E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial in His Adventure on Earth

by William Kotzwinkle

  The space-being had just completed supper. Torch-fingering his butter knife, he took out the temper, then bent and bolted it to the coat hanger, along with the fork, to form a ratchet device: knife and fork moved in and out of the teeth of the sawblade, advancing it tooth by tooth.

  “Yeah,” said Michael, “but we can’t stand out there all night, yanking that thing around.”

  The extraterrestrial continued smiling. He understood it all now, those early hints flashed at him from within, of a little fork dancing around a plate. It was this thing he’d made, and it would work, out in the hills, and no hands, human or otherwise, would be needed to activate it.

  “So who’s this?”

  “My new character.”

  “What is he?”

  “Magic-user, first level. Here’s his chart.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Wisdom 20, Charisma 20, Intelligence 18, Strength 14.”

  “Name?”

  “E.T.”

  E.T. could hear the Dungeons & Dragons game in the kitchen below, but he was much more interested in listening to something else that came about each night in the house, for which he needed only to press his ear against Gertie’s door. He crouched low, bent his head forward, and continued to learn the history of Earth. Mary’s voice came softly:

  “Peter says, ‘The redskins were defeated? Wendy and the boys captured by the pirates? I’ll rescue her! I’ll rescue her! Tink rings out a warning cry. Oh, that is just my medicine. Poisoned? Who could have poisoned it? I promised Wendy to take it, and I will, as soon as I sharpen my dagger. Tink nobly swallows the draught as Peter’s hand is reaching for it.’ ”

  “Oh, no,” said Gertie.

  “Oh, no,” whispered the old space voyager to himself.

  “ ‘Why, Tink, you have drunk my medicine! It was poisoned and you drank it to save my life! Tink, dear Tink, are you dying? Her light is growing faint, and if it goes out, that means she is dead! Her voice is so low I can scarcely tell what she is saying . . .’ ”

  The elderly voyager lowered his head. This was indeed an awful thing.

  “ ‘. . . she says she thinks she could get well again if children believe in fairies! Do you believe in fairies? Say quick if you believe!’ ”

  “I do,” said Gertie.

  “I do,” said the ancient space traveler, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

  At which point Elliott came upstairs, looking for a Band-Aid, for he’d cut his finger on the cheese shredder. The age-old plant doctor turned, noticed the cut, and pointed his long finger at it. The tip of his finger glowed a brilliant pink. Elliott stepped back, startled by it, knowing that E.T. could burn holes in steel with that finger if he so desired. But E.T.’s finger only continued to glow warm pink, as he traced it across Elliott’s cut. The bleeding stopped and the cut healed at once, as if it had never been.

  Elliott stared down at it, astonished. He started to speak, to thank E.T., but the venerable doctor of the cosmos bade him be silent, and pressed his ear back to the door of Gertie’s room.

  ‘“If you believe in fairies, clap your hands . . .”

  The old traveler softly slapped his huge, unearthly palms together.

  Then, deeper in the night, he stood at his little closet window and watched. The moon filled him with indescribable longing, and the Milky Way whispered its soft starlight into his heart. The radiances, material and subtle, all shone for his time-opened eyes; from the movement of the great stellar wheel he heard the hidden music of the stars and planets in flight, and felt their discourse in the darkness, the solemn voices of the giants reaching across the great distances.

  He laid his forehead on the windowsill, mind and heart plunged in sadness. Once he had been part of the workings of the Great Wheel, had been allowed to witness the miracles of the universe, had seen the birth of a star. Now he stood in a four-by-five closet with a stolen umbrella and a stuffed Muppet.

  He turned toward the creature, but the Muppet only stared glass-eyed at the night, lost in its own thoughts.

  Cosmic loneliness invaded E.T.’s limbs. Every pore of his body ached with desire for starlight, up in the intimate range, where the beauty of Orion took one’s breath away, glorious colors filling the nebula. And in the Pleiades, where the blue halo of a young star shines straight into the heart. And the Veil Nebula, drifting ever outward and whispering its majestic secret to those who drift with it in the sea of space.

  Torn by these and other memories, he moved away from the window and slowly opened the closet door.

  He tiptoed past Elliott’s sleeping form, and entered the hallway. He moved silently down it, his misshapen shadow cast upon the wall, a walking squash, a strolling watermelon, a freakish figure in an alien land. His eyes were the eyes of Earth now—he had absorbed their ideas of beauty and form, and saw himself as truly grotesque, an outrage to eyes and mind, a cretin of impossible ugliness.

  He peeked in Gertie’s room, and watched for a few moments as the child slept. She thought he was attractive, but to her, Kermit the Frog was a dashing fellow.

  He crept on down the hall to Mary’s room, and peeked in.

  The willow-creature was asleep, and he watched her for a long time. She was a goddess, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her radiant hair, spread out upon the pillow, was the moonlight itself; her fine features, so understated in their loveliness, were all that was perfection in nature—her closed eyes like the sleeping butterflies upon the night-blooming narcissus, her lips the petals of the columbine.

  Mary, said his old heart.

  Then, upon paddle feet, he tiptoed over to her bed and gazed more closely.

  She was the loveliest creature in the universe, and what had he given her?

  Nothing.

  He’d stolen her Fuzz Buster.

  He gazed on as she turned in sleep, dreaming whatever dreams she had, none of which, he knew, contained a potbellied old botanist from outer space.

  Gently he placed an M&M on her pillow and crept back down the hall.

  At the end of it, Harvey the dog was waiting.

  Harvey’s tongue hung out a bit as he stared at the strange being waddling toward him, like a bag of Gravy Train.

  E.T. patted Harvey on the head. A current of blips went down the dog’s spine and made his tail curl up like a coat hook. He turned around, looked at it, looked at E.T.

  Uncurl my tail, will you?

  The space-being tapped the dog’s nose, and the tail uncurled.

  They continued on through the house, on their nightly prowl, something they did each evening after everyone else was asleep, Harvey padding along beside the houseguest, down the steps, to the rooms below. E.T. stopped in the alcove where the telephone was, and picked it up. He listened to its tone, then held the phone to Harvey’s ear. The dog listened closely. He’d seen Elliott spin the dial of this thing with his finger and talk into it, and a little later, pizza showed up.

  Harvey put his nose in the dial, turned it once, and hoped a steak sandwich would appear. E.T. added a few more spins of the dial, and then they listened to a sleepy voice answering.

  “. . . hello? . . . hello?”

  One steak sandwich, said Harvey, and a side order of Milk-Bones.

  E.T. set the phone back into its cradle and they walked on, into the living room.

  A color photograph of Mary rested on top of the TV set. E.T. picked it up and placed a kiss upon Mary’s lips.

  Then he showed the portrait to Harvey.

  The dog, without sentiment, stared at the framed photo. The glass was smudged now, and since he got the blame for anything that was slobbered on around the house, he’d be nailed for this one too. He raised a paw and urged E.T. to replace the photo. But E.T. put it under his arm and carried it away with him.

  So, thought Harvey, they’ll think I ate it.

  He regretted having eaten the bath mat, the broom, one of Mary’s hats, and a pair of tasty leather gloves. Because it made people jump to c
onclusions.

  E.T. prowled on through the living room. A vase of flowers stood on a table. He caressed them lovingly and murmured to them in his own tongue.

  Harvey twitched his nose hopefully. In one of his doggie dreams he’d found a hamburger bush, and had been looking for it in the neighborhood ever since.

  E.T. lowered a rose, into which Harvey eagerly buried his snout, but it was not a blossom from the hamburger bush, it was just a stupid flower.

  E.T. tucked the flower tenderly against Mary’s photo, entwining the stem into the filigreed frame, so that the rose and she were united—the two most beautiful things on Earth.

  Then he continued on through the house, into the kitchen.

  Harvey’s tail began to wag, and his tongue circled once over his nose, for this room was the center of all a dog’s hopes.

  E.T. pointed. “Re-frigg-er-a-tor.”

  Harvey nodded enthusiastically, and a low whimper sounded in his throat. He’d tried for years to get his paw around the handle of this box, but evolution had denied him a thumb.

  E.T. opened the box, took out milk and a Pepperidge Farm chocolate cake. Harvey whined pathetically, salivating, tail fanning the air, and E.T. presented him with a leftover pork chop.

  Harvey fell upon it, joyful little growls in his throat as he tore at the tender meat. He paused momentarily to gaze up at E.T.

  I’m your dog.

  If any trouble comes around, let me know.

  C H A P T E R

  9

  Upon the streets at nightfall, in addition to the Pizza Wagon, another van appeared, but it did not contain stacked boxes exuding the aroma of cheese and tomato. It was filled with audio-snooping devices sensitive enough to impress even an intergalactic traveler. And the operator at the illuminated control panel had a large ring of keys at his belt. Floating in upon him were voices familiar to us by now, the voices of the neighborhood:

  “Mom, to make cookies, is a cup of milk the same as a cup of flour?”

  And:

  “Just get out of my life, will you?”

  And:

  “I’ll be babysitting tonight, Jack, if you want to come over . . .”

  The van moved slowly down the block, scrutinizing every voice, every conversation that took its place in the jigsaw puzzle of the neighborhood night.

  “Peter says, ‘The redskins were defeated? Wendy and the boys captured . . . ?’ ”

  And:

  “His communicator is finished, Michael. We can take it out and set it up . . .”

  The man with the keys waved his hand and the van came to a stop.

  “You know, Elliott, he’s not looking too good lately.”

  “Don’t say that, Michael. We’re fine!”

  “What’s this ‘we’ stuff? You say ‘we’ all the time now.”

  “It’s his telepathy. I’m—so close to him, I feel like I am him . . .”

  To the ordinary snooper, this conversation would have been passed over as just a child’s world of fantasy; to this particular snooper, it was as potent as a signal from Mars. The street map was brought out, and Mary’s house marked with a large red circle. And the van moved off down the block, as the Pizza Wagon turned the corner . . .

  Elliott explained Halloween to E.T. as best he could, pointing out that this would be E.T.’s only chance to walk around the neighborhood in plain view. “. . . because everybody will be looking weird. See? Hey, I’m sorry, E.T., I didn’t mean that you were weird, just—different.”

  “Spell different,” said E.T., as Elliott put a sheet over the old voyager’s head, and huge, furry bedroom slippers over his paddles. The outfit was topped off by a cowboy hat.

  “Looks good,” said Elliott. “We could take you anywhere.”

  Elliott’s own costume was that of a hunchbacked monster, to blend in with E.T. and make the space-goblin less unusual. Michael, downstairs with Mary, was having some difficulty with his costume.

  “No,” said Mary, “and that is final. You are not going as a terrorist.”

  “But all the guys are.”

  “You won’t get four blocks in this neighborhood dressed like that.”

  “Please.”

  “No. And where’s Gertie?”

  “She’s upstairs getting ready with Elliott.”

  But Gertie was not getting ready with Elliott. She was sneaking out a window.

  Elliott turned to E.T. “Mom’ll never know the difference, if you just keep quiet and shuffle along in your sheet. Okay? You’re Gertie, got it?”

  “Gertie,” said the old monster, and shuffled along in his sheet, with Elliott, down the stairs.

  Mary was waiting for them below. In an act of insane Halloween fervor, she’d gotten into a costume herself, wearing a leopard-pattern dress and an eye mask, as well as carrying a star wand with which to strike unruly trick-or-treaters on the head.

  “Gee, Mom, you look great.”

  “Thank you, Elliott, that’s very nice of you.”

  But not only Elliott was admiring her. The aged monster, disguised as Gertie and safely hidden inside a sheet, stared at Mary in wonder, for she looked like a star-creature, celestial, more beautiful than ever.

  “Gertie,” she said, stepping over to him, “that’s a wonderful costume. How did you get your stomach so fat?”

  She patted the great pumpkin shape, and the elderly voyager sighed faintly, to himself.

  “We padded it with pillows,” said Elliott nervously.

  “Well, it’s very effective,” said Mary. “But let’s put this cowboy hat at a more rakish angle.”

  Her hands came tenderly to the extraterrestrial’s turtle-shaped head. Within the sheet his cheeks blushed as her fingers touched him. Delicious streams of energy flowed out of her, down his ostrich neck. His heart-light came on and he quickly covered it with his hand.

  “There,” said Mary, “that’s better.” She stepped back and spoke to Elliott. “Watch over her, and don’t eat anything that isn’t wrapped, and don’t talk to strangers . . .”

  Michael stepped into view, his terrorist costume modified. “. . . and don’t eat any apples, ’cause they may have razor blades in them, and don’t drink punch ’cause it may have LSD in it.”

  Mary leaned in, kissed both boys, and then kissed the space-goblin; his duckish knees buckled and his subcutaneous circuitry fluttered; lights as beautiful as Orion’s nebula went off in his brain.

  “All right,” said Mary, “enjoy yourselves . . .”

  Elliott had to drag the aged goblin off by the hand, for the creature was transfixed before Mary, as if looking at the birth of a star. He stumbled along in his bedroom slippers toward the door, but managed a last glance backward.

  “So long, honey,” said Mary.

  So long, honey, he said silently, cosmic love-echoes resounding in his now-twisted brain.

  They dragged him into the driveway and over to the garage. Gertie was waiting there in her sheet, and so was his beacon transmitter—umbrella folded, other components closed in a cardboard box. He looked at it, and wondered momentarily if he really wanted to use it. Might he not be happier in the closet, near Mary, for the rest of his days?

  “Okay, E.T., hop on.”

  They lifted him into the basket of the bike, attached his communicator to the carrying rack over the rear wheel, and pushed off down the driveway, into the street.

  He rode in the basket, little legs tucked in, and stared at the parade of Earth children who walked along the street: princesses, cats, clowns, hoboes, pirates, devils, gorillas, vampires, and Frankensteins. Earth was truly an amazing place.

  “Hang on, E.T.”

  Elliott felt the weight of the creature there in the basket—a small but significant being, lost from the stars. Tonight was a mission, and it gave Elliott feelings he’d never had before. As he guided the handlebars and pumped the pedals, bearing E.T.’s weight along, he realized he wasn’t a twerp after all. His twerpishness was leaving him, falling behind in the dark an
d being consumed by the shadows; he knew he was meant for this job, in spite of being nearsighted, sloppy, and depressed. With a surge of his wheels, he felt happy and free, and touched by the hand of outer space. He looked at Michael, and Michael smiled, braces shining on his teeth. He looked at Gertie, and Gertie waved, giggling at how E.T. looked, all crouched up in the basket, furry bedroom slippers sticking out.

  We’re gonna get him back up where he belongs, thought Elliott, looking toward the Milky Way. It shone through the telephone wires and the pollution, and it seemed to be singing softly. Odd, angling light glanced out of it, sheets and nets of cool flame that reached down and touched him and then danced off and away.

  “Why, that’s the most incredible costume I’ve ever seen,” said the man in the hallway. His wife was beside him, her eyes open in wonder, their children standing awestruck behind them, peeking out from between their parents’ legs at the extraterrestrial.

  E.T. had removed his sheet. In his cowboy hat and bedroom slippers, with his incredible eyes, stomach on the floor, and feet like a toadshade plant, he was certainly in a class by himself as far as Halloweeners went. Each house they’d gone to had been like this, with a big fuss made over him. He liked it. He’d been in a closet for weeks. Now he held out his trick-or-treat basket and received a great deal of candy.

  “. . . just extraordinary,” muttered the man, as he accompanied them back toward the door, eyes glued on E.T.’s long, rootlike fingers, which trailed along the hall carpet.

  E.T. stepped onto the sidewalk, with his basket full. What a treasure he’d collected in highest-quality nutritive wafers and drops, enough to carry him for days in space. There were piles of M&Ms, and one especially powerful bar called a Milky Way, apparently for the longer voyages.

  “You’re a hit, E.T.,” said Elliott, wheeling his bicycle along the sidewalk. The space-being waddled along beside him, and Elliott felt the happiness coming from the old creature. Elliott knew what it was to be a freak, laughed at by people; he’d always been that kind of kid, as if his own nose were like a bashed-in Brussels sprout. But he didn’t feel that way anymore. He felt older, wiser, and connected to the far-off worlds; great thoughts came and went in his head, like comets, trailing fire and wonder.