                                     SPyHuNTeR
                             }----------=---=---------{
                         -----=====MoNK’S-=-DoMaiN=====-----
                               SiN-CiTY-FuN-SiNCe-1994
                        http://pages.prodigy.net/holymonkofthe86
         :::textfiles, best reading material for your computer since 1971!:::
                   }--------------------=---=--------------------{
                the first textfile ever of SpyhunteR. collector's item!

-short story
Harrison Bergeron
by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.




	The year was 2081, and everybody was finally equal.  They weren’t only equal
before God and the law.  They were equal every which way.  Nobody was smarter than
anybody else.  Nobody was better looking than anybody else.  Nobody was stronger or
quicker than anybody else.  All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th
Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United
States Handicapper General.  
	Some things about living still weren’t quite right, though.  April, for instance, still
drove people crazy by not being springtime.  And it was in that clammy month that the
H-G men took George and Hazel Bergeron’s fourteen-year-old son, Harrison, away.  
	It was tragic, all right, but George and Hazel couldn’t think about it very hard. 
Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn’t think about anything
except in short bursts.  And George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had 
alittle mental handicap radio in his ear.  He was required by law to wear it at all times.  It
was tuned to a government transmitter.  Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter
would send out some sharp noise to keep people like George from taking unfair advantage
of their brains.
	George and Hazel were watching television.  There were tears on Hazel’s cheeks,
but she’d forgotten the moment what they were about. 
	On the television screen were ballerinas.
	A buzzer sounded in George’s head.  His thoughts fled in panic, like bandits from a
burglar alarm.
	“That was a real pretty dance, that dance they just did,” said Hazel.
	“Huh?” said George.
	“That dance -it was nice,” said Hazel.
	“Yup,” said George.  He tried to think a little about the ballerinas.  They weren’t
really very good - no better than anybody else would have been, anyway.  They were
burdened with sash-weights and bags of birdshot, and their faces were masked, so that no
one, seeing a free and graceful gesture or a pretty face, would feel like something the cat
drug in.  George was toying with the vague notion that maybe dancers shouldn’t be
handicapped.  But he didn’t get very far with it before another noise in his ear radio
scattered his thoughts.
	George winced.  So did two of the eight ballerinas.
	Hazel saw him wince.  having no mental handicap herself, she had to ask George
what the latest sound had been.
	“Sounded like somebody hitting a milk bottle with a bal peen hammer,” Said
George. 
	"I'd think it would be real interesting, hearing all the different sounds," said Hazel, 
a little envious.  "All the things they think up."
	"Um," said George.
	"Only, if I was Handicapper General, you know what I would do?" said Hazel.  Hazel, as a 
matter of fact, bore a strong resemblance to the Handicapper General, a woman named Diana Moon 
Glampers.  "If I was Idan Moon Glampers," said Hazel, "I'd have chimes on Sunday - just chimes.  
Kind of in honor of religion."
	"I could think, if it was just chimes,"said George.
	"Well- maybe make 'em real loud," said Hazel. "I think I'd make a good Handicapper General."
	"Good as anybody else," said George.
	"Who knows better 'n  I do what normal is?" said Hazel.
	"Right," said George.  He began to think glimmeringly about his abnrormal son who was now
in jail, about Harrison, but a twenty-one-gun salute in his head stopped that.
	"Boy!" said Hazel.  "that was a doozy, wasn't it?"
	It was such a doozy that George was white and trembling, and tears stood on the rims of 
his red eyes.  Two of the eight ballerinas had collapsed to the studio floor, were hodling their
temples.
	"All of a sudden you look so tired," said Hazel.  "Why don't you stretch out on the sofa,
so's you can rest your handicap bag on the pillows, honeybunch." She was referring to the 
forty-seven pounds of birdshot in a canvas bag, which was padlocked around George's neck.  "Go on
and rest the bag for a little while," she said.  "I don't care if you're not equal to me for a 
while."
	George weighed the bag with his hands.  "I don't mind it," he said. "I don't notice it any 
more.  It's just part of me."
	"You have been so tired lately - kind of wore out," said Hazel. " if there was just some
way we could make a little hole in the bottom of the bag, and just take out a few of them lead balls. 
Just a few."
	"Two years in prison and two thousand dollars fine for every ball I took out," said George.
"I don't call that a bargain."
	"If you could just take a few out when you came from work," said Hazel.
"I mean - you don't compete with anybody around here.  You just set around."
	"If I tried to get away with it," said George, "then other people'd get away with it - and 
pretty soon we'd be right back to the dark ages again, with everybody competeing against everybody
else.  You wouldn't like that, would you?"
	"I'd hate it," said Hazel.
	"There you are," said George.  "The minute people start cheating on laws, what do you think
happens to socitey?"
	If Hazel hadn't been able to come up with an answer to this question, George couldn't have 
supplied one.  A siren was going off in his head.
	"Reckon it'd fall all apart," said Hazel
	"What would?" said George blankly.
	"Society," said Hazel uncertainly.  "Wasn't that what you just said?"
	"Who knows?" said George.
	The television program was suddenly interrupted for a news bulletin.  It wasn't clear at first
as to who the bulletin was about, since the announcer, like all announcers, had a serious speech 
impediment.  For about half a minute, and in a state of high excitement, the announcer tried to say.
	"ladies and gentlemen-"
	He finally gave up, handed the bulletin to a ballerina to read.
	"That's all right-" Hazel said of the announcer, "he tried.  that's the big thing,  He tried
to do the best he could with what God gave him.   He should get a nice raise for trying so hard."
	"Ladies and gentlemen-" said the ballerina, reading the bulletin.  She must have been
extraordinarily beautiful, because the mask she wore was hideous.  And it was easy to see that she 
was the strongest and most graceful of all the dancers, for her handicap bags were as big as those 
worn by two-hundred-pound men.
	And she had to apologize at once for her voice, which was a very unfair voice for a woman 
to use.  Her voice was a warm, luminous, timeless melody.  "Excuse me-" she said, and she began again, 
making her voice absolutely uncompetitive.
	"Harrison Bergeron, age fourteen," she said in a gackle squawk, "has just escaped from jail, 
where he was held on suspicion of plotting to overthrow the government.  He is a genius and an 
athlete, is under-handicapped and should be regarded as extremely dangerous."
	A police photograph of Harrison Bergeron was flashed on the screen -- upside down, then 
sideways, upside down again, then right side up.  The picture showed the full length of Harrison
against a background calibrated in feet and inches.  He was exactly 7 feet tall.
	The rest of Harrison's appearance was Halloween and hardware.  Nobody had ever borne heavier
handicaps. He had outgrown hindrances faster than the H-G men could think them up.  Instead of a little
ear radio for a mental handicap, he wore a tremendous pair of earphones, and spectacles with thick 
heavy wavy lenses.  The spectacles were intended to make him not only half blind, but to give him
whanging headaches besides.
	Scrap metal was hung all over him.  Ordinarily, there was a certain symmetry, a military
neatness to the handicaps issued to strong people, but Harrison looked like a walking junkyard.  
In the race of life, Harrison carried three hundred pounds.
	And to offset his good looks, the H-G men required that he wera at all times a red rubber
ball for a nose, keep his eyebrows shaved off, and cover his even white teeth with black caps at 
snaggle-tooth random.
	"If you see this boy," said the ballerina, "do not - I repeat, do not - try to reason with him."
	There was a shriek of a dor being torn from its hinges.
	Screams and barking cries of consternation came from the television set.  The photograph of 
Harrison Bergeron on the screen jumped again and again, as though dancing to the tune of an earthquake.
	George Bergeron correctly identified the earhtquak, and well he might have - for many was the
time his own home had danced to the same crashing tune.  "My God-" said George, "that must be Harrison!"
	The realization was blasted from his mind instantly by the sound of an automobile collision in
his head.
	When George could open his eyes again, the photograph of Harrison was gone.  A living, breathing
Harrison filled the screen.
	Clanking, clownish, and huge, Harrison stood in the center of the studio.  The knob of the 
uprooted studio door was still in his hand.  Ballerinas, technicians, musicians, and announcers cowered
on their knees before him, expecting to die.
	"I am the Emperor!" cried Harrison.  "Do you hear? I am the Emperor! Everbody must do what I 
say at once!"  He stamped his foot and the studio shook.
	"Even as I stand here- " he bellowed, " crippled, hobbled, sickened - I am a greater ruler
than any man who ever lived! Now watch me become what I can become!"
	Harrison tore the straps of his handicap harness like wet tissue paper, straps guaranteed to 
support five thousan pounds.
	Harrison's scrap-iron handicaps crashed to the floor.	
	Harrison thrust his thumbs under the bar of the padlock that secured his head harness.  The
bar snapped like celery.  Harrison smashed his headphones and spectacles against the wall.
	He flung away his rubber-ball nose, revealed a man that would have awed Thor, the god of 
thunder.
	"I shall now select my Empress!" he said, looking down on the cowering people. "Let the 
first woman who dares rise to her feet claim her mate and her throne!"
	A moment passed, and then a ballerina arose, swaying like a willow.
	Harrison plucked the mental handicap from her ear, snapped off her physical handicaps with 
marvelous delicacy.  Last of all, he removed her mask.
	She was blindingly beautiful.
	"Now-" said Harrison, taking her hand, "shall we show the people the meaning of the word
dance? MUSIC!" he commanded.
	The musicians scrambled back into their chairs, and Harrison stripped them of their
handicaps, too.  "Play your best," he told them, "and I'll make you barons and dukes and earls."
	The music began.  It was normal at first- cheap, silly, false, but Harrison snatched two 
musicians from their chairs, waved them like batons as he sang the music as he wanted it played.  
He slammed them back into their chairs.
	The music began again and was much improved.
	Harrison and his Empress merely listened to the music for a while- listened gravely, as 
though synchronizing their heartbeats with it.
	They shifted weights to their toes.
	Harrison placed his big hands on the girl's tiny waist, letting her sense of weight-
lessness that would soon be hers.
	Ande then, in an explosion of joy and grace, into the air they sprang!
	Not only were the laws of the land abandoned, but the laws of gravity and the laws of 
motion as well.  	
	They reeled, whirled, swiveled, flounced, capered, gamboled, and spun.	
	They leaped like deer on the moon.
	The studio ceiling was thirty feet high, but each leap brought the dancers nearer to it.
	It became their obvious intention to kiss the ceiling.
	They kissed it.
	And then, neutralizing gravity with love and pure will, they remained suspended in air 
inches below the ceiling, and they kissded each other for a long, long time.
	It was then that Diana Moon Glampers, the Handicapper General, came into the studio with a
double-barreled ten-guage shotun.  She fired twice, and the Emperor and the Empress were dead 
before they hit the floor.
	Diana Moon Glampers loaded the gun again.  She aimed it at the musicians and told them they 
had ten seconds to get their handicaps back on.
	It was then that the Bergerons' television tube burned out.
	Hazel turned to comment about the blackout to George.  But George had gone out into the 
kitchen for a can of beer.
	George came back in with the beer, paused while a handicap signal shookhim up.  And he sat 
down again.  "You been crying?" he said to Hazel. 
	"Yup," she said.
	"What about?" he said.
	"I forget," she said, "Something real sad on television."
	"What was it?" he asked.
	"It's all kind of mixed up in my mind," said Hazel.
	"Forget said things," said George.
	"I always do," said Hazel
	"That's my girl," said George.  He winced.  There was a sound of a riveting gun in his head.
	"Gee- I could tell that was a doozy," said Hazel
	"You can say that again," said George.
	"Gee-"said Hazel, "i could tell that one was a doozy."


-----end of file-----