Space Traveler

      Plato crash-landed on Mars.  He stepped off the shuttle and saw a village, far away.  Two figures approached him.  One appeared to be a bald woman, and behind her a thin, disheveled man.  Plato stretched his legs as he waited for them.  As they drew near, the gangly man stopped and stood in the background, observing.

      Plato spread his hands and spoke first.  “Greetings, I am from a planet called Earth.  I have traveled far to come here.  We have been watching your planet for some time.  But do tell… how is there life here?”

      The woman smiled and stepped forward.  She was young and beautiful.  She introduced herself.

      “I am Natalya-”

      Plato immediately interrupted: “What? That language you speak?  How do I understand it?  This is most disconcerting.”

      “Please, sir, let me speak.  We are a village of only four.  I am Natalya.  Some call me a soothsayer.”  Natalya spoke lightly and pleasantly.  Her voice rose and fell with her words.  “That man is Nikolai.”  At the mention of his name, Nikolai visibly started, and then waved shyly.  She continued: “Little Sonya is in the village and Mikhael is out hunting.” 

        Plato glanced around and saw nothing.  “And what exactly is there to hunt on Mars?”

        Natalya seemed annoyed at this.  “Many things, or more specifically, everything he finds.”  She rubbed her head before continuing: “He carries a spear with him everywhere he goes.  One day, he will probably kill you with it.”

        Plato anxiety showed clearly, but he chose to ignore this for a moment. He approached Nikolai and said, “Pleased to meet you, good sir.  Is there anything strange I should know about you, too?”

         “Um.”  He gazed at the ground for long seconds before finishing, “No… I don’t think so.  Why?”

         “Well, you don’t seem terribly interested in the first contact between Earth and Mars.” 

         Nikolai shrank away from him.  “Don’t ask me… talk to Natalya.”

        She spoke up.  “Let’s go back to the village.  A sandstorm is coming soon.”



        In the village, the buildings were either tall or small, grandiose or meek.  Indeed, Plato did not know what to think of this village. 

        A blonde girl was rubbing her face in the soil.  Plato approached the child and kneeled.  He held her hand and looked in her eyes. 

        “Who might you be?”

         “I’m Sonya, among other things.  I have special powers.  If you ever touch me again, I’ll turn you inside out.”  She giggled and stepped away from Plato.

         Plato’s smile was frozen on his face, slowly crumbling.  Natalya rushed to Sonya’s side.  “This is little Sonya.  She seems frightened of you.  Please be gentle.”

         “My apologies!  Nevertheless, I’m pleased to meet you Sonya.  Perhaps we can be friends?” 

         Sonya winked sarcastically before returning to the ground to embrace it.

         Natalya took Plato’s arm and said, “Please come inside, the storm is starting.  It isn’t safe out here.  I’ll show you to your new home”

         Plato followed her, thoroughly troubled.  The house was strangely decorated.  It consisted of one room, which was full of items: books, a coffee maker, a rifle, telephones, a guitar, and even dog bones.  There were many objects he didn’t recognize.  In the corner was a soccer ball.  Plato didn’t quite know what to think of this house.  He was full of questions.

         “Natalya, how have you all these things on Mars?”

“They were brought here.”

“By whom?  Some of these are from Earth.”

“Many have come here before you.  They stay, and then Mikhael kills them with his spear.  He kills the old.”

After several moments of thought, Plato asked, “Why don’t these people just leave?”

         “Perhaps I should be asking that question to you.” 

“What about you?  When you grow old, is Mikhael going to kill you as well?”

“I think so.” 

“When he gets old, would he slay himself?”

“Perhaps.  We don’t worry ourselves with such things.”  She seemed ready to leave, which distressed Plato further.

         “Natalya, wait!  Why do you call yourself a soothsayer?  Do you claim to have these ‘powers’ as well?”

         Natalya moved to the door.  Before she left, she turned and responded: “I never said I was a soothsayer.  Regarding these powers you speak of, I don’t know.  Please don’t ask me those questions.  Ah, Mikhael is back from hunting.”  With that, she slipped away.

         Plato looked outside.  Sand was swirling between the houses, and a giant, powerfully built man was walking through it, in the distance.  Mikhael had a staggering gait, nearly stumbling.  He held a large spear, taller than himself.  He was moving in Plato’s direction.  Sonya was at his side.  Plato could not discern if they were speaking.  He stared, fascinated.  As they passed by, Sonya pointed at Plato.  Mikhael turned and their eyes met.  Plato’s chest closed into itself and he retreated inside, gasping.  He stood in the middle of the room and slowly rubbed his temples.



         Plato stayed in this village for what seemed like years.  During this time, he did many things.  First, he discovered that his ship had a damaged part: the port compression coil.  Without a new compression coil, the engines would backfire whenever Plato attempted to lift off.  He searched the rooms of all of the houses, and found many things, but not a compression coil.  Desperate, he spent most of his time scavenging the desert of Mars, but he found nothing.  He avoided Mikhael and Sonya whenever possible.  To make things easier, Mikhael was rarely in the village, and when he returned, he never spoke to anyone.  During his stay on Mars, Plato only spoke to Sonya twice more. 

         The first time, in pure accident, Plato and Sonya turned the same corner of a house and nearly collided.  Plato’s eyes grew wide, but he held his tongue.

         Sonya responded firmly.  “If you ever look at me like that again, I’ll boil your skin and feed you to Mikhael.” 



         One night, Plato thought he heard the sound of a piano.  It was being played slowly, but with passion.  Plato heard single notes and chords, in high octaves and low.  It was a musical avalanche, a rush of flying creatures: of fireflies, bats, and finches.  It was the sound of snow falling in an empty theater.  Plato lay on the earth, listening and filled with nostalgia.  It made him small, an infant, lying on a warm carpet and gazing at his father, whose head was low and shaking near the keys.  It continued for many hours, until finally drawing to a close. 

Plato rose to seek the source.  He quickly found Nikolai in front of a house, sitting at a grand piano.  His head was down and his arms were spread, as if embracing the instrument.  He appeared to have fallen asleep.  Deeply moved, Plato retreated without saying anything.

         The next day, Plato sought out Nikolai.  He found him inside that same house.  The inside walls were unusually empty.  Nikolai acknowledged him, but seemed unwilling to speak.  After several moments, Plato pushed himself into conversation. 

         “Good sir, I heard you play the piano last night.  It was beautiful… such passion… could you, perhaps, play another song?  Hm?  By the way, from where did you even get a piano?”

          Nikolai was visibly pained.  “Piano?  I’ve never heard of such a… thing.”

          “I heard you playing until you fell asleep on it, just hours ago!  How can you tell me such things?  At least dignify me with a response!”

         “Please… I can’t be responsible for my actions in my sleep.  And what is this night you speak of?  Please, sir, just go away.”  As if following his own request, Nikolai quickly exited.

Plato approached Natalya about Nikolai’s inconsistencies.  She shrugged.  “You ask difficult questions.  Who knows?  It’s not for me to say.”



         Plato felt dejected and profoundly vexed at his neighbors.  Later that day, he set off on the farthest expedition that he had ever been on.  After what seemed like weeks, Plato had wandered impossibly far from the village.  He was ruthlessly burnt by the blistering daytime temperatures and he was weak from lack of nourishment.  He felt ready to turn back, but even doubted his ability to return.  As he took what felt like his last step, he discovered a shape in the ground.  Against all odds, it was a port compression coil.  Plato wept with joy and held it to his chest.  He hurried back, twice as quickly as he had come.  As he reached the outskirts of the village, he was stopped by four figures standing in his path.

         For a moment, everyone was silent.  Plato saw Mikhael and his spear and a terrible understanding came over him.  Words began to spew from his mouth.

         “Friends!  Why so solemn?  What is this?  Well if you don’t mind, I’ve got to get to my ship.”

         Natalya spoke, “You aren’t going anywhere, friend.  You’ve grown old.”

         “What?  I’m not old in the slightest.  How could you make such a judgment?”

         Natalya persisted.  “Look at your face.  You’re covered in wrinkles.  You can barely walk.  You’ve grown old.”

         “Wrinkles?  Who doesn’t wrinkle in this sun, always overhead, and with this biting sand?  And I can walk.  I just walked the farthest in my life, across half of Mars.”

Natalya sorrowfully shook her head.  “Your legs are so weak, they can hardly support you.”

         He turned to Sonya.  “For the love of God, please, help me.  I’ve always respected you.”

         She raised her nose and said distinctly, “If you speak to me again, I’ll turn your lungs to ice and pull them from your throat.”

         For a moment, Plato was speechless.  He turned to Nikolai.

         “Nikolai… piano player... reason with them… please!”

         Nikolai spoke with unusual strength.  “Reason?  No.”  He turned away.

         Plato was hysterical.  “I have the piece to my ship!  After all this time!  I can leave!  I’ll leave you alone, Nikolai, exactly what you’ve wanted!  Mikhael…” 

As Plato looked into Mikhael’s monstrous face, words failed him.  Suddenly, a decision overcame him.  He turned and, with all of his energy, scampered back into the Martian desert.  Looking behind him, Plato saw Mikhael stagger backwards, throw his arm back, and launch the gigantic spear in his direction.

         

Plato was puzzled.  He had either been smote with a killing blow through the chest, or spared by chance.  At times, Plato observed his body, his limbs, and even his heart and lungs to be cold and still.  Yet at other times, he distinctly felt imbued with life.  Time may have passed.  He continued to be perplexed, indecisive.  He became amicable with Sonya, and even Mikhael, even as they buried him in the foundations of his house.  He even became less sure of that, of his burial.  He grew increasingly dubious of his neighbors, or of his village.  In fact, Plato was only sure of one thing; he never repaired his spaceship with the port suppression coil.