The Fires Of Hell

by Craig Robertson

  “I repeat myself again, but we are no longer children. As to you question, why not simply ask him?”

  She did without hesitation. “Where were you all those years, and what of your marker?”

  “I wasn’t gone thirteen years. I was gone maybe a day. There was some time effect of traveling back and forth that imposed a very long delay in my return. Ralph didn’t include such a chance in our contract, so he was forced to give me the benefit of the doubt. Say, how do you know of my debt to Ralph? I ran it up after I left here.”

  She pattered a mighty wing on her chest. “Brindas here.”

  Slapgren strode past the women and right up to my face. “What was our safe word?”

  Dude was certain, unflappable, and intense. All right, little Slapgren. You grew up to be another me.

  “It was some kind of guard. You know I’m getting kind of old.” I tapped the side of my head. “Forget a thing or two.”

  “The only thing you ever forget is your place and your manners,” he said like a true scoundrel.

  “Now I'm scared, just like the last time a Gamorian Guard said those exact words to me.”

  He started to turn to the women, then leapt at me with a hug of surprising intensity.

  “Uncle, I thought you were lost to me. To see you, to hold you is more than I deserve in this life.”

  I hugged him back.

  Mirri ran over and nearly toppled us with her impactful embrace.

  “Chil … students,” protested Cala, “you are far too trusting. Release him at once and return to your …” That’s when she just let it go. None of us were listening.

  “Why did you go to that universe in the first place?” asked Mirri as she streaked tears across her cheek with the back of her hand.

  “I’d love to tell you,” I replied setting my fingers on my throat. “Don’t think I can though. I’m parched.”

  Slapgren punched me. “You pig. Why not just ask for refreshments?”

  “Refreshments,” I tapped his chest with a digit, “now that sound like the ticket. You grew up smarter that I’d thought you could.”

  He wrapped a powerful arm around my shoulder and turned me toward the cottage. “Come on, you bozo. Let me show you how well I learned to brew beer.”

  “A man after my own heart. If you’re still single, I just might have to propose to you.”

  Mirri gabbed my elbow with two hands and joined in. “You’ll see shortly that is not an option.” She had the biggest, happiest smile I’d seen in years. It was the best one I’d ever seen on her face for sure.

  Cala followed our group with demonstrable reservation. I could tell she liked being wrong about as much as I did.

  After I was seated at the dining table, Slapgren instructed the women to sit also and left the room. He returned promptly with two large earthenware steins and two clay glasses. He set a stein in front of me and the other in the empty spot he’d take. The women got the glasses.

  “What?” I said, pointing to the glasses. “They get little beers and the men-folk get manly ones?”

  Slaprgen and Mirraya laughed. Cala simply picked up the glass and took a sip.

  “Nah,” he said robustly. “Cala can’t stand my brew, and Mirri, well I’ll let her tell you. Not my place.”

  She bunched up her torso in joy. “I’m pregnant.”

  I was glad I was seated. Android or not, that newsflash might have put me on my ass.

  Then she added with an even happier smile. “Again.”

  After a second, I gestured to the door. “I’m walking out that door, then I’m coming back in. That’s when someone’ll tell me my little girl’s not growing up too fast.”

  The Deft laughed. Cala harrumphed judgmentally.

  “Would you like to see the boys?” asked Mirri explosively.

  “Boys? You mean someone did something nasty to you more than once?”

  “They’re like rabbits,” mumbled Cala under her breath. Louder, she added, “I have to peek around corners nowadays. Many an awkward moment has transpired since you were last here, Jon Ryan.” She softly shook her massive head.

  “Good for you two,” I nearly shouted. “Now where are my grandkids?”

  Cala stiffened as if to speak, then slumped back in resignation.

  “They’re napping,” replied Mirri. With a conspiratorial wave, she said, “Come on. They’re in here.”

  There in little beds were two of the cutest little angels I’d ever seen. They slept so peacefully I was jealous. Both boys had their father’s cheekbones and chin, but their eyes were all mom.

  “They are spectacular,” I breathed.

  “Yes, they are,” Mirri replied, almost giggling. “That one,” she pointed to the older boy, who looked to be three, “is Jon.” She pointed to the infant in the crib. “He’s Ryan, of course.” She grabbed her belly. “If this one’s a boy, we’re going to have to ask you if you have any other names.”

  “No way you named them after me.”

  Slapgren gave me an are-you-crazy look. “We didn’t, dude. Get over yourself. Those are traditional Deft names.” He waved a had generally in the distance. “They go back ages.”

  Mirri nudged him away with a playful shoulder. “Of course, we named them after you. They wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for you.”

  “And if that’s a girl?” I asked pointing to her belly.

  “We will give her your mother’s name,” replied Mirri.

  “Or a proper Deft name this time,” said Cala sourly. I bet there had been some heated discussions about the naming thing.

  “Our child, our name,” Mirri said flippantly to Cala. That was my little girl, all right. “By the way, UJ, what was your mother's name? We may need to know it sometime.”

  “Nah, you don't want to name a girl you love that,” I said looking away.

  “UJ, do not make me mind-meld with you to find out,” she threatened.

  “Can you do that?” I asked with genuine curiosity.

  “No she cannot,” responded Cala.

  “Come on, give,” said Slapgren.

  “Mavis. My mother was one of the last women on Earth to be named Mavis. Please let the name have died with her.”

  “I think it's a lovely name,” replied Mirri.

  “I think it doesn't sound very Deft,” murmured Cala.

  Mirri cleared her throat loudly.

  “Fine, you’re are the good Jon Ryan, and you’ve seen the children. May we go sit? These old bones ache more with each passing day,” said Cala. She was already heading for the parlor as she spoke.

  “I guess we’re sitting,” responded Mirri, looking to me.

  “I’ll get the beers,” said Slapgren.

  “Good man,” I declared.

  “So, tell us all about this alternate universe,” said Mirri.

  “I’d rather not. The locals annoyed the hell out of me. Ridiculous creatures, if they even were creatures.”

  “Hmm. Sounds interesting to me,” said Slapgren.

  I brought them up to date on my doings since we parted. I told them about being a servant, which Mirri thought was particularly funny. I told them of the assassination and over-blown explosion, which Slapgren found transfixing. Then I asked how what they’d been doing, aside from the obvious multiplication.

  “Well, first we studied a lot,” began Slapgren. “Then, let’s see, we studied a lot. Oh, then it got crazy. We studied a lot more. The insane part was when Cala brought in this huge stack of ancient books. You know what we did with them?” he asked with false excitement.

  “Wild guess. You ate them?” I replied.

  “Might as well have for how much they took from the texts,” grumbled Cala.

  “No, Uncle Jon. It was so cool. We studied them endlessly, like for months and months.” He pretended to wipe his brow. “It has been nonstop fun, I’ll tell you. Hey what were those things you told us you rode back on Earth, the ones that went up and down real fast?”

  “Rollercoasters?
”

  “Yes.” He snapped his fingers. “Those are the ones. Well, we’ve had more fun than if we had ten of them.”

  “That will do with the negativity, boy,” said Cala evenly. “Please be respectful at least while we have company.”

  “Company? Where’s company?” asked Slapgren with a broad smile. “All I see here is family.”

  Cala shook her head slowly. To me, she said, “You see what you gave me to work with? I curse your name each day before I rest.”

  “There’s a support group for that, you know,” I snarked. “I’ll give you their address before I go. They have pity parties twice a week, potlucks, and heck, they even got tee shirts in your size. You’ll discover all forms of catharsis.”

  Her slow head shake grew more energetic. Then she stood. “I’ll be in my room, not that anyone will need me for anything.” She shuffled away.

  I called to her. “I bet they’d make you vice president of the local chapter right off the bat.”

  “I do believe she’d kill anyone else who talked to her like that,” said Mirri in a hush tone. “Deep down, she’s really not a fun gal.”

  “Aw, it’s down there somewhere. I’ll find it and drag it to the surface. You’ll see.” I could be such a pill at times.

  “Or die trying,” said Slapgren a tiny bit louder.

  “Morituri te salutant,” I replied with a nod.

  Imagine that. I drew blank stares from them both.

  “It was what the gladiators said to the emperor before taking the playing field in the coliseum. It translates to ‘those who are about to die salute you’. No more than fifty percent came out alive.”

  Wow, tough crowd that night. More blank stares.

  “So, how are you two doing, I mean, now that we’re alone and all?”

  They both got identical goofy looks on their faces. Simultaneously, Slapgren said I can’t complain while Mirri said wonderfully, we couldn’t be better. I wanted to get up and hug them some more, but I focused on Slapgren’s excellent beer instead.

  “So, you guys finally do the hollon thing?” I asked as I meshed my fingers together.

  Slapgren literally spit his beer out. Mirraya covered her face and rotated her torso away, the silliest smile on her face.

  “Uncle Jon,” said Slapgren, “that’s not actually a topic for conversation.”

  “Since when have I led you to the assumption that I’m PC in any way?”

  “Good point. As you are who you are, I will,” he cleared his throat, “address your question. I doubt my wife would be able to, even given her closeness to you. We have dabbled, you might say, in hollon. Cala tells us that it is common when first engaging in the practice that the couple live separately more than they do joined. Over time, they remain together more and more.”

  “So, what’s it like? Better than plain old sex?” Because I was a jerk, I stood halfway and swiveled my hips.

  Mirri gasped and rotated farther away. Slapgren finished off whatever remained in his stein.

  “It’s like very private and not open for discussion.”

  “I knew you'd say that. Holding out on your own uncle, and him being a cultural explorer from way back when.” I tossed my hand over a shoulder. “I’m talking way back when.”

  “Be that as it may, no.”

  I held up my empty mug. “You did learn the lessons I taught you well.”

  He smiled. “I’m rather proud of it,” he replied taking my empty to refill it. Seamlessly, he asked Mirraya, “You don’t mind if I overindulge just a bit, based on our honored guest’s visit?”

  “That one,” she pointed at me, “I have no control over. You, I sort of do. Be safe and sane. If you drink too much, you’ll know it.”

  He angled his head. “In what sense?”

  “I’ll nail you to the ground outside and leave you for the carrion birds to feast on.”

  “Ah, then when I look up into the blinding sun and see numerous birds circling down, I’ll know it’s time to switch to water.”

  “More or less.”

  “Uncle, I’m placing my trust in you. I wish to awaken tomorrow not having had my eyes pecked out. It they’re gone, I’ll have lost a good deal of confidence in your abilities.”

  “You’ll be fine. That sort of wife-inflicted injury almost never occur when I’m in the mix.” I reflected a moment. “I can’t recall an episode this last week.” I held up one digit. “Not a single mutilation.”

  “Mirri, I promise, I will watch the flow of libations closely.”

  “I know you will, dearest.”

  “I’m a natural-born leader,” I announced. “I’ll take command of the brew and defend it from Deft abuse.”

  “He’s become quite a good fighter. You might be overmatched, Uncle Jon,” replied Mirri.

  “I stand before you never defeated when beer is at stake. I shall sequester the liquid in my gut. There, and only there, will it be safe.”

  “Well, you two have fun. I hear the boys stirring, so it’s feeding time at the zoo.” She walked over and planted a wet one on Slapgren’s lips, then sashayed away.

  “She a fine woman, that Mirraya,” I said with a slight bawdry underpinning. Not too much, though. She was my little girl.

  “She is the treasure of my existence, and I love her like I love life. The two run parallel.”

  “Touching to hear, but you might keep that analogy to yourself if you already haven’t used the line.”

  “What?” he generally protested. “I haven’t said those exact words …”

  “Thank God.”

  “I haven’t used those exact words, but I might. What’s wrong with them?”

  “When praising your woman, there are rules. Break a rule, you lose a point. Points can never be returned or re-earned. Once they’re gone, they are eternally gone. Got the rules down?”

  “They seem fairly straightforward and easy.”

  “Straightforward and simple, maybe. Never think they’re easy, child.”

  “In the present case, I see only point addition. Lots of points, in fact.”

  “Yeah, that’s because you’re a guy. A male thief goes into a store to steal a jacket. What color jacket will he never walk out the front door wearing?”

  “I don’t know his color favorites. How could I possibly say?”

  “The answer’s pink. He will never step out the door wearing a pink jacket. If the store runs out of all other colors, our thief will become unable to find any jackets in the store. He will leave in a huff, determined never to steal from a lousy store like that again.”

  “As interesting as your parable is, and mind you I’m lying in suggesting there is an interesting part, I fail to see that your tale has any point.”

  “Dudes don’t see pink as a selectable color choice for outerwear. Innerwear either.”

  “There was nothing pink in my statement about how important Mirri is to my life, how integral she’s become.”

  “I bet your score is well into negative figures.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means the next pool boy with the bronze body of a Latin god will find his job has unexpected additional perks.”

  “You’re a pig. Oh wait, I already called you that. You’re a stinking pig.”

  “Here’s the deal. We’ll be using instant replay. ‘She is the treasure of my existence, and I love her like I love life.’”

  “What’s wrong with that true observation?”

  “Nothing. I mean it’s a rookie line, but hey, you’re a rookie. It’s too standard and predictable. At best, it earns you one point from Mirri. The problem is ‘The two run parallel.’”

  “They do.”

  “So do train tracks. You know what’s romantic about train tracks?”

  “No.”

  “Neither do I. You used the scientific word parallel in love-speak. It’s an instant deflator, if you know what I’m communicating here. Never use scientific words. It suggests the wondrous mysteries of ro
mance can be explained by science. They cannot be, since science, even science conducted by females, could never discover fully or define in manner that makes sense the actions of women.”

  “You’ve had enough beer already.”

  “The lame excuse of a vanquished spirit.” I slid my mug farther away from him, nonetheless.

  “I’m lost. What was that stupid story of pink coats about?”

  “Men can’t see pink objects. They can perceive the color pink when asked to do so. But a man would never purchase a pink anything, even if it’s for a woman. He leans toward primary colors, blue principally, but yellow runs a close second.”

  “I'm dying here, UJ, please come to some point, any point.””

  “My point is you can't even say the perfect thing to Mirri or about her when she can hear it because you can’t see pink. Violet’s an Achilles heel too, but it’s no pink. Since you don’t know the most important color to a woman when speaking romantically, you will never use it. Hence, whatever you say will be second-tier at best. Toss in a parallel or an I’m really enjoying my first marriage so far, and your dropping your already lousy score.”

  “So, all I have to do is use pink in compliments and I’ll never go wrong?”

  “You’re dumber than a rock sitting on a biscuit. Pink has nothing to do with anything I’m talking about. Look, son, here’s the deal. Inside a woman’s DNA are words that she feels that you can never see or fully comprehend. There are hundreds, not thousands mind you, of words, events, items, and concepts that function like pink. Important to her, invisible or inconsequential to you. Now do you see where I’m going here?”

  He did not.

  “Your task, as a young husband, is to step on as many of those landmine-words early. The key is to remember the pain associated with them and never misuse them again. Then, by the time she naturally begins to wonder—and that time always comes—if she settled for you, that perhaps she didn’t marry as well as she might have, at least you’ll have stopped throwing gasoline on the fire. You got that?”

  He stood, resolute. “Not in the slightest. I think I’ll be retiring.”

  I looked out the front door. “It’ll be light for another half hour.”

  “The longer we talk, the more I see the roots of Cala’s dislike for you.”