She blinked a few times, never taking her glassy eyes off me. Once she opened her mouth a long few moments but said nothing. Her tongue looked gray and shriveled. Moving her head slowly from side to side, she looked blankly around, apparently trying to figure out where she was.
“You fainted, Mag. We’re in an ambulance going to the hospital because I want them to check you out. I’ve called Dr. Zakrides and he’ll be waiting for us there.”
She gently touched the back of my hand with one of her fingers. Slowly she stroked it once and then her finger fell away. She said something I couldn’t hear. I leaned in closer. From whatever well of small energy she had left, she was able to say it again: “Knock-knock.” I gasped back a short harsh breath. It was our password and secret smile. Whenever one of us felt sexy and wanted to make love, we went to the other and said that, “Knock-knock.” Not so much knocking on their “door” as meaning the silly line kids have used forever to begin a million bad jokes. I don’t know where it came from or remember which of us had been the first to use it in that context. But the only time we said the phrase to each other was for that reason alone.
Hearing those wonderful words now in this place and circumstance was hideous. But how amazing that that’s what she wanted to say to me now, when fear would own most people. Every couple has an intimate, secret vocabulary only they speak or understand. Until this moment, “knock-knock” had been our great lewd line that meant only one thing to us and was therefore irresistible. My heart galloped up a hill in my chest. My wife was going away.
One side of Magda’s mouth twitched. Seeing it, I was afraid she was about to have a seizure, a common side effect of brain tumor. But almost worse, that twitch turned into a smile. How did she do it? Everything was gone in her but here she was smiling. When she tried to speak again she had no energy. All she could do was mouth the words but that was enough. She said slowly, “I like you.” Another major phrase from our shared history; the result of an old wound that had healed into a joke, then a joy and a memory neither of us would forget.
A decade before we married, Magda and I had a very serious affair. But it blew up and rained pieces of pain down on both of us for a long time. It was all my fault. By some miracle years later Magda was able to forgive my great shittiness and give me another chance. Nonetheless both of us had scars up and down our souls from what had happened. So when we started dating again, we moved around each other like two dogs mat have never met before—slow approach, backs stiff, tails up, circling. Even when we knew we were onto something bip here, neither of us dared say any of the magic words or phrases that seal the deal.
This went on for more than a while. Eventually after one particularly nice time together, I screwed up my courage. Looking her square in the eye I said, “I like you.” Of course I wanted to say the big stuff but was worried she might bolt if she heard “I love you” or “I want you” or “you’re the one for me.” Instead, she smiled like someone who’s come home and said, “I wish we were in a bedroom now.”
I smiled back. “Why?”
“Because I could be naked for you there. No, nude. No, naked. Well, both and then you could choose.”
Naturally both “I like you” and “naked and nude” became honorary members of our relationship. Both were frequently used as assurances, reminders, and surefire alternatives to “I love you.”
“Don’t talk anymore now, Mag. Save your strength.”
What strength? Nothing in her expression or the broken lie of her body indicated there was more than a firefly’s light of strength left in her. Whatever owned Magda now had taken full charge and it was definitely not her friend. She closed her eyes and I took her hand. She gave a weak squeeze and stopped.
I closed my eyes and summoned the image I always did in situations like this: A close-up of a finger going into the white number holes of an old black 1940s style telephone. Finger in a hole—turn the wheel—do it again, dial the number digit by slow digit. It rings on the other end. Two, three times, sometimes four but eventually it is picked up. A nondescript male voice asks calmly, “Yes?” I’ve got him—it’s God. He always picks up and always listens. It does not mean He’ll do what I ask. He only listens and mat’s our deal.
This time I silently said, please leave Magda out of this. If it’s her fate to go like this, then okay. But if it’s because of something I did, break my skull. Break me—but please leave her alone. That’s all. I dianked him and the hand in my mental image put down the phone. No pleading or elaboration because He knows what I’m talking about. And He’s got a lot of phones to answer.
“All right.”
My eyes were closed but I jumped hearing the voice. Magda’s limp hand lay in mine. God had just said all right. I opened my eyes and was looking directly at the paramedic. He smiled and said it again in that unmistakable voice. “All right. Mr. McCabe. We can save your wife.”
Magda’s eyes were still closed. Her face looked very peaceful. I knew no matter where she “was” she wouldn’t be able to hear us now.
“We can do what you ask, sir. But you’ll have to do something for us.”
“Are you God?” I asked timidly.
His smile grew warmer. “No, but we are more powerful than human beings. We can facilitate making certain things happen that you can’t.” He had a big face—big eyes, wide nose, his teeth were the color of a yellowed meerschaum pipe. Altogether there was nothing special about his face. You wouldn’t notice or remember it. Maybe that was the point.
“A small group of us, including Astopel, came to Earth—”
“So you are aliens? Gee-Gee was right?”
“Yes.” He wouldn’t stop smiling. Now he looked encouraging, like a teacher pleased with a student’s answer to a hard question.
“There are aliens on Earth that look like people? This is a goddamned 1950s movie! Why aren’t we in black and white? We’ve already got the Pod People here!”
I was too loud. He put a finger to his lips to shush me. “If you saw what we really looked like you would be alarmed. We didn’t come here to cause a disturbance. That was Astopel’s doing and why all these odd things have been happening to you.”
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a blue and white pack of gum. The writing on it was Cyrillic. The black plastic identity tag on that pocket said his name was Barry– Barry the alien.
“How long have you been here, uh, Barry?”
“A little over a month. Some of us longer, like the Schiavos. As you know the two of them have been here for years. Would you like a piece of Russian gum? It’s very good.”
I was dumbstruck. “The Schiavos are—Geraldine Schiavo is an alien! Oh-my-God! That’s why they disappeared like that and their house... Holy Christ! Why are you here?”
Leaning forward he spoke to the driver. “Nate, stop the car. We need some time before we get to the hospital.”
“What about my wife?”
“She’ll be all right until we get there. Don’t worry. This is all within our control, Mr. McCabe. Or rather this part is. Please trust me.”
What else could I do? More importantly what parts weren’t under their control?
The ambulance slowed and made a hard right turn. Looking out the window, I saw that we were in the parking lot of the Grand Union market. Ironic because it was where Old Vertue had been found that first day.
“Are we stopping here on purpose? Is this place some sort of symbolic gesture?”
Barry Smiles lost the smile and looking bewildered said no; we simply needed a place to talk and this was convenient. I didn’t believe him. Sliding the door open, he gestured for me to climb out. After checking Magda again, I did. The parking lot was mostly empty, but the heat of the day was already beginning to rise from the pocked, cracked pavement. A lone white seagull drifted above us. Seeing something on the ground, it dropped for a landing. The flattened body of a mouse turned out to be the object of the bird’s affection. It pecked away at what was left of the squashed blob.