I Am Crying All Inside and Other Stories by Clifford D. Simak Read Free Book Online Page B

where it was bad taste to even mention them. The dialect routine, of course, was strictly out, as it well deserved to be. Also, so far as the Garsonians were concerned, was the business slicker joke. The Garsonians were no commercial people; such a joke would sail clear above their heads.
    But Joshua and Thaddeus, for all of that, were relatively undaunted. They requisitioned the files of data from Sheridan and spent hours poring over them, analyzing the various aspects of Garsonian life that might be safely written into their material. They made piles of notes. They drafted intricate charts showing relationships of Garsonian words and the maze of native social life. They wrote and rewrote and revised and polished. Eventually, they hammered out their script.
    â€œThere’s nothing like a show,” Joshua told Sheridan with conviction, “to loosen up a people. You get them feeling good and they lose their inhibitions. Besides, you have made them become somewhat indebted to you. You have entertained them and naturally they must feel the need to reciprocate.”
    â€œI hope it works,” said Sheridan, somewhat doubtful and discouraged.
    For nothing else was working.
    In the distant village, the Garsonians had unbent sufficiently to visit the supermarket—to visit, not to buy. It almost seemed as if to them the market was some great museum or showplace. They would file down the aisles and goggle at the merchandise and at times reach out and touch it, but they didn’t buy. They were, in fact, insulted if one suggested perhaps they’d like to buy.
    In the other villages, the billboards had at first attracted wide attention. Crowds had gathered around them and had listened by the hour. But the novelty had worn off by now and they paid the tapes very little attention. And they still continued to ignore the robots. Even more pointedly, they ignored or rebuffed all attempts to sell.
    It was disheartening.
    Lemuel gave up his pacing and threw away his notes. He admitted he was licked. There was no way, on Garson IV, to adapt the idea of the college salesman.
    Baldwin headed up a team that tried to get the whisper campaign started. The natives flatly disbelieved that any other village would go out and buy.
    There remained the medicine show and Joshua and Thaddeus had a troupe rehearsing. The project was somewhat hampered by the fact that even Hezekiah could not dig up any actor transmogs, but, even so, they were doing well.
    Despite the failure of everything they had tried, the robots kept going out to the villages, kept plugging away, kept on trying to sell, hoping that one day they would get a clue, a hint, an indication that might help them break the shell of reserve and obstinacy set up by the natives.
    One day Gideon, out alone, radioed to base.
    â€œThere’s something out here underneath a tree that you should take a look at,” he told Sheridan.
    â€œSomething?”
    â€œA different kind of being. It looks intelligent.”
    â€œA Garsonian?”
    â€œHumanoid, all right, but it’s no Garsonian.”
    â€œI’ll be right out,” said Sheridan. “You stay there so you can point it out to me.”
    â€œIt has probably seen me,” Gideon said, “but I did not approach it. I thought you might like first whack at it yourself.”
    As Gideon had said, the creature was sitting underneath a tree. It had a glittering cloth spread out and an ornate jug set out and was taking things out of a receptacle that probably was a hamper.
    It was more attractively humanoid than the Garsonians. Its features were finely chiseled and its body had a look of lithe ranginess. It was dressed in the richest fabrics and was all decked out with jewels. It had a decided social air about it.
    â€œHello, friend,” Sheridan said in Garsonian.
    The creature seemed to understand him, but it smiled in a superior manner and seemed not to be too happy at Sheridan’s