Authors: James F. David
In almost every marriage there is a selfish and an unselfish partner. A pattern is set up and soon becomes inflexible, of one person always making the demands and one person always giving way.
—IRIS MURDOCH
PLANET AMERICA
M
ark pulled Christy along the shore of the lake. The sky was blue, the meadow green, the air warm—maybe sixty-five. It was a beautiful spring day, no matter what planet you were on. New life began in the spring and it seemed fitting for her and Mark to be together on a new world. This wild world was invigorating, intensifying every feeling. She hungered more, slept more soundly, and yes, loved more deeply. Holding hands with Mark she felt like a teenager again, giddy, silly, and slightly aroused. The electricity in his touch told her he felt the same.
Squeaky followed behind them, encouraged by a few scraps of meat from Christy. Mark carried a picnic basket in one hand and a rifle strapped over his shoulder. The gun made Christy nervous but also secure.
Mark spread a blanket on the far side of the lake, the town visible across the still water. Squeaky settled into the grass next to the blanket, waiting for scraps. The picnic was meat loaf sandwiches, deviled eggs, pickles, and apples. There was a Thermos of coffee and two cups. Praying together first, they ate, making small talk, Christy joking about her work on the bunk beds. When they were down to eating apples, Christy reclined, feeling the warmth on her face.
"I was going to say the sun feels good," she said. "But it isn't the sun, is it?"
"Technically no, but that's what we call it."
"If you close your eyes you feel just like you're on Earth," she said.
"The gravity isn't quite the same, and there are other differences, but I know what you mean. It's alien but not as much as I thought it would be. We're comfortable here because this planet is one of God's creations, and so are we, so we shouldn't be surprised that we're compatible. It confirms what we believed all along, Christy. God created all this for humanity."
"But it's still alien, Mark. I saw an animal yesterday as big as a moose, but with antlers more like an elk's. There's nothing like it on Earth."
"I know the animal. We don't have a name for it. Most people call them Bulls."
"I think I'm beginning to see what Adam must have felt like when God brought all the animals to him to be named."
"Want to take a walk? See what's out there?"
"Won't Squeaky just scare them away?"
"I brought a leash," Mark said.
They packed the picnic supplies and left them to be picked up on the return. Squeaky accepted the loop of rope around her neck but wasn't leash-trained and Mark's arm was pulled to and fro whenever an attractive scent was just out of sniffing range.
They reached the woods, the undergrowth soft, easily pushed aside. The forest was primarily evergreens, although the foliage was leafy instead of needles. They came to a trail, the walking easier now.
"It's an animal trail," Mark said. "Bulls and green deer make these."
"Green deer?"
"Yeah, they look sort of like deer and they're . . . well, green. We aren't very sophisticated about naming animals."
Christy studied the forest but saw nothing but an occasional bird flitting between branches above them.
"Look there," Mark said, stopping suddenly.
Following his point Christy saw a small mound of leaves rustle just off the trail. Squeaky froze, then whined softly. The small pile of leaves moved at turtle speed.
"I think I know what that is," Mark said.
Handing her Squeaky's rope, Mark knelt by the mound, plucking leaves off the top. The mound continued moving, unaware of Mark's efforts. When he had the leaves off he stepped back, taking Squeaky. Then Christy knelt, seeing a gray creature shaped like a flounder and just as flat.
"Their backs are tacky so the leaves stick, making perfect cover."
Christy touched the back of the fleshy creature with a finger, pulling it away with some difficulty, her finger now sticky.
"Look at their legs," he said.
Gingerly, she picked up one edge of the creature. Like a centipede, there were hundreds of tiny legs moving in waves along the bottom of the animal. She was repulsed and engrossed at the same time. Pulling off a few more leaves she looked at the triangular-shaped head. It was the same fleshy gray as the rest of the body. If there were eyes and a mouth they were underneath. No shell to protect it, slow moving without any defenses, stealth was its only hope. Sprinkling it with leaves again she rejoined Mark and Squeaky.
"It's so helpless-looking. I'm surprised they survive."
"The dogs don't eat them," Mark said. "They'll dig them up and play with them, but that's all. I suspect they taste pretty bad."
After a half mile Mark led them off the path toward the sound of running water. Another quarter mile and they came to a stream. The bank was a steep slope. A small furry animal ran along the stream, disappearing into a hole in the bank.
"If we're quiet, he'll come back out," Mark said.
Squeaky was agitated, having trouble sitting still, whining softly.
"The dogs think these things are pretty tasty," he explained.
Christy wrinkled her brow, squeamish at the thought of a beautiful dog like Squeaky eating the little creature. Dog food came from cans in Christy's experience, not burrows.
A minute later a head popped out, looking around, then ducking inside again. A second later another head popped out of a hole a few feet away. Now she realized the bank was honeycombed with holes, heads occasionally appearing and disappearing. Finally one of the fuzzy little animals risked a step outside, squatting, head high, nose sampling the air. Shaped like a prairie dog, it was about the same size, with thick fur that shimmered in the sunlight. Its hind paws were webbed, each front leg ended in a branch with two paws. An otterlike tail was held out taut. Unlike other animals on America, the eyes were recessed, protected by a bushy brow.
Satisfied Squeaky wasn't hunting them, the animal thumped its tail rhythmically. Three more animals appeared, taking up the erect posture, sniffing, one eye always on them. Squeaky whined, leaning forward, held
firmly by Mark's rope. Now all four thumped their tails and a half-dozen more animals emerged, watching, but also beginning their routines. Working along the bank they sniffed the mud, occasionally pausing and digging furiously until suddenly they would jam their heads into the mud, and then jerk back, a wiggling animal in their teeth. With three quick snaps of the jaws the meal would be swallowed. Alternating guard duty and feeding, the group moved slowly down the shore of the river away from where they stood.
"Do you know what they're eating?" Christy whispered.
"No. We can go dig one up if you like."
"No thanks," she said quickly.
"I know how you feel," he said. "Even furry little beasts like those gave me the creeps at first. They're very Earth-like, except for their paws. At first I felt like I was living on a planet full of freaks."
"If the animals here were horrifying monsters they would have . . . well, horrified us," Christy said, "but these animals don't terrify, they just make you uneasy."
"It's not permanent," he said. "Some animals still give me the creeps, but not many anymore. The children don't seem to notice at all. A raccoon would scare them more than one of those," he said, pointing to the retreating cluster of animals. "We better head back," he said, then pulled Squeaky away from the bank.
Disappointed at watching dinner scurrying away, Squeaky barked in protest. A dozen animals disappeared into holes.
"The whole bank is Swiss cheese," Mark said. "Their territory runs a mile downstream and there are holes the entire length."
The details of the forest were odd: the birds, the insects, the needles on the evergreens, the buds of the trees and bushes, but when the unfamiliar details were added together it felt like early spring in a forest, a good time for a walk with someone you loved. She was sorry when it was time to return for supper and evening worship.
She saw little of Mark the rest of that week, although she was so tired from the work it would have made little difference. All the core structures were up and weather-tight and it was time to plumb the buildings. Unskilled workers like Christy dug ditches, carried lengths of pipe, and assisted real plumbers who cut, fitted, and soldered. Two days later the weather returned to normal, the skies clouded up, and the rain began. It was light but steady,- they worked in rain gear in a constant drizzle.
Roland, Charlie, and Archie worked as ditch diggers, Tobias still refusing to "rape the new world." Meaghan worked side by side with the men,
refusing easier duties. Sylvia, however, was grateful for kitchen duties since she wasn't fit for harder labor. They ate together at meals, talking about what they'd observed of the Fellowship and their impact on the planet. Tobias joined them occasionally, skipping half his meals but showing no ill effects. Disliked on the voyage out, he was even more unpleasant now, dominating dinner conversations with rants about the environmental atrocities he had witnessed.
When they finally had one working shower, the community drew numbers to determine order, Christy getting 102. The boilers were fired up, the water pumps turned on, and everyone applauded as a woman named Inga Molton paraded past in her robe, waving the slip of paper with number one on it. Fifteen minutes later she emerged, hair wrapped in a towel, skin scrubbed pink, the crowd applauding even more loudly. The line to use the first flush toilet was just as long.
Two days later their work group was shuttled back to another community, leaving the fact-finders behind. Then they were picked up by a shuttle, Mark riding with them on the passenger deck.
"We're going to our first settlement," Mark said. "It's the most developed."
"Is Grandma Jones's community on the way?" Christy asked. "It would be nice to see her again."
"She doesn't want visitors right now," Mark said.
Sylvia eyed Mark suspiciously.
"She doesn't want visitors, or you don't want her to have visitors?" Sylvia asked.
"Why would I care?" Mark responded defensively.
"Historically, white males prefer to keep their race pure," Sylvia said.
"Grandma Jones asked for a separate community," Mark said.
"Because she wouldn't be welcome with your people," Meaghan said.
"We didn't have to transport those people," Mark said.
" 'Those people'?" Roland said. "I'm one of
those people."
"You're deliberately twisting my words."
"We're reading the meaning behind your words," Tobias said.
"Think whatever you want," Mark said, exasperated.
Mark left them then, riding the rest of the way with the pilots.
The first settlement on America was named New Jerusalem, but it bore little resemblance to a Middle Eastern city. Two dozen buildings lined the only paved street on the planet. Two blocks long, the little strip
of concrete looked out of place among the unpainted log and frame structures. There were dormitories, a dining hall, and a church of course, but also homes—individual family dwellings. Shelly and Micah lived in one, on the far edge of the community near one of the farms. Meaghan and Christy were assigned to stay with the Strongs.
Shelly greeted them at the door, her new baby in her arms. Squeaky was there too, brought by Mark on an earlier shuttle. Squeaky separated from a half-dozen dogs gathered in the yard. Christy scratched her ears and then fed her a scrap she had saved, happy to see her adopted pet.
Shelly's house was a cabin, with unfinished bare wood inside and out, but it was wired for electricity and was plumbed. There was a bathroom with a tub and a toilet and an electric hot-water heater and stove. The house was heated with wood and a couple of cords were stacked against one outside wall. There were two bedrooms and the kids had vacated one to make room for Meaghan and her. Judith moved in with her mother, while Junior moved out to a shed behind the house, excited about living in his own place. Baby Zachariah slept in a bassinet next to her mother's bed.
Shelly was excited to see Christy, hugging her and asking how she had been. She wras cordial to Meaghan, but Meaghan was cool, clearly disapproving of a woman who chose to be a housewife. Shelly had prepared a stew for their dinner, serving it with corn bread and applesauce.
"Applesauce, apple crisp, dried apples, apple jelly. Why so many apples?"
Meaghan asked at dinner.
"Apple trees have done well here. They're hardy, take to the soil, and the native insects don't like them much. Peaches haven't done as well but they're trying a new insecticide that seems to be working."
"Poison," Meaghan said. "Call it what it is."
"We're guests here," Christy said. "It wouldn't hurt to be polite."
Meaghan couldn't manage an apology but did keep quiet.
"When's Micah due back?" Christy asked.
Worry lines appeared and Shelly momentarily lost her smile.
"Whenever the Lord releases him, I guess."
"Is he on planet America?" Meaghan asked.
"No," Shelly said. "More stew?"
Shaking her head, Meaghan said, "Is he on Earth?"
"He's exploring," Shelly said, now passing the plate with the corn bread.
"Exploring where?" Meaghan said.
"In space. Ready for dessert? It's apple dumplings," Shelly said.
Meaghan's face fell and Christy laughed, relieving the tension at the table. She was as curious about Micah's whereabouts as Meaghan, but would respect the privacy of the Fellowship.
It was planting season and their work assignment was to help plant corn, fix meals for workers, laundry duties, and sometimes chopping wood. Mark came to see Christy frequently over the next week, taking her for walks and for picnics. Christy loved those times, the two of them alone, walking hand in hand, searching out planet America's wildlife that came in as much variety as Earth's. They kissed on those walks, more often as time went on, feelings for each other growing.