What You Wish For

by Mark Edwards

Plus I was starving. I needed breakfast.

  It was bright but chilly outside. I walked past a huge fountain, water running over connected rock cubes. Businessmen strolled between the tower blocks, and an equal number of people dressed casually in colourful outdoor gear.

  I found a diner, went inside and was shown to a table. I was immediately brought a jug of water and a mug of coffee. I searched in my pockets to find the dollars I’d withdrawn at the airport and my cigarettes fell onto the table. I looked at them. When the waitress came to take my order – pancakes and scrambled egg – I handed the cigarettes to her.

  ‘Can you take these and throw them away? I won’t be needing them anymore. I’ve quit.’

  She raised an eyebrow and said, ‘Sure.’

  I ate my breakfast slowly. My coffee cup was refilled three times. By the time I’d finished I felt quite dizzy, on a caffeine and cholesterol high. I could see my reflection in a mirror across the diner. Skinny, unshaven and panda-eyed. I should have gone back to the hotel and smartened myself up. But a part of me that I wasn’t proud of wanted Marie to see what she had done to me.

  ‘Can you tell me how to get to this address?’ I asked the waitress when she brought my bill. She wiped her hands on the front of her pale blue uniform and took the flyer from me.

  ‘Southwest Thirtieth. Uh-huh, that’s in Multnomah County. My folks live pretty close to there. You visiting friends?’

  ‘My girlfriend,’ I said. ‘I haven’t seen her for months, not since she came out here.’

  ‘Cool. That why you quit smoking? Because she doesn’t like it?’

  ‘Something like that.’ I had an urge to tell this friendly stranger the whole, strange story. But I resisted.

  ‘You got a car?’ she asked.

  I shook my head.

  ‘In that case you’ll need to get a bus. Go to Fifth and look for a stop with a yellow rose on it. Get a number one or five. That’ll get you there.’

  A little later I was on the bus. It had started to drizzle, but the city was beautiful: apartments stacked on the slopes of hills, framed by grand, plush pine trees; long, straight roads stretching towards the mountains and the ocean. The people sitting around me were quiet, staring at the rain or reading.

  I had asked the driver to give me a shout when I reached my stop. He did now. ‘Second left past the church there,’ he said as I got off.

  I walked on and turned into an unmade road. Detached houses stood several metres apart from one another. An unlikely place, it seemed, to find an alien-loving cult. But what would be an appropriate setting? Some tower perched on a hilltop, surrounded by high fences, a landing pad in the garden?

  I walked up the road, squinting at the numbers on the fronts of the houses. There was nobody around, just a couple of crows and some thick-tailed cats.

  I found the place I was looking for. It was one of the smaller houses on the street, a single-storey, white timber house. There was a red sports car parked out front, beside a neat little lawn.

  I stood on the path and gathered myself. I had my story worked out – had thought about little else on the plane. I walked up the path and knocked on the door.

  My heart felt like it was made of lead I looked through the screen door at a tidy living room: blue sofa, pamphlets piled on coffee tables, a scattering of floor cushions. A girl came out of a back room and opened the door.

  She had long, pale red hair. She was small and pretty. For a split second – the briefest flicker of time – I thought she was Marie, and my heart jolted.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  I realised I was staring and mumbled an apology. I showed her the now-crumpled flyer that I’d taken from Andrew’s flat. She looked at it and beamed in recognition.

  ‘I’ve come to join,’ I said.

  Half an hour later I was sitting on the sofa, sipping a chamomile and honey tea, which I pretended to find refreshing. The girl, whose name was Zara, knelt on a floor cushion at my feet. She looked so much like Marie, it was eerie. Only her eyes were different. They were dark grey, almost charcoal, and she stared intensely, never breaking eye contact.

  Her voice was a semi-stoned drawl. ‘I’m so happy you came, Richard. All the way from England! That’s awesome.’

  I gulped tea. ‘Is there no one else from England among you?’

  She chewed her lip and thought about it. She had an attractive gap between her two front teeth. Again, like Marie. ‘Hmm, one or two, I think. I find it hard to keep track. There are a ton of us now. Like, thirty at the Oregon Embassy alone.’

  This house, it transpired, served as a ‘gateway’ for people who wanted to join the group. They called themselves the Loved Ones. Zara lived here and vetted people who wanted to join, to make sure they were genuine and ‘worthy’.

  ‘How can you tell?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s, like, a gift I have,’ she replied, smiling proudly.

  The other Loved Ones – or this chapter, anyway – were based in a large house on the Oregon coast.

  ‘It’s the coolest place,’ Zara told me. ‘And we’ll be heading out there soon.’ She looked towards the window and I couldn’t help but follow her gaze. ‘The time’s so close now, Richard. They’ll be coming for us. It’s going to be beautiful.’ Her voice dropped. ‘So much love.’

  I nodded. ‘I can’t wait. You know, this is all I’ve ever wanted. Since my first contact.’

  She stared and listened as I spun her a tale about a teenage abduction, stringing together bits of stories I had heard from Marie. Zara gasped and cooed, playing with a locket that hung on a silver chain around her neck.

  ‘And did you feel it?’ she asked. ‘The love, radiating from them?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ If my intent wasn’t so serious, I would have found it impossible to keep a straight face. ‘That’s what I want to feel again. The love.’

  I was disappointed that Marie was not here in this house, but she had to be at the house or coast. Maybe Cherry was there too, and Samantha. Zara, it seemed, was already convinced I was genuine so we would soon be on our way. I was desperate to get going.

  ‘What about you?’ I asked, trying to stay cool. ‘Have you made contact?’

  She nodded solemnly then spoke like she was reciting a passage she’d memorised. ‘They come to me at night when I’m in bed. I feel a great warmth enveloping me, like breath on my skin, like I’m being wrapped in a blanket of soft air. The feeling goes right through me, starts at my toes, up through my middle, across my breasts and neck, and ends on my lips. I see them around me, shimmering figures. I feel them caressing my soul. It’s so beautiful, Richard. The best feeling.’

  She looked directly into my eyes. ‘Like the most blissful orgasm you’ve ever had, times one thousand.’

  ‘Oh.’ I swallowed.

  ‘We’re going to feel that ecstasy forever,’ Zara said, ‘when they come for us.’

  She started to sway, her eyes closed, legs crossed, her hands resting lightly on her knees. A sigh came from her throat. I stared at her, wondering what she’d been smoking before I arrived.

  ‘Zara, when . . .’

  A key scratched in the door and it banged open. I jumped to my feet.

  A tall, bearded guy in a white T-shirt with the words THEY LOVE US on it entered the house, carrying a brown paper bag full of groceries. He looked at me quizzically and blinked behind thick glasses. ‘Hello?’ he said.

  Zara stopped sighing and jumped up, bounding across the room. ‘Rick,’ she said, ‘this is Richard. Hey, Rick and Richard, that’s funny . . .’

  Rick nodded at me, frowning.

  ‘Richard’s come from England. Isn’t that extreme?’

  ‘Very,’ said Rick. He stuck out his hand. I shook it. ‘I’m Rick. From Seattle.’

  ‘Rick joined us last week,’ Zara said. ‘He’s coming out to the Embassy with me too, so we can all go together. Isn’t that cool?’

  ‘Very,’ said Rick.

  He stalked off to the back of the house, taking h
is bag of groceries with him.

  Zara said, ‘Rick’s not the most talkative guy in the world. But he makes the best soup.’

  That evening, Rick proved his culinary skills, producing an incredible meal from the cramped kitchen: lentil soup, crusty bread, a vegetarian chili that burned my mouth but tasted sublime. Suddenly, food made sense to me again. We ate the chili with beer and lots of water. Zara moaned and groaned with pleasure and then, as I held my swollen belly, she told me more about the group. I couldn’t ask too many questions because I had to act like I knew a lot about them already. While Zara spoke, Rick sat and munched tortilla chips, staring at the table.

  ‘We’ve grown so much since the beginning,’ Zara said. ‘Since Lisa and Jay and I first met, which was, like, seven years ago now, we’ve spread the news all over the world. Jay’s at the Embassy on the East Coast now, with about fifty pilgrims, down in Florida. That’s the biggest at the moment, though the one in San Diego’s pretty big too. That’s where Lisa’s based. She was the first to come into contact with the visitors, back when we were in high school.’

  ‘Did you grow up around here?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Lisa’s amazing. One of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. I guess you could say she’s a kind of guru to me. To all of us.’

  ‘Is she your leader?’ I asked. I imagined a bunch of E.T.s landing and saying, ‘Take us to your leader.’ I tried to suppress a giggle.

  ‘We don’t have a leader, but she guides us. I can’t wait for you guys to meet her. She’s, well, she’s just a unique and beautiful person.’

  ‘I’m worried,’ I said. ‘What if she doesn’t like me? What if she thinks I’m not worthy?’

  Zara laughed and touched my arm. ‘Hey, don’t worry. If I say you’re OK, Lisa will like you too. And Richard, we’re all worthy. It’s just a matter of pushing yourself forward, of being brave enough to make that leap. We’re going to be undertaking a great journey. We’re the Earth’s ambassadors, setting out to discover a new world. We’re like the Pilgrims, setting sail on the Mayflower.’

  I played with a stray piece of rice that had stuck to the table. ‘And you say there are other English people at the house on the coast?’

  ‘Yes. I wish I could remember their names.’

  ‘Male or female?’ I asked, trying to hide my eagerness to know. I was sure Rick was looking at me suspiciously. Did he suspect that I wasn’t genuine?

  Zara rocked her head from side to side, as if the motion might free her thoughts.

  ‘Female, I think. Maybe one guy, one girl.’

  It had to be Marie. It had to be. I wanted to go to the coast now. I could feel all the seconds and minutes and hours we’d been apart weighing down on me, and suddenly they were too heavy to hold. I wanted to end the separation now. I suppose that’s how Zara and her fellow Loved Ones felt about the aliens. They felt lovesick. They wanted to be reunited with the object of their affection, the beings that made them glow, that brought happiness and pleasure to their lives. They wanted to be held and caressed and soothed, shown new things, feel that rush of love and life that only that connection can bring. I found myself empathising with them. For the first time, I think I understood how they felt.

  I looked around me, at the expensive house, filled with tasteful furniture, the sports car parked in the drive. ‘What do you do for a living?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m a psychic therapist,’ Zara said. ‘People pay me to look into their minds, to ease their pain.’

  ‘And it pays well?’

  ‘I make a good living, yes.’

  ‘What about the people who join you? Do I need to pay you?’

  She squeezed my hand. ‘It’s your choice, Richard. Many of the pilgrims who join us make donations. Some of them are very generous, signing over their property. But none of us will need money after we make contact with the Chorus.’

  ‘But should . . .?’

  ‘Let’s stop. It’s not cool to talk about money.’

  I sat back. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Hey, don’t worry.’ Her smile returned, warm and flirtatious. ‘I’ll forgive you. If—’

  Rick suddenly announced, ‘I’m going to bed.’ He hurried through the kitchen into his bedroom like something had frightened him.

  Zara shifted her chair closer to mine and put her hand on my knee. She leaned into me. Her breath smelled of chili and beer. ‘I can read your thoughts,’ she said.

  I was quite drunk and, even though I fought it, she was turning me on. I was enjoying the flirtation.

  I said, ‘And what am I thinking?’

  Her eyes were piercing. Her hand crept up my thigh. ‘You’re thinking I remind you of someone. Someone you love. Someone you’ve lost.’

  I stood up sharply, banging my head on the low-hanging light fixture. I swore and rubbed my crown. It was the way she said it – someone you’ve lost. What was I doing, allowing this woman to come on to me?

  Zara was looking at me with concern. ‘Have I said something? Richard, I can sense your pain. Like a small animal . . .’

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ I said.

  Before I could move, Zara took me by the shoulders and pulled my face towards hers, her cheek lightly against mine. It felt very soft. She whispered, ‘I can be the balm that soothes you, sweet Richard.’

  ‘I need to go to bed. To sleep,’ I added quickly.

  She held my face in her hands. It felt like her fingers were drawing tears from my eyes; the tears slid warmly down my cheeks. There was such tenderness in her eyes, and she looked so much like Marie, the temptation to give in, to let her take me to bed, was almost overwhelming. But I couldn’t do it. I was so close to finding Marie now. How could I be unfaithful to her?

  ‘Sleep,’ I said again, and Zara paused, then nodded. She led me to a bedroom and I lay down on a soft mattress on the floor. She kissed the tears on my cheek and left the room, leaving me to sleep, to spend my second night under an American sky.

  18

  Briefly, a gap opened in the clouds, allowing sunlight to squeeze through; then the clouds closed again, and down came the rain.

  Zara turned the key in the ignition and waved goodbye to her little house. This might be the last time she saw it, she said, if everything went according to plan. Consequently, a melancholy note resounded in the air, floating between the fine raindrops, a note of farewell. Zara had spent her life in this city, and although she had spent most of that life longing to be somewhere else – namely outer space – it was still hard for her to say goodbye.

  Whereas I was impatient to get moving.

  ‘Goodbye, house,’ Zara whispered as she reversed the red MX-5 out of the drive. In the tiny back seat, Rick had folded his lanky body into an uncomfortable zigzag and closed his eyes. He had been up all night meditating, he said. More like masturbating, I almost said, but held my tongue. I had seen the way he looked at Zara. He definitely wouldn’t have turned her down.

  ‘How long will it take to reach the Embassy?’ I asked.

  ‘About three hours,’ she said in a sad tone.

  She gave me a moist-eyed smile, and then off we went.

  In a way, Zara’s personal sadness was a relief. Since I had shed tears on my first night in the house, all I had got from her were little sympathetic smiles, which were starting to irritate me. I kept asking when we were going to set out, and she would shrug vaguely. Then last night, over another of Rick’s marvellous meals, Zara announced that tomorrow would be the day we headed out to the coast, to the Embassy.

  ‘Lisa contacted me earlier,’ she said.

  ‘What, telepathically?’

  She looked taken aback. ‘By phone, silly.’

  ‘Oh.’

  I hadn’t seen much of Portland. During my few days at the house I slept a lot. I thought about Marie. One day I went out and walked along the highway and took some pictures with my phone, wishing I’d brought my camera. Crows flapping around outside Starbucks; a rain-soaked Stars and Stripes on a pole outside a din
er; a blue jay perched on a mailbox. In parts, Oregon looked just like England. Then you would turn around and it would look completely alien. Maybe Marie and I could spend some time exploring after I found her. A holiday in which to rediscover each other. We certainly needed some time together. Time to heal.

  ‘Is there no way you can find out the names of the people at the Embassy?’ I had asked Zara.

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘It’s just . . . a friend of mine told me she might come out here. I’m hoping she’s there.’

  ‘A girlfriend?’ I could tell from her face that she now believed she knew why I hadn’t jumped into her bed.

  ‘A friend,’ I said. ‘Someone else who loves the visitors.’

  ‘And they love us,’ Zara said, reaching out and stroking my cheek.

  Now, the open road led to the sea. Windscreen wipers swept back and forth through the somnolent rhythm of the rain. I watched the passing country: Taco Bell, McDonalds, Plaid Pantry, Costco. Zara and Rick were silent. Soft rock played on the radio. My mouth felt dry and I kept looking at my watch. In just under three hours I would see Marie. I had so many questions, but I made a silent vow not to start grilling her immediately. By this point, I was simply desperate to know she was safe. I just wanted to see her. To put my arms around her.

  What if she doesn’t want to see you? What if she turns away from you, tells you to go home? Paranoid voices whispered in my inner ear. I tuned them out.

  ‘Do you want to stop for lunch?’ Zara asked.

  ‘I’ve got to go to the restroom,’ Rick said. I went with him while Zara ordered the food. Standing at the urinal, Rick turned to me and said, ‘You’re not a believer.’

  ‘What?’ I said.

  He zipped up and faced me. I felt vulnerable with my penis hanging out so I zipped up too, even though I hadn’t been yet. Rick said, ‘I don’t trust you. I want to know who you are really. A reporter?’

  I tried to look shocked and indignant. ‘No I am fucking not! I came here from England because I want to be one of the chosen ones. I want to be . . . reunited with the visitors.’

  A trucker came out of the cubicle behind us, chuckling quietly.