Alien Upstairs (6 page)

Sarah tried not to think of what would have happened if it had disintegrated on her way home. “I can't believe it,” she murmured.

"Keep your voice down. It makes sense, doesn't it? He probably had an engine that didn't need gasoline, so he could drive around."

"But he didn't drive around. He took the bus. He told me that."

"Sarah, think. He could take the bus all he wanted to, but he'd still need a car sometimes. Why mess with gas coupons if you can install a device that doesn't need gas?” He stood up. “Come on. That Guard's probably down the street by now.” Sarah rose. “We better go, or we'll be sitting through Mass."

 

Gerard repeated his hypothesis as they walked home. At last Sarah tugged at his arm and said, “This is crazy, Gerry. He's gone, and we're never going to know a thing."

"Don't you want to know? Aren't you curious?"

"Yes, I'm curious. But it's pretty obvious he covered his tracks. There's nothing to find.” She was suddenly sure Raf did not want to be found. “It's all a joke. It has to be."

"Look. I don't know about you, but to me that engine disappearing means something. If that hadn't happened, I could have believed Raf was just some guy with a weird sense of humor, and that you had some memory lapses. But this—"

"Why would he go around telling people he was an alien, if he didn't want anyone to know?"

"Jesus. We can't just figure it out in our minds, we need more evidence.” They approached their building and Gerard took out his keys. As he unlocked the front door, he turned toward her, eyes wide. “I just thought of something. You went up to Raf's place, and so did Martin."

Sarah followed him inside. The door swung shut. “So what?” She paused. “Oh, no. You're not going to—"

"I'll just talk to him. The same thing that happened to you must have happened to him. It'll be more evidence.” He drew her toward their door. They entered their apartment. “Larry's probably already left for work. We can talk to Martin now. I can bribe him with some coffee. Come on, Sarah."

She took off her coat and threw it on the sofa. She felt threatened by the thought of asking Martin about Raf, and did not know why.

"Come on, Sarah."

"All right, I'll ask him over for coffee."

 

She knocked timidly on Larry's door, hoping Martin would not hear her. She wished Gerard had come over himself. After she had knocked a second time, the door opened.

Martin, dressed in a long red woolen bathrobe, regarded her coldly. “Hi,” she said cheerfully. “Gerry wanted to know if you wanted to join us for a cup of coffee."

The young man lifted one dark eyebrow. “Coffee? Wherever did you get it?” He yawned. “But it's so early."

"It's just the thing to wake you up."

"I suppose I must accept.” He closed his door and crossed to Sarah's apartment. She led him toward the kitchen, hoping he was not judging their old furniture too harshly; Martin had once maintained that the only furnishings fit for human beings were cushions, chaise lounges, and beds. She averted her eyes from the white tufts escaping the confines of the sofa's beige fabric.

Gerard was brewing a pot of their precious coffee. He seated Martin near the stove. The young man put his hands on the table, peering through spread fingers at the gray Formica, then traced a scratch. Gerard poured him a cup of coffee. Martin sipped.

"Don't you want milk or anything?” Sarah asked as she sat down.

"Not at all. It ruins the flavor.” Martin glanced at her obliquely, as if he were a connoisseur of coffee. Sarah was certain he had not seen a cup of it in a long time.

Gerard served Sarah, then himself. Martin lowered his cup and gazed suspiciously at Gerard. “You're being very friendly. And so early in the day, too. I never suspected you were a morning person."

"Well, I brewed some, and I thought, why waste it? So I thought we'd ask you over."

"You could have asked Kathy Giordano. She hasn't left for work yet."

Gerard cleared his throat. “I did want to ask you something."

Martin pursed his lips. “Of course. Nothing's for free these days, is it? I'd better tell you straight out that I don't do threesies. Okay? Larry has been very forgiving of my little lapse, and I wouldn't want to hurt him."

Gerard looked uncomfortable. The skin over his high cheekbones was pink. “I just want to ask a question, that's all. See, we're ... well, we think that Raf ... I don't know how to put this. That he's some sort of hypnotist."

Martin's eyes widened a bit. He drank more coffee, then put down his cup. His lips twitched. “Whatever gave you that idea?” His voice was very low.

Gerard turned toward Sarah. “You see,” she said to Martin, “I was visiting Raf one afternoon, and I think he must have hypnotized me, because I can't remember much of what happened. I know I was up there for a while, because it was already evening when I left. And I guess I was wondering if the same thing happened to you."

Martin watched her for a moment. Then he lifted his cup and finished his coffee, still peering at her over the cup's rim. He knows, Sarah thought, sure that the young man had guessed the whole sordid episode. Her cheeks were warm. Martin put his hands on the table and stared at his bitten-down nails.

"Why, I don't know what you mean, Sarah,” he murmured. “I found Raf utterly charming. Quite forceful, too.” She could not look into Martin's eyes. “I don't wish to dwell on details, but it is true that these little encounters add a bit of spice to one's primary relationship.” He got up. “I must go. Thank you both for the coffee."

 

"He was lying,” Gerard said as they hurried to catch their bus. A group of women on bicycles passed them, pedaling their way to work. “I'm sure of it."

"You don't know that,” Sarah replied. “Maybe it's me, maybe I have a disorder of the brain or something."

"The car engine was missing."

"That can be explained. Or maybe we just think that's what we saw. I might be drawing you into my delusions, in a
folie à deux
or whatever."

"I don't think so. I know you. You're not crazy. There's only one thing left to do now. We'll have to drive out to that country spot of his. Maybe there's something there."

"How?"

"I'll get my car repaired. I have to do that anyway, for the inspection. Bruce Carulli will do the work right away for an extra bribe."

"But I'm not even sure I can find that place again,” Sarah said.

"It's worth a try. I'll get some extra gas coupons on the black market if I can. We can go out there on Sunday."

They stopped at the corner. Others were waiting for the bus, which, as usual, was late. The cool fall wind bore the odors of dead leaves, dirt, and exhaust fumes. The sky was darkening, its billowing clouds threatening rain.

Sarah moved closer to Gerard. “Maybe we should just call it a mystery, and let it go."

"I can't do that.” Gerard pointed his chin; his face was very hard. “This is the first interesting thing that's happened for a long time. I'm not going to let it go.” He put his arm around her. “Besides, aren't you curious?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. I have to find out if I'm crazy or not.” The enterprise seemed a game, a playing at adventure. It occurred to her that the search for Raf could be dangerous. She tried not to think of that.

 

 

 

 

Seven

 

 

They started at dawn, just after curfew was over. Sarah circled the city, drove to the highway, and turned south. The city, nestled in its valley, was veiled by fog and the haze produced by the burning of wood. The luster of a Russian church's gold onion-shaped domes had been dimmed by soot; near the church, a plume of smoke clung to the chimney of a red brick factory, and coal dust had darkened the bricks. Gerard had filled the Toyota's tank the day before, and had put extra gasoline in the trunk for good measure.

"It'll take a while to get to Hanover,” Sarah murmured, “and even then, I might have trouble finding the right road.” She swerved to avoid a pothole. “This is a hell of a way to spend Sunday. I was going to wash my hair and borrow the Sunday
Times
from Kathy."

"You can wash it tonight. Or tomorrow."

"I don't have tomorrow off, remember? We have to work on that damned fashion show."

The highway stretched before them, an asphalt snake among the tree-covered hills. The morning mist was lifting, revealing the red and gold leaves of fall foliage. “At least we'll have good weather,” Gerard said. “The sky's starting to clear."

"I wonder why he left so suddenly.” Sarah slowed as they approached a stretch of unrepaired highway, and drove carefully along the buckling road.

"I don't know. Maybe he thought things were getting out of hand. He might have realized that he didn't know as much as he thought he did, or that he was causing people pain. Larry did make a scene at his party. I wasn't exactly friendly to him after—well, you know."

"But why would he tell people he was an alien? It doesn't make sense, unless he was crazy or joking. He was just drawing more attention to himself."

"But who would believe it?"

"I know at least one person who believed it. I met her at the party. She told me Raf and his people were going to bail us out.” She saw a smooth stretch ahead, and accelerated.

"Well,” Gerard murmured, “I guess we believe it, too, or we wouldn't be out here."

"I don't know what I believe.” Sarah glanced at him, then returned her attention to the road. A bus, led by a jeep, was traveling on the northbound highway. Refugees, she thought. Few people went north now; she wondered where they would go.

The tops of the hills, still hidden, had been swallowed by the sky. The car bounced over another crack. “It might be true, you know,” Gerard said. “Maybe Raf is going to help us. Things don't have to be this way. He must see that. Everything could change. Instead of just hanging on like this, people could be doing things."

"What about the weather?"

"What about it? This kind of change has happened before, you know that. People have to find new ways of getting things done, that's all. We've lost our nerve."

Sarah held the wheel more tightly.

"When things started getting bad, what we should have done was pressed ahead, and instead we retreated. We could have had new power sources, we could have done more research, instead of cutting back. I'm not saying we can control everything, but..."

She drove to the side of the road and stopped, then leaned against the wheel. She took a deep breath. Her hands were shaking.

"Sarah.” He reached for her arm.

She pulled away from him. “I don't want to think about it.” Her voice shook. “It's easier just to live with things the way they are. It doesn't do any good to hope, it just makes everything worse. I want to be happy with what I've got, I'm sick of wanting more."

"I was just saying—"

"I don't care. You don't believe it, anyway. You're hanging on to your job, you're not taking chances. You dropped out of school, the same as I did, because you knew you'd never be able to do anything you really wanted. We don't matter, we can't do anything about the world. So why talk about it?"

"I wasn't talking about us. I was just mentioning things in general."

"You were talking about us."

She turned the key and restarted the car. They traveled in silence for a few minutes until Gerard said, “Rob was telling me about his fortress the other day."

Sarah did not reply.

"He has it all designed. He figures he'll find some land that nobody's using, and he'll put his house on that, but he'll build it underground, so nobody'll see it there from a distance. Then he and his brother'll start moving all their books into it, and then stock the place with food. He said even with the weather, they should be able to grow some crops. He's working on a greenhouse design, too."

Sarah had heard about Rob's plans before. “A greenhouse, huh?"

"Yeah. All his friends'll each get one wing of the house, and he'll build it in the shape of a rectangle, and, right in the middle, he'll have a swimming pool, so we'll all get plenty of exercise. Of course, he'll have to make it an indoor pool. Then we'll arm ourselves, and learn how to use weapons."

"Of course."

"Now he says he has to work on his society."

"His society?"

"All decisions would be made communally, he says, except for stuff that would have to be decided by experts in those areas. He says you could be the historian; you'd record everything that happens in the community, and there'd be a record for future generations."

She laughed. “Rob, of course, would be the leader."

"He says there wouldn't be just one leader. Everyone would work together."

"There's always a leader."

"Well, maybe there is, but everyone would be able to have a say, even the kids. There wouldn't be any television except for recordings of classic films, and the school's curriculum would concentrate on agriculture and literature."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “There's going to be a school?"

"Oh, there has to be a school, if there's kids."

"What's he going to do about medical care?"

"Oh, he'll get a doctor as one of the settlers, and everyone will learn first aid."

She smiled. Fantasies like Rob's did not depress her; they were only games, playful ideas. She tried to imagine Rob excavating ground for a house with his slender white hands and frail body. Gazing through the windshield at the hills, she imagined little underground settlements with egalitarian societies, happy children, plenty of food, and lots of old books. They sped along the highway more quickly.

 

They arrived in Hanover by mid-morning. The town was deserted, too far from bus and train routes, abandoned by those who had depended on the surrounding farms; the growing season was now too short for anything but subsistence farming. They drove slowly down the bumpy main street, passing stores with broken windows and rambling Colonial houses, and pulled into the parking lot of a Carvel stand. Signs advertising ice cream specials fluttered behind shattered glass. The Carvel sign and a large plaster model of an ice cream cone lay on their sides in the empty lot.