Martian V.F.W. | Page 3

He began to giggle hysterically.
"Golly, they're funny. Can you see them yet, Daddy?"
Before the father could produce an answer the ants were in view. They
were a sight that couldn't fail to stimulate the funny bone. By
comparison with real ants everything about them had been grossly
exaggerated to achieve the proper effect. They walked on their two
back legs but the four front apertures were far from idle. Some of them
turned somersaults, others did complicated flips consisting of two or
three spins in mid-air. Still others, doing a kind of animated cakewalk,
carried toy ray guns which they fired at random into the crowd. The
guns were something like the little boy's Captain Video ray gun, only
larger. They emitted little streaks of blue sparks which shone brightly
but disappeared when contact was made with air.
They were easily the hit of the parade, a three ring circus all by
themselves, as they pranced and clowned their way up Fifth Avenue
giving the spectators a whale of a show that was completely new.

The guests on the reviewing stand refrained from any hilarity until they
saw the float that four of the ants were pulling behind them. It was in
keeping with the rest of the nonsense they were perpetrating. The float
boasted eight larger ray guns, three on either side and two in the rear,
that fired the same fascinating blue sparks. Behind each gun an ant
stood on its head, wildly waving six legs in the breeze, begging to be
noticed and laughed at. Above the guns, emblazoned in fiery orange
letters, were the words: "MARTIAN V.F.W." This was interpreted by
one and all as a punch line and was treated accordingly.
It was heartwarming to be able to see the president and so many other
dignitaries abandon composure in favor of a good old fashioned belly
laugh.
"Daddy, I can't laugh any more," the boy had to pause between every
other word. "My stomach hurts. Aren't they the funniest things you ever
saw?"
The father was too convulsed to be able to answer him.
"Daddy, one of them is coming this way! He's firing his Captain Video
ray gun at us!" They boy squeezed his father and held on tight.
The father took a deep breath in order to be able to speak. "Take your
gun and fire back at him, son. Fire away! Go on, he's just being
playful!" He broke forth with another gust of laughter. "I won't see
anything as funny as this again if I live to be a hundred!"
The ant pranced over to where they were standing, firing its gun in
every direction. The boy fired back. The ant took one look at the lad's
gun and let out a long cackling sound which built to a crescendo and
then stopped as though it had been turned off. The ant rejoined the
group and they continued on their merry way.
* * * * *
The boy fired several shots into the float as it passed. He wanted to see
if he could knock out those blazing orange letters: MARTIAN V.F.W.

The letters continued to burn, but in the boy's mind he was certain he
had made several direct hits.
The boy and his father watched the float until it was out of sight. They
knew there wouldn't be another attraction like those ants. They must
have been real professionals, the father thought. Such teamwork! Such
precision! Each one of them having a specific job to do and each doing
it to perfection. After them everything was bound to be anticlimactic.
More marchers, more bands, a few more floats. The boy was beginning
to tire. It had been a long day. Now everything was dull. "Daddy, I
don't want to see any more. Let's go home."
"We'll stay another five minutes."
* * * * *
The parade somehow seemed to be slowing down. The father yawned
and let his son down from his shoulders. He looked across the street at
the president and the other dignitaries on the reviewing stand. All were
slowly raising their hands in salute as another color guard drowsily
made its way by.
Soon the last group in the parade was passing the reviewing stand.
Another brass band. They were moving with the speed of a glacier. A
full five seconds elapsed between each note of music. Everything was
happening in slow motion. On the reviewing stand the dignified hands
went up, agonizingly slow, to a final salute and they stayed there. The
greatest minds in the world stood motionless, unalterably still. Just as
each wave of pandemonium had unfurled itself up Fifth Avenue during
the parade, so now did silence take command.
The little boy tugged at his father's coat. "Daddy! Daddy," he