Hold Zero! (7 page)

The policeman moved to the nearest wall and studied a drawing signed by Phil of an entire farm in a spaceship. Then he pondered over the balsa wood model of Gemini II hanging from a thread on the ceiling. Walking slowly, he touched the chair cut from the stump of a willow. He saw a telescope lying on it and picked it up. Craig grinned for he had made it out of a tube from a roll of paper toweling and three lenses he had bought at an optical store. The officer peered through it. He put it down and walked toward the flat rock that jutted out of the far end of the room. It was about four feet high. On it lay three matted-down sheepskins and one elk skin. He paused and examined the lights that hung down over each skin. Phil jumped on the rock and flopped down on his belly.

“This is the bunk,” he said. “The lights are wired to six-volt dry cells.” He flipped a switch and a lamp went on. A shade of aluminum foil spotted the bulb on an open paperback book. “For reading,” Phil said with a grin. “Bookcases,” he added, and gestured to stones canti-levered on other stones.

Officer Ricardo patted a skin and walked toward half of a Ping-Pong table balanced on handmade horses. He stopped. The table was covered with radio parts, knives, crayons, wires of all sizes, pliers, a buzzer, and a garter snake in a jar. He studied the big balloon with the camera strapped to it for aerial photographs.

“The invention table,” Craig explained. The policeman went to the wall on which the serpentine water clock hung. He passed it by in favor of the uncovered assemblage of tubes, wires, condensers, and dials that was the pride of Batta.

The transmitter-receiver had been the devil to build, Craig went on. “Steve’s uncle bought it and tried to assemble it. After he got through with it, it was a mess. He gave it to Steve. Only by reading off the directions thirteen times did we get it working.”

Craig added, “Steve’s soldering helped. The mess Johnny and I made on one connection took him a whole night to fix. But he stuck to it until it was right.”

Steve plugged the transmitter-receiver into the battery and picked up the mike. Officer Ricardo turned and noticed the kitchen, a long plank with pots, pans, and a Sterno can. He walked over to the faucet that hung down from the ceiling on a pipe.

“Running water,” said Phil. “Craig says we should make a big Archimedes’ water screw and wind the water out of the ground, but I like turning on faucets, even if I have to fill the can outside myself.” He turned the handle. “Open the faucet, the water runs down the pipe from the can, and trickle, trickle into the pots and pans.” It rasped and sputtered. “Whoops, out of water.” Officer Ricardo laughed. He glanced into the pantry. Orange crates, hung above the kitchen table, were filled with thick plates and cups, cans of hash, french fried potatoes, beans, soup, and dog food.

“Who eats dog food?” he asked.

“That’s Craig’s. He feeds it to snakes, blue jays, and snails.” Phil shoved Craig playfully. Craig swung at him.

“KX2ABC, KX2ABC, this is KX2BAT, this is KX2BAT. Blue Springs Police Department. This is Batta Command. KX2ABC, do you read me? Over.” Steve threw the switch to the receiver. It yakked and sputtered. Officer Ricardo moved to his side. Craig stood beside him. He felt kindly toward the big officer who now shared their very lives, and he concentrated on the receiver as if his full attention would help it to speak.

“I guess we’re out of range,” Steve said and relaxed his spine. He sat up again. “KX2ABC, KX2ABC. Calling Blue Springs Police Department. This is Batta Command. Do you read me? Over.”

Craig nudged the anxious officer. “He’s persistent,” he whispered. “He’ll get something.”

“KX2ABC, this is KX2BAT Batta Command calling.” Steve put his chin in his hands. “Let’s add more antennas to broadcast farther. It’s an FCC violation, because this set is for a thousand feet, but Mrs. Ricardo must be worried.”

“Yeah, it’s seven o’clock,” said Phil glancing at the end wall.

Craig thought about his mother. He wondered whether she was worried.

“Let’s eat,” he finally said and took down a can of hash and a bottle of catsup.

“That’s not enough,” said Phil. “Better add some beans to it.”

“I’m not hungry,” Officer Ricardo said.

“Then maybe you’d like some raisins.” Phil reached to the ceiling. He hand-over-handed a rope, and a basket came out of the darkness above the bunks. He reached into it. “Here,” he said and gave Officer Ricardo a box of raisins and a bag of prunes. The officer put a prune in his mouth and studied the pulley that went from the kitchen table to the bunk. “For snacks?” he asked.

“Yeah, when we’re resting.”

“KX2ABC, this is KX2BAT.” Craig listened to the flick of the switch. Static answered. “Durn,” he heard Steve say. He lit the can of Sterno and placed it between two cinder blocks. Then he took down a pan and put it on the blocks so that the flames licked it.

Steve’s voice spoke on and on. Suddenly a phrase of jazz music came in. Craig turned around. Steve had the jeweler’s screwdriver and was carefully adjusting the tuner in the receiver.

“We’re awfully close to Station Fourteen-fifty,” Steve explained to the officer. Craig turned back to his job.

“Phil,” he called presently, “you wanted a durn faucet, get some water in the tank. This stuffs like glue.” Phil picked up a flashlight and bounded up the steps. In a few minutes his voice came out the faucet. “Turn the thing off!” he exclaimed, “or you’ll all get drowned.”

“KX2ABC, KX2ABC, this is KX2BAT, Blue Springs Police Department. This is Batta Command. Do you read me? Over.”

A
T SIX-THIRTY THAT
night Johnny was riding in the car with his father. The game of pitch was over. He was glad, for his father was cranky toward the end when he missed the curve balls and had to go down the big embankment after them. But they had joked and laughed, and his father now seemed pleased with himself. Johnny still thought they could have spent the afternoon to more purpose at the rocket site, but he guessed his father thought pitch was Johnny’s favorite pastime. He wondered how he could let him know he was interested in other things now. He had already told him so a hundred times, but somehow words were not enough. ’Sfunny thing, Johnny thought, how hard it is to get some perfectly obvious ideas across.

Suddenly he noticed the car had slowed down. Johnny looked out the window. Fog was obscuring the road. Then, as his father turned off the ridge and started down the hill to their house, they were plunged into what seemed like a glass of milk. The road was all but invisible. Johnny felt his dad’s right leg quicken as his foot went on the brake.

“This is impossible!” Mr. Cooper said and eased the car down the hill. Carefully they crept around the bend and into the drive. They were both relieved when they were in the garage. The lights from the house shone warmly under the kitchen door. Johnny two-stepped it up the stairs and into the room.

“Hi, Mom,” he called and threw his mitt across the kitchen, through the living room, and onto the Dutch sideboard.

“Johnny, stop it. This is not a stadium. Pick that up and
put
it away.”

“I’m sorry.” He skidded through the door before she could say anything else. But he need not have worried. Her attention was already on his father.

“John,” she said, “tonight’s the night we have that discussion with the children. We must discuss going to Aunt Mary’s. Remember?”

“Oh, yes!” he said and washed his hands in the sink. “I enjoy these family discussions.” He kissed her cheek. “It’s a horrible night. I almost missed the drive and hit the mailbox.”

“I’m glad you’re home, dear,” Mrs. Cooper said.

Johnny threw himself belly-first on the couch. Penny, his younger sister, screamed at him to get off her new jumper. He barely heard her for he was thinking of the rocket. However, his older sister Karen rushed to Penny’s aid and shoved him to the floor. His father came into the room, sat down, and opened the newspaper. He read while the children argued. Suddenly the paper went down.

“Johnny,” began Mr. Cooper. “This is the night we’re going to discuss whether or not we go to Aunt Mary’s for Columbus Day.”

“Okay,” Johnny said. “And then can we talk about coming to see the rocket? We’ve gotta have a committee to approve it, you know.”

“Yes, I know. Mr. Brundage has called me. But,
you
know, afternoons and evenings are my busiest time in a town like this. Most of the committees have to meet when the men are home from work.”

“Oh, sure, I know that.”

Dinner was announced, and the Coopers sat down in silence. Mr. Cooper carved the lamb. When everyone was served he sat down quietly.

“Now, children,” he said. “Let’s have everyone’s viewpoint on whether or not we visit Aunt Mary this Columbus Day.”

“Okay,” said Johnny brightly. “I don’t want to go. I don’t like just sitting around and doing nothin’.”

“I don’t want to go either,” said Penny and cut her meat firmly.

“Me neither,” said Karen.

“Now that’s not a discussion,” said Johnny’s father firmly. “You’ve given opinions. We must have better reasons. More air.”

“Well, frankly then,” said Johnny, and he heard his voice weaken, “she always makes us rake leaves, or wash windows, or sit without making a mess. And that’s hard to do.”

“And you, Penny?” said Mr. Cooper with an edge of irritation.

“I think she’s too old for me. She doesn’t like frilly petticoats.”

“Karen?”

“Well—” Johnny saw her glance at him for courage. “If she wouldn’t always make me keep my feet on the floor I might say yes. Would you tell her it’s hard to keep your feet together on the floor when you’re sitting? Then maybe I’ll go.”

Johnny saw his father put down his knife and fork. “Now, I’ve heard what you have to say. Let me speak. She’s family, she’s very old, and she loves you children.”

“No she doesn’t!” said Penny.

Johnny tried again. “Well,” he said, “I think Penny is right, and I don’t want to go.”

“We must.” Mr. Cooper picked up his knife and fork. Johnny dropped his.

“Go?”

“Yes.”

“Has this been a discussion?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then ... ” He hesitated. “I’m real mixed up about discussions. What I am trying to say is, why ask us? We’ll go if we have to.”

Johnny did not hear his father’s answer. He had leaned back in his chair to think and had inattentively poked a forkful of lamb in his mouth. And then he heard a voice!

“—Batta Com— Bat— Com—ead me?” He sat up.

“Thanks, son”—his father was smiling again—“for your silent apology.”

“—Batta —ing Police —ment.” Johnny dug the fork further into the filling.

His father reached out and touched his hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you, it’s just that we
must
go to Aunt Mary’s.”

Johnny looked at him and wanted to say, “I’m not upset,” but his tooth was talking.

He leaped up. “Dad,” he said, “something’s wrong. Something’s wrong at Batta.” The white fog swirled at the picture window. “Dad! I think Craig and Phil and Steve are calling for help. They’re stuck in the fog.”

“Help? What is this? Johnny, are you all right?”

Briefly he explained the tooth. Mr. Cooper pushed back from the table and rushed to the phone.

“Alice!” he said to Mrs. Brundage, “is Phil home?” He exchanged a few more exclamations, hung up, and called the Police Department. Johnny, still holding the fork on his tooth, followed him into the kitchen. After speaking briefly, his father turned to him. “What’s their call number?”

“KX2BAT.”

“KX2BAT.” He listened and looked back at Johnny. “Is Officer Ricardo with them?”

“I don’t know.”

“He’s missing and his wife is frantic.”

“I’ll bet he went out to see the rocket. Well, tell the chief he’s okay. Tell them they have food, water, even electric lights. Tell them to try KX2BAT and they can talk to him.” Johnny sat down on the kitchen stool as his father passed on his messages. Then Mr. Cooper hung up and they both waited in silence. Presently the phone rang again.

“Thank heavens,” said Mr. Cooper. He turned to Johnny. “They’re all fine!”

When he had put back the phone, Mr. Cooper surveyed Johnny.

“And now,” he said, “let’s have a real discussion. What
is
this Batta?”

S
TEVE AWOKE FIRST
because Officer Ricardo had rolled over on him. He kicked Craig. Craig awoke.

“I’m hungry,” he said.

“I’m sad,” Steve whispered. “It was a great night. A really great night. But our secret’s no more.”

“Yeah,” sighed Craig. “And now it’s morning and we’ve gotta go home.”

Steve lay silently.

“I’ll go get the water,” Craig finally said and stepped over Phil. He had no need to dress because he had never taken his clothes off. By the misty light coming in from a small window above the transceiver he found his way to the stairs. He walked outside.

The fog was lifting and the air smelled good. Craig took a deep breath. Tentative birds, confused by the mist, chirped sleepily in the bushes. Craig was amused for he realized they were uncertain as to whether to get up and face the bad weather or to clutch their night roosts tighter. He filled the galvanized can from the slow stream and went back to Batta.

Phil was cooking breakfast. Officer Ricardo was still sleeping, a great hunk of relaxation. “He had a pretty scary day,” Craig observed to Phil.

Phil took down the four heavy plates and cups that Craig had made in school. “These are durn good,” he said.

Craig picked up one of the cups and turned it over. “Miss Pierce sure wanted this to be an animal,” he said. “She wanted a good exhibit for the PTA. But I didn’t wanna make animals, cause we didn’t have dishes for Batta. Still,” he mused, “when I told her I really wanted to make dishes, she let me. She said something about art couldn’t be dictated. ’Sfunny thing to say, don’t you think, Phil?”

“I dunno. I get all mixed up about what they want you to do and what they don’t. So I go along with them.” He tilted and swirled the fry pan. “But I do know this much, hash is a durn sight easier to eat on your plates than on my ceramic giraffe.”