Waiting for a Slice

Waiting for a Slice

a short story by Herbert Wright

A bunch of masked men stood waiting in a pool of light, staring at Samantha through the plate glass. The street was dark all around it. She stood facing them. She looked so good, you could stare at her for hours, even though it was cold outside. She too wore a mask, but her tight white tailored shirt and slim-fit black trousers made her look a little like a power exec. No-nonsense, focused, in charge. Behind her, Amir was pulling pizzas out of the tiled showcase oven, and Carlo was packing them in boxes when he wasn’t on the phone. Business was good at midnight. It was a time when many customers had the munchies. 

If you weren’t sleeping, what else was there to do on a deep winter lockdown night but roll a smoke and wait for the pizza delivery? The city was dead but for the artisan pizza joint. Its door was shut, but when a packed pizza matched an order, Sam would open it just enough to hand the box out, and the delivery guy would stow it away, turn and wheel off into the darkness. 

I passed by but Sam was too busy to see me. I was out of the light anyway. A guy in a crash helmet was showing her a mobile screen through the glass. He stood like an Apollo astronaut facing a stars and stripes planted on the Moon, but instead of a NASA life support system on his back, it was a zip-up thermal food delivery box. A different sort of life support. 

Was that the best support on offer in the isolation of lockdown? Everyone you knew had became an image on a screen, or a voice on a line stretching across the emptiness. When the lockdown marched in and took charge of your life, loneliness was hanging right behind it. It had slipped in quietly and leant morosely on the wall. The silent presence in the room, the ghost that knew it only had to wait a while to infect you. Not unlike the virus. At least a pizza was material and warm, something physical, like friends used to be. Book one with a few clicks and all you had to do was wait. Just a little wait, for the only little slice of action in town that was available on a cold, dark night. 

I could keep an eye on things from my upstairs window just up the street from the pizza joint. I came in, did the things you always do when you come in. Looked at my computer screen. The western Pacific Rim was waking up. This was the time to send what I had to send there, but I’d already sent it. Everything was done. Now, all time had to offer was stillness. So I waited. Sometimes it seemed I was always waiting. Waiting for the world to begin again. Just like the whole world was waiting.

It was after one o'clock that I saw the last delivery man cycle away. The lights went out in the pizzeria. It was too dark to see the crew step out of it. Amir knew how to disappear into the shadows anyway, he’d probably done it enough when Tripoli had gone bad. I caught a tiny glint of light on the pizzeria door, like a firefly momentarily glowing. That was Carlo setting the electronic security. I heard the muffled clunk of his car door. 

But it wasn’t the only sound in the otherwise silent city. There were footsteps. A black figure crossed the road.

And then Sam was at my door. Long braids tied back, no mask. Beautiful, confident, alive.

‘Step into my bubble’.

She stepped in. I took her coat. ‘Been waiting?’ she asked.

‘Yeah’ 

‘Been watching?’

‘Not like those delivery guys. Don’t they ever freak you, the way they stand around staring?’

‘Nah. Essential workers. They’re just doing their job’. 

Sam was holding something. ‘I’ve got what you like’ she said. She put the flat box on the table. 

She must be tired. She sat on the sofa, leaned back, untied her braids and spread them with playful fingers and a backward nod, so they hung down behind it. She undid a couple of buttons on her shirt. Easing the pressure.

‘Fancy a drink?’ I asked. 

‘Nah’.

She looked at me, kinda dreamy. 

‘If you want it hot, you can stick it in the oven’, she said.

I fingered the box on the table and looked inside. That 30cm-diameter disk of tomato, cheeses, herbs and spices had been waiting, too. Now it grasped its moment and gently billowed its magic into the air, like pheromones.

‘Still warm’ I said. 

She raised her gaze from the box to my eyes and stretched a leg out, real slow. 

‘It can go in anytime’ she said. 

‘Yeah’.

I let the box lid fall back and moved towards the sofa.  

© Herbert Wright 2021

Helsinki Midnight Blue - a short story

Helsinki Midnight Blue

a short story by Herbert Wright

The late summer sky in Helsinki never quite darkens to black. The Finns call its deep blue colour ‘yönsininen’. Under a fathomless expanse of yönsininen, the power words can carry stopped me dead in my tracks. All because of a woman from a distant land who never spoke a single one to me.

It all started in a backwater boulevard of plain post-war apartment blocks, where tram tracks run down the middle between lines of trees. In one particular stretch is a pub that’s warm, casual and a little crazy. Random objects hang above the drinkers —  psychedelic lampshades, a Star Trek Enterprise, a glittering disco-ball, a bicycle, that sort of thing. Flat against a wall, a cut-out wooden fox wears boots and lurks near a rail line diagram the size of a bed. It’s not some pick-and-mix choice by an interior designer doing ‘eclectic’ — this stuff must have accumulated over years. There are candles, and rock music plays, quietly enough so the clientele don’t need to shout. No-one’s trying to be cool, unlike in some of the bars a few blocks away at Vasankatu. It was locals here, Valila district locals. It was the kind of pub you could sit in and let your mind drift. 

Which is exactly what I was doing, sitting at an old wooden table in a nook at the back. I could just see the all-year-round Christmas lights by the bar. My beer was pleasant company. Half-way through it, someone came over. His beard faded into a shave as it approached his ears, and the hair didn’t kick in again until the top of his head, where it was thick and combed up. With a smart white shirt, blue waistcoat and a black jacket cut in the last century, this guy looked top-end hipster. He was with a black woman, a beautiful one.

He asked me something. ‘Sorry, I don’t speak Finnish’, I said. 

‘Is it okay if we sit here?’ 

‘Go ahead’

I left the couple to themselves a while, but noticed that she talked about as much as my beer did. He drank his under her continuous gaze, like she was a mother watching an infant. Under a dark splash of twisted curls, she was dressed in loose silk with brown psychedelic patterns, it could be something to wear at a midnight beach party. After a while, he turned to me and asked me where I was from. I told him. He was local, he told me. Erland was his name, which made him one of the Swedish-speaking minority that long ago once held the upper hand in the land. His work was something digital in international logistics. 

‘And where are you from?’ I asked, addressing his companion. She just sat there looking demure. 

’Malawi’ said Erland. ‘She doesn’t talk’. 

But he talked and I was happy to listen. He’d travelled, and spent time in hippy places in Asia. This place was a regular of his. When he got up to step out for a smoke, I followed him. 

‘So, Erland — that woman, is she your girlfriend?’

‘No. Not really’.

‘Oh. Do you know her?’

‘Oh yeah, sure. She’s stayed with me. I know her well’

He lit up the rollie he’d just rolled.

‘She was the best sex I ever had’, he said quietly. 

‘Oh, that sounds good’.

‘The best. We didn’t stop for two days, it was crazy. Not until…’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah, it was just a little while back. Some guy rolled up. Some boyfriend or husband.’

‘What?’

‘It was crazy shit. He was trouble’.

‘Wow, that sounds heavy. What happened?’

‘Well… let’s just say I had to change the lock. It cost me money’

He looked serious, but then he gave me one of those man-to-man sharing grins. ‘But man, I never had sex like that’

‘So, she’s back’.

‘Yeah, I dunno’. He dropped his ciggie and stamped it out. ‘We’ll see what happens. Don’t say anything’

‘Sure. You go back in, I’ll follow in a minute’.

Back at the table, they were talking quietly. Erland indicated they wanted to be alone. No problem — I got another beer and sat somewhere else. So it was a surprise when a few minutes later they joined me. She’d fallen into a state of silent vigil. He and I talked about the bars on Vasankatu, the dealers and bums around the station, the tubes of coloured light around the massage parlour doors and how you could eat the best veggie burgers in town out on that street. 

When he slipped out for another smoke, I followed again. As I got up, I saw she had a big bag, some kind of canvas sack with leather draw-straps. It was bulging all over the place just like Santa’s when he’s setting off on a delivery run, but this wasn’t full of presents. I reckoned they were her life.

Outside, he was talking Finnish with some pissed Finnish Finn blokes. We all exchanged matey hellos, but I turned to Erland.  

‘What are you doing, man? Have you seen the size of her bag?’

‘Yes’ 

‘It’s stuffed, it is truly stuffed! She’s got everything in there. She’s going to move in on you.’

‘Well, yeah, I dunno’.

‘It’s none of my business, but this looks serious. She needs somewhere to go because everything she has is in that sack and she ain’t planning on going back to wherever she just packed it’.

He gets it, he’s been around. 

‘Jeez, man, you gotta think what you’re getting into! So just suppose you take her in again. Maybe it works out. Maybe it’s a dream come true. But what happens when that man shows up next time?’

‘Hm, yeah. She says he’s history’.

‘Just suppose he is history, do you want her to move in? It may be great, but it’s gonna change your life.’

‘Yeah. I’m an independent sort of guy, really.’

‘Right. So, what’s the deal? If I were you, I’d walk’. 

‘Hey, I hear you. I know. It’s…’

‘It’s your call’. 

He’s thinking. ‘I’ll just take her round the corner and say goodbye’ he says. 

‘Have you had a sexual health check lately?’ I ask. He’s got one scheduled. He asks if I have a condom I can give him, ‘just in case’.

‘Yeah, sure’. I fish one out. We go back in.

I didn’t stay on long. It was late already, but I felt like a walk. On Vasankatu, the bars are in full swing, but the place I stop is a corner grill. I have some falafel and call it a day.

It’s around one in the morning when I turn into Sturenkatu, a wide street that leads to quiet places and to my bed. It was deserted. Overhead, the clear sky is that deep yönsininen colour. The warmth of the city had radiated away into outer space. Summer was on notice, and a wind was coming up, carrying early news of the Nordic winter to come. I climbed up the slope into the space between the big white modernist Meira building that used to be a coffee factory, its neons now switched off, and the brick industrial buildings of Konepajan Bruno, chimneys marked by black silhouettes in the yönsininen sky.

Then I saw a lone figure walking towards me. Oh —it’s that woman from Malawi. A slim dark figure in the empty night, with her big heavy bag. She sees me but looks away. Not demure, just neutral. No words. We both walked on without breaking a step. 

So, she’s not staying with Erland. She’s out here, beyond warmth and shelter. Hopes dashed. She’s a long way from home. And I suddenly wonder — was it my words that cast her into the night? 

I stopped. Should I turn round? No. We had never said a word. What would I have said now?

© Herbert Wright 2018

The Delivery

                 

The Delivery
a short story 
by Herbert Wright    

THOU SHALT NOT DISTURB, it said on the door. Gabriel stood looking at it a moment, and sighed. It was better when he let his master sleep. He knocked. 'Rise up, my Lord!' he called. 'Awaken!'
A deep groan rumbled behind the door, long and rattling, like an underground train passing. Then the sounds of thunder, then a great sustained note, like a foghorn. Suddenly the door was open and a figure with crazy eyes and beard glared out. A boy slumbered on in a great bed behind him, a feathered wing lying across the pillow.
'Fucking what' said The Bearded One, more confused than interrogative.
'Alright, my Lord?' asked Gabriel.
'Grrr. Er. Wassup?'
'It's humanity'.
'Ugh. Those wretches.' He spat on the deep-pile carpet. 'What about them?'
'They've evolved'
The Bearded One gave Gabriel a penetrating look, one eye opened extra wide, the other squeezed almost shut. 'Eh?' he grunted. Gabriel repeated the news.
'No way… Humanity don't evolve! Not since medicine got developed. No more survival of the fittest- anyone can survive in the welfare state. The meek and wretched, haha!'
'How merciful you were, my Lord, allowing that, but...'
'Yeah. The NHS. Obamacare...'
'But...'
'Who says I'm vengeful, eh?'
'That was two thousand years ago! You've been sleeping. A lot of things have happened. You'd better come see'
'Hm. I have a feeling that this is gonna rile me up real bad'.

They entered the Control Dimension, which looked like a vast dining room with mirrored columns and walls making it impossible to gauge its size. Perhaps it was infinite. Six figures, some in military uniform, were seated around a long table, on which parchments, pencils, fruit and bowls of savoury nibbles were spread. They stood and saluted as The Bearded One entered. Chubby boys floating around the ceiling near them drew golden horns to their lips and blew a rousing fanfare.
'Shut up!’ yelled the Bearded One, but then threw a sly wink to one of them. 'Let there be beers' he said, and there were.
A character in a suit appeared from nowhere, his face that combination of eagerness and earnestness that newscasters have. Gabriel introduced him. 'Cassiel's been following it all. He'll explain'.
The Bearded One plonked himself down in a chair and started flicking chilli peanuts into his eager mouth. Sometimes his head darted to the side to catch them, as if he were a dog. Cassiel crisply drew down a virtual screen from the air. A schematic of a man and woman, just like the one on the Pioneer probes, appeared.
'My Lord, and most esteemed entities' said Cassiel. 'Behold the human. As Shakespeare said: “What a piece of work is a man. How noble in reason; how infinite in faculties...”'
'Poppycock! They're scum!' snarled The Bearded One. 'Born with badness, I tell you! There's only one with infinite faculties round here... Get on with it!'
'Very good, my Lord', Cassiel said, unflustered. A starfield appeared on the screen, and began to animate. He continued: 'Their three score and ten years meant that they would never be able to travel to other stars, the journeys would take hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. Yet by 2040 their astronomers had already identified all the Earth-like planets within thirty light years'.
‘2040? What, twenty to nine?' asked the Bearded One, deliberating each word.
‘No, not then. Eleven years later, my Lord. Twenty-forty'.
'Yeah, that's the evening, right?'
Gabriel intervened. 'The year 2040, my Lord'
'Gotcha' said the Bearded One, rather quietly.
Cassiel continued. 'And mankind did look upon those distant exoplanets with envy and greed'
Mutterings of 'envy and greed' echoed from the table.
'Then, in 2285, humanity broke out of the Solar System'.
The Bearded One's jaw dropped. He made Cassiel repeat it, but shook his head. ‘No! That's impossible!'
'Impossible by transport, my Lord, but not by transmission. Humanity simply sent machines that didn't mind travelling for a century or more to other star-systems, those machines found resources there and built more machines. Then humanity started transmitting all the information in their DNA to those distant worlds, where machine-built biosynthetic systems were ready to reconstitute it and start growing new humans to colonise the planets'.
'Well', said the Bearded One. 'They sure can be sneaky. But just you hold on one moment. That's not evolution. These are still humans!'
Cassiel changed the picture.
'Behold, the water bear, a.k.a the tardigrade', he said. The creature he showed was an ugly one, like a loosely inflated plastic tube with tiny arms and claws. Its circular mouth looked like a machine socket, or perhaps the bag nozzle connecting to an ancient vacuum cleaner.
'Yip, I remember! Cute little critters' said the Bearded One. 'Less than a millimetre long. Some of them live on moss. But you can freeze 'em, boil 'em, radiate 'em, take 'em out into space, and they'll come back to life as soon as you get 'em home!'
'Indeed, my Lord' said Gabriel, chipping in. 'The hardiest of all Earth animals'.
Cassiel nodded and resumed the briefing. 'Humanity realised that if they had the tardigrade's properties, they could colonise not just Earth-like planets, but other exoplanets too. So they started incorporating some of the tardigrade genes, and genes from other species as well - horizontal gene transfer. They designed themselves to be the fittest creatures that could survive on all sorts of worlds, and put themselves at the top of ecosystems which they populated with lesser species they also genetically engineered. Behold...'
The screen showed creatures floating in the clouds of gas giants, sitting with legs dangling in pools of lava, walking hand-in-hand across fields of craters under vacuum skies. Each had a human face, but with that strangely circular tardigrade-like mouth.
'My Lord' declared Cassiel. 'Humanity has taken charge of its own evolution, and is now loose in the universe'. He sat down.

A long silence fell on the table, except for the sound of The Bearded One sucking his teeth or occasionally guzzling beer and snapping shut his jaw on a flicked chilli peanut. Presently, he rose, his eyes full of fire.
'These humans have gone too far! Michael!' His voice rose. 'MICHAEL!'
One of the seated eminences stood up to attention. 'My Lord?’
'I want these upstarts tracked down on every planet they have taken, and I want them taken out. Unless we stop humanity now, they will infest everywhere there is. Now they're out of their cage, they might even come here... Smite them, I say, and smite them hard! Let's cleanse this slime from the Universe. That’s an order!’
'Yes, Sir!' Michael snapped back. 'Our armies shall rain vengeance upon the human wherever we find him… or her.'
He looked around. Everyone was watching. He had better play the moment a little further. 'Every man, woman and child hath wrought folly in Heaven and shamed the House of the Father. And so, though they may snivel and beg for mercy, nay, it shall not stop our righteous sword! By my Lord's honour, their blood shall be across the firmament!'
'Fucking right. Amen' said The Bearded One, as all raised their beers in agreement.

Just then, the sound of a doorbell filled the Control Dimension.
'Are we expecting anyone?' asked Gabriel.
Everyone shook their heads. Gabriel took command of the screen with some hand movements, and a CCTV picture appeared on it.
'Delivery' said a figure wearing an astronaut's helmet in the wavy picture.
'For whom?' asked Gabriel, sharply.
The figure read from a large envelope. 'It says “The Archangels, Control Dimension”'. She removed her visor, shook long blonde hair out, and looked into the camera. Even though the picture was black-and-white, her lips suggested bright red, and looked like they were saying 'oooh'. Perfectly round, like a nozzle.
'I just need a signature' she added.

Originally published in Mad Dog 2014, reposted 2017
© Herbert Wright 2014, 2017
Tardigrade photo: Eye of Science/Science Library