Robert Heinlein - The Number of the Beast

"Chief Pilot, ground at will. Hilda, do the Oz books have bathrooms in them? I don't recall."

"Nor do I, Jacob," I answered. "But there are plenty of bushes."

In three or four minutes Deety had us grounded, with Gay using Deety's new program. I thanked my husband for deciding to ground. "There was never any doubt," he said. "Not only would you and Deety never have spoken to me again, I would never have spoken to me again. But if I meet a living scarecrow, I may go stark, raving mad."

"Where Cat is, is civilization."

Deety:

I found a clearing in the woods, a hundred meters from the Palace and screened from it by elms and walnut trees. I had Gay range it, told her three times that it was a scram spot-then she landed herself, slick as Zebadiah.

I unstrapped, opened the bulkhead door, and crawled aft to get clean suits- and thought better of it. Aunt Hilda had followed me and headed straight for a special locker. I rolled into lotus and asked, "Hillbilly, what are you going to wear?"

"The dress I got married in and the wedding ring Jacob had made for me in Windsor City."

"Jewelry?"

"Nothing fancy."

Mama Jane told me years ago that Aunt Hilda's instinct for clothes was infallible. I got the dress I wore to hook Zebadiah, a pendant Pop had given me, my wedding ring, my dancing slippers. Put my darling in mess jacket? No, but in tights topped off with a white silk bolero shirt I made for him at Snug Harbor. Red sash, dancing pumps, jockey shorts-yes, that was all he needed.

I wiggle-wormed forward, clutching clothing. Our men were still in their seats, Gay's doors closed. I said, "Why the closed doors? It's warm and stuffy."

"Look out to the left," said Zebadiah.

I looked. A little storybook cottage with a sign over the door: WELCOME.

It had not been there when we grounded. "I see," I agreed. "Shuck off your work clothes and pull on shorts and tights. Pop, Hilda has your trousers."

"Deety, is that all you have to say?"

"What should I say, sir? Pop, you have taken us to some strange places. But in Oz I am not a stranger in a strange land. I know what to expect."

"But damn it all-"

"Shush, Zebadiah. One does not say 'damn' in Oz. Not any sort of profanity or vulgarity. These are no longer teats; they aren't even breasts-it's my bosom and I never mention it. Vocabulary limited to that of the Mauve Decade. Mildest euphemisms."

"Deety, I'm durned if I'll be anything but myself."

"Sir, I speak professionally. One does not use FORTRAN to a computer that knows only LOGLAN. Captain, can we open up?"

"Just a moment," my father put in. "Deety, you called me 'Captain.' But I resigned, effective on grounding."

"Wait a half!" Zebadiah interrupted. "You'll do at least as much punishment time as I did-you earned it, old buddy."

"All right," Pop agreed, "but you decided that time on the ground counts. We'll likely need a new captain when we lift. Let's elect the victim now."

"Reelect Pop," I suggested. "He flunked and should do it over."

"Daughter!"

"Joking, Pop-as long as you bear in mind that you did flunk and never again give a captain a bad time. I nominate my husband."

"Let's do this right." Pop got out four file cards.

I wrote "Zebadiah" on mine, handed it to Pop. Hilda declared them, showing us each one: Deety-Deety-Deety--Deety. I gasped. "Hey! I demand a recount! No, a new election-somebody cheated." I made so much fuss that they let me have it. I wrote "Zebadiah" on my fresh ballot, placed it face up on the Chief Pilot's seat, placed the other three, one by one, on top of it, then declared them myself: Deety-Deety-Deety-then, in my own handwriting: Deety.

I gave up. (But resolved to have a word with the Wizard.)

It was a pretty cottage with a broad stoop and a climbing rose-but not to live in, just one room with a table and no other furniture. The table held a bowl of fruit, a pitcher of milk, four tumblers. There was a door to the right and a door to the left; the one on the left had painted on it a little girl in a sunbonnet, the other had a boy in a Buster Brown suit.

Hilda and I headed for the sunbonnet. I snatched a glass of milk and a bunch of grapes, and put on a milk moustache; I hadn't tasted milk in ages. Delicious!

Hilda was drawing a tub and had peeled off her dress. The window was open but up high, so I peeled off mine. We made ourselves clean and "beautiful," i.e., we restored our fanciest hairdos but without jewelry. Whatever we needed, that bath and dressing room had, from a sponge to lipstick Aunt Hilda's shade.

We hurried and did it in forty-two minutes. Zebadiah looked beautiful and Pop looked just as smart in dark trousers and a richly simple Aloha shirt.

"We thought you," said my husband, "had gone down the drain."

"Zebadiah, we took forty-two minutes. If you did it in less than thirty, you aren't clean."

"Smell me."

I sniffed him-a faint fragrance of soap, a touch of shaving lotion. "You took more than thirty minutes. Kiss me."

"Thirty-six minutes, by my watch. Say 'Please."

I said "Please" and he caught me with my lips open, he always does. Zebadiah just suits me and I haven't been sulky with him and stubborn only when necessary.

There was a path toward the Palace. Pop, with Aunt Hilda on his arm, led off; we followed. Aunt Hilda was carrying her high-heeled sandals, so I took mine off, and glanced back toward the clearing. The little cottage was missing, as I expected. Zebadiah noticed it but said nothing. His face was an interesting study.

The grassy path debouched into a garden in front of the Palace; the path through it was hard, so Hilda and I put on our shoes. Glinda's Palace was more like a Norman chateau or Bertie's "Stately Home of England" than it was like those dreary castles on the Rhine-but it had fairyland grace, like the Taj.

As we started up the sweeping marble steps to the great doorway Zebadiah stumbled. "What the hell?"

"Sssh!" I said. "Language, dear. A magic staircase. Glinda would not make her guests climb. Pretend that Escher designed it. Look proud and walk as if they were level."

As we reached the broad landing two tall trumpeters stepped out of the great doorway, raised their long trumpets, and sounded four flourishes. An old man with a merry grin, a fringe of whiskers, a shiny bald head, a wooden left leg, and wearing a sailor's oilskins, came out as the flourishes ended. I wondered why he was here rather than Emerald City.

He took a pipe from his mouth and said, "Welcome to the Palace of Glinda the Good! I'm Cap'n Bill. You, sir, are Doctor Burroughs the Wizard, with your wonderful wife the Princess Hilda. You must be Cap'n Zeb Carter-Howdy, Cap'n!-and everybody knows Deety; she's spent so much of her life in Oz. Howdy, Deety! Last time I seen you you warn't more'n knee high to a tall duck. And now look at you! Almost up to my shoulder and married! Congratulations, Cap'n! Yer a lucky man!"

"I think so, Captain."

"I know so. Deety, Ozma sends her love and sez to tell you that you and your family are welcome in the Royal Kingdom as long as you like."

"Please thank Her Royal Majesty for me, Cap'n Bill." (Actually I'm taller than Cap'n Bill now-but of course I'll always be a little girl to him. It's nice.)

"Oh, I will, I will! Come inside, folks: we ain't formal here. Or I ain't. This ain't my reg'lar job; I'm standing this watch for a friend." He took my hand;

his hand was horny and felt like Zebadiah's-and just as gentle. He led ~ inside. "Where's Trot?" I asked.

"Around somewhere; you'll see her. Prob'ly picking out her best hair ribbon

in your honor. Or maybe helping Betsy with Hank-little Betsy ain't happy unless she's workin'; Neptune knows that mule gets more attention than all the mules that ever came out of Mizzoura. This way to the Library, friends."