Cave Entrance
It was an alien experience. Never had anything like it. Funny as a laughing clown, shocking as an unexpected bullet wound.
I was walking aimlessly in the forest in back of my wilderness cabin. The cabin was built for weekends or vacation getaways such as getting away from work, or family stress, family anxiety or, at least, a place to retreat to for a few days. Seldom used as a hunting cabin, but occasionally used by hunters in the family.
My walk was peaceful, relaxing. Squirrels leaped from limb to limb, then from tree to tree. Rabbits did not seem afraid of my presence. They nibbled casually on wild plants. Birds were practicing their singing voices and the varying, melodic sounds soothed my ragged edged work-related emotions.
An easy breeze shook hands with the lush green tree leaves and bushes. The sounds of a nearby creek gurgled softly over rocks and gravel. Sticks and leaves were travelers on this waterway, destination unknown.
I sat under a maple tree and listened to Mother Nature’s choir. The absence of human voices was a comforting feeling. Demands, orders, small talk, intrusive curiosity, rude behaviors, and irritating expressions combining to make unwanted feelings of discontent.
I stood and walked aimlessly. Not watching where I was going, lost in thought, I stumbled, fell, and started rolling and sliding downhill. It was the steep hill that I have always avoided on my past nature walks. It was steep so I never wanted to risk injury by going there. I grabbed at bushes, tree trunks, saplings, but all I got was my skin peeled off from tree bark, plus fine cuts like papercuts that stung. Pink skin showed where the tree bark abrasions occurred, but not much blood. Since I was nearly at the bottom of the hill, I kept walking. I was near a creek and I delighted in the rippling sounds of water flowing lazily as if its bed caused drowsiness. The creek looked pristine, the water pure and clear, cool, and inviting. I washed the dirt off my hands as the cold water assuaged the pain of the cuts. Bending over the stream made me aware of those bruises and aches that did not call for my attention immediately after the fall. Then I remembered the downed tree branches and rocks that I rolled over. I felt lucky that I hadn’t broken a bone, especially a rib or ribs.
Since I did not relish the idea of climbing back up the steep slope from this ravine, I kept walking, hoping to find a less steep area. I felt the desire to explore as long as I was down here.
I hadn’t walked far when I startled a male deer who then crashed through a heavy growth of bushes, vines, and pine trees, its antlers crashing into and shredding all of it. I no longer wondered how he’d get out of that tangled, jungle growth. When I followed him into another shadowed and dense growth, I found him standing still, staring at me, with an opening for a cave in back of him. The cave in the background looked as if it were a picture frame and the majestic, antlered deer was the picture.
I stared back at him, then glanced at the cave entrance. He shook his head and walked off, letting me see the full, dark entrance to the cave. My first thought was of bears, but it was early summer. It did give me an ominous chill, however, like walking the length of a cellar, at midnight, with no lights on while you look for the circuit breaker.
I walked into a few feet of the cave when a light suddenly came on. The light came from his hand. It was his hand. It was glowing. I questioned my eyesight when I saw an ancient looking man, or man-like figure, with two arms, two legs, wearing a bold, red Roman toga. He demonstrated a wide grin, topped by a full, white mustache and a long black beard. His eyes were nearly as large as tennis balls and between them there was a vertical ridge of something hard, bone maybe. There were slices in his leather-like skin above each eye, where human eyebrows would be. I found out later that those slices were like fish gills that served as noses. He stood and walked closer. I could see that his hands were twice the size of a large human man’s hands, yet the most unusual thing was that there was only one huge thumb and two appendages that must have served as fingers. He stopped in front of me and smiled, showing large, cone-shaped teeth that came to a point, similar to an animal like a dog.
And to my surprise, he spoke American English; not well, but enough to make clear what he was saying. He pointed at himself and said his name, but he did not stop for five seconds due to the length of his name. He grinned at my surprise and distress about his name, then pointed to himself again and said slowly, “Motamboogmeta.”
I repeated, slowly, “Mo-tam-boog-meta.”
He shook his head and smiled, apparently pleased that I got it right, but it had to be a nickname since it only took a second to say it. Then he pointed to himself again and said, “Mo.”
“Mo,” I repeated as I thought of the Three Stooges.
“Me Mo.”
Then I understood that he wanted me to call him Mo, obviously a short, easy way to make addressing him much easier for me.
I said my name was Bill and he repeated it easily.
Mo then pointed to the side wall which had been hidden in a shadow. That’s when I noticed that his hand glowed, not with a candle but his skin, or outer covering. When he pointed, the light focused on the area that was pointed at.
The letters on the wall spelled Lyturol. I said the word aloud and shrugged my shoulders at him not understanding.
Mo placed his hand on his chest and said, “In my talk. In you talk, it literal.”
“A cave named literal,” I mumbled. In silence I thought WTF.
I asked where he came from. He gently grabbed my arm as we walked outside the cave and he pointed to the sky. “For me friends, sky no limit like you say ‘sky is limit.’”
“Alien? Outer space?” I said, a bit confused.
“ELF. Extra-Terrestrial Life Form,” he replied with a laugh, as if he had told a joke. Then he pointed at the cave and said, “Tour?”
I smiled and said, “Tour” to let him know I understood. We advance much farther into the cave. It wasn’t long before I realized that this alien cave was far, far from simple. It got more and more, fantastically complex. It was like progressing from a rock wheel wagon to a NASA rocket.
Mo and I walked for about a half-mile when I heard voices. It sounded like an argument with raised voices, and fast, angry speech.
I yelled to Mo, “Hey! Wait a second!”
Mo looked over his shoulder. “Time is over. Hay over there.”
So, speech was literal? WTF. I looked to where he pointed and saw a bale of hay. “Hey” became “hay,” and he did only wait one-second. “Holy shit!” I said aloud, then looked around. I stopped talking, immediately envisioning that I would now see a pile, or sausage-shaped turds forming a crucifix that the Catholic Pope squeezed out. Holy shit indeed.
Mo stared at me as if I were an idiot. In this cave idioms are literal. How can that work for anyone trying to learn a foreign language, if they assume that idioms are an accurate representation of our language? I quickly walked to Mo and we continued into the cave. Every step was downward, deep into the base of the cave.
Then I saw two misshaped bipeds. They were the aliens whom I thought were arguing, but were just chewing the fat, literally chewing the fat of a large sow, and making a pig of themselves, too. Drool flowed in a liquidy stream as they turned to look at me, each with his one eye—in the center of his head. The shape of their heads appeared to be elongated, oval, green-skinned watermelons in a vertical position where a neck was supposed to be, in humans. It was a head on small shoulders, no neck. But, so far, these aliens were not vastly different from humans.
The two bipeds turned to face me, suspicion causing them to stare until they saw Mo was standing by my side. Both bipeds shook their heads casually as if acknowledging something that Mo said with his mind only. Apparently, thoughts didn’t have the idiom accuracy that spoken words had. I needed to be careful and not stick my foot in my mouth—good thing that was only a thought or I’d be chewing on my athletic shoes. No comments about the tongue and soles (souls).
But they still didn’t trust me, so Mo told them to keep their eyes on me. Suddenly their large eyes popped out of their faces and floated to me. They looked like the Jolly Green Giant’s PP balls (ping pong). The eyes orbited my face then my whole body. They returned to their eye sockets. Mo said, “They are satisfied, now, that you are not a threat.”
“They think they have already learned your talk quickly, but the nuances and crazy talk they are not particularly good at. Most of them must go to, how do you say, uhm…speech class. The teachers can learn a more proper kind of your talk.
“As you may have guessed, I am the taker care of the cave entrance.”
“The word is not ‘taker care.’ It is ‘caretaker,’ but I am amazed at your personal progress with our talk. Our talk is called ‘language.’
Mo added, “Me see them fight tooth and nail, sometimes and is crazy when me see their teeth biting on the other’s nail on fingers.”
“Fingernails?” I spoke.
“Oh, good. Yes. You give me some learning.”
“Others not know you way to talk…. You lan-gloo-age and always trouble. Saw others fight, how you say? Eye for eye.”
“Yes. An eye for an eye. Good thing most that I’ve seen have their eyes.”
“You no see back of head. An eye is there. But when fight ‘eye for eye,’ many back heads no eyes.”
“A lot of young ones are here. What is this area called?”
“It is play pen. You know.”
“The play area, mostly for young ones?”
“Okie-Dokie. You good.”
Curiosity made me ask, “How can you tell males and females?”
“No mail now. Home long way. Use ray-dee-oo. You no?”
“Radio. Yes. But, Mo, I mean how do you tell who is a male and who is a female?”
“Ahh. Yes. Male poke. Female get poked. Yes?”
I simply agreed with him, rather than laugh.
“Man have poker under arm. He showed me his.
Geez, talk about having a long Johnson.
He continued, “Woman have hole under arm, same place. Can have sex stand up and walking. Nice way. Earthlings no do. Bad, lazy, lie- down sex. Male crush female. No good. No want that way.”
I offered no response. I was quite happy with the human way except the difference in time it takes men and women to come. . . oops, I mean ‘to arrive at orgasm.’
Walking farther, two individuals talked then broke into a disagreement. Reverting to human talk, one said, “Kish my ash.” They talk a lot with hands and arms, so I could see the opening under their arms, like a female vagina.
Almost got it right. The other girl kneeled down and kissed the girl’s ass which is where the human navel is. It made me think of navel oranges, and my mouth watered as I watch the girls switch positions.
Gross, but I said nothing. Every word, every intonation could mean trouble for me, so I became a most silent observer who only talked to Mo, if possible.
Walking farther was no different. Two boys thinking they can practice American boxing were pounding each other. The appendage under their arm dancing as they bobbed and weaved around each other. One hit the other too hard.
“Stop that, dickhead!” said purple pecker.
“You too dickhead!” retaliated green weenie.
I knew what was coming, just didn’t know how realistic, or from their species or the human species. Since they are all learning my language, I would suppose that …. Yep, there it goes. Two huge human penises bending like palm trees in a hurricane. I looked down at my shoes. “Can we move on,” I said to Mo.
As we walked away Purple and Green fell to the ground as their balance was upset.
“To our kind length matters and for fun we have male distance pissing contests, but water gray like stone.”
I thought, then you guys sure as hell don’t need a fire department. Even if they did, the hoses are in each males arm pit.
“Mo, are you built like them, anatomically? You wear that robe, and I can’t tell.”
“Anna who?”
“Anatomically. Are your body parts basically the same as what I’ve been seeing?”
“Of course. No stupid you. I take the Earthling, priestly life like your Catho-licks. I celebrate. No sex, you know. Use no hands. Oh, forgot, no mouth, too.”
I wondered how he found out about all the priestly dick lickers. He meant ‘celibate,’ not celebrate, but I’d spend too much time correcting him and I was more interested in the tour, how they lived, what they thought.
“You’re lucky that you don’t get out much. Thousands of temptations for humans.”
“Must stay cave. No go. But no what you mean. Many tempting here, too. Look there.”
He pointed. “What a piece of underarm that would be, huh?”
No, I thought as I looked.
“But dream good. It OK for me. Wet, sticky, but OK. So how do man do man, or man do boy?”
“Fellatio.”
“What that?” he asked, a surprised look in his eyes.
“Penis in mouth,” I said, sotto voce.
“Ahh. No piss in mouth. No good.”
I went no further. No use getting involved with something he did not understand.
Mo yelled at the two fighting males. “Stop. Shake hands. Go.”
To my surprise they did shake hands. Each of their hands started shaking as if they’d hit fingers with a hammer.
Mr. Purple and Mr. Green started walking away.
Mo wanted them to go faster. He shouted, “Get lead out of you ass.”
Purple and Green stopped, grunted as they pushed their arms up their asses. They pulled their arms out of their naval area and stated, “No lead there. What lead be?”
Mo was disgusted with them. He shouted something in their own language. Their eyes bugged out, afraid, and they ran away.
Kitchen
While still walking, Mo informed me that the cave went on for miles of straight corridors.
“How can that be possible?” I asked.
“You call machines. We have dig machines, metal workers, advanced. You no have. Built like huge well. Center is for important mens, then built like spokes, but many, many, and bout mile long.
“Built like a ‘wheel,’ not a ‘well.’ I explained the difference. He was thrilled to learn something new.” Then I clarified ‘metal males.’ He was referring to robots.
As we entered the kitchen, two cooks, male and female, were having a disagreement. I did not see what it was about, but as soon as the female cook started barking, then growling, I knew that the male cook had called her a bitch. She threw a large spoon at him. Then suddenly the male cook was wearing a uniform that looked like a suit. I looked at Mo and said, “He called her a bitch, and she threw the spoon and said something like ‘suit yourself.’ Am I close?”
“Perfect,” Mo responded with a grin and a shake of his head. Then he added, “Welded cooples no good for together work. Always trouble come.”
“I think you mean ‘wedded couples’ like a male and female getting married.”
“Yes, but they get ‘linked’ together, stay together.”
The chef, having been forewarned about our arrival, stepped to the center of the room, and bellowed, “Gather around me and lend me an ear. Soon I saw all the cooks float one ear, each. They floated slowly through the air looking like dried apricots—I used to like apricots, until now—and formed an orbit about five feet around the chef’s head. Each cook still possessed three ears, so this action was not inconvenient for them.
“We have an Earthling guest, our first guest to home here. Is male friend, so no worry. If he be not friends, still no worries, so relax. This be good chance to learn and practice new way to talk. Motambootogmeta is guide in control. He say talk new talk all time now.”
Mo spoke. “New talker will no remember things seen or talked here, but as new talker male say, ‘we no air dirty laundry.’ Mean no complain of bad things.”
I saw the ears float back to their owners and make a suction noise as they reattached. Then they stared at their clothing, really just robes, like togas, that hid their bodies from the neck downward. Then one of them lifted up the robe and looked. The others did the same. Must be looking for dirty underwear, I guessed. They looked confused while I tried not to laugh. I turned toward Mo. He was hiding his grin, but whispered, “They look see dirty laundry.”
As Mo talked to the chef, one of the cooks must have been nervous because he—I could see it was male. Hard to miss the underarm appendage—kept dropping tools and food.
The chef saw this and yelled at the cook, “You all thumbs today?”
The cook looked at his hands and saw all thumbs on each hand. Luckily for him, all the cooks, chef and Mo laughed, so the cook was not too embarrassed. Their laughter was extraordinary as it came from their naval in gaseous bursts that were far better smelling that human farts.
I made the mistake of asking Mo, “Will he be ‘between a rock and a hard place when we leave? I said it too loud and the poor guy ran out of the kitchen to the bare rock hallway, picked up a large rock as he laid down on rock floor. He put the rock on top of his head, the other side being on the hard rock floor. Between a rock and a hard place. I felt shamed.
I shouted, “No. No. I made a mistake. Should have kept my mouth shut.”
I ran out to him, took the rock off his head, helped him stand up and threw the rock into a corner. I looked at him and said, “I’m sorry.”
Mo interpreted and the man smiled. He returned to his smiling co-workers.
Mo said, “Good. Now see you are friendly.”
“Is the food good? Would I like it?”
“You like stone soup? No? Pebble peas? No? You no like. And too many cook spoil broth, the way you say in your talk.”
Not wanting to say anything just yet, I smiled at him, but remained quiet.
During our time in the kitchen, I kept noticing a female staring at me and smiling. I asked Mo if she liked me.
“Me not know. She be crazy. Half her body cold and half her body hot. She give males cold shoulder. She no good for you.
We departed the kitchen area and walked. I could not tell distance in the well-traveled, extremely long hallways. I didn’t have long to think seriously about how to estimate distances when we came upon Mr. Purple eye and Mr. Green eye again. I thought, I hope there are no brown eyes, and suddenly I got an awful gross picture in my mind.
“Remember Purple and Green?” Mo asked.
“Yeah.” I responded, wondering if they got to play and argue all day.
“I forgot to tell you earlier. Purple be strange. I think that word is good. He one of many who will no enter artificial sunroom that offers comfortable brightness and warmth. Strange ones, they be.”
“Why?”
“You see he be afraid of his own shadow. Scare easily. Light in room make shadows.
Green’s father stepped out of his room and heard Green swearing—in his own language, so I did not know what he was saying—and reprimanded him by saying, “Button lip, Green.”
Mo made me aware of the button-like object attached to Green’s lower lip, and a neatly cut slice in his upper lip, the buttonhole. Green buttoned his lip, so the argument died. Silence prevailed as Purple left the area.
Mo said, “He be rebel, unkind, so father make him use button much times. See close on small shoulder? See stone chip on shoulder?”
As we continued to walk, I heard Mo mumble something that sounded like, “Dumb weenie-agers.” Maybe he meant ‘teenagers.’ I did not inquire, but I did inform Mo about the word ‘rebel,’ and I did see the chip on Green’s small shoulder.
How could I explain to Mo that learning my language is difficult enough, but to use literal idioms as a learning tool makes things ten times harder? Suddenly I thought, I’d have to stay and teach the correct way to learn a new language, but I had no intention of doing that. I’d go crazy, literally, in a month, probably less.
Being preoccupied with these thoughts, I had no idea as to how far we walked. I did learn that there were horizontal hallways between the spoke-like corridors. I should have assumed that because they needed to get from one corridor to another without having to go all the way back to the beginning of a corridor in order to go down another one. About every three-hundred feet there was a horizontal passage between spokes. Why do I mention this? Because I don’t know where the hell I am. What spoke-like corridor am I in, or am I in one of the hallways between the corridors? I was lost in a maze and had not a single idea how to get back to the cave entrance. I followed Mo like a loyal dog not wanting to get hopelessly lost even more than I was.
Mo called my attention to a youngster who was hiding in a dark corner, afraid of the Earthling, me.
“I see you, you little devil. No harm will come to you,” Mo said in a soft, non-threatening voice.
The scared youngster transformed into a miniature, three-foot devil. No horns and it looked rather cute, as if in a Halloween costume. The devil facade evaporated when Mo spoke encouragingly. I could not tell the age of the youngster, nor could I tell if it was male or female at first. The arms were squeezed too tightly for me to notice the distinction.
“We go now to lively room.”
Living Room
“What is a lively room? Do you mean the living room? A place to relax?”
Mo’s mouth formed a circle as he stated, “OH, yes. Place where is no dead people. Living room. Living room,” he repeated.
In the living room sat an androgenous figure pressed against torso, lower arms in the
lap. When it stood to greet us, it was wearing a loose, gray-colored robe, making it look as if it were dressed in a pliable, shale robe. The effect was stunning, as if a thin sheet of shale were moving, folding, bending, rippling like a disturbed pool of water. I noticed dark spots had suddenly appeared all over the robe. As we stepped forward the dark spots became holes. The entire 3-D effect was dizzying. I blinked a few times to clear my vision.
Just before Mo introduced me to it, I saw swinging, but hidden, evidence that ‘it’ was a male. His countenance was stark, authoritative. I supposed that he was born without a funny bone. His face looked grayish as if he had applied stone dust as make-up. Combine that with all the wrinkle saturated cracks in the lower watermelon head, topped with gray, and he appeared far from a “holey man.” But that’s what Mo said he was. I nearly giggled in his face as I thought of the ‘Holy shit’ joke—feces from a holy man—then wondered how you clean up the holy shit. Scrape it up with a holy object? But wouldn’t the feces just fall through the holes?
Introductions were made, then a few polite words of small talk before he left our presence rather quickly. I guess he wasn’t impressed and knew that I wasn’t impressed either. Holier than thou?
“He hear you no believe his gods,” Mo sighed in sorrow. “I no understand why you no believe in gods. God of water, god of fire, god of stone, god of food and home, god of duplication, he meant reproduction. “You no believe any?”
“Can you show me your gods? May I speak to them? Will they show me that they can
regrow the arms and legs of amputees?”
“No can do. No that way of proof to show.”
“Blind faith is emotion. It’s the denial of reason, logic. Emotions are unreliable as proof of anything other than the fact that you have emotions inherent to your unfounded belief in gods. Logic, reason, and proof are needed. Why do all gods hide? Why so many gods? Do each of your gods have limited powers, thus many gods are needed, as with the Romans and Greeks? Seems extremely counter-productive.”
Mo shook his head in confusion. It wasn’t a topic I wanted to pursue. More than likely nothing is established. It gets boring and tiresome talking to someone or something that defies logic right at the beginning of a discussion. Blind, indoctrinated faith is a denial of logic, reason, and common sense. A person has to suspend their ability to reason and be logical in order to accept blind faith. Like magic tricks, in order to enjoy them, there’s a necessity to suspend the ability to disbelieve.
Mo stared at me. “It’s OK Mo. You believe what you want to believe. I’m not angry. I just disagree. Still friends?” I asked.
“Good friends. You I like. No get mad. I like,” Mo said sotto voce.
At the far end of the living room there were two youngsters supposedly reading what looked like books with cloth pages. However, they were talking more than reading. Then one shouted, “ Screw you!”
The other young male repeated it, “Oh yeah. Screw you too!”
They put their books down. Walked ten paces apart, reached into their pocket and started throwing metal screws at each other. I wondered if it hurt when they were hit, but then the pinging sound must have tickled them because they started laughing uproariously. The laughter was scary. It sounded more like a deep-throated, crazed, and maniacal Santa Claus.
Mo said, “You way of talk say they have ‘screw loose?’”
I laughed, “Yes. They have a screw loose. It means they are silly.”
“Happen much in school. We go in rock room. Teachers stop many times males, female throw rocks at each other.”
“The school of hard rocks.” I said, then laughed. I tried to explain to Mo what ‘the school of hard knocks’ meant. Didn’t work.
However, Mo did say that there was much rock dust in the room, so when they are bad, they must ‘eat the dust’ as punishment.
“You mean, ‘bite the dust’?” He didn’t understand that one either.
Hospital
We must be a mile into the tunneled corridors. There were no decorations, no artistry, nothing to soften the stark, rough stone corridors, but when you went into a room, as from a hotel hallway, the personal spaces looked better, but not by much.
“Mo I am lost. Do you know every tunnel?
“No, not all. Follow nose. You get where going.”
I saw white dust or powder on a table in one room and wondered if they used drugs and
what it would be like to see them ‘stoned.’
We passed a grotto—a small cave within a larger cave—and I saw water flowing into a huge pool, similar to a small pond.
“See table?” Mo asked, hardly able to restrain himself. “Water come from water table. That you way of talk, right?”
“The water table? That really means the water that flows between two impermeable, waterproof, rock layers. There is no real table.”
Mo looked at me and grinned. I think he might have known that, but was proud to be tricking me. Then he did it again.
“Food in water.”
“Fish?”
“No. You call stone crab.” He laughed like a child, but it was contagious, and I laughed, too.
As we entered the hospital section of the wheel city, I pointed to two patients standing on what looked like a wooden door. My raised eyebrows alerted Mo to my confusion.
“This how to help those that sick and die. They no be fixed so they stand on death’s door. Gives comfort and hope, like when die they go through door to better place. God says, yes, they find place.”
“If they believed that after death they go to a better place, then those healthy individuals who believe that should be getting their own doors, standing on them and killing themselves to get to that much better place faster. If it’s a much better place, wouldn’t they kill themselves to get there quickly? I know my species almost always says that they’ve gone to a better place. So, suicide should be extremely popular if there’s a better place for them to go to.”
“Gods say no do that. It forbid”
“The correct word is ‘forbidden,’” I informed him. The was no use going further, so I asked Mo if he liked being on Earth.
“This place too different, too difficult for my people. You talk is too much confuse. Must tell leaders this nice place but no good for us.”
“I think you are correct, plus we have illegal aliens from other countries making life hard enough. Having ELF aliens would make life far more complex and troublesome with many more conflicts.”
Mo shook his head with disappointment. “Why you language not make reason to 'undersit'? No…” he paused, “to understand. Yes, stand, no sit.”
“It’s not clear as a bell. But it’s all we have. Are you aware that there are many different languages? In different lands different Earthlings speak different languages.” The clear, glass bell literally appeared above our heads like Sylvia Plath’s floating bell jar.
“Ahh. Clear as a bell not mean see through it, but clear sound making. Yes?”
“Yes. You are good learner.”
“You learn me more?”
“I can teach you more. I teach, but you learn.”
My feet were getting sore, but we kept walking. Mo and his friends were used to it.”
We arrived at the auditorium when an acting class just finished practicing for a coming performance of a play. Half the class had bandaged legs and that immediately caught my attention.
“Did they get hurt? Fall off the stage?”
“No. Language confused. They hear ‘break a leg and not understand it wish them good luck.”
Traveling Picture Station
We peeked into what humans call a TV station. We saw an impassioned speaker, his arms moving like the conductor of an orchestra. He was behind a closed door, but we could see him through the window. Sound proofing must be why we could not hear him. Mo confirmed this.
I saw constant reflections where the politician’s mouth was. It was when he licked his lips that I understood the flash of light near his mouth. Another silver-tongued politician.
Mo didn’t like him. He pulled me away to look at the waiting line of speakers, all with silver tongues. Mo showed a disgusting expression as he looked at them.
A couple of the candidates carried small boxes. “What’s in the boxes?” I chuckled.
“You call car-pin-ter, I think.
“Carpenter. Oh. A builder with wood. Hammer, nails, saw.”
“Yes, but they nervous nail biters. Look at fingers.”
We both had a good laugh as we looked.
Radio Waves
As we walked into the radio room a male flapping his arm and another appendage was running out at top speed. He was on fire.
“ What was that?” I asked?
“Grynchopperban he be. Say like ‘grin-chopper-ban.’ We be friends since we little. He
own radio waves. He’s be the boss. But he is tough, rough, temper, demands. Stay few workers long. When he fires them that be what happen. You know, job no more, then they run out on fire. Just mean he lazy, not do good work.
“Do not no. Must ask Gryn. Half you earth year, worker caught killing time. Thought to be lazy, but he be smashing all dem clocks all in building. Much clocks he smash.”
“If the worker who smashed the clocks paid for the damage and apologized, could he get his job back?”
“Only when time can heal all da wounds. I understand. See. I learn.”
“What about the guy on fire? Can he get his job back?”
“No. Gryn tell me day before today he be tongue-tied. Not good for radio room.”
Gryn greeted us with a grumpy frown. Mo said, “No bring trouble, Gryn. Just want you meet Earthling friend. He much like place. Make much friends. Now you friend.”
So far no one has attempted to shake my hand as an informal greeting, so I do not offer my hand unless they were to offer theirs. Gryn had huge hands, vices with steel fingers. I was relieved not to shake hands.
Gryn said, “Want you see music man. Got his box and metal strings. Come.”
We heard the music long before we reached the practice music room. The box with metal strings was a guitar. He played a nice tune. Then I noticed he was using an ear to twang the strings. “He is using one of his ears.”
“Oh, yes,” Gryn acknowledged. “He no take lesson. He learn by ear.”
We departed the radio wave station. I saw the same guy at the last three stations. He was watching us with a binocular-like object?
“Mo, see that guy looking at us through that black object. Earthlings have a instrument like that for making far away objects look closer than they really are. I think he is following us.”
Mo looked, saw the guy, then shook his head. “Yes, it be PP Tom. He get new name.”
“PP Tom?”
“Earthlings say, ‘peeping Tom.’ He like to watch you in secret. He once catched watching friend getting rid of his no use water, so now we say he is PP Tom. He young once. Play friends. Get hit in head with big rock. The hurt stay on him all time.”
Game Room
A female came out of the game room as we arrived. She was wobbly and looking downward as she wiped steaming tears off her face.
Mo said, “She like play Earthling game, but no want badness. Then she cry.”
“What game is that?”
“You call card game. Poker, I think. She no good, so players may poke her. She no like get poked either. She not wise.”
“Damn! That sucks.”
“No, my Earthling friend. She no do that. Awful bad positions for my people.”
I just caught a case of the ‘ foot-in-mouth’ disease without knowing it. I was thinking. You know how you don’t really learn a new language, but someone who knows that language teaches you the dirty words, the cuss words? That must be how Mo interpreted the “sucks” word. I did not attempt any elaboration, especially I did not ask how a watermelon head female would do that. But on second thought, envisioning where their genitals are located, it would be easy, even standing upright. Oh, damn, I can now feel some groin movement. Bad me. I wanted to ask Mo about masturbation, but I thought the subject would be objectionable. Hell, maybe they masturbate in a unique way, maybe not at all.
I asked Mo, “Are there any more places, caves, like this for your people?”
“You betcha they do. Place in mountains in Boulder, Corado.”
“Boulder, Colorado?”
I shook my head and thought Mo is getting carried away with his fun. Then a quick follow-up thought. Carried away. Shit, if I said that aloud, would some of his people carry him away?
The game room was built like a wide-open circle. If you can imagine a Roman Colosseum, then make if micro-sized you’ve got the general idea. And there was a second tier, also open for seating and a walkway to get to the seats. The alien spectators could be seated and watch the activity on the ground level. It was a marvel of technology built into an enormous block of granite. It was smooth and highly polished and eye appealing, especially the pink color that comes from the potassium rich feldspar, though there are four more types of feldspar in granite. In this granite colosseum the pink was dominant and so highly polished that it seemed to glow with pinkish light when the artificial lights were on.
Mo watched me stare at the beauty, then said, “You no expect see beauty underground, yes?”
“Yes, I am surprised.” As I looked up, I saw female half-over the railing on the second tier. “Mo look,” I said.
“I see much. Earthlings like it much. What you call it…. um, alcomhall. Makes for dizzy, silly, dreamy activity.”
“ Yes. Earthlings call it alcohol, sometime spirits, or liquor. When too much is ingested, down mouth, it is called being drunk. He looks like he was drunk as she leaned on the railing, then fell against it with half his body.”
“Why you say, ‘ lick her’”
“The word does not mean to ‘lick her.’ But name of alcohol does sound like that.”
“Okie-Dokie. Different. Earthlings call female hunged-over or hanged-over. She hang over railing to get rid of drunk. Sleep like that, then feel good, yes?”
“I’ve never tried it, nor have I ever seen it done by an Earthling.”
“See arm hang down over railing. Female. I know her. She work on clothes. Good worker. She much busy as her beaver. She got eager beaver much, you know?”
“You mean busy as a beaver, not busy as her beaver, Mo.”
“I know that Earthling words. I know prosecute word, too.”
“Prosecute?”
“Yeah. She do more job with gonads. Get rewards.”
“Oh. You must mean prostitute. Have sex for money.”
“OK. Like that she be.”
“You want to hear a funny story?”
“Okie-Dokie. Me all ears.” Mo stated, trying to show off his language skill as his body became saturated with ears from head to toe.
“Ok. You see a friend of mine was on a basketball team—a game where a player tries to shoot a ball through a hoop that is ten feet high—and they named themselves the Nads. People didn’t pay much attention to the name of the team until a game got exciting and the people cheering for them to win chanted, ‘Go-Nads. Go-Nads.’ You understand? They did not know, at first, that they were saying ‘gonads.’
“They use gonads to play with?”
“No. Sorry, I don’t think I can explain it good enough.”
Mo took me to the second tier where we sat. He stated, “End of Tour. Questions?”
I almost did not want the tour to end. This was fascinating. But I’m also looking forward to getting home. I asked, “Are the rules you have here as strict as Earthling civilization rules?”
“No. We more relax. Machines and metal males do hard work. We much have, what you say is lee sure?”
“Yes. Leisure. You have a life of leisure. Nice.”
“Does your species have a marriage process? Like male and female get linked together for life, live together in same house, make children who live with them until they are adults. Do you have something like that to hold people together?”
“They may get welded, linked. Many likey, many no likey. Children cared for by leaders if male, female too busy. But welded we be linked together, but males wish females not be blind.”
“Ahh! I get it. I get it,” I ejaculated. “ Love is blind, right?”
“You learn much fast. We have like Earthlings. Call blind date.”
“You be good at guess. But big problem with sex. Many male, female like mouth sex, but more difficult, you see. Gotta get right down in arm pit. Forgot telling you. Female, male no hair like Earthling. No can do 69, or mouth sex at same time. No bend like that.
“Let’s go. I feel under the weather, but may I come again?”
“Under weather? What mean?”
“Oh ‘under the weather’ means a person does not feel well, but only feels a little sick.”
“Ha. You joke on me. I know bout you weather out of cave. But we under weather all time. We no sick.”
I had to laugh, then said, “My way of talking must be confusing to you and your people. You should teach the new language a different way and not use confusing idioms.”
“We friends. Why you call me a idiom?”
“No. I did not call you an idiot. That’s different from idiom. An idiom is meaning that is different from the words used to express it.”
“I search. Find ‘idiom.’ Come again? No. You go home. You no find us again. Sleep, then we be gone from you mind.”
My eyes went out of focus for a second or two. When my vision cleared, I was standing at the deserted entrance. I wondered what the hell I was doing here. I should be back home. Not alone and in a ravine with which I was unfamiliar. Did I fall asleep? Seems like the last few minutes was dream-like. If it’s important, it’ll come back to me.
"I think that" . . .
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