Judith Merril - The Year's Greatest Science Fiction & Fantasy 2

Fowler and Mcintosh looked at each other, nodded, and jumped out the door. They fell to their knees in the unaccustomed gravity. They quickly arose, knocked the dust from their clothes, and started walking to where the helicopters were waiting.

The zoom lenses on the television cameras went to work and the faces of Fowler and Mcintosh side by side flashed across the country.

And the eyes were different. A network of deep tiny creases laced out from both corners of each eye. The crinkled appearance of the eyes made each man appear older than he actually was. And there was a look in those eyes of things seen from deep inside. It was a far look, a compelling look, a powerful look set in the eyes of normal men.

This story was first brought to my attention by that most congenial of fellow literary scavengers, Anthony Boucher. I read it, loved it, and wrote immediately to Maclean’s to inquire about the author and the rights.

Over a period of several months, and a jagged course of interference-running in correspondence with agents and publishers and publishers’ agents, I succeeded in acquiring the rights, and learning nothing at all about the author—but a good deal about the story. Prior to its Canadian publication. Grandfather appeared in a British anthology “A.D. 2500,” a collection of prize-winners from a contest run by the London Observer. And previous to that (or so someone told someone at Maclean’s who told it to me) it seems to have appeared in “a house organ of Barclay’s Bank.”

I do not know anything about Mr. Malpass or Barclay’s Bank; nor can I imagine what sort of banking institution would employ the sort of person I visualize the author of this story to be. I have my own thoroughly American cinema-eye’s-view of what a proper British bank, or banker, or bank clerk, should be, and I can only assume that Barclay’s was motivated, as am I, to overlook a few irregularities (such as original publication in 1955, and three previous reprints} when the occasion, and the story, warrant it. This is, in any case, the first American publication.

A.D. 2500

That was the year they brought the Electric to Pen-y-Graig Farm.

Wonderful it was, when Grandfather Griffiths pressed down the switch, and the great farm kitchen was flooded with light. There was Dai my father, and Mother, blinking and grinning in the light, and Electric-Plumber Williams, smug as you please, looking as though he had invented the Electric himself and sent it through the pipes. Only Gran was sad. Tears streaming down her face, she picked up the old paraffin lamp and carried it sadly out into the scullery.

That was funny about Gran. She was progressive, and left to herself she would have filled the house with refrigerators and atomic cookers and washers. But Grandfather called these things devil’s inventions, and would have none of them. And yet, when Grandfather at last agreed to the Electric, Gran was in tears. Reaction, Auntie Spaceship-Repairs Jones said it was.

“Well,” roared Grandfather. “There’s your Electric. But don’t think that because you’ve talked me into this you’ll talk me into any more of these devil’s inventions. Let no one mention the word spaceship in my presence ever again.”

That was intended for Gran. In her black clothes she was a rather pathetic-looking little woman, and no match at all for her fiery husband. But one thing she had always insisted that she wanted—a spaceship—and it had been a source of argument between them for years.

I tell you all this that you may know that we of Pen-y-Graig are not the backward savages that some people would have you believe. We are in touch with modern thought, even though we are apt to cling to the old ways. But what I really remember of those far-off golden days of 2500 is of how the first Expedition to the Moon set off, and of how it landed in Ten Acre Field, and of the strange events that followed.

Men had been trying to set off for the Moon for years, perhaps for centuries. But you know how it is. Something always happened to stop them. The weather was bad, or someone’s auntie died, or there was an eclipse. In the autumn of 2500, however, they were ready at last.

It was cold that evening, and we were sitting by the fire, enjoying the Electric. Grandfather was listening in; suddenly he jumps to his feet and shouts, “Blasphemy.”

No one took much notice, for if the old man didn’t jump up and shout, “Blasphemy,” at least once of an evening Gran thought he was sickening and gave him a purge.

So Gran said dutifully, “What is it, Mortimer?”

“Flying to the Moon, they are,” he cried. “The spaceship has just left London. And they’re dancing in the streets, and exploding fireworks in celebration. Sodom and—”

But at that moment there was a noise as of a great wind passing over, and then a terrible crash as though someone had picked up all our milk churns and dropped them on the Dutch barn. We ran outside, and there, in Ten Acre Field, a Thing was glinting in the frosty moonlight. Huge it was, like a great shining rocket.

Grandfather looked at it. “Lost their way, maybe,” he said with malicious satisfaction. Then he felt in his waistcoat pocket and took out a card and put it in my hand.

“Run you, Bronwen,” he said, “and give them the business card of Uncle Spaceship-Repairs Jones.”

But I was frightened, being but a little girl then, and clung to my mother’s skirts. So Dai my father started up the tractor without a word, and rode off to fetch Uncle Spaceship-Repairs Jones.

Down to the farm came the Moon Men, as the newspapers called them, their helmets bright in the moonlight, and soon Dai my father arrived. My uncle was sitting on the tractor with him, clutching a great spanner and grinning as pleased as Punch, and soon his banging and hammering came across the still air from Ten Acre.

One of the Moon Men took off his great helmet.

“Bit my tongue when we landed sudden,” he said.

“Nothing to what you will bite when you land on the Moon,” said my grandfather.

“That is what I am thinking,” the man replied. “And that is why I say they can have their old Moon. Back to Golders Green by first train it is for me.”

The leader took off his helmet at that. “Go to the Moon one short?” he cried. ‘That would never do.”

“I will go in his place,” said Dai my father quietly.

“You go? Never,” roared my grandfather. “No son of mine shall go gallivanting round among the planets.”

My father flushed angrily. But no one argued with Grandfather, and at that moment we heard Uncle Spaceship-Repairs Jones hollering that the Moon Ship was now as right as ninepence.

The Moon Men, all except the one who had bitten his tongue, set ofi for Ten Acre.

“I will come and see you off,” said Grandfather, and we watched him walk up the hill with the men.

With a great roar the Moon Ship rose into the sky, and climbed among the stars. Soon we could see it no more.

“Supper now,” said Gran.

We got the meal ready, and then someone said, “Where is Grandfather?”

All the grownups looked uneasy, and suddenly I was frightened and began to cry.

“Gone to talk to the old bull, maybe,” said Gran.

Silently my father picked up the lantern and went out into the fields. It was a long time before he came back.

“Gone,” he said. “Clean as a whistle.”

No one said anything.

Grandfather did not come back all night. Nor the next day.

Gran was worried.

Then, at dusk, Read-All-About-It Evans, instead of dropping our evening papers from his helicopter as he flew past, landed. He marched into the house and thrust the paper under my father’s nose, and said, “See you.”