Free 400 Boys and 50 More by Marc Laidlaw Page B

looked for the moon on TV, but all he saw was President Nixon on the telephone. The adults kept a funereal silence while Nixon congratulated the astronauts.
    “No one cares about you,” Jeff said to the President. “We want the moon. Dad . . . Dad, is it true that it's a rerun?”
    “They walked late last night, yes.”
    Eddie spoke through the screen door. “The TV Guide says there’s a scary movie on. I saw part of it once. It's about this boy who finds out his parents are Martians.”
    “The one with the sandpit?” Jeff asked.
    “There are men on the moon and you want to watch monster movies?” said their dad.
    Jeff shrugged, feeling guilty, but Eddie came in, and together they hunted for the remote-control box. Their dad sighed and said he would go get more film and beer. Jeff nodded at Eddie, who changed the channel. Aside from the moon, a few commercials were showing; there was no sign of the creepy movie. They waited for a Cal Worthington ad to end. Uncle Lou sat in his deep armchair. Jeff watched him from the corner of his eye. Uncle Lou had ruined the film, like he tried to ruin everything. Bad reception, Aunt Maddy in tears, reruns. It looked like a plot to ruin the moon shot.
    “Mars is where I'm going when I grow up,” Jeff said defiantly.
    Lou laughed. “First you want the moon, then Mars. When will you give up?”
    “Never.”
    Lou's smile faded. “That's tough,” he said, and grinned again, but this time it was like a pat on the head, as if Jeff were a baby.
    “Oh, I'll do all right,” said Jeff.
    The commercial ended, and more moon appeared.
    “I can’t find it,” Eddie said. “I'm going out to play with Mab.”
    Jeff saw an astronaut . . . two? It was hard to tell. They were moving around an object that seemed an illusion of the bad reception, another ghost or double shadow. He made out black-and-white stars and stripes.
    “There we go again,” Lou said under his breath. “Do it first. Jeff, you know why that other Apollo burned up on the launchpad?”
    He shook his head, wary.
    “We were in a big hurry,” Lou said. His eyes looked like Maddy’s, but the tears were held in place, and that made all the difference. “Such a hurry that we didn't make room for a fire extinguisher. We pushed to get on the moon by 1970 for no good reason. Kennedy’s promise. That ship's a piece of second-rate junk because we won't take the time to build something good, something safe. It's a game to get your mind off the real problem—the war.”
    Jeff said nothing. Mab barked, and in the back room Aunt Maddy’s voice sounded high and choked. He watched the screen, the flag, the astronauts. A junk ship? He thought he was going to cry. Uncle Lou was trying to make him cry. Well, he wouldn't.
    He wished he could find that science-fiction movie with the sandpit and the buried spaceship. Fakey Hollywood fright, all eerie music and costumes, would be comforting by comparison to Uncle Lou.
    * * *
    “You drank too much RC,” said Jeff’s mother. “I'll bring you a Turns.”
    Jeff and Eddie lay in a strange bed in the guest room. Jeff was sure he would not be able to sleep because it was still early. He thought he heard Laugh-In in the living room.
    When his mother returned with a pill, she asked, “Did you like the moon landing?”
    Eddie said yes. Jeff said, “It was okay.”
    “Go to sleep now. We’ll get you up in a few hours, we’re not staying all night.”
    She closed them into the dark, and Jeff became instantly dizzy. The ceiling spun like a horseless carousel. He touched sleep and bounced back, as if from a black trampoline. The voices in the living room were soft until the TV went off and silence amplified them. Eddie turned over and jabbed Jeff's ankle with a toenail. He stifled a complaint when he saw that his brother was asleep.
    “Eddie?” he whispered.
    No answer. Eddie's breathing deepened, a sure sign of sleep, though he never slept so easily at home. Maybe there had been