Puzzles of the Black Widowers - By Isaac Asimov Page 0,15

to mystery short stories. Both stories were paid for generously, and then, as sometimes happens in publishing, something went wrong and the magazine never appeared.

I therefore placed "Unique Is Where You Find It" in a collection containing both my science fiction and my science essays in alternation (thus encouraging readers to read both and, if they were only acquainted with me in one of my incarnations, to rush out and buy the other with mad abandon). "Unique Is Where You Find It" represented the only brand-new item in the book, which is entitled The Edge of Tomorrow and was published by Tor Books in 1985.

This is one of the not-so-rare cases where something in the story is based on an actual event in my life. When I was in graduate school, I had a professor much like Youngerlea, and my own reaction to him was very much like Horace Rubin's. The Beilstein incident, described in the story, really happened exactly as described and I really seized the opportunity to humiliate the professor even at the risk of damage to my grades and considered the opportunity well worth the risk.
The Lucky Piece
"Mr. Silverstein," said Thomas Trumbull, "how do you justify your existence?"

Albert Silverstein was the guest of James Drake at that month's banquet of the Black Widowers. He was a rather shriveled-looking gentleman, small of body, with a good-natured, gnomelike face, a tanned complexion to the bald dome of his head, and an easy smile.

He was smiling now as he said, "I suppose you might say that I add to the feeling of security of many people."

"Indeed?" said Trumbull, creasing his own tanned forehead into a washboard effect. "And how do you do that?"

"Well," said Silverstein, "I own a chain of novelty stores - perfectly innocent novelties, you understand, though some tend to be in questionable taste - "

Mario Gonzalo straightened his delicately striped jacket and said, with a touch of sarcasm, "Like the clay representations of dog excrement that you carefully place on your host's living-room carpet when you've brought your hound with you on a visit?"

Silverstein laughed. "No, we've never handled that. However, one popular item in my father's time was the upset ink bottle and the apparently spreading ink stain in hard rubber that you put on your friend's best tablecloth. Of course, the coming of the ballpoint pen wiped out ink bottles and that particular novelty. Our industry has to keep up with technological change."

"Where does the feeling of security come in?" asked Trumbull doggedly.

"The point there is that one of our biggest perennials is the sale of lucky pieces - like this one." He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small plastic square. Embedded in it was a four-leaf clover. "One of our steady sellers," he said. "We sell thousands each year."

Geoffrey Avalon, who sat next to Silverstein, took the object from him and stared at it with a mixture of puzzlement and contempt on his stiffly aristocratic face. He said disapprovingly, "Do you really mean that thousands of people believe that a clover mutation will affect the Universe in their favor, and are willing to pay money for something like this?"

"Of course," said Silverstein cheerfully. "Thousands every year, year in and year out. These days, of course, they hesitate to admit their superstition. They buy it for their children, supposedly, or as a gift, or as a curio, but they buy it and hang it up in their car or keep it on their key ring. That thing sells for up to five dollars."

"That's revolting," said Trumbull. "You make money out of their folly."

Silverstein's smile vanished. "Not at all," he said seriously. "It is not that object I sell, but a feeling of security, as I said, and that is a very valuable commodity which I sell for far less than it is worth. For as long as someone owns that four-leaf clover, a weight of fear is lifted from his or her mind and soul. There is less fear of crossing the street, of encountering a mugger, of hearing bad news. There is less concern if it should happen that a black cat ran across one's path, or if one should carelessly walk beneath a ladder."

"But the sense of security they get is a false one."

"It is not, sir. The sense of security they experience is very real. The cause may be unreal, but it brings the desired result. Consider, too, that most fears that people have are unreal in the