Robert Silverberg - Push No More

Much later she says, “I’d like to know how you make things move without touching them.”

I shrug. “Why do you want to know?”

“It fascinates me. You fascinate me. I thought for a long time you were just another fellow, you know, kind of clumsy, kind of immature. But then this gift of yours. It’s ESP, isn’t it, Harry? I’ve read a lot about it. I know. The moment you knocked me down, I knew what it must have been. Wasn’t it?”

Why be coy with her?

“Yes,” I say, proud in my new manhood. “As a matter of fact, it’s a classic poltergeist manifestation. When I gave you that shove, it was the first I knew I had the power. But I’ve been developing it. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve been able to do lately.” My voice is deep; my manner is assured. I have graduated into my own fantasy self tonight.

“Show me,” she says. “Poltergeist something, Harry!”

“Anything. You name it.”

“That chair.”

“Of course.” I survey the chair. I reach for the power. It does not come. The chair stays where it is. What about the saucer, then? No. The spoon? No. “Cindy, I don’t understand it, but—it doesn’t seem to be working right now…”

“You must be tired.”

“Yes. That’s it. Tired. A good night’s sleep and I’ll have it again. I’ll phone you in the morning and give you a real demonstration.” Hastily buttoning my shirt. Looking for my shoes. Her parents will walk in any minute. Her brother. “Listen, a wonderful evening, unforgettable, tremendous—”

“Stay a little longer.”

“I really can’t.”

Out into the rain.

Home. Stunned. I push…and the shoe sits there. I look up at the light fixture. Nothing. The bulb will not turn. The power is gone. What will become of me now? Commander Blaufeld, space hero! No. No. Nothing. I will drop back into the ordinary rut of mankind. I will be… a husband. I will be… an employee. And push no more. And push no more. Can I even lift my shirt and flip it to the floor? No. No. Gone. Every shred, gone. I pull the covers over my head. I put my hands to my deflowered maleness. That alone responds. There alone am I still potent. Like all the rest. Just one of the common herd, now. Let’s face it: I’ll push no more. I’m ordinary again. Fighting off tears, I coil tight against myself in the darkness, and, sweating, moaning a little, working hard, I descend numbly into the quicksand, into the first moments of the long colorless years ahead.