The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  “I am afraid I don’t understand your words.”

  “They used the term freak. A rather ugly word, George. You mustn’t let it hurt you. But that isn’t all. Someone has offered the opinion that you couldn’t have just happened. That you must be the result of a scientific hoax. Someone must have altered the character of the hormones responsible for your nature, perhaps through the use of some experimental rays.”

  “What does it all mean, Frank? I don’t quite understand.”

  “There’s danger that you may be taken into a laboratory for more physical examinations. All of those anthropometric measurements that the doctor took, together with X-rays and photographs, may arouse considerable excitement in the world of science. Are you interested in going through with it?”

  “I am interested,” I said, “in going to the capitol at Washington. I would like to see where President Truman and all the Congressmen live. I would like to have my picture taken shaking hands with Secretary of State Stettinius in front of the White House.”

  The following Thursday, while Frank was at school, I saw two cars climbing the mountain road toward the village. They came up to Prentice’s cabin and stopped.

  Several men got out and came toward the door. One of them was the doctor. Others may have been doctors, and others newspaper men. Still others were wearing the light blue uniforms of state policemen.

  They knocked and waited.

  I walked quietly out the back door. I heard them coming around the side of the cabin. I didn’t feel that it would be a dignified thing for the first representative from Venus to the Earth to run. Was it not even less dignified, however, for him to be picked up by policemen and taken to a laboratory? I walked past three clumps of evergreen, past the chicken house, up through a narrow pass between huge boulders, into the thick forest of pines on the upward slope.

  By that time I was ready to respond to the exhilarating mountain air. I wasn’t interested in strange voices that were calling my name from down at the cabin. I felt like exercising. So I ran.

  And I kept up a good pace until I touched my six-fingered hands to the black fiber ladder that led up to my ship.

  CHAPTER IV

  The Wonder Book

  Flying low in the darkness, I looked in vain for familiar sights. Back in Venus I would have looked for the lights of a continuous street zigzagging across the whole width of the continent. The continent-long Streets of Venus were the back-bone of the social and commercial life in my world.

  But this was the world of Frank Prentice. I had already learned much through conversation and pictures. Now before me was the task of putting together my new store of knowledge with physical and ecological landscapes that met my eye.

  The Earth’s settlements, I was continually reminded, had occurred in clusters dotted all over the land. These were the cities and towns of which Prentice had spoken. Magically lighted by night, they were equally interesting when they daylight came on. The larger cities were continually alive with motor traffic. Such an exhibition of energy being expended hour after hour would have amazed any native Venusian. For in my world there is far less of the mad rush. At certain periods of each day vehicles and factory machines and the most diligent of workers all come to a stop for rest and enjoyment.

  Before the fall weather ended, I made several excursions away from the mountain range to broaden my acquaintance with the life of Frank Prentice’s one hundred and thirty million brothers and sisters. Looking down on there from a safe distance, I wondered how many thousands of them were like him in their natures. Did they enjoy working in schools, mines, shops? Did they enjoy tending chickens, making garden, reading books, attending dances?

  The police ceased to come to Prentice’s cabin after failing several times to find me at home. The doctors forgot me. I was left to my own devices.

  Without ever telling Prentice about my mysterious absences, I gradually extended my excursions to include other continents. A few times I ran the risk of brief, perilous trips over the zones of war. Sometimes I would be spotted by searchlights or observed by patrol planes, and I would have to touch the throttle and race away to avoid an awkward situation. My heart pounded with longing to see more of these foreign places, but I contented myself that explorations would come as soon as I mastered more of the languages and customs.

  A beautiful, terrible winter descended, the first I ever saw. It was well that I had taken such pains to cover my hidden ship. Now I understood the functions of log houses and sturdy Earth buildings as never before. The iron rail around Prentice’s wood stove was pleasant warmth against our feet and the blankets we put over the backs of our chairs protected our rears from the chill drafts. Into the night we read books. He would read slowly; I would watch the words and pictures.

  The most wonderful of all books was the mail order catalog. The whole magic world of Earth man and his tools, games, ornaments, and the myriad treasures of his home began to unfold before me. Whenever my work was done I would turn to it.

  “This must be the greatest of all the world’s books,” I said to Frank Prentice.

  He smiled. “If it’s amnesia, yours is a record case. You must have had catalogs where you came from. But it’s plain you’ve forgotten even that.”

  “How could I earn a catalog?”

  “What for?”

  “To take with me.”

  “I didn’t know you were going anywhere.”

  “If I would work in the mines could I earn a catalog?”

  Frank Prentice got up and refilled his pipe and stood by the shelf looking at me. Gradually the lines of curiosity around his eyes relaxed into a patient smile, which was his way when he ran into things inexplicable. I thought I would tell him, then; but he moved the light over to his desk and busied himself with some writing. A few days later a new catalog came by mail, and he assured me it was mine, and free. And so together we read the winter away, and I filled with the wonders of Earth man’s life.

  CHAPTER V

  I Break It Gently

  Summer brought two young visitors to this mountain cabin. John Vonada, Prentice’s nephew, was a brisk young lieutenant in the Army Air Corps. His girl friend, Pauline Neff, was a lovely, clear-eyed creature with musical laughter and a faith and a devotion toward John that was interesting to see. This relationship impressed me greater with the passings days, though at first it was the more superficial things that fascinated me: his prince-like uniform, her red nails that matched her red lips, the air of youth and vitality that they brought to Prentice’s lodge. My own appearance, I discovered anew, was more than a little shocking. An hour after these two arrived in their bright yellow automobile, they went into a prolonged aside with Prentice, and they cast many glances in my direction as I went on with the gardening. Prentice must have give them a good report. The three of them came out to see me, and we talked in the friendliest of terms about how the beans flourished and how well the hens laid at this time of year.

  Later in the week John told us all about his air training and he asked very casually, “Do you care for aviation, George, or have you ever been up in a plane?”

  My response was somewhat evasive. “Up? Why do you say up? If you are on the other side of the planet is it up or down when you leave the surface?”

  They laughed, and John said, “Which way would your beans grow on the other side of the planet, up or down?”

  “Both ways,” Pauline said, beating me to the punch. “We’ll leave the aviation to you, John. The rest of us don’t know beans about it, do we?”

  My clothes became a matter for some concern on Pauline’s part during her stay. She did some mending for me and altered some of Prentice’s worn garments, and she and John drove me down to a small city at the foot of the mountains and had some fine new clothing tailored for me. This all called for considerable expenditure, and so, for the first time, I brought forth two small bars of platinum and offered them as pay.

  This offer resulted in another private conference with Frank
Prentice, for Pauline and John were much too amazed to accept.

  The three of them came to me. Prentice said, “George, we’re not going to ask where you got these precious metals. But are you quite sure you want to give them away? They’re worth dozens of wardrobes, you know.”

  “Mine to give,” I said, “and I have one for you, too.”

  It was a pleasure to exchange favors, and an experience to leave a lasting impression: that Earth people like Pauline and John and Frank Prentice were unwilling to reach for an unfair advantage. The appreciative faces were to remain in the gallery of my mind as symbols of the warmth between the Earth and Venus, the beginnings of a future commerce that I hoped would always be friendly.

  In my new clothes I bore much more resemblance to an Earth man than I had supposed possible, although the exaggerated width of my shoulders, the largeness of my head, and my colorful complexion would always mark me as conspicuous in any crowd. As Pauline put it, I looked much more like the gentleman I was meant to be—but there was still room for improvement.

  “I think you’re making him uncomfortable,” John said. “You should see how we look after a hard day’s flying. We’re a sight.”

  “But his hair is all wrong, John. Help me,” Pauline said.

  They approached me with scissors and combs and an apron to put around my neck, and announced I was in for a tonsorial operation.

  To shake my head for no was one of the first gestures I had learned, and I put it to good use now. My hair dress must not be changed.

  “Why not, George?” Pauline protested. “It will be much more comfortable. All that mop on your left side looks so—so primitive. What is it, a superstition or something?”

  “It’s pluuvonng,” I said. “Pluuvonng?” Pauline and John looked at each other questioningly. They say that Prentice was taking on his puzzled smile.

  “His vocabulary is jumping too fast for me,” Prentice said. “I’ll have to look that one up.”

  Of course the dictionary offered no help; it was up to me to explain myself or lose my hair.

  Pluuvonng is religion. My beliefs command me to wear my hair this way. So if you please—”

  I thought this appeal had won my point, for Prentice gently took the scissors from Pauline’s hands. He suggested that we all go for a walk along the mountain paths.

  As the four of us sauntered along through the pines Frank Prentice began to talk philosophically about the glorious colors of the evening clouds. “God’s world is full of wonders,” he said. “Each of us is free to choose his own way of appreciating what the Creator has given us. And yet—”

  He paused, placed a hand on my shoulder, and gestured toward the broad, beautiful land beyond the foothills.

  “And yet through the centuries we’ve come to agree pretty well, millions of us, upon the best forms for our religious expressions. It’s rather silly, isn’t it, for one person to insist on some pet ostentation just to be distinctive?”

  “Suppose there are millions with my hair dress. Would I be justified?”

  “Fifty million can’t be wrong!” This amused crack came from the young lieutenant. Half facetiously he turned to Pauline. Her father, it seemed, was a professor of social studies at a university. “This is one for your dad, Pauline. Does he know there are millions of people with religion in their hair?”

  It had been my intention to break the news as gently as possible, and now the time had come. I reached up to place a six-fingered hand on Frank Prentice’s shoulder. I gestured toward the land below us, then toward the darkening sky.

  “I mean no offense against the good people of the land,” I said. “But somewhere there are other worlds. I am only a visitor to your Earth. When we first met I lacked the words to tell you this. Where I came from there are millions of people like me. Our pluuvonng demands that we comb our hair this way.”

  “Do you mean to say,” said Prentice, drilling me with a cold, skeptical stare, “that you think you came from somewhere beyond the Earth?”

  I nodded. “I came from the planet you call Venus.”

  CHAPTER VI

  A Friend Turns Cool

  If the great mountains had silently broken from their bases and floated into the sky there could have been no more vivid evidence of amazement in the faces of my three good friends. Pauline was first to speak.

  “That explains a lot of things,” she said slowly. “It’s—it’s almost incredible . . . and yet . . . yes, it explains—”

  “How did you get here?” John came toward me with glittering eyes. “You must have flown! How many came with you?”

  “I came alone. It was an experimental flight.”

  “Where is your ship? Why hasn’t the world heard of this?”

  “I was pledged to hide my ship on arriving. It’s within a few miles. I’m sorry I can’t take you to it. Tomorrow I’ll show you a picture.”

  The young lieutenant was on fire with enthusiasm. “So you know all about this aviation business. More than any of us know!”

  He and Pauline bombarded me with questions. Frank Prentice looked on uncomfortably, and I felt that his hospitality was becoming strangely cool.

  As a skilled aviator with his eyes on the future flying, Lieutenant John Vonada was like a blotter for absorbing all the information I could divulge. Our talk continued through the supper hour. Needless to say, Pauline had forgot all about the haircut; her interest was in the history, language, and family customs and artifacts of my people.

  “I can hardly wait, she said, “until father hears of you. He’ll have to know everything. You do have proofs, don’t you? See, his studies are right along this line: races and nationalities and the clashes of culture. I’m afraid you’ll find yourself Exhibit A in the first interplanetary laboratory, or something, when the universities get their hands on you.”

  “I’m here to represent Venus as well as I can,” I said. “I’m sure I’ve had the Earth’s finest teacher to prepare me.”

  “Take a bow, Uncle Frank,” John said. “You’ll go down in history.” Frank Prentice didn’t turn. He was standing by the open window puffing smoke out into the darkness. During all this excitement I had missed his easy smile. Had something been said to hurt him? Could he be disappointed that I was not an unfortunate, an amnesia victim, a vagrant?

  Pauline took his arm and bade us all come to the porch where we could look at the stars while we talked.

  To me, that long night of conversation will always serve as a landmark, the beginning of something which may never end, a sharing of understandings between Venus and the Earth. It was a communion for which these two alert youth were ready.

  Frank Prentice, however, chose to remain silent. I knew, then, that I had stung him by keeping my secret all these months. He was a reasonable man, generous, honest, and very proud. Until now he was the only person I had thought of taking back to Venus with me. I wondered.

  On the following day I showed my picture of the ship with officials from the Streets of Venus standing in front of it wishing me a successful voyage. Pauline and John were of course more eager than ever for a glimpse of the ship itself, but were able to take my refusal gracefully.

  Prentice’s only comment concerned the unusual qualities of the photograph.

  “If it came from Venus,” he said, “your people must be well advanced in the arts.”

  “They are, indeed. Our elements are, of course, the same as your own, and it seems that we have found our way into many similar and even identical processes—”

  “If it came from Venus,” Prentice repeated with a disturbing emphasis on the if. “Excuse me, please. I’ll go to the garden . . . No, you needn’t come

  Thus the distance between my first Earth friend and me promised to grow. I was learning a lesson I would not forget: that good and reasonable Earth men can be grieved by subtle matters to which they are unwilling or unable to give voice. Complicated creatures they are.

  It was time for Prentice’s nephew to leave for the war.
Our farewell was full of high hopes. What would the postwar future bring? With good luck he would perhaps fly his own ship to Venus before another decade.

  Before he and Pauline drove away she whispered to me, “How about that haircut, George?”

  I shook my head. “Pluuvonng!”

  “What I really want to say, George, is that you mustn’t mind our Uncle Frank. He’ll get over the shock in time. But you see, his world of knowledge has a solid fence around it and you’ve walked right through it. He sees himself as a teacher—”

  “He’s a splendid one,” I said.

  “Yes. Your own swift learning has proved that. The point is, he can’t readily change to the role of pupil . . . I hope you won’t walk out on him too soon, George. He’s terribly fond of you.”

  “Thank you, Pauline.”

  “That’s all, George.” She gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder. “You’ll be hearing from my father at the university. Good-bye.”

  CHAPTER VII

  Wool Over the Eyes

  A year later my months of study in in the seclusion of the mountains seemed as remote as the stars.

  The passing year had brought tremendous changes in the course of my visit. I was now out in the wide, busy, noisy Earth world, meeting its people.

  Every new day brought me a new audience of two or three hundred persons, and on the big days my crowds numbered in the thousands. This was the fulfillment of my mission. It was, if I have succeeded in my grasp of things important, the process by which Venus must acquaint itself with the Earth, and vice versa.

  The institution which brought me my daily audience was called a carnival. It roved from city to city by motor truck.

  My manager was a very enterprising and persuasive man known as Windy McKean. He had a voice whose quality could not be matched by the least musical voice in Venus. He was a square faced man who used one side of his mouth for shouting and the other for smoking his cigar. The title given to his profession is carnival barker.