Thank you for listening.
Goodbye.
It was pretty exciting. Clarence Q. Eldridge was in town.
He was known as C-Q, he was an author, world traveller, philanthropist, motivational speaker and nice guy. He was, in fact, my personal hero. Although he had never married, saying he was much too engaged with his various activities, he was loved by women–and children–around the world. Although his visit had been anticipated for months, nevertheless, I was surprised to find that he'd be here a week earlier than expected. My job was to interview him.
I'm a reporter for the Burlington Times with the specific task of writing about famous people. C-Q would be my most famous. I had followed his career for many years. First as the editor of our high school tabloid, then as a sports writer for the Times, then I was given a column on page two. My column was called, simply, People.
When I arranged the interview I was told I'd meet him at Wilton Towers Hotel, but because he arrived early I checked again and found that he would be at Brant Hospital. Now that was surprising, to say the least. I tried to remember how old C-Q was. I figured he must be nearly seventy, but why was he at Brant? I collected my gear–pencil, notepad, audio recorder and camera–and headed for the hospital.
C-Q was in a public ward with three other people. He looked terrific, tanned and bright-eyed with white carefully brushed hair that surrounded a pleasant face, clear of any moustache or beard or other ornamental contrivance. He seemed almost happy to see me. He pointed to the chair by his bed and I sat, looking around for a place for the recorder. He said I should set it on his night table, which I did. I punched the start button and asked my first question: "Why are you not in a private room?"
"I like people," he said, his smile brilliant. "These are now my friends," he said, waving his hand about the room.
I knew why I loved this guy. He was a people person.
Although I had a long list of questions, C-Q hardly gave me a chance to ask any.
"So tell me about yourself," he said. 'Leave nothing out."
I was a bit puzzled, but started telling him about myself.
"Well, I was born in Toronto and raised by my mother. We moved to Burlington soon after I was born. My father apparently died when I was a child. My mom did say that he was a nice guy, although she rarely spoke of him. There were no pictures of him, so I promptly forgot that I had no father and enjoyed my time with mom. She did change to her maiden name. Mom died last February and I cried for a week. I went to the University of Toronto, but quit after just a few months. I couldn't concentrate. Then I got a job...but wait. I should be ashamed of myself. I really must ask why you're in the hospital. I hope it's something...uh, trivial."
"Not exactly. I have cancer. I've known it for some time. I guess you'd say I've come home to die."
"Oh my, I had no idea. I'm so sorry to hear that."
"No need to be sorry. I've had a wonderful life.
"You said 'come home'... come home to Burlington?"
"Yes, that was where I began by journeys. For me, it's home. Okay, young man, what are your hobbies. Hobbies, they are important."
"Well, I like to camp, to sketch–though I'm not very good at it–I like to travel, especially to places that have different cultures, food and scenery than North America, and I enjoy listening to classical music, especially Chopin."
"Are you married, young man?"
"Well, no, but I do have a girl friend. I think we'll probably marry next year...I don't know for sure."
"Ah, you must marry. You'll need a companion for all the things you do, all the places you visit, someone who will love you regardless of your faults..."
"But you never married," I said.
C-Q paused for some time, staring out of the window at the blue, blue sky. Then he said, slowly, with some effort: "I did marry, but I guess I was not cut out to be a husband." He paused. "You seem surprised, young man.. The stories they tell in the media are often wrong, designed to sell magazines or papers. However, my marriage lasted just a few short years. My wife was a beautiful, intelligent, compassionate woman. Indeed, she was much too good for me. Besides, I longed to travel, see the world, write of my adventures."
"Have you seen your wife...your ex-wife?"
"No, I understand that she died last February."
I stared at the man in the bed. Last February? A coincidence, certainly.
"What was your wife's name?" I asked.
"I'd rather you didn't put that in your column, young man," C-Q said.
I turned off the recorder.
"Of course," I said.
"Her name was Sylvia."
I rose from my chair, astonished.
"My mother, her name was Sylvia." I said, quite excited. "Did you have a child? Did Sylvia have a baby?"
C-Q paused for a while, stared intently at me and said, 'Yes, a boy. That would have been...let's see, thirty-seven years ago."
"I am thirty-seven years old!" I said, almost shouting.
I think we must have spent the next ten minutes in silence. C-Q tried to say something, but didn't. I tried to speak, but couldn't. I was looking at my lifelong hero, a personal idol throughout my adult years, my father. I began to cry. C-Q buried his head in his pillow. In a moment, we embraced. My father began to weep.
"I often thought of my son," he said, weeping. "What he was like, how he would mature, what he would become, what he would...would make of his life."
We held each other for several minutes.
My father, Clarence Q. Eldridge, died three weeks later. I was sad, yet somehow exhilarated. In the past, I rarely thought of my father. I often pretended that I had no father. Now, at this very moment, my hero is my father and that seemed to make my life important. I visit his grave every month and promise to make him proud of me.
I did marry the following year.
We named our first child Clarence.
I am telling this story because I hope that my people will receive my transmissions and will display the images for all to see. Perhaps...perhaps I have too little time.
I had studied them for years, since I was very young. It was my profession: alien social networks. I worked at Prkjp and spent most of the day scanning the electromagnetic spectrum for transmissions, recording the most interesting emissions and preparing lectures on the subject. Now, at long last, I was given permission to visit the planet. I would, of course, be provided with a visual displacement robe so that I would not be seen. I would be the very first to visit and everyone at Prkjp were expecting a full and complete report when I returned. I was determined to provide a most entertaining lecture. The habits of these aliens were fascinating. I have read everything about them in our libraries.
When the day came for my departure, my mate wrapped her arms about my waist, rubbed her cheek against mine and whispered in my audio orifice: "Go with Kana," she said. I climbed into the craft, waved at the gathered crowd and rose vertically until I had elevation sufficient for egress. It would be a long time before I arrived at the small planet, so I immediately went into stasis. When I awoke, I would be in orbit about the planet. Since my craft was designed to mimic some of the space junk that circled the planet, it would be some time before I was noticed. Indeed, there was enough orbital debris circling the planet that my craft would probably never be identified. This was a very messy society–and that was one of their more fascinating characteristics. I would soon learn of their further sloppy characteristics.
The vibrational alarm woke me and I peered through the small window. Yes, just as I had imagined, just as the galactic artists had portrayed it back home: a blue planet, mostly water. I quickly donned my planetary clothes. In case it was necessary to walk among them, I wanted to appear comparable to the average mature alien. Although I had only seven transmitted images to go by and could not gauge their height, I did have the proper proportions. Besides, it was unlikely that I would find it necessary to disrobe. I was shaking with nervous excitement as the shuttle d
ropped from the belly of my space craft, a craft that had been packaged in a visual displacement robe.
I knew the planetary geography quite well, so when I landed it was on an uninhabited plateau in the area that I suspected was the first location inhabited by these aliens. I disengaged from the shuttle and walked about. In the distance I saw objects in motion. Upon closer examination I realized that they were edible objects. These aliens had a fascinating habit of raising creatures, feeding them, killing them, then eating them. I recognized the objects in the distance as a type of edible alien.
I spent nearly a day wandering about the plateau, but the only moving objects I found were the edible creatures...so I left and headed for another area of the planet, across a vast expanse of water, landing near a large metropolis. I checked the visual displacement robe that encased the shuttle and found it operational, so I left it and walked toward the nearby alien habitation centre. When I got there, I was appalled by the smell. There were vehicles that disgorged carbon monoxide. These aliens must be resistant to the effects of that gas. Further, the metropolis was crowded, aliens walking shoulder to shoulder, pressing plastic gadgets to their cheek, talking, talking. When I passed over the planet in my craft, I saw large uninhabited areas, yet here they were, almost in contact as they walked...and they walked very quickly. Where were they going in such a hurry?
I followed three aliens. One dropped into an establishment and ate a food item in the shape of an oblate spheroid. As it ate, pieces of food fell out of the spheroid onto its dress. It did not seem concerned. Another alien entered an area filled with large plants and sat on a bench, pulling out some foodstuff from a brown paper bag. It ate then left the bag on the ground. In front of it was a pond with what seemed like edible birds. The third alien went into an enormous building with elaborate statuary across the facade. Once inside, it walked to the front, kneeled and seemed to be praying to a God.
I read about their God. There was but a single God, as we have back home, Kana, a God that we all worship. However, here in this society, there were a large variety of subsidiary beliefs and rituals that distinguished one group of worshipers from another. Apparently, from what I had read, these minor differences resulted in warfare where each group attempted to promote their own brand of...what did they call it? Religion, yes that's it. Religion.
After following the three aliens I still wondered why they were all in such a hurry. Besides, it was very hot and they all were fully clothed. Why was that? I was also surprised to find that they were all quite short...and fat. In any case, I could not stand the stench of the busy street so I went down a side street which had wonderful plants that arched across the road, providing shade. There were many aliens with small animals on a leash. It seems that some creatures, although clearly edible, were kept as companions. These companions were allowed to excrete on the road.
At the end of the road I could hear the water. A beautiful area by the sea, covered in white sand, the sand almost completely covered with half naked aliens lying horizontally. I managed to walk across the beach while only stepping on three feet. There was a cool green forest beyond the beach and I was eager to taste the shade. When I got there, I noticed a small stony beach, uninhabited yet covered in trash, plastic bags and metal cans and assorted debris, much like the space junk that orbited the planet. These aliens are a messy lot.
Beyond the woods was a path that lead me to a fairly large cultivated area, with flowers that were placed by stones that held inscriptions written in their alien tongue. Things like Born 1934 Died 2017. I had read of this curious ritual. These aliens put their dead into an ornate box then buried both so they could rot together. What was surprising to those of us back home that studied these aliens? These areas for body decay were often prime real estate. They had a name for them...but I do not recall the name.
When I eventually reached the metropolis again, I could hardly stand the stench generated by the vehicle exhaust, yet there didn't seem to be evident concern by the aliens. Then I heard a crowd cheering and saw an alien on a box, speaking to a large group of aliens, with much waving of its arms. It was promising lower taxes (whatever that meant) and more jobs (a strange promise: was it hiring?) and better housing (I assumed this alien was a builder of homes) and a whole host of similar pledges. Then it struck me: it was a so-called politician and was seeking to be elected to office, hence the reason for the promises. I had read about that, too. Those that managed to get a government position then forgot the aliens who elected them and were more interested in the companies that provided money. In fact, it was written that only at election time did these so-called politicians turn again to the normal aliens, standing again on a box, making promises to the crowd ... since they were eager to be re-elected to office. Clearly the endeavours of these so-called politicians was to fill their pockets with money and get re-elected. It was a very curious ritual and one that amused us back home. In fact, there were may comedic skits that portrayed these so-called politicians and their promises. The skits all had the same name: democracy.
The sun was lowering in the sky and the street was becoming sparse of aliens. I followed a particularly short alien to see what they do when it is dark. This alien raised its hand, a yellow vehicle stopped, it entered the vehicle and they disappeared around a corner at high speed. I then followed another which entered a nearby building. I followed it into the building and into a room. Clearly, this was its home, its abode, its place of rest. The alien removed all of its clothes and that was the very first time any of my kind saw a completely naked alien from this planet. There were, of course, scores of almost-naked aliens portrayed in their electromagnetic transmissions. I took a mental picture so that I could display the image when I got home. Next, this alien stepped under a stream of water. That was also the first such incident of that particular ritual. The purpose was not clear. This alien could just as easily have gone to the beach to get wet.
After rubbing itself and drying itself it collapsed into a soft stationary item of furniture and images appeared on a monitor. The image talked and laughed and the alien laughed as well. Then it walked into a neighouring room and returned with a glass of amber liquid, continuing to laugh. It took little time for the alien to fall off the furniture, crawl to another room and into another piece of furniture. It fell asleep and I was alone with the moving, talking images on the monitor. These were not images of normal aliens. They were images of mice and ducks and stuffed dolls, yet they talked and laughed. What was the attraction to this form of entertainment?
Although I spent several more days wandering the streets of the metropolis, I found nothing of much interest. Perhaps it was time to return to my shuttle. I thought that I might show myself before I left...just to gauge their reactions. I was clearly taller than these short, fat aliens, but they should recognize the similarities in biology. I had two arms, two eyes and nasal passage placed in the middle and a mouth at the lower extremities of my face. I did have, however, four legs but these aliens may not notice that. I chose a spot where there were very few aliens, then I removed my visual displacement robe.
There was a moment of quiet surveillance by the aliens, then a weapon of sorts appeared in their hands, every single hand. I was surrounded and the aliens began to chatter. It was rather scary so I tried to pull on my robe, but someone grabbed it and ran off. Several others pulled me to the ground and blue-uniformed aliens appeared and I was dragged off.
I write these last words from what they call a jail cell. I hope my last transmission reached my home planet. Here, my room is sealed with metallic bars. I can not imagine what will be done with me. I suppose I will be put into a box to rot.
It was a dream come true. The dance studio had been vacant for seventeen years...and now it was mine. I spent months cleaning, sanding, polishing. The big opening would be tomorrow. I had advertised in all the papers and stuck flyers on every pole and wall in the neighbourhood. I had studied at Hollingsworth Studios and now I would have a studio of my own.
I couldn't have been more excited.
Sammy had dropped around to see how I was getting along. We sat on plastic chairs and had a beer or three. He had lent me money enough to buy the dance suite. It was second floor with nice lighting and hardwood floors in excellent condition. It just needed some tender love and care which I was eager to provide. When Sammy left I did a last bit of polishing then got my coat to leave.
I heard the buzzer. Who could that be at this hour? I looked at my watch. It was almost midnight. I pressed the button, listened to some gal say she just wanted to see the studio...so I unlocked the door to the street, below. I waited and was happily surprised to see a beautiful woman come in. She wanted to dance. How could I refuse? I turned on the music and we waltzed for hours, then we sat on the plastic chairs and reminisced about dance competitions, exchanging stories: the couple who slipped on a slippery floor, the couple who were both male, the competition that was held outdoors–then it rained cats and dogs. We laughed, finished my tuna sandwiches and beer and danced again until the first rays of the sun ran across the dance floor. She was beautiful, witty, charming. She had a wonderful laugh, a wonderful smile. It was love at first sight. When she saw the light of day she said she must leave. I must see her again, so I asked her name: Sylvana diMitrio.
The next day Sammy came early to check that everything was ready for the opening later in the day. I told him that a wonderful woman came to dance the previous evening and that I was in love.