Explain That to a Martian

by Gary Weston

said. “Especially your women. I don’t understand them at all.”

  “And you’re asking me, a man? Boy, are you in for a disappointment.”

  I got me another drink. This was going to be a very long night.

  Joe waited patiently for me to unravel the complexities of man’s superior half and I just sat there drinking. I tried to read his expression and determine character from a head that looked as if it had been moulded in a bucket. When people weigh up other people, we put much emphasis on their eyes. With Joe, even looking at his four independently moving eyes on stalks was nauseating. I was now wide awake and calmly assessing the facts.

  First of all, Joe was probably, hell, definitely brighter than I. To deposit himself so effortlessly into my home after travelling from Mars proved that much. Obviously no radar tracking system had identified his ship, assuming that’s how he got here.

  Secondly, as weak and feeble as he appeared to be, he hadn’t killed me. Not yet, anyway. He might have been naked, but I had no way of knowing if he hadn’t got some kind of pouch like a kangaroo with a weapon stashed in it.

  Thirdly, he was on a fact finding mission, so killing me would be counter productive if he was ever going to learn anything useful.

  I said, “Joe…”

  “Joe?”

  I shrugged. “Joe, why me? Why have you come to my place?”

  “Alone. No…interruptions.”

  This made sense. I was alone. No dogs, cats, goldfish, not even a potted plant. And, sadly, no woman curled up in my bed. “Fair enough. Listen, Joe. You’ve picked an interesting topic of conversation with women. And to be honest, I’m probably the least qualified to give you any insight about them. Why don’t we start on something simple, like world politics, or stuff like that?”

  “Politics very difficult to understand. Women would be easier I think.”

  My laugh came out of the translator like the noise a tortured parrot would make. “Boy, have you got a lot to learn.”

  “Why I am here.” He paused, and then he asked, “You have no woman. Why?”

  “Now listen, pal. My sexual inadequacies are not for debate, not now not ever, okay?” There was an embarrassing silence and Joe’s eyes aimed in every direction but at me. I must have hurt the little guy’s feelings. “I had a woman, right. But we just grew apart. It happens.” I decided to turn the tables. “Don’t you have women?” When I said it, I realised I was still making assumptions about Joe’s sexuality. But, as he had been asking questions about women on Earth, it was a safe bet he wasn’t female.

  “We are all same.”

  I looked at the pot-bellied, gangly limbed, four eyed, no faced creature and thought, hell. Joe’s entire race looks exactly like him. This statement from him, now once more becoming an ‘it’, brought forth a hundred questions at once. Like procreation. How, I mean, what, I mean…damn. I went back to the bourbon bottle. “Would you like a drink, Joe?”

  “Yes.”

  I poured him a small measure. Not because I’m mean, but in case he found he couldn’t handle it. I offered him the tumbler and the tentacle without the translator strapped to it wrapped around it. I felt his skin touch mine. It felt nothing like human skin. It was more like wet sandpaper. I tried not to show my revulsion. One eye looked at the tumbler whilst the other three watched me. I was correct about the horizontal slit being his mouth. A blue tube slid out. The tip was ringed by what looked like tiny suckers. The tube entered the tumbler and one little sucker extended into the liquid. It immediately retracted.

  “A bit strong for you, Joe?”

  His response was to dip the entire tube into the booze and suck up the whole lot in one slurp. “More please.”

  “Hey. Slow down, pal. You gotta get used to this stuff.”

  “More please.” He waved the tumbler at me and once again I had to endure the creepy feeling of his skin against mine.

  “Okay, okay. But don’t blame me, right?” I poured him another and this time, he sipped it more respectfully. Wrapped in the blanket once more, I discreetly studied him. I had accounted for most appendages we had in common, legs, arms. We had one obvious difference. He must have guessed my thoughts.

  “Not like you,” he said.

  “I wasn’t prying, I was just, you know, curious.”

  “Like me, curious. But I know how you humans procreate. All on your internet.”

  My mind boggled as to what websites he had been looking at. I didn’t pursue that line of thought with him. “If you know how we humans, you know, do it, what do you need me for?”

  “Emotions. Women seem different to men. Explain.”

  “I’m no expert on that. Actually, there’s a famous book out. It’s called ‘Women are from Venus, Men are from…Ma…, hmm.”

  “Men are from…?”

  “Damn. Look. We, men and women, right, aren’t from different planets really; at least, I don’t think we are. Having said that…no, of course we aren’t. It’s merely a way of expressing how different we actually are. It’s complicated.”

  “Good different?”

  “Hell, yeah. Sort of, I mean, you know, especially the physical side of things. The other stuff, like what you said, the emotions, well, to be honest, that does our damn heads in.”

  The tentacle entered the tumbler and finished the drink. The belch that followed was a belch in any language. “Alcohol not good for you. Why drink it?”

  “You drank it.”

  “For scientific research only.”

  “Me too.”

  “Not true.”

  “I was joking.”

  “Yes. Humour. Explain.”

  The bourbon was hitting home. I decided I had drunk enough for one night. With an alien in my lounge, I needed to be alert. “You’re a funny critter, you are.”

  “I have no humour. Not funny critter.”

  “Uh. You sit there, waving your eyes about and tell me you’re not funny?”

  “Is that offensive?”

  “Probably.”

  “Do you find me offensive?”

  “A bit repulsive, maybe, but no, not offensive.”

  “You think I am ugly?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to dance the tango with you, that’s for sure.”

  “Ah, yes. Dancing. Explain dancing.”

  “Dancing?”

  “Dancing.”

  “I never got that one, myself. A daft way of carrying on if you ask me.”

  “I did ask you.”

  “True. That doesn’t mean I have all the answers, though. My x wife, now she has all the answers.”

  “I should be asking x wife questions?”

  A malicious idea of sending Joe to appear in my x wife’s bedroom had obvious appeal, but my conscience got the better of me. “Probably not. Besides, you might end up with a slightly unfavourable view of men in general, and of me in particular.”

  “She finds you offensive?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “She hates you?”

  “No, she doesn’t hate me. Nor I her. Actually, we parted amicably. But I’m not exactly on her Christmas card list.”

  “Seasonal salutations,” he said.

  “You have done some homework.” It was my turn. “So, you’re neither male nor female?”

  “Both.”

  “So if I told you to go screw yourself, you could?”

  “Disgusting idea.”

  Looking at Joe, I had to agree it wasn’t a pretty image to dwell upon. “You still have partners. You still have babies.”

  “Not like you.”

  A part of me wanted to know, another part definitely didn’t want to know. He explained anyway.

  “Two of us secrete from glands into nest and create egg. Both raise offspring.”

  “Eggs, nest?” Joe was a damn chicken.

  “Not really like your birds, but same principle.”

  “But no sex. Not like humans.”

  “Messy, inefficient.”

  �
��A lot of fun, though.”

  We sat quietly, contemplating our differences. “Actually,” I said, finally, “It isn’t an option that would get my vote, but doing it your way probably causes far less trouble in the long run. It creates nothing but damn trouble here on Earth, I can tell you.”

  “This I do not understand. Mankind evolved for millions of years, yes?”

  “And we still haven’t got the basics sorted out, I know. Mind you, Joe. We’ve got seven billion of us stuffing up the planet, so we got the baby making part perfected.”

  “Seven point zero eight nine one five billion.”

  “I’ll take you word for that, Joe.”

  “You not good at making babies.”

  “Now steady on, pal. That’s none of your business, okay?”

  I wondered how he knew about me and my life. Just how long had he had me under his microscope? I went cold thinking about it. Joe’s eyes did another circuit of the room, carefully avoiding me.

  “Dancing?” he asked again.

  “Look. The thing is, people, men and women, do lot’s of things for fun. I don’t think you know much about fun, so it might be hard for you to understand. We all like different things. My wife, x wife, she can dance. I have two left feet.”

  Joe’s eyes pointed at my feet sticking out from under the blanket. “No such deformity,” he observed.

  “Not actually two left feet. It’s an expression for somebody like me, with no sense of rhythm. I’m too awkward at dancing, and I look ridiculous when I try, so I don’t, okay.”

  “But why dance?”

  “It’s like I said. We like to do all sorts of stuff. People are very creative, but in many different ways. Some paint pictures, make pots, grow flowers.”

  “Some dance.”

  “Now you’re getting it. Yes. It’s a form of expression and also sometimes, part of the mating process. Man and woman getting intimate with each other.”

  “You not