By David Mason
“You， Mr. Rapp？”
Stanley Rapp blinked， considering the matter. He alwaysthought over everything very carefully. Of course， somequestions were easier to answer than others. This one， forinstance. He had very few doubts about his name.
“Uh，” Stanley Rapp said. “Yes. Yes.”
He stared at the bearded young man. Living in the Village，even on the better side of it， one saw beards every day， allshapes and sizes of beard. This one was not a psychoanalystbeard， or a folk singer beard； not even an actor beard. This wasthe scraggly variety， almost certainly a poet beard. Mr. Rapp，while holding no particular prejudice against poets， had notsent for one， he was sure of that.
Then he noticed the toolcase in the bearded young man’shand， lettered large LIGHTNING SERVICE， TV， HI-FI.
“Oh，” Stanley said， nodding. “You’re the man to fix the TVset.”
“You know it， Dad，” the young man said， coming in. He shutthe door behind him， and stared around the apartment. “What awild pad. Where the idiot box， hey？”
The pleasantly furnished， neat little apartment was not whatMr. Rapp had ever thought of as a “wild pad.” But the Villagehad odd standards， Mr. Rapp knew. Chacun a son gout， he hadsaid， on moving into the apartment ten years ago. Not aloud，of course， because he had only taken one year of French， andwould never have trusted his accent. But chacun a son gout，anyway.
“The television set，” Mr. Rapp said， translating. “Oh， yes.”
He went to the closet door and opened it. Reaching inside， hebrought out an imposingly large TV set， mounted on a wheeledtable. The bearded repairman whistled.
“In the closet，” the repairman said， admiringly. “Crazy. Yougo in there to watch it， or you let it talk to itself？”
“Oh. Well， I don’t exactly watch it at all，” Mr. Rapp said， alittle sadly. “I mean， I can’t. That’s why I called you.”
“Lightning’s here， have no fear，” the bearded one said，approaching the set with a professional air. “Like， in the closet，hey.” He bent over the set， appraisingly. “I thought you were asquare， Pops， but I can see you’re.... Hey， this is like too much.
Man， I don’t want to pry， but why is this box upside down？”
“I wish I knew，” Mr. Rapp said. He sat down， and leanedback， sighing. This was going to be difficult， he knew. He hadalready had to explain it to the last three repairmen， and he wasgetting tired of explaining. Although he thought， somehow，that this young man might understand it a little more quicklythan the others had.
“I’ve had a couple of other repairmen look it over，” Mr.
Rapp told the bearded one. “They ... well， they gave up.”
“Dilettantes，” commented the beard.
“Oh， no，” Mr. Rapp said. “One of them was from thecompany that made it. But they couldn’t do anything.”
“Let’s try it，” the repairman said， plugging the cord into awall socket. He returned to the set， and switched it on， withoutchanging its upside down position. The big screen lit almost atonce； a pained face appeared， with a large silhouetted hammerstriking the image’s forehead in a rhythmic beat.
“... Immediate relief from headache，” a bland voice said，as the pictured face broke into a broad smile. The repairmanshuddered， and turned down the sound， staring at the imagewith widened eyes as he did so.
“Dad， I don’t want to bug you，” the repairman said， his eyesstill on the screen， “only， look. The set is upside down， right？”
“Right，” said Mr. Rapp.
“Only the picture—” the repairman paused， trying to findthe right phrase. “I mean， the picture’s flipped. Like， it’s wrongside up， too. Only， right side up， now.”
“Exactly，” said Mr. Rapp. “You see， that’s the trouble. I putthe set upside down because of that.”
“Cool，” the repairman said， watching the picture. “I mean，so why worry？ You got a picture， right？ You want me to turnthe picture around？ I can do that with a little fiddling aroundinside the set ... uh-oh. Dad， something’s happening.”
* * * * *
The repairman bent closer， staring at the picture. It was nowshowing a busty young woman singer， her mouth opened，but silent， since the sound was turned down. She was slowlyrotating as Rapp and the bearded repairman watched， turninguntil her face， still mouthing silent song， hung upside down onthe screen.
“It always does that，” Rapp said. “No matter which way Iput the set， the picture’s always upside down.”
“No， man，” the repairman said， pleadingly. “Look， I tooka course. I mean， the best school， you dig？ It don’t work thatway. It just can’t.”
“It does， though，” Rapp pointed out. “And that’s what the otherrepair people said， too. They took it out， and brought it back， andit still did it. Not when they had it in their shops， but the minute itcame back here， the picture went upside down again.”
“Wow，” the repairman said， backing slowly away from theset， but watching it with the tense gaze of a man who expectedtrouble. After a minute he moved toward it again， and tookhold of the cabinet sides， lifting.
“I don’t want to put you down， Pops，” he said， grunting.
“Only， I got to see this. Over she goes.” He set it down again，right side up. The picture， still the singer’s face， remained ina relatively upright position for another moment， and thenslowly rolled over， upside down again.
“You see，” Mr. Rapp said， shrugging. “I guess I’ll have tobuy another set. Except I’d hate to have it happen again， andthis one did cost quite a lot.”
“You couldn’t trade it in， either，” the repairman agreed. “Notto me， anyway.” Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “Hey now.
Sideways？”
“You mean on its side？”
“Just for kicks....” the repairman gripped the set again. “Onthe side....” He set the cabinet down， on one side， and steppedback， to regard the picture again.