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10 - Whats He Doing In There · Classic Sci-Fi Tales Audio Library

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  Speaker 1: What's he doing in there? By Fritz Liber This is
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  Speaker 1: a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
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  Speaker 1: For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
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  Speaker 1: Reading by Greg Marguerite. What's he doing in there? By
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  Speaker 1: Fritzliber He went where no Martian ever went before. But
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  Speaker 1: would he come out? Or had he gone for good?
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  Speaker 1: The Professor was congratulating Earth's first visitor from another planet
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  Speaker 1: on his wisdom in getting in touch with a cultural
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  Speaker 1: anthropologist before contacting any other scientists or government's God forbid,
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  Speaker 1: and in learning English from radio and TV before landing
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  Speaker 1: from his orbit parked rocket. When the Martian stood up
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  Speaker 1: and said hesitantly, excuse me, please, but where is it?
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  Speaker 1: That baffled the professor, and the Martians seemed to grow anxious.
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  Speaker 1: At least his long mouth curved upward, and he had
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  Speaker 1: earlier explained that it curling downward was his smile, and
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  Speaker 1: he repeated, please, where is it? He was surprisingly humanoid
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  Speaker 1: in most respects, but his complexion was textured so like
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  Speaker 1: the rich, dark arm chair he'd just been occupying that
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  Speaker 1: the Professor's pin striped gray suit, which he had eagerly
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  Speaker 1: consented to wear seemed an arbitrary interruption between him and
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  Speaker 1: the chair, a sort of Mother Hubbard dress on a
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  Speaker 1: phantom conjured from its leather. The professor's wife, always a
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  Speaker 1: perceptive hostess, came to her husband's rescue by saying, with
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  Speaker 1: equal rapidity, top of the stairs, end of the hall,
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  Speaker 1: last door. The Martian's mouth curled happily downward, and he
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  Speaker 1: said thank you very much, and was off comprehension burst
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  Speaker 1: on the professor. He caught up with his guest at
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  Speaker 1: the foot of the stairs. Here, I'll show you the way,
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  Speaker 1: he said, No, I can find it myself. Thank you,
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  Speaker 1: the martian assured him. Something rather final in the martian's
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  Speaker 1: tone made the professor desist, and, after watching his visitors
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  Speaker 1: sway up the stairs with an almost hypnotic, softly jogging movement,
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  Speaker 1: he rejoined his wife in this study, saying, wonderingly, who'd
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  Speaker 1: have thought it by George function taboos as strict as
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  Speaker 1: our own. I'm glad some of your professional visitors maintain him,
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  Speaker 1: his wife said darkly, but this one's from Mars Darling,
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  Speaker 1: and to find out he's well similar in an aspect
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  Speaker 1: of his life is as thrilling as the discovery that
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  Speaker 1: Wooter is burned hydrogen when I think of the day
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  Speaker 1: not far distant, when I'll put his entries in the
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  Speaker 1: cross cultural index. He was still rhapsodizing when the professor's
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  Speaker 1: little son raced it. Pop, the Martian's gone in the bathroom. Hush,
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  Speaker 1: dear manners. Now it's perfectly natural, darling, that the boy
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  Speaker 1: should notice and be excited. Yes, son, the Martians not
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  Speaker 1: so very different from us. Oh, certainly, the professor's wife said,
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  Speaker 1: with a trace of bitterness. I don't imagine his turquoise
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  Speaker 1: complexion will cause any comments at all when you bring
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  Speaker 1: him to a faculty reception. They'll just figure he's had
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  Speaker 1: a hard night and that he's got that baby elephant
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  Speaker 1: nose sniffing around for assistant professorships. Really, darling, he probably
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  Speaker 1: thinks of our noses as disagreeably amputated and paralyzed. Well, anyway, Pop,
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  Speaker 1: he's in the bathroom. I followed him when he squiggled upstairs. Now, son,
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  Speaker 1: you shouldn't have done that. He's on a strange planet,
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  Speaker 1: and it might make him nervous if he thought he
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  Speaker 1: was being spied on. We must show him every courtesy
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  Speaker 1: by George. I can't wait to discuss these things with
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  Speaker 1: Ackerley Ram's bottom when I think of how much more
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  Speaker 1: this encounter has to give the anthropologist than even the
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  Speaker 1: physicist or astronomer. He was still going strong on his
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  Speaker 1: second rhapsody when he was interrupted by another high speed entrance.
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  Speaker 1: It was the professor's Coltish daughter. Mom Pop, the Martians hush, dear,
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  Speaker 1: we know. The professor's Coltish daughter regained her adolescent poise,
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  Speaker 1: which was considerable. Well he's still in there, she said,
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  Speaker 1: I just tried the door and it was locked. I'm
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  Speaker 1: glad it was, the professor said, while his wife added, yes,
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  Speaker 1: you can't be sure what and caught herself. Really, dear,
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  Speaker 1: that was very bad manners. I thought he'd come downstairs
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  Speaker 1: long ago, her daughter explained, he's been in there an
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  Speaker 1: awfully long time. It must have been a half hour
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  Speaker 1: ago that I saw him gyre and gimbal upstairs in
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  Speaker 1: that real gone way he has, with Nosy here following him.
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  Speaker 1: The professor's Coltish daughter was currently soaking up both jive
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  Speaker 1: and alice. When the professor checked his wristwatch, his expression
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  Speaker 1: grew troubled. Why George he is taking his time, though,
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  Speaker 1: of course we don't know how much time Martians, I
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  Speaker 1: wonder I listened for a while. Pop his son volunteered.
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  Speaker 1: He was running the water, running the water. Eh. We
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  Speaker 1: know Mars is a wooter starved planet. I suppose that
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  Speaker 1: in the presence of unlimited water, he might be seized
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  Speaker 1: by a kind of madness. But he seemed so well adjusted.
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  Speaker 1: Then his wife spoke, voicing all their thoughts. Her outlook
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  Speaker 1: on life gave her a naturally sepulchoral voice. What's he
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  Speaker 1: doing in there? Twenty minutes and at least as many
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  Speaker 1: fantastic suggestions later, the professor glanced again at his watch
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  Speaker 1: and nerved himself for action. Motioning his family aside, he
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  Speaker 1: mounted the stairs and tiptoed down the hall. He paused
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  Speaker 1: only once to shake his head and mutter under his breath,
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  Speaker 1: by George, I wish I had Fenchurch or Van Gotstalk here.
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  Speaker 1: They're a shade better than I am on intercultural contracts,
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  Speaker 1: especially taboo breakings and affronts. His family followed him at
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  Speaker 1: a short distance. The professor stopped in front of the
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  Speaker 1: bathroom door. Everything was quiet as death. He listened for
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  Speaker 1: a minute and then rapped measuredly, steadying his hand by
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  Speaker 1: clutching its wrist with the other. There was a faint splashing,
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  Speaker 1: but no other sound. Another minute passed. The professor rapped again.
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  Speaker 1: Now there was no response at all. He very gingerly
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  Speaker 1: tried to knob the door was still locked. When they
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  Speaker 1: had retreated to the stairs, it was the professor's wife
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  Speaker 1: who once more voiced their thoughts. This time her voice
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  Speaker 1: carried over tones of supernatural horror. What's he doing in there?
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  Speaker 1: He may be dead or dying. The professor's coltish daughter
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  Speaker 1: suggested briskly, maybe we ought to call the fire department,
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  Speaker 1: like they did for old missus Frisbee. The professor winced,
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  Speaker 1: I'm afraid you haven't visualized the complications, dear, he said gently.
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  Speaker 1: No one but ourselves knows that the Martian is on Earth,
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  Speaker 1: or even has the slightest inkling that interplanetary travel has
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  Speaker 1: been achieved. Whatever we do, it will have to be
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  Speaker 1: on our own. But to break in on a creature
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  Speaker 1: engaged in well, we don't know what primal private activity is.
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  Speaker 1: Still against all anthropological practice. Still, dying's a primal activity,
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  Speaker 1: his daughter said crisply. So's ritual bathing before mass murder.
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  Speaker 1: His wife added, please still, as I was about to say,
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  Speaker 1: we do have the moral duty to succor him if,
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  Speaker 1: as you all too reasonably suggest, he has been incapacitated
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  Speaker 1: by a germ or virus, or, more likely, by some
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  Speaker 1: simple environmental factor such as Earth's greater gravity. Tell you what, Pop,
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  Speaker 1: I can look in the bathroom window and see what
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  Speaker 1: he's doing. All I have to do is crawl out
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  Speaker 1: of my bedroom window and along the gutter a little ways.
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  Speaker 1: It's safe as houses. The professor's question, beginning with son,
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  Speaker 1: how do you know? Died unuttered, and he refused to
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  Speaker 1: notice the words his daughter was voicing silently at her brother.
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  Speaker 1: He glanced at his wife's sardonically composed face, thought once
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  Speaker 1: more of the fire department and other and larger and
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  Speaker 1: even more jealous or would it be skeptical government agencies,
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  Speaker 1: and clutched at the straw offered him. Ten minutes later,
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  Speaker 1: he was quite unnecessarily assisting his son back through the
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  Speaker 1: bedroom window. Gee, Pop, I couldn't see a sign of him.
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  Speaker 1: That's why I took so long. Hey, Pop, don't look
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  Speaker 1: so scared. He's in there, sure enough. It's just that
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  Speaker 1: the bathtub's under the window and you have to get
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  Speaker 1: real close up to see into it. The martians taking
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  Speaker 1: a bath yep, got it full up, and just the
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  Speaker 1: end of his little old schnozzle sticking out your suit
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  Speaker 1: pop was hanging on the door. The one word the
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  Speaker 1: professor's wife spoke was like a death knell drowned. No, ma,
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  Speaker 1: I don't think so. His schnozzle was opening and closing
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  Speaker 1: regular like. Maybe he's a shape changer, the professor's coltish
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  Speaker 1: daughter said, in a burst of evil fantasy. Maybe he
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  Speaker 1: softens in water and thins out after a while until
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  Speaker 1: he's like an eel, and then he'll go exploring through
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  Speaker 1: the sewer pipes. Wouldn't it be funny if he went
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  Speaker 1: under the street and knocked up on the stopper from
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  Speaker 1: underneath and crawled into the bathtub with President Rexford or
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  Speaker 1: missus President Rexford, or maybe right into the middle of
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  Speaker 1: one of Jeanie Rexford's Oh I'm so sexy bubble baths. Please.
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  Speaker 1: The professor put his hand to his eyebrows and kept
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  Speaker 1: it there, cuddling the elbow in his other hand. Well,
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  Speaker 1: have you thought of something, the professor's wife asked him.
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  Speaker 1: After a bit, what are you going to do? The
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  Speaker 1: professor dropped his hand and blinked his eyes hard and
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  Speaker 1: took a deep breath. Telegraph fenchurch and ackerly Ram's bottom,
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  Speaker 1: and then break in, he said, in a resigned voice,
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  Speaker 1: into which nevertheless a note of hope seemed also to
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  Speaker 1: have come first. However, I'm going to wait until morning.
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  Speaker 1: And he sat down cross legged in the hall, a
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  Speaker 1: few yards from the bathroom door, and folded his arms.
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  Speaker 1: So the long vigil commenced. The professor's family sh shared it,
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  Speaker 1: and he offered no objection. Other and sterner men, he
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  Speaker 1: told himself, might claim to be able to successfully order
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  Speaker 1: their children to go to bed when there was a
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  Speaker 1: martian locked in the bathroom, but he would like to
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  Speaker 1: see them faced with the situation. Finally, dawn began to
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  Speaker 1: seep from the bedrooms. When the bulb in the hall
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  Speaker 1: had grown quite dim, the professor unfolded his arms. Just
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  Speaker 1: then there was a loud splashing in the bathroom. The
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  Speaker 1: professor's family looked toward the door. The splashing stopped, and
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  Speaker 1: they heard the martian moving around. Then the door opened
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  Speaker 1: and the martian appeared in the professor's gray pin striped suit.
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  Speaker 1: His mouth curled sharply downward in a broad, alien smile
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  Speaker 1: as he saw the professor. Good morning, the martian said, happily.
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  Speaker 1: I've never slept better in my life, even in my
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  Speaker 1: own little wet bed back on Mars. He looked around
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  Speaker 1: more closely, and his mouth straightened. But where did you
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  Speaker 1: all sleep, he asked, Don't tell me you stayed dry
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  Speaker 1: all night. You didn't give up your only bed to me.
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  Speaker 1: His mouth curled upward in misery. Oh, dear, he said,
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  Speaker 1: I'm afraid I've made a mistake somehow, Yet I don't
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  Speaker 1: understand how. Before I studied you, I didn't know what
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  Speaker 1: your sleeping habits would be. But that question was answered
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  Speaker 1: for me. In fact, it looked so reassuringly homelike when
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  Speaker 1: I saw those brief TV scenes of your females ready
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  Speaker 1: for sleep in their little tubs. Of course, on Mars,
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  Speaker 1: only the fortunate can always be sure of sleeping wet.
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  Speaker 1: But here, with your abundance of water, I thought there
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  Speaker 1: would be wet beds for all. He paused. It's true,
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  Speaker 1: I had some doubts last night, wondering if I'd used
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  Speaker 1: the right words, and all, but then when you rapped
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  Speaker 1: good night to me, I splashed the sentiment back at
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  Speaker 1: you and went to sleep in a wink. But I'm
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  Speaker 1: afraid that somewhere I've blundered. And no, no, dear Chap,
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  Speaker 1: the professor managed to say he had been waving his
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  Speaker 1: hand in a gentle circle for some time in token
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  Speaker 1: that he wanted to interrupt. Everything is quite all right.
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  Speaker 1: It's true we stayed up all night, but please consider
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  Speaker 1: that as a watch, an honor guard by George, which
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  Speaker 1: we kept to indicate our esteem, and of what's he
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  Speaker 1: doing in there by? Fritz liber