“What do you think of that, Billy?”
“What made it go backwards, Grandpa? Vibrations?”
“That’s another question for the scientists, Bill. But if they don’t even believe water goes down the drain clockwise, how can they know about ‘twirly sticks’?”
He leans his head back and laughs. Is that a maniac laugh?
We do the rubbing-pouring business five or ten times and every try it comes out the same. Then Granddad goes over and sits in an old wicker chair he keeps back there in the middle of the greenhouse. It’s patched about six ways from the middle. Dad told me once Granddad actually made that chair himself over twenty years ago from switches he’d cut from trees in the Topanga streambed. I sit on a bench where he usually stores his empty flowerpots.
“OK, Billy, one more thing and this is more farfetched than the sink and the stick. But listen carefully.”
He looks at me as if he’s afraid I won’t believe him; he crosses his legs. His legs are so thin they hang like sticks to the ground so you hardly know they’re crossed. I’m ready to believe anything he’ll tell me; I’m beginning to think I have a freaky hidden genius for a grandfather and never even guessed it.
“Billy, I got interested in the Coriolis acceleration effect thirty years ago when I was working for Douglas. We were trying to figure some way to build an automatic Coriolis correction into the navigation systems of bombers. It was all very secret, and I worked on it more than a year. Finally, we had to give up. The reason for the Coriolis effect is the earth’s spinning, but it spins at different speeds according to how far from the equator you are. Right here in Los Angeles, we’re spinning about seven hundred and fifty miles per hour, but in Boston they’re only going about six hundred miles an hour; they don’t have as far to go every day. The whole thing got so complicated it beat me and I was moved over to work on something else. The pilots would just have to keep making the compensation themselves. You know if you start in Seattle flying to New York City you’ll wind up in Brazil if you don’t compensate for Coriolis.”
He’s still peering at me as if he’s afraid I won’t believe him.
“But, Billy, that Coriolis thing stuck in my mind; I got to be a sink-drain watcher. I never let the water out without watching it go all the way down, always clockwise.
“Then, back in 1953, just before your sister Martha was born, it started going the wrong way. It went the wrong way for three days, just before we had that big earthquake up in Bakersfield. It kept going wrong for six days after that earthquake. I didn’t say anything to anybody. What could these two things have to do with each other? It didn’t make sense, especially since one thing wasn’t supposed to be happening at all, anyway.
“Then, in 1971, we had that bad earthquake in Newhall, about twenty miles from here. I didn’t notice anything before; I wasn’t especially looking; but water went down the wrong way for five days afterwards. I told Joan this time because her house is even closer to Newhall; she checked and said the water went backwards there, too.
“Since then, both Joan and I’ve been keeping an eye on it. Two years ago, about this time, her water started going backward and she told me. We checked the sink here; sure enough, wrong way down. Two days later, there was an earthquake in the desert, one we didn’t feel here, but it was five point three on the Richter scale.”
He’s telling me all this in the most calm, matter-of-fact voice. Here he’s probably discovered something important and he’s playing around with it in his mind.
“Gee, that’s terrific, Granddad! Some scientists ought to know about this; maybe they can figure it out.”
“I have a better idea, Billy. I know a way we can check it ourselves and maybe have some fun.
“You know your grandma loves California but she’s always been scared to death of earthquakes. During that one in Newhall, we were sliding back and forth across the bedroom on our bed and I thought she’d die. Even a sonic boom can get her all worried. Now, with this heart attack of hers, it’d sure help if we could make some kind of earthquake predictor. What do you think?”
“Yeah, great, but how?”
“I think I know, Billy, but I’ll need your help.”
He holds his hand out in front of him.
“These hands aren’t steady as they once were and they’re definitely not so strong. Let’s you and me make our earthquake predictor together. We’ll keep it a secret till we’re finished. It’ll be a surprise for your grandmother.”
“What’ll we tell Grandma and Dad? They’ll want to know what we’re up to.”
“We’ll tell them it’s a secret. We have the right to a little secret. After it’s made and if it works, we’ll surprise them.”
“Yeah, but, Granddad, Grandma’s already having fits about you floating toy boats around in the sink. What am I supposed to tell her? What’s she going to think?”
“It’ll be all right, Billy; I’ll tell her we’re doing a scientific project. I’ll talk to her but there’s not much we can really do. You see, Grandma’s been convinced I’m crazy for a long time anyhow.”
He smiles and shakes his head as if this is the funniest thing in the world.
“Here, Billy, take this pencil and a piece of paper; write down these things to buy. First, a big clear plastic funnel, the largest you can find, at least twice as large as this one here. Then, a fishbowl about ten inches in diameter at the mouth; we’ll also need some plastic tubing with an inside diameter of five millimeters; a flashlight battery, a bulb, a door buzzer, and some of that new epoxy kind of glue. We’ll also want a small electric pump, the kind they use to pump out goldfish bowls; not an air pump, a water pump. You can get the pump, the bowl and the tubing at a pet shop. Also, get some green Easter-egg dye. I’ve got an old inner tube here in the workshop and that’s all I think we’ll need.”
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a wallet. He gives me a ten-dollar bill, then another five.
“If that’s not enough, Billy, just let me know.”
I go over what I’ve written down with him. It’s such a weird assortment I’d hate like hell explaining to Grandma or even Dad what it is I’m off buying.
In the house, Grandma comes scuffling out from the back bedroom. Grandpa gives her a big hug and kiss. She’s scared all right. She’s giving me the high sign to follow her back into the bedroom. I wink at Granddad and go on back with her.
“What is it, Billy? Why’s he acting so crazy? Did you see him kiss me, right there in front of you? He’s never done anything like that before.”
“Don’t worry, Grandma; he’s fine. He had a reason for all the business with the sink and the boats. He’s making a surprise for you and I’m helping him. Don’t you worry, he’s not crazy.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! You’re just as simple as your father and that psychiatrist. What’s he doing, building me a toy boat? I wouldn’t be surprised; I wouldn’t be surprised at anything he’d do. If he’s not crazy, then I must be; and if I’m not yet, then I will be soon enough. I can’t stand it!”
Even if I tell her, it won’t make any difference. I get on the bike and roll to Culver Center. I park behind a pet shop and in fifteen minutes I’ve got everything except the water pump. Nobody knows where I can even buy one.
When I get home, Granddad’s in the workshop; he has something taken apart on his workbench. It’s an old electric razor. I show him the stuff I bought and tell him about the pump.
“That’s OK, Billy, I was afraid of that. We can make a small pump from this old motor here.”
He points to the motor on the bench. How in hell can he make a pump from an electric-razor motor?
“You’ll have to do most of the work, Billy. But you’ll see, we’ll have a dandy little pump in a jiffy.”
We work all afternoon. He has me cut out tiny bellows from an inner tube; we glue these together with epoxy glue and glue this to some tubing. He shows me how to tie the bellows into the motor and, sure enough, when it’s h
ooked into a tube going to water, it pumps like crazy.
Next, we drill a small hole about halfway up the side of our funnel. Here we epoxy a piece of the inner tube on the inside of the funnel as a flap valve. Long as the water flows one way, the flap doesn’t open, but if it reverses, the flap lifts and water gets under.
Then we build a small T-junction with tubing where the water can come in. If water comes into the T, it completes the circuit through wires leading off to batteries. This sets off both a buzzer and a light.
We build a small box for the pump and he paints it black. Then we put the funnel in the mouth of the goldfish bowl. One end of the plastic tubing hangs over the funnel on a wired hook made from a coat hanger; the other goes through the pump, then back into the bowl. We fill our goldfish bowl with Easter-egg-green water. The water gets pumped up and flows into the funnel so there’s a continuous draining of the funnel with Coriolis whirlpool effect. Granddad rigs a waterproof light inside the fishbowl so it stays lit all the time.
It works perfectly. The water’s continually splashing in on top, spinning round, draining into the bowl, then being pumped up again. It’s absolutely hypnotic, like watching a washing machine or one of those volcanic lamps. It’s so beautiful it doesn’t matter if it predicts earthquakes or not. We’ll probably never know if it does, anyway.
In the meantime, Dad’s come home and Grandma’s all over him. Dad talks to me and I tell him how we’ve been building an invention. I tell him it’s a surprise for Grandma. Dad’s worried about how she’s taking it more than anything. I tell him we’ll be finished before bedtime and it’ll be OK. He says Marty’s really beginning to look pregnant and I should go over and visit. It’s weird thinking of Marty being pregnant, makes me feel old, makes her like more than a sister.
Dinner’s a drag, with Grandma all in a dither. Dad’s either quiet or trying to keep conversation going. Granddad and I are itching to get back out working.
It’s about eight when we’re finished. The paint on the boxes is still a bit sticky. I put the whole machine in a cardboard box and carry it into the living room. Granddad comes along behind me smiling his head off. It’s been one terrific day working with him.
Dad and Grandma are watching Little House on the Prairie; probably only Grandma’s watching, Dad’s keeping her company. I put our box on the floor beside the coffee table and hunt for an outlet. We set it up and I clap my hands.
“Folks, we are now going to have a demonstration of the greatest invention in our century, the one and only Earthquake Predictor. We are lucky tonight having with us the inventor himself, Herr Doktor John Tremont.”
Granddad sits on the couch smiling. I can tell Grandma’s nose is out of joint about a dirty cardboard box in the living room.
“Jacky, I’m telling you, those two are almost as simple as you are. What have you got in that box anyway, Billy? I won’t have any pets around my house; they only make a mess and I’m the one who does all the wiping up.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. They said it was an invention; it’s not a pet. Tell me, Tom Swift, what’s the chance this thing will blow up on us?”
“It’s safe, Johnny. Bess, I mean Bette, you know how you’ve always been worried about earthquakes? Well, we’ve solved the problem. This here invention tells when there’s going to be an earthquake; it’s an earthquake predictor. So long as it keeps running without giving any signals, you don’t have a worry in the world. If there’s going to be an earthquake, it starts a buzzer buzzing and a light comes on. You’ve got a couple days to get under a bed or wherever you think it’s safe.”
Granddad stands carefully and walks over to kiss Grandma again. She’s looking past him at me while he’s kissing her and I’m adjusting the predictor. I put the pump under the couch so it’s out of sight. The rest of it we’ve worked on so it looks professional. I’m ready to plug in. Granddad throws out his arms like a symphony orchestra conductor.
“Hold your hats, ladies and gents, here she goes!”
He points at me and I plug in. The light comes on, the motor starts and she’s pumping, pouring and spinning away, just like downtown. Grandma and Dad stare. Granddad’s explaining.
“See, it keeps going like that. If there’s going to be an earthquake, the water spins the other way and sets off our warning system. Now what do you think of that?”
I can’t keep my mouth shut.
“It’s an absolutely incredible invention and a work of art, that’s what I think. It’s a work of genius!”
Grandma’s pushing her finger into her cheek; she’s giggling, but looking worried.
“You two are out of your minds; it’s in the blood. Nobody with any sense would ever make up a crazy contraption like that.”
Dad’s interested in how it’s supposed to work. He’s leaning over and Granddad’s explaining the whole business about Coriolis and twirly sticks. I turn off the TV. The predictor spins along; it’s like having a tiny fountain or waterfall on your coffee table. It’s worth having a thing like this inside any house, earthquakes or not. I could sell this just to potheads. Grandma’s still bug-eyed and beetle-assed.
“Billy, I don’t know about earthquakes, but I’ll tell you one thing; you can’t keep that machine on the coffee table here in the living room. Just the bubbling would drive me crazy; it’s like something from Buck Rogers. Jack, maybe you can put it up out in the greenhouse, then just tell me if it starts buzzing.”
So that’s the end of it. Granddad looks at me and smiles. I don’t think any of us could expect her to take it any other way. To be honest, I’m sort of glad. I move the predictor into the back bedroom with me and put it on the chest beside my bed. I go to sleep that night watching it. I slowly close my eyes and pretend I’m listening to a waterfall. I’d sure be surprised if the damned thing started buzzing in the middle of the night.
22
I’m glad when Friday comes so I can take Mom to see Delibro. After the earthquake predictor, Mom’s convinced Dad’s dangerously insane.
She dolls herself up and, except for stops to get her breath, you’d never guess her age or know she’s been so sick.
Delibro told me he only wants to explore her relationship with Dad; I imagine he’s feeling something.
In the waiting room, Mom’s wary as a fox. Her eyes comb everything; a special sniff for the Japanese secretary.
Delibro comes out and goes into his loving-son act again. Mom’s flattered; I hadn’t noticed before but, for a short type, he’s a good-looking guy. Maybe he really isn’t and he’s only pulled some hypnotic job on us.
Mom drives right into the heart of things.
“Did you really call my husband a genius, or is Jacky making that up? You never know.”
Talk about frontal attack, she’s come on with machine guns and howitzers blazing. I jump in.
“Mother’s concerned because yesterday Dad made an invention he’s calling an earthquake predictor. Maybe he’ll tell you about it when he comes.”
There’s no way to signal. Mother’s cornered us so we’re both covered by her field of fire. I hope I’ve blunted her first thrust but it’s not that easy.
“Can you imagine, he has green water running through a funnel into a lit goldfish bowl and he insists it’s going to predict earthquakes. Scientists all over the world with millions of dollars haven’t been able to manage this, but he thinks he’s done it with ten dollars’ worth of dime-store junk. Call that genius if you want, but I call it plain crazy.”
Well, it’s out. Let’s see Delibro earn his money.
“That’s very interesting, Mrs. Tremont. Would you come in and tell just how this happened? I’m sure it’s been an awful strain on your nerves, especially now when you must be so concerned with your heart.”
He’s smiling like a Fifth Avenue apartment-house doorman. He almost puts his arm around her, but without touching, and leads her into his office.
He’s good all right; how the hell did he know about Mom’s nerves? I didn’t
tell him, and Mom’s been talking about her nerves since I was six months old.
I was twelve before I realized nerves weren’t something like fingers, separate, that you could wiggle. I was sure Mom had a special pair dangling on her somewhere, hidden.
Delibro manages to squeeze off a quick blink at me to stay in the waiting room. I settle down with a book I brought along; one of those Rex Stout-Nero Wolfe things.
An hour later they come out. Mom’s still blabbing away as if she’d never stopped. She probably didn’t. Delibro doesn’t look quite so debonaire; a bit shopworn, or maybe the hypnotic trance is worn off. He’s flashing signals madly. He wants me to stay on but there’s no way I can get loose without ruining the whole thing. He’s trying to carry on his sign-language conversation under Mom’s vigilance but it’s hopeless.
I steer Mom outside. In the elevator, she looks around to make sure it isn’t bugged, then leans against me and giggles.
“You know, Jacky” —giggle, giggle— “I think he’s crazy, too. He was asking the most personal questions; questions nobody’s ever asked me, questions about our sex life even. What in heaven’s name has that got to do with Daddy being crazy? I’ll tell you, if he wants to talk about your father and sex, he doesn’t know the half! When I first told Fanny Hogan the things we were doing, she said I ought to notify the police and leave him, that he’s perverted and it comes from all the so-called Indian blood. I told the priest in confession and he said he’d pray for me. Fat lot of good that did; when your father gets excited, police, priest, prayers or nothing is going to stop him.”
I keep my mouth shut. I’m waiting till I talk with Delibro. I smile, nod my head and act as if she’s talking about the color of her new shoes.
“This one’s just another hippy, too, Jacky. Did you see that mustache? No sensible woman would ever have anything to do with a man in a mustache like that; he looks like a walrus. I’ll bet he isn’t even married.”
Her walrus image, or maybe some spring-off from his not being married, or maybe only nervousness, starts her giggling again. I don’t remember Mom giggling much before; it’s the dirtiest, most intimate damned giggle I’ve ever heard. But I keep cool, hustle her into the car and home.