Andre Norton by London Bridge

Author:London Bridge [Bridge, London]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-12-04T01:04:35+00:00

All good children

Go to Heaven.

One, two, three, four,

Five, six, seven, eight,

All bad children

Have to wait.

I didn’t have to have it pounded into my head twice. There was no getting at him—at least not with my hands. Sitting up, I looked at him. Then I saw he was an oldie—real oldie. His face was all wrinkled, and on his head there was only a fringe of white hair, he was bald on top. The rest of him was all covered up with those shining clothes. I had never seen such an oldie except on a tape—it was like seeing a story walking around.

“Where’s Marsie?” If the oldie was an Up, maybe he could be startled into answering me. You can do that with Ups sometimes.

One color, two color,

Three color, four,

Five color, six color,

Seven color more.

What color is yours?

He pointed to me. And he seemed to be expecting some answer. Did he mean the block I was sitting on? If he did—that was red, as he could see for himself. Unless he was on pills—then it sure could be any color as far as he was concerned.

“Red,” I played along. Maybe I could keep him talking until the guys got here. Not that there was much chance in that; Sim had a good ways to go.

You’re too tall,

The door’s too small.

Again he was shaking his head as if he were really sorry for me for some reason.

“Listen,” I tried to be patient, like with an Up you just had to learn something from, “Marsie was here. You pointed at her—she was gone. Now just where did she go?”

He took to singing again:

Build it up with stone so strong,

Stone so strong, stone so strong.

Hurrah, it will last ages long—

Ages long, ages long—

Somehow he impressed me that behind all his queer singing there was a meaning, if I could only find it. That bit about my being too tall now—”Why am I too tall?” I asked.

A.B.C.D.

Tell your age to me.

Age? Marsie was a little—small, young. That fitted. He wanted littles. I was too big, too old.

“I don’t know—maybe I’m about sixteen, I guess. But I want Marsie—”

He had been jiggling from one foot to the other as if he wanted to dance right out of the hall. But still he faced me and watched me with that queer I’m-sorry-for-you look of his.

Seeing’s believing—no, no, no!

Seeing’s believing, you can’t go!

Believing, that is best,

Believing’s seeing, that’s the test.

Seeing’s believing, believing’s seeing—I tried to sort that out.

“You mean—the littles—they can believe in something, even though they don’t see it? But me, I can’t believe unless I see?”

He was nodding now. There was an eager look about him. Like one of the littles playing some trick and waiting for you to be caught. Not a mean trick, a funny, surprise one.

“And I’m too old?”

He was watching me, his head a little on one side.

One, two, sky blue.

All out but you.

Sky blue—Outside! But the sky hadn’t been blue for years—it was dirty, poisoned. The whole world Outside was poisoned. We’d heard the warnings from the speakers every time we got close to the old sealed gates.

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