Martian Time-Slip

by Philip K. Dick

Seating himself at his out-of-tune harpsichord, Arnie opened a book of Scarlatti sonatas and began to bang away at one of his favorites, a cross-hand one on which he had been practicing for months. It was strong, rhythmic, vigorous music, and he pounded the keys with delight, ignoring the distorted sound itself. Heliogabalus moved further off to study his manual; the sound hurt his ears. “I’ve got a long-playing record of this,” he said to Heliogabalus as he played. “So goddamn old and valuable that I don’t dare play it.” “What is a long-playing record?” the Bleekman asked. “You wouldn’t understand if I told you. Glenn Gould playing. It’s forty years old; my family passed it down to me. It was my mother’s. That guy could really hammer these cross-hand sonatas out.” His own playing discouraged him, and he gave up. I could never be any good, he decided, even if this instrument were in peak condition like it was before I had it shipped here from Home.