Casserole Diplomacy and Other Stories

by Diane L Walton et al.

  Thinking the knock must be Sherri, her closest neighbour, who lived in an identical house across the highway, Edna yelled, “What are ye knocking fer—it’s open as always, dearie.” Her hands stayed busy in the sink of hot water and dishes. The aliens knocked again. Edna sighed in love and exasperation, pulling her yellow gloved hands out of the sink, and shook off some of the water. She stepped over to the door and opened it. “Sherri, love, what are ye think . . .”

  Edna stopped talking as she saw three aliens crowded onto the back steps. The aliens stared back at her. Edna was so surprised not to see Sherri, not to see a familiar face on the back steps, that she was less surprised at how unfamiliar her visitors were. Strangers were only visible in the tourist months of July and August. Out of season strangers were fantastic enough that being from another planet was only an extra oddity. And it was obvious they were aliens, with smooth yellow faces—kind of like my gloves flitted quickly through Edna’s mind—and awkward white rain slickers that didn’t seem to fit properly. Edna could just make out muddy white jeans at the bottom of each slicker.

  Edna knew about aliens. She had watched the X-Files once at her daughter Katie’s in Halifax. Sometimes she read the National Enquirer, mostly for the Hollywood gossip, but she skimmed the alien abduction stories. Her heart began to beat a little faster. Perhaps they were here to take her away to the stars. No one would believe her story, that was for sure, a widowed woman living alone outside Maberly, Newfoundland. She was just the type they take. There was that farmer from Nebraska who had been experimented on and now could see rings of light around everything electric, but no one believed him. Edna clutched the doorframe. She looked closely at the aliens, struggling between fear and a quiet kind of thrill. She realized they were each holding a container. The containers looked strangely familiar—like grey metal Tupperware. The aliens gestured at her with the containers. Edna realized they had brought food. Why, they’ve just come to visit. Edna was surprised; she had never read anything in the Enquirer about aliens visiting before abducting people. She relaxed her grip on the doorframe. Even though they were yellow-coloured strangers, it was a dark and chilly night for April and they had come round to the back door like any sensible person.

  Everyone in Maberly knew the front door was for strangers, tourists and government officials, all the come-from-aways who were trying to experience the authentic Newfoundland. The back door was for friends and neighbours, people who lived here and treated each other like human beings—not cardboard images. Since the aliens knocked at the back door, they probably knew someone from around here, or came from a place with back door folks too. Perhaps they were friends of her Stan down in St. John’s. They lived crazy lives in that city, Edna knew, what with the university and the CBC there. The aliens might be odd-looking all right, with rubber glove skin and strange oval eyes, but they knew enough to be back door folks. Now that she was looking at the three of them closely, their expressions seemed hopeful rather than aggressive. They were just coming for a visit, like any neighbour might. With their hands full they couldn’t abduct her too easily. Edna prided herself on her hospitality—the whole town knew Edna wouldn’t turn a sick owl away from her door—and no one was going to say Edna Calhoun didn’t know how to treat aliens well on a cold night like this. She smiled at them and stood back from the door to let them in.

  The aliens crowded quickly into the warm kitchen. Edna realized she’d kept them standing there a few minutes while she thought. She pointed to the table. “Take off your slickers. There are hooks on the back of the door. Sit yourselves down now. I’ll just put the kettle on for some tea.” She peeled off her gloves and walked over to the old gas stove, taking the kettle and filling it under the tap in the rinse sink. “I was finishing the dishes from the day, but I’ll just leave them for now.”

  Edna lit the stove, carefully as always, and put the kettle on the back burner. When she turned around, the biggest alien came towards her and thrust all three metal Tupperwares into her hands. She (at least Edna thought it was a she) had orange eyes, oval and gentle. “Well, thank you kindly,” Edna said. “But I’ll have no one saying Edna Calhoun can’t feed her guests.”

  The aliens looked at her. Edna sighed. She was hoping to only give them tea with some cookies she had made a few days earlier, but the Tupperware tins were large and heavy. They would expect a meal. Edna put the Tupperware on the counter beside the stove and opened the fridge. She could give them the food she’d made for tomorrow. With Jonno gone, Edna no longer had a freezer filled with good food waiting to be eaten. No point when it was just her in the house. Edna only liked cooking for other people. All the pleasure was in seeing other people enjoy her creative labour. But company was company and Edna wasn’t going to behave badly like other folks she could mention. Like Carol Anne Wheeler who had given the Simpsons tea and toast when they had dropped in, coming back for a visit after retiring into St. John’s to live with their daughter. Even with nothing in the house, you could whip up some muffins or Pillsbury cookies as quick as can be. Best thing too, when fresh out of the oven. Toast! Edna snorted to herself. She’d have to get up early and cook something else for the luncheon but she’d make sure these aliens were well fed tonight. Good thing she’d been to town only yesterday and bought her week’s groceries at the Valu-Mart.

  Edna wondered if the aliens could eat regular food. They never came for dinner in the National Enquirer. Edna froze. What if she was the dinner? What if the Tupperware held the condiments? She glanced back at the aliens, who were sitting neatly around the table. They looked somehow oversized for the furniture, even though they weren’t much bigger than Edna, and she was getting round these days. They were chittering quietly to one another, sounding like squirrels with deep voices.

  It made Edna a little uncomfortable, not knowing what they were saying, but she couldn’t believe they were a threat, even with yellow skin, too many teeth and not enough fingers. Not knocking at the back door, not sitting at the kitchen table, calm as can be. They must have come a long way for this visit. Company is company, Mrs. Calhoun, and you just let them be themselves, and give them food and drink to warm their bellies. You don’t have to say much to come-from-aways, even alien ones. Who just want to pry into the life of regular people, as if the ticket for the ferry ride over gave them permission to be nosy like tourists in a zoo.

  The shortest alien came over to Edna as she took dishes and containers out of the fridge. He had a little fringe of wispy, crinkly yellowish hair on his neck and the back of his head. He was a bit tubby and reminded her of George—one of Jonno’s youngest fishing partners. George had loved her codcakes—when there was still cod to make them—he would stand beside her while she fried them up and sniff loudly and ecstatically. “Edna’s codcakes. Boy-o boy-o. What’s better for a hungry man than a plate full of these here codcakes? I could eat nothing but Edna’s codcakes day in and day out and I’d be a happy man!” Edna would scowl and push him away with a threatening spatula. George would jump out of her way, blowing kisses. She would smile and end up laughing as she turned back to the sizzling pan. Edna missed George, gone when the cod was gone, to Cornerbrook, trying to find something to do now that his life on the sea was over. Edna couldn’t help but like the alien George as he chattered excitedly beside her, gesturing at the food and the table.

  “All right,” Edna said. “You can set the table. The cloth lies in the bottom drawer.” She pointed. George the alien followed her finger and opened the drawer, pulling out the top cloth and looking at her. Edna nodded. “Just spread that over the table.” She pointed back to where the other aliens were sitting. George grimaced in what was probably a smile and took the faded but clean orange and white checked cloth back to the table. All three of them examined it quickly and then George smoothed it over the table. He had forgotten about the salt and pepper shakers and the puzzle book, but the big alien pulled them out, making a deeper noise that might have been laughter.

  George came back a
nd stood beside Edna, looking expectant. Edna smiled shyly back as she continued to take the covers off the dishes. “Well, I guess it’d be all right if you were to put the utensils out as well. They’d be there in the top drawer.” She pointed again. George opened the drawer with interest and made the laughing noise. Edna watched as George scooped up a big pile of cutlery. She shook her head with amusement as George took the pile over to the table where the three of them broke out into excited chitterings. The stout one picked up two forks and touched them to his face, peering at it. “No, no, we only need one of each to eat with, and some serving spoons.” She picked up a fork. “One for me.” She pointed at herself. “One for each of you.” The aliens smiled back at her and each one picked up a fork from the pile. “Right,” said Edna, as she gathered up the rest of the forks. She put away the forks and then returned to the table and picked up a knife. Before she could say anything, the aliens dove into the mess of utensils and pulled out knives. The big female one who reminded her of Jonno’s kindly old Auntie Simmons had taken a butter knife. “No, that’s for the margarine—take one like this. Though I suppose we’ll be needing it too.” Edna offered a regular knife in exchange and laid the butter knife off to the side of the pile. George looked at the others and they all looked at Edna. Before she could say “Right,” they all reached for a spoon, checking to see they all had the same size. Edna smiled and put the rest of the utensils back in the drawer.

  Edna finished getting the dishes ready while the aliens chittered over the utensils. She knew they were also sneaking glances at her hands but that didn’t worry her. Even with a touch of arthritis they were still shapely for her age, not like Sherri’s poor hands gnarled like tree roots. The casserole was still slightly warm so she popped it in the oven for a quick reheat. Luckily she had made the cold salads and the dessert earlier in the day, so they were all ready to eat.

  This time the third alien—the middle one—came over to help. He looked more alien, more jaundiced yellow instead of the sunny yellow of the other two. She wasn’t sure, but she thought he might be older. The other two seemed to defer to him. He seemed more excitable, the kind of person who flew into tempers if not humoured properly. He was happy enough right now, and peered at her in a short-sighted kind of way, as if he needs glasses, Edna thought. She took a serving spoon from the jar beside the stove and stuck it into the potato salad, handing him the bowl. Glasses took it delightedly, sniffing with what must be his nose, a protrusion between orange eyes and grimacing mouth, but tilted so far up, Edna could stare right into the two air passages. She turned away, feeling like she was seeing something she shouldn’t. Glasses took the bowl over to the table and came back for the green Jell-O salad and then the red. The lime wobbled with carrots, celery and green pepper. The red was sweeter with peaches and pears and mini marshmallows. Both were moulded into wreaths. Edna herself brought over the teapot and the mugs.

  Edna Calhoun sat down at her kitchen table with the three aliens. Spread out on the orange and white checked cloth were the three salads, the cat and mouse shakers Katie had sent her ages ago, the teapot and mugs, utensils and a butter knife. Edna sighed. “Old age is making me forget me manners. I’ve forgotten half the meal.” She went back to the cupboards and brought out the plates. She went into the pantry and brought out a jar of dill pickles and a loaf of bread. Edna used to make her own dill pickles, never as fine as Ruth’s but with a respectable crunch, but she had let the garden go after the kids had left. The store-bought were tasty and cheap. Not much point into going to all the trouble of pickling for two, she had said to Jonno. No point at all just for herself. Finally she went and got the margarine out of the refrigerator.

  Edna settled back into her vinyl chair. The aliens looked at her, smiling with all those teeth. Edna smiled back. “Well now. I don’t hold with no prayers or anything, so let’s all just help ourselves to this good food.”

  Edna pushed the potato salad towards George, who was sitting on her right. On her left, Auntie Simmons touched her forearm gently. Edna was surprised. Their skin didn’t feel like the rubber yellow glove—more like peach fuzz. Edna looked at Auntie. Auntie turned to Glasses. Glasses, Auntie and George linked their hands and took Edna’s. She liked the feel of their skin—soft and warm like a baby’s. Together, the aliens chittered briefly in sing-song voices as they smiled at each other. Edna smiled too. They sat their quietly, enjoying the moment. To Edna, the room seemed to shrink and expand at the same time, After a couple more moments, they dropped hands and Glasses said awkwardly, speaking for the first time in a voice as textured as his hands, “Thank you.”

  Edna tried not to blush as she said, “You’re welcome.” Her voice came out funny. She felt like she did when Jonno smiled at her when they woke up beside one another in the morning. She stared at the tablecloth as she pushed the potato salad towards George. “Help yourselves.”

  Everyone did. Edna opened the bag of Wonder Bread and offered it around. The aliens were very excited by the plastic bag, with its yellow, red and blue dots and stripes. They gestured for her to repeat its name. Edna said, “Wonder Bread. You get it at Valu-Mart, the grocery store.” The aliens sat for a moment then broke out into the laughing noise. Edna smiled too, although she wasn’t sure just what the joke was. Wonder Bread. How much English did they understand? “I guess it does sound kind of strange.”

  While the aliens were tasting the salads, Edna got up and took the casserole from the oven. It smelt as good as it always did. She should have served it at the same time as the salad, but “better late and hot than early and cold.” That’s what Jonno always said when she started to fret about food being ready to serve at the same time. He said it too, when he’d had a late time fishing and would try and sneak his big burly body into their bed so she wouldn’t wake up and be angry. But she was always awake, wondering if the sea had gotten him, if this was the night, and her anger only covered her relief. Jonno knew that and would only say better late and hot than early and cold as he threw his arm around her so they could laugh together. She’d been lucky in the end, people said, with him dying neat and clean in the living room of a heart attack instead of out there on the cold sea with the fish to find his bones. But she’d have preferred it if the sea had taken him, the sea he loved, rather than sitting at home with the life gone from him. He was dead before he died, she thought bitterly. The damn government took that when they took back his fishing license. No more cod. As if we hadn’t been telling them high muck-a-mucks that for years, and they’d taken no more notice than a child notices a mosquito. Jonno’s heart went out with the tide every time he got a cheque instead of a fishing quota, and it never came back, either.

  Edna shook herself. Thinking about Jonno like that with company here. She didn’t know what got her thinking so sad. At least Jonno had gotten a good forty years on the sea, like his dad and his granddad. It was Stan who’d only gotten to taste it. Poor Stan, lost in the big city, hanging out with all those strange radio people. She brought the tuna melt casserole over to the table and sat back down. Auntie Simmons smiled kindly at her. George looked at the casserole and at Edna’s face and leaped up with a chitter of glee to dash into the kitchen and take a serving spoon from the jar. He stuck it proudly into the casserole. Edna had to laugh. “Thank you, George, guess I was forgetting again. This is a tuna casserole. Won second prize at Bonavista Festival last year.” Edna was very proud of the casserole. Edna had created it herself and hadn’t told anyone her secret ingredients that made it the richest and tastiest around. She’d improved it since the fair, and this year she knew she’d take home the first.

  Edna tried to explain Jell-O to the aliens. They hadn’t asked in so many words, not having said anything in English since Glasses said “thank you,” but simply kept looking at the Jell-O salads then at Edna until she felt she had to say something. Edna wasn’t sure herself how to describe it. She was talking about hot water and many colours when the front doorbell rang. Edna was astonished. “Why, that
hasn’t rung since . . .” Her voice faltered. Since the ambulance came to take away Jonno, she thought. Auntie Simmons and George had funny expressions on their faces. George let out a squeaky chitter as they both turned to Glasses. Glasses made a gesture with one yellow hand and looked directly at Edna. Edna looked into his orange eyes, then at George and Auntie Simmons. She got up heavily from the table. “You just sit tight and keep on eating. Don’t ye worry.”

  Edna had to pull hard to open the front door once she got it unlocked. She tugged it open a few inches and looked out to see two men in suits on the tiny front porch of her bungalow. The older one looked very formal, grey hair slicked smooth on his head, like he’d never been in a head wind his whole life. The younger man, skinny and tall, had very curly brown hair that didn’t know which way to go. He looked excited.

  The older man spoke in a clipped mainlander accent. “Sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Calhoun. We’ve reason to think there is a dangerous offender in the area . . .” He paused briefly. “. . . from St. John’s. We’re just doing a routine check. Have you seen or heard anything out of the ordinary today or tonight.”

  The young one broke in: “In the woods, have you heard any noise or seen strange lights in the woods?” The older man shot him a mean look and Curly subsided.

  Edna stared at them, thinking. Government folks. Suits. At her front door spouting about Danger. Danger. It was obvious they wanted the aliens. Would almost smile if she were to stand aside and motion towards her kitchen. Edna was not a brilliant woman, but she was shrewd. She could see how hungry Curly was for a taste of the aliens. On the verge of the highway, she could make out dark shapes of cars. She could see Sherri’s front light on—they must have a couple of men over there too. The suits must want them bad. Wanted to take them away and act like they know best. The same way they knew best when they resettled all the folks from Kearley’s Harbour, closing down a whole community just because they said so. They never stuck around long enough to see the results either. Her Aunty Gwen moved after her whole life on the water. Within the year in St. John’s she’d gone blind and died. She may have been seventy-one but they were long livers in her family, nearing ninety most of them. Standing just behind her front door, looking at the contained arrogance of the men, Edna was suddenly furious, furious as she’d ever been. Furious in a way she had lost in the tidal wave of grief she’d felt looking at Jonno keeled onto the carpet, gone from her for good. Opening the door wider, Edna drew herself up as stern as her rounded body allowed, solid as a lighthouse. She glared at the men.