about those days much later, when
it was only a Reject's memory of his youth. I have lived a thousand
years since then, and I have never stopped regretting that they did not
let him go just once when he was young, before those last few days. It
would have been such a little thing for them to do.

* * * * *

I first met Wainer when he was eighteen years old and had not yet begun
to work. We met in one of those music clubs that used to be in New York
City, one of the weird, smoky, crowded little halls where Rejects could
gather and breathe their own air away from the--as we called
them--"lumpheads." I remember young Wainer very clearly. He was a
tremendous man, larger even than You, with huge arms and eyes, and that
famous mass of brownish hair. His size set him off from the rest of us,
but it never bothered him, and although he was almost painfully awkward,
he was never laughed at.

I don't quite know how to describe it, but he was very big--ominous,
almost--and he gave off an aura of tremendous strength. He said very
little, as I remember; he sat with us silently and drank quite a bit,
and listened to the music and to us, grinning from time to time with a
wonderfully pleasant smile. He was very likable.

He was drawn to me, I think, because I was a _successful_ Reject--I was
just then becoming known as a surgeon. I sincerely believed that he
envied me.

At any rate, he was always ready to talk to me. In the early days I did
what I could to get him working, but he never really tried. He had only
the Arts, You see, and they never really appealed to him.

(There was a rustle of surprise among Them. The old man nodded.)

It is true. He never wanted to be an artist. He had too much need for
action in him, and he did not want to be a lonely man. But because of
the Rashes, he had no choice.

The Rashes, as You know, had very little talent. I don't know why.
Perhaps it was the precision, the methodicity with which they lived, or
perhaps--as we proudly claimed--the Rejects were Rejects because they
had talent. But the result was wonderfully just: the Rejects took over
the Arts and all other fields requiring talent. I myself had good hands;
I became a surgeon. Although I never once operated without a Rash by my
side, I was a notably successful surgeon.

It was a truly splendid thing. That is why I say it was a good world.
The Rash and Reject combined in society and made it whole. And one