Casserole Diplomacy and Other Stories (7 page)

“Ready?” she asked, and he nodded.

They walked back to their carriage. When she reached out to open the door, he closed his fingers over her wrist. “Problems?” he asked.

She drew her brow up in puzzlement.

“The cold,” he tapped her arm. “I was worried about the temperature. How’s it holding up?”

She flexed her arm, curling her fingers, all five of them, into a fist and released them. An almost inaudible whirring followed her movements. “Works perfectly,” she said, reaching out and pulling his head to hers until their lips touched lightly. “Just like magic.”

Originally published in On Spec
Fall 1994 Vol 6 No 3 #18

Robert Boyczuk
has published short stories in various magazines and anthologies. He also has three books out: a collection of his short work,
Horror Story
and
Other Horror Stories
, and two
novels,
Nexus: Ascension
and
The Book of Thomas, Volume I
,
Heaven
(all
by Chizine Publications). More fascinating details on Bob, and downloads of
most of
his published work, are available at
boyczuk.com
.

Fiona Heath

Edna was doing the dishes when the aliens knocked on the back door. She was in the kitchen at the back of the house, facing the woods instead of the highway that cut through the isolated area she had lived in for most of her sixty years. A little television sat on the counter near the sink. Images whirled by on the screen but the volume was so low Edna’s slightly deaf ears caught only the occasional car crash or gun shot. She preferred it that way, only keeping the TV on for company with Jonno gone and the kids so far away. The kitchen was clean and well kept.

The walls with their faded orange floral paper and fake wood cupboards were scrubbed and almost shiny. The captain’s wheel clock hung on the wall beside the embroidered Lord’s Prayer Edna had made for her thirtieth wedding anniversary. Cat and mouse ceramic salt and pepper shakers stood on the speckled Formica table beside a book of crossword puzzles. Yellow nylon curtains, closed against the night, hid the array of Florida seashells on the windowsill. The seashells were mementoes of Edna’s only trip in an airplane. The sea in Newfoundland only gave up broken shells and driftwood. Edna liked the creamy pink of the southern conches and would often sit at the table absentmindedly stroking the shells as she did her puzzles.

She had been cooking all day and was just finishing cleaning up. Tomorrow was the Bonavista Ladies’ Social and she had made her best dishes for the luncheon. Edna was renowned on the peninsula for her cooking. Years ago, her bakeapple pie won first prize three years in a row at the County Festival. That was when there were still bakeapples to be picked in handfuls off the roadside. These days she only ever collected enough for a few pies and a single freezer bag for winter.

Thinking the knock must be Sherri, her closest neighbour, who lived in an identical house across the highway, Edna yelled, “What are ye knocking fer—it’s open as always, dearie.” Her hands stayed busy in the sink of hot water and dishes. The aliens knocked again. Edna sighed in love and exasperation, pulling her yellow gloved hands out of the sink, and shook off some of the water. She stepped over to the door and opened it. “Sherri, love, what are ye think . . .”

Edna stopped talking as she saw three aliens crowded onto the back steps. The aliens stared back at her. Edna was so surprised not to see Sherri, not to see a familiar face on the back steps, that she was less surprised at how unfamiliar her visitors were. Strangers were only visible in the tourist months of July and August. Out of season strangers were fantastic enough that being from another planet was only an extra oddity. And it was obvious they were aliens, with smooth yellow faces—
kind of like my gloves
flitted quickly through Edna’s mind—and awkward white rain slickers that didn’t seem to fit properly. Edna could just make out muddy white jeans at the bottom of each slicker.

Edna knew about aliens. She had watched the
X-Files
once at her daughter Katie’s in Halifax. Sometimes she read the
National Enquirer
, mostly for the Hollywood gossip, but she skimmed the alien abduction stories. Her heart began to beat a little faster. Perhaps they were here to take her away to the stars. No one would believe her story, that was for sure, a widowed woman living alone outside Maberly, Newfoundland. She was just the type they take. There was that farmer from Nebraska who had been experimented on and now could see rings of light around everything electric, but no one believed him. Edna clutched the doorframe. She looked closely at the aliens, struggling between fear and a quiet kind of thrill. She realized they were each holding a container. The containers looked strangely familiar—like grey metal Tupperware. The aliens gestured at her with the containers. Edna realized they had brought food.
Why, they’ve just come to visit
. Edna was surprised; she had never read anything in the
Enquirer
about aliens visiting before abducting people. She relaxed her grip on the doorframe. Even though they were yellow-coloured strangers, it was a dark and chilly night for April and they had come round to the back door like any sensible person.

Everyone in Maberly knew the front door was for strangers, tourists and government officials, all the come-from-aways who were trying to experience the authentic Newfoundland. The back door was for friends and neighbours, people who lived here and treated each other like human beings—not cardboard images. Since the aliens knocked at the back door, they probably knew someone from around here, or came from a place with back door folks too. Perhaps they were friends of her Stan down in St. John’s. They lived crazy lives in that city, Edna knew, what with the university and the CBC there. The aliens might be odd-looking all right, with rubber glove skin and strange oval eyes, but they knew enough to be back door folks. Now that she was looking at the three of them closely, their expressions seemed hopeful rather than aggressive. They were just coming for a visit, like any neighbour might. With their hands full they couldn’t abduct her too easily. Edna prided herself on her hospitality—the whole town knew Edna wouldn’t turn a sick owl away from her door—and no one was going to say Edna Calhoun didn’t know how to treat aliens well on a cold night like this. She smiled at them and stood back from the door to let them in.

The aliens crowded quickly into the warm kitchen. Edna realized she’d kept them standing there a few minutes while she thought. She pointed to the table. “Take off your slickers. There are hooks on the back of the door. Sit yourselves down now. I’ll just put the kettle on for some tea.” She peeled off her gloves and walked over to the old gas stove, taking the kettle and filling it under the tap in the rinse sink. “I was finishing the dishes from the day, but I’ll just leave them for now.”

Edna lit the stove, carefully as always, and put the kettle on the back burner. When she turned around, the biggest alien came towards her and thrust all three metal Tupperwares into her hands. She (at least Edna thought it was a she) had orange eyes, oval and gentle. “Well, thank you kindly,” Edna said. “But I’ll have no one saying Edna Calhoun can’t feed her guests.”

The aliens looked at her. Edna sighed. She was hoping to only give them tea with some cookies she had made a few days earlier, but the Tupperware tins were large and heavy. They would expect a meal. Edna put the Tupperware on the counter beside the stove and opened the fridge. She could give them the food she’d made for tomorrow. With Jonno gone, Edna no longer had a freezer filled with good food waiting to be eaten. No point when it was just her in the house. Edna only liked cooking for other people. All the pleasure was in seeing other people enjoy her creative labour. But company was company and Edna wasn’t going to behave badly like other folks she could mention. Like Carol Anne Wheeler who had given the Simpsons tea and toast when they had dropped in, coming back for a visit after retiring into St. John’s to live with their daughter.
Even with nothing in the house, you could whip up some muffins or Pillsbury cookies as quick as can be. Best thing too, when fresh out of the oven. Toast!
Edna snorted to herself. She’d have to get up early and cook something else for the luncheon but she’d make sure these aliens were well fed tonight. Good thing she’d been to town only yesterday and bought her week’s groceries at the Valu-Mart.

Edna wondered if the aliens could eat regular food. They never came for dinner in the
National Enquirer
. Edna froze. What if she was the dinner? What if the Tupperware held the condiments? She glanced back at the aliens, who were sitting neatly around the table. They looked somehow oversized for the furniture, even though they weren’t much bigger than Edna, and she was getting round these days. They were chittering quietly to one another, sounding like squirrels with deep voices.

It made Edna a little uncomfortable, not knowing what they were saying, but she couldn’t believe they were a threat, even with yellow skin, too many teeth and not enough fingers.
Not knocking at the back door, not sitting at the kitchen table, calm as can be. They must have come a long way for this visit. Company is company, Mrs. Calhoun, and you just let them be themselves, and give them food and drink to warm their bellies.
You don’t have to say much to come-from-aways, even alien ones. Who just want to pry into the life of regular people, as if the ticket for the ferry ride over gave them permission to be nosy like tourists in a zoo.

The shortest alien came over to Edna as she took dishes and containers out of the fridge. He had a little fringe of wispy, crinkly yellowish hair on his neck and the back of his head. He was a bit tubby and reminded her of George—one of Jonno’s youngest fishing partners. George had loved her codcakes—when there was still cod to make them—he would stand beside her while she fried them up and sniff loudly and ecstatically. “Edna’s codcakes. Boy-o boy-o. What’s better for a hungry man than a plate full of these here codcakes? I could eat nothing but Edna’s codcakes day in and day out and I’d be a happy man!” Edna would scowl and push him away with a threatening spatula. George would jump out of her way, blowing kisses. She would smile and end up laughing as she turned back to the sizzling pan. Edna missed George, gone when the cod was gone, to Cornerbrook, trying to find something to do now that his life on the sea was over. Edna couldn’t help but like the alien George as he chattered excitedly beside her, gesturing at the food and the table.

“All right,” Edna said. “You can set the table. The cloth lies in the bottom drawer.” She pointed. George the alien followed her finger and opened the drawer, pulling out the top cloth and looking at her. Edna nodded. “Just spread that over the table.” She pointed back to where the other aliens were sitting. George grimaced in what was probably a smile and took the faded but clean orange and white checked cloth back to the table. All three of them examined it quickly and then George smoothed it over the table. He had forgotten about the salt and pepper shakers and the puzzle book, but the big alien pulled them out, making a deeper noise that might have been laughter.

George came back and stood beside Edna, looking expectant. Edna smiled shyly back as she continued to take the covers off the dishes. “Well, I guess it’d be all right if you were to put the utensils out as well. They’d be there in the top drawer.” She pointed again. George opened the drawer with interest and made the laughing noise. Edna watched as George scooped up a big pile of cutlery. She shook her head with amusement as George took the pile over to the table where the three of them broke out into excited chitterings. The stout one picked up two forks and touched them to his face, peering at it. “No, no, we only need one of each to eat with, and some serving spoons.” She picked up a fork. “One for me.” She pointed at herself. “One for each of you.” The aliens smiled back at her and each one picked up a fork from the pile. “Right,” said Edna, as she gathered up the rest of the forks. She put away the forks and then returned to the table and picked up a knife. Before she could say anything, the aliens dove into the mess of utensils and pulled out knives. The big female one who reminded her of Jonno’s kindly old Auntie Simmons had taken a butter knife. “No, that’s for the margarine—take one like this. Though I suppose we’ll be needing it too.” Edna offered a regular knife in exchange and laid the butter knife off to the side of the pile. George looked at the others and they all looked at Edna. Before she could say “Right,” they all reached for a spoon, checking to see they all had the same size. Edna smiled and put the rest of the utensils back in the drawer.