V 14 - The Oregon Invasion

by Jayne Tannehill (UC) (epub)

  “Thought you dropped something.” The words came garbled from his dry throat, his voice almost taking on the throaty vibratory resonance natural to his people that they had worked so hard to eliminate from their speech patterns to emulate the Earth ones.

  He pretended a cough to distract the audience, explain without explaining.

  The burly man shrugged and turned away. The cockroach wiggled again in Hadad’s palm. He would have loved to pop it into his mouth. But someone else might see him and question him. He thrust his closed fist into his pocket, found the bottle of eye drops there, tucked away during the heat of the conversation, never paid for, almost forgotten. The plant was still tucked under his right arm, his right hand thrust into his jacket pocket to hide his wound. He found himseif bound. He could not remove his right hand from his pocket without first removing the plant from the crook of his arm. To do that he would have to use his left hand. To use his left hand, he would have to eliminate the cockroach.

  He was hungry.

  He fished in his pocket, then popped the roach in his mouth, hoping that anyone watching him would figure he had just eaten a piece of candy. No one noticed. No one cared.

  There was a difference as the group dispersed this second time. The first time what they had accomplished was saying they needed to do something. This second group had done something. There was a sense that some plan had been designed, that they were each satisfied.

  The men gathered, regrouped, finished their business, and began to leave the store. The older lady went back across the street, around the fountain, and up the steps into the old courthouse. The girl sorted through her leathers, packed up the ones that she was taking along, stacked the rest neatly on the counter. She was the last one in the store as Hadad went to the counter, put the eye drops down, set down the plant, and reached for his wallet. She smiled at him as she picked up her satchel and backed away from the

  counter toward the door, still smiling.

  She backed into the Visitor as he came in the door.

  Hadad had not seen him coming.

  There are moments when the world is full of wonder, when the smile of one person can turn the clarity of the scene around one into the mist of dawn over a mountain lake. And when in the next moment one’s very existence is threatened, the harsh contrast makes the threat ever so much more potent.

  "All Hadad could manage was to not blink. His body froze, his pulse raced, his muscles gripped his organs and locked. He stared.

  The Visitor brushed past the girl, unimpeded by her, and headed straight for Hadad. He was not in uniform. He was dressed exactly as Hadad was: a flannel shirt, jeans, a jacket. Disguised, he had walked down the street and into the store without alarming anyone. Anyone except Hadad. He grinned and started to laugh and then to speak.

  “Gclixtchp! Truqch klzopltx grbpdtiq? Spriqktz plictx klzopltx plafqzkrsm. Zhrnimpt trlipgt qravcprts. Crizlchsqpts!”

  Chapter 3

  “How dare you spit at him!” The girl spoke and Hadad looked at her. She did not know. She did not recognize the Visitor for who he was. She had recognized only the hostility.

  “Spit at him! You’re crazy, lady. I wasn’t spitting at him. I was talking to him. He’s one of us.” The Visitor started to laugh, the cynical, brittle laugh that had been part of his whole presence since he had entered the store.

  “You’re wrong, mister. You couldn’t be further from the truth. I don’t know who you think he is, but you’re wrong.”

  Hadad recognized the truth beyond her words. She did not know who the Visitor thought he was. She was defending him merely because he had been attacked.

  “Gclixtchp, plupltle,” the Visitor challenged Hadad to reveal himself. But Hadad wasn’t watching him. He was watching the girl, watching as she gradually became aware of the significance of the words, watching as she gradually realized she was addressing an alien, watching as she bypassed her own fear and gathered all the tension of the moment into a counterattack.

  “You push in here as if you owned the place. Well, you are mistaken, mister. You think you’re entitled to something, but you’ve got no right to anything but the air you breathe. And I’m not real certain you’re entitled to that. You owe me an apology for pushing me and him an apology for spitting at him and I want to hear one now.”

  “I’m just talking the only language this man knows. He’s one of us. He’s got you fooled. He’s one of us and not only that, when they find out he’s here, somebody is going to be very, very pleased.”

  “You’re wrong, mister.” The Visitor wasn’t convinced. “I’ve known this man all my life. In a couple weeks we are going to be married, and this kid I’m carrying is one-hundred-percent human. Whoever you think he is, you’re wrong.” The arrogance left the Visitor’s face. It seemed like he had bought her story and now felt foolish and exposed for his error. “It’s time for those apologies, mister. Let’s hear them.”

  The Visitor looked first at Hadad, then at the girl, then back at Hadad, and then at the floor. He mumbled rather than spoke and all that came out was “So I made a mistake.”

  And then he was gone.

  They watched as he left the store, looked up and down the street, and then turned to the left and disappeared into the gas-station lot next door. The atmosphere in the store was still charged with the encounter, and it was a long pause before anyone moved or said anything.

  “Thank you.”

  Hadad was the first to speak. His words hung in the air and were punctuated by silence.

  The girl turned and for the first time Hadad realized that she was looking him evenly in the eye. She was as tall as he was, and stood straight, unblushing, unblinking, as confident as any of the women commanders he had known on his own planet, on the ships. He had not seen women among the Earth ones who were like that.

  “Thank you.”

  “I may have just saved your life. I understand when they spit like that, it’s venomous. You could have died.”

  “I did not know that. Thank you.”

  Hadad did not know what to say. His muscles were no longer frozen in fear, but he still could not move. His pulse had calmed from the attack of the previous moment, but it was not less intense. He did not want to look away from the soft “eyes of a deer,” and so he stared.

  It was she who looked away, broke the intensity of the prolonged moment.

  “Look, we just got engaged. Maybe we ought to get to know each other. How about lunch?”

  Hadad started to object.

  “My invite, my treat. I pick up the check. I insist.” Hadad looked at the floor, tried to pull away. “We’re in this fight together. I really would like to know who you are. Please.”

  Hadad looked up into her eyes. Then he smiled and nodded.

  “Good. There’s a nice place I know right down the street. Used to be a family restaurant until a friend of mine bought it. She always wanted to open a vegetarian restaurant. She’s practically going broke in this meat-and-potatoes town. We may be her only customers. Come on.”

  “Be careful out on the street. We don’t know how many Visitors we have now.” The voice of the manager broke into their conversation and Hadad became aware that someone else was in the store. Gradually he became aware that he, too, was in the store, that there was a real world of Prineville, a real threat of invasion of his territory.

  “We sure will. Thanks for the reminder, as if I needed it after dealing with that creep. They make my blood run cold. Just the thought of a lizard under that comfortably familiar exterior! I sure don’t need any encouragement not to cooperate with them.” The girl opened the door as she talked, and though she had started the conversation addressing the manager, by the end she was speaking to Hadad as they stepped out into the street.

  There were no Visitors in sight. The traffic was normal and light. A few people were going into stores or offices. For the most part the town looked still. Third Street, because it was the highway through town, was always a little busier than
the other avenues, but it wasn’t crowded.

  The restaurant was in the next block and across the street. When they had walked a hundred yards or so, the girl slipped her hand under Hadad’s arm. They walked in step, her strides long enough that Hadad was not uncomfortable adjusting to her rhythm.

  “I guess we really ought to start with names. I don’t even know what to call you.”

  “The men at the mill call me Arab.”

  “That’s not your name, is it?”

  “No. They just called me that because I didn’t know English.”

  “You’re not American, then.”

  “No. But I have an American name.”

  “What is it?”

  “David. Most people call me Dave.”

  “Dave. David . . . David what?”

  “You are only the second person to ask me that. Mr. Ripley asked that when I went to work for him.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “David is my American name. My name before was Hadad. That is the name I was given, when I was to be—” He stopped, realizing he was saying too much, realizing that he had never before in his life wanted to tell anyone about himself.

  “When you were to be what?” The girl pushed for an answer. She seemed to really want to know. Hadad tried to think of a way to tell her the truth without saying too much.

  They reached the corner and crossed the street. She still held his arm. When they reached the other curb it was easier to talk again.

  “I was named after an ancient king, because they wanted me to be a great leader here on Earth.” “Wow. That’s a heavy load for a kid to carry. What brought you to America instead?”

  “A political decision.”

  “And there goes the kingdom down the drain, eh?” Hadad laughed. She was easy to talk to.

  “And what about you? What is your name?” “Ruth. You know, ‘Whither thou goest I will go’ and all that jazz.” She pulled away from him toward the curb. He followed. They stepped between the parked cars into the traffic and when it was clear, crossed to the restaurant on the other side.

  “I don’t know ‘Whither thou goest I will go and all that jazz.’ What does that mean?”

  “Ruth—from the Bible. She left her family and country to go to Judah with her mother-in-law after her husband died. Loyalty. That sort of stuff.”

  “I see. And are you loyal, that sort of stuff?”

  “I don’t know. I guess so. In my own way, I guess I am.”

  The restaurant was small. Plywood partitioned the tables in the front from a kitchen in the back. A picture of women picking in a field was thumbtacked in the center of the wood. Three long narrow tables stretched into the room from the windows at the front with three chairs on each side—hard wooden chairs, with curved loops of wood for backrests. The tables were covered with white-linen cloths, rough-woven, and darned where they had been torn, but clean and very white.

  They were the only customers.

  “Hi, Ruth.” The lady who bounced out from the kitchen with menus in her hand identified herself quickly as Ruth’s friend, the owner of the establishment. She stood about five foot five and though her hair was cut short in front, it fell behind her to her waist. She came over to Ruth and wrapped her arms around her in a familiar hug, disappearing into the chest and arms that enfolded her, and then awkwardly extracting her hair as she pulled away and the strands caught in the buttons and rough texture of Ruth’s jacket.

  “Betty, I’d like you to meet my friend, Hadad.” “Who?”

  “That is my family name. It is hard for Americans. You can call me David.”

  “Okay, David. What did she say your name was?” “Hadad.” He said the name slowly.

  “Okay. I’ll call you David. So what would you all like to eat today? I’ve got lots of food.”

  “Seriously, how’s it going?”

  “Well, if I get a couple more customers today, I should be able to open tomorrow.”

  “That bad, really?”

  “Sit down, Ruth. You don’t have to worry about my business troubles. You’re doing all you can. You’re my best customer. I knew it was a gamble when I opened. And I’m doing what I want to do. If this doesn’t work, I’ll do something else. But at least I will have tried something that was important to me. What can I say? Now, what do you want to eat?”

  “I’ll start with some carrot juice while I read the menu. How about you, Hadad? She juices it fresh. It’s the best.”

  “Just water, thank you.”

  “One carrot juice, one water, and two menus.” Betty gave them cards which were handwritten to serve as menus, then disappeared into the kitchen behind the plywood wall and the sounds of refrigerator doors and juicer gave them some privacy in which lo decide what they would eat.

  Hadad put his plant in the middle of the table.

  “1 meant to ask you about that. What is it? Why are you carrying it around with you?”

  “It is a medicine plant. I don’t know its American name.”

  “I’ll look it up in my Culpeppers. If it’s medicinal, it should be listed in there. What do you use it for?” Hadad was not certain that the use he had in mind would relate to humans. He was cautious. Again, he did not want to lie. But he was hesitant with the truth. “It makes the surface go back together.”

  “Surface? You mean skin.”

  “Yes. Skin.”

  “It has to be like an aloe vera then.”

  “I don’t know. It is sticky.”

  They laughed.

  “So, why are you carrying a medicine plant with you everywhere you go today?”

  “I just paid for it at the store.”

  “Bob’s?”

  “No. At the Posie Shop.”

  “Oh. You just bought it.”

  “Yes. I just bought it.”

  “Do you ... are you sick?”

  “Just my hand.” He took his right hand out of his pocket and showed her the bandage. It had slipped a little and there was a small line of green showing through the bandage. It bothered Hadad, and he quickly put his hand back into his pocket.

  “No, that’s okay. You don’t have to hide it. The sight of blood doesn’t bother me. What happened?” “It was a root. I didn’t see it. It cut me.”

  “Is it going to be all right? I mean, is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No. The medicine plant is all I need.”

  “How do you use it?”

  Hadad did not want to say anything more. He had already said more than he felt comfortable sharing. He did not know how to change the subject. He did not know how to answer with a lie. He looked for a simple way to tell the truth.

  “I grind it. I need tools. I have them at home.”

  “I’d like to watch you do that sometime.”

  Again the eyes focused on his. Again there was nothing to say. Again the silence made his breath still. Again he could only stare. Again it was she who looked away first.

  Hadad was hungry.

  And there was nothing on the menu he could possibly eat.

  “My favorite is her lentil soup, and the sprouted bean salad is delicious. She grows her own sprouts. And can she fry tofu. I have to stay away from it though. I’m totally off- fried foods. She’s the only one who can get me to eat anything cooked. I hate to cook. Growing food, that’s more my thing. I love to plant things and watch them grow. I’d live in a garden if I could get away with doing nothing else.”

  “You do. All of Earth is a garden.”

  “Yeah. I suppose that is one way of looking at it.” “Now, what are you lovely people going to have for lunch today?”

  “I’m in a rut, Betty. I’m going to have another sprouted salad.”

  “Okay. How about you, David?”

  “Whatever she has.”

  “Two sprouted salads it is.”

  Hadad looked around the restaurant. There had been a cockroach in the store. Perhaps he could find another here and figure out some way to catch it and eat
it without appearing too strange to his hostess. The corners were clean. Everything was clean. He saw a door marked Gentlemen at the rear next to the screen door that led out the back. He excused himself from the table and went back to the men’s room.

  There were no water bugs around the plumbing. He had hoped, but found nothing. Perhaps in back. He turned to the screen door as he came out of the men’s room. There were flies buzzing the door. He opened it, went out, and grabbed a half dozen from the air, stuffing them into his mouth as he caught them and reaching for more.

  Betty came out from the kitchen and saw him through the screen.

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about those flies, David. I have an electronic zapper. Keeps all the insects out of here. I couldn’t get along without it.”

  A few flies weren’t going to solve the hunger problem, but to go any further would be rude. He would have to wait. Hadad returned to the table and looked over the tossed salad. It looked like grass pulled up, seed and all.

  Ruth poured the creamy dressing over her salad and began to eat, talking between mouthfuls, caught up in the excitement of the conversation.

  For a while it was possible for Hadad to forget the tension of the day, to forget the presence of the ship, the threat his former blood brother and friend had made back at the store. It was possible to see only the excitement of this girl and all she talked about. He picked at the grasses selectively and listened to her stories. For a while.

  “. . . totally on raw foods. It works. I lived there for a while and learned all about it. I have all the credentials. I work with it a lot. I’ve done a lot of therapies: acupressure, rolfing, touch healing, chiropractic. They all help, that’s for sure. Most of the people just think I’m a kook. They laugh at what I do.

  But some people listen. And they get better. You might have difficulty accepting this, but I could heal your hand with touch if you would let me.”

  The eyes looked at him. This time Hadad looked away.