Interstellar Pig

by William Sleator

  I woke up the next morning with the worst sunburn of my entire life.

  It was not a mere uncomfortable reddening of the skin. It was a disease. The symptoms were headache, fever, nausea, and pain so intense that the thin cotton sheet had become a hot iron molded to the contours of my body. Before I knew what was happening, I was moaning with such wretched and uncontrolled abandon that the sound woke Mom.

  "Poor Barney," she kept saying, as she wrung out washcloths for my forehead and hovered over me with a can of anesthetic spray, which had no noticeable effect, "You know how sensitive you are to the sun."

  "I just didn't think about the time, that's all," I whined. "Ow! Don't touch me there!" ft "But it's not like you. Something must have made you forget. Why don't you tell me?"

  I didn't know why I wouldn't tell her; I only knew I wanted to keep Interstellar Pig a secret between myself and the neighbors for the time being. “I went for a walk on the beach," I lamely explained. "It was pretty. I forgot how long I was out."

  "But you couldn't get away from the beach fast enough when you came down with us. What made you go back for so long when we weren't there?"

  "Because there's nothing to do in this stupid place but go to the beach!" I said, my voice rising.

  "But you hate the beach!"

  "Then why did you take me to the beach?" I screamed at her.

  "Don't talk to me like that! It's not like you." She sounded close to tears.

  "You make it sound like it's my fault you did this thing to yourself, and I'm only trying to make you feel better."

  "I'm sorry. I'm all right, I can take care of myself, okay?" I forced a smile, feeling guilty. She pouted back at me. "Just, go work on your tan while the weather's good," I said. "That's what you're here for. Now's your chance. It might rain for the rest of the week."

  "Are you sure you'll be all right, dear?" she said, all solicitude. But she couldn't prevent her eyes from darting to the window to check for clouds.

  Miserable as I was, I almost laughed. "I'll be all right," I insisted, reaching for the rule book. "I feel like reading. I just got to the good part."

  She left me alone at last. But I couldn't concentrate for long on the rule book; the information was too complicated to distract me from pain. For a time I just lay there in the stifling little room feeling sorry for myself and trying to blame everything on Zena. But that didn't help much, since I knew it was really my own fault. Yes, she had pressured me to stay out in the sun with her. But I could have insisted on staying inside, or at least on protecting myself better.

  And when was she going to notice the document missing from her drawer? And how was I going to return it?

  At the moment, the three of them seemed to be having breakfast on the patio. I lay there listening vaguely to their boisterous voices, which were audible even from upstairs.

  "Ugh! You let the milk go sour again, Manny," Zena groaned. "Can't you learn to recollect the date."

  "Sour? A little warm, maybe. But what difference could that make to you, the way you keep piling the raw onions on your bagel at breakfast? It must be murder on your taste buds; they're probably covered with scar tissue. No surprise you oversalt everything."

  "On the contrary, Manny. It invigorates them, like exercising your muscles. I'm not a little fragile delicate creature like you; I like to be stimulated in the morning. Especially when you give me this flavorless swill you name coffee. I don't know how you can put this crummy milk in it; black, it's bland as dishwater."

  "What did I tell you? You can't taste anything anymore. It's sad, that's what it is. A mad, hopeless, frenzied quest for sensation. You know it can only lead to one end. If you weren't so irritating, I'd pity you."

  "Stop it!" There was a clatter of silverware on the cement. "It's too early in the morning to tolerate your prissy superiority. And Joe likes his coffee stronger too. When he makes it, it tastes like some-idling. Isn't that right, Joe? Well? Isn't it?"

  "Typical. You know you're wrong, so you drag in somebody else to bolster you up."

  "I sat up and began listening more closely. Their voices were different today, nervy, high-strung. Their banter wasn't boisterous; it was as sour as Manny's old milk,

  "Well, I do like it a little stronger." Joe's voice was quieter, conciliatory.

  "So from now on we concoct it a little stronger and Manny puts more milk in his. That's no problem. The problem is, if you two don't stop bickering and finish eating, we'll never get going while the tide's still high. I don't want to run aground halfway out to the island."

  I was out of bed and at the window, craning my head out. The three windsurfer boards were laid out on the lawn. Joe had risen from the table and was moving toward the cottage with plate and mug in his hands. "Come on, bring the breakfast stuff inside," he said.

  So they were actually going out to the island on those funny surfboard things with sails. Had they already interpreted the marks around the window? At this point there was no way of knowing. What I did know was that I couldn't let them get to the island without me.

  I tried to argue with myself as I struggled, whimpering, into my clothes. But I really didn't have any choice. They had come here to look for something relating to the document, that was obvious. They hadn't found it in the house. The only other information that existed, the marks around the window, pointed directly at the boulder on the island. If they got there and found what they were looking for, they'd just leave, without telling me anything. I'd never learn the whole story, I'd never know what the three of them were really after. I had to find it—whatever it was—before they did.

  And that meant getting out to the island, however miserable the prospect seemed to me now.

  The blue jeans and long-sleeved sweat shirt I wore were horribly itchy and hot, but necessary. I even put on a stupid plastic visor Mom had bought for me which I had never worn before. She and Dad had already left for someone's private beach, and I slammed out the door and raced over to the cottage without even planning a strategy. The three neighbors, in swimsuits and nylon backpacks, were just stepping onto the lawn as I arrived.

  "Mein Gott, what happened to you?" said Joe.

  "Ooh, it hurts jus to look at you!" Manny said with a shudder.

  "Poor Barney!" Zena made a hissing sound through her teeth. "Don't inform me you got that burn yesterday, with me."

  I nodded. "Does it really look that horrible?"

  "Like a boiled lobster," Manny said. "Hey, why don't we have lobster for dinner tonight!"

  Zena moved close beside me, biting her lower lip as she stared down at my face. "Oh, Barney, I just didn't comprehend. And after you told me how sensitive you were! Oh, God, it's all my fault!"

  Manny shook his head and pressed his lips together. "I can just see it," he said. "You made him sit outside with you, even though he told you he couldn't absorb the sun. Typical."

  She ignored him. "Oh, I'm so penitent, Barney. ; But it was after two, and you did put that cream on. . . ." She bit her lip again. "Oh, if only there was something I could do!" she cried with exaggerated hysteria. "I mean it. I'd do anything to atone for what happened."

  "Oh, that's okay, it wasn't—" I began. Then I saw that Joe had picked up one of the windsurfers and was carrying it toward the car. I began to have an idea. "Except that, well, maybe there is something you could do. . . ."

  "What is it, Barney? A salve? An anesthetic? I know! I have some marvelous painkillers. They're in my drawer, somewhere." She turned toward the house.

  "No, nothing like that," I said quickly. "But there is something I would like."

  "Yeah?" she said, her voice becoming businesslike. "Out with it." "Uh, Zena, we're kind of in a hurry," Manny said, edging away from us.

  "It's those windsurfers. I've always dreamed of going on one of them, ever since I first saw one," I lied. The idea of putting my body on one of the contraptions seemed as much fun as jumping out of an airplane. "Could you, maybe, take me for a ride? That would be great!"
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br />   "Certainly, Barney," she said briskly. "We're going out to the island today, but we could take you out tomorrow. We borrowed them for a couple of days." "Oh, I'd love to go out to the island!" I said. "Couldn't I go with you today?"

  "Today? You want to go out to the island with us today?" Frowning, she glanced over at the others, who had finished loading the boards into the car. "Gee, Barney, that might kind of helix up our plans."

  "Oh, please," I said, hating to beg, but seeing no alternative. "Ever since we came here, I've been staring out at the island and wishing I could sail out there. It would just mean so much. And . . . and tomorrow I can't go."

  She looked impatient now.

  Manny seemed worried. "But we really couldn't, could we?" he said, turning his head back and forth between me and Joe.

  They didn't want me on the island because they didn't want me to know they were looking for something there. Which meant that my best tactic was to make them think they were safer taking me along than leaving me behind. . . .

  "If you can't go tomorrow, we'll take you out the next day," Joe was saying. "We'll take you out all day, every day, for the next week. But today won't manage. See you later."

  "We're in a hurry now, Barney," Zena said. "And with that burn you can't go out today anyway."

  "Yes, I can," I said, thinking fast. "Dad did ask me if I wanted to go with them on Ted's motorboat. We can follow you and watch you with his super-powerful binoculars all day. That might be fun."

  "What!" Manny cried.

  There was a brief stunned silence, during which they all watched each other. Then Zena said, "Well, on twice thought, uh . . . Do you think . . . could we attempt it, Joe?"

  Now Manny was smirking at her. "Zena and her clever little gambits," he said and rolled his eyes.

  "Shut up, Manny!" Joe said. But he was glaring at Zena too. Then he coughed and smiled weakly in my direction, playing with his mustache. "You didn't inform them we were going to the island, did you?"

  "How could I? I didn't know. But now I'll tell them. We can all go out to the island with you. They said they'd take me anywhere I wanted."

  "Well . . . perhaps you could come with us, Barney. If we hurry," Joe said.

  "You win, Barney," Zena said, sour and ungracious and also somewhat suspicious. "Since it's so terribly important to you." She turned abruptly away. "Come on, vamos!"

  "Who's he going to ride with?" Manny asked.

  "Not me," Zena said. "My board's too small."

  "Well, not me, either," Manny said. "I'm so bad at it anyway. A passenger would slow me down. I'd never even get there."

  "Joe should take him," Zena announced. "He's the best one at, uh . . . aquatic activities. Confess it, Joe."

  "That's right," Manny said. "Joe's the best. He should take him."

  "Hey, now wait a minute," Joe protested. "How did all this . . . ?" He looked at me, shaking his head as though trying to come up with another excuse to get rid of me. Then he grunted. "Sure, I'll take him," he said, sliding into the driver's seat and slamming the door. He shot a glance at Manny and Zena. "Even with a passenger, I'll still be miles ahead of you two."

  We bumped down to the beach. I paced at the water's edge, trying to keep the exposed parts of my body in my own shadow as the others unrolled their sails and shoved them into the holes in the middle of the boards. The other people windsurfing on the bay were tipping over more than they were staying up, I noticed with some trepidation, even though the water was calm and there seemed to be little wind.

  "How come everybody keeps tipping over?" I asked, following behind Joe as they pushed the boards out into the water. It was the first time I had ventured in, and though it was the bay and not the ocean, I would have liked it a bit warmer. I wished

  I could have eased in slowly, but the three of them were in a hurry. Standing on tiptoe only prolonged the agony; I gasped as the water hit my stomach.

  "Everybody overturns a lot at first," Manny called out to me.

  "Manny overturns a lot all the time," Zena said.

  "Oh, shut up!" he shouted, and splashed her.

  Some of the spray hit my face and I winced away. "But do you tip over a lot?" I asked Joe. Of the three of them, he was the one I felt least comfortable with.

  "Naw, not in this little breeze," he reassured me. He climbed onto the board, stood up swaying, planted his feet firmly apart, and began dragging the sail up out of the water. "Slide onto the board on your stomach and hang on," he commanded.

  My stomach was one of the most sensitive areas. And the hard plastic board, it turned out, was not smooth but textured like sandpaper, presumably to keep the sailor's feet from slipping. Even with my sweat shirt on, sliding across the thing would be torture. I delicately draped my chest over the back and rested my hands underneath, pushing up my ·;. sleeves to try to keep them dry.

  The board rocked as Joe began fighting with the wildly whipping sail. "You must get up out of the water, Barney, or I'll never get this thing under control," he ordered me, grunting, "Come on, move. Slide up on it."

  I obeyed, and groaned as the textured board scraped against me. Joe didn't seem to hear. He was still working at getting the sail adjusted, swearing under his breath and scowling. None of j them wanted me on this journey, least of all him. I was the outsider, pitiful, uninvited. I hated it; the psychological pain was worse than the physical.

  Could I really tolerate it for an entire day? What was I getting myself into?

  But I didn't have time to brood about it now. The sail snapped into position and filled with wind. Joe stopped staggering on the board, his feet rooted in place, his widely spaced hands grasping the curved boom. He leaned backward, suddenly graceful, his body balanced against the wind. "Get your feet out of the water!" he yelled at me. I made one final, wrenching effort, dragging myself forward until my face was almost touching his foot. We were off.

  I clung desperately to the board, rigid with tension, prepared at any moment to be thrown off. But as we continued to move, gaining speed, it began to dawn on me that my position was not as precarious as I was trying to make it. The board held steady as it skimmed over the bay, smooth and secure, silent except for the lapping of the waves. There was something serene about the sensation, especially since I didn't have to do anything but lie there.

  I risked a quick glance behind to see how the others were doing. Manny was in the water, struggling to extricate himself from his wet sail. Zena's long limbs were splayed awkwardly and her behind jutted out, but she was at least upright and moving forward. The beach was a thin strip behind them, the sunbathers already faceless with distance.

  "Don't jerk, Barney, I'm coming about!" Joe shouted as I turned back. He edged quickly around the mast and let the wind whip the sail to the other side of the board. We now seemed to be heading directly for the island. A moment later he looked quickly down at me, "Just relax," he said condescendingly. "We're making good progress. Nothing to be afraid of."

  "I'm not afraid," I told him, insulted, though only minutes before I'd been terrified. "I like it. It's fun. Good thing I came with you, though."

  "The good thing is, I carried the food," he said. "But they'll do all right, once they get the sensation of it again. They'll attain the island one of these days."

  We didn't speak much for the rest of the trip. My neck began to ache from craning it forward to see where we were going, so I just rested my head on the board and stared at Joe's feet. They were wide and bumpy and calloused, and there were funny purplish stains under his toenails. Had their last expedition been a grape crushing tour of Italy?

  Though Joe maintained control of the board, my feeling of serenity didn't last. Soon my back began to ache from the constant effort of keeping my legs out of the water. But every time I tried to change position, Joe yelled at me to stop jerking. I did manage to let go with one hand long enough to see that the underside of my arm, which had not been burned, was covered with tiny little welts from the textured surface of the b
oard. How far away was the island anyway? I wasn't going to be able to hold on much longer. I was a lousy swimmer, but I eould always just float on my back until someone came to save me. My clothes were soaked through, my behind itched miserably, and I began to shiver. I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering. I stifled the whimper that kept wanting to crawl from my throat. Could I manage to hold on for five minutes longer? For one minute? If I let go, I would probably drown, but maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Nothing could be worse than this.

  My arms began to loosen, the strength drained out of them. And Joe said, "Watch it, Barney. The sail's coming down. We made it."

  I slipped off with a sigh, and my hands and knees sank into the sandy bottom. I waded to the beach and watched Joe dismantle the board.

  Then it hit me. This beach was deserted. There was not another person in sight. It was an odd sensation to be so isolated, and I wasn't sure I liked it. But suddenly I felt elated. I had done something that yesterday had seemed impossible. I had made it to the island before the three of them had had a chance to explore it. And I knew just where to start to search.

  Then I looked beyond the beach, and my elation vanished. The island was completely different. From my window I had seen a long narrow strip of beach encircling a low wooded hill with one very clear, rocky outcropping at which the marks pointed. But now I was standing on a wide strip of beach that ended at a very steep, almost clifflike, hillside that I wasn't even sure I could climb, and I could see no rocky outcropping at all, no large boulder. I turned back to the mainland again, searching for our house to see what part of the island the windows faced. But from this distance I could see many tiny houses scattered along the coastline, and they all looked the same. I couldn't even tell where our beach was.

  Then Joe cursed, and stumbled in the shallow water. "What's the matter?" I shouted.

  "Something bit me." He limped up onto the beach, dragging the windsurfer behind him. He sat down heavily on the sand, I hurried over to him. A crab was clinging to his purplish big toe.

  "The ignorant little thing should have known better," Joe snarled. He pulled the crab from his foot. With surprising brutality, he crushed the shell in his large hand, then hurled the still wriggling mess into the water. He ripped the pack from his back and pulled out a box of bandages. "Slow me down, all right," he muttered to himself. "Good thing they're so far behind."