"Right!" They roared back.
Jason beamed. "Now I know you all want to celebrate Orrie's return tonight. And our triumph! And we will! We'll celebrate in the biggest way possible! But we still have a lot of work left to do, so let's get it done just as fast as we can, and at midnight tonight, we'll gather together for the biggest damn Revelation we've ever had!"
Oh, my dear God in Heaven. Revelationists.
With three tame worms.
A lady who favors coition,
has invented the spaceship position.
She lies down with ease
and pulls up her knees,
and hollers, "Lift off!" and "Ignition!"
10
Valerie
"A gentleman is one who doesn't demand a lady prove that she is."
-SOLOMON SHORT
"This will be your room," they said. It was an ordinary motel room except for two things. There was no terminal. There was no Bible.
They apologized for not letting me participate in the revelation. "It wouldn't be appropriate." And then they left me alone.
I wondered if they had locked me in. Probably not. I was a guest, remember?
I opened the door.
A big fat worm sat there like a gigantic crimson meat loaf. It opened one of its eyes and stared at me. "Prowrt?" it asked. "Uh, just checking. Sorry. Go back to sleep. " I backed into the room and closed the door. "Jeezis, who needs locks?"
So that answered that.
I took a shower. At least they hadn't forsworn the pleasures of hot water. I stood under the steaming spray and let it run down through my hair, down my face, down my shoulders. I stood there and let the sobs well up in my throat. The fear choked at my heart. How could I keep my guard up in an environment like this when everybody around me was continually trying to seduce me into relaxing? This was insidious.
I could only admire the beauty of it.
There was no defense. They would be so nice to me that I wouldn't be able to work up even a good sulk without feeling like an ungrateful bastard.
And one day I would get tired of greeting joy with hostility, just tired enough to let my guard down just a tiny bit, that's all it would take-and then they'd have me. I could already imagine how it was going to happen. . . .
"No, goddammit! No!" I pounded on the tile walls of the shower. "No! No! No! No!"
And when the rage had passed, I stood there and let the water run off of me again. My silent tears washed down the drain. When the water went cold, I turned it off and stood there dripping Dammit. There had to be a way out! Somehow. No. I had to stop.
I was driving myself crazy with this. I stepped out of the shower, slowly toweled myself dry, and padded off to bed.
She couldn't have been more than sixteen. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed waiting for me. She wasn't wearing any clothes. She had small pretty breasts. Very tan. Her nipples were large and dark. She had long brown hair and soft gray eyes. She looked friendly.
"Uh-" I lowered the towel strategically. "Hi?"
"Hi," she said back.
"Um . . . am I in the wrong room or you?"
"No, this is the right room. I'm here to sleep with you."
I scratched my nose. I looked at the floor. I looked at the door. I looked back at her. "Uh, there's something I'm missing, right?"
"I don't think so. Lift that towel and I'll have another look."
"Uh, that's not what I meant. Why are you here?"
She got under the covers then and slid over in the bed to make room for me. She turned back the blanket so I could get in. I didn't move from where I stood. She said, "You're going to get cold standing there."
"I'm already cold. Uh, listen-I don't know what your name is..."
"Valerie." She stroked her hair down over her breasts. It was very distracting.
"Valerie. Well, listen, Valerie, I don't need anyone to sleep with, thank you. I appreciate the thought, but you can go."
"Would you prefer a boy?"
"No, I would not prefer a boy, thank you."
"There's nothing to be ashamed of. Billy thinks you're cute, I could call him-"
"I'm not ashamed. And you can thank Billy for me in the morning. I just want to sleep alone."
"Oh, I'm sorry. You can't."
"I can't?"
"Well . . ." she looked apologetic, "no."
"Why not?"
"Because Jason says so."
"Jason says so."
"Yes."
"I see." I stood there indecisively. I was shivering.
"Will you get in bed please?"
Part of my mind was racing. This was exactly what I used to fantasize about in high school-and ever since: to have a beautiful and friendly and very naked girl encouraging me to join her in bed. The obvious thing to do was yell, "Banzai!" and leap.
I took a step back and looked for the bear trap. "I don't trust this situation," I said.
She shrugged and slid under the covers, then studied me with an absolutely innocent gaze. "So? What's the worst that can happen?"
I thought about it. The best that could happen would be that I'd have a terrible time. The worst that could happen would be that I'd have a terrific time and lose my individuality. I thought about the alternatives-there really weren't any-and got into the bed. Slowly.
We lay there side by side, not touching. I studied the ceiling. She studied my profile.
"Do you want to talk?" she asked.
"Do I have to?"
"No. Do you want to sleep?"
"Uh--I did, but I'm wide awake now.
"Should I turn out the light?"
"All right."
She rolled over and touched the switch on the nightstand. The room was left shaded in moonlight. The venetian blinds made lavender streaks on the wall. The night felt silent.
She rolled back toward me. The bed squeaked with the movement.
Somewhere in the distance, I could hear yelling, a great many voices all yelling together.
"What's that?" I asked.
"That's the Revelation. It's just starting. It gets louder. Don't worry about it. Around here, celebrations can get pretty rowdy."
"Oh." I turned on my side to look at her. "Valerie," I said. "How long have you been here?"
"Here? You mean this place? Or do you mean with Jason?"
"With Jason."
"Um, let me see-it'll be eleven months in May."
"Where were you before?"
"In Santa Barbara."
"And how did you . . . join?"
"The same way everybody does. I wanted to be here, so I created the opportunity for them to find me. Nobody gets here by accident. I didn't know I wanted to be here. I didn't know I was creating my opportunity, but that's how it worked out-and now I know that there aren't any accidents; this is the way it's supposed to work out. Jason says it the best way. He says, 'God doesn't make mistakes."'
"Of course not. If he did . . ."
"She."
"Huh?"
"She. God's a she."
"Oh."
"What were you going to say."
"Uh, I was going to say, if God did make mistakes, she wouldn't be God anymore, would she?"
"That's very good."
"Thank you. What did you do before?"
She shrugged. "Same as everybody else. I survived." She looked at her fingernails. They were short, like a man's. "That's what the ordinary world is about. Survival."
"Uh-huh. Well, uh, let me ask it this way. How would I have known you in the ordinary world?"
"I was a whore." She said it matter-of-factly, as if she were describing what she had had for dinner.
"At sixteen?"
"At thirteen."
"Uh. I see."
"I did it to survive. I didn't know that I didn't need to do it to survive. Jason gave me the space to find that out." She turned on her side to face me. "See, Jim, when I sold myself for money before, I wasn't selling my body. That was the form of it, but what I was
really doing was selling pieces of my soul. Jason told me I didn't have to do that. Now, I only give myself to people who are willing to give themselves to me. So I get back what I give away. Only now it's-oh, I wish I were better with words-now, when I share myself with someone, what happens is that I transcend myself. When two people trade pieces of themselves, they're transformed."
"I'm sorry. I don't understand that."
"It's all right," she said. "It took me a long time to understand it too." She reached out and touched me. Her hand was warm and gentle. She let it slide down to my hip. I stopped her hand. I held it in mine. "You'll probably hear this as an insult," I said, "even though I don't mean it as one; but is that why you're here to sleep with me? To seduce me? I mean-are you whoring for Jason now?"
She pulled her hand back. "Oh, that's not an insult. And the answer is no-and yes. No, I'm not whoring for Jason. But, yes-I was chosen to sleep with you first, before anyone else, because I've had the experience. I know how to use myself to reach you, to give you the opportunity to reach back. That's all. Do you understand? It's a skill. I can use it-I can use it to be selfish, or I can use it to share. I want to share myself with you tonight. "
"I guess I'm old fashioned, Valerie. I don't understand it."
"There's nothing to understand. I don't want to be alone either," she whispered. "Will you share yourself with me?"
I looked at her face. In the moonlight, all I could see was the soft gleam of her eyes against the paleness of her skin.
"I don't know," I said.
"You have to let go of your mind," she whispered. "Let yourself be the animal."
"The animal?"
"You're an animal, Jim. A male animal. I'm a female animal." Her touch became a caress. "Let go of your mind and just experience the physicalness of it. Is that so hard to do?"
"I don't . . ." But I did. I knew exactly what she meant. And I wanted to do it.
I moved toward her, just a bit. I realized I was still scared of her. But she smelled good. Let go of your mind, she said. But how? Her hand came back to me again.
Her fingers strayed. I let them.
Even though I knew it was a mistake.
And then . . . oh, hell, I stopped resisting. I told myself I could handle this. Really.
I let it happen.
She was good. So was I.
She was frenzied, almost out of control. And after a while, so was I. She smelled good.
The male animal mounted the female. We did it. And my mind was lost.
Isaac the famous seducer,
will meet a young lass and conducer
to let him get fresh
with her quivering flesh,
but if there isn't the time, he'll just gucer.
11
Falstaff
"Onions don't cause heartburn; they only make it interesting."
-SOLOMON SHORT
Someone was singing to me.
When I woke up, Valerie was already gone. But I could still hear the singing
I opened the door.
The worm was still there. It was facing away from the door, toward the morning sun. Its fur glistened pink.
It was the worm that was singing-humming, really. The sound was coming from deep inside its throat. Was it brooding, or what? The creature's eyes were closed and it looked preoccupied. The trilling was softer than a purr, but it had the same kind of deep satisfying rumble.
I stood in the doorway and listened. The worm crooned and warbled quietly to itself. Its song was tuneless and ethereal; it sounded like an expectant banshee-like a distant murmuring chorus . . . like the echo of someone weeping. It was one of those just below the horizon sounds, and it was as ominous as a hot desert wind. I felt uneasy. I felt like an invader just for listening.
But I was transfixed. It was beautiful. I must have moved or made a sound.
Abruptly, the worm stopped its trilling and swiveled its eyes around backward to look at me. They were the size of searchlights. It blinked. Sput-phwut. Then it turned to face me. It yawned. It looked like it had three million teeth. "Grrp?"
"Uh, good morning." I gulped.
"Wrorr?" the worm asked.
"Uh, yeah, I slept okay-thanks for asking."
The worm blinked at me-and blinked again, refocusing its eyes to study me. It was a fat, pink, blimp-shaped creature, with pale stripes of purple and red and pink flickering along its sides. It huffed and it puffed and it made ruminative noises deep within its gut. "Platt!"
"Gee-thanks for sharing." I waved the stench away from my face. My eyes were watering. "Uh, listen, what does a person do about breakfast around here?"
Sput phwut.
"Food? You know, food?"
"Brurrp!" said the worm. It backed away, swiveled, turned and flowed down toward the center of the compound.
I shrugged, swallowed my heart, and followed.
The creature moved with a rustle and swoosh that made me think of an asthmatic elephant carrying a steam engine on its back. I hadn't realized that Chtorrans might have respiratory problems in Earth's atmosphere. Maybe they were biologically suited for a thicker, heavier soup.
Breakfast was a great communal meal served under a spreading canopy of oak trees. There were pink shrouds hanging from the branches; they looked like festive curtains. There were thick strands of blackvine too, just starting to blossom with bright blue flowers. I could smell the rich perfume from here. It was all too gay-in the middle of a war zone, it made me think of the mad tea party.
Adults, bunnydogs--cute ones as well as the bigger skinny-ugly ones--and children, all sat chattering and gobbling together at six huge tables arranged in a broad U-shape under the shrouds. Only small children and bunnydogs sat on the inside of the U, everybody else sat on the outside of the tables. They cheered when they saw us coming; I didn't know if the cheers were for me or for the worm.
The worm flowed off in another direction then, off on some business of its own. Somebody called my name and waved, a baldheaded man with a full beard and a bright red lumberjack shirt. He stood up, grinning and waving, then bounced gladly up the slope to meet me.
"Welcome, Jim. I'm Ray." He grabbed my hand and shook it; he clapped me warmly on the shoulder and guided me down to the table. "Here, we saved a place for you. Loolie wants you to sit by her."
I smiled weakly, nodded to Loolie-the little girl looked ecstatic-and slid sideways onto the end of the bench. Somebody handed me a plate, somebody else handed me a fork and a spoon.
"Would you like to come and see my zoo today?" Loolie asked.
"Your zoo? Uh, sure. If it's all right with . . ." I looked around, "-whoever."
"Oh, it's all right," Loolie said. "I already asked."
"Here," said Ray,"have some of these; and try this; it's Jessie's new recipe!" He raised his voice and called, "Hey, Brownie-" One of the kids came bouncing up to the front of the fable. "-We have a guest here. Let's have some of those hot plates passed around."
"Right." Brownie bounced off. Service was provided by several of the older children and several of the larger, skinny bunnydogs. Loolie called them bunnymen. The children carried in the full platters; the bunnymen carried off the empty ones-often pausing to lick them thoroughly first. Sometimes they had to compete with the dogs, or with three or four pig-like creatures that were snuffling around, looking for garbage. They were a dark reddish-brown color and looked like tapirs-or giant libbits, a sausagey Chtorran rodent.
I filled my plate cautiously. I didn't recognize some of the foods and even the familiar ones looked and tasted different. The bread was pink, and sweeter than I was used to. The jam was almost a fluorescent shade of red and I didn't recognize the flavor. The eggs had an orangey color, but the flavor was rich and full.
A little brown sparrow landed on the edge of the table in front of me. It had something pink and fleshy in its bill, something that looked like a chubby little naked man-it squirmed and peeped. Ray poked me. "The birds love the finger-babies. And f
or some reason, we get a lot of 'em around here." The bird cocked an eye at its surroundings, decided it didn't like the company, then took off again, up and past my shoulder..
Almost immediately, there was a frantic rustling behind me. I turned around and looked upward: the little sparrow was caught and struggling wildly in the folds of one of the velvety pink shrouds. The more it struggled, the more it wrapped itself up tight. A glittering haze of sparkling fairy dust flurried up around it, and then a fat red hairy claw-shaped thing came scuttling down the curtain from above.
The sparrow peeped once and was silent. "You'll see that a lot," said Ray. "We call it evolution in action."
"It's not evolution-" I started to say, "-it's an invasion!"-but shut up quickly instead. No, I wasn't going to argue with these people. Not about anything. I wasn't going to give them the opportunity to . . . explain things to me.
I turned my attention back to my plate, pushed my fork into a gold-colored mash of some kind and took an unenthusiastic bite; it tasted a little bit like mashed potatoes and a little bit like fresh bread, but it was crunchy and it had a warm buttery aftertaste. I studied a forkful; it looked like some kind of grain, but I couldn't be sure.
"We try to use as many new foods as we can," Ray said. He put a bright red tomatoey-looking thing on my plate. "Here, you'll like this."
I took a cautious bite. It was sweet and fruity and tasted almost alcoholic. I looked at Ray, surprised.
"It's Chtorran," he nodded. "And no, it's not alcoholic. Not quite. But it will give you a very pleasant glow."
Brownie returned then, carrying two serving dishes. "Uh, no, thanks." I passed on the fried finger-babies. The other plate was piled high with hot sizzling strips of . . . I didn't recognize the meat. It was redder than I was used to. "What is this?" I asked. "Those pig-things? The big libbits?"
"Try it first," Ray grinned. He forked a couple of strips onto my plate.
"My mother used to say that. What is it?"
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