Proof of the Pudding
By ROBERT SHECKLEY
Illustrated by WILLER
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction August 1952.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence
that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
One man's fact is fantasy for another—except
the man whose fantasies become solid facts!
His arms were very tired, but he lifted the chisel and mallet again. Hewas almost through; only a few more letters and the inscription, cutdeeply into the tough granite, would be finished. He rounded out thelast period and straightened up, dropping his tools carelessly to thefloor of the cave. Proudly he wiped the perspiration from his dirtystubbled face and read what he had written.
I ROSE FROM THE SLIME OF THE PLANET. NAKED
AND DEFENSELESS, I FASHIONED TOOLS. I BUILT AND
DEMOLISHED, CREATED AND DESTROYED. I CREATED A
THING GREATER THAN MYSELF THAT DESTROYED ME.MY NAME IS MAN AND THIS IS MY LAST WORK.
He smiled. What he had written was good. Not literary enough, perhaps,but a fitting tribute to the human race, written by the last man. Heglanced at the tools at his feet. Having no further use for them, hedissolved them, and, hungry from his long work, squatted in the rubbleof the cave and created a dinner. He stared at the food for a moment,wondering what was lacking; then, sheepishly, created a table andchair, utensils and plates. He was embarrassed. He had forgotten themagain.
Although there was no need to rush, he ate hurriedly, noting the oddfact that when he didn't think of anything specific, he always createdhamburger, mashed potatoes, peas, bread and ice cream. Habit, hedecided. Finished, he made the remnants of the meal disappear, and withthem the plates, utensils and table. The chair he retained. Sitting onit, he stared thoughtfully at the inscription. It's fine, he thought,but no human other than myself will ever read it.
It was fairly certain that he was the last man alive on the Earth. Thewar had been thorough. Thorough as only man, a meticulous animal, couldmake it. There had been no neutrals in this war, no middle-of-the-roadpolicy. You were on one side or the other. Bacteria, gas and radiationshad covered the Earth like a vast cloud. In the first days of thatwar, invincible secret weapon had succeeded secret weapon with almostmonotonous regularity. And after the last hand had pushed the lastbutton, the bombs, automatically guided and impelled, had continuedto rain down. The unhappy Earth was a huge junkyard, without a livingthing, plant or animal, from pole to pole.
He had watched a good part of it. He had waited until he was fairlysure the last bomb had been dropped; then he had come down.
Very clever of you, he thought bitterly, looking out the mouth of thecave at the lava plain his ship rested on, and at the twisted mountainsbehind it.
You're a traitor—but who cares?
He had been a captain in the Western Hemisphere Defense. Within twodays of warfare, he had known what the end would be. Filling a cruiserwith canned air, food and water, he had fled. In the confusion anddestruction, he knew that he would never be missed; after a few daysthere was no one left to miss him. He had raced the big ship to thedar