Around Rumfoord’s worn contour chair were the plovers’ eggs and wild Titanic strawberries, and the crock of fermented daisy milk and the basket of daisy seeds that Constant had given to Beatrice. They were perishables. They would not last until the next tenant came.
These Constant put back in his dugout canoe.
He didn’t need them. Nobody needed them. As he straightened up his old back from the canoe, he saw Salo, the little messenger from Tralfamadore, walking across the water toward him.
“How do you do,” said Constant.
“How do you do,” said Salo. “Thank you for putting me back together again.”
“I didn’t think I did it right,” said Constant. “I couldn’t get a peep out of you.”
“You did it right,” said Salo. “I just couldn’t make up my mind whether or not I wanted to peep.” He let the air out of his feet with a hiss, “I guess I’ll be moseying along,” he said.
“You’re going to deliver your message after all?” said Constant.
“Anybody who has traveled this far on a fool’s errand,” said Salo, “has no choice but to uphold the honor of fools by completing the errand.”
“My mate died today,” said Constant.
“Sorry,” said Salo. “I would say, ‘Is there anything I can do?’ – but Skip once told me that that was the most hateful and stupid expression in the English language.”
Constant rubbed his hands together. The only company he had left on Titan was whatever company his right hand could be for his left. “I miss her,” he said.
“You finally fell in love, I see,” said Salo.
“Only an Earthling year ago,” said Constant. “It took us that long to realize that a purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.”
“If you or your son would like a ride back to Earth,” said Salo, “it wouldn’t be much out of my way.”
“My boy joined the bluebirds,” said Constant.
“Good for him!” said Salo. “I’d join them, if they’d have me.”
“Earth,” said Constant wonderingly.
“We could be there in a matter of hours,” said Salo, “now that the ship’s running right again.”
“It’s lonely here,” said Constant, “now that – ” He shook his head.
On the trip back to Earth, Salo suspected that he had made a tragic mistake in suggesting to constant that he return to Earth. He had begun to suspect this when Constant insisted on being taken to Indianapolis, Indiana, U.S.A.
This insistence of Constant’s was a dismaying development, since Indianapolis was far from an ideal place for a homeless old man.
Salo wanted to let him off by a shuffleboard court in St. Petersburg, Florida, U.S.A., but Constant, after the fashion of old men, could not be shaken from his first decision. He wanted to go to Indianapolis, and that was that.
Salo assumed that Constant had relatives or possibly old business connections in Indianapolis, but this turned out not to be the case.
“I don’t know anybody in Indianapolis, and I don’t know anything about Indianapolis except for one thing,” said Constant, “a thing I read in a book,”
“What did you read in a book?” said Salo uneasily.
“Indianapolis, Indiana,” said Constant, “is the first place in the United States of America where a white man was hanged for the murder of. an Indian. The kind of people who’ll hang a white man for murdering an Indian – ” said Constant, “that’s the kind of people for me.”
Salo’s head did a somersault in its gimbals. His feet made grieved sucking sounds on the iron floor. His passenger, obviously, knew almost nothing about the planet toward which he was being carried with a speed approaching that of light.
At least Constant had money.
There was hope in that. He had close to three thousand dollars in various Earthling currencies, taken from the pockets of Rumfoord’s suits in the Taj Mahal.
And at least he had clothes.
He had on a terribly baggy but good tweed suit of Rumfoord’s, complete with a Phi Beta Kappa key that hung from the watch chain that spanned the front of the vest.
Salo had made Constant take the key along with the suit.
Constant had a good overcoat, a hat, and overshoes, too.
With Earth only an hour away, Salo wondered what else he could do to make the remainder of Constant’s life supportable, even in Indianapolis.
And he decided to hypnotize Constant, in order that the last few seconds of Constant’s life, at least, would please the old man tremendously. Constant’s life would end well.
Constant was already in a nearly hypnotic state, staring out at the Cosmos through a porthole.
Salo came up behind him and spoke to him soothingly.
“You are tired, so very tired, Space Wanderer, Malachi, Unk,” said Salo. “Stare at the faintest star, Earthling, and think how heavy your limbs are growing.”
“Heavy,” said Constant.
“You are going to die some day, Unk,” said Salo. “Sorry, but it’s true.”
“True,” said Constant. “Don’t be sorry.”
“When you know you are dying, Space Wanderer,” said Salo hypnotically, “a wonderful thing will happen to you.” He then described to Constant the happy things that Constant would imagine before his life flickered out.
It would be a post-hypnotic illusion.
“Awake!” said Salo.
Constant shuddered, turned away from the porthole. “Where am I?” he said.
“On a Tralfamadorian space ship out of Titan, bound for Earth,” said Salo.
“Oh,” said Constant. “Of course,” he said a moment later. “I must have been asleep.”
“Take a nap,” said Salo.
“Yes – I – I think I will,” said Constant. He lay down on a bunk. He dropped off to sleep.
Salo strapped the sleeping Space Wanderer to his bunk. Then he strapped himself to his seat at the controls. He set three dials, double-checked the reading on each. He pressed a bright red button.
He sat back. There was nothing more to do now.
From now on everything was automatic. In thirty-six minutes, the ship would land itself near the end of a bus line on the outskirts of Indianapolis, Indiana, U.S.A., Earth, Solar System, Milky Way.
It would be three in the morning there.
It would also be winter.
The space ship landed in four inches of fresh snow in a vacant lot on the south side of Indianapolis. No one was awake to see it land.
Malachi Constant got out of the space ship. “That’s your bus stop over there, old soldier,” whispered Salo. It was necessary to whisper, for a two-story frame house with an open bedroom window was only thirty feet away. Salo pointed to a snowy bench by the street. “You’ll have to wait about ten minutes,” he whispered. “The bus will take you right into the center of town. Ask the driver to let you off near a good hotel.”
Constant nodded. “I’ll be all right,” he whispered. “How do you feel?” whispered Salo. “Warm as toast,” whispered Constant. The complaint of a vaguely disturbed sleeper came from the open bedroom window near by. “Aw, somebody,” the sleeper complained, “afo wa, de-yah, ummmmmmmmmmmm.”
“You really all right?” whispered Salo.
“Yes. Fine,” whispered Constant. “Warm as toast.”
“Good luck,” whispered Salo.
“We don’t say that down here,” whispered Constant.
Salo winked. “I’m not from down here,” he whispered. He looked around at the perfectly white world, felt the wet kisses of the snowflakes, pondered hidden meanings in the pale yellow streetlights that shone in a world so whitely asleep. “Beautiful,” he whispered.
“Isn’t it?” whispered Constant.
“Sim-faw!” cried the sleeper menacingly, to anyone who might menace his sleep. “Soo! A-so! What’s a mabba? Nf.”
“You better go,” whispered Constant.
“Yes,” whispered Salo.
“Good-by,” whispered Constant, “and thanks.”
“You’re entirely welcome,” whispered Salo. He backed into the ship, closed the airlock. The ship arose with the sound of a man blowing over the mouth of a bottle. It disappeared into the swirling snow and was gone.
“Toodleoo,” it said.
Malachi Constant’s feet squeaked in the snow as he walked to the bench. He brushed aside the snow on the bench and sat down.
“Fraugh!” cried the sleeper, as though he suddenly understood all.
“Braugh!” he cried, not liking at all what he suddenly understood.
“Sup-foe!” he said, saying in no uncertain terms what he was going to do about it.
“Floof!” he cried.
The conspirators presumably fled.
More snow fell.
The bus Malachi Constant was waiting for ran two hours late that morning – on, account of the snow. When the bus did come it was too late. Malachi Constant was dead.
Salo had hypnotized him so that he would imagine, as he died, that he saw his best and only friend, Stony Stevenson.
As the snow drifted over Constant, he imagined that the clouds opened up, letting through a sunbeam, a sunbeam all for him.
A golden space ship encrusted with diamonds came skimming down the sunbeam, landed in the untouched snow of the street.