The Science Fiction anthology. Andre Norton

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СКАЧАТЬ Thirkell bowed. He smiled a sudden Comedy Mask smile. The old ladies looked in at his epiglottis and sensed chaos there.

      Before he even began to speak, Mrs. Bellowes saw him picking up each of his words, oiling it, making sure it ran smooth on its rails. Her heart squeezed in like a tiny fist, and she gritted her porcelain teeth.

      “Friends,” said Mr. Thirkell, and you could hear the frost snap in the hearts of the entire assemblage.

      “No!” said Mrs. Bellowes ahead of time. She could hear the bad news rushing at her, and herself tied to the track while the immense black wheels threatened and the whistle screamed, helpless.

      “There will be a slight delay,” said Mr. Thirkell.

      In the next instant, Mr. Thirkell might have cried, or been tempted to cry, “Ladies, be seated!” in minstrel-fashion, for the ladies had come up at him from their chairs, protesting and trembling.

      “Not a very long delay.” Mr. Thirkell put up his hands to pat the air.

      “How long?”

      “Only a week.”

      “A week!”

      “Yes. You can stay here at the Restorium for seven more days, can’t you? A little delay won’t matter, will it, in the end? You’ve waited a lifetime. Only a few more days.”

      At twenty dollars a day, thought Mrs. Bellowes, coldly.

      “What’s the trouble?” a woman cried.

      “A legal difficulty,” said Mr. Thirkell.

      “We’ve a rocket, haven’t we?”

      “Well, ye-ess.”

      “But I’ve been here a whole month, waiting,” said one old lady. “Delays, delays!”

      “That’s right,” said everyone.

      “Ladies, ladies,” murmured Mr. Thirkell, smiling serenely.

      “We want to see the rocket!” It was Mrs. Bellowes forging ahead, alone, brandishing her fist like a toy hammer.

      Mr. Thirkell looked into the old ladies’ eyes, a missionary among albino cannibals.

      “Well, now,” he said.

      “Yes, now!” cried Mrs. Bellowes.

      “I’m afraid—” he began.

      “So am I!” she said. “That’s why we want to see the ship!”

      “No, no, now, Mrs.—” He snapped his fingers for her name.

      “Bellowes!” she cried. She was a small container, but now all the seething pressures that had been built up over long years came steaming through the delicate vents of her body. Her cheeks became incandescent. With a wail that was like a melancholy factory whistle, Mrs. Bellowes ran forward and hung to him, almost by her teeth, like a summer-maddened Spitz. She would not and never could let go, until he died, and the other women followed, jumping and yapping like a pound let loose on its trainer, the same one who had petted them and to whom they had squirmed and whined joyfully an hour before, now milling about him, creasing his sleeves and frightening the Egyptian serenity from his gaze.

      “This way!” cried Mrs. Bellowes, feeling like Madame Lafarge. “Through the back! We’ve waited long enough to see the ship. Every day he’s put us off, every day we’ve waited, now let’s see.”

      “No, no, ladies!” cried Mr. Thirkell, leaping about.

      They burst through the back of the stage and out a door, like a flood, bearing the poor man with them into a shed, and then out, quite suddenly, into an abandoned gymnasium.

      “There it is!” said someone. “The rocket.”

      And then a silence fell that was terrible to entertain.

      There was the rocket.

      Mrs. Bellowes looked at it and her hands sagged away from Mr. Thirkell’s collar.

      The rocket was something like a battered copper pot. There were a thousand bulges and rents and rusty pipes and dirty vents on and in it. The ports were clouded over with dust, resembling the eyes of a blind hog.

      Everyone wailed a little sighing wail.

      “Is that the rocket ship Glory Be to the Highest?” cried Mrs. Bellowes, appalled.

      Mr. Thirkell nodded and looked at his feet.

      “For which we paid out our one thousand dollars apiece and came all the way to Mars to get on board with you and go off to find Him?” asked Mrs. Bellowes.

      “Why, that isn’t worth a sack of dried peas,” said Mrs. Bellowes.

      “It’s nothing but junk!”

      Junk, whispered everyone, getting hysterical.

      “Don’t let him get away!”

      Mr. Thirkell tried to break and run, but a thousand possum traps closed on him from every side. He withered.

      Everybody walked around in circles like blind mice. There was a confusion and a weeping that lasted for five minutes as they went over and touched the Rocket, the Dented Kettle, the Rusty Container for God’s Children.

      “Well,” said Mrs. Bellowes. She stepped up into the askew doorway of the rocket and faced everyone. “It looks as if a terrible thing has been done to us,” she said. “I haven’t any money to go back home to Earth and I’ve too much pride to go to the Government and tell them a common man like this has fooled us out of our life’s savings. I don’t know how you feel about it, all of you, but the reason all of us came is because I’m eighty-five, and you’re eighty-nine, and you’re seventy-eight, and all of us are nudging on toward a hundred, and there’s nothing on Earth for us, and it doesn’t appear there’s anything on Mars either. We all expected not to breathe much more air or crochet many more doilies or we’d never have come here. So what I have to propose is a simple thing—to take a chance.”

      She reached out and touched the rusted hulk of the rocket.

      “This is our rocket. We paid for our trip. And we’re going to take our trip!”

      Everyone rustled and stood on tiptoes and opened an astonished mouth.

      Mr. Thirkell began to cry. He did it quite easily and very effectively.

      “We’re going to get in this ship,” said Mrs. Bellowes, ignoring him. “And we’re going to take off to where we were going.”

      Mr. Thirkell stopped crying long enough to say, “But it was all a fake. I don’t know anything about space. He’s not out there, anyway. I lied. I don’t know where He is, and I couldn’t find Him if I wanted to. And you were fools to ever take my word on it.”

      “Yes,” СКАЧАТЬ