Where'd You Park Your Spaceship?, page 17
I understand now what she meant in the interview about
this being her life. This is what she’s thinking about in the
dark before any of us arrive?
They’re just tables.
How can I help?
She points to the door.
Will you please stand in the doorway?
I take my place in the doorway.
She sits down at one of the tables.
Imagine you’re meeting me here and you’ve just arrived
and opened the door-
Ohhhh. I stand here and I look at her. She wants me to
see her.
Here it is again.
The possibility.
I have done this. Gone with it. There was one woman what
was it-nine planets ago? We got on like a house fire.
She worked at a school across the path from the bakery. I would bring bread over to her house and she’d say she wasn’t usually like this but it must have been something about the bread because we had so much sex. It was all so strange. And kind of awesome.
That’s literally all I remember from that planet. Bread and sex. It took me three planets to recover. But even then, lost in that-at any moment I knew that I would be leaving. And I
wouldn’t be able to tell her. It was so intoxicating that I
often almost forgot.
Almost.
But it’s always there.
The truth that never leaves me.
Same with all the other women on all the other planets.
There was one, on Blunes-her name was Veskimets-she
was brilliant. Just blew my mind. Architecture. Rocks. Earth. The beautiful game. It was astonishing how much she knew about everything. I just wanted her to keep talking. All those
women and planets and pleasure and then leaving and
loneliness.
What a jumbled mess in my heart, in my memory.
And now, Lan Zing.
Maybe this becomes a thing.
But even here,
before,
standing in this doorway seeing her seeing me,
I can’t do it.
I used to be able to.
But now I can’t.
I walk towards her.
How about we switch places-you stand in the doorway
and I sit here?
She stands up.
Because that’s what you’re going for-right? Someone
shows up here and they instantly feel comfortable? At
home? Like this is their bakery? Like they can’t believe
they didn’t know about this place until now?
She loves this.
Yes, exactly!
I keep going.
You want them to feel like there’s something familiar in this
new place-like they’re returning to it for the first time.
I have struck a nerve.
Heen, I couldn’t have said it better myself.
I’m on a roll.
That’s the thing about spaces-they call to us and speak to
us in ways our minds don’t always pick up on. Let me try
something here…
I take the middle table and turn it sideways.
What do you think?
She shakes her head.
No, no-that’s not it.
I have no idea what I’m doing. I keep going.
Well then, how about this?
I turn all three at angles to the wall, pulling the middle out
farther and putting two of the chairs on the ends.
She claps.
Wow! That is so much better-and I don’t even know why!
I motion for her to sit down in the middle chair at the first
table.
Notice where your eyes go.
She looks around.
To the ovens.
This bothers her.
I sit down across from her.
They do, don’t they? Your eyes are drawn to the ovens.
She’s confused. But why do I like this arrangement? I don’t want my customers staring at the ovens.
Well…
I lean back in my chair, like I have been considering this
for laps. I wonder if it has something to do with your parents.
Where did that come from?
She leans forward. Go on…
Were they more formal than you are?
If only you knew! My mother slept in a silk dress because
that’s what proper ladies do she told me. Proper ladies!!
Yeah, that’s kind of formal. So someone back there bakes
the bread-
I gesture to the back
And then it magically appears in front of you here-at your
table…
She nods. Oh that is exactly how they saw it. The
employees are invisible. The work of it. The mechanics.
The ovens. All of that isn’t to be acknowledged. My father
once put up a large wood divider so you couldn’t see the
bakers.
Of course he did. And what happened to it?
It caught on fire.
Lan Zing has tucked her feet under her like she did in our
interview. She is quite lovely. He was so embarrassed!!! He talked about it endlessly. Like he’d brought shame on us all. I realize now that he was trying to hide the actual making of the bread-
I interrupt her. Which is why you come to a bakery.
I say it like it’s obvious.
People want to see other people bake bread?
Her question has an innocence to it.
Yes. They do. You can understand the entire process and
it’s still magic. It’s a wonderful sort of alchemy that we
return to again and again. That’s why people come to a
bakery.
You’re an unusual one, Heen.
Oh no. Here it comes. The awkward part where I have to
backpedal and let her down slowly. She goes on.
You say very simple things. Obvious, even. But you say
them like no one has ever said them. Like you’ve just
stumbled into it and you’re making it up as you go along.
I feel that familiar heat building in the base of my spine. A
survival instinct. A fear that she’s on to me. I have honed
this sense since that first job on Ziks. Danger. I change
course.
Awwww, I’m just telling you what you already know. Let
them see the ovens! Let them watch us do what we do!
Let’s turn all the tables. Think of it as one big room, and
some people are baking over there and some people are
eating over here and we’re all together-
She stands up.
Got it.
She starts moving the table behind her.
I appear to be the last thing on her mind.
Did I totally misread her?
I help move the tables.
Back to business.
I’m so relieved.
*
Suddenly, he’s there.
On my right.
He appears out of thin air, strolling in step with me as I walk back to my flat after work.
Like we know each other.
Like we’re friends.
Piddle, piddle, piddle.
He mutters it under his breath, to no one in particular. Are
those words? Is that a stutter? Does he have some sort of
condition?
He repeats it.
Piddle, piddle, piddle.
I don’t know where he came from.
I’ve never seen him before.
He’s shorter than I am. And I am not very tall. And thicker. Stockier. Solider. He has an unusually long thorax. Is that what it’s called-the area from above your thighs to below your ribs? His hair is short in the front and long in the back. Like he was getting his hair cut and half way through got up and walked out.
And he’s wearing brown.
Lots of brown. He’s drowning in brown. A long brown linen shirt, matching pants. A brown bag over his right shoulder. Around his neck is a thick rope necklace with a green stone set in a silver circle.
I clear my throat.
Excuse me?
He gives me a sideways glance.
It’s a fusty run of giblets but the suns have done some good cookin’, yes or yes?
His words come out in staccato-like bursts, the cadence
off kilter. There’s something expectant in his eyes, as if I’ll
know what to do with that.
SUNS-THE SUNS? Fusty what-gibler…What-what are you saying?
He gently touches his cheek as he pauses in the middle of
the path.
It’s a marvel, innit? How the SUNS light our faces?
He tilts his head back and closes his eyes.
All that radiant energy endlessly pouring down upon us
from millions and billions of miles away, traversing that
spectral distance with spectacular ease, all so we can
sparkle with unceasing incandescence…
His eyes glaze over as he stares off into the distance. He
snaps out of it and returns to my side.
Thick biscuits, that. Off we go, muncher.
He motions for us to continue walking.
I do. We do.
He’s right beside me.
Way too close.
I need to take control here. I back away a bit.
I’m Heen Gru-Bares. What’s your name?
I say it slowly and clearly, projecting calm and order. I’ll
run things from here.
You did???
He’s thrilled by this.
I did what?
How big did they get?
Did WHAT get?
I have no idea what he thought he heard me say.
The bears?!! How big did they get?
WHAT BEARS!? I shout this. A woman in a doorway
glares at me. Now I’m embarrassed. This man has
managed to burrow his way under my skin in an impressively brief amount of time.
You said HE GREW BEARS.
It clicks.
No. No. No. There were-there are NO BEARS INVOLVED. I
was introducing myself. Like people do. I told you my
name: Heen Gru-Bares.
I say it like he’s hard of hearing. He tilts his head. As if
there’s something unnatural about this.
A name is a sentence?
My teeth clench.
My name is my name. I don’t know what about that isn’t
clear.
He starts drawing with his finger in the air in front of his
face.
Heen is the SUBJECT, grew the VERB, bears the DIRECT
OBJECT. What did Heen do? Heen grew!! Who grew?
Heen grew!! And so now we know!!! What did Heen grow?
I know! He grew bears!! Is it true? Who knew Heen
grew??? Who knew it’s true what he grew-You??
He says this in a soft sing-song voice. Like he’s talking to
a small child. Or himself. Is he messing with me? Maybe
he’s brilliant and this is some new street performance art
he does with strangers. Or he could be disturbed and
shouldn’t be wandering the paths unsupervised.
What did they eat? He asks me. He is relentless.
NO. Once more: NO. No bears, no animals! Nothing ate
nothing or anything. No mammals were hungry. My FIRST
name is Heen.
He’s expressionless.
Spell he says. He appears to be concentrating with all his
might.
H-E-E-N. Heen.
He says my name out loud. With the expression of
someone trying an exotic food for the first time. He says it
again. He surveys me with what I can only describe as…
pride.
Are you the first Heen on Firdus?
I have no idea.
How would I know? I ask him.
He seems pleased. Well then let’s just assume. Which makes this a rather momentous occasion. The first and only Heen on Firdus.
He pats his stomach.
I forge ahead.
And then my last name is…Gru-Bares. My last name. G-R-U. And then a dash-
He gestures for me to stop as he puts his hand on my arm.
He’s alarmed.
Why a dash? What was wrong that a dash was required?
Why this needless division?
I suddenly realize that my hands are clenched into fists.
I summon a slightly over-exaggerated inhale in an attempt
to gather myself.
B-A-R-E-S. Heen Gru-Bares. It doesn’t come from
anywhere. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not a sentence.
Nothing interesting or noteworthy is happening in my
name. It’s just a name.
He watches me patiently, like I’m the one who’s been
struggling and now I’m gradually beginning to make my
way out of the fog.
I stop. What’s your name?
He brings his hands together, the palm of one on the back
of the other, and places them on his heart.
Dill Tudd.
And then he turns and walks away.
*
Laundry I say.
Laundry? Randy asks.
Yes. They don’t lay it flat on the roof, like every single
other planet I’ve ever been to. They hang it on ropes that
they run across the fronts of their houses. So when you
walk by you can see people’s clothes. Out in the open.
Socks. Shirts. Underwear. Just blowing in the wind. Quite
shocking, actually. I don’t need to see that.
I catch myself.
What was that?
Giving a personal opinion.
Not reporting the facts.
A twitch. A need. A lean in. Some desire to connect.
Heen…?
Yeah, sorry, delete that last bit, don’t know what that was.
I collect myself.
Anything else on the laundry?
I have nothing else on the laundry.
That’s it.
I move quickly.
And then baseboards. A slight staining effect is present on
the majority of homes, particularly in CIRCLE 8, about a
foot off the ground, on the path facing side. Paths are
standard decomposed granite-staining appears to be
backsplash from rains. I tested the DG. Iron levels are two
clicks too high. Water from the run off appears to be
draining through a metallic channel somewhere a hundred
or so paces north.
That it?
Yep, that’s it.
Randy clicks off.
I sit here, staring at that disc.
I’m trembling. My face feels flush.
Mild panic.
What is this? What was that?
The worst report. Ever.
Clearly.
What is it about Firdus?
Lan Zing asks me about my favorite bread.
Borns tells me about his hut and his piles of rocks and his
vow.
Peeble.
That guy Dill Tudd.
Walking along like we know each other.
I have been everywhere.
I have seen everything.
But this.
Firdus.
This is new.
Unnerving.
*
Break.
I make myself a coffee and head to the bench.
I see Ziga Mey at the end of the trail. She’s talking to a
man.
Phileep?
Is that Phileep with the flag?
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a square of cloth.
She wipes her eyes.
I look away.
Whatever that is, it isn’t for me to see.
I look back at them. I can’t help it.
The man isn’t smiling.
He is cold. He holds an envelope in his hand.
She keeps pointing to the envelope.
Whatever it is she wants him to see, he is not seeing it.
He throws up his hands and leaves.
She stands there, collecting herself.
She turns towards the bakery.
I look down at the ground.
She walks by.
Hi Heen.
Hi Ziga Mey.
*
Borns and I are folding dough for the brioche.
He leans over and asks me
Heen, do you know what a pirate is?
From earth, right? They sailed on ships and searched for
treasure-
Yes, yes, pirates. We are all pirates, yes?
Yes, Borns, we are all pirates.
He is very happy with this.
Excellent. So this pirate walks into a bar with a steering
wheel on the front of his pants-
Wait. Is this a true story?
You shall see.
It’s a joke?
I really want to know what this is. He waves my question
away.
The bartender sees this steering wheel on the front of his
pants and says to him HEY THERE FELLA, YOU’VE GOT
A STEERING WHEEL ON THE FRONT OF YOUR PANTS!!
And the pirate says AAARRRGGGH AND IT’S DRIVING
ME NUTS!!!
I don’t know how to respond to this.
Borns looks crestfallen.
You don’t think that’s funny?
It’s a joke?
A part of me wants to laugh just so I don’t have to see
him so disappointed.
Lan Zing enters.
Do you get it?
I give her a blank look.
Do you get the joke?
I realize I don’t.
I’m sorry Borns, I don’t understand.
Then I will try again. He loosens up his shoulders, does a
stretch with his legs.
AAAAAARGH AND IT’S DRIVING ME NUTS.
He includes hand motions this time.
I get it. I laugh.
Ziga Mey turns around from the oven. I didn’t get it either
the first time I heard it.
I laugh some more.
Borns, how many times have you told that joke?
Bobby Freelance appears in the doorway and says
Everybody. And then he returns to the storage room.
You tell that joke to everybody?
I do Heen. It is the best joke in the universe. It is perfection.
