Read Online Close Encounters of the Third Kind by Steven Spielberg - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steven Spielberg
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nozzled a mound of white lather into the palm of his right hand. He automatically lifted the cream mountain toward his face when something mind boggling stopped him.
Neary began to stare at the stuff in his hand. He cocked his head and brought the lather mound eye level, then vaguely began to shape some of it with the middle finger of his left hand.
“No, that’s not right.” Neary said to himself, not really conscious of what he was doing or saying. But this image was reminding him of something—something maddeningly out of mental reach—he knew this shape so well and yet it felt as if the connection was a million miles away. Neary blinked, a little distressed. Everybody experiences something like this he thought—a moment that feels so familiar, a face you think you’ve seen before but really never have, a place you think you visited once but knew you never did. These were flashes that some psychoanalysts like to call déjà vu; they always pass in a few seconds. This flash was sure taking its time passing. It lingered for minutes, and so did Neary’s eyes, on that sloppy mound of Rapid Shave. Then . . .
The appearance of Ronnie—in the mirror—standing in the bathroom doorway brought Roy partway back.
“Ronnie,” he said. “What does this remind you of?”
She totally ignored the lather mound, and said firmly, “We’re going to tell people at the party tonight that you fell asleep under a sunlamp on your right side.”
“What? What for?”
“I don’t want to hear you talking about it at the party,” she said. “Not till you know what you’re talking about.”
“If I don’t talk about it,” he said, essaying logic, “how am I gonna find out what’s to know?”
“Talk about it with your buddies in the Department, not at parties.”
“What does the Department know?”
During this meeting of the minds, Brad and Toby had wandered into the bathroom.
“Dad, are they for real?” Brad asked.
“No, they’re not for real,” Ronnie snapped.
“Don’t tell him that,” Neary said.
“Mom . . . I believe in them,” Brad persisted.
“No, you don’t.”
“Dad says so.”
“He does not,” Ronnie said. Then, pleadingly, “Roy?”
“I just want to know what in the world is going on,” Neary admitted, the mound of foam still balanced in his right hand.
“It’s just one of those things,” Ronnie said, matter-of-factly, as if that resolved everything.
“Which things?”
“I don’t want to hear about this anymore.”
“Do they live on the moon?” Toby asked.
“They got bases on the moon,” Brad said, really getting into it, “so at night they can come in your window and pull the covers off!”
Ronnie shut her eyes. “I’m not listening to this. I don’t hear it.”
“Last night,” Neary said, as calmly as he could, “I saw something I can’t explain.”
Her fierce blue eyes snapped open and she fixed him in the mirror with her glare. “Last night, at four A.M. , I saw something I can’t explain. A grown man—” Ronnie stopped abruptly, sensing the boys’ full attention.
“Ronnie, you know I’m going out there again tonight, damn it!”
She turned to leave, and said lightly, “No, you’re not.”
“Yes,” he said, with a dramatic pause, “I am.”
The phone began ringing.
Ronnie turned back, and said, playfully again, “No, you’re not.” She reached into the bathroom, grabbed his right wrist and planted his palm upward into his face. The shaving foam gooshed and Neary looked like a bathtub toy.
Roy stared at himself in the mirror. The white foam emphasized the reddish color of his cheek. He smeared some of the foam onto his chin and other cheek. “It ain’t a moonburn, goddamn it,” he muttered to himself.
Neary had started shaving when Ronnie reappeared in the mirror. She looked like someone who had just been told something awful. Tears began to come out of her eyes and she just stood there in the doorway shaking.
Roy turned around
Neary began to stare at the stuff in his hand. He cocked his head and brought the lather mound eye level, then vaguely began to shape some of it with the middle finger of his left hand.
“No, that’s not right.” Neary said to himself, not really conscious of what he was doing or saying. But this image was reminding him of something—something maddeningly out of mental reach—he knew this shape so well and yet it felt as if the connection was a million miles away. Neary blinked, a little distressed. Everybody experiences something like this he thought—a moment that feels so familiar, a face you think you’ve seen before but really never have, a place you think you visited once but knew you never did. These were flashes that some psychoanalysts like to call déjà vu; they always pass in a few seconds. This flash was sure taking its time passing. It lingered for minutes, and so did Neary’s eyes, on that sloppy mound of Rapid Shave. Then . . .
The appearance of Ronnie—in the mirror—standing in the bathroom doorway brought Roy partway back.
“Ronnie,” he said. “What does this remind you of?”
She totally ignored the lather mound, and said firmly, “We’re going to tell people at the party tonight that you fell asleep under a sunlamp on your right side.”
“What? What for?”
“I don’t want to hear you talking about it at the party,” she said. “Not till you know what you’re talking about.”
“If I don’t talk about it,” he said, essaying logic, “how am I gonna find out what’s to know?”
“Talk about it with your buddies in the Department, not at parties.”
“What does the Department know?”
During this meeting of the minds, Brad and Toby had wandered into the bathroom.
“Dad, are they for real?” Brad asked.
“No, they’re not for real,” Ronnie snapped.
“Don’t tell him that,” Neary said.
“Mom . . . I believe in them,” Brad persisted.
“No, you don’t.”
“Dad says so.”
“He does not,” Ronnie said. Then, pleadingly, “Roy?”
“I just want to know what in the world is going on,” Neary admitted, the mound of foam still balanced in his right hand.
“It’s just one of those things,” Ronnie said, matter-of-factly, as if that resolved everything.
“Which things?”
“I don’t want to hear about this anymore.”
“Do they live on the moon?” Toby asked.
“They got bases on the moon,” Brad said, really getting into it, “so at night they can come in your window and pull the covers off!”
Ronnie shut her eyes. “I’m not listening to this. I don’t hear it.”
“Last night,” Neary said, as calmly as he could, “I saw something I can’t explain.”
Her fierce blue eyes snapped open and she fixed him in the mirror with her glare. “Last night, at four A.M. , I saw something I can’t explain. A grown man—” Ronnie stopped abruptly, sensing the boys’ full attention.
“Ronnie, you know I’m going out there again tonight, damn it!”
She turned to leave, and said lightly, “No, you’re not.”
“Yes,” he said, with a dramatic pause, “I am.”
The phone began ringing.
Ronnie turned back, and said, playfully again, “No, you’re not.” She reached into the bathroom, grabbed his right wrist and planted his palm upward into his face. The shaving foam gooshed and Neary looked like a bathtub toy.
Roy stared at himself in the mirror. The white foam emphasized the reddish color of his cheek. He smeared some of the foam onto his chin and other cheek. “It ain’t a moonburn, goddamn it,” he muttered to himself.
Neary had started shaving when Ronnie reappeared in the mirror. She looked like someone who had just been told something awful. Tears began to come out of her eyes and she just stood there in the doorway shaking.
Roy turned around
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