The Boy from Earth (7 page)

The lobby of Bogway Park Lodge is deserted, except for me, and Barbara under the cake, and Norbert.

Norbert is sitting on a chair with his hands clasped together. His anxious expression vanishes when he sees me.

–
Well, if it isn't Ding-Dog
, he says.

The night is silent. No more pounding and shaking and screaming. The intruder, whoever he was, seems to be gone.

“Shut up, Norbert,” I say, “and help me dig.”

–
Buried treasure?

“Something like that.”

He picks his way past a broken coffee table and bits of fallen ceiling. –
I was wondering where you were. I didn't think to look under there.

The slab of cake is the size of a limousine. I begin digging
near the hole I came out of, scooping away handfuls and throwing them behind me. “What happened just now?” I ask. “The frogs knew what was going on. ‘It's him,’ they said.”

Norbert shrugs. –
I didn't see anyone.

I lift him on top of the cake and tell him to dig down while I dig across. I hope he finds Barbara before I do. I'm a little shy of her.

“Crime Dog!” calls Wilma, from the doorway. “Have you seen my daughter? I can't find her anywhere.”

“She's in here,” I say, grabbing another handful of cake.

–
Oh ho!
says Norbert.
A booby prize.

“Very funny,” I mutter.

Wilma hops over to help. “Barbara!” she calls. “Barbara, can you hear me?” Behind the glasses, her eyes bulge with a mother's love.

I clear a path into the cake, and reach as far forward as I can. The smell of marzipan sticks in my nostrils. Nothing, and then –

“Ouch!”

Feels like my finger is caught in a mousetrap. I yank hard and out pops Barbara's head – golden hair plastered down, beautiful face covered in crumbs, full-lipped mouth clamped around my index finger. “Hi, there!” she says. “Let's be friends.”

I slide out my finger thankfully and Norbert hops down from the cake. We stand back while Wilma sets her daughter free and embraces her. The bog-smelling frog and the beautiful girl seem happy together.

Wilma and Barbara say good-bye to us in the lodge's broken doorway. The night is blue-gray under the moons. The air is dank and buggy. The swamp is as flat as stale cola, and about the same color.

“I'm so sorry you have to go, Crime Dog,” she says, over her daughter's head. “You too, Prince Norbert. But I've got no choice. There's nowhere to put you. Usually the monster just makes a bit of a mess, but tonight he took down the whole guest wing.”

The monster, it turns out, is a famous feature of the Bogway Park Lodge. There are souvenirs and photographs of him for sale in the gift shop.

“You sure your monster isn't a black giant with a sword and a helmet?” I ask, thinking, of course, of the Dey

“Oh, no. Our monster's green.” Wilma hops forward and puts one smooth hand on my hip. Her fingertips are pale yellow. Her cigarette end glows red as she inhales. “You know, Crime Dog, we'll have this place repaired in a few weeks. Maybe you'd like to come back? Hmmm….” She winks. “Would you like a coupon? One night's free accommodation.”

“I, uh, don't know when I'll be traveling this way again,” I say.

“Think about it,” she says huskily. “Think hard. Bye-bye, now.”

She leads her daughter away. I can't help staring after them. Barbara's hair falls down her back like a blonde waterfall. There's a big piece of vanilla icing stuck to her, just below it. Looks just like the bottom half of a bikini.

Daybreak. The sun has not yet risen, but fingers of pale gold are reaching over the horizon. The sky is still blue-gray under the twin half-moons, the full moon (Sid), and the sliver of a new moon away to my right. Norbert and I are flying quickly. My bathrobe makes flapping noises around my knees.

Wilma, Barbara, Wes, and the rest of the gang at Bogway Fen are way behind us. With Sid on our right, we are now flying over rounded hills that look something like a close-up of my aunt's bedspread. We're looking for the Parietal River.

I say we, but it's really Norbert doing the looking and the finding. I know what a river looks like when I'm swimming in it, or when it's on a map (that is, if it's labeled), but I have no idea what it looks like from fifty stories in the air.
I'm really surprised when Norbert swoops down to chase after a silver-green streak.

I swoop right after him. I'm getting better at swooping. I'm not as fast as Norbert when we're climbing, but I can catch him every time when we're heading down. I crouch low, like a skier, and point my toes and whoosh right past him.

I'm not a bit tired. Too excited, probably. I'm sure not hungry.

Midmorning. The sun hangs above us like a picture, and the Parietal River unwinds below us like a spool of thread. We've been following it for the past two hours through the Random Lands. Now, these are interesting. They're called random from the way the landscape and weather make sudden and inexplicable changes. From minute to minute, you don't know what you're going to get. Right now the river is running quickly down a rocky hillside. Lots of boulders. The air is dry and cool. But just a few minutes ago the river was wide and lazy, and it was raining like Noah.

I keep my eyes peeled for a something called the Amyg Dale. That's where we turn north. I hope Norbert has his eyes peeled too. I have no idea what a dale looks like.

Norbert swings back to fly beside me.

–
Thirsty
, he says. I don't know if he's asking or telling.

“Yes,” I say.

He nods, and drops like a stone. There's a tree standing by itself on the banks of our river, just as it makes a bend. The lower branches overhang the flowing water. Norbert
Surprise lands easily on one of these branches. I follow. The river chuckles away beneath us.

The branch creaks beneath our weight. –
Careful, Dingwall
, he says.
You're a wide load here.

You know, I could get sick of all these size references.

“Am not,” I say.

Standing on the branch, Norbert can bend all the way over at the waist so that his face is just above the surface of water, and his antennae are actually submerged.

– Ahh. That feels so-o-o-o Sid. I'm still tired from last night
.

I kneel on the branch, lean over, and dip my whole head in the river. Oh, does it feel wonderful! I drink and drink, and come up splashing.

–
Careful, Dingwall!

We sit there on the branch, resting, restoring. Norbert stands up and puts his hands behind his head. I ask him about the planet's history. “Was there ever a time before the Black Dey?”

He ponders. –
Gee, Dingwall, I really don't know. It's hard for me to imagine him not being here. We don't think about the past much, on Jupiter. So many things are always the same. There's always a Queen Betunka in Betunkaville. And there's always a King Sheldon in Sheldonburg. The moons ride across the sky, and the beaches are warm, and the children learn their times tables. Cocoa is sweet, and cowboys are true, and love is forever. What else do you need? We don't learn history in school because the past is always with us. It's part of our present.

“And the Black Dey is always there, strong and evil, waiting to carry you away?”

–
Uh-huh.

“And you like that?”

–
Well, you get used to it.

The river hurries past us, telling itself the stories it has always told. I suppose it's been here since this part of the country was formed, and it's still here. The water's different every second, but the river's the same. Is this what Norbert's getting at?

“So what about me?” I ask him. “Why bring me here to get rid of the Dey if you're used to him? I'm an alien. I'm different. Why go all the way to Earth to find a champion?”

He stares at me. –
The prophecy has always been here too, and you're part of that. We've always tried to fulfill the prophecy.

“But I haven't always been here.”

–
Longer than you think.

“What do you mean? I've been here less than a day!” I can't make him admit he's wrong, so I splash him.

–
Cut that out, Dingwall!

“That'll teach you to call me a wide load,” I say. I bend down to splash him again. The branch gives a loud crack, and I pitch headfirst into the river.

No worries about drowning; I'm a good swimmer. Under my heavy bathrobe, the space suit is buoyant. I drift with the current. Feetfirst, for safety. The water is flowing faster now.

Norbert flies overhead. I'm on my back, looking up; he's in the air, looking down. A concerned expression on his face.

– Are you all right, Dingwall? Do you want help getting out?

“No, thanks,” I say. “This is refreshing. Say, am I going in the right direction?”

–
You have no idea how wrong the direction is
.

“What do you mean?”

I lift my head, but I can't see the river. This puzzles me for a second, and then I understand. There's no more river to see. We've come to a cliff, and the water is falling in a cascade towards a lake below. This is a surprise, all right! I float over the edge of the waterfall, and, for the second time in less than a day, find myself plummeting towards my doom.

Falling water all around me. I'm tumbling like a spare sock in the washing machine. This is no good. I spread my arms to straighten myself out, and wiggle my toes. That's better. Now I'm in the air, with the wall of water behind me.

I try to clench my toes, but I can't get a grip in the wet slippers. I don't stop.

It reminds me of trying to brake in wet weather. Riding my bike last summer, I sailed right through a busy intersection on the red light because my brake pads refused to grip. I've never had so many fingers raised at me.

I look down. The ground is coming up fast. It's a beautiful scene. The falling water is so white, and the pool below so blue. There's a beach of golden sand around the pool. As the river continues down the valley, the sand gives way to bright green grass and ferns that overhang the water.

Clench, Dingwall! Clench those delicate pink tootsies! But I can't. They keep slipping. I've got to think of something. Got to … wait a minute. I can't clench my toes, but I can wiggle them. Which means I can steer, even if I can't stop.

That's the answer. Got to hurry, though, because I've fallen a long long way and the beautiful blue pool of water is hurtling towards me. Actually, I'm hurtling towards it. I wiggle my toes and point my slippers to the side and slightly up, and
just
before I hit, I think:
I'm too late.
And I am. I smash into the pool and get the wind knocked out of me. I start to sink. What a disappointment! I'm dying on a strange planet with my quest unfulfilled. The hidden castle is still hidden. The villain is flourishing. I've let down my friend and myself. Some champion I am. The water closes over my head.

The End.

I really thought I was dying. I'm surprised to wake up on the sandy beach with Norbert panting beside me.

The sun peeps over the rim of the cliff. The waterfall looks like a cascade of diamonds. I can hear country music playing in the background. Something about living each day like you were dying. Appropriate, or what? I'm light-headed.

“Is this heaven?” I ask weakly.

Norbert turns towards me, water glistening on his smooth white head. His eyes are crinkled. He's smiling.

–
There's optimism, for you! Heaven? What would you be doing in heaven? If there was any justice, Dingwall, I'd be poking you with a pitchfork. Do you know how heavy you are?

I prop myself up on my elbows. Everything hurts. My stomach muscles hurt. My side hurts. My hair hurts. Actually, my hair hurts a lot. My feet hurt. I feel wonderful.

“You keep telling me that. So I guess you pulled me out of the water?”

–
Uh-huh.

“Dived in after me and grabbed me before I sank? Pulled me up the beach by my collar?”

– Actually, by your hair.

No wonder it hurts. I sit up straight. “Well, thanks, Norbert. Thanks a lot.” He looks away. “I mean it,” I say.

–
Uh-huh.

The country singer is going skydiving and rocky mountain climbing. I look around for the radio, and notice a colorful shell. I reach for it.

“Hey! Put that back!”

The voice sounds sort of familiar, dry and grumpy. I turn. A crab stands stiffly, claws poised over his head, eyes out on the end of their stalks. They glare at me.

“Drop the shell!” he says.

“It's pretty,” I say.

“Drop it! Drop it at once!”

I turn to Norbert. “He reminds me of the guy in charge of the storeroom in Betunkaville,” I say.

–
I know The Jim has a brother somewhere
, says Norbert.

“The Jim?” The little crab waves his claws menacingly over his head. “Who speaks of The Jim? The Jim went away! He didn't think the dale was big enough! Now I am The Dale! The only Dale. Drop the shell, I say! No touching! This dale is mine.”

I put down the shell. It is a pretty one: whorls and whirls in a rainbow of color.

“You're looking at the shell!” He scuttles over to it and buries it under the sand. “No looking!”

A different song begins to play. “Free-Falling.” I know this one. I start to hum along. The Dale rolls his eyes to the top of their stalks, and scuttles under a little beach umbrella nearby. Blue and white stripes, about the size of a handkerchief. The song stops. I guess he turned off his radio.

“No listening,” he calls, from under the umbrella.

I have to fight back a smile. “But now you can't hear the song, either.”

“I'll hear it as soon as you leave!”

He's tiny – smaller than my hand – but completely fearless. He walks right up to me. “Go away!” he says, waving his pincers. “Leave the dale. Leave like The Jim, and never come back!”

A stray thought enters my brain by a side door. “Which dale is this?” I ask.

He hesitates. He doesn't want to give anything away, not even information.

“If you tell us where we are,” I say, “we'll go. And you can play with your shell, and listen to your radio in peace.”

He hesitates. Then, “The Amyg Dale,” he says, in a low voice.

Thought so. “Hey, Norbert, isn't the Amyg Dale where we're supposed to turn away from the river?”

“Now, go!” cries the crabby crab.

And we do. I have to wring out my bathrobe and empty the water out of my slippers, but I'm ready to go a lot sooner
than you'd think. My hair hurts when I push it out of my eyes. My toes hurt when I wiggle them. But I can fly My quest is still alive. We fly back up the cliff together, Norbert and I, and head away from the Amyg Dale. Next stop, the Sudden Mountains.