Ally Oop Through the Ulysses Trees

by Lenny Everson

  Jag frowned. "Hardly a relationship. Just a casual one-time, er, picnic. At least as far as she's concerned, I think."

  "Jag," Josie said. "With a woman, unless she's getting paid for it, it's a relationship.

  He tilted his head.

  "Trust me. I know. Have you asked her for another date?"

  "Day after tomorrow. In Trenton."

  "Good news. If she weren't serious, she'd be meeting you at the Dixie Lee."

  Jag got up. "You know, a monastery is starting to appeal."

  "Yeah, right. No picnics in a monastery. Here, have another cookie before you leave."

  This time Jag didn't argue.

  ****

  Chapter 5: September 17

  This day is overcast, and windy.

  Button Day (The day that the aliens press the button that starts the re-activation of Professor Nothing, their spaceship)

  Brighton

  Along Popham Bay

  In the end, it was no more complicated than turning on a cell phone, and could have been done quickly if Jack hadn't insisted that some uninvolved human be present.

  "Why?" Jim asked. "We aren't going to be popular afterwards, anyway." He watched the morning sunshine poke through the clouds for a moment and the shadows of the aspen shorten.

  "They should know." Jack tried to whistle a righteous note, but the human anus wasn't up to it, in spite of the quantities of beans he consumed each day. "We'll wait. I imagine she'll be up by nine."

  They waited as the day settled in, hearing cars rumble by on the dirt road; people going to work for a living.

  "I think she's up," Jack said, getting up. "Yes, her kitchen light's on." When she came onto her cottage's small deck, he called over to her, "Laura – have you got a minute? We've got something to ask you."

  "Just a minute!" She used her cell phone to call Jag's work number and leave a message that she was going next door to the Daniels'. Then she got a flask of coffee and found her way through the aspens. "Got any of that bourbon and cilantro?" she asked as she came up the steps to the brightly-lit deck.

  "Right here," Jack said. There was a bottle and some glasses on the table. She poured a bit of the bourbon into her coffee and added a touch of cilantro.

  For a moment, there was silence as they contemplated the morning and a few yellow aspen leaves fell onto the table. "So what can I help you with?" Laura put her feet onto a spare lawn chair. "Oh, wait. I meant to tell you, my cousin Tom's going to move into the cottage for a week or so. He's okay, as long as he's on his meds. If he starts acting strange, let me know."

  "He has problems?"

  "Schizophrenia, of some form. As long as he takes his pills, he's okay."

  "And otherwise?" Jack asked.

  "He'll think you're both space aliens or something." She looked at her empty cup, then at Jim. He nodded and brought out more coffee, so she poured herself another drink. "Good stuff," she said.

  "As long as he doesn't get too uptight about it and try to hunt us down."

  Laura looked puzzled a moment, then said," Oh, yes. You are space aliens. I remember now – I had a lot to drink the other day." She raised her glass. "This stuff a bit stronger than I'm used to, I guess."

  There was a long pause, as Jim brought out some toast and some of Barb's apricot jam. Finally, Jack said. "We'd like to ask you to do a couple of things for us."

  "If I can."

  "The first thing is, well, we'd like you to be a witness when we start the 'spaceship' again."

  "Can I interview you for the book?"

  "Actually, that would probably be a good idea. We're anxious to let humans know we don’t mean them any harm; we're just going home. So, sure."

  "And"

  "We've got a boat. In four days or so, we'd like you to take us out into the bay so we can swim down to the ship."

  "Sure."

  "You seem awfully comfortable with this." Jack said.

  Laura shrugged. "If you're both as crazy as…. Well, I'll get a chapter for my book. If you're really aliens, I'll get the scoop of a lifetime. Can't lose." She put the glass down. "Let's get the start-up done, shall we. What do I do?"

  Jack looked at Jim. Jim looked away. Both reached for a cookie tin on the table, but Jim got there first. He took out what looked like a brown rock the size of a golf ball, and set it on the table. "We can show you how to do it, if you want," he said.

  Laura shook her head. "I'm just the observer. My hands are clean."

  "Okay. Whatever works for you, I guess." Jim and Jack looked at each other for a moment, then Jack carefully pressed some points on the device. The device began flashing slowly, three flashes, then a pause, then a few more. Then it went dark.

  "That's it?" Laura felt around for a piece of bread and the jam jar.

  "Let's see. There! Out in the bay."

  Laura turned her head. The bay was dark blue, with waves, except for one place near the middle. That point was calm, and glowing, changing color from red to yellow and back again. They watched it for a few minutes, until the glowing stopped. In the silence, Laura spoke, "This cilantro drink is quite something. I should name it the bug-eyed monster. Impressive," Laura added. "Impressive. Now I can expect my grandmother's ghost?" She got up.

  "We never really know," Jack said. "Just don't be surprised. Thank you for being here; you have our thanks."

  "And I've still got that boat ride coming in a few days."

  "We have a boat." The brothers stood side by side and watched her walk back to her cottage. Then they turned and watched the lake as the sun got higher.

  ****

  Sparkler Lake

  A Small, Isolated lake north of Peterborough

  Button Day

  The canoe slowed among the dense patch of lily pads, the green leaves and yellow flowers making tiny scraping sounds along the hull. Careful not to tilt the canoe, Tom reached over and lifted up a small eastern painted turtle. It was about the diameter of a hockey puck, dark on its back, and yellow on its underside, with a red and white pattern around the edge of the underside. He set it in the bottom of canoe, where the morning sun was already warming the packsack.

  The turtle eventually stuck its head back out from its shell.

  “Hello, turtle,” Tom said loudly.

  The turtle raised its head towards the man. In a high, tiny voice, it said, clearly, “Fuck you. You have less than one week to live, if you don’t watch out for the man with the green shoes.”

  Tom nodded as if he expected no better, and put the turtle back into the water. He watched as it sank out of sight, then pushed the canoe on. One week. That was news, if you could believe a turtle.

  After, high above the canoe, circling slowly in a clear September sky, a turkey vulture tipped gently.

  Tom had noted the bird an hour before. A raven had circled the boat shortly after, then had landed on the other canoe seat. It had croaked in the way that ravens will, then dropped a bit of raven shit onto the floor of the boat. It had eyed Tom directly, but had not spoken to him in human before flying away. But the eye contact had made the lake shimmer for a moment and a cloud had come out of nowhere to dim the sunlight for a moment.

  Tom sighed; he would be glad to portage out of this backwoods place in the morning and into the real wilderness – the city. He pointed the canoe towards the portage at the far end of the little lake and a space big enough to camp one more night.

  It was a long night, that night; one that Tom could have done without. By ten Tom was sitting beside his little campfire, thinking, and wishing he'd brought a bottle of something warm to drink. He'd taken only cold food, mostly sausage and cheese, and a couple of Pepsis in plastic bottles, so the fire was only for warmth, and maybe to keep the ghosts away.

  It was warm, but it hadn't worked for the ghosts. The ghost of his friend, the writer Paul Gottsen, had walked out of the woods and sat on the ground, looking at Tom. In his crazy days Tom had seen as many sights that this didn't rattle him as much as it wo
uld have an ordinary man.

  "Hi, Paul," Tom had said. "Have a chocolate bar." He'd tossed an Aero at Paul. The ghost hadn't reached for the bar, which had gone right through him.

  "Thought so," Tom had said, and the ghost then vanished. Tom had checked his meds and the container they came in, sorted by day and hour. Yes, he'd been taking them. He took the scheduled set of pills. Then he rolled a cannonball-sized rock over, scooped out a small cavity, and poured his meds, one bottle at a time, into the space. Finally, he rolled the rock back and went to sleep.

  ****

  Toronto

  The home of a member of The Philip Group

  Button Day

  “The September meeting of these five members of the Toronto Parapsychological Society will come to order,” Pag said. It was her house this time, so she had that privilege.

  “What are we doing, again?” Kyle tended to forget things, including the purpose of meetings, especially since his mind was focused on Janet’s anatomy rather than the ghost of a chance he figured he had of exploring her body.

  “Calling up an historical figure,” Hap reminded him. Hap tended to use “an” before “historical," which annoyed Karn no end.

  “Gabriel Dumont, the Métis leader, to be precise” Karn snapped. “We decided on a historical figure.” He watched a cat come into the room and go under the table. “Did you get another cat?’ he asked Pag.

  “Oh, no,” Pag said. “Max was a friend, but he got to be so much trouble before he died that I thought I’d wait a while before getting another.”

  “No cat….” Karn looked under the table. There was no cat there. “Any other white cats around here?”

  Pag looked at him funny. “I tend to see Max out of the corner of my eye, but that’s just imagination, I know.”

  “Sure,” Karn said. “Well, how do we get started?”

  Janet said, looking at Pag, “Do we just get the séance going as usual, with a candle and all?”

  “That’s the plan,” Pag said. She lit a large red candle, put it onto the middle of the table, then turned out the room lights. “Ready?” she asked.

  Everyone agreed they were ready, although Karn kept an eye out for that cat.

  "Shouldn't we put out a chair for this guy to sit on?" Janet asked.

  "We're only expecting raps on the table," Hap said. "If he needs a chair, he can sit over there." He pointed to a more comfortable chair in the corner.

  “Are you sure he won’t break the chair when he shows up?” Kyle asked. He didn’t believe in ghosts but he wanted to impress Janet. He just didn’t know how, and so was rather inept about it.

  Once the five of them were seated around the round table, Pag lit the candle, then remembered to get up and turn the light out. Janet shifted her chair to get closer to Pag when she returned. Her brief fling with Karn hadn’t been all that good, and she was about to try a different form of love. Probably be more convenient, she thought, since her husband would never suspect anything with another woman.

  “Greetings, spirit world,” Pag said. There was silence.

  “We’re supposed to hold hands,” Hap said, reaching for Janet’s hand as Janet reached for Pag’s.

  “Greetings, spirit world,” Pag began again. The table shifted a bit.

  “Who did that?” Kyle asked. “That you, Hap, leaning over for a fart again?” Kyle was nowhere near as funny as he thought he was.

  “If you can hear us, let us know.” It was generally assumed that it would take at least half an hour of badgering the spirit world before they gave up and went to the spirits in Pag’s cupboard, so there was a shocked silence when there came three sharp knocks on the table. In the candlelight, they opened their eyes and looked at each other. “Who did that?” Pag demanded. Everybody shook their heads and raised their arms, hands still clutching their neighbours’ hands.

  “Eyes closed!” Janet sounded annoyed.

  “Spirit world, we would like to call up the presence of the famous Métis leader, Gabriel Dumont, if you don’t mind.” Pag was a polite person.

  There was a quick round of rapping on the table, then the table shook, and the candle went out. “Don’t let go!” Pag wasn’t going to let this end, not while it was in her house. “Grab hands again.” For a moment she thought she felt a hand on her breast, but realized that was unlikely, then she had the hand of Kyle and Janet again. The room was dark, but she closed her eyes again.

  “Gabriel Dumont!” she said.

  “We’re calling you,” Hap added, redundantly.

  “Okay,” said a voice from across the room. “I seem to be here. Now what do you want me to do.”

  Amid the confusion at the table, Kyle lit a match and put it to the candle. Everyone looked at each other, then turned towards the back of the room. There was a bearded man sitting in the chair there. He wore buckskin clothes and a large cowboy hat. He was looking around the room, his eyes narrowed.

  “Gabriel Dumont?” Hap choked a bit on it.

  “Who wants to know.” The man stood up, his face expressionless.

  “Well,” said Kyle, “I for one want to know who hired you. I’m impressed.” He turned to Pag, since this was her home, but she was both pale and speechless. He looked at the four others. “Okay, time to fess up.” He got up and walked to the doorway and turned on the light switch. The room seemed blindingly bright. The two standing men stared at each other. There was no other sound in the room.

  “I’m Hap,” Hap said from his chair. Unlike the others, he was a believer, but he’d been cautious enough to set a small black rubber ball against the closed door before the séance began. It was still there, where he’d put it, so he was pretty sure the door hadn’t been opened. And it was the only door to the room. “We asked the spirit world to call up the ghost of Gabriel Dumont, leader of the Métis in the 1885 rebellion.” He lowered his head and looked over his glasses.

  Dumont shook his head. “Well, you got me, I guess.” There was a vanity table in the room. He walked over and peered into it. “I’m younger than when I died. That’s odd. But nice; I never liked being old.”

  “You speak English,” Janet noted.

  Dumont shook his head. “That too. And it isn’t any less stupid-sounding then when I didn’t speak it. ‘Get off my land, motherfucker!’” He shook his head. “Sounds a lot better in French.” Then he straightened up. “Looks like some of those damned priests might have been right after all. Well, I don’t know where I was, but I’m here now. Hope you didn’t pull me away from heaven.” He smiled a bit.

  “Was that likely?” Janet asked.

  "Not very likely, after following Louis around." He squinted. "Louis Riel – anybody know him?" A couple of people raised their hands, but Dumont went on. "Doesn't matter. Last thing I remember is dying." He surveyed the room. "Well, if this is Hell, it's not as bad as the priests said. If it's Heaven, it's not as good. Must be purgatory. It's a lot better than I expected, so I can't complain." He walked around the room, looking at things.

  "This isn't…. I don't think this is purgatory," Pag said. She seemed suddenly less sure about everything.

  "Well then, where am I?"

  "Toronto." Hap was still trying to figure where the trick was. He looked at the base of the door again; the little black ball was still there.

  "Shit." Dumont strode to the door, opened it, and walked out. The group saw him pause at the dining-room table to stuff his pockets with some of the snacks there, then a moment later they could hear the front door open. Pag pulled back the curtain, and watched him stride down the street, looking around.

  "Cripes," said Kyle. "Never even got to ask him any questions." He turned back to the group. "So," he said, "who hired this dude?" For a moment, nobody said a thing. Then Janet said, "I just saw a cat!"

  ****

  Gosport

  In the boat Serenity, at the marina on Presqu'ile Bay

  Button Day

  "I guess we'd better let the Boss know." Sammy got out the
laptop and entered the security code, then waited for voice contact. He passed the laptop to Lester.

  "Problems?" the old fellow who called himself "John" asked.

  "Lester here. The place seems quiet, but there's a commercial windfarm boat – looks like it's equipped for sonar – at the town dock. And there's at least one Canadian spook here. Guy I knew in Afghanistan."

  "Might be more than one?"

  "Another guy, who was in the same business, who seems to be a local cop now."

  "Think that's deep cover?" the old voice asked.

  Lester shrugged, then realized John couldn't see that. "It would be logical, if you wanted to watch something. A cop can watch things without being questioned."

  "Sounds like the Canucks are concerned about something."

  "There's a woman, who's just rented a cottage facing Popham Bay."

  "Shit. It seems like there's something there, after all."

  "In the bay?" Sammy cut in, finally getting it. "What is it?"

  "If I told you…."

  "Yeah, I know."

  "Is there anything I can do for you?"

  "Other than tell us what we're looking for? Well, is there any way we can get some backup ready? Just in case we need it? And a few pounds of C4?"

  "I'm going to see if I can get a sonar-equipped boat out your way. Might take a day or two. I'll put some help on it. C4?"

  "My training is in demolition and bombs. I could use the practice."

  "I'll get you some Play-Doh."

  "Thanks, anyway. Not that we can't take on the entire Canadian population with our bare hands, but we might need some buddies to brag to."

  "I'll be in contact." The contact was terminated.

  Sammy asked, "Play-Doh?"

  "The US has few friends, especially friends with oil and water. We have a tradition of not using weapons anywhere near the Canadians. Probably better to keep it that way. Too many assholes in Washington in an election year. Might be able to use your martial arts skills." Lester got up to go to the head, muttering, "My prostate calls again."

  Later they took a drive through the hills north and west of town. Sammy wasn't much for scenery, but they got a bag of great chocolate donuts at the Cara Mia Bakery in Warkworth. Sammy had been complaining about Tim Hortons donuts ever since the chain had stopped making them fresh. Sammy, as usual, inspected each one to decide where the first and last bites would be before starting.