Larry Goes To Space (15 page)

He could readily identify the odor of bacon frying or the scent of hamburger on the grill. Maybe he could’ve learned to identify flowers by their fragrance if they were on the normal restaurant menu. He’d seen dozens of police dramas where some police woman identified a killer by the scent of gardenias left behind at the crime scene, noting that only old women wore gardenia perfume.

Larry wasn’t sure what gardenias smelled like any more than roses, because his television was high-definition, but only in the visual range, not having any scent dispensers. He would’ve bought such a television if he’d ever seen one advertised because he’d like to take a whiff of June Allyson. She looked like she had a wonderful fragrance, not now, of course, but back in her prime from the 1940s and 50s. He could identify his grandmother by her odor, but that was because she smelled more like old mothballs and Grandpa than anything else. Not at all like he imagined June would smell like, although April and May in Kansas had a pleasant spring-like odor.

Larry waved the soap around as if on display. “This isn’t really edible by human standards, although I have heard that some Earth critters can gnaw on soap without any bad side effects.” He wondered what side effects eating soap would cause a human. He wondered if eating soap would lead to farting bubbles. That caused him to wonder if his sense of humor had regressed back to middle school.

He decided even if he had graduated from the fourth grade — farts were still funny. He’d just matured enough to know that flatulence wasn’t the only humorous thing on the planet despite what those college fraternity boys thought. The whole mature sense of humor thing was exactly like being able to laugh at
The Three Stooges
, still be flexible enough to laugh at a novel by Gini Koch, and laugh while watching an old Will Rogers movie. Becoming more mature meant not only would your butt expand, but so should your sense of humor.

He tossed the bar of soap to Veronica. Even Ol’ Bucky could’ve caught the gentle underhanded lob since it would have bonked him on the nose. Veronica missed the toss completely.

She picked the soap up, sniffed at it, and gave a tentative lick. “You are right, friend Larry. This smells exactly like pbbbblttle.” Again, the translator was unable to match the Teumessian word to English. “Pbbbblttle are only nominally edible anyway, but they have a very delightful odor.”

She tossed the soap back. Or rather, she tried to toss it back. The soap described a high arc across the room and smacked on the floor midway between her and Larry.

The soap was exceptionally good at describing an arc. As far as soap goes, this particular bar was a literary genius. Not only did it describe the arc perfectly in mathematical terms, but it waxed poetically about the rush of wind and the air’s slight frictional warming during its performance. Its little speech was a Nobel Literature Award winning essay as it described the downward curve with the rush toward the deck.

It stopped talking when it smacked into the cold, damp deck, not because it was in pain, it was just a bar of soap, after all. It stopped speaking because no one else in the room understood soapenese, and even eloquent, flowery speakers give up if no one is listening.

There was another bar of soap in Larry’s backpack that might have understood. But it was still in the original box, just a child verbally, since the whole range of its existence was six grey walls barely a micro-fraction away from its outermost layer.

Larry retrieved the soap and he held it up. “Soap’s sole purpose is to help make my body odor more pleasant to those around me. Actually, I heard once in a chemistry class that all soap really does is just make the water wetter, but I don’t get that.”

The soap would have disagreed except it knew its whole purpose in life was to make water wetter and therefore improve the water’s cleaning ability. It would have been surprised to learn there were other soaps in the world with different purposes, but since it was on a spacecraft hurtling though space, it would never get the opportunity to hear from other soaps.

If it’d been unboxed in Larry’s bathroom back in Kansas it would have had the company — for a short time — of a clamshell shaped dish full of clamshell shaped soaps that Larry’s grandmother had put in his bathroom. The purpose, she had said, wasn’t to wash with them, but they helped to pretty up the room. They’d once looked so much like candies that even Ol’ Bucky was tempted to try one.

Still, over the last couple of years, they had gathered dust in their finely chiseled features and weren’t as pretty as they once had been, much like Grandma herself. Larry didn’t know what to do with dirty soap. Do you wash them or just wash with them? He would have asked Grandma, but she had her hands full with Grandpa these days and he didn’t want to bother her.

As per Larry’s habit, he started washing his body at the top and worked his way down to his feet. He scrubbed even his most embarrassing parts; what the preacher at the Baptist Church called the uncomely bits. He decided that standing naked in the shower with a trio of aliens wouldn’t embarrass him too much if he kept his mind on soap and not on them.

Unfortunately, things didn’t work out that way.

S
ilence propagates itself, and that the longer talk has been suspended, the more difficult it is to find anything to say.
(Samuel Johnson)

CHAPTER NINE

LARRY tried — and failed — not to watch Scooter, Betty, and Veronica watching him. Betty didn’t move until he was rinsing soap from between his toes. Then she stepped back into the shower with him. She sniffed from as high as she could reach to his toes. She stopped and carefully sniffed his crotch. That sniff was exactly how Ol’ Bucky greeted some visitors by shoving his muzzle as deep into their — well, their genitalia area — except Betty didn’t touch him, unlike Ol’ Bucky who would have probed deeper than any hernia exam, looking for any hint of hidden odor.

She gave a little snort. “Now your odor is like pbbbblttle all over. The odor of smoke and the fire are gone, but so is the odor of lecatnick. Lecatnick is a highly prized food so it is a much preferred fragrance.”

Larry laughed, “Well, if one of your highly prized foods has the odor of an unwashed jock strap, it surely won’t catch on as flavor of the month at any restaurant I’ve ever eaten in.”

Scooter and Veronica were sitting across a table from each other. They looked uncomfortable. They didn’t appear to be uncomfortable watching Larry and Betty shower together. They seemed to look uncomfortable being so close to each other, but Larry could be wrong about looks. He still didn’t have much experience with the full range of Teumessian expressions. Trying not to compare their expressions with Ol’ Bucky’s facial expressions was just difficult. Scooter had the same look on his face as Ol’ Bucky got when the vet checked him for worms.

Scooter said, “The odor from the lecatnick is from the flower. The food itself is a tuber that grows in the lecatnick root system. It has a minute odor of its own. The lecatnick odor can be detected miles away, yet it can be a difficult food to get as the flowers are protected by bees.”

Larry was surprised that the translator matched up a Teumess home world insect to its Earth counterpart. There must be enough similarities to match. He was about to ask when he received another, and bigger surprise. Betty grabbed his penis.

“Is this your organ for procreation?” she asked.

Larry wasn’t normally shy about sex. He was a farm boy. The facts of life concerning the birds, the bees, the canine, feline, bovine, opine, and porcine species were daily farm activities. As a hamburger farmer, Larry had — on more than one occasion — reached between a bull and a cow to help insert the bull’s one hundred percent all beef wiener in the proper cow part for fertilization.

He used artificial insemination with some cows, but he still thought the old-fashioned way of generating calves was the best. Every bull on his place agreed. Being bulls they sometimes missed the point of genetic diversity, but then so did Larry’s cousin Thumper, who converted to Neo-Nazism while cohabitating with the Arian brotherhood during an unfortunate stint in the big, grey house up in Leavenworth.

Somehow, sex as an abstract concept and practical business activity was different from having an alien creature grab Mister Happy in a warm shower.

“Um—” Larry wasn’t sure what to say. “Yes. That is my organ for sex.”

Betty looked at Scooter and Veronica.

They both shrugged in response.

She put her hands on her hips and looked up at him through the spray of water. “The translator has given us a nonsense word.” She and the translator spat a few words back and forth.

Larry stepped out of the water. The sound of the rushing, splashing water quit, just at the time the translator said sex. The three aliens looked at him with curiosity.

Larry shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t get your confusion.”

Scooter said, “We were under the impression sex was part of your mating ritual that happened during procreation. This is so, yes? We have seen examples of your courting rituals, but none of actual procreation and birth.”

“No?” Larry asked, although Scooter hadn’t really asked a question. “You must not get some of the same cable channels that I do.”

He cleared his throat and added, “Well, sex and procreation aren’t exactly the same thing with humans. Sex can be for fun and procreation or just for fun.” He fondly remembered that some humans had more fun at it than others, along with recalling that what some humans called fun offended some others. There were billions of people on Earth and there were billions of different definitions of fun sex.

“Most humans just enjoy…” his voice trailed off. Procreation was easy to explain, sort of, that was a clinical description about what goes where. How could you explain sex? It wasn’t just about putting part A into part B. There were humans on both sides of the gender line that enjoyed putting part H into part D, S, V or even Z. Larry was part of the human race but there were still parts of human sexual activity he didn’t understand.

Scooter pointed at Larry’s genitals and asked, “Why do you keep your organs on the outside? They would be more protected on the inside, yes?”

Larry tried to explain that his internal body heat would stop his testicles from producing sperm. The whole conversation became excessively graphic, but it began to grind to a halt just about the time the translator reached a point where it began to differentiate the difference in meaning between sex and procreation. The conversation was a little too personal to be naked, so he reached into his backpack, pulled out a clean pair of underwear and jeans, and put them on.

The Teumessians didn’t seem to see any difference between sex and procreation. In that regard, they were a lot like some humans whose beliefs led them to blur the distinction.

Larry said, “Some Earth creatures enjoy mating. Humans and chimpanzees especially enjoy it where making babies isn’t always the end goal.”

“You are strange creatures,” Betty said with finality.

Larry handed the soap to Betty. “Use this on your fur. Rub it and then rinse it good. It will help you get rid of the smoky odor.”

Betty sniffed the soap. She started at the top of her head just as Larry had done. It only took a moment to work up quite a lather.

Larry had hoped he could distract her from talking about sex. He wasn’t a prude, but this was his first time being nude in front of a group of outer space aliens. It seemed just a little out of the ordinary for a farm boy from Kansas. He realized Betty had a one-track mind, just like Nancy. Betty had found a subject that fascinated her and she wasn’t going to let it go.

Nancy would often find a subject, not a fascinating one, just one that pissed her off, and she’d go on about it for hours. That was fine with Larry when all he had to do was to let Nancy ramble on and on. It wasn’t fine when Larry was the subject of her interminable tirades.

Betty said, “Maybe your sex organ is too big for your own well-being. It’s too prominent and consumes too much of your attention.”

Larry said, “Hey! Thanks for the compliment, but I like the size it is.”

Betty said, “No female Teumessian could accommodate such a large procreation tool. Scooter, stand up. Turn around and show Larry your procreation organ.”

“Whoa, Scooter!” Larry said. “Not necessary. Wait. Turn around? Your — thing — is in the back?”

Scooter had stood up, but he sat back down. “No, friend Larry, in the Teumessian male, the procreation organ is kept internal. We don’t have body heat issues because we do not—” He looked pointedly at Betty, “usually display it until procreation has been agreed upon. We do not fertilize an egg for implantation into females until the female has agreed and presented her back to the male. This will not happen until both male and female smell an acceptable DNA match. Humans know DNA, yes? Yet you do not have a method for finding an approved match prior to procreation, I mean sex.”

Larry said. “We do know DNA, but we just mix and match at random.” When he put it that way, Larry realized that human procreation really was a gamble from the Teumessian point of view. Still, if it was a gamble, then humans were good at gambling, since a lot more winners came up than losers did.

Larry stopped, “Hey! You guys do sex back-to-back?”

“Teumessians do not have sex. We procreate back-to-back. This allows us to transfer a fertilized egg from the male to the female, yet it allows us to keep a watch in all directions for predators. The female then injects the egg with her DNA and brings the kits to full term. However, I’m insane. I don’t procreate anymore. No female would find my DNA acceptable. Humans do not have sex back-to-back, yes?”

Larry laughed. “That is about the only way that humans do not have sex.” Of course, Nancy had wanted to try it, but the parts just didn’t fit. Not that Nancy cared about fitting anything where it was supposed to go, just so it fit somewhere.

Veronica had been silent for most of the conversation. “I believe we have learned more about humans in our short time with friend Larry, than we know about the Almas. They have not been forthcoming and as open to share as friend Larry. Their silence is very worrisome.”

Betty said, “Veronica, come and scrub my back with friend Larry’s soap. I cannot reach it, but I can still smell the odor.”

Veronica and Betty began scrubbing each other. Larry tried not to look. Scooter stared outright, but the conversation didn’t stop.

Veronica said, “This soap is wonderful. How is it made, friend Larry?”

Larry shrugged. “I don’t know, Veronica. Others make it and I get it from them.”

Betty gave a very human sigh of contentment. “It would take many days for the odor from the fire to leave my fur. This is much better. Does this soap have other odors, friend Larry?”

“Soap comes in a variety of odors. You can smell like just about anything you want. And if enough people want the same fragrance, someone will make a bunch of soap that has that odor,” he said. “And please, just call me Larry. It’s not necessary to call a friend by friend. It’s assumed as part of the friendship. You’re my friends, all three of you. And I’m your friend.”

Scooter said, “You are also friends with Bob, Jughead, and Ginger, yes?”

Larry shook his head no. Then he waved his hands in front of his face in the Teumessian gesture. “I would like to be friends with them, but—” He waved his arms around him. “They’re not here. It’s hard to be friends with someone you don’t know.”

Veronica said, “Then you are our friend because we are with you. When we are not together we are not friends?”

“No. Friends stay friends unless you do something to hurt me or I do something to hurt you. No matter where you go or where you are, we remain friends. Good friends stay friends regardless of the hurt.”

Scooter said, “That is true among family. You are family no matter how you behave. Friends then are family that you choose, yes?”

Larry nodded, “On Earth there is a group of humans that call themselves the Society of Friends. They accept everyone as their friend and they strive to do harm to no one. Good friends don’t mean to cause hurt, but sometimes they do. Even then they are still friends because we choose them to be friends.”

Veronica said, “I want to be good friends.” The interpreter unit even managed to relay the desperation in her voice. “I would still be insane, but at least I would not be alone.”

Larry said, “I’d like that, too. That’s why I left my world to help you on your world. Being good friends takes time. It takes patience and it takes a lot of understanding.”

Scooter said, “That is where the Teumess erred with the Almas. We do not have a lot of understanding.”

“Understanding can take a lot of talking,” Larry said. “Do you communicate a lot with the Almas?” He was starting to get curious about these Almas. Whatever problem the Teumess had requiring human help, it seemed to stem from the Almas. He didn’t know if they were a species native to the Teumessian home world or if they were aliens from somewhere else.

Scooter said, “No. The Teumess are not good at communicating with others or even with ourselves. In the beginning, we dealt with the Almas only through messages send by interstellar probes.”

Larry was a long way from understanding the Teumess. He was beginning to think they were as xenophobic as he’d originally thought. He was no longer positive they were just shy and wary of species who might snack on them. With a galactic view, a little paranoia seemed to be a sensible way to be because you just didn’t know who or what was out there.

He’d always had an issue with SETI broadcasting an invitation to come and scoop up Earth’s abundant protein and chlorophyll. He was well aware as a steak-on-the-hoof herdsman that not only were his cattle protein, so was he. Without chlorophyll, his cattle did not eat. Without his cattle, he did not eat.

He said, “You three are actually superb at communicating. And yes, I realize that’s because you are insane. But, why didn’t your Tetra let you talk with the Almas from the beginning?”

All three Teumessians looked shocked.

“Why would we be allowed to talk to the Almas? Would humans from Earth allow the insane to represent them?

Larry laughed. “I don’t know why not. We do it all the time with our government. So, you made first contact with a probe?” Somehow, Larry was pleased someone was being probed somewhere. “Did the Almas respond by probe?”