Porfirio Villa had known from the first that this adventure of his was a
mistake. His wife had told him to stay off the roller coaster, but he
had sneered. What could happen? The people always got off again,
laughing and wiping their brows. He had the bad burn on his left hand,
caused by an accidental smacking of the steam table in a rage at his
fool of a helper;--that idiot who now had had charge of the stand for
two days! _lodo feo!_--and so, enforced to a vacation, he must step into
the cars and go crawling up that terrible incline, giggling nervously,
and then rush madly down the other side. Dreaming is better than doing;
he should have stayed in his chili stand and dreamed of the ride.
_Por Dios!_ What a terror the rising, what a discomfort the drop, what a
fearful thing the disappearance of the park and the awakening in this
place ... this place a man could not believe in, though he stood upon
its floor and gazed round-eyed, with sweating lips and shaking hands,
upon its size, its devices for unknown purposes, its impossible
inhabitant!
The thing was twelve feet tall. Was it a machine? He had seen machines
in the _revistas_ and the cinema, looking much like this one, a clumsy
copy of a man moving, speaking, tearing people to pieces. There was also
King Kong, who resembled this thing.
If it was not alive, it moved very creditably. The gray-furred legs were
long and thin, placed on the sides of the body at the waist; the arms,
much thicker than the legs, swung very low, and must be fully eight feet
long. It was backing from him slowly, holding out one hand--six fingers
and two thumbs, _demonio!_--with the green stick. That stick stung like
a bee when it touched you.
The monster was already a good distance away. Porfirio cast his eyes
slyly to one side, the other. There was a complication of machinery so
great that even a teacher of mechanics would be dismayed.
There! A hole between two pink walls. He glanced once at the thing,
standing now with its impossible face turned down to him, and then he
ran for the hole.
It was after him with a short cry, but he reached the hole and scuttled
through. Four paths faced him. What a time for decisions! He took the
left-hand path, went round several turns, came to two more openings. The
pink walls were smooth and featureless, well over his head so that he
could not tell where he was. He ran like the mouse in the game next to
his chili stand, the game in which suckers bet on which escape--the red,
green, blue or white--the mouse would choose. Paths opened and Porfirio
plunged on, losing his sense of direction, becoming more terrified as he
went. His famished guts dragged him down, made him a weak frightened
mouse indeed.
He panted past two doorways and abruptly, like the flashing of a
pigeon's wing, the greenstick shot down before him, held in that
monstrous gray hand!
The stick appeared and disappeared, herding him, chivvying him from
place to place, all places looking alike, till finally the great room
lay again before his eyes. Whimpering, he stepped out of the pink maze
and leaned against the wall, his chest and belly heaving. He was done.
Let it murder him. A man could not run forever.
The brute stood over him. Cautiously it brought its face down to peer.
Its eyes were set in deep pits, there was a hole between them, and far
below in the watermelon-shaped head, a mouth like a man's with lips the
color of rust on iron.
Panting, he gazed at it, then flung up one arm in a futile blow that
fell short by two feet. The thing was angering him. Let it watch out for
itself!
A hand, unnoticed, had crept round behind him and now took him by the
back of the shirt, belt, and trousers, and lifted him off the floor. He
regretted the useless punch. Now he would be dead.
The monster inspected him, prodding aside his bedraggled collar points
and digging gently at his belly with the rod, which did not sting him
this time. It made a sound from its mouth like the last weak bellow of a
dying _toro_--"Mmwaa gnaa!" then set him down once more with a thump
that jolted his teeth, nearly fractured his ankles.
_Maria y Jose_, but it moved as fast as a lizard's tongue! Escape was
beyond hope.
It backed away from him, stood by a huge box and gestured with the green
stick. It wanted him to come. He walked toward it. The box was enormous,
oblong, like a huge shoe box. Only when he had come to it did he realize
it was the room in which he had awakened earlier.
In this hall it was lost. Untouched by the monster, he looked at the
hall with seeing eyes for the first time. It had yellow walls and a gray
roof, like the box. He clapped a hand to his head. Like a theater
without seats! Over ten varas high, thirty broad and forty long: or he
should say, being a man of the States now for many years, roughly thirty
feet by seventy-five by a hundred. Scattered here and there in
staggering confusion were the machines, the gadgets, the unknown things.
All colors he had ever seen were there. It was gaudy as the amusement
park, but slicker and more fresh-looking.
The creature laid a hand on the box, and the wall began to slide open.
He looked up, and it gestured, telling him as plainly as words to go in.
He was to enter again. It seemed as happy a thing to him as the breaking
of a Christmas pinata.
He braced himself now. _He_ had emerged, while _they_ had cowered
behind, refusing him aid. Worms that they were, he would show them the
bearing of a hero, one who had braved mysterious dangers while all
others trembled. He sucked in his belly, threw forward his chest, placed
his fists carefully on his hips and strutted into the strawed room,
turning his head proudly from side to side. He heard the wall close
behind him.
The worms came crowding to him.
"What is it? What happened?"
Porfirio Villa, adventurer, laughed. The relief that washed through him
was making him shake, his empty stomach still heaved after the panic,
but from somewhere in his soul he dredged up the casual laugh. "Very
little happened," he said. "Truly very little of interest."