by J. Naomi Ay
Instead, she spent each day in baggy, oversized track pants, a t-shirt which read, University of New Mishnah, and her still bright, red hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. The only part of her appearance, which received more than a quick moment of her time, were her toes. Her pedicure was always fresh, her toe cuticles trimmed and clean, so that weekly she might post an updated pic on her Footbook page.
“You really don’t know who any of these women are,” Marie protested, finishing her tofu mousse and Luci’s, as well. Marie craved chocolate, she supposed, as a substitute for the now absent sex. At least that was what her group of Footbook friends were insisting. Marie’s friends differed from Luci’s in that she knew most of them from prep school back on Cyganus.
Luci’s were totally anonymous, a group of strangers who had come together over a common interest in gardening. Luci had always enjoyed tinkering in the garden since her release from the sanitarium. She had maintained a tiny plot of rose bushes and oddly shaped squash, pictures of which she posted on her personal timeline.
“They could be anyone,” Marie continued. “Clandestine agents from the former Alliance looking for information on Petya. They might be child molesters, escaped convicts, or even middle aged, basement-dwelling men with foot fetishes.”
“Pish tosh,” Luci scoffed and rose from the table to head back to her room where the Galaxy Wide Web patiently waited. “They’re all just lonely women interested in gardening like I am. In fact, Anne has become my virtual best friend. It’s as if we have known each other our entire lives even though we have just met in cyberspace.”
“This Anne bothers me,” Marie called over her shoulder as she cleared away the dinner plates, tossing them into the Insta-Dish-A-Clean. “There’s something strange about her. I just can’t put my finger on it. I'm going to find out though. I bet she's really a man."
Marie had queried Anne’s personal page herself. Other than the requisite posting of feet, and the occasional snap of a pretty rose bush, there was no further information.
“I do think she’s not who she says she is.”
“Well, none of us are, dear,” Luci replied with a sigh. “If all the girlfriends knew that I was really the Dowager Duchess Korelesk, I can’t even begin to imagine how they might react.”
The truth was, the girlfriends of Luci’s group were an odd mix. Only Anne and an Andorian named Delores were married. Luci was widowed, and all the rest were divorced, or otherwise, unattached. Their lives were a pitiful collection of circumstances ranging from abject poverty to ill health, although they were all bound together by a common love of flowers and vegetables, as well as hatred for men.
Perhaps, hatred was too strong a word, Luci considered, as she sat down in front of her vid and logged in. It’s not that they disliked men. Really. In fact, they all adored men to some extent.
Nora from Altaris VI was constantly posting pics of naked cowboys for them to ogle. Luci had learned a great deal from viewing these. Frankly, she had no idea that men actually came in that size, having only been with Berkie her entire life.
Rather, all the women had some sort of trauma in their background, which was undoubtedly caused by an ex-husband or lover.
Even Anne, who was happily married, complained mightily about Harvey’s eccentric behavior. These included hunting and fishing in the middle of the night, chain-smoking cigarettes, and obsessively-compulsively planning their daily schedule around football matches. Truly, she had to be a saint to put up with the way he dragged her across the galaxy, camping in forests and cooking over an open fire. That is, if he allowed her to cook things at all. According to Anne, he preferred everything raw, the bloodier the better, and even more so if the creature were freshly slain. Yes, that Harvey was definitely an odd duck, but Anne’s daily notes of their adventures certainly added a missing spice to Luci’s dull and monotonous life.
As soon as Luci logged in, she was pleased to discover Delores, Anne, Nora, and Kiki all online and chatting in their private gardening group.
“Woofie is having a bad day,” Delores was complaining.
Two years prior, her husband had suffered a calamitous injury which left him not only paralyzed, but with the intelligence of a toddler. Delores and Woofie, as most Andorians, resided in a thatch hut furnished with rock appointments and mud flooring. Woofie spent his days in a giant highchair, banging his spoon upon the table, staring at the large vid which hung overhead and screaming something which sounded vaguely like, “I hate Sehron de Kudisha.”
Poor Delores was forced to not only feed her husband-child, but clean up after him which included a diaper routine.
“Some days I just want to kill myself,” she was typing to the other gals.
“Why don’t you just kill him?” Nora suggested. “Oh, look, Luci’s online. She’s an authority on doing that. I'm sure she's got some good pointers for you. Luci, what sort of gun do you think Delores ought to buy?"
A few LOLs later, the topic shifted to Nora's latest cowboy pics, and an odd green striped rose which Anne had collected somewhere in her travels. Then, Kiki began to regale them with tales of the skanky people who populated the government office where she worked. They made her life a living hell but were very entertaining.
Growing a little bored with the conversation, Luci drifted back to her news feed, noting that her granddaughter, Angelica had survived the elimination vote on that show on the vid. Next week, the girl would continue to embarrass herself and the Korelesk family further by attempting to climb a rope ladder into a treehouse while avoiding the open beak of a hungry crocodile.
"Angelica." Luci sighed out loud, lamenting the horrific breakdown of her once normal family. In fact, as the news feed continued to scroll by, presenting pics and funny ecards, as well as news from across the Empire, Luci wonder where exactly it had all gone wrong. "I mustn't think on this," she recalled her doctor's advice. "Happy thoughts only, Luci. One doesn't wish to end up locked in and medicated once again."
To that end, Luci opened the personal message screen and initiated a private chat with Anne by clicking on an oversized, smiling, happy face sticker.
"Can't chat now," Anne typed back. "We're just about to head into an asteroid belt and Harvey says I'm going to lose my WIFI signal. I'll ping you as soon as I can connect again. In the meantime, save all your news for me, and I'll take pics of all the roses I come across."
"All right," Luci agreed reluctantly, momentarily envious of Anne's adventures. No, she certainly wouldn't want to be entering any asteroid belt. However, having Harvey, as bad as he was, might be better than this life with no companion.
"Do you need anything, Mother Luci?" Marie called, sticking her head through Luci's bedroom door. "Would you care for a cup of tea before you retire?"
"No, thank you, dear." Luci quickly blanked her screen, as now, Marie stood over her shoulder, her arms crossed, and her tongue clucking like an old hen.
"What do you really know of her, Mother, other than she and her husband are supposedly traveling in an RV?"
"I know she's quite well to do, perhaps even more so than us. Harvey has property holdings throughout the Empire including a company as large as SdK Corporation. They have two sons whom they have left in charge of the family business, and a granddaughter who is in high school. What does she know of me? I sit here all day, in front of my vid, having murdered my husband of nearly fifty years."
Marie shook her head and clucked again.
"Come now. It's not quite that bad. Everyone, on occasion, goes a little crazy. However, regarding Anne, one would think if they were so wealthy we would have heard of them. I've googled Harvey and Anne, and I’ve come up with nothing. I've a mind to hire a detective to research them a bit more."
"They're very private people," Luci snapped, now getting a bit annoyed at Marie's interference. "They're my friends and I wish you'd let it be. At least they're enjoying their golden years, experiencing retirement as one should, unlike me, who save you and my few cyber
friends, am all alone."
"Sorry, Mother Luci." Marie instantly felt chagrin, for she too, was lonely and unhappy in this life. "I just don't want anyone to take advantage of you. I'll see you in the morning. Let’s plan a day out tomorrow. We could go to the mall to do a bit of shopping, and have lunch.”
"Yes, dear," Luci replied, smiling up at her poor daughter-in-law. “That would be lovely.”
The women air-kissed each other near their cheeks and bid one another goodnight, while Luci signed off her group page to start a quick game of Dogville. However, just as she was about to enter the pound, another private message popped up on her screen. This one was from her great-grandson, Ber-Kie, the half Beckwadian creature delivered by Angelica a few years prior.
"I was hoping I might come for a visit," he wrote. "Our school term is ending next week. We’d love to spend some quality time with you, Great Grandmother, and reconnect."
"Really?" Luci typed back, completely taken by surprise, for she hadn't seen or spoken with Ber-Kie since he was born.
Actually, Luci wasn’t entirely sure how to refer to him either. Perhaps, he was a “they” and not a “he”? Also, wasn't he really only about four years old? Why would he be finishing school already and why ever would he possibly want to visit her?
On the other hand, Luci was just bored and lonely enough that a visit from a young man, however strange, might be fun. It would get her out of this chair, out of this depressing and overbearing house.
"Indeed," Luci typed back. "I shall be happy to welcome you in Korelesk next week."
Chapter 8
Tuman set a bowl of porridge down upon the table along with a spoon, a napkin, and a cup of milk.
"Do you know what this is?" He asked as the child stared at it blankly, apparently never having eaten porridge before.
"Nuh uh." The boy made a grunting noise, sticking his finger in the bowl and then, placing it in his mouth. He nodded. The taste was pleasant enough.
"Good," Tuman replied, catching the finger before it dived in again. "Here is your spoon. Hold it in your hand thusly. That's right. Now, dip it into the bowl and carefully, place it in your mouth. Good lad."
"Good," the boy repeated, his mouth open to display an entire spoon's worth of his meal.
He didn't smile, not exactly. Tuman hadn't yet seen him express any sort of emotion, his pale eyes and watchful manner expressing only a guarded and mistrustful reserve. Of course, their relationship was hardly a day old. Tuman had rescued the boy from his sister's house only the previous night, barely twelve hours before.
"How are you called?" He asked, now setting himself down across from the lad, and picking up his own spoon to eat heartily of his breakfast. During the night, Tuman had boiled the oats slowly in a pot over the fire along with a fair amount of brown sugar, diced apple and some cream.
"Nuh uh," the boy said again, holding up his bowl to be refilled.
"Please," Tuman instructed whilst gladly adding more.
The child looked to be about five or six years old, according to his sister, Lucreda, who knew of such things. He was tall for his age, although terribly skinny with bones that jutted through his skin.
"Probably, he has been living alone in the forest," Tuman surmised, while Rekah had only stared, his dark eyes glaring with an unwarranted harshness.
As they had walked back from Lucreda's house, the boy followed warily, his step as silent and lithe as a feral cat.
Rekah whispered, "I don't like this. I fear something evil is about. This child..."
"Now Father," Tuman interrupted, but there was no point arguing. Once Rekah set his mind to a thought, he would stay fixated upon it no matter what. "I will care for him and I shall determine what lies within his heart. A child so young can easily be reshaped and reformed."
"Humph," Rekah had snorted. "What little do you know? How many children have you had and how many have I?"
"Look at what has become of me," Tuman laughed to which his father only glared.
“Open your eyes, Tuman,” he cautioned as he limped away.
Now, a morning later, Tuman was curious about his charge. Once again, he requested, the child speak his name.
"Name," Tuman said loudly, as if the child were deaf. He pointed at his own chest and nodded. "Tuman. I am Tuman. Who are you?"
The boy watched him curiously, his eyes hooded and suspicious. Tuman studied them intensely, noting how they changed color in the light. With the daylight from the window, they shone a hint of blue. In the darkness, with only the hearth to light the room, they became a smoky gray. Outside beneath the rain clouds, the boy’s eyes echoed the sky and the sea. Whatever their color, there was a spark behind them, an intelligence that belied the child’s years.
"Arsan."
The boy spoke so softly at first, Tuman wasn’t certain he had heard. He shook his head.
"Ar..."
"Arsan!" The boy declared louder, followed by a host of gibberish sounding speech in a language unfamiliar to the older man.
It was at this moment, Rekah arrived, shoving open the door and bringing in a gust of wind, as well as torrents of rain which pooled in the front hall. Removing his cloak, Rekah shook it out, creating yet another puddle on Tuman's floor.
"Father!" Tuman snapped, pointing at the old man's feet as his father proceeded to step directly in the rainwater. Without removing his shoes, he crossed the hand woven, patterned rug creating a long track of footprints. “Ay yah, Father!”
“What’s the matter?” Rekah stopped and looked about himself, confused by his son’s admonishment of his behavior so early in the morning.
"Your feet," Tuman continued, jumping up from the table to fetch a towel. “Have you forgotten this rug belonged to my great grandfather, King Merakoma? Take off your boots before you ruin it further. Merakoma would be spinning about in his grave to see you so carelessly destroy his precious heirloom."
"Merakoma always loved me best.” Rekah sniffed, slowly bending to remove his sodden footwear. “Even more so than he loved my cousin, the MaKennah. You, my eldest son, are sounding like an old woman. I thought I had buried your mother five years ago. Now, I discover she is reincarnated in you, and let me tell you, it pleases me not to hear her voice nagging at me once again."
"Ach, Father, I have always been my mother's son, excepting the days of which we will not speak in front of my young and impressionable friend, Arsan."
"Arsan," Rekah repeated, his dark face growing unusually pale, the small smile he had borne instantly disappearing. He hastened to the breakfast table whereupon the boy quickly put down his spoon. "How come you to be called this name, boy?" Rekah reached for the thin shoulder.
"What are you doing?" Tuman demanded as the child wriggled from the old man’s grasp, to scamper beneath the table and scurry to a corner. "Father, leave him be."
"No, I must know," Rekah continued, bending down to peer at the boy, who crouched against the wall upon all fours. "Who are you? Tell me, who you are and who has granted you this name Arsan."
"Father!" Tuman begged, his voice rising with exasperation, as he bent down himself to coax the child back to his meal. "Father, of whom do you accuse this poor lad? Come, Arsan. He shan't hurt you. Sit again at the table and finish your breakfast."
"You should know!" Rekah snapped, righting himself, his back aching and creaking in harmony as he pulled it up to his full height. "You are the High Priest, are you not? You have studied the Holy Books. The answer to who is Arsan lies there."
"There was nothing in the books which spoke of a child called Arsan. The only child referred to is our beloved cousin, the MaKennah."
"Precisely!" Rekah glared as Tuman held out his hand, bidding the child to come to his side.
Last night, upon arriving at Tuman's home, the boy had hidden behind the hearth in this way. No amount of coaxing or coercing would encourage him to venture out. After several hours of waiting, Tuman's patience had waned even as fatigue overcame his body and his bed beck
oned. He left the child alone with a plate of cold chicken and a cup of milk before retiring to his own room for the night.
At dawn, Tuman arose to recite his morning prayers and as his custom, to refill the oil lamps in the Temple. As he tiptoed past the cold hearth, his eyes glanced about, searching for the boy in the pale moonlight from the window. Tuman spied only the dish upon the floor, clean bones of what had been the chicken, and the boy nowhere within his sight.
Somehow, between then and the time Tuman returned to break his fast, the boy once again sat by Tuman's hearth. His long black hair was damp from the rain, and there was a fresh gash upon his cheek, but there was a brightness in his strange eyes which Tuman had not seen the night before.
"Come, my young friend." Now, Tuman practically climbed beneath the table himself. "My father is old and has gone from his wits. He means no harm to you, and only seeks in your face a resemblance to one who we have loved and is now missing."
Again, the child spoke some words which Tuman could not decipher. They were of no Karupta dialect nor commonly spoken Mishnese.
"Do you know this language, Father?" He inquired, rising to his feet. "Arsan, speak louder so my father might hear your words."
"I heard him.” Rekah paced the distance of the small room. "Do not speak to me as if I am mad or half deaf. You, who has been educated in the great universities of Mishnah and has studied the Great Father’s word, are blind to what is obviously before you.”
“And you, humble farmer, understand the great mysteries of the universe and know the Holy Books much better than I.” Tuman spoke these words in jest, yet as most, were filled with some truth. “Come child, your porridge grows cold and if you do not hurry, my father will eat it for you.”