The Best of Margaret St. Clair
Page 7
It was terrible. At first it made you feel like you’d like to put your head up and howl the way a dog does; then you felt too worn out and miserable and unhappy to have energy left for howling.
It got worse with every hour we stayed there. By the time we’d been in Hidden Valley for two days, Mom and I were looking at each other and wondering which of us would be the first to suggest going back to the city. I kept thinking about how sensible Uncle Albert had been to blow himself up with the dynamite. Even Donnie and his kitten felt the depression; they sat huddled up together in a corner and looked miserable.
Finally Mom said, in a kind of desperate way, “Eddie, why don’t you see what you can get on your radio set? It might cheer you up.” Mom doesn’t give up easily.
I thought it was a silly idea. I’ve been a ham operator ever since I was fifteen, and it’s a lot of fun. I enjoy it more than anything. But when you’re feeling as bad as I was then, you don’t want to talk to anyone. You just want to sit and wonder about dying and things like that.
My stuff had been dumped down all in a corner of the little beaver-boarded living room. I hadn’t felt chipper enough to do anything about getting it set up, though Uncle Albert had put in a private power system and there was electricity in the house. After Mom asked me for the second time, though, I got up and hobbled over to my equipment. And here a funny thing happened. I’d hardly started hunting around for a table to put my stuff on when my depression began to lift.
It was wonderful. It was like being lost in the middle of a dark, choking fog and then having the fog blow away and the bright sun shine out.
The others were affected the same way. Donnie got a piece of string and began playing with the kitten, and the kitten sat back “and batted at the string with its paws the way cats do when they’re playful. Mom stood watching me for a while, smiling, and then she went out in the kitchen and began to get supper. I could smell the bacon frying and hear her whistling “On ward Christian Soldiers.” Mom whistles that way when she’s feeling good.
We didn’t go back to feeling depressed again, either. The funny things about Hidden Valley stopped bothering us, and we all enjoyed ourselves. We had fresh eggs, and milk so rich you could hardly drink it, and lettuce and peas and tomatoes and everything. It was a dry year, but we had plenty of water for irrigation. We lived off the fat of the land; you’d have to have a hundred dollars a week to live like that in the city.
Donnie liked school (he walked about a mile to the school bus) better than he had in the city because the kids were more friendly, and Mom got a big bang out of taking care of the cow and the chickens. I was outside all day long, working in the garden, and I got a fine tan and put on some weight. Mom said I never looked so well. She went into town in the jalopy twice a month to get me books from the county library, and I had all kinds of interesting things to read.
The only thing that bothered me—and it didn’t really bother me, at that—was that I couldn’t contact any other hams with my station. I never got a single signal from anyone. I don’t know what the trouble was, really—what it looked like was that radio waves couldn’t get into or out of the valley. I did everything I could to soup up my equipment. I had Mom get me a dozen books from the county library, and I stayed up half the night studying them. I tore my equipment down and built it up again eight or ten times and put in all sorts of fancy stuff. No thing helped. I might as well have held a rock to my ear and listened to it.
But outside of that, as I say, I thought Hidden Valley was wonderful. I was glad Mom had made me and Donnie go there. Everything was doing fine, until Donnie fell in the cave.
It happened when he went out after lunch to hunt for his kitten—it was Saturday—and he didn’t come back and he didn’t come back. At last Mom, getting worried, sent me out to look for him.
I went to all the usual places first, and then, not finding him, went farther away. At last, high up on a hillside, I found a big, fresh-looking hole. It was about five feet across, and from the look of the grass on the edges, the earth had just recently caved in. It seemed to be six or seven feet deep. Could Donnie be down in there? If there’s a hole to fall in, a kid will fall in it.
I put my ear over the edge and listened. I couldn’t see anything when I looked. After a moment I heard a sound like sobbing, pretty much muffled.
“Donnie!” I yelled. “Oh, Donnie!” There wasn’t any answer, but the sobbing seemed to get louder. I figured if he was down there, he was either hurt or too scared to answer my call.
I hobbled back to the house as quick as I could and got a stepladder. I didn’t tell Mom—no use in worrying her any more. I managed to get the ladder to the hole and down inside. Then I went down myself. I’ve got lots of strength in my arms.
Donnie wasn’t at the bottom. Some light was coming in at the top, and I could see that the cave went on sloping down. I listened carefully and heard the crying again.
The slope was pretty steep, about twenty degrees. I went forward carefully, feeling my way along the side and listening. Everything was as dark as the inside of a cow. Now and then I’d yell Donnie’s name.
The crying got louder. It did sound like Donnie’s voice. Pretty soon I heard a faint “Eddie!” from ahead.
And almost at the same moment I saw a faint gleam.
When I got up to it, Donnie was there. I could just make him out silhouetted against the dim yellowish glow. When I said his name this time, he gulped and swallowed. He crawled up to me as quick as he could and threw his arms around my legs.
“Ooooh, Eddie,” he said, “I’m so glad you came! I fell in and hurt myself. I didn’t know how to get out. I crawled away down here. I’ve been awful scared.”
I put my arms around him and patted him. I certainly was glad to see him. But my attention wasn’t all on him. Part of it was fixed on the egg.
It wasn’t really an egg, of course. Even at the time I knew that. But it looked like a reptile’s egg, somehow, a huge, big egg. It was about the size of a cardboard packing box, oval-shaped, and it seemed to be covered over with a tough and yet gelatinous skin. It glowed faintly with a pale orange light, as if it were translucent and the light were coming through it from behind. Shadows moved slowly inside.
Donnie was holding onto my legs so tightly I was afraid he’d stop the circulation. I could feel his heart pounding against me, and when I patted him his face was wet with tears. “I’m awful glad you came, Eddie,” he said again. “You know that ol’ egg there? It’s been making me see all sorts of things. I was awful scared.”
Donnie never lies. “It’s all right now, kid,” I said, looking at the egg. “We won’t let it show you any more bad things.”
“Oh, they weren’t bad!” Donnie drew away from me. “The egg’s bad, but the things weren’t! They were awful nice.”
I knew I ought to get him out, but I was curious. I was so curious I couldn’t stand it. I said, “What kind of things, Quack-quack?” (That’s his pet name, because his name is Donald.) “Oh…” Donnie’s voice was dreamy. His heartbeat was calming down. “Books and toys and candy. A great big Erector set. A toy farm and fire truck and a cowboy suit. And ice cream—I wish you could have some of the ice cream, Eddie. I had sodas and malteds and Eskimo bars and Cokes. Oh, and I won first prize in the spelling contest. Mom was awful glad.”
“You mean— the egg let you have all these things?” I asked, feeling dazed.
“Naw.” Donnie’s tone held disgust. “But I could have ‘em, all that and a lot more, if I’d do what the egg wanted.”
“Oh.”
“But I wouldn’t do it.” Donnie’s voice was virtuous. “I said no to ‘em. That egg’s bad.”
“What did the egg want you to do?”
“Aw, they wouldn’t tell me.” Donnie’s tone was full of antagonism. “They never did say. Cm on, let’s get out of here. You help me, I don’t like it here.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The egg… was showing me things.
What sort of things? The things I wanted most, just as it had with Donnie. Things I wanted so much I wouldn’t even admit to wanting them. I saw myself healthy and normal and strong, with a straight back and powerful limbs. I was going to college, I was captain of the football team. I made the touchdown that won the big game. I was graduated with honors while Mom and my girl friend—such a pretty, jolly girl—looked on, their faces bright with pride. I got an important research job in radio. And so on—foolish ambitions, impossible hopes. Crazy dreams.
But they weren’t dreams when the egg was showing them to me. They were real, they weren’t something I had to hide or laugh at any longer. And all the time a voice inside my brain was saying, “You can have this. You can have all this.
“Won’t you help us, won’t you please help us? We’re harmless, we’re trapped and hurt. We came here from our own place to colonize, and we can’t get out and we can’t get back.
“It would be easy for you to help us. And we’ll be grateful. We’ll give you all you saw. And more. All you have to do…”
I took a step forward. Of course I wanted what they had shown me. I wanted them very much. And besides, I felt sorry for the things, the harmless things imprisoned in the egg. I’ve known what it is to feel helpless and trapped.
Donnie was beating on my thigh with his fists and screaming. I tried to shake him off so I could go on listening to the other voice. He hung on, pummeling me, and finally, in desperation, grabbed at my hand and bit it hard with his sharp little teeth. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie! Come out of it, please come out of it!”
That roused me. I looked at him, dazed and resentful. Why wouldn’t he let me listen so I could help the poor things in the egg? “Be quiet, Quack-quack,” I mumbled to him.
“You gotta listen, Eddie! Don’t let them get you! ‘Member what happened to Uncle Albert? ‘Member how we felt when we first came to the farm?”
The words penetrated. My normal caution was waking up. “But they say they don’t mean us any harm,” I argued weakly. I was talking to Donnie just like he was grown up.
“Aw, they’re big liars. They can’t help hurting us. It’s something they put into the air, like, by just being alive. They can stop it for a while, if they try hard. But that’s the way they really are. Like poison oak or a rattlesnake. ‘Sides, I think they like it. They like being the way they are.”
Poison oak and rattlers, I translated to myself, aren’t consciously evil. They don’t will their nature. But it’s their nature to be poisonous. If Donnie was right in thinking that the things in the egg gave out, as a part of their metabolism, a vibration which was hostile to human life… Uncle Albert had committed suicide by blowing himself up with dynamite.
“We’d better get rid of the egg, Quack-quack,” I said.
“Yes, Eddie.”
I helped him up the shaft to the mouth of the cave. He’d sprained his ankle. On the way I asked, “What are the things in the egg like, Donnie?” I had an idea, but I wanted to check it with him. I felt his young mind and senses were keener and more reliable in this than mine.
“Like radio. Or ’lectricity.”
“Where did they come from?”
“Another— not like where we live. Everything’s different. It’s not like here. It’s right here beside us. An’ it’s a long way off.”
I nodded. I helped him up the ladder and left him sitting on the hillside. Then I went back to the house for my .22 and a can of kerosene.
Donnie watched me anxiously as I went down with them. I don’t mind admitting I was pretty nervous myself.
A.22 isn’t an elephant gun. Still, at a two-foot range it ought to have some penetrating power. It didn’t. The bullets just bounced off from the sides of the egg. I could hear them spatting against the walls of the cave. I used three clips before I gave up.
That left the kerosene. There hadn’t been any more attempts to show me pictures or bring me around. In a silence that seemed bitterly hostile I poured kerosene all over the egg. I used plenty. Then I stood back and tossed a match at it.
Heat boiled up. It got so hot I retreated nearly to where Donnie had fallen in. But when it cooled off enough so that I could go back, I found the egg sitting there as good as new. There wasn’t even any soot on it.
I was beaten. I couldn’t think of anything more to do. I went up the ladder with the empty kerosene can and my gun. Donnie seemed to know I’d failed. He was crying when I came up to him. “Don’t tell Mom,” I said, and he nodded dutifully.
Would the egg let it go at that? I didn’t think so. After supper I said to Mom, “You know, sometimes I think it would be nice to go back to the city for a while.”
She looked at me as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “Are you crazy, Eddie? We never had it so good before.” Her eyes narrowed and she began to get worried. “What’s the matter, honey? Aren’t you feeling well?”
I couldn’t tell her. I knew she’d believe me; that was just the trouble. If she knew there was a chance I could be cured, be made healthy and strong the way she wanted me to be, she’d make a dicker with the things in the egg, come hell or high water. It wouldn’t make any difference to her whether they were good or bad, if she thought they could help me. Mom’s like that.
“Oh, I feel fine,” I said as heartily as I could. “It was just an idea. How’s for seconds on the strawberry shortcake? It’s even better than usual, Mom.”
Her face relaxed. But I didn’t sleep much that night.
The breakfast Mom cooked next morning was punk. I wasn’t hungry, but I couldn’t help noticing. The toast was burned, the eggs were leathery and cold, the coffee was the color of tea. There was even a fly in the pitcher of orange juice. I thought she must be worried about Donnie. I had bandaged his foot according to the picture in the first-aid book, but the ankle had swelled up like a balloon, and it looked sore and bad.
After breakfast Mom said, “Eddie, you seem worn out. I think carrying Donnie so far was bad for you. I don’t want you to do any work today. You just sit around and rest.”
“I don’t feel like resting,” I objected.
“Well—” Her face brightened. “I know,” she said, sounding pleased. “Why don’t you see what you can get on your radio set? The cord’s long enough you could take it out on the side porch and be out in the fresh air. It’s been a long time since you worked with it. Maybe you could get some of the stations you used to get.”
She sounded so pleased with herself for having thought of the radio that I didn’t have the heart to argue with her. She helped me move the table and the equipment outside, and I sat down and began to fiddle with it. It was nice and cool out on the porch.
I didn’t get any signals, of course. Pretty soon Donnie came limping out. He was supposed to stay on the couch in the living room, but it’s hard for a kid to keep still.
“What’s the matter, Donnie?” I asked, looking at him. He was frowning, and his face was puckered up and serious. “Foot hurt?”
“Oh, some… But Eddie… you know that old egg?” I picked up my headphones and turned them a bit. “Urn,” I said.
“Well, I don’t think you should’a built that fire around it. It was a bad thing to do.”
I put the headphones down. I wanted to tell Donnie to shut up and not bother me; I know that was because I didn’t like what he was saying. “Why was it bad?” I asked.
“Because it stirred the things in the egg up. I kin feel it. It’s like you have a station with more juice, you can get farther. The fire gave them more juice.”
I didn’t know what to say. I figured he was right, and I felt scared. After a minute I made myself laugh. “Nothing to worry about, Quack-quack,” I said. “We can lick any old egg.”
His face relaxed a little. “I guess so,” he said. He sat down in the porch swing.
Mom stuck her head around the edge of the door. “Did you get anything on your radio, Eddie?” she asked.
“No,” I said a little shortly.
To please her, I put on my headphones and twiddled the dials. No dice, of course. Mom frowned. She went around to the other side of the table and stood looking at the wiring, something I’d never seen her do before. “How would it be if you moved this from here to here?” she said. Her voice was a little high.
I leaned over to see what she was pointing at. “That would just burn out the tubes.”
“Oh.” She stood there for a moment. Then her hand darted out, and before I could stop her, before I even had any idea what she was up to, she moved the wire she’d been talking about.
“Hey!” I squawked, “Stop that!” I said it too late. There was a crackle and a flash and all the tubes burned out. My station was completely dead.
Mom rubbed her forehead and looked at me. “I don’t know what made me do that, Eddie,” she said apologetically. “It was just like something moved my hand! I’m awfully sorry, son.”
“Oh, that’s O.K.,” I said. “Don’t worry about it. The station wasn’t good for anything.”
“I know, but… My head’s been feeling queer all morning. I think it must be the weather. Doesn’t the air feel heavy and oppressive to you?”
The air did have a thick, discouraging feel, but I hadn’t noticed it before she burned out the radio tubes. I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could say it, Donnie yelled, “Look at Fluffie! She’s walking on the air!”
We both jerked around. There Fluffie was, about ten feet up, making motions with her paws as if she were trying to walk. She was mewing a blue streak. Now and then she’d slip down three or four feet and then go up to the former level, just as if a hand had caught at her. Her fur was standing up all over, and her tail was three times its usual size. Finally she went up about twenty feet and then came sailing down in a long curve. She landed on the ground with a thump. And that was the beginning of all the phenomena.