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  “What are you talking about?”

  “I know a way to get in. I’ve got the code for the Sixty-fourth Street sealfield. I can turn it off and we can slip through. It’s risky, but how can you resist?”

  So much for Gary Cooper. So much for John Wayne.

  “Have you gone nuts?” I said. “The other day you wouldn’t even let me go up to the barricades.”

  “That was the other day.”

  “You wouldn’t walk across the street with me for a drink. You said you’d get shot for desertion.”

  “That was the other day.”

  “You called me a civilian.”

  “You still are a civilian. But you’re my old buddy, and I want to go in there and look those aliens in the eye, and I’m not quite up to doing it all by myself. You want to go with me, or don’t you?”

  “Like the time we stole the beer keg from Sigma Frap. Like the time we put the scorpions in the girls’ shower room.”

  “You got it, old pal.”

  “Tim, we aren’t college kids any more. There’s a fucking intergalactic war going on. That was your very phrase. Central Park is under surveillance by NASA spy-eyes that can see a cat’s whiskers from fifty miles up. You are part of the military force that is supposed to be protecting us against these alien invaders. And now you propose to violate your trust and go sneaking into the midst of the invading force, as a mere prank?”

  “I guess I do,” he said.

  “This is an extremely cockeyed idea, isn’t it?” I said.

  “Absolutely. Are you with me?”

  “Sure,” I said. “You know I am.”

  I TOLD ELAINE THAT TIM and I were going to meet for a late dinner to discuss a business deal and I didn’t expect to be home until two or three in the morning. No problem there. Tim was waiting at our old table at Perugino’s with a bottle of Amarone already working. The wine was so good that we ordered another midway through the veal pizzaiola, and then a third. I won’t say we drank ourselves blind, but we certainly got seriously myopic. And about midnight we walked over to the park.

  Everything was quiet. I saw sleepy-looking Guardsmen patrolling here and there along Fifth. We went right up to the command post at Fifty-ninth and Tim saluted very crisply, which I don’t think was quite kosher, he being not then in uniform. He introduced me to someone as Dr. Pritchett, Bureau of External Affairs. That sounded really cool and glib, Bureau of External Affairs.

  Then off we went up Fifth, Tim and I, and he gave me a guided tour. “You see, Dr. Pritchett, the first line of the isolation zone is the barricade that runs down the middle of the avenue.” Virile, forceful voice, loud enough to be heard for half a block. “That keeps the gawkers away. Behind that, Doctor, we maintain a further level of security through a series of augmented-beam sealfield emplacements, the new General Dynamics 1100 series model, and let me show you right here how we’ve integrated that with advanced personnel-interface intercept scan by means of a triple line of Hewlett-Packard optical doppler-couplers—”

  And so on, a steady stream of booming confident-sounding gibberish as we headed north. He pulled out a flashlight and led me hither and thither to show me amplifiers and sensors and whatnot, and it was Dr. Pritchett this and Dr. Pritchett that and I realized that we were now somehow on the inner side of the barricade. His glibness, his poise, were awesome. Notice this, Dr. Pritchett, and Let me call your attention to this, Dr. Pritchett, and suddenly there was a tiny digital keyboard in his hand, like a little calculator, and he was tapping out numbers. “Okay,” he said, “the field’s down between here and the Sixty-fifth Street entrance to the park, but I’ve put a kill on the beam-interruption signal. So far as anyone can tell there’s still an unbroken field. Let’s go in.”

  And we entered the park just north of the zoo.

  For five generations the first thing New York kids have been taught, ahead of tying shoelaces and flushing after you go, is that you don’t set foot in Central Park at night. Now here we were, defying the most primordial of no-nos. But what was to fear? What they taught us to worry about in the park was muggers. Not creatures from the Ninth Glorch Galaxy.

  The park was eerily quiet. Maybe a snore or two from the direction of the zoo, otherwise not a sound. We walked west and north into the silence, into the darkness. After a while a strange smell reached my nostrils. It was dank and musky and harsh and sour, but those are only approximations: it wasn’t like anything I had ever smelled before. One whiff of it and I saw purple skies and a great green sun blazing in the heavens. A second whiff and all the stars were in the wrong places. A third whiff and I was staring into a gnarled twisted landscape where the trees were like giant spears and the mountains were like crooked teeth.

  Tim nudged me.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I smell it too.”

  “To your left,” he said. “Look to your left.”

  I looked to my left and saw three huge yellow eyes looking back at me from twenty feet overhead, like searchlights mounted in a tree. They weren’t mounted in a tree, though. They were mounted in something shaggy and massive, somewhat larger than your basic two-family Queens residential dwelling, that was standing maybe fifty feet away, completely blocking both lanes of the park’s East Drive from shoulder to shoulder.

  It was then that I realized that three bottles of wine hadn’t been nearly enough.

  “What’s the matter?” Tim said. “This is what we came for, isn’t it, old pal?”

  “What do we do now? Climb on its back and go for a ride?”

  “You know that no human being in all of history has ever been as close to that thing as we are now?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I do know that, Tim.”

  It began making a sound. It was the kind of sound that a piece of chalk twelve feet thick would make if it was dragged across a blackboard the wrong way. When I heard that sound I felt as if I were being dragged across whole galaxies by my hair. A weird vertigo attacked me. Then the creature folded up all its legs and came down to ground level; and then it unfolded the two front pairs of legs, and then the other two; and then it started to amble slowly and ominously toward us.

  I saw another one, looking even bigger, just beyond it. And perhaps a third one a little farther back. They were heading our way, too.

  “Shit,” I said. “This was a very dumb idea, wasn’t it?”

  “Come on. We’re never going to forget this night.”

  “I’d like to live to remember it.”

  “Let’s get up real close. They don’t move very fast.”

  “No,” I said. “Let’s just get out of the park right now, okay?”

  “We just got here.”

  “Fine,” I said. “We did it. Now let’s go.”

  “Hey, look,” Tim said. “Over there to the west.”

  I followed his pointing arm and saw two gleaming wraiths hovering just above the ground, maybe three hundred yards away. The other aliens, the little floating ones. Drifting toward us, graceful as balloons. I imagined myself being wrapped in a shining pillow and being floated off into their ship.

  “Oh, shit,” I said. “Come on, Tim.”

  Staggering, stumbling, I ran for the park gate, not even thinking about how I was going to get through the sealfield without Tim’s gizmo. But then there was Tim, right behind me. We reached the sealfield together and he tapped out the numbers on the little keyboard and the field opened for us, and out we went, and the field closed behind us. And we collapsed just outside the park, panting, gasping, laughing like lunatics, slapping the sidewalk hysterically. “Dr. Pritchett,” he chortled. “Bureau of External Affairs. Goddamn, what a smell that critter had! Goddamn!”

  I LAUGHED ALL THE WAY home. I was still laughing when I got into bed. Elaine squinted at me. She wasn’t amused. “That Tim,” I said. “That wild man Tim.” She could tell I’d been drinking some and she nodded somberly—boys will be boys, etc.—and went back to sleep.

  The next morning I learned what had happened in the
park after we had cleared out.

  It seemed a few of the big aliens had gone looking for us. They had followed our spoor all the way to the park gate, and when they lost it they somehow turned to the right and went blundering into the zoo. The Central Park Zoo is a small cramped place and as they rambled around in it they managed to knock down most of the fences. In no time whatever there were tigers, elephants, chimps, rhinos, and hyenas all over the park.

  The animals, of course, were befuddled and bemused at finding themselves free. They took off in a hundred different directions, looking for places to hide.

  The lions and coyotes simply curled up under bushes and went to sleep. The monkeys and some of the apes went into the trees. The aquatic things headed for the lake. One of the rhinos ambled out into the mall and pushed over a fragile-looking alien machine with his nose. The machine shattered and the rhino went up in a flash of yellow light and a puff of green smoke. As for the elephants, they stood poignantly in a huddled circle, glaring in utter amazement and dismay at the gigantic aliens. How humiliating it must have been for them to feel tiny.

  Then there was the bison event. There was this little herd, a dozen or so mangy-looking guys with ragged, threadbare fur. They started moving single file toward Columbus Circle, probably figuring that if they just kept their heads down and didn’t attract attention they could keep going all the way back to Wyoming. For some reason one of the behemoths decided to see what bison tastes like. It came hulking over and sat down on the last one in the line, which vanished underneath it like a mouse beneath a hippopotamus. Chomp, gulp, gone. In the next few minutes five more behemoths came over and disappeared five more of the bison. The survivors made it safely to the edge of the park and huddled up against the sealfield, mooing forlornly. One of the little tragedies of interstellar war.

  I found Tim on duty at the Fifty-ninth Street command post. He looked at me as though I were an emissary of Satan. “I can’t talk to you while I’m on duty,” he said.

  “You heard about the zoo?” I asked.

  “Of course I heard.” He was speaking through clenched teeth. His eyes had the scarlet look of zero sleep. “What a filthy irresponsible thing we did!”

  “Look, we had no way of knowing—”

  “Inexcusable. An incredible lapse. The aliens feel threatened now that humans have trespassed on their territory, and the whole situation has changed in there. We upset them and now they’re getting out of control. I’m thinking of reporting myself for court-martial.”

  “Don’t be silly, Tim. We trespassed for three minutes. The aliens didn’t give a crap about it. They might have blundered into the zoo even if we hadn’t—”

  “Go away,” he muttered. “I can’t talk to you while I’m on duty.”

  Jesus! As if I was the one who had lured him into doing it.

  Well, he was back in his movie part again, the distinguished military figure who now had unaccountably committed an unpardonable lapse and was going to have to live in the cold glare of his own disapproval for the rest of his life. The poor bastard. I tried to tell him not to take things so much to heart, but he turned away from me, so I shrugged and went back to my office.

  That afternoon some tender-hearted citizens demanded that the sealfields be switched off until the zoo animals could escape from the park. The sealfields, of course, kept them trapped in there with the aliens.

  Another tough one for the mayor. He’d lose points tremendously if the evening news kept showing our beloved polar bears and raccoons and kangaroos and whatnot getting gobbled like gumdrops by the aliens. But switching off the sealfields would send a horde of leopards and gorillas and wolverines scampering out into the streets of Manhattan, to say nothing of the aliens who might follow them. The mayor appointed a study group, naturally.

  The small aliens stayed close to their spaceship and remained uncommunicative. They went on tinkering with their machines, which emitted odd plinking noises and curious colored lights. But the huge ones roamed freely about the park, and now they were doing considerable damage in their amiable mindless way. They smashed up the backstops of the baseball fields, tossed the Bethesda Fountain into the lake, rearranged Tavern-on-the-Green’s seating plan, and trashed the place in various other ways, but nobody seemed to object except the usual Friends of the Park civic types. I think we were all so bemused by the presence of genuine galactic beings that we didn’t mind. We were flattered that they had chosen New York as the site of first contact. (But where else?)

  No one could explain how the behemoths had penetrated the Seventy-second Street sealfield line, but a new barrier was set up at Seventy-ninth, and that seemed to keep them contained. Poor Tim spent twelve hours a day patrolling the perimeter of the occupied zone. Inevitably I began spending more time with Maranta than just lunchtimes. Elaine noticed. But I didn’t notice her noticing.

  ONE SUNDAY AT DAWN A behemoth turned up by the Metropolitan, peering in the window of the Egyptian courtyard. The authorities thought at first that there must be a gap in the Seventy-ninth Street sealfield, as there had at Seventy-second. Then came a report of another alien out near Riverside Drive and a third one at Lincoln Center and it became clear that the sealfields just didn’t hold them back at all. They had simply never bothered to go beyond them before.

  Making contact with a sealfield is said to be extremely unpleasant for any organism with a nervous system more complex than a squid’s. Every neuron screams in anguish. You jump back, involuntarily, a reflex impossible to overcome. On the morning we came to call Crazy Sunday the behemoths began walking through the fields as if they weren’t there. The main thing about aliens is that they are alien. They feel no responsibility for fulfilling any of your expectations.

  That weekend it was Bobby Christie’s turn to have the full apartment. On those Sundays when Elaine and I had the one-room configuration we liked to get up very early and spend the day out, since it was a little depressing to stay home with three rooms of furniture jammed all around us. As we were walking up Park Avenue South toward Forty-second, Elaine said suddenly, “Do you hear anything strange?”

  “Strange?”

  “Like a riot.”

  “It’s nine o’clock Sunday morning. Nobody goes out rioting at nine o’clock Sunday morning.”

  “Just listen,” she said.

  There is no mistaking the characteristic sounds of a large excited crowd of human beings, for those of us who spent our formative years living in the late twentieth century. Our ears were tuned at an early age to the music of riots, mobs, demonstrations, and their kin. We know what it means, when individual exclamations of anger, indignation, or anxiety blend to create a symphonic hubbub in which all extremes of pitch and timbre are submerged into a single surging roar, as deep as the booming of the surf. That was what I heard now. There was no mistaking it.

  “It isn’t a riot,” I said. “It’s a mob. There’s a subtle difference.”

  “What?”

  “Come on,” I said, breaking into a jog. “I’ll bet you that the aliens have come out of the park.”

  A mob, yes. In a moment we saw thousands upon thousands of people, filling Forty-second Street from curb to curb and more coming from all directions. What they were looking at—pointing, gaping, screaming—was a shaggy blue creature the size of a small mountain that was moving about uncertainly on the automobile viaduct that runs around the side of Grand Central Terminal. It looked unhappy. It was obviously trying to get down from the viaduct, which was sagging noticeably under its weight. People were jammed right up against it and a dozen or so were clinging to its sides and back like rock climbers. There were people underneath it, too, milling around between its colossal legs. “Oh, look,” Elaine said, shuddering, digging her fingers into my biceps. “Isn’t it eating some of them? Like they did the bison?” Once she had pointed it out I saw, yes, the behemoth now and then was dipping quickly and rising again, a familiar one-two, the old squat-and-gobble. “What an awful thing!” Elaine murmured. �
��Why don’t they get out of its way?”

  “I don’t think they can,” I said. “I think they’re being pushed forward by the people behind them.”

  “Right into the jaws of that hideous monster. Or whatever it has, if they aren’t jaws.”

  “I don’t think it means to hurt anyone,” I said. How did I know that? “I think it’s just eating them because they’re dithering around down there in its mouth area. A kind of automatic response. It looks awfully dumb, Elaine.”

  “Why are you defending it?”

  “Hey, look, Elaine—”

  “It’s eating people. You sound almost sorry for it!”

  “Well, why not? It’s far from home and surrounded by ten thousand screaming morons. You think it wants to be out there?”

  “It’s a disgusting obnoxious animal.” She was getting furious. Her eyes were bright and wild, her jaw was thrust forward. “I hope the army gets here fast,” she said fiercely. “I hope they blow it to smithereens!”

  Her ferocity frightened me. I saw an Elaine I scarcely knew at all. When I tried one more time to make excuses for that miserable hounded beast on the viaduct she glared at me with unmistakable loathing. Then she turned away and went rushing forward, shaking her fist, shouting curses and threats at the alien.

  Suddenly I realized how it would have been if Hannibal actually had been able to keep his elephants alive long enough to enter Rome with them. The respectable Roman matrons, screaming and raging from the housetops with the fury of banshees. And the baffled elephants sooner or later rounded up and thrust into the Coliseum to be tormented by little men with spears, while the crowd howled its delight. Well, I can howl too. “Come on, Behemoth!” I yelled into the roar of the mob. “You can do it, Goliath!” A traitor to the human race is what I was, I guess.

  Eventually a detachment of Guardsmen came shouldering through the streets. They had mortars and rifles, and for all I know they had tactical nukes, too. But, of course, there was no way they could attack the animal in the midst of such a mob. Instead they used electronic blooglehorns to disperse the crowd by the power of sheer ugly noise, and whipped up a bunch of buzz-blinkers and a little sealfield to cut Forty-second Street in half. The last I saw of the monster it was slouching off in the direction of the old United Nations Buildings with the Guardsmen warily creeping along behind it. The crowd scattered, and I was left standing in front of Grand Central with a trembling, sobbing Elaine.