Day: September 28, 2016

That was really the heart of Jesse’s misgivings. He could not help but think that George had been very careful to select him, but could not understand the why of it.

__________

George arose after almost exactly four hours and walked over to look down at Jesse sleeping. Most of his kind are invisible when asleep; George had trained himself decades previously to look human while he slept, which no-one else had ever bothered with.  Michel and Kima disappeared when they were asleep, just like normal people.

He thought of going to the roof to see Michel, and then decided to wait.  Michel would come down soon enough, desperate to find out where Kima was. George tried to picture that reunion, but he already knew that Kima preferred Michel as a sexual partner, even if neither of them had managed to get her pregnant.

He smiled at Jesse, thinking that this man could have sex a couple of times with a woman and knock her up without even trying; the notion that George had been trying to become a father for forty years would confuse him, if he didn’t find it outright ludicrous. Or he’d tell him to go see a doctor, which was an occupation unknown to a species which could live for five centuries and had remarkably few ailments. The closest thing to a doctor he knew was his incredible busy-body of a grandmother, with her pretensions to being an expert on reproduction — when her own water brood had died. It was not a stellar record. Zosime had only managed one living child, and Psyche had only managed to give birth to George.

Humans, with their easy, casual, domestic animal rates of increase, filled him with gloom illuminated with overt envy.

He went out to the balcony, blocking all the light from the door as he exited, to be kind to Jesse, and moments later, Michel swung over the top of the overhang to stand next to him.  They spoke quietly, in English, in case Jesse awoke and was irritated they were leaving him out of the conversation.

“Today?”

“Today. You don’t have to come tonight, we’re not going to be moving that much, so we’re taking Morag’s truck.”

“What’s happening tonight?”

“The ex-wife wants all her photographs and memorabilia out of there.”

Michel chuckled.  “Out of that mess? Good luck. I’ll be doing something much more fun.”

“You hope! I know what a photograph smells like, even in that midden-come-charnel-house.  I’ll find them soon enough.” He looked over Coal Harbour, toward Stanley Park, and said, “I’m really glad you’re in town.”

“Lonely, are you?” Michel said. He sounded sarcastic, but George knew better. For Michel it was much the same. Few of their kind had any use for humans, whether they were forced to interact with them or not. George living as a human among them was bad; Michel doing it was worse, since it was general knowledge that George was a sadly irrational fool, but Michel was accounted to be more sensible, even though he was the current ranking expert at living human.

“Do you feel like running across town to the boat? I left a note for Jesse, and a key; he can let himself out.”

“You’re trusting.”

“And so are you!” They linked for a second, until Michel had it clear in his mind where they were going.

They ducked below the sightline of the balcony railing, disappeared and flung themselves over the side to surf down the row of balconies.  Michel did pratfalls all the way down, spectral bounces and stretches, only visible in their sideband vision, more than once banging into his cousin, who was expecting it and appeared to give no sign of noticing. George proceeded to the ground with speed and efficiency, but no style. 

Then they ran, flat out across town, invisible parkour maniacs who could lope along at thirty kph. Across yards, climbing buildings, dodging Skytrains, scaring the shit out of unwary dogs as they came through, all noise and no scent or sight, accidentally putting a tiny ding in a bus fender, knocking cell phones into the passenger footwell if the driver left a window open, and otherwise being giddy assholes.

“Hold up, hold up,” George said, pausing at a cop car and relieving it of a couple of zap straps.

He did not put it in a pocket, because he had none.  The hole that opened in the side of his body swallowed the zap straps, and then closed. It could not be said to have vanished, because it could not be seen, at least if George had had the sense to stand still while he was making a hole.

“Tell me again about the guy with the gun,” Michel said. They had switched back to Greek.  He dearly loved firearms, and George had promised time at a private range, where he would not be required to show ID, which he appreciated.

“What’s to tell?” George said.  “I told you once, has your memory failed since the last time we spoke?”

“I like the human way of singing the song more than once,” Michel said, unapologetic.  That was the deal.  He didn’t have to apologize for liking something human around George.

“Do you want me to do a cool jazz version of it this time?”

“No, more like John Woo, total fuckin’ chaos.”

“To be candid, every time I think of Jesse’s face as he got the gun shoved at him, it’s hard for me to bring myself to sing the song again, as it has quite unpleasant echoes for me.”

“I’ll ask Jesse.”

“He may be more forthcoming with you. He seems to like you already.”

“I think Jesse would like any man who didn’t try to hurt him,” Michel said.

“More fool him,” George said.

“Is Kima expecting me?” Michel said.  He would get increasingly single-minded as they approached the shore.