THE VISIT

Peter Billig
THE VISIT

Summer afternoon, the sky is blue and without a cloud. The sprinkler is spattering in the garden; bees are humming and bumblebees buzzing, as they land on the hollyhocks by the window of my study. I am sitting at my desk with a drink close at hand, the fragrance of the freshly mown grass pleasantly mixing with the scent of rum. The computer is on but I have only contrived to write a few sentences, preferring to enjoy my satisfaction with a job at home, a little house of my own and no humans within miles and miles. I feel like writing an ode to the beauty of life.
Suddenly there is a noisy droning sound from above. I stick my head out of the window: a vehicle is hovering over my property! It is saucer-shaped and has four spidery legs. Now it is going down vertically and I see that it will be landing in the garden. And it does, one leg squashing the apple tree, another the arbor. On the fuselage, there is an inscription: DELTA ALPHA CENTAURI. “Planet Delta of the star Alpha in the constellation of Centaur,” I translate to myself.
A hatch is opened, a ladder lowered and two individuals step down – humanoid, four feet high. One is carrying an attaché-case; the other has a chocolate box size box on the chest. They are walking on the lawn towards the door!
I have an urge to jump out of the window and run as far as my legs would take me but I feel ashamed of myself and as I hear a knock I go to the door and open: two smiling countenances, red teeth in the dark blue mouths. Facial complexion: willow green.
They rock from side to side as a greeting. I bow and bid them in with my arm. They cross the threshold and wait for the second invitation. I usher them into the living room. They stop in the middle and the one with the box generates a series of squeaks:
“Hello, sir,” the box translates. “We’re from Delta with a request to you. My name’s Zyg and my colleague’s Xyg.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” I say and the box translates into squeaks. “Make yourselves comfortable. Coffee? Brandy?”
They take the armchairs and both squeak simultaneously:
Zyg said: Ask the ill,” the box translates and adds “From me: “It is a jocular Deltan saying, sir, a healthy Deltan takes drinks for granted. Coffee’s no good, but do you have Coca-Cola? Xyg said: Don’t call us gentlemen, call us gentlethirds. We belong to the third gender, unknown to you, Earthling. From me: Gentlethirds are fiercely proud of being gentlethirds, sir.”
There are colas in the fridge and Xyg would rather have whisky while Zyg is for vodka. “It’s a great day for Zyg and Xyg,” the box explains. “Finally, they’ve tasted cola and stuff they know only from your TV.”
“You receive our TV on your planet?”
“We’ve had relay stations on your Moon and on Pluto for some millennia, and now we are working on accessing your Internet. But I’m getting garrulous. Back to the purpose of our visit,” and the box utters a purposeful cough.
Zyg and Xyg, engrossed in depleting my bottles, channel their attention towards me:
“As we said,” Xyg says through the box, “we have a request. Our lately extra active sun Alpha has been blurring all transmissions from the relays for some months now. Can you tell us the results of the Bundesliga in week 18?” – the date is three months ago.
“Are we talking soccer?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry, gentlethirds, but I’m no sucker for soccer.”
A squeaking discussion – Zyg, Xyg and the box – ensues.
“Can you access this info on the Internet?” the box asks.
“I guess I could but, frankly, I wouldn’t know where to start.”
More squeaks ensue
“Zyg and Xyg say: This is highly unfortunate!”
“But what’s so significant about the Bundesliga? And for you Deltians, three light-years away?”
The guests look at each other in willow-green disbelief. Then more squeaks. Then the box:
“Xyg and Zyg say: you crazy? The bets are on and we have no results! From me: Delta is 4.3 light-years away from here.”
“You bet on our soccer?”
“Of course, sir, it’s the only way to ensure fairness. No Deltan can fix a sporting event on your planet, sir.” And the Deltans looked beseechingly at me.
“I’ve got it!” I explode tapping my forehead with my fist. “How could I forget? The paper!” and I go to the cellar where I retire my daily rag.
“Here it is,” I pass it to the box, having found the right paper and section. It scans it and says well for it.
“You mind we keep it as souvenir?”
I do not. The two Deltans get up, a bit shaky, and rock from side to side. I bow back and escort them to the entry where they stop and turn again to me.
“Gentlethirds,” I say, “how come you come three months after the games?”
“No use waiting longer: your sports event is an event of the moment. After a week or two nobody mentions it on TV. We understand it’s only accessible on the Web or on newspapers – a nostalgic way of accessing info, sir, for the Deltans.”
“No: how come you come in three months if your planet is 4.3 light-years away?”
“Oh, we use warp speed, of course. The TV signal from here is wrapped and warped over to Delta. Takes less time, sir.” And seeing my long face the box adds: “You know Star Trek, sir? It’s a source of many inventions on Delta. But now we are concerned with getting away before your armed forces descend on this place. We’ve alerted the radar, sir, I’m afraid.”
“Perhaps you stay and make your visit official?” I suggest.
Zyg and Xyg exchange squeaks.
“Zyg says: Not until you Earthlings stop killing each other. Xyg says: But keep on making entertaining TV shows for us!”
“I see.” I extend both arms to Xyg. The gentlethird extends his and I squeeze his eight-fingered hands. This I repeat with Zyg and I pat the box goodbye.
I open the door for them and Zyg remembers:
“Here is compensation for the damages in the garden.”
He dives in his attaché case and hands me a fistful of money. The notes are purple.
“It’s paper, sir, but it’s valid and it’s plenty,” the box explains and they leave.
I go to the study window to witness their departure. They climb the ladder and wave to me before disappearing inside the hatch. I wave back.
There is a loud droning noise, the vehicle takes off vertically and disappears in the blue sky.
Three minutes later the first Army helicopters arrive.
Only after midnight, when I finally am alone again, I have the leisure to examine the money.
There are ten notes. On one side, there are symbols and marks unknown to me, on the other there is an inscription in English: “The Deltan Central Credit Register certifies hereby that the bearer of this note owns 277 mental credits to be effectuated on Delta.”

Copyright © Peter Billig 2007