Heinlein, Robert A – Expanded Universe

the country. You can’t keep us on diets while traveling; it isn’t practical.

Antoine’s, here I come!”

“No,” said Mother.

“Yes,” said Daddy.

So we went to California. I was ready to throw my weight (which was still

too much) in with Daddy, when California was mentioned. I hadn’t expected to see

Cliff until fall. I put thoughts of bouillabaisse and Shrimp Norfolk out of mind;

Cliff won, but it was nearer than I like to think.

The trip was hardly a case of merrie-merrie-be. Junior sulked because he

wasn’t allowed to take along his lifting weights, and Mother was loaded with charts

and reference books and menus. Each time we stopped she would enter into long

negotiations, involving a personal interview with the chef, while we got hungrier,

and hungrier.

We were coming to Kingman, Arizona, when Mother announced that she didn’t

think we could find a restaurant to take care of our needs. “Why not?” demanded

Daddy. “The people there must eat.”

Mother shuffled her lists and suggested that we go on through to Las Vegas.

Daddy said that if he had known this trip was going to be another Donner party, he

would have studied up on how to cook human flesh.

While they discussed it we slid through Kingman and turned north toward

Boulder Dam. Mother looked worriedly at the rugged hills and said, “Perhaps you had

better turn back, Charles. It will be hours before we reach Las Vegas and there

isn’t a thing on the map.

Daddy gripped the wheel and looked grim. Daddy will not backtrack for less

than a landslide, as Mother should have known.

I was beyond caring. I expected to leave my bones whitening by the road with

a notice: She tried and she died.

We had dropped out of those hills and into the bleakest desert imaginable

when Mother said, “You’ll have to turn back, Charles. Look at your gasoline gauge.”

Daddy set his jaw and speeded up. “Charles!” said Mother.

“Quiet!” Daddy answered. “I see a gas station ahead.”

The sign read Santa Claus, Arizona. I blinked at it, thinking I was at last

seeing a mirage. There was a gas station, all right, but that wasn’t all.

You know what most desert gas stations look like- put together out of odds

and ends. Here was a beautiful fairytale cottage with wavy candy stripes in the

shingles. It had a broad brick chimney-and Santa Claus was about to climb down the

chimney!

Maureen, I said, you’ve overdone this starvation business; now you are out

of your head.

Between the station and the cottage were two incredible little dolls’

houses. One was marked Cinderella’s House and Mistress Mary Quite Contrary was

making the garden grow. The other one needed no sign; the Three Little Pigs, and Big

Bad Wolf was stuck in its chimney.

“Kid stuff!” says Junior, and added, “Hey, Pop, do we eat here? Huh?”

“We just gas up,” answered Daddy. “Find a pebble to chew on. Your mother has

declared a hunger strike.”

Mother did not answer and headed toward the cottage. We went inside, a bell

bonged, and a sweet contralto voice boomed, “Come in! Dinner is ready!”

The inside was twice as big as the outside and was the prettiest dining room

imaginable, fresh, new, and clean. Heavenly odors drifted out of the kitchen. The

owner of the voice came out and smiled at us.

We knew who she was because her kitchen apron

had “Mrs. Santa Claus” embroidered across it. She

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made me feel slender, but for her it was perfectly right.

Can you imagine Mrs. Santa Claus being skinny?

“How many are there?” she asked.

“Four,” said Mother, “but-” Mrs. Santa Claus dis

appeared into the kitchen.

Mother sat down at a table and picked up a menu. I

did likewise and started to drool-here is why:

Minted Fruit Cup Rouge

Pot-au-feu a la Creole

Chicken Velvet Soup

Roast Veal with Fine Herbs

Ham Soufflé

Yankee Pot Roast

Lamb Hawaii

Potatoes Lyonnaise

Riced Potatoes

Sweet Potatoes Maryland

Glazed Onions

Asparagus Tips with Green Peas

Chicory Salad with

Roquefort Dressing

Artichoke Hearts with Avocado

Beets in Aspic

Cheese Straws

Miniature Cinnamon Rolls