Henry Kuttner - See You Later.pdf

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See You Later
OLD YANCEY was just about the meanest man in the world. I never seen a feller so downright,
sot-in-his ways, shortsighted, plain, ornery mean. What happened to him reminded me of what another
feller told me oncet, quite a spell ago. Fergit exactly who it was— name of Louis, maybe, or could be
Tamerlane—but one tune he said he wished the whole world had only one haid, so's he could chop it off.
Trouble with Yancey, he got to the point where he figgered everybody in the world was again' him, and
blamed if he warn't right. That was a real spell of trouble, even for us Hogbenf.
Oh, Yancey was a regular stinker, all right. The whole Tarbell family was bad-eyed, but Yancey made
even them plumb disgusted. He lived up in a little one-room shanty back of the Tarbell place, and
wouldn't let nobody near, except to push vittles through the cut-out moon in the door.
Seems like some ten years back there was a new survey or something and the way it worked out,
through some funny legal business, Yancey had to prove he'd got squatter's rights on his land. He had to
prove it by living there for a year or something. 'Bout then he had an argument with his wife and moved
out to the little shack, which was across the property line, and said he was a-gonna let the land go right
back to the government, for all he cared, and that'd show the whole family. He knew his wife sot store by
her turnip patch and was afraid the government would take it away.
The way it turned out, nobody wanted the land anyhow. It was all up and down and had too many rocks
in it, but Yancey's wife kept on worriting and begging Yancey to come back, which he was just too mean
to do.
Yancey Tarbell couldn't have been oncommon comfortable up hi that little shack, but he was
short-sighted as he was mean. After a spell Mrs. Tarbell died of being
hit on the haid with a stone she was throwing up the slope at the shack, and it bounced back at her. So
that left only the eight Tarbell boys and Yancey. He stayed right where he was, though.
He might have stayed there till he shriveled up and went to glory, except the Tarbells started feuding with
us. We stood it as long as we could, on account of they couldn't hurt us. Uncle Les, who was visiting us,
got skittery, though, and said he was tired of flying up like a quail, two or three miles hi the air, every time
a gun went off behind a bush. The holes in his hide closed up easy enough, but he said it made him dizzy,
on account of the air being thinned out that high up.
This went on for a while, leastwise, and nobody got hurt, which seemed to rile the eight Tarbell boys. So
one night they all come over hi a bunch with their shooting irons and busted their way in. We didn't want
no trouble.
Uncle Lem—who's Uncle Les's twin except they was born quite a spell apart—he was asleep for the
whiter, off in a holler tree somewheres, so he was out of it. But the baby, bless his heart, is gitting kind of
awkward to shift around, being as how he's four hunnerd years old and big for his age—'bout three
hunnerd pounds, I guess.
We could of all hid out or gone down to Piperville in the valley for a mite, but then there was Grandpaw
hi the attic, and I'd got sort of fond of the little Perfesser feller we keep hi a bottle. Didn't want to leave
him on account of the bottle might of got smashed in the ruckus, if the eight Tarbell boys was hkkered up
enough.
 
The Perfesser's cute—even though he never did have much sense. Used to say we was mutants,
whatever they are, and kept shooting off his mouth about some people-he knowed called chromosomes.
Seems like they got mixed up with what the Perfesser called hard radiations and had some young 'uns
which was either dominant mutations or Hogbens, but I alms got it mixed up with the Roundhead plot,
back when we was living hi the old country. 'Course I don't mean the real old country. That got sunk.
So, seeing as how Grandpaw told us to lay low, we waited till the eight Tarbell boys busted down the
door, and then we all went invisible, including the baby. Then we waited for the thing to blow over, only it
didn't.
After stomping around and ripping up things a lot,
the eight Tarbell boys come down in the cellar. Now, that was kind of bad, because we was caught by
surprise. The baby had gone invisible, like I say, and so had the tank we keep him in, but the tank
couldn't move around fast like we could.
One of the eight Tarbell boys went and banged into it and hit hisself a smart crack on the shank bone.
How he cussed! It was shameful for a growing boy to hear, except Grandpaw kin outcuss anybody I
ever heard, so I didn't larn nothing.
Well—he cussed a lot, jumped around, and all of a sudden his squirrel rifle went off. Must have had a
hair trigger. That woke up the baby, who got scared and let out a yell. It was the blamedest yell I'd ever
heard out of the baby yet, and I've seen men go all white and shaky when he bellers. Our Perfesser feller
told us oncet the baby emitted a subsonic. Imagine!
Anyhow, seven of the eight Tarbell boys dropped daid, all hi a heap, without even time to squeal. The
eighth one was up at tile haid of the cellar steps, and he got all quivery and turned* around and ran. I
guess he was so dizzy he didn't know where he was heading. 'Fore he knowed it, he was up in the attic,
where he stepped right square on Grandpaw.
Now, the fool thing was this: Grandpaw was so busy telling us what to do he'd entirely fergot to go
invisible hisself. And I guess one look at Grandpaw just plumb finished the eighth Tarbell boy. He fell
right down, daid as a skun coon. Cain't imagine why, though I got to admit Grandpaw wasn't looking his
best that week. He'd been sick.
"You all right, Grandpaw?" I asked, sort of shaking him out. He cussed me.
" Twarn't my fault," I told him.
" 'Sblood!" he said, mad-like. "What rabble of canting jolt-heads have I sired? Put me down, you young
scoundrel." So I -put him back on the gunny sack and he turned around a couple of times and shut his
eyes. After that, he said he was going to take a nap and not to wake him up for nothing, bar Judgment
Day. He meant it, too.
So we had to figger out for ourselves what was best to do. Maw said it warn't our fault, and all we could
do was pile the eight Tarbell boys in a wheelbarrow and take 'em back home, which I done. Only I got
to feeling kind of shy on the way, on account of I couldn't figger out no
real polite way to mention what had happened. Besides, Maw had told me to break the news gentle.
"Even a polecat's got feelings," she said.
 
So I left the wheelbarrow with the eight Tarbell boys in it behind some scrub brush, and I went on up the
slope to where I could see Yancey sitting, airing hisself out in the sun and reading a book. I still hadn't
studied out what to say. I just traipsed along slow-like, whistling "Yankee Doodle." Yancey didn't pay
me no mind for a while.
He's a little, mean, dirty man with chin whiskers. Couldn't be much more'n five feet high. There was
tobacco juice on his whiskers, but I might have done old Yancey wrong in figgering he was only sloppy. I
heard he used to spit in his beard to draw flies, so's he could ketch 'em and pull off their wings.
Without looking, he picked up a stone, and flang it past my head. "Shet up an' go way," he said.
"Just as you say, Mr. Yancey," I told him, mighty relieved, and started to. But then I remembered Maw
would probably whup me if I didn't mind her orders, so I sort of moved around quiet till I was in back of
Yancey and looking over his shoulder at what he was reading. It looked tike a book. Then I moved
around a mite more till I was upwind of him.
He started cackling in his whiskers.
"That's a real purty picture, Mr. Yancey," I said.
He was giggling so hard it must of cheered him up.
"Ain't it, though!" he said, banging his fist on his skinny old rump. "My, my! Makes me feel full o' ginger
just to look at it."
It wasn't a book, though. It was a magazine, the land they sell down at the village, and it was opened at a
picture. The feller that made it could draw real good. Not so good as an artist I knowed once, over in
England. He went by the name of Crookshank or Crookback or something like that, unless I'm mistook.
Anyway, this here that Yancey was looking at was quite a picture. It showed a lot of fellers, all exactly
alike, coming out of a big machine which I could tell right off wouldn't work. But all these fellers was as
like as peas in a pod. Then there was a red critter with bugged-out eyes grabbing a girl, I dunno why. It
was sure purty.
"Wisht something like that could really happen," Yancey said.
"It ain't so hard," I told him. "Only that gadget's all wrong. All you need is a washbasin and some old
scrap iron."
"Hey?"
"That thing there," I said. "The jigger that looks like it's making one feller into a whole lot of fellers. It ain't
built right."
"I s'pose you could do it better?" he snapped, sort of mad.
"We did, once," I said. "I forget what Paw had on his mind, but he owed a man name of Cadmus a little
favor. Cadmus wanted a lot of fighting men in a real hurry, so Paw fixed it so's Cadmus could split hisself
up into a pas-sel of soldiers. Shucks. I could do it myself."
"What are you blabbering about?" Yancey asked. "You ain't looking at the right thing. This here red
 
critter's what I mean. See what he's a-gonna do? Gonna chaw that there purty gal's haid off, looks like.
See the tusks on him? Heh, heh, heh. I wisht I was a critter like that. I'd chaw up plenty of people."
"You wouldn't chav up your own kin, though, I bet," I said, seeing a way to break the news gentle.
" Tain't right to bet," -he told me. "Allus pay your debts, fear no man, and don't lay no wagers.
Gambling's a sin. I never made no bets and I allus paid my debts." He stopped, scratched his whiskers,
and sort of sighed. "All except one," he added, frowning.
"What was that?"
"Oh, I owed a feller something. Only I never could locate him afterward. Must be nigh on thutty years
ago. Seems like I got likkered up and got on a train. Guess I robbed somebody, too, 'cause I had a roll
big enough to choke a hoss. Never tried that, come to think of it. You keep bosses?"
"No, sir," I said. "We was talking about your kin."
"Shet up," old Yancey said. "Well, now, I had myself quite a time." He licked his whiskers. "Ever heard
tell of a place called New York? In some furrin country, I guess. Can't understand a word nobody says.
Anyway, that's where I met up with this feller. I often wisht I could find him again. An honest man like me
hates to think of dying without paying his lawful debts."
"Did your eight boys owe any debts?" I asked.
He squinted at me, slapped his skinny leg, and nodded.
"Now I know," he said. "Ain't you the Hogben boy?"
"That's me. Saunk Hogben."
"I heard tell 'bout you Hogbens. All witches, ain't you?"
"No, sir."
"I heard what I heard. Whole neighborhood's buzzing. Hexers, that's what. You get outa here, go on,
git!"
"I'm a-going," I said. "I just come by to say it's real unfortunate you couldri't chaw up your own kin if'n
you was a critter like in that there picture."
"Ain't nobody big enough to stop me!"
"Maybe not," I said, "but they've all gone to glory."
When he heard this, old Yancey started to cackle. Finally, when he got his breath back, he said, "Not
them! Them varmints have gone plumb smack to perdition, right where they belong. How'd it happen?"
"It was sort of an accident," I said. "The baby done kilt seven of them and Grandpaw kilt the other, in a
way of speaking. No harm intended."
"No harm done," Yancey said, cackling again.
 
"Maw sent her apologies, and what do you want done with the remains? I got to take the wheelbarrow
back home."
"Take 'em away. I don't want 'em. Good riddance to bad rubbish," old Yancey said, so I said all right
and started off. But then he yelled out and told me he'd changed his mind. Told me to dump 'em where
they was. From what I could make out, which wasn't much because he was laughing so hard, he wanted
to come down and kick 'em.
So I done like he said and then went back home and told Maw, over a mess of catfish and beans and
pot-likker. She made some hush puppies, too. They was good. I sat back, figgering I'd earned a rest,
and thunk a mite, feeling warm and nice around the middle. I was trying to figger what a bean would feel
like, down in my tummy. But it didn't seem to have no feelings.
It couldn't of been more than a half hour later when the pig yelled outside like he was getting kicked, and
then somebody knocked on the door. It was Yancey. Minute he come hi, he pulled a bandanna out of his
britches and started sniffling. I looked at Maw, wide-eyed. I couldn't tell her nothing.
Paw and Uncle Les was drinking corn in a corner, and giggling a mite. I could tell they was feeling good
because of the way the table kept rocking, the one be-
tween them. It wasn't touching neither one, but it kept jiggling, trying to step fust on Paw's toes and then
on Uncle Les's. They was doing it inside their haids, trying to ketch the other one off guard.
It was up to Maw, and she invited old Yancey to set down a spell and have some beans. He just
sobbed.
"Something wrong, neighbor?" Maw asked, polite.
"It sure is," Yancey said, sniffling. "I'm a real old man."
"You surely are," Maw told him. "Mebbe not as old as Saunk here, but you look awful old."
"Hey?" Yancey said, staring at her. "Saunk? Saunk ain't more'n seventeen, big as he is."
Maw near looked embarrassed. "Did I say Saunk?" she covered up, quick-like. "I meant this Saunk's
grand-paw. His name's Saunk too." It wasn't; even Grandpaw don't remember what his name was first,
it's been so long. But in his time he's used a lot of names like Elijah and so forth. I ain't even sure they had
names in Atlantis, where Grandpaw come from in the first place. Numbers or something. It don't signify,
anyhow.
Well, seems like qld Yancey kept snuffling and groaning and moaning, and made out like we'd kilt his
eight boys and he was all alone in the world. He hadn't cared a mite half an hour ago, though, and I said
so. But he pointed out he hadn't rightly understood what I was talking about then, and for me to shet up.
"Ought to had a bigger family," he said. "They used to be two more boys, Zeb and Robbie, but I shot 'em
one time. Didn't like the way they was looking ory-eyed at me. The point is, you Hogbens ain't got no
right to kill my boys."
 

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