by J. M. Frey
Gwen removes her shoes at a more sedate pace. “Why are you standing like that?” she asks, and the question is not spoken with the anger face or tone. She has the “curious” tone, her head cocked to the side in a way that indicates interest.
“Your cat,” Kalp says. “I must stroke it before I enter your dwelling, must I not?”
Gwen smiles, one of those large, genuine flashes of small flat teeth that Kalp is beginning to associate with real pleasure, and laughs. Kalp straightens and tries to lean into the rippling sound without looking desperate for its touch.
Kalp loves Gwen’s laugh. It is so good.
“We don’t have a cat,” Gwen says. “And you don’t have to say ‘honey, I’m home’ every time you walk in the front door, either. That’s another of those television stereotypes.”
Kalp had learned about television stereotypes today while watching “Diff’rent Strokes” in the canteen at the Institute.
There is muted banging from upstairs, and by the vibrations that skitter down the walls and waft from the open air above the staircase, it feels as if Basil is pushing around furniture.
Kalp turns to head up the stairs, curious, but Gwen catches his elbow and leads him instead back to the front step. Together they move the trunk into the hallway beyond the entry, leaving it at the foot of the stairs where it will be easily accessible but not impede progress. Once that is finished, she walks him through a door with a rounded top, into the kitchen. Kalp pauses just outside it, staring at the photograph of Basil and Gwen standing before some large round mechanical contraption that has been built beside a wide river. Beyond the river, through the spindles of the wheel, is a stately building.
“What is this?” Kalp asks, tapping the glass that protects the photograph. “This machine.”
“Hm?” Gwen pops her head back around the corner to see what he is referring to. “Oh, that’s the Eye of London. It’s a Ferris wheel. You, uh, see these pods? You pay for a ticket and you can go up and around and come back down.”
“And what is the purpose of a Ferris wheel?”
Gwen shrugs. “For fun. To look. I like getting up in the sky, as close to the clouds as possible. Basil does it because he likes to look at the city all laid out like toys. He likes the shapes of the buildings and streets.”
“When may I utilize the Eye of London?” Kalp asks. He is filled with hope that Gwen will say tonight, but knows it is a juvenile desire. They all have one more work day before the week-end, the two day rest holiday, and therefore they must be responsible and stay inside the domicile today and take appropriate rest.
Gwen considers his question. “How about we go into London on Saturday? Go up in the Eye, take you shopping, get ‘proper fish and chips’ for Basil?”
Saturday is not today. Today is Thursday. But Kalp keeps the disappointment hidden. He is lucky enough to be going at all, and he cheers himself with the thought that the anticipation will just make it more enjoyable.
However, Kalp is unsure why he would need to go shopping — the Institute has provided him with food and clothing to this point, and Gwen and Basil have now provided shelter. He has very little currency accumulated from the last few days of work, and he has yet to receive his pay packet. Even if Kalp felt that he required something, he has no tender with which to purchase it.
He would very much like to ride the Ferris wheel, however, so he does not object.
Gwen returns to the kitchen and this time Kalp follows her all the way into the narrow, bright room. Late afternoon sunlight is entering through the large window above the washing station, a soothing happy wave of sleepy vibrations.
She retrieves a small glass vessel from a cabinet and fills it with cold water from the faucet. She passes it over to him, and then pours another for herself.
“This is the kitchen,” she says. “Everything in it is fair game. That means you can eat whatever food you find, however you’d like to eat it, at any time. Do you understand? No starving under my roof.”
Kalp smiles. He finds the more he does it, the easier and more instinctual it becomes.
“Basil and I usually have coffee and tea in the morning. We’ll make enough for you too, if you indicate that you want it. There’s bagels and fruit, yogurt, eggs…whatever you want in the morning before we leave, have. We exit the house at eight o’clock sharp — it’s our only morning rule. We can’t be late.”
“I understand,” Kalp says, with the affirmative head bob. “There are many people who are eager to replace you should you prove to fail in your duties, so you must instead prove dependable.”
Gwen blinks once, and she seems to be surprised that Kalp understands the situation that thoroughly. “Uh, yeah,” she agrees.
“I will not be late,” Kalp promises. “I do not wish to see you replaced. I am too fond of your company.”
There. He’s admitted it.
It is thrilling.
Gwen’s response is a soft, tender smile. “We’re fond of you too, Kalp.”
He considers trying to kiss her now, and hesitates because he is not sure how quickly humans move to physical intimacy after such declarations. He has never done it before, is not sure how to start. Before he can work up the gumption, the banging upstairs stops. Gwen sets aside her empty glass and brushes past Kalp towards the stairs. Kalp lingers in the kitchen for a moment, enjoying the fading sensation of her hot skin against his bare arm, and then sets down his own glass vessel and follows.
They cross a room that has a table and four chairs — why four? There are only two residents of the domicile; perhaps in anticipation of offspring? — and then another room that has a long animal hide sofa facing a ridiculously large television mounted on the wall, a fireplace to the right of it and glass doors that open into a small, walled garden to the left. Yet all the furniture belongs together, like a pack of ill-matched but nonetheless companionable friends. Kalp is fascinated by the fireplace. He has seen them on television, but like the car, never experienced it first hand. He thinks he’d like to try roasting marshmallows. On the same wall as the fireplace are the stairs, and Gwen is already halfway up them.
Kalp follows at a slower pace, placing his toes carefully on the narrow steps. They are just large enough for a human foot, clearly not designed for one shaped like his own. He will need to remember to go slowly every time. It would be embarrassing to tumble down them. Perhaps even dangerous.
At the head of the stairs there are four doors, two on the left and two on the right. From the feel of the water standing in the pipes, it appears as if the bathing room and commode are on the far right, above the kitchen. The door on the far left is closed, but from the strength of the combined scents of Basil and Gwen, he guesses that particular room is their own sleeping chamber.
Kalp does not know what is closest on the right — that door too is closed — but he makes a wager with himself that it is a linen closet. The door to the left directly beside him is also closed, but he can hear Gwen and Basil inside, so he pushes it open.
The bed frame has been disassembled and stacked in a temporary fashion against the wall. One of the mattresses is on the floor, and the other, the firmest one with many springs, is on its side against the wall beside the frame. The horizontal mattress is piled with every pillow that Basil must have been able to find, and every blanket as well. Kalp now also makes a wager with himself that the linen closet is empty. There is a small low table beside the makeshift nest with a tiny, vibrating light whose wattage does not make Kalp wince, and a chest of drawers, and an empty place just the right size for his trunk.
Kalp has no words.
Their easy generosity has already shocked him to the core several times over, but this, this is far more than Kalp had ever expected from anyone who are not his Aglunates.
He shuffles forward across the soft carpet that muffles the sounds from the wires under the floor, and wraps his arms around both of them, across their shoulders, and squeezes carefully. He knows it i
s called a “hug.” He likes this too, the feeling of their arms around him, their hot hands against his sore back, their heartbeats a syncopated rhythm against his ears.
“Cheers,” he says, because he cannot think of anything that will express his gratitude better.
***
Kalp must still share the bathing room, but now it is only with two instead of thirty. It is a luxury he never expected to have again, especially when Gwen introduces him to the wondrous joy of bubble baths.
To be wholly surrounded by water, the noisy world quieted, the only sound his own breathing…It is miraculous. He has to be careful not to drop into his unconscious phase while in the soothing hot bath, or he could drown. But Gwen showed him a trick with the inflatable bath pillow, so he is not too concerned.
The domicile that Gwen and Basil share is squeezed into a row of identical looking houses on a street. Kalp is glad for the numbers on the outside by the doors, or he would not know which house to enter, and it would be unpleasant to accidentally startle a neighbour by mistake. The walls are thick and solid, so he can barely feel the movements of the humans who live next door. Only when they walk or talk especially loud do their vibrations carry through, or if they’re standing right next to the adjoining wall.
The domicile itself is much more active than Kalp expected — water sloshes through the dish-washer in the kitchen and through the laundry machine in the basement. Both chug in a surprisingly harmonious rhythm so it is not irritating. There is electricity in the walls here, too, but not as much as in the Institute or the Sleeping Place, so it too is quieter. But there are microwaves and coffee makers, digital clocks, computers, video game systems, and the car, and each of them has their distinct sound and feel. It is overwhelming now, and Kalp hopes that it will soon dull itself down to background noise when he becomes used to it.
Downstairs, Gwen and Basil are talking. Kalp’s ears are still out of the water, so he can hear the soft murmur of their voices, but he cannot make out the words. He is content to let the cadence of their speech and heartbeats wash over him, ripple along the surface of his ears, the exposed top of his skull. They are comforting.
They sound like home.
Kalp can smell something too — there’s a rhythmic chop chop coming from the kitchen and Kalp assumes this combined with the appealing scent means somebody is preparing a meal. According to television, stereotypically it ought to be Gwen, but Basil confirmed that they share the domestic chores more evenly than is tradition. They clean together, and make domicile repairs together. Kalp will be expected to help, and he is pleased to. He’s eager to try the vacuum.
Kalp also longs to make the dishes that he used to enjoy on his planet. He does not think that he will be able to get all the right ingredients, but he suspects improvisation will not be too difficult. He will make enough for all three of them, and will hope that Gwen and Basil like it. Kalp enjoys Earth food too, of course, and he has not had a complaint about it yet, but it is not the same.
Kalp stays in the bath long enough for the water to cool. It is not uncomfortable, but he feels he has relaxed enough. The bath has achieved its purpose, and the tight knots of muscle that were making his back ache so ferociously have melted away. He exits the bathtub carefully so as not to puddle water on the tile floor, and pulls out the drain plug. The towel they have left for him is warm and thick and fuzzy. It feels very nice against his damp skin, much better than the thin serviceable towels provided at the Sleeping Place.
Kalp hopes that the others of his people find such caring co-workers to move in with as well. There had been talk of transferring from the Sleeping Place to houses and apartments scattered across cities, as soon as everyone has accumulated enough currency to purchase or rent them. It will take a long time for everyone to earn enough money, however. Kalp is acutely aware of how lucky he is.
He dresses in fresh clothing and leaves the damp towel on the rack in the bathing room to dry, and pads slowly down the narrow stairs. When he reaches the bottom, he sees that the table has been laid out with eating utensils, and that one of the four matching chairs has been altered. The chair is now shorter — someone has sawed off several centimetres of the legs. Kalp’s knees will be tucked up awkwardly, but this means that he will be at the appropriate height for the table. A small hand saw is now resting on the mantel of the fireplace and the spindly bottoms of the chair are waiting to be put to another use in the dented copper bin beside the hearth.
Again, he is touched by the simple gestures of thoughtfulness that these humans display. He is even more determined to be the creator of tomorrow night’s meal as a way of expressing his gratitude. He will broach the topic of purchasing suitable food items tonight during the repast.
***
The next morning they are summoned immediately upon entering the Institute to the office of “the boss.”
Word has gotten around about Basil and Gwen’s “stunt”; not all the Specialists are pleased that they have absconded Kalp from the Sleeping Place. Conversely, some are thrilled. Kalp is called before a panel of Specialists and explains very ardently that he is very happy to live with Gwen and Basil. He also explains that there is nothing in particular that is wrong with the Sleeping place (Gwen cuts in and sharply describes the torment of the cots), only that it was not very home-like.
The three of them are verbally reprimanded for failing to follow proper channels of hierarchy and for a moment, Kalp is terrified that they will all have their employment terminated. Instead the very dark, very elderly human in charge of the panel sucks on his moustache and shakes his head a little and says, “All right then. Have fun. Now shove off, I have six more hearings today and I want to go up to my cottage before the sunset. Ta.”
Either in celebration or to avoid any further confrontations with co-workers while the topic is still in debate, the three of them depart the Institute at the lunch hour and inform the receptionist in the lobby of their intention to not return to work again until the following Monday. They stop at a small store that specializes in frothy coffee confections and pre-packaged sandwiches and take them across the street to a green space.
They sit on the grass. Kalp enjoys the tickle of the verdant foliage against his bare feet and the sunlight on his face. Basil grumbles and applies a thick protective cream to his pale skin to avoid sun damage. He offers it to Gwen and she politely declines. Basil tackles Gwen to the ground playfully, wrestling her until he has her pinned beneath his strong thighs, her hands trapped against her legs, and slathers her face with the cream against her half-hearted protests.
He offers some to Kalp, but Kalp’s fur is protection enough and he does not relish the thought of how oily the cream looks. He half hopes Basil will tackle him, too, but is not disappointed when Basil does not. Thus far, there seems to be no indication that the humans are aware of his physical regard.
They drink their cold coffee and eat their cold sandwiches. Kalp discovers that he does not like lettuce, and picks it out of the melange between the bread. This does not offend Gwen or Basil — they explain that many humans have food preferences as well, and so disliking lettuce, while perhaps rare, is not unheard of. Kalp is relieved. He worries less and less everyday about offending his teammates, but he still worries all the same.
There are many birds in the park, and several of them very bold. Basil rips a piece of his bread off the top of his sandwich and tosses it at his feet. Immediately the birds swarm, cooing and flapping, and Kalp is amazed at the tussle that goes on for a single scrap of bread. He eats most of his own sandwich but retains a portion to feed to the pigeons.
There are also several human mothers or fathers nearby with their offspring. Catching sight of the first, Kalp is unable to breathe for a moment. A child. He aches, deep down, remembering how strongly he and his Aglunates had been hoping for one of their own. It hurts to see this perfect little being, so far away from his ruined planet, safe and happy and completely unaware of the horrors that had happen
ed a galaxy away. This child must be very young. Perhaps it had not even taken its first breath when Kalp’s Aglunates had taken their last.
His eyes burn in sorrow and Kalp turns away, covering them.
“Kalp?” Gwen asks, and her voice is soft and filled with concern. Kalp forces himself to look up, to fake a smile, but she can see that it is fake.
“The child,” he says. “I…it hurts me.”
Basil frowns. He balls up the empty wrapper of his sandwich and keeps pressing at it with his fingers nervously. “Hurts you how?”
“You would say…’my heart breaks.’”
Gwen sucks in a little gasp of breath and her eyes become wet again. “Oh my God, Kalp — we never asked. I feel like such a heel. Did you lose anyone? Stupid, obviously you did, I just meant…I mean, we didn’t ask.”
To lose is an euphemism for die.
Kalp shakes his head. “My parents. Maru and Trus…my Aglunates. We were merely hoping for a child.”
Gwen snakes out a hand and wraps it around Kalp’s. He notes with strange detachment that he no longer recoils from the feel of the secretions of her skin and the almost invisible swirl of wrinkles on the tips. He only takes pleasure in the warmth and intent of her touch.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly.
Kalp knows that this is not an Apology. Kalp has heard these words uttered in this way many times since coming to Earth. They are an expression of condolence. Basil pats his arm on the other side, and it feels good to be between them, to feel the warmth of their skin, the patter of their hearts, and know that he is protected and is precious.
Kalp looks back up at the child. Kalp cannot tell if it is male or female — it is clothed in the generic denim pants and tee-shirt that all humans seem to wear. It is so small it cannot propel itself and requires its mother to hold onto its hands to remain upright.
The mother is staring at him, eyes wide. Kalp supposes she has never seen one of his people in the flesh before. She does not look scared, but she seems wary. The child is oblivious, pointing and trilling at the antics of the pigeons.
