I held my drink up, letting the single dim light behind the bar shine through the amber liquid. I loved the way the beams distorted as they encountered the liquor. There’s probably an apt metaphor there....
The barkeep gestured with the bottle of unlabeled hooch to the young man to my right. My companion shook his head furiously. “No sir. Thank you, but I need to keep my head straight.”
The barkeep snorted an answer, set the bottle down and went back to his news program.
The young man interrupted my examination of the glass. “So this man… Where did he come from?”
I held the glass to my lips, but didn’t drink. The vapors wafted into my nose and made my eyes sting. I set the glass down. I traced the rim of the glass with my index finger, not looking at the young reporter sitting to my right.
“It started that day in August of 1985. The war had just ended and men were coming home and trying to figure out what was next for their lives. Times were hard.”
“How so?”
“Well, my dad had been home for about a year. When he lost his leg, they sent him home. Nobody wanted to fight in the war; hell most people fighting in the war weren’t even alive when it started. Still, the folks that were killed in action were looked upon as heroes. There’s something that happens to you in the head when war is all you’ve ever known. It’s like there’s an expectation that’s bred into you. I think most young men wanted to get married early and have kids right away because they didn’t expect to come home when they left. Most folks had a defeated mindset. There was no hope for the future.
“So when Pa came home, he was happy that he’d escaped with his life, but he knew that he would be pitied. Being maimed is a tough thing to live with.”
“So, he was a hard man?”
I rubbed my face, brought the glass to my lips again, this time taking a sip. I held the liquid in my mouth, enjoying the burn. I slowly let it trickle down my throat.
“Yeah, you could say that. Not evil, but I guess he had a grudge against the world.”
“So when the man showed up, what was going on? Did he just waltz up onto the porch and announce who he was?”
“Oh no. Around these parts, he would have gotten shot. No, he wandered up looking like a vagrant. I was out in the pasture checking on the cows and I saw him walking up the dirt road. He flagged me down and asked if we had any work that he could do. Said he had come back from the war and was trying to make his way back home. I took him to the house and introduced him to my folks. He wound up staying the night with us and slept in our spare bedroom. The next day is when it all got weird.”
The young man next to me perked up. I could see his eyes spark. He gripped his pen a little tighter as he got ready for me to get to the good part. “What happened then?”
“That’s when he told me that he was an alien.” I took a long pull from my drink. “Then he told me about their plan.”
2
The alcohol burned as it went down. The jitters subsided and as I set the glass down on the bar, I felt like I was fully in control. The third drink always did that. Three was my sweet spot, settled the nerves, and made me feel like I was firing on all cylinders. If I would have been able to stop at three, everything would have been OK, but I won’t pretend that I ever was able to stop when I should have.
Josh was his name. He was a reporter for a little rag called the Inquisitor. He was a real journalist, though. He just needed to break a major story so that he would be taken seriously. He had traveled the world looking for the right story that would be a game changer for him. Everybody has to start somewhere, I reckon. I could feel the air between Josh and me charged with electricity. He was propped on the edge of the stool next to me, willing the story from me.
The reporter chased me for the better part of three years before I agreed to meet him at the roadhouse. I knew it would be a safe place, not because it was especially secure, but because everybody there thought I was just a crazy drunk. Not that I’m not a crazy drunk, but that doesn’t exclude me from telling the truth.
The roadhouse was a second home to me since I was old enough to leave my parents’ farm. I saw the hand full of regulars several times a week, and oddly enough I never knew any of their names. Names were not important at a place like this, as long as somebody’s willing to pour and somebody else is willing to pay.
Josh, the intrepid reporter, was getting antsy, but he’d never say it. I knew that I couldn’t stall forever. I took a deep breath and dug in.
“I was out in the pasture. We had a cow that was going to give birth at any time. I would go out and check on her several times a day; just to make sure everything was all right with her. There was a dirt road that bordered the east side of our property. I looked up from Bessie and saw a person walking down the road, which was a fairly odd sight. Our closest neighbor was over two miles away. It wasn’t strange to see a horse and rider on the road, or maybe one of the Ford trucks that were common on everybody’s farm, but rarely did you see someone just walking along the road all by themselves.
“I stood by the heifer for a minute trying to figure out if I knew the person walking. I didn’t, and when he came close enough to see me, he stopped and waved at me from the fence. I went over and said hello, then asked him if he was lost. He had this embarrassed laugh. He told me he guessed he was.
“We talked for a few minutes and he told me that he had been hitchhiking for days, trying to make his way back to where he was from. He didn’t seem to want to give me many details. I figured I should take him to Pa and let him worry with it.
“We walked toward the house and talked, but now that I think about it, I was the one doing all the talking. He never gave me much more of his story.”
Josh didn’t say anything; he would watch me for a sentence or two, and then scribble, the whole while nodding his head in the affirmative. When I would stop, he would patiently wait for me to pick the thread up again. He was a good listener. I liked that.
“You know what really stood out to me?” I mused. “His eyes. They were the darkest eyes that I’ve ever seen. Black. Inky. I couldn’t see any reflection in those eyes. I thought it was funny at the time, but what did I know? I was a kid still.
“He had those kind of eyes that didn’t tell you anything. You know how you can read people’s emotions by looking at their eyes? Well his weren’t like that. It’s like they only took in, and didn’t give back.”
I took another sniff of my drink, allowing the burn to hit me again. “I don’t know why his eyes matter. It’s just one of those things that sticks with you.”
Josh thought a moment. “Is that when you first suspected?”
“Oh no. I didn’t suspect anything at first. Like I said, I was just a young kid. Looking back, it all makes sense. Hindsight and all.”
“So what happened next?”
“Well I took him up to the house. Or actually to the little shop that Pa had behind the house. He was working on sharpening some tools and I told him that this stranger was looking for some help. Pa was a real pragmatist. He didn’t tolerate any foolishness, and he sure didn’t put up with laziness. He shook the fellow’s hand and told him that he was welcome to pitch in and work for a few days as compensation for a cot and some hot meals from Mama. The man agreed.”
“Did the man tell you his name?”
“He did. Sort of. Said his name was Marcel, and that was all. Pa didn’t seem to care. An extra set of hands for a couple of days was all he was interested in.”
Josh looked back over his notes for a second, scanning for something. “You’ve mentioned before about strange things that happened around your farm that summer. The summer of 1985. I’ve read through some of the early accounts. There was a time when you told the story to anyone that would listen.”
“I tried to. But that’s just it. Nobody would listen. Sure, I’d get some tabloids to listen, but they never reported the story the way I told it. They always embellished here and there and by the time t
heir story was printed, it wasn’t my story.
“If you read through enough of those early stories, you can find a kernel of truth and maybe piece it together. But I’m getting old and I want to tell the story. And I want it told right.”
“I promise you. I’ll tell the story exactly like you tell it. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“That’s why I chose you.”
3
The barkeep walked over to check on the status of my drink. My glass was more than half full. “You sure you don’t need anything?” He asked Josh.
“Now that you mention it, do you have any coffee?”
“Of course. You have to always keep a strong pot made to help sober up the drunks before you can send them on their way.”
Josh snickered at the absurdity of getting them drunk then trying to sober them up before letting them drive away. That’s a battle for another day, he thought to himself.
The barkeep slid a cup and saucer in front of Josh along with a bowl of sugar and a spoon. Josh took a sip of the coffee and understood why they gave this to drunks. The barkeep smiled as he watched the caffeine hit Josh’s system and made his face flush. He slid the coffee out of the way and picked his pen back up.
“Nobody takes you seriously when you start talking about aliens. You immediately get labeled as a crazy person. But you know what? What I have to say makes a lot more sense that what they’ve been telling us.
“How is it that we spend thirty years fighting a war then all of a sudden we have a massive jump in technology? This run down roadhouse has a holographic projection of a ball game for Pete’s sake. I mean, when I was a kid, it was like we were in the Stone Age, and in just a few years, here we are. Where did it come from? Did we just suddenly get smarter? And what about the money? How did we afford the research when the world had been ravaged by war? Nobody wants to ask those questions.”
Josh nodded but didn’t interrupt.
“Anyway, Pa put that fellow to work. He had him mucking out stalls in the barn. I went back out to the pasture and made my rounds. I went back to Bessie and petted her. I could tell that she was gonna have her calf soon. I just feel it, you know?
“I went on about my business just like any other day. As far as I was concerned, it was just any other ordinary day. It got to be supper time and I went to the house to wash up. When I went to the kitchen I saw that Marcel was sitting at the table with Ma and Pa. Like I told you, Pa was not sociable. He liked to keep to himself and would not go out of his way to talk to a stranger. I guess you could say he was from the old school.
“But when I walked in the kitchen they were all sitting together and talking like old friends. Pa was laughing at Marcel’s stories. I took my seat at the table, Ma smiled and scooped potatoes and meatloaf onto my plate. Marcel smiled at me and I looked from him to Pa. I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was going on. Marcel had that weird look to his eyes. I still can’t explain what it was, but I swear I saw something flash in his eyes.”
Josh stopped me. “Can you try? Just try to think about what it was that didn’t seem right to you.”
“No. Like I said, it was just a flash, and I’m not sure that it was something I saw with my eyes, if you know what I mean.” I took a sip of my drink.
Josh studied me. I imagine he was trying to figure out what he was supposed to write down for that part. To his credit, he just listened. I could tell that he had a real gift. He knew exactly when to press for information, but anybody can do that, his real gift was knowing when to keep quiet and wait. That’s something few people possess.
“More than anything, Marcel made me curious. Pa wouldn’t talk to our neighbors any more than he had to, much less strangers. I was intrigued. We ate supper, and Ma and Pa sat at the table talking with Marcel for a couple of hours. I got up and cleared the dishes away and washed and dried them. That was the only time I could ever remember Ma not beating me to it. I didn’t mind, it’s just that she was very territorial about her kitchen and dining room.
“They sat and talked well into the night. I turned in knowing that the chores would be waiting for me when the sun came up. Problem is, I didn’t sleep. Not at all.”
I eyed the barkeep while tracing a finger around the rim of my glass. The drink was less than half full. The mental gymnastics kicked in as I calculated just how long it would take to get the rest of the story out while maintaining enough of the drink to keep my nerves settled. I took a small sip.
“I stared at the ceiling all night long. I counted every crack in the plaster, did a mental inventory of all of the animals, tools, and every inch of fence row on the farm, and when I could stand it no longer, I got up and looked out the window.
“I could see the horizon beginning to leak light ever so slightly and I knew that it was about time to get up anyway. I put my clothes on, went downstairs and slipped on my boots, and went out to the pasture. I had a feeling about that pregnant heifer and figured we would have a calf that day.
“I walked out of the house and looked for her, but instead of seeing the cow, I saw Marcel sitting cross legged in the pasture facing east. I stood back and watched from a distance, sure that he couldn’t see me as I peeked around an old poplar tree.
“The sun rose and when the golden rays hit him, it was like a flower soaking up rain. I imagined him to be some sort of ancient sun worshipper sitting on top of a stone structure. I watched him as the sun came up over the trees and it was like he transformed. For a moment he didn’t look like the vagrant that wandered by the farm, but he looked like something more.”
Josh stopped scribbling. “Like what?”
I ran my fingers through my hair and exhaled. “Like he was not of this world. Then I heard his voice in my head.”
I had dodged this part of the story long enough. It was time to get down to it. Josh waited patiently, if not with a healthy dose of skepticism.
“What did you hear?”
“I heard him tell me he knew I was there. He told me to come to him. Then I heard him tell me that he had secrets to share with me. Secrets about the future.”
4
Josh took a sip of his coffee and flipped a page back in his notebook, skimming over all that he had written so far. I waited for him to process what I had told him, and used the opportunity to nurse my drink a little. The barkeep turned around and eyed my glass. I gave him an imaginary hat tip to acknowledge that I still had all my faculties about me, and to assure him that there would be no funny business like that time last year that got me banned from the watering hole for a whole month.
Josh spoke up. “I’ve read all of the accounts of your story that have been published over the years. Some of them have been incredibly hard to locate. But in all of them, I’ve never read anything about this part of the story. Why’s that?”
“That’s because I never met anybody that wanted to get to the truth. I admit, I was a little reckless in the beginning. I talked more than I should have, and did it indiscriminately. There's a proverb about casting pearls before swine or something like that.”
Josh nodded.
I eyed the backpack next to him. “So what all is that you’re carrying in that bag?”
“Tools of the trade. Computer. Telecom devices. Mostly notebooks. I like to use paper still.”
I nodded at his notebook that he kept scratching in. “I noticed.”
“To say that I’m a little distrusting of technology would be an understatement.” He said.
“Another reason I chose you.”
“You were telling me that he called you over to him. If you were hiding and watching from a distance, how did you hear him?”
“I told you. He didn’t call me with his mouth, it’s like he was in my head. He called me telepathically. I guess that’s the best way to explain it.”
“What was your reaction? Did you respond?”
“You know, I’ve thought about that for years. I don’t remember, honestly. I heard the voice. I heard him calling me, then
I was there, sitting beside him.”
Josh looked at me sideways as if waiting for me to clarify what I said.
“Yeah, I covered about a hundred yards in a split second. One minute I’m looking around a poplar tree, the next I’m sitting next to him on the ground. This is where folks usually start dismissing me and my story. Crazy old drunk. I know what they say about me.” I took a sip of my drink.
Josh didn’t respond. I knew he was trying to stay objective. I didn’t expect us to be friends. I was used to the ridicule, the scorn. I had given up on not being alone, at this point I just wanted peace, and hopefully telling my story would bring that. Hopefully.
Josh waited patiently. When I started, it just flowed. Like a dam under pressure that finally cracked, it all came out. Josh wrote as fast as he could, stopping only long enough to flip pages in his spiral bound notebook.
“I was sitting there next to him and saw that his eyes were closed. For a second I wondered if he was alive. He sat so perfectly still. He turned his face toward me and slowly opened his eyes. They were so dark, like looking into the abyss. He said he had been waiting for me. I opened my mouth to say something and just couldn’t. I mean, I guess I could have, it just seemed like there weren’t any words that mattered. Being next to him was like being in another world. It was like time stood still. No that’s not good enough. It was like there was no time. Like the world we live in was a scribbled drawing by a child.
“I know that doesn’t make any sense, but stay with me. Trust me when I tell you that the experience was like nothing I had ever had. But anyway, he said he had been waiting for me. I told him that I was coming out to check on my cow that was about to give birth any minute. He smiled at me and told me that both mother and calf were doing fine.
“I stood up and panicked that I had not been there to make sure it went well. He touched my hand and an intense peace flowed over me. He said ‘It’s ok. I was there and I ensured she had a painless delivery.’
Alt.History 102 (The Future Chronicles) Page 25