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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
And even as he said it, he knew it was unbelievable, that once be stood outside the door, he'd know with certainty
there could be no truth in what he'd found.
The Sitter rose. "You will come again? We would love to have you."
"Perhaps," said Dean, and turned toward the door.
Suddenly there was a top spinning on the floor, a golden top with flashing jewels set in it that caught the light and
scattered it in a million flashing colors, and as it spun, it played a whistling tune - the kind of music that got inside and
melted down one's soul.
Dean felt himself let go - as, sitting in the chair, he had thought it was impossible for him to do. And the laughter
came again and the world outside withdrew and the room suddenly was filled with the marvelous light of Christmas.
He took a quick step forward and he dropped his hat. He didn't know his name, nor where he was, nor how he might
have come there, and he didn't care. He felt a gurgling happiness welling up in him and he stooped to reach out for the
top.
He missed it by an inch or two and he shuffled forward, stooping, reaching, and his toe caught in a hole in the
ancient carpeting and he crashed down on his knees.
The top was gone and the Christmas light snapped out and the world rushed in upon him. The gurgling happiness
had gone and he was an old man in a beauty-haunted house, struggling from his knees to face an alien creature.
"I am sorry," said the Sitter. "You almost had it. Perhaps some other time."
He shook his head. "No! Not another time!"
The Sitter answered kindly, "It's the best we have to offer.'
Dean fumbled his hat back on his head and turned shakily to the door. The Sitter opened it and he staggered out.
"Come again," the Sitter said, most sweetly. "Any time you wish."
On the street outside, Dean stopped and leaned against a tree. He took off his hat and mopped his brow.
Now, where he had felt only shock before, the horror began creeping in - the horror of a kind of life that did not eat as
human beings ate, but in another way, who sucked their nourishment from beauty and from youth, who drained a
bouquet dry and who nibbled from the happy hours of laughing child, and even munched the laughter.
It was no wonder that the children of this village matured beyond their years. For they had their childishness
stripped from them by a hungry form of life that looked on them as fodder. There might be, he thought, only so much
of happy running and of childish laughter dealt out to an human. And while some might not use their quota, there still
might be a limit on it, and once one had used it all, then it was gone and a person became an adult without too much of
wonder or of laughter left within him.
The Sitters took no money. There was no reason that they should, for they had no need of it. Their house was filled
with all the provender they had stowed away for years.
And in all those years, he was the first to know, the first to sense the nature of those aliens brought home by Lamont
Stiles. It was a sobering thought - that he should be the first to find it out. He had said that he was old and that might
be the reason. But that had been no more than words rising to his lips almost automatically as a part of his
professional self-pity. Yet there might be something in it even so.
Could it be possible that, for the old, there might be certain compensations for the loss of other faculties? As the
body slowed and the mind began to dim, might some magical ability, a sort of psychic bloodhound sense, rise out of
the embers of a life that was nearly spent?
He was always pothering around about how old he was, he told himself, as if the mere fact of getting old might be a
virtue. He was forgetful of the present and his preoccupation with the past was growing to the danger point. He was
close to second childhood and he was the one who knew it - and might that be the answer? Might that be why he'd
seen the top and known the Christmas lights?
He wondered what might have happened if he could have grabbed the top.
He put his hat back on and stepped out from the tree and went slowly up the walk, heading back for home.
What could he do about it, he wondered, now that he'd unearthed the Sitters' secret? He could run and tattle, surely, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
