going to do for you, have we?" Lonigan asked.

"No, sir."

"So I think it'll be as big a surprise to you as it will to our audience." Lonigan laughed, and looked archly into the cameras. "But first, we'll have to introduce you all over again, for anybody who didn't see the fine show you put up for us last week. How old are you, Don?"

"Twenty-eight."

"And you're not married, are you? Engaged? Do you trust your girl friend not to go out with other fellows if you aren't handy?"

"Well, I don't know ..." Gerson grinned shyly.

"Did you tell her you'd be going away for a little while?" Lonigan asked, winking at the cameras.

"That's what I've been told," Gerson said.

"Uh huh. But we didn't tell you anything else, did we? Did your boss give you a leave of absence?"

"Oh, yes."

"Tell us, Don, what do you do for a living?"

"I'm an accountant."

Lonigan's grin grew wider. "Yes, folks, Don works for the great National American Insurance Company, of which you've all heard. We asked them to let us borrow Don here for two months, and they've been kind enough to agree. Now, working in insurance, Don, I guess you've gotten pretty good at logical predictions, eh? I mean, isn't it part of the insurance business to guess what's likely to happen?"

"I'd say it was." Don Gerson was looking mildly puzzled.

"Here's what we're going to do, Don," Lonigan went on. "You're going to go down to the airport, where we've got a special helicopter waiting. Our copter will take you to the island of Santa Antonia, two hundred miles off the coast. It's a lovely island, Don ... you'll really like it. There's a comfortable little house there, and we've had the place all stocked up for you. There's even a nice big deep-freeze from the Handi-Freezo people, filled right up to the top."

Lonigan paused, to get the effect.

"Of course," he continued, "There isn't anyone else on the island. Nobody at all! And no radio, no newspapers, no way at all to hear from the outside world. Yes sir, Don, you'll be a real Robinson Crusoe. But just think, for two months, you'll get paid your regular salary; we're taking care of that. You can read, fish, think, maybe even write a book if you feel like it. Ever think about writing a book, Don?"

Gerson opened his mouth, but he was apparently too surprised to answer for a moment. Then he shook his head.

"No-o, but maybe, with all that time...."

"Well, Don, you can certainly read, if you feel like it," Lonigan went on. "Because we've put plenty of good, solid books on the island for you. There's fiction, of course, and textbooks on history, and encyclopedias.... Now, what do you think you could do with all that information in those books?"

"Well...."

The audience roared again.

"I'll try, sir." Gerson looked a little pale, but resolute.

The helicopter droned out over the open sea in the afternoon sun. It was much noisier than the airliner that had been Gerson's only other trip into the upper air, he thought, looking ahead. The island was not yet visible.

"Think you'll win the hundred thousand?" the pilot asked, speaking loudly. He was a young man of Gerson's own age, with a cheerful round face.

"What? Oh ... I certainly hope so." Gerson peered out over the smooth water. "How long a trip is it?"

"Oh, not so long now," the pilot assured him. "Nice little island, too. I wouldn't mind this deal even if I didn't get the money. It's a first class vacation, hey?"

"I guess it is," Gerson said. "Kind of lonesome, though."

"Well, if they'd sent a girl too, you might not want to come back," the pilot grinned. "Anyway, think about all that money. That'll keep you from feeling too lonesome."

Gerson smiled back at him.

"I sure could do a lot with it," he said.

On the horizon, a blue-green ridge began to lift above the water line.

"There it is," said the pilot. "Be there in another five minutes."

The copter landed on a long, smooth beach, with a picture postcard ocean lapping at the white sand. The pilot showed Don around the place with an almost proprietorial pride, pointing out the various conveniences, and giving advice.

"The house is a real doll," he told Don. "Never lived in. A rich fella owned the place, and was going to use it for vacations, but he never got around to it. Incidentally, it'll be for sale when the stunt's over. Whopping price, too, I'll bet."

There was hot and cold running water, an electrical system powered by a gas engine, furniture, even a pair of swimming trunks hanging in a closet with other clothes.

"Well, if I go swimming ..." Don said.

"The swimming's fine, but you won't have any company to worry about what you wear," the pilot said. Don had never been entirely alone in his life; it took him a moment to grasp this small detail in the picture of his immediate future.

"Oh," he said, doubtfully. "Well, you know there's seaweed and all that...."

As a matter of fact, there was very little seaweed. The water was warm, and the days that followed were cloudless perfection; the nights were cool, and there was always a steady sea-breeze.

At first, for a few days, Don Gerson found himself moving in a pattern which resembled his normal life very closely. He awoke at seven; in fact, on the first morning, he found himself compelled to rise at once and dress. That first morning, he had an odd, lost feeling; there was no office to go to, no schedule of work to follow, no fixed orbit.

He began the first day by shaving and cooking himself what, for him, was a large breakfast. He thought about going for a swim, but remembered the rule he had been given once, about not swimming for two hours after eating.

The clothes that hung in the closets were not what he would have selected himself, but they were comfortable, and they fitted. He dressed in slacks and an open-necked shirt; then proceeded to investigate the library.

Don hardly noticed the pattern beginning to fray apart. On the fifth day he overslept, and did not get up until nearly eleven. That night he felt wakeful, and at midnight, he ate sardines and beans. He left the cans on the kitchen table, and did not drop them into the pit behind the house as he had been doing.

The next morning he did not rise till noon. In fact, he did not even wind the alarm clock. It ran down the same day, and he tried to guess at the time when he set it.

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