Chapter 25: The Influence of “Hearing the Way at Dawn”

Upon hearing what Fanny said, Edward Weeks placed his thick, powerful hand over the back of hers.

"Ms. Ellison, you are an excellent editor. You discovered this work, so you should be the one to write the reply, and then we shall go together to meet the author."

Feeling the warmth on her hand and the support from such a veteran white editor, Fanny finally regained her confidence. She stepped out of the circle of self-doubt and nodded, saying, "Then I will write the reply now."

Weeks smiled and handed his fountain pen to Fanny.

...

After opening the reply sent by *Black Mask* magazine, Mario Puzo had the happiest day of his life.

His manuscript… had been accepted!

As for "F. M. Elliot," the name signed at the end of the letter, Puzo naturally regarded them as his benefactor, and he couldn't help but feel curious about the kind of person who had accepted his work. After all, judging by the signature, the only thing he could discern was that the editor was a white male.

Ennie and Asimov were both happy for Puzo. In their excitement, and to thank Ennie and Asimov for their guidance, Puzo decided to use the savings he had earned from his part-time jobs to take the three of them to the "White Castle" in Brooklyn to celebrate with hamburgers.

From the acceptance letter, Puzo already knew he would receive 1.0 cent per word. Since his piece, "The Gentleman," was about 24,000 words long, it would amount to a total of 240 dollars—equivalent to several months of his hard-earned wages—so he could well afford a meal of hamburgers.

After eating that night, Ennie packed some burgers to take home for George, Mary, and Mishi to taste. He then stayed in his bedroom to continue writing, not worrying about whether he would be accepted by *Black Mask*; he had already planned that if there was no news in two or three days, he would submit his work elsewhere.

The next day, early morning.

June 10th, the release day of the latest issue of *Astounding Stories*!

On the cover of the magazine, the name "Ennie Riser" appeared prominently, overshadowing a host of established authors and becoming the featured story of the issue.

Although the dark clouds of war had become increasingly heavy following the defeats on the Western European front, the flames of war had not yet reached the United States, and domestic life continued to run in an orderly fashion.

Therefore, as soon as the June issue of *Astounding Stories* was released, many science fiction enthusiasts who loved the magazine lined up early at newsstands and bookstores.

*Swish—*

At this moment, the rolling shutters of Powell's Books on the corner of Fifth Avenue were pulled up, and a crowd of science fiction fans eager to buy the magazine surged into the store.

The more affluent fans bought the issue of *Astounding Stories* individually, partly for the purpose of collecting. Those who were financially strapped bought a copy together to share—a communal purchase.

But this did not prevent them from buying the magazine in different ways, and upon seeing the author's name on the cover, they all raised the same question: "Who is this Ennie Riser?"

Such curiosity meant they didn't even bother to read the stories by familiar authors, flipping the magazine directly to the page featuring "Morning Glory."

Then, Powell's Books suddenly erupted; gasps of astonishment rose like an unceasing wave.

"Equatorial accelerator, Pathfinders, vacuum decay, super-unification theory..."

These concepts, which transcended imagination, unfolded within the cold and fluid narrative, carrying everyone's spirit toward the vast sea of the universe.

...Damn, was this author on drugs?

Columbia University.

Sunlight filtered through the high windows of the Columbia University classroom, casting spots of light onto the dark brown desks. The professor teaching organic chemistry was lecturing, using chalk to build intricate benzene rings on the blackboard, the tapping of the chalk accompanied by the falling of dust.

Asimov, who should have been listening intently, was slacking off. The most critical point was that he was sitting in the "death zone" of the front row, and to be slacking off while the professor had his back turned writing on the board was a bit much.

But, who could blame him when *Astounding Stories* had just been released? Although he had already read the content, Asimov wanted to experience the brilliance of "Morning Glory" as it appeared in print.

"That fool Isaac, daring to daydream in Professor Edelman's class."

"Pray to God that Professor Edelman's chalk isn't too hard."

However, before these classmates worried for Asimov could finish their thoughts—

*Thwack—*

Edelman turned around, and upon seeing Asimov with his head bowed, a piece of chalk flew instantly and struck Asimov square on the head.

Judging by the spread of dust that exploded from Asimov's hair, Edelman had used his full strength, with the same fury as a British soldier firing at a German soldier.

Asimov snapped back to reality from the story, looked up, and realized that every gaze in the classroom was fixed upon him.

"The youngest student in this year's graduate program, a genius beyond dispute—Isaac Asimov," Edelman pushed up his tortoiseshell glasses and said coldly, "please explain why anhydrous aluminum trichloride is commonly used as a catalyst in the Friedel-Crafts reaction."

A faint intake of breath could be heard around the room. Professor Edelman was truly angry and had posed a difficult question. Though the question was fundamental, it was extremely easy to overlook key details.

Asimov, however, looked relieved. He had expected some sort of physical punishment; if it was just answering a question, it wasn't too difficult.

Asimov answered almost without hesitation: "Professor, because anhydrous aluminum trichloride forms a carbocation intermediate with the alkyl halide; this complex activates the electrophilic substitution site on the aromatic ring."

Professor Edelman, his face cold, continued to ask: "If you substituted it with zinc chloride, what would happen to the reaction?"

"The reaction rate would decrease significantly."

Asimov paused for almost no time: "Zinc chloride is a weaker Lewis acid than aluminum trichloride and cannot effectively stabilize the carbocation; the yield might drop by more than 30 percent. There was a paper in the *Journal of the American Chemical Society* last year that specifically compared the effects of these two catalysts."

Edelman was stunned for a moment, not by Asimov's ability to answer so fluently—in his view, for a genius like Asimov to slack off in class, he must possess that level of chemical knowledge. He was simply surprised that Asimov could even remember the paper from last year's *Journal of the American Chemical Society*.

While Edelman was momentarily stunned, Asimov thought the professor was about to ask another question, so he waited quietly.

After a moment, Edelman said: "Asimov, was the magazine you were just reading the *Journal of the American Chemical Society*?"

Asimov hesitated for a second before pulling the latest issue of *Astounding Stories* from under the desk: "Professor, I was reading a science fiction literary magazine. During my spare time throughout the day, reading *Astounding Stories* is more interesting than the *Journal of the American Chemical Society*."

Science... fiction... literature...?

Edelman looked as if he had heard something impossible. He had assumed that Asimov, being able to answer so fluently and being so well-read, must be someone who kept chemistry journals in his hands at all times.

And yet... a science fiction magazine... one of those pulp fiction rags?

How did this Russian Jew dare to compare a pulp magazine to the top chemistry journal, the *Journal of the American Chemical Society*!

The more Professor Edelman thought about it, the angrier he became. He shouted: "Give me that pulp magazine, and don't even think about getting it back from me!"

Asimov slumped his shoulders, unable to understand what he had done to provoke the professor into becoming even angrier than before. He had no choice but to surrender the copy of *Astounding Stories* he had purchased.

After the class ended, Professor Edelman returned to his office to rest.

Since he had no more classes that morning and only needed to wait for his lunch break, and because he was very curious as to why Isaac Asimov would simultaneously read two such contrasting magazines—a top academic chemistry journal and pulp speculative fiction—he frowned and opened *Astounding Stories* to try and read it.

And, so as not to waste too much time on useless research, Edelman chose a "sample" printed at the very top of the cover—"Morning Glory," written by Ennie Riser.

At first, Edelman read with complete disdain, like a man forced to sift through a trash can to find a lost wallet.

But as he delved deeper, the disdain and disgust on Edelman's face gradually vanished. His posture straightened, and he became completely engrossed in the story.

"Equatorial accelerator... John Cockcroft and Ernest Walton's research at Cambridge in 1932?"

"Vacuum decay... My God, that's the theory Dirac proposed in 1930, right? Based on Dirac, this author has conducted a remarkably reasonable theoretical deduction; the logical reasoning and conceptual expansion are quite rigorous."

Was this really the low-brow, nonsensical science fiction he had always thought it to be?

"Ramsey!" He couldn't wait to find his close friend, Norman Ramsey, an excellent physics professor.

"My dear Professor Edelman, are you here to show off that your paper has been published in the latest issue of the *Journal of the American Chemical Society*?" Ramsey thought as he saw Edelman approaching him with a magazine in his hand.

"No, I want to show you a piece of science fiction!"

"What?"

"You must see this!"