by J. M. Frey
For several weeks, they work this way. Kalp makes dinner on Fridays and they go sightseeing on Saturdays, and in between they work and clean the house, eat and do the dishes, sleep and, in the case of Gwen and Basil, have intercourse. Sometimes Kalp watches television all day Sunday, and sometimes he plays video games with Basil. Sometimes Gwen lets him help her paint her toenails, and one memorable occasion, they paint his.
On the news, there are reports of large gatherings of people who object to Kalp’s kind interacting with the humans. Gwen calls it “stuff and nonsense” and Basil calls it “tosh,” but Kalp notices that on the days that these people are out in the major cities, including London, the three of them stay in and play board games. One night, Kalp accompanies Basil only to a sports themed pub and Basil’s friends, all male, challenge Kalp to a game of billiards. Kalp is an engineer, is familiar with force and angle and trajectory, and he repays the men for all the money he has won in their wager by buying them Strawberry Daiquiris, his favoured alcoholic beverage.
The first week of the month of October is far more chilly than Kalp expects. He has been warned that the tilt of the Earth’s axis renders the seasons extreme on the poles away from the equator, but the temperature never varied as hugely on his world as it does here, so he assumed Basil was using hyperbole in his descriptions again. Now he is not so sure.
Once more, Kalp marvels that these fragile humans have survived long enough to become the dominant species on this planet, when they must struggle against such a varied climate and yet never evolved any particular physical traits in order to help fend off cold beyond the useful opposable thumb. There also seems to be very little in the way of physical traits that differentiate between cold-climate dwellers and warm-climate dwellers — as one travels further north the humans become squatter, rounder in order retain more body heat, and grow more and more colourless. Beyond that, they are exactly the same as their southerly neighbours.
On the crisp mornings, Kalp crawls reluctantly out of his nest, thinking that perhaps he will have to “suck it up” as Gwen puts it, and begin to wear socks and shoes just for the sake of keeping the chill off. He is reaching for a sweater when he hears an ugly, retching sound coming from the bathroom.
This is the fourth morning in a row that Gwen has been ill, and Kalp has already expressed his concern. She has refused to attend a medic, so there is little Kalp can do. He merely walks into the bathroom as she flushes the commode, and fetches a glass of water from the tap for her, as he has done every day since the first morning.
“Cheers,” she says, and swishes her mouth out, and spits into the sink. Kalp takes the empty glass from her hand and sets it on the counter. She reaches up and clutches his fingers. “Don’t tell Basil,” she begs. “Let me figure this out first.”
Kalp agrees to keep her secret, though he cannot understand why she wants him to. Basil must surely know that she is ill. If he does not, then he should be informed as he is sleeping next to Gwen and would be the next to catch the virus. She must see a doctor.
Kalp knows it is irrational, of course, but as much as he thinks that Gwen is foolish for not seeking medical attention, he cannot help the tight grip of fear and remembered agony at the thought of Trus, alone, in a medical office. Without him.
It is ridiculous — there is no danger to Earth approaching on the horizon, but then, Kalp thought there was no danger in letting Trus go to the clinic alone on that day.
Gwen sits on the edge of the tub and puts her head in her hands and cries, and Kalp, though he does not want to catch the sickness, does want to comfort her. He weighs the risk and considers it worth it. Besides, if he catches the illness too, then at least Gwen would not be at the doctor’s clinic alone, and that thought motivates him to lift his arms. He wraps her in his embrace. She leaks hot water onto his neck and that seems to make her feel better, at least, so he does not mind that he is going to have to change his shirt when they are done.
Over the next few days, Kalp dutifully says nothing about the illness, even though it persists. Neither he nor Basil, thankfully, seem to have caught it, though. In an effort to lighten the damp mood in the house caused by Gwen’s exhaustion and Kalp’s worry, Kalp suggests that they obtain a pet. It would be amusing, he explains, to add another being to the mix, and he has not yet had the opportunity to experience a domesticated animal personally.
Gwen smiles ruefully at his description about adding another, and rubs her stomach.
In the end they agree and leave Kalp with an entire zoology encyclopaedia, pulled dusty and forgotten from the back of some tall shelf, to choose from.
It is Gwen who is surprised that Kalp wants chickens. Basil seems to think there is nothing strange about it at all. Kalp likes birds, but he wants ones that cannot fly away from him. “They stink,” Gwen protests.
“But, fresh eggs!” Basil rebuts.
Gwen mutters something about Basil and the shine of being a real farmer rubbing off quickly, but concedes as long as the little beasts stay outside. Kalp and Basil build a tiny shed for them to winter in safety, and they paint it blue and add the words “Police Box” to the outside in order to render it similar to the spacecraft in their mutually favourite children’s television program. They have yet to perfect a sensor system so that when a chicken enters, or exits, it makes the recognizable “vrop vrop” sound, but they are working on it.
They get three birds. They start out small and fuzzy and yellow, and grow very quickly. In weeks they are nearly adults. On Sundays Kalp sits in the sofa beside the fireplace and stares out at them as they peck in jerky staccato. When the weather is nice he sits outside beside them on the fold down stool, and the rhythm of their tapping is like hail on his face.
The chickens like him, he is convinced. He dutifully cleans out their blue box daily to keep the stink of their refuse from bothering the neighbours. It is not suitable for spreading on his potted plants, he learns through research, so it is instead put in its own refuse bin on the kerb. The chickens are very accustomed to his physical presence as a result; they stand on his foot if he puts seed there. They allow him to touch their necks gently. Even though their feathery flapping sometimes keeps him from dropping into his unconscious phase (still carefully regulated to the 31.76 Earth hour cycle), they soothe him in other ways.
He likes the way they do not move smoothly, still for a long moment as if they are thinking about it, before stabbing down and back up. That reminds him strongly of Basil, chewing on the stylus of his BlackBerry, working out a problem. There would be no sound for the longest time, until suddenly Basil reaches out, and tweaks precisely the right thing. No hesitation.
The black chicken catches the swing of Kalp’s arm through the window as he moves to sit closer and settles in to watch them. She jumps, looking as though she might bolt, staring at him warily through the glass, all alert and round, glassy eyes. With a twitch, she is cocking her head, realizing he is no threat, and with that comes curiosity. She cocks her head to the other side, pauses for a beat, then goes back to her methodical pecking.
They make low, constant noises, like the neighbour’s TV when she tries to hide the silence made by the non-presence of her dead family.
By late November, Gwen’s illness fades and Kalp is sore with relief. She still begs Kalp to say nothing of its existence to Basil and still he complies, wondering if this will cause a rift when the truth does emerge, as it inevitably must do. Kalp quashes the urge to lean down and kiss her when she begs up into his face, and it is harder to do every time.
Her lips look very soft.
***
The day that the frozen precipitation first falls, they move the chickens into the basement where it will be warmer for them. Again Gwen protests, and again Basil puts his engineering abilities to work, and devises a sort of ventilation system that keeps the air upstairs fresh and chicken-scent free, and the birds downstairs warm and well-aired. The chickens are put into a pen beside the laundry machine with old pape
r on the floor to make it easy to clean up their droppings. Gwen avoids the basement now, because she fears getting ill again from the chickens. Kalp is unsure how a chicken could cause human illness — he has heard of the avian flu of the decade previous, but everyone is inoculated against that now.
Basil must learn to do the clothes washing, and on one memorable occasion, turns everyone’s white garments bright pink by dint of a stray red pair of panties.
That night there is a party. It is the first one that Kalp is actively looking forward to. The others after his Earth-fall were miserable, tight affairs. He is anticipating this party because it is the first that he will be attending not as a pitied refugee, but as a valued co-worker. Basil helps Kalp purchase a suitable suit, and they spend hours in the store to make certain to match the tie very carefully to the shade of Kalp’s eyes.
Basil helps him wrangle the material into the correct form of knot, looking frankly stunning in his own suit. Kalp’s touches have been growing more steadily intimate, and he has been going slowly, as one does when taming a wild creature. As he has, carefully and patiently, tamed the chickens; he is making sure Basil is comfortable with one level of intimacy before moving onto the next. It is a slow dance, but Kalp is enjoying the leisurely pace of the seduction.
He has not made as much progress with Gwen, due to her illness and now her strange new irritability. Basil says that she is “bitchy” because she dislikes the winter holiday season. It reminds her of the chasm between herself and her parents. Kalp thinks that Basil is being ridiculously oblivious — it is clear that it is the illness that has made Gwen unhappy. She seems, however, to be content to let Kalp sit very close to her on the sofa and rest his head against hers when she falls asleep against him. Once she pulled his long padded fingers across her stomach. He felt a flutter there, like bird’s wings, but inside. He does not know what it was — her bowels or her stomach or her heart skipping a beat because his touch was warm — but he hopes she will let him do it again.
Kalp reaches out and boldly ruffles Basil’s hair. Before he finishes tying the necktie knot, Basil closes his eyes and leans his cheek into Kalp’s touch.
For a moment he stays very still, breathing softly through his nose. Kalp leans down and brushes the side of one velvety ear against Basil’s forehead.
Basil starts backwards, and his eyes are wide and blue and confused. “I — ” he says, and stops, licks his lips, and huffs out the rest of the breath he had taken for speaking, unsure what to say.
Kalp is satisfied with this one small step, does not want to push too far, too soon, so gives Basil an opportunity to make his excuses: “You have not completed my tie,” he says.
Basil jumps at the offered out, the distraction. He hastily finished the process, until the swatch of fabric is laying smooth and flat down Kalp’s shirt front. Basil slowly runs his palm down the tie, hot against Kalp’s chest, deliberate. Then he snatches his hand away and turns and leaves Kalp alone in his room.
Kalp listens as Basil makes his way to the bedroom, calling for Gwen. But Gwen is not in there. Kalp heard her throw her clothing onto the floor with a huff of extreme frustration and go into the washroom ten minutes ago. She urinated, and now she is just sitting on the commode, waiting for something. She has not flushed.
“Gwen?” Basil asks. He emerges from his bedroom at the same time Kalp emerges from his own. Basil’s cheeks go bright red. Kalp finds even that attractive now, as he knows that it signifies the exertion that intercourse requires or the rumination on such activities. Kalp nods towards the bathroom and Basil frowns. In his hand is the sleek black dress that Gwen was meant to have been donning.
“Gwen?” Basil asks again, tapping on the door with his knuckles to indicate his desire for entry. When she does not answer, he pushes open the door, and Kalp crowds in behind him, worried. Gwen has never not answered before.
The door swings inwards and reveals Gwen in her pyjamas, sitting very still on the lid of the commode, a white plastic stick clutched between shaking hands. The stick must be symbolic — it means nothing to Kalp, but Basil seems powerfully affected.
Basil drops the dress to the floor of the bathroom in shock.
“I’m sorry,” Gwen whispers in the tone that is used for consolation. “I hoped I was just…I thought it was the flu. But my dress doesn’t fit any more.”
She gestures at the small bulge in her middle. It is so infinitesimal that had Kalp not been looking, he would not have seen it.
“Holy shit,” Basil says, and his face and lips have gone totally white. He is shaking and Kalp puts out a hand, spreads the pads of his fingers along the bottom of Basil’s back, fearing that Basil will faint. “Holy shit.”
“I do not understand,” Kalp admits. “Is Gwen gravely ill? Are you dying, Gwen?”
Gwen chuckles, but it is a watery weak sort of laugh that conveys no real humour.
“Pretty much the opposite,” she says. “I’m pregnant.”
Basil does faint then, and Kalp is too shocked himself to catch him.
***
They are late for the party because Gwen has to choose a different dress, and Basil must be waked without spilling water on his expensive suit. Kalp is smiling and cannot stop. He has tried and it hurts too much to be not smiling.
They are going to have offspring.
His Unit is having a child!
Gwen is driving, her party dress hiked up and puddled around her thighs to allow for the operation of the vehicle. Basil usually drives. Tonight he cannot because Basil will not release the pregnancy test. He returned to the bathroom upon waking and seized it and investigated its readout, and has not let go of it since. The skin around his eyes and mouth is very tight and white, and he has said nothing. He has allowed Gwen and Kalp to herd him into the car, but he has not said a word.
Gwen keeps shooting concerned looks at his face, and when they finally arrive at the Institute — decked festively in red and green lights — Gwen parks, shuts off the car, and, still gripping the steering wheel and staring straight ahead, asks, “Are you angry?”
Kalp blinks and his smile slides away.
How could Basil possibly be angry? This is wonderful, joyous, fantastic news! This is news worthy of the celebration of the evening.
Perhaps Gwen fears Basil will be angry because she hid her illness — the first signs of pregnancy in humans, Kalp learned — from Basil; perhaps she fears that Basil will be concerned because they are not married; perhaps Basil will leave because they had not agreed to have the baby together first. Kalp loves Basil very much but if Basil leaves Gwen alone and pregnant, Kalp will be very angry at Basil. Kalp of course will stay and care for the offspring — it will be his son or daughter instead of Basil’s.
But he hopes it will be “with” rather than “instead of.”
Basil turns his head so slowly and stiffly that it appears as if he is some sort of child’s toy, his neck a ball joint swivel. He licks his lips once, and takes a small breath.
Before he even speaks, Gwen flinches.
“I,” Basil says slowly, fingers opening and closing on the pregnancy test. The cramped interior of the vehicle smells faintly of urine. “I’m gonna be a daddy.”
He grins now, wide and white, and Kalp sighs and slumps back against the back seat, relieved.
Gwen yelps in joy, and Gwen and Basil lean towards each other to press their mouths together. It smears Gwen’s red lip paint all over Basil, and makes Kalp’s chest ache. He wants to kiss them, too.
He settles with placing one hand on the top of each fuzzy human head and smiling wide. They turn to him and he leans forward tentatively, pursing his lips and pressing one small, nervous kiss on each cheek.
“You’re gonna be an uncle, Kalp!” Basil says.
Kalp would prefer to be the father, too, but uncle sounds just perfect for right now.
Gwen repairs her lip paint with the reflection in the rearview mirror, and then
they go inside the building, Gwen’s arms threaded through theirs, one on each side in grand presentation, to keep them all from slipping on the ice. Kalp is wearing shoes today, because he has already had his toe-pads freeze to the parking lot once and is not eager to repeat the experience.
Inside, the music is steady and calm in deference to the employees of the Institute from Kalp’s world. Basil is relieved. He has never been a fan of the harsh loud music that is popular currently. They shed their thick outerwear and pass it to a woman who takes it away and leaves them with a claim ticket. Kalp sends his shoes with her, too.
The canteen is decorated to approximate a sort of classy eating establishment, with balloons and bright red starburst flowers on each cloth-draped table. Kalp, Gwen, and Basil purposefully take seats at a table on the far side of the room from Derx and his human friends, Barnowski and Edgar, all three of them loud and offensively self-congratulating. Kalp was astonished to discover that there were not one but three people in the universe like Derx. Of course, all three like nothing more than the sound of their own voices, and to be told that they are clever, and so every conversation between them sounds more like three separate monologues.
As long as they are happy — and Derx’s attention is therefore elsewhere — Kalp is happy for them.
Another team sits at the table with them, these three all human, and congratulate Gwen enthusiastically when Basil all but shouts their good news into the din of the candle-lit room. Kalp knows the name of only Agent Aitken, a female with interesting blonde hair that frizzes out like a curled light flare. She is reservedly polite to Kalp, and he thinks that she is perhaps afraid of him. There are still those, even at the Institute, who have very little contact with his kind. He would be the same, had he not been placed with Gwen and Basil, he thinks.
