It was snowing outside. It had been snowing for at least a week. It was not a blizzard, but it might as well have been. Snow was piled up high enough that the doors were blocked. Telephone lines were down all over the state. Going out of any sort of dwelling was dangerous, if not actually impossible.

However, John was not worried about the snow or the weather at all. He was worried about the loneliness.

For over a week he had been confined to the house. His main complaint was that there was no one to talk to. His wife would talk at him, but he wanted someone who would let him talk back, and besides, his wife was asleep. There was only the telephone, and it could not be trusted. It was a bad break after moving from Chicago only a month before.

The telephone was his last resort. But he didn't know anyone in the neighborhood; three weeks isn't a long time to get acquainted with anyone in the neighborhood. He mentally sorted through all the telephone numbers he knew from Chicago, The grocer? No. He eliminated the business numbers and started sorting. Dr. Miller... Joan... Harry.... Bill... Dave... Ann... Steve... Bob... Bob. John had promised Bob he would call him when he had finished unpacking. John picked up the telephone and dialed the familiar number.

The phone rang once, twice. Click. A feminine voice on the other end answered, "Allo?" This was odd; he didn't think Bob's wife had that sort of voice, and besides: she had never answered with "Allo" before.

"Hello," he replied, "is Bob there?"

No sooner had he said it than a flurry of German words ensued. The best reply he could find to it was, "What?"

The voice answered, "What? Do you not fear the Police?"

"Police?" he asked, "Police? What police?"

"THE Police." She was obviously frightened. "Have you been hiding in a cave since the war?"

"What war?" He had gone past the point of thinking it was a practical joke.

"The Great War, or we used to call it the Second World War."

"Oh, yes. I served in that war."

Her voice softened. "Tell me about it," she asked.

"It was a war, with the Allied powers on one side and the Axis powers on the other. The Allies won."

"That sounds like our war," she said, "Except for one thing."

"What's that?"

She sounded tired, as if saying an inescapable fact of life, "The Axis powers won."

John thought about it. It couldn't have been a practical joke. The only alternative was that she was telling the truth. But where would she be?

Ideas flashed through his mind. Spirit communication? No, that did not seem logical. Then the thought of interdimensional interphase came to him.

To put it in simple language, a person confined to a circular fence has no communication with anyone outside it. However, if two such circles intersect there can be communication within the two. This can be applied, with some stretching of the imagination, to two spaces such as ours.

She spoke, "Are you still there?"

"0h yes," he answered Then he asked her, "What is your weather like?"

"Weather?" She asked, "How is YOUR weather? What can you see from you...your, uh, window?"

"I can't see very much. There is so much snow-piled up here that you can't see anything." He paused a moment. "What do you see?"

"I don't see anything."

"Why? Are you blind?"

"No, but I might as well be." Her voice was that of muted rebellion, like a caged tiger. "We are confined in windowless housing complexes. No one except farmers and people left outside after the war are allowed outside." The tone of voice changed. "You realize I am risking my life talking to you?"

"Why?"

"No one is allowed to speak in anything except German. We don't know if and when our telephone conversations are being monitored. And besides, what I say would be considered treason."

"Then maybe I should hang up."

"No," she said, "Everyone should die for a cause." She paused. "Tell me what life is like there."

John began, "Man is in an awful state now. He always wants to be somewhere he isn't. He is conducting a war in Vietnam, which hasn't gone anywhere for years."

She cut in,, "Oh, yes. Vietnam is controlled by the Japanese. And they are much stricter than the Germans."

John paused again. In the background he heard a pounding, followed by a barked order. "OFFNE! POLIZISTENG!"

He could almost hear her face blanch. "It is the Police. I must go. It has been nice. He heard a muffled "Ich komme!" Click. The receiver went dead.

He hung up the receiver and thought for a while. Soon he dozed off.

John was awakened by the ringing of the telephone. He answered it quickly.

"Hello?"

"Hello," the voice answered, "John? This is Bob. I just now got a chance to call you. I've just had the strangest telephone conversation-with a German speaking lady, no less."

Crede Lambard