Chapter 26: A Sudden Turn of Events

The influence of the avant-garde science fiction novel "朝闻道" (Morning Dao) was spreading rapidly through New York by word of mouth.

Ernie had also bought a copy of *Astounding Stories*, partly to see what other writers were producing so he could adapt to the sci-fi style of the era, and partly to support the industry and contribute to its "first-day sales."

After returning with the magazine and a coffee, he sat at home and began to read intently.

However, before the influence of "朝闻道" could even reach him as an author, another unexpected piece of news arrived.

Mary, having returned from shopping, held the latest mail in her hand and walked through the door excitedly. "Ernie, you have a new piece of mail."

She knew Ernie had submitted a manuscript to *Black Mask*, and upon seeing an envelope from the "Story Press," she was certain his work had been accepted.

"It could just as easily be a rejection letter," Ernie said, setting his magazine aside. Seeing Mary’s confidence in him, he felt both warmed and helpless.

As the saying goes—a scrap in the eyes of society, a pride and joy in the eyes of one's mother.

Of course, Ernie didn't consider his own writing "scraps." With a flicker of anticipation, he used a letter opener to slice open the envelope.

[Dear Mr. Riser:

Greetings!

I have carefully read the short story "A Bronx Tale" that you sent on May 29th.

In the current trend where gangster fiction increasingly pursues violence and erotica, your work stands out with its concise, powerful prose and ingenious plot design, crafting a community story rich in the atmosphere of daily life. You not only dare to critique current ills, but you also weave metaphorical social contradictions naturally into the narrative—much like an exquisite dish that stimulates the taste buds while offering a complete spectrum of human flavors.

However, the style displayed in this story does not align with the style our publication consistently advocates.

Please do not be discouraged. Although your manuscript was not accepted by *Black Mask*, a work of sufficient excellence will not remain buried...]

Ernie paused. What kind of twist was this? He continued reading.

[...At this moment, as I write this letter, a veteran of the publishing industry—Mr. Edward Weeks—is sitting beside me, having me draft this for him.

Yes, Mr. Riser, what I want to tell you is that while this novel was not accepted by *Black Mask*, it has been favored and selected by Edward Weeks, editor-in-chief of *The Atlantic Monthly*.

To quote Mr. Weeks directly: "This piece has the flavor we are looking for."

Because your submission was mailed to the *Black Mask* office, you may need to meet with Mr. Weeks in person to discuss whether you agree to sign this manuscript for publication in *The Atlantic Monthly*.

If you are interested, please call the following number: xxxxxxx.

Thank you again for your submission to *Black Mask* magazine. We look forward to more of your fine work.

F.M. Elliott, Associate Editor, *Black Mask* magazine.]

After reading the letter, Ernie sat stunned for a moment.

What was going on?

Accepted... but at *The Atlantic Monthly*??

The gap between the two was far too wide. He had jumped from a pulp fiction magazine to one of America’s most prestigious top-tier journals in a single stroke.

That wasn’t even the most shocking part. How on earth did his story end up in the hands of the editor-in-chief of *The Atlantic Monthly*?

Ernie sat there pondering, feeling more bewildered than Louis XVI. Still, receiving an invitation from *The Atlantic Monthly* for a manuscript he expected to be rejected was a good thing!

Curious about what had happened behind the scenes, he went downstairs to use the apartment's only landline and dialed the number for *Black Mask*.

Fanny Ellison, who was working at her desk, felt her heart skip a beat when the phone rang. She was eager to know what kind of person the author of "A Bronx Tale" was. Someone capable of writing such a story—if not an immigrant or a Black man—must surely be a liberal white person dedicated to racial equality movements, right?

Could this phone call... be him? With a flutter of nerves, Fanny answered.

"Hello, is this *Black Mask*? I am the author of 'A Bronx Tale,' and I’d like to speak with Mr. Elliott."

It was a very young voice.

A pleasant surprise dawned on Fanny’s face. She said excitedly, "Hello, I am Elliott—an editor who uses a male pen name." For reasons even she couldn't quite explain, she didn't reveal her own race at that moment.

"Oh... hello, Ma'am. How should I address you?" Ernie asked, surprised.

"Fanny Ellison."

"Hello, Ms. Ellison. Thank you for your appreciation. I am willing to have 'A Bronx Tale' published in—uh, *The Atlantic Monthly*," Ernie said, still unaccustomed to the turn of events and nearly saying *Black Mask*. "When would it be convenient to meet and discuss the details?"

...This author is quite familiar with submission procedures; he doesn't sound like a novice, though the writing style makes it clear he’s an old hand.

Fanny thought to herself, then replied happily, "If you are free, we could meet at 4:00 PM today at the Caffè Reggio in Greenwich Village."

"Of course, I will be there on time."

Ernie agreed readily. He knew that café; it would become quite famous in the future, serving as a filming location for *The Godfather Part II*, and even the imaginative Kennedy had delivered a campaign speech right in front of its doors.

It was also a place frequented by many musicians and artists. Discussing a novel with an editor there would have a certain charm.

After ending the call, Fanny immediately phoned Weeks. Having read "A Bronx Tale," Weeks had been waiting to secure the piece, so he was naturally available to meet Ernie.

...

In the afternoon, the warm sun shone down on MacDougal Street. The signs of the shops along the street refracted the sunlight, and the artistically decorated interiors gave the area a glowing, creative aura.

Edward Weeks walked down MacDougal Street in his suit, enjoying the rich artistic atmosphere. It felt like a "safe house" in a chaotic world, where the unease brought by the war could not run rampant.

In order to meet "Ernie Riser" on time, he had arrived at the café much earlier than usual and was waiting, feeling a bit bored.

At that moment, two young men passed by, talking.

"My god, man, this issue of *Astounding Stories* is incredible. It’s the first time in my life I’ve seen this type of sci-fi."

"You’re right! The top priority now is to figure out where the author of '朝闻道' bought his drugs—he couldn't have written this without being high!"

The two youths chatted excitedly, each holding a copy of the latest *Astounding Stories*.

Edward Weeks raised an eyebrow upon hearing this. He knew *Astounding Stories* and had read it; it was a good magazine, especially in recent years under the leadership of editor John Campbell, with both quality and sales rising daily.

But... couldn't have written it without being high?

He couldn't quite imagine what kind of novel would elicit such a comment from readers.

Intrigued and bored with waiting, Weeks walked toward a bookstore across the street.