One Door From Heaven

She directs her liquid-nitrogen stare on the pipe smokers. "They do not use tobacco-type products." She focuses again on Curtis, her eyes so cold that he feels as if he might go into cryogenic suspension if she keeps him in her sights too long. "They have no prejudices based on race or gender, or anything else. They never despoil their bodies with high-fat foods, refined sugar, and caffeine. They don't lie and cheat, they don't wage war, as I've said, and they certainly don't incubate giant killer insects inside cows."
        "Well, it's a big universe," says Curtis in what he imagines to be a conciliatory tone, "and fortunately most of the worst types I'm talking about haven't gotten around to this end of it."
        The young woman's face pales further and her eyes become icier, as if additional refrigeration coils have activated in her head.
        "Of course, I'm only speculating," Curtis quickly adds. "I don't know for a fact any more than the rest of you."
        Before Curtis can be frozen solid by the snakeless Medusa, Mr. Neary intervenes. "Son, you ought to spend a bunch less time playin' those violent sci-fi video games. They've stuffed your head full of sick nonsense. We're talkin' reality here, not those blood-soaked fantasies Hollywood spews out to pollute young minds like yours."
        Those gathered around the dead zone express their agreement, and one of them asks, "Mr. Neary, were you scared when the ETs came back for you?"
        "Sir, I was naturally concerned, but not truly scared. That was six months after Clara floated away, which is why we have two contact vigils here each year, on the anniversaries. By the way, some folks say they would come here just for my wife's homemade cookies, so be sure you try 'em. Of course, this year, it's three vigils-this one impromptu because of what's going on right this minute, over there." Standing taller, wearing his African-explorer clothes with even greater authority, he points east, past the end of the meadow, toward the land that rises beyond a scattering of trees. "The uproar across the border in Utah, which you and I know has nothin' whatsoever to do with no drug lords, regardless what the government says."
        Neary's statement gives rise to expressions of a mutual distrust of the government from many in the growing crowd gathered around the dead zone.
        Curtis seizes upon this shared sentiment as a way to redeem himself with these people and to polish his inadequate socializing skills. He steps off the grass onto the barren chalky earth and raises his voice to declare, "Gov'ment! Rule-makin', power-crazy, know-no thin' bunch of lily-livered skunks in bald-faced shirts!"
        He senses that his declaration fails to win for him the immediate embrace of the assemblage.
        His words have caused the group to fall silent again.
        Assuming that their silence arises from their need to digest his words rather than from any disagreement with what he's said, he gives them more reason to welcome him into their community. "Call me a hog an' butcher me for bacon, but don't you ever tell me the gov'ment ain't a land-crazy, dirt-grabbin' tyrant!"
        Old Yeller drops to the ground and rolls onto her back, exposing her belly to the crowd, because she thinks that Curtis's socializing requires an expression of submission to avoid violence.
        He's quite sure that Old Yeller misapprehends the mood of these people. The dog's senses and preternatural perceptions are reliable in many matters, but human social interaction is far too complex for accurate analysis merely by scent and instinct. Admittedly, the pale young woman's face hardens into an ice sculpture at the mention of bacon, but the others appear to have the open-mouthed expression of people absorbing a well-spoken truth.
        Consequently, even as Old Yeller timidly exposes her belly, Curtis spouts more of what these folks want to hear, while hitching himself in a circle, mimicking the gimpy movement that made Gabby so endearing: "Gov'ment! Tax collectors, land grabbers, nosey do-gooders more self-righteous than any Bible-poundin' preacher ever born! Stink-bug-lovin' gov'ment bastards!"
        The dog is whimpering now.
        Surveying the encircling ufologists, Curtis sees not one smile, but several looks of astonishment and numerous frowns, and even what seem to be a few expressions of pity.
        "Son," says Mr. Neary, "I figure your folks aren't