Read Online Microcosmic God by Theodore Sturgeon - Free Book Online
Authors: Theodore Sturgeon
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no menace in it, nor anything to fear except that here was a thing that could not be understood.
The fog closed down suddenly, and for a long moment we stood there, feeling the pressure of that mob of “passengers”; and then I reached out and found the mate’s arm and tugged him toward the midship house. We crawled up the canted ladder and stood by the glow from the lamp in the captain’s room.
“It’s a lot of goddam nonsense,” I said weakly.
“H-m-m.”
I didn’t know whether or not Toole agreed with me.
The skipper’s voice came loosely from the porthole. “Heh! I cert’n’y t’ank y’u for de Scotch, I du. Vat a deal, vat a deal!” And he burst out into a horrible sound that might have been laughter, in his cracked and grating voice. I stared in. He was nodding and grinning at the forward bulkhead, toasting it with a pony of fire water.
“He’s seein’ things,” said the mate abruptly.
“Maybe all the rest of us are blind,” I said; and the mate’s dazed expression made me wonder, too, why I had said that. Without another word he went above to take over the bridge, while I went aft to quiet the crew.
We lay there for fourteen hours, and all the while that invisible invasion continued. There was nothing any of us could do. And crazy things began happening. Any one of them might have happened to any of us once in a while, but—well, judge for yourself, now.
When I came on watch that night there was nothing to do but stand by, since we were hove to, and I set Johnny to polishing brass. He got his polish and his rag and got to work. I mooned at the fog from the wheelhouse window, and in about ten minutes I heard Johnny cuss and throw rag and can over the side.
“What gives, Johnny?”
“Ain’t no use doin’ this job. Must be the fog.” He pointed to the binnacle cover. “The tarnish smells the polish and fades off all around me rag. On’y where I rub it comes in stronger.”
It was true. All the places he had rubbed were black-green, and around those spots the battered brass gleamed brilliantly! I told John to go have himself a cup of coffee and settled down on the stool to smoke.
No cigarettes in the right pocket of my dungarees. None in the left. I
knew
I’d put a pack there. “Damn!” I muttered. Now where the—what was I looking for? Cigarettes? But I had a pack of cigarettes in my hand! Was I getting old or something? I tried to shrug it off. I must have had them there all the time, only—well, things like that don’t happen to me! I’m not absent-minded. I pulled out asmoke and stuck it in my chops, fumbling for a match. Now where—I did some more cussing. No matches. What good is a fag to a guy without a—I gagged suddenly on too much smoke. Why was I looking for a match? My cigarette was lit!
When a sailor starts to get the jitters he usually begins to think about the girl he left behind him. It was just my luck to be tied up with one I didn’t want to think about. I simply went into a daze while I finished that haunted cigarette. After a while Johnny came back carrying a cup of coffee for me.
Now I like my coffee black. Wet a spoon in it and dip it in the sugar barrel, and that’s enough sugar for me. Johnny handed me the cup, and I took the saucer off the rim. The coffee was creamed—on a ship that means evaporated milk—and sweet as a soft caramel.
“Damn it, Johnny, you know how I like my coffee. What’s the idea of this?”
“What?”
I showed him. When he saw the pale liquid he recoiled as if there had been a snake curled up on the saucer instead of a cup. “S’help me, third, I didn’t put a drop of milk in that cup! Nor sugar, neither!”
I growled and threw cup and saucer over the side. I couldn’t say anything to Johnny. I
knew
he was telling the truth. Oh, well, maybe there happened to be some milk and sugar in the cup he used and he didn’t notice it. It was a weak sort of excuse, but I clung to it.
At six bells the second heaved
The fog closed down suddenly, and for a long moment we stood there, feeling the pressure of that mob of “passengers”; and then I reached out and found the mate’s arm and tugged him toward the midship house. We crawled up the canted ladder and stood by the glow from the lamp in the captain’s room.
“It’s a lot of goddam nonsense,” I said weakly.
“H-m-m.”
I didn’t know whether or not Toole agreed with me.
The skipper’s voice came loosely from the porthole. “Heh! I cert’n’y t’ank y’u for de Scotch, I du. Vat a deal, vat a deal!” And he burst out into a horrible sound that might have been laughter, in his cracked and grating voice. I stared in. He was nodding and grinning at the forward bulkhead, toasting it with a pony of fire water.
“He’s seein’ things,” said the mate abruptly.
“Maybe all the rest of us are blind,” I said; and the mate’s dazed expression made me wonder, too, why I had said that. Without another word he went above to take over the bridge, while I went aft to quiet the crew.
We lay there for fourteen hours, and all the while that invisible invasion continued. There was nothing any of us could do. And crazy things began happening. Any one of them might have happened to any of us once in a while, but—well, judge for yourself, now.
When I came on watch that night there was nothing to do but stand by, since we were hove to, and I set Johnny to polishing brass. He got his polish and his rag and got to work. I mooned at the fog from the wheelhouse window, and in about ten minutes I heard Johnny cuss and throw rag and can over the side.
“What gives, Johnny?”
“Ain’t no use doin’ this job. Must be the fog.” He pointed to the binnacle cover. “The tarnish smells the polish and fades off all around me rag. On’y where I rub it comes in stronger.”
It was true. All the places he had rubbed were black-green, and around those spots the battered brass gleamed brilliantly! I told John to go have himself a cup of coffee and settled down on the stool to smoke.
No cigarettes in the right pocket of my dungarees. None in the left. I
knew
I’d put a pack there. “Damn!” I muttered. Now where the—what was I looking for? Cigarettes? But I had a pack of cigarettes in my hand! Was I getting old or something? I tried to shrug it off. I must have had them there all the time, only—well, things like that don’t happen to me! I’m not absent-minded. I pulled out asmoke and stuck it in my chops, fumbling for a match. Now where—I did some more cussing. No matches. What good is a fag to a guy without a—I gagged suddenly on too much smoke. Why was I looking for a match? My cigarette was lit!
When a sailor starts to get the jitters he usually begins to think about the girl he left behind him. It was just my luck to be tied up with one I didn’t want to think about. I simply went into a daze while I finished that haunted cigarette. After a while Johnny came back carrying a cup of coffee for me.
Now I like my coffee black. Wet a spoon in it and dip it in the sugar barrel, and that’s enough sugar for me. Johnny handed me the cup, and I took the saucer off the rim. The coffee was creamed—on a ship that means evaporated milk—and sweet as a soft caramel.
“Damn it, Johnny, you know how I like my coffee. What’s the idea of this?”
“What?”
I showed him. When he saw the pale liquid he recoiled as if there had been a snake curled up on the saucer instead of a cup. “S’help me, third, I didn’t put a drop of milk in that cup! Nor sugar, neither!”
I growled and threw cup and saucer over the side. I couldn’t say anything to Johnny. I
knew
he was telling the truth. Oh, well, maybe there happened to be some milk and sugar in the cup he used and he didn’t notice it. It was a weak sort of excuse, but I clung to it.
At six bells the second heaved
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