Duel (20 page)

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Authors: Richard Matheson

BOOK: Duel
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A man behind Ruth was trying to shove her aside so he could jump down.
“Look out!” I yelled like a raging animal, reduced suddenly by fear and concern. If I'd had a gun I'd have shot him.
Ruth let the man drop. He scrambled to his feet, breathing feverishly and ran down the alley. The building was shaking and quivering. The air was filled with the roar of the engines now.
“Ruth!” I yelled.
She dropped and I caught her. We regained our balance and started up the alley. I could hardly breathe. I had a stitch in my side.
As we dashed into the street we saw Johnson moving through the ranks of scattered people trying to herd them together.
“Here now!” he was calling. “Take it easy!”
We ran up to him. “Johnson!” I said. “The ship, it's …”
“Ship?” He looked incredulous.
“The house! It's a rocket ship! It's …” The ground shook wildly.
Johnson turned away to grab someone running past. My breath caught and Ruth gasped, throwing her hands to her cheeks.
Johnson was still looking at us; with that third eye. The one that had a smile with it.
“No,” Ruth said shakily. “No.”
And then the sky, which was growing light, grew dark. My head snapped around. Women were screaming their lungs out in terror. I looked in all directions.
Solid walls were blotting out the sky.
“Oh my God,” Ruth said. “We can't get out.
It's the whole block.
”
Then the rockets started.
LONESOME, VENUS GAL,
pretty—yes, nice in socializing; tender and gay altogether. Be pleased to write earthman of like fixtures.
Loolie
—
Greener Abode
—
Venus
July 5, 1951
DEAR LOOLIE:
I don't know what I'm getting myself in for, but I'm too tired to care. Ever spend a night on astro-physical calculus? Well, I just did and I'm groggy.
So I'm taking your ad straight. What the heck, it doesn't matter. Sat down for a relaxing half hour before sacking out and I feel like shooting off my big fat typewriter so here I am with a cup of java.
I don't care if you live on Venus or Pluto or in a little grass shack in Kehalick Kahooey Hawaii. I just hope you're not selling something.
You know, it
would
be interesting to know if there really was anyone on Venus, or Mars or any other of those damn rolling spitballs that circle old Sol for a good punch.
Okay. I'll assume you know nothing about Earth. So you don't know a ting. Dat's slang. Don't you jes' love Earth, LONESOME VENUS GAL?
What's the game old gal? What's the double talk? Socializing? I'll have you investigated, s'blood.
Pretty—yes. What's that?
As for me: pretty—no.
But I'm gay altogether too. I wake up late at night and just gay altogether all over the place. ‘Specially if Willy and I (my roommate) have imbibed a few tankards of that mizzible brew they say is squeezed from the waving grain.
You have beer on Venus?
Venus. Venus. One Touch Of. That's a musical show down here. Venus was goddess of Love, I believe. Do you look like Mary Martin? Guess not. If you happen to look like Ava Gardner—hold that rocket ship Sam, I'm packin' mah duds now.
Who am I? This repulsive young lad who communicates in semifacetious vein? Who regales yo poor blinkers wif giddy persiflage?
Name's Todd Baker. Taking the Astronomy Unit here at Fort College in Fort, Indiana. College endowed by a rich old bugger who went off his nut over the Fortean prose.
You know it just struck me that if you were really on Venus (which I keep forgetting because I think that's a load of—
ah
ha ha!)
Anyway if you really were on the misty ghost world out thar yonder you wouldn't be able to make head nor tail of my confused rambling.
So—for regimentation—for mental exercise—I'll pretend you
are
up there: mean distance from the sun 67.2 million miles, eccentricity .0068, inclination to elliptic 3° 23' 38”.
Pardon. Carried away by the figures which leap about my mind like potted sitatungas. That's the way you get after a while. Integration. Differential. Function of a function. Stay away gal! Better to be lonesome on Venus.
I am of the males. I am sane, foregoing epistolary matter to the contrary. I have been here at Fort College these three grotesque years preparing myself for a life of fabulous obscurity studying those pinpoints in yon blackness that someone had the audacity to put there.
Could I not be a plumber? Cry in the night. Not me. I must stick a thermometer in the gullet of stars and diagnose—hmmm, the patient is getting old. He has only 95 billion years to live.
Okay. No distracting and altogether ungay and unsuccessful metaphors and snappy patter.
This is Earth. It has a diameter of 7900 miles. Do not ask why. This is a secret.
I am an Earth man of like fixtures. I am 26. This means that I have been undergoing a process of physical and mental growth (well, physical anyway) for 26 X 365 days. It takes the Earth 365 days to get around the sun, a day being one revolution of said solar handball around its own axis.
On Earth, on this continent, the piece of earth in this hemisphere that Davey Jones has not seen fit to stash away in his everloving locker, there is a country called the United States of America. In it is Indiana. In Indiana is Fort. In Fort is Fort College. In college is me. In me is idiocy for writing to any gal who says she's from Venus.
Tell you what I'm gonna do.
You tell me about Venus. We'uns down hyar can't see it, you know. Somebody up there is smoking a damnably large cigar.
So, you give me some figures on Venus. Might even send me a few samples of rocks, plants, dirt and so on. How about it? Trapped you, eh?
Anyway, even though you're just a joker from Mother Earth and way back, drop me a line when next you feel the pressure on your brain.
And now to sack. Good night's sleep tonight; all of four hours.
I take it back. Willy is snoring.
Greetings from the wheeling green place.
Todd Baker
1729 “J” Street
Fort, Indiana
July 7, 1951
Oh Dear Toddbaker,
 
Was it nice to hear from you. Am endless grateful. How good. I wish to have a newer translate book there isn't here. You see? “Forgive me dear.”
I have got your message. Fast it came fast, picked up by my guardians. So happy am I that you have messaged to Loolie. I got no more than yours. I would not be even happy if there was not an answer at all. I worked in muchness to put the note on me in the place you saw. It was good English what?
There is a lot was not known in your message. Old translate book: see you. Cup of java not there. Not yet everloving as so common adjective. Or handball. Or Kehalick Kahooey Hawaii. This is a planet?
I am here. On
. What you call Venus. Nice ting. Slang. Right? “You are dear to me.”
Oh, of yes, I am loving Earth. But most its Toddbaker. I did not plan for me to stay there with you after—wait now. I must look for the properness word. After … marriage* No.!
No. I had think you come to my planet. But later is time for that to decide. No worries is there dear?
Socializing. That is wrong now see I. I am soci-able. I can have many childs. Ten at a time at once. You will be proud. And pretty—yes. I am. And you I know will be handsome. I know. We will be so happiness. Oh! “My dear it is good to know.”
I am not goddess of Love. But I love you—any how? This seems not a question. But in the translate book is always? after
how
. Is it?
I am glad you own a room-mate. Of natural he can not stay with us here on
. How ever if Willy, as you say it, wants another Lonesome Venus Gal I can do it. I know many. All as pretty—yes as I am pretty. Yes.
Mary Martian? I did not know that your planet was in messaging
action with the 4th from CU. We had not thinked it livable. This is good yet. I have told our skymen. They are glad to know this. Davey Jones and Ava Gardner is not known. Who is Sam?
Oh dear you are not repulsive. I am know that you are loveliness. We will be lovely with each other together. How dear. Many babies. Hundred. My*—! I forget.
Fort, I am not knowing. I picked a spot with a point and had my guardians to go down to tell of my lonesome. I am the first to try. If it works good and it worked good—yes. Then I will tell the rest of mine. I have two hundred and seven sisters. Nice. All pretty. You will like them when they see you.
Figures you said are all not right. But all right for that. I am giving an extra page of notes. See how they show. Formulas, laws and truths of matter here. In a box I will sending some samples of rock and on so.
I am L-. This means I think 8.5 in your numbers. I am very young. I hope it does not mind you to marriage with such a … a child. I can bear already babies. Two hundred at least, of course.
And now I will have to send this message from your Loolie. I will now come soon to get you. You will of real like it more on
than on your icy colded Earth with so lacking warm and air enough. Here is so fulsome warmth all in the U' U'—
year
in your talk. 224.7 days. Almost.
Now. Dear Toddbaker. Here is fare well for a nonce. Soon come I. How happy will we be? Yes! “My dear it is love I send, A kiss.”
 
LOOLIE
 
1729 “J” Street
Fort, Indiana
July 10, 1951
 
Personals Department
The Saturday Review
25 West 45th Street
New York 19, New York
 
Dear Sir:
 
I wish to make an inquiry regarding an ad published in your July 3rd issue from a “LONESOME VENUS GAL.”
I wrote to this person who claimed to be a resident of the planet Venus. I naturally assumed the claim to be facetious.
Two days after sending my letter I received an answer.
The fact that this letter was written in gibberish does not, in itself, prove anything.
However, with the letter came a sheet of mathematical statistics and a box of mineral and plant samples which this so-called “VENUS GAL.” said were from her planet.
A professor at my college—Fort—is now examining the samples and testing the statistics. He has not made any statement.
But I am virtually certain that the samples are of a variety unknown to Earth. They are, actually, from another planet. I am almost positive of that.
I would like to know how this person or whatever she is, managed to communicate with you and get such an ad in your magazine.
According to your own written standards, it would seem that this advertisement, by its very nature was far from a communication “of a decorous nature.”
This “VENUS GAL” Loolie speaks of
marrying
me—coming down here and getting me.
Please rush a reply. This matter is highly urgent.
Thanking you, I am
 
Very truly yours
Todd Baker
July 11, 1951
 
Dear Mr. Baker:
 
Your letter of the 10th at hand. We must confess ignorance of its meaning. In our July 3rd issue there was no such ad as you described placed in our Classified Section.

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