Du angav i en kommentar som du kan sammanfatta två olika historier. Delar av din beskrivning matchar den korta berättelsen "Postpaid to Paradise" (aka "Postmarked for Paradise" aka "Frimärken av El Dorado") av Robert Arthur , den första i hans serie av Murchison Morks berättelser. Först publicerad i Argosy , den 15 juni 1940, skrivs den på Tidningen Fantasy och Science Fiction , Winter-Spring, 1950 , tillgänglig på Internetarkiv . Om du läste det för ungefär 40 år sedan kunde det ha varit den här Damon Knight antologin eller i denna Asimov-Greenberg antologi . Här är några detaljer från historien som hjälper dig att komma ihåg om det här är en som du läste tidigare.
Det finns ingen kommunikation med döda människor i "Postpaid to Paradise". Det var inte en pojke eller en flicka utan en vuxen man. . .
It was Hobby Week at the Club, and Malcolm was displaying his stamp collection.
"Now take these triangulars," he said. "Their value is not definitely known, since they've never been sold as a unit. But they make up the rarest and most interesting complete set known to philatelists. They—"
"I once had a set of stamps that was even rarer and more interesting," Murchison Morks interrupted. Morks is a small, wispy man who usually sits by the fireplace and smokes his pipe, silently contemplating the coals. I do not believe he particularly cares for Malcolm, who is our only millionaire and likes what he owns to be better than what anybody else owns.
. . . som ärvde frimärken från sin far:
I am not a stamp collector myself [he began, with a pleasant nod toward Malcolm] but my father was. He died some years ago, and among other things he left me his collection.
Här är en beskrivning av frimärkena (som var ganska större än vanliga frimärken):
It is true the subjects they depicted were far from usual. The ten-cent value, for instance, depicted a unicorn standing erect, head up, spiral horn pointing skyward, mane flowing, the very breathing image of life.
It was almost impossible to look at it without knowing that the artist had worked with a real unicorn for a model. Except, of course, that there aren't any unicorns any more.
The fifty-center showed Neptune, trident held aloft, riding a pair of harnessed dolphins through a foaming surf. It was just as real as the first.
The one-dollar value depicted Pan playing on his pipes, with a Greek temple in the background, and three fauns dancing on the grass. Looking at it, I could almost hear the music he was making.
Morks fascineras särskilt av tre-dollarstämpeln:
A native girl, against a background of tropical flowers, a girl of about sixteen, I should say, just blossomed into womanhood, smiling a little secret smile that managed to combine the utter innocence of girlhood with all the inherited wisdom of a woman.
Or am I making myself clear? Not very? Well, no matter. Let it go at that. I'll only add that on her head, native fashion, she was carrying a great flat platter piled high with fruit of every kind you can imagine; and that platter, together with some flowers at her feet, was her only attire.
Fem-dollarstämpeln, inte så mycket:
This one was relatively uninteresting, by comparison—just a map. It showed several small islands set down in an expanse of water labeled, in neat letters, Sea of El Dorado. I assumed that the islands represented the Federated States of El Dorado itself, and that the little dot on the largest, marked by the word Nirvana, was the capital of the country.
Bara för skojs skull lägger Morks ett El Dorado-stämpel på ett brev till sin vän Harry i Boston. Medan han letar efter ett regelbundet stämpel för att ta med det, försvinner brevet. Precis som han håller på att ge upp och letar efter det, får han ett telefonsamtal:
It was Harry Norris, calling me from Boston. His voice, as he said hello, was a little strained. I quickly found out why.
Three minutes before, as he was getting ready for bed, the letter I had just finished giving up for lost had come swooping in his window, hung for a moment in midair as he stared at it, and then fluttered to the floor.
The next afternoon, Harry Norris arrived in New York. I had promised him over the phone, after explaining about the El Dorado stamp on the letter, not to touch the others except to put them safely away.
De försöker ett experiment:
"I'll tell you!" Harry exclaimed at last. "We'll send something to El Dorado itself!"
I agreed to that readily enough, but how it came about that we decided to send, not a letter, but Thomas à Becket, my aged and ailing Siamese cat, I can't remember.
De lägger katten i en låda med lufthål, adresserar den till en färdig adress ( Herr Henry Smith, 711 Elysian Fields Avenue, Nirvana, Federated States of El Dorado ). en 50-centers frimärke på den och se vad som händer:
For a moment, nothing whatever happened.
And then, just as disappointment was gathering on Harry Norris' countenance, the box holding Thomas à Becket rose slowly into the air, turned like a compass needle, and began to drift with increasing speed toward the open window.
By the time it reached the window, it was moving with racehorse velocity. It shot through and into the open. We rushed to the window and saw it moving upward in a westerly direction, above the Manhattan skyline.
And then, as we stared, it began to be vague in outline, misty; and an instant later had vanished entirely.
Katten kommer tillbaka:
Outside the window was the package we had just seen vanish. It hung there for a moment, then moved slowly into the room, gave a little swoop, and settled lightly onto the table from which, not two minutes before, it had left.
Harry and I rushed over to it, and our eyes must have bugged out a bit.
Because the package was all properly canceled and postmarked, just as the letter had been. With the addition that across the corner, in large purple letters, somebody had stamped, RETURN TO SENDER. NO SUCH PERSON AT THIS ADDRESS.
"Well!" Harry said at last. It wasn't exactly adequate, but it was all either of us could think of. Then, inside the box, Thomas à Becket let out a squall.
I cut the cords and lifted the lid. Thomas à Becket leaped out with an animation he had not shown in years.
There was no denying it. Instead of killing him, his trip to El Dorado, brief as it was, had done him good. He looked five years younger.
Framgången med katten utmanar dem att maila sig till El Dorado, adresserat till postmästaren. Harry går först. Morks ändrar sitt sinne efter att han tittat på en atlas och finner att det inte finns någon sådan plats på jorden som de federerade staterna i El Dorado. I stället använder han det sista stämpeln för att skicka Harry's väska efter honom:
I got up and fetched Harry's bag. It was summer, luckily, and he had brought mostly light clothing. To it I added anything of mine I thought he might be able to use, including a carton of cigarettes, and pen and ink on the chance he might want to write to me.
As an afterthought I added a small Bible—just in case.
Then I strapped the bag shut and affixed the tag to it. I wrote Harry Norris above the address, pasted that last El Dorado stamp to it, and waited.
In a moment the bag rose in the air, floated to the window, out, and began to speed away.