Alien Upstairs (19 page)

Raf was sitting on the floor, legs folded. “It's here,” he cried, turning his head. “You felt it, too. It's here, one of those beyond us!” He flung out his arms. “Why?” He threw his head back, pleading with the air. “Why? Give me an answer. Has Margaret found you? Did she send you?"

The chamber swelled around them. As the walls receded, the ceiling rose until Sarah could no longer see it. Iciness touched her face and fingers, burning her. A shimmering form drew nearer to Raf.

"Why?” he asked again, and she felt the question. His body was blurred by a sea of air; his arms fluttered jointlessly. He disappeared. The form became a light, shining so brightly that Sarah had to cover her eyes, peering out through her fingers.

The light filled her field of vision, swallowing everything. Then it moved forward, shrank, and was gone. The chamber reappeared. Raf lay on the floor, arms out, eyes staring up at the ceiling.

Sarah went to him and leaned down. “Raf.” He still breathed; his chest rose and fell. He did not answer.

 

The old man had gone back for their coats, and had covered Raf with them. They sat with him. His eyes were closed now; his face was very pale.

Gerard said, “He might die."

"He can't,” Sarah replied. “He'll get well. He said he can heal himself."

"But we don't know what was done to him."

"That light,” the old man murmured. “Perhaps Margaret found the ones she was looking for, and sent one here."

Sarah reached under the coat for one of Raf's hands. The hand was very cold. She rubbed, trying to warm it. Mr. Epstein worked on his other hand. The tall man did not move.

She realized she was not frightened of him now, and would not be again. She continued to rub his hand, then glanced at Gerard. His head was bowed.

Raf moaned and stirred, shifting the coats. “Raf,” she said softly.

He opened his eyes. “One came here,” he said.

"We know."

"I have no answer.” His lips trembled. He clutched at the coats. She put an arm around him and eased him up. He rested against her. Gerard lifted his head and moved closer to Sarah, watching Raf with narrowed eyes. “They have left me here,” Raf went on. “For a moment, I thought I would be taken, but I was not. I was ready to leave. I touched its mind, and then my fear returned, and I didn't want to go. That was when it left me."

"Can you walk?” she asked him.

"I think so."

"We'll take you to our room."

"It's too far. There's a room near here, out that door."

They helped him to his feet, then guided him through the door and down the hall, Sarah on one side, Gerard on the other. Raf pointed with his head at a door. They led him into the room and helped him to a couch along one wall. He stretched out and closed his eyes; one arm hung limply over the side, fingers brushing the floor. The old man carried in the coats and covered him again.

 

They waited. At times, Raf turned, throwing off a coat. Once he moaned, and the misery in his voice frightened Sarah.

Gerard, who was sitting on the floor next to her, was quiet. She searched his face; his cheeks sagged, and the lines around his lips were more sharply etched. He had not spoken since they had come into this room. His mouth twitched, and she touched his hand gently. His body tensed, as if she had startled him.

Raf moved on the couch. He pushed the coats away, then sat up slowly. He glanced at Mr. Epstein, who was seated at one end of the long couch, then looked down at Sarah and Gerard.

He gazed steadily at them with his large dark eyes, and shook his head. “I'm all right now,” he said. His voice was very low. “You needn't worry."

Sarah nodded, unable to speak.

"I'll take you home, if that's what you want.” His voice was flat, and she could not read the expression in his eyes. For a moment, she was sure he was testing them, toying with them once more. “Would you like that? I'll give you enough to get settled, and you can resume your dreary little lives, though you may find them tiresome after a century or so."

"We can't just retreat,” she responded.

"You'll die there."

"Maybe."

"Don't think I'll come to your rescue.” He leaned back. “I'll be alone,” he said softly.

"No, you won't,” the old man said. “I'll stay. I may not be the best company, but I'm far from the worst. You won't be alone."

Raf suddenly smiled; he was staring at the door, as if seeing someone there. Sarah turned her head, but saw nothing.

 

The wind caught her as she stepped through the door. Sarah stood near the house as a gust swept toward the trees, making them sway. Gerard followed her outside.

"We can still change our minds,” he said.

"Do you want to?"

"No."

"I don't, either."

Mr. Epstein came out with Raf. The ship, surrounded by mounds of dirt, was in a depression behind the house. Raf gestured at them impatiently.

"You can leave,” he said. “I don't like long farewells."

"We might see you again,” Sarah replied. “You might want to come back."

"No, I don't think I shall.” Raf stuffed his hands into the pockets of his parka. “Go."

Sarah began to cross the field with Gerard, then looked back. Raf was leaning over Mr. Epstein, speaking; then he turned and walked around the side of the house.

The old man came after them. He was to drive them home, settle his affairs, then return. He carried a box with a console inside. Gerard took it from him.

"Are you sure you know how to use it?” Mr. Epstein asked.

Gerard nodded. Sarah glanced toward the house. Raf was shoveling dirt, covering the dull metal dome of his ship, burying it.

They reached the car. Mr. Epstein unlocked it. Gerard put the console in the trunk, then climbed into the back. Sarah sat next to the old man as he tried to start the car. The motor coughed, then whined. They pulled away and turned onto the road.

"I can straighten things out in a few days,” Mr. Epstein said. “I can't just leave a mess and a mystery behind. I'll get my house sold and the money sent to my kids, and my other property can go to those who live in it. I'll give you the Oak Street place. I think you can take care of it."

Sarah gazed at the leafless trees along the side of the road. “We'll try,” Gerard said from behind her.

"Do you have enough?” the old man continued. “Raf gave me more coins for you, and he said you could have the things in his apartment. I'll settle things with my lawyer, and tell him I'm off to Georgia, though of course I'll never arrive there. My children will mourn for a bit, and have my name mentioned in prayers at temple, but they'll go on. They may even be relieved that I won't be a burden in my old age."

The car bounced over the dirt road. Sarah leaned against the armrest.

"What will you two do?” the old man asked.

"I was thinking,” Gerard answered. “I might as well do what I wanted to do, open a rare books store. Raf's just about given me the stock, and it's something we can both do together."

They would be retreating, Sarah thought; they would run their business and lead their lives and it would be as if nothing unusual had happened. She wondered if returning had been the hard choice after all.

"Will you be all right?” she asked Mr. Epstein. “Up there, alone with him?"

He paused before answering. “He's an unhappy, sorrowful man. To say I feel sorry for him seems like an understatement. He's lost all hope; he has faith in nothing. It's an illness.” He sighed. “I'm so used to taking care of others that I'm still doing it."

The car came to the intersection and turned onto the road that would lead them through Hanover. Near the bend in the road ahead, Sarah saw a tall maple tree, trunk gnarled with age. Its limbs were bent and twisted, as if the tree no longer reached for the sky, but instead had been pressed toward the ground by the weight of its long life.

 

 

 

 

Seventeen

 

 

Sarah broke the patch of ice on the sidewalk in front of the driveway while Gerard, behind her, shoveled. He cleared away the broken ice, then surveyed the path through the snow. The path was a cement-gray right angle leading back to the porch. The wind whispered, lifting a veil of flakes, scattering white powder over part of the sidewalk, then died.

The sky was blue. The snow was still white and unsullied; the street had not yet been salted and cleared. Dunes of snow glittered in the sunlight. Three starlings flew overhead, cawing; the black birds alighted on the edge of the building's roof near one of the new solar panels.

Gerard stared at the driveway. “Maybe we can get Bruce to clear it,” he said. “Not that we'll be able to do much driving anyway."

They began to walk back to the porch. Across the street, on the door of the red brick apartment building which faced them, paper jack-o'-lanterns decorated the door; scenes of witches on broomsticks covered the windows of the green house next to it. The children who would come to their door trick-or-treating in a few days would have wan faces under their Halloween masks, and would accept coupons, copper coins, and pieces of fruit as well as candy.

They climbed the steps and entered the building. Their own apartment was warm, heated by the console they always hid in the closet when expecting callers. Above the mantel hung a picture frame holding the newspaper advertisement announcing the opening of their new bookstore; Sarah had designed the ad. They had rented their space at a Main Street intersection where three bus routes converged and where various black marketeers occasionally plied their wares: a good location. They had paid off the police, the small, sly man requiring five dollars a month for “protection,” and had bribed a Guard to pay extra attention to the store on her nightly rounds. Gerard had invented a relative who had made money in gold shares and died, leaving him money. The store would open for business in November.

Sarah took off her boots at the door, and sat down on the sofa, putting her feet up on the coffee table. Gerard perused a copy of
TV-Cable Guide,
then tossed it at the table; it teetered on the corner and plopped to the floor. “You excited?” he asked.

"About what?"

"The opening. I am. Rob promised he'd stop by on his way to work."

"You talked to him?"

"He called me. I think he was glad things worked out for me. I got the feeling he was feeling guilty about not covering for me with Groves. He's managing the book department now. He's seeing the girl who got your job."

"He doesn't miss a trick, does he."

"Nope. He says she's nice."

Sarah stretched out her arms. Everything was settled. Eventually, they would migrate, beginning life as other people in another place. They would wear a series of masks, while others aged around them. They would lose everyone they knew, and might cling to each other all the more. They might become as alienated as Raf, in spite of remaining. She remembered Raf's smile. They had been deceiving themselves, and he had known it.

"Gerry."

He looked at her. His eyebrows arched. She stared at his familiar face. “What?"

"Nothing."

He smiled. For a moment, she was content, thinking of Mr. Epstein on Phobos.

 

They could operate the console, though they did not understand how it worked. It contained visual records made by Raf; they had not viewed any of them. Sarah had avoided putting on the earphones that would show them to her, making her see them as he had; she was afraid she might grow to understand Raf's despair only too well. Eventually, she would have to look, her curiosity would prod her—but not now.

Gerard turned the knobs, searching to see if Raf or Mr. Epstein had left them another message. He adjusted the console and leaned back in his chair while Sarah handed him a cup of tea. She sat down on the other side of the kitchen table, and waited. They had not received a message for almost two weeks.

"Sarah, Gerry.” It was the old man's voice. Sarah leaned forward. “I have something to tell you, but I must start at the beginning.

"I told you how Raf was when we returned here. He had become gentler, almost placid. I was surprised at this, and vain enough to take credit for it, thinking he was happy to have a new friend. He took me around Phobos, showing me where everything is, and then he became quite insistent about two things."

"The first was showing me how to learn about the various machines and devices here, and how to program them. It's easier than it sounds. I put a band around my head, and when I remove it, some knowledge is there, though it'll take me a long time to perfect my skills. I need practice. The computers—or whatever you call them—almost seem to have minds of their own. It's my will and my desires that must be conveyed to them before they can act.

"I expected Raf to show me these things, of course, but his second demand was odd. He insisted that I spend time learning how to pilot the ships. This isn't as hard as it sounds, either, but it's tricky. The ships can run themselves, but the pilot has to concentrate, and you can't rely on your senses at all, only on what the ship shows you. It's disorienting, and very tiring. I couldn't understand why Raf placed such a high priority on that, but he mentioned something about my needing to get around in case something happened, and told me about how I could explore the solar system, and I accepted that.

"I made my first solo flight yesterday, at least I think it was yesterday. I lose track of time here, because I can follow my own schedule. I went down to Mars. Raf followed, just in case.

"I was on Mars. I stood on the desert in my space suit and saw the most desolate landscape I've ever seen, and I was filled with a sense of my own insignificance, but at the same time, I felt joy. How can I explain it? I thought of the people who should have been there, explorers from Earth, and it was as if they were with me for that moment. I knew they would come then, that they would come in spite of everything. People don't accomplish feats like that for the obvious reasons—they're an expression of faith, an honoring of our capabilities, a prayer. That was what I felt.