The Great Perhaps (20 page)
“Well, sure, I’m Doug, by the way.” He extended his hand and gave Henry’s a quick, lively shake. “What’s your name there?”
“Henry,” he murmured. “Henry Casper.”
“Well, Henry Casper, pleased to meet you. You ain’t from Texas originally, I’m guessing.”
Henry shook his head.
“Where you from, then?”
“Chicago.”
“Chicago? Well, hey, that’s something. You’re an awful long way from Chicago, aren’t you?”
Henry nodded.
“Well, sure. What grade are you in at school?”
Henry shrugged his shoulders.
“You don’t know?”
“I’m supposed to be in eighth but they put me in the seventh because I missed so much school back in Chicago.”
“Oh, well, how are the teachers here? They treat you okay?”
“There’s a marching band,” Henry whispered. “We didn’t have a marching band at our old school.”
“Well, that sounds all right. What about your family? You got any brothers or sisters?”
Henry nodded. “Two brothers. One’s in the army. The other’s sick. He doesn’t go to school all that often.”
“Well, you make sure
you
do. When the war’s over they’re going to need all kinds of engineers and scientists and architects to rebuild everything. You pay attention in school now and you’ll be able to do what you please. Let the rest of these slobs worry about having to go off and shoot each other.”
Private Faulk stubbed out the remains of his cigarette, then turned and gave the radio’s dial another slow turn. Static hissed from the speaker, through the tinny notes of a trumpet solo, past a report from the Armed Forces Network, and then, almost magically, came an excited voice:
ANNOUNCER:
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and youngsters alike. WGN Chicago and the Pennsylvania Coal Company are proud to bring you the continuing Adventures of the Airship Brigade. Pennsylvania Coal Company, the one with the blue flame. Episode Twelve:
The Secret Origins of the Airship Brigade, Part Two.
Young Alexander Lightning, teenage boy, raised by his widowed mother, Margaret, in the prairie town of Fairfield, Oklahoma, makes an amazing discovery in the family’s abandoned barn with the help of his boyhood friend, Hugo. There, the two chums find a mysterious radio-ring hidden in the hayloft, which young Alexander soon realizes has been left there by his missing father, Doctor Lightning. Alexander accidentally switches the ring on, transmitting a secret signal across the boundaries of the universe, and within moments, a sinister silver rocket ship lands in the Lightnings’ vacant cornfield. The rocket ship has been sent from the dastardly Planet X, and soon a platoon of robot soldiers march from the rocket to invade the quiet Oklahoma town, in search of the powerful and mysterious radio-ring. Alexander and Hugo hide in the barn, unsure how to save their lonely little burg. Alexander cries out for help, holding the ring in his hands, desperate for sudden bravery. And just then…ALEXANDER:
Look, the secret ring is beginning to blink. It’s…flashing. It’s maybe a message of some kind.HUGO:
I don’t know, Alexander, maybe you shouldn’t fool with that again.ALEXANDER:
Gee whiz, if only I knew Morse Code. Oh, no, what’s that?
ANNOUNCER:
From out of the blue, a splendid golden zeppelin has appeared just over the cloudy midwestern horizon, drawing nearer and nearer, hovering just above the roof of the small red barn.ALEXANDER:
Oh, gee, what awful planet has this ship come from?
ANNOUNCER:
The golden zeppelin issues forth a strange sound and begins to land. Three odd forms slowly climb out: the first, Doctor Jupiter, a dashing-looking gentleman with a gray Van-dyke beard and monocle. The second, Doctor Jupiter’s sixteen-year-old daughter, Darla, a gorgeous brunette with big brown eyes and a winning smile, follows, lifting off her glass space helmet. The third, Tor the Man-Ape, an enormous brute, hulking, hairy, mysterious, appears with a dangerous-looking ray gun. They see the terrified young men, Alexander Lightning and his best friend Hugo, and decide to approach, the doctor raising his hand in an offering of peace. Alexander, still frightened, finds a pitchfork and points it at the trio nervously, while Hugo, always afraid to fight, hides in a heavy stack of hay.
ALEXANDER:
Who are you? What do you want with us?DOCTOR JUPITER:
We come with amity in our hearts. And a grave sense of hope. You must be Doctor Lightning’s young son, Alexander.ALEXANDER:
How do you know my father?DOCTOR JUPITER:
I’m afraid there’s no time to explain everything, young man. All that you wonder will soon be revealed. You must trust that we’ve been summoned here, by the magical radio-ring, to do whatever we can to assist you. It seems the Robot Legion of Planet X is determined to make short work of your charming little town.ALEXANDER:
They look unstoppable.DOCTOR JUPITER:
Unstoppable by normal means, yes. But as you’ll soon discover, we are anything but normal. Darla, my dear, prepare the X-1 for flight.DARLA:
Yes, Father. Will the young earthlings be joining us?DOCTOR JUPITER:
But of course.
H
ENRY
C
ASPER HAD NOT
moved since the radio broadcast had begun. He sat staring at the glowing green transmitter, sweat and joy spread across his face. Private Faulk, smoking silently, also listened with a most serious attention. And yet, at that moment, the radio, rickety, warped with age, failed, ending the episode some three full minutes before the writers and actors and the Pennsylvania Coal Company had intended. Private Faulk, frustrated, pounded on the receiver once, then again, but it was no good. Annoyed, Private Faulk switched the radio off and lit up another cigarette, the lighter flickering like a meteor in the blossoming night.
“Well, you know they all got out of it somehow,” Private Faulk muttered. “They always do. That Doctor Jupiter always got some sort of plan. But damn, wasn’t that a good episode? I never heard that one before, did you?”
Henry shook his head excitedly. “They’re my favorite.
The Airship Brigade
, I mean,” Henry stammered.
“Mine, too. Well, I’m going to see if Hinkley can fix this thing. If it works, we can listen to it tomorrow night, how’s that?”
Henry nodded, beaming, his feet nearly floating above the ground, an endless, speculative joy rising from his heart. He followed Private Faulk out of the dingy equipment shed, down past the rations building, where the young soldier began to whistle the familiar Glenn Miller ditty “Moonlight Cocktail.” There, in the dusty divide between the soldiers’ barracks and the rows and rows of small, shadeless bungalows, the stars now appearing in the open Texas sky, Henry knew he had found more than a friend: in those spectral stories of cloud-pirates and spacecraft, the boy had seen a brief, unavoidable glimpse of his greatest dream. Somehow, he knew he had to fly.
S
OME NIGHTS LATER,
walking back from the equipment shed, lost in a dream world of make-believe cosmic flight, Henry failed to notice his own father leaning against the wire boundary fence, sharing a cigarette with Ernst Horner, a man Henry had feared at first sight. With his dark eyes, narrow chin, and jagged, unhealthy teeth, Ernst Horner had the crude features of a comic book villain. And yet, he always had some small token, a dull-looking plastic toy or piece of hard candy, which he would offer Henry, his bony face gently parting in an ugly-looking smile. Mr. Horner was known around the German side of camp as a criminal and thief, a smuggler and liar, a
Verbrecher
who ran a kind of black market for luxury items—extra rations of milk, meat, nylons, razors, even glossy movie magazines. Henry’s father, with his cunning and quick, deft hands, had gotten involved with this man, assisting him in his schemes. Together, Henry’s father and Mr. Horner had already broken into several equipment sheds, plundering what they could from the various camp stores. Len, with his agile fingers, made short work of the clumsy locks they encountered, and soon he discovered theft to be a much more lucrative pursuit than the dull, repetitive stitching and steaming of the tailor shop. As proof of his guilt, Len had hidden a stockload of stolen kitchen utensils beneath both of his sons’ beds. Len’s swift hands were also of use in slipping the wary-looking camp guards a small but necessary percentage of their profits—passing a sentry near the gate’s opening, Len’s hand would dart out and quickly return, a sudden contented smile appearing on the young soldier’s face as he stared down at his palm, counting out the loose bills gathered within.
Standing in the dark of that early evening, leaning near the taut wire fence, Henry’s father motioned lazily for his son to approach. Henry stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly walked toward his father, staring down at his own dusty shoes. Len grabbed his son firmly by the shoulder.
“Here he is, my son, the quiet one. Mr. Horner here says he has seen you talking to the
Japanisch
, is that true?” his father asked with a sharp smile.
Henry shrugged his shoulders and hoped his silence would end the awkward interrogation.
“They are a vile, vile bunch,” Henry’s father whispered. “They’re trying to rob the food from our mouths, do you know that, Henry?”
Henry slowly shook his head.
“They’ve been trying to sell things to our own people. They have been coming through the fence, selling things on our side without Mr. Horner’s permission.”
“Well, if I were you, a young man, I’d stay as far away from them as I could,” Mr. Horner said with a grin. His grin was like a bad odor, something unfamiliar, unwanted, and greasy.
“So you stay away from them, do you understand, Henry?” Len whispered. “Sometime soon, very soon, there’s going to be trouble. You keep away from them and that side of the fence.”
Henry nodded and then hurried off, holding the corner of his shoulder where his father’s unkind grip had been. A few moments later, mumbling to himself, he bumped into Private Faulk. He stared up into his friend’s eyes too upset to say anything, and stumbled away in a cloud of confusion.
O
N THE LAST NIGHT
of April, the two young men—the youthful soldier and Henry Casper—were both huddled in the shadows of the equipment shed, both of their hands placed on the radio—Private Faulk’s fingers adjusting the tuning knob, moment by moment, like a scientist, compensating for each flicker or twitch of sound. Henry turned the antenna slowly, both of them captivated by the latest
Airship Brigade
story. Henry was silent, afraid, worried, wondering if he ought to mention to Private Faulk his father’s and Horner’s threat. But the quick fear in his heart made thinking and speaking difficult. Inside the metal hull, the temperature was almost unbearable. Outside, the early evening heat had sent the citizens of the makeshift city in search of shade. Henry’s younger brother, Timothy, refused to leave his metal-frame bed. As the sun began to sink, Henry and Private Faulk listened to the static-filled broadcast of the latest
Airship Brigade
episode, tweaking and turning the antenna and worn knobs, shaking the old radio when nothing else seemed to work:
ANNOUNCER:
Tonight’s adventure:
The Secret of the Moon.
The valiant Airship Brigade, led by young Alexander Lightning, narrowly escapes the onslaught of the Japanese air pirates. Losing them in an enormous maze of storm clouds, Alexander bravely pilots the X-1 zeppelin out of peril, soaring through the outermost reaches of earth’s atmosphere.
ALEXANDER:
Wow, Darla, that was close. I thought those nasty air pirates were going to sink us for sure.DARLA:
I wasn’t worried for a moment, Alexander. I just knew you’d fly us to safety.ALEXANDER:
Then how come you’re holding my arm so tightly?DARLA:
Well, maybe I was scared, just for a little bit.HUGO:
Girls sure are funny, aren’t they, Alexander?DOCTOR JUPITER:
And to think, the people of the Secret Volcano City will now be safe. You’ve done well once again, Alexander. I know your father would be quite proud.ALEXANDER:
Gee, thanks, Doctor. Hey, look at this! Our atmospheric indicator is giving us a strange reading.DARLA:
What does it say, Alexander?ALEXANDER:
We must have flown into an Arctic air current of some kind. The controls! They’re all locked up.DOCTOR JUPITER:
Did you try the mechanical override, my dear boy?ALEXANDER:
Yes, none of the controls are working. It’s as if we’re being pulled by an invisible force of some kind.TOR:
Tor afraid.HUGO:
Me, too, Tor. Alexander, it feels like we’re caught in a spin!ALEXANDER:
There’s no need to be afraid. But for now, everyone prepare themselves for a crash landing.
