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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/31841-h.zip b/31841-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9e5de89 --- /dev/null +++ b/31841-h.zip diff --git a/31841-h/31841-h.htm b/31841-h/31841-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c7b87a --- /dev/null +++ b/31841-h/31841-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1043 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Water Eater, by Win Marks + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.img1 {border:solid 1px; } + +.p1 { margin-left: 70%; } + +.center {text-align: center;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 0em; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Water Eater, by Win Marks + +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 Water Eater + +Author: Win Marks + +Illustrator: Balbalis + +Release Date: March 31, 2010 [EBook #31841] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WATER EATER *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction June 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="543" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<h1>the water eater</h1> +<p> </p> +<h2>By WIN MARKS</h2> +<p> </p> +<h3>Illustrated by BALBALIS</h3> +<p> </p> +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Most experiments were dropped because they failed—and some +because they worked too well!</i></p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="20" height="50" /></div> +<p> just lost a weekend. I ain't too anxious to find it. Instead, I sure +wish I had gone fishing with McCarthy and the boys like I'd planned.</p> + +<p>I drive a beer truck for a living, but here it is almost noon Monday +and I haven't turned a wheel. Sure, I get beer wholesale, and I have +been known to take some advantage of my discount. But that wasn't what +happened to this weekend.</p> + +<p>Instead of fishing or bowling or poker or taking the kids down to the +amusement park over Saturday and Sunday, I've been losing sleep over +an experiment.</p> + +<p>Down at the Elks' Club, the boys say that for a working stiff I have a +very inquiring mind. I guess that's because they always see me reading +<i>Popular Science</i> and <i>Scientific American</i> and such, instead of +heading for the stack of <i>Esquires</i> that are piled a foot deep in the +middle of the big table in the reading room, like the rest of them do.</p> + +<p>Well, it was my inquiring mind that lost me my wife, the skin of my +right hand, a lot of fun and sleep—yeah, not a wink of sleep for two +days now! Which is the main reason I'm writing this down now. I've +read somewheres that if you wrote down your troubles, you could get +them out of your system.</p> + +<p>I thought I had troubles Friday night when I pulled into the driveway +and Lottie yelled at me from the porch, "The fire's out! And it's +flooded. Hurry up!"</p> + +<p>Trouble, hah! That was just the beginning.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_l.jpg" alt="L" width="33" height="40" /></div> +<p>ottie is as cute a little ex-waitress as ever flipped the suds off a +glass of beer, but she just ain't mechanically minded. The day Uncle +Alphonse died and left us $2500 and I went out and bought a kitchen +and shed full of appliances for her, that was a sad day, all right. +She has lived a fearful life ever since, too proud of her dishwasher +and automatic this and that to consider selling them, but scared stiff +of the noises they make and the vibrations and all the mysterious +dials and lights, etc.</p> + +<p>So this Friday afternoon when the oil-burner blew out from the high +wind, she got terrified, sent the kids over to their grandmother's in +a cab and sat for two hours trying to make up her mind whether to call +the fire department or the plumber.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, this blasted oil stove was overflowing into the fire pot.</p> + +<p>"Well, turn it off!" I yelled. "I'll be in right away!"</p> + +<p>I ducked into the garage and got a big handful of rags and a hunk of +string and a short stick. This I have been through before. I went in +and kissed her pretty white face, and a couple of worry lines +disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Get me a pan or something," I said and started dismantling the front +of the heater.</p> + +<p>These gravity-flow oil heaters weren't built to make it easy to drain +off excess oil. There's a brass plug at the inlet, but no one in +history has been able to stir one, the oil man told me. I weigh 200 +pounds stripped, but all I ever did was ruin a tool trying.</p> + +<p>The only way to get out the oil was to open the front, stuff rags down +through the narrow fire slot, sop up the stuff and fish out the rags +with the string tied around one end of the bundle. Then you wring out +the rags with your bare hands into a pan.</p> + +<p>"Hey, Lottie," I yelled, "this is your roaster! It'll be hard to +clean out the oil smell!"</p> + +<p>But, of course, it was too late. I had squeezed a half-pint of oil +into it already. So I went on dunking and wringing and thinking how +lousy my cigarettes were going to taste all evening and feeling glad +that I delivered beer instead of oil for a living.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="16" height="40" /></div> +<p> got the stove bailed out and lit with only one serious blast of soot +out the "Light Here" hole. Then I dumped the oil out in the alley and +set the roaster pan in the sink. Lottie was peeling potatoes for +dinner, and she snuggled her yellow curls on my shoulder kind of +apologetically for the mess she had caused me. I scrubbed the soot and +oil off my hands and told her it was all right, only next time, for +gosh sakes, please turn the stove off at least.</p> + +<p>The water I was splashing into the roaster gathered up in little +shrinking drops and reminded me that the pig-hocks I brought home for +Sunday dinner were going to rate throwing out unless we got the oil +smell out of the pan.</p> + +<p>"Tell you what you do," I said to Lottie. "Get me all your cleaning +soaps and stuff and let's see what we got."</p> + +<p>Lottie is always trying out some new handy-dandy little kitchen helper +compound, so she hefted up quite an armload. Now, when I was in high +school, I really liked chemistry. "Charlie, Boy Scientist," my pals +used to sneer at me. But I was pretty good at it, and I been reading +the science magazines right along ever since. So I know what a +detergent is supposed to do, and all about how soaps act, and stuff +that most people take the advertisers' word for.</p> + +<p>"This one," I told Lottie, "has a lot of caustic in it, see?"</p> + +<p>She nodded and said that's the one that ruined her aluminum coffee +pot. She remembered it specially.</p> + +<p>I poured some very hot tap water into the roaster and shook in the +strong soap powder. "This is to saponify the oil," I explained.</p> + +<p>"What's saponify?" Lottie asked.</p> + +<p>"That means to make soap. Soap is mainly a mixture of some caustic +with fat or oil. It makes sudsy soap."</p> + +<p>"But we got soap," she said. "Why don't you just use the soap we got?"</p> + +<p>We went into the business of soap-making pretty deep. Meanwhile, I +read some more labels and added pinches of this and that detergent and +a few squirts of liquid "wonder-cleaners" that didn't say what was in +them.</p> + +<p>In her crisp Scotch way, Lottie got across to me that she thought I +was wasting soap powder and my time and cluttering up the sink while +she was busy there, so I wound up with half a cup of Doozey soap +flakes, filled the pan to the brim and set the concoction at the back +of the drain board to do its business.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_w.jpg" alt="W" width="48" height="40" /></div> +<p>hen dinner was over, I was in the living room reading the paper when +I heard Lottie muttering at the sink. Lottie doesn't usually mutter, +so I went out to see what was wrong.</p> + +<p>"Nice mess," she said and pointed at the roaster. The stuff had cooled +and jelled into a half-solid condition.</p> + +<p>"Hah!" I said. "We had a supersaturated solution. When it cooled off, +it coagulated."</p> + +<p>Lottie scowled. It makes her nervous when I use big words which I only +do when I'm talking about chemistry and the like.</p> + +<p>"Well, uncoogalate it and dump it out of my roaster," she told me.</p> + +<p>My scientific inquiring mind was stirred as I lifted the pan over to +the table under the center light. We had here a gelatin of various +cleaners, and every one of them claiming to be best ever. What would +this new combination do?</p> + +<p>I grabbed a pan off the stove that had a mess of scorched carrot +leavings in the bottom. Lottie had been soaking it with about a half +inch of water. As I reached for a tablespoon, Lottie objected. "Look, +now, if you are going to start another <i>experiment</i>, dump that mess +out first and let me work on the roaster."</p> + +<p>I saved about a cupful of the slimy gunk and she went back to her +dishes.</p> + +<p>"You'll be sorry," I said under my breath, "if this turns out to be +the only batch of the finest cleaner in the whole world. And us with +only a cupful."</p> + +<p>A minute later, I was glad she hadn't heard me. When I dropped a +little glob of the stuff into the carrot pan and stirred it around a +bit, instead of dissolving and diluting in the extra water, the +mixture seemed to stay the same density after swallowing up the water.</p> + +<p>"Give me a pie tin," I demanded.</p> + +<p>Lottie sighed, but she got a shallow pan out of the pantry and handed +it to me. Then I poured the jelly out of the carrot pan and I made my +first important discovery.</p> + +<p>The stuff was not good for cleaning out scorched carrots.</p> + +<p>The pot was bone-dry. So were the carrots. They had a desiccated look +and were stuck worse than ever to the bottom. I brushed them with my +finger and the top layers powdered to dust. Then I noticed that not a +droplet or smidgin of the jelly remained in the pot. When I had poured +it out, it had gone out all at the same time, as if it was trying to +hang together.</p> + +<p>The carbonized carrots at the very bottom were hard and dry, too. A +scrape job if I ever saw one.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="31" height="40" /></div> +<p>he pie tin was now full almost to the rim. The globby stuff sort of +rolled around, trying to find a flat condition, which it finally did. +The motion was not as startling as the sudden quiet that settled over +the surface after a last ripple.</p> + +<p>The stuff looked like it was waiting.</p> + +<p>The temptation was worse than a park bench labeled "wet paint," so I +stuck my finger in it. Right in the middle of it.</p> + +<p>A ripple flashed out from the center like when you drop a pebble in a +pool, and the ripple hit the brim and converged back to my finger. +When it hit, the surface climbed up my finger about an eighth of an +inch. Another ripple, another eighth of an inch, and about now I felt +something like a gentle sucking sensation. Also, another feeling I can +only tell you was "unclammy."</p> + +<p>I jerked away fast and shook my finger hard over the pan, but it +wasn't necessary. None of the stuff had stayed with me. In fact, my +finger was dry—powdery dry!</p> + +<p>Then I got the feeling that someone was staring over my shoulder. +There was. It was Lottie, and she had a look of horror on her face +that didn't help my nerves a bit.</p> + +<p>"Get rid of it, Charlie!" she cried. "Get rid of it! Please throw it +out!"</p> + +<p>"Now, now, honey," I said. "It ain't alive."</p> + +<p>"It is!" she insisted.</p> + +<p>Lottie chatters quite a bit and pretty well speaks her mind. But she +doesn't go around making assertions. When she does come out +flat-footed with a serious statement, it is always from the bottom of +her 22-carat womanly intuition, and she is practically always right.</p> + +<p>"How could it be alive?" I argued. I often argue when I know I'm +wrong. This time I argued because I wanted to wipe that awful look off +my wife's face. "Come on in the living room and relax," I said.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="37" height="40" /></div> +<p>nd then sweet-natured, honey-haired little Lottie did a violent +thing. Still staring over my shoulder at the pie tin, she screamed +wide-open and ran out of the house. A second later, I heard her start +the car out the driveway at 30 miles an hour in reverse. She burned +rubber out in front and was gone.</p> + +<p>I hadn't moved an inch. Because when she screamed, I looked back at +the jelly to see why, and the stuff had oozed over the edge and was +flowing slowly toward me.</p> + +<p>I know a little about Korzybski and how he wanted everybody to make +what he called a cortico-thalamic pause whenever they get scared as +hell. So I was making this cortico-thalamic pause, which is really +counting to ten before you do anything, while Lottie was leaving the +house. When I got through with my pause, I jumped backward over my +kitchen chair so hard that I must have knocked my head on the tile +sink-board.</p> + +<p>When I came to, it was after midnight. The kitchen light was still on. +Lottie was still gone. I knew it. If she was here, she'd have had me +in bed. No matter how much of my employer's product I have sampled, +never has Lottie let me sleep it off on the kitchen floor. Her 110 +pounds is a match for my 200 in more ways than one, and she takes good +care of her man.</p> + +<p>Then I realized that this was not a stag beer-bust. There was +something about a pot of soap-jelly.</p> + +<p>It was still there. A long slug of the half-transparent stuff had +strung down off the edge of the table and still hung there like a +nasty-looking icicle.</p> + +<p>The knob on the back of my head throbbed so much that at first I +couldn't figure what was wrong with the air. Then my aching dry throat +told me what the matter was. The air was dry like the summer we spent +at a dude ranch in Arizona. It made my nostrils crimp, and my tongue +felt like a mouthful of wrinkled pepperoni.</p> + +<p>When I got to my feet and looked at the top of the kitchen table, I +almost panicked again. But this time the pause worked and I got better +results.</p> + +<p>Alive or dead, the gunk was the most powerful desiccant I'd ever heard +of. It had drunk up the water in the carrot pot, sucked the surface +moisture from my finger and then spent the past few hours feeding on +the humidity in the air.</p> + +<p>It was thirsty. Like alcohol has affinity for water, this stuff was +the same way, only more so. In fact, it even reached out toward +anything that had water in it—like me.</p> + +<p>That's why it had oozed over the pan the way it did.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_w.jpg" alt="W" width="48" height="40" /></div> +<p>hat's so frightening about that, I asked myself. Plants grow toward +water.</p> + +<div> +<img class="figright" src="images/image_001_01.jpg" width="500" height="280" alt="" title="" /> +<img class="figright" src="images/image_001_02.jpg" width="241" height="402" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>But plants are alive!</p> + +<p>That's what Lottie had said—before she screamed.</p> + +<p>"So you're thirsty?" I asked it out loud. "Okay, we'll give you a +<i>real</i> drink!"</p> + +<p>I got a bucket from the service porch and took the pancake turner to +scrape the gooey nightmare into it. I even caught the drip off the +edge, and it seemed quietly grateful to sink back to the parent glob +in the pail, which by now amounted to about a quart.</p> + +<p>I set the pail in the laundry tray and turned on the faucet hard. In +about a second and a half, I almost sprained my wrist turning it off. +Not only did the jelly drink up the water without dissolving, but it +started creeping up the stream in a column about three inches in +diameter, with the water pouring down its middle.</p> + +<p>When I got the water shut off, the unholy jelly-spout slopped back +disappointedly.</p> + +<p>And now the bucket was over half full of the stuff.</p> + +<p>I dropped in an ice-cube as an experiment. It didn't even splash. The +surface pulled away, letting the cube make a pretty good dent in it, +but then only gradually did the displaced goo creep back around it as +if to sample it cautiously.</p> + +<p>I couldn't stand the dry air any more, so I threw open the doors and +windows and let the cool, damp night air come in. The ice-cube had +disappeared without even a surface puddle. Now, as the humidity came +back, I thought I noticed a restless shimmering in the jelly.</p> + +<p>The phone rang. It was Lottie's mother wanting to know why Lottie had +come over there in hysterics, and where had I been since seven +o'clock. I don't remember what I answered, but it served the purpose. +Lottie hasn't returned and they haven't called up any more.</p> + +<p>When I returned to the bucket, it seemed that the stuff was deeper +yet, but I couldn't tell because I hadn't marked the level. I got +Lottie's fever thermometer out of the medicine chest and took the +jelly's temperature. It read 58 degrees F. The wall thermometer read +58 degrees, too. Room temperature, with the windows open. What kind of +"life" could this be that had no temperature of its own?</p> + +<p>But then what kind of a fancy-pants metabolism could you expect out of +an organism that fed on nothing but Lake Michigan water, right out of +the reservoir?</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="16" height="40" /></div> +<p> got a pencil and notebook out of Lottie's neat little desk and +started making notes.</p> + +<p>I wondered about the density of the stuff. Ice floated in it and the +bucket seemed heavy. I broke the thermometer and tapped a drop of +mercury onto the restless surface. The droplet sank slowly to the +bottom with no apparent effect either way.</p> + +<p>Heavier than water. Lighter than mercury.</p> + +<p>I took a beer out of the refrigerator and swallowed it. The last drops +I sprinkled into the pail. The drippings sizzled across the surface +until only a fine dust was left. A tiny ripple flipped this dust over +to the edge of the pail as if clearing the thirsty decks for action. +But this drew my eyes to the rim of the liquid. There was no meniscus, +either up or down.</p> + +<p>Remembering back, I figured this meant there was no surface tension, +which reminded me that part of this mixture was made of detergent.</p> + +<p>But had I created a new form of life? Like Lottie said, was it really +alive? Certainly it could reproduce itself. It had brains enough to +know the direction of more water, like when it took off after me on +the table.</p> + +<p>Not long ago, there was this important physicist who wrote about how +life probably got started away back when the Earth was just forming. +He argued that special creation was more or less a lot of hogwash, and +that what actually took place was that as the Earth cooled, all the +hot chemicals mixing around sort of stumbled onto a combination or two +that took on the first characteristics of life.</p> + +<p>In other words, this guy left off where Mr. Darwin began his theory of +evolution.</p> + +<p>Now me, I don't know. Lottie makes me go to church with the kids every +Sunday and I like it. If this chemical theory about life getting +started is right—well, then, a lot of people got the wrong idea about +things, I always figured.</p> + +<p>But how would I or this physicist explain this quivering mess of +protoplasm I got on my hands by accident this particular Friday night?</p> + +<p>I experimented some more. I got out the kids' junior encyclopedia and +looked up some things I'd forgot, and some I had never learned in the +first place.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="26" height="40" /></div> +<p>o it got to be Saturday morning. Fred and Claude phoned about the +fishing trip and I made an excuse. No one else bothered me. All day +Saturday, I studied. And all Saturday night and Sunday. But I couldn't +figure out any sensible answers that would make peace with my +minister.</p> + +<p>It looked like I had created some form of life. Either that or some +life-form in the stove oil that had been asleep a billion years had +suddenly found a condition to its liking and had decided to give up +hibernating in favor of reproduction.</p> + +<p>What drove me on was the thought that I must have something here that +was commercially important—a new culture of something that would +revolutionize some branch of chemistry or biology. I wouldn't even +stop to fry an egg. I chewed up some crackers and drank a few more +bottles of beer when my stomach got too noisy. I wasn't sleepy, +although my eyes felt like they were pushed four inches into my skull.</p> + +<p>Junior's little chemistry set didn't tell me very much when I made the +few tests I knew how. Litmus paper remained either red or blue when +stuck into the jelly. This surprised me a little because this whole +mass of de-sudsed washing compound mixture had started out with a +pretty good shot of lye in it.</p> + +<p>So my notes grew, but my useful information didn't. By midnight +Sunday, it appeared that my jelly invention had only one important +talent: The ability to drink endlessly anything containing water. And +only the water was used, it seemed. Dissolved solids were cast aside +in the form of variously colored dusts.</p> + +<p>By now, the goop had outgrown the pail and was two-thirds up in the +laundry tub. A slow drip from the faucet kept the surface of my +monster in a constant state of frenzy, like feeding a rumpot beer by +the thimbleful.</p> + +<p>It was fascinating to watch the little curleycues of jelly flip up +after each drop, reaching for more, and then falling back with a +cranky little lash.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="37" height="40" /></div> +<p>t two o'clock this morning, I began to get a little sense in me. Or +maybe it was just the fear finally catching up again.</p> + +<p><i>There was danger here.</i></p> + +<p>I was too fuzzy to know exactly what the danger was, but I began to +develop a husky hate for the whole project.</p> + +<p>"Kill it!" came into my mind. "Get rid of it, Charlie!"</p> + +<p>Lottie's scream shrilled back into my ears, and this command became +very important to me. I became angry.</p> + +<p>"Want a drink, do you?" I shouted out loud. I put on the tea kettle +and when it was to full steam, I took it back to the tub. "I'll give +you a drink with a kick in it!"</p> + +<p>What happened, I would like to forget. Ten times as fast as it had +climbed up the cold water spout, it ran up the boiling water stream, +into the tea kettle, blew off the lid and swarmed over my hand with a +scalding-dry slither that made me drop the kettle into the tub and +scream with pain.</p> + +<p>The jelly steamed and stuck to my flesh long enough to sear it half to +the bone. Then it slopped back with the rest and left me grabbing my +wrist and tearing at the flesh with my finger-nails to stop the pain.</p> + +<p>Then I got insane mad. I got my big blowtorch I use for peeling paint, +and I lit it and pumped it up as high as it would go and aimed it down +into that tub.</p> + +<p>Not too much happened. The jelly shrank away from the roaring blast, +but it didn't climb over the edge of the tub. It shrank some more and +I poured the flame on.</p> + +<p>It didn't burn. It just got to be less and less, and what was left +began to get cloudy. And when I hit the bottom of the tub, the last +glob moved around pretty active, trying to escape the heat, but I got +it. Every damned last shred of it, and I was laughing and crying when +I dropped the torch into the tub. I had been holding it with my +scalded hand and I guess I fainted.</p> + +<p>I wasn't out long. I got up and dressed my hand with lard, and it felt +pretty good. Took a couple of aspirins and sat down at Lottie's +typewriter. I know I won't sleep until I get this off my mind in about +the way it happened, because I probably won't believe all of it myself +when I get back to normal.</p> + +<p>I just now went out and fished the blowtorch out of the laundry tub. +All there was left in the bottom of the tub was maybe half a pound of +singed-looking—soap flakes?</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="31" height="40" /></div> +<p>here, I've finished writing this all down. But I'm still not sleepy. +I'm not worried about patching things up with Lottie. She's the most +wonderful, understanding wife a guy ever had.</p> + +<p>My hand feels real good now. I got it wrapped in lard and gauze, and I +could drive the truck if I wanted to.</p> + +<p>I'm not afraid of getting fired or bawled out for not coming to work +on time this morning.</p> + +<p>No, the reason I haven't turned a wheel on my beer truck today is +something else.</p> + +<p>Friday night, when Lottie wanted to wash the roaster, I saved only a +cup of the jelly for my experiments. The rest she washed down the +drain.</p> + +<p>The sewer empties into Lake Michigan.</p> + +<p>The brewery where I load up is right on the shore of Lake Michigan.</p> + +<p>I'm afraid to drive down there and look.</p> + +<p class="p1">—WIN MARKS</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Water Eater, by Win Marks + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WATER EATER *** + +***** This file should be named 31841-h.htm or 31841-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/8/4/31841/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 Water Eater + +Author: Win Marks + +Illustrator: Balbalis + +Release Date: March 31, 2010 [EBook #31841] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WATER EATER *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction June 1953. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + the water eater + + + By WIN MARKS + + + Illustrated by BALBALIS + + + _Most experiments were dropped because they failed--and some + because they worked too well!_ + + * * * * * + + + + +I just lost a weekend. I ain't too anxious to find it. Instead, I sure +wish I had gone fishing with McCarthy and the boys like I'd planned. + +I drive a beer truck for a living, but here it is almost noon Monday +and I haven't turned a wheel. Sure, I get beer wholesale, and I have +been known to take some advantage of my discount. But that wasn't what +happened to this weekend. + +Instead of fishing or bowling or poker or taking the kids down to the +amusement park over Saturday and Sunday, I've been losing sleep over +an experiment. + +Down at the Elks' Club, the boys say that for a working stiff I have a +very inquiring mind. I guess that's because they always see me reading +_Popular Science_ and _Scientific American_ and such, instead of +heading for the stack of _Esquires_ that are piled a foot deep in the +middle of the big table in the reading room, like the rest of them do. + +Well, it was my inquiring mind that lost me my wife, the skin of my +right hand, a lot of fun and sleep--yeah, not a wink of sleep for two +days now! Which is the main reason I'm writing this down now. I've +read somewheres that if you wrote down your troubles, you could get +them out of your system. + +I thought I had troubles Friday night when I pulled into the driveway +and Lottie yelled at me from the porch, "The fire's out! And it's +flooded. Hurry up!" + +Trouble, hah! That was just the beginning. + + * * * * * + +Lottie is as cute a little ex-waitress as ever flipped the suds off a +glass of beer, but she just ain't mechanically minded. The day Uncle +Alphonse died and left us $2500 and I went out and bought a kitchen +and shed full of appliances for her, that was a sad day, all right. +She has lived a fearful life ever since, too proud of her dishwasher +and automatic this and that to consider selling them, but scared stiff +of the noises they make and the vibrations and all the mysterious +dials and lights, etc. + +So this Friday afternoon when the oil-burner blew out from the high +wind, she got terrified, sent the kids over to their grandmother's in +a cab and sat for two hours trying to make up her mind whether to call +the fire department or the plumber. + +Meanwhile, this blasted oil stove was overflowing into the fire pot. + +"Well, turn it off!" I yelled. "I'll be in right away!" + +I ducked into the garage and got a big handful of rags and a hunk of +string and a short stick. This I have been through before. I went in +and kissed her pretty white face, and a couple of worry lines +disappeared. + +"Get me a pan or something," I said and started dismantling the front +of the heater. + +These gravity-flow oil heaters weren't built to make it easy to drain +off excess oil. There's a brass plug at the inlet, but no one in +history has been able to stir one, the oil man told me. I weigh 200 +pounds stripped, but all I ever did was ruin a tool trying. + +The only way to get out the oil was to open the front, stuff rags down +through the narrow fire slot, sop up the stuff and fish out the rags +with the string tied around one end of the bundle. Then you wring out +the rags with your bare hands into a pan. + +"Hey, Lottie," I yelled, "this is your roaster! It'll be hard to +clean out the oil smell!" + +But, of course, it was too late. I had squeezed a half-pint of oil +into it already. So I went on dunking and wringing and thinking how +lousy my cigarettes were going to taste all evening and feeling glad +that I delivered beer instead of oil for a living. + + * * * * * + +I got the stove bailed out and lit with only one serious blast of soot +out the "Light Here" hole. Then I dumped the oil out in the alley and +set the roaster pan in the sink. Lottie was peeling potatoes for +dinner, and she snuggled her yellow curls on my shoulder kind of +apologetically for the mess she had caused me. I scrubbed the soot and +oil off my hands and told her it was all right, only next time, for +gosh sakes, please turn the stove off at least. + +The water I was splashing into the roaster gathered up in little +shrinking drops and reminded me that the pig-hocks I brought home for +Sunday dinner were going to rate throwing out unless we got the oil +smell out of the pan. + +"Tell you what you do," I said to Lottie. "Get me all your cleaning +soaps and stuff and let's see what we got." + +Lottie is always trying out some new handy-dandy little kitchen helper +compound, so she hefted up quite an armload. Now, when I was in high +school, I really liked chemistry. "Charlie, Boy Scientist," my pals +used to sneer at me. But I was pretty good at it, and I been reading +the science magazines right along ever since. So I know what a +detergent is supposed to do, and all about how soaps act, and stuff +that most people take the advertisers' word for. + +"This one," I told Lottie, "has a lot of caustic in it, see?" + +She nodded and said that's the one that ruined her aluminum coffee +pot. She remembered it specially. + +I poured some very hot tap water into the roaster and shook in the +strong soap powder. "This is to saponify the oil," I explained. + +"What's saponify?" Lottie asked. + +"That means to make soap. Soap is mainly a mixture of some caustic +with fat or oil. It makes sudsy soap." + +"But we got soap," she said. "Why don't you just use the soap we got?" + +We went into the business of soap-making pretty deep. Meanwhile, I +read some more labels and added pinches of this and that detergent and +a few squirts of liquid "wonder-cleaners" that didn't say what was in +them. + +In her crisp Scotch way, Lottie got across to me that she thought I +was wasting soap powder and my time and cluttering up the sink while +she was busy there, so I wound up with half a cup of Doozey soap +flakes, filled the pan to the brim and set the concoction at the back +of the drain board to do its business. + + * * * * * + +When dinner was over, I was in the living room reading the paper when +I heard Lottie muttering at the sink. Lottie doesn't usually mutter, +so I went out to see what was wrong. + +"Nice mess," she said and pointed at the roaster. The stuff had cooled +and jelled into a half-solid condition. + +"Hah!" I said. "We had a supersaturated solution. When it cooled off, +it coagulated." + +Lottie scowled. It makes her nervous when I use big words which I only +do when I'm talking about chemistry and the like. + +"Well, uncoogalate it and dump it out of my roaster," she told me. + +My scientific inquiring mind was stirred as I lifted the pan over to +the table under the center light. We had here a gelatin of various +cleaners, and every one of them claiming to be best ever. What would +this new combination do? + +I grabbed a pan off the stove that had a mess of scorched carrot +leavings in the bottom. Lottie had been soaking it with about a half +inch of water. As I reached for a tablespoon, Lottie objected. "Look, +now, if you are going to start another _experiment_, dump that mess +out first and let me work on the roaster." + +I saved about a cupful of the slimy gunk and she went back to her +dishes. + +"You'll be sorry," I said under my breath, "if this turns out to be +the only batch of the finest cleaner in the whole world. And us with +only a cupful." + +A minute later, I was glad she hadn't heard me. When I dropped a +little glob of the stuff into the carrot pan and stirred it around a +bit, instead of dissolving and diluting in the extra water, the +mixture seemed to stay the same density after swallowing up the water. + +"Give me a pie tin," I demanded. + +Lottie sighed, but she got a shallow pan out of the pantry and handed +it to me. Then I poured the jelly out of the carrot pan and I made my +first important discovery. + +The stuff was not good for cleaning out scorched carrots. + +The pot was bone-dry. So were the carrots. They had a desiccated look +and were stuck worse than ever to the bottom. I brushed them with my +finger and the top layers powdered to dust. Then I noticed that not a +droplet or smidgin of the jelly remained in the pot. When I had poured +it out, it had gone out all at the same time, as if it was trying to +hang together. + +The carbonized carrots at the very bottom were hard and dry, too. A +scrape job if I ever saw one. + + * * * * * + +The pie tin was now full almost to the rim. The globby stuff sort of +rolled around, trying to find a flat condition, which it finally did. +The motion was not as startling as the sudden quiet that settled over +the surface after a last ripple. + +The stuff looked like it was waiting. + +The temptation was worse than a park bench labeled "wet paint," so I +stuck my finger in it. Right in the middle of it. + +A ripple flashed out from the center like when you drop a pebble in a +pool, and the ripple hit the brim and converged back to my finger. +When it hit, the surface climbed up my finger about an eighth of an +inch. Another ripple, another eighth of an inch, and about now I felt +something like a gentle sucking sensation. Also, another feeling I can +only tell you was "unclammy." + +I jerked away fast and shook my finger hard over the pan, but it +wasn't necessary. None of the stuff had stayed with me. In fact, my +finger was dry--powdery dry! + +Then I got the feeling that someone was staring over my shoulder. +There was. It was Lottie, and she had a look of horror on her face +that didn't help my nerves a bit. + +"Get rid of it, Charlie!" she cried. "Get rid of it! Please throw it +out!" + +"Now, now, honey," I said. "It ain't alive." + +"It is!" she insisted. + +Lottie chatters quite a bit and pretty well speaks her mind. But she +doesn't go around making assertions. When she does come out +flat-footed with a serious statement, it is always from the bottom of +her 22-carat womanly intuition, and she is practically always right. + +"How could it be alive?" I argued. I often argue when I know I'm +wrong. This time I argued because I wanted to wipe that awful look off +my wife's face. "Come on in the living room and relax," I said. + + * * * * * + +And then sweet-natured, honey-haired little Lottie did a violent +thing. Still staring over my shoulder at the pie tin, she screamed +wide-open and ran out of the house. A second later, I heard her start +the car out the driveway at 30 miles an hour in reverse. She burned +rubber out in front and was gone. + +I hadn't moved an inch. Because when she screamed, I looked back at +the jelly to see why, and the stuff had oozed over the edge and was +flowing slowly toward me. + +I know a little about Korzybski and how he wanted everybody to make +what he called a cortico-thalamic pause whenever they get scared as +hell. So I was making this cortico-thalamic pause, which is really +counting to ten before you do anything, while Lottie was leaving the +house. When I got through with my pause, I jumped backward over my +kitchen chair so hard that I must have knocked my head on the tile +sink-board. + +When I came to, it was after midnight. The kitchen light was still on. +Lottie was still gone. I knew it. If she was here, she'd have had me +in bed. No matter how much of my employer's product I have sampled, +never has Lottie let me sleep it off on the kitchen floor. Her 110 +pounds is a match for my 200 in more ways than one, and she takes good +care of her man. + +Then I realized that this was not a stag beer-bust. There was +something about a pot of soap-jelly. + +It was still there. A long slug of the half-transparent stuff had +strung down off the edge of the table and still hung there like a +nasty-looking icicle. + +The knob on the back of my head throbbed so much that at first I +couldn't figure what was wrong with the air. Then my aching dry throat +told me what the matter was. The air was dry like the summer we spent +at a dude ranch in Arizona. It made my nostrils crimp, and my tongue +felt like a mouthful of wrinkled pepperoni. + +When I got to my feet and looked at the top of the kitchen table, I +almost panicked again. But this time the pause worked and I got better +results. + +Alive or dead, the gunk was the most powerful desiccant I'd ever heard +of. It had drunk up the water in the carrot pot, sucked the surface +moisture from my finger and then spent the past few hours feeding on +the humidity in the air. + +It was thirsty. Like alcohol has affinity for water, this stuff was +the same way, only more so. In fact, it even reached out toward +anything that had water in it--like me. + +That's why it had oozed over the pan the way it did. + + * * * * * + +What's so frightening about that, I asked myself. Plants grow toward +water. + +[Illustration] + +But plants are alive! + +That's what Lottie had said--before she screamed. + +"So you're thirsty?" I asked it out loud. "Okay, we'll give you a +_real_ drink!" + +I got a bucket from the service porch and took the pancake turner to +scrape the gooey nightmare into it. I even caught the drip off the +edge, and it seemed quietly grateful to sink back to the parent glob +in the pail, which by now amounted to about a quart. + +I set the pail in the laundry tray and turned on the faucet hard. In +about a second and a half, I almost sprained my wrist turning it off. +Not only did the jelly drink up the water without dissolving, but it +started creeping up the stream in a column about three inches in +diameter, with the water pouring down its middle. + +When I got the water shut off, the unholy jelly-spout slopped back +disappointedly. + +And now the bucket was over half full of the stuff. + +I dropped in an ice-cube as an experiment. It didn't even splash. The +surface pulled away, letting the cube make a pretty good dent in it, +but then only gradually did the displaced goo creep back around it as +if to sample it cautiously. + +I couldn't stand the dry air any more, so I threw open the doors and +windows and let the cool, damp night air come in. The ice-cube had +disappeared without even a surface puddle. Now, as the humidity came +back, I thought I noticed a restless shimmering in the jelly. + +The phone rang. It was Lottie's mother wanting to know why Lottie had +come over there in hysterics, and where had I been since seven +o'clock. I don't remember what I answered, but it served the purpose. +Lottie hasn't returned and they haven't called up any more. + +When I returned to the bucket, it seemed that the stuff was deeper +yet, but I couldn't tell because I hadn't marked the level. I got +Lottie's fever thermometer out of the medicine chest and took the +jelly's temperature. It read 58 degrees F. The wall thermometer read +58 degrees, too. Room temperature, with the windows open. What kind of +"life" could this be that had no temperature of its own? + +But then what kind of a fancy-pants metabolism could you expect out of +an organism that fed on nothing but Lake Michigan water, right out of +the reservoir? + + * * * * * + +I got a pencil and notebook out of Lottie's neat little desk and +started making notes. + +I wondered about the density of the stuff. Ice floated in it and the +bucket seemed heavy. I broke the thermometer and tapped a drop of +mercury onto the restless surface. The droplet sank slowly to the +bottom with no apparent effect either way. + +Heavier than water. Lighter than mercury. + +I took a beer out of the refrigerator and swallowed it. The last drops +I sprinkled into the pail. The drippings sizzled across the surface +until only a fine dust was left. A tiny ripple flipped this dust over +to the edge of the pail as if clearing the thirsty decks for action. +But this drew my eyes to the rim of the liquid. There was no meniscus, +either up or down. + +Remembering back, I figured this meant there was no surface tension, +which reminded me that part of this mixture was made of detergent. + +But had I created a new form of life? Like Lottie said, was it really +alive? Certainly it could reproduce itself. It had brains enough to +know the direction of more water, like when it took off after me on +the table. + +Not long ago, there was this important physicist who wrote about how +life probably got started away back when the Earth was just forming. +He argued that special creation was more or less a lot of hogwash, and +that what actually took place was that as the Earth cooled, all the +hot chemicals mixing around sort of stumbled onto a combination or two +that took on the first characteristics of life. + +In other words, this guy left off where Mr. Darwin began his theory of +evolution. + +Now me, I don't know. Lottie makes me go to church with the kids every +Sunday and I like it. If this chemical theory about life getting +started is right--well, then, a lot of people got the wrong idea about +things, I always figured. + +But how would I or this physicist explain this quivering mess of +protoplasm I got on my hands by accident this particular Friday night? + +I experimented some more. I got out the kids' junior encyclopedia and +looked up some things I'd forgot, and some I had never learned in the +first place. + + * * * * * + +So it got to be Saturday morning. Fred and Claude phoned about the +fishing trip and I made an excuse. No one else bothered me. All day +Saturday, I studied. And all Saturday night and Sunday. But I couldn't +figure out any sensible answers that would make peace with my +minister. + +It looked like I had created some form of life. Either that or some +life-form in the stove oil that had been asleep a billion years had +suddenly found a condition to its liking and had decided to give up +hibernating in favor of reproduction. + +What drove me on was the thought that I must have something here that +was commercially important--a new culture of something that would +revolutionize some branch of chemistry or biology. I wouldn't even +stop to fry an egg. I chewed up some crackers and drank a few more +bottles of beer when my stomach got too noisy. I wasn't sleepy, +although my eyes felt like they were pushed four inches into my skull. + +Junior's little chemistry set didn't tell me very much when I made the +few tests I knew how. Litmus paper remained either red or blue when +stuck into the jelly. This surprised me a little because this whole +mass of de-sudsed washing compound mixture had started out with a +pretty good shot of lye in it. + +So my notes grew, but my useful information didn't. By midnight +Sunday, it appeared that my jelly invention had only one important +talent: The ability to drink endlessly anything containing water. And +only the water was used, it seemed. Dissolved solids were cast aside +in the form of variously colored dusts. + +By now, the goop had outgrown the pail and was two-thirds up in the +laundry tub. A slow drip from the faucet kept the surface of my +monster in a constant state of frenzy, like feeding a rumpot beer by +the thimbleful. + +It was fascinating to watch the little curleycues of jelly flip up +after each drop, reaching for more, and then falling back with a +cranky little lash. + + * * * * * + +At two o'clock this morning, I began to get a little sense in me. Or +maybe it was just the fear finally catching up again. + +_There was danger here._ + +I was too fuzzy to know exactly what the danger was, but I began to +develop a husky hate for the whole project. + +"Kill it!" came into my mind. "Get rid of it, Charlie!" + +Lottie's scream shrilled back into my ears, and this command became +very important to me. I became angry. + +"Want a drink, do you?" I shouted out loud. I put on the tea kettle +and when it was to full steam, I took it back to the tub. "I'll give +you a drink with a kick in it!" + +What happened, I would like to forget. Ten times as fast as it had +climbed up the cold water spout, it ran up the boiling water stream, +into the tea kettle, blew off the lid and swarmed over my hand with a +scalding-dry slither that made me drop the kettle into the tub and +scream with pain. + +The jelly steamed and stuck to my flesh long enough to sear it half to +the bone. Then it slopped back with the rest and left me grabbing my +wrist and tearing at the flesh with my finger-nails to stop the pain. + +Then I got insane mad. I got my big blowtorch I use for peeling paint, +and I lit it and pumped it up as high as it would go and aimed it down +into that tub. + +Not too much happened. The jelly shrank away from the roaring blast, +but it didn't climb over the edge of the tub. It shrank some more and +I poured the flame on. + +It didn't burn. It just got to be less and less, and what was left +began to get cloudy. And when I hit the bottom of the tub, the last +glob moved around pretty active, trying to escape the heat, but I got +it. Every damned last shred of it, and I was laughing and crying when +I dropped the torch into the tub. I had been holding it with my +scalded hand and I guess I fainted. + +I wasn't out long. I got up and dressed my hand with lard, and it felt +pretty good. Took a couple of aspirins and sat down at Lottie's +typewriter. I know I won't sleep until I get this off my mind in about +the way it happened, because I probably won't believe all of it myself +when I get back to normal. + +I just now went out and fished the blowtorch out of the laundry tub. +All there was left in the bottom of the tub was maybe half a pound of +singed-looking--soap flakes? + + * * * * * + +There, I've finished writing this all down. But I'm still not sleepy. +I'm not worried about patching things up with Lottie. She's the most +wonderful, understanding wife a guy ever had. + +My hand feels real good now. I got it wrapped in lard and gauze, and I +could drive the truck if I wanted to. + +I'm not afraid of getting fired or bawled out for not coming to work +on time this morning. + +No, the reason I haven't turned a wheel on my beer truck today is +something else. + +Friday night, when Lottie wanted to wash the roaster, I saved only a +cup of the jelly for my experiments. The rest she washed down the +drain. + +The sewer empties into Lake Michigan. + +The brewery where I load up is right on the shore of Lake Michigan. + +I'm afraid to drive down there and look. + +--WIN MARKS + + * * * * * + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Water Eater, by Win Marks + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WATER EATER *** + +***** This file should be named 31841.txt or 31841.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/8/4/31841/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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