BEYOND THE ULTRA-VIOLET
By Frank M. Robinson
Experimenting with the eyes can be a very
dangerous thing. You can go blind—or maybe you'll
see something no man alive was meant to look upon!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
June 1951
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
You better take your money back, mister. Thanks a lot but—no thanks.I wasn't panhandling, my hat fell off and I was trying to find it onthe sidewalk. Thanks again for finding it for me but I think I couldhave managed. And, no offense, but I can find my way all right withoutbeing led.
You're surprised that I'm rather young, huh? Well, youth isn't acrime and anyways, twenty-four can be either young or old, depending onwho you're talking to. But I know what you mean. I'm rather young forbeing blind, isn't that it? Most blind people you see on the streetsare the old ones, the shabby ones with the pleading faces and the hatwith the lead pencils in it or maybe a tin cup and a violin. Sorry todisappoint you but I guess I'm not the type.
Sure, I know—you were only trying to help. You probably think I'mbitter because I can't see your world and all the wonderful things init. Well, it's a long story but that's not the punch line. I might bebitter but not for the reasons you might think. Up until two weeksago I could see as well as you. And you couldn't call what happened"losing" my sight. Not exactly.
So you're curious. You want to hear the rest of it. And you're sureit's not just out of sympathy. Well, all right. There's a bar in thenext block where we can get a booth and a couple of beers.
Now look, I don't need to be led! You don't need eyes to find yourway to a bar on a hot summer day like this. It's toward the end of theblock, just a few steps further.... Right here. There's a booth in theback where nobody will bother us for a while.
Okay, make mine the same and here's half a dollar to pay for them.Don't worry, I've got money enough to keep me in beer and pretzels fora long time. Nobody could accuse the professor of being stingy with theuniversity funds when he paid me off.
It began about six months ago. I was in my third year at college,studying physics under Professor Martin. Maybe you've seen Martinaround the campus—a rather thin guy with a face like the Rock ofGibraltar. One of the few profs who can still sound enthusiastic abouttheir subject after twenty years of teaching it.
The unit we were studying at the time was the one on light and physicaloptics, primarily a study of the spectrum stretching from x-rays beyondthe ultra-violet to the visible spectrum, down to the infra-red andradio waves and the short waves used in television and radar. I hadbeen absent from class a week and on my return the professor invited meto dinner. After the dishes had been cleared away he leaned back in hischair and lit what I took to be his usual after dinner cigar.
"I like to meet my students informally, Charles," he began. "Sorry thatyour wife couldn't come but I understand she's ... well...." He let thesentence trail off.
I sat there feeling rather sick. It's one of those things you hopeeverybody has heard about so you don't have to explain, to sit andtake their looks of pity and sympathy. Apparently the professor hadn'theard. "I'm sorry," I said. "I thought you knew. Both Alice and thebaby died."
The hand he