Girl in Landscape (7 page)

The alien leaned against Ben Barth’s truck, crossing its odd, double-jointed legs, watching as Clement and Ben Barth heaved a pallet of supplies from the back of the truck onto the porch. They’d driven the pallet from Southport, the older, bigger town, where there were
doctors, stores, a restaurant, where people came and went. From what Pella had heard she already wished they lived there instead of here, in the new settlement without even a name, this place on the edge of nothing.

Ben Barth was shaped like a question mark, and he was a head shorter than Clement. But he looked like he belonged moving supplies off a truck, where Clement looked wrong.

“I’m sorry?” said Clement to Hiding Kneel.

“Misplaced intensity,” repeated the Archbuilder.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Ben Barth, with a hint of annoyance. He and Clement had one end of the pallet on the porch and were both behind it, pushing. Pella could hear the porch or the pallet splintering.

“The delivery could have been disassembled otherwhere,” said Hiding Kneel, “and transferred in miniature. Rather than this present clunking challenge.”

“Be less of a
clunking challenge
if you were helping instead of watching,” said Ben Barth. He laughed sourly, and said to Clement: “Yeah, that’s just how an Archbuilder would do it. Open a crate in the middle of the valley and walk each item back separately. Only they’d get so fascinated with the first one that they’d forget the rest and leave it out there.”

Clement and Ben Barth got the pallet onto the porch. Clement stepped back and mopped his forehead with his sleeve. Ben Barth examined the crushed edge of the porch.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “This wood is shit.”

“Mangled surfaces,” said Hiding Kneel.

“Yeah, mangled goddamn surfaces,” said Ben Barth. “If you have to give every goddamn thing a name.”

“Mangled surfaces is not a name, Ben,” said the Archbuilder innocently.

“Neither is Hiding Kneel,” said Ben Barth. He scratched at the sides of his grizzled beard. “But seems to me I know a somebody, or something, that calls itself that. So why not Mangled Surfaces?”

Pella was able to tear her gaze from the Archbuilder now. She sat staring past the house, to where the distant shapes met the sky, and thought: The whole
planet
should be named Mangled Surfaces.

“Come inside for a drink?” said Clement. “Ben? Hiding Kneel?”

Ben Barth nodded, and looked at the Archbuilder. “Sure,” said Ben Barth.

“Why is your name Hiding Kneel?” said Raymond, following them into the house. Pella went too, feeling protective. It was one thing to meet Archbuilders outside, another to have them in the house. The four rough rooms had been divided now: the boys’ bedroom, Pella’s, one for Clement that was also an office, though it wasn’t clear why it should be one, and the kitchen, where they ate. And hosted Archbuilders, apparently. Clement went to the refrigerator and began pouring drinks.

Ben Barth answered. “They’re so in love with English, they had to go rename themselves that way. Truth Renowned, Rock Friend, Lonely Candybar, Hiding
Kneel. You’ll meet the whole bunch, one name stupider than the other.”

“Stupider and more carnivalesque,” said Hiding Kneel, seemingly taking it as a compliment.

“Yeah, life’s a carnival on the Planet of the Archbuilders,” said Ben Barth. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Marsh.” He took the glass of reconstituted juice.

“Call me Clement. This is Pella, and Raymond.”

“Your name evokes,” said Hiding Kneel, turning to Pella. “Pella Marsh.”

“Evokes what?” said Pella. “I didn’t pick it myself, anyway.” She was distracted, noticing household deer scurrying around the edges of the room, finding vantage points. Little giraffe spies, everywhere.

The day before, the household deer had seemed new and strange. Now, compared to the Archbuilder, they were familiar and ambient, like weather.

“Kneel just likes the sound of your name,” said Ben Barth. “That’s all it means to say.”

Clement handed Hiding Kneel a glass of juice. The Archbuilder lifted it to its dark maw and took a sip.

“Where’s David?” said Clement.

“He fell asleep,” said Pella.

“Yeah, with his head on the table,” said Ray. “We made him go to his room. But I’ll wake him up—he’ll want to see
this.
” He jerked his head at the Archbuilder.

“Ray, Hiding Kneel is not a
this
.”

“He’ll want to meet Mr. Kneel, is what I mean.”

“Nor a
mister
,” chortled Ben Barth.

Raymond stood openmouthed, struck dumb by this second correction.

“Go ahead,” said Clement, nodding. “Wake him up.”

While Raymond and Clement talked, Pella watched the Archbuilder step over to the table, dip two furry fingers into the jar, pluck out one of the swimming fish, and dump it into its glass of juice. Pella looked over at Clement and Ben Barth, but they hadn’t seen. In a little panic, she looked back at Hiding Kneel. The Archbuilder blithely lifted the glass and gulped down the fish.

Bruce had said they didn’t eat the fish. But this one did, apparently.

So Bruce couldn’t be trusted to know the whole truth about Archbuilders. No one could, probably. If the fish in the jar weren’t important, something else would be, and she would have to learn that something else on her own. No one could be counted on to tell her. She felt the burden of this lonely knowledge fall on her, instantly.

She hoped David hadn’t named his new pets. Or counted them.

“Kneel, are you listening?” said Ben Barth.

“Assuming the Marshes to be residing long and unveiling interest to me slowly, I wasn’t, no,” said Hiding Kneel. “Rather I was busily savoring nuances, details such as the name of Pella Marsh.”

“Enough about that,” said Pella. She disliked the way her name had gotten roped together with swallowing live things as
savoring nuances
.

“Well, get over here,” said Ben Barth. “Mr. Marsh
isn’t just any new homesteader on your dirty old planet.”

“In as how?” said the Archbuilder, sidling toward them.

“In as he’s an important politician from Earth,” said Ben. “He’s here to scrape us up into some kind of society. Be the first real civilization on this planet since your great-great-grand-whatever and their pals built those arches.”

“Ah. What will you build?” said Hiding Kneel.

“Sorry?” said Clement.

“Whatever it is, it won’t all fall down,” said Ben Barth. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Marsh?”

“Well, we’re not building anything right now,” said Clement. “I mean, besides a home. What I did back on Earth might be relevant at some time in the future; I’ll do that kind of work if there’s a call for it. But a planet with less than two hundred people on it doesn’t have any use for a politician. I’m just here to join the community.”

“Listen to him, Kneel. A speech maker, whether he means to or not. Now you’re going to hear some English spoken around here, instead of that bunk of yours.”

“I’m in a state of anticipation, anticipating statehood,” said Hiding Kneel.

Raymond and David came out of the back, David rubbing his mouth and nose with a curled finger. “There,” said Raymond, pointing at the Archbuilder, and whispering menacingly in his brother’s ear. “Its name is Hiding Kneel. It talks crazy. And that guy is Ben Barth. He helped Clement with our stuff.”

Pella caught sight of the household deer again, more than she’d ever seen before, all darting to take up positions around the room.

David stopped when he saw the Archbuilder, and stared. Hiding Kneel raised its glass of juice in a salute. Pella could only think of the potato fish that had been swimming in it a moment before.

David’s face warped in dreadful slow-motion. The actual crying, the noise and tears, always waited until his face made itself ready. Like seeing a dish slip and fall toward the floor, it was impossible to do anything but watch.

Then it came, a roar of weeping. “The kid’s scared,” said Ben Barth delightedly. “He thinks he’s having a nightmare, Kneel!”

“David, it’s all right,” said Clement. “Hiding Kneel is our friend.” To the Archbuilder he said, “I’m sorry.”

Raymond punched his brother lightly on the shoulder. “C’mon, David. Be brave like an arm.”

David just stood and stared and cried. The situation freed Pella to study Hiding Kneel’s face again, to stare down her own fear. To marvel at the furred, toothless hole of a mouth, at the burnished cheeks, the tangle of fleshy tendrils.

“We showed him
pictures
,” said Ray, as though he were an old hand at Archbuilders, as though he’d seen more than pictures himself before Hiding Kneel appeared.

Ben Barth chuckled. “Pictures don’t do that face justice, though, do they?”

“Could it be your countenance that has mispleased
the child?” said Hiding Kneel to Ben. “He had no similar photographic preparation for such an event.”

“Get the big comedian, here,” said Ben Barth. “You’ve really got to work on your delivery, Kneel.”

Pella saw that Clement was paralyzed, made stupid by the situation. She went and plucked David away from his brother.

“Tell me what’s the matter,” she said.

“
What Raymond said,
” David howled.

“What did Raymond tell you?” Pella asked.

David controlled his crying enough to speak. “The potato fish were going to grow up into Archbuilders, like that one,” he said, squeaking. “In the middle of the night. In the house.”

“You know he’s lying,” said Pella. “I can tell you know.”

David sniffed and nodded.

“The Archbuilders are okay,” she said. “This one’s a dork, anyway.” She didn’t care if Hiding Kneel heard. She couldn’t be expected to go around protecting Archbuilders’ feelings, on top of everything else.

“Raymond, don’t confuse your brother,” said Clement. “There’s enough to get used to.”

Hearing Clement talk in pallid euphemism, the very word
confuse
letting Raymond off the hook, made Pella yearn for Caitlin. She wouldn’t have let the presence of an Archbuilder keep her from disciplining her children.

“You heard him, he knew I was kidding,” said Raymond.

Pella kicked Raymond. Her contribution to his upbringing.

“There you go, kid,” said Ben Barth to David. “Kneel’s nothing to be afraid of. Archbuilders don’t scare anyone for very long. I was just telling it how your dad is going to be running this place sooner or later. You’re probably the most important family around here. The Archbuilders ought to be afraid of
you
, kid. Except they don’t care.”

“Nobody wants to do anything that conflicts with the Archbuilders,” said Clement. “Quite the opposite—”

“I’m sure, I’m sure,” said Ben. “Archbuilders aren’t the problem. That’s exactly what I was saying.”

“We just want to live here, in a way that’s in accord with the place.” Pella could hear her father squirming, trying to slip off the podium Ben Barth was building for him. “Nothing needs running.”

“See,
accord
,” said Ben. He turned to the alien. “That’s a word I can appreciate, Kneel. Used in its rightful place, not strewn around in any goddamn sentence.”

The Archbuilder was moving toward the table again, its interest wandering. Pella walked quickly over, brushing past the Archbuilder, feeling its fur against her arm. She felt her face redden. Avoiding the Archbuilder’s gaze, she picked up the jar of potato fish and handed it to David. “Put this in your room,” she said. “It doesn’t belong on the table.”

“I should get going,” said Ben Barth. “Come on, Kneel, give these people some time to get settled in here.”

The Archbuilder turned, thoughtfully. It seemed oblivious to Pella. “My purpose is recalled,” said the alien. “I wish to challenge you to a renewed tournament of backgammon, Ben.”

“Not now,” said Ben. “I’ve got to get the farm cleaned up. Efram’s coming back in a day or two.”

“Tonight will be fine—”

Ben winced. “You can’t be coming around so much, Kneel. You know Efram doesn’t want you around his place.”

“Bruce Kincaid says Efram makes you work on his farm,” said Raymond in one impetuous breath. “Why’s that?”

“Who’s Efram?” said Clement.

“He doesn’t make me, kid,” said Ben Barth.

“Why don’t you have your own farm?” said Raymond.

“Because I wouldn’t know what to do with my own farm, and because Efram needs someone to look after his, that’s why.”

“On your own farm backgammon could be played,” said Hiding Kneel.

“That’s enough out of you, Kneel,” said Ben. “Come on, we’re overstaying our welcome.” He herded the Archbuilder toward the door. Pella saw household deer skittering out of their path. “See you, Mr. Marsh. You kids be good.”

“Clement, call me Clement,” said Clement. “Thanks for your help.”

He waited a minute after they were gone, then said again, “Who’s Efram?”

Pella and Raymond couldn’t answer. They knew that Efram didn’t like underground food, children who didn’t take drugs to prevent Archbuilder viruses, or backgammon.

But they didn’t know who he was.

The next morning they had another visitor, one as unsettling, in her way, as the Archbuilder. Tall, with her hair in a long ponytail, she might have been thirty-five. She was nothing like the other adults Pella had seen here, Bruce and Martha’s parents, homely and suburban, or E. G. Wa and Ben Barth, the two gangly, stringy men, the stray dogs. This woman seemed to float above the surface of the planet slightly. She came in when Clement and Pella were cleaning up breakfast and looked at the new house as if she was appraising it for purchase.

“Diana Eastling,” she said, and shook Clement’s hand. “I’ve heard your name.”

“This is my daughter, Pella,” said Clement. Diana Eastling turned and nodded briefly. Clement said, “Will you sit for a minute? Have some tea?”

The woman nodded again, and went on looking hard at the house. Finally she said, “This is good. Yes. It’s time for this.”

“Time for what?” said Clement.

“Time for children here. You people with children will make yourselves a town. Tame the wilderness. It won’t take much.” She smiled at Clement oddly. And then she sat down.