The Spirit of Science Fiction

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“Do you mind if I interview you?”

“Go ahead, but keep it brief.”

“Do you realize that you’re the youngest writer ever to win this prize?”

“Is that so?”

“I’ve just spoken to one of the organizers. I got the sense that they were moved.”

“I don’t know what to tell you…. It’s an honor…. I’m very happy.”

“It seems everyone is happy. What are you drinking?”

“Tequila.”

“Vodka here. Vodka is a strange drink, isn’t it? It’s not what most women would choose. Vodka neat.”

“I don’t know what women drink.”

“Oh, no? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. A woman’s drink is always secret. Her true drink, I mean. Her infinite pour. But never mind. It’s such a clear night, isn’t it? From here we can see the farthest towns and the most distant stars.”

“That’s an optical illusion, miss. If you look carefully, you’ll observe that the windows are oddly fogged. Go out on the terrace. I believe we’re in the middle of the woods. Practically all we can see are tree branches.”

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