by Ralph Church
“It’s okay now?” Mindy asked. “Can you also have some wine?” she said, pouring a glassful for him.
“What do you do with that?” Mork asked.
“You have it with your dinner.”
“Ah.” Mork rubbed his hands excitedly and poured the wine into his spaghetti. “Didn’t improve it much,” he said, sticking his finger in and draining the bowl of liquid in a few seconds.
“Mork,” Mindy said, not knowing which mistake to discuss first, “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to drink with your finger anymore.”
Mork covered his finger. “Shame. Embarrassment. I will eat with my mouth and drink, too.” Mork pointed at the bowl and the spaghetti unraveled into long strands that smoothly shot into Mork’s mouth. Mindy watched in amazement as the whole bowl kept going steadily into Mork’s mouth. He had no reaction to the continuous flow of food. He was finished in no time.
“Would you like more?” Mindy asked.
“Yek,” Mork said.
“Oh, boy, the way you eat, we really are going to have to find you a job quickly.”
“A job?” Mark said. “But I have a job. I am to report to Orson about Earth.”
“But Mork,” Mindy said, while she gave him more food, “you have to have a job that makes you some Earth money—you know, the green paper.”
“Heavy sigh,” Mork said, and then he sighed heavily. “I have to find a place to live. And then I have to find a job. You primitive life-forms are very harassed.”
Mindy, as she carefully explained to Mork that he mustn’t eat by making his finger transport food into his mouth, and thinking in the back of her mind about her fight with Fred, had to agree with Mork’s observation. Life had become very harassed.
But Mork did have his advantages, Mindy learned when she began to wash the dishes. Mork watched her for only a few seconds before he began to bark, “Ha! Ha! Ha!”
Mindy, her hands soapy, turned to look at him “What wit!” Mork said and barked again. “Ha! Ha!”
“Mork,” Mindy protested, “this is not a joke. I’m cleaning the dishes.”
Mork covered his mouth in embarrassment. “Profound apologies. On the television entertainment device, there was a brief show about a youth serum in just such a container. I thought you were performing a satire.” Mork posed like an actor. “Keep your hands young and beautiful.”
“Mork, what you saw was a commercial for this.” Mindy held up her bottle of dishwashing liquid. “It helps clean the dishes.”
Mork was amazed. These poor Earthlings were living almost completely without technology. “Mindy,” he said, “I cannot bear to see you humbled in this manner. Not since the fifth krell have any Orkans slaved as you slave. Step away from the sink.”
Mindy knew enough by now to do as Mork said. She shut off the water, leaving the sink piled with dishes. Mork pointed his bloink at the tap turned, and steam began to rise, its fog obscuring one entire side of the kitchen. Mindy heard plates rattle and then saw flickers of color fly through the air. Soon, soapy bubbles also joined the steam. Mork kept his finger on the entire operation, but otherwise looked bored. In less than a minute, the water shut off and the fog cleared to reveal clean dishes neatly stacked next to the empty sink.
“Is that satisfactory?” Mork asked, without any pride in his achievement. He had none not only because Orkans are incapable of feeling pride, but also because his ability was common on Ork.
Mindy smiled at the sight. Having Mork around was like living with the greatest magician ever. Even better. “Remind me to take you to the people at Whirlpool,” she said jokingly.
Mork nodded, took out his pad, and asked, “On what day should I remind you?”
“Never mind,” Mindy said, realizing she couldn’t joke around Mork. He took everything literally.
Mork had not used the dish drainer next to the sink, and Mindy, seeing this, said, “Uh, Mork, could you put the clean dishes into that object next to the sink?”
He nodded, pointed his bloink, and, one by one, the dishes, silverware, and glasses all hoisted themselves into the drainer.
“Very nice,” Mindy said, delighted. She felt like a kid at the circus sideshow. “Well, I’m exhausted from having spent all last night up talking.”
“I, too, am suffering from egg-lag,” Mork said. “On my planet right now, it’s twenty-million years ago.”
“Well, then we’d better both go to bed.”
Mork nodded and began walking toward the closet. “Yes, I’m ready to hit the old coatrack.”
“Mork,” Mindy said, despairing once more of ever getting him to behave normally, by which she meant humanly, “You’re on Earth now. You should sleep in a bed.”
“Is that where you sleep?”
“Yes. Boy, there’s a lot you have to learn.”
“Good. I will sleep with you. I’m always willing to learn. It is an Orkian principle to never look a learning text in the binding.”
“Uh, I think maybe it would be better if you slept on the sofa.”
Mork looked down at the sofa. He remembered Mindy making it up the night before. Perhaps, he thought, amazed by the idea, Earthlings actually do sleep flat, like on the television programs. Until meeting Mindy, Mork had thought television was a fantasy world that had little to do with real life. Apparently it was grimly realistic. “Flat?” he asked. ‘Won’t I get dizzy?”
Mindy went to the closet and got out a blanket and sheets. She wasn’t sure, but while in there she thought Mork’s egg luggage had moved just before she turned the light on. “Well,” she said in answer to his question, “you won’t have far to fall.” He would need the comforter, Mindy realized, so she asked him to go up to the attic to get it, because she hated going up there.
Right next to the front door was a narrow staircase leading to a low-ceilinged attic. Mork went up there with considerably less disgust than a human would. The attic was too low to stand in. It was dark, piled with odd-shaped objects, the rafters full of spiders’ webs, the whole place giving off the feeling that something awful might be hiding there.
To Mork, however, the place was pleasant, warm, cozy, just like home. And that was because Ork was just like Mindy’s attic. Or pretty close. Spiders are like houseplants here on Earth, and because all of Ork’s six suns are quite far away from the planet, it is very dark there. Also, dust is considered a mark of tradition, since it shows that an Orkan’s possessions have been around for a long time. Also, it is considered amusing there to slide across especially dusty floors.
Mork was quite happy rummaging around up there, trying to decide which object was the comforter Mindy wanted. Finally, he decided it had to be one of two objects and he brought them both downstairs.
Mindy watched him and thought to herself: When am I ever going to learn to be specific with him?
Mork had carried down a huge moose head and an antique car horn. He hugged the moose head. “I hope this is the comforter.”
“No,” Mindy said. “My comforter doesn’t stare. Never mind. I’ll get it later.”
“Your attic,” Mork said, his eyes showing admiration, “is real kookla.” Kookla is a slang word that is currently under review by the Kant Council. The question is whether a word that in English would mean “groovy” is emotional or not. It has in its favor that it can be used as a compliment, and that makes it a close decision for the Council. Mork, as you can judge, was using the word very safely. He was making a sincere attempt to amend the mistakes that had gotten him exiled to Earth.
“Kookla?”
“Nice,” Mork explained. “Dark, dusty, full of spiders. Also, I love studio apartments. They’re so cozy.”
“That’s pleasant to you?”
“My kind of town. It’s perfect. I could live there happily.”
“Mork, people don’t live in attics. Attics are storage spaces where you put things that are cluttering up your life.”
Mork, without any self-pity, said, “You mean, like this comforter an
d me?” He hugged the moose head and looked openly with his clear blue eyes at her.
Of course, Mork had not meant this as an emotional plea, but it felt like one to Mindy. She felt so bad for Mork. “You’re not cluttering up my life,” she said sweetly. She thought about Mork’s suggestion. Everything was crazy with him, so the attic probably would be a good home for him. She certainly didn’t need the space, and it would solve the problem of finding him a place to live. She had been thinking all night how hard it was going to be to rent a place for him. Mork was nowhere near ready to deal with landlords. And how would he pay the rent? She couldn’t afford to pay it for him, and what with inflation, most people wouldn’t be satisfied with a sack of sand instead of a rent check.
“You know, Mork,” she said, coming to a decision, “actually, the attic wouldn’t be a bad place if we fixed it up. And it is almost like having your own apartment. It’s a great place for you to stay while you’re adjusting to Earth. It’s perfect.” Mindy was nearly carried away by this speech, but then she remembered her father. “Except for my father.”
Mork looked innocently at Mindy. “Will he cause a big problem?”
“No, no,” Mindy said. “He’s really a very sweet man. He would never do anything drastic or harmful. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
***
10
Mork had not had an easy time sleeping on the couch. Mindy wouldn’t allow him to sleep in the attic that night. She kept insisting that it had to be vacuumed. When Mork inquired as to the meaning of the word, she explained that it was a device used to suck up dirt. Mork was horrified at the thought of all those lovely spiders being sucked to death, their little bodies pulled into pieces. That thought kept him awake for a time, and then trying to sleep flat was a terrible trial.
He put his hand on the floor to maintain his balance, but by the morning his head was on the ground and his feet had hooked onto the backrest, and he was as upside down as he would have been in the closet.
Mindy, when she saw how scrunched up and funny his face looked, decided not to complain that he had reverted to Orkian habits. She hurried through breakfast, making a pot of coffee for Mork, which he drank (with his mouth) in gulps. He looked much happier afterward and Mindy promised to bring him some flowers for lunch. She planned to tell her father the truth and bring him home to prove that Mork was really from Outer Space.
She told him to stay inside, and he, of course, obeyed. Soon after she left, he opened the refrigerator to learn more about this food depository.
What he saw inside astonished and terrified him.
He removed the long carton that had holes to show its contents were intact. He read the writing, but it seemed like nonsense to him. “A dozen grade A medium white eggs.”
“Are they Captains?” Mork wondered, even more appalled at the thought of these prisoners being his superiors. He carefully removed them from the carton and placed them in a bowl. “Anybody there?” he asked in his normal Orkian voice. “Little Comrades, you must resist your oppressors!” He shook his head sadly. “As much as I like Mindy, it is against intergalactic rules to eat spacemen.” These Earthlings are crazy, he thought. Apparently they will eat anything. He could understand now why Orson had sent him to Earth. It certainly did give Mork a sense of how important illegal words are, to realize that not having them meant you could find yourself eating spacemen. And for breakfast, no less!
But he couldn’t understand why, once he had released these grade-A brothers from the prison, they weren’t hatching to tell him how it had happened, or, at least, flying home to what must be a very tiny planet. He picked one up and held it out at arm’s length, not wishing to be overcome by limakook, the exhaust fumes of its tiny engines. Limakook, even in small quantities, can make an Orkan so dizzy that even sleeping on a couch is comfortable by comparison. “Fly!” he said. “Be free!” And he let go of the egg.
What a horrible sight! The egg fell to the counter and cracked, a peculiar mess of yellow liquid oozing out. Mork was in despair. He grabbed a sponge and wiped the egg into the sink. He turned on the water and looked solemn. “Burial at sea is some compensation,” he said to the poor spaceman. “I’ll notify your next of kin.” Mork leaned over the bowl of eggs and said, “Your friend bit the big one. The cold machine must have placed you in a state of suspended animation. I was foolish not to consider that possibility.”
Mork considered the problem. He could use his bloink to heat the eggs up, but he was afraid that unless he was precise he might cook them. The thought was disgusting. “I know what I’ll do. I’ll place you around the room,” he said, taking out an egg and placing it on a seat cushion. “When you warm up, you’ll revive and be free to fly.” Mork took the remaining ten eggs and put them under the couch cushions, the chairs, in the plant soil any spot that looked cozy. “You people are really short,” he said. He was very upset with Mindy about all this. Of course, as an Orkan, his being very upset didn’t mean he was angry or ready to quarrel with her. He was disappointed that she could understand so little about life. But he couldn’t really blame her; she was a victim of a deprived upbringing. He would enlighten her and explain that to eat these spacemen was no different from eating him.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. Mindy had said nothing about this situation. And Mork, always ready to learn and have a new experience, opened the door. Deputy Sheriff Tilwick was standing there, fulfilling his promise to Fred. Tilwick was still in uniform, glaring down at Mork.
“Hi, Smokey,” Mork said, as he had heard an Earthling speak on television. He realized now that the television would be a handy guide to how he should behave. “I’m Mork,” he said brightly. He put out his hand in the Orkian manner, his fingers spread. Although Mindy had told him not to do that, it was still too much of a habit to break.
Tilwick was soothed for a moment by Mork’s friendly look. And he found himself starting to shake the offered hand, but when he saw how strangely Mork’s fingers were placed, he drew himself up again. He remembered what a scoundrel this hippie in his overalls and yellow t-shirt was. “I’m not a member of your fraternity, kid. I don’t want any of your secret handshakes.” Tilwick strode into the apartment, brushing past Mork roughly, and looked around the room. “Is Mindy McConnell here?”
Mork loved Tilwick. He was just like a real Smokey from television. Yes, this Earthling concept of having real life in a box was very interesting. ‘No,” Mork said. “She’s at a place called ‘work.’ A strange concept having something to do with green paper.”
Tilwick stared at Mork. The way this hippie talked! He was even more obnoxious than the ones who used slang all the time.
“Strange, indeed,” Mork went on, “but she seems to enjoy it.”
Tilwick nodded. He had this wiseguy’s number. “Uh-huh. And I suppose you don’t like to work.”
Mork raised his shoulders, as he had seen a television Earthling do, only he forgot to lower them. “Wouldn’t know.”
“You’ve probably never worked, right?
Mork finally let his shoulders down. “Never tried it.”
Boy, this guy has really got his nerve. He actually looks proud that he’s never worked. “I see,” Tilwick said. “You just sponge off of Mindy?”
“Oh, no,” Mork said. “We’ve never taken a bath together.”
He’s so zonked out by drugs that he can’t understand the simplest thing, Tilwick thought, despairing for the nation’s young. “I mean,” he said angrily, you live off her. I’ve met your type before, and I think you’re about the lowest form of life.”
There they go again, Mork thought. They have so little knowledge of science. Every little Orkling knew what the lowest form of life was. “You should take a course in biology,” Mork said gently. “The lowest forms of life are the Swig, the Nelf, and the Hibengie.”
Tilwick would have liked to bust this wiseguy on the head. “Don’t pull that intellectual stuff on me. I couldn’t go to college becau
se I was too busy keeping things safe for lazy punks like you.” Punk? Mork searched his memory cells for the word’s meaning.
“I’m a personal friend of the McConnells,” Tilwick said. “And I don’t want to see Mindy hurt.”
“Mindy hurt?” Mork was alarmed. “What’s the matter with her?”
“There won’t be anything the matter with her as soon as you clear out of here. So take off, all right?”
Mork was terribly confused. Something had happened to Mindy because of him. And now they wanted him to take off, which was impossible. His flying egg ship had returned to Ork. “I just landed,” Mork said. He could use a good strong flower right now.
Tilwick was pleased. He had shaken this guy, all right. His eyes were darting nervously around. Tilwick stuck out his chest even more and glared. “Look, buddy, I can make it pretty rough on you. See this uniform?”
An idea glimmered in Mork’s mind. He switched to his Orkian voice. “Are you from Space Patrol?”
Tilwick stepped away from Mork. Maybe this guy isn’t on drugs, Tilwick thought. Maybe this guy’s a fruit. “Are you putting me on?” he asked.
Mork was amazed again by the wit of these humans. “Ha! Ha!” he quacked. “No, it would be difficult to put you on. You’re not even hollow.”
Tilwick was really disturbed now. This poor fellow was really out of it. He nodded slowly and smiled at Mork, ready to go for his gun.
Mork continued to use his speeded-up Orkian voice. “Did Orson send you to help me save my friends, the eggs?”
Tilwick looked around to make sure that this guy Orson wasn’t here. Meanwhile, he nodded slowly at Mork, hoping he would say more.
“They have been badly frozen,” Mork said.
Tilwick was getting quite scared. He had never really met anyone as nutty as this. He was backing away from Mork when he bumped into a chair and fell into it, right on top of one of the eggs that Mork had put there. He heard the crack and felt the cool liquid spread on the back of his trousers. He jumped up.