Excerpt Four of Stelzer’s Travels

THIS SEGMENT OF STELZER’S TRAVELS IS A CONTINUATION OF EXCERPT THREE POSTED ON THE PREVIOUS JULY-AUGUST, 2009 E-QUARTERLY

 As time wore on-forty-five minutes had passed since Neuman started pranc­ing around-the explanation for the boy’s inexplicable behavior finally dawned upon me.  I could have kicked myself for not having thought of it sooner.  How many mystery novels had I read in which the so­lution, when fi­nally disclosed, turned out to be the pat­ently ob­vious one?  So obvi­ous that everyone overlooked it.

The reason for Neuman’s nutty behavior was that he was nuts.  No tautology this.  I had been racking my brains for an explanation that didn’t exist; the simple fact was that the boy was enacting some sort of fantasy that had nothing what­soever to do with reality.  And I had been gullible enough to follow along.  All one had to do to confirm my conclusion was to look at the despondency that now clouded the boy’s countenance as he sat by the dying coals of his fire, his back to the river.

Earlier Neuman had asked me the time every five min­utes or so, but for the last quarter hour he not only main­tained his own stony silence, but stonewalled any at­tempts on my part to initiate conversation.

Unable to converse with Neuman directly, I imagined what it would be like conversing about him with his psychiatrist.  “Why four big cartons and the Pershing River?” I heard my­self asking.

“Why not four big cartons and the Pershing River?” would be his re­sponse.  “The human brain can disintegrate in many different ways.  Sometimes it’s like an explosion.  Im­ages go flying in all di­rections; it’s any­body’s guess which ones land back in the brain right side up. I’ve seen everything, believe me.”

So much for professional help.  I returned to my own resources and the problem at hand.  How could I get Neuman and his cases of books back into the car and on our way home?

“Maybe you had the day wrong. . .” I began quietly.  “We could come back tomor­row and. . .”

“Jesus, I hope it’s not you who’s ruining things,” he interrupted.

“Could be.  I’m sorry.  So let’s go back.  You’ll get your car fixed and maybe in a few days. . .”

“Ssh. . .”

“No, not ssh, Neuman.  It’s getting late.  We’ve got to settle this.  I’m tired. . .”

“Shut up, damn it.  It’s been settled!”

“No, its. . .”

“They’re here!” Neuman screamed.

Startled, I jumped up and, as deliberately as I could, looked up and down the river looking for any evidence to support Neu­man’s hallucinations.  Seeing nothing, I sank back on the cartons and remonstrated with myself for having been so easily duped.  The boy had done it to me again.  Meanwhile, Neuman acceded to a new and more frightening stage.

Playing out his fantasies to the end, Neuman grabbed the one carton I was not using as a seat and bolted toward whatever he imagined lay behind us.  Well, let him run around in the sand chas­ing ghosts.  Between the carton and the soft sand, he would soon tire out, admit defeat, and make my job of pushing him into the car that much eas­ier.  All I had to do was stay put and await my opportunity.

“Don’t get lost,” I shouted at the boy, who had turned toward the levee and was now racing up its side.  But no sooner had I uttered those words than I felt a new wave of fear.  Once Neuman disap­peared down the other side of the embankment, his speech had broken into two voices.  Ter­rified at the psy­chological im­plications and cursing myself for not having acted sooner, I shot up and stumbled into the darkness guided by the sounds of his babbling.  My downcast eyes searched the ground for a stout stick as I panted and jogged my way clumsily up the levee.  One way or an­other, that boy was coming home as fast as I could force him into the car.

The slope was steeper than it looked from below and the sand had turned to mud making the climb all the more difficult.  Worse, I was within a few yards of the top and still hadn’t found a stick.  Barehanded and breathless, I knew I would be no match for a half-crazed boy of nineteen, but I felt I had to go on nonetheless.  A few more feet and I reached the crest.

 THE PLS STARBOUND

 Neuman was not talking to himself.  “Fine,” he finished saying.  “I’ll throw them on.”

My hair bristled and my heart pounded at the sight.  The space capsule with whom he was conversing was floating idly a couple of feet above the mud flat.  It was silver-hulled, spheroid shaped, and surrounded by a toroid of blue gas plasma that kept emitting faint sounds of electrical cracking.  The fact that it was so com­pact-no more than fifteen feet in di­ameter surely-gave it a nimble look that somehow made the num­ber of stubby, vaguely lethal-looking protuberances that prickled from its alloy skin all the more menacing.

If I retained any composure at all, it was only because I was shocked into insensitivity.  And even when my mind did attempt to restart, it did so haltingly-one incoherent thought after another tumbling forward.

How could I demonstrate that I mean it no harm?  Thank God I hadn’t found that stick I was looking for.  Idiot!  That thing’s going to worry about an out-of-shape, middle-aged real estate man with a stick in his hand?  One little spritz out of one of those nozzles and forget it.  Why would they want to kill me, anyway?  Why wouldn’t they?  Isn’t that what aliens are supposed to do?  That’s why Neuman tried to get me to leave.  To save my life.  I should have guessed it from the start.  The kid really was from another planet.

If Neuman was happily reuniting with his brethren, he gave no indi­cation of it.  Instead, he was all business.  As soon as he hoisted one book-filled box into the bay door that opened from the ship’s side, he methodically jogged back for the next.

Neuman’s cool-headedness gave me encouragement.  Once my nerves had quieted, I began to think more rationally.  Apparently, what I was witnessing amounted to nothing more than an interplane­tary transfer of Judaic lore.  Granted I was more than a little surprised to discover that interest in the God of the Hebrews extended into the cos­mos, but this too, no doubt, had a commonplace explanation.  For all I knew, the lost tribes of Israel strayed farther than anyone had imagined.  Far-fetched?  No more so than the prospect of a space capsule hovering above the bank of the Pershing River.  In any case, the details did not concern me.  The essential ingredient in this extraordinary situation from my point of view was that there was nothing to fear.  All I need do was concentrate on taking in this intoxicating draught of sci­ence-fiction fun that would immeasurably enrich my life forever.  And, afterwards, with his mission behind him, Neuman was bound to be more communicative on our drive back and I would learn the whole story.  My heart began to pound at a more acceptable rate and I felt confident enough to ven­ture toward the craft to inspect it more closely.  I may not have remained so calm had I known that the alien’s procurement list was longer than I originally supposed.

The space capsule shifted its attention from Neuman to me.   “Sorry to have kept you two waiting,” it apologized, “but we assure you it wasn’t our fault.  We arrived at our entry point into your atmosphere exactly on schedule but your abominable smog was the worst we’ve ever encountered.  We practically had to crawl our way in.”

“That’s all right,” I said magnanimously.  “Uh. . .your air.  Back on your own planet I mean.  Isn’t it worse?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”  The capsule seemed incredulous.

“Your intergalactic spaceship. . .” I began.

“Intragalactic.  But thanks all the same,” it cor­rected.

“Your intragalactic spaceship. . .” I began again.

The space capsule again interrupted this time with a clucking sound of disapproval.  “One faux pas after another, Mr. Hedgewick.  If you had done your homework, you’d know the ship itself is in orbit waiting for us to dock.  This is only one of its three landers.  But go ahead with whatever it is you had to say.  Make it brief.  We can’t stay here forever, you know.”

Mr. Hedgewick?  I had no idea where that came from.  Nevertheless I decided to sidestep the name confusion until after completing the point I had begun with such difficulty.  “Every scientific advance we’ve made here on Earth has brought with it more pollu­tion.  So when I look at what you’re riding around in and extrapolate the. . .”

“What did you expect us to show up in?  A bathtub?  Why is it you invitees are so skeptical of the material we send you?  I don’t know how we could have made it any clearer.  Noth­ing on Luxenben is the same as on Earth, so there’s nothing that can be extrapo­lated.  In short, we have no pollution.”

Looking up at what had appeared to me as the craft’s array of armaments, I relegated my concerns about pollution to a more worrisome thought.  “How about your wars then?”

The spacecraft apparently followed my gaze.  Those aren’t weapons, Mr. Hedgewick.  They’re sensors.”

“But with all your technology. . .the destruction you could. . .”

“No, we couldn’t.  We’ve no armies.  Bet­ter yet, we’ve no generals.  See here, Hedgewick, our information packet covered every one of these questions.  If you had even glanced at the statistics you would have found that we’ve solved your stupid problems.  We have no widespread hunger, no slums, no organized crime, no social unrest.  It may be hard for you to believe, but we have achieved a society that’s. . .what do you call it here?”

“Utopian?”

“Exactly,” said the space capsule.

On the one hand, I could not help being skeptical of such a wild claim.  On the other hand, it was hard to argue with an object that embodied a state of technology so advanced that any other miracle emanating from the same source seemed feasible.  Confused by these conflicting thoughts, I said nothing.  I didn’t have to.  My questions had obviously touched a sore spot.

“I don’t know what it is about you invitees,” the space capsule went on.  “This isn’t the first time these ridiculous questions have popped up at the last minute.  I guess the more miserable a planet is, the more difficulty its inhabitants have imagining something incomparably better.  Either that or sick societies like yours become so riddled with lies that nobody trusts the truth even when it stares them in the face.  We would have thought you’d all be so anxious to leave, you’d just rush on board the minute we opened the hatch.  Funny, isn’t it?”  The question was obviously meant to be rhetorical for the space capsule hurried on in what was now a plaintive tone.

“We’ve even had cases in which one or the other of the invitees gets cold feet and doesn’t show at all.  What do they expect us to do?  Go scurrying around at the last minute kidnapping replacements?

“Sometimes no matter what we do, it doesn’t seem to be enough.  You’ve seen our packet: all sorts of literature, travel videos, transcripts of conversations with ordinary Luxanders.  We guarantee top-notch accommodations and promise to bring you back in a year if you’re not completely satisfied.  I ask you, Hedgewick, what more could anyone want?”

Just when the capsule’s complaints came to an end and I had an opportunity to clear up my identity, Neuman reentered the scene.  Having loaded his last carton, he gave me a reassuring glance as he strode to my side.  “Let me handle this,” he seemed to be saying.  “I’ll explain everything.”  And since the boy’s relationship with the capsule was obviously closer than mine, it did seem wiser to leave things in his hands.  Before he could speak, however, the capsule raised another issue.

“See here, Mr. Neuman.  All these cartons aren’t yours are they?”

“Yes, sir, I’m afraid they are,” the boy answered anxiously.

“You must know that they weigh nearly twice as much as you’re allowed.”

“Yes, sir.  It’s just that they’re all so important.  I ditched everything I could but. . .”

“Did it occur to you that our lifting out of here might also be of some importance?  By the time we load Mr. Hedgewick’s luggage. . .”

Suddenly the question of my identity took on greater urgency.  Who, in fact, was I?  I scarcely knew myself anymore.  Obviously, this superior thing was better informed than I was.  If it said my name was Hedgewick, who was I to argue?  If there was ever a compelling reason for one of my fast, real estate decisions, this was it.

“I didn’t bring any,” I blurted out.

Neuman swung around to stare at me.  I could not tell if he was more astonished or amused.

“Good thinking, Hedgewick.  Believe me, there isn’t anything you could take along that you won’t find on Luxenben.  And of better quality, naturally.  Something our Mr. Neuman will find out for himself very shortly.  But no matter.  Thanks to you, we’ve disposed of his overweight problem and we can get out of this place.

“All right.  I’m Boatswain Fletcher and on deck with me is First Mate Slocum.  We’ve exhibited rather bad manners by staying on board, I’m afraid, but your atmosphere makes for such noxious breath­ing that we much prefer to de­lay our personal greeting until after you’ve come aboard.  And since you two must have had plenty of time to introduce yourselves to one another, there’s no reason to stand on ceremony on that account either.  Besides I would imagine that you’re due for a bit of clean air yourselves.

“So let me welcome you aboard.  A hatch has been opened for you, gentlemen.  Do please step inside.” 

With that Neuman bounded eagerly ahead, but just before reaching the lander, he thought better of his impetuosity and stepped aside.  Paying due deference to my new space-traveler persona, the boy bowed his head, and, with an exaggerated wave of his right arm, encouraged me to board first.

Having experienced so many shocking events that afternoon, I found the foreign appearance of the lander crew to be almost anticlimactic.  The two gentlemen wasted little time on a round of perfunctory handshaking before returning to their duties.  All conversation ceased until the mother ship was in view.

“There she is, gentlemen.  Isn’t she beautiful?  And now you can read her name on the side of the hull, ‘PLS Starbound.’  The ‘PLS’ stands for the ‘Planet of Luxenben’s Ship.’  And the trademark, you see alongside, is that of our employer, Space Ventures, Inc.  Great outfit and the biggest of its kind on Luxenben.  I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve uncorked a bottle of cold champagne for us when we dock.”