Produced by Greg Weeks, Geetu Melwani and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net * * * * * Transcriber note: This etext was produced from Analog February 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. * * * * * Something Will Turn Up by David Mason Err ... maybe it had to do with this being a non-Parity universe, perhaps? Some things can't be simply inverted, after all.... Illustrated by Brotman [Illustration] "You, Mr. Rapp?" Stanley Rapp blinked, considering the matter. He always thought over everything very carefully. Of course, some questions were easier to answer than others. This one, for instance. He had very few doubts about his name. "Uh," Stanley Rapp said. "Yes. Yes." He stared at the bearded young man. Living in the Village, even on the better side of it, one saw beards every day, all shapes and sizes of beard. This one was not a psychoanalyst beard, or a folk singer beard; not even an actor beard. This was the scraggly variety, almost certainly a poet beard. Mr. Rapp, while holding no particular prejudice against poets, had not sent for one, he was sure of that. Then he noticed the toolcase in the bearded young man's hand, lettered large LIGHTNING SERVICE, TV, HI-FI. "Oh," Stanley said, nodding. "You're the man to fix the TV set." "You know it, Dad," the young man said, coming in. He shut the door behind him, and stared around the apartment. "What a wild pad. Where the idiot box, hey?" The pleasantly furnished, neat little apartment was not what Mr. Rapp had ever thought of as a "wild pad." But the Village had odd standards, Mr. Rapp knew. Chacun a son gout, he had said, on moving into the apartment ten years ago. Not aloud, of course, because he had only taken one year of French, and would never have trusted his accent. But chacun a son gout, anyway. "The television set," Mr. Rapp said, translating. "Oh, yes." He went to the closet door and opened it. Reaching inside, he brought out an imposingly large TV set, mounted on a wheeled table. The bearded repairman whistled. "In the closet," the repairman said, admiringly. "Crazy. You go in there to watch it, or you let it talk to itself?" "Oh. Well, I don't exactly watch it at all," Mr. Rapp said, a little sadly. "I mean, I can't. That's why I called you." "Lightning's here, have no fear," the bearded one said, approaching the set with a professional air. "Like, in the closet, hey." He bent over the set, appraisingly. "I thought you were a square, Pops, but I can see you're.... Hey, this is like too much. Man, I don't want to pry, but why is this box upside down?"