Countdown for blast off. X minus five, four, three, two, X minus one, fire.
From the far horizons of the unknown come tales of new dimensions in time and space. These are
stories of the future, adventures in which you'll live in a million could-be years on a thousand
maybe worlds. The National Broadcasting Company in cooperation with Galaxy Science Fiction
Magazine presents X minus one. Tonight the discovery of Marniel Matherway by William
Tamp. Everyone is astonished at the change in Marniel Matherway since he was discovered.
Everyone that is but me. They remember him as an unbathed and untalented Greenwich village painter
who began almost every second sentence with I and ended every third one with me. You see,
I understand the change in him because I was there the day he was discovered. We were talking
about his discovery that day. I was sitting carefully balanced on the one wooden chair in
his cold little bleaker street studio because I was too sophisticated to sit in the easy chair.
Come on, Dave, take a comfortable seat. Oh no, Marniel, no, I know about that chair. Now what do
you mean? It's the only comfortable chair in the room. I know, I know. Look at it, broken down
spring, very high in the front and low in the back. Sure, it conforms with the position of the
spine. Yeah, sure, sure. And when you sit in it, things begin sliding out of your pockets, loose
change, keys, wallets, anything. What do you do, Marniel? Pay the rent on your studio with that
easy chair? Well, as a matter of fact, it is rather profitable. And that's why I'll sit on the wooden
chair if you don't mind. Oh, now don't be bourgeois. Well, I notice you always sit on the bed. That's
because I'm a good host. I see. Well, how's the painting going? Oh, great, great, fabulous. You
sell any paintings? No. You know, Dave, I can't wait for the day when some dealer, some critic,
with an ounce of brain sees my work. I can't miss, Dave. I know I can't miss. I'm just too good.
Sometimes I get frightened at how good I am. It's almost too much talent for one man. Well,
there's always... Not that it's too much talent for me. I'm big enough to carry it, fortunately. I'm
large enough of soul. Oh, good. I'm glad to hear it. Now, if you don't mind... You know what I was
thinking about this morning? No, but to tell you the truth... I was thinking about Picasso, Dave.
Picasso and Ruhr. I'd just gone for a walk through the pushcart area to have my breakfast. You know,
the old hands quicker than the eyes. I know. I've seen you do it. You're the only man I know who
can ask directions to Houston Street and fill his pockets full of bananas at the same time. Oh,
well, society owes the artist something. Anyway, I started to think about the art of modern painting.
I think about that a lot, Dave. It troubles me. You do, huh? Well, I... I was thinking,
who is really doing important work in painting today? Who is really an unquestionable great?
I could think of only three names. Picasso, Ruhr, and me. Well, naturally. Just three names,
no more. Oh, it made me feel very lonely, Dave. Yeah, well, I can see that. And then I asked
myself, why is this so? Has absolute genius always been so rare? Why has my impending discovery been
delayed so long? Oh, I've thought about it for a long time, Dave. I've thought about it humbly,
carefully, because it's an important question, and this is the answer I came up with.
Well, don't bother waiting for the answer that Monell came up with. It turned out to be a
theory of aesthetics I'd heard at least a dozen times before from a dozen other painters in the
village. Monell was a bad painter. There was no question about it. I say that not only from my
opinion. I've roomed with two modern painters, and I've been married for a year to another,
but... Well, for example, a friend of mine, a fine critic of modern art, took a look at one of
Monell's paintings, which he hung over my fireplace in spite of my protests, and just kind of stared,
slacked your... What... What does he call that technique? Well, he says it's smudge on smudge.
Well, I can believe it. Smudge on smudge, white on white, none objectivism, neo-abstractionism,
call it what you like. There's nothing there, nothing. Well, it doesn't even have the interest
of those paintings that chimpanzee did a couple of years ago. He's just another of those loud-mouthed,
frowsy, frustrated dilettantes that infest the village. Why do you waste your time with him?
Well, for one thing, he lives right around the corner, and he's kind of colorful in his own sick
way. And he does have one great talent. It's not in painting. No, no. Now, you see, I just get by as
far as living expenses are concerned. Things like good paper to write on, good books for my library,
I can't touch them. And sometimes the yearning gets too great. You know, a newly published
collection by Wallace Stevens. Well, if I find one I want, I just go over to Mourniel's and tell him
about it. He doesn't lend you money. Oh, no, no, no. Now, you see, we go out to the bookstore and we
come in separately. And then I start a conversation with the proprietor about some very expensive
dollar print item I'm thinking of ordering, and Mourniel just says, don't mind me, I'm browsing.
Well, that's the high sign. I'm browsing. Well, what happens? Well, while I'm keeping the proprietor
talking, Mourniel snapples the Stevens. Isn't that just a little bit... Oh, well, I intend to pay for
them, of course, just as soon as I'm a little ahead. Well, why does he do this for you? Oh, well, I pay
off. I go through the same routine at an art supply store so Mourniel can get canvas and paint
and brushes. Of course, I really have to pay for Mourniel's browsing. I have to suffer through
listening to him, and then my conscience bothers me. Oh, it does. Yes, you see, I intend to pay for
my things, but I know he doesn't, and that's why my conscience bothers me. Well, here he was the day
he was discovered, sitting in his room, and Mourniel was running on about his own genius. No, I can't be
as unique as I feel. Other people must be born with a potential of such great talent, but it's
destroyed in them before they can reach artistic maturity. Why, how? Well, let's examine the role
that society plays in all of this. What's that? You got a hi-fi set? Nonsense. That's a crass
materialistic concept that I should... Oh, Emma, something is happening. Hey, why don't you put the purple lights in?
Purple? Oh, what's that? Look, look, it's shimmering. It's coming right through the wall. It looks like a box. We can't
both be having an artistic vision. You're not the type. No, I'm not, and I'm not drunk either. Look out, something's gonna happen!
Mourniel Mathaway? Who are you? Where'd you come from? You are Mourniel Mathaway? Yes, yes, yes. My name is
Glescu. I bring you greetings from 2487 A.D. Oh, 2487 A.D. I realize this is a difficult phenomenon
for you to grasp entirely, but here I am. We will now indulge in the 20th century custom of
shaking hands. Mr. Mourniel Mathaway? Oh, sure, sure, sure, shake. And you, sir? Yeah, yeah, sure, I don't mind.
Shake. What a moment! What a supreme moment! Oh, what do you mean, what a moment? What's so special about it?
Are you the inventor of time travel? Me, an inventor? No, no, no, no. Time travel was invented by
Antoinette Ingeborg, and, well, that was after your time. It's hardly worth going into at the moment,
especially since I only have half an hour. Why half an hour? The skin drum can only be maintained
at long. The skin drum is, well, call it the transmitting device that enables me to appear in your
period. There is such an enormous expenditure of power required that a trip into the past is made
only every 50 years. The privilege is awarded as a sort of go-bell, I believe I have the word right,
it is go-bell, isn't it, the award made in your time? Well, you wouldn't mean Nobel by any chance,
the Nobel Prize? That's it! The Nobel Prize! A trip is awarded to outstanding scholars as a kind of
Nobel Prize. Once every 50 years the man selected by the Gardamax is the most preeminent, that sort
of thing, you know. Up to now, of course, it's always gone to historians, or they frittered away
on the siege of Troy and the first atom bomb explosion at Los Alamos, or the, well, the
discovery of America, things like that. But this year... Yes? Well, what, what kind of scholar are
you? I am an art scholar. My specialty is art history, and my special field in art history is...
What? What? What? You, Mr. Mathaway. In my own period, I may say without much contradiction,
I am the greatest living authority on the life and works of Mourniel Mathaway. My special field
is you. Dave, Dave, did you hear that? Dave! Dave! I heard! Do you mean, you mean that I, I'm famous?
That famous? Famous! You, my dear sir, are beyond fame. You are one of the immortals the human
race has produced. That famous! That famous! Who is the man with whom modern painting in its full
glory is said to have definitely begun? Who is the man whose designs and color have dominated
architecture for the past five centuries? Who is responsible for the arrangement of our cities,
the shape of our artifacts, the texture of our clothing? Me! You! No other man in the history
of art has exerted such a massive influence over design. To whom can I compare you, sir? To what
other artist in history can I possibly compare you? Rembrandt, Da Vinci. Rembrandt and Da Vinci in
the same breath as you. That's ridiculous. They, they lacked your universality, your taste for the
cosmic. Wow! Uh, Mr. Glesker, excuse me. Do you happen to know of a poet named David Danziger?
Did much of his work survive? Is that you? Yes, that's me. Dave Danziger? Well, no, no, no, I,
I don't think so. The only poet I can remember for this time and this part of the world is, uh,
Peter Teb. Teb? Never heard of him. Then this must have been before he was discovered. But you see,
I, I am an art scholar. Well, you see, checking my chronometer, I see my time is getting short.
But it is an overwhelming delight for me to be standing in your studio, Mr. Mathaway, and, and
looking at you at last in the flesh. I wonder if you would mind obliging me with a small favor?
Oh, sure, sure. You name it. Nothing's too good for you. What do you want? I wonder, I'm sure you
don't mind. Could, could you possibly let me look at your painting, the one that you're working on
at this very moment? Well, sure, sure. I, I have one right over here. Just, uh, now, please, around.
There you are. I, I intend to call this Figured Figurines Number 29. Hmm? Oh, but this, this...
What's the matter? Well, surely this, this isn't your work, Mr. Mathaway? Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's my
work, all right. Figured Figurines Number 29. Recognize it? No, I do not recognize it, and that
is a fact for which I am extremely grateful. Could I see something else, please? Something,
uh, a little later. Well, that's the latest. Everything else is earlier. Here, here, you might
like this. Now, I call this Figured Figurines Number 22. I think it's the best of my early period.
Oh, oh dear. You know, what this, this looks like, a smears of paint on top of other
smears of paint. Right! Only I call it smudge on smudge. But you probably know all about that,
being such an authority on me. And now, here we have Figured Figurines Number 12. Do you,
do you mind leaving these figurines, Mr. Mathaway? I'd like to see something of yours with,
with color, with color and form. Well, I haven't done any real color work for a long time.
Oh, wait a minute, wait! I, I have one over here somewhere, an old canvas. I was going to paint over
it. Ah, here we are. This is one of the few examples of my mauve and model period that I've kept.
Oh, I, I can't imagine why. It's positively, it's, oh, oh dear. Oh, now wait a minute! Let me show
you some of my intestinal period. Ah, here. Here's a particularly good one. It's called
Large Intestine Rampant. Ha! You like it? Oh, please, please, I, you know, I, I think I'd like
to sit down. Well, take the comfortable chair. And here's another one called Small Intestine
Incisive. Oh, it's rather good, don't you think? I managed to avoid completely any definite line.
You notice that? I, I don't suppose you ever drink of Glyphax? Oh, no, no, of course you don't.
It hasn't been invented yet. Oh, now here's one that's bound to be great. It's one of my earlier
smudge-on-smudges. It's called Fly Ash. I painted it by coating the canvas with slow-setting glue
and leaving it out on the window for about two and a half hours. Notice the delicate deposit of soot.
Oh, please, please, Mr. Mathaway, please, please. Oh, I've got lots more. You know, I don't understand
this. All these canvases, this, this is obviously before you discover yourself in your, your true
technique. But I'm looking for a sign, a hint to the genius that is to come, and I find. Well,
how about this one? Here, here. Oh, please, please, please, please, oh, take that away. Oh, oh dear.
Oh, dear, no, no. Look, I'll have to leave soon. I don't understand this at all. Let me show you
something here, gentlemen. Here, a pocket edition of the source book. The complete paintings of
Mourniel Mathaway, 1928, 1996. Were you born in 1928? Yep. May 23rd, 1928. Here, look at the first
painting. Oh, that, that's beautiful. I mean, the color, that's incredible. Oh, oh, well, that stuff.
Why didn't you tell me you wanted that kind of stuff? You mean, you mean you have paintings
like this too? No, no, no, not paintings. One painting. Oh, I did it last week as a sort of
an experiment, but I wasn't satisfied with the way it turned out, so I, I gave it to the girl
downstairs. Would you like to look at it? Oh, yes, yes, yes, very much, very much. Well, here,
I'll just toss you a book on the bed. Come on, it won't take a minute or two.
Oh, she isn't home. I thought she'd be home now. Oh, I did so want you to see that painting.
I want to see it. I want to see anything that looks like your mature work,
but time is getting short. I'll tell you what. Anita here has a couple of cats that she asked
me to feed when she's away for a while, so she's given me the key to her apartment. Suppose I, uh,
browse upstairs and get it. But she... Suppose I browse through my room and get it. Get it?
Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, you go ahead and browse, sure. Fine, fine, but please hurry. Oh, sure,
sure, I'll hurry. I won't take long browsing. Well, that was it, the high sign. I'd seen
Morneal Mathaway in action too many times as a shoplifter not to understand it. He was going
upstairs to lift that book that he'd dropped on the bed. I knew he had never painted a picture
like the one in the book, but he would now. Only he wouldn't paint them. He'd copy them.
Well, I started talking automatically. You, uh, paint yourself, Mr. Glascoon? No, no, no, no, I...
Of course, I wanted to be an artist when I was a boy. I imagine every critic starts out that way,
but I found it far easier to write about paintings and to do them. Once I began reading the life of
Morneal Mathaway, I knew I had found my field. Not only do I empathize closely with his paintings,
but he seems so much like a person I could have known and liked. That's one of the things that
puzzles me. He's quite different from what I had imagined. Yes, I'll bet he is. Of course,
history has a way of adding romance to an important figure. Oh dear, I'm running out of time here.
Do you think you'll be back with the keys soon? I practically have no time left. I've just got to
get upstairs to the time translator. I just can't wait. I'll have to hurry now. Oh dear,
I did want to see an original Mathaway. I did want to. Mr. Mathaway, I... Oh! What's the matter?
The time translator. It isn't here. It's gone. Yeah, the book is gone too. And the book is
gone too. And Mathaway, he stranded me here. He must have figured out that getting inside and
closing the door made it return. Yeah, he's a great figure. And he'll probably figure out a
very plausible story to tell the people in your time to explain how the whole thing happened.
Why should he work his head off in the 20th century when he can be an outstanding hero
worship celebrity in the 25th? Yes, what will happen if they ask him to paint merely one picture?
Oh, he'll probably tell them he's already done his work and feels he can no longer add anything
of importance to it. He'll no doubt end up giving lectures on himself. Don't worry,
he'll make out. It's you I'm worried about. You're stuck here, aren't you? Are they likely to send a
rescue party after you? No. Every scholar who wins the award has to sign a waiver of responsibility
in case he doesn't return. No, I'm stuck here. Tell me, is it very bad living in this period?
Well, not so bad. Of course, you need a social security card. I don't know how you go about
getting one at your age. Well, the immigration authorities may want to question you since you're
sort of an illegal alien. Oh dear, dear, that's awful. Wait a minute. It needn't be. I'll tell
you what. Morniel has a social security card. He had a job a couple of years ago. He keeps his birth
certificate in that drawer along with his other papers. Now, why don't you just assume his
identity? He'll never show you up as an imposter. But do you think I could? Won't I be, well, won't
his friends, his relatives? No, he hasn't got any family, and I'm about the only friend he's got.
You could get away with it. Maybe grow a beard and dye it blonde. Actually, the big problem would be
earning a living. Being a specialist on math away in the art movements derived from him wouldn't
get you set on an awful lot right now. But I could paint. I've always dreamed of being an artist.
I don't have much talent, but there are all kinds of artistic novelties I know about, all kinds of
graphic innovations that don't exist in your time. Surely that would be enough even without talent
to make a living for me on some third or fourth rate level?
You certainly was, but not on a third or fourth rate level. Mr. Gleskow, that is Morniel Mathaway,
is the finest painter alive today and the unhappiest. After his last wildly successful
exhibition, I remember he said to me, what's the matter with all these people praising me like that?
I don't have an ounce of real talent in me. All my work is completely derivative. I've tried,
I've tried to do something, anything that was completely my own, but I'm so steeped in math
away that I can't seem to make my own personality come through. And those idiotic critics go on
raving about me, and the work isn't even my own. Well, then who's the idiotic one?
And the work isn't even my own. Well, then whose is it? Mathaway's, of course. We thought there
couldn't be a time paradox. I wish you could read all the scientific papers on the subject.
They fill whole libraries because it isn't possible, the time specialists argue, for a
painting to be copied from a future reproduction and so have no original artist. But that's what
I'm doing. I'm copying from that book by memory. Now look, Gleskow, that is Mathaway. Don't knock
yourself out. But it's dishonest. No, it isn't. You're deliberately trying not to copy those
paintings. You're working so hard at it that you refuse to think about that book or even discuss it.
As a matter of fact, when I tried to get you to talk about it a little while ago,
you couldn't actually remember it. That's true. That's true. You're the real Mourniel Mathaway,
and there's no paradox. You're actually painting those pictures. You're not copying them from
memory. I know in my heart that they're not mine. All right, I'll forget it. Anyway,
you're a much nicer guy than Mathaway ever was. And besides, a buck is a buck.
You have just heard X minus one presented by the National Broadcasting Company in cooperation with
Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine, which this month features Lulu by Clifford D. Simak, a story which
demonstrates that a spaceship should be a darv, a smasher, a pip, a butte, but man all battle
stations if it ever becomes a sweetheart of a ship. Galaxy Magazine, on your newsstand today.
Tonight, X minus one has brought you the discovery of Mourniel Mathaway, a story from the pages of
Galaxy written by William Tem and adapted for radio by Ernest Kanoy. Featured in our cast were
Leon Jani as Mathaway, Guy Rep as the critic, Wendell Holmes as Glescu, and Les Damon as Dave.
Your announcer, Fred Collins. X minus one was directed by Daniel Sutter and is an NBC
radio network production.