The Girl Nothing Happens To

THE SPECTRE

In summer, we live at Vnukovo. It’s very convenient, because the monorail goes there, arid from the stop to the cottage it’s only a five-minute walk. In the woods across the road, many brown and orange-cap mushrooms grow — but not enough to go round for all who go gathering mushrooms.

I always went to the cottage straight from the zoo but, instead of finding relaxation, was caught up in the whirlpool of resort life. The vortex of it all was our neighbour’s boy, Kolya, famous through all Vnukovo for taking toys away from children. A psychologist had even come from Leningrad to see him, and afterwards wrote his thesis on the boy. The psychologist made a study of Kolya, but the latter kept eating jam and whining day and night. I brought him a three-wheeled photon-rocket from town, hoping he wouldn’t whimper so much.

Living there besides Kolya were his old grandmother — who loved to talk on genetics and was writing a novel about Mendel — Alice’s grandmother, a boy called Yuri and his mother Karma; then there were the three triplets on the next street who sang in a chorus under my window, and last of all — the Spectre.

The Spectre lived somewhere under an apple-tree in the garden, and had turned up comparatively recently. Only Alice and Kolya’s grandmother believed in it, but nobody else.

Alice and I were sitting on the verandah waiting for our new robot — put out by the Shchelkovo factory — to make farina for supper. The robot had already short-circuited twice, and both Alice and I had cursed the factory, but neither of us wanted to do the cooking ourselves and Granny had gone to the theatre.

Then Alice said: “He’ll come today.”

“Who will?”

“My specater.”

“Spectre,” I corrected her, automatically, not taking my eyes off the robot.

“All right,” said Alice, not bothering to argue. “So it’s my ‘spectre’ then. And Kolya stole nuts from the triplets. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Quite amazing. What were you saying about the spectre?”

“He’s very nice.”

“You think everybody’s nice.”

“Except Kolya.”

“Well, except Kolya. Honestly, if I brought home our new, fire-spitting serpent, I’m sure you’d make friends with it.”

“Probably. Is it kind?”

“Nobody’s been able to talk with it on that subject yet. Its home is on Mars, and it spits boiling hot poison.”

“Probably its feelings are hurt. Why did you bring it away from Mars?”

I could find nothing to answer. It was the utter truth. We hadn’t asked the snake’s permission before shipping it on the Kaluga from Mars. And on the way, it had swallowed the spaceship crew’s favourite dog. After that, all the astronauts hated it.

“So what’s all this about a spectre? What does it look like?” I changed the subject. “It walks only when it gets dark.” “Well, naturally. Spectres have done that since the beginning of time. Have you been listening to the tales of Kolya’s grandma?”

“His grandma only tells me about the history of genetics. About the persecution of Mendel.” “Ye-s, and incidentally how does your spectre react to the crow of a cock?” “He doesn’t. Why should he?” “Well, you see, respectable spectres are supposed to vanish, uttering terrible curses, when the cock crows.”

“I’ll ask him about it this evening.” “Very well.”

“And to-night I’ll go to bed a bit later. I have to talk with the spectre.”

“Please do. All right, we’ve had our little joke, and that’s enough. The robot’s overcooked the cereal again.”

Alice concentrated on her cereal, and I on some scientific reports from the Guiana zoo. There was an interesting article on Stingites. A revolution in zoology. They had managed to breed them in captivity. At birth, the offspring were dark-green, despite the fact that the shells of both parents were blue. It was growing dark.

“Well, I’m off,” said Alice.

“Where are you going?”

“To the spectre. You already promised I could.”

“But I thought you were joking. Well, if you must go into the garden, go inside and put on a sweater. It’s turning cold. And don’t go farther than the apple-tree.”

“Why should I? That’s where he’s waiting for me.”

Alice ran into the garden. I followed her with half an eye. I did not want to invade her world of fantasy. Let her surround herself with spectres and wizards, with brave knights, and good giants from fairy-like blue planets… Of course, just so long as she went to bed on time and ate her meals regularly.

I turned out the verandah light, so it would not interfere with my watching Alice. There she was, nearing the old apple-tree with its thick, spreading branches. Now she was standing under it.

And then… A blue shadow moved away from the trunk of the tree, and came to meet Alice. The shadow seemed to float through the air not touching the grass.

The next moment, grabbing whatever heavy object I could find, I was running down the steps, taking them three at a time. There was something about this I didn’t like. It was either some kind of stupid joke, or… I didn’t think beyond that ‘or’.

“Careful, Daddy!” Alice cried in a loud whisper, hearing my footsteps. “You’ll frighten it.”

I caught Alice by the arm. Before me, a blue silhouette dissolved in air.

“Daddy, what have you done! You see, I almost saved it.”

Alice howled disgracefully as I carried her back to the verandah.

What had been under the apple-tree? A hallucination?

“Why did you do it?” roared Alice. “You promised me…”

“I’ve done nothing at all,” I answered. “There aren’t any spectres.”

“You saw him yourself, you did. Why are you telling me a lie? And, you see, he can’t bear any movement of the air. Honestly, don’t you realize you have to approach him slowly, so a breeze doesn’t blow on him?”

I did not know what to answer. One thing I was sure of. As soon as Alice went to sleep, I was going into the garden to search it with a pocket torch.

“And he gave me a letter for you. Only I won’t give it to you now.”

“What letter?”

“I won’t give it to you.”

Then I noticed the piece of paper crumpled up in her fist. Alice looked at me, and I at her. And, just the same, she finally gave it to me.

On the paper, in my handwriting, was the feeding time-table for red krumci. I’d been looking for it for three days.

“Alice, where did you find my time-table?”

“You turn it over. The spectre didn’t have any paper, so I gave him yours.”

On the reverse side, something was written in English, but I did not recognize the handwriting.

I stared for a long time into the darkness under the apple-tree. Then I left the verandah and approached the tree. A pale-blue, scarcely observable glow swayed round the trunk. Looking closer, I discerned the outlines of a man. It seemed to me that the ‘Spectre’ raised his hands in supplication to the heavens.

I wasted no more time. I ran to the monorail stop and videophoned Tokyo from the station.

All this took about ten minutes. Only on the way back did I remember that I had forgotten to put Alice to bed. I quickened my steps.

The verandah light was on.

Alice was showing her herbarium and butterfly collection to a short, emaciated Japanese. He was holding a pot and delicately eating the left-over farina, but not taking his eyes off Alice’s treasures.

Seeing me, the guest bowed low and said: “I’m Professor Kuraki, your eternal servant. You and your daughter have saved my life.”

“Yes, Daddy. This is my spectre,” said Alice. “Now, do you believe in them?”

“I do,” I answered. “Awfully glad to make your acquaintance.”