“You stay away from there, Homer Bailey!”
“Now, Matilda, I’ll be careful.” Bailey joined him and peered out.
“See up there? That’s the Chrysler Building, sure as shooting. And there’s the East River, and Brooklyn.” They gazed straight down the sheer face of an enormously tall building. More than a thousand feet away a toy city, very much alive, was spread out before them. “As near as I can figure it out, we are looking down the side of the Empire State Building from a point just above its tower.”
“I don’t think so—it’s too perfect. I think space is folded over through the fourth dimension here and we are looking past the fold.”
“You mean we aren’t really seeing it?”
“No, we’re seeing it all right. I don’t know what would happen if we climbed out this window, but I for one don’t want to try. But what a view! Oh, boy, what a view! Let’s try the other windows.”
They approached the next window more cautiously, and it was well that they did, for it was even more disconcerting, more reason-shaking, than the one looking down the gasping height of the skyscraper. It was a simple seascape, open ocean and blue sky—but the ocean was where the sky should have been, and contrariwise. This time they were somewhat braced for it, but they both felt seasickness about to overcome them at the sight of waves rolling overhead; they lowered the blind quickly without giving Mrs. Bailey a chance to be disturbed by it.
Teal looked at the third window. “Game to try it, Homer?”
“Hrrumph—well, we won’t be satisfied if we don’t. Take it easy.” Teal lifted the blind a few inches. He saw nothing, and raised it a little more—still nothing. Slowly he raised it until the window was fully exposed. They gazed out at—nothing.
Nothing, nothing at all. What color is nothing? Don’t be silly! What shape is it? Shape is an attribute of something. It had neither depth nor form. It had not even blackness. It was nothing.
Bailey chewed at his cigar. “Teal, what do you make of that?”
Teal’s insouciance was shaken for the first time. “I don’t know, Homer, I don’t rightly know—but I think that window ought to be walled up.” He stared at the lowered blind for a moment. “I think maybe we looked at a place where space isn’t. We looked around a fourth-dimensional corner and there wasn’t anything there.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’ve got a headache.”
They waited for a while before tackling the fourth window. Like an unopened letter, it might not contain bad news. The doubt left hope. Finally the suspense stretched too thin and Bailey pulled the cord himself, in the face of his wife’s protests.
It was not so bad. A landscape stretched away from them, right side up, and on such a level that the study appeared to be a ground floor room. But it was distinctly unfriendly.
A hot, hot sun beat down from lemon-colored sky. The flat ground seemed burned a sterile, bleached brown and incapable of supporting life. Life there was, strange stunted trees that lifted knotted, twisted arms to the sky. Little clumps of spiky leaves grew on the outer extremities of these misshapen growths.
“Heavenly day,” breathed Bailey. “Where is that?”
Teal shook his head, his eyes troubled. “It beats me.”
“It doesn’t look like anything on Earth. It looks more like another planet—Mars, maybe.”
“I wouldn’t know. But, do you know, Homer, it might be worse than that, worse than another planet, I mean.”
“Huh? What’s that you say?”
“It might be clear out of space entirely. I’m not sure that that is our sun at all. It seems too bright.”
Mrs. Bailey had somewhat timidly joined them and now gazed out at the outré scene. “Homer,” she said in a subdued voice, “those hideous trees—they frighten me.”
He patted her hand.
Teal fumbled with the window catch.
“What are you doing?” Bailey demanded.
“I thought if I stuck my head out the window I might be able to look around and tell a bit more.”
“Well—all right,” Bailey grudged, “but be careful.”
“I will.” He opened the window a crack and sniffed. “The air is all right, at least.” He threw it open wide.
His attention was diverted before he could carry out his plan. An uneasy tremor, like the first intimation of nausea, shivered the entire building for a long second, and was gone.
“Earthquake!” They all said at once. Mrs. Bailey flung her arms around her husband’s neck.
Teal gulped and recovered himself, saying:
“It’s all right, Mrs. Bailey. This house is perfectly safe. You know you can expect settling tremors after a shock like last night.” He had just settled his features into an expression of reassurance when the second shock came. This one was no mild shimmy but the real seasick roll.
In every Californian, native born or grafted, there is a deep-rooted primitive reflex. An earthquake fills him with soul-shaking claustrophobia which impels him blindly to get outdoors! Model Boy Scouts will push aged grandmothers aside to obey it. It is a matter of record that Teal and Bailey landed on top of Mrs. Bailey. Therefore, she must have jumped through the window first. The order of precedence cannot be attributed to chivalry; it must be assumed that she was in readier position to spring.
They pulled themselves together, collected their wits a little, and rubbed sand from their eyes. Their first sensations were relief at feeling the solid sand of the desert land under them. Then Bailey noticed something that brought them to their feet and checked Mrs. Bailey from bursting into the speech that she had ready.
“Where’s the house?”
It was gone. There was no sign of it at all. They stood in the center of flat desolation, the landscape they had seen from the window. But, aside from the tortured, twisted trees there was nothing to be seen but the yellow sky and the luminary overhead, whose furnacelike glare was already almost insufferable.
Bailey looked slowly around, then turned to the architect.
“Well, Teal?” His voice was ominous.
Teal shrugged helplessly. “I wish I knew. I wish I could even be sure that we were on Earth.”
“Well, we can’t stand here. It’s sure death if we do. Which direction?”
“Any, I guess. Let’s keep a bearing on the sun.”
· · · · ·
They had trudged on for an undetermined distance when Mrs. Bailey demanded a rest. They stopped. Teal said in an aside to Bailey, “Any ideas?”
“No … no, none. Say, do you hear anything?”
Teal listened. “Maybe—unless it’s my imagination.”
“Sounds like an automobile. Say, it is an automobile!”
They came to the highway in less than another hundred yards. The automobile, when it arrived, proved to be an elderly, puffing light truck, driven by a rancher. He crunched to a stop at their hail. “We’re stranded. Can you help us out?”
“Sure. Pile in.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Los Angeles.”
“Los Angeles? Say, where is this place?”
“Well, you’re right in the middle of the Joshua Tree National Forest.”
· · · · ·
The return was as dispiriting as the Retreat from Moscow. Mr. and Mrs. Bailey sat up in front with the driver while Teal bumped along in the body of the truck, and tried to protect his head from the sun. Bailey subsidized the friendly rancher to detour to the tesseract house, not because they wanted to see it again, but in order to pick up their car.
At last the rancher turned the corner that brought them back to where they had started. But the house was no longer there.
There was not even the ground floor room. It had vanished. The Baileys, interested in spite of themselves, poked around the foundations with Teal.
“Got any answers for this one, Teal?” asked Bailey.
“It must be that on that last shock it simply fell through into another section of space. I can see now that I should have anch
ored it at the foundations.”
“That’s not all you should have done.”
“Well, I don’t see that there is anything to get down-hearted about. The house was insured, and we’ve learned an amazing lot. There are possibilities, man, possibilities! Why, right now I’ve got a great new revolutionary idea for a house—”
Teal ducked in time. He was always a man of action.
FB2 document info
Document ID: 108230b4167daaa39730b6ef55d6273a
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 27.05.2011
Created using: vim software
Document authors :
Minoru
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Document history:
Fictionbook'inized a text from scifi.com
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—And He Built a Crooked House Page 3
