A Fisherman of the Inland Sea: Stories Read Online Free Page A

cindery, stony soil in her high-heeled sandals.
    “Jerry, come back. I think—”
    “Shut up!” he yelled so savagely that she stopped short for a moment. But she could see the hair better now, and she could
     see that it did have eyes, and mouths too, with little red tongues darting out.
    “Jerry, come back,” she said. “They’re not natives, they’re Space Aliens. That’s their saucer.” She knew from the
Sun
that there had been sightings down here in Australia.
    “Shut the fuck up,” he said. “Hey, big fella, give me a little action, huh? Don’t just stand there. Dancee-dancee, OK?” His
     eye was glued to the camera.
    “Jerry,” she said, her voice sticking in her throat, as one of the Space Aliens pointed with its little weak-looking arm and
     hand at the car. Jerry shoved the camera right up close to its head, and at that it put its hand over the lens. That made
     Jerry mad, of course, and he yelled, “Get the fuck off that!” And he actually looked at the Space Alien, not through the camera
     but face to face. “Oh, gee,” he said.
    And his hand went to his hip. He always carried a gun, because it was an American’s right to bear arms and there were so many
     drug addicts these days. He had smuggled it through the airport inspection the way he knew how. Nobody was going to disarm
him.
    She saw perfectly clearly what happened. The Space Alien opened its eyes.
    There were eyes under the dark, shaggy brows; they had been kept closed till now. Now they were open and looked once straight
     at Jerry, and he turned to stone. He just stood there, one hand on the camera and one reaching for his gun, motionless.
    Several more Space Aliens had gathered round. They all had their eyes shut, except for the ones at the ends of their hair.
     Those glittered and shone, and the little red tongues flickered in and out, and the humming, droning sound was much louder.
     Many of the hair-snakes writhed to look at her. Her knees buckled and her heart thudded in her throat, but she had to get
     to Jerry.
    She passed right between two huge Space Aliens and reached him and patted him—”Jerry, wake up!” she said. He was just like
     stone, paralyzed. “Oh,” she said, and tears ran down her face, “Oh, what should Ido, what can I do?” She looked around in despair at the tall, thin, black-and-white faces looming above her, white teeth showing,
     eyes tight shut, hairs staring and stirring and murmuring. The murmur was soft, almost like music, not angry, soothing. She
     watched two tall Space Aliens pick up Jerry quite gently, as if he were a tiny little boy—a stiff one—and carry him carefully
     to the car.
    They poked him into the back seat lengthwise, but he didn’t fit. She ran to help. She let down the back seat so there was
     room for him in the back. The Space Aliens arranged him and tucked the video camera in beside him, then straightened up, their
     hairs looking down at her with little twinkly eyes. They hummed softly, and pointed with their childish arms back down the
     road.
    “Yes,” she said. “Thank you. Good-bye!”
    They hummed.
    She got in and closed the window and turned the car around there on a wide place in the road—and there
was
a signpost, Grong Crossing, although she didn’t see any crossroad.
    She drove back, carefully at first because she was shaky, then faster and faster because she should get Jerry to the doctor,
     of course, but also because she loved driving on long straight roads very fast, like this. Jerry never let her drive except
     in town.
    The paralysis was total and permanent, which would have been terrible, except that she could afford full-time, round-the-clock,
     first-class care for poor Jerry, because of the really good deals she made with the TV people and then with the rights people
     for the video. First it was shown all over the world as “Space Aliens Land in Australian Outback,” but then it became part
     of real science and history as “Grong Crossing,