Kzine Issue 17 Page 6

  The conversation had developed into the usual rambling nonsense. “Yes, dear. I know.”

  Lizzy’s shoulders dropped. “Then I made my choice and this is my punishment.”

  “What is?”

  “Old age. This withered and tired body. That’s my punishment for standing by somebody I cared about, for doing what I thought was right.”

  Jean glanced at her own wrinkled hands, knots of arthritis beginning to show in the joints. “Well if that’s the case, I think we’re all being punished.”

  Lizzy shook her head. “It’s different for you.”

  Bernard was right, thought Jean, the old dear was losing her marbles. “And why are you so special?” She tittered.

  “Don’t laugh at me,” Lizzy snapped angrily.

  “I’m not laughing at you, dear.”

  “You’d better not be,” the old woman growled. “Is it so difficult to believe that this broken old bag of bones once had a life? A real life?” She grunted and shook her head. “But maybe that’s the irony of it all? Maybe we’re all doomed to forget how things were?”

  Without warning, the old woman’s hand shot out, gripped Jean’s wrist and pulled it away from her hair. “Don’t forget!”

  “I won’t,” Jean replied in surprise at Lizzy’s strength. She gently twisted her hand free from the old woman’s arthritic fingers. “I’ll try.”

  “You shouldn’t waste your life on a loser like Bernard. You could do much better if only you could find the courage to make the right choices.”

  “But he’s my husband. What else can I do?”

  “The world is full of new beginnings. You just have to find one. Find a man who sees you as more than just a way to pay the bills and fund his idiotic dreams. Discover your own value. Find your one true love.”

  “You believe that?” Jean asked. “You think there’s somebody for everybody just out there waiting.”

  The old woman nodded solemnly. “I know there is. But most folk give up too soon and settle for what they have.” She looked Jean directly in the eyes. “Just like you right now.”

  “Is that right?” Jean could feel a slight flicker of anger ignite within. Who was this old woman to dissect her marriage and her life like that? What did she know?

  “I know why you’re here,” said Lizzy.

  The muscles in Jean’s body grew tense and she dropped the brush. Could the old woman know her real intent when she still wasn’t sure herself if she was prepared to go through with it? “Sorry,” she said as she knelt down to retrieve it.

  “You’re compensating.” Jean stood up once more with the brush back in her hand. “What do you mean?”

  “You care for me like you would your own mother if she was still alive.”

  “Do I?”

  “You know it’s so,” Lizzy chided. “And you do this to make up for the indifference you get from that good-for-nothing husband of yours.”

  Jean let herself relax, and it was only when she exhaled that she realised she’d been holding her breath. She smiled with relief that Lizzy was on the wrong track. For a moment, she thought all her guilt and shame about the plan to rob the old lady was about to be revealed. It would do well, she decided, to play along. “Am I that obvious?”

  “More obvious than you think.”

  Jean helped Lizzy through to the sitting room where she settled the old lady in her favourite chair by the window and gave her a cup of tea. It saddened her to think that her client wouldn’t be around for much longer. Her skin was blotted with liver spots and as thin as tissue paper. She was so light and frail, as if she had the bones of a tiny bird. Jean sometimes wondered if Lizzy would simply blow away like a dry leaf if she found herself in a strong wind.

  “Will Doctor Herm be in to see you today?”

  Lizzy shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “I don’t like him.”

  Jean stuffed a cushion behind the old woman’s back in an effort to improve her posture. “From what I’ve seen, he’s a very good doctor.”

  Lizzy gave a short laugh laced with sarcasm. “He’s no doctor,” she replied, “he’s my jailer.”

  Jean shook her head in dismay as she went to change the sheets on Lizzy’s bed. What a ridiculous thing to say. Doctor Herm had always been very courteous and polite when she had watched him deal with Lizzy. She, on the other hand, couldn’t be more obstinate and ungrateful to the attentive physician. To top it all, Jean thought mischievously, he was just so damned handsome. In fact, she decided, beautiful was a more appropriate word. She had never seen a more beautiful man in all her life. Compared to Doctor Herm, Bernard had all the qualities of a pig.

  She was still debating her husband’s plan when she pulled the last sheet from the mattress. In a tin under the bed, he had suggested. Well, she thought, it wouldn’t hurt to look. She knelt down, peered under the springs of the mattress and sighed in relief. There was no tin. Another of Bernard’s grand designs up in smoke, she thought with some bitterness and resentment. It surprised her to find that a little of the anger she felt was also directed at herself. How could she even consider stealing from Lizzy? She was about to get back on to her feet when something glinted in the half-light under the bed. Reaching in, she plucked an object from the dust-strewn carpet and held it in her hand. It was some kind of clasp or brooch fashioned in the shape of a rainbow. And it was old, she thought, so very old. She was no expert on such matters but knew instinctively that it would be worth a lot of money. Possibly more than she could imagine. But what to do now? She thought about it for a moment and then thrust it into the pocket of her work dress. Then, she took a deep breath and hoped that her legs wouldn’t give way with nervousness.

  She forced a smile as she went to the sitting room. “Everything alright, dear?”

  Lizzy nodded as she stared out of the window and sipped her tea. “The rain has stopped. I wonder if we’ll see a rainbow?” She turned and looked directly at Jean, giving her one of those stares that made her feel so uncomfortable. “Do you like rainbows?”

  She put her hand into her pocket and touched the cold metal of the rainbow clasp. “Of course I do. Everybody likes them.”

  Lizzy frowned. “There’s something about them… something important…”

  “What, dear?”

  The old lady shook her head. “It’s no good. I can’t remember.” She slapped her own face. “Damn this body! Damn this place!”

  “No!” Jean cried as she grabbed the old woman’s arms. “Stop it! Stop it right now!”

  “I hate this life!” Lizzy wailed. “I wish I was dead.”

  Jean gently pulled the old woman’s arms down, wrapped them around her frail body and hugged her. “Shh,” she said. “Just calm down. Things aren’t so bad. You’ve got me to look after you.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.” Tears streamed down Lizzy’s face. “You’re all I’ve got.”

  Jean continued to hug the old lady but struggled to contain her self-loathing. How could she possibly have contemplated stealing from her? There was something else stirring within her and she quickly identified it as contempt for Bernard. How could he even suggest such a thing? How could she love a man that would encourage her down that path? Did she ever really love him or was he simply a convenience – a crutch against the crushing terror of loneliness? Perhaps Lizzy was right about that?

  She remembered the clasp in her pocket.

  “Here,” she said as she retrieved it. “I found this under your bed. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  The old woman’s eyes lit up when she saw it. “Yes,” Lizzy replied sniffing back tears. “You found it. After all this time, you finally found it.”

  Jean placed the brooch in Lizzy’s palm.

  For a moment, the old lady appeared startled. Then, she gave a broad smile. “The cobwebs are beginning to clear. I remember who I am now.”

  Jean frowned. “And who’s that, dear?”

/>   “Arke.” The light in Lizzy’s face suddenly vanished. She slumped back in the chair and closed her eyes.

  “Lizzy!” Jean cried as she gently shook the old woman by the shoulder. “Can you hear me?”

  There was no response.

  She pressed her fingers against the old woman’s neck in search of a pulse. Feeling nothing on the cool, wrinkled skin only confirmed what she already knew.

  Jean took a step back and put a hand to her mouth.

  “Oh! Oh, my!” she shuddered as the tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Goodbye, Lizzy” she whispered.

  “Your work is done.”

  Jean turned around startled by the sound of another voice. “Doctor Herm. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  The physician walked over to the old lady and lifted her, holding her closely against his chest. Herm studied Lizzy for a moment with, what the Jean could only describe, as a look of tenderness. Then, the doctor turned his beautiful face towards her and smiled.

  Jean blinked in surprise. For an instant, the physician and old lady were transformed. He stood in white robes wearing a golden winged helmet and she was clad in a flowing ivory dress. Lizzy had been transformed into the most gorgeous creature Jean had ever seen. Then, they were gone and the carer stood alone with a terrible itching in her ears.

  As she drove home, the itching persisted and she found it increasingly difficult to remember recent events. It was as if the day’s happenings were being sucked into a black hole of forgetfulness. All she could recall now was the face of an old woman and the feeling of great affection she had for her – whoever she was. Then, she thought of Bernard and his crazy schemes. What did she have to go home to? Another financial emergency caused by his constant squandering? Something, she decided as she slammed the car door closed and walked to her front porch, would have to be done.

  Bernard wasn’t there but his house keys and a note were on the coffee table. She read the letter he had left for her and then crushed it in her fist. Even when he wrote, he whined. All this time, while she tried to keep their finances healthy, he had been seeing another woman. He was sorry. He couldn’t help himself. It was an accident. What? Did you trip up and land on top of her, your cock accidentally ending up inside of her? Well, Jean thought, that bitch was welcome to him. Let’s see if this new love of his could cope with his airy-fairy ways. She doubted that it would end well and perhaps Bernard had actually done her a favour by having an affair. A few tears welled up in her eyes. The betrayal hurt but not as much as she had imagined it might.

  A few days later, she sat sipping tea staring at the streaked window of yet another rain-spattered morning when there was a knock at the front door.

  She opened it and stood stony faced on the threshold. “What do you want?”

  “I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Bernard replied. “I’ve been a fool. It’s you that I love.”

  Jean raised an eyebrow in surprise. “So, she’s thrown you out already? That was quicker than I had anticipated.”

  “No,” Bernard protested. “You’ve got it all wrong. I left her.”

  “Have I? Did you? Somehow I don’t think so.” She couldn’t help but flash him a malicious smile. “Let me be very clear, my dear husband. You did me a favour walking out because I probably would never have found the strength to leave you. But now that you’re gone, I’m not going back to how things were. I don’t want you back so I advise you to leave here before I call the police.”

  She watched her husband trudge back down the driveway and out of sight. When she was sure he was gone, she leaned against the doorframe, finally able to support her trembling legs. Standing up to Bernard had taken more out of her than she realised. She shivered and thrust her hands into the pockets of her cardigan, immediately frowning as she did so. She felt something against her fingers. It was hard, cold and heavy. She pulled out the object and saw that it was a golden clasp. Jean gave a sharp intake of breath at its beauty and knew instinctively that it was very old. And probably very valuable, she added. She couldn’t remember where it had come from but somehow she knew that it belonged to her and that selling it would clear all the debts she had been left with and still leave her enough over to start afresh.

  Returning the clasp to the safety of her pocket, she glanced up into the sky and noted that the rain had stopped. High above the houses, she saw a rainbow arch across the heavens and a shiver ran through her spine as she had the strangest feeling that somebody was watching her. Then, a single drop of water fell from the top of the doorframe and landed on her forehead. It was cold but it made her laugh and broke the tension of the moment. The world is full of new beginnings. She shook her head at the thought that had suddenly popped up in her mind. Where did that come from? As she wiped the drop of water from her face, an unfamiliar sensation filled her and it took her a moment to realise that it was hope. It had been a long time since she’d felt that way and she closed the door on Bernard forever…

  THE WINNING TEAM

  by Craig McEwan

  “Talk,” she commanded. Dim lighting glinted from the epaulettes on her Space Force uniform.

  A broad mirror, covering most of one wall, reflected the shabby interior of the makeshift interrogation chamber. Cutlery drying in a rack by the sink. Newspaper clippings of famous human victories, yellow and curled with age. A collection of pain-inflicting devices: clamps, needles, pliers. A Martian warrior, bound, naked, supine on a table, limbs splayed to reveal its pale underbelly and several mouth-like openings.

  “Talk!” she repeated.

  “Never,” whispered the Martian, straining at its harness. Dark green welts had formed on the skin, where it had been abraded by the rough leather straps.

  “Really, General? Then I’ll have to use this.” She pressed the tip of a metallic prod against the fine scales of the alien’s underside. She pressed a button in the handle; the Martian let out an agonized scream. “That was six,” she hissed, and showed it the dial: it went up to a thousand. “How many craft in your invasion fleet?”

  The Martian shook its head, its eyes unfocused. A line of drool dangled from its beak.

  “In that case… ” She trailed the tip of the prod across its body, pausing briefly to caress the nerve-rich border of one orifice “This one?” she wondered. Another opening. “Here?” The Martian tensed as Daisy probed the nerve-rich entrance. “Ah yes. Here.” Grunting with effort, she forced the prod into its body. The alien struggled against its bonds, keening painfully.

  “How many craft?” she asked.

  “Never!”

  She pressed the button.

  The Martian’s scream was bloodcurdling. “No!”

  The button: longer this time.

  “I’ll talk!”

  She thrust the prod. Hard. Repeatedly.

  “I’ll talk, I said. Stop it!”

  “What will you tell me?” she demanded.

  “Everything!”

  “Who will you betray?”

  “My brothers! My Hive-queen! Anyone you name!”

  “You’re a little worm aren’t you?” She was sweating with effort, as she worked the prod.

  “Yes, yes!”

  “A squirming worm in the ground, what are you?”

  “A worm. That squirms. Ohhh.”

  The alien shuddered convulsively. Something let go inside its body, and liquid gushed from a hidden aperture.

  A pause, as it regained its composure

  “Untie my bonds,” the Martian rumbled.

  “Now, now, General. Safety word?”

  “How about certain death? Is that safe enough for you? Release the bonds, Earthling.”

  Daisy pouted, but obeyed. “Guava,” she muttered, as she loosened the buckles, “the word was Guava.”

  ***

  “Was that okay, General?” Out of character, Daisy’s clipped tones had given way to a gentle Carolina drawl.

  “Satisfactory. A little hurried, perhaps.”

  “Cus
tomer’s always right—I’ll draw it out more next time.” She toyed with the tassels on her uniform, watching the creature wipe itself down with a towel, and pull on its clothing. “Y’know, I wanted to join Space Force, when I was a little girl. For real, I mean.”

  “Had you done so, you would be long dead. Boiled away into space, with your comrades above Ganymede.”

  “I know,” she sighed, “I never could pick the winning team.”

  The General slapped a wad of tokens on the table, next to the soiled prod.

  “Earth lost. We won. Picking never came into it.”

  “And now you’re in charge.”

  “I come from a warrior hive. War is over, and Humanity cow-like in defeat. You dare not resist, and I have become a farmer. A shepherd. It is unworthy.”

  “You’re a hero to your brothers. They’d drink hot tar if you asked ’em.”

  “They would stamp me to a paste, if they knew of this degradation,” the Martian opened the apartment door, “once they were done with you,” it added. She held her breath, as heavy footsteps receded down the corridor, then exhaled noisily.

  ***

  Minutes later, the door swung open to admit a clear-skinned young man. Daisy skipped over to him, “Jimmy! Did you get it?”

  Jimmy brandished a data-card no bigger than a thumbnail. “Every second. We own that slime-ball.”

  Daisy quailed, “What if he tells? If the Martians find out about the Resistance, you’ll be in danger.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Soon we’ll control a whole network within the occupying command structure. That’s when we strike!”

  “And me? I’m Resistance too, now—right?” She pressed her body tightly against his, but instead of returning her hug, he stiffened, and turned his face away.

  “Jimmy? What’s wrong?”

  Regret blew across his face “I’m sorry, Daisy.”

  “What? But you said… you promised… we’ll fight them together. ’Two sweethearts win back Earth from Green Scum, or die trying’, you said. You made it sound so romantic.”

  “Daisy,” said Jimmy, “I saw everything. At the end… before…” His eyes shot to the puddle of steaming liquid on the formica, “… you enjoyed it.”