Alien Upstairs

by Pamela Sargent

  "Well, I brewed some, and I thought, why waste it? So I thought we'd ask you over."

  "You could have asked Kathy Giordano. She hasn't left for work yet."

  Gerard cleared his throat. “I did want to ask you something."

  Martin pursed his lips. “Of course. Nothing's for free these days, is it? I'd better tell you straight out that I don't do threesies. Okay? Larry has been very forgiving of my little lapse, and I wouldn't want to hurt him."

  Gerard looked uncomfortable. The skin over his high cheekbones was pink. “I just want to ask a question, that's all. See, we're ... well, we think that Raf ... I don't know how to put this. That he's some sort of hypnotist."

  Martin's eyes widened a bit. He drank more coffee, then put down his cup. His lips twitched. “Whatever gave you that idea?” His voice was very low.

  Gerard turned toward Sarah. “You see,” she said to Martin, “I was visiting Raf one afternoon, and I think he must have hypnotized me, because I can't remember much of what happened. I know I was up there for a while, because it was already evening when I left. And I guess I was wondering if the same thing happened to you."

  Martin watched her for a moment. Then he lifted his cup and finished his coffee, still peering at her over the cup's rim. He knows, Sarah thought, sure that the young man had guessed the whole sordid episode. Her cheeks were warm. Martin put his hands on the table and stared at his bitten-down nails.

  "Why, I don't know what you mean, Sarah,” he murmured. “I found Raf utterly charming. Quite forceful, too.” She could not look into Martin's eyes. “I don't wish to dwell on details, but it is true that these little encounters add a bit of spice to one's primary relationship.” He got up. “I must go. Thank you both for the coffee."

  "He was lying,” Gerard said as they hurried to catch their bus. A group of women on bicycles passed them, pedaling their way to work. “I'm sure of it."

  "You don't know that,” Sarah replied. “Maybe it's me, maybe I have a disorder of the brain or something."

  "The car engine was missing."

  "That can be explained. Or maybe we just think that's what we saw. I might be drawing you into my delusions, in a folie à deux or whatever."

  "I don't think so. I know you. You're not crazy. There's only one thing left to do now. We'll have to drive out to that country spot of his. Maybe there's something there."

  "How?"

  "I'll get my car repaired. I have to do that anyway, for the inspection. Bruce Carulli will do the work right away for an extra bribe."

  "But I'm not even sure I can find that place again,” Sarah said.

  "It's worth a try. I'll get some extra gas coupons on the black market if I can. We can go out there on Sunday."

  They stopped at the corner. Others were waiting for the bus, which, as usual, was late. The cool fall wind bore the odors of dead leaves, dirt, and exhaust fumes. The sky was darkening, its billowing clouds threatening rain.

  Sarah moved closer to Gerard. “Maybe we should just call it a mystery, and let it go."

  "I can't do that.” Gerard pointed his chin; his face was very hard. “This is the first interesting thing that's happened for a long time. I'm not going to let it go.” He put his arm around her. “Besides, aren't you curious?"

  "Yeah, I suppose so. I have to find out if I'm crazy or not.” The enterprise seemed a game, a playing at adventure. It occurred to her that the search for Raf could be dangerous. She tried not to think of that.

  Seven

  They started at dawn, just after curfew was over. Sarah circled the city, drove to the highway, and turned south. The city, nestled in its valley, was veiled by fog and the haze produced by the burning of wood. The luster of a Russian church's gold onion-shaped domes had been dimmed by soot; near the church, a plume of smoke clung to the chimney of a red brick factory, and coal dust had darkened the bricks. Gerard had filled the Toyota's tank the day before, and had put extra gasoline in the trunk for good measure.

  "It'll take a while to get to Hanover,” Sarah murmured, “and even then, I might have trouble finding the right road.” She swerved to avoid a pothole. “This is a hell of a way to spend Sunday. I was going to wash my hair and borrow the Sunday Times from Kathy."

  "You can wash it tonight. Or tomorrow."

  "I don't have tomorrow off, remember? We have to work on that damned fashion show."

  The highway stretched before them, an asphalt snake among the tree-covered hills. The morning mist was lifting, revealing the red and gold leaves of fall foliage. “At least we'll have good weather,” Gerard said. “The sky's starting to clear."

  "I wonder why he left so suddenly.” Sarah slowed as they approached a stretch of unrepaired highway, and drove carefully along the buckling road.

  "I don't know. Maybe he thought things were getting out of hand. He might have realized that he didn't know as much as he thought he did, or that he was causing people pain. Larry did make a scene at his party. I wasn't exactly friendly to him after—well, you know."

  "But why would he tell people he was an alien? It doesn't make sense, unless he was crazy or joking. He was just drawing more attention to himself."

  "But who would believe it?"

  "I know at least one person who believed it. I met her at the party. She told me Raf and his people were going to bail us out.” She saw a smooth stretch ahead, and accelerated.

  "Well,” Gerard murmured, “I guess we believe it, too, or we wouldn't be out here."

  "I don't know what I believe.” Sarah glanced at him, then returned her attention to the road. A bus, led by a jeep, was traveling on the northbound highway. Refugees, she thought. Few people went north now; she wondered where they would go.

  The tops of the hills, still hidden, had been swallowed by the sky. The car bounced over another crack. “It might be true, you know,” Gerard said. “Maybe Raf is going to help us. Things don't have to be this way. He must see that. Everything could change. Instead of just hanging on like this, people could be doing things."

  "What about the weather?"

  "What about it? This kind of change has happened before, you know that. People have to find new ways of getting things done, that's all. We've lost our nerve."

  Sarah held the wheel more tightly.

  "When things started getting bad, what we should have done was pressed ahead, and instead we retreated. We could have had new power sources, we could have done more research, instead of cutting back. I'm not saying we can control everything, but..."

  She drove to the side of the road and stopped, then leaned against the wheel. She took a deep breath. Her hands were shaking.

  "Sarah.” He reached for her arm.

  She pulled away from him. “I don't want to think about it.” Her voice shook. “It's easier just to live with things the way they are. It doesn't do any good to hope, it just makes everything worse. I want to be happy with what I've got, I'm sick of wanting more."

  "I was just saying—"

  "I don't care. You don't believe it, anyway. You're hanging on to your job, you're not taking chances. You dropped out of school, the same as I did, because you knew you'd never be able to do anything you really wanted. We don't matter, we can't do anything about the world. So why talk about it?"

  "I wasn't talking about us. I was just mentioning things in general."

  "You were talking about us."

  She turned the key and restarted the car. They traveled in silence for a few minutes until Gerard said, “Rob was telling me about his fortress the other day."

  Sarah did not reply.

  "He has it all designed. He figures he'll find some land that nobody's using, and he'll put his house on that, but he'll build it underground, so nobody'll see it there from a distance. Then he and his brother'll start moving all their books into it, and then stock the place with food. He said even with the weather, they should be able to grow some crops. He's working on a greenhouse design, too."

  Sarah had heard about Rob's pl
ans before. “A greenhouse, huh?"

  "Yeah. All his friends'll each get one wing of the house, and he'll build it in the shape of a rectangle, and, right in the middle, he'll have a swimming pool, so we'll all get plenty of exercise. Of course, he'll have to make it an indoor pool. Then we'll arm ourselves, and learn how to use weapons."

  "Of course."

  "Now he says he has to work on his society."

  "His society?"

  "All decisions would be made communally, he says, except for stuff that would have to be decided by experts in those areas. He says you could be the historian; you'd record everything that happens in the community, and there'd be a record for future generations."

  She laughed. “Rob, of course, would be the leader."

  "He says there wouldn't be just one leader. Everyone would work together."

  "There's always a leader."

  "Well, maybe there is, but everyone would be able to have a say, even the kids. There wouldn't be any television except for recordings of classic films, and the school's curriculum would concentrate on agriculture and literature."

  Sarah raised an eyebrow. “There's going to be a school?"

  "Oh, there has to be a school, if there's kids."

  "What's he going to do about medical care?"

  "Oh, he'll get a doctor as one of the settlers, and everyone will learn first aid."

  She smiled. Fantasies like Rob's did not depress her; they were only games, playful ideas. She tried to imagine Rob excavating ground for a house with his slender white hands and frail body. Gazing through the windshield at the hills, she imagined little underground settlements with egalitarian societies, happy children, plenty of food, and lots of old books. They sped along the highway more quickly.

  They arrived in Hanover by mid-morning. The town was deserted, too far from bus and train routes, abandoned by those who had depended on the surrounding farms; the growing season was now too short for anything but subsistence farming. They drove slowly down the bumpy main street, passing stores with broken windows and rambling Colonial houses, and pulled into the parking lot of a Carvel stand. Signs advertising ice cream specials fluttered behind shattered glass. The Carvel sign and a large plaster model of an ice cream cone lay on their sides in the empty lot.

  "What now?” Gerard asked.

  "I have to orient myself.” Sarah tried to recall where Raf had gone from here while Gerard knelt on his seat and rummaged through their picnic basket, removing a sandwich.

  "Can't you wait?"

  "I'm hungry now.” He sat back and began to devour the sandwich.

  "It must be a conditioned reflex. You see a Carvel's, and the saliva starts flowing."

  "Want one?” He waved the sandwich at her.

  "No. If I'm not a size seven by next week, Lita's going to be very distressed.” Sarah leaned on the wheel, draping her arms over it. “I think he went up this road about a mile or so, then turned off. But I can't be sure."

  "Well, the only way you're going to find out is to try.” Gerard paused. “Did you ever stop to think that Raf might have wanted us to look for him? I mean, consider it. He knew you might want to find him. He must have figured you'd want to know what happened to your memory. And he must have known you'd tell me everything, and I'd be curious. Maybe it's a kind of intelligence test. His people are testing us, to see if we measure up and are worthy of their help.” He threw out his arms. “With us rests the fate of all humanity,” he said in portentous tones.

  She tried to chuckle. “He's not making it easy for anyone to find him."

  "Well, he wouldn't, if it's a test. But he has left clues. He could have covered his tracks completely, you know. He didn't have to bring you out here at all."

  She rested her forehead on her arms. “It's just as likely that he wants to disappear, and that he might be dangerous. We haven't even considered that, Gerry."

  Gerard was silent. Sarah sat up and took a deep breath. “Well, we've come this far,” she murmured. “We might as well see it through."

  By noon, they were hopelessly lost on a dirt road. Sarah pulled over to the side and stopped. “I don't recognize anything,” she said. “I'll be lucky if I can find my way back to Hanover."

  "I can get us back to Hanover. Don't you remember the direction?"

  "You know my sense of direction. And I wasn't exactly paying much attention at the time."

  "Well, go on. We still have time, there's still enough gas. I figure we can look around for another hour before turning back."

  Sarah started the car and drove down the dirt road and over a small hill. There was an intersection ahead; the roads forked. Another dirt road snaked through deserted fields. She stiffened. “I think that's it,” she said. “I think that's the road. I remember those bushes there."

  She turned. The road was very narrow. The land to their right rose until they were between a steep slope and rolling hills. Wild grass, uncut and turning yellow and brown, covered the earth; blue wildflowers dotted the sides of the road. She slowed the car to a crawl. They passed a shack, then a worn sign at the end of a long rut: DUKE'S ROD AND GUN CLUB. “This is the road,” she said. They bounced over a bump and up a hill. Then she saw Raf's land. It dipped into a hollow that was hidden from the road. Plants and weeds grew on the land, meeting a grove of trees several yards away.

  Sarah pulled over. “This is it."

  Gerard surveyed the land. “There's nothing here."

  "Looks that way.” She regarded the hollow and something stirred in her mind; then it was gone.

  "Do you remember anything?"

  "No."

  "Didn't you get out of the car and look around?"

  Sarah sighed. “In the dark? You must be kidding. I guess I must have gotten out with Raf, but I can't remember any of that."

  "Well, let's go.” He climbed out and Sarah followed him. She was in her old boots and a parka; Gerard was wearing a plaid lumberjack's shirt. “Don't forget the keys."

  "Who's going to steal it out here?"

  "You never know.” He leaned toward her. “Maybe Raf's still here. Maybe he's hiding."

  "Oh, God, don't say that."

  He laughed. At last she laughed, too. Adventures, she tried to tell herself, were supposed to be fun.

  She locked the car and took the keys with her. They made their way through the high grass toward the trees. The ground was rocky; Sarah trod cautiously, her mind on snakes and sprained ankles. She pushed the grass aside as they walked. They came to the trees and crept down a hill toward a small stream. Dead wood crackled under their feet and leaves rustled, crunching against their soles. The air was clean and piney. Gerard settled himself on a flat rock near the stream.

  "I think he led us to a dead end,” he said.

  Sarah drew her eyebrows together and tried to remember her journey with Raf once more. “I don't know."

  "For Christ's sake, Sarah, stop saying you don't know. I know you don't know. I don't know, either.” Gerard looked weary and disappointed. He began to pick seeds and dead leaves off his boots.

  She wandered along the bank of the stream, wondering if it would be worthwhile to haul dead wood across the field to their car; they could use it in their stove, and the trip would not be wasted. She gazed up through the tree limbs at the sky, then left the creek and climbed up the hill. Leaning against an oak, she stared out at the hollow.

  "Gerry.” She turned. “Gerry, come here."

  He got up and climbed toward her, his legs churning through the underbrush. “Look.” Sarah pointed.

  A small square building, made of stone and wood, was in the hollow. They climbed over the rocks at the hill's top, and hurried through the field toward the dwelling. The one-story house looked as though it had been thrown together. The roof sagged.

  "Clever,” Gerard said. “You can't even see it from the road. Do you remember anything now?"

  "No.” She reached for his arm. “Maybe he's here,” she said in a whisper. They stopped by the door. The
windows were shuttered. Gerard looked at her and she thought she saw fear in his blue eyes.

  "Well,” he said at last, “there's only one way to find out.” He went to the door and knocked. “Raf?” He knocked some more. “Raf?” he shouted again. He tried the door.

  "Gerry, we can't just go in.” The door opened.

  "He didn't lock it."

  "Why should he, out here?"

  "Come on.” Gerard entered the house, and she followed. It was very dark; even the noonday sun did not penetrate the shutters. The room before them was bare. Sarah felt the walls for a light switch, then looked for a lantern or flashlight. She circled the room.

  "Raf?” she called weakly. The door creaked on its hinges and closed. She jumped. Gerard went into the next room. She crept after him and peered over his shoulder.

  She squinted; her eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark. This room was as bare as the first. There were no other rooms, only a trapdoor in the floor.

  Gerard went over and lifted it. “There's a basement,” he said, “and a ladder."

  Sarah shuddered. “I don't want to go down there."

  "I was hoping I'd find the can. I'm going outside to take a leak. Just wait here."

  Don't leave me here alone, she wanted to say. She bit her lower lip. Gerard left the room and she stared at the passage below.

  "Raf?” she said, trying to tell herself that he was not here. “It's only us, Gerard and Sarah. If you don't want us bothering you, tell us, and we'll go away.” She heard the front door creak, and stifled a cry. The floorboards groaned as Gerard returned.

  "I don't think he's here,” she said hastily. “And there's nothing else around. Maybe we should go."

  "Let's try the cellar."

  "I don't want to go down there."

  "Come on."

  He climbed down the ladder and she followed him. It was black in the cellar, and Sarah clung to Gerard, afraid she would lose him. She felt along the wall with one hand, finding only flat damp stone.