The 14th Day

by K. C. Frederick

  He’s walking along the grounds again, stepping from sun to shade, then back into the sun. Around him is a blur of noise. Once again he’s at the horseshoe pit; the game seems to have been going on forever. He looks for Professor Mirel but can’t find him among the players. As he passes the screened porch distinct sounds emerge from the noise and Vaniok glances in: there in a corner a young priest is singing a patriotic song that Vaniok used to hear as a child. The priest is chubby, baby-faced, his singing is passionate and Vaniok guesses that the man’s eyes are wet. A few guests with plates of food stand nearby, watching carefully. Vaniok hears a cough. Professor Mirel, a short distance away, is looking at the priest, a frown on his face.

  Vaniok walks from the porch, suddenly sad. It’s a feeling that can come on him lately, at once and for no apparent reason. He feels estranged from everybody else who’s here. His father is still waiting for him to settle down, he knows, to join him in the boat rental business. His brothers are accustomed to disregarding him. Old Ferik, who put his arm on his shoulder, looked like a blind man groping in the dark, he probably confused him with one of his brothers. Professor Mirel, he’s certain, has little regard for him. At twenty-two his life seems a hopeless muddle.

  “Excuse me, I didn’t realize you were here.” Vaniok has wandered into a stand of shade-dappled birches behind one of the outbuildings. All he wanted was to be alone and here, to his surprise, is the woman who was serving him at the table. She’s smoking; she’s not wearing her apron. “Are you on break?” he asks with a smile. His sadness has mysteriously evaporated.

  “I was only hired through the big meal,” she says. “I’m going to leave soon.” Her voice is flat, she’s not encouraging further conversation.

  “Don’t go,” he says, surprising himself. “Really, there’s no one here for me to talk to.” A cloud of smoke from her cigarette drifts by and he inhales it. “Please,” he says. She makes a comic face of disbelief and he persists. “Really. Why not enjoy some of this party as my guest? Oh, I should introduce myself.”

  When he tells her his name she gives him hers, which is Lora, and they exchange trivial information. All the while they talk Vaniok can’t keep his eyes off her. She’s much too thin and she’s tall in a way that makes her angular. The lack of strength in her jaw undercuts her long face, making it seem as if it’s sagging. And yet the large brown eyes are full of spirit; they convey something almost predatory. “Please,” he insists. “It would make me happy.”

  Her mouth wrinkles into an ironic smile. “Do you feel I have to make you happy?”

  He throws up his hands. “That’s up to you.”

  Her smile is more welcoming this time. “It’s probably the best offer I’m going to get today. Why not?” She shrugs, making it a bit of theater.

  “Why not?” he replies. “Excellent.”

  Expansive now, Vaniok returns with her to the party, where he gets her a plate of food as well as drinks for the two of them, and they toast their host’s health, after which he gets himself another glass. He strolls spaciously among the others, glad he has a guest, happy to greet the monsignor again, to kibitz the horseshoe players. He tells her stories about the others, he repeats some of the gossip about Old Ferik. She walks beside him, confident and easy, interested in what he’s saying, making her own comments on the guests. Under the swaying green dress her body moves with surprising fluidity and Vaniok is pleased. After a while, though, he feels enclosed in this world and he decides to be bold. “How would you like to get out of here?” he asks. “We could go to the Handle. It’s more interesting anyway.”

  “And what would we do?” she asks. “Swim?”

  “We’ll know what we want to do when we get there,” he says. “Maybe we can watch the fireworks from there.”

  He expects her to ponder her decision but she answers right away. “Sure,” she says. “Why not?” He’s glad he came in his own car.

  On the walk to the car and the short drive to the other part of the lake she tells him about her job in a nearby town as a waitress, about her dreams of exploring faraway places. The youngest of three sisters, it’s clear from the way she speaks that she can’t wait to leave home. Vaniok finds talking to her very comfortable and they joke with each other from the beginning as if they’re old friends.

  When they get out of the car the sky over the western shore is changing color, the red disk of the sun touches the tops of the low hills and quiet settles on the lake. Long shadows change the shapes of things and it’s suddenly cooler. “Smell that,” Lora says. “I love that fishy smell. Close your eyes and smell it and you’d know exactly where you were.”

  “Ah-hah,” he says. “I thought you said you wanted to go traveling. It sounds as if you could become homesick pretty fast.” He realizes that the thought of her traveling away from here saddens him. “Look at that light,” he says. “I can’t believe there’s another place in the world that has it.”

  “I’d like to have a chance to find out,” she says. With a graceful movement she takes off her shoes and puts them in the car. “That’s better,” she says, her feet sinking into the grass.

  They walk toward the public dock. “You couldn’t leave now, though, could you,” he says, “just when the fish flies are coming? That’s what I’d miss if I ever left here.”

  “You like the bugs?”

  “No, not the bugs as such,” he tries to explain, “but this time of the year when there are so many that they come like snow and you can look up into any light and see them swirling around.” She looks at him carefully. “To me it’s very mysterious,” he says. “I mean it’s exciting and it makes me happy for no reason but at the same time I’m sad. I don’t know if I can explain it.”

  He waits for her to laugh but she says, “I think I could understand that. I don’t feel that way about the bugs but I think I know that feeling.”

  “Yes,” he says, suddenly eager. “But tell me about what excites you, what bothers you.”

  “What bothers me?” she says. “A lot of things bother me. I have this friend named Anya who’s always calling me to get advice about her problems. Only they’re not really problems.”

  “How do you mean?” he asks.

  “Oh, she has this boyfriend who treats her like a queen. She’ll call up and say she doesn’t know what to do. Her boyfriend said he’d either take her on a skiing vacation or to an island in the sun and it’s up to her to decide. She can’t make up her mind. That’s her problem.”

  “I see.” He’s smiling as he listens. Presumably she doesn’t have boyfriends who treat her like a queen.

  “I can usually tell from the start what way she wants me to settle her problem but she doesn’t want me to make a suggestion too quickly.”

  “You seem to know your friend pretty well.”

  “Oh, I understand people,” she says with simple authority.

  Vaniok is intrigued. “Do you understand me?”

  She thinks for a moment. “I know you’re a younger brother—it’s one of the first things you told me. I know what being the youngest means. So I think you have a lot of doubts about yourself. And you’re angry a lot of the time but you can’t show it.” She slows her pace, as if trying to get a better look at him. “And then, you’re kind of by yourself too.”

  “I have friends,” he protests. He could tell her about St. Olo’s Cup.

  “That may be,” she says, “but you’re still somebody who stands apart from things. I could see that right away.”

  He has no inclination to challenge her. “And you,” he says. “You’re a younger sister. Are you the same way?”

  She stops and looks at him closely. “What do you think?”

  “I think you feel you have to have room to breathe, you want those others that think they own the world to recognize there’s someone else.”

  She resumes walking. “You have it just about right.” She seems pleased.

  “So we understand each other?” he smiles.

 
“We understand each other enough to be walking along the shore of the lake together.” She looks at the sky. “With darkness falling.”

  “Do you like the darkness?” he pursues.

  “You can find things out in the darkness,” she answers.

  “Like what?” he teases. “You can’t just make statements like that. Give me an example.”

  Her smile is sly, as if she’s anticipating his reaction. “All right: driving with my eyes closed.”

  “What?” he asks her.

  “I get these moods, I feel like driving with my eyes closed. I feel that way now.”

  “You feel like driving with your eyes closed?”

  “I do it every now and then,” she says.

  He looks out over the lake. At the same time, he’s trying to imagine this woman he scarcely knows driving with her eyes closed on one of the roads that circles the lake. “Why would you want to kill yourself that way?” he asks.

  “Did I say I was trying to kill myself?” she challenges him. “I said I drive with my eyes closed.”

  “But …” He starts but goes no further.

  She’s silent a moment. “Do you know that curve around Birch Lake as you come up from the south?” she says.

  He nods, visualizing the place.

  “I’ll drive there, not too fast, with my eyes open, memorizing everything, keeping track of the time in my head: how many seconds before I reach a particular sign, how many seconds to get around the curve. Then, when I think I’m ready I’ll try to do it with my eyes closed. Remember, I’m not speeding, I try to drive at exactly the same speed as I did with my eyes open. I also try to do it when there isn’t any chance of being hit from the other direction.”

  “And you do it?”

  “If I’m going off the road I can tell. I’ll open my eyes then. I’ll try again another time. I have to learn it better.”

  By now they’re at the edge of the lake, a completely different body of water from the one they’ve left. Vaniok knows that this configuration was caused by a glacier that melted ages ago and he has a sense of the forces that have created this place. In the falling light a few boats are anchored near the reeds off the opposite shore; to the north a powerboat trails an arcing white wake and someone is trolling nearby. Vaniok and Lora have come to the dock. The Blade, Ferik’s part of the lake, is hidden from view. At last Vaniok says, “You’re a strange person, Lora.”

  She smiles at him, delighted. “I don’t think I’m so strange.”

  He laughs to himself. “I don’t suppose you tell your friends of your solitary triumphs.” He’s pleased with the phrase. Where did it come from, he wonders.

  “I can imagine,” she says, “telling my friend Anya. ‘Anya, I drove the entire curve of Birch Lake with my eyes closed.’ She’ll say. ‘Oh?’ and after a few seconds of silence she’ll say she can’t really decide which place she should go to with her boyfriend.”

  “I hope you don’t mind me saying this,” Vaniok tells her, “but I like you.”

  She wrinkles her nose in a familiar gesture but he can see that she’s pleased and when he takes her hand she doesn’t resist. The public dock is deserted—is everyone in the region at Ferik’s party? Their footsteps sound on the weathered planks. At the end of the dock a rowboat tied to one of the pilings bobs beside them. The sun is behind the hills and a few stars are already out. They’re standing together with only the water before them and for a long time they say nothing. In the last few minutes Vaniok has come to realize he’d like very much to run his hands gently over Lora’s long, thin body.

  “Look,” she says, pointing to a pale shape hovering over the nearby reeds, “you’ll have your fish flies tonight.” A quiet excitement has entered her voice. “Mmm,” she says, “close your eyes and smell it.” The dim sounds of people come over the water. They could be partygoers, fishermen, even parents calling children in for the night. The sky above the other shore has a fading brightness but the landscape below is dark; lights from cabins and cottages are reflected in the still water. The boats on the lake are black shapes. A powerboat buzzes somewhere in the distance. Vaniok and Lora are still holding hands.

  “You know.” he says, “you may be right about my being detached even though I know a lot of people. Still, I have a friend named Ranush that I can talk to.”

  “You’re lucky,” she says. “I’m happy for you. Don’t ever lose a friend like that.” And without transition she leans upward to kiss him. It’s a brief peck but she closes her eyes while kissing him and Vaniok has a vision of her driving around a curve that way.

  He feels her hand in his own, remembering the smell of her hair. “I worry about you,” he says, “your driving.”

  She smiles. “Don’t worry.”

  “These days especially,” he says, and she looks at him, frowning. “I mean, with the bugs on the road. Everybody knows that in some places they’re so thick they coat the highway. Be careful.” From childhood people have heard stories of cars skidding on the slippery coating of the insects’ bodies. There have been accidents, some fatal.

  “Be careful,” she mimics with mock gravity, then kisses him again, her eyes open this time, a mirthful kiss. “Maybe you’re the one who should be careful,” she says. “I might be dangerous.”

  He takes her by the elbows. “I can handle danger.” They stand like that for a time, Another layer of darkness has descended from the sky in the last few seconds, the trees ringing the lake are black, undifferentiated, the water has become silver and still. His hand moves exploratively up her arm. She looks at him steadily. “Lora, Lora,” he says. “Little sister Lora.”

  For answer she simply hums, a tune he can’t make out, and he’s content to hold her and listen. All at once he feels her stiffen and break free, turning to a sound coming from the far end of the lake. Vaniok turns too to see a ghostly shape that’s rushing toward them just above the water: there are lights, a dark outline, speed—too much speed for a boat. After a second he recognizes that it’s a jet fighter from the nearby air base, moving eerily low over the water. The lights on its wings burn with a sinister glow, the plane whisks along the lake’s long arm, first silently, then with a high thin shriek as it glides by the dock, skimming the water like a swallow, its wings dipping slightly, its cylindrical body no longer a shadow but a strong, fierce silhouette: wings and tail swept back from the solid trunk, silver-black in the dark. For an instant the bulbous cockpit is visible, a dark blot that might be the pilot. The warplane speeds by, passing within a hundred feet of the dock, little more than a man’s height above the surface. After it’s gone a rolling blast of sound comes off the water and in that sudden roar is all the plane’s hard, shaped metal, the hidden menace of its explosive-tipped armaments, the fierce thrusting power of its flaming engine. Then, like the wake of a boat, the blast of sound spills over the dock and back toward the sloping land behind them, toward the cottages, the roads, the other lakes in the area.

  “What the hell is he doing?” Vaniok says, feeling Lora’s strong grip. “Some show-off pilot having fun.” His anger surprises him; he realizes he’s trembling with fury.

  Meanwhile the shape of the plane changes: it darkens, its silhouette is lost against the black trees and there are only a few lights receding over the water. Then the lights are gone and it’s suddenly quiet again on the dock. A fish breaks the surface of the lake and returns with a wet splash.

  Lora squeezes his arm. “That was scary.”

  Vaniok is looking at the part of the lake where the plane passed. Though the plane is gone he can’t help thinking about it.

  “Listen,” Lora says and in the silence left by the jet they hear music coming over the water in faint uneven waves. It’s a waltz from a generation ago, made popular by a new electronic version with amplified voices. “I wish I’d been young in the days of my youth …”

  “It’s that boat,” Vaniok points toward the light near the opposite shore but the music has already faded. “He has a radio.”


  “Vaniok,” Lora suddenly asks, her voice quiet, serious, “what do you think is going to happen?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, to the country.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says. “I really don’t know.”

  They’re silent a long time. The music is no longer audible. Then Lora asks, “Do you believe in UFO’s?” There have been a lot of stories about recent sightings.

  “I don’t know.” Vaniok is still looking at the place the plane has vacated. “It’s hard to say what’s really true sometimes.”

  Lora’s voice is quiet. “I think I saw one once.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I was up late one night in the winter, I couldn’t sleep, and I looked out our back window and I saw something really strange.”

  He nods. “Well, it could be.”

  “They scare me, Vaniok.”

  He pulls her closer. “You mean you think there might be big-headed creatures with fish scales on their bodies and ray-guns that are going to blast us all away?”

  She shakes her head. “No, not that. It’s just …”

  “Yes?”

  She looks at the sky full of stars, then down again. “I know everybody says there’s life on other planets, on a lot of other planets.”