c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(10-24)
Matron Margo reached the threshold of Tremblay Lodge just as the next cyclical storm had begun to blow across their northern district. Snow piled quickly, though she was already dressed for inclement weather. A fur overcoat, gloves, and knee-high boots kept her protected. A traditional tuque capped her flowing, gray locks. In Torontara, she was known well as both a willing adviser, and someone who often saw visions that were suspect in authenticity. So, when she burst through the doorway and began to proclaim that a visitor from the Red Planet had reached the crest of their lakeshore boundary, few took her seriously.
“I’ve told you all for years about my Nana sharing her memories, eh? Well now, there’s proof on the waterfront. Follow me if you wish! It’s wicked nasty outside, but what you see will justify the trek! If not, then I can’t call myself an heir to the House of Jasper-Thorne!”
Guelph Brampton sat on an overstuffed Chesterfield, near the fireplace. He was one of a small group that used the community center to keep order in their district. After hearing the emotional appeal, he shrugged slightly, and cradled his whiskey glass while pausing to think. Hot coals were refracted through the crystal, into diamond shapes of orange and yellow.
“Mama Mar, you must’ve been dipping into your crock of swill, at that cottage by Lake Erie. You’ve played the role of a tribal queen and a sorceress. And now you’re trying to sound like royalty here in the woods. What’s the point, woman? What’s the point?”
The weathered sage was offended by his brush-off.
“You still laugh at me, eh? Sure, I like to tease the children with wise tales. But at this moment, I’ve never been more serious. The aboriginals and ancients talked about machines flying to other worlds. It’s part of our lore. Except that today, I’ve seen one of those travelers in the flesh! He’s come back here, to stand where his ancestors stood! Come and see! Come and see!”
Preston Kitchener was younger and less patient with the senior figure. His burly arms were covered with scars from logging camps that kept the network of lodges supplied with firewood.
“Mama, please! I trust you on things like baking biscuits, or finding the right mix for a meal of poutine and lager beer. But these fantasies about leaping into the sky, they make you sound like a crazed old hag! A big-headed biddy, drunk on her own mash!”
The octogenarian female cursed in a native dialect that no one understood. Then stroked a long necklace of bear teeth and claws that hung over her ample chest.
“An it harm none, do what ye will! That’s the wisdom of ages. So be it, close your eyes to this gift from the heavens. You must’ve learned as I did, about the exodus that came a century ago. It changed us, all of us, forever. In the before, there were great roads across this continent. Cables stretched from one coast to the other. There were speedy modes of getting places. Stores of knowledge saved from antiquity. A blessed heap of everything on our plates! But being so smart made that generation deaf, and dumb. They couldn’t hear Mother Earth crying out her warnings. She tried to speak and no one listened. Just like you lot, looking away from me, as I stand here by the fire...”
Laughter echoed in the great room, fashioned from woodland timbers. Then, Brampton finished his strong drink.
“Aye, if she did speak in those days, it would’ve been to say that war and famine were a blight on her garden! Maybe she expelled that horde to purify her lands! I don’t rightly know. Neither do you, Mama Maniwaki! Neither do you!”
The social relic was somewhat shocked to hear her indigenous name said aloud.
“Bastard! When you chirp with that sentiment, do it carefully! Don’t tread on my heritage like a piker slogging through the mud! Show respect for an elder in this commonwealth!”
Kitchener flexed his muscles as a sign of superiority.
“I’ll put it out in the open, Mama. Nobody here cares a damn about seeing your alien friend, stuck in a sand bar. He’ll freeze out there right now, the seasons have turned. What bluster we get’ll be frost and muck. I hope he’s got a clear chimney in that ship from space!”
More amusement resounded within the lodge. Finally, their grandmother-by-proxy had reached her limit of endurance. She stomped her right foot with defiance.
“That’s it, eh? Just brush me off with your serviette, like bread crumbs at the dinner table! Who needs to listen to a wild-eyed crone? Very well then, out the door I go! Out the door, into the windy, winter white! Au revoir, mes amis!”
When the disgraced matron left Tremblay Lodge, sounds of sarcasm and celebration trailed in her wake. Bottles of distilled spirits clinked together. Glasses were raised. And with each step, she felt heavier and darker, inside.
At the lakeshore, there was already a thick cover of precipitation on the sand. Meteorological mayhem was taking hold. She shuddered and shivered while searching for the vessel of her contact. Yet in the swirling mass of opaque crystals, she could see very little. Sunset was not far away. Stumbling along the water, she peered from under her icy brows with one hand shielding the view. A dim outline of jutting rocks and abandoned piers was still evident. But as she scanned the coast, it became apparent that the man from Mars had been washed away. He and the shuttle were no more. Her newfound evidence, and reason for professing faith in the gossip of old, had been obliterated.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her skin chapped from the force of a gale that stirred the lake waters. Finally, she shouted into the din with all the energy that her tired lungs could muster.
“I STILL BELIEVE! DO YOU HEAR ME? I STILL BELIEVE! I’LL ALWAYS BELIEVE! ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS!”
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