Chapter 1
In which George McGrath is humbled by an unlikely event
and finds
Insanity to be the best explanation
Early Spring, 1997
Pablo and his father explored old man Crane's cottage and
Zippy dogged their heels. Zippy was mighty curious about
this. What in the world, he must have thought in his little
spotted terrier mind, what on earth are these people doing
in my house?
"Knock it off, Zippy!" Pablo yelled,
turning and shaming the little dog for nosing his butt when
he squatted down to look under the sink.
"He's just being a dog, son," Pablo's father,
George McGrath, said tolerantly. "He's protecting his
property."
Pablo stood up and meandered back to the sofa
where his dad was shuffling through unopened mail. Pablo
was seven, almost eight. "Where did old man Crane go
anyway?"
"Mister Crane, son. He's on vacation.
He works hard and it's high time he had a little break.
You know how hard he works."
George kept sorting mail, inspecting odd postmarks
and return addresses.
"But why didn't he take Zippy? I mean,
his own dog? How could he do that?"
George just sighed knowingly about how splendidly
absolute life can be for a second grader. Total love, total
devotion, total commitment. Pablo could never conceive of
going away and leaving his dog behind. If he had a dog.
Pets were verboten because of his mother's allergies.
Pablo looked curiously at Old Man Crane's
antique console radio while Zippy looked curiously at Pablo's
sock. "When's mom coming home, Dad?" Pablo worried,
still peering at the yellow crescent dial.
George put down the letters. Sometimes he
was sure the boy could read minds. "Thursday night,
son. American flight 517, gate 27, concourse C. I got it
covered. You miss her?"
Pablo nodded distractedly. He stood at the
front window and held the lace curtain aside. "Dad!"
he whispered excitedly, "You gotta see this. Come 'ere!"
George lifted his chin and rocked back without
leaving the sofa. He could see out of the front window well
enough. He saw a green and white police car with the driver's
door open.
"Huh-oh," George said. He rose slowly
to his feet. "Don't worry, son. We're legal. Old Man
Crane asked us to look after the house, is all. This is
not a problem."
But as he walked closer to the window he saw
that the cop wasn't interested in them or the house at all.
He had his nickel plated revolver drawn and held it nervously
in a two-handed crouch position on the other side of the
car.
"I've never seen this for real,"
Pablo said quietly, the awe in his voice plainly audible.
"Jeezus, get down," George said,
fearing stray bullets.
They both crouched but refused to actually
get all the way down. They stayed a foot or two back from
the window as if that would have any effect on stray bullets,
and watched the scene unfold. Five feet in front of the
cop's silvery gun they saw a man in an odd uniform standing
quite casually with a toy M-60 machine gun hanging loosely
in his hand.
"Who's that guy?" Pablo asked, looking
at the pale blue plastic rifle which the man held like it
weighed only a few ounces, which it probably did, and the
man's strange khaki jumpsuit with zippers and Velcro straps
and some sort of insignia on the shoulder. The guy was tall
and slim and wore heavy sunglasses.
"I have no idea who he is," George
said absently. They crept closer to the window and leaned
on the sill. Zippy stood on his hind legs between them and
looked out too. He issued a low, warning growl and twitched
his ears.
Then the strange man with the toy gun pointed
his finger at the cop and the cop lowered his gun. Pablo
and George looked at each other and then looked back in
time to see the cop get back in his car and drive off. Pablo
and Zippy hurried to the screen door for a better look.
"Stay back, son," George said cautiously.
"We don't know what's going on."
Which was exactly why Pablo and Zippy were
pressing their noses against the screen.
The tall man in the funny suit stood at ease
on the sidewalk and looked around the street. The park on
the other side of the street was broad and treeless, big
enough for two football fields and a baseball diamond. Trees
and shops on the other side of the field looked far away.
The man walked up to Old Man Crane's walkway and turned
toward the house. He saw Pablo and Zippy behind the screen
and held up a step.
"I didn't think anyone was here,"
the man said.
Pablo stood up to his full four foot height
and Zippy twitched his ears. George put the stack of mail
down on the breakfast counter and tugged at his gray cardigan.
The man walked up and stopped at the front steps.
"You alone in there?" the stranger
asked. "I mean, just you and your dog."
"Not my dog," Pablo said without
a trace of welcome. He was put off by the rinky toys and
the dufuss flight suit.
George stepped up and cracked the screen door.
"What can we do for you, Mister?" George asked
neighborly but cheerlessly.
The stranger stepped up to the door. He spoke
to George face to face through the screen. "I'd get
you and your kid outta here, my friend," he said. His
eyes darted left and right but he couldn't see much. "I
mean, it's not safe. I'm with the gas company and there's
been a complaint of a leak."
George turned his head askance. The guy nodded
persuasively and pointed to the patch on his shoulder. "Pacific
Gas and Electric" was embroidered in a blue logo.
George put his hand on Pablo's shoulder and
hauled him back behind him. Zippy twitched all up and down
his short, springy spine.
"This is Sulphur Springs," George
said, using his old debate team voice. "We're on the
Gulf of Mexico, not the Pacific."
The stranger sighed and slumped. He looked
perturbed. He turned to show his other shoulder. This patch
read, "Sulphur Springs Gas Co."
But the man turned and stepped back a few
inches, shifting impatiently and glancing behind him. "Okay,
okay," he said. He looked down at Pablo and back up
to George. "An alien spacecraft is going to come out
of the sky in about thirty seconds and blast this cottage
to plasma. Obviously, you're not the old man who's supposed
to be living in it so I advise you to book out before it's
too late."
George watched the stranger who gave him back
one more long stare. George looked at him real close and
then flicked his eyes up past the guy's ear, using his professor's
unspoken glare of censure to repel this nuisance visitor,
whatever brand of miscreant or traveling salesman he proved
to be. The stranger, evidently a college dropout seemed
to read the stern look and turned away.
He walked down the short steps and out to
the sidewalk. Pablo pressed close to the screen as the stranger
stopped and scanned the sky.
"Jeez," George remarked, stepping
over to the kitchen window to see better. He shook his head
in amazement. "What in hell is this all about?"
Pablo dropped his head and let his pate rest
on the flaking green door frame. "Did you hear what
he said, Dad? We're gonna die," he said.
George heard him and turned to look, accepting
tons of guilt about the boy's watching too much cable television.
Pablo pushed back with his hands and let his head bang against
the door frame two or three times. "We're – gonna
– die."
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