Believe it or not, it don’t take much time to go roun the world when you is in a spaceship, an Major Fritch has grapped holt to the radio microphone an is hollerin at them people at groun control that we is headed for either a splash-down or crash-down in the South Pacific Ocean an to come get us as soon as they can. I’m punchin buttons like crazy an that big ole earth is loomin closer. We fly over somethin Major Fritch thinks look like South America an then there be only water again, with the South Pole off to our left an Australia up ahead.
Then everthing get scorchin hot, an funny little souns are comin from the outside of the spaceship an it start shakin an hissin an the earth is dead up ahead. Major Fritch shout to me, “Pull the parachute lever!” but I am pinned in my seat. An she is pressed up against the ceilin of the cabin, an so it look like it’s curtains for us, since we is goin bout ten thousan miles a hour, an headed straight for a big ole green blob of land in the ocean. We hit that goin this fast, ain’t even gonna be a grease spot lef.
But then all of a sudden somethin go “pop” an the spaceship slow down. I look over, an damn if ole Sue ain’t pulled the parachute lever hissef an saved our asses. I remind mysef then an there to feed him a banana when all this shit is over.
Anyhow, the spaceship be swingin back an forth under the parachute, an it look like we is gonna hit the big ole green blob of land—which apparently ain’t so good neither, since we is sposed only to hit water an then ships will pick us up. But ain’t nothin gone right from the time we set foot in this contraption, so why should anybody expect it to now?
Major Fritch is on the radio an sayin to groun control, “We is bout to land on someplace north of Australia out in the ocean, but I ain’t sure where we is.”
Couple of seconts later a voice come back say, “If you ain’t sure where you is, why don’t you look out the winder, you dumb broad?”
So Major Fritch put the radio down an go look out the winder an she say, “Jesus—this look like Borneo or someplace,” but when she try to tell that to groun control, the radio done gone dead.
We be gettin real close to the earth now, an the spaceship still swinging under the parachute. There is nothin but jungle an mountains beneath us cept for a little bitty lake that is kind of brown. We can barely make out somethin going on nex to the lake down there. The three of us—me, Sue an Major Fritch—all got our noses pressed to the winder lookin down, an all of a sudden Major Fritch cry out, “Good God! This ain’t Borneo—this is fuckin New Guinea, an all that shit on the groun must be one of them Cargo Cults or somethin!”
Sue an me lookin down hard, an there on the groun nex to the lake, lookin back at us, is about a thousan natives, all with they arms raised up towards us. They is wearin little grass skirts an has their hair all flayed out, an some is carryin shields an spears.
“Damn,” I say, “what you say they is?”
“Cargo Cult,” Major Fritch say. “In World War II we used to drop packages of candy an stuff like that on these jungle bunnies to keep em on our side, an they ain’t never forgot it. Figgered it was God or somebody doin it, an ever since, they is waiting for us to come back. Even built crude runways an all—see down there? They has got a landin zone all marked off with them big roun black markers.”
“Them things look more like cookin pots to me,” I says.
“Yeah, they do, sort of,” Major Fritch say curiously.
“Ain’t this where cannibals come from?” I axed.
“I reckon we will soon find out,” she say.
Spaceship is gently swingin towards the lake, an jus afore we hit, they start beatin they drums an movin they mouths up and down. We can’t hear nothin on account of bein in the capsule, but our maginations doin just fine.
14
Our landin in the little lake was not too bad. THEY was a splash an a bounce an then we is back on earth again. Everthin got real quiet, an me an Sue and Major Fritch peek out the winder.
They is a whole tribe of natives standin bout ten feet away on the shore, lookin at us, an they is bout the fiercest-looking folks imaginable—scowlin an leanin forward so’s to see what we is. Major Fritch say maybe they is upset cause we didn’t thow them nothin from the spaceship. Anyhow, she say she is gonna set down an try to figger out what to do now, on account of we has somehow got this far okay an she don’t want to make no false moves with these spooks. Seven or eight of they biggest fellas jumps into the water and begin pushin us over to land.
Major Fritch still be settin there figgerin when there is a big knock at the door of the spaceship. We all look at each other an Major Fritch say, “Don’t nobody do nothin.”
An I say, “Maybe they be gettin angry if we don’t let em in.”
“Just be quiet,” she say, “an maybe they think nobody’s in here an go away.”
So we waited, but sure enough, after a wile they is another knock on the spaceship.
I say, “It ain’t polite not to answer the door,” an Major Fritch hiss back at me, “Shut up your dumbfool ass—can’t you see these people is dangerous?”
Then all of a sudden ole Sue go over an open the door hissef. Standin there outside is the biggest coon I has seen since we played them Nebraska corn shucker jackoffs in the Orange Bowl.
He got a bone thru his nose an is wearin a grass skirt an carryin a spear an has a lot of beads strung aroun his neck, an his hair look somethin like that Beatle wig Mad Tom o’Bedlam wore in the Shakespeare play.
This feller seem extremely startled to find Sue starin back at him from inside the spaceship door. As a matter of fact, he is so suprised that he keel over in a dead faint. Major Fritch an me is peepin out the winder again, an when all them other natives seen this feller keel over, they run off in the shrubs an hide—I guess to wait an see what’s gonna happen nex.
Major Fritch say, “Hole still now—don’t make a move,” but ole Sue, he grapped holt of a bottle that was settin there an he jump out on the groun an pour it in the feller’s face to revive him. All of a sudden the feller set up an start sputterin an coughin an spittin an shakin his head from side to side. He was revived all right, but what Sue had grapped an poured in his face was the bottle what I used to pee in. Then the feller recognize Sue again, an he thowed his hans up an fall over on his face an begin bowin an scrapin like a Arab.
An then out from the bushes come the rest of them, movin slow an scarit-like, eyes big as saucers, ready to thow they spears. The feller on the groun stop bowin for a moment an look up an when he seen the others, he holler out somethin an they put down they spears an come up to the spaceship an gather aroun it.
“They look friendly enough now,” Major Fritch say. “I spose we better go on out an identify ourselfs. The people from NASA will be here in a few minutes to pick us up.” As it turns out, that is the biggest piece of bullshit I have ever heard in my life—before or since.
Anyhow, Major Fritch an me, we walk on out of the spaceship an all them natives goin “ooooh” an “ahhhh.” That ole boy on the groun, he look at us real puzzled-like, but then he get up an say, “Hello—me good boy. Who you?” an he stick out his han.
I shake his han, but then Major Fritch start tryin to tell him who we is, sayin we is, “Participants in the NASA multi-orbital pre-planetary sub-gravitational inter-spheroid space-flight trainin mission.”
The feller jus stan there gapin at us like we was spacemen, an so I says, “We is Americans,” an all of a sudden his eyes light up an he say, “Do tell! Americans! What a jolly fine show—I say!”
“You speak English?” Major Fritch axed.
“Why hell yes,” he say. “I’ve been to America before. During the war. I was recruited by the Office of Strategic Services to learn English, and then sent back here to organize our people in guerrilla warfare against the Japanese.” At this, Sue’s eyes get big an bright.
It seem kinda funny to me, though—a big ole boon like this speaking such good American out in the middle of noplace, so I says, “Where’d you go t’school?”
“Why, I went to Yale, old sport,” he says. “Boola-Boola, an all that.” When he say “boola-boola,” all them other Sambo’s start chantin it too, an the drums start up again, until the big guy wave them quiet.
“My name is Sam,” he say. “At least that’s what they called me at Yale. My real name’s quite a mouthful.
