Nick and the Glimmung Page 2

  Nick’s mother had said, “But someday he might forget.”

  “And then what?” his father had retorted. “What if Ed St. James does not sign a document? Will our company collapse? Will terror reign in the streets? The documents don’t mean anything. They exist to create jobs. One man dictates them. Another man or woman types them up. Ed St. James signs them and I make sure he has signed them. I then give them to Robert Hall, seated at the desk to my left, and he folds them. To his left someone sits whom I have never seen; that indistinct individual places the folded documents in envelopes, if they are to be mailed, or away in the file, if they are to be filed.” Nick’s father, at this point, had looked very glum indeed.

  LOOKING at Horace intently, the newspaperman said in a voice full of doubt, “He doesn’t seem very athletic.”

  This stung Nick to wrath, “How could he be?” he demanded “He never gets a chance to go anywhere outside or do anything. After we emigrate—” He broke off, realizing what he had told the newspaperman.

  Both eyebrows lifted. The newspaperman said, “Oh? You’re going to leave Earth because of Horace?”

  After a pause Nick’s mother said, “For several reasons, actually.”

  “But the cat,” the newspaperman said. “That’s part of it, eh?” He turned on his tape recorder now. Fiddling with the microphone he said, “Any colony planet in particular, Mrs. Graham?”

  “Plowman’s Planet.” Nick’s mother answered.

  This time the newspaperman’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “Plowman’s Planet? But that’s so far off. And so wild.” Mr. Deverest turned towards Nick and gave him a long, searching look. “Do you realize that an odd variety of animals hangs out there? Animals for whom peculiar names exist, names testifying to their unnatural natures?”

  Nick said, “Do you always use such long words, Mr. Deverest?” Long words had always annoyed Nick. He knew that much smaller words would do as well, if not better.

  “Let me put it this way,” the newspaperman said. “It is not cats, dogs and parakeets who live on Plowman’s Planet. Cats, dogs and parakeets are simple Earth creatures whom we love and respect. They are attractive and valuable, as for example your cat here.” The newspaperman bent down to pat Horace on the head. Horace’s ears jumped with distaste, and his whiskers vibrated. “They love us and we love them, even though there is a law against them. What we love, I suppose, is their memory.”

  “You mean our memory,” Nick’s mother said. “Our memory of animals as they lived in the past. Or, as in the case of Horace, their real but illegal presence.”

  Speaking still to Nick, the newspaperman said, “On Plowman’s Planet you and your parents will meet few other humans. At night when you retire, darkness will settle everywhere. You will see no lights of other houses. No hovercars will zip by overhead. You will have no television set because there is no television. In the morning there will be no newspaper. And as to school—”

  Nick’s mother interrupted, “We know all this, Mr. Deverest.”

  “But what about the wubs?” the newspaperman asked. “Do you know about them?”

  “No,” Nick said. He wondered what a wub was. From the name he imagined it: large and round, with short legs and moth-eaten hide, a large flat nose and small eyes.

  The newspaperman said, “Wubs live all over Plowman’s Planet. As soon as you run across one you will want to return to Earth. A wub is a dull and ugly creature. It looks as if it had no soul. Although inclined to tell long, dull stories, its main interest is in food. It speaks of food; it dreams of food.”

  “What does it look like?” Nick asked.

  “It is large and round,” the newspaperman said. “With short legs and moth-eaten hide, a large flat nose and small eyes.”

  “Exactly what I thought,” Nick said. “I could tell by the name.”

  The newspaperman said, “And in addition there are printers. And trobes. And father-things. There are nunks, Nick. The nunks on Plowman’s Planet are well-known to Earth scientists.

  They are a war-like creature, but exceedingly small…for which we are glad. And a nunk is not very bright. We are glad about that, too.”

  “I think I’ve read about the nunks,” Nick said. But actually he hadn’t. By saying this, in a calm way, he wanted to show the newspaperman that he was not afraid.

  “And the spiddles,” the newspaperman said. “What in heaven’s name are you people going to do out there among the spiddles? Think about it before you answer. It is true, I have heard, that spiddles are friendly to man, that their real enemy is the werj. It is also true that spiddles—” He broke off, because the front door of the apartment had opened.

  A large heavy-set man, wearing a metallic uniform and helmet, whom Nick had never seen before, stood in the entrance. He had a mean, hard face, as if he cared about nothing. As if he lived in a world of ice and iron.

  “I am the anti-pet man,” he said. And his voice was as cold as dead ashes.

  Chapter 3

  SEEING the anti-pet man, Nick’s mother said, “Oh dear.” To Nick she said, “I wish your father was home. I was afraid it would happen like this.”

  In the center of the living room, Horace regarded the anti-pet man in his usual ignorant way. Clearly, Horace did not realize who the anti-pet man was, or why he had come. Such simple questions did not interest him.

  Nick said, “Go into the kitchen, Horace. Wait for me there.” His heart thudded with greater fear than ever, now. And yet, at the same time he felt calm. It had finally happened: the anti-pet man had showed up to seize Horace. In a way, Nick felt relief. At least the awful waiting had ended.

  “So you’re the anti-pet man,” Mr. Deverest said, as he lifted his camera to take a picture.

  “We don’t want any publicity,” the anti-pet man said in a sharp, grating voice, a voice which perfectly fitted his cruel face.

  “I’ll bet you don’t,” Mr. Deverest agreed, and took a picture of him. “Now, let’s have one of you stuffing Horace into that cage you’re carrying. And then one of—”

  “I am not taking the boy,” the anti-pet man said. “I am taking an animal; to be exact, a cat.”

  Nick said, “Horace is the cat. I’m Nick Graham.”

  “Call the cat,” the anti-pet man said. Seating himself on the sofa he opened the cage. “It will be easier for everyone if this is done quietly, so as to make as little fuss as possible.”

  Mr. Deverest snapped a picture of the cage. “Newspaper readers,” he said, “will be interested to see this trap for small animals. It rarely happens these days, since so few dogs and cats are left.” He aimed his camera at Nick. “Are you going to cry?” he asked Nick. “If so I’d like to get a picture of that, too.”

  “I’m not going to cry.” Nick said.

  “It’s not a small-animal trap,” the anti-pet man said. “It is a healthy, sanitary cage, used for moving the animal from one place to another. No harm is intended.” Kneeling down, he held out a small bit of food. “Here, kitty,” he said in his grating voice.

  Horace stared at him in his customary dense fashion, not understanding what was wanted of him. Or perhaps he was pretending. On many a useful occasion, Horace had managed to appear dense, if it was in his best interest. Nick suspected that Horace knew more than he appeared to know. Horace, like most animals, was clever where his own advantage was involved. As a matter of fact, Horace now began to walk backwards, away from the anti-pet man and his cage. In slow, stealthy movements, Horace was escaping.

  “He’s going into the kitchen,” the anti-pet man said angrily.

  “Horace always goes into the kitchen,” Nick said. “No matter what the situation, ‘When in doubt, eat.’ That’s Horace’s rule.”

  “His rule of paw,” Mr. Deverest said, nodding.

  “Pardon?” Nick said.

  Mr. Deverest explained, “With a person we speak of a ‘rule of thumb,’ but cats have no thumbs. So we must speak of a ‘rule of paw.’”

  Horace,
following his rule of paw, moved further back into the kitchen.

  “Stop him!” the anti-pet man exclaimed.

  “No one can stop Horace,” Nick said, “when he’s on his way to the kitchen.”

  From his belt, the anti-pet man brought out a metal tube, which he pointed towards the kitchen. “I shall put him to sleep,” he said, “and that will end his illegal activity, his illegal walking backwards into the kitchen.”

  Mr. Deverest asked. “Since when has it become illegal to walk backwards into a kitchen?”

  “For cats, everything is illegal,” the anti-pet man said as he aimed the shiny metal tube in Horace’s direction. “Walking sideways into the kitchen, for example, is illegal for cats. Walking sideways up the street is especially illegal. Walking forwards into—”

  “We get the idea,” Mr. Deverest interrupted sourly; he did not seem to like the anti-pet man at all—a feeling which Nick shared.

  A voice said. “What’s going on here?” Nick’s dad stood at the front door, tall and powerful, his face stern. “Who are you?” he asked Deverest, and then he saw the anti-pet man.

  The anti-pet man, who a moment ago had seemed sure of his own worth and dignity, looked at Nick’s dad and shrank back. “Are you Mr. Peter Graham?” he asked in a wavering voice. “Owner of a cat? Owner of that cat?” He pointed to Horace, who had stopped walking backwards and now sat in the middle of the kitchen, a worried expression on his face. Both Horace and the anti-pet man had the same look about them. Both seemed guilty and uneasy. But of course Horace was usually this way. The anti-pet man, however, seemed to prefer some other frame of mind.

  Nick’s dad said, “The law says you have to give us two days to rid ourselves of our pet. You can’t take him until then.” He grabbed the anti-pet man by the shoulder and propelled him towards the front door.

  “What a terrific picture this makes.” Mr. Deverest said, snapping away with his camera and following after the anti-pet man. “What an ignominious end to a functionary of officialdom.”

  The anti-pet man stood awkwardly by the door.

  “What does that mean?” Nick asked Mr. Deverest.

  Mr. Deverest said, with satisfaction, “It means that the anti-pet man must obey the law like everyone else. Only in this case he is not pleased. The law works against him.”

  “Then it’s a good law,” Nick’s mother said.

  “It’s a good law,” Mr. Deverest agreed, taking one more picture of the anti-pet man, “but in two days another law will be on his side.”

  “But in two days,” said Nick’s father, turning towards them, “we will be on our way to Plowman’s Planet. And Horace will be with us. In outer space the anti-pet man will have nothing to say; his law will cease. A new law, the law of reality, will protect Horace for years to come.”

  Mr. Deverest said, “Unless a werj eats Horace.” To Nick, he went on, “I forgot to describe the werjes that exist on Plowman’s Planet, along with the wubs and the printers and all the rest. I understand that werjes have a particular—”

  “Plowman’s Planet.” Nick’s father broke in, “does not merely mean the danger of being carried away by the wild winged werj. I know of the werj; I know of other dangers, too, both to us and to Horace. But Plowman’s Planet means forests and an expanse of great, rolling meadow. It means a place in the shadowy green for Horace to play unseen. There are lands of pasture, fields of mice. There are rivers that roll down to the sea. We will live among the grass; Horace will hunt under an amber moon which lights up cliffs and the hollow places. Fruit, plucked by our own hands, will lie heavy in the woven baskets of our lives. We will plant and farm; we will reap; rain will wash us and the bright sun of day will—” He paused, thinking. “Will do whatever it is a sun does. The usual thing.”

  “You have dreams,” the anti-pet man said wistfully, stepping forward, “such as I never have.”

  Nick’s father asked, “Don’t you ever dream?”

  “I dreamed once,” the anti-pet man answered. “I dreamed I was a baseball, in a game between the Giants and the Dodgers.” He became silent, then. Everyone waited, but he remained silent.

  “What happened then?” Nick asked.

  The anti-pet man said sadly, “I was thrown out of the game in the top half of the first inning. What happened next I forget; there is a curtain in my mind which bars all that from my memory.”

  “Come with us,” Nick’s mother said to the anti-pet man in a kindly voice. “You will dream dreams which you never suspected. By that I mean: you will cease to be an anti-pet man and your real nature will show itself. You will blossom like a—” She thought for several moments, wanting to say the right thing.

  “Like a horned klake,” the anti-pet man said, in his usual grating voice. He had lost the gentleness which, for a moment, had come over him.

  “What is a ‘klake’?” Nick asked him. He did not like the sound of that name; it suggested slithery things which crawled in deep water, out of the reach of men and the light of mid-afternoon.

  The anti-pet man said, “There are horned klakes on Plowman’s Planet. In an instant, one of them could snatch up your cat and carry him to a rocky peak, amid bones and the dead feathers of things already eaten. They are the enemies of all.”

  “Be quiet!” Nick’s father said harshly, and his face turned red with anger.

  “He’s right,” Mr. Deverest said. “About the klakes, I mean. There are admittedly a very few klakes on Plowman’s Planet; we did a feature article on them, once. They were greatly to be feared, then. But not so much of late.”

  “We’re not afraid,” Nick said, fighting down his bit of fear, his own personal small amount of it. “Anyhow, Horace knows how to hide. He can make himself almost invisible.”

  “Horace blends,” his father agreed. “He can make himself amazingly indistinct, when the situation calls for it.” Eyeing the anti-pet man with dislike he said, “Look how long Horace eluded you.”

  “Goodbye,” the anti-pet man said in a gloomy voice. The front door closed after him.

  “He’s gone,” Nick’s mother said. “But he’ll be back.”

  Putting one hand on Nick’s shoulder and the other on his wife’s, Mr. Graham said, “But we won’t, be here. It’s already been decided; today I booked passage for the four of us on a ship leaving the Solar System for Plowman’s Planet. Tonight we’ve got to pack. We’ll have to hurry.”

  “By ‘the four of us’,” Mr. Deverest said, “do you mean to include me? I ask that because I don’t think I can come along. For example, I have to—”

  “I referred to my family,” Nick’s father said. “To me, to my wife, to my son and to our cat.” He turned to Nick. “Make sure Horace has all his things, his dish and his collar and his food. Make sure he has his sandbox and his bed and the catnip mouse which we got him last month but which he never uses.”

  Plowman’s Planet, Nick said to himself. I wonder what it’ll be like? Well, he would soon know.

  “I’ll get all of Horace’s things together,” he told his father.

  “And your own, too,” his father said. And he looked at his watch to see how much time they had left before the ship took off.

  Chapter 4

  BY hovercar the four of them rode to the space port, where their ship waited. Nick found himself shivering with excitement. The great ship, sitting on one end, rose up against the sky like a fat bottle. Wisps of vapor rose from its engines. Here and there tiny human figures worked.

  Horace seemed to Nick to have a strange reaction to the sight of the great ship. Although surrounded by his possessions, the cat gloomily shrank within himself, as if offended. Horace paid no attention to the job of transferring all the cartons and boxes from the hovercar to the ship; instead, he fished for a bit of pencil which had fallen into a crack.

  Nick’s Father said. “Cats resist travel. This is true of almost every cat, although now and then you will read of one joining a circus or floating out to sea on a cake of ice. Horace wil
l be all right.”

  Soon they had all their things aboard the ship.

  “This is the last day of our life on Earth,” his father said as the four of them were strapped into their special seats. “We shall not see its like again,” he added sadly.

  The crewman strapping Horace pulled the straps too tight. In a flurry of outrage Horace bit him.

  “Easy does it, Horace,” Nick’s dad said.

  “He doesn’t want to go,” Nick said.

  “True,” his dad admitted. “But after we get there he’ll approve of it. Cats take a dim view of any change. They have what is called a high inertial quality, or rather an introversion of their psychic attitude.”

  “What does that mean?” Nick asked.

  His dad replied, “It means nothing at all. It was just a random thought that came into my mind.” To a passing crewman, he said, “How long will it be before we reach Plowman’s Planet?”

  “We haven’t taken off yet,” the crewman said, and went on by.

  “I know we haven’t taken off yet,” Nick’s father said to Nick and to his mother. He looked even more worried than usual.

  “Easy does it, Pete,” Nick’s mother said, with a smile.