Explain That to a Martian

by Gary Weston



  Explain that to a Martian!

  Gary Weston

  Copyright Gary Weston 2011

  Explain that to a Martian!

  I heard or maybe read somewhere, that if you doubt your sanity you are in fact sane. Well, at fifteen minutes past three in the morning, on my way to empty a nagging bladder, making out vague but familiar shapes through bloodshot half closed eyes, I couldn’t find the door. I was actually normally fairly adept at finding doors. For the thirty four years of my questionably adult life, I had stumbled through, barged into, pushed when the sign had clearly told me to pull, but, generally speaking, had always managed to find the damned door.

  Focusing through the mildly alcoholic haze, I had staggered sleepily across my own bedroom into the lounge, intent on navigating my way unaided onwards into the dining room and without assistance from either a Sherpa or a guide dog, continue unhindered to the room of much relief.

  This ritual had met with unerring success on all previous occasions and I had been reasonably optimistic that these small steps for mankind would end similarly victorious. All of this would have been true, had I been able to reach the door to open it. Through the pale light of the moon, shimmering its way through the un-curtained window, I could see the door, I just couldn’t touch it. Something transparent yet tangible was preventing me. It seemed to cover my entire body. I poked it with a finger, hoping the bubble would burst. It didn't.

  This disturbing situation forced me to concentrate painfully and bully my reluctant brain into something capable of logical thought. My brain argued that my body wanted to pee and that the normal course of events was to open the door and head for the toilet. Signals to my hand were thwarted by some strange material that felt like soft, warm plastic.

  “What the…?”

  “Psstleasss szist dowhan.”

  I am not a brave man. However, I am not especially cowardly. Put trouble in my way and sensibly, I’ll try to circumnavigate it. If that isn’t an option, I’ll try to face it head on. As I stood there naked, I discovered truth in the old cliché about hairs on the back of ones neck standing on end. I didn’t spin round to see who had spoken, or to be more precise, hissed those words, but elected instead to turn most cautiously. What I saw sitting so casually on my sofa was so terrifyingly unexpected that I mentally congratulated myself in not emptying my bladder that instant.

  The ‘creature’, was an unhealthy yellow colour, and looked as if a classroom full of kids had stuck something together from a barrow full of play-doe. It consisted mostly of a middle section, with two painfully thin legs and what passed for arms hanging loosely just above those. It didn’t appear to have a neck at all, but more of a narrowing of the torso into a misshapen dome. From the top of its head, four tentacles tipped with bulbous yellow eyes, pointed in my direction. Two vertical slits central to its face may well have been a nose and the longer horizontal slit for all I knew, could have been its mouth. Ears might be anywhere else and I preferred not to speculate. I took comfort from the fact that like me, my visitor was completely naked. Apart from, that was, some kind of device strapped to its arm. I flinched when the creature smacked the device with a tentacle. Closing my eyes, I fully expected to be instantly vaporised and nearly passed out with joy at still being alive a few seconds later.

  “What is your name?” it asked. The voice was now clear and intelligible.

  “Gotta pee,” I demanded. My need had suddenly gone from merely urgent to critical.

  “Please sit down, Gotta Pee.”

  “Can’t,” I said. “Gotta Pee.”

  “I won’t harm you, Gotta Pee.”

  By this time I had crossed my legs and cupped the family jewels with both hands. If this joker didn’t let me go to the toilet in the next few seconds, I would be doing something rather embarrassing in front of a complete stranger and I was annoyed enough to aim it directly at him. Then I realised, peeing inside a bubble would only result in me having wet and even smellier feet. He ignored my plight and fiddled with the gadget on his arm.

  “Oi, dome head. I need to pee,” I yelled.

  From the contraption, my own words echoed out, but were now sounding like an unpleasant mix of radio static and fingernails on chalkboards.

  “Ah. You need to urinate.”

  The pain of holding it in was becoming unbearable now. “You got that right, you four eyed slug.” At that insult, his eyes, all of them, stared right at me.

  “Not polite,” came the reply.

  “Get rid of this damn bubble,” I demanded.

  “Protection for me,” he said.

  I had to admit, it did remind me of a huge condom. The bubble opened up and then it was in front of me. It had me trapped and I still couldn't get to the toilet. I’ll count to five, I thought, and if he doesn’t let me out of the damn room, I’ll drown the son of a bitch. As if reading my mind, the plastic bubble pushed the door open and snaked through the dining room towards the toilet. Still clutching my redeeming features, I followed the bubble that extended over the toilet and round me to give me complete access. I had held back for so long, that now I couldn’t go.

  “You urinate,” ordered a voice. The little sod was standing right behind me.

  I replied something that I hoped wasn’t lost in translation. He took the hint and walked backwards on his hideously thin legs and stood just outside the door. Above the splashing sound of me doing what comes naturally, I heard him mutter, “Very offensive.”

  Forgoing the hand-washing ritual, we went back to the relative warmth of the lounge. I took some solace in the fact that I was at least half a metre taller than he was. I was tempted to thump the yellow, hairless, lumpy looking head, and teach this devil a lesson. History had taught me not to underestimate potential adversaries by their size alone so I erred on the side of caution instead.

  He, I’m not sure why, perhaps the lack of breasts of any kind, convinced me that it was indeed male, returned to his place on the sofa, and with a casual wave of a tentacle, invited me to sit on an armchair. The sheer damn arrogance of the…bloke, behaving like this was his damn home and not mine, got my blood boiling again. Controlling my anger, I complied with his request. It said, “My name is …”

  Some unintelligible noise came out and I have no intention of trying to decipher it. Throw a handful of scrabble letters on the floor and it would do just as well. For now, I’ll call him Joe.

  “I come from Mars.”

  “Yeah? And here I was, sure you came from California.”

  Joe’s eyes rotated disconcertingly in my direction. “Definitely Mars,” he repeated.

  A million questions zapped through my mind, like, how come we were so damn certain there wasn’t life on Mars, and how the hell did Joe get here and why the hell has he picked on me? Answers please on a postcard ...

  “I wish to learn about you,” he told me.

  “You can get stuffed, dome head.”

  Joe winced and his eyeballs nearly tied themselves up in knots. “Do not be rude. I am friendly to you.”

  “If you dare say you come in peace, I swear I’ll…”

  “But I do. I do come in peace.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. Does somebody write your script or do you ad lib?” There was a screech and a whistle from the thing on his arm and Joe smacked it again.

  “I don’t understand.”

  I slapped my own face to try to wake up from the nightmare. I was awake and Joe was still sitting there. “To hell with this.”

  In the corner of the lounge was a mahogany cupboard. It contained a bottle of bourbon and it would take more than a slug from Mars to keep me from it. I didn’t have to look to know four eyes were following me as I crossed the room. Wi
th my back to him, I poured myself a very large drink and took a swallow. There was something very reassuring about the warmth it brought to my throat. Some civilised portion of my mind considered offering Joe a drink, but I wasn’t yet feeling chummy with him. As I took another sip, I spied the telephone on the table next to the drinks cupboard. What were my chances I wondered, before some deadly bolt of death cremated me? I needed a few more drinks before becoming that brave. Maybe it was the alcohol, but when I turned around, Joe seemed more pathetic than menacing. There was a blanket over one armchair and I grabbed it to wrap around me. Not out of modesty, but because I was getting damned cold, standing there naked. I sat down again, tucking my legs up under the blanket for maximum comfort. With this and the bourbon, I was decidedly more human. At least, a lot more human than my uninvited visitor.

  “I have studied you for much long time,” Joe said. “But the more I studied you humans, the more confused I became.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Try living on this planet a while, and then you’ll be really confused. Oh, and that wasn’t an invitation, by the way.”

  Something like a cat being strangled came from him. “Nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live here.”

  I was warming to the joker. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

  Joe’s eyes stood up and pointed at the ceiling. He seemed to be thinking it over. He looked back at me. “Lots of things,” he