by Lydia Hope
He heard nothing of what she said, of course, but Gemma felt like she had to talk to him. She couldn’t treat him like a wooden post.
She surveyed his clothing again, both shirt and pants threadbare and filthy. With his hair wet, he could catch a cold fast in his dunk cell. She covered him with a blanket again, tucking it around him.
Her gaze fell on the untouched bowl of cold gruel.
“Let’s try it together.”
She took the spoon and brought it to his lips so he can feel it. “Please, open up. Just a little, Simon. You’ll feel better, I promise. One little spoon? Yes?”
But no amount of coaxing produced the desired effect: he refused to eat. No, not refused, exactly, but never accepted, never arose from his catatonic state. The proverbial horse that was led to the water but wouldn’t drink.
Dispirited, Gemma dipped her finger into the gruel and pried his lips with it, rubbing some of the gummy porridge on the inside. It didn’t go in but smeared around his mouth and dribbled down his chin. She patiently wiped the mess with the hem of her overcoat and tried again. And again.
And at one point his throat worked, made a swallowing move. She saw it, and a flood of emotions poured into her chest, soft and warm.
“Good deal. We’ll do this again tomorrow.” She wiped her finger and had to put her face into her hands to give herself a moment. “I know you don’t mean to, but you’re driving me crazy, Simon.”
As nourishment went, the amount he took in was minuscule. A kitten wouldn't survive on this little food, but it was better than the nothing he’d been eating for who knew how long.
Gemma quickly gathered her cleaning paraphernalia and returned the bucket to the supplies lady, thanking her again for issuing her this clean one. Rushing back upstairs, she caught up with the last of the prisoners who were in the process of returning to their cells.
“There you are. You had me worried there for a minute,” Ruby grumbled. “Quickly, go make sure everybody is in place and locked up.”
“I’m on it.”
A guard was already ushering the inmates into their cells, and Gemma had to verify the cells were truly theirs, and that they didn’t decide to dick around and switch up. Confirming that everything was fine, she engaged the locks.
Arc the Perali strolled along the corridor to his cell with Arlo watching him from afar. He smiled when he saw Gemma.
“Hello, Gemma.”
“Hi, Number 34. Did you have a pleasant time outside?”
He was quite a bit taller than she, and without the bars separating them, his muscular physique was intimidating.
“I had a whale of a time. A whole hour to share with assholes who hate each other. Imagine the fun.”
He passed Simon’s cell on his way and did a double-take. “Did someone braid the Rix’s hair?”
Just like that, Gemma had Simon’s species name! She went giddy with excitement, even though she knew nothing about the race.
“I did,” she said, suddenly breathless.
Arc paused at the entrance to his cell and his brow puckered. “I’ve never seen one with a braid. Actually, I’ve never seen one with long hair either.”
“You’ve seen many Rix?”
He got in and Gemma locked his door by pressing her hand on the palm reader next to it, like she did for every cell.
“My fair share. I’m from Lerta, and Rix have a small pad on the west side for shelter landings. I’ve seen them come and go on occasion. Haughty bastards.”
“Haughty?” Gemma repeated.
“Full of themselves. But I guess you can’t help acting like a hardass when you are one.” He looked in the direction of Simon’s cell even though he couldn't see its inhabitant through the wall. “But this one’s so messed up.” He shrugged, switching his attention back to Gemma. “Why don’t you go out to the courtyard next time? Other helpers do.”
Gemma smiled with her polite smile. “It was nice chatting with you, 34.”
He laughed, and she moved away.
Chapter 5
The next day, Ruby hadn’t shown up. Arlo, being Arlo, did an absolute minimum amount of work while milking his sliced hand for all it was worth and claiming he was in pain. Ultimately, he pulled a disappearing act leaving Gemma alone on the floor, forcing her to pitch in for him as well as for Ruby.
She shuttled back and forth between the third floor and the downstairs facilities, running up and down the stairs, cleaning gunky surfaces and serving food.
Simon hadn’t moved at all from what she could see and was sitting as always on his cot with his back to the wall, a bag of bones with unseeing eyes. No need to worry that he’d mess up his new hairdo.
Number 34 tried to engage her into a conversation but she never stopped, and he finally gave up and faded away from his barred door.
The Obu alien, on the contrary, stayed glued to his. Every time Gemma passed next to his cell, he emitted a low-pitched wail that sounded pitiful and haunting. With face pressed to the bars, he watched her footslog about with his liquid puppy eyes. She found him adorable, like an oversized teddy bear.
“Are you doing alright today, bear-man?” She paused in front of his cell.
He grunted in response, a happy, prolonged sound with variegated tonality. Gemma chuckled and reached to pat his forearm through the bars. His eyes misted, and he turned his arm up for better access silently asking Gemma to go on petting. She scratched the coarse hairy skin a few more times before moving on.
The Obu protested in a loud high-pitched squeal.
“Well, now, is this what you have to say for my attention?” She tsk-tsked and pointed a finger at him.
Gemma’s right ankle, the crippled one, started to ache inside her boot. The bones had never mended right after the break and protruded conspicuously on one side, making her foot deformed and her gait unsteady. Because of that ankle, Gemma always wore tall boots, diligent about concealing the flaw. Prison workers had to be sure-footed, and she wouldn't risk losing her job on the account of being a little crippled.
But she couldn't help that it hurt.
Later in the day, she found herself in the laundry facility, stopping to catch her breath. She gazed out of the narrow barred window that faced the courtyard where another cell block was enjoying their outing. She surveyed the men with curiosity noting how ordinary they were, not heavily tattooed and rough-looking like the typical criminal population. Many were older, haggard and weary, awkward in their shapeless scrubs.
Debt prisoners, from the looks of it.
Two guards were stationed by the door for the what-ifs. Gemma frowned in puzzlement when she caught sight of Arlo in the yard. Concealed from the eyes of the guards by one of the thick posts supporting the brick porch, he huddled together with two inmates. He was holding something, and as Gemma looked on, that something changed hands and moved from Arlo to one of the inmates. The other one was watching closely. The man on the receiving end deftly hid the item inside his clothes. Then Arlo turned and blended into the recess, disappearing from sight.
The two inmates unobtrusively returned to the center of the yard.
What on earth…
The door near the laundry room opened, and Arlo appeared furtively checking behind him. He didn’t see Gemma standing there and nearly bumped into her.
“Arlo!” she called.
He jumped, eyes peeling wide. “Gemma! You scared the life out of me. What are you doing, standing here so quietly?”
“Where have you been? I was looking for you.” She wasn’t, but annoyance made her say it to see if he’d feel guilty for running out on her.
Arlo didn’t look guilty. More like crafty. And calculating - how much had she seen?
“I was checking on an old acquaintance of mine,” he explained. “Before that, I’d been resting. My hand was aching like a mother.”
Gemma stared him down saying nothing.
He squirmed and looked away. Then he brightened.
“But I feel a lot bet
ter now. Isn’t it amazing what a bit of rest can do to a man?”
Gemma let it go. Arlo was here now, and she’d take any help he could offer.
Much later, well after dinner, Gemma finally got a chance to unlock Simon’s door and come in. She wondered if she should change his sheets, having suspected that they, like his clothes and hair, had been left alone for months, if not years. Because no one cared. Not. One. Soul.
Tired, she pulled up a chair and sat down next to him.
“What’s up, Simon? I see you didn’t eat your food.”
No reaction from the alien.
“You did so well yesterday! I saw you swallow a little. Can you try again? Pretty please?”
Like before, she dipped her finger into the porridge and rubbed his lips with it. With her other hand, she gently grasped his chin and brought his head back. Dipping her feeding finger in the bowl again, she pried his lips open a crack to make sure that the tiniest amount of boiled grains made its way inside his mouth. Satisfied that it did, she rubbed his throat to encourage swallowing.
He did.
She patted him on the knee. “Good alien.”
She repeated the process.
“Gemma!”
The shout made her jerk violently and smear the gruel across Simon’s cheek.
She turned her head. “What?”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Arlo was standing inside the entrance to Simon’s cell with an incredulous expression on his homely face.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I am trying to feed him.”
Arlo gaped at her in potent disbelief. “With your fingers?”
“He can’t do it himself. He is sick.”
“Yeah, he looks like he is. Why would you stick your fingers in his sick mouth? He might have chlamydia. Or he might chomp your hand off.”
“He isn’t able to eat mush, much less gnaw on bones.”
“Why do you bother? The critter is nothing but an empty shell.”
A surge of protectiveness so strong she nearly choked on it rose within Gemma. She wanted to lash out at Arlo and tell him that he could take his opinion of Simon and stuff it deep down his own scrawny stinky butt.
She was about to give a piece of her mind to her wayward co-worker when she became keenly aware that everyone within hearing distance of Simon’s cell was listening avidly.
Refusing to make a spectacle, she schooled her features into a pleasant expression and dramatically dipped her finger in the bowl.
“He needs to eat. If it’s the same with you, I’ll be out in a minute.”
A funny thing happened then, as if a blast of strong energy blew out of nowhere like a hot wind that didn’t rustle anything. Gemma’s stomach did a flip, and Arlo swiveled his head around, looking for the source of the disturbance. Spooked, he backed out of the cell and left, walking quickly toward the staircase and looking around in fear.
Uneasy, Gemma stood up and peered into the corridor, but nothing appeared out of place. Her heartbeat hammered inside her chest, and the small hairs at the nape of her neck had stood up and remained standing. The inside of the alien block had grown unusually, eerily quiet.
Simon slowly turned his head, and it dawned on Gemma.
“Simon?” she asked carefully.
He didn’t reply and never changed his position. Gradually, the pulsating energy subsided, retreated like seawater at low tide. He withdrew, but the feeling of fullness inside Gemma’s chest remained.
He’d been with her for a moment. He may not have been able to hear or see, but for a short few seconds, he’d been aware.
His shell wasn’t empty, after all.
Chapter 6
Aunt Herise was home when Gemma finally made it back from work. Wrapped in her apron, Herise was vigorously kneading dough. Water was boiling on the stove, and two bulging grocery bags stood next to a chair.
“Aunt Herise, you’re home. Am I that late?”
“Not too late to help,” Herise threw over her shoulder. Gemma was never quite sure when Aunt Herise approved or disapproved of something. She sounded the same - curt and with little inflection.
“Let me wash my hands and I’ll peel the vegetables.”
“We are having shepherd’s pie,” Ravi announced. “We are. I don’t know if you can have any. You aren’t a McKinley,” he added snidely, and when he realized that she actually was, backpedaled. “Not our sort of McKinley.”
Gemma tried to smooth over the awkward silence that ensued. “Shepherd’s pie? Aunt Herise, you’ve gotten beef?”
“Yes,” she replied and pursed her lips. “Someone has to worry about things like dinner.”
“The kids are so lucky to have you,” Gemma flattered her aunt. “They are so well provided for.”
Her flattery achieved the desired effect, and Aunt Herise’s pinched lips relaxed.
“I do what I can. Here, you can help by putting things away.” She indicated the bags.
Gemma washed her hands and began unloading the groceries. The boys swarmed around like flies, trying to see what they can snatch for a snack.
“Wow, fish! Mama, what kind of fish is it?” Desh poked the mackerel in the eye. “Eww, slimy.”
“Don’t touch, Desh. Away with you!”
Ravi was already pulling vegetables out of the second bag. “Radishes? Hurrah, we have radishes!”
Herise turned and pointed a floury finger at her son. “Do not touch. Let Gemma put away the groceries.”
Deflated, Ravi set the radish down.
Desh suddenly focused on Gemma. “You had a notice today.”
“From who?”
“The Comm Center. The mailman says a message came for you from Meeus.”
Gemma’s breath hitched. “It must be from Zeke.”
Aunt Herise turned and looked at Gemma speculatively. “Do you know anyone else from Meeus?”
“No, I don’t. It is from Zeke! Oh, Aunt Herise, may I go now?”
Aunt Herise waved her off. “Sure. Run along.”
Gemma dashed to her room and haphazardly threw on her coat and hat. Yanking open her dresser drawer, she dug behind her meager belongings and pulled out a tin can with her life savings grabbing a few coins to pay to retrieve the message.
She dashed out of the door nearly colliding with Uncle Drexel mounting the stairs. “See you later, uncle!”
Buoyed, Gemma ran down the street, disregarding her limp and mindless of the pain the running caused to her foot. Her waiting was about to be over. She was going to leave the McKinleys and start living her own life, together with and protected by her Zeke. Soon, she’d say goodbye to her job at the prison for good.
Simon’s pale image floated through her mind like warm breath, and an unexpected reluctance slowed her steps. Leaving prison would mean never seeing him again. How would he survive? Arlo for sure wouldn’t finger-feed him gruel. The life force she’d barely detected in his bony body would be quickly extinguished.
But elated by the promise of a bright future, Gemma selfishly forced concerns about Simon aside.
She practically stormed the door to the busy Comm Center, and, after twenty twitchy minutes waiting in line, approached the counter and paid her messaging fee. Armed with a password, she went to a free terminal and punched in the code.
Blurry lines swirled artfully on the screen and coalesced into a crisp projection of Meeus as seen from space. Further on, Gemma watched the camera zoom in on the planet’s lush green landscapes. Crystal clear droplets of rain were dewy and plump on glossy green leaves. Beyond the bountiful forest, a soaring city became visible, and like a bird flying by, Gemma observed skyscrapers made out of smoky glass, and bridges connecting two banks of a flowing river. Bright, beautifully appointed personal vehicles glided over the tabletop-smooth roads and hovered in mid-air. Plump, dimple-cheeked children were laughing, swinging on swings at a park drowned in flowers.
The tantalizing imaging over with, the paradise winked out, and a message link appeared. G
emma opened the letter, and words from Zeke poured out.
My dearest Gemma,
Words cannot say how long I’ve meant to write this letter to you. I lost track of time. My life is not my own at a busy place where I landed a job. I am a doctor here on Meeus, just like you probably guessed. What else? You know I can’t do much of anything except fix broken bodies.
Meeus is wonderful. It is all it’s portrayed to be on Earth, and so much more. Life was hard at first because the residents are suspicious of newcomers, but now it’s rewarding. I’ve learned a lot. I’ve grown as a physician and as a man.
I hope life has treated you kindly. Are you still teaching dance at the school? I remember you as a very resourceful girl, with a kind heart and a quick mind. I don’t have a right to ask, but I hope there is a man in your life who is making you happy. Six months ago I married a wonderful woman, and we are expecting our first child - a son - this spring. We are truly blessed, but I haven’t forgotten my promise to you. Miriam, my wife, and I have had many a conversation about you, and we feel that we will not be able to forgive ourselves if we don’t do everything we can to afford you the same opportunity that brought me to her due to, partly, the money you earned for my freight passage.
Our city opened a new theater, and all the shows have been a huge success. Through a former patient of mine, a place on their dance troupe is already arranged for you, and they are anticipating your arrival with great excitement. I admit I’ve been effusive in my praise of your grace and your training. The paperwork will be expedited, and a passage booked as soon as I hear back from you. I, too, look forward to seeing you again. You were, and I hope still are, my dearest friend, Gemma.
With best regards,
Zeke.
Gemma sat back, drained of all energy.
The fee she had paid for the message included a print out option and a reply back.