Free The Man in the Tree by Damon Knight

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the stacks, until he had eight dollars' worth. At the counter he said,

"Could you give me some bills for these, please?"

"Sure -- I can always use the change." The woman counted out a five and

three ones, subtracted the amount of his check, and handed him the rest.

Then it was getting dark, and he was sleepy. He went into a motel and

asked for a room. "Traveling alone?" the clerk said.

"Yes."

"That'll be five-fifty, in advance."

He paid and took the key. His room was not very nice, but it had a bathtub

with a shower and soap and towels. He covered himself with soapsuds, washed

his hair, rinsed off and did it all over again for sheer pleasure.

In the morning he went into a store and bought two shirts and a little

canvas bag which he thought would make him look more respectable. He

changed his shirt in the back room, put the others in his bag, and got

on the road again.

Los Angeles now was his destination, but his first sight of the Golden

Gate Bridge -- that astonishing construction, soaring light as air

across the blue water -- so filled him with wonder that he stopped in

San Francisco and never thought of going on again. He liked the hilly

streets, and the cable cars, and the crowds of cheerful people.

He stayed in a cheap hotel for two nights, and might have stayed

there longer, but on one of his walks he passed a sign in a window:

"Furnished Apt. For Rent." He went in and asked about it: it was two

rooms and a kitchenette, with a linoleum floor and maple furniture;

the rent was fifty-five dollars a month.

He remembered that his Uncle Bruce lived in Provo, Utah; that had stuck in

his mind because of the funny name. He got the number from the operatorand

called on a Saturday afternoon.

"H ello?" A woman's voice.

"Hello, is this -- Does Bruce Anderson live there?"

"Yes, he does, but he's not home right now. Can I help you?"

"Well, this is Gene Anderson, I'm his nephew -- "

"Why, Gene! It's real nice to hear from you. How's your mom and dad?"

"That's what I was wondering. You haven't heard from them?"

"Why, no. Is there anything the matter?"

"Well, it's just that -- I was away from home, and they kind of moved,

and I don't know where they are."

"Well, I never heard of such a thing! My heavens! Where are you now, Gene?"

"I'm, uh, in Texas. Could you -- "

"Well, you tell me your address and phone number, Gene, and when your

uncle gets home I'll ask him -- You know, it's funny, your dad was

never much for writing, but we always used to get a Christmas card. And

I said to Bruce last year, no, it was two years ago Christmas, I said,

no card from your brother this year, I wonder if they're all right. Now

let me get a pencil."

"I can't -- I haven't got an address to give you, because I'm just

passing through, kind of, but I wondered, could you tell me my aunt

Cora's number? In Davenport, Iowa? I don't even know what her name is --

I mean her husband's name."

"Well, her husband's name is Johnson, or, wait a minute, is it Jackson?

Something like that, but Gene, what do you mean you're just passing

through? Who are you staying with? You tell me where to reach you,

because I know Bruce will want -- "

"I have to go now," said Gene, and hung up.

In a curious way, he was relieved. For the first time in his life he

was free to do whatever he liked, go where he pleased, buy anything he

wanted. It seemed to him that he had died and been reborn, back there

in the darkness under the tree. Both his old lives were gone, the one

at home with his parents and the one in the tree house, and he felt no

regret, only a sense of gratitude and liberation.

He changed his dollar bills at the bank for fives and tens, spent them,

took change, got more fives and tens. He bought books, paints and brushes,

stretched canvases, an easel. He went to the movies every night; his

favorite films were those with Glenn Ford and John Wayne, but he watched

everything with uncritical appreciation, even