Where'd You Park Your Spaceship?, page 26
I’m that guy?
They laugh and cheer and clap and line up to hug me and
welcome me back. Lan Zing hands me a smoothie.
With a straw. I’m actually glad my jaw is still wired,
because I would have no idea what to say in response to
this.
This…love.
I have been going to work for laps now.
Every morning.
But this.
This is new.
*
Morning break.
I go for a walk.
Of course he appears out of nowhere.
Piddle, piddle, piddle.
I smile and point to my jaw and nod three times like I’m
saying piddle, piddle, piddle.
Dill Tudd materializes out of thin air at random intervals as
I go about my life on this planet and it doesn’t even phase
me anymore.
And today?
Pink.
Not light red.
Not white with a touch of maroon.
Pink pink.
Pink shirt, pink pants, a pink bandana around his neck.
I point to his outfit and give him a thumbs up.
I know! he exclaims. When you’re on, you’re on, right?
I give him a I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS look.
He replies I saw this fabric in the front window at
Barkavas-Do you know Barkava?-she is the most luminous
soul. And she knows her textiles!! I charged in there and
said BARKAVA I JUST HAVE TO HAVE ONE!! And here’s the thing about Barkava: she knew exactly what I was referring to!!! Imagine that-she’s got hundreds and hundreds, probably thousands of yards of fabric if you include that storage unit she keeps out past the school that she hasn’t told her man about because he’s always saying SIMPLIFY DOWNSIZE PARE IT BACK TRIM THE EXCESS!!! But how do you just get rid of perfectly good inventory? Who knows what clothes and bags and curtains and tablecloths are just waiting to be made from all that
cloth she’s got laying around? BUT SHE KNEW! What a moment. I walk in to her store and say I JUST HAVE TO HAVE IT! And she knows I’m referring to this PINK fabric she has just put in the front window that morning. I mean how often do you see an 800 THREAD COUNT COTTON with that matte weave? At first I thought it was sateen but then when I held it I realized it’s a percale but the lustre, THE LUSTRE HEEN GRU-BARES!!!
He offers me the bottom hem of his shirt so I can feel this lustre he speaks of.
It feels like a shirt to me.
He keeps going. These are the details that so many people
skip right over. They know they like that sweater more than
their other sweaters but they don’t ask WHY! Or these
pants versus those pants-why do some pieces of clothing
not just fit better but FEEL better? There are reasons. Real
reasons. Cut, fit, thread count, taper, stitch, line, drape-I
could go on…
I nod YES.
Then I realize my nod might make him think I want him to
go on. Which was not the point of my nod. The nod was
simply to agree with him that he could go on talking…I
don’t doubt that.
I change tactics.
I point to his outfit, then point to him.
Which is harder to do than I thought it would be.
I’m trying to ask him if he makes his own clothes.
Which I suspect is a YES.
Are you asking if I make my own clothing? he asks.
I nod YES vigorously.
I do he says.
He is so proud.
I nod in return.
Like I’m impressed.
We’ve been walking for a while now, through the park
beside that row of buildings with the pet store and that
outdoor patio where people drink wine while that guy
plays his guitar and sings those really sad songs.
I point to my jaw.
A look of recognition.
Oh yes, I heard. You are the talk of Firdus.
I give him a QUESTION MARK of a look.
You found a missing boy. And then you tripped and fell at
the end of your journey. And so you can’t speak for a
while. What a wonderful story.
I shrug, like YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT’S GOING TO
HAPPEN.
Or
IT IS WHAT IT IS.
Or
YOU DO WHAT YOU CAN AND LET THE CHIPS FALL
WHERE THEY DO.
That kind of shrug.
Dill Tudd sighs. Yes, Heen, it is all a bit tinged with the surreal. You show up here. We become friends. You become a hero. We keep running into each other.
You show up here.
That’s what he said.
What does he know?
What does he mean by that?
Why did he ask me last time where I parked my
spaceship?
Why did he leave me when I fainted?
Did he give me that awful smelling chunk of something?
This day was going so well.
Back at work.
All that love.
That smoothie.
A stroll on my break.
Dill Tudd in pink.
But now he’s got me all riled up.
Nervous. Anxious. A little paranoid.
How does he do that?
How does he get under my skin so effortlessly?
I write him off as an odd little lonely man who’s just
looking for someone to talk to.
But then he does something that makes me think he’s up
to something.
Working some angle.
Running a scheme.
But then he’s wearing pink.
And I go back to HE JUST WANTS SOMEONE TO BE HIS
FRIEND.
I need to get back to work.
I point in the direction of the bakery.
He says You have to go?
I give him a little bow, my own version of the bow he does.
He reaches in his bag.
Finally.
I’m going to find out what’s in there.
I was thinking you might enjoy this.
He says this as he pulls out a paper bag and hands it to
me.
I open it.
The smell.
Rosemary.
My eyes go big.
You like rosemary? he says. I love it. When I heard you
broke your jaw I thought you probably hit your head pretty
hard. That can mess with your brain. Rosemary is good for
your memory. Just in case.
He shrugs.
Like it’s no big deal.
Good day, Heen Gru-Bares.
He bows.
And walks away.
*
Lan Zing is in her office.
She sees me in the doorway and stands up.
I show her the bag.
Without saying anything, obviously.
I open it.
She looks inside.
She places her hand under my mine and raises the bag.
She inhales.
You remembered!! she says. After all you’ve been
through-you remembered!!
She’s so thrilled.
I nod to the bag and then point to the main kitchen area.
You have new bread to bake she says.
I nod. Yes.
*
This man, Goran Kropp.
Where does he even get this idea?
He lived in a place called SWEEDN.
I check the map at the back of this book.
It’s in the north.
And in this place called SWEEDN he gets this idea to hike
a mountain called EVEREST.
Which was-still is?-I notice how I speak of EARTH in past
tense.
We all do.
It was. And it is.
But in my mind IT WAS.
EVEREST, I have learned in my reading, is/was the tallest
mountain on EARTH. And at that height the air gets very,
very thin. So extra oxygen is needed. That’s how most
people hiked that mountain-with extra tanks to help them
breathe. A few had climbed it without those extra tanks,
but only a few.
The rest died trying.
This man Goran Kropp, sitting there in his house in
SWEEDN, he gets it in his head that he is going to ride his
bicycle from his house in SWEEDN to this mountain
EVEREST, climb it WITHOUT ANY EXTRA OXYGEN, and
then ride his bike home.
Who thinks of such a thing?
But then, he thinks of a way to make this adventure more
difficult. He decides that everything he needs to climb
that mountain he will take with him on his bicycle.
Everything.
Clothes, food, ropes, maps, tent.
Everything.
And then he does it.
And he writes a book about it.
I’m reading this book and I’m not believing that this man
is even going to try this feat, let alone complete it. So I
read ahead and see that in the middle of the book are
pictures.
Of Goran Kropp leaving SWEEDN on his bicycle.
Goran Kropp sleeping in a pile of hay with rats.
Goran Kropp riding his bike across a place called
PAKISTAN.
Goran Kropp in his tent on the side of EVEREST the
mountain.
And then, at the end of the pictures, Goran Kropp on the
top of this mountain EVEREST.
I put the book down.
I find this man astonishing.
I open the book back up and look through those pictures
again.
I am struck by how small EARTH is/was but how LARGE
was the imagination of this Goran Kropp.
The limits.
That’s what I can’t get over.
These people lived on only one planet.
That’s all they knew.
With a fixed number of oceans and mountains and rivers.
Only a few things to actually do.
Only a little space to explore.
And yet they endlessly found new ways to stretch
themselves.
And he did this on a bicycle.
A bicycle has never been a part of my life.
I’ve seen pictures.
I’ve met people who have ridden one.
But Goran Kropp, his trip was seven thousand miles.
On a bicycle.
EARTH.
What a place.
What a people.
*
I did it.
Borns and I look at each other.
Then at Ziga Mey.
She did what?
We wait for her to say more.
Borns is scoring the olive rolls, I’m doing a third fold on
the brioche, Ziga Mey is kneading baguettes for tomorrow
morning.
She says it again.
I did it.
We don’t respond.
I can’t. Yet. My jaw is still wired shut.
Borns just smiles.
He knows something good is coming. So do I.
I left him she says.
There it is.
Borns speaks.
You left Phileep?
Ziga Mey continues kneading.
I did. I keep saying it out loud to remind myself that I
actually did it.
I say HMMMM.
I have developed my own language consisting of roughly
three sounds. The HMMMM which is my sound for Good
or I’m with you or Yes, I see that. The MM NN MM which
is NO and involves shaking my head. And then I do a
higher pitched hum that means WOW or I DIG THAT or
WHO KNOWS?
You know what that was Ziga Mey? Borns asks her.
What?
That was a BIG MOVE.
I agree. I make my AGREE sound.
How do you feel about it?
She does that exhale where you blow your hair up off your
forehead.
That’s a good question. I feel like one life just ended but
the next one hasn’t yet begun. Like I’m in-between.
Borns strokes his beard. Ah yes, liminal space.
I haven’t heard this word. I give him my WHAT? look.
He loves it when I ask for more explanation.
Liminal space-from an ancient word for THRESHOLD.
You’ve left one room but you aren’t yet in the next room.
You’re crossing the threshold, so you’re in neither room at
the moment.
He sets his knife down.
All sorts of good things happen in liminal space, as long
as you don’t rush to get into the next room.
I put my palms together in the shape of a book.
Yes, Heen, I did read a lot of books in my hut.
Ziga Mey nods. That’s me. I have to find a new place to
live and people to eat dinner with and new places to go
on my free days-
Borns interrupts. Get to-
Get to. Right. I GET TO make a new life.
Borns turns to me.
When did Peeble say your wire comes off?
I hold up three fingers.
Three days? Well then, I propose a feast in three days. We
will celebrate the newly liberated Ziga Mey and the return
of the voice of Heen Gru-Bares—
Footsteps on the stairs coming down from Lan Zing’s flat.
Here she is.
Followed by Bobby Freelance.
Borns and Ziga Mey and I look at each other with raised
eyebrows.
Borns spreads out his arms like he’s a committee of one.
GREAT BOSS ONE and Bobby Freelance, I invite you to
the PEEBLE RESIDENCE for a feast in three days…
Wouldn’t miss it says Bobby Freelance.
We’ll be there says Lan Zing.
The three of us stand there, looking at the two of them.
Lan Zing is glowing.
*
I sit in my flat, staring at the disc.
For the third evening in a row.
Just sitting here.
Staring at that disc.
I think about the reports I haven’t filed.
I imagine somebody somewhere discussing my failure to
file my reports.
I try not to think about this.
That makes me think about it even more.
I have no other way to contact anyone. They think
everything through-how did they not think this through?
I picture myself sitting there in that chair on Yorch. Vo
handing me the disc. Talking to Randy for the first time.
Her telling me he’ll be my CONNECT. Vo didn’t say
anything about IF YOU HAPPEN TO BREAK YOUR JAW
AND BITE OFF THE FRONT OF YOUR TONGUE AT SOME POINT AND YOU CAN’T SPEAK HERE’S WHAT
YOU’LL NEED TO DO…
I can’t be the first SERIES 5 who’s missed a report.
Or two.
Or ten.
Other people with this job have smashed their face on the
ground.
Right?
*
I see Dill Tudd.
He doesn’t see me.
What a thrill.
I’m out for a walk on my break. There’s a small canyon
north of the bakery with a stream running through and a
set of swings on one side. There’s this lovely couple who
sit under an umbrella and make the best tacos ever.
Across from them are a row of stone tables and stools
where people play chess.
Dill Tudd is talking to two men who were playing a game
but now they are locked in on him, listening intently to
whatever he’s going on about.
Should I casually stroll by and then stop and listen in like I
do this all the time?
Should I wait and follow him when he leaves and then
walk up behind him like he does to me?
What am I, thirteen?
I watch.
He truly is the most unusual person I have ever met.
Does he have a job?
Does he have to be anywhere?
Where does he come from?
Where does he go at the end of the day?
And what exactly is it that he does all day-besides walk
around and hand people things from his bag?
Because I have seen him in lots of different places at lots
of different times handing things to a number of different
people. Who are always, always delighted to see him.
He’s wearing maroon today. A long, flowing one piece
tunic that lands below his knees. With a lightning bolt
across the back. A big yellow lightning bolt.
He turns around and spots me.
HEEN GRU BARES YOU BARE KNUCKLE BRAWLER!!!
He yells it like we have a wonderful history together. My
element of surprise vanishes. And I can’t speak, so I just
stand there and wave.
Like you do if you’re a BARE KNUCKLE BRAWLER.
He hands each man something from his bag and then
heads up the canyon towards me.
I sit down on a bench.
There are benches everywhere in Firdus.
He walks up, sits down next to me, clears his throat, and
then sings at full volume so everyone in the canyon can
hear
I broke my jaw,
I bit off my tongue
No words to speak
No songs are sung
I know what’s it like
to taste my own blood
Who wouldn’t love to have a friend like Dill Tudd???!!!
He finishes his song and leans back on the bench. He is
so pleased with himself. There’s nothing to say. He just
did that. Out in the open. In public. And I’m not even that
embarrassed.
What has happened to me?
We sit together on that bench.
Looking out over the canyon.
Dill Tudd in his maroon situation.
There’s a lightning bolt on his front as well.
