Aliena Too (3 page)

She slept restlessly again. The specter of her husband's body with an alien brain tormented her. Why had she ever agreed to this abomination? Oh, yes—to save her husband. Why did it feel like prostituting herself to a monster for a good cause?

A song was running through her head, endlessly repeating: “In the Gloaming,” one of Quincy's favorites. He couldn't carry a tune, but he loved music. Now the words haunted her. “In the gloaming, oh my darling, think not bitterly of me. Though I passed away in silence, left you lonely, set you free.” Quincy had passed away, and she was free to indulge in horror. They had been married less than a year, and now this. Gloaming meant twilight. That certainly fit; it was the twilight of her happiness.

The morrow came at last. It was the day. She dressed prettily and steeled herself for the ordeal. The mirror showed an ordinary face with gray eyes and shoulder length brown hair. She was not a beautiful woman, but she was adequate, without undue fat or blemishes. The alien was programmed to find her appealing? That would have to do.

A car drew up to the house. Three people and a child got out. Johnson, Rebecca, Maple, and—Quincy. Had they not done the surgery, and he was returning to her? Fond illusion! It was the alien.

They stood by the car. Maple skipped ahead, coming to the door alone. “We can't introduce him until you name him,” she said.

Lida had been braced for she knew not what, but not this. “Name him? Doesn't he have a name?”

“Sure, but he needs an Earth name. The way Brom named Aliena, and I named Star. That's the way they do it.”

This was ridiculous! Lida said the first thing that came into her head. “Gloaming.”

“Thank you.” Maple ran back to the others.

The four now walked to the door. Maple introduced the key players. “This is Lida. This is Gloaming.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Lida,” the alien in the body said. Exactly like a human being.

Was it real? Was this actually happening? “Come in,” Lida heard herself say.

Sam and Martha were inside. “This is Sam,” Lida said. “This is Martha. They are our bodyguards. And this is Gloaming, from—from the spaceship.”

Sam stepped forward and shook hands with the body, showing him how to do it. “We'll get along, Gloaming.” He gave no sign of amusement at the odd name.

“Thank you,” Gloaming said. “I am fatigued by the journey. May I rest?”

“He came from the ship nonstop,” Johnson said. “Moving to Earth gravity. He should lie down for a while, become acclimatized.”

This was her cue. “This way, Gloaming,” Lida said. She nerved herself to take his hand, and led him to the bedroom. Thus suddenly she was alone with the creature, and wishing she were not. “You may lie down on the bed.” Then, uncertain of the impression she was making, “Do you want me to join you?”

“Please, if you would. I should sleep, but am unable to do so alone.”

Was this a pickup line? Lida was not amused. “Take off your shoes. Lie down. I will join you.” He looked so much like Quincy!

He lay down on the bed, somewhat awkwardly, on his side. It occurred to her that starfish did not have to lie down: they were already flat on the floor of the sea.

She removed his shoes. Then she removed her own and lay beside him, facing him. “How is it that you can't sleep when you need to?”

“It is a problem with our species. We are sea creatures. Outside of the sea we find it difficult to relax. We need the reassurance and contact of an understanding person to enable us to relax sufficiently. I apologize for this inconvenience.”

What could she say? It was more than an inconvenience. She didn't want to be near him, let alone touch him, let alone sleep with him—even in the literal sense of losing consciousness. Was he a baby who had to be cradled and rocked?

But she had agreed to do this. She had to perform. She reached out with her right hand and took his left hand. “Will this do?”

He held it lightly. “Yes. May I comment?”

“Of course.”

“You are hostile.”

She jumped. This was too close to the truth. “I—am ill at ease.”

“As am I.”

She had to say something to defuse this threatening disaster. “I'm doing this because it is the only way to save my husband, the man I love. Otherwise I would not touch you. I am not hostile to you personally, so much as to the situation. Why are you doing this?”

“That would be a complicated story.”

“Simplify it.”

“I was an energetic young male on my planet, prone to bending rules. I got into trouble with the prevailing norms. I was given a choice: pay a penalty for my misdeed and suffer re-education, or volunteer for the space voyage, which would take me entirely out of the culture, never to return. I volunteered. When I woke, seemingly an instant later, a hundred years had passed. I had been selected to occupy an alien host, so as to learn the alien ways and become an envoy for my world.” His mouth quirked. “Perhaps the machines did not realize that I was a troublemaker.”

Lida suffered a flash of empathy. “Or maybe they did. This was your punishment.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “Now I must do my best for my world, and for the association of dissimilar sapient species. I apologize for complicating your life in this manner.”

“No, you are like me in this respect: doing what you have to do. At least you have some spirit. I respect that.”

“If I may ask, what is the meaning of the name you gave me, Gloaming? I am familiar with the dictionary definition, of twilight or dusk, but I do not see how it relates to my situation.”

“My husband's favorite song was ‘In the Gloaming.' It was running through my mind as I thought of him, and of our marriage, which is finished by no choice of our own, our twilight. So when I needed a name on the spur of the moment, that was it. I really did not mean to inflict it on you. I'm sure we can change it to something more appropriate.”

“No, this is fitting. We accept the names we are given by those with whom we must associate. It was true for Aliena, and for Star. I am glad to have you name me; it is the first bond between us and I hope I will sufficiently honor it. Please, would you sing that song, so I know it?”

She was surprised yet again. She sang the song. She was a musician, not a superlative singer, but her voice was all right and she could hold the key.

In the gloaming, oh my darling
When the lights are dim and low
And the quiet shadows stealing
Softly come and softly go
When the winds are sobbing faintly
With a gentle unknown woe
Will you think of me and love me
As you did once long ago?

She continued with the second stanza, but the words got to her and tears washed out her voice. “I'm sorry,” she choked. “I can't finish it right now.”

“There is a problem?”

What was there but candor? “It reminds me too strongly of Quincy. The man whose body you are using.”

“This causes you pain?”

“Yes. Emotional pain. I love him and want to be with him, and I can't. That hurts.”

“You must teach me this pain.”

“You really don't know of love lost?”

“I do not know it, lost or found,” he agreed. “It is part of the human condition. I am apt in other ways, but this type of emotion is alien to me.”

“Alien,” she echoed, smiling tearily. “That's an irony.”

“I do want to learn it.”

“I will try to teach you,” she agreed. “But not tonight. Right now it's all I can do to finish the song.”

“Do not be concerned. I have found the words. It was the emotion I needed, and you have demonstrated that.”

Some demonstration! “Found the words?”

“I am musical in nature. I was given the words to popular songs. But words alone are not sufficient for the art of music. Its essence is feeling. That is what I must learn.”

Did he really know the whole song now? She could readily find out. “Please, sing it for me.”

He sang, and she was amazed. Not only did he have the words, he had the tune perfectly, from her one rendition, complete with seeming feeling. He was a superlative singer, perfectly on key. It was absolutely beautiful. It did something to her, stirring her emotion in a new way, replacing her aversion with grudging admiration. She listened raptly until the conclusion:

…For my heart was crushed with longing
What had been could never be
It was best to leave you thus, dear
Best for you and best for me.

It was over. “Oh, Gloaming, that was lovely!”

“It is the song you taught me.”

It was way more than that! “You said you were musical. You vastly understated the case. You must be the best singer extant!”

“If it pleases you, Lida, then it is worthwhile.”

She needed time to assimilate her shifting feelings. She had discovered in him a marvelous ability, but also a surprising lack. Could she really teach him love? “You are tired, Gloaming. You must sleep now.”

“I am tired,” he agreed. “Thank you.” He closed his eyes and was immediately asleep.

She continued to hold his hand, amazed. Quincy had always had a good voice, but his lack of ability to maintain the key had spoiled him for any singing that was not in the company of one who could stay on key. Gloaming had fixed that problem with a vengeance. To hear him sing was to be moved, and she had been moved. This was no alien monster!

But neither was he Quincy. A different human mind in Quincy's body would have been difficult to accept; an alien mind was worse. Yet now it was clear that Gloaming did need her, and not just to be able to sleep. And that realization, astonishingly, helped.

Now she too slept.

Hours later she woke to find him looking at her in the continuing daylight. “You are an appealing woman.”

She knew that her hair and makeup were a mess from her sleeping, and her glasses were askew. “Thank you. But of course you are conditioned to find me so.”

“I am. But I am thinking beyond the physical. You held my hand. You answered my questions. You sang to me. You slept with me. I know that you did not want to do these things, but you did them. I am in good limbs with you. This is what appeals.”

Limbs? He meant hands. Again, what could she say? “You are welcome. They are only the beginning of what I will need to do for you. I will do my best.”

“That will surely suffice.”

“We left the others without much warning. We need to see to them.”

“Yes.” He sat up, at last releasing her hand.

“After we clean up. You—we will be living together as man and wife. Those roles require us to be open about private things. You are familiar with the process of—of elimination? That is, like urination?”

“I have learned how to do it in this host.”

“There is one toilet connected to this master bedroom. We will take turns using it. I will do my hair and face while you use it, then you will shape up your hair before the mirror while I use it. I have just one request.”

“Whatever you wish.”

“Leave the toilet seat down.”

He did not smile, missing the humor. “I will.”

So she explained it. “Men commonly urinate standing up, so they put the seat up so the way is clear. Women urinate sitting down, so they put the seat down. When they do it at night, in darkness, they don't like to sit and discover that the seat is up, so they land in the bowl, maybe even the water. It can be a contentious thing.”

“I appreciate that. Is it permissible for me to urinate while sitting?”

“It is. At least while you are at home. In a public facility it will be another matter. You may have to use a urinal.”

“Thank you for clarifying that.”

“There are jokes about it. Naughty humor. If a man makes a remark, you should laugh.”

“This is something I must learn.”

“You don't know how to laugh?”

“I don't.”

She hesitated. “We'll work on that too, in due course, then. For now, the bedroom routine will do.”

They went to the bathroom, taking their turns, as she had with Quincy. She felt guilty for glancing at him in the mirror when he took his pants down, but reminded herself that such views were nothing to a married couple. She wasn't seeing anything she hadn't seen a hundred times before. Still, it felt awkward.

When she sat, she knew that he could see her in the mirror, too, as she pulled up her skirt and drew down her panties. He
was
seeing something new. That couldn't be helped. They had to maintain the forms of the marriage, or the whole thing could be given away prematurely. Gloaming needed to be comfortable as a human man before he “came out” as the alien envoy. It was her job to make him so.

He hesitated before they left the bathroom. “There is something I do not understand.”

She intercepted it. “When you saw me expose my bottom?”

“Yes. It stirred an interest. Something other than the function of urination.”

He really didn't know. It was her job to teach him. “When a human man sees certain parts of a human woman, it can arouse his sexual interest in her, especially if he hasn't seen them before. Your brain is your own, but there are reactions that originate outside it. Your human body saw my human body and wanted to have sex with it. But this is not the occasion for such an interaction, so that reaction is best suppressed for now.”

“What is the occasion for it?”

“At night, in bed together. When she is amenable.”

“How does he know when she is amenable?”

“She gives signals, or simply tells him.”

“You will teach me these signals?”

“Yes, when the time comes.”

“Thank you.”

Lida knew she would have to do it this first night. She could not legitimately postpone it. But the prospect no longer seemed as horrendous as it had only a few hours ago.

They went to the living room. Sam and Martha were there, playing chess. The others were gone.