[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
of those clinging absentee college students who called in once a week. They were used to long silences
from their distant, hard studying son. But a year?
What was his counselor at UCLA going to say? And his friends, and semi-regular dates like Suzanne
and Mariel?
They and everyone else were going to have to buy the story he d carefully worked out.
A unique opportunity had arisen (and that part of it was certainly no lie, he told himself) for him to go to
work for the government. When the inevitable question arose as to what sort of work that entailed, he
was going to smile knowingly and explain that he wasn t at liberty to go into details just now. Then his
parents and friends and everyone else would (hopefully) nod knowingly in turn and let the matter drop.
It wouldn t go over as well with the university administration. There would be classes abruptly
abandoned he would have to make up, professors to mollify. He was confident, though, that he could get
his life back on track.
The Volvo had turned out onto the highway, heading southeast toward the interstate. Trucks and cars
zipped past, belching fumes that reminded him of the swamplands. At first he thought there was a funny
smell in the air. Then he realized it was the air itself. There were no industries, no internal combustion
engines in the other world. The air there, if not the inhabitants, was pure.
Of course he was going back. Talea, the love of his life, was back there. The love of his life in that
world, anyway. What was Mariel doing these days? And Suzanne? What would they think of his exotic
gone-to-work-for-some-secret-government-agency story? Would it score points for him?
The young wife turned the radio to the local rock station and the Volvo was filled with the mellifluous
sounds of a Ronald McDonald clone hawking the opening of three new San Antonio area burger
Xanadus. Ads for Po Folks, underarm deodorant and used-cars-se-habla-espanol followed. The
Cowboys were on their way to the playoffs again. Nothing had changed since he d been gone.
Nothing much at all.
-A Great Deal Later-
The giant came trudging up the river road. He was impossibly tall and gaunt. A scraggly seaweed-like
growth clung to his face and there was a wild gleam in his eyes.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
The observer of this approaching apparition did not panic, did not flee. She stood her ground.
The giant saw her. Across his back was slung a thick wooden staff, knobbed at one end. Tied to and
around it were a number of bulging sacks. Perhaps he was a pedlar, the observer thought.
Hello there. The giant did not have a threatening voice. He sounded tired. What have we here?
By way of reply the observer darted forward and sank her teeth into the giant s leg midway between
knee and ankle. Letting out a yelp of pain, he began hopping about on one leg, trying to balance his
precarious load as he attempted to shake his attacker free. The third kick of that long limb sent her
sprawling.
Rolling to her feet, she began spitting ostentatiously while rubbing at her mouth. Phooey, phooey,
phooey! Stink!
Regaining his balance the giant felt of his not-too-severely injured leg and eyed the young otter warily,
ready to dodge or defend against another attack.
I can t say much for the resemblance, but the attitude is unmistakable. Will you go and tell your father
that an old friend is here to see him?
The young otter s brows drew together. She wore a frilly pair of short pants and a flowery necklace.
See Dada? Stinkman want to see Dada?
Yes. Jon-Tom couldn t repress a smile. When she wasn t trying to amputate his leg the little furball
was damn cute. See Dada.
The cub considered, then turned and scampered up the road. Come wid me.
As he followed, Jon-Tom drank in his surroundings. The forest appeared unchanged, eternal. The
belltrees tinkled melodiously at the merest hint of a breeze. Already the young otter was almost out of
sight. She would stop and turn to wait impatiently for him to catch up, then take off with another burst of
speed.
Quick-quick, stinkman! You too slow.
He would smile and try to lengthen his stride.
She led him to the bank of a large stream. Several homes were built on the gentle slope and as many
more in the sides of the banks themselves. His guide led him to one underground domicile which boasted
broad windows looking out over the water and a large oval doorway. As they drew near another trio of
youngsters materialized to cluster questioningly around him. Thankfully none of them decided to find out
what he tasted like.
His guide vanished inside. While he waited for her to return he set his burden down one sack at a time.
This did not allow him to relax, since he had to repeatedly but gently slap tiny paws away from straps and
seals.
You re your father s cubs, all right.
Who s father s cubs? snapped a demanding voice. Jon-Tom spun to confront the speaker. Eyes
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
locked.
For a moment Mudge was speechless, in itself sufficient indication of the shock he felt. Then he rushed
to greet his old friend. Tis a ghost. Hand met paw. No, tis too solid to be a ghost. I never thought
you d come back, mate. We d sort o given up ope, wot?
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]