“How long’s this gonna take?” Mrs. Grant asked.
“Not long at all,” Mr. Grant said, remembering that the Special Exhibit was noted for its swiftness.
“I’ve got some deliveries coming,” Mrs. Grant said. “And some important things to do.”
Leading her past a muntjac and a spotted chevrotian, Mr. Grant allowed himself to wonder, momentarily, what those important things might be. Mrs. Grant’s interests seemed to center on television by day, and motion pictures by night.
Of course there were deliveries.
Mr. Grant sighed. They were so obviously ill-matched. To think that he—a small, rather delicate fellow with a large mind—would voluntarily marry a woman of such heroic proportions and meager mentality. But it happened to others-, Dr. Carver, for example.
Mr. Grant smiled wanly at the fiction of attracting opposites, at the entire romantic principle. Hadn’t his work in ornithology taught him anything? Did the yellow-rumped Siskin mate with the condor? A single wild fling! How much better, he thought, if he had been content to join the French Foreign Legion, spend his inheritance in riotous living, or take to voodoo. Such ventures could, in time, be lived down. But marriage? Never. Not with Mrs. Grant as comfortable as she was.
Unless, of course, the Special Exhibit...
“This way,” Mr. Grant murmured, leading her down an unexpected corridor concealed between glass cases.
“Where is this exhibit’“‘ Mrs. Grant demanded. “I gotta be home for my deliveries.”
“Just around here,” Mr. Grant said, leading her past a door marked in red, No Admittance. He wondered about those deliveries. There seemed to be a tremendous number of them. And the delivery boy left a vile brand of cigar in the ash trays.
“Here we are,” Mr. Grant said. He unlocked an iron door and walked into an immense room. The setting simulated a clearing in the jungle, and in front of them was a thatched hut. Behind that was a smaller hut, half hidden from view.
Several savages lounged on the vine-tangled ground, chattering at each other.
“They’re alive!” Mrs. Grant exclaimed.
“Of course. This is, you see, a new experiment in descriptive anthropology.”
To one side was an ancient wrinkled woman, adding wood to a fire that crackled under a large pot. Something was bubbling in the pot.
The warriors got to their feet when they noticed the Grants. One of them yawned and stretched, his muscles crackling.
“Magnificent fellows,” Mrs. Grant whispered.
“Yes,” Mr. Grant said. She would notice that.
Strewn around the ground in front of the first hut were decorated wooden swords, long, slender bows, sharp cane knives. And the room was filled with a continual background chirping. Breaking into it was a frenzied clucking. A bird honked angrily and something piped a reply.
Mrs. Grant said, “Can we go now—oh!”
One of the natives, wild and strange with his long coarse black hair and painted face, was standing beside her. Two others stood behind him. Looking at the group, Mr. Grant thought how savage Mrs. Grant really was, with her lavishly applied cosmetics, her fox skins and clanking jewelry.
“What do they want?” Mrs. Grant asked, eyeing the half-naked men with something less than fear.
“They’d like you to examine the village,” Mr. Grant said. “It’s part of the exhibit.”
Mrs. Grant noticed that the first native was eyeing her with an admiring look and she allowed herself to be led forward.
She was shown the cooking pot, the weapons, the decorations on the first hut. Then the natives led her to the second hut, and one of them winked and beckoned her inside.
“Educational,” she said, winking back, and followed him in. The other two natives entered, one picking up a cane knife before he went in.
“You didn’t tell me they were supposed to be head hunters!” Mrs. Grant’s voice floated faintly from the hut. “Have you seen all the shrunken heads?”
Mr. Grant nodded to himself. It was amazing, how hard those heads were to come by. The South American authorities had begun cracking down on their export. The Special Exhibit was, perhaps, the sole remaining source of this unique folk skill.
“One’s got red hair. It looks just like Mrs.—”
There was a scream, and then the sound of a furious battle. Mr. Grant held his breath. There were three of them, to be sure, but Mrs. Grant was a very strong woman. Certainly she couldn’t—
One of the natives came dancing out of the hut, and the hag by the fire picked up a few ominous instruments, and went inside. Whatever was in the pot continued to boil merrily.
Mr. Grant sighed with relief and decided that he had seen enough. After all, anthropology wasn’t his line. He locked the iron door behind him and headed for the ornithology wing, deciding that Mrs. Grant’s deliveries were not sufficiently important to require his presence.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
“Prospector’s Special” copyright © 1959 by Robert Sheckley. First appeared in Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine.
“The Girls and Nugent Miller” copyright © 1960 by Robert Sheckley. First appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction.
“Meeting of the Minds” copyright © 1960 by Robert Sheckley. First appeared in Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine.
“Potential” copyright © 1953 by Robert Sheckley. First appeared in Astounding Science Fiction Magazine.
“Fool’s Mate” copyright © 1953 by Robert Sheckley. First appeared in Astounding Science Fiction Magazine.
“Subsistence Level” copyright © 1954 by Robert Sheckley. First appeared in Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine.
“The Slow Season” copyright © 1954 by Robert Sheckley. First appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction.
“Alone at Last” copyright © 1956 by Robert Sheckley. First appeared in Infinity Magazine.
“Forever” copyright © 1953 by Robert Sheckley. First appeared in Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine.
“The Sweeper of Loray” copyright © 1959 by Robert Sheckley. First appeared in Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine.
“The Special Exhibit” copyright © 1953 by Robert Sheckley. First appeared in Esquire.
Copyright © 1962 by Robert Sheckley.
ISBN: 978-1-4976-0897-9
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