Planet Purgatory (8 page)

I must have passed half a dozen huts like Jackie’s over the course of the next few hours. None of them were inhabited, and as evening approached, I decided the next one I saw I would settle down in for the night. It’s funny how things work, because it wasn’t much later that I came across a cute little cottage, complete with a white picket fence and cords of firewood stacked neatly against the wall. Not only that, but there was a plume of smoke rising from the chimney.

My heart raced. “There’s someone home, Rosie!”

Yet as enticing as the thought of spending the night in the company of others was, there was something about the cottage that gave me pause. I didn’t know why. It looked so warm and inviting, especially amid the deepening gloom of the evening, but there was a part of me that thought I should keep walking. Adding to my turmoil was the appearance of a demon on the roof directly above the entrance. It swooped down from the trees, peering down at me as if to say, “Move on.”

I stood there, hoping someone would emerge. When none did, I walked up the front steps and knocked on the front door.

An old woman answered. She was dressed in a frilly shawl, with her hair pulled up in a giant bun, and the moment she saw me, she erupted into a smile.

“Oh, my goodness! A visitor.”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve been walking all day, and with nightfall approaching, I was wondering if I could stay here. I won’t be a bother. It’s just me and my dog.”

I’d barely finished speaking when a hairless ogre in denim overalls appeared behind her. I’d never seen anyone so large. He was easily seven feet tall, with the whitest skin I’d ever come across. He wasn’t simply pale, he was white, like an eggshell, the only color being the bags under his eyes, and he peered down at me, silent, menacing.

“Of course you can stay,” said the old lady.

“Are you sure?” I asked, retreating a step. “You probably don’t have much room …”

“Don’t be silly! There’s plenty of room. It will be nice to have some company for a change. Come in, come in.”

And so I collected Rosie who was busy sniffing the woodpile. She didn’t want to go inside. In fact the moment she saw our hosts, her hackles went up, and it took everything I had to coax her through the front door.

The old woman’s face brightened. “What a beautiful animal. Isn’t he beautiful, Reginald?”

“She’s actually a ‘she.’ Her name’s Rosie.”

The Eggman watched Rosie intently, his enormous frame taking up nearly the entire front hallway.

“Why don’t we move into the sitting room?” said the old lady, motioning to a doorway.

And so I pushed past the overall-wearing ogre into a cozy little room with a fireplace and a window overlooking the road.

“Is that chikka I smell?”

I turned around. “Pardon?”

“In your bag,” said the old lady. “Do you have chikka in there?”

I glanced at my knapsack hanging off my shoulder. There were four bottles in there. All sealed.

“Why, yes, I do. How did you know?”

“I can smell it,” she explained, tapping her nostril. “Do you think I could have some? It’s been so long.”

Not wanting to be rude, I opened a bottle. Meanwhile the Eggman loomed behind her in the doorway.

“Oh, this calls for my nice crystal,” said the old lady, opening a cabinet. She took out two wine glasses, filling them both before handing one to me.

I downed mine in one gulp. The old woman, though, sipped her chikka, savoring it in cartoonish delectation.

“Oh, I haven’t had chikka this good in a very long time. Might I be so bold and ask for the remainder?”

I wanted to say no. I’d only packed four bottles, after all, but my desire to appear gracious led me to agree. After I poured myself another glassful.

“My goodness, you drink that fast! Will you be all right?”

The old lady watched with concern as I placed my now empty glass on a nearby table. The truth was, I could have drunk twice that, and would have were it not for my need to conserve what I had. Smiling, I wandered the room, enchanted by its quaintness. There was a nice old couch with matching love seat lovingly draped with crocheted blankets. There was also a pair of walnut side tables as well as a little coffee table decorated with figurines. But what really caught my eye were a pair of bookcases. All the books I’d seen in Harkness were in rough shape, missing covers and, in many cases, pages as well. This old lady had a real library. Every book seemed to be in good condition, with titles I recognized:
Moby-Dick, Tom Sawyer, War of the Worlds, The Shining
. And then it hit me.

“Do you have a Bible?”

I was expecting her to say yes, so when she shook her head, my shoulders sagged.

“Are you sure? Not even a hymn book?”

“What do you want a Bible for?”

“Just wanted to look something up, is all.”

I think she was still waiting for me to pass out from all the chikka, because she watched me closely as I continued scanning the contents of the bookshelves. Meanwhile the Eggman had disappeared.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Uh, sure. I mean, yes please. That would be nice. Sorry, I’m just in awe of your collection of books. I haven’t seen anything like this since I left Earth. And the strangest thing is, I think I’ve read everything in here.”

This pleased the old lady. “Isn’t that funny? We must have the same taste in books.”

With the old lady disappearing into the kitchen, I continued my examination of the books, allowing the smell of their pages to transport me back to an almost forgotten past. I was a bookworm when I was young, but as I grew older, that joy, along with many others, had melted away.

It was while thumbing through the pages of Frank Herbert’s
Dune
that I noticed something familiar sitting on the floor in the corner. A Rubik’s Cube. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I hadn’t seen one of those in … well, I couldn’t remember the last time. It was in good shape, and completed, too.

I was turning it around in my hands when the old lady returned, carrying a teapot and some cups on an old wooden tray.

“Can I try this?”

“Of course, dear. Do whatever you like.”

It was amazing. It must have been nearly twenty years since I’d last used one, but it felt so natural in my hands. Like I’d stepped back in time.

The old lady placed a cup of tea on the carpet beside me before sitting on the couch. “What’s a nice young man doing wandering the road by himself? It’s dangerous out here. Especially in the dark.”

“I’m not totally alone. I’ve got my dog. But I’m on a mission to save my settlement from the aliens.”

The old woman’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Aliens?”

“You haven’t heard about the alien raids on Harkness?”

“What’s Harkness?”

Now it was my turn to be surprised. “It’s a settlement a few hours south of here. You’ve really never heard of it?”

“No. I’m afraid I haven’t.”

I didn’t know if I believed her. As far as I knew, Harkness was one of the largest settlements on the “planet.” But it seemed strange to lie about something so … mundane. Maybe it was her age.

“Anyway, we’ve been under siege by giant aliens. They’re horrible — one touch from their energy orbs and you’re reduced to a mindless zombie. And if that wasn’t bad enough, a pair of demons rolled into town offering protection in return for two of our settlers.”

The old woman sipped her tea, her gentle smile belying the thoughts I knew were in her head.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I think you’re confused.”

She said it with such confidence I actually had to stop and retrace the steps that brought me to her living room. “No. I promised my dad I would find the
SYS
building, so I can ask them for help.”

The woman’s smile never wavered.

“Let me guess, you’ve never heard of
SYS
, either.”

“I think you’ve had a difficult day.”

I sipped my tea, returning the cup to the floor to resume fiddling with the Rubik’s Cube.

“How do you survive out here?” I asked. “These woods are dangerous. You have no neighbors. Where do you get your supplies? And more importantly, how do you stay safe?”

“Oh, I have everything I need right here. I have a little garden in the back. I’ll show it to you in the morning. You’ll like it. I grow my own potatoes, my own carrots, and broccoli, and cauliflower. Reginald supplies the meat. And he keeps me safe. Oh, I’d be lost without dear Reginald.”

I pictured the goliath Eggman in his denim overalls. I’m sure he did keep her safe; I know I’d avoid breaking into any building knowing that ogre was inside waiting for me.

“We do have an extra room. You’re more than welcome to stay. It would be nice to have someone else to talk to. We could read books. Maybe play some games.”

Her offer proved oddly tempting, and I rested my head on the carpet, determined to complete one of the sides of the Rubik’s Cube. I was so close …

“Look! I did it!” I exclaimed, showing her the side of little blue squares.

“Good for you! Now let’s see if you can do two?”

The old woman’s praise made me feel good, and I immediately set out to complete two sides. When I was a boy I could do it with no effort at all. It was just a series of twists and turns. I didn’t have to think. It was almost hypnotic, and amazingly, I could still do it.

“Can you do three?”

Now that was something I’d never managed to do. I was content with being able to do two sides, and do them quickly, but three always eluded me. Now my brother, on the other hand, he could do the whole cube. I remember how jealous I was watching him show off his Rubik’s Cube skills to my cousins. Sure, David can do two sides faster than anyone else at school, but Sam can do the whole freaking cube. I pictured his face, tongue out in frowny-faced concentration. It was funny how he used to do that. He’d stick his tongue out when he was doing his homework as well.

How many years had it been since I’d seen him? Twenty? I remember I’d just turned thirteen years old, and Sam confided in me he’d had his first beer. He was almost fifteen, and he made me promise not to tell anyone. And I didn’t, until later that afternoon when Sam and I got into a fight over who got control of the TV. He was bigger than me, so naturally he won, leaving me no choice but to go tell Mummy that Sam drank beer with his friends. Probably every weekend.

My mother marched right into the living room, asked my brother if this was true, and before he could he even answer she slapped him. Now Sam had a temper himself, and rather than apologize, or explain himself, he started yelling, calling her a bitch and me a little asshole. That was the first time he’d ever sworn in front of either of our parents, and my mother slapped him again, this time throwing the TV remote in his face.

Mummy had snapped, and she chased Sam down the hall to the top of the stairs to the basement. He was going to his room, but she tackled him, pinning him against the wall, screaming what a horrible boy he was. He was crying, and she started hitting him, punching him in the face and the gut before tossing him headfirst down the basement stairs. He died instantly.

I remember seeing his body lying on the concrete, that feeling of horror in my gut. I was still trying to process what had happened when my mother phoned her sister to tell her that Sam had tripped down the basement stairs and broken his neck. And that was the story she told my dad when he came in from the barn for some coffee.

I knew better than to contradict her. But I knew the truth; I saw her do it, and it gnawed at me, until six months later, when I finally gained enough courage to tell my dad what really happened. I felt so bad for him. He cried. But instead of confronting Mummy, he beat the hell out of me with a switch, telling me there’s nothing worse than telling lies about your parents. He must have talked to my mother about it sometime that night, though, because first thing that morning, after my dad was already out in the fields, my mother gave me the beating of my life, hitting me with a frying pan over and over again, telling me I was nasty for spreading lies, and that it should have been me who fell down the stairs.

She never admitted her role in Sam’s death. For years she talked about how unfortunate it was that he tripped like he did, and I never could tell if she knew she was lying or if she really had convinced herself that she’d had nothing to do with it.

I knew my dad knew the truth. He’d say things that made me know he knew what really happened. Never in my mother’s presence, of course. He became a different man, spending less time at home, drinking more. That’s also when he took up smoking.

I know it changed me. I stopped taking interest in other people’s lives. It wasn’t a conscious decision; I think at some deeper level I figured it was safer to carry on with my own business and ignore everybody else. After all, it was my knowledge of my brother’s drinking that ultimately led to his death.

And just like that, everything was made clear. We were in Purgatory because of Sam. My dad, my mom, me. The three of us were intertwined, bound to this place because of what happened those many years ago. And I had a hunch that if I could atone for my lifetime of indifference to others, all three of us might leave.