A Man for the Moon

"To the moon?"I said. I felt the Earth move out from under me and settle on my shoulders. It was heavy.

"To the Moon," Marco Garcia said. His voice was thick was disappointment. "Congratulations, Abner."

Johnny Ingraham exploded. "To the bloody Moon!" he shouted."Abner, my boy, my beamish boy, you'll be in all the history books!"

But I sat and stared bleakly across the desk at Old Hard Nose Hanrahan. Navy Regs make it plain that an admiral can't possibly talk bilge to a lieutenant commander, but he was blowing through a paper bugle.

"To the Moon, Mr.Evans," he said. He slapped the foot-high stack of manila envelopes, all marked Top secret, with a slender, bony hand. "The Screaming Mimi has been ready for two years. It took us almost a year to pick three men, you, Garcia and Ingraham. We've spent over a year, watching, weighing, measuring, studying the three of you. But it was not until this morning that we picked our man. You kept us waiting a long time, Mr.Evans."

"Sir, I feel very earthy," I said. "I think I always have. If I could choose I would choose not to go. But I suppose that makes no difference?"

He shook his head. "The Navy is filled with men who would jump at the chance to go, Mr.Evans," he said. "But a daredevil would never make it. Flying the Mimi there is only half of it; the man who takes her there has got to bring her back. This is a new kind of beachhead and it takes another kind of man. Quiet, steady, no dash, no flash. A man, Mr.Evans, who may not want to go, but who damned well will want to get back."

He stood up and we scrambled to our feet. He turned his back on us and walked to the window.

"Final briefing will be in one hour," he said. "We feel that it is best for you not to have too much time to think. We also feel, Mr.Evans, that for security reasons, it is best to keep you under close guard. Garcia and Ingraham will be responsible to me for your safety and for the Navy's security."

He turned and faced us. The friendliness was gone from his face, and he was Old Hard Nose again. "It's in the Navy tradition to be first," he said. "Sail us to the Moon, mister. And then sail us back."

Before he dismissed us, I spoke one more time. "I presume I will be permitted to call my wife?"

"You may not," he said. "Mrs.Evans, I am sure, has accustomed herself to your absence from home, and this will simply be one more time."

"Very well, sir," I said. And thanks, I thought, for God knows I have no idea of how to call a wife and tell her that I am off for the Moon.

We left Old Hard Nose, who had returned to staring out his window. At the entrance to the Administration Building, I stopped and looked at the telephone booths.

"Gentlemen and fellow officers," I said. "I have things to say to my wife that can be of no possible interest to officers and gentlemen."

They both shook their heads. We walked on out of the building and cut across the quadrangle. The sun was hellish bright and everything seemed more real, more actual, than usual. Along the way I saw a bird on the lower limb of a mimosa tree. He was a small, ordinary brown fellow and so still I had to look twice to be sure he wasn't plastic. He was not singing and I nodded to him in appreciation of his tact.

Marco and Johnny also held their tongues. The three of us had been together for two years, putting the Mimi through her paces, and in two years you learn when a man wants nothing from you but silence. And because it was me, and not them, I was in a sullen, senseless rage, as if somehow they had connived against me.

If you were to say to Marco Garcia, "Take the Screaming Mimi to the Moon, and blow it up," he would have looked at you out of unblinking, sloeblack eyes, and said, "When do I leave?"

And if you were to say to Johnny Ingraham, "Kid, take this damned crate and head for the Moon," he would let out a squall of laughter you could have heard for a mile. Johnny never objected to a joke simply because he was the victim of it.

And neither of them was married to Della. Johnny had never gotten around to marrying, and Marco was tied to a dyed-in-the-wool, pluperfect bitch. Neither one of them knew what it was like to have Della walk up to him and say "I love you," in her special way of saying it, as though it was something she had invented just for you.

When we reached the Senior BOQ, I was in a cold sweat. There was a buzzing confusion in my ears. If I had been asked right then and there if Lincoln had been shot or run to death, I couldn't have answered. At the door to their room I turned and said, "I don't care what you men do, so long as I don't see you or hear you."

Marco nodded, and Johnny said, "OK, Ab, but please don't close the door."

I went and lay down on the bunk. I made myself stop thinking about Della. I thought about the Moon. In less than sixty minutes, I would have my final briefing, and then they would seal me into the Screaming Mimi. The time element was sound. If you are going to do it, it's a good idea not to have much time to think about it.

But the more I thought of it, the less I thought of it. Unless science is wrong, and instead of rock and rubble the Moon was a big green cheese, highly nutritious and an effective cure for coughs and colds and tightness around the chest, it was no good to anybody.

Not even for romance, especially not for romance. The first real date I had with Della, we parked the car out on Dame's Point. There was no moon and the inside of the car was a dark and cozy cave. Inside of fifteen minutes matters had progressed to where no further progress could be made – not without a marriage license. And on our honeymoon, not only was the Moon away on a seventy-two-hour pass, but the rain beat softly on the roof, the lovingest sound a newlywed couple ever heard.

The Moon and Della, then Della and the Moon, my mind swung from one to the other, and there was no way out. There are only two things I know to do about a problem – solve it or take a snooze and forget it. There was no solution to this one, so I closed my eyes and began the long, sweet dive into the great big nothing where there are no problems.

And I heard somebody somewhere say, clearly and distinctly, "Friend, remember Peralonzo Nino."

"I don't see how in hell I can," I said. "How can I remember somebody I never heard of?"

I opened my eyes. The room was much dimmer – a rain cloud obscuring the sun, I figured. Marco or Johnny was sitting in the easy chair by the window, and I started to say "I told you to stay the hell out of here," and then I saw the beard and knew it wasn't either of them.

He spoke before I did. "I am Peralonzo Nino," he said.

"By golly, you certainly are," I said. I saw no reason to doubt him. He was a small, spare fellow, with eyes as sad as a jilted spaniel.

He leaned forward. "Today we sail," he said. "We sail on an ocean of nothing, toward nothing, on the word of a fool whose arithmetic is poor beyond belief."

"What are you talking about, buddy?" I said. "And how in hell did you get past the guards?"

He shrugged and spread his hands. "We sail on the hour," he said. "On the hour, I kiss Mercedes farewell, and already she is big with child. If I could choose I would choose not to go, but I am not given the choice. My mind was troubled and I went to sleep and I heard a voice say, "Think of Abner Evans,' and I woke up."

I raised up on one elbow. "What do you do, Peralonzo, when you're working?" I asked and knew the answer before he told me.

"I am Peralonzo Nino of Palos," he said with great dignity. "And against my will and better judgment, I am the pilot of the Santa Maria."

"Well, hell, buddy," I said. "I used to have an old bat of a history teacher, Miss Dunstable, and she used to yap about how brave and absolutely fearless you guys were to sail those little beat-up cockleshells across an unknown ocean."

He spat. "Miss Dunstable, then, is a bigger fool than Colon. And the Santa Maria is no cockleshell, but the finest ship afloat. But I am not brave. I am a sailor, and this ocean is beyond my knowledge and I am afraid I will never return to Mercedes, who is my life, my soul."

I started in to tell him that he had no problem, that voyage across the Atlantic was a big success, but stopped.

"Peralonzo, buddy, I'm sorry but I don't know," I said. "I was just in the middle third of my class at John Gorrie Junior High, and I've forgotten nine tenths of the little bit I learned."

I was ashamed. He was a nice guy, fouled up with History with a capital H, just like I was, and I couldn't help him any more than he could help me. I knew that Columbus had made it across the Atlantic and back, but for all I knew Peralonzo's bones were buried on San Salvador or on the bottom of the ocean.

So I did the only thing I could do. I told him Where I was going. I told him to help him, to show him that compared to my voyage, his was just nothing, just nowhere at all. When I had finished he nodded his head.

"We stew in the same pot," he said. "But you have the advantage. You know where you are going and what you will encounter. And Hanrahan's arithmetic is better."

"Well, hell, it's no lead-pipe cinch," I said, but I couldn't argue with this guy. "You're right, Peralonzo, it's the same damned mess."

"Because there is Della," he said, and yawned. "Senor, if you return, kiss her for me, and call her Mercedes."

"And if you return, give Mercedes a smooch, and call her Della," I said. The yawn was contagious. "So long, Peralonzo, and good luck, kid."

From a long way off, I heard him sigh and say, "Vaya con Dios, senor."

I was not sorry to go back to sleep. Peralonzo was a good egg, I enjoyed talking to him, and I wondered how he made out back there in 1492. But everything was getting fuzzy and blurry and I let it go.

Then Della said, "Why don't you bring me a bunch of flowers from the Moon? You know I like flowers."

"Della, there ain't any damned flowers on the Moon," I said. "It's just a bunch of rock and rubble and green cheese."

"Oh, ipskiddy, ickyrah," she said. "I'll bet pocket handkerchiefs grow up there. They'll grow anywhere."

"Is a pocket handkerchief a flower?" I asked.

"Is a snapdragon an animal?" she asked.

Putting it that way, it seemed reasonable, and I could see the fields of pocket handkerchiefs, snowy white with blue borders and tiny monograms in one corner. It would be a lot of trouble looking for Ds, but Della was worth it.

"OK, Mercedes," I said. "I'll bring you a yard of them."

She began to shake me. "Wake up, Abner. What are you talking about? Who is this Mercedes woman, anyway?"

I opened my eyes. She was sitting on the bed by me. A flourish of trumpets and a rapid tattoo of drums struck up (concluded on page 89) Moon (continued from page 66) inside me, as always, when I see that Della.

"Della, if you are another dream, go away," I said.

She took my hands and put them where it felt good. "Are these dreams?" she asked. I couldn't think of a better way to establish a fact.

"How'd you get here?" I asked after I had done my duty and my pleasure, kissing those two brown eyes and that Della-flavored mouth.

"Oh, the Navy has a heart," she said. "Deeply buried under mountains of red tape, but it's there." She pushed me away from her. "I've just come from talking to Hanrahan. It looks like I'm married to a hero."

"No, kid," I said, "Columbus and Hanrahan are the heroes. Me and Peralonzo are a couple of guys they need to do what they want to do." I told her about my dream, if that was what it was – I don't think it was, exactly, but I didn't know what else to call it.

"I always thought Old Lady Dunstable had the wrong dope," I said, when I got through. And I looked at her sadly. "Blast and damn, Della," I almost cried, "how can I leave a world with you in it?"

She got up and walked over to the window. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "Oh, you're just like all the sailors I ever heard of," she said. "Get a girl knocked up and then leave town."

I didn't get it, and then I did. I went into free fall, dropping down mile upon mile. After what seemed like years, I came out of it and walked across the room and put my hands on her brave shoulders and turned her around.

"Lady, you would not kid?" I asked.

She shook her head. "This is no drill, Abner," she said.

"How long have you known?" I asked.

"I guess I've known at least a couple of weeks," she said. "It wasn't official until this morning. But Dr. Hurlburt says there's no doubt about it."

"Well, girl," I said, "are you sad, mad, or glad?"

"I feel like a big trap has snapped shut on me," she said. "And I feel very foolish and very angry with myself, as if I'd done something dumb or careless. And I feel like I've been crowned Queen of the May. I guess I feel like a woman instead of a girl all of a sudden, and I'm not used to it." She was talking very fast. "But what about you? What do you think about being a papa?"

I had thoughts but no words so I did the only thing I knew to do. I hugged her close and kissed her for a long time and patted her on the fanny. I was very grateful that she did not need more than this to reassure her. And as I kissed her I heard the siren but let it scream on until I had finished the kiss.

To the Moon, Old Hanrahan had said, we needed a man who not only would go to the Moon but who damned well would want to get back. Oh, he was a wise one, that Hanrahan, watching Marco, watching Johnny, watching me, until he knew his man. And this morning, Della, like all Navy wives, had availed herself of the free medical attention at the base clinic. And when Hurlburt called Hanrahan and told him Della was pregnant, that was it.

That was it. Marco and Johnny could fly it there, as well as I could. But I had the best, the most, the strongest reason to get back.

Della and I walked out of the room, into the sunshine. Marco and Johnny were waiting, but it no longer mattered, I didn't want to change places with them.

"We'll see you two o'clock, next week," Johnny said, "and we'll pitch a triple whingding."

Marco said, "Vaya con Dios."He said it very well. Not as well as Peralonzo, as he could not put as much meaning into it, but it was good to hear.

I took Della by the hand to cut across the quad to the briefing room. Marco and Johnny fell in behind us. In a few minutes I would say what I had to say, and Della would say what she had to say. We would hold each other in a brief lather of misery and then I'd let her go. After that, letting loose from gravity would be no problem.

Peralonzo, old buddy, I thought, as voyagers we are pikers, stay-at-homes. I thought about the birds and the bees and the hard, stubby facts of life. About all the millions and millions of spermatozoa making the voyage from testes to ovum, all of them perishing save one tiny voyager. A doctor once told me that comparatively speaking, the journey must be, can only be, measured in millions of miles. And Peralonzo had made that journey, and so had I. And I knew that Peralonzo returned, and I knew that Abner Evans would make it also.

On the way we passed the mimosa tree, and the little brown bird was still there. You could hardly call the sound he made singing – to tell the truth, he couldn't carry a tune any better than I could – but he was, as Peralonzo had done and as I was going to do, giving it everything he had.