KATACLYSM: A Space-Time Comedy (8 page)

“Jeremiah was a bullfrog, was a good friend of mine…”

At the top of the stairs, Jude fished around in his pockets, only then remembering that he had given his keys to Flower earlier in the day.

“Funny thing, Flower.  It turns out that I don’t think the keys I gave you this morning were yours after all.  It seems that I must have given you mine by mistake.”

Flower feigned searching through her purse.

“In that case, we may have a problem Jude because I seem to have misplaced them.”

“No worries,” replied Jude.  “We can just head up to the roof and use the fire escape.”

“Oh yes you’ll get what you ordered right now, oh yes,” Max said licking his lips, hopping around the device on his tiptoes and inserting a few final parts.

“…Singing, Joy to the world, All the boys and girls now…”

Max smiled at the two men.

“Most people are worried about nukes getting in from Russia or the Middle East at the ports…heh heh, but nobody…” he closed the side panel of the bomb, “…is looking at the Canadian border where, if you have a few friends, you can get all kinds of stuff across…Ontario uranium, I salute you,” he said putting his hand to his temple while still bent over the cylinder.

“…If I were the king of the world, tell you what I’d do…”

“Now this isn’t the most refined stuff, but it should do the job,” he stood straight.  “Arrivederci Boston!  Sayonara!”  He screwed up his face and feigned wiping a tear away.  “Parting is such sweet sorrow…ooh mama!”

It was chilly on the rooftop.  Seeing Flower’s goose bumps, Jude put his arm around her and rubbed her back.

“Sorry about this.  I probably should have left you downstairs and let you in from inside,” said Jude.  Don’t worry though.  It won’t be long now.”

With one arm on the railing and the other holding Flower’s hand, Jude descended the narrow fire escape.  Beneath them was a large neon sign that Flower had thought a bit bizarre when she first stepped out of the taxi. 

Wu’s Chinese Smorgasbord

“Gonna sit on the roof with the wife and watch it go off…oh yeah,” said Max.

“But you’ll…you’ll be killed,” stammered Greg in horror.

Max turned to him dramatically tilting his head to the side, his eyes boring into Greg’s.

“Well that’s the idea, isn’t it, my man?  he said with a twinkle of the eye.  “Anyway, I’ve always had a thing for nuclear weapons,”

“…Love to have my fun, I'm a high life flyer and a rainbow rider, A straight shootin' son-of-a-gun…”

Max hoisted the cylinder into Greg’s arms and gave him a bear hug.  The physicist turned a knob and the bomb emitted a series of beeps to indicate that the device was armed.  None of the men heard them, however, as the noise was drowned out by the record.”

“…joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, joy to you and me”

After precariously shimmying down the tiny steps in her high-heels for more than a minute without seemingly making much progress, Flower had had enough.

“Jude, maybe I’ll just go back and wait for you inside.  I probably should have mentioned that I’m a bit afraid of heights.”

“Hang on Flower, we couldn’t possibly be closer.  Look, my balcony is just there…what the…!”

Pointing to the balcony, Jude was so surprised by what he saw that he lost his footing and tumbled over the edge of the stairs pulling Flower over with him.  She screamed as they fell towards the balcony and the small silver saucer-shaped craft.  Before either of them could think, they landed, smacking hard on the floor of the vehicle which teetered unhappily at their arrival.  At once, they found themselves in an austere, metallic chamber much larger than the craft’s exterior would suggest.  Quite dazed, Jude and Flower were slow to sit up. Just as the pair struggled to lift themselves, two strange things happened.  First, something green darted by them.  Second, and more annoyingly by Jude’s estimation, they were treated to a shower of two hundred tiny, plastic packages.

“Ouch,” said Flower not appreciating the packages’ jagged corners which pricked her face and neck.

Suddenly there was a rumble and Flower and Jude found the floor vibrating beneath them.

“I think we ought to get out of here,” said Flower prudently.

Jude lifted one of the plastic packages.

“How about that?” he said narrowing his eyes in puzzlement.  “Fortune cookies.”

Just as he spoke those words, the large domed roof of the spacecraft came down upon them with a loud clicking noise and the two humans watched helpless as the ship effortlessly glided up into the sky.  Flower grabbed onto Jude as she looked down through the translucent floor and saw Boston’s lights quickly getting further and further away.  Within moments, they entered the stratosphere.  Flower felt nauseous and closed her eyes while Jude could only marvel at the scene in front of him.  Mouth agape, he watched as the Earth came into full view, its brilliance illuminating the cabin.  He sat silently and stared while the ship zoomed through the solar system.  As they were passing Jupiter, the mosquito landed on his nose.

It was a chilly February day in Boston in the year 1774, when Governor Thomas Hutchinson returned home after a weekend at Milton Hill.  After ordering a pot of tea, the morose looking politician set his walking stick next to the creaky old banister and ascended to his study holding the hand of his youngest niece.  On entering the study, Hutchinson placed his hat on the bust of the King of England which proudly stared across the room from its perch on the corner of the Governor’s writing desk.  The tall chapeau sunk down obscuring the King’s hair and eyes as Hutchinson plopped down into his favorite fine Georgian chair and beckoned to his niece.

“Susanna?” he called, seeing that she was busying herself playing with the family dog on the floor.  “Hath you brought your volumes that I might read to you before your afternoon lessons?”

“Dearest Uncle Tom, I ha’ seen neither one nor t’other of ‘em since I ha’ been with ye at the Estate,” she replied matter-of-factly and in the vernacular of common folk which pained Hutchinson every time he heard it from his tender relation.

“Now, young Sue, it is not becoming for a young lady such as yourself to lose possessions so important to the natural growth.”  He turned and stared out the window, looking down at the bustling intersection of Garden Court and Fleet Street, trying to forget his annoyance.  ’Tis not the girl who grieves you, he thought.

“We must get your head screwed on the other way entirely,” he said turning back to the girl, “for the years are short before it will be time to find you a suitable man.”  As he contemplated the fate of the lost books, the old favorite rhyme came to Hutchinson’s head.

“Remember as I have, at pains, tried to teach you, Sue - For want of a nail the shoe was lost. For want of a shoe the horse was lost. For want of a horse the rider was lost. For want of a rider the battle…”

Just then, the royal Governor’s thought was interrupted by his personal man-servant Edward Pierce who had barged into the room in a nervous huff carrying a tea set on a silver platter.  Hutchinson looked up, aghast at the rudeness of the man.

“Begging yer pardon sir,” Edward began, absently setting the tray in front of his master.  “Not at all being my place t’interrupt ‘ee, on’y a foreign man of some renown, French at my estimation, hath called below speakin’ of a ma’er of some urgencies.”

Hutchinson stood up and paced the length of his study, suddenly anxious.  To allow a Frenchman into his private quarters would have been an absurd thought only a few years ago.  Yet now, having just received word that he was to be summarily replaced as Governor of Massachusetts by the general Thomas Gage, Hutchinson’s loyalties were not as they once were.  He was angry.  By any fair account, he had performed decades of exquisite service to the crown and to receive what?  A commendation?  A promotion?  Hardly.  The only word to reach his ears from London in months was a summons to pack up his trunks and return to Britain in failure.  He sat down behind the desk.

“Send the gentleman up,” Hutchinson said quietly.

Susanna picked up the dog and hurried out of the room, happy for a reprieve from her uncle’s rebuke.

Moments later, a polite knock at the door signaled the Frenchman’s arrival.  He was a tall man with a large belly and a moustache that curled expertly around his nose.  He removed his hat and extended a hand to Hutchinson.

“Bonjour monsieur le Gouverneur,” he said as they shook.  “I am called Crépuscule.”

“And to you monsieur,” said Hutchinson with a nod of the head.  “Please sit down.  May I offer you some tea?”  He poured two cups, handed one to the Frenchman and quickly got down to business.  “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“Well monsieur,” Crépuscule said while casually pretending to admire the office.  “Our king is quite eeel.”

“I am sorry that you bring such dire news!” said Hutchinson politely.  Crépuscule’s gaze fell back onto the Governor whom he sized up carefully.

“I will tell you in extreme confidence zat zere is not much time left,” he said bluntly, “and I come as an emisaree from ze royal court in France.”

“You’ve come with a message from Louis XV?” said Hutchinson with a hint of disbelief.

“Not quite monsieur le Gouverneur,” said the Frenchman earnestly.  “I ‘ave been sent from ze man who shall soon become Roi Louis XVI.”

Hutchinson raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“The new king is quite un’appy zat France ‘as ‘ad such difficulties in America and would very much like to see a change.”

Hutchinson was not sure what the Frenchman was playing at, but he had an idea.

“Very well, monsieur Crép…er”

“Crépuscule.”

“Yes, well what has this to do with me, if I may ask?”

The Frenchman returned his gaze to the bookshelves.

“We do not…what is ze correct word…” a sly smile expanding across Crépuscule’s face, “…appreciate…this man Gage as ze Eenglish do.”

“Yes, I expect not after the business in Quebec,” replied Hutchinson, adjusting his lapel nonchalantly.

Crépuscule let out a confirmatory snort.

“But we also believe zat you are un’appy too monsieur le Gouverneur…with zis Gage and with your own King, if I may be so bold.”

Hutchinson was surprised at the man’s candor.  He tried to process this information quickly, but it had taken him off guard.  Everything the Frenchman said was true, but the Governor could not believe where this conversation was headed.

“Do you mean to say, monsieur, that you have come to the North End all the way from this Louis XVI to ask me to ally myself with him?  Has he lost his head?”

Crépuscule raised a sharp eyebrow.

“Not in the least, monsieur le Gouverneur, not in the least,” The Frenchman replied curtly, taking a long sip of his tea.

Hutchinson was shocked and amazed.

“It’s treasonous!  It’s outrageous!  Why, I ought to have you arrested where you stand.”

The Governor was not a stupid man. He could not help but see the allure of the offer, having been spurned by his own king, his career all but over.  Still, he could never betray George III, not to mention the Empire.  It simply was not in him.  Hutchinson grabbed the untouched cup of tea in front of him and took an angry sip, ready to pounce on the Frenchman.  Abruptly, he stood up, opened his window and spat the contents of his mouth onto the ground below.

“Edward!”

The servant who had been waiting dutifully outside the study burst into the room to see what was wrong.  On seeing his master’s expression, he cowered and bowed humbly.

“Edward!  This is the vilest syrup of a tea that I’ve ever had the misfortune to taste.  I sent for Orange Pekoe.”

“Ay, sire.  But ‘tis my hard luck that the tea which I swear to ha’ saw in yer pantry on’y this morn’ is somewhere lost.  I hoped to satisfy ‘ee by brewin’ a fine pot o’ regular black tea and mixin’ in some oranges.”

Hutchinson raised his arms in exasperation.

“Edward, you imbecile of a man, there are no oranges in Orange Pekoe.  The name is in reference to the leaf.  The tea should be subtle and oaky in flavor.”

The Governor stared at the ceiling.

“How am I to think without proper tea?  How, I ask?  Leave my sight.”

With that, the Governor flung the contents of his now lukewarm tea cup into Edward’s face.  The servant covered his eyes and fled the room.  Hutchinson didn’t care anymore.  He walked over to the window and stared at the street below.

“Very well monsieur…describe your plans.”  Then under his breath.  “When I find the scoundrel who has had off with my tea, may God help him!”

Eric Silver woke up at exactly 6 a.m. on Monday morning.  After vehemently banging his alarm clock into submission, the resident gave his duvet one last hug before getting up to face reality.  He sat in bed and rubbed his eyes, surveying the range of medical textbooks that infested all corners of his basement apartment.  He couldn’t believe that he had moved back home for his residency, but with student debt from med school and a spot at Harvard, it seemed a good option at the time.  After freshening up, he grabbed a not entirely dirty set of blue scrubs that he had stolen from Beth Israel off of his chair and put them on.  Jacket and knapsack in hand, he climbed the stairs and walked into the kitchen.

“Morning mom,” he said to his mother who was busy making scrambled eggs for breakfast.

“Hi dad.”  Eric’s father was already dressed in a suit and appeared to be busy on the phone.  He held up a finger and turned his back.

“Yes, is that Eternal Grace?  Yes, I was wondering what you have on this morning?...Uh huh…no, I was just wondering what the program is today?...No problem…uh huh…Robinson eh?”  Mr. Silver covered the receiver with his hand and whispered “sounds like a good one” to his son.  “Ok, 10 o’clock you say?...Thank you very kindly…Bye bye.”  Mr. Silver hung up the phone.  “Well, my morning is set,” he said rubbing his hands, grabbing the newspaper and a plate of scrambled eggs from his wife.

“I’m going up to get dressed,” Mrs. Silver said, giving Eric a kiss with his breakfast.  “Have a nice day sweetie.”

“You too mom,” replied Eric, already with a mouthful of eggs.  He ate with one hand and checked his schedule on his smartphone with the other.  When Mr. Silver sat down at the table, Eric snatched the newspaper out of his father’s hands and set it aside.

“What’s up?” said Mr. Silver.  Eric shoved two heaping forkfuls of his breakfast into his mouth and spoke while chewing.

“Dad, why are you going to that funeral?

“What funeral?”

Eric cleared his throat and downed more of his eggs.

“The Robinson funeral.”

“Oh that one…uh…he was a nice person.”

“Dad, you don’t know any Mr. Robinson.”

“Well, that’s hardly public knowledge.”

Eric was already having a strange week and he questioned his ability to tolerate his father’s newfound pastime of attending memorial services.

“Dad, this is your sixth funeral in the last ten days…Let me ask you, what’s the allure?

Mr. Silver thought for a moment.

“Well, let’s see.  It gets me out of the house.  I’m always the happiest guy in the room, which is a new thing for me and, well, it just makes me feel good about my life, you know, knowing that someone is worse off.”

Eric shook his head.

“Have you ever heard of Schadenfreude, dad?”

“I never cared for any of the Germans, Eric, you know that.  Too rough and obnoxious for my taste.”

Eric forked the last bite into his mouth as he turned on his pager.

“Whatever you say, pop.  See you later,” Eric said, grabbing his things and running out the door, happy that at least he would be spending the day with the living.

Hurtling through space, Jude and Flower sat frightened in a pile of fortune cookies.  She looked around.  He felt around.  She bit her lip.  He frowned.  She squeezed his hand.  He unbuttoned her blouse.

“Humans, proceed with your pollination at a later time,” came a beeping noise from the front of the spacecraft.

Jude and Flower were startled for a moment and then looked at each other in amazement.  No more than five minutes earlier, after passing what Jude had assumed to be Pluto, the ship had accelerated to a point where the stars outside turned into a hazy blur.  Not quite knowing what to do, both Jude and Flower had been sitting in silence until just then.

“Er…hello there,” Flower hazarded.

From behind what looked, unmistakably, like a long hideous plaid sofa came the response.

“Hello,” said Paroophoron politely but clearly distracted.

Jude shrugged and got up to get a better look, followed closely by Flower.  As the humans traversed the sleek but barren metallic cabin, they indeed came to find a little green alien sitting on an ugly, rather oversized sofa busily maneuvering a set of controls in front of a view screen.  Paroophoron looked anxious and harassed.  Little beads of sweat were trickling down his elliptical face.  Jude was taken aback by how much the alien’s nervous appearance reminded him of Greg, the cat massage therapist.

“You speak English,” said Jude in a perplexed but nonchalant tone.

“Of course I do,” replied the 100 million year old alien without shifting his focus from the view screen.  “Everybody does.  It’s not like it’s Chinese.”

In a way, Jude was forced to see his point.  Flower was still in shock.

“So…” said Jude awkwardly, not used to having casual conversations with little green aliens.  He patted the sofa.  “You have a lovely vehicle here.  It’s a bit empty though.  Have you ever thought of putting in some leather seats?”

Paroophoron sighed, set down the controls, wiped his forehead and then resumed steering.

“I did have leather,” he said in slightly wounded beeps.  “There was an antimatter containment collapse…my beautiful leather interior,” the alien shook his head, “and since the warranty just expired, I’m going to have to replace it myself.  Honestly, it’s as though they make the things to break just at the worst possible time.”

“Tell me about it,” said Jude making conversation.

“Excuse me?” Flower piped in shrilly.  “Can we go home now, please?”