Short Stories by Robert A. Heinlein Vol 2 Part 69

The room where they were seemed to be a combination kitchen-living room.

It was quite crowded, rather narrow, but fairly long. A fireplace dominated the kitchen end, but it had been bricked up, and a hole for the flue pipe of the base-burner had been let into the chimney. The fireplace was lopsided, as an oven had been included in its left side. The corresponding s.p.a.ce at the right was occupied by a short counter which supported a tiny sink. The sink was supplied with water by a small hand pump which grew out of the counter.

Schneider, Waldo decided, was either older than he looked, which seemed incredible, or he had acquired his house from someone now long dead.

The living room end was littered and crowded in the fashion which is simply unavoidable in constricted quarters. Books filled several cases, were piled on the floor, hung precariously on chairs. An ancient wooden desk, crowded with papers and supporting a long-obsolete mechanical typewriter, filled one corner. Over it, suspended from the wall, was an ornate clock, carved somewhat like a house. Above its face were two little doors; while Waldo looked at it, a tiny wooden bird painted bright red popped out of the left-hand door, whistled 'Th-wu th-woo!' four times, and popped frantically back into its hole. Immediately thereafter a little grey bird came out of the right-hand door, said 'Cuckoo' three times in a leisurely manner, and returned to its hole.

Waldo decided that he would like to own such a clock; of course its pendulum-and-weight movement would not function in Freehold, but he could easily devise a one-g centrifuge frame to enclose it, wherein it would have a pseudo Earth-surface environment.

It did not occur to him to fake a pendulum movement by means of a concealed power source; he liked things to work properly.

To the left of the clock was an old-fashioned static calendar of paper.

The date was obscured, but the letters above the calendar proper were large and legible: New York World's Fair - Souvenir of the World of

Tomorrow. Waldo's eyes widened a little and went back to something he had noticed before, sticking into a pincushion on the edge of the desk.

It was a round plastic b.u.t.ton mounted on a pin whereby it could be affixed to the clothing. It was not far from Waldo's eyes; he could read the lettering on it:

FREE SILVER.

SIXTEEN TO ONE.

Schneider must be - old!

There was a narrow archway, which led into another room. Waldo could not see into it very well; the arch was draped with a fringe curtain of long strings of large ornamental beads.

The room was rich with odours, many of them old and musty, but not dirty.

Schneider straightened up and looked down at Waldo.

'There is nought wrong with your body. Up get yourself and walk.'

Waldo shook his head feebly. 'I am sorry, Grandfather. I cannot.'

'You must reach for the power and make it serve you. Try.'

'I am sorry. I do not know how.'

'That is the only trouble. All matters are doubtful, unless one knows.

You send your force into the Other World. You must reach into the Other

World and claim it.'

'Where is this "Other World", Grandfather?'

Schneider seemed a little in doubt as to how to answer this. 'The Other World,' he said presently, 'is the world you do not see. It is here and it is there and it is everywhere. But it is especially here.' He touched his forehead. 'The mind sits in it and sends its messages through it to the body. Wait.' Hc shuffled away to a little cupboard, from which he removed a small jar. It contained a salve, or unguent, which he rubbed on his hands.

He returned to Waldo and knelt down beside him. Grasping one of Waldo's hands in both of his, he began to knead it very gently. 'Let the mind be quiet)' he directed. 'Feel for the power. The Other World is close and full of power.

Feel it.' The ma.s.sage was very pleasant to Waldo's tired muscles.

The salve, or the touch of the old man's hand, produced a warm, relaxing tingle.

If he were younger, thought Waldo, I would hire him as a ma.s.seur. He has a magnetic touch.

Schneider straightened up again and said, 'There - that betters you? Now you rest while I some coffee make.'

Waldo settled back contentedly. He was very tired. Not only was the trip itself a nervous strain, but he was still in the grip of this d.a.m.nable, thick gravitational field, like a fly trapped in honey. Gramps Schneider's ministrations had left him relaxed and sleepy. He must have dozed, for the last thing he remembered was seeing Schneider drop an eggsh.e.l.l into the coffeepot. Then the old man was standing before him, holding the pot in one hand and a steaming cup in the other. He set them down, got three pillows, which he placed at Waldo's back, then offered him the coffee.

Waldo laboriously reached out both hands to take it. Schneider held it back.

'No,' he reproved, 'one hand makes plenty. Do as I showed. Reach into the

Other World for the strength.' He took Waldo's right hand and placed it on the handle of the cup, steadying Waldo's hand with his own. With his other hand he stroked Waldo's right arm gently, from shoulder to fingertips. Again the warm tingle.

Waldo was surprised to find himself holding the cup alone. It was a pleasant triumph; at the time he left Earth, seventeen years before, it had been his invariable habit never to attempt to grasp anything with only one hand. In

Freehold, of course, he frequently handled small objects one-handed, without the use of waldoes. The years of practice must have improved his control.

Excellent!

So, feeling rather c.o.c.ky, he drank the cupful with one hand, using extreme care not to slop it on himself. It was good coffee, too, he was bound to admit - quite as good as the sort he himself made from the most expensive syrup extract - better, perhaps.

When Schneider offered him coffeecake, brown with sugar and cinnamon and freshly rewarmed, he swaggeringly accepted it with his left hand, without asking to be relieved of the cup. He continued to eat and drink, between bites and sips resting and steadying his forearms on the edges of the tank.

The conclusion of the Kaffeeklatsch seemed a good time to broach the matter of the deKalbs. Schneider admitted knowing McLeod and recalled, somewhat vaguely it seemed, the incident in which he had restored to service McLeod's broomstick.

'Hugh Donald is a good boy,' he said. 'Machines I do not like, but it pleasures me to fix things for boys.'

'Grandfather,' asked Waldo, 'will you tell me how you fixed Hugh Donald

McLeod's ship?'

'Have you such a ship you wish me to fix?'

'I have many such ships which I have agreed to fix, but I must tell you that

I have been unable to do so. I have come to you to find out the right way.'

Schneider considered this. 'That is difficult. I could show you, but it is not so much what you do as how you think about it. That makes only with practice.'

Waldo must have looked puzzled, for the old man looked at him and added,

'It is said that there are two ways of looking at everything. That is true and less than true, for there are many ways. Some of them are good ways and some are bad. One of the ancients said that everything either is, or is not. That is less than true, for a thing can both be and not he.

With practice one can see it both ways. Sometimes a thing which is for this world is a thing which is not for the Other World. Which is important, since we live in the Other World.'