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grand and impossible city, a place not out of a true future, but an imagined future. There were great wings that propelled men in gatherings through the sky, and tall, tall houses, called skyscrapers. In the water too there were massive ships that circumnavigated the world, bearing goods in trade. So many people lived in the city that they were forced to live atop one another. Houses atop houses atop houses. When the people went out into the street, there was one unending crowd through which they went and in which they lived.
    There were many nations in the world, and all were linked, and the populace of this one city was composed of many of the peoples of the earth. Where this city met the ocean, on its southeast border, there was a great wooden plank-land, planks stretching out along the coast. They called it a boardwalk. And upon the boardwalk, the man of whom I speak, the guess artist, had a stand. Late in the day, when the heat had faded somewhat into the planks of the boardwalk and down into the sand that lay all around, he would take up his position in a tent behind a small counter adjoining the boardwalk, there to wait for customers.
    The place was lit by electric light, something like the lightning that comes now from the sky, but harnessed, and set into veins called power lines. This energy was free to be used by anyone, and then night was not the serious affair that it is now. Lights lit the streets, lit the insides of buildings, and light lit the boardwalk, clear from one end of Coney Island to the other.
    On this particular day the guess artist was sitting, looking out across the water, when a young Japanese couple approached. Across the way, a young man in a blue-gray suit had been waiting some time. The guess artist knew that the young man wanted to come to speak with the guess artist, but something was keeping him away.
    The young Japanese couple looked at the guess artist’s brochure. It was a flat card that said,
    —In three guesses I will guess what you are thinking.
    —How much does it cost? asked Takashi Kawagata.
    —You will give me what you think I deserve, said the guess artist.
    —That sounds fair, said June Kawagata. What am I thinking?
    —You are both thinking the same thing, said the guess artist. You are wondering whether the sun will ever go down, since you have been traveling now for six years on airplanes, staying ahead of the sun, and you have finally decided today to let yourselves see a sunset.
    —That’s not true, said June. I design robots for use in private industry. We have an apartment on the West Side.
    —Okay, said the guess artist. Three chances, right?
    —Okay, said June. Shoot.
    —You’re thinking about the cat you had when you were a child. There was one spot on its fur, to the left of its tail, which would never sit smoothly. The fur always stuck up. Somehow you thought that because the fur was always sticking up there, the world could never reward anyone with exactly what they wanted. This belief was for a long time unconscious in your head, but earlier today you realized why you believe what you believe. Furthermore, now you feel that it is certainly true. The cat died when you were nine. It is buried by the gate of your parents’ house in Tensshu.
    —What is the cat’s name? asked June.
    —You are being very careful not to think of the cat’s name, said the guess artist.
    Then his expression changed. He looked at Takashi.
    —The cat’s name was Octopus.
    June gave Takashi a withering look.
    —Don’t you have any self-control? she asked.
    Takashi shrugged.
    June looked at the guess artist.
    —You’re pretty good, she said. What do you think?
    —About what? he asked.
    —About the patch of fur, she said.
    —I think you’re right about the patch of fur. I could have told you more if you had brought Octopus here.
    —But I was only a kid then. I didn’t know about you.
    —I know, said the guess artist.
    Takashi took a chocolate-chip cookie wrapped very