Foster, Alan Dean - Smart Dragons, Foolish Elves (Short Stories)

657 Pages·2016·1.12 MB·English

by  Foster Alan Dean

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
SMART DRAGONS, FOOLISH ELVES

Alan Dean Foster
Introduction

HUMOR AND FANTASY have had a long and happy marriage.
Every society has felt the need now and then to leaven
heavy doses of religion and mythology with laughter, lest
the populace feel too oppressed by the gods. Not only did
healthy injections of humor help to lighten the life loads of
otherwise impoverished peoples, it served to humanize the
vast unknowables of existence. Believing that Zeus, or
Odin, or Shiva could find themselves on the cosmic
whoopee cushion every now and then just like Uncle Cheng
probably made the night seem a little less dark, the vastness
of space and time a smidgen less overbearing.

So the people told funny stories; sometimes respectfully,
sometimes not. Clearly the gods had a sense of humor,
because including them in amusing tales did not result in
imminent destruction and devastation. No matter how
serious the religion or mythology, some irreverent soul
always found room for a good laugh.

Today only the parameters have changed. The universe is
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
better understood and therefore less threatening, but we still
find space in religion for humor. The mythologies are
different, though. The old gods repose comfortably in the
Valhalla Retirement Home, having been replaced by com-
puters, satellite communications, and psychoanalysis. Sci-
ence, not mythology, rules the day.

Yet much of the old hangs around, having slipped
comfortably into new clothes. Human concerns are still
universal. Many of the stories in this collection would make
sense to readers of a hundred or even a thousand years ago.
It would do our ancestors good to know that their offspring
can still laugh and smile at themselves.

Fantasy can be much more than escapism. Like the
Arabian Nights, the imaginative tales in this collection often
have points to make about the human condition: about love
and truth, greed and lust, children and reality, what is really
important in life and what is peripheral or overrated. The
best stories are the ones that can make us think as well as
smile. That's as true of fantasy fiction as it is of stand-up
humor.

Fantasy is a tool that enables the writer to go beyond the
constraints of everyday life to make a point. The vehicle can
be ethnic mythology, puberty, Roman history, love, beer, a
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
grand quest or a tiny afterthought. The humor can be
contained in a quick punchline or an elaborate buildup. A
story can make us laugh out loud or simply smile know-
ingly. Humor can be light, dark, and every shade in
between, depending on what setting the toaster has been left
on.

I like to believe that in addition to making us laugh or
smile, each of the stories in this collection has something to
say to us. Laughter lingers longest when it also makes a
point. We usually remember the stories that cut deeper than
those that merely anesthetize.

Some of the authors in this collection are noted for their
humorous fiction. Most are not. Quite the contrary, they are
famed for the dark and serious, or expansive and adventur-
ous, or the biting, or the poetical. But not humor. Not for
making the reader grin and chuckle. Those are the ones I
particularly prize.

Because there's laughter in all of us, even in long-faced,
somber authors charged with explaining the Meaning of It
All to desperate readers. Sometimes it's a little slow
manifesting itself, is all. The reason is that genuinely
amusing fiction is the toughest kind to write. Succinctly
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
put, "Funny is hard."

Keep that in mind as you put aside your casual evening's
reading of Proust or Solzhenitsyn and dig into something
really serious. Like this book. If it makes you smile, then
it's done its job. If it makes you think, you've received a
bonus. Take two stories, drink plenty of liquids, and stay in
bed.

That done, have you heard the one about . . . ?

—Alan Dean Foster
Prescott, Arizona

How nice to be able to open a collection of the
extraordinary with a quite ordinary tale. After
all, what could be more ordinary than buying a
car? Cars are unremarkable utilitarian objects
that we deal with every day of our lives.

Still, it would be a fairly simple matter to
concoct a story about a remarkable car. One that
kills, like Stephen King's Christine. Or one that
metamorphoses into a starship, as in the movie
The Last Starfighter. But once-you've tossed out
the punchline, so to speak, where's your story?
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
No, no. Better to keep it simple, ordinary,
unspectacular.

Robert Silverberg has been writing simple,
ordinary stories about everyday situations and
events for a long time now. Ifs the ease and skill
with which he brings off whatever he wants to
try that's spectacular. This quiet little story, for
example. You have to take it ...

—————————————^—————————————

As Is

ROBERT SILVERBERG

"As is," the auto dealer said, jamming his thumbs under his
belt. "Two hundred fifty bucks and drive it away. I'm not
pretending it's perfect, but I got to tell you, you're getting
a damned good hunk of car for the price."
"As is," Sam Norton said.

"As is. Strictly as is."

Norton looked a little doubtful. "Maybe she drives well,
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
but with a trunk that doesn't open—"

"So what?" the dealer snorted. "You told me yourself
you're renting a U-Haul to get your stuff to California.
What do you need a trunk for? Look, when you get out to
the Coast and have a little time, take the car to a garage, tell
'em the story, and maybe five minutes with a blowtorch—"

"Why didn't you do that while you had the car in stock?"

The dealer looked evasive. "We don't have time to fool
with details like that."

Norton let the point pass. He walked around the car
again, giving it a close look from all angles. It was a
smallish dark-green four-door sedan, with the finish and
trim in good condition, a decent set of tires, and a general
glow that comes only when a car has been well cared for.
The upholstery was respectable, the radio was in working
order, the engine was—as far as he could judge—okay, and
a test drive had been smooth and easy. The car seemed to be
a reasonably late model, too; it had shoulder-harness safety
belts and emergency blinkers.

There was only one small thing wrong with it. The trunk
didn't open. It wasn't just a case of a jammed lock, either;
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

somebody had fixed this car so the trunk couldn't open.
With great care the previous owner had apparently welded
the trunk shut; nothing was visible back there except a dim
line to mark the place where the lid might once have lifted.

What the hell, though. The car was otherwise in fine
shape, and he wasn't in a position to be too picky.
Overnight, practically, they had transferred him to the Los
Angeles office, which was fine in terms of getting out of
New York in the middle of a lousy winter, but not so good
as far as his immediate finances went. The company didn't
pay moving costs, only transportation; he had been handed
four one-way tourist-class tickets, and that was that. So he
had put Ellen and the kids aboard the first jet to L.A.,
cashing in his own ticket so he could use the money for the

Moving job. He figured to do it the slow but cheap way: rent
a U-Haul trailer, stuff the family belongings into it, and set
out via turnpike for California, hoping that Ellen had found
an apartment by the time he got there. Only he couldn't trust
his present clunker of a car to get him very far west of
Parsippany, New Jersey, let alone through the Mojave
Desert. So here he was, trying to pick up an honest used job
for about five hundred bucks, which was all he could afford
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
to lay out on the spot.

And here was the man at the used-car place offering him
this very attractive vehicle—with its single peculiar
defect—for only two and a half bills, which would leave
him with that much extra cash cushion for the expenses of
his transcontinental journey. And he didn't really need a
trunk, driving alone. He could keep his suitcase on the back
seat and stash everything else in the U-Haul. And it
shouldn't be all that hard to have some mechanic in L.A. cut
the trunk open for him and get it working again. On the
other hand, Ellen was likely to chew him out for having
bought a car that was sealed up that way; she had let him
have it before on other "bargains" of that sort. On the third
hand, the mystery of the sealed trunk appealed to him. Who
knew what he'd find in there once he opened it up? Maybe
the car had belonged to a smuggler who had had to hide a
hot cargo fast, and the trunk was full of lovely golden
ingots, or diamonds, or ninety-year-old cognac, which the
smuggler had planned to reclaim a few weeks later, except
that something unexpected had come up. On the fourth
hand—

The dealer said, "How'd you like to take her out for
another test spin, then?"
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Norton shook his head. "Don't think I need to. I've got
a good idea of how she rides."

"Well, then, let's step into the office and close the deal."

Sidestepping the maneuver, Norton said, "What year did
you say she was?"

"Oh, about a 'sixty-four, 'sixty-five."

"You aren't sure?"

"You can't really tell with these foreign jobs, sometimes.
You know, they don't change the model for five, six, ten
years in a row, except in little ways that only an expert
would notice. Take Volkswagen, for instance—"

"And I just realized," Norton cut in, "that you never told
me what make she is, either."

"Peugeot, maybe, or some kind of Fiat," said the dealer
hazily. "One of those kind."

"You don't know?"
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
A shrug. "Well, we checked a lot of the style books going
back a few years, but there are so damn many of these
foreign cars around, and some of them they import only a
few thousand, and—well, so we couldn't quite figure it
out."

Norton wondered how he was going to get spare parts for
a car of unknown make and uncertain date. Then he realized
that he was thinking of the car as his, already, even though
the more he considered the deal, the less he liked it. And
then he thought of those ingots in the trunk. The rare
cognac. The suitcase full of rubies and sapphires.

He said, "Shouldn't the registration say something about
the year and make?"

The dealer shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Matter
of fact, we don't have the registration. But it's perfectly
legitimate. Hey, look, I'd like to get this car out of my lot,
so maybe we call it two twenty-five, huh?"

"It all sounds pretty mysterious. Where'd you get the car,
anyway?"

"There was this little guy who brought it in, about a year
ago, a year last November, I think it was. Give it a valve