going."
I nearly said, "To where we're going?" but I didn't, because Mama had neverlooked so serious in all my born days. So I spent an hour hunkered down inthere, listening to the clatter of the wheels and trying to guess where we weregoing. When I heard the trap stop and a set of wooden doors close, all myguesses dried up and blew away, because I couldn't think of anywhere we would'veheard those sounds out in the desert.
So imagine my surprise when I stood up and found us right in our very ownhorsebarn, having made a circle around town and back to where we'd started from!Mama held a finger up to her lips and then took Mr Johnstone's soft, girlishhand as he helped her down from the trap.
My Pa and Mr Johnstone started shifting one of the piles of hay-bales thatstacked to the rafters, until they had revealed a triple-bolted door that lookednew and sturdy, fresh-sawn edges still bright and yellow, and not the weatheredbrown of the rest of the barn.
Pa took a key ring out of his vest pocket and unlocked the door, then swung itopen. Each of us shouldered our bags and walked through, in eerie silence, intoa pitch black room.
Pa reached out and pulled the door shut, then there was a sharp click and wewere in 1975.
#
1975 was a queer sight. Our apartment was a lozenge of silver, spoked into thehub of a floating null-gee doughnut. Pa did something fancy with his hands andthe walls went transparent, and I swear, I dropped to the floor and hugged thenubby rubber tiles for all I was worth. My eyes were telling me that we werehundreds of yards off the ground, and while I'd jumped from the rafters of thehorsebarn into the hay countless times, I suddenly discovered that I was afraidof heights.
After that first dizzying glimpse of 1975, I kept my eyes squeezed shut and heldon for all I was worth. After a minute or two of this, my stomach told me that Iwasn't falling, and I couldn't hear any rushing wind, any birdcalls, anythingexcept Mama and Pa laughing, fit to bust. I opened one eye and snuck a peek. Myfolks were laughing so hard they had to hold onto each other to stay up, andthey were leaning against thin air, Pa's back pressed up against nothing at all.
Cautiously, I got to my feet and walked over to the edge. I extended one fingerand it bumped up against an invisible wall, cool and smooth as glass in winter.
"James," said my Pa, smiling so wide that his thick moustache stretched all theway across his face, "welcome to 1975."
#
Pa's ambassadorial mission meant that he often spent long weeks away from home,teleporting in only for Sunday dinner, the stink of aliens and distant worldsclinging to him even after he washed up. The last Sunday dinner I had with him,Mama had made mashed potatoes and corn bread and sausage gravy and turkey,spending the whole day with the wood-fired cooker back in 1898 (actually, it was1901 by then, but I always thought of it as 1898). She'd moved the cooker intothe horsebarn after a week of wrestling with the gadgets we had in our 1975kitchen, and when Pa had warned her that the smoke was going to raise questionsin New Jerusalem, she explained that she was going to run some flexible exhausthose through the door into 75 and into our apt's air-scrubber. Pa had shook hishead and smiled at her, and every Sunday, she dragged the exhaust pipe throughthe door.
That night, Pa sat down and said grace, and he was in his shirtsleeves with hissuspenders down, and it almost felt like home -- almost felt like a millionSunday dinners eaten by gaslight, with a sweaty pitcher of lemonade in themiddle of the table, and seasonal wildflowers, and a stinky cheroot for Paafterwards as he tipped his chair back and rested one hand on his belly, as ifhe couldn't believe how much Mama had managed to stuff him this time.
"How are your studies coming, James?" he asked me, when the robutler hadfinished clearing the plates and clattered away into its nook.
"Very well, sir. We're starting calculus now." Truth be told, I hated calculus,hated Isaac Newton and asymptotes and the whole smelly business. Even with theviral learning shots, it was like swimming in molasses for me.
"Calculus! Well, well, well --" this was one of Pa's catch-all phrases, like"How _about_ that?" or "What do you know?" "Well, well, well. I can't believehow much they stuff into kids' heads here."
"Yes, sir. There's an awful lot left to learn, yet." We did a subject every twoweeks. So far, I'd done French, Molecular and Cellular Biology, Physics andAstrophysics, Esperanto, Cantonese and Mandarin, and an alien language whosename translated as "Standard." I'd been exempted from History, of course, alongwith the other kids there from the past -- the Chinese girl from the MingDynasty, the Roman boy, and the Injun kid from South America.
Pa laughed around his cigar and crossed his legs. His shoes were so big, theylooked like canoes. "There surely is, son. There surely is. And how are youdoing with your classmates? Any tussles your teacher will want to talk to meabout?"
"No, sir! We're friendly as all get-out, even the girls." The kids in 75 didn'teven notice what they were doing in school. They just sat down at theirworkstations and waited to have their brains filled with whatever was going on,and left at three, and never complained about something being too hard or toodull.
"That's good to hear, son. You've always been a good boy. Tell you what: youbring home a good report this Christmas, and I'll take you to see Saturn's ringson vacation."
Mama shot him a look then, but he pretended he didn't see it. He stubbed out hiscigar, hitched up his suspenders, and put on his tailcoat and tophat andambassadorial sash and picked up his leather case.
"Good night, son. Good night, Ulla. I'll see you on Wednesday," he said, andstepped into the teleporter.
That was the last time I ever saw him.
#
"He died from bad snails?" Oly Sweynsdatter said to me, yet again.
I balled up a fist and stuck it under his nose. "For the last time, yes. Ask meagain, and I'll feed you this."
I'd been back for a month, and in all that time, Oly had skittered around melike a shy pony, always nearby but afraid to talk to me. Finally, I'd grabbedhim and shook him and told him not to be such a ninny, tell me what was on hismind. He wanted to know how my Pa had died, over in France. I told him thereason that Mama and Mr Johnstone and the man from the embassy had worked outtogether. Now, I regretted it. I couldn't get him to shut up.
"Sorry, all right, sorry!" he said, taking a step backwards. We were in theorchard behind the schoolyard, chucking rotten apples at the tree-trunks towatch them splatter. "Want to hear something?"
"Sure," I said.
"Tommy Benson's sweet on Marta Helprin. It's disgusting. They hold hands -- _inchurch_! None of the fellows will talk to him."
I didn't see what the big deal was. Back in 75, we had had a two-week session onsexual reproduction, like all the other subjects. Most of the kids there werealready in couples, sneaking off to low-gee bounceataria and renting privatecubes with untraceable cash-tokens. I'd even tussled with one girl, KatebeM'Buto, another exchange student, from United Africa Trading Sphere. I'd pickedher up at her apt, and her father had even shaken my hand -- they grow up fastin UATS. Of course, I'd never let on to my folks. Pa would've broken an axle."That's pretty disgusting, all right," I said, unconvincingly.
"You want to go down to the river? I told Amos and Luke that I'd meet them afterlunch."
I didn't much feel like it, but I didn't know what else to do. We walked down tothe swimming hole, where some boys were already naked, swimming and horsingaround. I found myself looking away, conscious of their nudity in a way that I'dnever been before -- all the boys in town swam there, all summer long.
I turned my back to the group and stripped down, then ran into the water asquick as I could.
I paddled around a little, half-heartedly, and then I found myself being pulledunder! My sinuses filled with water and I yelled a stream of bubbles, and closedmy mouth on a swallow of water. Strong hands pulled at my ankles. I kicked outas hard as I could, and connected with someone's head. The hands loosened and Ishot up like a cork, sputtering and coughing. I ran for the shore, and saw oneof the Allen brothers surfacing, rubbing at h
is head and laughing. The fourAllen boys lived on a ranch with their parents out by the salt flats, and weonly saw them when they came into town with their folks for supplies. I'd neverliked them, but now, I saw red.
"You pig!" I shouted at him. "You stupid, rotten, pig! What the heck do youthink you were doing?"
The Allens kept on laughing -- I used to know some of their names, but in thetime I'd been in 75, they'd grown as indistinguishable as twins: big, hard boyswith their heads shaved for lice. They pointed at me and laughed. I scooped up aflat stone from the shore and threw it at the head of the one who'd pulled meunder, as hard as I could.
Lucky