The Anything Box

Padre Manuel was slow to anger, but he felt his temper beginning to rise.To destroy the property of others! And Gonzales could so little afford—But hedidn't say anything. He looked around quickly while he waited for the creatureto make a move. He could see all kinds of unswallowed stuff around the ship.Stuff that probably had been a rabbit and a gopher and an owl and even a bullsnake. Then the poor thing gave a groan and unswallowed the piece of bull hehad eaten.
"Hello," said the creature.
"Hello," said Padre Manuel, then he uncapped the canteen and poured out acup of water. He held it out to the creature, thinking as the cup was taken,"A cup of cold water in Thy Name," and blinked as the creature lifted the cupand emptied it on his head, his hide fairly crawling up to meet the water.Padre Manuel filled the cup again and again until the canteen was empty,reproaching himself for not having thought of water the night before. Thecreature's hide rippled luxuriously as Padre Manuel indicated the basket he'dput down by the ship.
The creature looked at it hopelessly and went back, with sagging shoulders,to the ship. He reached inside and lifted out something and held it out toPadre Manuel. The Padre took it—and almost dropped it when he saw what it was.It was another space creature, no bigger than a kitten, mewling and pushingits nose against Padre Manuel's thumb.
"Madre de Dios!" gasped Padre Manuel. "A little one! A baby! Where—?" Heturned in astonishment to the space creature. The creature ran his hand downhis ribs and Padre Manuel saw that all the waggly knobs were gone. Thecreature reached into the ship again and brought out two more of the littlecreatures. He held one of them up to a round silver spot on his ribs.
Padre Manuel stared at the creature and then at the kitteny thing.
"Why, why!" he said, wide-eyed with amazement. "Why Senora, Senora!" And hecould hear some more mewling coming from the ship.
Well, the space lady put down the little ones and so did the Padre and theycrawled around on their hands and feet, stretching and pushing together forall the world like little inch worms, taking bites of anything they couldfind. But eveything unswallowed almost as fast as it swallowed.
The space lady was going through the bushel basket, biting and waiting andunswallowing. Pretty soon she'd tried everything in the basket, and she andPadre Manuel sat there looking kind of hopeless at all the unswallowed stuff.Padre Manuel was feeling especially bad about the little kitten things. Theywere so little, and so hungry.
He picked one up in his hand and patted its nudging little head with hisfinger. "Pobrecito," he said, "Poor little one—"
Then he let out a yell and dropped the thing. The space lady snarled.
"It bit me!" gasped Padre Manuel. "It took a chunk out of me!"
He pulled out his bandana and tried to tie it over the bleeding place onthe ball of his thumb.
All at once he was conscious of a big silence and he looked at the spacelady. She was looking down at the little space creature. It was curling up inher hand like a kitten and purring to itself. Its little silver tongue cameout and licked around happily and it went to sleep. Fed.
Padre Manuel stared hard. It hadn't unswallowed! It had eaten a chunk of him and hadn't unswallowed! He looked up at the space lady. She stared back.Her eyes slid shut a couple of times. In the quiet you could hear the otherlittle ones mewling. She put the space kitten down.
Padre Manuel stood, one hand clasped over the crude bandage, his eyes darkand questioning in his quiet face. The space lady started toward him, hermany-fingered hands reaching. They closed around his arms, above his elbows.Padre Manuel looked up into the silver gray eyes, long, long, and then closedhis eyes against the nearness.
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Suddenly the fingers were gone. Padre Manuel's eyes opened. He saw thespace creature scoop up her little ones, the quiet one, the crying ones, andhurry them into the spaceship. She slid in after them and the hole began toclose. Padre Manuel caught a last glimpse of silver and black and a last glintof the white pointed teeth and the hole was closed.
He watched the wine-colored ship dwindle away above the Estrellas until itwas gone, back into space. He waved his hand at the empty sky.
Then he sighed and picked up the canteen and cup and put them into thebasket. He shooed away the flies that swarmed around him and, lifting thebasket, started back across the pasture.
Come On, Wagon!
I don't like kids—never have. They're too uncanny. For one thing, there'sno bottom to their eyes. They haven't learned to pull down their mentalcurtains the way adults have. For another thing, there's so much they don'tknow. And not knowing things makes them know lots of other things grownupscan't know. That sounds confusing and it is. But look at it this way. Everytime you teach a kid something, you teach him a hundred things that areimpossible because that one thing is so. By the time we grow up, our world isso hedged around by impossibilities that it's a wonder we ever try anything new.
Anyway, I don't like kids, so I guess it's just as well that I've stayed abachelor.
Now take Thaddeus. I don't like Thaddeus. Oh, he's a fine kid, smarter thanmost—he's my nephew—but he's too young. I'll start liking him one of thesedays when he's ten or eleven. No, that's still too young. I guess when hisvoice starts cracking and he begins to slick his hair down, I'll get to likinghim fine. Adolescence ends lots more than it begins.
The first time I ever really got acquainted with Thaddeus was the Christmashe was three. He was a solemn little fellow, hardly a smile out of him allday, even with the avalanche of everything to thrill a kid. Starting firstthing Christmas Day, he made me feel uneasy. He stood still in the middle ofthe excited squealing bunch of kids that crowded around the Christmas tree inthe front room at the folks' place. He was holding a big rubber ball with bothhands and looking at the tree with his eyes wide with wonder. I was sittingright by him in the big chair and I said, "How do you like it, Thaddeus?"
He turned his big solemn eyes to me, and for a long time, all I could seewas the deep, deep reflections in his eyes of the glitter and glory of thetree and a special shiningness that originated far back in his own eyes. Thenhe blinked slowly and said solemnly, "Fine."
Then the mob of kids swept him away as they all charged forward to claimtheir Grampa-gift from under the tree. When the crowd finally dissolved andscattered all over the place with their play-toys, there was Thaddeussquatting solemnly by the little red wagon that had fallen to him. He wasexamining it intently, inch by inch, but only with his eyes. His hands werepressed between his knees and his chest as he squatted.
"Well, Thaddeus." His mother's voice was a little provoked. "Go play withyour wagon. Don't you like it?"
Thaddeus turned his face up to her in that blind, unseeing way littlechildren have.
"Sure," he said, and standing up, tried to take the wagon in his arms.
"Oh for pity sakes," his mother laughed. "You don't carry a wagon,Thaddeus." And aside to us, "Sometimes I wonder. Do you suppose he's got allhis buttons?"
"Now, Jean." Our brother Clyde leaned back in his chair. "Don't heckle thekid. Go on, Thaddeus. Take the wagon outside."
So what does Thaddeus do but start for the door, saying over his shoulder,"Come on, Wagon."
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Clyde laughed. "It's not that easy, Punkin-Yaller, you've gotta have pullto get along in this world."