“Dear me, wasn’t that the strangest thing?” said Eddie’s grandmother. “Well, now is the time for the sudden blow, but never have I seen the likes of that one.”
“That’s what Captain Jack said,” said Eddie.
“Dear me, yes. Hurry and get washed, Eddie,” said his grandmother. “My biscuits ought to be done now. We’ll be having supper in a minute.”
And it was during supper that Eddie’s grandmother asked the question which Eddie, for the past two weeks, had feared she would ask. She asked it right after they had been discussing whether to send Eddie’s package back to New York by Parcel Post or Railway Express. Eddie had packed his clothes and some specimens (some rocks, curious pieces of wood and empty birds’ eggs) in a cardboard carton the way he always did at the end of the summer. And, as it always happened, Grandma discussed whether they ought to send the package by Parcel Post or Railway Express.
This year Eddie favored Parcel Post because of the birds’ eggshells in the package. His grandmother was inclined toward Railway Express.
“But I guess you’re right about Parcel Post,” she finally admitted. “You’ll be needing some of the clothes, the sweater especially, in that package when school starts. Maybe even the first day with the changeable weather we’ve been having. And everyone says Parcel Post is quicker than the Railway Express even though it’s more expensive. And speaking of school, Eddie, what grade are you going into this year?”
“I’ll be in the eighth at Junior High,” said Eddie after he swallowed a big bite of blueberry pie.
“Dear me. Dear me. Seems just like yesterday when you entered the seventh in Junior High,” sighed his grandmother. “Time sure does fly.”
Eddie nodded and dug his fork into his pie again but the oozy purple chunk of pie slipped off his fork when his grandmother asked the question that he dreaded.
“Eddie, there’s something I wanted to ask you for some time but I’m always forgetting.... “Eddie, what grade of school is your friend Marty in?”
That was it! That was the question! Eddie stammered a little and swallowed hard.
“He looks like such a smart little boy,” continued Eddie’s grandmother thoughtfully. “I wondered about him. He doesn’t talk much but he seems to know so much. Did you ever ask him about his school?”
“No, ma’am!” said Eddie with a sigh of relief.
There! The question had been asked and he had answered it truthfully! He never had asked Marty about his life on Martinea. And the little man had never volunteered any information about himself, his family, or anything else other than some of the scientific things he sometimes talked about.
Ever since the Boy Scout Jamboree Eddie had seen a lot of the little man. Since it was Eddie’s last week at the farm before he went down to New York to go back to school, his grandmother said, as she always did at the end of the summer, that he need not do any more chores. That he could do as he pleased. And aside from an occasional errand or two to the village, Eddie lived the life of a carefree vacationer all day long.
He took the little man fishing for bullheads. They went hiking and exploring the countryside and they talked away the fine sunny afternoons.
Fishing with the little man was a curious experience.
Eddie rigged up a couple of fishing poles, got some bait and they both sat on the bank of the brook at one of the places which Eddie knew about where, if you sat long enough, you were bound to pull in a bullhead or two. The first time they went fishing together, the little man sat silently holding his pole for a short time.
“What object sitting here?” he asked after a while.
“We’re fishing for bullheads,” whispered Eddie. “Don’t talk loud.”
“Bullheads?” whispered the little man back to Eddie. He dug out his dictionary box, flipped through it and asked, “Bullheads is animals?”
“No! Bullheads is — are fish,” whispered Eddie. “Shush... There’s a couple of them! Keep your pole still.... We’ll catch them sure!”
The little man peered down into the water.
“Oh... catch fish!” he said brightly as if for the first time he understood what he was doing there, holding a pole with a string and a hooked worm tied to the end of it.
Then he dropped his pole and as quick as a dart slipped his hands into the brook and brought them out again in a flash, holding the squirming dripping fish.
“Catch fish!” he said triumphantly as he threw them on the bank at Eddie’s feet.
Eddie blinked.
“You’re supposed to catch the fish on your hook,” said Eddie when he got over his surprise.
The little man shrugged his shoulders and returned to his fishing. He picked up his fishing pole again and sat there looking down into the water as silent and as rigid as a rock.
After a while a big bullhead came along, stuck his wise old head out from between some reeds in the limpid waters and rolled his eyes up at the two hooked worms that dangled temptingly in front of his blunt nose. Then he turned tail and would have swum off to a safe, peaceful old age if the little man had not suddenly sprung into action. He crouched at the edge of the brook, holding his fishing pole with one hand, then — swish! His free hand had cut into the water and out again. The big bullhead was clutched fast in his fist! He speared the finny tail of his fish onto his fishhook and turned to Eddie as proud as a peacock.
“Catch fish on hook!” he said.
And that was all the fish they caught on that first expedition. Eddie did not try to explain about fishing to the little man again that day.
Similar things happened when they went hiking together. Eddie said since the little man could not explore America with his powerless space ship he could do at least a little exploring by hiking. So Eddie planned hikes to points of interest near his grandmother’s farm. They packed their knapsacks and hiked crosscountry to Washington Rock, Indian Cave and Dutchman’s Gulch.
On the afternoon they started for Washington Rock, Eddie pointed out the famous rock from his grandmother’s front porch. He explained who George Washington, the father of our country, was. Then he told the little man the history of the rock, that it was said Washington once stood there on the rock (or rather sat on his horse who stood on the rock), that the mark of the horse’s hoof is still clearly marked on its surface and that Washington looked down over the Hudson River Valley for some reason that is now lost in antiquity.
Eddie knew there were many Washington Rocks around, almost as many rocks that Washington stood on as there were beds he slept in. Eddie had hiked to one in New Jersey with his New York Scout troop and to another in Connecticut. But this local Washington Rock was special because it was the only one which showed the mark of George Washington’s horse’s hoof.
The little man listened to the end of the story, and when Eddie finished he pointed to the rock resting on its distant hill and he asked, “Now walk to this rock?”
And as Eddie nodded, the little man started walking in a straight line toward Washington Rock. Nothing stopped him! He walked, as the crow flies, in a straight line for the Washington Rock. He did not walk around anything but marched ahead in a straight line up the side of anything that stood in his way, over the top of it and down the other side.
That’s the way he traveled over big field boulders, steep cliffs, old sheds, hay mounds and every obstacle he encountered. And even though the knobs on his non-gravity shoes were set to zero, the non-gravity power of his shoes was working.
Eddie was soon exhausted trying to keep up with him because Eddie had to walk around things. The next time they went hiking, Eddie did not point out to the little man where they were going. And the little man did not know where they were going until they got there. Eddie found hiking that way less tiring and a lot more fun.
On the one rainy day during the past week, Eddie with his raincoat on and with the permission of his grandmother, went visiting the little man. He found him polishing his gadgets. They sat around in the cozy yellow glow of the ol
d stable lantern that Eddie had given the little man to light the space ship and talked about a lot of things. But nothing was said about school or things like that. Eddie really did not know anything about Marty’s life on Martinea. The little man asked Eddie a lot of questions about himself but he never answered anything Eddie asked him. Maybe he had a reason.
But now, as Eddie was finishing his supper with a second piece of blueberry pie, he thought and worried about the little man’s future. What would happen to him when Eddie went away? What would happen when the men started to pick and pack the apples as they did every fall after Eddie went back to school? The apples were beginning to get big and red already. What would happen when the men went up to the orchard and found Marty and his space ship hidden away in the gully in back of Grandfather’s apple tree? Or if he could keep himself and the Astral Rocket Disk hidden and they did not find him, if the little man could not get back to his home in Martinea, how could he possibly live through the winter in the space ship? The winters were very cold out in the country, and the Astral Rocket Disk had no heating equipment that Eddie remembered seeing.
Eddie thought he might suggest to his grandmother that she take the little man in. She could adopt him sort of. She liked Marty and she always said it was lonesome on the farm in the wintertime. Of course, the little man could work for his keep, do some chores, feed the stock...
As Eddie tried to figure out some way of bringing the subject up, sounds of heavy feet were heard out on the front porch.
“That must be Marty,” said Eddie’s grandmother with a smile. “I can recognize the sound of his heavy shoes any time.... Marty!” she called, “is that you? Come in, boy. We’re here in the kitchen. Come in and have a piece of fresh blueberry pie.”
They heard his heavy shoes march down the hall, and in another moment the little man stood in the kitchen.
“My!... My!... My!... Marty!” cried Eddie’s grandmother. “Really, Marty. You’re all spruced up.”
The little man stood there, grinning from ear to ear. He was dressed, not in the tattered old jeans and Cub Scout shirt that he had worn since Eddie lent them to him, but he wore his own neat dark-green suit, both the trousers and the jacket. His buttons had been scrubbed until they glistened. His suit had been brushed until it looked like any good suit looks like when it is carefully and completely brushed. Even his big non-gravity shoes had been polished.
He held a neatly folded bundle under his arm. The bundle was Eddie’s jeans and the Cub Scout shirt. He put the neat bundle on the table.
“Aren’t you the dandy, though?” laughed Eddie’s grandmother. “You are absolutely spick and span. I’d be honored to have so polished a little gentleman eat a big piece of my blueberry pie in my kitchen. Sit down, Marty.”
The little man smiled proudly and made a little gesture with his hand, palm out, that thanked Eddie’s grandmother but refused the pie.
“No time,” he said. “Must say good-bye!”
Then he stuck his hand toward Eddie’s grandmother.
“Well, Marty, I’m real sorry to see you go,” she said, as she shook his outthrust hand in both of hers. “Come see us again sometime... Good-bye, Marty.”
When she turned to pick up a plate from the table the little man caught Eddie’s eye and jerked his head toward the door. Then he turned on his heel and walked out to the porch. Eddie ran after him.
10. Message From Martinea
“WHAT’S happened, Marty?” asked Eddie in an excited whisper. “How come? What happened?”
The little man looked quickly at one of the peculiar dials on the bracelet that served him as a watch.
“Must return to Martinea. Time for take-off tonight. Three hours before morning begin.” He spoke briskly. “No time to talk.”
Eddie figured quickly in his head.
“You mean three hours before midnight? Nine o’clock? Oh, you’ve got plenty of time. Come on, tell me what happened. Begin telling me quick.”
The little man knit his brows, took a deep breath and began.
“Today on three o’clock, United States Daylight Saving Time, receive message direct from Martinea.”
“WHAT!” Eddie shouted. “You received a message from—”
“Keep voice down!” ordered the little man.
“Did you say you received a message from Martinea?” asked Eddie in a hoarse whisper. “But how?... What?... How could you?”
“Through new very important scientific power in Martinea!” said the little man happily. “Received message on Willenwingulagulin.”
“On the Willenwingul... Say!” whispered Eddie, “isn’t that the jigger hanging in the disk you said was old-fashioned? Not modern?”
The little man nodded.
Eddie knew the little man cleaned and polished all the equipment in the Astral Rocket Disk every day, including the old-fashioned jigger, the Willenwingulagulin, which he never expected to use, even if he got a fresh supply of Zurianomatichrome Power. Eddie thought he just cleaned up everything like that because the little man was naturally tidy.
“But what did the message say?” asked Eddie. “What did the whatever-you-call-it tell you?”
The little man held up one finger for silence.
“Wait,” he said, sternly. “Must talk much. I tell.”
Then he went on to say that at approximately three o’clock that afternoon the old-fashioned jigger began to send out feeble signals. The little man opened its throttle as wide as it would go and he received the message.
“But what did the message say?” Eddie repeated eagerly.
The little man held up his silencing finger once more.
“Message say, stand by, will send Radar - Interspacial - Super - Power - Anti-Magnetic Ray to recharge Zurianomatichrome Wire... Expose wire to Super-Power-Anti-Magnetic Ray.”
Eddie gasped!
“You mean they can send a super-special-super power to recharge your Secret Power here — all the way from Martinea?”
“Yes! Can send!”... said the little man, and he paused dramatically. “Yes! Can send... Did send!”
“Gosh, you mean your wire got Secret Power Z again!”
Eddie sat down on the porch step with a bang.
The little man smiled proudly and drew the spool of Zurianomatichrome Wire out of his pocket. It was so shiny it glowed in the gathering darkness like a small moon in his hand.
“Well! What d’you know. What d’you know,” was all Eddie could say. Then after a moment he thought of something else. “But how did they find you, Marty? How did they know your ship was in Grandma’s apple orchard?”
The little man opened his eyes wide, as if Eddie had asked a surprisingly stupid question.
“Martinean scientists use Universal - Spacial - Communication Beam. On Martinea our scientists know all time where is Martinean space ship,” he said proudly.
“Oh!” said Eddie. “Excuse me. I thought...,” and he was about to say he thought the little man was lost or out of contact with his home base on Martinea, but the little man did not want to hear what Eddie thought. He went on with his story.
He said that in just about a fraction of a clock tick after he had received the surprise message, some great force struck the axis of the Astral Rocket Disk. And in that instant the walls of the space ship lighted up with the blue-tinged light. Instruments and gadgets, which had for the past few weeks been still, suddenly began to tick, whir and flutter. And the Zurianomatichrome Wire, which he had installed in its proper place in the column, sputtered. The Astral Rocket Disk was charged with Secret Power Z again!
“Say—” Eddie interrupted as he remembered the strange storm and the weird black cloud he had witnessed in the village that afternoon. “Say, I betcha that black cloud and that storm that came all of a sudden...”
“Which black cloud? Which storm?” asked the little man.
“It came up this afternoon. I saw it down at the general store,” said Eddie quickly. “First this big black cloud, like a bi
g soft dill pickle or something... well, I figure the storm might have come because the great force was sent from Martinea. I betcha that made the storm.”
“No! Can no be!” said the little man stiffly. “Martinean scientists can no make mistake! Martinean scientists direct great force only to wire on Astral Rocket Disk. Great force travel direct to charge one point in complete universe. Martinean scientists make pinpoint landing. No mistake.”
“But there was a storm,” insisted Eddie. “Maybe the great force sort of spread a little.”
“No! Can no be!” said the little man. Then he shrugged his shoulders and admitted the great force might have caused “possible little disturbance in earth’s atmosphere.”
And he dismissed the storm with that shrug of his shoulders. But Eddie was pretty sure the black cloud and the flash storm must have been caused by that charge of super-special Secret Power recharging the Astral Rocket Disk. Eddie had read about such clouds forming at atomic explosions. Well, naturally, something similar ought to happen when a force like atomic power or superior to atomic power.... Eddie stopped thinking about these scientific things because he was getting a little mixed up and he listened to the little man again.
“After Great Force charged disk, I received message number two. It say, return Martinea at once,” said the little man. “Now I must return to Martinea tonight. Nine o’clock.”
“Say, that’s great!” said Eddie enthusiastically. “Gosh, that’s swell. I’m sure happy everything worked out. I’m happy for you, I mean, that you can get back to Martinea.”
The little man shook his head. He did not look happy now that he finished talking.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you wanna go back to Martinea?” asked Eddie.
“Yes, want to go back,” said the little man.
“So what’s the matter?” asked Eddie.
“I must return Martinea,” said the little man sadly. “No finish mission to explore United States of America.”
“Aw, that’s too bad,” said Eddie sympathetically.
The Space Ship Under the Apple Tree Page 6