by Ralph Church
Mindy couldn’t help overhear him as she returned with the iced tea. “Oh, you talk to plants, too?”
“Only to the old ones. They’re good listeners.”
Mindy put the iced tea on her coffee table and sat down on the couch. She just couldn’t figure it out. Something was wrong. But when Mork turned his back to her, as he walked around the sofa, Mindy knew! “Your—your suit is on backward!”
Mork grabbed his head and looked down, embarrassed. “It is? I feel like such a clone,” he apologized, since on Ork, though they could make perfect copies of themselves, they had been having problems with the brain cells in the index finger.
“If you’re not a priest, who are you?” Mindy asked, now afraid she was involved with a kook.
“I’m Mork from Ork,” was the answer. And Mork pulled himself up to his five-feet, five-inches and saluted this beautiful Earthling.
“Ork?” she repeated in a daze.
“Ork is a planet. You follow the Big Dipper until it comes to a dead end. Then you hang an up—”
Mindy imitated Mork’s hand gesture, which was that he pointed down when he said up.
“Or is that down?” Mork asked. “It doesn’t matter. In hyper-space it’s hard to tell.”
Mindy shook herself and took action. She began to climb off the couch, terrified. What a night. First she was attacked by her date. Now this. But she didn’t want to let him know she was frightened. So far he hadn’t hurt her. Now, if she could only humor him. “Right,” she said, pretending that Mork was making sense. “I have a poor sense of direction myself. So,” she said with a perky tone, “you’re from Outer Space, eh?” What else could she say?
“Yes,” Mork answered blandly. After all, it was no news to him. In fact, he was so intent in his new mission, he never even noticed Mindy’s strange actions. “Mind if I take a picture?” he asked without waiting for an answer. “The clones love getting postcards.” Mork aimed his finger at Mindy, who was still climbing off of the couch and now began to fall.
As she struggled to hang on, Mork triggered his camera-finger and the room flashed with light. Mindy, astonished, slid down again. “How did you do that?” was all she could say.
Mork pointed to the nail on his middle finger. “It’s my Instamatic nail. You can get them for less than thirty brandels. Putting it on is a little painful, though.” Mork ignored Mindy on the floor. After all, this could be normal Earthling behavior.
Mork looked down and saw his tea. “Ah,” he said, and, with no feeling, put two fingers in the glass. In a second, the iced tea disappeared. “Mustn’t gulp.” he said, smiling. “The pause that refreshes,” he quoted, and he bent his fingers while making a loud burping noise.
Mindy was staring so hard that her eyes began to hurt. “You drank that with your finger,” she said, mostly to convince herself of what she had seen.
“Of course,” Mork said, then suspected that something was wrong. Perhaps Earthlings drank differently. “How do you drink liquids?” he asked in his best interview manner.
“With”—Mindy’s hand strayed to her lips—“My mouth.”
Mork thought about that. “Then how do you talk and drink at the same time? Must be drool city.”
Now Mindy was really scared. Either she was crazy, or she was alone with a bizarre, possibly dangerous, lunatic. “Look,” she said, her voice trembling, “whoever you are, you can’t scare me. There’s no such thing as a man from Outer Space. I don’t know how you did those tricks, but just keep your distance or I’m going to scream like you’ve never heard anybody scream.”
“I’ve never heard anybody scream,” Mork answered in his fast, high-toned voice. “Is that another way of saying thanks?” Orkans have four ways of saying thank you, so Mork thought his guess was a good one.
Mindy readied herself to yell, but a knock on the door stopped her. “Ah!” she said, leaping from the couch and running to the door. “Here’s help already,” she said, opening the door triumphantly.
Hovering in the doorway was another Flying Egg from Ork. Mindy put her hand on the door to steady herself and slowly collapsed, staring at the white object. This couldn’t be happening to her.
“My lost luggage,” Mork said matter-of-factly. “That’s goomba because all my casual clothes are in it.” At the doorway, the egg opened by lifting its top and Mork removed another steel box with a handle.
“Scrim, scrim, scram,” he said to get the egg to leave. When it just stayed in place, Mork was irritated.
“Take a hike,” Mork said. After a moment he realized his mistake. “Oh, everybody expects a tip these days,” Mork mumbled, taking out the blue marbles that are coin money on Ork. Sand are the big bills. The egg said, “Pah-poo,” one of the formal Orkian thank-yous, closed its top, and whirred away.
Mindy, still slumped by the doorway, tried to talk, but she had to clear her throat first. “You actually are—you came from up there?” Mindy pointed skyward.
Mork took her arm and moved it slightly. “Actually, I’m from over there.” He moved her arm back to the original position. Then he explained: “That direction is not a good neighborhood. Lots of mumps. I wouldn’t even go there in an eclipse.”
“An alien,” Mindy mumbled, getting up. “An alien,” she repeated, letting this incredible idea sink in. “You’re not going to hurt me?” she quickly added.
“Hurt?” Mork shook his head, disappointed. “Damaging other life-forms is against our nature. It’s unthinkable. I wouldn’t harm a boz on your yin.” Mork peered at Mindy’s neck. “Though you don’t seem to have a boz.”
Mindy walked to the other side of her couch and took a good look at Mork. He was, of course, five-feet, five-inches tall, with blue eyes, questioning eyebrows, a wide nose that was a little twisted, and thin lips. His body was powerfully built, and he held it very erect and proud. He wore his hair fairly long and looked very much in fashion, except that Mindy noticed his jacket had no buttons.
“I’ve met a man from space,” Mindy said, no longer afraid and very excited. She almost felt flattered. But she was speechless.
***
4
Mindy sat there and stared, awed by Mork. This was the beginning of a long adventure, she realized. She had been chosen, out of all humanity, to be the first woman to meet a man from space.
“Just think of me as a new friend,” Mork said, breaking the silence. “Ah! It occurs to me that we haven’t been formally introduced. A formal introduction is at hand.” Mork put his finger to his lips and a trumpet sound came out. He dropped to one knee. “I’m Mork from Ork.”
“I’m Mindy McConnell.” Mindy, a little embarrassed, made a feeble noise like a trumpet.
Mork stepped forward stiffly and extended his hand, spreading his index and middle fingers apart from the pinky and ring fingers. Mindy puzzled over this for a moment and then imitated him. That was a first-meeting Orkian handshake, quite different from the twisting-ear departure sign.
Mork approved of her handshake. “Ah, I like a firm ribbit. That shows character.”
“Well, thank you. Uh, how do you say ‘thank you’ in your language?”
“Pah-poo, klangst, tuppy, and hooey-goo.”
“You have four ways of saying thank you?”
“Of course. Pah-poo is for lower-life forms, klangst is to fill time, tuppy is for equals, and hooey-goo is said only to children.”
“I just can’t believe this is happening!” Mindy said, her eyes shining with delight. “I’m talking to an alien! Do you realize what a momentous occasion in the history, well, in the history of the whole world this is? Everyone will be astounded.”
“Boo, boo,” Mork said, using one of the legal no’s in Orkian. Nap, nap wouldn’t have been correct because it is for social no’s. Boo, boo is a business term. “My mission here is only to observe. I can only do that by being one of you. A face in the crowd. And that should be easy. I fit right in.”
Mindy tried not to laugh. “Not really,” she s
aid gently.
Mork was surprised. “No?”
“No.” Mindy nodded firmly.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I’ll tell you what. I’m as interested in your planet and in you as you are in us. I can teach you how to act ‘Earthling’ and you can teach me about Ork. Is that a deal?”
“A fair exchange. We’ll formally close the deal.” Mork squeezed his chest. He seemed to actually tighten his rib cage by a few inches. In fact, Orkans, since they have no heart or lungs, can narrow their bodies in this fashion. How much one can do this is, indeed, their only athletic competition. “Kerkle,” Mork said, the appropriate phrase when making this gesture. Indeed, the chest-squeezing games are called Kerkleniks. Mork was only an average Kerkler, but he was still a young Orkan, and on Ork one’s physical abilities get better with age.
Mindy had no intention of doing any self-Kerkling, though Mork looked at her expectantly. “Is it okay if I just say Kerkle?” she asked timidly.
“Well, it’s your house. By the way, I will be staying here, won’t I? I’ve heard so much about your Earthling hospitality.”
Mindy hadn’t thought about this problem. But she couldn’t let him go elsewhere. He would be noticed in a minute. “Well, I guess it’s okay, but I sure hope my father doesn’t find out.”
“You see?” Mork said. “I have learned already. A Father is a person who wears his jacket backward, correct?”
Mindy patiently began to explain, but Mork interrupted. “Is this very important?” he asked.
“Well, it would help if you knew the difference.”
“But I don’t need to write it in my report, do I?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Ah, good,” Mork said. “My nail was worn out during the walk and that instant nailer makes a terrible smell.”
“So you smell,” Mindy said, pleased to have found a common experience.
Mork put his finger near his underarms. “I do?” he said, embarrassed.
“You smell with your finger,” Mindy said, disappointed. “Do you do everything with your finger?”
Mork stiffened. “Isn’t this a bit personal? What do you do everything with?”
Mindy blushed. “I’m sorry, you didn’t understand. I drink with my mouth, smell with my nose, uh, see with my eyes, and hear with my ears.”
Mork shook his head in dismay. “What confusion,” he said sadly. “You primitive beings lead exhausting lives.”
“Primitive?” Mindy felt angry for all human beings. “What makes us primitive, because we don’t drink with our fingers?”
“Nin, nin,” Mork said, using yet another of the Orkian no’s. This one was used only for philosophical discussions. “You don’t understand living forms. Look how you cage the plants and you eat animals and you kill each other—”
Mindy quickly interrupted. She was made sad by this list. “Your planet doesn’t do any of those things?”
“Not since two bill-krells.
“How do you eat?”
“We eat plant leavings.”
Mindy was confused. “You eat dead leaves?”
“Nap, nap. We eat the colored extrusions.”
“You mean flowers? You eat flowers?”
“And coffee, of course.”
“But coffee and flowers don’t have any nourishment,” Mindy said.
Mork shook his head in disapproval. “And you say you’re not a primitive life-form?”
“Amazing. Coffee and flowers. What else is different on Ork?”
“The biggest difference is that we don’t allow emotions.”
Mindy leaned forward. “You don’t allow them, or you don’t have them? Which is it?”
“Hmm.” Mork put his finger up in the air. “Interesting. A little of both.”
“Did Orkans ever have emotions?”
“Oh, many, many emotions.” Mork moved around the room making noises. “Raftzins, Jows, and, worst of all, Links.”
“And what are those emotions?” Mindy was fascinated. Perhaps they would be feelings that no human has ever had. A brand-new emotion.
“I have no idea,” Mork said. “It’s illegal to know.”
Mindy tried to understand. Then what’s the point of having words for them?”
“Oh, we have words for many things that don’t exist.”
“But that’s not what I mean, Mork. Do you have many words that don’t mean anything at all?”
Mork was surprised. “Certainly. Don’t you?”
“No, our words always mean something. Sometimes they mean different things, but they always have a meaning.” Mindy began to feel nervous because Mork continued to stand. “Mork, you can sit down and make yourself comfortable.”
“Ah! Pah-poo.” Mork walked to the chair and very easily sat down on it. Everything was done easily, which was amazing because Mork had sat down on his face. Mindy stared at his legs, which were up in the air, moving gently, as if Mork were bicycling.
“Mork, what are you doing?”
“I made myself comfortable.”
“You sit on your face?”
“Of course.”
“Of course,” Mindy mumbled to herself. This was going to be much harder than she had thought at first. Though he looked perfectly human, there was nothing Mork did that wasn’t utterly different from the way humans did things.
“Mork, you can’t sit like that on Earth.”
“No?”
“No, and that voice!” Mindy had almost become used to Mork’s speedy, high-whining voice, but every other time he spoke, she realized how strange his speech was. “Mork, can you sit the way I’m sitting?”
Mork stared at Mindy, which, since he was upside down, looked very odd. “Don’t be miltz,” he said with scorn. He quickly got up and sat normally (for a human).
“Miltz?” Mindy laughed. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing—the word doesn’t exist,” Mork lied, though, in fact, Orkans can’t lie; they can only exaggerate greatly. Miltz had been outlawed only two krells ago, since its meaning, the Kant council decided, could only be used in an insulting fashion, and insults are against the law. Miltz used to mean what the word “silly” means in English.
Fortunately, Mindy was too concerned about Mork’s voice. She had put a hand sadly to her head. “What are we going to do about your voice?”
“You don’t like my voice? I’ll change it.” Mork lowered his head and spoke in a cowboy drawl. “If you don’t get off that horse nice and slow, I’m gonna blow you off.” Mork changed his voice again. “Book ’em, Dano,” he said, sounding like a tough detective.
“Where did you learn those voices?”
“We’ve been monitoring your television for years. My favorite is that very sad program about the stranger on your planet who lives with the loud redhead.”
“What’s the name of that program?”
“‘I Love Lucy.’ Babalooo,” Mork sang, in a perfect imitation. “By the way,” he continued, looking gravely at Mindy, how is poor little Ricky?”
Mindy shook her head. “I can see this is not going to be easy.”
“Problems?” Mork tilted his head and looked soothingly at Mindy. “Try Compoz. Many women find that occasional tension and anxiety—”
“That voice!” Mindy yelled excitedly. “That’s almost normal.”
“Thank you. We will return to the second half of ‘Another—’”
“Mork,” Mindy said, “can you choose your own words and speak in that voice?”
“Of course,” Mork said, his voice still deep and resonant.
“Mork,” Mindy said, jumping up from the couch, excited, “we’ve made a breakthrough!”
Mork got up and begun to jump exactly the way Mindy was. “I think I like ‘breakthroughs,’” Mork said in his Orkian voice.
Mindy pointed her finger at him. “The other voice.”
But Mork didn’t pay attention. Instead, he covered his face and began to curl up. “Mork!” Mind
y cried out. “What’s the matter?”
“Your bloink. I did nothing—”
Mindy stared down and realized that she was pointing her index finger at Mork. “Oh, Mork,” she said, putting a hand on his arm, “it’s nothing. I can’t do anything with my finger.”
Mork looked up, shocked. “Nothing? Nothing at all?”
“I can’t do what you can do with yours. Boy, this is a silly conversation,” she said to the walls.
“On my planet,” Mork said, getting to his feet, “that is a very serious gesture. It is the first of our more than two yellion laws. Every mother teaches it to her children—never point at strangers; it’s not nice.”
Mindy listened only partly to him. She was busy being amazed by how Mork’s arm had felt when she touched it briefly. At first it felt like stone, something very hard and strong. But within a moment of contact, his arm had become soft and yet still very firm. The whole experience was very unsettling. It brought home to her, among other things, that this was a very remarkable experience. She wondered for a moment if it was right for her to keep Mork’s presence a secret. Scientists could probably learn more things in a minute talking to Mork than in a hundred years of research.
Mork waved his hand in front of Mindy. “Very strange. I wonder if all humans fall asleep so quickly.”
“Oh, Mork, I’m sorry. Mork, you’re still talking the wrong way.”
Mork nodded and turned his head in the other direction. “Is that better?” he asked, still speaking like a fast tape recorder.
“No, no. Don’t you remember? We chose that voice you learned from or television.”
”Oh, yes. That was before the breakthrough. I didn’t realize I had changed voices. But, you know, that’s how we pay our bills around here,” he said, speaking like an announcer.
“That’s good, Mork. But you must use your own words while still using that voice.”
“Very good, Mindy, I understand. This sounds normal for Earth?”
Mindy smiled. “Well, pretty much.” She looked at the clock and exclaimed, “Oh, I must get to bed. Listen, we’ve made good progress. Now, you can sleep here on the couch. I’ll bring you some sheets and blankets.”