Evidence When my parents insisted on buying this old house, I knew something like this would happen. It’s big, three stories, and I’ll bet back in the day, it was considered a mansion. I’ll bet rich people lived here. But its inhabitants today aren’t wealthy. They were only able to buy it because, as the real estate agent said, it was a bit of a fixer upper.
But now, the place has been thoroughly fixed up. It’s modern, and stylish, and looks like wealthy people live there. And I had warned my parents. I told them: you know what will happen when you make this house look like new. But they didn’t listen to me. “Don’t worry,” my mom had said, “we have a great security system.” “Security system?” I asked. I laughed. “A security system won’t do anything when the dead owners come back to haunt us for screwing with their house!” Now, tonight, I’m finally proven right. I stand outside my car, home from a double shift of school and work, staring at the open front door. My parents are out of town today, an unfortunate twist of fate, but even if they can’t see the truth in person, I’ll have evidence. I open the trunk of my car and pull out the thick, black briefcase I’d hidden beneath a blanket. After detaching the padlock and undoing the latches, the case pops open. I remove the protective layer of foam from inside and take a moment to admire my sleek equipment. Of course, I have all the tools any self-respecting ghost hunter would: EMF readers, laser grids, thermal sensors, and the like. It’s too bad I won’t have the opportunity to use all of them this time. The spirits have already made themselves known by opening the door, so I’m the one who needs to go undetected in this hunt. A night vision camera and audio recorder will do. I close my briefcase and head toward the house, avoiding the creaky spots on the front steps. Once I pass through the doorway, I stick the recorder into my shirt pocket and turn it on, then flip open the viewfinder on my camera and begin recording. I make my way through the twists and turns of the house, using the glowing green image on the screen to guide me. I have to be careful; if I bump into something, the ghosts may hear me and disappear. Worse, they could come and attack me. It’s impossible to say whether they have malicious intent. First floor clear, I tip-toe up the stairs and, camera first, round the corner into the hallway. My screen shows only the rug-lined hall, despite all of the cold spots that I walk through. I have to be getting close. The ceiling creaks above me, movement on the third floor. My impulse is to sprint to the staircase, to not wait another moment before I catch the spirit on camera and get my hard-earned proof, but I must remain cautious. This could be the most important moment of my life. I can’t mess it up now. One agonizing, silent footstep after the other, I reach the third floor. Holding my breath, I crouch around corners and keep my eyes glued on the viewfinder. There’s another noise from down the hallway. The master bedroom. I slink up to the door, pressing my back against the wall, and with a deep breath, I swing around and point my camera into the room. A man stands at the dresser, rummaging through my mother’s jewelry box. His clothes are all-black and modern, not what I expected a ghost to be wearing. “Halt, spirit!” I yell. “What the fuck?” he responds, jumping at the sound of my voice. He scoops up the jewelry box with gloved hands and holds it to his chest. “What are your intentions here?” He looks down at the box in his hands, then back up at me. His eyes lock onto the camera. “Shit.” He runs through the doorway, shoving me hard with his shoulder and knocking the camera out of my hands in the process. Corporeal. His footsteps are loud and frantic as he descends two flights of stairs and runs out the front door. Human. I pick the camera up, brush it off, and stop recording. The video of the robber sits at the top of its list of recent files. Useless. I press the delete button.
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A Package “Delivery,” the FedEx delivery driver said with a heavy dose of apathy before scanning the label and chucking my package at my door. With the kind of accuracy only a FedEx driver could have, he managed to hit my doorbell as well. I got up from my couch with gusto in an attempt to chastise the driver for throwing my package before he hopped back into his van that was idling outside my apartment. A waft of exhaust warmed my nose hairs as I pulled open the door.
“Don’t you know what’s in here?! It’s an electronic, dumbass. It could have broken because of you,” I said. My words were met with a diesel engine revving, and the driver proceeded to take off. I crouched down to pick up the tiny package. I gave it a little shake to see if the device inside was still intact then checked the return address. Finally, at long last. I was finally in possession of a hacked Amazon Firestick. Movies, shows, documentaries just released yesterday in stunning 4K were suddenly made accessible to me. All watchable from the comfort of my own living room. Aforementioned by my fiancée’s dad and promised to us before we made the arduous move out to Florida, it was finally here in my hands. I pulled out my orange pocket knife from my desk drawer and made quick work of the cardboard and bubble wrap. My fiancée was out of town for her sister’s wedding and none of my colleagues wanted to hang out, so I decided to give it a test. I observed the tacky tape job on the stick and noticed there was no remote included in the box. I shrugged it off and figured my TV remote would probably work with it. I inserted the Firestick into the only HDMI port that wasn’t already occupied by a gaming console, HDMI three. The TV switched on as soon as I inserted the stick. Damien Chazelle’s Whiplash immediately started playing. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to watch this since forever,” I said to myself. I made myself some hot pockets and got comfy. After the movie ended it cut as soon as the credits started to the next episode of a show I was in the middle of watching: Barry. Wait… what the fuck? I bolted from the couch over to the TV. I yanked and yanked on the Firestick. It wouldn’t budge. I tried to switch off the power strip that my TV was plugged into. It felt like the switch had been super glued into position. It too wouldn’t budge. I went to the power socket that the power strip was plugged into and attempted to cut the source of power there. A thought piped up from the back of my mind. You’re missing the show. I didn’t even make it back to the couch. I sat crisscross on the rug in front of my TV, eyes permanently transfixed on the screen in front of me. My jaw slacked, drool collecting in my lap. When I had watched every piece of visual media the Firestick had to offer, it moved on to audio books. What perfect timing too! My eyesight was fading fast. When the audio books ran out it moved on to music. The richness of the music was enhanced by the lack of eyesight so, really, it wasn’t all that bad. I had no desire to move. No desire to create. My dreams and ambitions were dead, and I had not a care in the world. All went silent the day the music died. Ashley Dockery is a creative writing student at Full Sail University, who is currently working on publishing her first book. She is expected to graduate in June of 2022. She is also currently having several works being considered for publication. She is proficient in Microsoft suite and Final draft. Roses can’t always be red The faint crunching of old chips didn’t even bother him. The foul odor of rotten and moldy food hadn’t even fazed him like the first time. The screaming from the top floor brought him out of his unfazed state along with the sudden crying.
“Excuse me, Ms. Trey! Are you up there?!” he asked as he headed towards the stairs. “Who's there?!” Ms.Trey demanded as she raced to the top of the stairway. When she locked eyes with him, they turned from furious to terrified. “Oh,” she said as she began to shake. “Ms.Trey,” Drew stated as he walked up the stairs. “Where is she?” he asked once he made it to the top step. Doing a double take at the top, he quickly located the sound and made his way towards a faded blue door. He narrowed his eyes at the doorknob. The cries were just on the other side of the door. “She just got in trouble! She fucking made me look like-” “Finish that sentence, Lily. I dare you. Since I’m pretty sure like everything in this house, it's nothing but trash and lies,” Drew said abruptly as he struggled to open the door. He didn’t wait for her to reply once another loud scream cut her off. He slammed into the door repeatedly as he banged the door. “Rose! Rose can you hear me?!” he called out as he tried to break down the door. “Help!” Rose bawled on the other side. Before Drew could reply, something crashed right next to him. When he turned around he glared at the vile woman, noticing that she wasn’t anywhere close to being scared anymore. “Leave her alone, she’s mine!” she screamed as she threw another lamp post. “She’s mine!” Drew dodged the lamp post before racing back towards her, grabbing her wrists as she leaned down to snatch something else in the massive mess at her feet. “Stop treating her like a damn doll!” he shouted as she struggled to get away from her. He felt her sharp jagged nails dig into his skin, but the anger that fueled him overrode the pain. He slammed her into the room behind her and rushed back to the door, slamming into it with all his might until it broke off its hinges. “Drew!” Rose cried as she ran towards him, clinging to his leg as tight as her small hands could. Drew lifted the girl into his arms and ran downstairs. Rose’s cries and Lily’s crazed screams compelled him to get out of the house. He opened his car door and ushered Rose inside. “Rose, lock the door. I promise you will be safe,” he said as he raced back into the house. The moment he set foot back inside, Lily lunged at him once again. With a knife in her hand, she desperately tried to stab him. He grabbed her hand to stop her. He struggled to get her off of him as she tried to overpower him. He focused on the weapon in front of him, ignoring Lily’s screams that Rose was hers and hers alone. “She’s my daughter too!” he said as a sudden thud stopped her attack and caused her to fall over. Looking up, he met familiar blue eyes. “I fucking told you that this was going to be dangerous,” Amber said as she looked towards the car. “Did you already call the cops?” he asked. “After the horror stories you told me of the woman? What do you think?” Amber asked as she helped him gain his balance with a gentle smile before pecking his cheek.“They should be here in a few minutes. How’s Rose doing?” she asked. “I haven’t fully checked her yet. You know getting attacked and all,” he said as he glared down at Lily. “I’m taking my daughter back and there’s nothing that’s going to stop me,” he said as the sirens lit up the street, watching the blood from his scratched wrists run down his hand and land near her pale white skin. A million thoughts ran through his mind as he looked back towards the car. Rose had unlocked the door and clung to his lover. He could see all of the marks that littered her small arms. He turned his gaze back down to Lily and groaned. “All roses are delicate and beautiful, but anytime our Rose comes near you she nearly breaks,” he said as the cops quickly arrived onto the scene.
Dunc Ahn Disconsolate, miserable, cheerless; Duncan Morency searched for the right word to describe his current mood. Current was not even the right word, as his mood had been in the pits since the first week the mountain opened, and here in April, the last day of the season it had only grown more chapfallen. In his mind’s eye, he regarded himself as he rode up the chairlift with his young student squirming next to him.
Why do I do this, he asked himself. Duncan Morency it said on his nametag, Ski Instructor affirmed the patch on his jacket; yes, those things were true to a certain extent. At least they were what he had allowed himself to be this winter, but he wanted more, so much more. I have had it with this place, these people and this job, he ruminated as he rode up the chair lift. This is it; I'm not comin' back next year. The ten-year-old on his right twisted around in the chair and had to be admonished once again to stay still. Just once, just once I'd like to let one of these little hellions take the big drop. How he'd love to see the look on the astonished parent's faces. How he'd like to say to the Mountain Manager, yeah, that's right I pushed him, I just chucked the little bastard out. What d'ya expect, he bit me when I tried to get him to sit still so I just let him sail right out there! This has gotta stop, this is not healthy, let's just get through the lesson and tomorrow I'll be gone. Gone! What a beautiful thought. Duncan had been saving all winter for this upcoming and well-deserved departure. Not the beach this year, not a trip to the city to see the folks, this year it's a profound change he chased. He had seen the ad in the magazine back in November and the thought had kept him through the winter. It was just a short ad: PRIMITIVE STONEAGE SURVIVAL A 30-day seminar in a primitive setting. Run by experts. You can be one too! He had only to take one look at the ad and he was sold. All his life, Duncan had loved adventure, loved the outdoors and extremes of all kinds. This was precisely why he now loathed his present job. The adventure was gone; the outdoors was no more that a corporate playground, the only extreme was in his amount of discontent. Finally, it was about to be over, the long-awaited day was almost upon him. He finished the lesson and went to the Ski School office. "Here's the damn jacket, here's the damn hat and here's for every little creep and their creep parents that you saddled me with all year," he shouted as he brandished a gracefully curved and rigid finger in the face of the mountain manager. Duncan stormed out of the office and strode down from the base lodge to the parking lot. His car was packed and all he had to do was cash his last check and hit the road. His thoughts were joyful as he contemplated the trip. The road! The damn fine road; it’s never lonely but always lone. The always beckoning road, one of the finest of places. It takes you there. It doesn't ask where and it always gives you more. You just have to take it. His plan had been to leave in the morning, to spend one last night with his girlfriend before taking off on the trip. Why rehash that same old tired bullshit? I think not, not when the road is ready and so am I. He jumped in the BMW and fired it up. A screech of tires and a spray of dirty wet gravel and that was all Northstar would ever see of Duncan Morency. Good riddance he smirked and sped away. A quick stop at the bank and he was on his way. He turned on the CD player and settled in the seat. Behind him the mountain was bathed in alpenglow and the moon was rising just above the top lift towers. It felt good, the tunes, the car, the road stretching out before him. This is good, he thought, this is really good! He would never go back to the Ski School. He knew that now. He had been saying this for the last ten years, but somehow each October there he was again at the opening orientation. It had become a habit and at this point in his life habits were something he didn't like. He was turning thirty this year and he wanted it to be a year of change; needed it to be a year of change. What would he do if not teach skiing, where would he go? Why had he wasted so much time doing this inane career? Sure, there had been some good times, some truly great moments when he thought that he was doing the thing that really mattered but now he just felt that it had all been a waste of time, so much precious time. His thoughts rolled around the cushioned walls of his mind while his body became finely tuned to the car. He felt the road, he anticipated the curves and straightaways as he became one with the machine. He drove and he thought and he sang. He sang his joy, he sang his freedom and he sang his doubts and fears, but most of all he sang his connection to the rhythm of the world. He drove all night. The Beemer rolled out across the freezing high chaparral of northern Nevada toward Utah. Somewhere near The Great Salt Desert he stopped the car and got out his bedroll and flopped down under the stars. As he stared up at the Milky Way, the last thing he heard was the coyote song Rising with the dawn, he rinsed out his mouth with water from the Poland Springs bottle. A roadrunner was darting from bush to bush in the dim morning light. Duncan got back in the car and drove slowly down the dirt road he had turned off onto the night before. Swinging onto the paved secondary road, he picked up speed as he headed toward the small town of Eureka. He had abandoned the main highway as soon as he got into Utah. He loved to cruise the out of the way places and it served him in good stead because this morning he knew exactly where he was going: Mama n’ Lucie’s Cafe! He had been to Eureka once before on a climbing trip. Mama n' Lucie's had been one of those rare finds that one can only be discovered by leaving the beaten path. Those gigantic buttermilk pancakes and those home cured sausages had been on his mind for the last 100 miles of the trip and now the thought of them was making him salivate as he accelerated the BMW. It looked just the same as when he had been there five years before. There were the same beaten down pickups in the lot, the same tacky sign above the door. He stopped the car and got out and went inside. There was no hesitation in Duncan's stride as he went straight to the table where he had eaten his breakfast the last time. He sat and waited and as he waited he began to think. Where were his buddies from the last climb that had brought them together here? Danny was dead, Chuck married with kids and a mortgage, and nobody knew where Fro had gone. Things change, he thought, things change in all kinds of ways and most of the time you can never go back. Why would you want to anyway, he berated himself? "Onward and upward" he said out loud as the waitress slapped the menu down on the table in front of him. "How ya doin' cowboy?" she said. "Finer n' frog hair honey," Duncan laughed. It was the same waitress, of course it was; nothing changed here but the wind. He began to chuckle and the waitress's cheeks filled and flushed as she chuckled along with him. Her pink and white smock was stained with spots of chili and her chipped nametag proclaimed her as "MAMA". Duncan ordered up, the pancakes, the sausage, the home fries and extra-large tomato juice. It was welcome and tasty, hot and greasy. Just as he expected, it was prime cowboy fare, good honest roadhouse food. He finished his breakfast and ordered a Navajo Taco to go for his lunch on the road. He had "MAMA" wrap up the taco extra tight with lots of tinfoil and when he got to the BMW he popped the hood and placed the taco on top of the engine block. It would be nice and hot by lunchtime. On he drove, through Payson and Santaquin up into the Wasatch. The mountains were beautiful this time of year. The aspens were in their shiny spring green, the wildflowers were in profusion and the melted snow cascaded down in rills among moss and granite. The air was crisp and impossibly blue. Duncan's spirits soared as he drove the sweeping curves through magnificent forests and dizzying canyons. Near Vernal he turned off at a sign that read Chicopee Canyon Ranch Road. Another ten miles down the flat track brought him to the foot of a small mountain range and the ranch of Doctor Ruben Braunfels. Doctor Braunfels had taught Cultural Anthropology at the University of Arizona for twenty years. On leaving his post at the university he bought the acreage here at the mouth of Chicopee Canyon and settled down to his two real loves, archaeology and teaching Stone Age survival techniques. Duncan's BMW ground to a stop in the coarse gravel of the dooryard at the ranch house. A couple of molting chickens scratched idly in the dust and an overburdened cow lowed over a split rail fence. Some distance away from the house, on a concrete pad sat a gleaming yellow and black helicopter. It loomed like a gigantic wasp and the tinted glass of the bubble cockpit glistened back Duncan's reflection in an eerie way. He felt at once wildly attracted to and repulsed by the helicopter that sat in counterpoint against the sere hills. He stepped out of the car and laid on the horn. The bray of the horn echoed off into the distance but only the chickens and the cow seemed to notice. Duncan sat on the hood and waited. He leaned back on the windshield and closed his eyes and felt the warm desert air drift through his hair. He had just started to space out when was startled into wakefulness. "Ah-hah! It looks like one of you finally got here!" Duncan started bolt upright and found that he was in the presence of a short powerful man with a fierce black beard and intense jet eyes. The man wore black horn rim spectacles and his rolled-up sleeves showed his arms to be covered in blood up to the elbows. Fresh blood, he observed. The man's right arm shot out in a proffered handshake as Duncan scuttled backward and jammed both his hands into his back pockets. The hand stayed extended to him, and a small sticky droplet formed and began to hang down from the bloody wrist. "C'mon boy don't be squeamish; a little blood won't hurt you. My god, son, it's the stuff of life!" "Doctor Braunfels?" Duncan stammered. "That's right kid, who'd ya expect, the king of Siam? C'mon in the barn, we can't let the flies get at it, can we?" The doctor grabbed Duncan's hand and pumped it vigorously while pummeling him on the shoulder with the other bloody paw. With Duncan, still at a loss for words, Doctor Braunfels ushered him toward the barn in a peculiar rolling gait. The inside of the barn was still and gloomy. In the darkness Duncan could hear the buzz of flies and a steady pat, pat, pat. Before him was a full-grown bull elk hanging by its back legs on a pair of wicked rusting hooks. The head and neck were stretched forward and the forelegs reached out in an inverted gesture of supplication. The abdomen was opened and the body cavity cleaned out. A steady trickle of blood dripped from the chin and nose into a metal washtub placed on the dirt floor of the barn. To the side of the carcass near a small wooden stool was the gut pile. A multitude of blue bottle flies swarmed dizzily in the musky, fetid odor. "He's a beauty ain't he? My neighbor bagged him this morning. I like to butcher them just for the practice and a roast or two. He's a bit out of season, but hunger don't know no season does it boy?" Choking back his growing nausea, Duncan managed to get out a terse, "Nice, really nice." "I’m going to take off the hide now and then I'll just let him hang for a couple of days." As he spoke, Doctor Braunfels fished in his pocket and came out with a small shiny, black stone. It was flat and convoluted around the edges. It looks like a guitar pick. Duncan watched in amazement while Doctor Braunfels went, without a word, to work. Starting on the inside of the haunch he made a quick incision from the knee joint to the groin. He inserted a finger and pulled firmly outward. Using the stone, he widened the incision until he could get all of his fingers and then his hand inside. Using the free hand to pull the hide and fur and then using the stone as a sharp finger, he gently separated the subcutaneous layer from the muscle. His movements were deft and sure. He moved quickly and confidently, with a look of concentration mixed with love he seemed to caress the skin away from the muscles of the elk. "I'm using a piece of obsidian to do this skinning,” he said. “It’s a chip off a larger piece that I worked and flaked to sharpness with a piece of antler. It's smaller and quicker than any knife I've ever used and it won't ever go dull. You'll learn to do this and a hell of a lot more before we're through here this week. Now then, lend a hand and we'll get this cleaned up and go up to the house and wait for the others." Duncan moved as though her were in a dream as he helped take up the great hide with newly severed head and move it to the clay vat Doctor Braunfels directed him to. They hoisted the hide into the vat and Braunfels replaced the oaken lid. The light blinded Duncan as they left the barn and started for the house. As he stumbled a little on the rough footing of the yard, he could see a cloud of dust rumbling down the road toward them. He climbed the warped wooden stairs of the modest porch and sat on the hanging swing as he watched a white station wagon roll into the dooryard. Duncan sat, strangely weary, as he watched the doctor's greeting ritual re-enacted before a rotund gray-haired woman who stood blinking behind a pair of suitcases and a drifting cloud of barnyard dust. By early evening all of the other participants had arrived and there was an informal orientation session in the ramshackle farmhouse at the mouth of Chickopee Canyon. His initial astonishment given way to rapt fascination, Duncan listened intently while Doctor Braunfels outlined the learning activities planned for the week. “You all saw the helicopter out there. I call it the Yellowjacket. She will take us to a remote area of Dinosaur National Monument called Echo Park. Echo Park is near the confluence of the Green and Yampa Rivers. In the spring, the rivers are in spate and all roads are awash. We could gain egress into the area by raft, but due to the high spring runoff and the sheer canyon walls this could prove foolhardy and even fatal. The Yellowjacket will deliver us neatly and safely into a place virtually forgotten by time. During this seminar, we will be practicing weapon, tool and trap building techniques using materials found at the site. We will forage and hunt for our food, there will be no other sustenance provided. Survival is a make or break game and the only way to prepare for it is to make it a realistic undertaking. We will be practicing shelter and fire building, tracking, and group defensive techniques. At night, we will cook and eat what food we have gathered or killed and we will tend the fire while participating in rock painting, clothing making, dancing and ritual story telling. The spiritual aspect of primitive man is one of his most important tools for survival in a savage world. We will learn to shed away our twenty-first century veneer and view the primitive core that exists within us all. Some of the things you will do will disgust you, some of them will surprise you and all of them will excite you. This is not a Disneyland ride we are about to embark upon; ladies and gentlemen this is reality. Cold, harsh reality, more intense than anything you've ever known. Once the Yellowjacket lands at the site, she will not be leaving until the exercise is completed. This must be absolutely clear to everyone from now on. This is the jumping off point, people. Anyone not feeling like they want to go through with the seminar can back out now with full refund, but be advised that now is the time to do it because from here on out there won't be anything done halfway." The doctor’s talk went on and covered some edible plants that would be found in the area and what game could be expected to be present. The questions from the group were many and diverse, but most tended to be a bit on the apprehensive side. That was not surprising to Duncan, given the diversity of the group and the somber tone of the orientation talk that Doctor Braunfels had given. Duncan had expected to see other people like himself, that is to say, young, adventurous, and semi-athletic. What he found instead was really a mix of the least likely folks he would ever have picked to be interested in a course on Stone Age survival. There was Colleen Marchamps, fifty-five years old, a grandmother and crafts teacher at a senior center from Danville, Illinois; Tom and Beverly Goodwin, parents of two elementary school children, and owner/operators of a restaurant in Bellingham, Washington; Carley Walsh and Royce Addison represented the greatest disparity in age. Carley, eighteen, newly graduated from high school in Portland Maine, and Royce, seventy-three, a sculptor from Ashville North Carolina seemed as unlike as any two people could get. The evening wore on, with everyone chatting about their homes and their lives. Everyone did but Duncan. He spoke little through dinner and sat apart from the group, gazing at the cow and wondering just how in the hell he could ever kill an animal that was bigger than him and what he would ever be able to do with all the parts. He wrestled with the moral question of killing in general and was becoming increasingly morose. The taste of the food in his mouth, however, did bring about a bit of a resolution. He decided it was ok to kill something as long as he was going to eat it. Spit roasted venison was the main course; the doctor also provided cattail roots with wild rice and lamb’s quarters, a form of wild spinach for the evening meal. The cooking methods were simple, and not much seasoning was used. The venison though had been rubbed with wild sage and as the evening cooled the desert purple sage gave forth its pungent odor and the mingling of the smell and the flavorful juices of the venison gave Duncan a sensual experience that set him imagining himself as a primal hunter on the Eurasian Steppes 40,000 years in the past. He was catching the spirit and he was happy about it. The dinner over, people split off into small groups, relaxing until drowsiness overtook their excitement. Colleen was showing Carley how to start a basket using pine needles. Tom and Royce were involved in a raucous game of cribbage and Beverly was pressing Doctor Braunfels for all of his cooking secrets. Duncan just wanted to be alone with his thoughts and so he took his bedroll and slunk off behind the barn. He lay on his blankets in the grass and gazed up at the stars. The same stars I'm looking at were looked at by the first humans on earth, he imagined. He thought of the connections that ran the gamut of eons and became the common thread of humankind whether modern, primitive or prehistoric. Somewhere inside all of us, there is something essentially the same. Maybe I'll find out what it is out there this week, he thought dreamily. "Onward and upward" he said out loud to the stars. The sky had not yet lightened perceptibly and Doctor Braunfels had come and quietly awakened everyone, playing an eerie melody on a curious bone flute. "Everyone up, everyone ready, today's a day” he intoned over and over again. One by one people made last minute preparations and ablutions. Duncan was up and ready immediately and began to help Doctor Braunfels load what meager gear he allowed into the helicopter. In the murky dusk of false dawn, the entourage boarded the Yellowjacket, Duncan taking the co-pilot seat next to Doctor Braunfels. The rising sun gave a surreal hue and shine to the sheer, time washed rocks of the canyon wall and the speed of the flight made the earth seem to rush beneath their feet. Everyone was glued to a window, fascinated by the geological display that spread before them. The flight was an exhilarating experience, a passage that all of them needed to make the transition from their normal mundane lives into uncertainty. Dr. Braunfels took the Yellowjacket over uninhabited terrain, not hurrying toward the site, but hoping to show his charges just how remote the area was. They were almost two hours in the air when dropping suddenly over a huge red sandstone buttress, they saw beneath them the lush serenity of Echo Park and the confluence of the Green and Yampa Rivers. The doctor flew in an ever widening and descending circle around the gigantic pocket in the canyon that was Echo Park. A flock of Canada Geese flew up from their bed in the reeds at the edge of the Green and across the big meadow by the bend a herd of mule deer ran leaping through the millet and lupine. "This is truly God's Country here. This place is virtually untouched by man. During the 1870's a sheep man called Rile Chew tried to cut a road in here so he could use this pastureland for his flocks in spring. The cougars killed off a lot of the sheep and between the Indians and the brutal labor he lost his wife and both sons. What's left of the track they started is now called the Chew Boy's Ranch Road and that's about the only way to even get close to this place by land vehicle. The only other road is over 100 miles away and that's the closest we'll be to any car. The Chew Boys’ road is impassable in the spring and there won't be any rafters with the water this high. This place stays completely vacant for ten months of the year and even in the height of summer, very few rafters stop here and the sun makes it too miserable for any but the most determined four-wheelers to come in here. Once every five years or so there is a dig, but most of the bones that were accessible have already been found." The doctor went on to describe the various dinosaurs that once inhabited the area and how very different the landscape was 60 million years ago. As he bent from the seat to replace the headphones on their davit, Duncan could see the allosaurus tooth the doctor wore on a leather thong around his neck. Flying closer to the red sandstone buttress, Doctor Braunfels gently set the chopper on a small rise many feet above the meadow. Above them a huge flake of red sandstone leaned dizzily out from the main wall, two ravens perched on the top. As the rotors stopped, the only sound that greeted them was the gentle croaking of the ravens and the white noise of the river. Royce was the, first one out of the helicopter and as the others piled out onto the vermilion ledge he stood, faced into the wind, pounding his chest and breathing deeply. "Ahh..." he said, "I've been waiting for this place a long, long time, I've seen it in my dreams you know, starting when I was a child, I’ve always seen this place...." He trailed off, starting down the ledge toward the meadow whistling a small and repeated bird song. Tom and Beverly followed, shaking their heads and grinning bemusedly at the old man. "Yes, yes. Go on down to the meadow" extolled the doctor. The others followed and within a few minutes they were all gathered in the tall grass and wildflowers on the valley floor. The doctor came last, carrying rolled buckskin under one arm and waving a gnarled staff of ironwood. "This is where we will establish our base camp," he said, "This will be our home for the next week. Oh, we'll roam far afield, believe me, but this is where we will place our brush shelters and build our common hearth." So saying, Doctor Braunfels flopped down the buckskin, unrolled it and taking a large piece of homemade pemmican he squatted and began to gnaw. The others shuffled and looked at him with curiosity. The doctor didn't seem to see them anymore. In fact, he seemed not to be present at all; he just chewed his pemmican and looked across the river at some flying geese. "Well, what should we do now?" asked Beverly. Duncan had started off toward the river and Colleen was gathering some of the tall grasses in which they stood. "Well then, what would you do?" cajoled the doctor. Carley just stood, hugging herself and looking from one to the other, her anxiety beginning to mount. "I guess we should make a place for the fire,” she said. "That's right, fire, beautiful fire my dear lady, the most important consideration, and the most nurturing one is fire!" The Doctor leapt to his feet and began to wave his arms. "Gather rocks! Gather brush! Gather sticks, logs, go my friends and gather materials from which we might make shelter and fire! Use your imagination... nature has provided everything you need, it is all around you, just find it, gather it, and use it!" Now with a task, a direction of sorts, the party dispersed to all corners of the meadow in search of building materials and wood for their fire. Duncan squatted by the river and cupped some of the green-brown water in his hands; He brought it up to his face and splashed it over him. He liked the way it felt, liked the way it smelled.... new and wild. Standing, he turned and looked at the others and started toward them and the meadow to help in the gathering. As he walked he felt strangely detached and aloof from the group. The rest of the day, well into afternoon was spent in making the fire circle and each person making their own rude shelters from brush and bark. Duncan had scooped out a depression in the soft valley soil and built his debris hut over it; he lined the floor of the hut with juniper boughs and then covered them with dry grass. He covered the outside framework of sticks and boughs with clumps of long grass and then, using his tee shirt, he carried mud from the riverbank and applied it to the structure. The result was a wattle and daub conformation that resembled a large and hairy wart. It was cool and dark inside and to Duncan's pleasure, the doctor pronounced it a "Goddamn bombproof house there boy, well done!" The other huts were similar in shape and varied according to their proprietors' ambition. They formed a rough circle and all faced inward toward a central fire pit that Carley had engineered and built with the help of Royce. Having put together their little village, the doctor called them all to sit around the fire pit. "The inauguration of the communal fire is probably the most important ritual known to primitive man. It is a gathering of the community, a sharing of common fate, a banding together to protect and nurture one another. I ask at this time that each person take a piece of wood and hold it while we chant and while we are chanting I ask that each of you ask the Great Spirit for guidance and wisdom in the week to come." Doctor Braunfels got out the bone flute and played while the band reassembled around the pit with their ritual firebrands. "Repeat after me" he said. "Fire burning, fire bright; give us the light, keep back the night." The others intoned the chant over and over with Doctor Braunfels playing on the bone flute. They all stopped at once, much to the surprise of everyone and the doctor produced from his pocket a small nest of dried gorse and two dull grey stones. He knelt by the pile of sticks in the fire pit and placed the dry material in its center. He struck the stones together sharply over the gorse, bent lower and began to blow gently. There was a tentative wisp of smoke and then, adding more grass, the doctor cupped his hands around a small orange glow. He blew more insistently and the flame sprang to life. Then he stayed kneeling, his brow sweating and his hands trembling. He stared at the fledgling fire and as his lips moved without sound, he looked as though he was praying. The fire took energy from the wood and itself and as it grew, the others added more fuel. "This fire must not be allowed to go out; it is the single most important thing that we can have to insure our survival, both mentally and physically. Someone must maintain the fire at all times." With that, Doctor Braunfels got up and from his buckskin roll he produced a stone knife about five inches long. "Now is the time to think about how to procure food for the evening meal. I suggest trying for fish, frogs and snakes by the river's edge." He grasped the stone blade in his palm and taking up the ironwood staff he strode off through the tall grass toward the bend in the river. There was a palpable silence around the fire pit while everyone tried to sort out just what in the hell they were doing here with this maniac. They were receiving little or no instruction and seemed to be here just as an after thought so far as Doctor Braunfels was concerned. "Well, I guess he means it" Duncan said. "Who'll stay to tend the fire?" he asked. Colleen spoke up immediately and said, "I will, it will be a good opportunity for me to braid some grass into cordage and if Carley will stay too, I can get her started on a basket, I think we'll need one." Where is this lady getting this stuff, he thought, this old bat just might be all right after all? "OK", he said, "Let's the rest of us fan out and see what we can find to eat." The hunting and gathering brought meager fare for the group. After three hours, all except the doctor were back in camp with little or nothing to show for their efforts. Tom and Beverly had found some burdock roots and nasturtiums along the riverbank. Royce had rigged a Paiute deadfall trap with sticks and rocks and had actually managed to trap a fat marmot under the flat boulder's weight. “Well, roasted rat and raw root" quipped Duncan. Their long faces perked little at the sorry joke about their dinner. "Maybe Doctor Braunfels had better luck than we did" said Royce hopefully. "He sure seems to be taking a long time,” said Carley. "I hope he comes back with a bunch of trout or something." Duncan stood up and threw a stick, "If we could rig up a bow and arrow, I bet I could get one of those geese. I was so close to them I think I could hit one with a rock or a stick. Maybe one of those throwing sticks like the Aborigines use in Australia!" "How about making a boomerang?" offered Colleen. "How about a Big Mac?" said Duncan to nervous giggles from the others. The conversation around the fire grew more and more apprehensive as dusk fell and still the Doctor had not returned to the camp. "He's such a weird old guy, he might just be staying away to teach us to do on our own" said Beverly. "Honey, that would be entirely inappropriate and if that is the case he will be hearing from me long and loud. I didn't come out here to be stranded and left on my own with no instruction or food or anything, and what about the old people, what are they going to do, they don't need surprises like this." "OH! Tom, really!" she said "Speak for yourself, wimp" shot Royce. "Yeah, who are you callin' old, what about us kids?" put in Carley. "What kids?" poked Duncan "You're the only one!" "Shut up" she said and threw a nest of matted, muddy grass at Duncan. Duncan scooped up a double handful of the grass and hurled it at Carley who ran off laughing. The tension relieved somewhat, the group though hungry and a bit angry began to relax. The prevailing feeling was that the doctor had actually left them to their own devices for some kind of perverse lesson. Tom, Beverly and Colleen had begun to sing camp songs while Royce and Carley were braiding grass, calmly talking about the stars, wondering if there were alien beings out there right now, maybe even within their sight. Duncan stretched and yawned wearily, the day's excitement catching up with him. He got up, put the end of a damp, six-foot log in the fire and banked it. That should burn all night. Walking outside the ring of light the fire provided he took a long breath and smelled the river smells. This is good, this is really good. He stretched a last long stretch, looking up at the sky wondering, connecting with nameless fears and age-old feelings of unknown dread. This must be how they always felt, he mused, thinking about the first humans. Everything was danger, nature was death to them, but at the same time it was benevolent life, a ruthless and unpredictable taskmistress. "Tomorrow's a day" he said to the stars and slunk off to his wattle and daub hut. The night passed in quiet and everyone slept the sleep of the wearied. Morning came with the honking of geese and still no Doctor Braunfels. Duncan was up just before first light and with the others still in their debris huts he walked towards the river to relieve himself. He squatted on the riverbank and slowly splashed his face with the brown water. To his right about ten feet away he thought he saw a muddy foot print at the water's edge. It's probably the doctor's, he thought, maybe he took off his boots to hunt. Duncan stared sleepily at the footprint in the uncertain light of dawn and his reverie was interrupted by a flock of more than a hundred Canada geese flying up river at eye level. They were no more than twenty feet from where he stood, flying in formation and honking for all they were worth. Intrigued by the proximity of the geese and their apparent indifference to his presence he followed their flight up river hoping to find where they would nest. There was a big roasted goose on his mind as he wound along the river's bank after them. A half-mile or so up river brought him to a small cove where an eddy in the river had carved a deep pool. He saw that the cliffs above were too high to allow him to go up and around so he resolved to swim across the pool to the other side. As he lowered himself into the cold water, he noticed on the other side a white log floating gently with a darker branch sticking out of it. Duncan stroked and kicked, then dove under the surface, reveling in the cool, dark water. A couple of powerful breaststrokes took him almost all the way across the pool. He burst from the water, gulping air and shaking his head. His right hand reached out and grabbed the log and what he saw made him thrash backward in horror and disbelief. What he had thought to be a log was the lifeless body of Doctor Braunfels. The nude corpse floated on its back with the ironwood staff sticking out of its chest. Both of the eyes were gone and the mouth was frozen in a grimace of pain and soundless scream. "Shit, oh shit!" he said. "No way! Oh fuck, no!" Duncan stayed in the center of the pool and splashed frantically to stay afloat and to keep the body from floating onto him, as it seemed inclined to do. The water made the ironwood staff bob obscenely. After a minute, he hauled himself out onto the bank and lay on the damp rocks, his chest heaving and his thoughts bouncing all around. Breathe, just breathe dammit and deal with this! What am I gonna do now? he asked himself. How am I going to get him back to camp, what will I tell these people, they're already freaked out, they can't handle this.... I can't handle this! He lay on the rock, trying to think, trying to reason. As he realized that he was faced with the unthinkable, the unreasonable, he lapsed into a strange calm. He focused on the calm and tried to help it grow, tried to just be in it. He lay there for the better part of an hour and finally resolved to the task, he decided to haul the body out of the water. He was grim and resolute as he dragged the wet sack that had been Doctor Braunfels out of the water. He pulled and rolled the body up onto the rocks and placing one foot on the doctor's chest, he pulled the ironwood staff from the remains. "Just like King-fucking- Arthur" he mumbled. He turned his head and retched violently. Leaving the body, he walked fast, back toward the camp. He was sweating profusely despite the morning chill. His sense of dread rose as he approached the bivouac. He could see them a hundred yards off and even then, he knew something was wrong. Colleen was sitting, crouched, her head in her hands. Royce was gesturing wildly and Carley was pacing back and forth. Tom and Beverly were nowhere to be seen. As Duncan approached he could hear Colleen sobbing. Royce was pacing around the fire circle waving his arms and saying to no one in particular, "What the fuck! What the fuck is going on here!" Duncan stopped short of the fire circle and just squatted on the ground. He didn't like what he saw. He was afraid. Afraid to ask what had happened and afraid to tell what had become of Doctor Braunfels. He looked from Royce to Colleen and around the small encampment. Everything looked normal except their frantic behavior and they seemed not even to notice him squatting there like that. Then he looked up and his stomach rose to his throat and his head whirled in a sick, blackening buzz. On the ledge above camp sat the crumpled remains of the helicopter. The huge sandstone flake that had hung so precariously from the cliff had toppled and crushed the machine beyond recognition. Duncan got up and not stopping to ask the others anything, ran to the ledge and climbed up to the wreckage. He stood, teetering on the new scree from the flake and began to moan at what he saw. The cockpit of the copter was smashed flat and sticking from the shattered windshield were Tom's severed right arm and Beverly's head, the neck bent at an impossible angle and her sightless eyes pointing up to where the sandstone flake should have been. This is impossible, thought Duncan. What is happening to us? He walked around the wreckage, carefully avoiding Beverly's fly blown face. Scrabbling over the jagged shards of sandstone, he stood at the base of the cliff. At his feet were several large, round stones and three stout poles. The poles were three inches in diameter and about fifteen feet long. The bark had been removed and the wood smoothed. These have been hand worked, he thought; panic seeping in through the wall he was trying so desperately to build. “These stones are not part of this sandstone cliff, they're river rocks! They must have been brought here on purpose!” The cold truth oozed into his reason even as he tried so hard to push it out. "Somebody pried off that damned flake. I can't believe it, but that's just what happened, somebody pried off that flake and somebody rammed that staff through Doc." He was aware that he was speaking aloud to no one, succumbing to his mounting pressure. He stood there, weak at the knees, rubbing his hand over his nose and mouth as if to make the bad things go away, to be clean again. He left the ruined helicopter with the ruined bodies and made his way back down to the camp. He walked slowly, not knowing what to say to the others. He came into the camp and sat at the fire circle. Carley sat, weeping and rocking back and forth, her knees at her chest. Colleen stared at the fire pit and swatted at the ground with a stick. Royce hunkered across from Duncan and stared at him, shaking his head back and forth. Duncan looked up at Royce whose jaw had begun to work spasmodically, a thin trickle of drool running to his chin. With a heart-stopping howl of rage, Royce launched himself across the fire pit at Duncan. Duncan leaped to his feet and side-stepping Royce’s rush, he grabbed the old man's collar and pinned him in the dust, one knee firmly in the center of his back. "What the hell do you think you're doing man?" Duncan held Royce by the back of the neck and jammed his face down into the dust repeatedly. "I don't need this shit," he shrieked at Royce and swung a hard slap to his ear. "Where were you? Where's the doctor? What have you done to those people?" growled Royce. "I didn't do anything. I want some answers too dammit!" Duncan hauled Royce up by the scruff of his neck and knelt before him, wiping the dust and tears of rage from his dazed face. "The doctor's dead" Duncan murmured. "He's dead. I found him in the river. Somebody stabbed him through with that staff he carried." "The helicopter.... Tom and Bev..." Royce stammered. "I know" said Duncan, "I know." He rubbed Royce's head and they held onto each other rocking back and forth. I'm so tired, I'm so tired and so is Royce, poor old Royce. It's ok. It’s ok... The wind had begun to come up and Duncan built a fire. As much to keep himself occupied and gain time to think, he concentrated on the fire making and then had Colleen and Carley sit close to it and next to him. Royce squatted across from them, staring at the river, his back to the cliff and the wreck of the Yellowjacket. Duncan spoke quietly, slowly telling them how it had been with the doctor. His calm came from deep within him, from a place he did not know. The others felt it and with the fire, the age-old symbol of protection and hope, they began to tell, each in turn, of what they knew of Tom and Bev. "They got up and were tending the fire just after midnight" Colleen said. "She said she couldn't sleep in that hut because of bugs or something. They went up to the helicopter to sleep inside.... just to sleep inside." Her sobs came and choked off anything more. "There was this giant cracking sound just after the sun rose above the canyon rocks" Carley said. "And then a big crash... It shook the ground, and I got up, and I saw the dust, and I ran up there... and they were there.... like that." She stared into the fire and shook a little and pressed closer to Duncan. "The Helicopter is trashed... we're stuck here. That's all there is to it...we're stuck here and these people are dead because somebody is out there who killed them that's what!" Royce jumped up and continued. "Did you see those rocks and those poles? They pried that flake off the cliff right under our noses and we didn't even know what was happening. We are in serious danger and I for one want to know just what we are going to do about it." Royce was shouting now and the wild glazed look was coming back. "Calm down buddy" Duncan said “We're in this together and we'll get out of it together". "Not on your life!" exclaimed Royce. "I'm not sitting around here waiting to be killed off. I'm doing some hunting of my own!" With that he got up and strode off from the fire circle toward the river. "Royce, don't! Come back here...." "No, no, no..." Carley started to weep again. Colleen just sat, looking after Royce, saying “Shit...oh shit, what next?" The three of them sat by the fire all through the afternoon into the evening and Royce had still not returned. Duncan picked out three of the most solid and straight staves left over from the hut building and handing each of the women one, he began to sharpen his with one of the large obsidian flakes from the Doctor's buckskin roll. "It looks like it’s going to be a long night ladies. We each need to make a spear and then harden it in the fire. Colleen, you and Carley go into my hut and take turns sleeping and guarding the doorway with your spears. Take some rocks and loose dirt and pebbles to throw into somebody's eyes if you have to. I'll stay by the fire all night and catch some sleep when Royce comes back." The darkness slithered down around them, chilling them with its inky fingers. Carley and Colleen took their spears and small projectiles into the hut that Duncan had built. The solid mud walls of the hut gave them a little sense of security and seeing Duncan in the firelight made them feel a little safer. Colleen took a position just inside the door and Carley curled up in the back of the hut and was soon asleep. Duncan built the fire up and walked a small perimeter at the edge of the light gathering brushwood and sniffing at the night air. He stopped and strained his ears into the blackness, hoping for some sound of Royce. The popping and the hiss of the fire was all he heard above the swirling river sound. Royce Addison had his dander up. Yeah, he thought, it's on now. Fuck with me will ya? Come get some of this old bastard, he snarled to himself as he worked his way along the riverbank. He was headed to a small stand of alders where he had seen some of the mule deer the day before. At the base of one of the alders was a small stepping ledge and a number of large flat rocks. Royce took a stick and pried up the largest of the flat rocks and dragged it to the brink of the ledge. He rigged another deadfall trap here at the only open access to the tree and ran a trip wire across the ledge with some of the grass cordage from his pocket. At the base of the tree he laid a small fire and with four leg-sized logs formed a leaning star that would burn in upon itself. He gathered the biggest rocks that could fit in his pockets and inside his shirt. As night began to fall he sparked the fire with the lighter he had kept secreted in his jeans. With the fire burning on its own, he propped a six-foot log against the tree and shinning up it, he was able to stretch and reach the lowest branch of the alder. Climbing up to where the trunk split, he wedged himself into the crotch of the tree. Cradling the biggest rock inside his t-shirt, he waited in the night for someone to come. Just let them come now, he thought, staring into the dark. In the hut, Colleen had started to feel more at ease. The fire provided a rosy glow and the night wind was gentle. The sight of Duncan’s strong back silhouetted against the firelight reassured her. The strain eased somewhat for the time being, she began to think about Royce. She wondered where he was. He had been gone a very long time and she felt he was in trouble. She looked into the back of the hut and was barely able to perceive Carley's small curves in the darkness. Carley sighed and turned softly. She's asleep the poor dear, thought Colleen. I'll just step outside for some air before I have to wake her for her watch. Colleen left the hut and walked to the fire circle where Duncan sat, asleep with the spear cradled in his lap. She walked quietly around the fire and placed more wood in its glowing center. Duncan stirred but did not wake. He looks so tired and so peaceful, she mused. After all we've been through I can't wake him just now. He needs rest. We all need rest. I'm so tired. And poor Royce, what about poor Royce? She walked to the edge of the light and stood there straining to hear. The wind rattling the trees by the river sounded peaceful to her and when a branch snapped she felt sure it was Royce out in the bush near the river trying to find his way back into camp. She wanted to call out to him but she didn't want to wake Duncan or Carley. She walked a little way into the darkness toward the river and paused. Turning her head slightly back toward the fire, she took her spear in hand and turned back to the dark and started off toward the river. In the willows near the river's edge she managed to find the small game trail that Royce had taken down river earlier. She followed the trail for several hundred yards and almost turned back. She stopped on a small ledge above the river and thought she heard a noise somewhere behind her. "I've got to find Royce", she said aloud. Pushing through the bushes in the dark, she fell twice and almost cried out in fear and panic but managed to hold her voice back. She gripped the spear and using it as a clearing stick she forced herself to go on through the red river willows. At the edge of her will, unable to go any further she suddenly found herself out of the bushes and on a flat rock several feet above the river's edge. Across a small gully she saw another ledge and at the top she saw the friendly glow of Royce's fire. “Oh, thank God,” she whispered, “Thank God, he's here!” She wanted desperately to call out, to hear Royce's welcome in return but she didn't dare. She now felt sure she heard noises behind her.... snapping noises.... panting noises. Or was it just the river? It must be the river. Royce, oh, Royce please be there Please, oh please... It was with a litany of fear under her breath that she went down the gully and started up the rock ledge on the other side. In the tree, Royce had been straining to hear. In his hands, he gripped a football size rock and the spear was at the ready in the crotch of the tree. Come on in, he thought, just you come on in here and get some of this! He was concentrating on the blackness at the outer edge of his fire, on the edge that dropped down the ledge by the river. His knuckles whitened and his arms quivered as he gripped the rock with all his strength and strained toward the dark and the approaching noises. Then he heard it. A snap and a dull sort of thud followed by some rustling noises from the darkness. “Yes,” he hissed, “I got you now you bastard. I got your ass now!” Royce came down the tree and still clutching the spear he stopped and pulled a burning branch from the fire. Scrabbling down the ledge, he gibbered with anger and delight. In the margin of the thin light from the branch he could see that his deadfall trap had worked. He could see the large flat rock was down and under it were a pair of struggling legs. He moved in closer and sat quivering as the legs stopped their movement. From under the rock he could make out a glistening, widening slick of blood. He dropped down to the ledge and moved around the rock, avoiding the blood and waving the branch ahead of him. Coming to the other side of the rock, he stopped in fear and amazement. The legs had two dirty white sneakers sticking at odd angles from a pair of blue jeans. Royce dropped the burning branch and took the spear in both hands. He pried up the rock dropping it heavily several times. He reached behind him and taking the brand he looked at the victim of his trap. The head was strangely elongated and soft looking. A kind of jelly like substance oozed from the nose. The feeble light from the torch was enough to show him that it was Colleen and that she was crushed to death, her blood staining the rock before him. “Arrghh,” he strangled, scuttling backward. “No! No! No!!” The hand that held the torch flung it down behind him and crying in despair to the darkness, he covered his face in his hands and reeled backward. His heel found the torch and it rolled under him, pitching him backward down the ledge. The first impact caused him to bite his tongue in half and consciousness left him as his head struck rock. He slid in a cascade of pebbles and dirt, then dropped the last twenty feet into the waiting river. The dark water swallowed him and there was no sound save that of the rattling alders. Duncan awoke just before dawn, stiff and cold from sitting up all night. The fire had gone out and there was no movement from the hut. I must have been more exhausted than I thought; I should never have let that fire go out! At least it's still got some coals, he thought and shivered a bit. He took some twigs and stooped to uncover the embers and blow them gently into flame. With the twigs crackling, he added more wood and soon had the fire back up to its promising warmth and light. The sun was just coming up in rays over the sandstone cliff behind camp. The light was dun and the wreckage of the helicopter was gaunt and spectral in the river mist. Duncan squatted on his haunches and stirred at the fire with a stick. In the slice of growing blue between the canyon walls, high above the river, a trio of bald eagles wheeled in a descending spiral. They must be after those geese. I know exactly how they feel. He laughed wryly to himself and thought of the elk hanging back at the Chicopee Canyon Ranch. It seemed like a year ago, but it was just a few days. One day you're out running free, chasing the wind, the next you're running for your life and wind up hanging upside down in some guy's barn! The thought chilled him and he inched closer to the fire. "Hey, what's for breakfast?" Duncan jumped to his feet and whirled around to face Carley. "You scared the shit out of me," he blurted. Carley laughed and edged closer to the fire. Shivering in the early morning chill, she crouched there by the flames, hair tousled with bits of grass clinging to it. Something stirred in Duncan. "Where's Colleen?" he asked. "I don't know, I thought she was out here at the fire with you. She never woke me up for my turn at watch." "Shit, I asked you both to stay in the hut. We really need to stick together now. Having Royce out there running wild is bad enough. We are in serious trouble and we have to be organized." Duncan was starting to rant and he felt his control slipping away faster and faster. With a heavy sigh of frustration, he just shut up altogether. His dark glower scared Carley and she found herself wanting to placate him. "Maybe she went off to find Royce," she offered. "Yeah and maybe she went out to pick up bagels and cream cheese," he shot back. "God, I'm hungry, is there anything to eat?" "No, and we better find something soon or we're not going to be worth a shit to even be rescued." "Does anybody even know we're here?" Carley asked. Duncan heard the wavering edge of fear creeping into her voice and realized he felt very protective of her. "Sure, they do, it's only a matter of time before a rescue copter shows up." "I hope so, I'm scared and I just want to go home. I'm really scared....” She had started to whimper, her head on her knees. Duncan moved closer to her and gently put his arm around her. She pressed close to him and he embraced her with both arms and rocked her slowly back and forth. "It's ok...You're not alone, you're not alone.... I’m her for you...." He remembered the eight-year-old boy he had found stuck in a tree well one day during an afternoon sweep of the mountain. The boy had a compound fracture of the femur and he was so scared... just so damned scared. Duncan had no radio and he got down in the snow there with the boy and held him, talking the whole time, deep into the night until search and rescue found them. "They'll find us soon," he told her. They stayed like that for over an hour. The sun had come up and the morning was clear and crisp. They both were both painfully aware that something was amiss that Colleen still wasn't back. "Well, I don't know about you, kid, but I need something to eat." "What should we do?" "I think the safest and easiest thing is to go down to the river and forage along the bank. Maybe we can get some frogs, or gig a fish with our spears. If we get lucky maybe we can surprise a goose or a duck in the reeds. Anything is better than nothing. Maybe Colleen went out to look for the old man and the two of them have found something." Duncan didn't really believe the last part, but the idea seemed to buoy up Carley's spirits. "Yeah, good! Let's go find Colleen and Royce. They'll have food. I know he must have found something... he seems so smart!" Carley and Duncan took their spears and set off toward the river. The terrain was such that of necessity they followed the same trail that Colleen had taken in the night. The bent grasses and trampled bushes gave them hope that maybe they would meet Royce and Colleen after all. They worked their way along the river, Duncan insisting that they stay focused on finding food. Carley was becoming more and more emotionally in need of finding Colleen and Royce. He felt that they would find them too but part of him was acutely aware of the need to take care of the first priority, that of sustenance. In a small cove that an eddy of the river had carved out they spotted a school of fish feeding in the shallows. Duncan told Carley to stay and try to spear one while he went further down river to investigate the reeds for ducks or frogs. Fighting his way through the thick copse of red willows, he found himself on a flat rock above the river. At his feet lay a rough spear. He picked it up and with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach he realized it was Colleen's His chest tightened and with a cold sweat beading up on his brow he scanned the river's edge and listened intently for any sign of the two missing ones. His eyes were held by something across the small gully. Initially it seemed unreal, a trick or illusion, but the harsh reality came quickly. He knew what it was, he didn't want to know, and he tried not to know, to say that it was something else but he knew it was Colleen and that the fly swarmed blood was hers. Above the ledge where she lay he could see the wisps of smoke rising from Royce's fire under the alder. That crazy old bastard! He's killed her! He's fucking killed her! His thoughts ran wild, disbelief and hopelessness battering his mind. He sat heavily on the rock and shook as he hyperventilated. Calm down, he thought, just calm down. He could see that she was dead. The flies removed any doubt he may have had. He felt no need to cross the gully and get a closer look. Sitting on the rock, occasionally looking over at Colleen he thought, trying to reason out what had happened. The scenario he came up with was very close to what actually had taken place. Just what had become of Royce Addison was still a mystery but he had a feeling that it wasn't good. That's it, he reasoned, we've got to get the hell out of here. There just isn't any reason to stick around. If Royce did kill her, then he's crazy and will try to kill us too. If it was somebody or something else.... whoever did the helicopter and the doctor then we're still in deep shit. We've gotta go ... and right now, he resolved. Duncan rushed back through the willows to the cove where Carley was still fishing. "C'mon" he shouted. "Let's go, we're going...let's go!" He grabbed her by the arm and pushed her up the bank toward the rough game trail. “What's wrong? Stop it, you're hurting me." "Go, dammit, just go! We haven't got time to hang around here and talk about it", he shouted. She sensed his fear and feared his rage. Gulping back a huge sob, Carley started to run through the bushes back toward the camp. Her eyes stung with tears of fright and frustration. All she wanted to do was be somewhere safe. Somewhere where she knew what was going to happen. Neither of them said anything more until they arrived at the campsite. They stood panting at the fire circle, neither wanting to be the first to speak. Her eyes held the message that she knew some cruel blow was about to land and Duncan could already see that she knew what it was. "It's Colleen, isn't it? Isn't it?!" "Yes....she's dead.... I think Royce killed her in one of his deadfall traps." "NO....!" "We've got to get out of here. We can't wait any longer for somebody to rescue us. We've gotta go now!" With that, Duncan grasped both of their spears and took Carley's hand in his. "C'mon, stay with me now...we can make it." They walked all day, Carley alternating between hysterics and morbid silence. She did keep walking though, much to Duncan's relief. He admired her and felt deeply sorry that she was being put through an ordeal like this at her age. He kept his panic down by trying to formulate a plan. They went up river, staying as much as they could on the high bluff running along the south side. At the confluence of the Yampa they paused and Duncan pointed with his spear upstream on the smaller river. "We'll go up the Yampa. We can try to get up on the big mesa a few miles upstream and the follow the canyon northeast, try to find a sheep ranch or something. If push comes to shove, Maybelle is about a hundred miles up that way." He didn't for a minute believe that either of them could walk a hundred miles. He was already getting fatigued and the blisters on his feet were screaming at him. He felt weak in the knees and slightly dizzy. Carley can’t feel much better, he thought. She was just plowing straight ahead, stumbling once in a while over a rock, keeping her eyes fixed on something intangible off in the distance. They walked like that until dark when they went to shelter under a granite ledge behind a gnarled juniper tree. Carley curled herself into a ball with her head on Duncan's lap and fell into a fitful sleep. Duncan slept little, starting at each little night noise. He tried to occupy his thoughts with a plan for the morning but his mind's eye kept forcing visions of Tom and Bev, the doctor and Colleen into his consciousness. Once when he fell unknowing into sleep he was terrified into wakefulness by a dream of Royce coming at him with slavering fangs, intent on devouring him. In the pre-dawn light, they were both up and without much talk they continued up the river, sticking to the high ledges midway up the canyon wall. They continued the forced march until well after noon trying to make progress, but not fall from the precipitous cliffs. A rock ledge they had been following dipped down and turned abruptly to follow a contour of the river. Carley had moved several yards ahead of Duncan and as she entered a brushy hollow he saw the bushes shake violently and heard her scream. He felt a tremendous crack on his skull, then a flash of light and pain gave way to oblivion. He awoke to the sound of rattles. Human voices, low and menacing seemed to be rising and falling in volume. He opened his eyes, fighting to free them from the thick casting of blood that covered most of his face. He could not move and his body screamed in pain as he tried to bring his arm to his face. He could not see a thing and as he tried to reclaim consciousness he realized that his face was in the dirt and darkness was all around him. "Agghhhhh", he grunted as wave after wave of pain assaulted him. He felt a sharp prod in his side and squirmed to get away from the intruding pain. "Uhh...uhhhh, no, get away," he said through his fog. The rattles stopped abruptly and the voices began to hoot softly. He felt a menacing dread and trying once again to move, he realized that his hands and ankles were tied. He was prodded again and again by the sharp thing and he wriggled desperately to get away from it. Unreasoning fear was creeping into his whole being. The hooting stopped and the rattles commenced even louder than before. The chanting voices started again and grew louder and more frenzied. He felt more than heard something being dragged from before him and then he felt several pairs of hands clutching at him. He was dragged along a rough surface for several yards and jerked into a sitting position. The hands held him fast. Whistles all at a fevered pitch joined the chanting and the rattles. He was clouted about the head several times and suddenly a fiber covering that was wound around his eyes was pulled away. He cringed in fear and disbelief at what he saw. He was in a cave and in the presence of twelve people. People like he had never seen before. They were squat and burly with thick lips and broad noses. Their legs were bowed and bent and they seemed hunched over slightly. Their faces were fierce and dark, with some of them painted in red and yellow and feathers stuck onto their jaw lines. The rattlers stopped abruptly and formed a circle. In the dim light of the fire, Duncan could see that there was some commotion in their midst. Suddenly all the rattlers and the chanters started up again in frenzy, shrieking and backing away from the thing in the center. The dark thing began to slowly whirl around, standing more erect as it did so. It whirled faster and faster and came at Duncan who recoiled in horror. It was Carley! Or more accurately what had been Carley. It was her skin, flayed from her body, painted in bizarre designs and pierced through with porcupine quills. The eyes inside that peered out at Duncan were not Carley's. Nor were the hands that protruded out past hers and held the stone blade and bowl. The thing that had been Carley reached out and nicked Duncan's neck with the stone blade and pressed the bowl under the wound. The bowl was pulled away and another hand pressed mud on the wound. The apparition whirled away and Duncan could see the rough fiber cord stitching up the back of the skin suit that used to be Carley. The thing stood, legs bowed, and held the bowl to its lips and drank from Duncan's warm blood. A floating sensation took him and darkness washed over him. The next several days and nights passed in a blurry succession of dark terrors as Duncan danced in and out of reality and consciousness. He was summoned by the fiendish apparition again and again to fill the hideous thing's bowl with his own blood. As he lay in his cramped dark pocket of the larger, communal cave he was continually prodded and goaded into wakefulness by a hideous crone. The old woman seemed to purposely wait until he appeared to sleep and gibbered with wicked glee as she poked a sharp stick into him or dropped a hot rock from the fire onto his tortured flesh. Many days and nights had gone by when at last Duncan failed to respond to the mistreatment of the hag. His tormentor grew weary with her sport being so spoiled and for the next three days he was left alone in the dark. Inside Duncan's still form an infection raged. His wounds had festered and caused a somatic storm within his battered shape. While his much-daunted immune system fought valiantly to stave off the raging fever and toxins his brain spun in a mad whirl of horrific shapes and sounds. There was a howling within him and grotesque gargoyles with drooling jaws flew at him from unknown quarters. In his delirium, he stood in the center of a marble courtyard while demonic beings fought to rip him asunder. He flew through the night while dragons screamed close in his wake. Lightning struck him repeatedly and exploded his body into shards of pain. He was driven deep underground where serpents and carnivorous insects sought to devour his soul. On the morning of the fourth day he awoke shivering but calm. His fever had broken and his thirst was intense. Duncan sat without moving in the dark recess and thought. He tried to form words but in his feverish journey he had become preverbal. His thoughts formed only pictures now and he relied on feelings more than reason. The hag came with gruel and her stick. Duncan sensed that it was the vile gruel that had weakened him and in response to her first prod he grunted. The old woman peered at him in the shadow and moved to prod him again. Duncan's feet exploded against the branches that served as the bars of his cell. With his left hand, he tore the stick from the crone's grasp and closed her windpipe with the grip of his right. He squeezed as hard as he could and deeply went his fingers into the wrinkled flesh of her neck. He brought the fire-sharpened stick around and drove it into the top of her head. She quivered and fell limp. Duncan dragged the lifeless husk behind him by the hair and shuffled toward the dim daylight glow at the mouth of the cave. He entered the main chamber and stood blinking against the light, his left hand entangled still in the dead crone's hair. The people sat in a semi-circle and the old shaman crouched with his bowl and feathered staff. Duncan's presence in the chamber brought frightened silence from all but the old shaman. He stood straight and began to murmur a song half under his breath. He slowly spun around with his arms held out to his sides. The people crouched on the cave floor began to shake their rattles. The rattling picked up pace and the shaman spun faster. The drummers began in earnest and as the shaman spun Duncan began to feel dizzy. He felt as if he were suddenly falling backward to melt through the cave floor and deep into an underground passage. The drumming increased in frenzy and Duncan felt as though her were propelled through a tunnel he had never seen before. One that could not exist in the world he had known but had become real to him now. The shaman spun in his ecstasy and Duncan himself began to spin. An enormous eagle met him at the end of his tunnel and he rode on the eagle's back. Far into a strange land the eagle flew with Duncan as its passenger. From his vantage point on the eagle's back Duncan could see a river far below him. His perception shifted and Duncan was a salmon in the river looking up at the old shaman riding on the eagle's back. The shaman's gaze locked with his and he felt their bodies merge somewhere in space between the eagle and the river. Abruptly Duncan was back in the worlds he had seen in his delirium. The worlds filled with harpies and gargoyles, serpents and dragons and then he found himself at the base of a gigantic ancient oak. The tree bent to him and its branches encircled him as the tree pulsated and gave to Duncan the powers of the earth. He found himself back in the chamber as the drumming sharply stopped. When the shaman sprang at him the horrors of the past weeks galvanized him into action. He stepped back and whirled the body of the hag in a circle and caught the shaman full in the chest with her torso. The old man was hurled backward and Duncan was on him. His teeth found the old one's face and Duncan ripped a large chunk of flesh from the cheek. He swallowed and the taste of blood drove him to a red rage. When Duncan regained his senses, he was standing again in the center of the chamber spinning slowly around with his arms out to his sides. In both his fists he clutched the oozing gray matter that was the old shaman's brains. He was covered with blood and felt wrapped in a warm protective glow. As he spun he visited places and times far away from the cave. As he spun he merged in and out with the persona of the old shaman and heard songs from the howling wind in his head. As he spun he felt a fire within him and he knew things...wonderful things that he possessed no words for. As he spun the rattles started softly and the drums joined. How long he spun in the center of the chamber he did not have a way of knowing. Eventually he found himself on the floor of the cave and one of the younger women brought him food and gave him furs to lie on. More days passed and Duncan moved in and out of reality, a reality that was ceasing to exist for him. Time passed and with his returning strength he ventured out of the cave and onto the ledge far above the river. There he sat for three days and nights taking no food. He sang the wind and knew the songs of the birds and the stories of the clouds...he just knew. At the end of three days he stood and reached his hand into the tattered remains of his pants. He withdrew a metal ring with shining objects on it. They were his car keys but he could not know that now. He jingled them, watching the light flash from them in the morning sun. He held them tight in his hand. In silence, he drew back his arm and then hurled the keys far out from the ledge and toward the river. He looked on in fascination as the keys described a glittering parabola in their plunge to the swift water far below. A deerfly bit him on the back of the neck, and as he turned to the cave he grunted something that meant... Dunc Ahn wants to eat.
Mulatto You Are Loved (Don’t Give Up) I hope you have the sun. I long for the sun today. Yes, I’m thinking of you. You and moonlight. You and tenderness. How you express yourself. How you make me feel from my smile to my soul. Only you know what I want the world to see. So, you took me and then you left me. You were mentally cruel to me. I love you anyway. I accept and understand that it is part of your genetic makeup. I accept and understand that that is just a part of your personality. You bring out the best in me. You bring out the worst in me. You’re holy even when you’re holier than thou. I accept and understand that we can’t be together. You’re not here. I’m here. The sea is here. Driftwood is here, my love, but you’re not. Are you drinking again? I know that you are. Of course, you don’t have to explain anything to me. You are my beloved. I understand. If there’s another woman, other women in your bed, you’re a man, I understand and accept that that will always be a factor in your life. I will never cut you. Understand that. I will never wound you for the sake of wounding you. You want me conveniently out of your life now. I understand and accept that. I will be writing to you to try and reach you for the rest of your life. Understand that. For you are my kind, my beloved, my kind of man. You will always be my type. Unfortunately, I will always be a stereotype. What do you see when you look at me now? Is she, your wife just a few years older than me? Both of you thought you’d be safe. That she wouldn’t fall pregnant. You did not use condoms. This is what married people do. I understand. You’re lovers. I understand you needed someone. I would not give in. I tried to tell you that I loved you. I just couldn’t put it into words, you see. Do you understand? Is it fine where you are? What is the weather like? Is it hot there? How are you? Are you coping? I am trying to make things happen. If I was your woman, and you were my man, life would have been exciting all the time. Interesting all the time. My sister is in Europe. That is her life now. Which is why I contacted you. I didn’t know how to say goodbye to her. I’m really in the depths of despair, which is why I tried to contact you. I wanted to hear the sound of your voice on the other side of the telephone. I wanted to hear all of your voices. I feel the ache in my lonely bones most of all. Yes, the loneliness is getting to me once again. Here I will pause; will you think my hair looks pretty like this. Do you still love me? There are bowls of fire in the linings of my heart. They are burning for you. You’re the enigma. You’re the enigmatic prize. Other men look at you envious. Other women want to be at your side. I know you. I know you. I love you anyway. You’re breaking my heart again. You’re walking away again. We must stop meeting as lovers. We have to meet as friends now. Friends who sleep together occasionally. I love you. I love only you. You are gone to the afterparty. The wrap parties. The social function. I could never host anything. Just thinking about it makes me feel tired. She’s at your side. You have pulled me under again, my love. Your beautiful wife is at your side. You make quite a handsome pair. I have to let you go again. This time for good. You’re beautiful, and once you were mine. You’re not mine anymore. I will love you all for eternity. The ghost of man. The ghost of the man you were when I met you. I won’t keep you waiting. This is your time. This is the woman you have chosen to build a life with, it is her life too. She’s your human shield. I am anti-matter. I am non-existent in your world. We can pretend we feel nothing when we look at each other. But everyone can see our chemistry. How good we would be together. When I look at you, when you’re on television, all I see or feel is electricity. You’re angry at me that I can’t be more discreet. I can’t do your bidding anymore, my love, my love, my love. You’re gone. My sister is gone. Mike Murdock, American television evangelist is gone. I know the whisky tumbler is in your hand. There’s a woman lying next to you. You kiss her hard. What are you doing? You don’t love her. If I phone, you’ll answer. You’ll make me the happiest person in the world. I’ll make you the happiest person in the world. I meet so many people. All I want is you. You made your choice. You live like a family man, which is what you always wanted. You live like a free man. Perhaps one day I’ll see you again. I’ll see you and I won’t see you. You’ll see me and you won’t see me. Thanking you for your time. I can’t thank you in advance for your reply anymore. You won’t see this letter. I love you. I love you. I love you. Understand that. You’ll never let me down. You’re not going to answer the phone if I reach you. You’re gone. You hate me. I need you so much. You’re gone. I tell myself that you hate me. You loving me is impossible. Me loving you is impossible. The woman lying next to you. Well, this has always been your modus operandi. I miss you. You miss me. I don’t know how to be wife, mother, or lover. I’m sorry. I should call. I don’t have airtime. I don’t have data. Can’t give you a baby. I don’t feel that I am woman enough for you, because I can’t give you a child. There you go, you are breaking my heart again. You are my miracle. You are really gone this time. You have no need for me to substitute anything in your life. I am scared. I’m frightened. I’m running scared. I’m alone, but it is not the first time in my life that I am alone. Everything is in my head. I’m a mess. I’m a mess. We don’t even talk anymore. Those days are gone. I wish you well, my friend. The passion is still here. What am I going to do with all this passion that I have for you? All this feeling that I have for you. You’re gone. Yes, yes, yes, I know I keep saying that. I have to remind myself of that fact as if it is alive, as if your departure it is temporary when in fact it isn’t. I’m crazy. Crazy for you. All you have to do is touch me once, and you know that what I am saying is true. My sister is such a talent. She has the potential to make it. To become an honest woman. To become lover. Somehow, she was saved from the kind of life that I live. Falling in love with emotionally unavailable men. There’s something else I wanted to speak to you about. I have to write something. Do I write something serious or light-hearted? Do I give the game away? Do I show and tell? Or let the audience in the theatre connect the dots. I trust your judgement. You have to explain the situation to me now. We are not on speaking terms anymore? Can I contact you, because you said that I could? You’re not free. You’re not available. Perhaps you’re not in the country anymore. Perhaps you’re at home with your family. This is my message to you. I love you. I inhabit you with every force. You’re embarrassed and insecure and shy. You were always shy. I loved that about you. I’m embarrassed and insecure and shy. I love how you make yourself vulnerable to me. You’re with someone tonight. It’s Saturday. Love is just a game. And to you, loving is just a game. Call the police. Call the memory police. Gosh, you are so beautiful Robert. You still take my breath away. Be safe. You made me feel safe in your arms. No worries. Love who you want. Take to bed who you want. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t behave. Otherwise tonight, tonight, and all the nights after that we would have been together. I just wanted to say that I’m thinking of you. I just wanted to say that you were the greatest love of my life. But tonight, tonight you are on my mind. So, I relax into the dream of you. Smoke a cigarette. Pop a mint in my mouth. The sun is setting here. I know I can’t just show up again in your life. Unannounced and uninvited. You make me so happy. And all I am doing is just sitting here, thinking of you. You’re the man. You’re the man. You will always be the man in my life. I’ll go on pretending for your sake. I won’t pretend I know who you are if I ever see you again. I’ll avert my eyes and walk on by as if we never even met. I think of Brink and Jonker. How brilliant they were together. How brilliant we were together. Who is holding onto you now? Who is wrapping their legs around your waist? I’m missing you badly. Of course, I know this depression won’t last. It will pass the thought of the holy perfection of you. The man, the man, the man. You were the man in my life once. All the life in me has died. All the love that you had for me has died in you. I don’t regret anything, love of my life, light of my life. Perhaps they will say this one day, that my characters are complex. Males living in a reality of their own making. Will they ever know how true that is? Will they ever know your potential to be both lover and husband? Will you ever know? Yes, I have no one. I always have had no one. No one is in the picture. Except the master of the universe. Christ, the Saviour. I’m not coping. I’m waiting here for someone to take this pain away from me. Yes, yes, yes. I know that person has to be me. I know that now. I have to save myself from this flux. You’re loving someone. Your mouth is on her mouth. Your lips are on her lips. Your warm breath is on her neck. The nape of her neck. When I think like this, I think of us. I think of us together like that. I’m a big girl now. No longer naïve ingenue. Am I confident? Looks can be deceiving. You see what you want to see. The world sees what they want to see. You don’t want me for some reason or other. You don’t want me. I accept this now. Do you understand this now? I am telling you that I accept this set of circumstances. I feel so rough, frustrated at myself because even after all this time I’ve isolated myself. I haven’t fallen in love. No one really cares about me, the way you cared about me. I can’t remember now what I was protecting you from. I was so poor. Perhaps it was my own poverty. I felt ashamed. You did everything in your power not to make me feel that shame. I absolutely hated you seeing me like that. That was not who I was. All I want to do is sit here now with you. Look at you. Look at you. Look at you. The way your eyes crinkle up at the corners when you’re thinking, when you’re laughing, when you’re with your friends. That is your life. I won’t ever be a part of that. I’ll do this any way you want me to. Now comes the leaving part again. The departure. And I know the reason why we’re not together. You’ve got your life back in order now, you complicated, complicated man. I don’t want you to change. I know who I fell in love with. Rich man. Poor girl. Older man. Girl in her early twenties. I will love you for the rest of my life. I just wanted you to know that. I’ll go on saying that until my last breath. No answer. Silence. You wake up in the morning and greet me with silence. You go to bed. Silence. Silence is also an answer. You are saying that you don’t love me. That’s okay. I’m okay with that. I’m scared. The demons come at night. There’s a struggle. Always this struggle. They’re calling it body dysmorphic disorder. Do you understand? You are the only one who understands me. You are the only man who has ever touched me. I am old. Old. Old. Old. A woman’s body falls a part when she becomes older. Oh, quite literally. There’s no getting used to that. To the fact that girls stay young and in bloom forever. Let her love you instead of me. She will love all of you in her own way. That’s the most important thing to know. That she will try. I can’t let you see all of me, but you know me so well. You’re in my head again. You’re in my head again. You’re the only one who sees me. The real me. You’re the only one who listens. The only one who will ever understand me. I go everywhere and I see you everywhere. Oh, I know they’re just a pale version of you. But understand this, it is my pale version of you. All that they are doing, these men, are living vicariously through you. I asked God, to give me something to remember you by, and He did. For me, you will be my reflection of eternity. You see, all I want to do is call you by your name. I want you to break through to me. My sin is great. My sin is great. I’ve filled journals with my sin. Who the hell am I putting on this act for? There’s nobody here. I feel wretched. I feel nothing inside. I feel four again. Being called into the horror chamber. The bathroom. My mother is waiting there for me. She wants me to wash her back. I need to talk about this to someone. Nobody wants me. Nobody loves me. The loneliness is getting to me. I need a friend. Perhaps it’s true. Jesus Christ is my only friend. Shame. I think of what my mother did to me. It was done to her. The only life she knew as a child was the one that she was given. The life she gave to me. I need someone to talk to. I want you to understand me. I want you to love me. I want you to be my friend. Most of all, I want you to protect me with your life. I am Hemingway. I am Updike. I am Rilke. I am Bessie. Be mine. Man, of every season. My brother’s girlfriend is pretty. And she’s nice. She wouldn’t like me if she knew the real me. I try so hard to make new friends, meet new people. Where are you? Come to me, my love. Stop this death. Please stop this succession of deaths. My life is awful. When I woke up this morning, everything was in a new light. The day was breaking. I thought of you. The light in your eyes. The sexual energy poured into your body. You’re chemistry. You’re physical. You’re confident. You know what you’re doing, and you look sexy doing it. I’m the gone girl. Remember me, when I’m gone from your life. Even the writing has become bipolar. Multi-polar on the page. I’m the girl you used to phone. Now you’re the one walking away from me. You are leaving me again, again, and again. I will never feel that fairy tale feeling again. I always wanted it to feel like the movies the first time I made love. You all made a fool of me. I thought you desired me. You wanted me on the backseat of the car. You wanted me to suck you hard and give you a blowjob. You called me a lesbian because I wouldn’t make you come. You grabbed my crotch. You, you, you finished my sentences, teased me about Antigone. I still tell myself that you were my prince. That you were the love of my life. You wouldn’t, couldn’t accept my lies and deceit. And when I told you the truth. You hardly glanced at me. Looked my way. You could have pretended to care, but you were to cool to care. You have all found your way in the world. I am in his study again. His wife is in the kitchen. He takes out the photographs. Again, he says, because he is horny, again, he asks me looking at me curiously through his spectacles, what are they doing. I don’t want to play this game. I start failing fast after that. Losing interest in everything. I don’t know how to cope with being a woman desired, because I am a child. Inside I am still a child, can you see. Can’t you see. This idea that I’m a woman, I might look like a woman, but inside I’m a traumatised child. I hate myself tonight. The world is spinning around me. All I see is words. People can see. People can see. The words are Dadaist-surreal. The world I paint is the world of the mentally ill. I look to Adeline Virginia Woolf and Hogarth Press when I want to feel brave. Brace myself for the glacial walls of this emptiness. There’s this flux. Tonight, the stars are aligned. That couple are holding hands. My first boyfriend abused me. My first sex act sealed with utter humiliation. He liked it like that. Control. He had to be in control. He’d call me sweet little names. I suppose to make up for it. There’s no place that I can call home. There’s no place I can call sanctuary. I will stay in your arms for the rest of your life. Will I ever move on? I refuse to be happy. I choose the life-world of unhappy people. For my whole life. Inside I am dead. I feel nothing. The couple on the television, they are kissing. I can’t kiss. I have been kissed many, many, many times. I’ve never kissed someone that I love before. Don’t know how to love, to kiss, to make love, to even make out. I’m terrible at this love game. Like I said, there’s no fairy tale feeling left inside of me. Where are you tonight? Out with your wife and daughter at a burger place. You’re laughing. You’re smiling. You’re the gone man. You were the perfect man. To me, I knew you well. I can’t say after all this time that we’ve known each other. Every day now I have to wake up and tell myself that I can’t be with the one that I love. You’re not looking for me anymore. You’ve found the woman of the dreams. She’s given you a child, a daughter. Oh, I know I’m being dramatic, but you see I miss you. I need you. Your family needs you more. My family, on the surface it seems as if they care about me. But they don’t. This love is not an unconditional love. My mother loves me for my money. Other than that, she doesn’t talk to me. There’s no love. There’s no affection. I must behave. I love you. I love you. I know what is on the line for you. We never went to bed. But you feel like my lover. I am in a bad way tonight. Perhaps, perhaps I won’t wake up tomorrow morning. Heaven doesn’t want me. Hell welcomes me with open arms. I dream at night in non-reality mode. Dream of being an actress like Kirsten Dunst and Taraji P. Henson. I miss Karen Carpenter like she was my best friend or something. I am losing it, because I lost you. Stay in my heart, my love. Don’t go away. But you’re looking into your daughter’s eyes, not mine. My brother is going to marry this girl. I am tired but I must carry on for my own sake. There’s so much writing to be done on Africa, on South Africa, on patriotism. I have to accept that this is me. I’m older now. You only date girls. Men. Men are impossible. I feel no love and affection towards women. I only feel love and affection for men. Unavailable men. Men who do not want to be attached to the likes of me for long. All they want is the sexual stimulus and impulse sated. Do you pray? You need to pray. I need to pray to have love in my life. The world is a beautiful place. You’re not in my arms, my life anymore. I have come to life too late. Much too late. He doesn’t phone. They all feel sorry for me. Once I was beautiful. Desire is such sweet sorrow. Someone loses out in the end. I have lost. No winner am I. I’m pathetic. The day is gone. I need you now, but you’re not here anymore. Love, love. What is love? You are love. When I look into your eyes, I see love. All I see is this thin sea of love waiting for me. You captivate me with your inviting smile. And all I want to see is that smile. Am I trouble? If you see me in a new light, will you still love as much? Will you believe in my reality? Will you take me on and be my man? I’ll take your name. If you want children, I’ll give you children. You make me happy. You make me the happiest woman in the world. This blood that runs through my veins is there for you. I need you. I want you. I desire you. Only you. The other men are forgotten. All those older male father-figures. Where are they now? I’m not thinking of them. I’m thinking of you. Of how you’re going to hold me when I cry in your arms the first time we make love. I think about the things we have in common. I think of kissing you. I can’t take my eyes off you. You’re the most beautiful thing that I’ve ever seen. I’m a flawed individual. He’s a flawed individual. I want David. I can’t have David. He can’t have me. He’s moved on with his life. I haven’t. I’m afraid it is always going to be this way. Men leaving me. Me being the other woman. Talk about it. Talk about the rape. I can’t. I can’t. Nina Hastings spoke about it. You can see it in her eyes. Brilliant and bold and brave and beautiful now, she is wanted and loved and adored by men. I have that. I can sense it when I walk into a room. I don’t want to be Fiona Apple. I want to be the Duchess of Sussex, but I will never be the Duchess of Sussex unless I deal with my past. Unless I talk about the rape. Unless I talk about being molested and being, feeling so ashamed to tell anyone, anyone, especially Robert. I look desirable again. I feel as if I want to be desired again. I am red sparrow. I am Jennifer Lawrence in that film. I look and I look and all I see are certainties of the life I lived before. Being taken by a man. Being taken in by a man. And this man gives me nothing in return. I love him, but it is over. I won’t see him again. I know this is a lie. I will see him again. For, after all, we are friends. I am trying to survive. But some days it feels as if I am fighting a losing battle. I think of them touching me, laughing. Making a joke out of me. The condom in the suit pocket. Me undermining him in front of all his friends, his work colleagues. I can’t take being hurt again. I just want to be free. Free to write. Do whatever I want. For now, I am incommunicado. I am silent. Tomorrow God will give me a voice, and I will speak. Today I’m in a million different pieces. Two suns inhabit this world. One day I will be desired again. Looked at, but in my head, they are always laughing at me. Tearing me apart. They see my pain and they laugh at me anyway. I have to be brave. It has been a long time. The rape. I remember nothing. Someone put something in my drink. I was out for hours. I will never know what happened. I want my life back; I tell the universe I want my life back. The universe doesn’t answer. There’s an enviable silence. I take long, hot baths now. I want to be free. Help me. Save me. I pray. I pray. I pray. I meditate. The last thing I want to do is talk about the rape. I will never know my assailant. I will never know the assailants. In my head I call myself hundreds of names. How could this happen to me. It happened to me. The quintessential good girl. I was saving myself for marriage. I was saving myself for marriage. I was saving myself for marriage. I understand sexual violence now. That it is all about a patriarchal system. It is all about lust, perversion, greed, jealousy, sexual inadequacy, clinical depression. Men want love and acceptance and approval too. It is all about control. Understand this, you are not alone. You are not alone. I tell myself that over and over and over on the good days. I want to remind myself that there are millions of me out there that cannot put a face to their rapist. I slipped away into the underground for twenty years. Longing to hear your voice. I’m longing, I said, to hear your voice. Save me from drowning in the sea. You’ll find me there on the beach of my childhood sea. THE WAY THINGS ARE |
Lalit holds a Mechanical Engineering Degree from the Indian Institute of Technology and an MBA from Columbia University, NYC. He has worked with Xerox and various consulting engineers. In addition, he owned a garment private label business for several years. He has attended two writing workshops led by Peter Murphy and Judith Lindberg, both published authors. |
A Nameless Relationship
Lying dormant for half a century in my subconscious is this tale which was then a very vivid chapter of my life. She was neither a sister nor an adopted one, which she could have become by tying the sacred thread, “Rakhi” on my wrist during the Festival of “Rakshabandhan.”Not having done so, we could not claim a sibling connection, yet my love for her was genuine. What kind of love was it? It certainly could not be romantic as during the early seventies in India a substantially younger Hindu man, aged 19, and an older Hindu divorcee woman, from a Muslim husband, aged 25, with a four-year-old son precluded that. She was just my precious, no name relative. My unshakeable connection to her occurred during her dad’s passing away.
Light infiltrating from the forty-watt bulb from the veranda outside illuminated the darkroom in a mellow yellow glow. There was the silence of death, not in an oppressive sort of way, but in the tranquility of a soul passing peacefully in sleep. No long illness, no hospitalization, no needle pokes in the veins. Mr.Chaturvedi had lived his 73 years, leaving behind an orphan, whose relationship to me was a feeling; pious, firm and unwavering with no name that could define it. What was it? I couldn't lay my finger on it. However, this much I knew-it was exalted.
She rang my doorbell with insistence, and when I opened it, I could see she was distraught. When she asked me to follow her to her house next door, I immediately complied. She stood in front of me, a tear slid down one eye and then another one broke loose in the other. Impulsively, I gently wiped her tears with my fingers and then cupped her face in my hands. My heart went out to this forlorn woman, all alone, in grief. I let her cry, allowing her to let it all out. I could feel her loneliness and wished she had a brother to console her. This is when my resolve solidified. I would shield her always
Aastha sat in the rocking chair mutely sobbing, numb at what had befallen her. She
lost her mom a year ago to cancer and now her dad. Her marriage to Iqbal had ended in a divorce. Today, she felt all alone in this nasty world, where she would have to fend for herself and her child. Her dad lied on his cot and one could hardly tell if he was asleep or dead. Earlier that day she went to wake him from his afternoon nap to come to the dining room for dinner. He had slept longer than usual and when after several nudges he did not respond, she knew he had passed away to his heavenly abode.
Night fell. We sat through it, mostly in silence, except when she got up to make tea or rummage through her chest of drawers, while I sat on the sofa. Her son, Imtiaz, was sleeping in the other bedroom. That long night, when unknown tender feelings wafted in the air between us, was the beginning of our no-name bond. It was always there, like the sweet fragrance floating from a shrub of jasmine flowers in evening twilight hours. The next day I called her immediate relatives and made funeral arrangements.
***
Aastha had married Iqbal, a Muslim prince of a small principality, now defunct as the central Indian government had abrogated his princedom through an Act of Parliament. The marriage was opposed by her parents, full-blooded Brahmins, orthodox and unyielding. She was attracted to his artistic mind, which churned out original Urdu and English poetry. In fact, he wrote for her, about her, and delivered his love messages in poems. They were soon married in civil court without parents being present. Things would have worked out except for various reasons, some external and others inherent in their personalities, which were a reflection, of each person’s upbringing.
Aastha was born to a mild, accepting, liberal Hindu household with a strong bond between dad and mom. Iqbal was the son of divorced parents, his upbringing being in the hands of his dad. The reason for his parents’ divorce was the relationship his dad had with a courtesan. So, on the one hand, Aastha had a strong belief in the institution of marriage, in Iqbal’s case, it was not tethered to any ideology. For him its sanctity was transactional. Like his dad, what caused the rift was his affair with a school teacher. They divorced four years into their marriage.
***
A bunch of older kids encircled and tortured Imtiaz. He lost his tiffin box to them and now they were hurling obscenities. They called him a half-breed and a mutt. They threw jabs at him and he was being forced to touch the feet of all the seniors. This enactment was nothing new as this drama was a daily affair. They goaded him out of the dining hall to its back, where there was no chance of a staff member coming. He cowered, felt powerless and hated every moment of his torture. The ringleader, the class bully of the sixth standard, Surendra Bhalla, wreaked havoc on this child of a Muslim father and a Hindu mother. Surendra Bhalla's dad was an RSS member, the militant wing of the Hindu political party, Jan Sangh.
Aastha was the ill-fated mother of Imtiaz Quereshi when she and Iqbal divorced four years into their marriage. She worked as a nurse at the hospital associated with the Bhopal Medical College. She kept her surname of Kaul, after the marriage, but Iqbal prevailed in naming their first-born, after one year of marriage, with a Muslim name. The couple retained their respective religious identities but Imtiaz was Imtiaz Quereshi. She could have changed his name now but felt honor-bound to her ex-husband’s wishes to retain it. Further, she wasn’t sure about Iqbal’s reaction as he still had visitation rights. When she asked Iqbal as to how she should proceed about the bullying and harassment of Imtiaz, he just ignored it. The school authorities didn’t fare any better. They said they would look into the matter, but nothing changed. Surendra Bhalla’s father was a big donor to the school.
***
It was a nice sunny afternoon in February when she decided to surprise Imtiaz by taking him out early from school and eating lunch at Quality's, followed by a matinee movie at the Odeon cinema. Ben Hur with Charlton Heston in the lead role was the talk of the town, especially the chariot race scene. Upon reaching the school she went straight to the principal’s office where she found Imtiaz waiting for her. She had already telephoned the principal’s office that she would take Imtiaz out of school early. She had thought that Imtiaz would be happy about leaving school early, but here it was a different story.
Aastha addressing her son said,
“Beta, son, how was your day today?”
Imtiaz was a little crestfallen and said, “Mom, I don’t have my tiffin box. They took it away.” He further described his agony, “They also slapped me. I did not have a good day at school today.”
Aastha already had a meeting with the principal regarding bullying by Surender Bhalla. She wanted to turn the rickshaw around and go back to school but decided against it. This was a day she had picked to be a fun day for Imtiaz. She didn’t want to mar it by having a shouting match with the principal.
Aastha decided to cheer up her son, said, “Don’t worry, I will buy you a new tiffin box. But guess where we are going today?
“Where mom?”
“We are going to have lunch and then have tutti-frutti ice cream at Quality’s. Won’t that be fun?
“Mom, instead of having tutti-frutti, can I have Cassata ice cream?”
“Of course, this is your day, and this is not all. We are going to the movies”
“Which movie mom? Is it a Hindi or an English one?”
“We are going to see Ben Hur at the Odeon. Would you like that?”
“Oh, mom. I would love that. Kids in class are talking about its chariot race scene. You are so nice, mom. You are the best, ever.”
While this placated Imtiaz for the time being, the bigger story of his bullying at school was becoming a prime concern. It had started six months ago when Imtiaz started to exhibit unusual behavior. Usually a mild-mannered child, he was expressing anger, irritability, and defiance. He often did not sleep well and was not doing as well in his studies. His appetite was also subdued but he had not become a bad eater because she cooked things that he liked. He complained often about tummy aches, not wanting to go to school. With no help from Iqbal, and the principal’s deaf ear she thought of changing schools. Of course, that could not be done in mid-term, she had to wait it out till the time the new school year began.
In the interim, she read pertinent literature to ascertain the best way for Imtiaz to cope. For trivial meanness, she taught him to stay cool and calm and not to react. As examples, “I am not your friend” or “you can’t sit here,” you should just shrug and walk away. If a kid says that you are not smart, then just say, “so what?” In reality, these lessons stayed on as lessons only; Imtiaz found coping as very hard.
Her own treatment by the society of Hindus and Muslims wasn't faring any better. When she and Iqbal were together, they had some friends in both communities, though not many, because, in the beginning, they didn't need much company as they were so in love and loved to spend time with each other. Later, when cracks began to develop in their marriage, they did not have the togetherness to attend gatherings. Now, her circle of friends was very limited. Even among the ones she had, there was no warm and fuzzy relationship. Once during Holi time, a member of the housing society refused Gale Milna, a ritual during festival time when people embrace each other, to her. The cause had to be because she was a divorcee or the divorcee of a Muslim husband, or both.
Imtiaz was exposed to the mosque by his father when he was a toddler from the age of two to four. After the divorce, he went once a month when Iqbal, on one of his visiting days, took him there. On the days when he was with his father, his two aunts were with him. So, Imtiaz had a fair amount of Muslim immersion. He attended the Muslim festivals of Id-ul-Fitr and Bakri-Id at his aunt’s place. For his Hindu heritage, he went to the temple once or twice a month and Astha had a home temple. For community involvement, he had uncles, aunts, and other Hindu friends with whom he shared day to day living and festivals like Holi, Diwali, and Dussehra. But, here too, he felt like an outsider. Aastha's parents, when they were alive, had a tepid relationship with Imtiaz. However, things improved when mother and son came to live with them after the divorce At this juncture, India didn't look very appealing to Aastha. She decided to flee the country, for the USA as visas for nurses were readily available. She applied and very soon she was on a British Airways flight for New York where she had found a job with The New York-Presbyterian Lower Manhattan Hospital.
***
I stopped in my tracks, exulted in the face to face confrontation with my no-name relative, my darling Aastha. It happened on a Monday in the shoebox room of the Temple in Queens, which I visited once in a blue moon on Mondays. Actually, never! The usual day when my wife Bhoomi, my daughter Chitra and I visited the temple was Sunday. Then too, only once a month. This Monday trip was because the two had gone to visit some friends in Fairfax, Virginia and I was left alone in the City. I saved Sunday for football watching, so took the day off on Monday to make the trip to visit the gods. That encounter was incredibly lucky, a million in one chance. But, it was ordained as our lives intermingled after that.
We were both staring at each other with a glint of recognition in our eyes. Precisely at the exact same moment, we spoke
Aastha verbalized first, “You must be Daksh.”
“Oh my God, I must be dreaming.” I said “Aastha what are you doing here? When did you arrive in America?” With that, I propelled myself towards her, placing my palm on her shoulder, repeating my surprise at seeing her.
“Daksh, I have been in the States for the past year,” Aastha replied, “I work for the New York-Presbyterian Lower Manhattan Hospital on William Street as a nurse.” Expressing incredulity, she added “What a chance meeting. I can’t believe that I am seeing you. What a pleasant surprise! Where do you live?”
“I live in Greenwich Village close to my work at Goldman Sachs on West Street. I have lived there since I graduated from Columbia University.”
We were so aghast at this remarkable coincidence, that I overlooked the eight-year-old boy standing next to Aastha. She, too, was oblivious to her surroundings until it occurred to her to introduce her child.
Aastha beckoned her son saying, “Imtiaz, touch your uncle’s feet” In India, this custom is for showing respect to an elder.
When the little boy touched my feet, I was overwhelmed. I took him in a warm embrace and hugged him, saying,
“Imtiaz, you were so young when I last saw you. It’s good to see you again. Let’s not part company this time.”
After that, they exchanged telephone numbers and addresses and agreed that Aastha and Imtiaz would visit us next Sunday. I told Aastha that I lived with my wife, Bhoomi, and a daughter, Chitra, who was four years old
***
Bhoomi cooked all day to host Aastha and Imtiaz. She knew about Aastha and her story as told by me, but, of course, that story was incomplete. Much had happened to mother and son since I had left India. They arrived around six PM. I buzzed them in when they rang our doorbell. Aastha had brought flowers for Bhoomi who placed them in a vase. We all settled in the family room of my two-bedroom apartment.
“Tell me about your life these days,” I asked Aastha
Aastha told me that she worked at this hospital as a nurse and Imtiaz was studying at a public primary school in Manhattan. He was picked up in the morning before her departure for work and was dropped off at the hospital. She had obtained special permission from the HR department for this unusual arrangement. Imtiaz stayed in the conference room and when the room was needed, he shifted to the cafeteria. During this time, he worked on his homework. Later, mother and son took the subway home.
We were all seated comfortably with a fire roaring in the fireplace. It was snowing outside, which we could see from the large windows of the apartment. I offered drinks and we all nibbled on appetizers. Imtiaz and Chitra sat at the dining table and played a game of Snakes and Ladders.
Chitra showed Imtiaz some drawings she had done. One was a likeliness of the Tyrannosaurus Rex. We had taken her to Washington DC, where we visited the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History. From a book purchased there, she did pictures of the carnivores and herbivores. Some other drawings were of Allosaurus, Triceratops, and Brachiosaurus which filled four pages of her sketchbook. They were the fledgling efforts of a four-year-old, not perfect, but still a happy likeliness to the actual pictures. Imtiaz showed amazement, he said,
“Chitra, you are such a great sketcher. I am sure when you grow up you will become an artist.”
“Bhaiyya, elder brother, do you really think so?.”
“Not just think so, but I know so.” Giving her more encouragement he said,
“Besides being an artist, you will become a world-famous painter.”
Soon it was dinner time, and everybody was seated at the dining table. The meal began with:
Tomato soup with croutons
Followed by: Chicken Tikka Masala, Minced Mutton Curry with peas, Slipper/shoe Kebab,
Several veggies cooked in Indian spices
Dumplings made from gram flour in a gram flour gravy
Naans and Basmati Rice
Tomato, cucumber, and onion salad with lemon wedges
And for dessert, carrot cake
The party was a smash hit which led Bhoomi to invite Aastha and Imtiaz to stay overnight. Going home in the snow and subway at a late hour would be tedious. Aastha and Imtiaz could sleep in Chitra’s room and Chitra could bunk with her parents. Having decided to stay, the kids went upstairs to their bedrooms. Imtiaz spent some time in Chitra's room and finally, the two kids went to sleep at 10 PM.
***
There was a lot to catch up with. When I left India, fissures were developing in Aastha’s marriage. Iqbal and she were quarreling and Imtiaz was two years old. I wanted to know what had happened to their marriage. The tale I got was troubling. She told me about her divorce after four years of marriage and the tale of woe thereafter. Her battling with the school authorities over Imtiaz’s bullying, getting no place with it, the change of school, and not having friends either Muslim or Hindu. Her parents, though communicating, were not on the best of terms with them. After her mom’s death, the divorce happened, and that’s when she and Imtiaz moved to her dad’s house. Other than a couple of cousins, she was a pariah in the Hindu community. Daksh and Bhoomi were very sad to hear Aastha’s story.
It was a long night as the three of us sat huddled in front of the toasty fireplace. Bhoomi served a rose’ wine which we sipped.
Aastha broke down and through teary eyes narrated to us the ugliness in her life during the past few years. She could do this as she felt she was finally talking to some people that really cared. Tonight was a continuation of that fateful night when her dad had passed away. It was a solid bonding that took place. While reminiscing about the night, I began to feel that I was Almighty’s chosen one to help Aastha and Imtiaz.
That night, she bared the details of her marriage to Iqbal. Between sobs, she told us that Iqbal was unfaithful and cheated on her, having an affair with an Anglo-Indian girl. She told us how he did not return home for several days in succession saying he traveled out of town on work, and how she found out about the affair, which was when, after an out of town trip, she found a woman’s bra and a teddy in his suitcase.
“Iqbal, you have some ladies’ undergarments in your suitcase. Who do they belong to? They certainly do not belong to me.”
Iqbal ignored her comments feigning that he had not heard them. Aastha repeated her question,
“Where did this bra and teddy come from?”
Iqbal showed irritation at the question.
“How do I know?”
“If you don’t, then who would. They are in your suitcase.”
“Maybe you should ask that question to the hotel’s housekeeping. Maybe by mistake, they put someone else’s garments in my suitcase.”
Before Aastha could follow up with another question, Iqbal left the room. The next few days were caustic. Battle lines were drawn. Aastha wanted an answer and Iqbal was not going to give one, only oblique lies, not the truth. It was at this point that Aastha hired a detective. Results tumbled in within a week. She had pictures of Iqbal and Susan Braganza, a teacher at the local convent school.
What followed were two years of in and out of this illicit affair. He would say he was sorry and promised that he would never see her again, but that promise lasted four months without her and then two months with her, followed by the same pattern several times. It was a time when they reconciled until the reconciliation was breached. She kept hoping that her husband would come home to stay. That did not happen and so their marriage fell apart.
This night was very much like the night of several years ago in Bhopal, but today, there were three people who were connecting in the ether, instead of two. Bhoomi took the initiative and coaxed Aastha to vent. She asked her to let her sorrow surface. Aastha began to cry. These were tears of relief and happiness. She felt fully secure in my house. I was glad for that because those were the feelings I wanted to convey to her, she now had a family and should not feel alone in this world. I just wanted to be true to the resolve I had made to myself many years ago, I would always protect her and that's what I was going to do from now.
I felt glad that Bhoomi took to her as I did. It made my job that much easier. After all the venom was out, Bhoomi took Aastha to the bathroom and dabbed her face with cold water. Aastha was now refreshed and we broached another subject.
“How are things in the US,” Bhoomi asked “You have been here for a year. Have you made any friends?”
“Since Indians are generally well regarded, I do not have any overt discrimination at work.” Recounting some more, she said, “but tribalism does exist. White folks generally stick with each other and they have a superiority complex. So, bigotry exists, but it is not very marked”
Bhoomi liked Aastha’s candid observations. Aastha described some more. She said
“The makeup of the floor is diverse. We have Latinos, Blacks, Eastern Europeans, and South Americans. So, I blend in rather easily and am happy in my work environment.”
After these explanations, she addressed the question of discrimination. “A test of equal treatment will happen when it will be time for a promotion. Will I be superseded by a white employee?” Regarding friends at work, she said, “I do have friends at work, but they are just that, work friends.”
On the subject of being accepted by the Hindu or the Muslim community she had this to say,
“It is a challenge when I try to mix in either the Hindu community or Muslim. Imtiaz’s last name of Quereshi is damnation with the Hindus and my last name of Kaul is not acceptable to the Muslims. As a matter of fact, when attending a party at a Muslim friend’s residence, I was told by a young and then a middle-aged Muslim man, that I should change my name to my son’s, namely Quereshi and that I should embrace Islam. After that, I stopped going to such parties.”
Finally, on the subject of race relations and social interactions, Aastha bared her experiences,
“As a divorcee with a child, who is half Muslim, is an issue at Hindu gatherings. When I dress up nicely in a sari, many men flirt with me. They want to go out with me, but I have declined all of them since I didn’t get their good vibes towards Imtiaz. So Bhoomi, I have a couple of so-so Hindu friends and then work friends at the workplace only.”
Aastha had spoken a lot in one go. Instead of feeling tired, she was rejuvenated. In fact, from the time she met Daksh at the temple in Queens to today, she was on a chariot ride to heaven. She felt emboldened, on-the-basis of a long-ago promise. A promise, that was intangible, an unspoken word, by a human she valued highly. Today she felt, she was standing on solid ground.
At this juncture, Bhoomi took a lottery. How many for ginger tea? Daksh was the largest affirmative voice. While Daksh turned on the TV, the two girls went to the kitchen and were busy there. My feelings at this point were soaring. I never imagined that life’s surprises would land my no-name relative, Aastha, at my doorstep. I knew God had given me a task, which was to right the capsized canoe of Aastha and Imtiaz. I made a solemn promise to myself, that Bhoomi and I would find a suitable husband for Aastha and a father for Imtiaz. In fact, I knew just the man who could fill these britches.
After the tea break at night, they went to bed. The morning saw the adults getting up before the children. To my question of Is Imtiaz well-adjusted at his school, Aastha said,
“Imtiaz’s story is quite a bit more checkered than mine. He has faced discrimination both in overt and subtle ways. Examples of overt are racist comments and taunts at his being a Muslim. He doesn't know quite how to react. So, he started staying away from all the kids. Here too, like in India, a group of kids regularly forced him to give them his lunch. However, unlike India, the principal put an end to this nightmare. The subtle discrimination is in the form of just ignoring him and not including him in friendly activities. However, all in all, he is not disturbed and pays attention to his studies. He is doing well in class.”
Aastha then shed some light on her efforts to expose Imtiaz to Muslim culture and religion,
“I have attempted to keep his Muslim heritage alive. His dad would take him to the mosque fairly-frequently. I tried to emulate that by taking him for Friday prayers at the Masjid in Brooklyn. The genders are segregated, so he could not come with me. In fact, I did not feel like going in, so I sent him in with an official. I did not feel comfortable as there were no windows and there were surveillance cameras all around. The entry room was small and lower than the standard height. It was a creepy place and it felt like someone was watching me. I did not go there again.”
She then recounted her experience at another mosque,
“After that, I googled for mosques in New York City and found one on the NYU campus. My experience there was much better. It is located on one floor of a multilevel building. It has windows that are larger and go from the floor to the ceiling. The congregation is primarily made up of students and faculty of NYU as well as other educated Muslims. It seemed like it was a liberal group. Here also, I just did not feel like going in. Sending Imtiaz with officials seemed somewhat risky. The result is that we have not been going to a mosque at all. Imtiaz has been very sporting. He says it is not necessary to go. But I do know, that since he has gone from childhood, he would like to participate. As far as immersion with the community is concerned, I am a failure there also. Many gatherings have quite a few single men but I am afraid of them.”
After this first meeting, Aastha and Imtiaz started to meet us fairly frequently. In fact, since Aastha did not have a car, all of us would load up in my Beamer to go to the temple in Queens. Both, mom and son, had begun to show signs of returning self-confidence, the kind of confidence that had existed during the good years of Aastha’s marriage to Iqbal. I then made arrangements for Imtiaz to go to the mosque with a Muslim friend at work. Things were looking up for them.
***
Before meeting me, going to the temple in Queens was quite a long ride on the subway. When she did not feel like traveling that far she started to visit the Sikh Gurudwara of Manhattan on 30th St. Kirtan, a religious service was held twice a month on the second and fourth Tuesday. The times were from 7 to 10 PM. They arrived there at seven, stayed for an hour, ate at the “langar,” a free restaurant offered by the Gurdwara, and headed back for home. Here the congregation was mixed, men and women standing, side-by-side. She felt safe here. Of course, she dressed conservatively so as not to attract attention.
Here she noticed a handsome Punjabi man who surreptitiously glanced at her. He would generally arrive a little after seven and move up to the row where she was standing. Although not overt, she could tell he was interested in her. She enjoyed this approval and would intermittently watch him from the corner of her eye. In fact, once in the shoebox room, he shyly said hi. She responded back with a hi. She liked his demeanor, being low-key. As weeks passed, she began to enjoy her evenings at the Gurdwara. Their acquaintance had germinated from a hi to know each other’s names. She found out that his name was Balbir Chadha and he was an assistant professor of economics at NYU. He was probably about thirty years old. She introduced Imtiaz, and he did not ask the reason for a Muslim name. He asked if she would like to go out to dinner. She just politely declined. She was afraid of being hurt since she did not know how he viewed Imtiaz.
Now, feeling a little sure about herself, she harbored a desire to go out with him. While he was not very friendly with Imtiaz, he was cordial enough. When Aastha met us the next time, she talked with Bhoomi about Balbir. That night Bhoomi told me. I was overjoyed. This is what I wanted to do for her, but she was doing it herself. Bhoomi and I decided that we should invite Balbir to dinner. We ran this by Aastha. Bhoomi could tell that Aastha was delirious. She really did like the guy. So next time when she met him, she asked if he would like to come to dinner at her brother’s place. His obvious answer was yes and so, I gave Balbir a call.
“Hello, my name is Daksh, am I talking to Balbir.”
“Yes, Daksh. I expected a call from you. Aastha told me about her long-lost friend from India, the one who is like a brother.”
“Yes Balbir, our story begins in Bhopal. She was a neighbor, and a very good one at that, living in an adjacent house. My trips to her home were memorable. She always greeted me with a smile, was a gracious hostess, and she fed me well. Her Dum aaloo, a potato dish, was mouth-watering.”
“I am jealous, but not for long. I plan to see more of her.”
“ That’s a splendid idea. I will let you in on a secret. She loves poetry and we used to discuss Chaucer, Wadsworth, and Shelley. During her High School years, she went to a convent school run by nuns from Ireland. English Literature was one of her subjects, as was mine. She helped me in my class assignment of critiquing Macbeth and Mayor of Casterbridge.
“ I never knew about this aspect of her life. While I was not an English Litt student, I did like reading English novels. You’ve given me a new sphere in which we could converse. I like French novelists, Alexander Dumas and Victor Hugo”
“Balbir, what if we continue this discussion at my place this Saturday. Would you have the time to spend an afternoon and then dinner at our place. I will invite Aastha and Imtiaz also.”
“Sure Daksh. I am so looking forward to meeting you and your family. I will come.”
Daksh gave Balbir his address.
***
Both Bhoomi and I were very excited. Bhoomi went to an exclusive Indian boutique on Fifth Avenue and bought for Aastha a cute Salwar Kameez, tunic/pants, Pakistani style (See attached Exhibit on Salwar Kameez-Pakistani) in a hunter green tunic with allover embroidery in white thread, and an eight-inch embroidered border and a sage color palazzo pant with ditzy embroidery. The tunic had three-quarter length sleeves with embroidered edges and the dupatta---extra length long scarf---was in one color of sage matching the pants color. The outfit looked smashing. She wore tear-drop earrings made of gold and a bindi---a decorative dot on the forehead---in Hunter Green. And finally, high heels in Hunter Green. Bhoomi had gotten all Aastha’s measurements and she was to dress up when she got to our place. Bhoomi also got an outfit for Imtiaz.
The auspicious day arrived. Bhoomi took pleasure in dressing up Aastha. Aastha was naturally pretty, but with the outfit and accessories, she looked stunning. Much as Aastha enjoyed this attention, Bhoomi enjoyed giving it. Bhoomi treated Aastha like an elder sister There was a sense of delight in the air. Once again, Bhoomi cooked a sumptuous meal, waiting for the arrival of the guest. Soon the doorbell rang and I buzzed Balbir in. He was dressed sharply in gray pants and a navy-blue double-breasted blazer with a matching tie in burgundy. Aastha was standing behind me to greet Balbir. Balbir had two boxes in a bag. I invited Balbir in and soon we were all seated except for Bhoomi, who after pleasantries went back into the kitchen.
Balbir took out two jewelry boxes and handed them to Aastha. Aastha protested by saying that this was not necessary. She opened the first box and was astonished. It contained a rather big oval diamond solitaire necklace. It looked impressive. She thanked him profusely and began to open the next box. Seated on a velvet pad were a pair of diamond stud earrings. The set looked very expensive. Aastha said they were simply gorgeous and praiseworthy, but that she could not accept them. Balbir quipped in jest,
“This jewelry is not prettier than the person who’s going to wear it. Please accept this as a token of my admiration for you. It will make me happy.”
Aastha demurred, but then I chimed in and said,
“Aastha, take it. Judging Balbir, you are going to get many more in the future. He is giving it with love. Respect that.”
Aastha said nothing, but went over to Balbir, gave him the necklace, knelt parallel to him, facing away, she moved her hair in the back to one side for him to place the jewelry on her neck. When Balbir was done, Aastha went to the bathroom and put on the studs and then came out wowing them. She thanked Balbir profusely. Balbir then took out a Lego set of Marvel Spider Fighters and gave it to Imtiaz. Aastha asked her son to thank the uncle.
Bhoomi came out of the kitchen and I introduced Chitra to Balbir. After a little chit chat, Bhoomi excused herself and went back into the kitchen. I too, after spending some time talking to Balbir, made my way into the kitchen. The kids had gone upstairs to play. Left in the family room were Aastha and Balbir. Balbir broke the silence.
“Your choice of clothing is excellent. It’s very becoming you.”
“The choice is Bhoomi didi’s, elder sister. She bought it for me.” Playing with the diamond necklace, she praised its unique setting. She absolutely loved the design
These moments seemed precious on both sides. Balbir could not help keeping his eyes on her. He was transfixed, in a trance. She too was connecting in a big way. Now, looking at him more closely, she found him to be very handsome.
“How long have you lived in New York?” asked Aastha “Where did you do your studies?”
“I came to New York three years ago when I got the job at NYU. Prior to that, I lived in London, finishing my Ph.D. from the London School of Economics.”
“That is very impressive. Did you have to study extra hard?”
“Studying was the easy part. Writing the dissertation or thesis was tricky. The challenge was to come up with an original postulation.”
“You are so intelligent. What is postulation?”
“Postulation means a theory or a hypothesis.”
One could tell that the two were enjoying each other’s company. Aastha had a cry that was screaming to be heard. The events which led to the divorce with Iqbal were a severe jolt. She needed a shoulder to lean on and Balbir’s seemed to be plenty strong and wide. Balbir, on the other hand, found Aastha very desirable. Now the couple was in a groove and talking animatedly. Many topics were covered.
“Aastha, do you have an interest in English Literature,” asked Balbir
“Yes, but how did you know.”
“Your leaker friend told me.”
“You mean Daksh.”
“The very same. While you were going to an English convent, I was studying at a Hindi medium school. But my dad was a Professor of Physics, he was very into all kinds of reading, including English prose. I learned from him and I am partial to French writers, Hugo and Dumas.”
“That’s good. We have one more thing in common.”
“What is the other one.”
“Spending time with each other.”
They seemed like two lovers.
After giving the couple a decent amount of time, I decided to come back to the family room. I asked,
“Are you two getting to know each other? Balbir. what are you teaching at NYU? I overheard you say that you got your Ph.D. from the London School of Economics.”
“Yes, I am a London School of Economics alum and I teach macroeconomics and operations research at NYU.”
“Great credentials,” I praised him and said, “Your alma mater is a revered institution. I had a classmate from your school when I was studying for my MBA at Columbia University. He was quite a chap, His name was Kartar Singh and he was a Sikh.
“I, too, am a Sikh, a Mona Sardar,” a Sikh without a turban and long hair.
Bhoomi, in the meanwhile, had fed the kids who moved to the family room and were watching TV. She asked everyone to come to the dining table. She had gone all out to cook a lavish meal. All the culinary delights of a north Indian dinner. Her cooking prowess was on display as everybody was taking seconds. After dinner, the adults moved to the family room and the kids went up to sleep. Bhoomi had joined the group. She addressed Balbir
“May I call you Balbir Bhaiyya, elder brother?”
“Of course, and may I call you Bhoomi?”
“By, all means.”
“Bhoomi, you are so selfless and such a great cook. Aastha and I owe you a great debt of gratitude. That is if Aastha would let me speak for the both of us.”
Aastha spoke up, “certainly Balbir.”
Changing the subject Balbir said, “Bhoomi, your initiative is making our connection possible. I haven’t been as happy for a long time. Aastha is such a positive force in my life already.
Now addressing Aastha, Bhoomi said, “Aastha didi, how do you feel?
Aastha responded, “Bhoomi, life is a jigsaw puzzle. You never know how and when all the pieces will fit. It looks like our time has come.”
The night took a pleasant turn. The conversation circled around several topics, but the undercurrent was the overall bonding of two souls. They had hit it off and were ready for the next step. Balbir took the initiative and asked Bhoomi if he could take Aastha out for dinner next Saturday. Bhoomi tried to pull his leg in jest
“You can, but there will be a price.”
Balbir was feeling elated and said, “Bhoomi, name your price. I am willing to pay any amount.”
Bhoomi laid down her conditions, “Just remember what you are saying. You have to keep my Aastha didi happy for the rest of her life. Do you think you can do that?”
Balbir said promptly, “Without question. She is going to be the apple of my eye. I dote on her.”
At the stroke of midnight, the party ended. Aastha and Balbir had a dinner date for next Saturday.
***
The floor turned on its axis and through the transparent walls of the revolving restaurant, guests could get a panoramic view of Manhattan. The scene was a kaleidoscope of dazzling lights coming from the areas’ sky rise buildings, particularly Times Square. It was midtown’s grandeur. Aastha and Balbir glided to the music, in each other’s arms, to the View Restaurant’s orchestra, located on the covered terrace of The Marriott Marquis in Manhattan.
Balbir had asked the maître de to dim the lights above their table, so as to simulate a candlelight ambiance. Aastha was dressed in a navy blue silk sari with edged embroidery in silver thread. (See Exhibit on Aastha’s attire closet Sarees). She was wearing the diamond necklace and earrings he had given her. Her silver-grey blouse swelled with her ample breasts and became the target of Balbir’s sly roving eyes.
Aastha looked supremely seductive but his thoughts flashbacked to the episode in Lahore. Pakistan. Will the mantle of her love cover his Lahore bruise? He so desperately wanted to forget that episode. As he was trying to settle this issue, he realized that he was required to come back to earth. Sitting across was Aastha, an elixir that could change his life. She could take him in her fold and protect him from unwanted encroachments.
All this happened in a flash and soon he was looking into Aastha’s sparkling eyes. There were two things that he found supremely intoxicating about a woman, sparkling eyes and the softness and roundness of exposed shoulders.
“Aastha, you have the most sparkling eyes I have ever seen.” Balbir praised her, “ I can keep looking into them through eternity.”
He took a breath and then said, “The second thing that excites me about a woman I can tell you when I see you in a sundress.”
“Thanks for the compliment. But what will you judge when I wear a sundress?”
“You will have to be patient. I will tell you in due course when the event
happens, so you better hurry up.”
The proximity of the dance and the touching of her bare midriff should have excited his libido. But, a strange phenomenon was happening. He felt tranquil with a cooling sensation. As if the relationship was more than a fling. Perhaps it had moorings of permanency. He rejoiced with these thoughts. He knew that at appropriate times, raunchiness would descend. Aastha was, for the lack of a better word, tempting. He would enjoy making love to her.
The following days were a whirlwind tour studded with passionate moments. They began to gel and a good amount of physicality emerged. There was the first kiss which happened on a horse and carriage ride in Central Park. Balbir had called up the reservation desk and booked a prearranged carriage. It was going to cost him $50 for an hour and flowers and chocolates were an extra $10. He went for the whole package.
On a Sunday they dropped off Imtiaz at Bhoomi’s place and then headed towards the park. After the ride, they would pick up Imtiaz and go for lunch. Aastha had made a feeble attempt to include Imtiaz in the ride, but Balbir was hesitant. So, just the two of them went. Upon arrival, they parked the car in the garage reserved for riders. It was adjacent to the point where the ride began. Lined up along Central Park South, between fifth and sixth avenues, were handsome horses and their carriages. The captain led them to one. Awaiting Aastha were her roses and chocolate. She was delighted, hugged Balbir and rewarded him with a passionate kiss. This signaled that more intimacy would happen for the couple in the future. For today, her lips were his nectar, which he drank with every press of their lips.
Their romantic ride began. The horses trotted and took them to Central Park’s most popular attractions, the Wollman Rink, the Pond, the Central Park Zoo, Sheep Meadow and the Dakota, home of the former Beatle John Lennon. Resting her head lovingly on Balbir’s shoulder, she made clear that her submission was total, that she really trusted this man and was eager to love him. It was an act of submission. She navigated a major part of this one hour journey resting on his shoulder and holding hands. She decided that she would do this, not just for this journey but through the entire journey of their life. She found no fault in Balbir,
Finally, the day came when Aastha invited Balbir to her apartment for dinner. It was the Sunday after the Central Park ride. She felt on top of the world and had an exhaustive South Indian menu for Balbir. She wanted to do something special, hence, the rollout of Rava Masala Dosa, Dal Vada, and Idli -Sambhar generally dishes not offered by North Indian hostesses. She had taken the day off from work. Bringing her boombox into the kitchen, she inserted a cassette of Lata Mangeshkar and with this background music, began to cook
Description of South Indian dishes
-Dosa-type of pancake made from a fermented batter. A crepe-like consistency.
-Rava Idli-steamed cake of rice
-Dal Vada-deep fried patties usually made of lentils
-Sambhar-lentil based vegetable chowder
-Rasam-soup prepared with tamarind or tomato juice with added spices and groundnuts and served chilled. It is laborious to make, taking twenty-four hours.
-Payasam-dessert consisting of rice/vermicelli boiled in milk/coconut milk flavored with cardamom containing groundnuts.
She served these dishes in courses spaced over the entire evening. Beginning with Rasam followed with the other two South Indian appetizers, Rava Idli and Dal Vada to be dipped in Sambhar; and Samosas which she bought from Bombay Foods & Spices. For the entree, was Dosa, which she served teeming hot, fresh from the griddle. For this dish, she had two kinds of Chutneys; coconut and tamarind. For dessert, she served the favorite of South Indian offerings, Payasam. This she served in the latter part of the evening.
When Balbir rang her doorbell, her heart was aflutter. She was going to meet him in a confined space, all alone for the first time. She did not know what was going to happen that night.
So, with trepidation and excitement, she opened the door. The decorative kurta/pajama suit (See Aastha's attire closet-Anarkali Suits) on Balbir looked regal. She herself had chosen a cream-colored cotton sari with a broad border in red and gold (See Aastha’s attire closet-saris).
Balbir had a bouquet of tiger lilies and red roses in a glass vase, a tasteful selection. He came in and gave the vase to Aastha who deposited the flowers in the center of the coffee table. He then turned and gave Aastha a gentle embrace. Aastha enjoyed this beginning. Balbir said hi to Imtiaz, standing behind his mother. It was a rather small one-bedroom apartment in which there was a dining table, a sofa, a sofa chair, a coffee table, and two steel folding chairs. All of this was in one room. She had a dining cum family room. Balbir sat down on the sofa and Aastha on the chair. Aastha began the conversation,
“Balbir, thank you for the ride at Central Park. It will be a memorable memory for me. I thoroughly enjoyed it. You are so caring.”
“Anything for you, my love. You are so special.”
“You make me special because you yourself are very special.”
After some small conversation, Aastha said she had to attend to the kitchen. She could put on some music and asked if Balbir would prefer the sitar virtuoso Ravi Shankar or the Santoor, musical instrument, exponent Shiv Kumar Sharma. Balbir had heard of Shiv Kumar Sharma, but never listened to any of his music. So, he opted for the latter. Aastha slid the right cassette in the player and asked Imtiaz to show uncle some of the essays he had gotten an A on in school. Having set the mood, she stepped into the kitchen. In a few minutes, she brought out the chilled Rasam in a stainless-steel glass. She gave one to each and took one for herself and sat down on the chair. Balbir looked at some of the work Imtiaz did and since it was stellar he praised the child. After some more chitchat she stepped back into the kitchen, leaving Imtiaz with Balbir.
She brought out in a stainless-steel thali, a plate, some appetizers, Idli and Dal Vada with Sambhar in a small stainless-steel cup. She asked the two to come to the dining table and that is where she set the thalis. She asked them to begin eating. She went back to the kitchen to make some hot Rava Dosas on the griddle. Finally, when she had served the two, and once they had settled back on the sofa, she brought out a thali for herself and sat down on the sofa chair. Imtiaz wanted to watch TV, so she turned off the music and sat next to Balbir on the sofa. Balbir praised her cooking all along and his reward to Aastha was a gentle kiss to her brow.
There is something about a cotton sari. It’s crisp, fresh and very enticing. Imtiaz had gone to bed and the two were left in the family room. Balbir talked about his days in London and she, of Bhopal, where she spent the majority of her young life, Both were hankering for love. He sat holding her hands but did not want to make a move. His senior friends at the University taught him that the girl gives her signal in some token way and then he was to take over. Aastha finally made her move. She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheeks. This was the clue he expected. He turned to face her, kissed her on the lips and at the same time smoothly caressed the contours of her breasts over the cotton blouse and eventually without the blouse. That night, they made love for the first time on the sofa.
After the lovemaking, they sat at the dinner table. Aastha served Payasam, the desert and then coffee. There was a sense of victory, an ebullience, spirits floating on air. They stayed together for a considerable length of time, not willing to give up that day. Balbir informed her about Hindi movies on Sunday at Teacher’s College Auditorium of Columbia University on W119th Street. Next week’s movie was Dostana starring Amitabh Bachchan, Shatrughan Sinha, and Zeenat Aman. It was the story of two friends falling in love with the same girl. They decided to go.
***
The next Sunday her beau was standing dressed in a Ralph Lauren maroon polo and khaki Dockers. He carried his attire, on a six-foot frame, quite well. Unlike other days, she was dressed in a yellow/pumpkin Anarkali suit (See attached Aastha’s attire closet-Anarkali suit). She had bought an uplifting bra and was looking enticing. Balbir parked the car on the street and they walked into the auditorium. Balbir knew the owner, Mr. Vyas who lived in a penthouse on Madison Avenue. Apparently, the movie business was lucrative enough for him to afford such a swanky pad. Once again, she wanted Imtiaz to join them, but he did not. Aastha was a little hurt but did not press the issue. The twosome went and afterward, they dined at a Mexican restaurant. By the time Aastha reached home, it was midnight. The babysitter told her that Imtiaz missed her. He kept on asking for his mom.
The two had transitioned from friends to lovers. However, Balbir’s relationship with Imtiaz was a big question mark. Balbir was cordial but showed no emotion, no special bonding. He never embraced Imtiaz or showed any warmth towards him. Imtiaz still went to a mosque once a month with Daksh’s friend from work. Balbir had not even asked her about the mystery of the Muslim name for Imtiaz. She felt guilty about the movie night and subsequent dinner. Mulling over these troubling thoughts, she faced Balbir at The View where the lights were dimmed at their table.
“Aastha, I have to ask you something, but I am nervous,” Balbir said in a quivering voice.
“Don’t be. I am all ears. What do you have to say?”
Balbir ventured a suggestion, ”Let’s order some wine. Maybe, that will give me some courage.”
Aastha was intrigued but followed along. He ordered a fancy expensive champagne Piper Heidsieck Brut, a vintage Rare from France. They continued their conversation for a few minutes, kept sipping champagne, and then, Bulbar pulled out something from his coat pocket. It looked like a jewelry box. He opened the box and Aastha was gazing at a beautiful, humongous diamond ring. He held her hand and said,
“Nothing will give me more pleasure than having you for my wife.”
With that, he came down on her side of the booth and knelt in front of her and said,
“Aastha, will you marry me?
Blood rushed to Aastha’s head and there was a sudden surge of happy incredulity. She could barely cut muster but said in a weak voice,
“My love, you know I will, any day of the week.” She was overwhelmed.
Balbir got up and sat on her side of the booth, alongside her. He then gently picked up her hand and pushed the ring firmly on her finger. He gathered Aastha in a close embrace and said,
“Darling you have dressed so appropriately. This plum sari (See Aastha's attire closet-Sarees) is most becoming of all that you have worn in front of me. Let this be the color of our love.
With that, he gave her a big squeeze, as she melted in his arms.
Again, they were sitting across each other on their respective sides. Aastha was finding Balbir’s attitude towards Imtiaz questionable. This had been on her mind today. She asked Balbir about Imtiaz.
“What will you do about Imtiaz? Will you adopt him?”
“Aastha I have been thinking about that. Why does he have a Muslim name?”
“ Because his dad is Iqbal Quereshi. He is a Muslim and he named Imtiaz. In fact, he used to take Imtiaz to the mosque regularly. I used to take him to the temple. Iqbal accompanied us to the temple, while I did not go to the mosque.”
“Aastha, this will be a problem. I have looked into boarding schools and there are some very good ones in Manhattan. We can send him there and he can continue his education. We will visit him regularly.”
It was like a lightning bolt. Aastha did not expect this. At worst, she thought that she would have to drop her desire to take him to a mosque regularly. Maybe, when Balbir adopted Imtiaz, they could get a Hindu name for him. She never thought of this option. There was a deathly silence as both sides seemed to be facing alternatives that they could not follow. That evening turned into a bittersweet one. A rock on her finger and a rock on her heart. Her elation turned sour and the night became a disaster. They went through the motions of eating and turned in at an early hour.
***
Balbir tried to call her a couple of times but she did not pick up the phone. Balbir stopped calling. When other Hindu boys were attracted to her, she did not encourage them since they did not warm up to Imtiaz. She did not expect this reaction from Balbir. She was in a quandary. What should she do next, if anything? Balbir was fighting his own demons. The incident at Lahore was looming large. Somehow, both did not feel like approaching me or Bhoomi. Many days passed since we had talked or seen the two. Bhoomi called Aastha, but she did not pick up the phone. One Saturday morning, we decided to make a visit to her place. She opened the door and was surprised to see us. Bhoomi had picked up some sweets and some Indian books for Imtiaz. She handed those to Aastha and soon we were sitting on the sofa. Bhoomi addressed her,
“Aastha how come you are not picking up your phone. We tried calling Balbir but he said that we should talk to you. What is happening between the two of you?”
At first, Aastha demurred, but then told us the whole story. She also added that there could be no relationship without Imtiaz and that, his welfare was paramount. I was a little surprised, as I did not expect Balbir to be so narrowminded. But some part of me understood. Men can often be very parochial. I promised that I would talk to Balbir over lunch at Bombay Palace.
I called up Balbir, but when he found out what I was going to meet him about, he was not willing to meet. Bhoomi and I felt at an impasse. We had to devise some other method. Time kept moving and soon it was three months after the engagement. We talked about the situation with each other and came up with this solution. The three of us, Bhoomi, Chitra and me, agreed that we would adopt Imtiaz, keep his name intact, and he could keep on going to the mosque with my friend. We would also celebrate Muslim festivals with my friend. We would do this so that Balbir and Aastha could give life to their love. We thought that this was a win-win situation for everyone. Imtiaz in our home would be another ray of light. He would be another whom, like Chitra, we could shower our love.
Having agreed, we stomped into Aastha's house a second time. This time we could both see how miserable they were. Aastha was genuinely missing Balbir and Imtiaz was having guilt feelings being the cause of this breakup. I approached the subject
“Aastha, I have a solution to your problem.”
I then told her about our decision. At first, she was taken aback and said that she could not part with her son, nor could she encumber us with Imtiaz for a lifetime. After the first shock, we told her that Imtiaz’s presence in our household would be our gain and that Chitra would get a good brother. She said she needed time to think it over. I decided to run this by Balbir also. This time I stormed his office at NYU. Pretty soon, we were sitting at a bistro in Greenwich Village. I could tell he was missing Aastha and that he really loved her. He spoke about her in endearing terms, with a sense of loss. Life was barren without her. I then asked him, if such was the case, couldn’t he make an exception to whatever was holding him back. I suggested that his stance may be stemming from life experiences as a child. Maybe his dad was a very staunch Hindu, and he might even be a member of RSS, the militant wing of the Hindu political party, Jan Sangh. I saw that he didn’t want to go there and that he couldn’t tell me the reason for his behavior. To my suggestion, he also was hesitant, like Aastha. He didn’t feel that he was doing the right thing by making Imtiaz an issue. Upon being asked for the reason, he would not give any. He said he would think it over.
Things were at a standstill until one day I got a surprise call from Imtiaz. He said he wanted to meet me. If I could come during a weekday, when his mom was not there, he had something to give me. We agreed on a time and a day, and on that day, we were sitting across each other at the dining table. Imtiaz gave me a letter, which was folded in threes. He asked me to open the letter. Here are the contents.
Dear Balbir Uncle:
I know I am the cause of the rift between you and mom. Young as I am, I have seen the love between you two, how you look at her, how you open the door of the car to let her in, how you show tenderness even in small things. She reciprocates all those feelings. Uncle. You two are meant for each other. You should be together.
I have had the good luck or maybe bad luck to be exposed to both religions, Hindu and Muslim. I find similar teachings in both. In a nutshell, in their core, they teach the same things. I found this in a book at the school library,
"They both aim at leading people to prosperity. They teach rightful beliefs, praiseworthy ethics, and decent deeds, all of which are the pillars of the prosperity of man and human society"
I am willing to go to a boarding school and adopt a Hindu name. After all, my mom is a Hindu. Just take care of my mom. She has seen horrors and much sadness. Once I am out, please give her all the happiness she deserves. Treat her like a princess because, in reality, she is one. Only I know the difficulties she has faced in life. It’s time you restore her sanity and bring her happiness.
I can tell you without hesitation that since you two have broken up, she is not the mom I had. I have caught her sobbing on many occasions. She is too proud to reach out to you, to say that she needs you. Balbir Uncle, please take care of my mother. I beg of you. I am willing to stay at the boarding school forever
I hope you will not disappoint me. There is only one Aastha and she needs you badly
With much love,
…………….. Chaddha
I was dumbfounded, such a sacrifice, such love for his mother, from a child who was only ten years old. I pulled Imtiaz towards me and held him firmly. He broke down and started to cry. In that instant, I knew that I would never send him to a boarding school. He would stay with us. Imtiaz had kept the letter in an envelope. I took the letter and mailed it to Balbir. I was waiting for his call, but none came.
It must have been about a week when Aastha got a call from Balbir around eight PM. He seemed distraught. He asked if she could come to his place right away by cab. Aastha didn’t ask any questions. She told Imtiaz to keep the doors locked and watch TV till the time she returned. Balbir buzzed her in. When she entered the apartment, she was shocked to see Balbir is a state of stupor. He was drinking liquor, had an unsteady gait and bloodshot eyes. He asked if Aastha could hold him.
Aastha held his hand and led him to the sofa. They both sat down and then Aastha pulled him down so that he was lying on her lap. She gently stroked his hair and asked him as to what was troubling him. When he did not reply, she bent down and kissed his forehead and, at the same time stroked his hair and said soothing words. After several minutes, Balbir fell asleep. Aastha was so overwhelmed, that she was weeping and cupping his face with both of her hands. She stayed absolutely still like a statue least she woke up Balbir. It was about three hours when Balbir showed signs of waking up. He was rolling his eyes and showed signs of tension with his facial expressions. Aastha addressed him,
Balbir, my love, what is the matter?”
“Aastha, make these images go away. I can’t stand them.”
“What kind of images?” she asked
“These Muslims who are coming after me with scythes. Some have burning logs. They want to kill or burn me. What can I do? How can I get rid of these images which have increased since the time we broke up. It’s as if they are punishing me for what I am doing to Imtiaz.”
This was a new facet of his life she was just learning about. When he said that such incidents have increased, it must mean he has had them for quite a while. This was obviously tied to some incidents in his life. She decided to find out.
“I know you lived in Pakistan. Did something happen there?
Balbir had an ashen face and seemed like he was trying to say something but could not. Aastha tried to coax him again.
“My love, you know I love you. You are safe in telling me whatever is troubling you.
It seemed that her line of questioning registered. Balbir began the conversation,
“It happened in Lahore.”
“I had figured that that is where it happened?”
“There were riots. Muslims were killing Hindus. We were told by a Muslim friend that a mob would be coming to our house very soon. He had heard this at the Chowk, marketplace They wanted to punish the family of my father, who was a liberal professor at the University, but now dead. There were just me, my mom and my eight-year-old younger brother. Sure enough, they came, with scythes and burning logs.
He stopped at this point, laboring to tell what happened next. Aastha could tell that something dreadful had happened. She tried to dispel his hesitancy.
“Balbir, you can tell me. You have come so far; don’t retreat.”
“I failed my family.”
“How so?”
“There was a neighbor’s Jeep. All three of us were going to escape in it. I was getting a headstart by jumping on to the jeep and was yelling at mom and Dilawar to run faster and come to the jeep.”
At this point, Balbir took another break. Aastha felt she needed to give him time so that he could fully unravel. She kept saying that she loved him and would help him in making peace with these nightmares.
After a few minutes, he narrated the climax
“Mom was trying to run as fast as she could. Dilawar was staying with her, as I should have. Aastha, I failed my family. The angry mob was there in minutes.”
After that Balbir took another long break and finally explained what had happened that night.
“They burnt my mother and brother alive right in front of my eyes. I cannot blame Kartar, the driver of the Jeep, for driving the Jeep away. If we waited, we would have lost our lives also. The open Jeep was pulling away and I was perched on its flatbed watching mom and Dilawar burning. It was a sickening sight. Since then, I have been having these nightmares. They will just not go away.”
Now that he had divulged all, Aastha understood his hatred towards Muslims. But today, she had to attend to Balbir who was sweating profusely. He was drenched. She asked him to get up and go take a shower. She pulled out a clean Kurta pajama, night suit, and made a fresh pot of coffee. She then called Imtiaz and told him to go to bed as she would spend the night with uncle Balbir.
That night was a night of reconciliation. Two souls, whose life story was incomplete by themselves was now powerfully aligned on their onwards journey through life. Balbir knew that while the loss of mom and Dilawar could not be compensated, the arrival of Imtiaz was some compensation. He could shed his mantle of hatred towards Muslims by acknowledging a half Muslim son in his household. It truly was a cathartic moment and the dawn of a new beginning, one shorn of pettiness and, embracing the good in all of us. Balbir spent the night in Aastha’s arms. He slept soundly and she kept a motionless vigil all night long lest Balbir woke up with her movement.
The days following this were therapeutic for Balbir. By recounting to Aastha he had begun his path to healing. However, the wound was so deep that it required more effort. Aastha and Balbir sat in front of Bhoomi and me, going over the events of Lahore. Aastha let Balbir do the talking, though she cut in quite often.
“Daksh and Bhoomi, there was a very traumatic incident in my life when we lived in Lahore. We had been living there since Partition (when India and Pakistan became separate countries). There was harmony between Muslims and Hindus. My Dad was a Professor of Physics at the University. We had Muslim neighbors and friends. After Dad’s passing away, we still were living in relative safety.”
“Well, that seems like it was not a bad situation,” I said
“Things flared up one year due to a Muslim girl marrying a Hindu boy. This is what started the unrest. There were riots and the Muslims took to arms. That’s when this ghastly event happened.”
At this stage, Balbir could not describe the event. So Aastha took over and related the burning of Balbir’s Ma and younger brother. She saw Balbir wince, but Aastha felt that dwelling over the incident would help Balbir face his trauma and that talking in the open would make it easier and not as painful. Balbir took center stage at this point,
“Since that time, I have been getting flashbacks of that day and I get nightmares. Their repetitiveness depends on situations. When I am with Aastha, I am in control. I can handle them.” He further added, “When I am having a nightmare, I wake up and do other things, like read a magazine, watch TV or think about Aastha, and usually the latter. Also, since I have known Aastha, the frequency of nightmares has reduced.”
All of this time we were giving him support by using words of encouragement. Bhoomi said,
“Balbir, that was many years ago. Today you have Aastha by your side. She will help you heal. Just do enjoyable things with her. Sleep in her arms at night. That will help you, don’t you think?”
“It certainly will. I am so lucky to have found her.”
Then what he did was unexpected. He went over to the coffee table where Imtiaz and Chitra were playing a game. He knelt before Imtiaz and cupped his face with both hands and said,
“Son, you will not know this as I have not talked to anyone about what happened when I got your letter. I am not ashamed to tell you that I cried when I first got it. I could see the immense love you have for your mother and even for me. She is not just a princess, as you call her in your letter, but the crown jewel of my life, and you are not far behind.”
Balbir then embraced Imtiaz and hugged him. He said,
“Your letter opened my eyes. A child who can sacrifice his whole being, has to be good, no matter if he is a Hindu or Muslim or a half Hindu/Half Muslim. You are Aastha’s child. Since she is so dear to me, then you are equally dear.” He pulled Imtiaz closer and said,
“Will you be my son? Will you call me Dad?”
By now, all three of us, Aastha, Bhoomi and I, were gathered around the coffee table. Imtiaz lunged forward and embraced Balbir and in a very firm voice said, “Yes, Dad.”
I took advantage of the situation. I nudged Aastha to embrace Balbir, who already had Imtiaz in his arms. The threesome looked like a family.
***
It was several days after Balbir’s meltdown. The party was at Aastha’s place. Packed in that small apartment were Balbir, Bhoomi, Chitra and I, as well as Aastha and Imtiaz. Additionally, there was a Hindu priest who was performing a havan, religious ceremony. Aastha was dressed in a simple white cotton sari with a black and gray border. Imtiaz was wearing a decorative off-white kurta pajama (See attached Aastha’s attire closet-Anarkali suits) and was sitting next to his dad, Balbir. The entire center of the room was cleared, and there were two medium-size dhurries, cotton carpets. It was ground seating and the priest had his portable “havan", an urn in which rituals are done, in the center of the room.
The priest performed the rituals and read the Vedic hymns. The principals for whom the puja, prayer, was held were Balbir, Aastha, and Imtiaz. It took about an hour and the place was blessed adequately, as were the principals. After the puja, the priest left, and another ritual took place. I was asked by Aastha to sit on the principal’s spot. She went to the kitchen and came out with puja thali, prayer plate, and sat in front of me. The others, as well as I, in the room, we're wondering what was happening. I then glimpsed a rakhi, holy decorative band made of cotton which sisters tie on their brother’s wrist, sitting on the plate. Aastha rotated the thali in front of me and then did tika, anointing, on my brow, sprinkled rice and then asked me to present my right arm. By now all in the room knew what was happening. People cheered as Aastha tied on me a rakhi, a simple innocuous thread but with a powerful message. It was an awesome moment; I was truly touched. My no-name relative took the mantle of a loving sister. She was no more just my no-name relative, but Aastha, my sister. I pulled out my wallet and gave her all the money in it.
***
A new chapter had begun in the lives of Aastha and Balbir. It was the commencement of a poem whose stanzas were written lovingly by the two. He placed her on a pedestal sky high, and for her, he was her romantic hero and crown prince all rolled in one. Included was little Imtiaz who was going to go to a concert at Radio City Music Hall with his dad. On Imtiaz’s
request, Chitra was included. Balbir was to raise this child with half Muslim values and religion proving that he was a disciple of Mahatma Gandhi, the Father of the Nation.
Light infiltrating from the forty-watt bulb from the veranda outside illuminated the darkroom in a mellow yellow glow. There was the silence of death, not in an oppressive sort of way, but in the tranquility of a soul passing peacefully in sleep. No long illness, no hospitalization, no needle pokes in the veins. Mr.Chaturvedi had lived his 73 years, leaving behind an orphan, whose relationship to me was a feeling; pious, firm and unwavering with no name that could define it. What was it? I couldn't lay my finger on it. However, this much I knew-it was exalted.
She rang my doorbell with insistence, and when I opened it, I could see she was distraught. When she asked me to follow her to her house next door, I immediately complied. She stood in front of me, a tear slid down one eye and then another one broke loose in the other. Impulsively, I gently wiped her tears with my fingers and then cupped her face in my hands. My heart went out to this forlorn woman, all alone, in grief. I let her cry, allowing her to let it all out. I could feel her loneliness and wished she had a brother to console her. This is when my resolve solidified. I would shield her always
Aastha sat in the rocking chair mutely sobbing, numb at what had befallen her. She
lost her mom a year ago to cancer and now her dad. Her marriage to Iqbal had ended in a divorce. Today, she felt all alone in this nasty world, where she would have to fend for herself and her child. Her dad lied on his cot and one could hardly tell if he was asleep or dead. Earlier that day she went to wake him from his afternoon nap to come to the dining room for dinner. He had slept longer than usual and when after several nudges he did not respond, she knew he had passed away to his heavenly abode.
Night fell. We sat through it, mostly in silence, except when she got up to make tea or rummage through her chest of drawers, while I sat on the sofa. Her son, Imtiaz, was sleeping in the other bedroom. That long night, when unknown tender feelings wafted in the air between us, was the beginning of our no-name bond. It was always there, like the sweet fragrance floating from a shrub of jasmine flowers in evening twilight hours. The next day I called her immediate relatives and made funeral arrangements.
***
Aastha had married Iqbal, a Muslim prince of a small principality, now defunct as the central Indian government had abrogated his princedom through an Act of Parliament. The marriage was opposed by her parents, full-blooded Brahmins, orthodox and unyielding. She was attracted to his artistic mind, which churned out original Urdu and English poetry. In fact, he wrote for her, about her, and delivered his love messages in poems. They were soon married in civil court without parents being present. Things would have worked out except for various reasons, some external and others inherent in their personalities, which were a reflection, of each person’s upbringing.
Aastha was born to a mild, accepting, liberal Hindu household with a strong bond between dad and mom. Iqbal was the son of divorced parents, his upbringing being in the hands of his dad. The reason for his parents’ divorce was the relationship his dad had with a courtesan. So, on the one hand, Aastha had a strong belief in the institution of marriage, in Iqbal’s case, it was not tethered to any ideology. For him its sanctity was transactional. Like his dad, what caused the rift was his affair with a school teacher. They divorced four years into their marriage.
***
A bunch of older kids encircled and tortured Imtiaz. He lost his tiffin box to them and now they were hurling obscenities. They called him a half-breed and a mutt. They threw jabs at him and he was being forced to touch the feet of all the seniors. This enactment was nothing new as this drama was a daily affair. They goaded him out of the dining hall to its back, where there was no chance of a staff member coming. He cowered, felt powerless and hated every moment of his torture. The ringleader, the class bully of the sixth standard, Surendra Bhalla, wreaked havoc on this child of a Muslim father and a Hindu mother. Surendra Bhalla's dad was an RSS member, the militant wing of the Hindu political party, Jan Sangh.
Aastha was the ill-fated mother of Imtiaz Quereshi when she and Iqbal divorced four years into their marriage. She worked as a nurse at the hospital associated with the Bhopal Medical College. She kept her surname of Kaul, after the marriage, but Iqbal prevailed in naming their first-born, after one year of marriage, with a Muslim name. The couple retained their respective religious identities but Imtiaz was Imtiaz Quereshi. She could have changed his name now but felt honor-bound to her ex-husband’s wishes to retain it. Further, she wasn’t sure about Iqbal’s reaction as he still had visitation rights. When she asked Iqbal as to how she should proceed about the bullying and harassment of Imtiaz, he just ignored it. The school authorities didn’t fare any better. They said they would look into the matter, but nothing changed. Surendra Bhalla’s father was a big donor to the school.
***
It was a nice sunny afternoon in February when she decided to surprise Imtiaz by taking him out early from school and eating lunch at Quality's, followed by a matinee movie at the Odeon cinema. Ben Hur with Charlton Heston in the lead role was the talk of the town, especially the chariot race scene. Upon reaching the school she went straight to the principal’s office where she found Imtiaz waiting for her. She had already telephoned the principal’s office that she would take Imtiaz out of school early. She had thought that Imtiaz would be happy about leaving school early, but here it was a different story.
Aastha addressing her son said,
“Beta, son, how was your day today?”
Imtiaz was a little crestfallen and said, “Mom, I don’t have my tiffin box. They took it away.” He further described his agony, “They also slapped me. I did not have a good day at school today.”
Aastha already had a meeting with the principal regarding bullying by Surender Bhalla. She wanted to turn the rickshaw around and go back to school but decided against it. This was a day she had picked to be a fun day for Imtiaz. She didn’t want to mar it by having a shouting match with the principal.
Aastha decided to cheer up her son, said, “Don’t worry, I will buy you a new tiffin box. But guess where we are going today?
“Where mom?”
“We are going to have lunch and then have tutti-frutti ice cream at Quality’s. Won’t that be fun?
“Mom, instead of having tutti-frutti, can I have Cassata ice cream?”
“Of course, this is your day, and this is not all. We are going to the movies”
“Which movie mom? Is it a Hindi or an English one?”
“We are going to see Ben Hur at the Odeon. Would you like that?”
“Oh, mom. I would love that. Kids in class are talking about its chariot race scene. You are so nice, mom. You are the best, ever.”
While this placated Imtiaz for the time being, the bigger story of his bullying at school was becoming a prime concern. It had started six months ago when Imtiaz started to exhibit unusual behavior. Usually a mild-mannered child, he was expressing anger, irritability, and defiance. He often did not sleep well and was not doing as well in his studies. His appetite was also subdued but he had not become a bad eater because she cooked things that he liked. He complained often about tummy aches, not wanting to go to school. With no help from Iqbal, and the principal’s deaf ear she thought of changing schools. Of course, that could not be done in mid-term, she had to wait it out till the time the new school year began.
In the interim, she read pertinent literature to ascertain the best way for Imtiaz to cope. For trivial meanness, she taught him to stay cool and calm and not to react. As examples, “I am not your friend” or “you can’t sit here,” you should just shrug and walk away. If a kid says that you are not smart, then just say, “so what?” In reality, these lessons stayed on as lessons only; Imtiaz found coping as very hard.
Her own treatment by the society of Hindus and Muslims wasn't faring any better. When she and Iqbal were together, they had some friends in both communities, though not many, because, in the beginning, they didn't need much company as they were so in love and loved to spend time with each other. Later, when cracks began to develop in their marriage, they did not have the togetherness to attend gatherings. Now, her circle of friends was very limited. Even among the ones she had, there was no warm and fuzzy relationship. Once during Holi time, a member of the housing society refused Gale Milna, a ritual during festival time when people embrace each other, to her. The cause had to be because she was a divorcee or the divorcee of a Muslim husband, or both.
Imtiaz was exposed to the mosque by his father when he was a toddler from the age of two to four. After the divorce, he went once a month when Iqbal, on one of his visiting days, took him there. On the days when he was with his father, his two aunts were with him. So, Imtiaz had a fair amount of Muslim immersion. He attended the Muslim festivals of Id-ul-Fitr and Bakri-Id at his aunt’s place. For his Hindu heritage, he went to the temple once or twice a month and Astha had a home temple. For community involvement, he had uncles, aunts, and other Hindu friends with whom he shared day to day living and festivals like Holi, Diwali, and Dussehra. But, here too, he felt like an outsider. Aastha's parents, when they were alive, had a tepid relationship with Imtiaz. However, things improved when mother and son came to live with them after the divorce At this juncture, India didn't look very appealing to Aastha. She decided to flee the country, for the USA as visas for nurses were readily available. She applied and very soon she was on a British Airways flight for New York where she had found a job with The New York-Presbyterian Lower Manhattan Hospital.
***
I stopped in my tracks, exulted in the face to face confrontation with my no-name relative, my darling Aastha. It happened on a Monday in the shoebox room of the Temple in Queens, which I visited once in a blue moon on Mondays. Actually, never! The usual day when my wife Bhoomi, my daughter Chitra and I visited the temple was Sunday. Then too, only once a month. This Monday trip was because the two had gone to visit some friends in Fairfax, Virginia and I was left alone in the City. I saved Sunday for football watching, so took the day off on Monday to make the trip to visit the gods. That encounter was incredibly lucky, a million in one chance. But, it was ordained as our lives intermingled after that.
We were both staring at each other with a glint of recognition in our eyes. Precisely at the exact same moment, we spoke
Aastha verbalized first, “You must be Daksh.”
“Oh my God, I must be dreaming.” I said “Aastha what are you doing here? When did you arrive in America?” With that, I propelled myself towards her, placing my palm on her shoulder, repeating my surprise at seeing her.
“Daksh, I have been in the States for the past year,” Aastha replied, “I work for the New York-Presbyterian Lower Manhattan Hospital on William Street as a nurse.” Expressing incredulity, she added “What a chance meeting. I can’t believe that I am seeing you. What a pleasant surprise! Where do you live?”
“I live in Greenwich Village close to my work at Goldman Sachs on West Street. I have lived there since I graduated from Columbia University.”
We were so aghast at this remarkable coincidence, that I overlooked the eight-year-old boy standing next to Aastha. She, too, was oblivious to her surroundings until it occurred to her to introduce her child.
Aastha beckoned her son saying, “Imtiaz, touch your uncle’s feet” In India, this custom is for showing respect to an elder.
When the little boy touched my feet, I was overwhelmed. I took him in a warm embrace and hugged him, saying,
“Imtiaz, you were so young when I last saw you. It’s good to see you again. Let’s not part company this time.”
After that, they exchanged telephone numbers and addresses and agreed that Aastha and Imtiaz would visit us next Sunday. I told Aastha that I lived with my wife, Bhoomi, and a daughter, Chitra, who was four years old
***
Bhoomi cooked all day to host Aastha and Imtiaz. She knew about Aastha and her story as told by me, but, of course, that story was incomplete. Much had happened to mother and son since I had left India. They arrived around six PM. I buzzed them in when they rang our doorbell. Aastha had brought flowers for Bhoomi who placed them in a vase. We all settled in the family room of my two-bedroom apartment.
“Tell me about your life these days,” I asked Aastha
Aastha told me that she worked at this hospital as a nurse and Imtiaz was studying at a public primary school in Manhattan. He was picked up in the morning before her departure for work and was dropped off at the hospital. She had obtained special permission from the HR department for this unusual arrangement. Imtiaz stayed in the conference room and when the room was needed, he shifted to the cafeteria. During this time, he worked on his homework. Later, mother and son took the subway home.
We were all seated comfortably with a fire roaring in the fireplace. It was snowing outside, which we could see from the large windows of the apartment. I offered drinks and we all nibbled on appetizers. Imtiaz and Chitra sat at the dining table and played a game of Snakes and Ladders.
Chitra showed Imtiaz some drawings she had done. One was a likeliness of the Tyrannosaurus Rex. We had taken her to Washington DC, where we visited the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History. From a book purchased there, she did pictures of the carnivores and herbivores. Some other drawings were of Allosaurus, Triceratops, and Brachiosaurus which filled four pages of her sketchbook. They were the fledgling efforts of a four-year-old, not perfect, but still a happy likeliness to the actual pictures. Imtiaz showed amazement, he said,
“Chitra, you are such a great sketcher. I am sure when you grow up you will become an artist.”
“Bhaiyya, elder brother, do you really think so?.”
“Not just think so, but I know so.” Giving her more encouragement he said,
“Besides being an artist, you will become a world-famous painter.”
Soon it was dinner time, and everybody was seated at the dining table. The meal began with:
Tomato soup with croutons
Followed by: Chicken Tikka Masala, Minced Mutton Curry with peas, Slipper/shoe Kebab,
Several veggies cooked in Indian spices
Dumplings made from gram flour in a gram flour gravy
Naans and Basmati Rice
Tomato, cucumber, and onion salad with lemon wedges
And for dessert, carrot cake
The party was a smash hit which led Bhoomi to invite Aastha and Imtiaz to stay overnight. Going home in the snow and subway at a late hour would be tedious. Aastha and Imtiaz could sleep in Chitra’s room and Chitra could bunk with her parents. Having decided to stay, the kids went upstairs to their bedrooms. Imtiaz spent some time in Chitra's room and finally, the two kids went to sleep at 10 PM.
***
There was a lot to catch up with. When I left India, fissures were developing in Aastha’s marriage. Iqbal and she were quarreling and Imtiaz was two years old. I wanted to know what had happened to their marriage. The tale I got was troubling. She told me about her divorce after four years of marriage and the tale of woe thereafter. Her battling with the school authorities over Imtiaz’s bullying, getting no place with it, the change of school, and not having friends either Muslim or Hindu. Her parents, though communicating, were not on the best of terms with them. After her mom’s death, the divorce happened, and that’s when she and Imtiaz moved to her dad’s house. Other than a couple of cousins, she was a pariah in the Hindu community. Daksh and Bhoomi were very sad to hear Aastha’s story.
It was a long night as the three of us sat huddled in front of the toasty fireplace. Bhoomi served a rose’ wine which we sipped.
Aastha broke down and through teary eyes narrated to us the ugliness in her life during the past few years. She could do this as she felt she was finally talking to some people that really cared. Tonight was a continuation of that fateful night when her dad had passed away. It was a solid bonding that took place. While reminiscing about the night, I began to feel that I was Almighty’s chosen one to help Aastha and Imtiaz.
That night, she bared the details of her marriage to Iqbal. Between sobs, she told us that Iqbal was unfaithful and cheated on her, having an affair with an Anglo-Indian girl. She told us how he did not return home for several days in succession saying he traveled out of town on work, and how she found out about the affair, which was when, after an out of town trip, she found a woman’s bra and a teddy in his suitcase.
“Iqbal, you have some ladies’ undergarments in your suitcase. Who do they belong to? They certainly do not belong to me.”
Iqbal ignored her comments feigning that he had not heard them. Aastha repeated her question,
“Where did this bra and teddy come from?”
Iqbal showed irritation at the question.
“How do I know?”
“If you don’t, then who would. They are in your suitcase.”
“Maybe you should ask that question to the hotel’s housekeeping. Maybe by mistake, they put someone else’s garments in my suitcase.”
Before Aastha could follow up with another question, Iqbal left the room. The next few days were caustic. Battle lines were drawn. Aastha wanted an answer and Iqbal was not going to give one, only oblique lies, not the truth. It was at this point that Aastha hired a detective. Results tumbled in within a week. She had pictures of Iqbal and Susan Braganza, a teacher at the local convent school.
What followed were two years of in and out of this illicit affair. He would say he was sorry and promised that he would never see her again, but that promise lasted four months without her and then two months with her, followed by the same pattern several times. It was a time when they reconciled until the reconciliation was breached. She kept hoping that her husband would come home to stay. That did not happen and so their marriage fell apart.
This night was very much like the night of several years ago in Bhopal, but today, there were three people who were connecting in the ether, instead of two. Bhoomi took the initiative and coaxed Aastha to vent. She asked her to let her sorrow surface. Aastha began to cry. These were tears of relief and happiness. She felt fully secure in my house. I was glad for that because those were the feelings I wanted to convey to her, she now had a family and should not feel alone in this world. I just wanted to be true to the resolve I had made to myself many years ago, I would always protect her and that's what I was going to do from now.
I felt glad that Bhoomi took to her as I did. It made my job that much easier. After all the venom was out, Bhoomi took Aastha to the bathroom and dabbed her face with cold water. Aastha was now refreshed and we broached another subject.
“How are things in the US,” Bhoomi asked “You have been here for a year. Have you made any friends?”
“Since Indians are generally well regarded, I do not have any overt discrimination at work.” Recounting some more, she said, “but tribalism does exist. White folks generally stick with each other and they have a superiority complex. So, bigotry exists, but it is not very marked”
Bhoomi liked Aastha’s candid observations. Aastha described some more. She said
“The makeup of the floor is diverse. We have Latinos, Blacks, Eastern Europeans, and South Americans. So, I blend in rather easily and am happy in my work environment.”
After these explanations, she addressed the question of discrimination. “A test of equal treatment will happen when it will be time for a promotion. Will I be superseded by a white employee?” Regarding friends at work, she said, “I do have friends at work, but they are just that, work friends.”
On the subject of being accepted by the Hindu or the Muslim community she had this to say,
“It is a challenge when I try to mix in either the Hindu community or Muslim. Imtiaz’s last name of Quereshi is damnation with the Hindus and my last name of Kaul is not acceptable to the Muslims. As a matter of fact, when attending a party at a Muslim friend’s residence, I was told by a young and then a middle-aged Muslim man, that I should change my name to my son’s, namely Quereshi and that I should embrace Islam. After that, I stopped going to such parties.”
Finally, on the subject of race relations and social interactions, Aastha bared her experiences,
“As a divorcee with a child, who is half Muslim, is an issue at Hindu gatherings. When I dress up nicely in a sari, many men flirt with me. They want to go out with me, but I have declined all of them since I didn’t get their good vibes towards Imtiaz. So Bhoomi, I have a couple of so-so Hindu friends and then work friends at the workplace only.”
Aastha had spoken a lot in one go. Instead of feeling tired, she was rejuvenated. In fact, from the time she met Daksh at the temple in Queens to today, she was on a chariot ride to heaven. She felt emboldened, on-the-basis of a long-ago promise. A promise, that was intangible, an unspoken word, by a human she valued highly. Today she felt, she was standing on solid ground.
At this juncture, Bhoomi took a lottery. How many for ginger tea? Daksh was the largest affirmative voice. While Daksh turned on the TV, the two girls went to the kitchen and were busy there. My feelings at this point were soaring. I never imagined that life’s surprises would land my no-name relative, Aastha, at my doorstep. I knew God had given me a task, which was to right the capsized canoe of Aastha and Imtiaz. I made a solemn promise to myself, that Bhoomi and I would find a suitable husband for Aastha and a father for Imtiaz. In fact, I knew just the man who could fill these britches.
After the tea break at night, they went to bed. The morning saw the adults getting up before the children. To my question of Is Imtiaz well-adjusted at his school, Aastha said,
“Imtiaz’s story is quite a bit more checkered than mine. He has faced discrimination both in overt and subtle ways. Examples of overt are racist comments and taunts at his being a Muslim. He doesn't know quite how to react. So, he started staying away from all the kids. Here too, like in India, a group of kids regularly forced him to give them his lunch. However, unlike India, the principal put an end to this nightmare. The subtle discrimination is in the form of just ignoring him and not including him in friendly activities. However, all in all, he is not disturbed and pays attention to his studies. He is doing well in class.”
Aastha then shed some light on her efforts to expose Imtiaz to Muslim culture and religion,
“I have attempted to keep his Muslim heritage alive. His dad would take him to the mosque fairly-frequently. I tried to emulate that by taking him for Friday prayers at the Masjid in Brooklyn. The genders are segregated, so he could not come with me. In fact, I did not feel like going in, so I sent him in with an official. I did not feel comfortable as there were no windows and there were surveillance cameras all around. The entry room was small and lower than the standard height. It was a creepy place and it felt like someone was watching me. I did not go there again.”
She then recounted her experience at another mosque,
“After that, I googled for mosques in New York City and found one on the NYU campus. My experience there was much better. It is located on one floor of a multilevel building. It has windows that are larger and go from the floor to the ceiling. The congregation is primarily made up of students and faculty of NYU as well as other educated Muslims. It seemed like it was a liberal group. Here also, I just did not feel like going in. Sending Imtiaz with officials seemed somewhat risky. The result is that we have not been going to a mosque at all. Imtiaz has been very sporting. He says it is not necessary to go. But I do know, that since he has gone from childhood, he would like to participate. As far as immersion with the community is concerned, I am a failure there also. Many gatherings have quite a few single men but I am afraid of them.”
After this first meeting, Aastha and Imtiaz started to meet us fairly frequently. In fact, since Aastha did not have a car, all of us would load up in my Beamer to go to the temple in Queens. Both, mom and son, had begun to show signs of returning self-confidence, the kind of confidence that had existed during the good years of Aastha’s marriage to Iqbal. I then made arrangements for Imtiaz to go to the mosque with a Muslim friend at work. Things were looking up for them.
***
Before meeting me, going to the temple in Queens was quite a long ride on the subway. When she did not feel like traveling that far she started to visit the Sikh Gurudwara of Manhattan on 30th St. Kirtan, a religious service was held twice a month on the second and fourth Tuesday. The times were from 7 to 10 PM. They arrived there at seven, stayed for an hour, ate at the “langar,” a free restaurant offered by the Gurdwara, and headed back for home. Here the congregation was mixed, men and women standing, side-by-side. She felt safe here. Of course, she dressed conservatively so as not to attract attention.
Here she noticed a handsome Punjabi man who surreptitiously glanced at her. He would generally arrive a little after seven and move up to the row where she was standing. Although not overt, she could tell he was interested in her. She enjoyed this approval and would intermittently watch him from the corner of her eye. In fact, once in the shoebox room, he shyly said hi. She responded back with a hi. She liked his demeanor, being low-key. As weeks passed, she began to enjoy her evenings at the Gurdwara. Their acquaintance had germinated from a hi to know each other’s names. She found out that his name was Balbir Chadha and he was an assistant professor of economics at NYU. He was probably about thirty years old. She introduced Imtiaz, and he did not ask the reason for a Muslim name. He asked if she would like to go out to dinner. She just politely declined. She was afraid of being hurt since she did not know how he viewed Imtiaz.
Now, feeling a little sure about herself, she harbored a desire to go out with him. While he was not very friendly with Imtiaz, he was cordial enough. When Aastha met us the next time, she talked with Bhoomi about Balbir. That night Bhoomi told me. I was overjoyed. This is what I wanted to do for her, but she was doing it herself. Bhoomi and I decided that we should invite Balbir to dinner. We ran this by Aastha. Bhoomi could tell that Aastha was delirious. She really did like the guy. So next time when she met him, she asked if he would like to come to dinner at her brother’s place. His obvious answer was yes and so, I gave Balbir a call.
“Hello, my name is Daksh, am I talking to Balbir.”
“Yes, Daksh. I expected a call from you. Aastha told me about her long-lost friend from India, the one who is like a brother.”
“Yes Balbir, our story begins in Bhopal. She was a neighbor, and a very good one at that, living in an adjacent house. My trips to her home were memorable. She always greeted me with a smile, was a gracious hostess, and she fed me well. Her Dum aaloo, a potato dish, was mouth-watering.”
“I am jealous, but not for long. I plan to see more of her.”
“ That’s a splendid idea. I will let you in on a secret. She loves poetry and we used to discuss Chaucer, Wadsworth, and Shelley. During her High School years, she went to a convent school run by nuns from Ireland. English Literature was one of her subjects, as was mine. She helped me in my class assignment of critiquing Macbeth and Mayor of Casterbridge.
“ I never knew about this aspect of her life. While I was not an English Litt student, I did like reading English novels. You’ve given me a new sphere in which we could converse. I like French novelists, Alexander Dumas and Victor Hugo”
“Balbir, what if we continue this discussion at my place this Saturday. Would you have the time to spend an afternoon and then dinner at our place. I will invite Aastha and Imtiaz also.”
“Sure Daksh. I am so looking forward to meeting you and your family. I will come.”
Daksh gave Balbir his address.
***
Both Bhoomi and I were very excited. Bhoomi went to an exclusive Indian boutique on Fifth Avenue and bought for Aastha a cute Salwar Kameez, tunic/pants, Pakistani style (See attached Exhibit on Salwar Kameez-Pakistani) in a hunter green tunic with allover embroidery in white thread, and an eight-inch embroidered border and a sage color palazzo pant with ditzy embroidery. The tunic had three-quarter length sleeves with embroidered edges and the dupatta---extra length long scarf---was in one color of sage matching the pants color. The outfit looked smashing. She wore tear-drop earrings made of gold and a bindi---a decorative dot on the forehead---in Hunter Green. And finally, high heels in Hunter Green. Bhoomi had gotten all Aastha’s measurements and she was to dress up when she got to our place. Bhoomi also got an outfit for Imtiaz.
The auspicious day arrived. Bhoomi took pleasure in dressing up Aastha. Aastha was naturally pretty, but with the outfit and accessories, she looked stunning. Much as Aastha enjoyed this attention, Bhoomi enjoyed giving it. Bhoomi treated Aastha like an elder sister There was a sense of delight in the air. Once again, Bhoomi cooked a sumptuous meal, waiting for the arrival of the guest. Soon the doorbell rang and I buzzed Balbir in. He was dressed sharply in gray pants and a navy-blue double-breasted blazer with a matching tie in burgundy. Aastha was standing behind me to greet Balbir. Balbir had two boxes in a bag. I invited Balbir in and soon we were all seated except for Bhoomi, who after pleasantries went back into the kitchen.
Balbir took out two jewelry boxes and handed them to Aastha. Aastha protested by saying that this was not necessary. She opened the first box and was astonished. It contained a rather big oval diamond solitaire necklace. It looked impressive. She thanked him profusely and began to open the next box. Seated on a velvet pad were a pair of diamond stud earrings. The set looked very expensive. Aastha said they were simply gorgeous and praiseworthy, but that she could not accept them. Balbir quipped in jest,
“This jewelry is not prettier than the person who’s going to wear it. Please accept this as a token of my admiration for you. It will make me happy.”
Aastha demurred, but then I chimed in and said,
“Aastha, take it. Judging Balbir, you are going to get many more in the future. He is giving it with love. Respect that.”
Aastha said nothing, but went over to Balbir, gave him the necklace, knelt parallel to him, facing away, she moved her hair in the back to one side for him to place the jewelry on her neck. When Balbir was done, Aastha went to the bathroom and put on the studs and then came out wowing them. She thanked Balbir profusely. Balbir then took out a Lego set of Marvel Spider Fighters and gave it to Imtiaz. Aastha asked her son to thank the uncle.
Bhoomi came out of the kitchen and I introduced Chitra to Balbir. After a little chit chat, Bhoomi excused herself and went back into the kitchen. I too, after spending some time talking to Balbir, made my way into the kitchen. The kids had gone upstairs to play. Left in the family room were Aastha and Balbir. Balbir broke the silence.
“Your choice of clothing is excellent. It’s very becoming you.”
“The choice is Bhoomi didi’s, elder sister. She bought it for me.” Playing with the diamond necklace, she praised its unique setting. She absolutely loved the design
These moments seemed precious on both sides. Balbir could not help keeping his eyes on her. He was transfixed, in a trance. She too was connecting in a big way. Now, looking at him more closely, she found him to be very handsome.
“How long have you lived in New York?” asked Aastha “Where did you do your studies?”
“I came to New York three years ago when I got the job at NYU. Prior to that, I lived in London, finishing my Ph.D. from the London School of Economics.”
“That is very impressive. Did you have to study extra hard?”
“Studying was the easy part. Writing the dissertation or thesis was tricky. The challenge was to come up with an original postulation.”
“You are so intelligent. What is postulation?”
“Postulation means a theory or a hypothesis.”
One could tell that the two were enjoying each other’s company. Aastha had a cry that was screaming to be heard. The events which led to the divorce with Iqbal were a severe jolt. She needed a shoulder to lean on and Balbir’s seemed to be plenty strong and wide. Balbir, on the other hand, found Aastha very desirable. Now the couple was in a groove and talking animatedly. Many topics were covered.
“Aastha, do you have an interest in English Literature,” asked Balbir
“Yes, but how did you know.”
“Your leaker friend told me.”
“You mean Daksh.”
“The very same. While you were going to an English convent, I was studying at a Hindi medium school. But my dad was a Professor of Physics, he was very into all kinds of reading, including English prose. I learned from him and I am partial to French writers, Hugo and Dumas.”
“That’s good. We have one more thing in common.”
“What is the other one.”
“Spending time with each other.”
They seemed like two lovers.
After giving the couple a decent amount of time, I decided to come back to the family room. I asked,
“Are you two getting to know each other? Balbir. what are you teaching at NYU? I overheard you say that you got your Ph.D. from the London School of Economics.”
“Yes, I am a London School of Economics alum and I teach macroeconomics and operations research at NYU.”
“Great credentials,” I praised him and said, “Your alma mater is a revered institution. I had a classmate from your school when I was studying for my MBA at Columbia University. He was quite a chap, His name was Kartar Singh and he was a Sikh.
“I, too, am a Sikh, a Mona Sardar,” a Sikh without a turban and long hair.
Bhoomi, in the meanwhile, had fed the kids who moved to the family room and were watching TV. She asked everyone to come to the dining table. She had gone all out to cook a lavish meal. All the culinary delights of a north Indian dinner. Her cooking prowess was on display as everybody was taking seconds. After dinner, the adults moved to the family room and the kids went up to sleep. Bhoomi had joined the group. She addressed Balbir
“May I call you Balbir Bhaiyya, elder brother?”
“Of course, and may I call you Bhoomi?”
“By, all means.”
“Bhoomi, you are so selfless and such a great cook. Aastha and I owe you a great debt of gratitude. That is if Aastha would let me speak for the both of us.”
Aastha spoke up, “certainly Balbir.”
Changing the subject Balbir said, “Bhoomi, your initiative is making our connection possible. I haven’t been as happy for a long time. Aastha is such a positive force in my life already.
Now addressing Aastha, Bhoomi said, “Aastha didi, how do you feel?
Aastha responded, “Bhoomi, life is a jigsaw puzzle. You never know how and when all the pieces will fit. It looks like our time has come.”
The night took a pleasant turn. The conversation circled around several topics, but the undercurrent was the overall bonding of two souls. They had hit it off and were ready for the next step. Balbir took the initiative and asked Bhoomi if he could take Aastha out for dinner next Saturday. Bhoomi tried to pull his leg in jest
“You can, but there will be a price.”
Balbir was feeling elated and said, “Bhoomi, name your price. I am willing to pay any amount.”
Bhoomi laid down her conditions, “Just remember what you are saying. You have to keep my Aastha didi happy for the rest of her life. Do you think you can do that?”
Balbir said promptly, “Without question. She is going to be the apple of my eye. I dote on her.”
At the stroke of midnight, the party ended. Aastha and Balbir had a dinner date for next Saturday.
***
The floor turned on its axis and through the transparent walls of the revolving restaurant, guests could get a panoramic view of Manhattan. The scene was a kaleidoscope of dazzling lights coming from the areas’ sky rise buildings, particularly Times Square. It was midtown’s grandeur. Aastha and Balbir glided to the music, in each other’s arms, to the View Restaurant’s orchestra, located on the covered terrace of The Marriott Marquis in Manhattan.
Balbir had asked the maître de to dim the lights above their table, so as to simulate a candlelight ambiance. Aastha was dressed in a navy blue silk sari with edged embroidery in silver thread. (See Exhibit on Aastha’s attire closet Sarees). She was wearing the diamond necklace and earrings he had given her. Her silver-grey blouse swelled with her ample breasts and became the target of Balbir’s sly roving eyes.
Aastha looked supremely seductive but his thoughts flashbacked to the episode in Lahore. Pakistan. Will the mantle of her love cover his Lahore bruise? He so desperately wanted to forget that episode. As he was trying to settle this issue, he realized that he was required to come back to earth. Sitting across was Aastha, an elixir that could change his life. She could take him in her fold and protect him from unwanted encroachments.
All this happened in a flash and soon he was looking into Aastha’s sparkling eyes. There were two things that he found supremely intoxicating about a woman, sparkling eyes and the softness and roundness of exposed shoulders.
“Aastha, you have the most sparkling eyes I have ever seen.” Balbir praised her, “ I can keep looking into them through eternity.”
He took a breath and then said, “The second thing that excites me about a woman I can tell you when I see you in a sundress.”
“Thanks for the compliment. But what will you judge when I wear a sundress?”
“You will have to be patient. I will tell you in due course when the event
happens, so you better hurry up.”
The proximity of the dance and the touching of her bare midriff should have excited his libido. But, a strange phenomenon was happening. He felt tranquil with a cooling sensation. As if the relationship was more than a fling. Perhaps it had moorings of permanency. He rejoiced with these thoughts. He knew that at appropriate times, raunchiness would descend. Aastha was, for the lack of a better word, tempting. He would enjoy making love to her.
The following days were a whirlwind tour studded with passionate moments. They began to gel and a good amount of physicality emerged. There was the first kiss which happened on a horse and carriage ride in Central Park. Balbir had called up the reservation desk and booked a prearranged carriage. It was going to cost him $50 for an hour and flowers and chocolates were an extra $10. He went for the whole package.
On a Sunday they dropped off Imtiaz at Bhoomi’s place and then headed towards the park. After the ride, they would pick up Imtiaz and go for lunch. Aastha had made a feeble attempt to include Imtiaz in the ride, but Balbir was hesitant. So, just the two of them went. Upon arrival, they parked the car in the garage reserved for riders. It was adjacent to the point where the ride began. Lined up along Central Park South, between fifth and sixth avenues, were handsome horses and their carriages. The captain led them to one. Awaiting Aastha were her roses and chocolate. She was delighted, hugged Balbir and rewarded him with a passionate kiss. This signaled that more intimacy would happen for the couple in the future. For today, her lips were his nectar, which he drank with every press of their lips.
Their romantic ride began. The horses trotted and took them to Central Park’s most popular attractions, the Wollman Rink, the Pond, the Central Park Zoo, Sheep Meadow and the Dakota, home of the former Beatle John Lennon. Resting her head lovingly on Balbir’s shoulder, she made clear that her submission was total, that she really trusted this man and was eager to love him. It was an act of submission. She navigated a major part of this one hour journey resting on his shoulder and holding hands. She decided that she would do this, not just for this journey but through the entire journey of their life. She found no fault in Balbir,
Finally, the day came when Aastha invited Balbir to her apartment for dinner. It was the Sunday after the Central Park ride. She felt on top of the world and had an exhaustive South Indian menu for Balbir. She wanted to do something special, hence, the rollout of Rava Masala Dosa, Dal Vada, and Idli -Sambhar generally dishes not offered by North Indian hostesses. She had taken the day off from work. Bringing her boombox into the kitchen, she inserted a cassette of Lata Mangeshkar and with this background music, began to cook
Description of South Indian dishes
-Dosa-type of pancake made from a fermented batter. A crepe-like consistency.
-Rava Idli-steamed cake of rice
-Dal Vada-deep fried patties usually made of lentils
-Sambhar-lentil based vegetable chowder
-Rasam-soup prepared with tamarind or tomato juice with added spices and groundnuts and served chilled. It is laborious to make, taking twenty-four hours.
-Payasam-dessert consisting of rice/vermicelli boiled in milk/coconut milk flavored with cardamom containing groundnuts.
She served these dishes in courses spaced over the entire evening. Beginning with Rasam followed with the other two South Indian appetizers, Rava Idli and Dal Vada to be dipped in Sambhar; and Samosas which she bought from Bombay Foods & Spices. For the entree, was Dosa, which she served teeming hot, fresh from the griddle. For this dish, she had two kinds of Chutneys; coconut and tamarind. For dessert, she served the favorite of South Indian offerings, Payasam. This she served in the latter part of the evening.
When Balbir rang her doorbell, her heart was aflutter. She was going to meet him in a confined space, all alone for the first time. She did not know what was going to happen that night.
So, with trepidation and excitement, she opened the door. The decorative kurta/pajama suit (See Aastha's attire closet-Anarkali Suits) on Balbir looked regal. She herself had chosen a cream-colored cotton sari with a broad border in red and gold (See Aastha’s attire closet-saris).
Balbir had a bouquet of tiger lilies and red roses in a glass vase, a tasteful selection. He came in and gave the vase to Aastha who deposited the flowers in the center of the coffee table. He then turned and gave Aastha a gentle embrace. Aastha enjoyed this beginning. Balbir said hi to Imtiaz, standing behind his mother. It was a rather small one-bedroom apartment in which there was a dining table, a sofa, a sofa chair, a coffee table, and two steel folding chairs. All of this was in one room. She had a dining cum family room. Balbir sat down on the sofa and Aastha on the chair. Aastha began the conversation,
“Balbir, thank you for the ride at Central Park. It will be a memorable memory for me. I thoroughly enjoyed it. You are so caring.”
“Anything for you, my love. You are so special.”
“You make me special because you yourself are very special.”
After some small conversation, Aastha said she had to attend to the kitchen. She could put on some music and asked if Balbir would prefer the sitar virtuoso Ravi Shankar or the Santoor, musical instrument, exponent Shiv Kumar Sharma. Balbir had heard of Shiv Kumar Sharma, but never listened to any of his music. So, he opted for the latter. Aastha slid the right cassette in the player and asked Imtiaz to show uncle some of the essays he had gotten an A on in school. Having set the mood, she stepped into the kitchen. In a few minutes, she brought out the chilled Rasam in a stainless-steel glass. She gave one to each and took one for herself and sat down on the chair. Balbir looked at some of the work Imtiaz did and since it was stellar he praised the child. After some more chitchat she stepped back into the kitchen, leaving Imtiaz with Balbir.
She brought out in a stainless-steel thali, a plate, some appetizers, Idli and Dal Vada with Sambhar in a small stainless-steel cup. She asked the two to come to the dining table and that is where she set the thalis. She asked them to begin eating. She went back to the kitchen to make some hot Rava Dosas on the griddle. Finally, when she had served the two, and once they had settled back on the sofa, she brought out a thali for herself and sat down on the sofa chair. Imtiaz wanted to watch TV, so she turned off the music and sat next to Balbir on the sofa. Balbir praised her cooking all along and his reward to Aastha was a gentle kiss to her brow.
There is something about a cotton sari. It’s crisp, fresh and very enticing. Imtiaz had gone to bed and the two were left in the family room. Balbir talked about his days in London and she, of Bhopal, where she spent the majority of her young life, Both were hankering for love. He sat holding her hands but did not want to make a move. His senior friends at the University taught him that the girl gives her signal in some token way and then he was to take over. Aastha finally made her move. She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheeks. This was the clue he expected. He turned to face her, kissed her on the lips and at the same time smoothly caressed the contours of her breasts over the cotton blouse and eventually without the blouse. That night, they made love for the first time on the sofa.
After the lovemaking, they sat at the dinner table. Aastha served Payasam, the desert and then coffee. There was a sense of victory, an ebullience, spirits floating on air. They stayed together for a considerable length of time, not willing to give up that day. Balbir informed her about Hindi movies on Sunday at Teacher’s College Auditorium of Columbia University on W119th Street. Next week’s movie was Dostana starring Amitabh Bachchan, Shatrughan Sinha, and Zeenat Aman. It was the story of two friends falling in love with the same girl. They decided to go.
***
The next Sunday her beau was standing dressed in a Ralph Lauren maroon polo and khaki Dockers. He carried his attire, on a six-foot frame, quite well. Unlike other days, she was dressed in a yellow/pumpkin Anarkali suit (See attached Aastha’s attire closet-Anarkali suit). She had bought an uplifting bra and was looking enticing. Balbir parked the car on the street and they walked into the auditorium. Balbir knew the owner, Mr. Vyas who lived in a penthouse on Madison Avenue. Apparently, the movie business was lucrative enough for him to afford such a swanky pad. Once again, she wanted Imtiaz to join them, but he did not. Aastha was a little hurt but did not press the issue. The twosome went and afterward, they dined at a Mexican restaurant. By the time Aastha reached home, it was midnight. The babysitter told her that Imtiaz missed her. He kept on asking for his mom.
The two had transitioned from friends to lovers. However, Balbir’s relationship with Imtiaz was a big question mark. Balbir was cordial but showed no emotion, no special bonding. He never embraced Imtiaz or showed any warmth towards him. Imtiaz still went to a mosque once a month with Daksh’s friend from work. Balbir had not even asked her about the mystery of the Muslim name for Imtiaz. She felt guilty about the movie night and subsequent dinner. Mulling over these troubling thoughts, she faced Balbir at The View where the lights were dimmed at their table.
“Aastha, I have to ask you something, but I am nervous,” Balbir said in a quivering voice.
“Don’t be. I am all ears. What do you have to say?”
Balbir ventured a suggestion, ”Let’s order some wine. Maybe, that will give me some courage.”
Aastha was intrigued but followed along. He ordered a fancy expensive champagne Piper Heidsieck Brut, a vintage Rare from France. They continued their conversation for a few minutes, kept sipping champagne, and then, Bulbar pulled out something from his coat pocket. It looked like a jewelry box. He opened the box and Aastha was gazing at a beautiful, humongous diamond ring. He held her hand and said,
“Nothing will give me more pleasure than having you for my wife.”
With that, he came down on her side of the booth and knelt in front of her and said,
“Aastha, will you marry me?
Blood rushed to Aastha’s head and there was a sudden surge of happy incredulity. She could barely cut muster but said in a weak voice,
“My love, you know I will, any day of the week.” She was overwhelmed.
Balbir got up and sat on her side of the booth, alongside her. He then gently picked up her hand and pushed the ring firmly on her finger. He gathered Aastha in a close embrace and said,
“Darling you have dressed so appropriately. This plum sari (See Aastha's attire closet-Sarees) is most becoming of all that you have worn in front of me. Let this be the color of our love.
With that, he gave her a big squeeze, as she melted in his arms.
Again, they were sitting across each other on their respective sides. Aastha was finding Balbir’s attitude towards Imtiaz questionable. This had been on her mind today. She asked Balbir about Imtiaz.
“What will you do about Imtiaz? Will you adopt him?”
“Aastha I have been thinking about that. Why does he have a Muslim name?”
“ Because his dad is Iqbal Quereshi. He is a Muslim and he named Imtiaz. In fact, he used to take Imtiaz to the mosque regularly. I used to take him to the temple. Iqbal accompanied us to the temple, while I did not go to the mosque.”
“Aastha, this will be a problem. I have looked into boarding schools and there are some very good ones in Manhattan. We can send him there and he can continue his education. We will visit him regularly.”
It was like a lightning bolt. Aastha did not expect this. At worst, she thought that she would have to drop her desire to take him to a mosque regularly. Maybe, when Balbir adopted Imtiaz, they could get a Hindu name for him. She never thought of this option. There was a deathly silence as both sides seemed to be facing alternatives that they could not follow. That evening turned into a bittersweet one. A rock on her finger and a rock on her heart. Her elation turned sour and the night became a disaster. They went through the motions of eating and turned in at an early hour.
***
Balbir tried to call her a couple of times but she did not pick up the phone. Balbir stopped calling. When other Hindu boys were attracted to her, she did not encourage them since they did not warm up to Imtiaz. She did not expect this reaction from Balbir. She was in a quandary. What should she do next, if anything? Balbir was fighting his own demons. The incident at Lahore was looming large. Somehow, both did not feel like approaching me or Bhoomi. Many days passed since we had talked or seen the two. Bhoomi called Aastha, but she did not pick up the phone. One Saturday morning, we decided to make a visit to her place. She opened the door and was surprised to see us. Bhoomi had picked up some sweets and some Indian books for Imtiaz. She handed those to Aastha and soon we were sitting on the sofa. Bhoomi addressed her,
“Aastha how come you are not picking up your phone. We tried calling Balbir but he said that we should talk to you. What is happening between the two of you?”
At first, Aastha demurred, but then told us the whole story. She also added that there could be no relationship without Imtiaz and that, his welfare was paramount. I was a little surprised, as I did not expect Balbir to be so narrowminded. But some part of me understood. Men can often be very parochial. I promised that I would talk to Balbir over lunch at Bombay Palace.
I called up Balbir, but when he found out what I was going to meet him about, he was not willing to meet. Bhoomi and I felt at an impasse. We had to devise some other method. Time kept moving and soon it was three months after the engagement. We talked about the situation with each other and came up with this solution. The three of us, Bhoomi, Chitra and me, agreed that we would adopt Imtiaz, keep his name intact, and he could keep on going to the mosque with my friend. We would also celebrate Muslim festivals with my friend. We would do this so that Balbir and Aastha could give life to their love. We thought that this was a win-win situation for everyone. Imtiaz in our home would be another ray of light. He would be another whom, like Chitra, we could shower our love.
Having agreed, we stomped into Aastha's house a second time. This time we could both see how miserable they were. Aastha was genuinely missing Balbir and Imtiaz was having guilt feelings being the cause of this breakup. I approached the subject
“Aastha, I have a solution to your problem.”
I then told her about our decision. At first, she was taken aback and said that she could not part with her son, nor could she encumber us with Imtiaz for a lifetime. After the first shock, we told her that Imtiaz’s presence in our household would be our gain and that Chitra would get a good brother. She said she needed time to think it over. I decided to run this by Balbir also. This time I stormed his office at NYU. Pretty soon, we were sitting at a bistro in Greenwich Village. I could tell he was missing Aastha and that he really loved her. He spoke about her in endearing terms, with a sense of loss. Life was barren without her. I then asked him, if such was the case, couldn’t he make an exception to whatever was holding him back. I suggested that his stance may be stemming from life experiences as a child. Maybe his dad was a very staunch Hindu, and he might even be a member of RSS, the militant wing of the Hindu political party, Jan Sangh. I saw that he didn’t want to go there and that he couldn’t tell me the reason for his behavior. To my suggestion, he also was hesitant, like Aastha. He didn’t feel that he was doing the right thing by making Imtiaz an issue. Upon being asked for the reason, he would not give any. He said he would think it over.
Things were at a standstill until one day I got a surprise call from Imtiaz. He said he wanted to meet me. If I could come during a weekday, when his mom was not there, he had something to give me. We agreed on a time and a day, and on that day, we were sitting across each other at the dining table. Imtiaz gave me a letter, which was folded in threes. He asked me to open the letter. Here are the contents.
Dear Balbir Uncle:
I know I am the cause of the rift between you and mom. Young as I am, I have seen the love between you two, how you look at her, how you open the door of the car to let her in, how you show tenderness even in small things. She reciprocates all those feelings. Uncle. You two are meant for each other. You should be together.
I have had the good luck or maybe bad luck to be exposed to both religions, Hindu and Muslim. I find similar teachings in both. In a nutshell, in their core, they teach the same things. I found this in a book at the school library,
"They both aim at leading people to prosperity. They teach rightful beliefs, praiseworthy ethics, and decent deeds, all of which are the pillars of the prosperity of man and human society"
I am willing to go to a boarding school and adopt a Hindu name. After all, my mom is a Hindu. Just take care of my mom. She has seen horrors and much sadness. Once I am out, please give her all the happiness she deserves. Treat her like a princess because, in reality, she is one. Only I know the difficulties she has faced in life. It’s time you restore her sanity and bring her happiness.
I can tell you without hesitation that since you two have broken up, she is not the mom I had. I have caught her sobbing on many occasions. She is too proud to reach out to you, to say that she needs you. Balbir Uncle, please take care of my mother. I beg of you. I am willing to stay at the boarding school forever
I hope you will not disappoint me. There is only one Aastha and she needs you badly
With much love,
…………….. Chaddha
I was dumbfounded, such a sacrifice, such love for his mother, from a child who was only ten years old. I pulled Imtiaz towards me and held him firmly. He broke down and started to cry. In that instant, I knew that I would never send him to a boarding school. He would stay with us. Imtiaz had kept the letter in an envelope. I took the letter and mailed it to Balbir. I was waiting for his call, but none came.
It must have been about a week when Aastha got a call from Balbir around eight PM. He seemed distraught. He asked if she could come to his place right away by cab. Aastha didn’t ask any questions. She told Imtiaz to keep the doors locked and watch TV till the time she returned. Balbir buzzed her in. When she entered the apartment, she was shocked to see Balbir is a state of stupor. He was drinking liquor, had an unsteady gait and bloodshot eyes. He asked if Aastha could hold him.
Aastha held his hand and led him to the sofa. They both sat down and then Aastha pulled him down so that he was lying on her lap. She gently stroked his hair and asked him as to what was troubling him. When he did not reply, she bent down and kissed his forehead and, at the same time stroked his hair and said soothing words. After several minutes, Balbir fell asleep. Aastha was so overwhelmed, that she was weeping and cupping his face with both of her hands. She stayed absolutely still like a statue least she woke up Balbir. It was about three hours when Balbir showed signs of waking up. He was rolling his eyes and showed signs of tension with his facial expressions. Aastha addressed him,
Balbir, my love, what is the matter?”
“Aastha, make these images go away. I can’t stand them.”
“What kind of images?” she asked
“These Muslims who are coming after me with scythes. Some have burning logs. They want to kill or burn me. What can I do? How can I get rid of these images which have increased since the time we broke up. It’s as if they are punishing me for what I am doing to Imtiaz.”
This was a new facet of his life she was just learning about. When he said that such incidents have increased, it must mean he has had them for quite a while. This was obviously tied to some incidents in his life. She decided to find out.
“I know you lived in Pakistan. Did something happen there?
Balbir had an ashen face and seemed like he was trying to say something but could not. Aastha tried to coax him again.
“My love, you know I love you. You are safe in telling me whatever is troubling you.
It seemed that her line of questioning registered. Balbir began the conversation,
“It happened in Lahore.”
“I had figured that that is where it happened?”
“There were riots. Muslims were killing Hindus. We were told by a Muslim friend that a mob would be coming to our house very soon. He had heard this at the Chowk, marketplace They wanted to punish the family of my father, who was a liberal professor at the University, but now dead. There were just me, my mom and my eight-year-old younger brother. Sure enough, they came, with scythes and burning logs.
He stopped at this point, laboring to tell what happened next. Aastha could tell that something dreadful had happened. She tried to dispel his hesitancy.
“Balbir, you can tell me. You have come so far; don’t retreat.”
“I failed my family.”
“How so?”
“There was a neighbor’s Jeep. All three of us were going to escape in it. I was getting a headstart by jumping on to the jeep and was yelling at mom and Dilawar to run faster and come to the jeep.”
At this point, Balbir took another break. Aastha felt she needed to give him time so that he could fully unravel. She kept saying that she loved him and would help him in making peace with these nightmares.
After a few minutes, he narrated the climax
“Mom was trying to run as fast as she could. Dilawar was staying with her, as I should have. Aastha, I failed my family. The angry mob was there in minutes.”
After that Balbir took another long break and finally explained what had happened that night.
“They burnt my mother and brother alive right in front of my eyes. I cannot blame Kartar, the driver of the Jeep, for driving the Jeep away. If we waited, we would have lost our lives also. The open Jeep was pulling away and I was perched on its flatbed watching mom and Dilawar burning. It was a sickening sight. Since then, I have been having these nightmares. They will just not go away.”
Now that he had divulged all, Aastha understood his hatred towards Muslims. But today, she had to attend to Balbir who was sweating profusely. He was drenched. She asked him to get up and go take a shower. She pulled out a clean Kurta pajama, night suit, and made a fresh pot of coffee. She then called Imtiaz and told him to go to bed as she would spend the night with uncle Balbir.
That night was a night of reconciliation. Two souls, whose life story was incomplete by themselves was now powerfully aligned on their onwards journey through life. Balbir knew that while the loss of mom and Dilawar could not be compensated, the arrival of Imtiaz was some compensation. He could shed his mantle of hatred towards Muslims by acknowledging a half Muslim son in his household. It truly was a cathartic moment and the dawn of a new beginning, one shorn of pettiness and, embracing the good in all of us. Balbir spent the night in Aastha’s arms. He slept soundly and she kept a motionless vigil all night long lest Balbir woke up with her movement.
The days following this were therapeutic for Balbir. By recounting to Aastha he had begun his path to healing. However, the wound was so deep that it required more effort. Aastha and Balbir sat in front of Bhoomi and me, going over the events of Lahore. Aastha let Balbir do the talking, though she cut in quite often.
“Daksh and Bhoomi, there was a very traumatic incident in my life when we lived in Lahore. We had been living there since Partition (when India and Pakistan became separate countries). There was harmony between Muslims and Hindus. My Dad was a Professor of Physics at the University. We had Muslim neighbors and friends. After Dad’s passing away, we still were living in relative safety.”
“Well, that seems like it was not a bad situation,” I said
“Things flared up one year due to a Muslim girl marrying a Hindu boy. This is what started the unrest. There were riots and the Muslims took to arms. That’s when this ghastly event happened.”
At this stage, Balbir could not describe the event. So Aastha took over and related the burning of Balbir’s Ma and younger brother. She saw Balbir wince, but Aastha felt that dwelling over the incident would help Balbir face his trauma and that talking in the open would make it easier and not as painful. Balbir took center stage at this point,
“Since that time, I have been getting flashbacks of that day and I get nightmares. Their repetitiveness depends on situations. When I am with Aastha, I am in control. I can handle them.” He further added, “When I am having a nightmare, I wake up and do other things, like read a magazine, watch TV or think about Aastha, and usually the latter. Also, since I have known Aastha, the frequency of nightmares has reduced.”
All of this time we were giving him support by using words of encouragement. Bhoomi said,
“Balbir, that was many years ago. Today you have Aastha by your side. She will help you heal. Just do enjoyable things with her. Sleep in her arms at night. That will help you, don’t you think?”
“It certainly will. I am so lucky to have found her.”
Then what he did was unexpected. He went over to the coffee table where Imtiaz and Chitra were playing a game. He knelt before Imtiaz and cupped his face with both hands and said,
“Son, you will not know this as I have not talked to anyone about what happened when I got your letter. I am not ashamed to tell you that I cried when I first got it. I could see the immense love you have for your mother and even for me. She is not just a princess, as you call her in your letter, but the crown jewel of my life, and you are not far behind.”
Balbir then embraced Imtiaz and hugged him. He said,
“Your letter opened my eyes. A child who can sacrifice his whole being, has to be good, no matter if he is a Hindu or Muslim or a half Hindu/Half Muslim. You are Aastha’s child. Since she is so dear to me, then you are equally dear.” He pulled Imtiaz closer and said,
“Will you be my son? Will you call me Dad?”
By now, all three of us, Aastha, Bhoomi and I, were gathered around the coffee table. Imtiaz lunged forward and embraced Balbir and in a very firm voice said, “Yes, Dad.”
I took advantage of the situation. I nudged Aastha to embrace Balbir, who already had Imtiaz in his arms. The threesome looked like a family.
***
It was several days after Balbir’s meltdown. The party was at Aastha’s place. Packed in that small apartment were Balbir, Bhoomi, Chitra and I, as well as Aastha and Imtiaz. Additionally, there was a Hindu priest who was performing a havan, religious ceremony. Aastha was dressed in a simple white cotton sari with a black and gray border. Imtiaz was wearing a decorative off-white kurta pajama (See attached Aastha’s attire closet-Anarkali suits) and was sitting next to his dad, Balbir. The entire center of the room was cleared, and there were two medium-size dhurries, cotton carpets. It was ground seating and the priest had his portable “havan", an urn in which rituals are done, in the center of the room.
The priest performed the rituals and read the Vedic hymns. The principals for whom the puja, prayer, was held were Balbir, Aastha, and Imtiaz. It took about an hour and the place was blessed adequately, as were the principals. After the puja, the priest left, and another ritual took place. I was asked by Aastha to sit on the principal’s spot. She went to the kitchen and came out with puja thali, prayer plate, and sat in front of me. The others, as well as I, in the room, we're wondering what was happening. I then glimpsed a rakhi, holy decorative band made of cotton which sisters tie on their brother’s wrist, sitting on the plate. Aastha rotated the thali in front of me and then did tika, anointing, on my brow, sprinkled rice and then asked me to present my right arm. By now all in the room knew what was happening. People cheered as Aastha tied on me a rakhi, a simple innocuous thread but with a powerful message. It was an awesome moment; I was truly touched. My no-name relative took the mantle of a loving sister. She was no more just my no-name relative, but Aastha, my sister. I pulled out my wallet and gave her all the money in it.
***
A new chapter had begun in the lives of Aastha and Balbir. It was the commencement of a poem whose stanzas were written lovingly by the two. He placed her on a pedestal sky high, and for her, he was her romantic hero and crown prince all rolled in one. Included was little Imtiaz who was going to go to a concert at Radio City Music Hall with his dad. On Imtiaz’s
request, Chitra was included. Balbir was to raise this child with half Muslim values and religion proving that he was a disciple of Mahatma Gandhi, the Father of the Nation.
Eric Burbridge has written dozens of short stories and has been published in several literary journals.
HAZY AND COOL
Lucas Byrd’s love of the Independent Party was short lived when they passed Medicare reform. The budget demanded cuts, those cuts required seniors his age that passed certain criteria to work fifteen hours weekly, in whatever shifts they chose, for a government agency. Lucas was in good shape and his doctor’s report landed him at an EPA’s recycle facility, but not as a retired civil engineer, but on the line separating recyclables, as they called it. The harder, dirtier jobs to fulfill the Medicare requirement got a person to re-retirement faster. The faster the better, if it didn’t kill you.
He was a garbage picker!
The disaster in the Appalachian Mountains didn’t help; the government never gave anybody anywhere a straight answer. Speculation was rampant; an asteroid or nuclear explosion wiped out one of the mountains and the ash lingered. Today was the day he re-retired and at seventy he still looked good; tall, decent muscle tone, mobility and limited medication. “Black don’t crack” he’d tell his younger co-workers. He got high fives on his way to the decontamination showers and gave security the thumbs up passing through the scanners.
*
A cloud burst left a chill in the air and half the residents of the Evergreen Terrace Assisted Living Complex sat on their balconies waiting to get a glimpse of the sunlight. The lighter the sky the better the chances of a break through. Sunshine lifted the spirits. Lucas parked, went in his apartment and tossed his clothes in the washer. A quick shower and off to the community room to celebrate and needle a couple of the guys who still had to work. Of course, he wouldn’t be a dick about it. It was a blessing to still have mobility when several friends on his floor were bed ridden. He’d look in on them later, but first his circle of friends was waiting. A few drinks and poker were the order of the day. Lucas stepped into the room and there they sat around the poker table. “Hey, Lucas,” they greeted him with smiles and hand gestures. Mario, a short Latino a decade older then he with a full head of white hair pulled out his chair.
“Thank you, sir. Where are the rest of the old folks?”
“On their balconies, disappointed by now, no sunshine.” Hank said. He was the only Pakistani physician in the building who brightened the day with his personality and perfect posture for an eighty-year-old.
Lucas sat and pulled up his chair. “How long you got to go, Tubby?” He laughed. They called Tubman, Tubby for short. He was a tall solid built Nigerian-American who played his double leg amputee from diabetes role to the bust, but his prosthetic legs enabled him to push a broom at an office building at night.
“Not long, Lucas, not long at all. When I grow up I want to be just like you. Congrats by the way.”
“Thank you…Where’s Peter?”
“Peter’s got company. I saw what looked like family go in his apartment with lawyer types.” Mario said and dealt Lucas a hand.
He frowned as he sorted his hand. “Were the lawyer types all White?”
“Yeah,” Mario replied.
“Why does he socialize with us, peoples of color, if you think he’s such a racist, Lucas?” Hank asked. Lucas shrugged.
“Because there’s a bunch of cool people in our circle.” Mario said and gave everybody a high five.
“Say what you will gentlemen, but certain things he says and comments suggest he has, at the very least, biases and judgments about peoples of color. He’s cool, but still…” Lucas looked past Tubby and saw Peter’s nurse push him through the door. “Speak of the devil.”
*
Peter Usher’s gut gave him a break today usually the day after chemo he was sick as a dog and it had taken twenty-five pounds off his two hundred fifty-pound frame, not to mention the huge loss of his sandy blonde hair. The group noticed his glowing demeanor. “You having a good day, Peter?” They asked. Obviously, but he answered with a nod and manually positioned his wheelchair closer to the table next to Lucas Byrd. Lucas of all people to see today. They tolerated each other, but some day’s it was trying. He was in such good shape. Was it envy or what? No, envy was a bad word. There was a certain degree of admiration in that emotion. Like it or not. Indoctrination into the White way of doing things discouraged relating to other races. That was crazy and impossible.
Detoxify your mind, Peter.
Those crazy thoughts crept into his mind on occasion. Why today? Lucas was why.
“Hello, family. You all look well as can be expected for a bunch of old dogs.” They laughed. “I got it from here; you can take the chair, Amy.” His nurse smiled and left. He sat and scooted up to the table. “Don’t deal me in.” Mario put down the deck. “I got something important to talk about gentlemen.” Peter gave his friend a quick glance. Good, now he had their attention. “Remember when we sat at this very table and, damn near took an oath, we’d look out for each other no matter what?” They acknowledged it. “Well, I need one of you.”
“You do. Well I’ll be damned; you need one of “you people.’” Lucas said.
Peter smiled and shook his head. “You are so sensitive. I’m messing with you guys when I say that and you know that.” Lucas wasn’t going to get on his nerves today. He pushed back from the table. “Can I finish?”
“Go ahead,” Tubby said.
Peter leaned back and took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I don’t know how to say this the right way, if there is one, but the chemo didn’t work according to plan.” The concern on their faces bothered him. He didn’t want to be a party pooper, but it was necessary.
“Sorry to hear that, Peter.” Lucas said and the others nodded.
“I appreciate it guys, but I have a last request, a simple one, I think, since they say I have up to six months left if I’m lucky. So, I need someone to drive me home. I’m going deep in the hills further west. I heard every now and then the sun peaks through for hours. I want to go look and lay on a lounger in the sunlight when I go, if I’m lucky.”
“Sounds good to me, but I cannot drive for long periods of time.” Mario said.
“Ok, you’re out, but when I think about it…I thought drawing straws would do it.” They shook their heads. “Am I asking too much or what?” Silence. Cut the crap Peter you know the only one well enough to travel that distance was Lucas. Ask him. “Lucas, help me out here, since you’ve re-retired it’ll be a mini-vacation.”
“Yeah, but the drive back, I’m by myself.” Lucas said.
Peter didn’t know what to say, he was right and the interstate wasn’t what it used to be, delays everywhere. Half of it was closed, the other in serious disrepair. A definite challenge for a couple of old guys. “Well?”
“Yeah, okay I’ll help you out, but you sit in the front. This isn’t going to be that chauffeur type stuff you see in the movies.”
“Thanks, Lucas, you shouldn’t regret this.” They shook. Chances are Lucas knew it wasn’t going to be easy dealing with a dying man especially if he got sick. “We’ll get to the financials later, but for the time being I got things to do.”
“Wait a minute.” Peter spun around. “Don’t think I’m prying, but what does your family think about this…especially when you tell them it’s a Black guy bringing you home?”
“Too bad.”
*
“Did you bring bad karma with you, Peter? This is the first flat I’ve had since I bought this car. I almost lost control.”
“I did not bring bad, whatever karma is, with me.”
Lucas loosened his grip on the wheel. “Well, help me change the tire.” They exited the vehicle. Lucas moaned about his lower back pain and Peter offered hima pain killer. “No thanks that’s too strong for me.”
“Suit yourself.” Peter slipped a pill under his tongue and they started to unloaded the trunk.
Lucas noticed his passenger kept looking down the road. The only thing down there was a van sitting at a small roadside pull over and a picnic table. Something wasn’t right. “You okay?”Peter nodded and grabbed the remaining luggage. Lucas hadn’t noticed the rifle case. “When did you put that in there?”
“When we first started.”
“What is it and does it have a chip in it?”
“.44 magnum carbine, no chip, that long thing on the end is a flash repressor/silencer. I’m a firm believer in what’s left of American’s right to own arms. Since you’re driving how long has that white van down the hill been following us?” Peter asked.
What had he gotten in to? He uncovered the spare and unscrewed the lug wrench. Whatever Peter was up to, do not act overly concerned. If that made sense. “Why? Don’t involve me in your bullshit, Peter. I don’t deserve it and I’m too old for it.”
“It’s not what you think. Do me a favor and fix this damn tire.” Peter pushed the spare to the front. “Good this happened by all these hedges and weeds. I’m going in these bushes and I’ll be right back. Then I’ll explain a few things, okay?”
Lucas nodded and continued to tighten the lugs nuts, while Peter took the weapon in the bush. What was he up to? He’d worked up a sweat reloading the trunk and glanced down the hilly two-lane highway. The van hadn’t moved. Two muffled pops came from the bushes, then two more. What in the hell had Peter done? Was he hunting or what? Wishful thinking, Lucas. He must’ve killed the people in that van. Great. Several cars and trucks approached. One of the cars slowed and backed up; several bikers, honked, shouted obscenities and zoomed past.
Oh no, keep going please!
A tall thin White guy jumped out his SUV. “Hey old timer you need a hand?”
“No thanks, my buddy went to water the roses; he’ll be right back, thanks anyway.” Peter popped out the bushes smiling playing with his zipper. The guy waved and got back in his vehicle and left. “Jesus Peter, what have you done?” Good thing he didn’t have the gun.
“Not what you think.” He ducked back in the bushes and got the weapon and finished loading the trunk. Lucas floored the Toyota.
“You got explaining to do, right?”
“Right, but I can’t dead, slow down.”
He was pushing it. Their trip was fun until he pulled out the gun. Peter’s small talk and corny jokes weren’t working. A good stiff drink would calm the nerves. Traffic started to tighten as they passed a sign, “City of Holden, city limits. Typical small town out skirts; homes with farming equipment in the front and on the sides of the houses, old abandoned gas stations and stores. “Don’t think I forgot, Peter the sniper.”
“Ha, ha, very funny. There’s a saloon midway down the block, see it?” Peter asked.
“Yeah, the haze made it hard to see at first. Damn fog coming out the hills.” He pulled in a handicapped space. They got out slow as expected for a couple of seventy-year olds. They stretched and yawned simultaneously. “That felt good,” Lucas said.
“Old West wooden sidewalks, I love it. Let’s go have a few.”
“You can drink with pancreatic?” Lucas felt stupid after his buddy gave him that look. “Sorry, but if I get lynched I’m going to haunt you.” Lucas said.
“That won’t happen, first round on me and then, I’ll tell you some of what you want to know.”
“There’s a hotel on the corner. Just think we might go in there and get a couple of bar flies to give us some.” They laughed and headed down the street.
*
The two old guys pushed open the swinging double doors of “The Saloon” to the faint smell of weed. The bartender barely looked their way and continued adjusting the volume of the TV tuned to the race track. Other patrons paid them no attention. Lucas felt the depression most people felt, little to no sunshine with hazy skies had taken its toll on the population. A common practice, it was silly but people begged to differ, wearing yellow tinted sunglasses worked wonders. He did himself every now and then. “Where are your sunglasses, Peter?”
He patted his pockets. “I forgot them. Where’s yours?”
Lucas slipped his on. “Got them, but I don’t need them, here.” Peter accepted and signaled for service. “Nice, but if you don’t need them, neither do I.”The bearded youngster stood patiently. “Two beers from the tap.”
“Yes sir.” He said and switched slightly to get the brews.
Lucas smiled. “The old west has changed quite a bit, right?” Peter nodded. “Here comes our order.”
The bartender placed the foam tipped mugs on a couple of coasters. “Does the jukebox work?”
“Yeah, need change?”
Peter gave him a fifty. “That’s the smallest I got. What’s your name?”
“Cindy…I’m in touch with my feminine side today,” and reached in the register and got change.
“Ok, I’m Peter and my buddy’s, Lucas. If I were a younger man we’d probably be good friends, nice to meet you.”
Cindy smiled. “Don’t mind the rednecks we’re a civilized town, enjoy yourself.” He left to serve others. Peter took a gulp of the ice-cold brew and his tongue cleaned the foam off his upper lip, followed by a tremendous brain freeze. He grabbed his forehead. “You okay, buddy?” Lucas asked.
“Yeah…brain freeze.” Lucas sat and sipped his with caution. “This place needs music. Country western beats the hell out of the horses, play something lively.” Peter suggested.
Lucas hurried through the maze of empty wooden tables and chairs. Surprise. Hesaw a few old hits from back in the day. He dropped the coins and watched the machine come to life, an arm snatched a disc, swung it over and the dead were re-animated. Lucas turned and gave Peter a thumb up and returned to his seat. “Now start talking, what have you gotten me into? Don’t bullshit me either.”
That’ll be the day Peter didn’t owe him a thing. If not because he was Black wasn’t good enough. He was laser focused on his face in the hope he could detect a lie.
Peter finished his drink. “First thing, I’m not a hit man or any other cloak and dagger crap that’s running through your head. Second thing, I did not shoot anybody. I put slugs in their radiator, obviously so they couldn’t follow us, not that they don’t know where I’m headed.” What was this all about? He might be telling the truth.
Lucas shrugged, “Ok, if you say so.”
“We know how things are in the country, split politically, geographically and even in the faith community suffered from the mountain disaster. My family is no different.”
“Sorry, to interrupt, but they’re worried about others especially Black folks, right?” That changed his expressions now what?
“Yeah, well what can I say? They didn’t agree with my choice to live here before I was terminal, but I don’t care, Evergreen Terrace was a good place, five stars with five-star people, except you, of course.” Peter laughed. “Whoever those guys are they’re doing what their told. Those shots will send a message to my family. Don’t bother me! They’ll back off a little bit, but not that much.” He signaled for a refill.
“Slow down, Peter.” That’s all he needed, he drinks himself to death.
“Don’t worry I’m good. Let’s eat, drink and be merry. And, if that’s not down to earth enough…fuck’em.”
“Agreed.” He had a point and there was nothing he could do anyway.
*
“Stop being so damn suspicious. I’m not the two-faced racist you think. To hell with those biases I was raised around. And, I’ll share more with you when we get where we’re going.”
“Ok, cool with me.” Lucas said and drank up.
The alcohol and the music had Peter tapping his feet on the brass foot rail. He spun around to get a full view of the shapely leg women stepping to the country music rhythms. Even the beer bellied guys were in sync. Look at what you started. It was good; it took his mind off his health. Who cares if you sit around feeling sorry for yourself or mad at the world? Hell, he had a good run, better than most. Whatever they were frying in the kitchen smelled good. No sooner than he turned his head to place an order, Cindy came out the kitchen door with two orders of wings.
“Here you guys go, fresh and hot, on the house, enjoy. We love our seniors even if they ain’t from around here.”
“Well, thank you, we appreciate it.” Lucas said and popped a fry in his mouth. “Wow, that’s hot and the seasoning is perfect.” They buried their faces in the plates.
Peter wiped his mouth and leaned back. “That was delicious.” The place was full and they cornered off a section for the poker players. Two attractive females in their 30’s came over and introduced themselves. Mary and Sally wore styled jeans and skimpy blouses, the two blondes could’ve passed for family. “How you two city slickers’ like our town?” They smiled and hugged them.
“We love it.” Lucas said.
“Y’all east of the mountains or west?” Mary asked.
“Headed southeast and we’re not city slickers in the bad sense. We’re a of couple of ex-assisted living retirees looking for a good time while we’re in town.” Peter looked around. “We were right.”
A popular song came on an everybody jumped up and headed for the dance floor.
“That’s my song, see y’all later.” Sally said, and they went and grabbed a couple of guys.
“You don’t look so good, Lucas.”
“I’m drunk, I think.”
“You think?” Peter signaled for another round.
Cindy poured another shot. “Don’t look now, but a couple of guys who look like the law came in a minute ago. Their over in the corner.”
Peter cut his eyes their way. Both had crew cuts he’d seen them through his rifle’s scope. Damn, he’d forgotten them. “It’s not what you might think, Cindy, my families probably got them making sure I’m alright. That’s why Lucas came so they wouldn’t have to worry. It’s cool we’re not fugitives, just two old timers enjoying their bucket list shit, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, got it.” Cindy winked. “We got your back.”
Peter hated the distrustful look on his friends face soon he’d have to come clean. Lucas was drunk, head-on bar, drunk if they didn’t leave. “Ok, my friend, let’s stagger down to the hotel and call it a night.” Somehow, they managed to walk into the lobby of the Western Hotel, shoulder to shoulder, too drunk to worry about or remember their luggage.
*
Lucas rinsed his mouth with the last of the hotel sized bottle of mouth wash. His breath still stunk, but that’s what you get for going to sleep with a belly full of whisky and not enough to eat. Last night’s whisky breath, the cure, another drink. That was out of the question. If he heaved his guts up like Peter did earlier he might feel better, but he was grateful he wasn’t too hung-over. Hopefully, Peter would bring an extra coffee if the machine worked. The hotel was a true relic of the old west; metal headboard, shaded lamps, laced curtains and other quaint amenities. The only thing modern was the electronic keypad. Surprise. Peter got two coffees’.
“It’s early, let’s leave now, if those guys stayed late they might still be sleep, you think?”
“Makes sense to me.”They turned in their cards. The dozing young pink haired night clerk waved good-bye. A blue four door sedan that resembled a cop car sat on four flats. “Looks like Cindy looked out for us.” Lucas said.
“Yeah, I wonder where they got the car.” Peter asked.
“Wherever, let’s hope they don’t see us leave.”
“Right.”
Lucas rested his hands on the wheel. “We need to check for a tracker.”
“I wish they would. I’ll act a fool and they know it. They are watching for the time being.” Peter sighed. “They don’t know my diagnosis, as far as I know, they think I got dementia. I’ll get lost or taken advantage. They think you or others have been a bad influence on me.”
“Bad influence, that’s bull.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m done talking about it.” Peter said and pointed forward. “Well, Tennessee, her comes two old guys with last night’s whisky on their breath. Hit it, Lucas!”
He dropped the vehicle in drive and headed for the road.
*
For the past hour Lucas strained to see through the fog. The only lights were those from farms set back off the road and the occasional emergency phone. At half the speed limit, he just missed a couple of deer and unfortunately, he splattered what looked like a beaver or possum. The winding road through the trees would be more scenic with the sun burning off the fog, but the haze ruined that. They’d left around four thirty and hopefully; they had a good jump on Peter’s friends. Why wouldn’t he tell him the truth and what did he have to lose at this stage of the game? An hour had passed since they pulled over for him to heave up his guts. Was it the cancer or the coffee? Now he snored, not a care in the world. That didn’t last long.
“What’s that’s smell?” Peter un-reclined his seat.
“A cattle truck, been behind them for a while. Too many turns to pass them, enjoy a whiff of the morning breeze.”
“Any sign of our escort?”
“Sarcasm, this early in the morning. I love it and no…none.” Lucas said. “Tell me about these people.”
“You were listening when I told Cindy, right?”
“Yeah, but you were telling him/her not me, which is disrespectful since I’m doing the driving. What you think about that?”
“You’re right, but I’m glad I did it got us some breathing room. Pass this truck.”
Lucas hit the accelerator, passed three trucks and got back just in time. “Satisfied?” He cracked the windows. “I like fresh air even if it stinks.
“That’s better. My family is biased and they didn’t want me to be at Evergreen Terrace…”
“Biased, their prejudice, right?” Lucas interrupted.
“But, fuck‘em, I’ve learned a lot about other peoples in the past few years.”
“It’s mid-century, man. You mean you’ve led that sheltered a life?” Lucas didn’t know why he expected a straight answer. Forget it, drop him where he’s going and be done with it.
“I’m human. You hear that crap long enough you’ll start believing it, but I love you guys. And, I figured you are alright because Evergreen isn’t a poor folks home.” Peter’s stomach growled. “Sorry, I’m hungry, obviously.”
“Me too and we could use a shower.” Lucas checked the GPS. “There’s a big truck stop ten minutes ahead.”
Several state troopers zoomed past with lights flashing and traffic slowed the closer they got to their destination. “I hope it’s not an accident especially with trucks it takes all day to move them.” Peter said.
“Me too.”
The gaper’s block loosened and they saw the problem pulling into the truck stop. Protestors surrounded several trucks with Meyer Industries on them sat unable to get to the staging area for fuel. The signs said, “No products from Upper Korea” and “Take your Sundomes and shove ‘em.” The drivers of that convoy looked terrified. Troopers were positioned between them and the protestors. Only the wealthy could afford Sundomes, those huge enclosures where people sat and enjoyed 3D artificial sunrises and sunsets. It eased the depression along with the proper medication. Sun psyche, they called it, but when people had a chance to get a handle on human induced climate change the powers that be told the world to go fuck itself via fake news and actions. Money was king in the world and not even The Appalachia Mountain disaster changed the politics of climate change. The so-called experts said ‘if’ it was an asteroid that hit it an angle, had it hit square there wouldn’t be a world. So, they say. The big lie continued. The protest spilled across the highway and that enabled them to get deluxe showers due to delayed truckers. The old timers felt and smelled better and with their guts full pulled onto the highway.
*
Lucas counted twenty abandoned barns and no houses on this stretch of road Peter insisted they take. The scenery was beautiful in spite of the hazy. The trees thrived even with the limited ribbons of sunlight that broke through every now and then. “Get off at the next exit and go right.” Peter instructed.
“Ok.” Two miles later they entered a heavy forest area that wound upward through the hillside close enough to touch. “It’s tight in here.”
“Yeah, that’s the way we like it. It cost a fortune to cut through this rock, so I’m told. My family has been in these parts forever.”
“Have these rocks ever shifted?”
“No, believe it or not, this area is stable. There have been terrible thunderstorms, but that’s it. There’s a bend a mile or so and I’ll be home.”
Lucas never suspected Peter was a hillbilly and he couldn’t wait to meet his family. What a surprise it’s going to be. “Peter, did I mention if I get hung I’m going to haunt you?”
“Yes, you did and don’t insult me, please.”
The highway widened as they reached the higher elevations of the hills. Lucas imagined the beauty of the landscape if there was normal sunlight. The signs indicated more twists and turns ahead with no guard rails. The hillside disappeared into a deepening valley. Finally, the road descended into the flatlands below and the sky lightened. The usual tease, strips of sun lit the clouds. “Is the sun trying to shine or what?”
“A little, believe the deer signs, their big in these parts.”
“Oh, shit!” A huge buck darted in front of them. Lucas hit the brakes and swerved into the opposite lane.
“I told you…don’t give me a heart attack. I didn’t come home for that and speaking of home.”
Lucas needed to pull over and slow his heart beat, but what he saw ahead changed that. A small guardhouse stood in the middle of a set of double wrought iron gates attached to eight-foot brick walls that were covered in thick clinging vines. Lucas couldn’t tell how far the wall went as it descended into the forest. “A gated community, I didn’t expect this,” He said.
“Surprise, what’d expect a trailer park?”
“You wrong for that, Peter.”
“I guess, but I couldn’t help myself.”
“You got a pass or keycard or something?”
“No, voice and face recognition.” Peter leaned forward toward the scanner. “Open says-a -me or whatever.” They laughed as they drove down the shrubbery lined street. “You’ll see a service drive around this bend to unload in the back of the house.”
“Ok, cool.” Lucas saw through the trees and scrubs a huge flat roofed contemporary styled house with massive smoked glass windows, solar panel arrays and small wind mills. Expensive. The place was straight out of a magazine.
“Take the side drive we’ll unload at the garage. On second thought. Leave that stuff housekeeping is around here somewhere. Let’s get something to eat and unwind.”
*
Lucas stood at the industrial sized windows of Peter’s study. The vast expanse of the Usher’s family’s property that included its own upper scale sub division of homes. The majority of which had courtyards and swimming pools with all the usual backyard and deck accessories. “This is a beautiful set up you got here, Peter. Why did you come to Evergreen Terrace?” He figured he was lonely, but he wanted to hear it from Peter. Whatever it was, it had to be good.
“You like that…well you’re going to love this.” Peter’s hand hovered over his laptop and stabbed a button. “That’s that.”
Lucas walked to the serving cart and selected a BLT without cheese. “Now tell me the whole story.”
Peter closed the computer. “First, I’m not going to burden you with the whole story of my family, you don’t care anyway, rightfully so and you’re my friend.”
“Friend? You’ve never said that before…sorry to interrupt. And, speaking of family, where are they?” All he’d seen where the grounds keepers and a cook. Peter needed support since getting his diagnosis, who wouldn’t? His heart had softened over the past few days about Peter. The ride was, despite the rifle incident, fun for a couple of old guys.
“They’re here and there. Wherever they are its fine with me. Anyway, my family is full of snobs and racist. They have been that way since being a bunch of moonshiners. I been hearing that crap for too long and decades ago at age forty plus wanted to get out of the family’s ultra conservative grip. I argued with them all the time and it really got bad. They called me a bleeding-heart Liberal, but this bleeding heart outlived most of them. And, now I’m the family patriarch, all assets are under my control and they hate it.
“Oh, do they know your dying?” Damn, why did he say that?
“Yeah…or they suspect and can’t wait, of course they’d deny it, but they know I know, and that’s okay.”
“Well, they got your back their following you, us.”
“No, Lucas, they got your back, my friend, your back.”
“My back?” Lucas smiled and almost laughed in his face. What the hell was he talking about? “Now you’re scaring me. I’m not going to let my imagination run away with me. You’re kidding, right?”
“No.” Peter leaned back and propped his feet on his desk. I know people talk and they’ve seen all the lawyer types in and out of my place. Well, that’s my family’s legal team. Everybody’s got a trust fund set up, but I distribute it when I get ready. I’m consistent and issue checks or direct deposit the same time annually and upon my death that will be your responsibility.”
“Bullshit! I don’t believe you.” Lucas walked over to the window. “All this and whatever else you leaving me. Ha…ha, very funny.”
“No joke, Lucas. Remember a minute ago you saw me on the laptop?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I said that’s that and it was. I’ll print it out for you.”
“What makes you think I’ll understand all that legal crap?” Lucas asked and sat back down. “Boy, you know how to fuck up a good day. And, you grin about it. Ok, I believe you. Why me?” What had he gotten in to? He needed a drink, a big one.
“Oh, before I forget the family fortune is tied up in real estate, relatively simple to manage after decades.” Peter said.
“You ok?” Lucas saw discomfort on his face. “Take a breath we can talk later.”
“No…now. For the past year being at Evergreen has enlightened me about people that don’t look like me. Up close and personal is better in relationships. Lucas, I had a ball with you guys at the Terrace even though I knew my days were numbered. Gloomy weather didn’t damper the spirit of the group, but I couldn’t stay there for the grand finale. I had to return to this conservative enclave and be with family, but they need to be humbled. It’s ridiculous, the government declares an emergency law to put the few elderly in good shape back to work for hours a week to make up for the corporations and politicians that destroyed the economy. The old folk draft…they ain’t dying fast enough. A few in my family help formulate that bullshit, so in way they’ll taste their own medicine. And, no, I’m not leaving you all the money. You’ll do what I do, the easy part.”
“The easy part. What’s easy about, I assume, millions of dollars?” Lucas asked. This had to be a practical joke.
“All I do is sign the checks so the family gets their money. I have nothing to do with how much. That’s the market stuff, but if I don’t sign, no money, and if they don’t get theirs, I don’t get mine.”
“It’s like dividends?”
“Yeah, and other stuff. But, they’ll be on you when the time comes. A few of them are fools with their money. You’ll meet them as soon as I take my last breath. They’ll be friendly and some won’t, but no harm will come to you.” Peter said.
“What if I say keep your money?”
“My money says you won’t. You’re a good guy and human. And, who wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to see the rich have to kiss their ass, even if it’s just for a minute?” Peter giggled and opened the desk drawer and handed him an envelope. “I want you to hand deliver this to Cindy at “The Saloon.” I like him and if I were a younger man, well you know. I know this is a load to think about, but you got time. I’m not dead yet.”
*
The landscaping around the homes of the Usher enclave rivaled a professional golf course. They zipped here and there in the cart stopping at a few historical points of interest on the property from the post-Civil War era. Peter waved at a few people haze bathing, but the place was empty for the most part. He said the majority of the old southern mansions were replaced with contemporary structures. It was brighter on the usher family side of the hills than others. Amazing, but the sun still didn’t penetrate the haze. Lucas still wore his glasses. They turned off the beaten path on to a trail that led to stream that ran through a narrow opening in the rocks. It sounded like a waterfall was nearby. Lucas wanted to walk, but his knees wouldn’t appreciate the uneven terrain. A few deer stopped, stared for a minute and took off. Peter looked tired, “Let’s go back you need rest.” He didn’t disagree. That’s all he needed, Peter drops dead giving him a tour of their property. Soon enough he’d meet the people who hate him. The rest of the day was boring, nothing good on TV, but Peter had a huge library and a good book came to the rescue.
Peter was right, he wasn’t dead yet, but he didn’t look well either. Lucas left a note, he’d call him later. It was early and the two-hour drive to Holden would clear his head from the Usher enclave. He was starving, but rushing to leave he forgot the breakfast sandwich Maria prepared special for him.
*
The grill at the truck stop was packed this early in the morning. He topped off his battery and waited to be seated at the counter. Ten minutes later he ordered a grilled ham and cheese. “I see the protester are setting up early, what are they complaining about?”
“Jobs.” The tall thin young girl said. “Everybody hates the sun dome builders until they get a job. It ain’t nothin’ but a warehouse. I don’t know why the environmentalist people are bitchin’ about, but they’re here too. Coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.’
“They had them ten-foot-tall rat balloons out there yesterday, unfair labor practice stuff. Hell, they ain’t built the place yet, but when they start working there you ain’t gonna hear a peep out of ‘em. I might apply myself. Enjoy your meal.” She went to serve other customers. Rumor had it, The Upper Korean Company that mastered and built the VR Sundome technology won’t share the secret, but wanted all the market. That was one group who didn’t want the haze to go away anyway soon. Get all they could while they can. Eventually the weather would be normal again. Lucas slipped on his glasses, paid the bill and headed for Holden.
*
Lucas took his time; he figured the saloon wouldn’t open until noon or later. He pulled into the handicapped space in front and there was Cindy standing patiently waiting for the security gates to finish retracting. Thank God, now he didn’t have to wait long. “Hey, Cindy.” He turned and smiled.
“Hey, good to see you, where’s your friend?”
“At home.”
“Wait here for a second.” He entered and the alarm beeper kicked in, a minute later he pushed back the doors and only the swinging doors remained. “Come on in, what can I get you?”
“Nothing thanks, but Peter wanted you to have this.”
Cindy ripped it open immediately. “What the hell is this? Whoa! Is this real?”
“I guess…whatever it is.”Lucas put up his hands. “I don’t want to know, I’m just the messenger.” Whatever the amount that was a kid’s Christmas smile on his face?
“Tell Peter thanks.”
“Will do.” He was getting tired and wanted to get down the road. “Can you do me a big favor?”
“Hell yeah, what you need?”
“Some real moonshine straight out the still.”
“That’s all?”
“Yeah.”
“Be right back.” Cindy went behind the bar and handed Lucas two mason jars. “This stuff is fresh and smooth, enjoy.”
*
“OK, gentlemen, I have a treat for you.” Lucas reached under the table and sat the mason jar on the table.
“What the hell is that?” Mario asked.
“A surprise.” Lucas filled each shot glass. “This moonshine, straight out the hills and when you lose your money don’t blame it on this.”
“I thought that’s what this is.” Hank said.
“To Peter, we hope he got to see the sunshine.” They clicked their glasses and drank. “Now deal the cards.” Hank shuffled the deck and they got started.
Today wasn’t a good poker day for Lucas the more they toasted the more he lost. Break time. A few of the guys in Complex B put meat on the grill, time to feed that moonshine. Lucas threw in his cards, “Time to eat.”
“Hurry back, so you can fill us in on the trip.” Hank said.
Lucas was surprised it took them this long to ask. He wasn’t going to reveal the truth about Peter’s background or family. And, he’d be a fool to tell them about the inheritance. They’d never treat him the same. If Peter wanted them to know he would’ve told them, but he’d have to make-up something. The closer to the truth the better, but one good thing about their group they minded their own business. “Take a break people, I’m not bringing any plates back.”
“I’m on a roll I’ll eat later.” Hank said. They agreed and kept playing.
Lucas sat close to table and opened the lid on his rib tips, macaroni and cheese, greens and spaghetti. “That smells good.” They said.
“No, you cannot sample anything. Go get your own.” And that’s what they did.
“Tell us what happened on your trip, Lucas.” Tubby asked.
“Nothing exciting for two old timers.” That was a lie. “Peter slept most of the way. We took the scenic route and stopped in a town called Holden, a typical small town. We got drunk at the local saloon, it was just like in the movies, but without the bar fights. They took pride in being, sophisticated rednecks, their words not mine.” He popped another tip in his mouth, sucked it bone dry and wiped his mouth. “We passed by a huge protest outside a newly proposed sight to construct a warehouse for Sundome parts.”
“Yeah, don’t blame them. That’s one per-center shit, leave it in Korea.” Mario said. “Nobody in this part of the country can afford them.”
“Anyway, as I was saying. We got to his family’s place and it as I expected an upper middle-class standard of living. Nice homes…the works, even the trailer park area was beautiful. Guess what they cooked up. Fried chittlins.” Lie number two.
“What?” Tubby said.
“Sure did, they were very hospitable I hated to leave so early, but this is home and I missed you clowns.”
*
Peter Usher was right when he told Lucas he’d find his family interesting. The day after the memorial service he sat at a huge conference table in a corporate office atop the tallest building in Atlanta. Peter’s ashes hadn’t cooled and they drooled over the money, as foretold by his late friend. The prestigious law firm Smith, Smith and Smith, the three Smitty’s as they like to be called were triplet boys who came in the world three minutes apart. Three was a big thing with them, all were six three, three hundred pounds mostly muscle; they owned three homes apiece, three cars and three kids also. Lucas thought he’d share the moonshine from Holden with this snobbish group, he put it in a decanter, of course. And, that got their tongues to wag. They weren’t that bad a group…they’re just doing their jobs. The seemingly wisest of the group Jimmy asked the question, “How’d you meet Peter, Lucas?”
As if they didn’t know.
Lucas looked at his watch. “You guys better get those shot glasses off the table they’ll probably be walking through that door any minute.” They scrambled and did so. Thirty seconds later in walked the Usher’s. Good tactic, Lucas.
The members of the Usher family he recognized nodded at him as they sat. The attorneys never told him how many were being issued checks. All of them had braided beards, one blond, brunette and red. Assuming these people were it, that means he wouldn’t be here long. He felt their contempt in hurricane like gusts. They were pissed. Smile Lucas, that’ll really piss them off. “Good morning guys, how are you?”
Silence. Then the guy with the blond beard spoke. “I’m Thomas Usher, this Marilyn and Roderick Usher.”
Their expression remained frozen. “We don’t agree with this, but cannot do anything about it so let’s get on with it.” Marilyn said. “Peter must have done this because I’m transgender.”
“Transgender, really?” Lucas tried not to grin, but it didn’t work.
“You people make me sick!” Marilyn shouted.
“That’s your business. But, before we start.” Lucas reached under the table and sat a leather case next to him and opened it. “This urn, you might recognize it, contains Peter remains and he requested he be present.” The sounds of disapproval filled the room. “I believe that’s in the documents, right attorneys?” They shuffled papers and re-read, smiled and nodded in agreement. “Can I get a drum roll or what?” Lucas laughed. “Ok, I’ll be quiet now.”
An hour later Peter’s relative listened to the terms he established prior to his death, again.
They hated it.
It included the stipulation, Lucas had thirty days to issue their checks, only checks, but he could draw his funds immediately. Lucas put his hands-on top of the urn. “Sounds good to me, Peter. Thanks gentlemen.” He put the urn back in its case. “I’ll be in touch.” Thomas Usher slammed his hands on the table and shot to his feet. That startled everybody.
“You morbid son-of-a-bitch!!”
“Who controls the money, don’t forget it.” Lucas shouted back and walked out.
Atlanta was new to him, but he had more important financial matters to tend to then sightseeing. He made several calls before he left the bank and headed home. A year from now he’d back and have to go through the same foolishness with the Usher’s and that would end it. Peter set up the humbling of the snobby conservatives for two years. That was more than enough for him. His eyes popped when he saw the amount of his share and he knew what to do it.
*
“Did the family get the flowers, Lucas?” Mario asked.
“Yeah, they were beautiful.”
“I picked them, but you guys are familiar with my impeccable taste.”
“Modesty has never been your strong point, Mario. “Tubby said. “Wish we could’ve been there.”
“Well considering where everybody is, that’s understandable.” Like they’d care anyway. The supporters of the New Medicare Reform laws regarded them as a burden. The more he thought about it the angrier he got. The Usher’s would get what was coming to them as close to the deadline as possible. It felt good to have them by the balls, the way Peter wanted. Squeeze, but don’t remove!
“Attention…Attention everybody, this is Chief Administrator Tyler. I have good news; an anonymous donor has given the Evergreen Terrace Assisted Living Complex a Sundome!” The petite lady with the deep voice virtually screamed the good news over the PA.
“What?” Hank asked.
“You heard her, and believe it. When was the last time she made an announcement?” Lucas said. “That’s great VR sunlight, we deserve it.” It would take a month to build, but that’s okay. Lucas covered his tracks well they’ll never find out who donated it. “Deal the cards today feels lucky for me.
The End
He was a garbage picker!
The disaster in the Appalachian Mountains didn’t help; the government never gave anybody anywhere a straight answer. Speculation was rampant; an asteroid or nuclear explosion wiped out one of the mountains and the ash lingered. Today was the day he re-retired and at seventy he still looked good; tall, decent muscle tone, mobility and limited medication. “Black don’t crack” he’d tell his younger co-workers. He got high fives on his way to the decontamination showers and gave security the thumbs up passing through the scanners.
*
A cloud burst left a chill in the air and half the residents of the Evergreen Terrace Assisted Living Complex sat on their balconies waiting to get a glimpse of the sunlight. The lighter the sky the better the chances of a break through. Sunshine lifted the spirits. Lucas parked, went in his apartment and tossed his clothes in the washer. A quick shower and off to the community room to celebrate and needle a couple of the guys who still had to work. Of course, he wouldn’t be a dick about it. It was a blessing to still have mobility when several friends on his floor were bed ridden. He’d look in on them later, but first his circle of friends was waiting. A few drinks and poker were the order of the day. Lucas stepped into the room and there they sat around the poker table. “Hey, Lucas,” they greeted him with smiles and hand gestures. Mario, a short Latino a decade older then he with a full head of white hair pulled out his chair.
“Thank you, sir. Where are the rest of the old folks?”
“On their balconies, disappointed by now, no sunshine.” Hank said. He was the only Pakistani physician in the building who brightened the day with his personality and perfect posture for an eighty-year-old.
Lucas sat and pulled up his chair. “How long you got to go, Tubby?” He laughed. They called Tubman, Tubby for short. He was a tall solid built Nigerian-American who played his double leg amputee from diabetes role to the bust, but his prosthetic legs enabled him to push a broom at an office building at night.
“Not long, Lucas, not long at all. When I grow up I want to be just like you. Congrats by the way.”
“Thank you…Where’s Peter?”
“Peter’s got company. I saw what looked like family go in his apartment with lawyer types.” Mario said and dealt Lucas a hand.
He frowned as he sorted his hand. “Were the lawyer types all White?”
“Yeah,” Mario replied.
“Why does he socialize with us, peoples of color, if you think he’s such a racist, Lucas?” Hank asked. Lucas shrugged.
“Because there’s a bunch of cool people in our circle.” Mario said and gave everybody a high five.
“Say what you will gentlemen, but certain things he says and comments suggest he has, at the very least, biases and judgments about peoples of color. He’s cool, but still…” Lucas looked past Tubby and saw Peter’s nurse push him through the door. “Speak of the devil.”
*
Peter Usher’s gut gave him a break today usually the day after chemo he was sick as a dog and it had taken twenty-five pounds off his two hundred fifty-pound frame, not to mention the huge loss of his sandy blonde hair. The group noticed his glowing demeanor. “You having a good day, Peter?” They asked. Obviously, but he answered with a nod and manually positioned his wheelchair closer to the table next to Lucas Byrd. Lucas of all people to see today. They tolerated each other, but some day’s it was trying. He was in such good shape. Was it envy or what? No, envy was a bad word. There was a certain degree of admiration in that emotion. Like it or not. Indoctrination into the White way of doing things discouraged relating to other races. That was crazy and impossible.
Detoxify your mind, Peter.
Those crazy thoughts crept into his mind on occasion. Why today? Lucas was why.
“Hello, family. You all look well as can be expected for a bunch of old dogs.” They laughed. “I got it from here; you can take the chair, Amy.” His nurse smiled and left. He sat and scooted up to the table. “Don’t deal me in.” Mario put down the deck. “I got something important to talk about gentlemen.” Peter gave his friend a quick glance. Good, now he had their attention. “Remember when we sat at this very table and, damn near took an oath, we’d look out for each other no matter what?” They acknowledged it. “Well, I need one of you.”
“You do. Well I’ll be damned; you need one of “you people.’” Lucas said.
Peter smiled and shook his head. “You are so sensitive. I’m messing with you guys when I say that and you know that.” Lucas wasn’t going to get on his nerves today. He pushed back from the table. “Can I finish?”
“Go ahead,” Tubby said.
Peter leaned back and took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I don’t know how to say this the right way, if there is one, but the chemo didn’t work according to plan.” The concern on their faces bothered him. He didn’t want to be a party pooper, but it was necessary.
“Sorry to hear that, Peter.” Lucas said and the others nodded.
“I appreciate it guys, but I have a last request, a simple one, I think, since they say I have up to six months left if I’m lucky. So, I need someone to drive me home. I’m going deep in the hills further west. I heard every now and then the sun peaks through for hours. I want to go look and lay on a lounger in the sunlight when I go, if I’m lucky.”
“Sounds good to me, but I cannot drive for long periods of time.” Mario said.
“Ok, you’re out, but when I think about it…I thought drawing straws would do it.” They shook their heads. “Am I asking too much or what?” Silence. Cut the crap Peter you know the only one well enough to travel that distance was Lucas. Ask him. “Lucas, help me out here, since you’ve re-retired it’ll be a mini-vacation.”
“Yeah, but the drive back, I’m by myself.” Lucas said.
Peter didn’t know what to say, he was right and the interstate wasn’t what it used to be, delays everywhere. Half of it was closed, the other in serious disrepair. A definite challenge for a couple of old guys. “Well?”
“Yeah, okay I’ll help you out, but you sit in the front. This isn’t going to be that chauffeur type stuff you see in the movies.”
“Thanks, Lucas, you shouldn’t regret this.” They shook. Chances are Lucas knew it wasn’t going to be easy dealing with a dying man especially if he got sick. “We’ll get to the financials later, but for the time being I got things to do.”
“Wait a minute.” Peter spun around. “Don’t think I’m prying, but what does your family think about this…especially when you tell them it’s a Black guy bringing you home?”
“Too bad.”
*
“Did you bring bad karma with you, Peter? This is the first flat I’ve had since I bought this car. I almost lost control.”
“I did not bring bad, whatever karma is, with me.”
Lucas loosened his grip on the wheel. “Well, help me change the tire.” They exited the vehicle. Lucas moaned about his lower back pain and Peter offered hima pain killer. “No thanks that’s too strong for me.”
“Suit yourself.” Peter slipped a pill under his tongue and they started to unloaded the trunk.
Lucas noticed his passenger kept looking down the road. The only thing down there was a van sitting at a small roadside pull over and a picnic table. Something wasn’t right. “You okay?”Peter nodded and grabbed the remaining luggage. Lucas hadn’t noticed the rifle case. “When did you put that in there?”
“When we first started.”
“What is it and does it have a chip in it?”
“.44 magnum carbine, no chip, that long thing on the end is a flash repressor/silencer. I’m a firm believer in what’s left of American’s right to own arms. Since you’re driving how long has that white van down the hill been following us?” Peter asked.
What had he gotten in to? He uncovered the spare and unscrewed the lug wrench. Whatever Peter was up to, do not act overly concerned. If that made sense. “Why? Don’t involve me in your bullshit, Peter. I don’t deserve it and I’m too old for it.”
“It’s not what you think. Do me a favor and fix this damn tire.” Peter pushed the spare to the front. “Good this happened by all these hedges and weeds. I’m going in these bushes and I’ll be right back. Then I’ll explain a few things, okay?”
Lucas nodded and continued to tighten the lugs nuts, while Peter took the weapon in the bush. What was he up to? He’d worked up a sweat reloading the trunk and glanced down the hilly two-lane highway. The van hadn’t moved. Two muffled pops came from the bushes, then two more. What in the hell had Peter done? Was he hunting or what? Wishful thinking, Lucas. He must’ve killed the people in that van. Great. Several cars and trucks approached. One of the cars slowed and backed up; several bikers, honked, shouted obscenities and zoomed past.
Oh no, keep going please!
A tall thin White guy jumped out his SUV. “Hey old timer you need a hand?”
“No thanks, my buddy went to water the roses; he’ll be right back, thanks anyway.” Peter popped out the bushes smiling playing with his zipper. The guy waved and got back in his vehicle and left. “Jesus Peter, what have you done?” Good thing he didn’t have the gun.
“Not what you think.” He ducked back in the bushes and got the weapon and finished loading the trunk. Lucas floored the Toyota.
“You got explaining to do, right?”
“Right, but I can’t dead, slow down.”
He was pushing it. Their trip was fun until he pulled out the gun. Peter’s small talk and corny jokes weren’t working. A good stiff drink would calm the nerves. Traffic started to tighten as they passed a sign, “City of Holden, city limits. Typical small town out skirts; homes with farming equipment in the front and on the sides of the houses, old abandoned gas stations and stores. “Don’t think I forgot, Peter the sniper.”
“Ha, ha, very funny. There’s a saloon midway down the block, see it?” Peter asked.
“Yeah, the haze made it hard to see at first. Damn fog coming out the hills.” He pulled in a handicapped space. They got out slow as expected for a couple of seventy-year olds. They stretched and yawned simultaneously. “That felt good,” Lucas said.
“Old West wooden sidewalks, I love it. Let’s go have a few.”
“You can drink with pancreatic?” Lucas felt stupid after his buddy gave him that look. “Sorry, but if I get lynched I’m going to haunt you.” Lucas said.
“That won’t happen, first round on me and then, I’ll tell you some of what you want to know.”
“There’s a hotel on the corner. Just think we might go in there and get a couple of bar flies to give us some.” They laughed and headed down the street.
*
The two old guys pushed open the swinging double doors of “The Saloon” to the faint smell of weed. The bartender barely looked their way and continued adjusting the volume of the TV tuned to the race track. Other patrons paid them no attention. Lucas felt the depression most people felt, little to no sunshine with hazy skies had taken its toll on the population. A common practice, it was silly but people begged to differ, wearing yellow tinted sunglasses worked wonders. He did himself every now and then. “Where are your sunglasses, Peter?”
He patted his pockets. “I forgot them. Where’s yours?”
Lucas slipped his on. “Got them, but I don’t need them, here.” Peter accepted and signaled for service. “Nice, but if you don’t need them, neither do I.”The bearded youngster stood patiently. “Two beers from the tap.”
“Yes sir.” He said and switched slightly to get the brews.
Lucas smiled. “The old west has changed quite a bit, right?” Peter nodded. “Here comes our order.”
The bartender placed the foam tipped mugs on a couple of coasters. “Does the jukebox work?”
“Yeah, need change?”
Peter gave him a fifty. “That’s the smallest I got. What’s your name?”
“Cindy…I’m in touch with my feminine side today,” and reached in the register and got change.
“Ok, I’m Peter and my buddy’s, Lucas. If I were a younger man we’d probably be good friends, nice to meet you.”
Cindy smiled. “Don’t mind the rednecks we’re a civilized town, enjoy yourself.” He left to serve others. Peter took a gulp of the ice-cold brew and his tongue cleaned the foam off his upper lip, followed by a tremendous brain freeze. He grabbed his forehead. “You okay, buddy?” Lucas asked.
“Yeah…brain freeze.” Lucas sat and sipped his with caution. “This place needs music. Country western beats the hell out of the horses, play something lively.” Peter suggested.
Lucas hurried through the maze of empty wooden tables and chairs. Surprise. Hesaw a few old hits from back in the day. He dropped the coins and watched the machine come to life, an arm snatched a disc, swung it over and the dead were re-animated. Lucas turned and gave Peter a thumb up and returned to his seat. “Now start talking, what have you gotten me into? Don’t bullshit me either.”
That’ll be the day Peter didn’t owe him a thing. If not because he was Black wasn’t good enough. He was laser focused on his face in the hope he could detect a lie.
Peter finished his drink. “First thing, I’m not a hit man or any other cloak and dagger crap that’s running through your head. Second thing, I did not shoot anybody. I put slugs in their radiator, obviously so they couldn’t follow us, not that they don’t know where I’m headed.” What was this all about? He might be telling the truth.
Lucas shrugged, “Ok, if you say so.”
“We know how things are in the country, split politically, geographically and even in the faith community suffered from the mountain disaster. My family is no different.”
“Sorry, to interrupt, but they’re worried about others especially Black folks, right?” That changed his expressions now what?
“Yeah, well what can I say? They didn’t agree with my choice to live here before I was terminal, but I don’t care, Evergreen Terrace was a good place, five stars with five-star people, except you, of course.” Peter laughed. “Whoever those guys are they’re doing what their told. Those shots will send a message to my family. Don’t bother me! They’ll back off a little bit, but not that much.” He signaled for a refill.
“Slow down, Peter.” That’s all he needed, he drinks himself to death.
“Don’t worry I’m good. Let’s eat, drink and be merry. And, if that’s not down to earth enough…fuck’em.”
“Agreed.” He had a point and there was nothing he could do anyway.
*
“Stop being so damn suspicious. I’m not the two-faced racist you think. To hell with those biases I was raised around. And, I’ll share more with you when we get where we’re going.”
“Ok, cool with me.” Lucas said and drank up.
The alcohol and the music had Peter tapping his feet on the brass foot rail. He spun around to get a full view of the shapely leg women stepping to the country music rhythms. Even the beer bellied guys were in sync. Look at what you started. It was good; it took his mind off his health. Who cares if you sit around feeling sorry for yourself or mad at the world? Hell, he had a good run, better than most. Whatever they were frying in the kitchen smelled good. No sooner than he turned his head to place an order, Cindy came out the kitchen door with two orders of wings.
“Here you guys go, fresh and hot, on the house, enjoy. We love our seniors even if they ain’t from around here.”
“Well, thank you, we appreciate it.” Lucas said and popped a fry in his mouth. “Wow, that’s hot and the seasoning is perfect.” They buried their faces in the plates.
Peter wiped his mouth and leaned back. “That was delicious.” The place was full and they cornered off a section for the poker players. Two attractive females in their 30’s came over and introduced themselves. Mary and Sally wore styled jeans and skimpy blouses, the two blondes could’ve passed for family. “How you two city slickers’ like our town?” They smiled and hugged them.
“We love it.” Lucas said.
“Y’all east of the mountains or west?” Mary asked.
“Headed southeast and we’re not city slickers in the bad sense. We’re a of couple of ex-assisted living retirees looking for a good time while we’re in town.” Peter looked around. “We were right.”
A popular song came on an everybody jumped up and headed for the dance floor.
“That’s my song, see y’all later.” Sally said, and they went and grabbed a couple of guys.
“You don’t look so good, Lucas.”
“I’m drunk, I think.”
“You think?” Peter signaled for another round.
Cindy poured another shot. “Don’t look now, but a couple of guys who look like the law came in a minute ago. Their over in the corner.”
Peter cut his eyes their way. Both had crew cuts he’d seen them through his rifle’s scope. Damn, he’d forgotten them. “It’s not what you might think, Cindy, my families probably got them making sure I’m alright. That’s why Lucas came so they wouldn’t have to worry. It’s cool we’re not fugitives, just two old timers enjoying their bucket list shit, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, got it.” Cindy winked. “We got your back.”
Peter hated the distrustful look on his friends face soon he’d have to come clean. Lucas was drunk, head-on bar, drunk if they didn’t leave. “Ok, my friend, let’s stagger down to the hotel and call it a night.” Somehow, they managed to walk into the lobby of the Western Hotel, shoulder to shoulder, too drunk to worry about or remember their luggage.
*
Lucas rinsed his mouth with the last of the hotel sized bottle of mouth wash. His breath still stunk, but that’s what you get for going to sleep with a belly full of whisky and not enough to eat. Last night’s whisky breath, the cure, another drink. That was out of the question. If he heaved his guts up like Peter did earlier he might feel better, but he was grateful he wasn’t too hung-over. Hopefully, Peter would bring an extra coffee if the machine worked. The hotel was a true relic of the old west; metal headboard, shaded lamps, laced curtains and other quaint amenities. The only thing modern was the electronic keypad. Surprise. Peter got two coffees’.
“It’s early, let’s leave now, if those guys stayed late they might still be sleep, you think?”
“Makes sense to me.”They turned in their cards. The dozing young pink haired night clerk waved good-bye. A blue four door sedan that resembled a cop car sat on four flats. “Looks like Cindy looked out for us.” Lucas said.
“Yeah, I wonder where they got the car.” Peter asked.
“Wherever, let’s hope they don’t see us leave.”
“Right.”
Lucas rested his hands on the wheel. “We need to check for a tracker.”
“I wish they would. I’ll act a fool and they know it. They are watching for the time being.” Peter sighed. “They don’t know my diagnosis, as far as I know, they think I got dementia. I’ll get lost or taken advantage. They think you or others have been a bad influence on me.”
“Bad influence, that’s bull.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m done talking about it.” Peter said and pointed forward. “Well, Tennessee, her comes two old guys with last night’s whisky on their breath. Hit it, Lucas!”
He dropped the vehicle in drive and headed for the road.
*
For the past hour Lucas strained to see through the fog. The only lights were those from farms set back off the road and the occasional emergency phone. At half the speed limit, he just missed a couple of deer and unfortunately, he splattered what looked like a beaver or possum. The winding road through the trees would be more scenic with the sun burning off the fog, but the haze ruined that. They’d left around four thirty and hopefully; they had a good jump on Peter’s friends. Why wouldn’t he tell him the truth and what did he have to lose at this stage of the game? An hour had passed since they pulled over for him to heave up his guts. Was it the cancer or the coffee? Now he snored, not a care in the world. That didn’t last long.
“What’s that’s smell?” Peter un-reclined his seat.
“A cattle truck, been behind them for a while. Too many turns to pass them, enjoy a whiff of the morning breeze.”
“Any sign of our escort?”
“Sarcasm, this early in the morning. I love it and no…none.” Lucas said. “Tell me about these people.”
“You were listening when I told Cindy, right?”
“Yeah, but you were telling him/her not me, which is disrespectful since I’m doing the driving. What you think about that?”
“You’re right, but I’m glad I did it got us some breathing room. Pass this truck.”
Lucas hit the accelerator, passed three trucks and got back just in time. “Satisfied?” He cracked the windows. “I like fresh air even if it stinks.
“That’s better. My family is biased and they didn’t want me to be at Evergreen Terrace…”
“Biased, their prejudice, right?” Lucas interrupted.
“But, fuck‘em, I’ve learned a lot about other peoples in the past few years.”
“It’s mid-century, man. You mean you’ve led that sheltered a life?” Lucas didn’t know why he expected a straight answer. Forget it, drop him where he’s going and be done with it.
“I’m human. You hear that crap long enough you’ll start believing it, but I love you guys. And, I figured you are alright because Evergreen isn’t a poor folks home.” Peter’s stomach growled. “Sorry, I’m hungry, obviously.”
“Me too and we could use a shower.” Lucas checked the GPS. “There’s a big truck stop ten minutes ahead.”
Several state troopers zoomed past with lights flashing and traffic slowed the closer they got to their destination. “I hope it’s not an accident especially with trucks it takes all day to move them.” Peter said.
“Me too.”
The gaper’s block loosened and they saw the problem pulling into the truck stop. Protestors surrounded several trucks with Meyer Industries on them sat unable to get to the staging area for fuel. The signs said, “No products from Upper Korea” and “Take your Sundomes and shove ‘em.” The drivers of that convoy looked terrified. Troopers were positioned between them and the protestors. Only the wealthy could afford Sundomes, those huge enclosures where people sat and enjoyed 3D artificial sunrises and sunsets. It eased the depression along with the proper medication. Sun psyche, they called it, but when people had a chance to get a handle on human induced climate change the powers that be told the world to go fuck itself via fake news and actions. Money was king in the world and not even The Appalachia Mountain disaster changed the politics of climate change. The so-called experts said ‘if’ it was an asteroid that hit it an angle, had it hit square there wouldn’t be a world. So, they say. The big lie continued. The protest spilled across the highway and that enabled them to get deluxe showers due to delayed truckers. The old timers felt and smelled better and with their guts full pulled onto the highway.
*
Lucas counted twenty abandoned barns and no houses on this stretch of road Peter insisted they take. The scenery was beautiful in spite of the hazy. The trees thrived even with the limited ribbons of sunlight that broke through every now and then. “Get off at the next exit and go right.” Peter instructed.
“Ok.” Two miles later they entered a heavy forest area that wound upward through the hillside close enough to touch. “It’s tight in here.”
“Yeah, that’s the way we like it. It cost a fortune to cut through this rock, so I’m told. My family has been in these parts forever.”
“Have these rocks ever shifted?”
“No, believe it or not, this area is stable. There have been terrible thunderstorms, but that’s it. There’s a bend a mile or so and I’ll be home.”
Lucas never suspected Peter was a hillbilly and he couldn’t wait to meet his family. What a surprise it’s going to be. “Peter, did I mention if I get hung I’m going to haunt you?”
“Yes, you did and don’t insult me, please.”
The highway widened as they reached the higher elevations of the hills. Lucas imagined the beauty of the landscape if there was normal sunlight. The signs indicated more twists and turns ahead with no guard rails. The hillside disappeared into a deepening valley. Finally, the road descended into the flatlands below and the sky lightened. The usual tease, strips of sun lit the clouds. “Is the sun trying to shine or what?”
“A little, believe the deer signs, their big in these parts.”
“Oh, shit!” A huge buck darted in front of them. Lucas hit the brakes and swerved into the opposite lane.
“I told you…don’t give me a heart attack. I didn’t come home for that and speaking of home.”
Lucas needed to pull over and slow his heart beat, but what he saw ahead changed that. A small guardhouse stood in the middle of a set of double wrought iron gates attached to eight-foot brick walls that were covered in thick clinging vines. Lucas couldn’t tell how far the wall went as it descended into the forest. “A gated community, I didn’t expect this,” He said.
“Surprise, what’d expect a trailer park?”
“You wrong for that, Peter.”
“I guess, but I couldn’t help myself.”
“You got a pass or keycard or something?”
“No, voice and face recognition.” Peter leaned forward toward the scanner. “Open says-a -me or whatever.” They laughed as they drove down the shrubbery lined street. “You’ll see a service drive around this bend to unload in the back of the house.”
“Ok, cool.” Lucas saw through the trees and scrubs a huge flat roofed contemporary styled house with massive smoked glass windows, solar panel arrays and small wind mills. Expensive. The place was straight out of a magazine.
“Take the side drive we’ll unload at the garage. On second thought. Leave that stuff housekeeping is around here somewhere. Let’s get something to eat and unwind.”
*
Lucas stood at the industrial sized windows of Peter’s study. The vast expanse of the Usher’s family’s property that included its own upper scale sub division of homes. The majority of which had courtyards and swimming pools with all the usual backyard and deck accessories. “This is a beautiful set up you got here, Peter. Why did you come to Evergreen Terrace?” He figured he was lonely, but he wanted to hear it from Peter. Whatever it was, it had to be good.
“You like that…well you’re going to love this.” Peter’s hand hovered over his laptop and stabbed a button. “That’s that.”
Lucas walked to the serving cart and selected a BLT without cheese. “Now tell me the whole story.”
Peter closed the computer. “First, I’m not going to burden you with the whole story of my family, you don’t care anyway, rightfully so and you’re my friend.”
“Friend? You’ve never said that before…sorry to interrupt. And, speaking of family, where are they?” All he’d seen where the grounds keepers and a cook. Peter needed support since getting his diagnosis, who wouldn’t? His heart had softened over the past few days about Peter. The ride was, despite the rifle incident, fun for a couple of old guys.
“They’re here and there. Wherever they are its fine with me. Anyway, my family is full of snobs and racist. They have been that way since being a bunch of moonshiners. I been hearing that crap for too long and decades ago at age forty plus wanted to get out of the family’s ultra conservative grip. I argued with them all the time and it really got bad. They called me a bleeding-heart Liberal, but this bleeding heart outlived most of them. And, now I’m the family patriarch, all assets are under my control and they hate it.
“Oh, do they know your dying?” Damn, why did he say that?
“Yeah…or they suspect and can’t wait, of course they’d deny it, but they know I know, and that’s okay.”
“Well, they got your back their following you, us.”
“No, Lucas, they got your back, my friend, your back.”
“My back?” Lucas smiled and almost laughed in his face. What the hell was he talking about? “Now you’re scaring me. I’m not going to let my imagination run away with me. You’re kidding, right?”
“No.” Peter leaned back and propped his feet on his desk. I know people talk and they’ve seen all the lawyer types in and out of my place. Well, that’s my family’s legal team. Everybody’s got a trust fund set up, but I distribute it when I get ready. I’m consistent and issue checks or direct deposit the same time annually and upon my death that will be your responsibility.”
“Bullshit! I don’t believe you.” Lucas walked over to the window. “All this and whatever else you leaving me. Ha…ha, very funny.”
“No joke, Lucas. Remember a minute ago you saw me on the laptop?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I said that’s that and it was. I’ll print it out for you.”
“What makes you think I’ll understand all that legal crap?” Lucas asked and sat back down. “Boy, you know how to fuck up a good day. And, you grin about it. Ok, I believe you. Why me?” What had he gotten in to? He needed a drink, a big one.
“Oh, before I forget the family fortune is tied up in real estate, relatively simple to manage after decades.” Peter said.
“You ok?” Lucas saw discomfort on his face. “Take a breath we can talk later.”
“No…now. For the past year being at Evergreen has enlightened me about people that don’t look like me. Up close and personal is better in relationships. Lucas, I had a ball with you guys at the Terrace even though I knew my days were numbered. Gloomy weather didn’t damper the spirit of the group, but I couldn’t stay there for the grand finale. I had to return to this conservative enclave and be with family, but they need to be humbled. It’s ridiculous, the government declares an emergency law to put the few elderly in good shape back to work for hours a week to make up for the corporations and politicians that destroyed the economy. The old folk draft…they ain’t dying fast enough. A few in my family help formulate that bullshit, so in way they’ll taste their own medicine. And, no, I’m not leaving you all the money. You’ll do what I do, the easy part.”
“The easy part. What’s easy about, I assume, millions of dollars?” Lucas asked. This had to be a practical joke.
“All I do is sign the checks so the family gets their money. I have nothing to do with how much. That’s the market stuff, but if I don’t sign, no money, and if they don’t get theirs, I don’t get mine.”
“It’s like dividends?”
“Yeah, and other stuff. But, they’ll be on you when the time comes. A few of them are fools with their money. You’ll meet them as soon as I take my last breath. They’ll be friendly and some won’t, but no harm will come to you.” Peter said.
“What if I say keep your money?”
“My money says you won’t. You’re a good guy and human. And, who wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to see the rich have to kiss their ass, even if it’s just for a minute?” Peter giggled and opened the desk drawer and handed him an envelope. “I want you to hand deliver this to Cindy at “The Saloon.” I like him and if I were a younger man, well you know. I know this is a load to think about, but you got time. I’m not dead yet.”
*
The landscaping around the homes of the Usher enclave rivaled a professional golf course. They zipped here and there in the cart stopping at a few historical points of interest on the property from the post-Civil War era. Peter waved at a few people haze bathing, but the place was empty for the most part. He said the majority of the old southern mansions were replaced with contemporary structures. It was brighter on the usher family side of the hills than others. Amazing, but the sun still didn’t penetrate the haze. Lucas still wore his glasses. They turned off the beaten path on to a trail that led to stream that ran through a narrow opening in the rocks. It sounded like a waterfall was nearby. Lucas wanted to walk, but his knees wouldn’t appreciate the uneven terrain. A few deer stopped, stared for a minute and took off. Peter looked tired, “Let’s go back you need rest.” He didn’t disagree. That’s all he needed, Peter drops dead giving him a tour of their property. Soon enough he’d meet the people who hate him. The rest of the day was boring, nothing good on TV, but Peter had a huge library and a good book came to the rescue.
Peter was right, he wasn’t dead yet, but he didn’t look well either. Lucas left a note, he’d call him later. It was early and the two-hour drive to Holden would clear his head from the Usher enclave. He was starving, but rushing to leave he forgot the breakfast sandwich Maria prepared special for him.
*
The grill at the truck stop was packed this early in the morning. He topped off his battery and waited to be seated at the counter. Ten minutes later he ordered a grilled ham and cheese. “I see the protester are setting up early, what are they complaining about?”
“Jobs.” The tall thin young girl said. “Everybody hates the sun dome builders until they get a job. It ain’t nothin’ but a warehouse. I don’t know why the environmentalist people are bitchin’ about, but they’re here too. Coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.’
“They had them ten-foot-tall rat balloons out there yesterday, unfair labor practice stuff. Hell, they ain’t built the place yet, but when they start working there you ain’t gonna hear a peep out of ‘em. I might apply myself. Enjoy your meal.” She went to serve other customers. Rumor had it, The Upper Korean Company that mastered and built the VR Sundome technology won’t share the secret, but wanted all the market. That was one group who didn’t want the haze to go away anyway soon. Get all they could while they can. Eventually the weather would be normal again. Lucas slipped on his glasses, paid the bill and headed for Holden.
*
Lucas took his time; he figured the saloon wouldn’t open until noon or later. He pulled into the handicapped space in front and there was Cindy standing patiently waiting for the security gates to finish retracting. Thank God, now he didn’t have to wait long. “Hey, Cindy.” He turned and smiled.
“Hey, good to see you, where’s your friend?”
“At home.”
“Wait here for a second.” He entered and the alarm beeper kicked in, a minute later he pushed back the doors and only the swinging doors remained. “Come on in, what can I get you?”
“Nothing thanks, but Peter wanted you to have this.”
Cindy ripped it open immediately. “What the hell is this? Whoa! Is this real?”
“I guess…whatever it is.”Lucas put up his hands. “I don’t want to know, I’m just the messenger.” Whatever the amount that was a kid’s Christmas smile on his face?
“Tell Peter thanks.”
“Will do.” He was getting tired and wanted to get down the road. “Can you do me a big favor?”
“Hell yeah, what you need?”
“Some real moonshine straight out the still.”
“That’s all?”
“Yeah.”
“Be right back.” Cindy went behind the bar and handed Lucas two mason jars. “This stuff is fresh and smooth, enjoy.”
*
“OK, gentlemen, I have a treat for you.” Lucas reached under the table and sat the mason jar on the table.
“What the hell is that?” Mario asked.
“A surprise.” Lucas filled each shot glass. “This moonshine, straight out the hills and when you lose your money don’t blame it on this.”
“I thought that’s what this is.” Hank said.
“To Peter, we hope he got to see the sunshine.” They clicked their glasses and drank. “Now deal the cards.” Hank shuffled the deck and they got started.
Today wasn’t a good poker day for Lucas the more they toasted the more he lost. Break time. A few of the guys in Complex B put meat on the grill, time to feed that moonshine. Lucas threw in his cards, “Time to eat.”
“Hurry back, so you can fill us in on the trip.” Hank said.
Lucas was surprised it took them this long to ask. He wasn’t going to reveal the truth about Peter’s background or family. And, he’d be a fool to tell them about the inheritance. They’d never treat him the same. If Peter wanted them to know he would’ve told them, but he’d have to make-up something. The closer to the truth the better, but one good thing about their group they minded their own business. “Take a break people, I’m not bringing any plates back.”
“I’m on a roll I’ll eat later.” Hank said. They agreed and kept playing.
Lucas sat close to table and opened the lid on his rib tips, macaroni and cheese, greens and spaghetti. “That smells good.” They said.
“No, you cannot sample anything. Go get your own.” And that’s what they did.
“Tell us what happened on your trip, Lucas.” Tubby asked.
“Nothing exciting for two old timers.” That was a lie. “Peter slept most of the way. We took the scenic route and stopped in a town called Holden, a typical small town. We got drunk at the local saloon, it was just like in the movies, but without the bar fights. They took pride in being, sophisticated rednecks, their words not mine.” He popped another tip in his mouth, sucked it bone dry and wiped his mouth. “We passed by a huge protest outside a newly proposed sight to construct a warehouse for Sundome parts.”
“Yeah, don’t blame them. That’s one per-center shit, leave it in Korea.” Mario said. “Nobody in this part of the country can afford them.”
“Anyway, as I was saying. We got to his family’s place and it as I expected an upper middle-class standard of living. Nice homes…the works, even the trailer park area was beautiful. Guess what they cooked up. Fried chittlins.” Lie number two.
“What?” Tubby said.
“Sure did, they were very hospitable I hated to leave so early, but this is home and I missed you clowns.”
*
Peter Usher was right when he told Lucas he’d find his family interesting. The day after the memorial service he sat at a huge conference table in a corporate office atop the tallest building in Atlanta. Peter’s ashes hadn’t cooled and they drooled over the money, as foretold by his late friend. The prestigious law firm Smith, Smith and Smith, the three Smitty’s as they like to be called were triplet boys who came in the world three minutes apart. Three was a big thing with them, all were six three, three hundred pounds mostly muscle; they owned three homes apiece, three cars and three kids also. Lucas thought he’d share the moonshine from Holden with this snobbish group, he put it in a decanter, of course. And, that got their tongues to wag. They weren’t that bad a group…they’re just doing their jobs. The seemingly wisest of the group Jimmy asked the question, “How’d you meet Peter, Lucas?”
As if they didn’t know.
Lucas looked at his watch. “You guys better get those shot glasses off the table they’ll probably be walking through that door any minute.” They scrambled and did so. Thirty seconds later in walked the Usher’s. Good tactic, Lucas.
The members of the Usher family he recognized nodded at him as they sat. The attorneys never told him how many were being issued checks. All of them had braided beards, one blond, brunette and red. Assuming these people were it, that means he wouldn’t be here long. He felt their contempt in hurricane like gusts. They were pissed. Smile Lucas, that’ll really piss them off. “Good morning guys, how are you?”
Silence. Then the guy with the blond beard spoke. “I’m Thomas Usher, this Marilyn and Roderick Usher.”
Their expression remained frozen. “We don’t agree with this, but cannot do anything about it so let’s get on with it.” Marilyn said. “Peter must have done this because I’m transgender.”
“Transgender, really?” Lucas tried not to grin, but it didn’t work.
“You people make me sick!” Marilyn shouted.
“That’s your business. But, before we start.” Lucas reached under the table and sat a leather case next to him and opened it. “This urn, you might recognize it, contains Peter remains and he requested he be present.” The sounds of disapproval filled the room. “I believe that’s in the documents, right attorneys?” They shuffled papers and re-read, smiled and nodded in agreement. “Can I get a drum roll or what?” Lucas laughed. “Ok, I’ll be quiet now.”
An hour later Peter’s relative listened to the terms he established prior to his death, again.
They hated it.
It included the stipulation, Lucas had thirty days to issue their checks, only checks, but he could draw his funds immediately. Lucas put his hands-on top of the urn. “Sounds good to me, Peter. Thanks gentlemen.” He put the urn back in its case. “I’ll be in touch.” Thomas Usher slammed his hands on the table and shot to his feet. That startled everybody.
“You morbid son-of-a-bitch!!”
“Who controls the money, don’t forget it.” Lucas shouted back and walked out.
Atlanta was new to him, but he had more important financial matters to tend to then sightseeing. He made several calls before he left the bank and headed home. A year from now he’d back and have to go through the same foolishness with the Usher’s and that would end it. Peter set up the humbling of the snobby conservatives for two years. That was more than enough for him. His eyes popped when he saw the amount of his share and he knew what to do it.
*
“Did the family get the flowers, Lucas?” Mario asked.
“Yeah, they were beautiful.”
“I picked them, but you guys are familiar with my impeccable taste.”
“Modesty has never been your strong point, Mario. “Tubby said. “Wish we could’ve been there.”
“Well considering where everybody is, that’s understandable.” Like they’d care anyway. The supporters of the New Medicare Reform laws regarded them as a burden. The more he thought about it the angrier he got. The Usher’s would get what was coming to them as close to the deadline as possible. It felt good to have them by the balls, the way Peter wanted. Squeeze, but don’t remove!
“Attention…Attention everybody, this is Chief Administrator Tyler. I have good news; an anonymous donor has given the Evergreen Terrace Assisted Living Complex a Sundome!” The petite lady with the deep voice virtually screamed the good news over the PA.
“What?” Hank asked.
“You heard her, and believe it. When was the last time she made an announcement?” Lucas said. “That’s great VR sunlight, we deserve it.” It would take a month to build, but that’s okay. Lucas covered his tracks well they’ll never find out who donated it. “Deal the cards today feels lucky for me.
The End
Curtis A. Bass (Curtisstories.blog) is a writer of short stories from the American south. He writes in a variety of genres such as science fiction, horror, mystery and young adult. He has been published in several online and print journals. When not writing he prefers to stay active ballroom dancing or downhill skiing. He is currently working on his first novel. |
The Fourth Reich
“Incoming gravitational pulse, Captain!”
Almost as soon as Science Officer Karen Jordan got these words out, the ship jolted with a mighty shudder.
“Sorry, sir. It was traveling near light speed. The signal reached us only seconds before the surge.”
Suddenly the red beacon on the wall began flashing and a loud klaxon signaled the ship’s computer had initiated a red alert.
“Computer. What’s going on?” Captain Mundy shouted to be heard over the alarm.
“The gravitational pulse indicates a black hole in the local star system. Its attraction may overcome ship’s thrust. Event horizon imminent,” said the dispassionate voice.
“Captain, our engines are struggling to get free of the pulse,” Helmsman Anderson reported.
“Divert more power to engine.”
“I’m giving her all I’ve got, sir.”
Captain Mundy hit the comm button on the arm of his captain’s chair.
“Jones. I need more power. Divert it from everything but life support if you need to.”
“Diverting,” Jones called back. “I’m sending you all I’ve got. I’ve cut off everything but the kitchen sink.”
“Well, cut that off too if you need to. I need all the power we’ve got sent to my engines.”
“Still sluggish, Captain,” Anderson said.
“Set a course along the line of the gravitational pull and see if you can peel away. And Karen, see if you can turn off that damn bell,” the captain ordered. The shrill alarm ceased.
“How did we stumble in this hole anyway?” the captain groused.
“It’s not on our charts, sir. Remember, we are charting new territory. We’re farther out in the Sagittarian Arm than any ship has been. Our sensors had swept this area. The computer should have notified us that space was warped in this area.”
“Well, log it and report it back to Earth Command. And find out what’s wrong with that computer. I want no more surprises.”
“Aye, sir.”
“We don’t seem to be able to pull away, sir,” Anderson told him, his voice a mix of frustration and growing alarm.
“Are you giving it everything? Hyperdrive and impulse?”
“Everything, sir.”
“Can we polarize the tractor beam and push away from the center of mass?” the captain asked.
“That’s just the problem, sir,” Jordan said. “It’s really like a hole. It feeds on anything we send its way. There’s nothing to push against.”
“Sir, there’s a small planetoid ahead. It’s in a higher orbital plane. Our thrust plus the tractor beam may enable us to pull ourselves out.”
“Do it,” Mundy said, wiping his brow and pushing his blond hair back up on his head. Longer than regulation but in space, who cares?
He watched while Anderson flipped switches and dials expertly at his consol. He’s just a kid, Mundy thought. At 21 David Anderson had zoomed through the Academy and now was on his first space mission.
“Put it on visual, Karen.”
On the large view screen, they could see an irregularly shaped rock, two miles long and maybe a third as wide. It was slowly pinwheeling like a thrown bowling pin. A fat bowling pin. They could hear the hum as the tractor beam locked onto its target and began pulling. The rock appeared to grow, showing they were getting closer. Anderson’s plan was working.
“Captain, our engines can’t sustain this much strain. If we don’t cut back soon, they may blow. Then we won’t have any power.” Jones was shouting on his comm over the alarm that had begun clanging in the engine room.
“And if we don’t keep it up, we’ll be having our dinner at the center of a black hole. Keep it coming, Jonesie.” Mundy could visualize Jonesie in the engine room–overalls, stained tee shirt, graying hair sticking up in all directions. In his estimation, the best damn engineer in the fleet.
With an electrical crackle, a spark flew out of one dial on Anderson’s consol. He jumped back to avoid being shocked.
“Captain, we just lost engine two. We’re starting to lose altitude.”
“See if we can lock onto the rock with our talons. That should give us some room to catch our breath.” Anderson folded his six foot two frame back into the helmsman’s seat.
As they were near enough to the asteroid, the ship shot out several grappling hooks. They reeled the ship in and drove pitons into the rock to secure the ship. The asteroid continued pinwheeling on with the ship along for the ride.
“Jonesie. How long until the engine is back online?”
“I dunno, Captain. Maybe never.”
“Not acceptable. Get my engine running. That’s an order.”
“Will do, Captain.” If anyone could fix a broken engine in space, it was Jonesie, he thought.
“Suggestions, gentlemen?” Captain Mundy said, looking around the bridge.
“Sir, once we get engine two back online, we can wait until the planetoid is between us and the black hole. We could polarize the tractor beam as you suggested and push ourselves toward a higher orbital plane. Once there, we could look for other masses to pull or push against. We might be able to crawl out by stages that way.”
“Mister Anderson, remind me to give you a raise,” the captain smiled. He clicked his comm button again. “Jones, I need that engine.”
“Working on it, Captain.”
***
Captain’s Log
United Earth Ship Superior
Captain Robert Mundy
Star Date 3428.7
Earth Date April 20, 2316
Our exploratory and mapping mission into the Sagittarian Arm of the galaxy has been interrupted by the discovery of a black hole. We were pulled into its gravity well and are working on plans to get out. Engine two is temporarily out. No casualties or injuries in the 20 ship personnel. Captain out.
***
“Karen, get this and my last five log entries encrypted and sent to Earth Command.”
“Aye, Captain. It may take some time. I can’t send it via any media except subspace. Nothing else can overcome the gravity well.”
“How does subspace do it? Maybe we can use that technology to our advantage.”
“Not unless we can make ourselves microscopic. Subspace uses quantum entanglement to overcome issues with gravity, speed of light, and distance. That only works on the subatomic level. However, if we don’t get out of this black hole’s grasp, we will soon be the size of those subatomic particles.”
“Explain,” the captain asked. His forte was military, not science, and he had no problem deferring to Karen Jordan’s obviously immense intelligence and vast store of knowledge.
“Yes, sir. As we get closer to the center of mass, it will subject our bodies to greater and greater gravitational pressure. The ship’s force field will protect us for a while. That won’t last long as the force increases. It will give away and it will crush us. Then the ship will collapse like an old-style aluminum can. Our mass will remain the same, but our volume will continue decreasing as we fall into the hole. But the radiation may kill us first.”
“What happens when we hit bottom?”
“No one knows. There may be hundreds of star systems already in the hole. The pressure will be so great that eventually the atoms will collapse. When the electrons connect with their nuclei, there will probably be a tremendous release of energy, but our equations fail us. Einstein theorized an Einstein-Rosen Bridge, what some people call a wormhole.”
“Time travel, Karen? Surely you don’t believe in that.”
“If Einstein believed it, it’s good enough for me. He said it would open a portal to another place and time, possibly another universe. Unfortunately, we won’t be alive to see it.”
“Unfortunately,” Mundy echoed.
“Our complement of scientists is having a field day with this. No one has ever been able to study a black hole this closely before.”
“I wonder why,” Mundy said sourly.
“They understand that we are in trouble, but you know how scientists are. They are feeding the computer data as fast as they can to be encrypted for shipping back to colleagues on Earth. Gloria was just telling me about the anomalies she has spotted just outside the event horizon.”
“What kind of anomalies?”
“We don’t know. Wrinkles or tears in the space/time continuum.”
“Space/time continuum? I think you just exceeded my pay grade, Lieutenant. Carry on.” He watched as she headed back to the labs to ride herd on his “resident eggheads” as he called the ten scientists on the mission. As her superior officer, he maintained a friendly distance. As a man he admired how her rear filled her uniform and undulated, creating the infinity sign as she walked, her short blond cut bouncing gaily. She’s twenty-five and I’m twenty-nine, he thought. She’s beautiful and I’m somewhat handsome (he knew some female scientists had their eye on him. One of the male ones also, according to his First Officer). Any other place and time, he mused. If only we could drop into that wormhole. He smiled ruefully as Major Donovan approached.
“Smiling at your science officer’s ass, Captain? Hardly regulation, but I have to agree with you.” Ben Donovan was a rugged man of thirty-five, decorated and proven on many occasions. He had earned distinction but then was reassigned to a desk. War horses aren’t needed in peacetime. He had requested to come along on this mission as security. He said his other option was to put a laser pistol to his head.
“What’s up, Major Donovan?” Mundy asked. As a military man himself, he trusted Donovan as much as anyone on his bridge team.
“A minute of your time, if I may.” Although Donovan technically outranked Mundy, as he was Marine to Mundy’s Navy, he always deferred to Mundy as the commanding officer of the ship.
“Shoot.”
“I want to know if our situation is as dire as it sounds. Some eggheads are getting a bit skittish. I need to know if me and Jorgenson are going to have a riot on our hands.”
Donovan and Lieutenant Kevin Jorgenson, the other marine, had been attached as their “security team” although he wasn’t sure how much security two jarheads could provide. But who knows what they were likely to encounter, and a few hired guns might come in handy.
“We have a plan, such as it is. If it doesn’t work, well, yeah, we’re in dire shape. Jordan doesn’t think our scientist friends will cause much trouble. They’re having fun with their toys and the black hole right now. If worse comes to worst, we can lock’em down.”
“I wanted to make sure I have authorization to keep order.”
“Just use non-lethal force, and only as necessary. I’d hate to get out of this at the last second and have to explain dead scientists to Earth Command. My ship, my responsibility.”
***
“Captain, I’ve got engine two running again. It’s jury-rigged but it should hold. Unlessen you try to get it to do more than a ship this size is supposed to do. These are small engines, Captain. Not what you’re used to in the Navy. Fortunately, the failsafe knocked if offline before it had a chance to go kapow.” Jones’ voice sounded weary.
“Mister Anderson. Do we have a target?” the captain asked.
“Yes, sir. We do. Another large asteroid. Fortunately, we are passing directly under it while our little rock is between us and the center of mass of the black hole. On your mark, Captain.”
“Mister Jordan, let me know when we are in optimum position,” he ordered, using official Navy terminology for the lieutenant.
“Aye, Captain. Position coming up. In three, two, one. Now.”
“Engage,” the captain ordered. Since the ship’s artificial gravity remained constant and overrode all external stimuli, the only sign that they were moving was a faint rumbling from within the ship.
“Thrust at maximum, Captain. Tractor polarized repulsion also at maximum. We seem to be gaining ground,” reported Anderson.
“All right, Davie.” Mundy had come to stand by Anderson’s chair, bent over, his head close to the second lieutenant. “At the halfway point, we flip the tractor and switch polarization at the same time, locking onto the new asteroid. No second chances.” Everyone sat quietly as the seconds elapsed.
“Now, Davie!” Mundy was amazed at how quickly the young man’s hands flew over his console.
“Target acquired, and… traction.”
“Captain, I’m warning you. The engines ain’t liking this one bit,” Jones called almost immediately.
“I’m not asking them to like it. Just do their jobs. Give me fifteen more seconds.”
“We got maybe 20. No more.”
“Come on, Davie. Pull!”
“Grappling hooks away,” Anderson said. “And contact. Cut engines.”
“Reel us in and lock it down. Well, done, Mr. Anderson.” He patted the young man’s shoulder. Anderson sat back, somewhat pleased with himself.
***
The bridge door opened, and First Officer Commander Jennifer Newly strode in. Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun and everything about her looking fresh and pressed. She had served nearly five years with Mundy. She repeatedly made sure to be assigned as his second. She knew he had the makings of a great captain and wanted to learn from him. And she had decided he wasn’t that hard to look at, either. She felt that, together, they made a formidable team. Mundy was inclined to agree.
“Reporting for shift, Captain. You may be relieved if you wish.”
“Good to see you, Jen. Take the con. Mister Anderson, brief the commander. Lieutenant Jordan, with me. We have a scientist to go see.” He and Jordan left the bridge, with Jordan wondering what this was about.
***
Despite its name, UES Superior was not a large ship. An inelegantly shaped floating box, it was fifty meters long, ten wide and twenty deep. It resembled two old style mobile home units, one stacked atop the other. It was divided into a small bridge, science labs, five closet sized cubicles for the scientists who had to double up, and six for the crew. Only Mundy had a private room. Or private closet as he called it. There was also a small workout area crew were required and scientists were “recommended” to use to maintain their muscle mass while in space. Finally, a dining area/meeting room that would accommodate all twenty of them, with a little crowding. The scientists worked in shifts, five sleeping while five had the labs. Similarly, Captain Mundy and Commander Newly traded off, as did engineer Commander Casey Jones and his assistant Lieutenant Digger Emory. The other four crew, Jordan, Anderson, Cain and Dr. N’dutu also rotated as needed.
***
It took nearly two days to find another large body to use. At least they assumed it was two days. None of the chronometers worked in the event horizon vortex. They could determine very little except that there was a violent maelstrom of matter and energy surrounding the ship.
They attempted the maneuver just as before. However, shortly after starting, Karen shouted “Gravitational wave!” Everyone grabbed onto whatever they could as the wave slammed into the ship. It sent them tumbling along the orbital path. Fortunately, the shielding was strong enough to keep them from being crushed as they bounced around the orbital zone like the ball in an ancient pinball machine. By the time they had established a modicum of control over their ship Anderson shouted, “Holy moley, we’re headed straight into the hole!”
“Pull out, pull out!” Captain Mundy ordered, keeping the panic he felt from his voice. Because of Anderson’s quick thinking and sharp reflexes, they pulled the ship up and it shot across the surface of the waves of hot gases like a stone skimming across a lake. They had lost a significant amount of altitude, although they had no way of measuring how much. They could hear the groans and growling of the ship hull as the force field tried to shield them from the crushing gravity this deep in the black hole. They had swung around the hole like a rock in a sling around a hunter’s raised hand.
“Captain, I can’t get an accurate gauge,” said Anderson. “But it would appear we’ve been slung into a super-fast eddy. We’re spinning around the hole like crazy. Maybe as much as 0.9 light speed. This ship isn’t built for such speed. If it weren’t for the force field and gravitational pressure, we’d have already spun apart.”
“So, if we hit light speed, we’ll start going back in time and can avoid this mess?” Captain Mundy joked.
“I wish. Even our school kids don’t believe that anymore,” Commander Newly said. Considering the predicament they were in, she had taken to remaining on the bridge during her down time. “There’s no going back in time.”
“Except maybe through a black hole,” said Lieutenant Jordan winsomely.
“That’s pretty much that, then,” said Mundy. “We’ve got no more aces up our sleeves. Karen, can we get a last dispatch off to Earth Command?”
“Negative, Captain. We’re so deep in the hole it affects even the quantum realm.”
***
Over a few days they successfully attached themselves to several larger bodies caught in the same super-eddy and gained a little more distance from the black hole, but could not move further. Their velocity made it impossible to grab large bodies outside the eddy. Lieutenant Jordan said it was just as well. The sudden jolt of the reduction in speed would probably tear the ship apart.
The crew spent a week maneuvering the ship to the upper edges of the eddy only to have the gravity drag them back down. It required constant monitoring to keep them out of the black hole’s hungry maw.
“I doubt we can do this much longer,” Mundy said, speaking to the entire crew and scientists. “The toll on the superstructure of the ship is too much. It will eventually give. I suppose we have a few more days, less than a week before it breaches the hull. I imagine it will be a quick but quite painful death. I will authorize desensitizing pills for all military personnel who want them, but I expect everyone to be at their stations from now on. We will meet this like a disciplined team. N’dutu, as medical officer, could you take over distributing suicide pills to the scientists who may want a quick exit?”
“Sure thing, Captain.” She left the bridge to carry out her assignment.
“I guess this is where I’m supposed to say it’s been an honor to serve with you. It sounds so trite, but actually it sums up how I feel. It has been an honor. Thank you, sir,” Karen said. Mundy could hear the held back tears in her voice.
“Same here, Karen. Chin up. Best damn science officer ever. I’ll put that in your permanent file,” he said with a grin. She gave him a tremulous smile.
After Karen left the bridge to confer with the scientists, Jennifer Newly came up to Mundy’s chair.
“I just wanted to echo what Karen said. It truly has been an honor to serve with you. Five years now. We know each other so well. I can almost anticipate your orders before you give them. It’s just awful that it has to end this way. If there’s anything like an afterlife I guess I’ll see you on the other side, Rob.”
“Yeah, feels like we’re an old married couple. See you too, Jen. If we both go the same way,” he said with a smile.
***
For the rest of the day they all sat at their stations, pretending it was like any other day. All the scientists had rejected the suicide pills, saying they would run their experiments to the very last, hoping that someone might eventually pick up their data. Like the officers, most of them had no family back home. That was why they had chosen a multi-year mission into space. Anderson kept Mundy apprised of what the psi on the outer hull was and how much it could withstand. He also reported that radiation inside the ship was reaching critical levels.
They were near to breaking and another gravitational surge like the last two would flatten the ship. Their hearts barely had time to leap into their throats when Karen yelled, “Gravitational surge, but it’s coming from…”. That was all she got out before the wave struck the fragile little craft.
***
Admiral’s Log
WAF ship Konigsberg
Reich-Admiral Zariah Als
15.13.578 Anno Imperium
The crew has become restless as we have been weeks without a prize. My research into ancient records indicate a ship was lost in this area over 900 years ago, back during the United Earth years. There is no record of another ship salvaging it so it should be somewhere in this star system. I’ll check the black hole first. A smart captain would have devised a way to park himself at the event horizon if it captured him. Perhaps that ship is circling there still, with near thousand-year-old corpses guarding their treasures. Admiral out.
***
The scuttlebutt is that we are looking for a ghost ship lost a thousand years ago, thought Bunde Christophe Verhoven. If I’m in a boarding party and come up against a skeleton, I hope I hold my shite together better than poor Bujonjoe did. I had befriended him, although I’ve had to act in the past few weeks as if I never did. I feel like I deserted him. I’m most ashamed of that. Such a sensitive soul as him should never have been in the military. He was not cut out for it. But his family forced the issue. His old man was a hard-core Nationalist. He swore his son would serve and advance or die honorably. Well, Buj did neither. He stuck his laser pistol in his mouth on wide dispersal and vaporized his head. When we found that freighter a couple months ago, Buj had been on the boarding party. He stumbled and fell into a partially decomposed body. He screamed and scrambled back, spewing vomit all over himself. Even worse, he pissed himself. The men laughed at him. But they felt he had cracked under pressure. They could not trust him. He was no longer part of the team. He started getting hazed pretty hard. I saw the bruises from the beatings he was getting. The dark circles under his eyes told me he wasn’t sleeping or wasn’t being allowed to sleep. He avoided mess hall and hardly ate a thing. He confided in me the last time I saw him alive that the three guys who everyone knew were the worst of the sadistic bundesleiters had gang raped him. He was frantic and didn’t know where to turn. It was even worse luck that he was serving with an old pirate like Als. And I don’t use the word pirate lightly. Als, with his one eye and broad girth is much like the lawless brigands that sailed the oceans of old Earth some two thousand years ago. But the Supreme Leader and the Empire turn a blind eye to his activities as long as he gets results. Als pays as little attention to his men as to the law so the worst of the bullies run the barracks. They had identified Bujonjoe as a weak link and he was being removed. As far as he was concerned, he took the only path he could see. I just feel sorry for him.
***
“So tell me, Reichsmagister, what do you see?” Admiral Als asked his science advisor.
“There might be something there, might not. If it’s beyond the event horizon, we won’t be able to see it.”
“I’m aware of that. But our quantum entanglement device can detect telltale signs at the quantum level if there is something in there worth pursuing.”
“Yes, but at the cost of a huge expenditure of energy which we are already running low on.”
“But think what we might find? The records say they lost a science ship in this area. It may have had those sun charged batteries we lost the technology for. Just think, if we found those. An endless supply of energy for me. And for the Empire at the right price, of course. And a science ship. No telling what surprising technologies it may hold. We lost so much in the Glorious Revolution.”
“If it is your command, mein Herr.”
“It is.”
“As you wish. Heil!” he gave his admiral the straight arm salute.
“Heil.”
***
Poor Buj. Being raped was the ultimate dishonor. Man on man sex was nothing new. On spacing ships with a hundred men and no women it was common. Some barracks had men who liked it and provided for their platoon. In others, the weaker men were just taken and forced. Even that had a modicum of honor since they were providing for the esprit de corps. But to be raped for no other reason than to show that you could be signifies the victim is no man. He is no more a man than is a slave. He is as low as a woman and used as one. I am not sure if that message is what sent Buj over the edge or if it was just a cumulative effect. I’m not sure I could handle it as long as poor Buj did. God, I hope I hold my shite together if I’m on that boarding party.
***
“Mixed news, mien Admiral,” said the Reichsmagister as he entered the bridge. He stopped and sketched a short bow before continuing. “It appears from the QED signature that a ship is hiding in the jersa surrounding the hole.”
“Not hiding, Reichsmagister. Just the victim of a power beyond its ability to control. Just as we would be if we ventured too close.” Then, as if just making sure, he turned to the helmsman. “Helmsleiter, be sure to keep a respectable distance from the event horizon or you will feel the sting of my laser baton on your back.”
“Jawohl, mein Admiral.” Helmsleiter Kell’s eyes grew wide and round at the thought of the Admiral’s laser baton.
“That sounds like good news, Reichsmagister. Can we get a fix on it?” asked the admiral.
“Nein. It moves around the black hole at nearly the speed of light. May as well try to capture an electron as it speeds around its nucleus.”
“That is not acceptable Reichsmagister. We can capture a thing that can be measured. I will not come this far and be denied my prize. It is your duty to determine how we will acquire it. I will give you until this time tomorrow to work it out. Dismissed.”
“Heil!” said the Reichsmagister with his straight arm salute.
“Heil.”
***
It looks like I may be off the hook, after all. Even if there is a derelict to be salvaged we apparently can’t get to it. The admiral gave the Reichsmagister until today to figure it out. The guys say he’s got nothing. The admiral doesn’t like hearing no. The Reichsmagister will at least wind up in the brig and they may round us up to see a public torture. It’s been a while since anybody pissed off the old man that much. Word gets around. They say the Reichsmagister was on the bridge until late last shift. He supposedly had some animated conversations with Commandant Michaelik Smits. I don’t know what that was about, but I bet he was trying to work out how not to end up in the torture booth. I don’t particularly like the Reichsmagister but no one deserves the torture booth. And I don’t enjoy being forced to watch the agony of a man as they torture him. An object lesson, Als calls it. Als is a savage bully who enjoys hurting people. Unfortunately, he is just the kind of man the Empire breeds and promotes. I hate this whole stinking culture. I hate what they did to Bujonjoe. And I hate what they are trying to make me become.
***
“Heil, mein Admiral. I believe I have devised a method of extracting the derelict ship from the cloud of jersa.” The Reichsmagister looked haggard from his sleepless night.
“Oh? Enlighten me.”
“Commandant Smits. If you would be so kind. Please bring up the black hole with the suspected orbit of the ship as predicted by the QED.” A black sun appeared on the screen, blacker than the black background. It was most visible as a black circle in the group of background stars. A red dot circled the black sun so rapidly it seemed to be a solid line. It was at a forty-degree angle to the WAF Konigsberg, only partially visible from their angle.
“Now, Herr Kell,” he spoke to the helmsman. “Please realign the ship’s orbit by fifty degrees longitudinally.” The helmsman looked to the Commandant.
“Do it,” he said. Once they had established a new orbit, the Reichsmagister said, “You see now that our orbit is perpendicular to the salvage. Bring us to this point in our orbit, Herr Kell,” he said, pointing to a spot on the small map in front of Kell. “Now show us a ship’s view of the orbit of the salvage.” The diagram on the large screen showed the same black spot. But now the red dot was circling the back spot in a wide flat circle, always in sight.
“We can capture what we can measure, you said, mein Admiral. But to measure it, we must see it. From this vantage, we can figuratively see it or at least detect it continuously. That will allow us to capture it. I propose to polarize our tractor beam to a circular pattern, set it to detect only metal, turn it toward the orbit of the salvage and see what fish we catch.”
“Masterful and logical. Just as I expected of you, mein Reichsmagister,” said Als with sincerity in his voice. “Helmsleiter, make the changes the Reichsmagister has recommended.”
“Jawohl, mein Admiral.” The young helmsman’s fingers flew over his control panel. He knew Admiral Als had little patience and was not to be kept waiting.
“Ready, mein Admiral.”
“Proceed.”
***
The crew of the UES Superior were near to breaking and another gravitational surge like the last two would flatten the ship. Their hearts barely had time to leap into their throats when Karen yelled, “Gravitational surge, but it’s coming from…” That was all she got out before the wave struck the fragile little craft. “Above,” she barely yelled. The hissing, pinging and bonging from the craft moving around the slurry of the black hole increased.
“It looks as if we’re moving against the momentum of the debris, not toward the black hole,” said Anderson peering through a porthole. “That’s not possible.”
“Maybe another black hole has moved into the neighborhood,” offered Jimmy Cain, a helmsman who wasn’t on duty but had decided to meet the end among his friends. He was so young, just out of the Academy, he made Mundy feel like an old man. He was an odd match as Anderson’s counterpart at the helm. At five feet six he was the shortest height the Academy would accept.
“No, we’d have noticed it before now,” said Jordan.
“Well, we’re definitely moving. And up, away from the black hole. I don’t know how it’s happening, but it’s happening.” Anderson was delighted.
“Well, I don’t like my staff standing around with their collective thumbs up their asses. Something’s going on and I want answers. Pronto!” Everyone scrambled to their stations and managed to look industrious although no one knew exactly what to do.
***
“We must find a way to slow down the craft. Once it leaves the soupy jersa surrounding the black hole, it might fly apart slinging around at nearly the speed of light. Helmsleiter, can you use the tractor beam to retard their speed?”
“Jawohl, Herr Reichsmagister.”
“Then do so.”
***
“Captain. We are definitely caught in a gravity wave from above. But the wave is coherent, not natural. It’s as if we’re caught in a tractor beam.” Karen Jordan came up with a theory that seemed hardly plausible.
“We’re movin’ at near the speed of light. Ain’t no tractor beam can catch you when you’re doin’ that,” Casey Jones gave his opinion. As the expert on what was physically possible with machinery, what he said carried weight.
“We’re slowing down,” Anderson called from his console. “It’s like our engines are being overridden.”
“Cut our engines, Davie. Let’s save them for when we need them. Somebody or something has us in a trap. I want to know who or what and why. Give it to me, gentlemen.”
“I think I know,” said Anderson softly, yet everyone turned. “Look at this.” The screen showed an exterior view from the ship. It was obvious they were rising through waves of gases and energy, star dust and micrometeoroids. And right in the center, possibly light minutes distant was a glowing dot. A dot that the console indicated was a spaceship. A spaceship that was not registered on Earth.
“Oh shit,” thought Mundy. “First contact.”
***
“Captain. I really must demand that you let me speak with the aliens. As the only one aboard with diplomatic experience it is only reasonable,” scientist Harry Albright said. “No offense, but with your military background and military thinking you are liable to cowboy us into an interspecies war.”
“No offense taken,” Mundy said gritting his teeth. He really hated dealing with these people. That’s what he had Karen for.
“Harry, you know NASA and World Council protocol is very clear on this. The commander of the ship that makes first contact is to represent Earth unless an actual credentialed diplomat is on board,” Jordan chided him.
“That’s ridiculous. This is too important a moment to be left to amateurs.”
“We haven’t even determined if they are friendly or hostile. Before I let you invite them in for tea and crumpets, I want to know a little bit more about them.”
“It’s attitudes like that which get us into wars. I wish to file a complaint.”
“Take it up with Earth Command.”
“Hmph! If you will continue to refuse to see reason on this, at least agree that Dr. Righter and myself will sit on the committee that receives them. There’s no telling what kind of faux pas you may commit.”
“Dr. Albright. Let me put this as diplomatically as I can. No fucking way!” He knew Earth Command would be all over him about this, but the momentary satisfaction was worth it. He strode out.
***
“Karen, is it possible for them to hold us in a tractor beam at this distance?” Mundy asked.
“I don’t think possible is the question. They undoubtedly do have us in a beam.”
“Well, they saved our asses. We need to thank them. Establish communication. And give us a little push with impulse, Anderson. I want to at least give the impression that we are coming to them of our own will.”
“Captain, I’ve done some scans on them. They don’t have any kind of shield up to prevent scans.” Commander Newly said.
“So, either their shields are down to show friendly intent or they don’t fear us enough to put up shields or they just don’t have shields. Keep our shields up, Jennifer, until we know more about them. What did your scans find?”
“A mixed bag. Their engines seem more primitive than ours, but they do have hyperdrive, obviously. They are also heavily armed. I doubt our shields would last more than a couple of salvos. Heat signature would indicate there are warm-blooded creatures inside.”
“Good. I really didn’t want to meet up with any lizard people. I hate lizards,” said the captain, only half joking.
“Or bug people. The movies about bug people give me nightmares,” admitted Anderson.
“All right. Let’s keep our wits about us. Anything yet, Karen?”
“Negative, Captain.”
“Send everything we know so far to Earth Command. Do it subspace. If they detect the message, they may mistake it for hostile intent, or they may trace it to Earth. No need in announcing where we’re from until we know more.”
“Will do, Captain.”
“Captain!” Commander Newly called. “I’ve got something on my system. It looks like a message. It’s an old style system of amplitude frequency modulation, we haven’t used it in decades or even hundreds of years.”
“Good. Feed it into the computer to start working on a translation. Is it directed at us?”
“No, sir. They sent it in the other direction. I guess back to its base or fleet.”
“Holy shit,” Jimmy whispered it so only Anderson heard it. “Captain, Captain, you gotta hear this.”
“What, Jimmy?” asked Mundy.
“Well, you know I’m a techno geek, right? I mean I have a kind of skill with computer systems. I can hack into just about anywhere. I think I just hacked into the intership system of the aliens. They’re speaking English.”
***
“Commandant Smits,” called Helmsleiter Kell. “The salvage appears to be assisting our tractor beam.”
“What do you mean ‘assisting’?” asked the Commandant. Admiral Als walked over to stand near the helmsman.
“The salvage seems to be pulling away from the black hole, as if trying to come toward us.”
“That ship has been stuck over 900 years and has accreted a ton of sludge and spacemud. It was probably just stuck and then broke loose. No chance of us losing it?” the Commandant asked, seeking assurance. Losing Admiral Als’ salvage ship would send them all to a prison planet.
“No sir. We have a good grip and our beam is strong. And as I said, it’s not fighting us. It’s trying to come toward us.”
“Interesting,” said the Reichsmagister from a nearby console. “I’ve noticed the ship’s energy signature. Its systems seem to be still running. Imagine that. After 900 years. They sure don’t make them like they used to.”
“Yes. A worthy prize,” gloated the Admiral from his perch above all the others on the bridge.
“Commandant! I am getting a communication from the salvage ship,” the communications officer said. “It is a regular signal. I don’t recognize the frequency. I can’t tell if there is any message imbedded, just a regular pinging.”
“Bah. It’s probably an automated distress signal. It’s probably motion sensitive, set to start if the ship is disturbed. You are all as nervous as my maiden aunt. Herr Kell. How long until we get the ship into our cargo bay?”
“Four hours, mein Herr.”
***
“English? What the hell? Are you sure about that, Jimmy?” The captain was out of his chair and standing beside Lieutenant Cain, looking at his console.
“Their system is primitive. My little sister could hack into this. But look at these interoffice messages. English. Some wording is a bit off, but that’s what it is.”
“Ok. Keep looking. Karen, Jennifer. Thoughts?”
“Not a clue,” Jennifer said.
“I’m stumped, too,” Karen said, shaking her head so that a lock of blonde escaped her band and fell in her eye. She absentmindedly brushed it away.
“Captain,” Jimmy called again. “I can get into the log of where the ship’s been, cargo, armament, registry, personnel. Everything but the captain’s log. The encryption there is more sophisticated. It may take me a while to break it, but I’m sure I can,” he said with a sniff of pride.
“What have you found out.”
“Nothing that makes sense. It says it left Earth two years ago. They have 90 personnel, mostly soldiers. Heavily armed. Under an Admiral Zariah Als. A lot of the titles involve ‘reich’. And the system of dates is weird. Apparently, it’s the year 578 AI. And, uh, well there was something about being involved in the Martian uprising. The ship was instrumental in causing the collapse of the dome over the Martian capital, causing everyone inside to die. That was like a million people. My gramma lives there,” there was a note of worry in his voice. “It matches nothing in our computer’s database.”
“None of that makes a bit of sense.” Mundy was perplexed as anyone.
“Ship’s registry is WAF Reichsboot Konigsberg”
“WAF?” asked Mundy.
“Uh, it says World Aryan Federation.”
“Oh my god. Neo-Nazis? That explains all the pseudo-German crap. I didn’t think there were enough of them to make a difference,” Newly said. “Have they taken over while we were gone?”
“No. We’ve been in contact with Earth the whole time, except when we were in the event horizon. Wait a minute. I noticed something earlier but didn’t follow up. The stars are wrong,” Jordan said.
“Stars?” Mundy asked.
“Computer. Analyze star field and match with current star charts,” she ordered.
“Complete,” said a disembodied voice.
“Based on star position, what is the date?”
“Star date approximately 5739.”
“That’s not possible,” said Mundy. “Computer. Recalculate.”
“Working. Star date 5739, unable to calculate decimal based on available data. Earth date 3220, unable to calculate month and day based on available data.”
Anderson said what everyone was thinking. “But that’s like 900 years' difference, in the future.”
“No. The computer must be malfunctioning, taking in some erroneous information,” Newly said. “Or affected by the black hole’s radiation. Either that or we have to believe that we have time traveled into the future. Which isn’t possible.”
“I wonder,” said Jordan. “I have a theory. Let me get to my console.” Once sitting at her station, she began typing and bringing up various charts and queries. “Damn. It works out. I never would have believed it.”
“Karen, what’s going on? What have you figured out?” Mundy asked.
“Maybe a rational answer. It involves relativity. Science has found that Einstein was correct in most of what he theorized. One effect of relativity is that the faster a ship moves, the slower time passes within the ship. A ship going from Earth to Alpha Centauri at half the speed of light could get there in 8.5 years to outside observers, but the crew will have only experienced it as a year or so. Experiments have proven that this is correct. Well, we were in that black hole for what, a week, maybe two? Davie said it accelerated us to .9 the speed of light in the super-eddy. According to my calculations, and Einstein’s calculations back them up, what we experienced as ten days, at .85 light speed the rest of the universe would experience as 900 years.”
“No. That can’t be right,” Mundy stated.
“The math is correct, Rob.” She almost never called him by his first name while on duty.”
“Ok. I got into their history files. It says the World Aryan Federation defeated United Earth 578 years ago, 2642 CE–old style, hence the date of 578 Anno Imperium–‘in the year of the Empire’. Shit. Pardon, Captain. It really happened. They’re not aliens. They’re us. We’re in the future. And from what I’ve seen in their files, we’re fucked.”
***
“Commandant. Come quickly.” Kell motioned to Smits. “Look,” he said once Smits was at his station. “Heat signatures from within the vessel. There are warm-blooded creatures inside.”
“Unbelievable. How many?”
“Impossible to tell. I’d say maybe 15, certainly no more than 25.”
“You sure it’s not just mold growing on the decomposed bodies?”
“No, Herr Commandant. It has to be actual warm-blooded creatures.”
“Interlopers. Someone may have salvaged it before we got here? How unfortunate. For them,” said the Admiral. “We will have to relieve them of their burden. Anyway, they were stuck in the event horizon. I’m sure they will be very grateful for our rescue.”
“Communications officer. Can we contact them?”
“I believe so, mein Admiral. At least I can send a message to them. Whether they answer is the question.”
“So be it,” barked Als. “Send them this. Attention to anyone who may be on the vessel we have in tow. I, Admiral Zariah Als, have claimed this vessel under Space Salvage Laws of the World Aryan Federation, Third edition. Under Chapter 2, section 7 of said regulations, I claim possession of the vessel and all contents. I will bring the vessel into our cargo bay. Resistance will be met with overwhelming force, and perpetrators will be dealt with harshly. I will apprise you of your disposition at a later date.”
***
“That doesn’t sound very friendly,” commented Mundy upon hearing the message from Als. I would like to be ‘apprised of my disposition’ before I deliver myself into his hands.”
“Sir, I found their Space Salvage rules while digging through their library,” Jimmy said. “It says that any abandoned or stranded space vessel may be taken for salvage only by a military commander. All cargo and contents become the property of the salvager. Section 7 states that any ship that is not registered with the Federation is contraband and any personnel taken are considered criminals and may be sold as slaves.”
“Slaves?” Jordan exclaimed. “No civilized people allow slavery.”
“Maybe not in our world. But it looks like we’re not in our world anymore,” Jimmy said. “And it’s worse than just that. Women have no rights. They are the property of their father or husband. They aren’t allowed any kind of public life. Most never leave the house.”
“Keep ‘em barefoot and pregnant. Isn’t that what they used to say,” said Newly. It wasn’t really a question. Her tone of voice showed it was a condemnation of the whole system.
“We’re not going to just give up to them are we, Captain,” asked a wide-eyed Anderson.
“Hell, no,” growled an angry Jonesie. “Gimme a blaster and I’ll take out a dozen or more before I go down. And I can set off a couple of neutron grenades for good measure. Jonesie ain’t nobody’s slave!”
“But this is a science ship. We have no weaponry,” worried Dr. Harry Albright. He and Dr. Gloria Righter were called in to represent the ten scientists on board. “Surely they can be reasoned with.”
“Dr. Albright, I’m a reasonable man and I’m all for reasoning with our new friends, but I’m thinking that ship has sailed. I’ll make nice for now, but I’m not opposed to letting loose a little of our force against them. Jimmy, how many are on that ship?”
“Infrared imaging indicates 90.”
“We have 10 warriors here. Each of us has to take out nine bad guys. I like our odds, ” Major Donovan said with a grim grin.
“Captain, you’re going to get us all killed or worse,” complained Albright.
“Maybe Dr. Albright. But I don’t fancy being a slave to some latter-day Nazi. You and the scientists can hang back if you want, but I’m going in with a plan.”
“What’s the plan, Cap,” asked Jonesie.
“Well, I think we need to tread softly for now. Much as I’d like to, we don’t need to go in with guns blazing. We’ve determined that their technology is way behind ours. I guess they must have lost a lot in some war. They don’t need to know that. Jimmy said even his sister could hack their system. He and Anderson and Jorgenson are tech whizzes. If we can get them into the bad guys’ ship system, we could throw ‘em a few curves. I imagine they’ll keep us together at first. Albright, Righter, you keep your scientists together as much as possible. If we’re going to make a break, it needs to be early on. I don’t want to leave anyone behind, but if it’s between that and getting everyone else out, I will leave your ass behind. If I say move, your people need to move.”
“We’ll be ready, Captain,” said Righter, while silencing the blustering Albright.
“Good,” Mundy continued. “Dr. Righter, tell your people to encrypt access to everything they have. If this goes sideways, I don’t want to give them anything easily. My team. Make nice. Get them comfortable. Encourage them to brag about their system. The more we know, the better. Jimmy, encrypt all ship’s documents.”
In the meantime, Mundy sent Admiral Als a neutrally worded response saying that his crew were a science team and posed no threat to him or the Empire. He said they were stuck in the black hole, but not derelict. He showed that ship’s credentials duly registered them with United Earth, which he assumed was no longer dominant. He asked for asylum for the eminent scientists on board who could undoubtedly provide new and valuable technologies to the Empire. He got no reply.
***
The Konigsberg quickly became visible out the portholes. It bristled with antennae and what were undoubtedly guns. It was obviously a warship. And it was huge. They later discovered most of its size was made up of the large cargo bay. It yawned before them like the maw of some ravenous beast of prey. Soon they were completely engulfed. Their ship settled in the artificial gravity of the bay and their gauges showed the air pressure was quickly approaching Earth normal.
“Looks like it’s showtime, people. Look lively. We want to make a good impression,” Mundy smiled, hoping to cheer up the somber group.
His officers all had on their dress uniforms and the scientists, well, they were still a motley looking crew. Through the porthole he could see the main gate into the bay open. A detachment of about twenty soldiers trotted in and fanned out to keep the ship under armed guard.
A burly man and a slimmer one came in last and looked expectantly at the ship. Mundy unlocked the hatch and a short ramp opened. He led his group out, the crew marching orderly. The scientists were crowded together and frightened looking. They stopped short in front of Admiral Als. The man was Mundy’s height, broad and dressed in a uniform with many medals and stripes. His greasy gray hair was pulled back in a queue. A black patch over one eye gave him the look of a pirate. Mundy suspected it was more than just a look. He had a short, grizzled beard and appeared to be a hard worn fifty. The man beside him was shorter, younger and dressed in a black uniform. The insignia on his uniform denoted Commander rank. Looking at Als, Mundy brought up his right hand, offering a military salute. Als just looked at him and sneered.
“My name is Captain Robert Mundy, commanding the United Earth ship Superior.”
Als gave him a backhanded slap. There was a sharp intake of breath among Mundy’s officers, but no one moved.
“You have no name unless I say so. You are a slave and are only to speak when spoken to. You all live and die at my pleasure. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Admiral,” Mundy replied tightly. No man had ever struck him and walked away unscathed. Als would not be the first, he vowed.
“As part of the cargo of the salvaged vessel, you are my property. Please me and I will keep you in my service. Displease me and there are unpleasant alternatives. Eighteen of you. Is that your full complement?”
“Yes, Admiral.” Als motioned to his soldiers and four trotted up the ramp to search the ship. A moment later, they came out, and the leader nodded to Als.
“Where is the ship you came on? Did you jettison it into the hole?”
“The Superior is our ship.”
Als grabbed Mundy by the throat and lifted him to his toes.
“You lie! You have slipped onto the ship I have claimed like vermin. My Reichsmagister has ways of extracting information. You will tell me what you know, in time.” He lowered Mundy, who had turned blue. As the captain massaged his throat, Als strode over to look at the scientists who cowered before him.
“I hope you creatures have brains for your bodies are no good for work or sex. I probably couldn’t get fifty credits for the lot of you. The crew is more promising, especially the females. And a Negress. There aren’t many out here this far from Earth. I feel certain I can earn a healthy sum selling you.” Dr. N’dutu looked down her nose at the admiral with disdain. Mundy hoped she didn’t actually emit the “hmph” that her look entailed.
Dr. Albright shakily stepped forward.
“Admiral. I represent the scientists of Earth. At least the old Earth.” That was all he got out before Als grabbed him by his mouth.
“A representative are you? That makes you a leader. Leaders don’t make good slaves. Always troublemakers. Smits,” he said. The man in black drew his pistol-like weapon from his waist and handed it to Als. He turned it and fired a short blast of energy at Albright’s midsection. He immediately crumpled to the floor. Several of the scientists cried out. Mundy made a move to approach him but was stopped by Als’ hand on his chest.
“I rarely waste my resources, but I believe this one has more value as a lesson than on the market. You need to reconcile yourselves to your new status. Speak out of turn to a free man, and you will get a severe and painful reprimand. Cross me and you will get the same fate as this slave. Take him to the disposal,” he said to Smits.
Smits crouched over the man. “He lives still,” he said.
“All the better. To the disposal.” Smits signaled to two soldiers to come and help. They lifted Albright with one under each arm. Though grievously wounded Albright raised his head and muttered unintelligibly. They drug him to a chute marked ‘Disposal’. The soldiers hefted him up and tossed him in head first. They closed the chute. There was a suctioning sound. Several of the scientists gasped.
“That slave is now free. Free to roam the void as he floats about in space. Anyone care to join him? No? Good.” Turning back to his companion he said, “Smits, see to the disposition of my new slaves.” With that he walked out.
***
In their holding cell, it was pandemonium. Most of the scientists were wailing. Others were throwing recriminations at Mundy for bringing them into such a dangerous situation. One seemed catatonic.
“Shut up, damn you!” he cried. “You know the situation we’re in. You can work with it or die. I’d suggest you grow a little steel in your spines and show these savages what you can do. If you don’t, they are liable to throw you out the disposal like Albright.” There was silence as they all stared at him as if he were the enemy. He had only told them the truth. He sat down on the floor beside Newly.
“We might as well work on the assumption they are listening in,” he whispered in her ear.
“Agreed,” she whispered without moving her lips. “Then again, their technology is primitive.”
“You and Karen get around to everyone, including the scientists, without making it obvious. Maybe get Anderson to help. Remind them they are to cooperate for the time being and keep their eyes and ears open. We need to gather as much intel as possible.”
***
Mundy had no sense of time. They were in a windowless room with constant lighting. Jimmy had already whispered to him that with a pick Digger had secreted in his shoe, either of them could easily disengage the ancient lock on the door. Good to know.
After what seemed like hours, the man in black came in followed by an assistant and six armed soldiers. He carried what looked like an old-fashioned riding crop. Mundy rose and stood in front of his people, showing he was the one to speak to. He didn’t speak first. He had learned that lesson.
“Good,” sneered the man. “You wait for your master to speak. That is the first and often the most difficult lesson for former free men to grasp. I am Commandant Smits. It is my unenviable task to advise you in the ways of slavery, to ease you into your new situation, as it were. This is Bundesleiter von Hoek. You will address us as master at all times.
“As you may have surmised, while you are the property of Admiral Als, you are to submit to questions and directions of all officers on the Konigsberg. Officers only. You will be advised if you are to entertain the troops.” He leered evilly at this remark. He stepped forward, moving Mundy out of the way with a wave of his hand and looked over the scientists.
“Mein Admiral wishes to know if his property has any scientific value. You,” he said, pointing the crop at Vince Rhodes. “Yes, you will do to start. Guards, take this one for testing.” Two of the armed soldiers grabbed Vince by either arm and marched him out of the cell. He looked back over his shoulder, terrified.
Smits casually strolled back toward Mundy and his officers. He stopped and used his crop to lift Mundy’s chin. “If you were five years younger, I might make use of you. You’re definitely attractive enough. But a little older than what I like. Pity. Now you, on the other hand,” he said, looking at Karen and running the crop down her arm. “You are also just what I like. Guards, take her to my quarters.” He turned and left with von Hoek in his wake as two guards grabbed Karen. Mundy and Anderson tried to intervene but were clubbed into submission by the remaining soldiers.
***
They returned Vince what seemed like many hours later.
“I was terribly frightened, but they just wanted to test my level of knowledge. I quickly outstripped anything they knew. They are terribly backward. I’m amazed that at their level of physics they are actually spacefaring. They are much like us back at the beginning of the twenty-first century.”
They pulled Maynard Johnson next.
At long last Karen was returned. She was being dragged by two soldiers. They opened the door and unceremoniously threw her in. Mundy and N’dutu rushed to her side. She was badly beaten and still bleeding from several wounds, some serious looking. Her uniform was in shreds. They applied what first aid they could. When she could talk, she said her right arm might also be fractured. They formed a sling with Mundy’s overshirt.
“Apparently slaves are also used for sexual pleasure. That is what Smits wanted. I went along for a while, trying to be nice, but put him off. He got a little too personal so I let him have it, and I don’t mean my body.” Mundy smiled grimly, considering this. Karen was the best hand at martial arts on his ship. She regularly handed Mundy his ass at sparing. “Yeah, I kicked his ugly ass good until the guards got into it. It took three of them to take me down but I got some good licks in. Two of the guards are in sick bay because of me. And that slimy bastard in black will be walking funny for a few days. Donovan said we each needed to take out nine. Only six to go for me, Cap,” she grinned weakly through swollen, bloody lips at Mundy. “You guys need to catch up.”
***
A germ of a plan took root in Mundy’s brain. When they brought Maynard back, several soldiers arrived with food. It wasn’t anything fancy, just bread, thin soup and water, but they were all famished. Mundy had noticed that when Smits had dismissed him as too old for his sexual tastes, von Hoek’s eyebrows raised. He also noticed after that how von Hoek took a long last look at him. Von Hoek was supervising the soldiers setting out the food. Mundy stood close to him and made eye contact. He smiled seductively and licked his upper lip with the tip of his tongue. With a smirk he strolled away, rolling his hips. Newly once told him when drunk that he had the “best damn ass in the navy”. Message delivered, he thought.
After the meal, the soldiers took Larry Bostwick for testing. When he returned several hours later, the lights dimmed. There were eighteen blankets piled by the door. They huddled on the floor, seeking comfort in each other. They had only been down a short while when the door opened and von Hoek and four soldiers entered. “You,” von Hoek pointed at Mundy. “And… that one,” pointing at Jimmy. They were both quickly grabbed and hustled out of the room. They were taken down a corridor but then separated.
“Where are you taking him?” Mundy asked.
“Silence, slave. You do not speak unless your master addresses you. Aren’t you concerned for yourself rather than this other slave?” von Hoek asked.
“Jimmy is my responsibility. You’re in a command position. You should understand,” he reasoned.
“Oh, tut. We’re past all that. You have no responsibilities other than pleasing your master. And right now, that’s me. Smits may have thought you were too old, but he likes little boys anyway. I understand the bitch he pulled kicked his ass. She’ll be severely disciplined for that. The admiral ought to have her whipped or throw her to the troops for sport, but with her looks, she’s worth too much. She’ll bring him a fortune on the open market. You probably will, too. But for now, you’re just my type. And don’t worry about your little friend. A couple of the guards I owe a favor to saw him and thought he was cute. They asked for some playtime with him. He’ll be fine. They know not to permanently damage the property of the Admiral.” Mundy felt sick at the fate of poor Jimmy.
The guards deposited Mundy in what he supposed was van Hoek’s quarters. Deposited was the best term seeing as they walked him in, dropped him on the single bed and walked out.
“Now, slave. Let’s review. The guards are just outside. One word from me and they will beat you senseless. I can also recommend having you gelded, take the fight right out of you. Make me happy and I’ll see about cutting short your little friend’s time with the guards. I’ve seen the looks you gave me. Let’s not pretend. You can begin by taking off your shirt.” The thought of even touching van Hoek made Mundy’s skin crawl. The man was skinny, had bulging eyes and receded hair. The officer’s uniform did little to improve the image. Still, Mundy had a plan and enough experience to know how to remove his undershirt seductively.
“Nice,” purred von Hoek. “I like a man with a little hair on his chest.” He came close and slid his hand along Mundy’s chest, allowing hairs to slip between his fingers. Stepping back a pace, he quickly removed the tunic of his uniform. It repulsed Mundy at the sallow, sunken chest that was revealed. Then von Hoek was back on him, kissing his neck and mouthing the area around his ears and where his neck joined his shoulders. Mundy slid his hands up von Hoek’s chest, slowing to caress his nipples. Von Hoek hissed an intake of breath and then groaned his pleasure. He grabbed Mundy’s head and kissed him on the mouth, his tongue seeking entrance. Mundy slid his hands up to cup von Hoek’s head as well. Then, with a violent wrench, he twisted it until von Hoek could see his backside. But by then, von Hoek could see nothing. He was dead.
Mundy allowed himself a momentary shudder to rid himself of the essence of von Hoek. Then tapping his earlobe he whispered, “Donovan. You there?”
“Been waiting on you, Cap. What’s the situation?”
“Where are you and Jorgenson?” They had stayed behind in a hidden compartment when the crew went out to meet Als.
“Still in the Superior. We went out and got the guards. There were four of them and three techs. Those disposal chutes are really neat. Anyway, we have new uniforms and weapons. And sorry about Dr. A. We were watching from inside the ship.”
“Good, just outside the cargo bay is a map of the ship. I’m in a private quarter on deck B, number 25. Think you two can get here on the double?”
“Sure thing. See you in five.”
“I think there are two guards on my door.”
“No problem.”
While he waited, Mundy put von Hoek’s body in his closet. If anyone were to casually glance in the room, they wouldn’t notice anything amiss. A few moments later there was a sizzling sound of an energy blast, as if from a laser weapon outside and then a quiet tap at the door. It opened to reveal Donovan and Jorgenson in WAF uniforms with a dazed soldier held up between them and two more lying apparently dead in the hallway. Mundy raised his eyebrows at Donovan.
“Mr,” he glanced down at the soldier’s name tag, “Zmeckis here got a little too interested in our presence. We cocked him and the next soldiers we met we just told we were taking him to sick bay.” Jorgenson had already dragged the two dead soldiers into the room as Donovan talked. He ripped the cover off the bed and tore strips from it. They securely gagged Mr. Zmeckis, tied his arms and legs and loaded him in the closet with von Hoek. It was a tight fit. They loaded the other two into the small bath.
“Von Hoek is, or rather was officer level so he must have some kind of security clearance. See if you can get onto the ship’s systems from his connection, Jorgenson,” Mundy said.
“Security on this system is for shit,” Jorgenson said disdainfully. “It’s an open book to me.” He went over the ship systems and conferred with Donovan. After a short time, Donovan sat on the bed with Mundy.
“Ok, Cap. Here’s the plan. Jorgenson is going to divert all bridge control to engineering. He’ll have to do if from engineering, though, so you and Jorgenson head on down to engineering. Here’s a view of it.” Jorgenson showed him a screen that was apparently a live feed from engineering. They could see three guards and two engineers. “You two will need to neutralize those guys. Jorgenson then can lock all control systems into engineering. Bridge will notice it immediately, but I will create a diversion so don’t worry about them.”
“Still, it won’t take the eighty or so soldiers left long to get there and break in.”
“No, it won’t. That’s why Jorgenson will do his stuff in two minutes, tops. Then you two are outta there. He will release the clamps on the ship and disable the tractor beam and weaponry. Then scuttle the whole system.”
“We can’t get the ship out without the bay door open, and if the door is open, we can’t get to the ship.”
“I got it covered. Jorgenson said there is a fifteen second delay function on the airlock. Once y’all are in, I press the button and run like hell for the ship.”
“What are our chances of pulling this off?” Mundy asked.
“Seriously? I’d say slim to none. You got any better ideas?” Mundy had to shake his head that he didn’t.
“Let me bring Jennifer up to date.” He tapped his lobe again and talked softly to his second in command. She reported that everyone else was in the cell except Jimmy.
“Keep trying to open his frequency. We’ll do what we can to find him.”
“Problems, Cap?”
“Jimmy Cain is missing. Some guards grabbed him the same time they got me. He could be anywhere. Jennifer’s trying to raise him.”
“I don’t like to leave anyone behind, but if it’s between getting 18 people off this ship and zero, I know where I stand. You’re the Cap, though. I’ll leave it up to you.” Donovan handed him the laser pistol he’d pulled off a guard.
“Jorgenson, ping me when you’re in place.”
“Roger.”
***
They only encountered two soldiers on the way to engineering. They shot them both and gained two more hand weapons. Mundy hated killing indiscriminately, but this was a battle situation. Jorgenson tugged his earlobe when they were in place. He palmed open the door, and they went in all four guns blazing. They quickly had engineering under control and Jorgenson got to work on the controls. Mundy pinged Jennifer and told her to get their people moving. He told her Digger could open the door and she and Anderson could neutralize the guards. The scientists would have to help Jordan. He specifically reminded her that lethal force was acceptable.
By the time he finished giving orders, Jorgenson was grabbing him and heading for the door. By this time, the red alert lights and horn were blaring. As they were exiting the control room Jorganson lobbed a couple of neutron grenades behind him at the engine core. The entire ship lurched when they went off, detonating one engine with them as well.
They fought their way to the cargo bay. Resistance was light seeing as the ship was caught off guard and chaos reigned. Donovan had apparently disrupted their chain of command by destroying the bridge. As they were getting near their destination, they ran up with Donovan. His eyes were bright. It was clear he was in his element. Mundy’s ear pinged, and he heard Jennifer saying they had heard from Jimmy. He said he was in bad shape and disoriented. He doubted he could make it to the cargo bay on his own. She gave them his coordinates.
“I’ll get the boy. You two get to the ship,” Donovan said. Mundy wanted to disagree, say Jimmy was his responsibility, but the reality was that Donovan had the better chance of getting himself and Jimmy to the ship alive. As they approached the bay, they heard laser pistol fire and a familiar roar.
“Take that, you filthy Nazi scum!” Jonesie was giving the Nazis what for. With Mundy and Jorgenson coming up on their rear, we quickly dispatched them. No time for prisoners.
“Good work, Cap. Any more of them filthy buggers?” Jonesie asked. He seemed eager for more action.
“I believe we’re in the clear for the moment. You help get all the passengers in the ship. And I want my engines ready to go, pronto.”
“On it, Cap.” He ran for the ship.
Jennifer was warming the engines when Jorgenson pushed Mundy toward the ship.
“You go. I need to be able to give covering fire for Donovan if the baddies beat him here. Then I’ll open the bay.”
“No, both of us can give more cover. Then we can all get on the ship. The fifteen second delay…”
“There’s no delay. We just said that to brook argument. Donovan’s plan all along was to get us all on the ship and open the bay himself. He’s got enough neutron grenades in his bag to destroy the entire ship and he plans to do it. So if he doesn’t make it, I need to open the door. I’m not about heroics or any of that shit. I just have a job to do and I do it. It’s the Marine way.”
Mundy remembered when the mission began he had wondered if two Marines would be of any use if the situation got hairy. Now these two Marines had together saved all their lives. And willingly gave theirs in doing so. Mundy was not a man given to much emotion, but damn, he thought, that was brave.
He got to the ship. Jennifer already had the engines ready. All he needed was to engage, and they’d be on their way. He saw several laser shots hit the door above Jorgenson and he returned fire. Then Jorgenson turned and looked at Mundy through the portal and hit the ‘emergency open door’ button. Inside the cargo bay, you could hear the great whoosh as all the air rushed out of the opening door. He saw Jorgenson crouch on the other side of the door and return fire again. The bay door was about halfway open when it stopped. Then slowly it began to close.
“Oh, shit. Als’ people found an override,” Mundy said. He had to think quick. “Jennifer, shields on maximum. Davie, on impulse power, back us up as far from the door as possible.”
“Captain, you’re not thinking…?”
“Damn straight. Full power forward. Engage!” To tell the truth, he wasn’t sure if the ship would survive breaking through the cargo bay door. But he didn’t see any reason to stay behind. It was now or never. The Superior was a tough little ship and survived crashing through the door, leaving twisted metal in its wake. They flew clear of the larger ship. Anderson yelled “Yeehaaa!” as they burst free. Their spirits all soared with the little ship.
***
Donovan had planned on lobbing two neutron grenades into the bridge. If Als was there at the time, he was a goner. Good, Mundy thought. With the havoc they created in the engine room, he doubted they would ever leap to hyper space again. Hell, impulse might even be a challenge. Without controls, the weapons were offline, as was the tractor beam. Now for the really crazy part of my plan, he thought.
“Captain, we’re being followed,” reported Anderson.
“What? How?”
“Apparently it’s a shuttle craft. It doesn’t have much range, but it’s fast and sensors show it’s armed.”
“Shields aft, full power!” Mundy yelled, expecting a proton torpedo or laser cannon blast.
“Sir, we’re being hailed,” Karen told him.
“Patch it through.”
The connection was tenuous, and the words were scratchy but the message came through loud and clear.
“Got room for four hitchhikers, Cap?” Donovan crowed.
“You old devil. I thought sure they got you,” Mundy said, overjoyed.
“It’ll take more than a few dickhead Nazis to take me out. I got a couple of presents for you. See you in five. I just have some torpedoes to get rid of.”
“Karen. Aft screen,” Mundy commanded. Before them they saw the little shuttle craft and the huge Konigsberg looming in the background. Two tiny missiles shot out of the back of the speeding craft, headed for the mothership. Both were direct hits, setting off a chain reaction of other explosions. Within moments, the ship was shambles. Ironically, there was little left to salvage.
Within five minutes the shuttle had come up alongside the Superior. Anderson connected it with the grappling hooks. Donovan said they had four space suits so they could tether and walk over. The airlock was small, so they had to come in one at a time. The first one in and out of his suit was Jimmy Cain. No one was more glad to see him than Anderson. He wrapped Jimmy up in his long arms.
“Bud. I so thought I’d lost you.”
“I so thought you had, too,” Jimmy deadpanned. His face was badly bruised, but he seemed to be holding up well, until suddenly he collapsed, weeping.
“I’ll take him to our quarters,” Anderson said. He helped Jimmy out of the room. Dr. Vera Jong, who had an extensive background in counseling, followed them. Jimmy might need to talk with her a few times.
Second through the door was Jorgenson. Mundy hugged him and slapped him on the back.
“Our other present is coming next,” Jorgenson said.
An unknown man took off his suit next. He was young, pleasant looking and seemed very frightened.
Jorgenson said, “Meet Bunde Christophe Verhoven. He found Jimmy, shot three guards who had Donovan pinned down and asked for asylum. I didn’t see how we could turn him down. He said he couldn’t stand anymore of Als, the Nationalists or the Empire. I think the guy finally found his moral center.
They all cheered when Donovan came through the door.
“Mundy,” he said. “Against all odds, that crazy plan worked. I never thought it would.”
“Well, pretty much anything is possible with two leathernecks and an old squid. Hell, I’ll even say Semper Fi.”
“Ok, the testosterone’s getting a little thick in here,” said Jennifer.
Anderson appeared in the doorway with fire in his eyes.
“You filthy bastards!” he raged at Verhoven. “You freaking assholes! Your soldiers raped Jimmy. I swear I’ll kill every one of you. He lunged at the soldier but was intercepted by Donovan and Mundy.
“Easy, cowboy,” Donovan crooned softly.
“Stand down, Anderson. That’s an order. This man saved Jimmy and Donovan’s lives and has been offered asylum. We can’t blame him for what the others did.” Mundy held on to Anderson as he cried in his arms.
“I’m so sorry for what they did,” pleaded Verhoven. “The Empire breeds violence like that. That’s what I want to get away from.”
“Well, we may be a lonely little outpost of civilization, but welcome aboard, soldier,” said Mundy.
“I hate to break up the party, but we still have a huge problem. We’re nine hundred years from our time in the middle of an evil empire.” Jennifer looked at Mundy expectantly.
“Speaking of improbable plans, I have an idea,” Mundy announced. “Before we got deep into the black hole, Karen and I had a talk with our physics expert Dr. Righter. Her calculations show that the anomaly she found at the black hole was most likely a wormhole.”
“Most likely as in really might be or wishful thinking?” asked Jennifer.
“Somewhere in between,” admitted Karen. “Einstein theorized they would be in the center of a black hole, but Gloria’s equations and data indicate this to be an extra-solar temporal distortion, i.e. a wormhole not in the center of a black hole.”
“Is that even possible?” Jennifer wanted to know.
“Who knows what’s possible? Gloria says she’s convinced her math is correct. If we fly the Superior into it there’s a good chance the shield would keep it from crushing us. It would probably be navigable and should deposit us somewhere and sometime else, not sure where or when.”
“Good chance, probably, might? Why don’t we just follow the yellow brick road while we’re at it? Maybe we’ll end up in Kansas,” Jennifer was unconvinced.
“At this point, if I found a yellow brick road, I’d follow it. We know what this time in this universe holds for us. I don’t want to stick around. This wormhole is a chance to escape. There're no guarantees. But if we survive, it will put us somewhere, sometime, in some universe. Odds are, whatever we find, it will be better than what we’re leaving. It would be hard pressed to be worse.”
“I’m in,” said Donovan, with Jorgenson nodding.
“If our friends are going into the black hole, I guess we should, too,” said Jorgenson.
“What?” asked Mundy.
“While we were in the engine room, I entered a new flight plan and gave the ship a push. It’s set to drift right for the middle of the black hole. I decided that a black hole was a nice resting place for their black hearts.” Donovan raised his fist, grinning, and Jorgenson bumped it.
Dr. Gloria Righter spoke up. “The scientists have decided we want to go, as well.”
“I think we all want to go, Captain,” said Karen, and Jennifer nodded.
“All right. Everybody buckle in. It will be a rough ride.”
Over the next few minutes everything in the ship was battened or stowed. The scientists buckled in and the crew took their places.
“Dr. Righter gave me the coordinates for the anomaly. All laid in. Awaiting your orders, Captain,” Anderson said. He decided it felt good to say that again.
“Engage.”
“Incoming gravitational pulse, Captain!”
Almost as soon as Science Officer Karen Jordan got these words out, the ship jolted with a mighty shudder.
“Sorry, sir. It was traveling near light speed. The signal reached us only seconds before the surge.”
Suddenly the red beacon on the wall began flashing and a loud klaxon signaled the ship’s computer had initiated a red alert.
“Computer. What’s going on?” Captain Mundy shouted to be heard over the alarm.
“The gravitational pulse indicates a black hole in the local star system. Its attraction may overcome ship’s thrust. Event horizon imminent,” said the dispassionate voice.
“Captain, our engines are struggling to get free of the pulse,” Helmsman Anderson reported.
“Divert more power to engine.”
“I’m giving her all I’ve got, sir.”
Captain Mundy hit the comm button on the arm of his captain’s chair.
“Jones. I need more power. Divert it from everything but life support if you need to.”
“Diverting,” Jones called back. “I’m sending you all I’ve got. I’ve cut off everything but the kitchen sink.”
“Well, cut that off too if you need to. I need all the power we’ve got sent to my engines.”
“Still sluggish, Captain,” Anderson said.
“Set a course along the line of the gravitational pull and see if you can peel away. And Karen, see if you can turn off that damn bell,” the captain ordered. The shrill alarm ceased.
“How did we stumble in this hole anyway?” the captain groused.
“It’s not on our charts, sir. Remember, we are charting new territory. We’re farther out in the Sagittarian Arm than any ship has been. Our sensors had swept this area. The computer should have notified us that space was warped in this area.”
“Well, log it and report it back to Earth Command. And find out what’s wrong with that computer. I want no more surprises.”
“Aye, sir.”
“We don’t seem to be able to pull away, sir,” Anderson told him, his voice a mix of frustration and growing alarm.
“Are you giving it everything? Hyperdrive and impulse?”
“Everything, sir.”
“Can we polarize the tractor beam and push away from the center of mass?” the captain asked.
“That’s just the problem, sir,” Jordan said. “It’s really like a hole. It feeds on anything we send its way. There’s nothing to push against.”
“Sir, there’s a small planetoid ahead. It’s in a higher orbital plane. Our thrust plus the tractor beam may enable us to pull ourselves out.”
“Do it,” Mundy said, wiping his brow and pushing his blond hair back up on his head. Longer than regulation but in space, who cares?
He watched while Anderson flipped switches and dials expertly at his consol. He’s just a kid, Mundy thought. At 21 David Anderson had zoomed through the Academy and now was on his first space mission.
“Put it on visual, Karen.”
On the large view screen, they could see an irregularly shaped rock, two miles long and maybe a third as wide. It was slowly pinwheeling like a thrown bowling pin. A fat bowling pin. They could hear the hum as the tractor beam locked onto its target and began pulling. The rock appeared to grow, showing they were getting closer. Anderson’s plan was working.
“Captain, our engines can’t sustain this much strain. If we don’t cut back soon, they may blow. Then we won’t have any power.” Jones was shouting on his comm over the alarm that had begun clanging in the engine room.
“And if we don’t keep it up, we’ll be having our dinner at the center of a black hole. Keep it coming, Jonesie.” Mundy could visualize Jonesie in the engine room–overalls, stained tee shirt, graying hair sticking up in all directions. In his estimation, the best damn engineer in the fleet.
With an electrical crackle, a spark flew out of one dial on Anderson’s consol. He jumped back to avoid being shocked.
“Captain, we just lost engine two. We’re starting to lose altitude.”
“See if we can lock onto the rock with our talons. That should give us some room to catch our breath.” Anderson folded his six foot two frame back into the helmsman’s seat.
As they were near enough to the asteroid, the ship shot out several grappling hooks. They reeled the ship in and drove pitons into the rock to secure the ship. The asteroid continued pinwheeling on with the ship along for the ride.
“Jonesie. How long until the engine is back online?”
“I dunno, Captain. Maybe never.”
“Not acceptable. Get my engine running. That’s an order.”
“Will do, Captain.” If anyone could fix a broken engine in space, it was Jonesie, he thought.
“Suggestions, gentlemen?” Captain Mundy said, looking around the bridge.
“Sir, once we get engine two back online, we can wait until the planetoid is between us and the black hole. We could polarize the tractor beam as you suggested and push ourselves toward a higher orbital plane. Once there, we could look for other masses to pull or push against. We might be able to crawl out by stages that way.”
“Mister Anderson, remind me to give you a raise,” the captain smiled. He clicked his comm button again. “Jones, I need that engine.”
“Working on it, Captain.”
***
Captain’s Log
United Earth Ship Superior
Captain Robert Mundy
Star Date 3428.7
Earth Date April 20, 2316
Our exploratory and mapping mission into the Sagittarian Arm of the galaxy has been interrupted by the discovery of a black hole. We were pulled into its gravity well and are working on plans to get out. Engine two is temporarily out. No casualties or injuries in the 20 ship personnel. Captain out.
***
“Karen, get this and my last five log entries encrypted and sent to Earth Command.”
“Aye, Captain. It may take some time. I can’t send it via any media except subspace. Nothing else can overcome the gravity well.”
“How does subspace do it? Maybe we can use that technology to our advantage.”
“Not unless we can make ourselves microscopic. Subspace uses quantum entanglement to overcome issues with gravity, speed of light, and distance. That only works on the subatomic level. However, if we don’t get out of this black hole’s grasp, we will soon be the size of those subatomic particles.”
“Explain,” the captain asked. His forte was military, not science, and he had no problem deferring to Karen Jordan’s obviously immense intelligence and vast store of knowledge.
“Yes, sir. As we get closer to the center of mass, it will subject our bodies to greater and greater gravitational pressure. The ship’s force field will protect us for a while. That won’t last long as the force increases. It will give away and it will crush us. Then the ship will collapse like an old-style aluminum can. Our mass will remain the same, but our volume will continue decreasing as we fall into the hole. But the radiation may kill us first.”
“What happens when we hit bottom?”
“No one knows. There may be hundreds of star systems already in the hole. The pressure will be so great that eventually the atoms will collapse. When the electrons connect with their nuclei, there will probably be a tremendous release of energy, but our equations fail us. Einstein theorized an Einstein-Rosen Bridge, what some people call a wormhole.”
“Time travel, Karen? Surely you don’t believe in that.”
“If Einstein believed it, it’s good enough for me. He said it would open a portal to another place and time, possibly another universe. Unfortunately, we won’t be alive to see it.”
“Unfortunately,” Mundy echoed.
“Our complement of scientists is having a field day with this. No one has ever been able to study a black hole this closely before.”
“I wonder why,” Mundy said sourly.
“They understand that we are in trouble, but you know how scientists are. They are feeding the computer data as fast as they can to be encrypted for shipping back to colleagues on Earth. Gloria was just telling me about the anomalies she has spotted just outside the event horizon.”
“What kind of anomalies?”
“We don’t know. Wrinkles or tears in the space/time continuum.”
“Space/time continuum? I think you just exceeded my pay grade, Lieutenant. Carry on.” He watched as she headed back to the labs to ride herd on his “resident eggheads” as he called the ten scientists on the mission. As her superior officer, he maintained a friendly distance. As a man he admired how her rear filled her uniform and undulated, creating the infinity sign as she walked, her short blond cut bouncing gaily. She’s twenty-five and I’m twenty-nine, he thought. She’s beautiful and I’m somewhat handsome (he knew some female scientists had their eye on him. One of the male ones also, according to his First Officer). Any other place and time, he mused. If only we could drop into that wormhole. He smiled ruefully as Major Donovan approached.
“Smiling at your science officer’s ass, Captain? Hardly regulation, but I have to agree with you.” Ben Donovan was a rugged man of thirty-five, decorated and proven on many occasions. He had earned distinction but then was reassigned to a desk. War horses aren’t needed in peacetime. He had requested to come along on this mission as security. He said his other option was to put a laser pistol to his head.
“What’s up, Major Donovan?” Mundy asked. As a military man himself, he trusted Donovan as much as anyone on his bridge team.
“A minute of your time, if I may.” Although Donovan technically outranked Mundy, as he was Marine to Mundy’s Navy, he always deferred to Mundy as the commanding officer of the ship.
“Shoot.”
“I want to know if our situation is as dire as it sounds. Some eggheads are getting a bit skittish. I need to know if me and Jorgenson are going to have a riot on our hands.”
Donovan and Lieutenant Kevin Jorgenson, the other marine, had been attached as their “security team” although he wasn’t sure how much security two jarheads could provide. But who knows what they were likely to encounter, and a few hired guns might come in handy.
“We have a plan, such as it is. If it doesn’t work, well, yeah, we’re in dire shape. Jordan doesn’t think our scientist friends will cause much trouble. They’re having fun with their toys and the black hole right now. If worse comes to worst, we can lock’em down.”
“I wanted to make sure I have authorization to keep order.”
“Just use non-lethal force, and only as necessary. I’d hate to get out of this at the last second and have to explain dead scientists to Earth Command. My ship, my responsibility.”
***
“Captain, I’ve got engine two running again. It’s jury-rigged but it should hold. Unlessen you try to get it to do more than a ship this size is supposed to do. These are small engines, Captain. Not what you’re used to in the Navy. Fortunately, the failsafe knocked if offline before it had a chance to go kapow.” Jones’ voice sounded weary.
“Mister Anderson. Do we have a target?” the captain asked.
“Yes, sir. We do. Another large asteroid. Fortunately, we are passing directly under it while our little rock is between us and the center of mass of the black hole. On your mark, Captain.”
“Mister Jordan, let me know when we are in optimum position,” he ordered, using official Navy terminology for the lieutenant.
“Aye, Captain. Position coming up. In three, two, one. Now.”
“Engage,” the captain ordered. Since the ship’s artificial gravity remained constant and overrode all external stimuli, the only sign that they were moving was a faint rumbling from within the ship.
“Thrust at maximum, Captain. Tractor polarized repulsion also at maximum. We seem to be gaining ground,” reported Anderson.
“All right, Davie.” Mundy had come to stand by Anderson’s chair, bent over, his head close to the second lieutenant. “At the halfway point, we flip the tractor and switch polarization at the same time, locking onto the new asteroid. No second chances.” Everyone sat quietly as the seconds elapsed.
“Now, Davie!” Mundy was amazed at how quickly the young man’s hands flew over his console.
“Target acquired, and… traction.”
“Captain, I’m warning you. The engines ain’t liking this one bit,” Jones called almost immediately.
“I’m not asking them to like it. Just do their jobs. Give me fifteen more seconds.”
“We got maybe 20. No more.”
“Come on, Davie. Pull!”
“Grappling hooks away,” Anderson said. “And contact. Cut engines.”
“Reel us in and lock it down. Well, done, Mr. Anderson.” He patted the young man’s shoulder. Anderson sat back, somewhat pleased with himself.
***
The bridge door opened, and First Officer Commander Jennifer Newly strode in. Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun and everything about her looking fresh and pressed. She had served nearly five years with Mundy. She repeatedly made sure to be assigned as his second. She knew he had the makings of a great captain and wanted to learn from him. And she had decided he wasn’t that hard to look at, either. She felt that, together, they made a formidable team. Mundy was inclined to agree.
“Reporting for shift, Captain. You may be relieved if you wish.”
“Good to see you, Jen. Take the con. Mister Anderson, brief the commander. Lieutenant Jordan, with me. We have a scientist to go see.” He and Jordan left the bridge, with Jordan wondering what this was about.
***
Despite its name, UES Superior was not a large ship. An inelegantly shaped floating box, it was fifty meters long, ten wide and twenty deep. It resembled two old style mobile home units, one stacked atop the other. It was divided into a small bridge, science labs, five closet sized cubicles for the scientists who had to double up, and six for the crew. Only Mundy had a private room. Or private closet as he called it. There was also a small workout area crew were required and scientists were “recommended” to use to maintain their muscle mass while in space. Finally, a dining area/meeting room that would accommodate all twenty of them, with a little crowding. The scientists worked in shifts, five sleeping while five had the labs. Similarly, Captain Mundy and Commander Newly traded off, as did engineer Commander Casey Jones and his assistant Lieutenant Digger Emory. The other four crew, Jordan, Anderson, Cain and Dr. N’dutu also rotated as needed.
***
It took nearly two days to find another large body to use. At least they assumed it was two days. None of the chronometers worked in the event horizon vortex. They could determine very little except that there was a violent maelstrom of matter and energy surrounding the ship.
They attempted the maneuver just as before. However, shortly after starting, Karen shouted “Gravitational wave!” Everyone grabbed onto whatever they could as the wave slammed into the ship. It sent them tumbling along the orbital path. Fortunately, the shielding was strong enough to keep them from being crushed as they bounced around the orbital zone like the ball in an ancient pinball machine. By the time they had established a modicum of control over their ship Anderson shouted, “Holy moley, we’re headed straight into the hole!”
“Pull out, pull out!” Captain Mundy ordered, keeping the panic he felt from his voice. Because of Anderson’s quick thinking and sharp reflexes, they pulled the ship up and it shot across the surface of the waves of hot gases like a stone skimming across a lake. They had lost a significant amount of altitude, although they had no way of measuring how much. They could hear the groans and growling of the ship hull as the force field tried to shield them from the crushing gravity this deep in the black hole. They had swung around the hole like a rock in a sling around a hunter’s raised hand.
“Captain, I can’t get an accurate gauge,” said Anderson. “But it would appear we’ve been slung into a super-fast eddy. We’re spinning around the hole like crazy. Maybe as much as 0.9 light speed. This ship isn’t built for such speed. If it weren’t for the force field and gravitational pressure, we’d have already spun apart.”
“So, if we hit light speed, we’ll start going back in time and can avoid this mess?” Captain Mundy joked.
“I wish. Even our school kids don’t believe that anymore,” Commander Newly said. Considering the predicament they were in, she had taken to remaining on the bridge during her down time. “There’s no going back in time.”
“Except maybe through a black hole,” said Lieutenant Jordan winsomely.
“That’s pretty much that, then,” said Mundy. “We’ve got no more aces up our sleeves. Karen, can we get a last dispatch off to Earth Command?”
“Negative, Captain. We’re so deep in the hole it affects even the quantum realm.”
***
Over a few days they successfully attached themselves to several larger bodies caught in the same super-eddy and gained a little more distance from the black hole, but could not move further. Their velocity made it impossible to grab large bodies outside the eddy. Lieutenant Jordan said it was just as well. The sudden jolt of the reduction in speed would probably tear the ship apart.
The crew spent a week maneuvering the ship to the upper edges of the eddy only to have the gravity drag them back down. It required constant monitoring to keep them out of the black hole’s hungry maw.
“I doubt we can do this much longer,” Mundy said, speaking to the entire crew and scientists. “The toll on the superstructure of the ship is too much. It will eventually give. I suppose we have a few more days, less than a week before it breaches the hull. I imagine it will be a quick but quite painful death. I will authorize desensitizing pills for all military personnel who want them, but I expect everyone to be at their stations from now on. We will meet this like a disciplined team. N’dutu, as medical officer, could you take over distributing suicide pills to the scientists who may want a quick exit?”
“Sure thing, Captain.” She left the bridge to carry out her assignment.
“I guess this is where I’m supposed to say it’s been an honor to serve with you. It sounds so trite, but actually it sums up how I feel. It has been an honor. Thank you, sir,” Karen said. Mundy could hear the held back tears in her voice.
“Same here, Karen. Chin up. Best damn science officer ever. I’ll put that in your permanent file,” he said with a grin. She gave him a tremulous smile.
After Karen left the bridge to confer with the scientists, Jennifer Newly came up to Mundy’s chair.
“I just wanted to echo what Karen said. It truly has been an honor to serve with you. Five years now. We know each other so well. I can almost anticipate your orders before you give them. It’s just awful that it has to end this way. If there’s anything like an afterlife I guess I’ll see you on the other side, Rob.”
“Yeah, feels like we’re an old married couple. See you too, Jen. If we both go the same way,” he said with a smile.
***
For the rest of the day they all sat at their stations, pretending it was like any other day. All the scientists had rejected the suicide pills, saying they would run their experiments to the very last, hoping that someone might eventually pick up their data. Like the officers, most of them had no family back home. That was why they had chosen a multi-year mission into space. Anderson kept Mundy apprised of what the psi on the outer hull was and how much it could withstand. He also reported that radiation inside the ship was reaching critical levels.
They were near to breaking and another gravitational surge like the last two would flatten the ship. Their hearts barely had time to leap into their throats when Karen yelled, “Gravitational surge, but it’s coming from…”. That was all she got out before the wave struck the fragile little craft.
***
Admiral’s Log
WAF ship Konigsberg
Reich-Admiral Zariah Als
15.13.578 Anno Imperium
The crew has become restless as we have been weeks without a prize. My research into ancient records indicate a ship was lost in this area over 900 years ago, back during the United Earth years. There is no record of another ship salvaging it so it should be somewhere in this star system. I’ll check the black hole first. A smart captain would have devised a way to park himself at the event horizon if it captured him. Perhaps that ship is circling there still, with near thousand-year-old corpses guarding their treasures. Admiral out.
***
The scuttlebutt is that we are looking for a ghost ship lost a thousand years ago, thought Bunde Christophe Verhoven. If I’m in a boarding party and come up against a skeleton, I hope I hold my shite together better than poor Bujonjoe did. I had befriended him, although I’ve had to act in the past few weeks as if I never did. I feel like I deserted him. I’m most ashamed of that. Such a sensitive soul as him should never have been in the military. He was not cut out for it. But his family forced the issue. His old man was a hard-core Nationalist. He swore his son would serve and advance or die honorably. Well, Buj did neither. He stuck his laser pistol in his mouth on wide dispersal and vaporized his head. When we found that freighter a couple months ago, Buj had been on the boarding party. He stumbled and fell into a partially decomposed body. He screamed and scrambled back, spewing vomit all over himself. Even worse, he pissed himself. The men laughed at him. But they felt he had cracked under pressure. They could not trust him. He was no longer part of the team. He started getting hazed pretty hard. I saw the bruises from the beatings he was getting. The dark circles under his eyes told me he wasn’t sleeping or wasn’t being allowed to sleep. He avoided mess hall and hardly ate a thing. He confided in me the last time I saw him alive that the three guys who everyone knew were the worst of the sadistic bundesleiters had gang raped him. He was frantic and didn’t know where to turn. It was even worse luck that he was serving with an old pirate like Als. And I don’t use the word pirate lightly. Als, with his one eye and broad girth is much like the lawless brigands that sailed the oceans of old Earth some two thousand years ago. But the Supreme Leader and the Empire turn a blind eye to his activities as long as he gets results. Als pays as little attention to his men as to the law so the worst of the bullies run the barracks. They had identified Bujonjoe as a weak link and he was being removed. As far as he was concerned, he took the only path he could see. I just feel sorry for him.
***
“So tell me, Reichsmagister, what do you see?” Admiral Als asked his science advisor.
“There might be something there, might not. If it’s beyond the event horizon, we won’t be able to see it.”
“I’m aware of that. But our quantum entanglement device can detect telltale signs at the quantum level if there is something in there worth pursuing.”
“Yes, but at the cost of a huge expenditure of energy which we are already running low on.”
“But think what we might find? The records say they lost a science ship in this area. It may have had those sun charged batteries we lost the technology for. Just think, if we found those. An endless supply of energy for me. And for the Empire at the right price, of course. And a science ship. No telling what surprising technologies it may hold. We lost so much in the Glorious Revolution.”
“If it is your command, mein Herr.”
“It is.”
“As you wish. Heil!” he gave his admiral the straight arm salute.
“Heil.”
***
Poor Buj. Being raped was the ultimate dishonor. Man on man sex was nothing new. On spacing ships with a hundred men and no women it was common. Some barracks had men who liked it and provided for their platoon. In others, the weaker men were just taken and forced. Even that had a modicum of honor since they were providing for the esprit de corps. But to be raped for no other reason than to show that you could be signifies the victim is no man. He is no more a man than is a slave. He is as low as a woman and used as one. I am not sure if that message is what sent Buj over the edge or if it was just a cumulative effect. I’m not sure I could handle it as long as poor Buj did. God, I hope I hold my shite together if I’m on that boarding party.
***
“Mixed news, mien Admiral,” said the Reichsmagister as he entered the bridge. He stopped and sketched a short bow before continuing. “It appears from the QED signature that a ship is hiding in the jersa surrounding the hole.”
“Not hiding, Reichsmagister. Just the victim of a power beyond its ability to control. Just as we would be if we ventured too close.” Then, as if just making sure, he turned to the helmsman. “Helmsleiter, be sure to keep a respectable distance from the event horizon or you will feel the sting of my laser baton on your back.”
“Jawohl, mein Admiral.” Helmsleiter Kell’s eyes grew wide and round at the thought of the Admiral’s laser baton.
“That sounds like good news, Reichsmagister. Can we get a fix on it?” asked the admiral.
“Nein. It moves around the black hole at nearly the speed of light. May as well try to capture an electron as it speeds around its nucleus.”
“That is not acceptable Reichsmagister. We can capture a thing that can be measured. I will not come this far and be denied my prize. It is your duty to determine how we will acquire it. I will give you until this time tomorrow to work it out. Dismissed.”
“Heil!” said the Reichsmagister with his straight arm salute.
“Heil.”
***
It looks like I may be off the hook, after all. Even if there is a derelict to be salvaged we apparently can’t get to it. The admiral gave the Reichsmagister until today to figure it out. The guys say he’s got nothing. The admiral doesn’t like hearing no. The Reichsmagister will at least wind up in the brig and they may round us up to see a public torture. It’s been a while since anybody pissed off the old man that much. Word gets around. They say the Reichsmagister was on the bridge until late last shift. He supposedly had some animated conversations with Commandant Michaelik Smits. I don’t know what that was about, but I bet he was trying to work out how not to end up in the torture booth. I don’t particularly like the Reichsmagister but no one deserves the torture booth. And I don’t enjoy being forced to watch the agony of a man as they torture him. An object lesson, Als calls it. Als is a savage bully who enjoys hurting people. Unfortunately, he is just the kind of man the Empire breeds and promotes. I hate this whole stinking culture. I hate what they did to Bujonjoe. And I hate what they are trying to make me become.
***
“Heil, mein Admiral. I believe I have devised a method of extracting the derelict ship from the cloud of jersa.” The Reichsmagister looked haggard from his sleepless night.
“Oh? Enlighten me.”
“Commandant Smits. If you would be so kind. Please bring up the black hole with the suspected orbit of the ship as predicted by the QED.” A black sun appeared on the screen, blacker than the black background. It was most visible as a black circle in the group of background stars. A red dot circled the black sun so rapidly it seemed to be a solid line. It was at a forty-degree angle to the WAF Konigsberg, only partially visible from their angle.
“Now, Herr Kell,” he spoke to the helmsman. “Please realign the ship’s orbit by fifty degrees longitudinally.” The helmsman looked to the Commandant.
“Do it,” he said. Once they had established a new orbit, the Reichsmagister said, “You see now that our orbit is perpendicular to the salvage. Bring us to this point in our orbit, Herr Kell,” he said, pointing to a spot on the small map in front of Kell. “Now show us a ship’s view of the orbit of the salvage.” The diagram on the large screen showed the same black spot. But now the red dot was circling the back spot in a wide flat circle, always in sight.
“We can capture what we can measure, you said, mein Admiral. But to measure it, we must see it. From this vantage, we can figuratively see it or at least detect it continuously. That will allow us to capture it. I propose to polarize our tractor beam to a circular pattern, set it to detect only metal, turn it toward the orbit of the salvage and see what fish we catch.”
“Masterful and logical. Just as I expected of you, mein Reichsmagister,” said Als with sincerity in his voice. “Helmsleiter, make the changes the Reichsmagister has recommended.”
“Jawohl, mein Admiral.” The young helmsman’s fingers flew over his control panel. He knew Admiral Als had little patience and was not to be kept waiting.
“Ready, mein Admiral.”
“Proceed.”
***
The crew of the UES Superior were near to breaking and another gravitational surge like the last two would flatten the ship. Their hearts barely had time to leap into their throats when Karen yelled, “Gravitational surge, but it’s coming from…” That was all she got out before the wave struck the fragile little craft. “Above,” she barely yelled. The hissing, pinging and bonging from the craft moving around the slurry of the black hole increased.
“It looks as if we’re moving against the momentum of the debris, not toward the black hole,” said Anderson peering through a porthole. “That’s not possible.”
“Maybe another black hole has moved into the neighborhood,” offered Jimmy Cain, a helmsman who wasn’t on duty but had decided to meet the end among his friends. He was so young, just out of the Academy, he made Mundy feel like an old man. He was an odd match as Anderson’s counterpart at the helm. At five feet six he was the shortest height the Academy would accept.
“No, we’d have noticed it before now,” said Jordan.
“Well, we’re definitely moving. And up, away from the black hole. I don’t know how it’s happening, but it’s happening.” Anderson was delighted.
“Well, I don’t like my staff standing around with their collective thumbs up their asses. Something’s going on and I want answers. Pronto!” Everyone scrambled to their stations and managed to look industrious although no one knew exactly what to do.
***
“We must find a way to slow down the craft. Once it leaves the soupy jersa surrounding the black hole, it might fly apart slinging around at nearly the speed of light. Helmsleiter, can you use the tractor beam to retard their speed?”
“Jawohl, Herr Reichsmagister.”
“Then do so.”
***
“Captain. We are definitely caught in a gravity wave from above. But the wave is coherent, not natural. It’s as if we’re caught in a tractor beam.” Karen Jordan came up with a theory that seemed hardly plausible.
“We’re movin’ at near the speed of light. Ain’t no tractor beam can catch you when you’re doin’ that,” Casey Jones gave his opinion. As the expert on what was physically possible with machinery, what he said carried weight.
“We’re slowing down,” Anderson called from his console. “It’s like our engines are being overridden.”
“Cut our engines, Davie. Let’s save them for when we need them. Somebody or something has us in a trap. I want to know who or what and why. Give it to me, gentlemen.”
“I think I know,” said Anderson softly, yet everyone turned. “Look at this.” The screen showed an exterior view from the ship. It was obvious they were rising through waves of gases and energy, star dust and micrometeoroids. And right in the center, possibly light minutes distant was a glowing dot. A dot that the console indicated was a spaceship. A spaceship that was not registered on Earth.
“Oh shit,” thought Mundy. “First contact.”
***
“Captain. I really must demand that you let me speak with the aliens. As the only one aboard with diplomatic experience it is only reasonable,” scientist Harry Albright said. “No offense, but with your military background and military thinking you are liable to cowboy us into an interspecies war.”
“No offense taken,” Mundy said gritting his teeth. He really hated dealing with these people. That’s what he had Karen for.
“Harry, you know NASA and World Council protocol is very clear on this. The commander of the ship that makes first contact is to represent Earth unless an actual credentialed diplomat is on board,” Jordan chided him.
“That’s ridiculous. This is too important a moment to be left to amateurs.”
“We haven’t even determined if they are friendly or hostile. Before I let you invite them in for tea and crumpets, I want to know a little bit more about them.”
“It’s attitudes like that which get us into wars. I wish to file a complaint.”
“Take it up with Earth Command.”
“Hmph! If you will continue to refuse to see reason on this, at least agree that Dr. Righter and myself will sit on the committee that receives them. There’s no telling what kind of faux pas you may commit.”
“Dr. Albright. Let me put this as diplomatically as I can. No fucking way!” He knew Earth Command would be all over him about this, but the momentary satisfaction was worth it. He strode out.
***
“Karen, is it possible for them to hold us in a tractor beam at this distance?” Mundy asked.
“I don’t think possible is the question. They undoubtedly do have us in a beam.”
“Well, they saved our asses. We need to thank them. Establish communication. And give us a little push with impulse, Anderson. I want to at least give the impression that we are coming to them of our own will.”
“Captain, I’ve done some scans on them. They don’t have any kind of shield up to prevent scans.” Commander Newly said.
“So, either their shields are down to show friendly intent or they don’t fear us enough to put up shields or they just don’t have shields. Keep our shields up, Jennifer, until we know more about them. What did your scans find?”
“A mixed bag. Their engines seem more primitive than ours, but they do have hyperdrive, obviously. They are also heavily armed. I doubt our shields would last more than a couple of salvos. Heat signature would indicate there are warm-blooded creatures inside.”
“Good. I really didn’t want to meet up with any lizard people. I hate lizards,” said the captain, only half joking.
“Or bug people. The movies about bug people give me nightmares,” admitted Anderson.
“All right. Let’s keep our wits about us. Anything yet, Karen?”
“Negative, Captain.”
“Send everything we know so far to Earth Command. Do it subspace. If they detect the message, they may mistake it for hostile intent, or they may trace it to Earth. No need in announcing where we’re from until we know more.”
“Will do, Captain.”
“Captain!” Commander Newly called. “I’ve got something on my system. It looks like a message. It’s an old style system of amplitude frequency modulation, we haven’t used it in decades or even hundreds of years.”
“Good. Feed it into the computer to start working on a translation. Is it directed at us?”
“No, sir. They sent it in the other direction. I guess back to its base or fleet.”
“Holy shit,” Jimmy whispered it so only Anderson heard it. “Captain, Captain, you gotta hear this.”
“What, Jimmy?” asked Mundy.
“Well, you know I’m a techno geek, right? I mean I have a kind of skill with computer systems. I can hack into just about anywhere. I think I just hacked into the intership system of the aliens. They’re speaking English.”
***
“Commandant Smits,” called Helmsleiter Kell. “The salvage appears to be assisting our tractor beam.”
“What do you mean ‘assisting’?” asked the Commandant. Admiral Als walked over to stand near the helmsman.
“The salvage seems to be pulling away from the black hole, as if trying to come toward us.”
“That ship has been stuck over 900 years and has accreted a ton of sludge and spacemud. It was probably just stuck and then broke loose. No chance of us losing it?” the Commandant asked, seeking assurance. Losing Admiral Als’ salvage ship would send them all to a prison planet.
“No sir. We have a good grip and our beam is strong. And as I said, it’s not fighting us. It’s trying to come toward us.”
“Interesting,” said the Reichsmagister from a nearby console. “I’ve noticed the ship’s energy signature. Its systems seem to be still running. Imagine that. After 900 years. They sure don’t make them like they used to.”
“Yes. A worthy prize,” gloated the Admiral from his perch above all the others on the bridge.
“Commandant! I am getting a communication from the salvage ship,” the communications officer said. “It is a regular signal. I don’t recognize the frequency. I can’t tell if there is any message imbedded, just a regular pinging.”
“Bah. It’s probably an automated distress signal. It’s probably motion sensitive, set to start if the ship is disturbed. You are all as nervous as my maiden aunt. Herr Kell. How long until we get the ship into our cargo bay?”
“Four hours, mein Herr.”
***
“English? What the hell? Are you sure about that, Jimmy?” The captain was out of his chair and standing beside Lieutenant Cain, looking at his console.
“Their system is primitive. My little sister could hack into this. But look at these interoffice messages. English. Some wording is a bit off, but that’s what it is.”
“Ok. Keep looking. Karen, Jennifer. Thoughts?”
“Not a clue,” Jennifer said.
“I’m stumped, too,” Karen said, shaking her head so that a lock of blonde escaped her band and fell in her eye. She absentmindedly brushed it away.
“Captain,” Jimmy called again. “I can get into the log of where the ship’s been, cargo, armament, registry, personnel. Everything but the captain’s log. The encryption there is more sophisticated. It may take me a while to break it, but I’m sure I can,” he said with a sniff of pride.
“What have you found out.”
“Nothing that makes sense. It says it left Earth two years ago. They have 90 personnel, mostly soldiers. Heavily armed. Under an Admiral Zariah Als. A lot of the titles involve ‘reich’. And the system of dates is weird. Apparently, it’s the year 578 AI. And, uh, well there was something about being involved in the Martian uprising. The ship was instrumental in causing the collapse of the dome over the Martian capital, causing everyone inside to die. That was like a million people. My gramma lives there,” there was a note of worry in his voice. “It matches nothing in our computer’s database.”
“None of that makes a bit of sense.” Mundy was perplexed as anyone.
“Ship’s registry is WAF Reichsboot Konigsberg”
“WAF?” asked Mundy.
“Uh, it says World Aryan Federation.”
“Oh my god. Neo-Nazis? That explains all the pseudo-German crap. I didn’t think there were enough of them to make a difference,” Newly said. “Have they taken over while we were gone?”
“No. We’ve been in contact with Earth the whole time, except when we were in the event horizon. Wait a minute. I noticed something earlier but didn’t follow up. The stars are wrong,” Jordan said.
“Stars?” Mundy asked.
“Computer. Analyze star field and match with current star charts,” she ordered.
“Complete,” said a disembodied voice.
“Based on star position, what is the date?”
“Star date approximately 5739.”
“That’s not possible,” said Mundy. “Computer. Recalculate.”
“Working. Star date 5739, unable to calculate decimal based on available data. Earth date 3220, unable to calculate month and day based on available data.”
Anderson said what everyone was thinking. “But that’s like 900 years' difference, in the future.”
“No. The computer must be malfunctioning, taking in some erroneous information,” Newly said. “Or affected by the black hole’s radiation. Either that or we have to believe that we have time traveled into the future. Which isn’t possible.”
“I wonder,” said Jordan. “I have a theory. Let me get to my console.” Once sitting at her station, she began typing and bringing up various charts and queries. “Damn. It works out. I never would have believed it.”
“Karen, what’s going on? What have you figured out?” Mundy asked.
“Maybe a rational answer. It involves relativity. Science has found that Einstein was correct in most of what he theorized. One effect of relativity is that the faster a ship moves, the slower time passes within the ship. A ship going from Earth to Alpha Centauri at half the speed of light could get there in 8.5 years to outside observers, but the crew will have only experienced it as a year or so. Experiments have proven that this is correct. Well, we were in that black hole for what, a week, maybe two? Davie said it accelerated us to .9 the speed of light in the super-eddy. According to my calculations, and Einstein’s calculations back them up, what we experienced as ten days, at .85 light speed the rest of the universe would experience as 900 years.”
“No. That can’t be right,” Mundy stated.
“The math is correct, Rob.” She almost never called him by his first name while on duty.”
“Ok. I got into their history files. It says the World Aryan Federation defeated United Earth 578 years ago, 2642 CE–old style, hence the date of 578 Anno Imperium–‘in the year of the Empire’. Shit. Pardon, Captain. It really happened. They’re not aliens. They’re us. We’re in the future. And from what I’ve seen in their files, we’re fucked.”
***
“Commandant. Come quickly.” Kell motioned to Smits. “Look,” he said once Smits was at his station. “Heat signatures from within the vessel. There are warm-blooded creatures inside.”
“Unbelievable. How many?”
“Impossible to tell. I’d say maybe 15, certainly no more than 25.”
“You sure it’s not just mold growing on the decomposed bodies?”
“No, Herr Commandant. It has to be actual warm-blooded creatures.”
“Interlopers. Someone may have salvaged it before we got here? How unfortunate. For them,” said the Admiral. “We will have to relieve them of their burden. Anyway, they were stuck in the event horizon. I’m sure they will be very grateful for our rescue.”
“Communications officer. Can we contact them?”
“I believe so, mein Admiral. At least I can send a message to them. Whether they answer is the question.”
“So be it,” barked Als. “Send them this. Attention to anyone who may be on the vessel we have in tow. I, Admiral Zariah Als, have claimed this vessel under Space Salvage Laws of the World Aryan Federation, Third edition. Under Chapter 2, section 7 of said regulations, I claim possession of the vessel and all contents. I will bring the vessel into our cargo bay. Resistance will be met with overwhelming force, and perpetrators will be dealt with harshly. I will apprise you of your disposition at a later date.”
***
“That doesn’t sound very friendly,” commented Mundy upon hearing the message from Als. I would like to be ‘apprised of my disposition’ before I deliver myself into his hands.”
“Sir, I found their Space Salvage rules while digging through their library,” Jimmy said. “It says that any abandoned or stranded space vessel may be taken for salvage only by a military commander. All cargo and contents become the property of the salvager. Section 7 states that any ship that is not registered with the Federation is contraband and any personnel taken are considered criminals and may be sold as slaves.”
“Slaves?” Jordan exclaimed. “No civilized people allow slavery.”
“Maybe not in our world. But it looks like we’re not in our world anymore,” Jimmy said. “And it’s worse than just that. Women have no rights. They are the property of their father or husband. They aren’t allowed any kind of public life. Most never leave the house.”
“Keep ‘em barefoot and pregnant. Isn’t that what they used to say,” said Newly. It wasn’t really a question. Her tone of voice showed it was a condemnation of the whole system.
“We’re not going to just give up to them are we, Captain,” asked a wide-eyed Anderson.
“Hell, no,” growled an angry Jonesie. “Gimme a blaster and I’ll take out a dozen or more before I go down. And I can set off a couple of neutron grenades for good measure. Jonesie ain’t nobody’s slave!”
“But this is a science ship. We have no weaponry,” worried Dr. Harry Albright. He and Dr. Gloria Righter were called in to represent the ten scientists on board. “Surely they can be reasoned with.”
“Dr. Albright, I’m a reasonable man and I’m all for reasoning with our new friends, but I’m thinking that ship has sailed. I’ll make nice for now, but I’m not opposed to letting loose a little of our force against them. Jimmy, how many are on that ship?”
“Infrared imaging indicates 90.”
“We have 10 warriors here. Each of us has to take out nine bad guys. I like our odds, ” Major Donovan said with a grim grin.
“Captain, you’re going to get us all killed or worse,” complained Albright.
“Maybe Dr. Albright. But I don’t fancy being a slave to some latter-day Nazi. You and the scientists can hang back if you want, but I’m going in with a plan.”
“What’s the plan, Cap,” asked Jonesie.
“Well, I think we need to tread softly for now. Much as I’d like to, we don’t need to go in with guns blazing. We’ve determined that their technology is way behind ours. I guess they must have lost a lot in some war. They don’t need to know that. Jimmy said even his sister could hack their system. He and Anderson and Jorgenson are tech whizzes. If we can get them into the bad guys’ ship system, we could throw ‘em a few curves. I imagine they’ll keep us together at first. Albright, Righter, you keep your scientists together as much as possible. If we’re going to make a break, it needs to be early on. I don’t want to leave anyone behind, but if it’s between that and getting everyone else out, I will leave your ass behind. If I say move, your people need to move.”
“We’ll be ready, Captain,” said Righter, while silencing the blustering Albright.
“Good,” Mundy continued. “Dr. Righter, tell your people to encrypt access to everything they have. If this goes sideways, I don’t want to give them anything easily. My team. Make nice. Get them comfortable. Encourage them to brag about their system. The more we know, the better. Jimmy, encrypt all ship’s documents.”
In the meantime, Mundy sent Admiral Als a neutrally worded response saying that his crew were a science team and posed no threat to him or the Empire. He said they were stuck in the black hole, but not derelict. He showed that ship’s credentials duly registered them with United Earth, which he assumed was no longer dominant. He asked for asylum for the eminent scientists on board who could undoubtedly provide new and valuable technologies to the Empire. He got no reply.
***
The Konigsberg quickly became visible out the portholes. It bristled with antennae and what were undoubtedly guns. It was obviously a warship. And it was huge. They later discovered most of its size was made up of the large cargo bay. It yawned before them like the maw of some ravenous beast of prey. Soon they were completely engulfed. Their ship settled in the artificial gravity of the bay and their gauges showed the air pressure was quickly approaching Earth normal.
“Looks like it’s showtime, people. Look lively. We want to make a good impression,” Mundy smiled, hoping to cheer up the somber group.
His officers all had on their dress uniforms and the scientists, well, they were still a motley looking crew. Through the porthole he could see the main gate into the bay open. A detachment of about twenty soldiers trotted in and fanned out to keep the ship under armed guard.
A burly man and a slimmer one came in last and looked expectantly at the ship. Mundy unlocked the hatch and a short ramp opened. He led his group out, the crew marching orderly. The scientists were crowded together and frightened looking. They stopped short in front of Admiral Als. The man was Mundy’s height, broad and dressed in a uniform with many medals and stripes. His greasy gray hair was pulled back in a queue. A black patch over one eye gave him the look of a pirate. Mundy suspected it was more than just a look. He had a short, grizzled beard and appeared to be a hard worn fifty. The man beside him was shorter, younger and dressed in a black uniform. The insignia on his uniform denoted Commander rank. Looking at Als, Mundy brought up his right hand, offering a military salute. Als just looked at him and sneered.
“My name is Captain Robert Mundy, commanding the United Earth ship Superior.”
Als gave him a backhanded slap. There was a sharp intake of breath among Mundy’s officers, but no one moved.
“You have no name unless I say so. You are a slave and are only to speak when spoken to. You all live and die at my pleasure. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Admiral,” Mundy replied tightly. No man had ever struck him and walked away unscathed. Als would not be the first, he vowed.
“As part of the cargo of the salvaged vessel, you are my property. Please me and I will keep you in my service. Displease me and there are unpleasant alternatives. Eighteen of you. Is that your full complement?”
“Yes, Admiral.” Als motioned to his soldiers and four trotted up the ramp to search the ship. A moment later, they came out, and the leader nodded to Als.
“Where is the ship you came on? Did you jettison it into the hole?”
“The Superior is our ship.”
Als grabbed Mundy by the throat and lifted him to his toes.
“You lie! You have slipped onto the ship I have claimed like vermin. My Reichsmagister has ways of extracting information. You will tell me what you know, in time.” He lowered Mundy, who had turned blue. As the captain massaged his throat, Als strode over to look at the scientists who cowered before him.
“I hope you creatures have brains for your bodies are no good for work or sex. I probably couldn’t get fifty credits for the lot of you. The crew is more promising, especially the females. And a Negress. There aren’t many out here this far from Earth. I feel certain I can earn a healthy sum selling you.” Dr. N’dutu looked down her nose at the admiral with disdain. Mundy hoped she didn’t actually emit the “hmph” that her look entailed.
Dr. Albright shakily stepped forward.
“Admiral. I represent the scientists of Earth. At least the old Earth.” That was all he got out before Als grabbed him by his mouth.
“A representative are you? That makes you a leader. Leaders don’t make good slaves. Always troublemakers. Smits,” he said. The man in black drew his pistol-like weapon from his waist and handed it to Als. He turned it and fired a short blast of energy at Albright’s midsection. He immediately crumpled to the floor. Several of the scientists cried out. Mundy made a move to approach him but was stopped by Als’ hand on his chest.
“I rarely waste my resources, but I believe this one has more value as a lesson than on the market. You need to reconcile yourselves to your new status. Speak out of turn to a free man, and you will get a severe and painful reprimand. Cross me and you will get the same fate as this slave. Take him to the disposal,” he said to Smits.
Smits crouched over the man. “He lives still,” he said.
“All the better. To the disposal.” Smits signaled to two soldiers to come and help. They lifted Albright with one under each arm. Though grievously wounded Albright raised his head and muttered unintelligibly. They drug him to a chute marked ‘Disposal’. The soldiers hefted him up and tossed him in head first. They closed the chute. There was a suctioning sound. Several of the scientists gasped.
“That slave is now free. Free to roam the void as he floats about in space. Anyone care to join him? No? Good.” Turning back to his companion he said, “Smits, see to the disposition of my new slaves.” With that he walked out.
***
In their holding cell, it was pandemonium. Most of the scientists were wailing. Others were throwing recriminations at Mundy for bringing them into such a dangerous situation. One seemed catatonic.
“Shut up, damn you!” he cried. “You know the situation we’re in. You can work with it or die. I’d suggest you grow a little steel in your spines and show these savages what you can do. If you don’t, they are liable to throw you out the disposal like Albright.” There was silence as they all stared at him as if he were the enemy. He had only told them the truth. He sat down on the floor beside Newly.
“We might as well work on the assumption they are listening in,” he whispered in her ear.
“Agreed,” she whispered without moving her lips. “Then again, their technology is primitive.”
“You and Karen get around to everyone, including the scientists, without making it obvious. Maybe get Anderson to help. Remind them they are to cooperate for the time being and keep their eyes and ears open. We need to gather as much intel as possible.”
***
Mundy had no sense of time. They were in a windowless room with constant lighting. Jimmy had already whispered to him that with a pick Digger had secreted in his shoe, either of them could easily disengage the ancient lock on the door. Good to know.
After what seemed like hours, the man in black came in followed by an assistant and six armed soldiers. He carried what looked like an old-fashioned riding crop. Mundy rose and stood in front of his people, showing he was the one to speak to. He didn’t speak first. He had learned that lesson.
“Good,” sneered the man. “You wait for your master to speak. That is the first and often the most difficult lesson for former free men to grasp. I am Commandant Smits. It is my unenviable task to advise you in the ways of slavery, to ease you into your new situation, as it were. This is Bundesleiter von Hoek. You will address us as master at all times.
“As you may have surmised, while you are the property of Admiral Als, you are to submit to questions and directions of all officers on the Konigsberg. Officers only. You will be advised if you are to entertain the troops.” He leered evilly at this remark. He stepped forward, moving Mundy out of the way with a wave of his hand and looked over the scientists.
“Mein Admiral wishes to know if his property has any scientific value. You,” he said, pointing the crop at Vince Rhodes. “Yes, you will do to start. Guards, take this one for testing.” Two of the armed soldiers grabbed Vince by either arm and marched him out of the cell. He looked back over his shoulder, terrified.
Smits casually strolled back toward Mundy and his officers. He stopped and used his crop to lift Mundy’s chin. “If you were five years younger, I might make use of you. You’re definitely attractive enough. But a little older than what I like. Pity. Now you, on the other hand,” he said, looking at Karen and running the crop down her arm. “You are also just what I like. Guards, take her to my quarters.” He turned and left with von Hoek in his wake as two guards grabbed Karen. Mundy and Anderson tried to intervene but were clubbed into submission by the remaining soldiers.
***
They returned Vince what seemed like many hours later.
“I was terribly frightened, but they just wanted to test my level of knowledge. I quickly outstripped anything they knew. They are terribly backward. I’m amazed that at their level of physics they are actually spacefaring. They are much like us back at the beginning of the twenty-first century.”
They pulled Maynard Johnson next.
At long last Karen was returned. She was being dragged by two soldiers. They opened the door and unceremoniously threw her in. Mundy and N’dutu rushed to her side. She was badly beaten and still bleeding from several wounds, some serious looking. Her uniform was in shreds. They applied what first aid they could. When she could talk, she said her right arm might also be fractured. They formed a sling with Mundy’s overshirt.
“Apparently slaves are also used for sexual pleasure. That is what Smits wanted. I went along for a while, trying to be nice, but put him off. He got a little too personal so I let him have it, and I don’t mean my body.” Mundy smiled grimly, considering this. Karen was the best hand at martial arts on his ship. She regularly handed Mundy his ass at sparing. “Yeah, I kicked his ugly ass good until the guards got into it. It took three of them to take me down but I got some good licks in. Two of the guards are in sick bay because of me. And that slimy bastard in black will be walking funny for a few days. Donovan said we each needed to take out nine. Only six to go for me, Cap,” she grinned weakly through swollen, bloody lips at Mundy. “You guys need to catch up.”
***
A germ of a plan took root in Mundy’s brain. When they brought Maynard back, several soldiers arrived with food. It wasn’t anything fancy, just bread, thin soup and water, but they were all famished. Mundy had noticed that when Smits had dismissed him as too old for his sexual tastes, von Hoek’s eyebrows raised. He also noticed after that how von Hoek took a long last look at him. Von Hoek was supervising the soldiers setting out the food. Mundy stood close to him and made eye contact. He smiled seductively and licked his upper lip with the tip of his tongue. With a smirk he strolled away, rolling his hips. Newly once told him when drunk that he had the “best damn ass in the navy”. Message delivered, he thought.
After the meal, the soldiers took Larry Bostwick for testing. When he returned several hours later, the lights dimmed. There were eighteen blankets piled by the door. They huddled on the floor, seeking comfort in each other. They had only been down a short while when the door opened and von Hoek and four soldiers entered. “You,” von Hoek pointed at Mundy. “And… that one,” pointing at Jimmy. They were both quickly grabbed and hustled out of the room. They were taken down a corridor but then separated.
“Where are you taking him?” Mundy asked.
“Silence, slave. You do not speak unless your master addresses you. Aren’t you concerned for yourself rather than this other slave?” von Hoek asked.
“Jimmy is my responsibility. You’re in a command position. You should understand,” he reasoned.
“Oh, tut. We’re past all that. You have no responsibilities other than pleasing your master. And right now, that’s me. Smits may have thought you were too old, but he likes little boys anyway. I understand the bitch he pulled kicked his ass. She’ll be severely disciplined for that. The admiral ought to have her whipped or throw her to the troops for sport, but with her looks, she’s worth too much. She’ll bring him a fortune on the open market. You probably will, too. But for now, you’re just my type. And don’t worry about your little friend. A couple of the guards I owe a favor to saw him and thought he was cute. They asked for some playtime with him. He’ll be fine. They know not to permanently damage the property of the Admiral.” Mundy felt sick at the fate of poor Jimmy.
The guards deposited Mundy in what he supposed was van Hoek’s quarters. Deposited was the best term seeing as they walked him in, dropped him on the single bed and walked out.
“Now, slave. Let’s review. The guards are just outside. One word from me and they will beat you senseless. I can also recommend having you gelded, take the fight right out of you. Make me happy and I’ll see about cutting short your little friend’s time with the guards. I’ve seen the looks you gave me. Let’s not pretend. You can begin by taking off your shirt.” The thought of even touching van Hoek made Mundy’s skin crawl. The man was skinny, had bulging eyes and receded hair. The officer’s uniform did little to improve the image. Still, Mundy had a plan and enough experience to know how to remove his undershirt seductively.
“Nice,” purred von Hoek. “I like a man with a little hair on his chest.” He came close and slid his hand along Mundy’s chest, allowing hairs to slip between his fingers. Stepping back a pace, he quickly removed the tunic of his uniform. It repulsed Mundy at the sallow, sunken chest that was revealed. Then von Hoek was back on him, kissing his neck and mouthing the area around his ears and where his neck joined his shoulders. Mundy slid his hands up von Hoek’s chest, slowing to caress his nipples. Von Hoek hissed an intake of breath and then groaned his pleasure. He grabbed Mundy’s head and kissed him on the mouth, his tongue seeking entrance. Mundy slid his hands up to cup von Hoek’s head as well. Then, with a violent wrench, he twisted it until von Hoek could see his backside. But by then, von Hoek could see nothing. He was dead.
Mundy allowed himself a momentary shudder to rid himself of the essence of von Hoek. Then tapping his earlobe he whispered, “Donovan. You there?”
“Been waiting on you, Cap. What’s the situation?”
“Where are you and Jorgenson?” They had stayed behind in a hidden compartment when the crew went out to meet Als.
“Still in the Superior. We went out and got the guards. There were four of them and three techs. Those disposal chutes are really neat. Anyway, we have new uniforms and weapons. And sorry about Dr. A. We were watching from inside the ship.”
“Good, just outside the cargo bay is a map of the ship. I’m in a private quarter on deck B, number 25. Think you two can get here on the double?”
“Sure thing. See you in five.”
“I think there are two guards on my door.”
“No problem.”
While he waited, Mundy put von Hoek’s body in his closet. If anyone were to casually glance in the room, they wouldn’t notice anything amiss. A few moments later there was a sizzling sound of an energy blast, as if from a laser weapon outside and then a quiet tap at the door. It opened to reveal Donovan and Jorgenson in WAF uniforms with a dazed soldier held up between them and two more lying apparently dead in the hallway. Mundy raised his eyebrows at Donovan.
“Mr,” he glanced down at the soldier’s name tag, “Zmeckis here got a little too interested in our presence. We cocked him and the next soldiers we met we just told we were taking him to sick bay.” Jorgenson had already dragged the two dead soldiers into the room as Donovan talked. He ripped the cover off the bed and tore strips from it. They securely gagged Mr. Zmeckis, tied his arms and legs and loaded him in the closet with von Hoek. It was a tight fit. They loaded the other two into the small bath.
“Von Hoek is, or rather was officer level so he must have some kind of security clearance. See if you can get onto the ship’s systems from his connection, Jorgenson,” Mundy said.
“Security on this system is for shit,” Jorgenson said disdainfully. “It’s an open book to me.” He went over the ship systems and conferred with Donovan. After a short time, Donovan sat on the bed with Mundy.
“Ok, Cap. Here’s the plan. Jorgenson is going to divert all bridge control to engineering. He’ll have to do if from engineering, though, so you and Jorgenson head on down to engineering. Here’s a view of it.” Jorgenson showed him a screen that was apparently a live feed from engineering. They could see three guards and two engineers. “You two will need to neutralize those guys. Jorgenson then can lock all control systems into engineering. Bridge will notice it immediately, but I will create a diversion so don’t worry about them.”
“Still, it won’t take the eighty or so soldiers left long to get there and break in.”
“No, it won’t. That’s why Jorgenson will do his stuff in two minutes, tops. Then you two are outta there. He will release the clamps on the ship and disable the tractor beam and weaponry. Then scuttle the whole system.”
“We can’t get the ship out without the bay door open, and if the door is open, we can’t get to the ship.”
“I got it covered. Jorgenson said there is a fifteen second delay function on the airlock. Once y’all are in, I press the button and run like hell for the ship.”
“What are our chances of pulling this off?” Mundy asked.
“Seriously? I’d say slim to none. You got any better ideas?” Mundy had to shake his head that he didn’t.
“Let me bring Jennifer up to date.” He tapped his lobe again and talked softly to his second in command. She reported that everyone else was in the cell except Jimmy.
“Keep trying to open his frequency. We’ll do what we can to find him.”
“Problems, Cap?”
“Jimmy Cain is missing. Some guards grabbed him the same time they got me. He could be anywhere. Jennifer’s trying to raise him.”
“I don’t like to leave anyone behind, but if it’s between getting 18 people off this ship and zero, I know where I stand. You’re the Cap, though. I’ll leave it up to you.” Donovan handed him the laser pistol he’d pulled off a guard.
“Jorgenson, ping me when you’re in place.”
“Roger.”
***
They only encountered two soldiers on the way to engineering. They shot them both and gained two more hand weapons. Mundy hated killing indiscriminately, but this was a battle situation. Jorgenson tugged his earlobe when they were in place. He palmed open the door, and they went in all four guns blazing. They quickly had engineering under control and Jorgenson got to work on the controls. Mundy pinged Jennifer and told her to get their people moving. He told her Digger could open the door and she and Anderson could neutralize the guards. The scientists would have to help Jordan. He specifically reminded her that lethal force was acceptable.
By the time he finished giving orders, Jorgenson was grabbing him and heading for the door. By this time, the red alert lights and horn were blaring. As they were exiting the control room Jorganson lobbed a couple of neutron grenades behind him at the engine core. The entire ship lurched when they went off, detonating one engine with them as well.
They fought their way to the cargo bay. Resistance was light seeing as the ship was caught off guard and chaos reigned. Donovan had apparently disrupted their chain of command by destroying the bridge. As they were getting near their destination, they ran up with Donovan. His eyes were bright. It was clear he was in his element. Mundy’s ear pinged, and he heard Jennifer saying they had heard from Jimmy. He said he was in bad shape and disoriented. He doubted he could make it to the cargo bay on his own. She gave them his coordinates.
“I’ll get the boy. You two get to the ship,” Donovan said. Mundy wanted to disagree, say Jimmy was his responsibility, but the reality was that Donovan had the better chance of getting himself and Jimmy to the ship alive. As they approached the bay, they heard laser pistol fire and a familiar roar.
“Take that, you filthy Nazi scum!” Jonesie was giving the Nazis what for. With Mundy and Jorgenson coming up on their rear, we quickly dispatched them. No time for prisoners.
“Good work, Cap. Any more of them filthy buggers?” Jonesie asked. He seemed eager for more action.
“I believe we’re in the clear for the moment. You help get all the passengers in the ship. And I want my engines ready to go, pronto.”
“On it, Cap.” He ran for the ship.
Jennifer was warming the engines when Jorgenson pushed Mundy toward the ship.
“You go. I need to be able to give covering fire for Donovan if the baddies beat him here. Then I’ll open the bay.”
“No, both of us can give more cover. Then we can all get on the ship. The fifteen second delay…”
“There’s no delay. We just said that to brook argument. Donovan’s plan all along was to get us all on the ship and open the bay himself. He’s got enough neutron grenades in his bag to destroy the entire ship and he plans to do it. So if he doesn’t make it, I need to open the door. I’m not about heroics or any of that shit. I just have a job to do and I do it. It’s the Marine way.”
Mundy remembered when the mission began he had wondered if two Marines would be of any use if the situation got hairy. Now these two Marines had together saved all their lives. And willingly gave theirs in doing so. Mundy was not a man given to much emotion, but damn, he thought, that was brave.
He got to the ship. Jennifer already had the engines ready. All he needed was to engage, and they’d be on their way. He saw several laser shots hit the door above Jorgenson and he returned fire. Then Jorgenson turned and looked at Mundy through the portal and hit the ‘emergency open door’ button. Inside the cargo bay, you could hear the great whoosh as all the air rushed out of the opening door. He saw Jorgenson crouch on the other side of the door and return fire again. The bay door was about halfway open when it stopped. Then slowly it began to close.
“Oh, shit. Als’ people found an override,” Mundy said. He had to think quick. “Jennifer, shields on maximum. Davie, on impulse power, back us up as far from the door as possible.”
“Captain, you’re not thinking…?”
“Damn straight. Full power forward. Engage!” To tell the truth, he wasn’t sure if the ship would survive breaking through the cargo bay door. But he didn’t see any reason to stay behind. It was now or never. The Superior was a tough little ship and survived crashing through the door, leaving twisted metal in its wake. They flew clear of the larger ship. Anderson yelled “Yeehaaa!” as they burst free. Their spirits all soared with the little ship.
***
Donovan had planned on lobbing two neutron grenades into the bridge. If Als was there at the time, he was a goner. Good, Mundy thought. With the havoc they created in the engine room, he doubted they would ever leap to hyper space again. Hell, impulse might even be a challenge. Without controls, the weapons were offline, as was the tractor beam. Now for the really crazy part of my plan, he thought.
“Captain, we’re being followed,” reported Anderson.
“What? How?”
“Apparently it’s a shuttle craft. It doesn’t have much range, but it’s fast and sensors show it’s armed.”
“Shields aft, full power!” Mundy yelled, expecting a proton torpedo or laser cannon blast.
“Sir, we’re being hailed,” Karen told him.
“Patch it through.”
The connection was tenuous, and the words were scratchy but the message came through loud and clear.
“Got room for four hitchhikers, Cap?” Donovan crowed.
“You old devil. I thought sure they got you,” Mundy said, overjoyed.
“It’ll take more than a few dickhead Nazis to take me out. I got a couple of presents for you. See you in five. I just have some torpedoes to get rid of.”
“Karen. Aft screen,” Mundy commanded. Before them they saw the little shuttle craft and the huge Konigsberg looming in the background. Two tiny missiles shot out of the back of the speeding craft, headed for the mothership. Both were direct hits, setting off a chain reaction of other explosions. Within moments, the ship was shambles. Ironically, there was little left to salvage.
Within five minutes the shuttle had come up alongside the Superior. Anderson connected it with the grappling hooks. Donovan said they had four space suits so they could tether and walk over. The airlock was small, so they had to come in one at a time. The first one in and out of his suit was Jimmy Cain. No one was more glad to see him than Anderson. He wrapped Jimmy up in his long arms.
“Bud. I so thought I’d lost you.”
“I so thought you had, too,” Jimmy deadpanned. His face was badly bruised, but he seemed to be holding up well, until suddenly he collapsed, weeping.
“I’ll take him to our quarters,” Anderson said. He helped Jimmy out of the room. Dr. Vera Jong, who had an extensive background in counseling, followed them. Jimmy might need to talk with her a few times.
Second through the door was Jorgenson. Mundy hugged him and slapped him on the back.
“Our other present is coming next,” Jorgenson said.
An unknown man took off his suit next. He was young, pleasant looking and seemed very frightened.
Jorgenson said, “Meet Bunde Christophe Verhoven. He found Jimmy, shot three guards who had Donovan pinned down and asked for asylum. I didn’t see how we could turn him down. He said he couldn’t stand anymore of Als, the Nationalists or the Empire. I think the guy finally found his moral center.
They all cheered when Donovan came through the door.
“Mundy,” he said. “Against all odds, that crazy plan worked. I never thought it would.”
“Well, pretty much anything is possible with two leathernecks and an old squid. Hell, I’ll even say Semper Fi.”
“Ok, the testosterone’s getting a little thick in here,” said Jennifer.
Anderson appeared in the doorway with fire in his eyes.
“You filthy bastards!” he raged at Verhoven. “You freaking assholes! Your soldiers raped Jimmy. I swear I’ll kill every one of you. He lunged at the soldier but was intercepted by Donovan and Mundy.
“Easy, cowboy,” Donovan crooned softly.
“Stand down, Anderson. That’s an order. This man saved Jimmy and Donovan’s lives and has been offered asylum. We can’t blame him for what the others did.” Mundy held on to Anderson as he cried in his arms.
“I’m so sorry for what they did,” pleaded Verhoven. “The Empire breeds violence like that. That’s what I want to get away from.”
“Well, we may be a lonely little outpost of civilization, but welcome aboard, soldier,” said Mundy.
“I hate to break up the party, but we still have a huge problem. We’re nine hundred years from our time in the middle of an evil empire.” Jennifer looked at Mundy expectantly.
“Speaking of improbable plans, I have an idea,” Mundy announced. “Before we got deep into the black hole, Karen and I had a talk with our physics expert Dr. Righter. Her calculations show that the anomaly she found at the black hole was most likely a wormhole.”
“Most likely as in really might be or wishful thinking?” asked Jennifer.
“Somewhere in between,” admitted Karen. “Einstein theorized they would be in the center of a black hole, but Gloria’s equations and data indicate this to be an extra-solar temporal distortion, i.e. a wormhole not in the center of a black hole.”
“Is that even possible?” Jennifer wanted to know.
“Who knows what’s possible? Gloria says she’s convinced her math is correct. If we fly the Superior into it there’s a good chance the shield would keep it from crushing us. It would probably be navigable and should deposit us somewhere and sometime else, not sure where or when.”
“Good chance, probably, might? Why don’t we just follow the yellow brick road while we’re at it? Maybe we’ll end up in Kansas,” Jennifer was unconvinced.
“At this point, if I found a yellow brick road, I’d follow it. We know what this time in this universe holds for us. I don’t want to stick around. This wormhole is a chance to escape. There're no guarantees. But if we survive, it will put us somewhere, sometime, in some universe. Odds are, whatever we find, it will be better than what we’re leaving. It would be hard pressed to be worse.”
“I’m in,” said Donovan, with Jorgenson nodding.
“If our friends are going into the black hole, I guess we should, too,” said Jorgenson.
“What?” asked Mundy.
“While we were in the engine room, I entered a new flight plan and gave the ship a push. It’s set to drift right for the middle of the black hole. I decided that a black hole was a nice resting place for their black hearts.” Donovan raised his fist, grinning, and Jorgenson bumped it.
Dr. Gloria Righter spoke up. “The scientists have decided we want to go, as well.”
“I think we all want to go, Captain,” said Karen, and Jennifer nodded.
“All right. Everybody buckle in. It will be a rough ride.”
Over the next few minutes everything in the ship was battened or stowed. The scientists buckled in and the crew took their places.
“Dr. Righter gave me the coordinates for the anomaly. All laid in. Awaiting your orders, Captain,” Anderson said. He decided it felt good to say that again.
“Engage.”
Nairne Holtz is a librarian, novelist, queer cultural impresario and erstwhile pornographer. Her work has been short-listed for two Lambda Literary Awards and Quebec's McAuslan First Book Prize. She lives in Hamilton, Ontario with her wife and dogs. For more about her projects as well as materials on zines and queer lit in Can Lit, see www.femmeconfidential.com |
Through the Lens
Montreal, 90s
Amy inhaled her unfiltered cigarette, enjoying both the harsh taste and the freedom of not being badgered to quit by Heather now that they were no longer together. Her ex-girlfriend was supposed to drop by this afternoon to collect her remaining belongings. Where was she? Amy peered out the window. It looked chilly outside. Ice was encrusted on the tiny balcony of her apartment. All the flats on her street had wrought-iron balconies, which she had found terribly quaint when she first rented the place. Later she learned her stylish neighbourhood had once been an Eastern European ghetto, and prostitutes had displayed themselves on these balconies. This was the sort of detail she wanted to include in her film about the subjectivity of marginalized people. She was supposed to begin shooting next week, but she hadn’t written the script. She knew what she wanted to say; she just didn’t know how to say it. But if she didn’t come up with at least a treatment in the next few days, she was in danger of flunking out of her program.
The doorbell drilled. Amy tamped out her cigarette, walked to the top of the stairs, and pulled the string to release the lock.
A woman Amy didn’t know opened the door and strode up the stairs, her long arms swinging forcefully. She announced, “I’m here to move Heather’s stuff.” The woman was tall with the showy cheekbones of a model. Amy considered how best to describe her skin: cinnamon, caramel—no, that wasn’t quite right. Cardamom, the woman was the colour of cardamom, a vivid contrast to the magenta mohawk running over her scalp. She was dressed in mufti pants and a large black leather jacket. She extended her hand to Amy. “My name’s Poison.”
“Hi, I’m Amy.” She led Poison into what had been Heather’s room. “I’ll help you carry the boxes.” Amy slipped on her bedraggled vintage Afghan coat, then, together with Poison, heaved books and pots and sports equipment down the stairs and into a rental van. Ice was spread over everything like a gel, but Poison took the stairs two at a time. She also insisted on carrying all of the heavier items. When Amy protested, Poison said it was only fair since Heather was paying her. It was slightly mysterious: Amy thought she knew everyone Heather knew—they had been together for two years.
After Amy and Poison had finished, they stood together on the curb panting in the frigid January air. Clouds the colour of oyster shells fanned the sky. The ripples of grey surrounding the late afternoon sun forecast snow, a storm even, but Amy asked Poison if she wanted to come in for a drink.
“Sure. I’m not delivering Heather’s stuff until tomorrow morning. She got called in to work at the shelter tonight.”
“Really? That’s great. She’s been wanting to do something more meaningful than her cushy little job at her dad’s company.” Amy was unable to curb her resentment; she had never managed to do anything besides waitress and was currently living on student loans and the last of her summer savings.
Back inside the apartment Poison joined Amy in the living room, and sat down on the sagging couch, which was just about the only piece of furniture left in the room. Heather had decamped with the Ikea furniture, donations from her parents. The couch, which Amy had covered with a leopard-skin print, had been found at a yard sale. Amy went into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of beer for Poison, who used the front part of her T-shirt to screw the cap off.
“Aren’t you going to have a drink?” Poison asked.
“I’d rather smoke up.”
“Go ahead, I don’t mind.”
Amy found some pot in her bedroom where she picked up a book she had been reading on montage and post-colonial theory: Bricolage Versus Suture: Fetishized Bodies in Japanese Film. She joined Poison on the couch and used the surface of the book to roll herself a joint. The pot had an almost immediate effect. According to the dealer, the pot was organic and produced a nice mellow high. Sure enough, the anxiety Amy had felt for weeks over her film drifted away like soap bubbles, and she found herself checking out Poison. Amy hadn’t had sex in awhile and had never slept with a person of colour, which she attributed to lack of opportunity. She was a suburban girl from tiny Cornwall, Ontario, where she had been pretty enough to make the cheerleading team. Up until her last year of high school, when she discovered punk, Amy shook pompoms at hockey games and dated jocks. But now she was a queer artist in a multicultural city.
Poison gulped down her beer. “You know, I’ve seen you around.”
“Oh, do you live in the Plateau as well?”
Poison’s eyes sank to the floor. “I’m kind of in-between places.”
Oh my God, she was homeless. “Is that how you know Heather? Because of the outreach to homeless queer youth project she just worked on?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“If you need a place to crash for a couple weeks, you can stay here,” Amy said. Poison was so quiet, so polite—it was appalling to think of her lounging about in cold doorways and in Tim Hortons. Amy scooped up Poison’s empty beer bottle. “You want another one?”
“Sure.”
As Amy fetched another beer from the fridge, Poison asked about the tattoo on Amy’s neck.
Amy dipped her head forward. A skull-and-crossbones were visible beneath fronds of hair dyed the colour of cotton-candy. “Got it when I was still in high school. Thought it would make me seem tough.” Amy produced a sliver of a smile; she had given this self-deprecating explanation for her dumb tattoo more than once.
Poison didn’t answer. Instead, the rough edge of her hand brushed the stained skin on the back of Amy’s neck. Just as quickly, Poison jerked her hand away, as if she had done something for which she didn’t have permission. Then they started kissing. Poison trembled, as though she were nervous or inexperienced, but, as if to cover this up, her hands tightly gripped Amy.
A ring tone sounded.
“Shit, my cell phone.” Poison rummaged through a knapsack until she found her phone, glanced at it, and turned it off. “One of my friends—I’ve got to go soon.” Her tone was nonchalant, but she avoided Amy’s gaze.
Was Poison involved in drugs? Only rich Yuppies or drug dealers had cell phones. But Amy was afraid to ask Poison about this. Instead she brought Poison, who announced she was thirsty, another beer. Poison drank her beer without saying anything, but between sips she looked over and grinned at Amy.
“What’s it like?” Amy asked.
“What’s what like?”
“Living on the streets.”
Poison’s limbs tensed. “I’m couch surfing.”
Amy felt stupid. She guessed being homeless was painful to talk about. An idea formed in her like a tiny embryo. She stared at Poison, imagining her through a camera lens. “Would you be interested in being in a film I’m making?”
“Uh.” Poison seemed taken aback. “I’ve never acted or wanted to.”
“You don’t understand. You wouldn’t have to act. This would be about being homeless. I would interview a bunch of people.” The neurons in Amy’s brain fired away. She into the kitchen and took some lined paper and a pen from a drawer and sat down again across from Poison, scribbling on the pad. She could see the opening scene, camera panning over punks kicking an old bum in a vacant lot. As she mapped out her ideas, she saw Poison watching her timidly.
“I’ll help you if you want,” Poison said.
**
Amy soon discovered Poison was better at the mechanics of filming than she was. That was an advantage: Amy was able to focus on directing and didn’t have to ask any of the people in her program for assistance. She couldn’t stand the majority of her classmates, mostly guys who were Quentin Tarantino wannabes. Since she couldn’t afford to pay Poison for her help, Amy bought all of their meals and allowed Poison to sleep over as often as she wanted, which was usually just weekends. They didn’t talk about their relationship —they just had one. It was totally different from Amy’s relationship with Heather, which had involved a lot of processing, especially after their sex life had dwindled to inconsequential. They discussed lesbian bed death, and Amy proposed non-monogamy as a solution. Heather was against it but in the midst of their negotiations went and fucked a woman she met in a bar. When Amy got over the shock, she realised, to her chagrin, she couldn’t have sex with Heather again. Without entirely meaning to, they had snuffed out their relationship.
Working on the film, Amy didn’t have time to think about her ex-girlfriend. She was living her life—as she supposed Poison must—in a state of immediacy. Nights saturated in sex and cuddling; days a blur of filming: Poison setting up a shot of a ragged rope around the neck of a dog belonging to a homeless man; Amy carrying on a fumbling conversation with a man who lay on a stained blanket held down by rocks on top of a street grate, steam billowing around them.
**
Slush leaked into Amy’s boots, but she barely noticed. She felt lucky as she glanced over at her lover. Poison was both handsome and elegant: Grace Jones in the 80s. Amy was usually the prettier one in her relationships; beautiful women made her feel insecure and competitive, but Poison seemed oblivious to her attractiveness, as if she had not yet been spoiled by sexual attention.
Amy gathered up the microphone and pole Poison had carefully set on a bench. This was their last day of shooting. The final cut was due in less than a month. Amy called to Poison, “I’m ready. Let’s get going.”
Poison swung the camera on her neck to the right and picked up the tape-to-tape. They had footage of Atwater station; time to interview the homeless First Nations people who hung out behind the metro in the tiny square of park. Trudging by trees made stark and grey by the winter, Amy and Poison found most of the homeless lying on the ground passed out or asleep. They were so ragged and still Amy almost tripped over one man whom she mistook for a heap of dirty blankets. She approached a younger woman who held a paper bag to her mouth, puffing in and out. When the woman had finished getting high, Amy asked her if she would be interested in being in a film.
The woman picked up an empty wine bottle and brandished it at Amy, who froze. Confrontation was something she tried to avoid. Even when she had been a kid, she had never been in a fight.
Poison raised her palms in the direction of the homeless woman. “That’s cool. We’re leaving.” She slowly walked backwards for a few steps before turning and increasing her pace. With the equipment jogging painfully against her ribs, Amy scampered after Poison. Only when they were half a block away, did Amy slow down. Glass and condoms were strewn along the pavement in front of her. She said, “It’s terrible what the Canadian government has done to the First Nations, especially when you consider their nature-based spirituality could probably save our planet.”
“The native people on the street are a wreck. They can’t save themselves, let alone the rest of the world.”
There was a spike in Poison’s voice, which stingingly reminded Amy of the way Heather used to get exasperated with her. But if this had been Heather, Amy might have argued, might have pointed out that South Africa based apartheid on the reservation system the Canadian government set up for the First Nations. But Poison was black and homeless, so Amy felt like she had to shut up, like she should just swallow her hurt at Poison’s irritation.
“Hey! Can I be in your film?” A chubby, blond white girl ran up to them, a filthy sleeping bag clutched under her arm. “I always wanted to be in a movie.”
Amy would have preferred to have someone who was First Nations; she already had footage of a number of white teenage runaways, but she smiled and went into her spiel: what the film was about, the fact that it wouldn’t be shown commercially, the release form that nonetheless had to be signed.
Poison pointed to a brick wall covered in graffiti of interlocking letters with arrows in bright, hard colours. “That would be a good shot.”
The words on the wall were indecipherable, but Amy liked the feeling they evoked: urban velocity. She raised a thumb at Poison. The film was more of a joint effort than Amy would ever want to admit to her professors.
The girl, who introduced herself as Jessica, positioned herself in front of the graffiti. After switching the sound on, Poison began to film Jessica, who made silly faces at the camera. Amy asked Jessica what she had done last night. Open-ended questions, she had learned, were more effective.
Jessica started laughing. “I met this guy in the Village. A hot guy in a gay bar buys me a drink, I figure he’s a fag, but then we start making out. He drives me to his place in the East End, and we, you know, do it. But then he wants me to do it with his grandfather who lives with him. And I was like, no fucking way. So he goes, ‘C’mon he’s in a wheelchair, he can’t meet girls.’ ”
Gross! Amy felt appalled and wondered if she was being prejudiced. Not about the lack of family boundaries, which was obviously gross, but about the idea of an old geezer in a wheelchair. Would she have sex with a young woman in a wheelchair? She wasn’t sure. She cleared her throat. “So, Jessica, there’s some things you won’t do for money?”
“Oh, I wasn’t doing this guy for money; I thought he was cute. I mean, I hoped he’d have some dope, but that was all. But blow his grandfather? That’s fucked up.” Her tone was suddenly level, serious. “You mind if I smoke?”
“No, go ahead.”
“Got any cigarettes?”
Amy took three out of her pack. She felt this rush of adrenaline. There was something appealing about Jessica; perhaps it was the fact that there was not a trace of self-pity in her voice.
Jessica didn’t smoke the cigarettes; instead she stuffed them into her pocket and gazed steadfastly at the camera. “This guy, he wouldn’t drive me back downtown until I gave Gramps a hand job. I told him I couldn’t do it because my grandfather used to mess with me, and it screwed me up. And he said, okay, and gave me twenty bucks to take a cab back downtown.” She paused. “I never told no one about my grandfather before and now I’m telling you guys, too!”
She sounded almost cheerful about the fact. Her story was great, the best Amy had on film. The only problem was Amy felt sleazy. She wanted to effect social change with her film, to help end exploitation, but the interview felt like exploitation. She signalled cut to Poison.
“Thanks, Jessica.” Amy reached into her pocket, handed the rest of her pack of cigarettes to the girl.
**
Poison and Amy walked west, dragging their equipment past shoe stores and Middle Eastern fast-food joints selling shish taouk and falafel.
“Why’d you stop?” Poison asked.
Amy shrugged. “I felt bad.”
“She had a harsh story. But it was good.”
“That’s why I felt bad, because I was thinking that too, instead of feeling bad for her.” What Amy felt towards Jessica was guilt.
Poison stepped back and began to film Amy, something she had never done before.
Amy halted. “What are you doing?”
Poison fiddled with the lens, adjusting it. “Making you the star.”
“I guess we may as well use up the film.” Amy ducked down an alley. “Is there enough light?”
“At the end.” Amy set the tape-to-tape on a dumpster, turned it on, handed Poison the pole with the mike, and moved back. As she adjusted her wool toque, Amy wished she had a compact mirror.
Poison asked, “What’s the worst thing that ever happened to you?”
Amy didn’t hesitate. “When I was twelve and my parents got divorced.”
“Did they fight over you?” Poison momentarily looked up from the equipment to smile at Amy. “I bet they did.”
Without amusement, Amy laughed. “They were too busy fighting with each other.”
“Do you love your dad or your mom more?”
“Before the divorce I thought Dad was cool and Mom was a bitch, but then I kind of realized why she dumped his ass.”
“Why?”
Staring at the brown ground, which was half-frozen and felt lumpy under her feet, Amy remembered cooking for herself when she stayed with her father, the phone not working because he hadn’t paid the bills, and the time he forgot to pick her up from the hockey arena and all her friends had left. She took a deep breath, trying to decide what to say. Being interviewed was harder than she expected. “My dad’s kind of an embarrassing person. He’s this fat, bald guy who works in a call center and jams in the basement with his best friend doing classic rock covers, and he’s, like, not a great singer.” She did not add the other things that came to mind about him; he defaulted on his support payments, and he had lost money in a pyramid scheme. While she cared for him, she did not respect him.
Poison continued, “Does your mother love you?”
Amy tossed her head. “My mother thinks lesbianism is something I’ve picked up at university and I’ll get over it the minute I decide to breed.” Did her mother love her? Amy had no idea. It occurred to her for the first time that homeless people didn’t lack shelter so much as love. Talking about how your family had failed to give you enough love was really hard. She looked up at Poison. “Can we end this?”
Poison lowered the camera, closed the shutter, and put the protective case on.
Amy asked, “Can I film you?” She felt vulnerable, wanted to even things up between them somehow.
There was a slight shake of Poison’s head. “I don’t have anything to say. I’ve already told you that.”
“I think you have lots to say.” This was supposed to be encouraging but came out bitchy. How had Amy come to accept this tacit bargain in which she pretended it was cool Poison had a fucked-up life? And why couldn’t they talk about it? Because, Amy realized, talking might mean judging. They also never discussed being white, being black.
**
When Amy started editing, Poison wanted to know how it was done. Amy showed her, and a few days later discovered Poison had added a little sequence. She had filmed herself sprawled in a leather armchair watching television with a stupefied expression. She picked up a handgun and pointed it at the television screen, which suddenly went fuzzy.
“Do you like it?” Poison asked eagerly. “The gun’s fake of course.”
Amy opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t—she was caught between anger and admiration.
“Do you get it? I’m saying society and media images of homeless people are bullshit and need to be destroyed. And now I’m in the film like you wanted!”
“I wanted images of cops,” Amy replied. Except Poison’s idea was better.
Poison looked crushed, appeared to be on the verge of pouting, which Amy found rather repulsive. She would not have been able to justify it, but she felt she should be the only pouter in the relationship; Poison’s role was to mollify her. Amy sighed, then told Poison the truth. “What you did is great, but you’re doing too much. It’s not my film anymore.”
“You don’t mind in bed.” Poison’s shoulders bristled. “There it’s fine for me to do everything.”
Amy didn’t reply, but two spots of red appeared on her cheeks as she continued to edit. She ignored Poison, expecting the silent treatment to drive her away. Instead Poison draped her arms around Amy’s shoulders, sucked her neck.
The space between Amy’s legs was abruptly wired with sensation. It was dumb—they were in a university building working in a little windowless studio that had a door but no lock. Nonetheless they lay down together on the carpet, close to the door in the vain hope that they could kick it shut if someone tried to come in.
They proceeded to have great sex. Poison was, for the first time, very assertive about what she wanted Amy to do to her. Amy liked it, or at least she was very aroused by it, but beneath her excitement, she felt a nagging resentment like a piece of meat caught in her teeth. Afterwards, she told Poison she didn’t want any more of her help on the film.
**
As she rushed to get to the third-year student film screenings, Amy was almost overpowered by the stench of thawing mud and garbage. It was April, and the temperature had changed overnight from freezing to summery. When she finally got to the Fine Arts Building, the screenings had already begun, so she was unable to find Poison. For all Amy knew, Poison might not even show up. The last time they had seen each other had been almost a month ago in this very building, when they had sex. Amy had been busy editing, and Poison had suddenly become busy herself. As usual, Amy had no idea what she was up to. But it was only fair to invite her to the screening of the final cut of the film, so Amy left a message about it on Poison’s cell phone. Amy had also invited Heather. She hoped their mutual presence would act as a buffer, would reduce their combined emotional impact. But neither woman had responded to Amy’s messages.
When the films ended and the lights came on in the auditorium, the awards were announced. Amy’s film didn’t win any of them. She wasn’t surprised. What did surprise her was seeing Heather shuffle through people to reach Amy.
“I’ve been away. I only got your message this afternoon,” Heather said. She looked good with a new crew cut. “I’m not sure I understood what you were doing, but the images were nice.”
Heather was so not into the arts, but Amy tried to be gracious. “Thank you. Notice all the winning films were made by boys?”
“The one about the relationship between the prostitute and the pizza delivery guy was dumb, but I liked the one about the heroin addict using Nicoret to get over his drug habit. That scene where he’s having dinner with his girlfriend’s parents and his watch goes off and he has to shoot up—that was hilarious.”
“Middle-class poseurs,” Amy sniffed. “At least, I interviewed real homeless people. And of course, Poison, who helped me make the film, is homeless.”
Confusion crinkled across Heather’s face. “Poison? What are you talking about? She’s not homeless.”
Amy wound her arms across her chest, binding herself. “Don’t you know her from the outreach program to queer homeless youth?”
“I know her because I was her camp counsellor, and our fathers golf together. My father used to do some work for the investment house where her father’s an underwriter. I know she looks all punk, but she’s in her last year at —.” Heather named a fancy private high school. Her mouth dropped open. “Don’t tell me she’s the little fuck buddy you mentioned!”
Amy didn’t bother denying it—she was too preoccupied with what Heather had said about Poison. Amy knew Poison was younger than her but had figured she was at least twenty. “Is everything she told me a lie?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” Heather gestured at Poison, who was walking towards them. She was dressed entirely in black, a trench coat draping her long form.
Amy said, “You fake.”
Poison stopped short and gave her the wary, impenetrable look of a kid caught by an adult.
“Camp, golf lessons, and private school versus panhandling and showering with a fire hydrant. It’s so hard to tell the difference.”
“Don’t be dramatic.” Spoken in a calm tone before going in for the kill. “You know, Amy, if I wasn’t black, you might not have found it so easy to believe I was homeless.”
“Do you think I’m racist?” Amy was so stunned by the trickery of this girl she didn’t even care about all the film students turning her way, their cigarettes suspended mid-haul.
“I don’t know, maybe. But then every girl I’ve ever had a crush on is white.” Poison folded her arms across her chest, mirroring Amy.
Amy was mortified. Was she racist? She didn’t want to think about it, least of all in front of the prying eyes of her classmates, the men with ponytails and goatees and the women with dyed black bobs. She turned away from Poison and Heather and walked in the direction of the free plastic cups of red and white wine.
Poison snagged Amy’s arm. “Please, listen.” She paused to meet Amy’s eyes with a sad, sweet look. “Before I even met you, I had this crush on you. I saw you in the bars and I just thought you were so hot. Someone told me your name, and one day I ran into Heather on the metro, and she said she was moving out of your place. I couldn’t believe it, my old camp counsellor and my crush. I asked Heather if I could move her stuff just so I could meet you. And I didn’t mean to lie—I just didn’t want you to know I lived at home. My parents pretend race doesn’t matter while you’re proud of being oppressed. How else could I have impressed you?”
“Not by lying to me!” Even though she was no longer mad, Amy jerked her arm away.
Poison zipped up her trench coat. “Since you know the truth now, I guess I should tell you something else. I applied to various film schools, and I’ve been accepted at New York University.”
“Congratulations,” Amy murmured. “It’s one of the top programs.”
“I know. Thanks.” Poison looked from Heather to Amy to the ground. “Well, I should be going.” Before Amy had a chance to tell her no, it’s okay, stick around, Poison strode away from them in her big steel-toed boots.
Amy felt tears bead in her eyes but remained where she was. Heather gave her a look that was not unaffectionate: “Oh, Amy, let me get you some dinner.”
Amy inhaled her unfiltered cigarette, enjoying both the harsh taste and the freedom of not being badgered to quit by Heather now that they were no longer together. Her ex-girlfriend was supposed to drop by this afternoon to collect her remaining belongings. Where was she? Amy peered out the window. It looked chilly outside. Ice was encrusted on the tiny balcony of her apartment. All the flats on her street had wrought-iron balconies, which she had found terribly quaint when she first rented the place. Later she learned her stylish neighbourhood had once been an Eastern European ghetto, and prostitutes had displayed themselves on these balconies. This was the sort of detail she wanted to include in her film about the subjectivity of marginalized people. She was supposed to begin shooting next week, but she hadn’t written the script. She knew what she wanted to say; she just didn’t know how to say it. But if she didn’t come up with at least a treatment in the next few days, she was in danger of flunking out of her program.
The doorbell drilled. Amy tamped out her cigarette, walked to the top of the stairs, and pulled the string to release the lock.
A woman Amy didn’t know opened the door and strode up the stairs, her long arms swinging forcefully. She announced, “I’m here to move Heather’s stuff.” The woman was tall with the showy cheekbones of a model. Amy considered how best to describe her skin: cinnamon, caramel—no, that wasn’t quite right. Cardamom, the woman was the colour of cardamom, a vivid contrast to the magenta mohawk running over her scalp. She was dressed in mufti pants and a large black leather jacket. She extended her hand to Amy. “My name’s Poison.”
“Hi, I’m Amy.” She led Poison into what had been Heather’s room. “I’ll help you carry the boxes.” Amy slipped on her bedraggled vintage Afghan coat, then, together with Poison, heaved books and pots and sports equipment down the stairs and into a rental van. Ice was spread over everything like a gel, but Poison took the stairs two at a time. She also insisted on carrying all of the heavier items. When Amy protested, Poison said it was only fair since Heather was paying her. It was slightly mysterious: Amy thought she knew everyone Heather knew—they had been together for two years.
After Amy and Poison had finished, they stood together on the curb panting in the frigid January air. Clouds the colour of oyster shells fanned the sky. The ripples of grey surrounding the late afternoon sun forecast snow, a storm even, but Amy asked Poison if she wanted to come in for a drink.
“Sure. I’m not delivering Heather’s stuff until tomorrow morning. She got called in to work at the shelter tonight.”
“Really? That’s great. She’s been wanting to do something more meaningful than her cushy little job at her dad’s company.” Amy was unable to curb her resentment; she had never managed to do anything besides waitress and was currently living on student loans and the last of her summer savings.
Back inside the apartment Poison joined Amy in the living room, and sat down on the sagging couch, which was just about the only piece of furniture left in the room. Heather had decamped with the Ikea furniture, donations from her parents. The couch, which Amy had covered with a leopard-skin print, had been found at a yard sale. Amy went into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of beer for Poison, who used the front part of her T-shirt to screw the cap off.
“Aren’t you going to have a drink?” Poison asked.
“I’d rather smoke up.”
“Go ahead, I don’t mind.”
Amy found some pot in her bedroom where she picked up a book she had been reading on montage and post-colonial theory: Bricolage Versus Suture: Fetishized Bodies in Japanese Film. She joined Poison on the couch and used the surface of the book to roll herself a joint. The pot had an almost immediate effect. According to the dealer, the pot was organic and produced a nice mellow high. Sure enough, the anxiety Amy had felt for weeks over her film drifted away like soap bubbles, and she found herself checking out Poison. Amy hadn’t had sex in awhile and had never slept with a person of colour, which she attributed to lack of opportunity. She was a suburban girl from tiny Cornwall, Ontario, where she had been pretty enough to make the cheerleading team. Up until her last year of high school, when she discovered punk, Amy shook pompoms at hockey games and dated jocks. But now she was a queer artist in a multicultural city.
Poison gulped down her beer. “You know, I’ve seen you around.”
“Oh, do you live in the Plateau as well?”
Poison’s eyes sank to the floor. “I’m kind of in-between places.”
Oh my God, she was homeless. “Is that how you know Heather? Because of the outreach to homeless queer youth project she just worked on?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“If you need a place to crash for a couple weeks, you can stay here,” Amy said. Poison was so quiet, so polite—it was appalling to think of her lounging about in cold doorways and in Tim Hortons. Amy scooped up Poison’s empty beer bottle. “You want another one?”
“Sure.”
As Amy fetched another beer from the fridge, Poison asked about the tattoo on Amy’s neck.
Amy dipped her head forward. A skull-and-crossbones were visible beneath fronds of hair dyed the colour of cotton-candy. “Got it when I was still in high school. Thought it would make me seem tough.” Amy produced a sliver of a smile; she had given this self-deprecating explanation for her dumb tattoo more than once.
Poison didn’t answer. Instead, the rough edge of her hand brushed the stained skin on the back of Amy’s neck. Just as quickly, Poison jerked her hand away, as if she had done something for which she didn’t have permission. Then they started kissing. Poison trembled, as though she were nervous or inexperienced, but, as if to cover this up, her hands tightly gripped Amy.
A ring tone sounded.
“Shit, my cell phone.” Poison rummaged through a knapsack until she found her phone, glanced at it, and turned it off. “One of my friends—I’ve got to go soon.” Her tone was nonchalant, but she avoided Amy’s gaze.
Was Poison involved in drugs? Only rich Yuppies or drug dealers had cell phones. But Amy was afraid to ask Poison about this. Instead she brought Poison, who announced she was thirsty, another beer. Poison drank her beer without saying anything, but between sips she looked over and grinned at Amy.
“What’s it like?” Amy asked.
“What’s what like?”
“Living on the streets.”
Poison’s limbs tensed. “I’m couch surfing.”
Amy felt stupid. She guessed being homeless was painful to talk about. An idea formed in her like a tiny embryo. She stared at Poison, imagining her through a camera lens. “Would you be interested in being in a film I’m making?”
“Uh.” Poison seemed taken aback. “I’ve never acted or wanted to.”
“You don’t understand. You wouldn’t have to act. This would be about being homeless. I would interview a bunch of people.” The neurons in Amy’s brain fired away. She into the kitchen and took some lined paper and a pen from a drawer and sat down again across from Poison, scribbling on the pad. She could see the opening scene, camera panning over punks kicking an old bum in a vacant lot. As she mapped out her ideas, she saw Poison watching her timidly.
“I’ll help you if you want,” Poison said.
**
Amy soon discovered Poison was better at the mechanics of filming than she was. That was an advantage: Amy was able to focus on directing and didn’t have to ask any of the people in her program for assistance. She couldn’t stand the majority of her classmates, mostly guys who were Quentin Tarantino wannabes. Since she couldn’t afford to pay Poison for her help, Amy bought all of their meals and allowed Poison to sleep over as often as she wanted, which was usually just weekends. They didn’t talk about their relationship —they just had one. It was totally different from Amy’s relationship with Heather, which had involved a lot of processing, especially after their sex life had dwindled to inconsequential. They discussed lesbian bed death, and Amy proposed non-monogamy as a solution. Heather was against it but in the midst of their negotiations went and fucked a woman she met in a bar. When Amy got over the shock, she realised, to her chagrin, she couldn’t have sex with Heather again. Without entirely meaning to, they had snuffed out their relationship.
Working on the film, Amy didn’t have time to think about her ex-girlfriend. She was living her life—as she supposed Poison must—in a state of immediacy. Nights saturated in sex and cuddling; days a blur of filming: Poison setting up a shot of a ragged rope around the neck of a dog belonging to a homeless man; Amy carrying on a fumbling conversation with a man who lay on a stained blanket held down by rocks on top of a street grate, steam billowing around them.
**
Slush leaked into Amy’s boots, but she barely noticed. She felt lucky as she glanced over at her lover. Poison was both handsome and elegant: Grace Jones in the 80s. Amy was usually the prettier one in her relationships; beautiful women made her feel insecure and competitive, but Poison seemed oblivious to her attractiveness, as if she had not yet been spoiled by sexual attention.
Amy gathered up the microphone and pole Poison had carefully set on a bench. This was their last day of shooting. The final cut was due in less than a month. Amy called to Poison, “I’m ready. Let’s get going.”
Poison swung the camera on her neck to the right and picked up the tape-to-tape. They had footage of Atwater station; time to interview the homeless First Nations people who hung out behind the metro in the tiny square of park. Trudging by trees made stark and grey by the winter, Amy and Poison found most of the homeless lying on the ground passed out or asleep. They were so ragged and still Amy almost tripped over one man whom she mistook for a heap of dirty blankets. She approached a younger woman who held a paper bag to her mouth, puffing in and out. When the woman had finished getting high, Amy asked her if she would be interested in being in a film.
The woman picked up an empty wine bottle and brandished it at Amy, who froze. Confrontation was something she tried to avoid. Even when she had been a kid, she had never been in a fight.
Poison raised her palms in the direction of the homeless woman. “That’s cool. We’re leaving.” She slowly walked backwards for a few steps before turning and increasing her pace. With the equipment jogging painfully against her ribs, Amy scampered after Poison. Only when they were half a block away, did Amy slow down. Glass and condoms were strewn along the pavement in front of her. She said, “It’s terrible what the Canadian government has done to the First Nations, especially when you consider their nature-based spirituality could probably save our planet.”
“The native people on the street are a wreck. They can’t save themselves, let alone the rest of the world.”
There was a spike in Poison’s voice, which stingingly reminded Amy of the way Heather used to get exasperated with her. But if this had been Heather, Amy might have argued, might have pointed out that South Africa based apartheid on the reservation system the Canadian government set up for the First Nations. But Poison was black and homeless, so Amy felt like she had to shut up, like she should just swallow her hurt at Poison’s irritation.
“Hey! Can I be in your film?” A chubby, blond white girl ran up to them, a filthy sleeping bag clutched under her arm. “I always wanted to be in a movie.”
Amy would have preferred to have someone who was First Nations; she already had footage of a number of white teenage runaways, but she smiled and went into her spiel: what the film was about, the fact that it wouldn’t be shown commercially, the release form that nonetheless had to be signed.
Poison pointed to a brick wall covered in graffiti of interlocking letters with arrows in bright, hard colours. “That would be a good shot.”
The words on the wall were indecipherable, but Amy liked the feeling they evoked: urban velocity. She raised a thumb at Poison. The film was more of a joint effort than Amy would ever want to admit to her professors.
The girl, who introduced herself as Jessica, positioned herself in front of the graffiti. After switching the sound on, Poison began to film Jessica, who made silly faces at the camera. Amy asked Jessica what she had done last night. Open-ended questions, she had learned, were more effective.
Jessica started laughing. “I met this guy in the Village. A hot guy in a gay bar buys me a drink, I figure he’s a fag, but then we start making out. He drives me to his place in the East End, and we, you know, do it. But then he wants me to do it with his grandfather who lives with him. And I was like, no fucking way. So he goes, ‘C’mon he’s in a wheelchair, he can’t meet girls.’ ”
Gross! Amy felt appalled and wondered if she was being prejudiced. Not about the lack of family boundaries, which was obviously gross, but about the idea of an old geezer in a wheelchair. Would she have sex with a young woman in a wheelchair? She wasn’t sure. She cleared her throat. “So, Jessica, there’s some things you won’t do for money?”
“Oh, I wasn’t doing this guy for money; I thought he was cute. I mean, I hoped he’d have some dope, but that was all. But blow his grandfather? That’s fucked up.” Her tone was suddenly level, serious. “You mind if I smoke?”
“No, go ahead.”
“Got any cigarettes?”
Amy took three out of her pack. She felt this rush of adrenaline. There was something appealing about Jessica; perhaps it was the fact that there was not a trace of self-pity in her voice.
Jessica didn’t smoke the cigarettes; instead she stuffed them into her pocket and gazed steadfastly at the camera. “This guy, he wouldn’t drive me back downtown until I gave Gramps a hand job. I told him I couldn’t do it because my grandfather used to mess with me, and it screwed me up. And he said, okay, and gave me twenty bucks to take a cab back downtown.” She paused. “I never told no one about my grandfather before and now I’m telling you guys, too!”
She sounded almost cheerful about the fact. Her story was great, the best Amy had on film. The only problem was Amy felt sleazy. She wanted to effect social change with her film, to help end exploitation, but the interview felt like exploitation. She signalled cut to Poison.
“Thanks, Jessica.” Amy reached into her pocket, handed the rest of her pack of cigarettes to the girl.
**
Poison and Amy walked west, dragging their equipment past shoe stores and Middle Eastern fast-food joints selling shish taouk and falafel.
“Why’d you stop?” Poison asked.
Amy shrugged. “I felt bad.”
“She had a harsh story. But it was good.”
“That’s why I felt bad, because I was thinking that too, instead of feeling bad for her.” What Amy felt towards Jessica was guilt.
Poison stepped back and began to film Amy, something she had never done before.
Amy halted. “What are you doing?”
Poison fiddled with the lens, adjusting it. “Making you the star.”
“I guess we may as well use up the film.” Amy ducked down an alley. “Is there enough light?”
“At the end.” Amy set the tape-to-tape on a dumpster, turned it on, handed Poison the pole with the mike, and moved back. As she adjusted her wool toque, Amy wished she had a compact mirror.
Poison asked, “What’s the worst thing that ever happened to you?”
Amy didn’t hesitate. “When I was twelve and my parents got divorced.”
“Did they fight over you?” Poison momentarily looked up from the equipment to smile at Amy. “I bet they did.”
Without amusement, Amy laughed. “They were too busy fighting with each other.”
“Do you love your dad or your mom more?”
“Before the divorce I thought Dad was cool and Mom was a bitch, but then I kind of realized why she dumped his ass.”
“Why?”
Staring at the brown ground, which was half-frozen and felt lumpy under her feet, Amy remembered cooking for herself when she stayed with her father, the phone not working because he hadn’t paid the bills, and the time he forgot to pick her up from the hockey arena and all her friends had left. She took a deep breath, trying to decide what to say. Being interviewed was harder than she expected. “My dad’s kind of an embarrassing person. He’s this fat, bald guy who works in a call center and jams in the basement with his best friend doing classic rock covers, and he’s, like, not a great singer.” She did not add the other things that came to mind about him; he defaulted on his support payments, and he had lost money in a pyramid scheme. While she cared for him, she did not respect him.
Poison continued, “Does your mother love you?”
Amy tossed her head. “My mother thinks lesbianism is something I’ve picked up at university and I’ll get over it the minute I decide to breed.” Did her mother love her? Amy had no idea. It occurred to her for the first time that homeless people didn’t lack shelter so much as love. Talking about how your family had failed to give you enough love was really hard. She looked up at Poison. “Can we end this?”
Poison lowered the camera, closed the shutter, and put the protective case on.
Amy asked, “Can I film you?” She felt vulnerable, wanted to even things up between them somehow.
There was a slight shake of Poison’s head. “I don’t have anything to say. I’ve already told you that.”
“I think you have lots to say.” This was supposed to be encouraging but came out bitchy. How had Amy come to accept this tacit bargain in which she pretended it was cool Poison had a fucked-up life? And why couldn’t they talk about it? Because, Amy realized, talking might mean judging. They also never discussed being white, being black.
**
When Amy started editing, Poison wanted to know how it was done. Amy showed her, and a few days later discovered Poison had added a little sequence. She had filmed herself sprawled in a leather armchair watching television with a stupefied expression. She picked up a handgun and pointed it at the television screen, which suddenly went fuzzy.
“Do you like it?” Poison asked eagerly. “The gun’s fake of course.”
Amy opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t—she was caught between anger and admiration.
“Do you get it? I’m saying society and media images of homeless people are bullshit and need to be destroyed. And now I’m in the film like you wanted!”
“I wanted images of cops,” Amy replied. Except Poison’s idea was better.
Poison looked crushed, appeared to be on the verge of pouting, which Amy found rather repulsive. She would not have been able to justify it, but she felt she should be the only pouter in the relationship; Poison’s role was to mollify her. Amy sighed, then told Poison the truth. “What you did is great, but you’re doing too much. It’s not my film anymore.”
“You don’t mind in bed.” Poison’s shoulders bristled. “There it’s fine for me to do everything.”
Amy didn’t reply, but two spots of red appeared on her cheeks as she continued to edit. She ignored Poison, expecting the silent treatment to drive her away. Instead Poison draped her arms around Amy’s shoulders, sucked her neck.
The space between Amy’s legs was abruptly wired with sensation. It was dumb—they were in a university building working in a little windowless studio that had a door but no lock. Nonetheless they lay down together on the carpet, close to the door in the vain hope that they could kick it shut if someone tried to come in.
They proceeded to have great sex. Poison was, for the first time, very assertive about what she wanted Amy to do to her. Amy liked it, or at least she was very aroused by it, but beneath her excitement, she felt a nagging resentment like a piece of meat caught in her teeth. Afterwards, she told Poison she didn’t want any more of her help on the film.
**
As she rushed to get to the third-year student film screenings, Amy was almost overpowered by the stench of thawing mud and garbage. It was April, and the temperature had changed overnight from freezing to summery. When she finally got to the Fine Arts Building, the screenings had already begun, so she was unable to find Poison. For all Amy knew, Poison might not even show up. The last time they had seen each other had been almost a month ago in this very building, when they had sex. Amy had been busy editing, and Poison had suddenly become busy herself. As usual, Amy had no idea what she was up to. But it was only fair to invite her to the screening of the final cut of the film, so Amy left a message about it on Poison’s cell phone. Amy had also invited Heather. She hoped their mutual presence would act as a buffer, would reduce their combined emotional impact. But neither woman had responded to Amy’s messages.
When the films ended and the lights came on in the auditorium, the awards were announced. Amy’s film didn’t win any of them. She wasn’t surprised. What did surprise her was seeing Heather shuffle through people to reach Amy.
“I’ve been away. I only got your message this afternoon,” Heather said. She looked good with a new crew cut. “I’m not sure I understood what you were doing, but the images were nice.”
Heather was so not into the arts, but Amy tried to be gracious. “Thank you. Notice all the winning films were made by boys?”
“The one about the relationship between the prostitute and the pizza delivery guy was dumb, but I liked the one about the heroin addict using Nicoret to get over his drug habit. That scene where he’s having dinner with his girlfriend’s parents and his watch goes off and he has to shoot up—that was hilarious.”
“Middle-class poseurs,” Amy sniffed. “At least, I interviewed real homeless people. And of course, Poison, who helped me make the film, is homeless.”
Confusion crinkled across Heather’s face. “Poison? What are you talking about? She’s not homeless.”
Amy wound her arms across her chest, binding herself. “Don’t you know her from the outreach program to queer homeless youth?”
“I know her because I was her camp counsellor, and our fathers golf together. My father used to do some work for the investment house where her father’s an underwriter. I know she looks all punk, but she’s in her last year at —.” Heather named a fancy private high school. Her mouth dropped open. “Don’t tell me she’s the little fuck buddy you mentioned!”
Amy didn’t bother denying it—she was too preoccupied with what Heather had said about Poison. Amy knew Poison was younger than her but had figured she was at least twenty. “Is everything she told me a lie?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” Heather gestured at Poison, who was walking towards them. She was dressed entirely in black, a trench coat draping her long form.
Amy said, “You fake.”
Poison stopped short and gave her the wary, impenetrable look of a kid caught by an adult.
“Camp, golf lessons, and private school versus panhandling and showering with a fire hydrant. It’s so hard to tell the difference.”
“Don’t be dramatic.” Spoken in a calm tone before going in for the kill. “You know, Amy, if I wasn’t black, you might not have found it so easy to believe I was homeless.”
“Do you think I’m racist?” Amy was so stunned by the trickery of this girl she didn’t even care about all the film students turning her way, their cigarettes suspended mid-haul.
“I don’t know, maybe. But then every girl I’ve ever had a crush on is white.” Poison folded her arms across her chest, mirroring Amy.
Amy was mortified. Was she racist? She didn’t want to think about it, least of all in front of the prying eyes of her classmates, the men with ponytails and goatees and the women with dyed black bobs. She turned away from Poison and Heather and walked in the direction of the free plastic cups of red and white wine.
Poison snagged Amy’s arm. “Please, listen.” She paused to meet Amy’s eyes with a sad, sweet look. “Before I even met you, I had this crush on you. I saw you in the bars and I just thought you were so hot. Someone told me your name, and one day I ran into Heather on the metro, and she said she was moving out of your place. I couldn’t believe it, my old camp counsellor and my crush. I asked Heather if I could move her stuff just so I could meet you. And I didn’t mean to lie—I just didn’t want you to know I lived at home. My parents pretend race doesn’t matter while you’re proud of being oppressed. How else could I have impressed you?”
“Not by lying to me!” Even though she was no longer mad, Amy jerked her arm away.
Poison zipped up her trench coat. “Since you know the truth now, I guess I should tell you something else. I applied to various film schools, and I’ve been accepted at New York University.”
“Congratulations,” Amy murmured. “It’s one of the top programs.”
“I know. Thanks.” Poison looked from Heather to Amy to the ground. “Well, I should be going.” Before Amy had a chance to tell her no, it’s okay, stick around, Poison strode away from them in her big steel-toed boots.
Amy felt tears bead in her eyes but remained where she was. Heather gave her a look that was not unaffectionate: “Oh, Amy, let me get you some dinner.”
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