It is February, the month of valentines, hearts, flowers, Cupid, love and time for another long overdue, heart throbbing story of:
For those too new to this blog to remember or those who do remember but wish to forget, Fallen Arches is my grotesque effort to reinvent the romance novel (more on that subject at Fallen Arches Redux). Here, for your reading pleasure, is the latest installment.
The transport carrier was heard before it was seen. The drab, dusty, black-hole like sky of Voltmore 4 prevented sight for more than an arm’s length. The bulky carrier’s engines throbbed as it approached and docked at the colonizing station platform.
Anxious couples milled about in the darkened air, nervously awaiting their turn to be processed and then boarded onto the carrier for their transport to the far off lands of Northeros and Southos in the Gethen solar system, where their lives could begin anew. The exhausting and endless Arrakis wars, stopped then renewed with even more hostility and bloodshed, had seen the near extinction of several tribes caught in the midst of the seemingly endless struggle.
Ultimately the Hainish Truce supplied a welcome but brief relief. At first the warring factions did not observe the tenuous truce but then, after several false starts, it appeared that the truce would hold and repatriation or, at least relocation, of the decimated tribes could begin in earnest. The Wockyjabbs, a docile, retiring, servile people, were among those tribes caught in the unrelenting, harsh wars between the belligerents and nearly obliterated. Oscar was among the few Wockyjabbs left.
Voltmore 4, though incredibly barren and bleak at the edge of the galaxy, was a safe holding place for the remaining tribe members who survived until they were chosen by the supreme Ekumen Council to be paired together and then moved to Gethen where they could settle and breed and continue their lineage. By Council law, each tribe was granted one pairing per transport which occurred only once a nebulon.*
[*Author’s note: A nebulon is a single revolution of the planet Hysteria around its sun or approximately fifty years.]
In the near complete darkness, Oscar, his newly chosen mate alongside, plodded ever so slowly through the dimly lit corridor leading up to the carrier. Painfully shy like all Wockyjabbs, Oscar finally picked up the courage to reach out and touch the hand of his chosen partner. Other than their exposed hands, both were covered head to toe in layers of clothing to protect themselves from the harsh Voltmore 4 climate. When no resistance occurred, Oscar started to stammer out his thoughtful but slow speech.
“I.. I know that we will be together for a lifetime and we hope to.. to form a new life and.. you know.. re-create, I.. I mean reproduce, to keep our species alive and.. and all those things but, but I.. well, I don’t even know your name. Please tell me.”
After a pause, his mate replied “My name is Walter.”
With apologies to J.K. Rowling, Lewis Carroll, George R. R. Martin, Frank Herbert, and Ursula Le Guin.
It was going to be a long, cold winter.
After the last of the sheep had entered the shed, Andy Stills pulled the door shut, fighting against the stern rush of wind and the ever accumulating drifts of snow that had marked the third day of unrelenting storm. The ominous pewter and rust colored skies gave every indication that there would be no let up in the angry weather.
Andy Stills and Barney Coltart had started their relationship years ago, in these same wind-swept, high grasslands of Eastern Wyoming. An accidental meeting between a hard-scrabble rancher and an itinerant cowboy had culminated in a deep closeted relationship. Despite their separate ways and marriages, Andy had agreed – more and more reluctantly as time passed – to meet once each year here on Barney’s sheep farm.
Brushing the snow from his shoulders, Andy reminisced about how their affair had started over a decade ago in a situation similar to this one. Two down-on-their-luck young men, trapped together for weeks during a bitterly cold winter roundup, had found that their mutual attraction was more than just respect and admiration; it was a bond of love that they both tried, at first, to deny, Andy more so than Barney.
Barney knew better than Andy that he always had affection for other men, despite the fact that he, like Andy, had used marriage to offset his deep-seated desires. Barney shuffled carefully in the close quarters of the shed, pulled off his gloves, brushed off his hat and placed both down on the small wooden stand, next to the oil lamp. He turned to Andy with a wistful look and said, “That’s the last of the herd, thank God. Takes longer and longer each year to round ‘em up.”
Andy spoke slowly and softly to Barney. “I don’t know when this weather will let up but soon as it does, I got to get on my way. You know that, Barney.”
Barney sobbed “Andy, it’s hard. I ain’t got no words to tell you what you goin’ away each time does to me. I just wish you could make up your mind and stay.”
Moved by his words, Andy reached to embrace Barney but Barney pushed forcefully back. “No, not here, not in front of my wife, Sheila.”
Andy jumped back with a start, swiveling his head from left to right and back again in sharp, jerky motions to see where, in the confines of the small sheep barn, Barney’s wife could have hidden herself. He had never met Barney’s wife and now was not a good time to start.
“I don’t see your wife anywhere.”
“She’s right there in front of you, Andy. The one with the bright red bow” proclaimed Barney with a note of pride. Barney reached out, patting and caressing a large round sheep wearing an intricate and brightly colored red bow around her neck. “We’ve been married for going on seven years. I got her the bow for an anniversary present. I’ve never told Sheila about me and you until now. It’s been real hard to find the moment to break the news to her and I’m all worked up about it.” Tears streamed down the front of Barney’s face.
Andy sighed and looked forlornly out the small, now frosted window of the sheep barn, the accumulating snow working its way up the bottom half of the outside window pane.
It was, indeed, going to be a long, cold winter.