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diff --git a/29749.txt b/29749.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aa3d7f3 --- /dev/null +++ b/29749.txt @@ -0,0 +1,944 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Flying Cuspidors, by V. R. Francis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Flying Cuspidors + +Author: V. R. Francis + +Release Date: August 21, 2009 [EBook #29749] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLYING CUSPIDORS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + _A trumpet-tooter in love can be a wonderful sight, if Local 802 + will forgive our saying so; when extraterrestrials get involved + too--oh brother! V. R. Francis, who lives in California and has + previously appeared in men's magazines, became 21 and sold to + FANTASTIC UNIVERSE all in the same week._ + + + the + flying + cuspidors + + _by ... V. R. Francis_ + + + This was love, and what could be done about it? + It's been happening to guys for a long time, now. + + +Hotlips Grogan may not be as handsome and good-looking like me or as +brainy and intellectual, but in this fiscal year of 2056 he is the +gonest trumpet-tooter this side of Alpha Centauri. You would know what I +mean right off if you ever hear him give out with "Stars Fell on Venus," +or "Martian Love Song," or "Shine On, Harvest Luna." Believe me, it is +out of this world. He is not only hot, he is radioactive. On a clear day +he is playing notes you cannot hear without you are wearing special +equipment. + +That is for a fact. + +Mostly he is a good man--cool, solid, and in the warp. But one night he +is playing strictly in three or four wrong keys. + +I am the ivory man for this elite bunch of musicians, and I am scooping +up my three-dee music from the battered electronic eighty-eight when he +comes over looking plenty worried. + +"Eddie," he says, "I got a problem." + +"You got a problem, all right," I tell him. "You are not getting a job +selling Venusian fish, the way you play today." + +He frowns. "It is pretty bad, I suppose." + +"Bad is not the word," I say, but I spare his feelings and do not say +the word it is. "What gives?" + +He looks around him, careful to see if anybody in the place is close +enough to hear. But it is only afternoon rehearsal on the gambling ship +_Saturn_, and the waiters are busy mopping up the floor and leaning on +their long-handled sterilizers, and the boys in the band are picking up +their music to go down to Earth to get some shut-eye or maybe an atomic +beer or two before we open that night. + +Hotlips Grogan leans over and whispers in my ear. "It is the thrush," he +says. + +"The thrush?" I say, loud, before he clamps one of his big hands over my +kisser. "The thrush," I say, softer; "you mean the canary?" + +He waves his arms like a bird. "Thrush, canary--I mean Stella +Starlight." + +For a minute I stand with my mouth open and think of this. Then I rubber +for the ninety-seventh time at the female warbler, who is standing +talking to Frankie, the band leader. She is a thrush new to the band and +plenty cute--a blonde, with everything where it is supposed to be, and +maybe a little extra helping in a couple spots. I give her my usual +approving once-over, just in case I miss something the last ninety-six +approving once-overs I give her. + +"What about her?" I say. + +"It is her fault I play like I do," Hotlips Grogan tells me sadly. "Come +on. Leave us go guzzle a beer and I will tell you about it." + +Just then Frankie comes over, looking nasty like as usual, and he says +to Grogan, "You are not playing too well today, Hotlips. Maybe you hurt +your lip on a beer bottle, huh?" + +As usual also, his tone is pretty short on sweetness and light, and I do +not see why Grogan, who looks something like a gorilla's mother-in-law, +takes such guff from a beanpole like Frankie. + +But Grogan only says, "I think something is wrong with my trumpet. I +have it fixed before tonight." + +Frankie smirks. "Do that," he says, looking like a grinning weasel. "We +want you to play for dancing, not for calling in Martian moose." + +Frankie walks away, and Hotlips shrugs. + +"Leave us get our beer," he says simply, and we go to the ferry. + +We pile into the space-ferry with the other musicians and anyone else +who is going down to dirty old terra firma, and when everybody who is +going aboard is aboard, the doors close, and the ferry drifts into +space. Hotlips and I find seats, and we look back at the gambling ship. +It is a thrill you do not get used to, no matter how many times you see +it. + +The sailor boys who build the _Saturn_--they give it the handle of +_Satellite II_ then--would not know their baby now, Frankie does such a +good job of revamping it. Of course, it is not used as a gambling ship +then--at least not altogether, if you know what I mean. Way back in 1998 +when they get it in the sky, they are more interested in it being useful +than pretty; anybody that got nasty and unsanitary ideas just forgot +them when they saw that iron casket floating in a sky that could be +filled with hydrogen bombs or old laundry without so much as a four-bar +intro as warning. + +Frankie buys _Satellite II_ at a war surplus sale when moon flights +become as easy as commuters' trips, and he smoothes out its shape so it +looks like an egg and then puts a fin around it for ships to land on. +After that, it does not take much imagination to call it the _Saturn_. +Then he gets his Western Hemisphere license and opens for business. + +My daydreaming stops, for suddenly Hotlips is grabbing my arm and +pointing out the window. + +"What for are you grabbing my arm and waving your fist at the window, +Hotlips?" I inquire politely of him. + +"Eddie," he whispers, all nervous and excited from something, "I see +one." + +I give him a blank stare. "You see one what?" + +"One flying cuspidor," he says, his face serious. "I see it hanging out +there by the _Saturn_ and then suddenly it is gone. Whoosh." + +"Hallucination," I tell him. But I look out hard and try to see one too. +I don't, so I figure maybe I am right, after all. + +I do not know about this "men from space" gimmick the science-fiction +people try to peddle, but lots of good substantial citizens see flying +cuspidors and I think to myself that maybe there is something to it. So +I keep looking back at the _Saturn_, but nothing unusual is going on +that I can see. My logic and super-salesmanship evidently convinces +Hotlips, for he does not say anything more about it. + +Anyway, in a few minutes we joggle to a stop at Earthport, pile out, +wave our identification papers at the doorman with the lieutenant's +bars, and then take off for the _Atomic Cafe_ a block away. + +Entering this gem of a drinking establishment, we make our way through +the smoke and noise to a quiet little corner table and give Mamie the +high-sign for two beers. A few minutes later she comes bouncing over +with the order and a cheery word about how invigorating it is to see us +high-class gentlemen instead of the bums that usually hang around a +joint like this trying to make time with a nice girl like her. + +"That is all very nice," I say to her politely, "and we are overjoyed +beyond words to see you too, Mamie, but Hotlips and I have got strange +and mysterious things to discuss, so I would appreciate it if you would +see us later instead of now." With this, I give her arm a playful pat, +and she blushes and takes the hint. + +When we are alone, I ask Hotlips, now what is the trouble which he has. + +"Like I tell you before," Hotlips says, "I have a problem. So here it +is." He takes a deep breath and lets fly all at once. "I am in love of +the thrush, Stella Starlight." + +I am drinking my beer when he says this, and suddenly I get a snootful +and start coughing, and he whams me on the back with his big paw so I +stop, more in self-defense than in his curing me. Somehow, the idea of a +big bruiser like Hotlips Grogan in love of a sweet fluffy thing like +Stella Starlight seems funny. + +"So?" I say. + +"So that is why I play so bad tonight," he says. Seeing I do not quite +catch on to the full intent of his remarks, he continues. "I am a happy +man, Eddie. I got my trumpet, a paid-for suit of clothes, a one-room +apartment with green wallpaper. Could a man ask for much more?" + +"Not unless he is greedy," I agree. + +Hotlips Grogan is staring at his beer as though he sees a worm in it and +looking sadder than ever. "It is a strange and funny thing," he says, +dreamy-like. "There she is singing, and there I am giving with the +trumpet, and all of a great big sudden--whammo!--it hits me, and I feel +a funny feeling in my stomach, like maybe it is full of supersuds or +something, and my mouth is dry just like cotton candy." + +"Indigestion," I suggest. + +He shakes his big head. "No," he says, "it is worse than indigestion." +He points to his stomach and sighs. "It is love." + +"Fine," I say, happy it is not worse. "All you got to do is tell her, +get married and have lots and lots of kids." + +Hotlips Grogan's big eyebrows play hopscotch around his button nose, so +I can tell he does not think I solve all his troubles with my +suggestion. + +"You are a good man, Eddie," he tells me, "but you are too intellectual. +This is an affair of the heart." He sighs again. "I am never in love of +a girl before," he goes on, more worried, "and I do not know how to act. +Besides, the thrush is with us only a day, and Frankie already is making +with the eyes." + +"So what should I do, give you lessons?" The idea is so laughable I +laugh at it. "Anyway, Frankie always makes with the eyes at thrushes." + +"Yes," Hotlips Grogan admits, "but never before have I been in love of +any of the thrushes Frankie has made with the eyes at. Frankly, Eddie, I +am worried like all get out about this." + +"Sometimes I do not even understand the way you play even before the +thrush comes, Hotlips," I admit. "Like for instance yesterday when we +play 'A Spaceship Built for Two.' This is a song, as you know, that does +not have in it many high notes, but even when you play the low notes +they sound somewhat like they maybe are trying to be high notes. It is a +matter which is perplexing to one of my curious nature." + +Hotlips looks sheepish for a minute and then he says, "It is a physical +disability with me, Eddie. When I am young and practicing with my +trumpet one day, I have an accident and get my tongue caught in the +mouthpiece, and it is necessary for the doctor to operate on my tongue +and cut into it like maybe it is chopped liver." + +"I am sorry to hear this, Hotlips," I say. + +"I do not tell anyone this before, Eddie," Hotlips confesses. "But +afterward when I play the trumpet, I play two notes at one time, which +at first is pretty embarrassing." + +"This is great, Hotlips," I proclaim as a big idea hits me; "you can +play your own harmony. With talent like that, and my brain--" + +But Hotlips is shaking his head. "No, Eddie," he says. "The other note +is way off in the stratosphere someplace and no one can hear it, even +when the melody note is low. And the higher the note is you can hear, +the higher the other note is you cannot hear. Besides, now I cannot even +play what I am supposed to play, what with the thrush around." + +I sit there with my beer in my hand and think about it for a while, +while Hotlips looks at me like a lost sheepdog. I scratch my head but I +do not even come up with dandruff. + +Finally, I say, "Well, thrush or not, if you play no better than you do +this afternoon, Frankie will make you walk back home without a +spacesuit." + +"That is for positive," Hotlips agrees sadly. "So what can I do?" + +I am forced to admit that I do not know just what Hotlips can do. +"However," I say, "I have an idea." And I call Mamie over and tell her +the problem. "So you are a woman and maybe you know what my musician +friend can do," I suggest. + +Mamie sighs. "I am at a loss for words concerning what your friend can +do, but I know just how he feels, for it is like that with me, too. I am +in love of a handsome young musician who comes in here, but he does not +take notice of me, except to order some beer for him and his friend." + +I click my teeth sympathetically at this news. + +"And I am too shy and dignified a girl to tell him," Mamie continues +sadly. "So you see I have the same problem as your friend and cannot +help you." + +"See," I whisper to Hotlips, "it is perfectly normal." + +"Yes," he hisses back. "But I am still miserable, and the only company I +desire is that of Stella Starlight." + +"Maybe it really is your trumpet," I suggest, not very hopeful, though. + +Hotlips shakes his head. "Look," he says and takes the trumpet from his +case and puts it to his lips, "and listen to this." + +Inwardly, I quiver like all get out, because I figure that is just what +the management will tell us to do, once Hotlips lets go. Hotlips puffs +out his cheeks and a soft note slides from the end of the trumpet--low, +clear, and beautiful, without a waver in a spaceload. Only a few people +close by can hear the note and they do not pay us any attention, except +to think that maybe we are a little nuttier than is normal for +musicians. + +From his first note, Hotlips shifts to a higher note which is just as +pretty. Then he goes on to another one and then to another, improvising +a melody I do not hear before and getting higher all the time. After a +while I can hardly hear it, it is so high, but I can feel the glass in +my hand vibrating like it wants to get out on the floor and dance. I +hold on to it with both hands, so my beer will not slosh over the side. +Then there is no sound at all from the trumpet, but Hotlips' cheeks are +puffed out and he is still blowing for all he is worth--which is plenty, +if he can play like this when Stella Starlight is around. + +I tap Hotlips on the shoulder. "Hotlips, that is all very well for any +bats in the room which maybe can hear what you play, but--" He does not +pay me any attention. + +Suddenly there is a large crinkle-crash of glass from the bar and a +hoarse cry from the bartender as he sees his king-size mirror come down +in little pieces. At the same time, glasses pop into fragments all over +the room and spill beer over the people holding them. Even my own glass +becomes nothing but ground glass and the beer sloshes over the table. At +the moment, however, I do not worry about that. + +There are other things to worry about which are more important--like +Hotlips' and my health, for instance, which is not likely to be so good +in the near future. + +Like I say, Hotlips does not play loud and it is noisy in the place, so +there are not too many who hear him. But they look around, all mad and +covered with beer, and see him there with the trumpet in his hand and a +funny look on his big face, and they put two and two together. I can see +they figure the answer is four. And what makes things worse, they are +between us and the front door, so we cannot sneak past like maybe we are +just tourists. + +"Hotlips," I say to him, my voice not calm like is usual, "I think it is +a grand and glorious idea that we desert here and take ourselves +elsewhere." + +Hotlips agrees. "But where?" he wants to know. + +I am forced to admit to myself that he comes up with a good question. + +"Over here," Mamie said suddenly, and we look across the room to see +her poking her nose through a side door. + +We do not wait for a formal invite but zoom across the floor and through +the door into another, emptier room. Mamie slams the door and locks it +just as two or three bodies thump into it like they mean business. + +"The manager is out there and is not completely overjoyed with your +actions of a short while ago," Mamie informs us, explaining, "I +recognize the thump the character makes." + +"Evidently," I surmise, "he is in no mood to talk to concerning damages +and how we can get out of paying them, so we will talk to him later +instead of now." + +"See what I mean, though, Eddie," Hotlips says. "I play fine when Stella +Starlight is not in the place. Like I say, it is love and what can I do +about it." + +"It is a problem," I say. "Even if you _do_ play, you will no doubt be +fired and cannot pay for the damages to the bar room and to the +customers' clothing." Already there are holes in my plastic clothing +where the beer splashes. "If you can only give out on the _Saturn_ like +you play here," I sigh, "we can break all records and show Frankie--" + +Suddenly Mamie is tugging at my arm. + +"Mamie," I inquire politely of her, "why are you tugging at my arm?" + +"That is it," she informs me and leans forward and whispers in my ear. + +"But--" I say. + +"Hurry," she says, pushing us out another door. "You have only got this +afternoon to do it." + +"But--" I say again, and Hotlips and I are in the alley looking at the +door which Mamie closes in our face. + +"What does Mamie say?" Hotlips wants to know eagerly. "Can she fix it up +with me and Stella Starlight?" + +I scratch my head. "That I do not know, Hotlips, but she does give me an +idea which is so good I am surprised at myself I do not think of it +alone." + +Hotlips gives me a blank stare. "Which is?" + +"Come on," I say mysteriously. "You and me have got things to do." + +It is hard to say who is more nervous that night, Hotlips or a certain +piano player with my name. Frankie is smirking like always, and Stella +Starlight is sitting and looking beautiful while she waits for her cue. +Hotlips is fumbling with his trumpet like maybe he never sees one +before. And I--even I am not exactly calm like always. + +The band begins to warm up, but we do not knock ourselves out because +there are still no customers to speak of. Frankie's license makes it +plain that he has to stay over the western hemisphere so he has to wait +until it gets dark enough there for the people to want to go +night-clubbing, even though it is not really night on the _Saturn_, or +morning or anything else. + +We play along like always, and Hotlips has his trumpet pressed into his +face, and nothing but beautiful sounds come from the band. I do not know +if Frankie is altogether happy about this, for he does not like Hotlips +and would like this chance to bounce him. But what surprises me most is +that the thrush, Stella Starlight, keeps looking back at Hotlips like +she notices him for the first time and is plenty worried by what she +sees. + +We have a short break after a while and I am telling Hotlips that the +idea goes over real great, when Stella Starlight waltzes over. Hotlips' +big eyes bug out and I can see him shaking and covered with goosebumps. + +"You do not play like that before, Hotlips," she coos. "What did you +do?" + +Hotlips blushes and stammers, "Eddie and I fix--" But I give him a kick +in his big shins before he gives the whole thing away. + +"Hotlips does some practicing this afternoon," I tell her, "to get his +lip in shape for tonight." + +She looks at me like she is looking through me, and then she turns back +to Hotlips and says, soft and murmuring: "Please do not play too high, +Hotlips. I am delicate and am disturbed by high sounds." + +She waltzes away, and I scratch my head and try to figure out what this +pitch is for. Hotlips is not trying to figure out anything; he just sits +there looking like he has just got his trumpet out of hock for the last +time. + +"Hotlips," I say to him. + +"Go away, please, Eddie," he tells me. "I am in heaven." + +"You will be in the poorhouse or maybe even in jail if you tell somebody +how we fix your playing," I warn him. + +"I still feel funny feelings though, Eddie," he tells me, frowning, +"like I cannot hit high notes now if I try." + +"Then do not try," I advise. "One problem at a time is too much." + +There is a commotion at the entrance on the other side of the dance +floor, where some people all dressed up come in. A woman is holding her +head and moaning and threatening to faint all over the place. + +Frankie hurries over to us, running fidgety hands through his hair. "For +goodness sake, play something," he almost begs. + +"What gives?" I inquire. + +"Flying cuspidors," Frankie says in a frantic tone. "They are all around +the place, like they are maybe mad at something, and a few minutes ago +they buzz the ferry and get the passengers all nervous and upset. If +they do that again, business will be bad; maybe even now it will be bad. +Play something!" + +He hops out in front with his baton and gives us a quick one-two, and we +all swing into "Space On My Hands," real loud so as to get people's +minds off things which Frankie wants to get people's minds off of. + +Stella Starlight gets up to sing, but she looks more like she would +rather do something else. She stares at Hotlips and at the trumpet on +his lips and begins to quiver like she is about to do a dance. + +I remember she says she does not like high notes, and this song has some +pretty well up in the stratosphere, especially for the trumpet section, +which is Hotlips. + +She is frowning like maybe she is thinking real hard about something and +is surprised her thoughts do no good. Her face becomes waxy and there is +a frightened look on it. + +She quivers some more, as the notes go up and up and up. Then she lets +out a shriek, like maybe she is going to pieces. + +And then she does. Actually. + +Right before our popping eyeballs she goes to pieces. + +As each one in the band sees what is going on, he stops playing, until +finally Hotlips is the only one. But the trumpet is in Hotlips' hand, +and the music is coming from the recording machine we place under his +chair. The notes are clear and smooth, and you can almost feel the air +shaking with them. + +But nobody notices the music or where it comes from. They are too busy +watching the thrush, Stella Starlight. + +She stands there, her face as white as clay, shaking like a carrot going +through a mixmaster. And then tiny cracks appear on her face, on her +arms, even in her dress, and then a large one appears in her forehead +and goes down through her body. She splits in the middle like a cracked +walnut, and there in the center, floating three feet from the floor is a +small flying cuspidor. + +Nobody in the room says anything. They just stand there, bug-eyed and +frightened like anything. Somewhere, across the room, a woman faints. I +do not feel too well myself, and I am afraid to look to see how Hotlips +takes this. + +There is no sound, but I hear a voice in my mind and know that the +others hear it too. The voice sounds like it is filled with wire and +metal and is not exactly human. It says: + +"_You win, Hotlips Grogan. I, as advance agent in disguise, tell you +this. We will go away and leave you and your people alone. We place a +mental block in your mind, but you outsmart us, and now you know our +weakness. We cannot stand high sounds which you can play so easy on your +trumpet. We find ourselves a home someplace else._" + +With that, the cuspidor shoots across the room and plows right through +the wall. + +"That's the engine room!" Frankie wails. + +There is a sudden explosion from the other side of the wall, and +everybody decides all at once they would like to be someplace else, and +they all pick the same spot. The space ferry is pretty crowded, but we +jam aboard it and drift away from the _Saturn_--musicians, waiters and +paying customers all sitting in each other's laps. + +The _Saturn_ is wobbling around, with flames shooting out at all angles, +and Frankie is holding his head and moaning. In the distance, you can +just about make out little specks of cuspidors heading for the wild +black yonder. + +So all is well that ends well, and this is it. + +Frankie uses his insurance money to open a rest home on Mars for ailing +musicians. + +Hotlips is all broken up, in a manner of speaking, over Stella +Starlight's turning out to be not human, but he consoles himself with a +good job playing trumpet in a burlesque house where the girls wear +costumes made of glass and other brittle stuff. + + * * * * * + +As for me, Mamie gets me a job playing piano at the place where she +works, and everything is okay except for one thing. When Mamie is around +I cannot seem to concentrate on my playing. I feel a funny feeling in my +stomach, like maybe it is full of supersuds or something, and my mouth +is dry like cotton candy. + +I think maybe it is indigestion. + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ August 1958. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Flying Cuspidors, by V. R. 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