"Yes," he said, feeling his heart jump. "I do."
He took her hand and they walked to the gate of the patio. He stood
there, feeling Gistla's hand tighten about his own. And as he said,
"Hello, everybody," he felt his breath shorten as though he had suddenly
gotten stage fright.
He saw his father turn around. "What's this?" Mr. Kenington said,
frowning.
"Hello, Father," George said.
"_Father_," Mr. Kenington repeated. "What are you doing in this patio?"
"I brought Gistla back."
"So I see," said Mr. Kenington, his eyes narrow as he looked at Gistla.
"Where's George?"
"I'm George."
"I'm not in the mood for joking with Venusians," his father snapped.
"What made you think you could come in here like this?"
Gistla's hand tightened again. "Try to understand," George said.
"Gistla--"
"What's going on?" his sister interrupted.
"Gistla, or whatever her name is," Mr. Kenington said, "has brought a
friend of hers, another Venusian." He said the word, Venusian, as though
it were a curse or a filthy word.
"My God," said his sister, squinting at them.
Mrs. Kenington leaned over in her chair, peering. "Tell them not to come
into the patio, Harry," she said to her husband.
"Listen, Father," George said, feeling the panic begin. "Gistla changed
my appearance, so that I seem to look like a Venusian. I came here to
tell you that it doesn't make any difference what I look like, whether I
look like a Venusian or a leaf on a vine or anything else. I still love
her, and it doesn't make any difference." He heard his voice rising and
becoming louder.
"My God," said his sister, giggling. "More black magic. Can you make
music?" she asked George.
"Harry," his mother said. "They frighten me. Can't you make them keep
off the patio?"
"Mother--" George began.
"Now see here," Mr. Kenington growled. "You know we don't allow
Venusians around here. I'd advise you to get out of here. Quick!"
"Why does he keep calling you father and mother?" his sister asked.
"Isn't that queer, how he keeps doing that? Make some music," she said
to George.
George could see the hatred in his father's eyes and in his mother's.
And behind his sister's sarcastic smile, he could see the hatred there,
too. He felt himself getting more tense, and the panic raced through
him.
"Listen," he shouted. "I'm George, don't you understand? George!"
"I don't want to tell you again," his father said, his face very red. "I
don't know what your little game is, but it isn't coming off, and so
I'll tell you just this one time. You get the hell off this property, or
I'll ..."
"Listen," George yelled. "I'm _GEORGE_! Don't you understand?"
His father's lips thinned to a white line, and he began shouting for Joe
Finch, the gardener.
George knew what he should have done then, he should have taken Gistla
and gone. He should have walked with her, hand in hand, down the road
and away from there. But instead, the panic made his heart pound and he
saw the hatred all around him. He couldn't help it when he shouted to
her, "Gistla! For God's sake, change me back! Right now! Gistla!"
He stood there, breathing hard, his muscles knotted like steel, while
she stared at him, looking into his eyes.