HEAVENLY GIFTS
BY AARON L. KOLOM
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of Tomorrow April 1963
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Heartfelt prayers deserve
an answer—but it may be
in a peculiar way!
A blur of silent motion tugged suddenly at the corner of Mrs. Frisbee'seye. She looked up from her knitting. An electric blanket, deep bluewith satiny edges, was materializing, neatly folded, in the center ofher tiny kitchen table.
She closed her eyes briefly for a silent prayer of thanks. At midnightshe would send out those thanks, followed by a request for a bicyclefor the paper boy.
Contentedly she raised herself from her chair. She weighed mentallywhether there was time to wrap the blanket as a gift before she hadto leave for work. She decided against it. It wasn't as if it were ananniversary or birthday present. It was just something she knew hernice landlady, Mrs. Upjohn, needed but couldn't afford.
Mrs. Upjohn was in her room. With an embarrassed dismissal of thanksMrs. Frisbee presented the blanket to her, then hurried to catch thebus at the corner.
The corridor clock showed a few minutes to midnight as Mrs. Frisbee,carrying her mop and pail, entered the control room. At the slightnoise Dr. Morrow looked up from his paper-littered desk. A vague smileand wave were directed generally in her direction. With a glance at hiswatch he sighed and returned to his work. Mrs. Frisbee waited patientlyand quietly. A few minutes later Dr. Morrow looked up again, thenyawned and stretched luxuriously.
"Time for lunch, I guess." He stood up, setting a few dials on theglistening control panel before him. "See you in forty-five minutes,"he called cheerily.
With the sound of his heels echoing down the hall, Mrs. Frisbeegingerly sat down in his chair. Taking a sheet of paper from her apron,she meticulously marked down the dial settings, exactly as he had leftthem.
Except for the diminishing sound of footsteps, the laboratory buildingwas silent, with the unique quiet of a deserted structure. Through thewindow she could see the gigantic antenna aiming toward the stars. Asalways she experienced a momentary thrill of combined excitement andreverential awe.
She waited till she heard the closing of the front door of thebuilding. Then with practiced fingers she flicked some switches. Theequipment hummed quietly. She swung toward the keyboard and beganpicking out letters with her forefingers. Finally she took a pagefrom a mail-order catalogue from her purse and slowly typed out thecatalogue numbers. She didn't hurry. Dr. Morrow would now be finishinghis lunch in his car. Afterwards he would take a stroll around thelaboratory grounds. He was a man of regular, dependable habit.
It had all begun one evening about five months before, when Mrs.Frisbee had attended a revivalist meeting. Simple soul that she was,with her increasing years and the passing of many of her friends, Mrs.Frisbee had begun to experience a desire to make peace with her maker.
"You are all sinners," the preacher had thundered, "and you need themost powerful voice in the world to speak for you!"
It made quite an impression!
It seemed the hand of providence when Mrs. Frisbee learned that a newlycompleted astronomical-radio station was seeking janitorial personnel.She quickly applied and was hired.
It was at first only a vague germ of an idea. Slowly