The Amateur Chemist
THE AMATEUR CHEMIST - JAMES C. BERNTHAL
John had never considered himself a professional chemist, but he was certainly a keen amateur. He enjoyed experimenting with different chemicals and substances immensely. He had even quit his job to spend all day at home experimenting. It was immense fun. There were pretty bubbles and nice smells. The experiments could also prove useful at times.
So far, John had created a few potions that he had found to be of interest: a skin blemish remover, a luminous paint for crockery and an economically friendly light-source. There was nothing revolutionary amongst John's results. Now he was working hard on something new. John was working on a rocket fuel.
It wasn't going to be a grand rocket ' it certainly wasn't going to carry anyone ' but the idea was that it would go far into the depths of space and leave a rainbow of smoke behind that should last for at least twelve hours. It would be very pretty.
John had built the rocket; it was thirty centimetres in height and eight in width. He was perfecting the fuel. The formula was almost complete. The man who was affectionately referred to by his neighbours as 'the mad scientist' was experimenting in his front garden. A man - a stranger to the area - walked slowly past, regarding John with curiosity.
The man was dressed in a white coat with a thick woollen scarf and half-rimmed spectacles. He was bald and carried a plastic carrier bag in one hand and an old string bag in the other. After pondering for a while, he stopped.
'Excuse me,' he asked in a loud voice. John looked politely up. 'Can you direct me to the supermarket?'
'There isn't a supermarket in the area,' John replied. And that, he thought, was that. But it wasn't.
'Oh'' the man opened the gate and entered the garden. He sat down at John's garden bench next to John. 'I hope you don't think I'm being too rude.'
'No, no, I enjoy the company,' John lied. 'Who are you?'
The man chuckled. 'I'm a scientist acting for MENSA.' John's interest sparked. 'My name's Colleen.'
'Colleen? But surely'' John coughed apologetically, realising that he sounded rude. 'Hello, Colleen. My name's John.' The two men shook hands.
They spoke easily for a few minutes. John didn't realise it, but he was doing most of the talking. He asked Colleen why he was here.
'I've come because I heard you were making a rocket and I need it to go to the moon and get some cheese for me. We've run out.'
Although he did not find this remotely amusing, John judged it best to laugh politely. So he did. The man swept on, explaining that he came from an English-speaking area of Russia and had a friend in the village who had spoken of John's experiments with coloured smoke in particular.
'Is this the rocket?' he asked.
'Yes, that's it.'
The scientist looked disappointed. 'Well, it's not very pretty, is it?'
'No' but does that matter? I mean it only really matters that it goes high into space. The smoke has to be pretty, but''
'It's not very big, is it?'
'Does that matter'?'
'Well, how are you going to fit into it?'
John looked in slight astonishment at the man called Colleen. 'Oh, I think you've made a mistake. I don't intend to ride in it, Colleen''
The man suddenly snapped: 'Why did you call me that? How dare you? Get out of my house! Now!'
John fidgeted uncomfortably. 'Remember that this is my garden. I'm just sending the rocket up. That's all.'
'But how are you going to get the cheese from the moon? How are you going to bring it to me?'
'What'' John stole a glance into the old string bag that his companion had dropped. There were two things he could make out in it: a piece of paper headed SYLVESTER McCOY'S HOME FOR THE MENTALLY UNSTABLE and a blue-nosed automatic revolver. The man was a lunatic!
He would have to be very careful. The madman was loaded.
'Where did you say you were from?' he hazarded.
'Switzerland.' The man lit a cigar then immediately extinguished it on the ground. 'I never could stand the taste of smoke,' he grumbled.
'What establishment?'
He spoke dismissively. 'Buckingham Palace. Now, let me help you build a new rocket. You'll need a better one than that if you're going all the way to the moon. I am, after all, very partial to cheese. The corner shop doesn't have any. Hurry up! I'm getting a craving for a cheese and pickle sandwich. And when I have cravings I can be unpleasant.'
The amateur chemist really didn't know what to do. His initial idea was to try to silently convey the danger to any nearby locals. That wouldn't work, as there were no locals about and even if there had been any, they wouldn't have paid heed; not since he had turned Mrs. Lorrimer's violets orange. John didn't dare risk making his way to the telephone.
'Now,' the lunatic began again. 'How many doors are in your house?'
'I don't know.'
'More than six?'
'Certainly. Why'?'
The man interrupted him. 'Don't answer back. You can help me get all the doors out of their frames.
John's face whitened. 'I-I'll just get m-my sc-sc-screwdriver'' he was nervous.
The madman's face formed a grimace. 'That won't be necessary.' He produced an axe from the carrier bag (it was very strong!). John followed nervously behind as he hacked each door in turn from its allotted place.
When that was done, the doors were all propped up against each other in the garden, standing erect.
'I need some sticky tape,' said the man meditatively. 'Where is it?'
'In the kitchen, next to the 'phone. I'll get it'' John started to move. He was stopped by the firm hand of his new companion.
'No. I'll get it.' The madman went into to the house and emerged later with a reel of tape. He started winding the tape around the doors. 'That ought to hold it,' he said when the reel had been exhausted. Now we need the fuel.'
The fuel John had created filled no more than a coffee-jar.
'No! We need more than that! Much more! I saw a tank of petrol next to a car down the road. That should be ample. I'll go and get it.' John didn't like the sound of this. 'You can come with me.' That sounded even worse.
The petrol was retrieved and poured over the wood. 'We need a fuse' Give me your shoelace.' The strange man tied John's shoelace to one of the door-handles. He looked at his creation contentedly and rubbed his hands in glee. 'There! Get in! I'll set you off.'
'No!' John started to run. He did not get much past the gate, however, for the madman was incredibly strong and hauled him back. He pushed John into the pile of wood, through a hole and threw in a carrier bag so that John could bring back some cheese. 'Got a match?'
John desperately racked his brains. There had to be a way out'
Wait! That was it! And it would only take a few seconds' But John didn't have a few seconds. The man lit the fuse.
The fire was very pretty. The smell wasn't that nice.
THE END
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