Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe November 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
Who was this strange girl who had been born in thisplace—and still it wasn't her home?...
I don't know where they got the car. We made three or four stopsbefore the last one, and they must have picked it up one of thosetimes. Anyhow, they got it, but they had to make a license plate,because it had the wrong kind on it.
They made me some clothes, too—a skirt and blouse and shoes thatlooked just like the ones we saw on television. They couldn't make mea lipstick or any of those things, because there was no way to figureout just what the chemical composition was. And they decided I'd be aswell off without any driver's license or automobile registration as Iwould be with papers that weren't exactly perfect, so they didn'tbother about making those either.
They were worried about what to do with my hair, and even thoughtabout cutting it short, so it would look more like the women ontelevision, but that was one time I was way ahead of them. I'd seenmore shows than anyone else, of course—I watched them almost everyminute, from the time they told me I was going—and there was onewhere I'd seen a way to make braids and put them around the top ofyour head. It wasn't very comfortable, but I practiced at it until itlooked pretty good.
They made me a purse, too. It didn't have anything in it except thediamonds, but the women we saw always seemed to carry them, and theythought it might be a sort of superstition or ritual necessity, andthat we'd better not take a chance on violating anything like that.
They made me spend a lot of time practicing with the car, becausewithout a license, I couldn't take a chance on getting into anytrouble. I must have put in the better part of an hour starting andstopping and backing that thing, and turning it around, and weavingthrough trees and rocks, before they were satisfied.
Then, all of a sudden, there was nothing left to do except go. Theymade me repeat everything one more time, about selling the diamonds,and how to register at the hotel, and what to do if I got intotrouble, and how to get in touch with them when I wanted to come back.Then they said good-bye, and made me promise not to stay too long,and said they'd keep in touch the best they could. And then I got inthe car, and drove down the hill into town.
I knew they didn't want to let me go. They were worried, maybe even alittle afraid I wouldn't want to come back, but mostly worried that Imight say something I shouldn't, or run into some difficulties theyhadn't anticipated. And outside of that, they knew they were going tomiss me. Yet they'd made up their minds to it; they planned it thisway, and they felt it was the right thing to do, and certainly they'dput an awful lot of thought and effort and preparation into it.
If it hadn't been for that, I might have turned back at the lastminute. Maybe they were worried; but I was petrified. Only ofcourse, I wanted to go, really. I couldn't help being curious, and itnever occurred to me then that I might miss them. It was the firsttime I'd ever been out on my own, and they'd promised me, for yearsand years, as far back as I could remember, that some day I'd go back,like this, by myself. But....
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