Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Irma Spehar and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net Transcriber's Note This etext was produced from the September 1960 issue of If. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Obvious printer's and punctuation errors have been fixed. Original page numbers have been retained. [Illustration] THE SIX FINGERS OF TIME [Illustration] _Time is money. Time heals all wounds. Given time, anything is possible. And now he had all the time in the world!_ By R. A. LAFFERTY Illustrated by GAUGHAN He began by breaking things that morning. He broke the glass of water on his night stand. He knocked it crazily against the opposite wall and shattered it. Yet it shattered slowly. This would have surprised him if he had been fully awake, for he had only reached out sleepily for it. Nor had he wakened regularly to his alarm; he had wakened to a weird, slow, low booming, yet the clock said six, time for the alarm. And the low boom, when it came again, seemed to come from the clock. He reached out and touched it gently, but it floated off the stand at his touch and bounced around slowly on the floor. And when he picked it up again it had stopped, nor would shaking start it. He checked the electric clock in the kitchen. This also said six o'clock, but the sweep hand did not move. In his living room the radio clock said six, but the second hand seemed stationary. "But the lights in both rooms work," said Vincent. "How are the clocks stopped? Are they on a separate circuit?" He went back to his bedroom and got his wristwatch. It also said six; and its sweep hand did not sweep. "Now this could get silly. What is it that would stop both mechanical and electrical clocks?" He went to the window and looked out at the clock on the Mutual Insurance Building. It said six o'clock, and the second hand did not move. "Well, it is possible that the confusion is not limited to myself. I once heard the fanciful theory that a cold shower will clear the mind. For me it never has, but I will try it. I can always use cleanliness for an excuse." The shower didn't work. Yes, it did: the water came now, but not like water; like very slow syrup that hung in the air. He reached up to touch it there hanging down and stretching. And it shattered like glass when he touched it and drifted in fantastic slow globs across the room. But it had the feel of water, wet and pleasantly cool. And in a quarter of a minute or so it was down over his shoulders and back, and he luxuriated in it. He let it soak his head and it cleared his wits at once.