Property of Venus
L. Sprague de Camp
THE SOUND of three men in loud discussion of planting-plans drew the man from Venus. This was at Mrs. Hort's neighborhood party on a fine May weekend. The forsythia's golden rain had ended; the magnolias had littered the lawns with their petals; the azaleas blazed in orange and purple and the dogwoods in pink and white.
Carl Vanderhoff, on his second bottle of beer and fourth hot-dog sandwich, said: "... I can't bother much with annuals this year. I shall have to do some surgery on that cracked Japanese maple..." He was medium-sized and a little gray, and taught French Lit at Penn.
Sydney Devore, the oldest of the three, lit his pipe and said: "... I've got three new kinds of cactus, and as soon as I get them unpotted..." He led a retired life as a consulting engineer.
Bill Converse, burly and ruddy, waved his fourth beer-bottle and said: "... if there's any screwy plant in the world, trust Sydney to plant it..." He was vice-president of the Keystone-Fidelity Insurance Company.
Several of those at the party had objected to Devore's unconventional planting, such as his setting out assorted species of cactus. Vanderhoff had supposed that cactus would not thrive in the dank of a Philadelphian suburb, but these did as a result of Devore's care in keeping weeds and grass away from them and potting them through the winter. As Vanderhoff's own wife had said, Devore lived. alone without a wife to keep him within the bounds of convention, but why couldn't he plant decent iris, phlox and chrysanthemums like everybody else?
The cactus made his lot stand out like a sore thumb.
BEFORE Converse could say more about this eccentricity, Mrs. Hoyt's brother, the spaceman, sauntered over. His uniform, unless one looked closely, was like that of a chief petty officer of the United States Navy. Vanderhoff understood that Grant Oakley was in fact some sort of chief mechanic on the Goddard.
Carl Vanderhoff braced himself to look interested in Venerian matters, though the flight of the Goddard had been so overpublicized, and he had already seen, heard and read so much about it through the normal channels of information, that he was getting bored with it.
"You fellas like to plant things?" said Grant Oakley with a noncommittal smile; a compact, competent-looking little man with bad teeth.
"Wait till my roses come out," boomed Converse."I've got..."
"I'm trying out this new bug-killer, R-47," said Vanderhoff."It's said to really lick the Japanese beetles..."
"Come over to my place after this breaks up," said Devore, "and I'll show you my South American..."
As they all spoke at once, Oakley stared with a vague smile until they ran down. Then he said: "How'd you like to plant something from Venus?"
"Oh, boy!" exclaimed Devore."If I only could!"
"Hm," said Vanderhoff."Perhaps."
"People would think I was nuts," said Oakley."I suppose a plant from Venus would come crawling into your house at night like some kind of octopus?"
"No, nothing like that," said Oakley."The plants of Venus are higher developed than ours, but they don't run after you. What would it be worth to you to plant them?"
Devore frowned."You mean you have some?"
Oakley smiled, dipped a hand into a coat pocket and brought it out. He opened it just enough to show a small fistful of seeds ranging in size from that of an apple seed to that of a lima bean.
"Now," he said, "supposing these were seeds from Venus—I'm not saying they are, understand—what would they be worth to you?"
Vanderhoff said: "That would depend on what they grew up to."
Devore said: "I thought the Department of Agriculture had a regulation—"
"Who said anything about the Department of Agriculture?" asked Oakley."I haven't said these were from Venus. But supposing they were, what would you do about it?"
Devore said: "Well, I suppose I ought—no, to hell with that. I want some. But I couldn't pay you anything like the transportation cost."
"The same for me," said Vanderhoff."How about you, Bill?"
Converse rubbed his chin."We-ell—if you two take some, I guess I will, too. But none of us are rich, Mr. Oakley."
Oakley shrugged an eyebrow.
"Neither am I. I brought these because I've got to have some quick money. How would ten bucks a seed strike you?"
DEVORE whistled."Suppose you tell us what they are first."
"You'll read all about it when the Department of Agriculture gets out a bulletin. But these little black fellas are the singing shrub. The medium-sized—"
"What does the singing shrub do?" asked Vanderhoff.
"It sings. The blue ones are the bulldog bush. You understand, these are just the names the fellas on the expedition called them. The scientists gave 'em Latin names, but you'll have to read those in the Department of Agriculture Bulletin."
"How about the big red ones?" said Converse.
"That's the tree of Eden. It has the best-tasting fruit ever. Harmless, too. We ate lots of it. It seemed to make everybody happy and grateful. Some called it the stein plant on account of it grows a thing shaped like a pitcher or more like an old German beer stein."
"What does the bulldog bush do?" said Devore.
"It tries to bite, like one of those fly-catching plants on Earth, only bigger. I wouldn't say to plant it if you've got small babies. It may bite hard enough to hurt."
"How about growing up and biting our heads off?" Converse wanted to know.
"It only grows so high, and the snappers about like so." Oakley described with his hands a biting organ the size of a pair of human hands."And it's not that strong. Now how about it? Shall we have a little auction?"
There ensued a long low argument. More beer was drunk and hot-dogs eaten. The Sun went down; the neighborhood's bat came out and flew in circles over Mrs. Hort's party. At last the three householders each agreed to pay Grant Oakley fifty dollars, for which Converse should get the tree of Eden seeds, Vanderhoff all the bulldog bush seeds and Devore all the singing shrub seeds.
They had disputed whether each of them should try to raise specimens of all three species, but concluded that a single extraterrestrial species apiece would be enough to handle. Vanderhoff would have preferred either the tree of Eden or the singing shrub, but his gardening friends put in their claims for these before he had a chance to and pressed them with such vigor that he gave way.
"BRING 'em in before frost," said Oakley."If they haven't grown too big, that is. These came from the polar regions of Venus. Those are the only parts of the planet that aren't so hot a man has to wear a protective suit. It's about like the equator on Earth. So the plants won't stand cold."
The seeds and money changed hands as Carl Vanderhoff's wife Penelope came up. Bill Converse saw her first and said: "Hello, gorgeous!" with the lupine expression he assumed in addressing his neighbors' wives.
Penny Vanderhoff simpered at him and said to her husband: "Carl, we really have to go. That sitter said she'd only stay till seven."
Vanderhoff slipped his seeds into his pocket and went along.
"What were you talking with Mr. Oakley about?" said Penny Vanderhoff."Venus?"
"He was telling us about the plants there," said Vanderhoff.
He did not speak of his Venerian seeds because this would have started an argument. Penny would have scolded him for being eccentric, "just like that crazy Sydney Devore. I don't know what you see in that man..."
In moments of fantasy, Carl Vanderhoff liked to imagine himself an ancient patriarch, sitting in a tent with a towel over his head, combing his beard and ordering his wives, children and goats around. In practice, he never got anywhere near this envied state, as his wife and children could and often did outshout him in familial arguments.