The space creature ran his fingers lightly down Padre Manuel's face andsmiled. Padre Manuel thought with immense gratification, "He likes me!"
The creature turned from Padre Manuel, lifted his face, his nose flaring,and waddled on short, heavy legs over to a greasewood bush and took a bite,his two long teeth flashing white in the sun. He chewed—leaves, stems andall—and swallowed. He squatted down and kind of sat without bending, andwaited.
Padre Manuel sat, too. Then the creature unswallowed. Just opened his mouthand out came the bite of greasewood, chewed up and wet. Well, he went fromtree to tree and bush to bush and tried the same thing and unswallowed everymouthful. He even tried a mouthful of Johnson grass, but nothing stayed down.
By this time, Padre Manuel had figured out that the poor creature must behungry. Often on these walks to the pasture, he would take an apple or somecrackers or something else to eat that he could have offered him, but it sohappened that this time he had nothing to offer. He was feeling sorry when thecreature shrugged himself so the knobs on his ribs waggled, and turned back tothe ship, scratching as though the knobs itched him. He crawled back into theship.
Padre Manuel went over cautiously, and almost got a look inside, but thecreature's face, teeth and all, pushed out of the hole right at him. PadreManuel backed away and the creature climbed out with a big box thing under hisarm. He scoonched himself all up together again and put the box down. Hemotioned Padre Manuel to come closer and pointed at one side of the box andsaid something that ended questiony. Padre Manuel looked at the box. There wasa hole in the top and some glittery stuff on the side of it just above a bigslot and the glittery stuff was broken. Only a few little pieces were hangingby reddish wire things.
"What is it for?" he asked, making his voice as questiony as he could.
The creature looked at him and slid his eyelids a couple of times, then hepicked up a branch of greasewood and pushed it in the top of the box. Then hewaggled one hand in the slot and stuck a few of his fingers in his mouth.Padre Manuel considered for a moment. It must be that the box was some kind of food-making thing that had broken. That was why the poor creature was actingso hungry. Que lбstima!
"I'll get you something to eat, my son," said Padre Manuel. "You waithere." And he hurried away, cutting across the corner of the alfalfa field inhis hurry, his cassock whispering through the purply blue flowers.
He was afraid someone might start asking questions and he wasn't one totalk much about what he was doing until it was done, but Sor Concepciуn andSor Esperanza had taken the old buckboard and driven over to Gastelum's to seeif Chenchita would like to take a job at the Dude Ranch during the vacationthat had just begun. She had graduated from the tiny school at the mission andsomething had to be found to occupy the time she was all too willing to devoteto the boys. Padre Manuel sighed and laid the note aside. God be thanked thatthis offer of a job had come just now. The Gastelums could use the money andChenchita would have a chance to see that there was something more in theworld than boys.
Padre Manuel raided the kitchen and filled a box with all kinds of thingsand went back out to the pasture.
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Well, the creature tried everything. Most of it he un-swallowed almost assoon as it went down. Padre Manuel thought they had it for sure when he triedthe pork roast, but just as they were heaving a sigh of relief, up it came—allthat beautiful roast, mustard and all. The creature must have been prettyupset, because he grabbed Padre Manuel and shook him, yelling something athim. Padre Manuel recoiled, but his hand went to the band of tight fingersthat circled his arm. He laid his hand upon the cool smoothness of thefingers.
"My child!" he rebuked. "My son!" He looked up into the blazing silverygray of the eyes above him. In the tight silence that followed, Padre Manuelrealized, with a pleasurable pang, that he had touched a creature from anotherworld.
The creature stepped back and looked at Padre Manuel. Then he picked up apinch of dirt and sprinkled it on his head and smiled.
Padre Manuel bowed gravely. Then he, too, smiled.
It was almost dark before Padre Manuel gave up going around the pasturewith the creature, trying to find something he could stomach. He was carefulto avoid the tree where the dove's nest was. Surely if the creature couldn'teat the egg from the kitchen, he wouldn't be able to eat a dove's egg. Hesighed and started home.
Gonzales' bull was stretching his neck through the barb-wire fence, tryingto reach the lush green alfalfa just beyond his tongue's reach. "You tellNacio to plant his own alfalfa," said Padre Manuel. "And don't break the fencedown again. To die of bloat is unpleasant and besides, there is a hungry thingin the pasture tonight."
He glanced back across the field. The trees hid the ship from here. Good.It was pleasant to have a little secret for a while. Then he began to worryabout the creature. This matter was too big to keep to himself too long. Itmight be very important to others. Maybe the sheriff should be told. Maybeeven the government. And the scientists. They would go mad over a ship and acreature from another world. There was Professor Whiting at the Dude Ranch.True, he was an archaeologist. He looked for Indian ruins and people longdead, but he would know names. He would know whom to tell and what to do. Butunless Padre Manuel found something that the creature could eat, it would be adead creature long before letters could go and come. But what was it to be?
The matter was in his prayers that night and after he turned out the light,he stood at the window and looked up at the stars. He knew nothing of themexcept that they were far, far, but perhaps one of those he could see was thecreature's home. He wondered what God's name was, in that world.
Next morning, as soon as Mass was over, Padre Manuel started out to thepasture again. He was carrying a bushel basket full of all lands of thingsthat might perhaps be eatable for the creature. There were two bars of soapand a sack of sugar. A length of mesquite wood and a half-dozen tortillas.There were four dried chili peppers and a bouquet of paper roses. There weretwo candles that regrettably had been left in the sun and were now flat dustycurlicues. There was a little bit of most anything Padre Manuel could thinkof, including half a can of Prince Albert and a pair of canvas gloves. A tincup rattled against a canteen of water on top of the load. Irrigation wasn'tdue in the pasture for three days yet and the ditch was dry.
Padre Manuel was just fastening the pasture gate when he heard a terriblebellering, and there was Gonzales' bull, the meanest one in the valley,running like a deer and bellering every time he hit the ground.
"The fence!" gasped Padre Manuel. "He broke in again!"
Behind the bull came the space creature, his short, stubby legs runninglike the wind. But the wildest, most astonishing thing was how the rest of himcame. His legs were running all the time, but the rest of him would shoot outlike a rattler striking, flashing silver lightning in the sun and then he'dhave to wait for his short legs to catch up.
Well, the bull and the creature went out of sight around the salt cedarsand there was one last beller and then lots of silence. Padre Manuel hurried
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as fast as he could, with the basket bumping him every step, and there, rightin front of the spaceship, was the bull, very dead, with its neck folded backand a big hole torn in its flank.
Padre Manuel was slow to anger, but he felt his temper beginning to rise.To destroy the property of others! And Gonzales could so little afford—But hedidn't say anything. He looked around quickly while he waited for the creatureto make a move. He could see all kinds of unswallowed stuff around the ship.Stuff that probably had been a rabbit and a gopher and an owl and even a bullsnake. Then the poor thing gave a groan and unswallowed the piece of bull hehad eaten.
"Hello," said the creature.
"Hello," said Padre Manuel, then he uncapped the canteen and poured out acup of water. He held it out to the creature, thinking as the cup was taken,"A cup of cold water in
Thy Name," and blinked as the creature lifted the cupand emptied it on his head, his hide fairly crawling up to meet the water.Padre Manuel filled the cup again and again until the canteen was empty,reproaching himself for not having thought of water the night before. Thecreature's hide rippled luxuriously as Padre Manuel indicated the basket he'dput down by the ship.
The creature looked at it hopelessly and went back, with sagging shoulders,to the ship. He reached inside and lifted out something and held it out toPadre Manuel. The Padre took it—and almost dropped it when he saw what it was.It was another space creature, no bigger than a kitten, mewling and pushingits nose against Padre Manuel's thumb.
"Madre de Dios!" gasped Padre Manuel. "A little one! A baby! Where—?" Heturned in astonishment to the space creature. The creature ran his hand downhis ribs and Padre Manuel saw that all the waggly knobs were gone. Thecreature reached into the ship again and brought out two more of the littlecreatures. He held one of them up to a round silver spot on his ribs.
Padre Manuel stared at the creature and then at the kitteny thing.
"Why, why!" he said, wide-eyed with amazement. "Why Senora, Senora!" And hecould hear some more mewling coming from the ship.
Well, the space lady put down the little ones and so did the Padre and theycrawled around on their hands and feet, stretching and pushing together forall the world like little inch worms, taking bites of anything they couldfind. But eveything unswallowed almost as fast as it swallowed.
The space lady was going through the bushel basket, biting and waiting andunswallowing. Pretty soon she'd tried everything in the basket, and she andPadre Manuel sat there looking kind of hopeless at all the unswallowed stuff.Padre Manuel was feeling especially bad about the little kitten things. Theywere so little, and so hungry.
He picked one up in his hand and patted its nudging little head with hisfinger. "Pobrecito," he said, "Poor little one—"
Then he let out a yell and dropped the thing. The space lady snarled.
"It bit me!" gasped Padre Manuel. "It took a chunk out of me!"
He pulled out his bandana and tried to tie it over the bleeding place onthe ball of his thumb.
All at once he was conscious of a big silence and he looked at the spacelady. She was looking down at the little space creature. It was curling up inher hand like a kitten and purring to itself. Its little silver tongue cameout and licked around happily and it went to sleep. Fed.
Padre Manuel stared hard. It hadn't unswallowed! It had eaten a chunk of him and hadn't unswallowed! He looked up at the space lady. She stared back.Her eyes slid shut a couple of times. In the quiet you could hear the otherlittle ones mewling. She put the space kitten down.
Padre Manuel stood, one hand clasped over the crude bandage, his eyes darkand questioning in his quiet face. The space lady started toward him, hermany-fingered hands reaching. They closed around his arms, above his elbows.Padre Manuel looked up into the silver gray eyes, long, long, and then closedhis eyes against the nearness.
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Suddenly the fingers were gone. Padre Manuel's eyes opened. He saw thespace creature scoop up her little ones, the quiet one, the crying ones, andhurry them into the spaceship. She slid in after them and the hole began toclose. Padre Manuel caught a last glimpse of silver and black and a last glintof the white pointed teeth and the hole was closed.
He watched the wine-colored ship dwindle away above the Estrellas until itwas gone, back into space. He waved his hand at the empty sky.
Then he sighed and picked up the canteen and cup and put them into thebasket. He shooed away the flies that swarmed around him and, lifting thebasket, started back across the pasture.
Come On, Wagon!
I don't like kids—never have. They're too uncanny. For one thing, there'sno bottom to their eyes. They haven't learned to pull down their mentalcurtains the way adults have. For another thing, there's so much they don'tknow. And not knowing things makes them know lots of other things grownupscan't know. That sounds confusing and it is. But look at it this way. Everytime you teach a kid something, you teach him a hundred things that areimpossible because that one thing is so. By the time we grow up, our world isso hedged around by impossibilities that it's a wonder we ever try anything new.
Anyway, I don't like kids, so I guess it's just as well that I've stayed abachelor.
Now take Thaddeus. I don't like Thaddeus. Oh, he's a fine kid, smarter thanmost—he's my nephew—but he's too young. I'll start liking him one of thesedays when he's ten or eleven. No, that's still too young. I guess when hisvoice starts cracking and he begins to slick his hair down, I'll get to likinghim fine. Adolescence ends lots more than it begins.
The first time I ever really got acquainted with Thaddeus was the Christmashe was three. He was a solemn little fellow, hardly a smile out of him allday, even with the avalanche of everything to thrill a kid. Starting firstthing Christmas Day, he made me feel uneasy. He stood still in the middle ofthe excited squealing bunch of kids that crowded around the Christmas tree inthe front room at the folks' place. He was holding a big rubber ball with bothhands and looking at the tree with his eyes wide with wonder. I was sittingright by him in the big chair and I said, "How do you like it, Thaddeus?"
He turned his big solemn eyes to me, and for a long time, all I could seewas the deep, deep reflections in his eyes of the glitter and glory of thetree and a special shiningness that originated far back in his own eyes. Thenhe blinked slowly and said solemnly, "Fine."
Then the mob of kids swept him away as they all charged forward to claimtheir Grampa-gift from under the tree. When the crowd finally dissolved andscattered all over the place with their play-toys, there was Thaddeussquatting solemnly by the little red wagon that had fallen to him. He wasexamining it intently, inch by inch, but only with his eyes. His hands werepressed between his knees and his chest as he squatted.
"Well, Thaddeus." His mother's voice was a little provoked. "Go play withyour wagon. Don't you like it?"
Thaddeus turned his face up to her in that blind, unseeing way littlechildren have.
"Sure," he said, and standing up, tried to take the wagon in his arms.
"Oh for pity sakes," his mother laughed. "You don't carry a wagon,Thaddeus." And aside to us, "Sometimes I wonder. Do you suppose he's got allhis buttons?"
"Now, Jean." Our brother Clyde leaned back in his chair. "Don't heckle thekid. Go on, Thaddeus. Take the wagon outside."
So what does Thaddeus do but start for the door, saying over his shoulder,"Come on, Wagon."
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Clyde laughed. "It's not that easy, Punkin-Yaller, you've gotta have pullto get along in this world."
So Jean showed Thaddeus how and he pulled the wagon outdoors, looking downat the handle in a puzzled way, absorbing this latest rule for acting like abig boy.
Jean was embarrassed the way parents are when their kids act normal aroundother people.
"Honest. You'd think he never saw a wagon before."
"He never did," I said idly. "Not his own, anyway." And had the feelingthat I had said something profound, but wasn't quite sure what.
The whole deal would have gone completely out of my mind if it hadn't beenfor one more little incident. I was out by the barn waiting for Dad. Mom wasmaking him change his pants before he demonstrated his new tractor for me. Isaw Thaddeus loading rocks into his little red wagon. Beyond the rock pile, Icould see that he had started a playhouse or ranch of some kind, laying therocks out to make rooms or corrals or whatever. He finished loading the wagonand picked up another rock that took both arms to carry, then he looked downat the wagon.
"Come on, Wagon." And he walked over to his play place.
And the wagon went with him, trundling along over the uneven ground,following at his heels like a puppy.
I blinked and inventoried rapidly the Christmas cheer I had imbibed. Itwasn't enough
for an explanation. I felt a kind of cold grue creep over me.
Then Thaddeus emptied the wagon and the two of them went back for morerocks. He was just going to pull the same thing again when a big boy-cousincame by and laughed at him.
"Hey, Thaddeus, how you going to pull your wagon with, both hands full? Itwon't go unless you pull it."
"Oh," said Thaddeus and looked off after the cousin who was headed for theback porch and some pie.
So Thaddeus dropped the big rock he had in his arms and looked at thewagon. After struggling with some profound thinking, he picked the rock upagain and hooked a little finger over the handle of the wagon.
"Come on, Wagon," he said, and they trundled off together, the handle ofthe wagon still slanting back over the load while Thaddeus grunted along by itwith his heavy armload.
I was glad Dad came just then, hooking the last strap of his stripedoveralls. We started into the barn together. I looked back at Thaddeus. Heapparently figured he'd need his little finger on the next load, so he wassquatting by the wagon, absorbed with a piece of flimsy red Christmas string.He had twisted one end around his wrist and was intent on tying the other tothe handle of the little red wagon.
It wasn't so much that I avoided Thaddeus after that. It isn't hard for grownups to keep from mingling with kids. After all, they do live in twodifferent worlds. Anyway, I didn't have much to do with Thaddeus for severalyears after that Christmas. There was the matter of a side trip to the SouthPacific where even I learned that there are some grown-up impossibilities thatare not always absolute. Then there was a hitch in the hospital where I waitedfor my legs to put themselves together again. I was luckier than most of theguys. The folks wrote often and regularly and kept me posted on all the hometalk. Nothing spectacular, nothing special, just the old familiar stuff thatmakes home, home and folks, folks.
I hadn't thought of Thaddeus in a long time. I hadn't been around kids muchand unless you deal with them, you soon forget them. But I remembered himplenty when I got the letter from Dad about Jean's new baby. The kid was acouple of weeks overdue and when it did come—a girl—Jean's husband, Bert, wasout at the farm checking with Dad on a land deal he had cooking. The baby cameso quickly that Jean couldn't even make it to the hospital and when Mom calledBert, he and Dad headed for town together, but fast.
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