Science fiction is about change, or so goes one of the many definitions of this genre. Here’s a story about a radical change that comes over the world—not a new ice age or the disappearance of the ozone layer, but something basic, something important.

Damon Knight, critic, teacher, and editor of science fiction, has always had a gift for the logic of the absurd, as those who have read “To Serve Man,” “The Great Cow Pat Boom,” and “Forever,” among other Damonic stories, will recall.

O

DAMON KNIGHT

One day everybody in the world whose name began with the letter o abruptly disappeared. Marina Oswald, who was then living in Chevy Chase, went away and never came back; so did Mr. and Mrs. Robert F. Otto, of Binghamton, New York, and all their children; so did Barry Outka and Lynn Overall, both of Austin, Texas; so did Aram Ouzounian of the Armenian SSR and Jean-Luc Ouellette of France and Tetsu Okuma of Japan. All the O’Haras, O’Gradys, OTlahertys, and O’Keefes vanished like smoke, along with the Owens, the Ortegas, and the Oppenheims.

A good deal of real estate came on the market, especially in Ireland. Suddenly there was elbowroom in cities that had been overcrowded. The tempo of life relaxed; people had time to smile at each other on the street.

The next thing that happened was that all animals, birds, fish, and reptiles whose names began with the letter o disappeared—ocelots, octopuses, okapis, opossums, orangutans, orioles, ostriches, otters, owls, and oxen, together with whole orders and suborders such as the Ophidia, the Orthoptera, and the Ostracoda. As a general thing, nobody missed them.

Oak trees, oats, okra, olives, oranges, and other plants also vanished, but there were lots of substitutes—barley, for instance, pickles, and tangerines.

So far, so good; but when whole cities, states, and other geographical features turned up missing, there was widespread unease. Ohio, Oklahoma, and Oregon were gone, no one knew where; so were Omaha, Omsk, Ontario, Osaka, Oshkosh, Oslo, and Oxford, along with a host of lesser-known places such as Oconomowoc, Odendaalsrus, Opa-locka, Opp, and Ouagadougou. The United Nations appointed a Commission of Inquiry into the Disappearance of Inhabited Places, but it bogged down because nobody could remember the names of the towns they were looking for.

On the whole, most people thought the changes were improvements. There was nothing between Toronto and Rochester but a large grassy plain suitable for agriculture or grazing. The main island of Hawaii was gone, but it had been all built up in condominiums anyway. The space between Indiana and Pennsylvania had closed up somehow, and Kansas was now bounded on the south by Texas.

A curious result was that people began to feel superstitious about using words that began with the missing letter. “Ah, hell,” they said, and “Unlatch the door.” Children, when they wanted to write something dirty on a wall, simply drew circles. Custodians went around behind them changing the circles into s.

Mathematicians began to use the symbol Z for a zero, thus: “The national debt amounts to $156,ZZZ,ZZZ,ZZZ.” Multiples of one thousand became known as “zizzes,” as in “We’ve got to come up with a megazizz in new funding by the end of January.”

In dictianaries and in camman usage, the letter a ar e was used as a substitute far the missing and naw unspeakable letter. Ane spake ef gaing ta “the men’s rum,” ar “the tailet.” The ultimate insult was “yeu asshale.”

Manufacturers had ta change many ef their brand names, at great expense and sametimes with unfartunate results. Marlbara and Xerex were all right, but Caca-Cala suffered a nasedive in papularity.

The publishing industry was burning, and sign painters had mare wark than they cauld handle. In spite ef the glut ef hausing, canstructian warkers were busy tu, tearing dawn traffic circles and turning them inta squares. Eyeglasses were square, and sa were cups and saucers, drinking glasses, and battles, resulting in great ecanamies in shipping and starage. A labaratary in Califarnia perfected a chicken that laid square eggs. A few peaple tuk the wheels aff their cars, replacing them with skids ar runners, but mast falks were cantent ta caver the wheels with ruffled skirts.

As the new century dawned, peaple surveyed their warld and faund it gud. From pale ta pale, the square-shauldered Earth was cavered with the rectilinear warks ef man—square buildings, square intersecting streets, square traffic exchanges, square lakes, and square mauntains. Even peaple’s faces were becaming square. Set free ef ail their circularity and canfusian, faursquare to the sunrise, the peaple ef the warld cauld well say, with the paet Alexander Pape,

Let us, since life can little mare supply

Than just ta luk abaut us, and ta die,

Expatiate free a’er all this scene ef man;

A mighty maze! but nat withaut a plan …

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