Free Mastodonia by Clifford D. Simak Page A

was settled, that Hiram’s father didn’t have too much interest in the bank. A few shares and his job, that was all. No one could prove it, of course, but people I talked with later were convinced that Ben’s father had slickered Hiram’s father out of the bank. Apparently, there was a little money left, but not much, and the old lady and Hiram managed somehow until she died. By this time, Hiram must have been twenty-five or so. When it came time to settle his mother’s estate, it was found that the Biglow house was mortgaged to the bank. The bank, pleading it had carried the family as long as it could, foreclosed. By this time, Ben had taken over the bank, his father retiring, and he donated some money and got a few others in town to donate a bit more and they built this shack down by the river and gave it to Hiram and he’s lived there ever since.”
    â€œThe town adopting him,” said Rila. “Taking care of their own. Today he’d be on relief. Or in some state institution.”
    â€œI guess you could say that,” I said. “The town looks after him, sure, but not too kindly. Some people treat him okay, of course, but he has become a sort of municipal scapegoat and a lot of people laugh at him and make fun of him. They don’t think that Hiram knows; so they think it’s safe to make fun of him. But Hiram knows. He knows his friends and he knows who laughs at him. He may be considerably strange, of course, but he’s not as stupid as a lot of people think.”
    â€œI hope he’s getting some sleep,” said Rila. “This is his first night of sitting up for Catface.”
    â€œHe may have to spend several nights. Catface is not all that regular in his habits.”
    â€œI sit and listen to us talking like this,” said Rila. “I know we are talking like this, but then I ask myself if we are really doing it. It’s not sane, Asa. This whole thing. Most people wouldn’t be thinking what we are thinking, saying what we are saying.”
    â€œI know what you mean,” I told her, “but I have more evidence than you. I went into the Pleistocene and almost got run over by a mastodon. Bowser did bring home those bones.”
    â€œAnd yet we let ourselves think only so far,” she said. “We accept the dinosaur bones and the Folsom point and the mastodon, but we don’t allow ourselves to go beyond that. We keep ourselves from saying out loud that Catface is an alien creature that can engineer time tunnels and that he somehow escaped when an alien spaceship crashed here thousands of years ago.”
    â€œMaybe we’ll come to it,” I said. “We’ll have to wait and see what Hiram manages.”

ELEVEN
    Three nights later, a loud rapping on the bedroom door brought me upright in bed, stupid with sleep, wondering what the hell was going on. Beside me, Rila stirred protestingly.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” I yelled. “Who’s there?”
    Although, if I had stopped to think of it, I’d have known who was there.
    â€œIt’s me, Hiram.”
    â€œIt’s Hiram,” I said to Rila.
    The knocking kept right on. “Cut out that goddamn knocking,” I yelled at Hiram. “I’m awake. I’ll see you in the kitchen.”
    Groping around blindly, I found my slippers, scuffed into them, and tried to find a robe, but couldn’t locate one. I stumbled out into the kitchen in pajama pants and slippers.
    â€œWhat is it, Hiram? I hope it’s important.”
    â€œIt’s Catface, Mr. Steele. I been talking with him. He wants to talk with you.”
    â€œI can’t talk with him,” I said. “There is no way I can. You’re the only one who can.”
    â€œHe says I don’t make any sense,” said Hiram. “He is glad we want to talk with him, but he says he doesn’t know what I want to talk about.”
    â€œYou mean he’s out there