THE GENIUS
By Con Pederson
Illustrated by Paul Orban
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from IF Worlds of ScienceFiction May 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence thatthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Sethos entered the park. Brown autumn leaves crumpled sharply beneathhis feet, the green grass sank. The sun was nearly gone, and the last ofthe children passed him, chattering as they faded into the twilight.Only one other person remained in the park, and she was waiting forSethos.
"Ela," he said. "Have you been here long?"
She touched his cheek with hers in greeting.
"Not at all. I'm in no hurry." She handed him a cigarette as they walkedtogether, then lit her own and breathed deeply of the scented fumes."Nothing special about Matya's parties—unless she has that intriguingman there again. What's his name? You know—"
"You must mean Andian, the sculptor. The man who built North Square, tohear him talk. What about him?"
Ela laughed. "He'd never heard of my fluid porcelain. Isn't that silly?After everyone in West has been overwhelmed with the color effects, heturns up, a perfect innocent. I showed him pliables."
Smiling, Sethos recalled it was Ela's enthusiasm that had firstattracted him, as it had most of the males in their clique. Then too,she was beautiful, with startling gold hair and a delicate round facethat always aroused flattery. Tonight he felt especially aware of herbeside him, and the quick beat of her sandals on the pavement.
The lights of Matya's hillhouse gleamed before them, enticing all whowandered through West Park this evening. The party had started, asparties always did, at that unknown instant shortly before the firstguest's arrival. It was thriving now, for the colors behind thecontoured glass facade throbbed as though underwater, and people satalong the terraced hillside, talking and inhaling the elegant smoke fromsmoldering chalices that stood around the entrance.
They climbed the flagstone path toward the low, pale yellow building.Luxuriant plants grew thick along the walls, creating a jungle thatextended even to the inner rooms of the house.
"Sethos, my friend!" said an unsteady voice.
The old man was seated in shadow by the house, a glass of sparklingliquor on the arm of his chair. Against the green background of giantplants, his frail, pink face resembled a huge bud that would open whendaylight came.
"How are you, Paton?" Sethos asked warmly. "I remember you fromsomewhere in East. It must be years.... Weren't you gardening with Ana?Of course—developing a perfect Lyocanthia. What a welcome sight you areamong these woodcutters!"
"You're a fellow greensman now, they say," beamed Paton happily, seizinghis glass and leaning forward. "Such an honor to us. You work withsucculents—right?"
Sethos smiled. He watched Ela disappear into the interior of thesprawling hillhouse, heard her distant laugh become part of themachinery of voices. People drifted to and fro across the broad lawns.
"Yes," answered Sethos, drawing up a chair. "Succulents are my latestjoy. One must specialize. I like to work with growing things, yet I'dfeel like a mechanoid if I got involved in crystal sculpture, like mycharming Ela there."
"Perhaps—but who else gets such color, starts so many new directionsas she? My flowers blush b