by George Gipe
Billy managed to avoid the newshounds. He did so not because he shunned publicity or notoriety, but because he knew that any exhaustive series of questions would lead to Gizmo’s part in the mess. Billy wanted to avoid that at all costs. He thought it would be difficult if not impossible because so many people knew he was involved, but preserving his anonymity was surprisingly easy.
The person who knew most about Billy’s involvement, Pete Fountaine, was so terrified when he heard that Roy Hanson had been killed by an unknown creature in his lab that he ran away from home, thinking the police would connect him with the murder. Kate, of course, respected Billy’s desire to be left out of it, as did his parents. Sheriff Reilly and Deputy Brent conveniently forgot that they had ignored a warning from Billy, but did accept an award for meritorious service by the National Association of Chiefs of Police. General David Greene appeared several times on local and national television, describing how he had relentlessly pursued the Gremlins until the last one was destroyed.
In any event, there being glory enough for everyone and little impetus to assign blame, Billy managed to stay out of it. As the furor began to die down, he started to believe there would be no more fallout from the Gremlin invasion.
He was correct, until the night after Christmas. Kate, Billy, and his parents had just finished dinner when the doorbell rang. Billy opened the door, revealing an elderly Oriental man. His expression was angry but controlled, like a parent who must punish a child. The wind blew through his straggly white hair, accentuating his doomsday look. Although Billy had never seen the man, he sensed immediately who he was and why he had come.
“Yes?” he asked timorously.
“I have come for Mogwai,” the old Chinese man said.
He looked past Billy, catching sight of Rand. Billy indicated that he should enter and the old gentleman stepped into the room.
At the sound of the old man’s voice, Gizmo, seated on the sofa nursing his sore back, immediately perked up his ears and lunged forward. Chirping excitedly, he nearly fell off the sofa in his efforts to reach the Chinese man, covering the distance in four big leaps.
Lifting the creature and nuzzling it gently, the old gentleman smiled slightly.
“I’ve missed you, my friend,” he said.
Looking at them together, Billy was both touched and saddened. He could see that they had not only love as a bond, but many years of understanding and comfort.
Rand, feeling he should at least state his rights if not assert them, walked toward the Chinese man. “Now just a minute,” he said softly. “I paid good money for him, and my boy’s quite attached to him.”
“I did not accept the money,” the Chinese man said. “My grandson did that, and he has been sentenced to his room for a month as a result.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a roll of bills. “Here is your money,” he said. “I did not deduct the expenses in order to find you and get here, because you lost possible interest the money would have earned if you had kept it. We’ve both lost, and are even. Here. Take it, please.”
Rand, his gaze alternating between the Chinese man and Billy, ignored the gesture.
“It’s not that easy,” he said.
“Never mind, Dad,” Billy murmured. “It’s all right.”
“I warned you,” the Chinese man said to Rand. “Mogwai needs much responsibility. But you didn’t listen.”
Rand shrugged. “Well, we know now. We’ll be more responsible in the future.”
“That is experience, not responsibility,” the Chinese man corrected. “Responsibility is doing the wise thing before taking punishment, not after.”
“Yeah,” Rand muttered, “well . . .”
“Chinese philosopher once wrote: ‘Society without responsibility is society without hope,’ ” the Chinese man added. Then he looked at Billy. “I am sorry,” he said.
“I’ll miss him, too.” Billy smiled grimly. “But maybe this is best. I can visit, I hope.”
The old Chinese gentleman nodded.
Gizmo, nestled comfortably in the old man’s arms, looked at Billy and felt a terrible surge of sadness. If only he could say the human words that would let his friend know how he felt . . . If only Mogturmen had . . . A pox on Mogturmen! he thought angrily. I can communicate. I must. And I will. I will project the human words and not be embarrassed if they come out gibberish. At least then I’ll know I tried my best.
Closing his eyes, he concentrated deeply and powerfully for a long moment. Then his tiny mouth opened and human words came forth, tinged with a Mogwai accent but nevertheless completely understandable.
“Bye, Billy,” Gizmo said.
Billy and his parents burst into laughter and tears at the same time. Even Kate was visibly affected, though she had known Gizmo only briefly.
“He talked!” Billy shouted, reaching out to kiss Gizmo on the top of his head.
“You have accomplished a great deal,” the Chinese man said. “We will always remember you.”
Billy nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat.
“Good evening,” the Chinese man said.
As they went through the doorway into the cold night, Gizmo raised his paw in a little wave.
Billy waved back, then shut the door quickly. He did not want to watch as they moved slowly into the darkness and out of his life.
Table of Contents
GREMLINS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY