Zotheca

by Gary Inbinder

conclusion

Almost springing to his feet, Bill immediately noticed the absence of aches and pains, as though his arthritis was a memory left on Earth. Moreover, the soreness in his throat was gone. Reaching up beneath his collar, he rubbed his neck; the rope-burn had completely healed. “Gee, Mel,” he exclaimed, “I feel great, like I was forty years younger.”

Melanie gave him a gentle hug, and whispered, “Of course, Billy; we’re on Zotheca. Nothing hurts here.” Holding his hand, she led him to the portal, saying, “We don’t need space-suits, helmets or anything like that. It’s like Earth outside, only a thousand times better.”

Descending the now visible silvery-metallic stairs Bill viewed a vast expanse of broad, manicured green lawn bordered by familiar looking trees: oaks, elms, maples and weeping willows. At the foot of the staircase, he turned back to view the space ship and almost keeled over from vertigo. The gleaming burnished silver ship was enormous, reminiscent of flying saucers in movies but much bigger, like a gigantic ocean liner seen up close. “God,” he gasped, “It’s breathtaking; like looking up at the QE II from the dock.”

“Yeah,” Melanie replied, “I almost fell over the first time I saw it.”

Turning away from the ship, Bill took a deep breath; the air was pure and oxygen-rich; a mild breeze carried a sweet floral fragrance, like Melanie’s youthful perfume. A radiant, aureate sun glowed through drifting white clouds, lighting an aquamarine sky and casting purplish shadows on the green grassy turf. An eerie stillness made Bill uneasy; all he could hear was a slight rush of wind and the faint rustling of tree branches. “It’s very quiet, Mel,” he remarked.

“You’ll get used to it,” she replied. “Besides, the Zothecans can make any sounds you want.” Taking him by the hand, she pointed in the direction of a small white house about one half mile distant, and added, “Come on, Bill. Butch is waiting for us.”

“We’re home, Billy,” Melanie chirped.

Bill stood on the front porch of a two-story frame house that seemed plucked from a Norman Rockwell painting and plunked down in the midst of an alien world. Unaccustomed to the cemetery-like silence, and bemused by the incongruity of the small town middle-American home, Bill remarked, “Mel, it’s surreal.”

Confused by the unfamiliar term, Melanie questioned, “Sir Real? Who’s he; one of King Arthur’s knights?”

Smiling, Bill replied, “I’m sorry, it’s hard to explain; but I suppose we’ve traveled way beyond the explicable.”

Wrinkling her face in a cute and clueless pout, Melanie muttered, “I know you went to the state university, Billy. Just remember, Butch and I never made it beyond our senior year in high school.”

Nodding his head, Bill answered, “I’ll remember that, Mel.”

Bill entered a house furnished with items looking as though ordered from the Montgomery Ward Catalog, circa 1955. Butch stood in the front entrance hallway with extended hand and a broad grin on his blandly handsome seventeen-year-old almost All-American face.

While shaking Bill’s hand firmly Butch gushed, “Hi there, Johnson; long time, no see.”

Bill smiled sheepishly, returning the greeting. He never really liked Butch; in fact, after Melanie dumped him, Bill hated Butch’s guts. Now, he figured that was all long past, and he was willing to let bygones be bygones.

Butch and Melanie escorted Bill to the living room, where they sat on what appeared to be off-white Naugahyde chairs set around a Formica-topped table. Spread before him were a couple of hot pizzas, bowls of pretzels, popcorn and potato chips, bottles of Coca-Cola and Pepsi and three ice-filled glasses.

“We wanted you to feel right at home, Billy,” Melanie bubbled, “so we ordered your favorite food from our monitor. One pizza’s just for you, ’cause I remember you like onions and green peppers and Butch and I don’t.”

Butch smirked, put his arm around Melanie, and interjected, “Yeah, gotta have fresh breath for my girl.”

Gently pulling away from Butch, Melanie continued, “Actually, I don’t think you can have bad breath on Zotheca. I just don’t like onions and peppers, and we, that is Butch and I prefer Coke to Pepsi.”

Bill smiled, and replied, “Well, thank you, but this is food I liked when I was a kid. As you can both see, I’m now well into middle-age, and my tastes have changed over the years.”

Butch and Melanie smiled at one another, and Melanie said, “Go take a look in the mirror, Bill.”

Curious to see if his appearance had changed on Zotheca, Bill got up and walked to a gilt-edged mirror hanging on the living room wall above the alabaster mantle of a false fireplace. Staring into the mirror, he saw the reflection of himself at seventeen; but it was an idealized self, more the way he wanted to appear at the time, rather than the way he actually looked. There wasn’t a hint of the tiniest zit on his smooth, youthfully handsome face; his upper body seemed more muscular and filled out, as though he’d been lifting weights.

Smiling, he returned to his chair, wondering aloud, “Do I really look like that?”

“You sure do, Johnson,” Butch replied. “Now eat up, and then we’ll go outside and throw around the old football.”

“Yeah, Billy,” Melanie chimed in, “you can eat all you want, and anything you want. There’s no flab, blemishes or tummy aches on this planet. After we eat, you and Butch can toss the pigskin, while I practice my cheers.”

Looking down, Bill mumbled, “Don’t expect too much; I was never good enough to make the team.”

Butch and Melanie laughed. Butch slapped Bill on the shoulder, and said, “Don’t worry, Johnson. This is Zotheca; you’ll be catching ’em like a pro.”

Outside on the broad, green grassy expanse of neatly mowed lawn Bill went long on a simple pass pattern. He ran a forty-yard post as if shot from a cannon feeling not the least bit winded at the end of his route. Turning quickly, he sensed the spiraling football coming at him like a bullet, held up his hands, caught it cleanly, pulled it into his body and kept running until he crossed an imaginary goal line.

Holding up the ball in triumph, he heard Melanie cheering, “Go you Fillmore, rah, rah, rah!” Dressed in a turtleneck sweater with a large letter “F,” for Fillmore High, short maroon skirt, white ankle socks and saddle shoes she waved her shimmering red, white and gold pom-poms and kicked up her heels, almost touching her bottom. Dropping the pom-poms, Melanie turned cartwheels, showing off her long shapely legs and pristine white underwear. Watching her from a distance, Bill felt the pangs of lost love. It wasn’t what he felt for his deceased wife of twenty-five years; it was adolescent longing for a girl he could never have.

They played without tiring or any sense of passing time until the Zothecan twilight. The blue sky flushed scarlet, and then mauve and purple as its sun sank beneath the western horizon. Bill, Melanie and Butch walked back to the house under a full pale yellow moon and glittering starry sky. A breath of wind passed over the short green grass; except for the almost imperceptible susurration, this world remained muffled in deathly silence.

Back inside their home, Bill exclaimed, “That was swell; I never had so much fun in all my life.”

Beaming, Melanie ran to Bill, hugged him and whispered, “Oh Billy, every day’s going to be just like today, forever and ever.”

Looking over Melanie’s shoulder, Bill saw Butch glaring at him. Instinctively, he pushed Melanie back, and said, “Yes, Mel; the three of us should be very happy together.”

Steely eyed and frowning Butch growled, “Come here, Mel; it’s time to take our Lethe. We don’t want to get in trouble with the monitor.”

Lowering her eyes sadly, Melanie slinked to Butch’s side. Turning back toward Bill, she said, “We’re going to bed now, Billy. We’ll show you your room; it’s really nice. There’s a bottle of Lethe pills on your bedside table, and you’ll need to take one with a glass of water before you go to sleep.”

“What are Lethe pills?” Bill asked.

Growing red with impatience, Butch huffed, “You gotta take ‘em, Johnson. It’s for your own good. What’s more, if you don’t take them, you’ll get me and Mel in trouble with our monitor.”

Staring Butch in the eye, Bill replied, “The last thing I want to do is to get you and Mel in trouble; I just don’t like doing things without knowing why. Can I talk to the monitor?”

Looking anxiously at Butch, Melanie tugged his sleeve so he’d bend down a bit; she whispered into his ear. Looking more annoyed by the minute, Butch muttered a reply.

Facing Bill, Melanie said, “I’ll call the monitor and see what he says. Wait here while Butch and I go upstairs.”

Bill sat in a Naugahyde armchair staring at his reflection in a blank TV screen, having serious second thoughts about his Zothecan future. After a few minutes, Melanie returned carrying a small device that looked like a cell phone. Bill got up from his chair, and approached her.

Meeting him in the middle of the room, Melanie took Bill’s right hand in hers placing the object in his upturned palm. “The monitor’s agreed to talk to you, Bill. You push this little button here, and you’ll be able to communicate by thought. It seems weird at first, but you’ll get the hang of it.” Still holding his hands, she stood on tiptoes, giving him a little peck on the lips, and adding, “I’m going to bed, now. Today was so much fun; please do what the monitor says...for me.”

Bill smiled, and brushed his fingers through her long, silky hair. At that moment, he realized he didn’t love her the way he did forty years earlier. Instead, he thought of her as an adorable child-woman, like one of his now grown-up daughters when they were seventeen. “Don’t worry, Mel. I’ll never do anything to hurt you, or Butch.”

“Of course you won’t, Billy,” she sighed. Gently stroking his cheek, she added, “Good-night, Bill. See you in the morning.” She exited the living room, stopping once at the foot of the stairs and turning to smile wistfully at Bill before going up to her bedroom.

Watching Melanie disappear from view, Bill waited until she was completely out of earshot. Alone in the living room, he returned to his chair, sat and pushed the button on the device, calling the monitor.

An iridescent salmon-pink and green-gold squid-like creature, with nine oscillating tentacles and one large blue eye in the middle of its bulbous head, swam through bubbly aquamarine liquid in a partitioned crystal tank. Squirting effervescent jets from blowholes in its pearlescent flanks, the creature hovered over what appeared to be a small metal container resting on the tank floor.

The creature communicated mentally with Bill. “My name is Aarlu, and I’m your monitor. Melanie told me you had some misgivings about taking your Lethe, and I’m here to reassure you. The medication is perfectly harmless, and it will make you very happy and content with your life on Zotheca.”

Bill cringed inwardly at the thought of some unseen, unknown creature probing his mind. He answered carefully and honestly, trying to block any negative or hostile thoughts from reaching the monitor. “Thank you Aarlu, I really appreciate all you’ve done for me, that is to say I credit you and Melanie for saving my life. My attempted suicide was stupid; I’m ashamed, and I regret what I did.”

Bill ceased communicating for a moment, as if unsure of what to say next. Then, facing his concerns squarely, he continued, “To be perfectly honest, I miss my kids and grandchildren, and I don’t think I’ll fit in here. If possible, I’d like you to send me back to Earth as I was before coming to Zotheca. Of course, I don’t want to hurt Melanie, so I was hoping you could erase me from her memory.”

Aarlu remained silent for a moment, and then replied, “That is a very unusual request, Bill. I’m afraid I’ll need to consult with my superiors. Don’t worry; I won’t be long. Please just wait where you are.”

Aarlu jetted in a burst of bubbles to a hatchway on the lower right side of the tank. After slithering through the silvery partition’s aperture, he entered an adjacent chamber, and telepathically cried, “Mom, can you hear me? I’ve got a problem, and I need to see you about it before Dad comes home.”

A high-pitched inner voice replied, “Can’t you tell me what you want from where you are, or come to the kitchen?”

“I’m sorry, Mom, it’s serious trouble with one of my Earth creatures, and I have to get back to him right away.”

“Alright, I’ll be there in a moment.”

Shortly thereafter, an identical, although somewhat larger squid-like creature appeared amid a flurry of bubbles and fluttering tentacles, her cyclopean azure eye glaring at her son. “Well, what is it now, young one?” The wriggling mother impatiently hissed nacreous spume. “I’m in the middle of preparing our evening meal, and you know how your father likes to feed on time.”

“I know Mom, and I’m sorry to bother you,” Aarlu timidly answered. “It’s the new Earth creature. He wants to go home, and he won’t take his medicine. My mind-probe experiments on the female indicated a strong attachment and desire to be with this creature. I want them all to be happy.”

Irritated, the mother replied, “You know the rules, Aarlu. It must take its Lethe willingly, and it can never go home. Remember what happened last time.”

Aarlu’s eye lowered in response to a withering maternal stare; he recalled the shameful incident to which his mother referred. Not long before, a matter of months in Zothecan time, a male Earth creature in Aarlu’s terrarium refused to take his medication. Aarlu surreptitiously mixed Lethe into the creature’s food, despite directions requiring the creature’s consent to the drug.

Lethe taken without knowledge or assent had a pernicious effect. The creature became depressed, and finally went mad, killing, dismembering and eating his companions before killing himself. Aarlu received a stern rebuke from his parents for his failure to euthanize the creature immediately when it rejected its Lethe. However, when his birthday came around, they permitted him to send a ship to Earth to obtain replacements for his beloved pets. Aarlu’s toy spaceship reached Lake Onondaga on Halloween Eve, 1964.

Sadly, Aarlu murmured, “I’m sorry, mother; I’ll see to it at once. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

Softening her tone, the mother replied, “That’s alright, son. Please just take care of it before your father comes home.”

Aarlu returned to his chamber, floated above the terrarium, and attached a cylinder of fast-acting poison to his spaceship’s oxygen and anesthetic gas ventilation system. He contacted Bill; “It’s all arranged; I’m sending you home in the spaceship. Please don’t worry about Melanie and Butch; I’ll adjust their medication so they’ll forget you completely.”

Greatly relieved, Bill responded, “Thanks; I really appreciate your kindness. When do I leave?”

“Right now, Bill, while Melanie and Butch are asleep. The spaceship will be waiting where you disembarked.”

Bill got up from his chair and walked to the front door. Just before leaving, he looked back at the stairway, remembering Melanie’s smile. He wanted to see her one more time to say good-bye, but knew he couldn’t. As he walked down the front-porch stairs, he stopped for a moment, looked up and took a deep breath of fresh air. The starry glimmering purple Zothecan sky was beautiful, but the tomb-like silence and absence of birds, insects, animals and people too oppressive; he longed for the familiar sights and sounds of Earth.

Back on board the ship, he reclined in the comfortable chair, remembering Sharon and thinking of Bill Jr., his daughters Sue and Audrey, and the grandkids. He whispered, “I’m coming home.” Then, with a smile on his face, he went to sleep.