A YOOK BY ANY OTHER NAME

Chapter 9: Reflections and Roses
by Jo Anzalone

She stood in the center of the red bridge, leaning forward, resting her elbows on its railing as she looked down the long green slope in front of her. Suddenly two strong hands encircled her waist and she turned, looking up into the face of her beloved. "Maximus!" she cried, her heart in her eyes. "At last!"
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Then her happiness caught in her throat as she saw the large scrape on his right cheek. "Oh, Maximus! What happened to you?"

He looked at her somberly. "It was Sid," he explained, his brow creasing.

"Sid! Oh, Maximus, I KNEW he was up to something! What happened?"

Taking her hand and leading her to a garden bench, he sat beside her, keeping her hand enveloped in his as it lay on his lap. "Himself had asked me to help him with something," he began, his eyes a bit distant as though recalling events.

"I know," she said, "it was in the note you sent here for me."

"I was very concerned about my delay in arriving here...."

"It's all right,” she said, squeezing his fingers affectionately. She lifted her eyes to the garden. "It was a lovely place to wait," she added.

He smiled slightly, then continued. "I was going past an area of dense brush when suddenly he leapt out and struck me across the face with a long pipe."

"Oh!" she cried, horrified, turning to look at his bloody cheek more carefully. "I didn't think even HE would stoop so low!"

"I was knocked quite senseless," he said, the pain of the memory cracking his voice a bit, "and have no idea how long I lay there." He looked then directly into her eyes. "I think he...did...something to me while I was unconscious," he added. "I...I...feel a bit...strange."

She gasped raggedly, wrapping her arms protectively about his right bicep. "We shall handle this...together ...you and I," she said firmly. "Nothing Sid can do will ever separate the two of us...NOTHING!"

"Nothing," he repeated, his voice a bit hoarse, though he turned his face into her hair that she might not see the slight smile playing about his lips.

"Do you need to rest?" she asked, concerned. "We could put off our luncheon."

"No need," he replied. "I think lunching with my lady would be...perfect."

Together, arms circling one another, they walked back into the B&B. Inside, he excused himself to go to the men's room that he might wash the dirt that was the result of Sid's vile attack from his hands and face. More importantly, he needed time alone. Leaving the shed, he had sprinted the whole way here, which had not provided him any real period of adjustment.

He stood, holding onto the front edge of the sink, studying his face in the mirror. Slowly, he raised his right hand, running his fingers along his beard, tracing the lines of his moustache. Facial hair! How very...odd...it felt. The blood on his cheek had coagulated, so he dampened a towel, blotting at it until he made fresh, liquid, bright red blood once more. He stared at it, fascinated by its color, fascinated by the way the wound itself felt. So that was what pain was...real pain experienced by real nerves. Except for the facial hair and the wound, his face was familiar to him, though a bit older. He stepped back somewhat from the sink so he could see more of his body. He had had no idea of the weight of the armor the General wore about with such seeming ease day in and day out. And for the first time he knew how much less strength there was in a truly human body than in a nanotech synthetic organism. Something in him was actually shocked. Maximus had only a portion of his strength, yet he wore this armor continually, and yet he...survived...all that had been heaped upon him. He felt a grudging admiration for the man in a way he'd not been capable of before. He did, though, love the look of the armor on his body. He had known he would. Especially the cape.

He looked at himself in the mirror again, smiling. "I'm...beautiful."

Suddenly he became aware of two very new, very, very odd sensations in his body. One was midsection, almost a growl from somewhere deep inside. He thought about it a moment. Could that be...hunger? The other was lower, even more urgent in its message. Finally figuring that one out, he relieved himself. Looking at the yellow stream, he commented, "Now that's truly disgusting." He wondered how often he would have to endure that. Perhaps satisfying the other sensation would be a bit more pleasant?

He turned, walking out to join Joimus. "Shall we?" he asked, gallantly holding out his arm for her to take.

Back in the shed, Sid moaned. (Now , dear reader, this is an aside just for you. Are you going to be confused at this juncture by true Maximus being referred to as "Sid"? How's about, except when folks all unaware about them call them by the name appropriate to their outward appearance, we, just you guys and me, call them by some compilation that might better serve the truth of the matter? What if we refer to the one currently dining with Joimus as "MaxiSid" and the poor unfortunate in the shed as "Sidimus"? The first part of the name indicates the outward appearance, whilst the second indicates the inward. Could you handle that, you think? Let's give it a try and see if it works for us.)

Back in the shed, Sidimus moaned. He tried to lift his head, but the effort hurt way too much. Blinking, he tried to clear his sight, but a film of blue seemed to be covering everything. With great effort, he managed to lift his right hand and wipe it across his eyes. He looked, then, at the wetness on his palm. It was smeared with a glowing blue. He couldn't get his mind around that. It just didn't make sense. His hand dropping limply to his side, he lay there, trying to think. Where was he? What had he been doing? Nothing came to him for a while so he let himself slip back into the darkness. Half an hour later, his eyes slowly opened again. He hurt. Every part of him simply...hurt. Nothing felt right. Had he been nearly killed in battle? Battle? Suddenly he remembered the heavy net and...Sid! There had been pain...unbearable, fierce pain... then nothing.

He lay there, barely able to breath, every part of him almost seeming to fight against his own being. What was going on? He had no way of knowing that never in the history of the world had human life been forced into the structure of a nanotech synthetic organism. The "fit" did not work well. Such a thing had never been meant to be. How long could it last before the life would be forced out...with no place to go?

Moving hurt. Breathing hurt. It was even hard to think. So he simply lay there on his back, his leg twisted terribly under him, closed his eyes and let himself walk in endless fields of wheat.

Rose had wandered alone down to the Never Never River, wishing just to listen to the little songs the waters made as they rushed over the small rocks. She was happy, was looking forward to watching over the costuming of this film. They were not complicated ones, but she was very attentive to detail, and had put much time and care into their design. Enjoying the Australian warmth after her trip from northern France, which was quite cold at the moment, she decided to take off her shoes. She found a flat rock right at the edge of the stream and sat down, letting her feet dangle into the shallow waters. A clump of tall grasses grew within her reach and she plucked a long stem, twirling it absently in her fingers, then dipping its tip into the stream.

 

The Captain was walking by the stream, too, and when he caught sight of her, he stopped in the shade of a gum, watching her silently a moment. He had never seen her before and was a bit curious as to her presence in the area of the set. She was very, very petite, with wavy dark hair framing her slender face. He guessed her age as about 33. He had no wish to be caught watching her, so he stepped out of the shadows, coughing slightly.

 

She turned her head, startled. Though he did not know her identity, she was aware of his. She smiled, saying, "Good afternoon, Capitaine."

His mouth parted slightly, surprised by the lilt of her cultured French accent. "Good day, Miss," he said, reaching up to tip his hat that wasn't there, forgetting that it had met its doom on the sidewalks of Toronto.

She had let the tip of the long stem remain in the stream. "Are you fishing?" he asked with a smile, indicating the stem.

 

"Yes," she replied, entering into the spirit of his question, "but other than three whales and a shark, I have not had much success." Her English was perfect, impeccable, with just that trace of accent giving away her heritage.

 

He laughed and she liked the sound of it. "May I?" he asked, his hand pointing to the large stone on which she sat.

"Please," she replied, pulling the folds of her skirt more closely to her.

He took his seat about two feet out from her, bending both knees and locking his arms about them. She could not refrain from studying the lines of his costume, the off-white pants, tall black boots, partially opened white poofy puffy shirt. He was slimmer in person than she had thought, unaware as she was of the lack of regular meals in epilife.

"You are part of the film?" he asked.

"Costuming," she replied, feeling slightly shy at the nearness of his presence.

"Ah," he said, "very important," and he ran his hands down the front of his shirt. His smile was so friendly, so totally disarming, that she could not help but smile back at him.

 

"Good ruffles," she said, "well-sewn."

 

"I shall have to tell Himself's Mum you said so." At her puzzled expression, he explained, "Russell's mother. She sewed new ones on after Stephen ripped mine off."

 

"He...he...ripped them off?"

 

"Yes," he laughed, "he's more of a brute than anyone knows!" Seeing that she was still surprised, he went on, "He needed them for bandages. Maximus' legs had been injured by the tiger cage."

 

"And...and...ruffles were all to be had?"

"Yes, not a tablecloth in the place." He decided to change the subject as the current one was sounding way too strange for a first conversation.

"You know the name of this stream?"

 

"I do not," she replied.

 

He smiled, liking to impart information. "It is the Never Never. When I first heard of it, I knew I must see it for myself."

 

"Have you read Peter Pan?" she asked.

 

"Peter Pan? No. I doubt it was written in my time and I've had little chance to read for some months. Why? Why do you mention it?"

  

 

"It is about a boy," she explained, "named Peter who did not want ever to grow up. So he went away to Never Never Land."

He looked then at the passing waterswirls. "Ah, it makes the name even more interesting, does it not?"

 

Realizing suddenly he had failed to introduce himself, he said, "Forgive me, I am Jack Aubrey."

 

"I know," she replied, bringing to his mind then that she had, indeed, addressed him as Capitaine upon first seeing him.

In his seagreen eyes she saw his question, "And you?" though he had not yet asked it of her.

"I am Rose," she said softly, "Rose Romay."

 

"I am most happy to meet you, Rose," he said, repeating, "most happy."

"You...you do not mind it then that I am...French?" she asked.

 

Truly he found that he did not. "That was a long, long time ago, Rose," he said, "in an ocean far, far away."

"You play the violin?" she asked, though it was, in truth, more of a statement than a question.

 

 

"After a fashion," he grinned. "Do you play?"

 

"Not the violin. The flute, the piano, and, well, the harp."

 

His eyes then sparked with even more interest. "I am," he said, "most glad you are here."

 

She found herself thinking that very thing.

He licked the red thing, startled completely by the reaction of his tongue to it. "Oh, Maximus!" laughed Joimus, "One would think you had never tasted a strawberry before! Here, try this!" She took it by its stem and dipped it in whipped cream. "Open wide," she said, popping its tapered end into his mouth, getting some of the white cream on his moustache.

His eyes opened considerably. Not only had he never eaten before, but now the woman was stuffing it into his mouth! He supposed the General must like such untoward behavior, but he hated the feel of the sticky cream on his facial hair. He spat the offending fruit back into its bowl, scrubbing at his face with the white linen napkin. Joimus just stared at him, becoming concerned that Sid had, indeed, done something to him, though she refrained from speaking of it.

 

Her eyes roamed the table, looking for something she knew he liked to eat. She speared a slice of roast beef and placed it on his plate. "It looks done just the way you like," she said softly, waiting for him to cut a bite.

He stared at it. Dead flesh. For the first time he felt what could only be described as an internal organ in revolt. Dashing to the railing, he chundered his guts onto the roses below. Now she was really worried. She handed him her napkin to wipe his lips, concerned at the paleness of his face. "Let's go back to the caravan," she suggested.

 

He nodded mutely. This was harder than he had thought. He now realized he had had no true concept of humanity at all. How could stuff simply spew up out of him like that? Being human was...messy. And he hadn't even met another bodily function yet, now had he? But he would. It was...inevitable.

She drove him back to the Caravan Park and was helping him from the SUV when Bud and Berti came up. "Did you have a good time?" Berti called brightly.

 

Then they saw Maximus' face. It was not only pale, but had a large scrape down one cheek. "Sid attacked him with a pipe," Joimus explained.

 

Bud's fists tightened into knots. Just let the Chipman cross his path! Berti lay her hand on his arm, knowing what he was thinking, worried about it. Bud then helped Joimus get Maximus up the steps and into the caravan, settling him on the bed. While the other three conversed softly in the front, MaxiSid closed his eyes. He was tired. He had never been tired before...never slept, but he could tell this cellular structure now containing him had been pushed to its limits. Limits. He had not known they existed. How did Maximus survive as he did? He could not understand it. The voices of the others faded, and he drifted off.

"A PIPE?" Berti was asking.

 

"Yes, he jumped out of some bushes and struck him in the face."

"Dirty coward," Bud spat.

 

"I...I think he may have injected him with something," Joimus continued. "At lunch...he couldn't eat. He got really sick, in fact."

"Poor Maximus," Berti said. "Sid has been unremittingly terrible to him."

Bud patted his jacket, assuring himself his gun was still in its holster. Someone had to put an end to Sid.

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