The Fool

Science fiction short story.

Duncan? No, he wasn't the Agent just before you. He was here in 2180—oh, a good thirty years back, Earth-time. The natives say hundreds of years, but they're a short-lived lot. The way they cut each other's throats, it's a wonder any of them live out the life span they've got, anyway.

I came out when Duncan did—knew him pretty well, as well as anybody could. A perfect fool. Knowing him was a real education. Do anything the other way from the way Duncan did it, and you'd be all right.

You wouldn't think it to look at him. Well set-up man, around thirty when he got here, intelligent face, good talker, had a degree—but a fool. Seemed as if he couldn't do anything right. He told me once that he'd been married, and that it had broken up. He more or less implied that his wife had gotten sick of little things—broken dishes, tactless remarks, carelessness. You wouldn't think that would be enough to break up a marriage, but you've got no idea how that sort of thing can add up.