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JUNKYARD PIRATE
JAMIE MCFARLANE
FICKLE DRAGON PUBLISHING LLC
Copyright © 2019 by Fickle Dragon Publishing LLC
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical
means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission
from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Created with Vellum

 CONTENTS

Preface

1. Junkyard
2. Cohabitative
3. A Rosie Life
4. Good Doctor
5. Ground Rules
6. Diego
7. Stupid Question
8. Survey Says
9. Honeypot
10. Up the Voltage
11. Misery Loves Company
12. First Date
13. Hostile Takeover
14. Crazy Eyes
15. Alice was an Amateur
16. Ordinarium
17. Contraband
18. Always the Hard Way
19. At the Gate
20. Port of Entry
21. Final Respect
22. Escape Which Mountain
23. Stars in her Eyes
24. That's a Big Twinky
25. Hero or Fool
26. Duty
27. Finale

About the Author

Acknowledgments
Also by Jamie McFarlane
 PREFACE

Sign up for the author’s newsletter and receive a free Jamie

McFarlane starter library.

Tap to get started:

http://www.fickledragon.com/keep-in-touch
ONE
 JUNKYARD

"H and me that twelve - millimeter box - end ." Albert Jenkins’ hand
poked out from under the hood, the rest of his body invisible as he
leaned into a salvaged 1989 Subaru four-door DL.
The vintage Subaru was a piece of crap, but its old Mitsubishi
engine was a prize, as indestructible as a Briggs and Stratton
lawnmower engine and weighing only a couple hundred pounds. The
car was notorious for breaking timing belts at a hundred twenty
thousand miles, so most people opted to scrap the cheaply made
cars instead of throwing good money after bad.
He felt the thin handle of a wrench land in his hand and applied
it to the rusted bolt. It took exactly four tools and a hundred fifty
dollars to repair the engine, something at which he'd become an
expert. The only other investment was time. Since he'd been fired
for drinking on the job after his wife died, time was a commodity he
had in excess – that, and piles of scrap cars in the family-owned
junkyard.
"Don't know why you work on these old junkers," Darnell Jackson
said. "I know you've got enough to get along."
Darnell Jackson was either Albert’s best friend or his biggest pain
in the ass, depending on the day. The two had met in Vietnam and
forged a strong friendship that came from watching each other's
backs. Those experiences weren’t the sort of thing they talked
about, but had made them who they were, all the same.
 The conversation was an old one and AJ didn't mind. He enjoyed
the company. "Six hours of work and I net four fifty. Ten millimeter,
please."
"More like eight hours and two fifty," Darnell pushed back, pulling
a 10mm wrench from the tray and placing it in AJ's outstretched
hand. "You're not including salvage title and parts."
"Fine, two fifty." AJ pulled off the valve cover. "That's still what?
Forty bucks an hour?"
"Try thirty. Tell me again why a lead aerospace engineer from
Pacific Aerodyne can’t do better than thirty bucks an hour?"
"Covers booze and girls. Man doesn’t need more than that," AJ
said, skootching his gut off the grill. He stood and tried to
straighten, but a degenerated disc in his lumbar region stopped him.
Shrugging, he pulled a silver flask from his pocket and took a hit of
cheap bourbon.
Darnell choked back a laugh, knowing full well his buddy wasn’t
joking. AJ smiled and offered him the flask.
"You’re a real renaissance kind of guy," Darnell mocked, holding
his hands up to show he wasn't interested. "If Lisa smelled that on
me, she'd have my hide."
"Suit yourself." AJ took a second hit and stowed the flask.
"Appreciate you letting me know about that Air Force salvage
contract. I got a load coming in this afternoon."
"Not sure what you want with a bunch of burned-up old rocket
husks. Metal fatigue from re-entry ruined them for anything military.
Those Air Force boys were glad to unload them."
"Life of a junker," AJ said. "Pennies per pound. Someone will
need it someday and I'll have a crap ton, just like these old Subaru
parts. You just gotta have patience – not that Mr. Bigshot CFO needs
any of that."
"No need to be grumpy. Are you sure you won't come over for
dinner? Lisa's been asking about you.”
"Bubba, you're a terrible liar," AJ said. "That woman's always had
a strong distaste for white men."
Darnell laughed. AJ loved trying to bait him. "You sure it's not
your sparkling personality? She doesn't seem to have the same
aversion for our other friends. Seriously though, are you eating
okay?"
"I appreciate your concern. I've got a pot pie I'm gonna nuke
once I get those rockets off the truck."
"Lisa's making meatloaf on Friday," Darnell said. "I'll bring some
over Saturday after the game."
AJ made a face, but the sound of heavy trucks on the street
distracted him from lobbing insults at Lisa's prized meatloaf. "You
sure you gotta go?" he asked. "Might be fun to see what they
brought."
"Nope, I'm on a short leash. Cody is starting tonight against the
Crusaders," he answered, referring to his grandson, a cornerback on
his junior high school football squad.
AJ smiled at Darnell's pride in his family. He'd always felt lucky to
know Darnell and wished he could be more like his friend. The toot
of an airhorn spurred him to action. "Okay, you'll have to let yourself
out. Don't let Max off the porch."
He walked over to the fence, grimacing as his right knee
complained. The doctor told him he needed to lose fifty pounds, stop
drinking, and quit smoking before he'd approve a much-needed
replacement. AJ had politely indicated to the doctor which orifice
he’d been keeping his head in and the two had agreed to disagree.
Unhooking a chain, AJ slowly walked the gate back in a wide arc,
then kicked a brick in place to hold it open. His eyes grew wide as a
caravan of flatbeds carrying not just rocket bodies, but battered
engines, hydraulic lines, cowlings, and so much more, drove onto
the lot.
He shook his head as he hobbled over to the lead truck. The
driver jumped down and met him with clipboard in hand.
"You sure all that's for me?" AJ shouted over the sound of the
heavy diesel engines. "I only agreed to pay four thousand."
The truck driver shrugged. "Orders were to dump it all. You got
enough room?"
"The guy said you'd leave the flatbeds and give me a few days to
get 'em unloaded."
 The man handed him a business card. "We're to unhook anything
we can't get unloaded tonight. Call this number to arrange for return
transport."
"Around back," AJ said, pointing past his ramshackle home to the
stack of wrecked cars. "Just drop ‘em in front of those stacks."
"We got eight," the man said. "I see room for maybe five."
"Dang. Eight?" AJ scratched the white scruff on his chin. The
man was right. There was no way they were getting eight, fifty-
three-foot flatbeds back in there. He shrugged. "Just junk, right?"
"Got me," the man said with a shrug.
"Back 'em in, one at a time. I'll unload with the front-end loader.
It'll make a mess, but I won't hold you up too long."
"You're the boss. Just need a signature."
AJ signed. That was the one thing he liked about junk; it could
always be piled higher. By the time the last truck pulled out, he'd
successfully unloaded all of it, packing the already crowded yard.
"We should open a spaceship store, Max," he joked as he walked
into the screened porch where his old bulldog grinned at him with a
face only a bulldog owner could love. She'd left a mess, but he
couldn't blame her; she'd been locked inside far too long. He held
the screen door open. "You want to go check your new toys?"
The old girl struggled to her feet and hobbled outside. Like him,
Max had bad joints, but she still preferred to pee in the yard and
would insist on checking out the new arrivals. He worried for a
moment that the hastily arranged piles might shift and fall on her,
but there wasn't much he could do about it.
Entering his dad's kitchen always felt like coming home. He and
Mary Beth had lived a comfortable life together in the suburbs, but
when she'd passed, he sold their house and moved back here –
home. The worn wooden floors sagged on failing joists, but he saw
right past the decay.
Albert took a bottle of home brew out of the refrigerator, popped
the top, and took a long draw. He’d run out of bourbon in the first
few minutes of stacking the aged rocket parts and now he was
parched. Disappointment flared when he discovered no frozen pot
pie in the freezer. The empty box at the top of his trash can
reminded him that he'd eaten it the night before. Shutting the
freezer, he grabbed the plastic ring that held the remains of the six
pack he'd started and hobbled to his chair, making sure to grab the
remote control.
"High winds in front of that cold front tonight, Jeff." A pretty
blond in a bright red dress smiled winningly across the television
studio, stepping away from a large weather map.
"What can we expect, Ashley?" Jeff asked.
AJ shook his head. No one should get that excited about weather.
"Gusts reaching as high as sixty miles per hour after midnight,"
she said.
"Well, there you have it," Jeff said. "Turning to other news …"
Albert flipped channels until he found public broadcasting. He
seemed to remember a semi-dramatized series about life on Mars
that he'd found interesting, or was that on the Discovery Channel?
He opened a second beer and settled back to flip back and forth
until he found the show or fell asleep.

T he sound of a screen door banging incessantly woke AJ. "I guess

that cold front's here," he muttered. Over the howling wind, he
heard a dog's yelp and realized he'd forgotten to let Max in. It wasn't
a particularly new phenomenon, but she wouldn't appreciate being
left out in the rain he heard pelting off the metal roof.
"I'm coming." He struggled out of the easy chair and grabbed a
flashlight from the counter. The change in weather made it nearly
impossible to navigate on his bad knee, but he wasn't about to use a
cane. He hobbled from one door frame to the next and pushed open
the screen door, fully expecting Max to come bobbing in. When she
didn't, he called for her, shining his light into the yard.
Max yipped twice more and AJ heard the tall piles of vintage
space hardware shifting in the wind, their metal surfaces groaning as
they rubbed against each other. The beam of his light caught a
patch of the dog’s light gray fur. The old girl was barking at
something, her hunting instinct pushing her past the pain in her
joints.
"Max, darn it. Leave it alone," AJ called, his voice carrying a
sense of urgency as he watched the poorly assembled stack above
her list in the high wind. Her squiggly bulldog tail wagged with
excitement and she lunged forward, pouncing at her foe. She
twisted her head, confused at having missed whatever she'd tried to
catch.
"Ah, crap. Max, you'll be the death of the both of us," AJ
complained as he hobbled into the yard. She was as stubborn as he
was, and no amount of calling would get her back if she had rat
scent in her nose. The rain intensified and sheet lightning illuminated
the sky, thunder booming directly overhead.
The pile above Max swayed in the increasing winds, groaning its
complaint to whomever would listen. AJ looked at it nervously but
refused to stop. He'd survived nearly eighty years, living through
Vietnam, Agent Orange, and the loss of his wife to leukemia. Tonight
wasn't his night, he was certain of that.
"Come on, girl." He leaned down and grabbed Max’s collar. She
barked, unhappy with his attempt to pull her away. She lunged
forward, barking frantically, realizing she was about to lose her
opportunity.
"You're gonna get us killed." He peered ahead, wondering what
could have her so riled up. That’s when he saw the flickering image
of a ten-inch-high woman, standing on the ground, waving her
arms. Her lips were moving, but AJ heard nothing. He blinked his
eyes and she disappeared.
"Come on, girl. Just the light playing tricks on old eyes."
Lightning flashed again and the pile above them shifted. "We gotta
go. Now, girl!”
Her collar slipped through his fingers as she lunged. The image
of the small woman reappeared. She was pointing over his head.
"Aw, crap," were his last words as tons of space debris toppled
over on top of him and Max.
TWO
 COHABITATIVE

A steady drip on his face was AJ’s first clue that he hadn’t died.
Squinting in the bright sunlight, he tried to look away, but was
unable to move.
“You shouldn’t try to move,” a woman said. “Are you able to
understand me?”
“Who’s there?” he asked, flicking his eyes from side to side.
Through the glare, he saw Max. Her eyes were gray and unblinking.
He knew she’d die someday, but had hoped to beat her to the
punch. “Aww, Maxie.”
“Are you attempting to converse with the deceased canine?” the
woman asked. “This is not logical. The domesticated canine is
incapable of coherent communication at the level you have
requested. Further, there are no known sentients within this sector
with the capacity for postmortem communication.”
“Who the heck is talking?” AJ asked, irritated at his grief being
interrupted.
“You have not provided adequate confirmation that we have
established mutual understanding,” the woman answered.
AJ managed to turn his head toward the voice. At the edge of his
peripheral vision, he was just able to make out the figure of a tiny
woman seated on the edge of a rocket hull. “Are you a fricking elf or
gnome or something?”
A stream of water chose that moment to release and pour down
from above the woman’s position. Her image flickered and
disappeared. AJ blinked and tried to focus on the area still at the
edge of his visual range.
“Are you still there?” he asked.
Receiving no response, he tried to turn back to Max but was
unable to move his head. It occurred to him that he was unable to
feel anything beyond a slight coolness on his cheek where water
continued to drip. His eyes felt heavy and he closed them, drifting
into unconsciousness.
“Human, your biological readings show that you are approaching
consciousness.” The woman’s voice woke AJ. He was in shadow and
considered the sun’s position. He’d been out for five or six hours.
“Would you please acknowledge my queries?”
“Who in blazes are you?” he asked.
“May I assume you’re addressing me?” she asked.
“What sort of idiotic question is that? Who the hell else would I
be talking to? You already told me I can’t talk to my dead dog.
Thanks for that, by the way.”
“Albert Jenkins, do you not understand the imminent peril in
which you find yourself?”
He strained to locate the tiny woman and again found her seated
on the edge of a spent rocket. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I am Beverly 49231125-0-B, a parasitic sentient from Beltigersk
Five,” she answered. “Why are you not concerned for the cessation
of your biological construct?”
“Biological construct? Don’t you mean mortal coil? I always
figured I’d recite Shakespeare on my way out,” he said. “My
biological construct has been approaching cessation for years now.
It’s the rest of me that I’ll miss the most. Well, that and a glass of
Scotch over ice, or maybe a busty stripper, or a cheeseburger with
bacon that doesn’t back me up for a week. Oh geez, that sounds
good. I think I’ll miss cheeseburgers the most.”
“Albert Jenkins, do you not understand? You will cease to
function in a short period of time,” she said. “Your life functions will
cease. I am not capable of communicating this information more
succinctly.”
 “Geez. I’m terrible at this,” he complained. “I’ve invented a
midget alien sentient projection to bore me to death.”
“Terrible at what, Albert Jenkins?” Beverly asked.
“Oh, for f’s sake. What do you think we’ve been talking about? I
suck at dying! What else do you think happens when a load of used
rockets grinds you into the dirt? But, no, I have to go crazy first.”
“You doubt my existence?” Beverly asked.
“You’re a damn projection, Beverly 492-yada-yada-0-B. No,
you’re a hallucination. Oh wait, maybe I’m lucid dreaming. Take your
clothing off and make me a cheeseburger,” AJ said.
“Beverly is the name of my wife’s aunt,” he continued. “That’s
how hallucinations work, but I’m not sure why I’m explaining that to
you. So, that’s a no on the cheeseburger and the other thing?”
“My physical appearance is purely a calculation based on human
norms with a bias toward encouraging interaction with the male of
the species,” she said. “Given your age, you should no longer
experience a biological imperative for reproduction. Some species,
however, continue the patterns of mating well beyond viability. As I
am merely a projection, I find no value in fulfilling your request for a
modified visual presentation. I also have no capacity to produce
physical material, which I believe would be required to produce the
item you refer to as cheeseburger.”
“Holy crap, did you just use a hundred words to tell me I’m
nutless so why bother?”
“I am attempting to communicate why this line of conversation is
unproductive.”
“Yeah, that’s just what I was thinking,” AJ said and allowed his
eyes to close.

It dark when he regained consciousness.

was
“I am gratified that you have awakened once again.” The
woman’s voice returned.
 Muddled as his thoughts were, AJ found it difficult to imagine his
hallucination could be so consistent, although he considered,
perhaps, that the appearance of consistency was a facet of the
hallucination. He tried to shrug but still had no feeling below his
chin. And, he could no longer rotate his head. Darn it.
“Is that you, Beverly 492-yada-yada-yada-yada-zero-B?” he
asked.
“Yes, Albert Jenkins,” she answered. “Your physical deterioration
has accelerated. You will not survive an additional rest cycle. I would
offer a proposal before you lapse again. I believe this will be our last
opportunity at conversation.”
“You’re a strange one, aren’t you?” he asked. “But you’ve caught
me at a good time. Proposition away. I feel like I tried to have this
conversation with you earlier and you called me out for equipment
malfunction.”
“Parasitic sentients are required under Cheell Union law to obtain
permission from hosts with limited cognitive capacity before
beneficial cohabitative pairing is initiated,” she said.
“Limited cognitive capacity … wait, you just said pairing,” he said.
“You really are propositioning me? And here I am without any
feeling. Perfect.”
“Pairing between host and guest is painless,” she said. “Also,
there is no sensation that resembles the reproductive activity you
appear to be suggesting.”
“Say those words about limited cognitive capacity again. It all
seems really judgmental, you know that? I’m just a dumb asexual
neuter to you, aren’t I?”
“I apologize. Humanity scores between forty-nine and ninety-two
on the galactic sentience scale. From our conversation, I believe you
would score within the upper eighties even in your deteriorated
state. It is a most respectable score.”
“What’s your score?” AJ asked, his eyelids growing heavy. The
end was near and he regretted that he wouldn’t get to finish what
had turned into an interesting, if not a little insulting, conversation.
“One hundred-seventy-six,” Beverly answered.
“Shit. Seriously? What are the bounds of the scale?” he asked.
 “Albert Jenkins, you will soon perish. With your permission, we
will join and I will endeavor to resist the deterioration of your
biological form.”.
“Sure, whatever. Wait. Are you a bug that crawls in my ear …”
AJ’s consciousness started to fade.
“No, Albert Jenkins,” she said. “My physical being is measured in
nanometers. Four hundred two to be exact. Please, I require your
unfettered acceptance.”
“One hundred seventy-six cognitive score? We’ll see about that,”
he said, his voice fading. “Mi casa su casa. I accept.”
THREE
 A ROSIE LIFE

AJ awoke to the sensation of a breathing tube being withdrawn from

his throat. His body was wracked with spasmodic coughing and he
blindly pushed at hands which sought to hold him still.
"Hey. AJ. It's okay. You're safe."
AJ continued to cough but managed to croak out, "Get off."
"Give him a second," AJ finally recognized Darnell's voice and his
panic subsided as he cleared the last of the congestion in his lungs.
"Mr. Jenkins, can you hear me?" a nurse asked, speaking in an
overly loud voice. "You were in an accident and are in intensive care
at Lincoln Memorial."
"Dammit, girl. Just because I'm old doesn't mean I'm deaf. Stop
shouting already."
"AJ, she's just trying to help. Be civil," Darnell admonished.
"It's okay," the nurse answered. "Head trauma and disorientation
can cause irritation."
Before he could answer, an older woman with an air of authority
entered the room and picked up an electronic tablet from the end of
the bed. "Mr. Jenkins, it's good to see you awake. We weren't sure
you were going to make it. I'm Doctor Amanda Jayne."
The woman held her hand out and tipped her head forward so
she could look over her reading glasses.
AJ attempted to lift his hand but discovered his wrist was
restrained. "What the hell?" he growled.
 Jayne closed the distance, shaking his hand. "I don't think we'll
be needing those anymore," she said, glancing at the nurse. "Mr.
Jenkins, today is Wednesday, August eighth. You were admitted ten
days ago after an accident at your home. Something about a stack
of industrial material falling on you."
"Rocket hulls. Call me AJ."
The doctor lifted an eyebrow and grinned. "Rocket hulls," she
repeated. She pulled a pointed metal object from her pocket and
walked to the end of the bed where she drew back the sheets. "Tell
me, AJ, can you feel this?" She lifted his bare foot and ran the tip of
a metal pointer along its sole.
He attempted to pull his foot back at the sensation but only
managed a slight tremor in his thigh. "Dammit, stop that."
She raised an eyebrow and smiled. AJ put the doctor in her mid-
sixties, with short-cropped gray hair and well-earned wrinkles
around her eyes. "Very interesting," she said. "Can you move your
toes?"
AJ complied, managing to slowly waggle his big toe on both feet.
"What's going on, Doc?" he asked. "Am I paralyzed?"
Jayne shook her head. "Surprisingly, no," she said. "You have
four crushed vertebrae in your lumbar and several cracked within
your thoracic region. Trust me when I tell you that moving your toes
was well beyond my expectation for your recovery in a decade,
much less the time you've been with us. With your permission, I'd
like to run additional scans."
AJ blinked as an eight-inch tall woman appeared on Jayne's
shoulder, wearing exactly the same clothing as the doctor. The tiny
thing waved her arms frantically as if to warn him of danger. Closing
his eyes tightly, he shook his head.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Jenkins?" Jayne asked.
When he opened his eyes, the figure was gone. "No. Uh, you
were saying?"
"Scans, CT primarily," she said. "It appears our first assessment
of damage was grossly overestimated."
"Can you fix what's broke?"
 "Maybe after a few months of recuperation," she said. "Mostly,
we need your body to heal itself. There's a possibility of more
surgeries. It just depends on your progress."
"No scans, then. I can't pay for what you've done already."
"Perhaps we can talk tomorrow," she said, replacing the
notebook in a holder at the end of the bed. "It's a lot to take in."
"How long do I gotta be here?" AJ asked.
Jayne seemed surprised by the question. "That's … well … I
guess it depends on your recovery."
"Well, I need to pee and I'm pretty sure you got something
jammed up my willy."
"You’re not in any shape to use a restroom," she said. "The
catheter should alleviate your need for urination."
AJ grunted as he painfully pushed forward, coming to a seated
position, much to Jayne's surprise. "Come on, Doc. Do me a solid,"
he said.
"You're an unusual man, Albert Jenkins," she said. "And just so
you know, most male patients prefer a male nurse to extract
catheters."
"Wow, have you misread me." He sat back in his bed, arms over
his head and grinned at her.
"I'll get Tom," the nurse offered at his inappropriate comment.
"I assure you, you will derive no pleasure from this," Jayne said,
ignoring the nurse.
"If it gets me a step closer to that door, I'm all in."
"You might want to turn," Jayne said to Darnell, who'd taken a
seat next to the window. Without further hesitation, she peeled back
the blanket and deftly removed the catheter, eliciting a groan of pain
from AJ in the process.
"Crap. You got a wicked streak in you, woman," AJ said,
squirming uncomfortably at the aftershock.
Jayne chuckled quietly. "Don't think you can say anything that'll
surprise me, corporal."
AJ narrowed his eyes. "You served?" he asked.
"Vietnam, just like you. I spent my residency patching you boys
up in the early seventies. Now stop giving my nurses trouble and I'll
see what we can do to get you out of here." When she turned to the
nurse, Albert caught a glimpse of a smile on her face. "Reduce pain
meds to as-needed and we'll try solid food."
With instructions provided, Doctor Jayne walked from the room
without further conversation.
"Good to see you up, buddy," Darnell said, when the room was
finally empty. "I thought you were a goner when I found you in the
yard. I had to get your front-end loader to pull those rockets off. I
guess you're just too old and dumb to die."
"Did you find Maxie?" AJ asked.
"Yeah, sorry. I buried her next to the house, under the porch.”
"That's nice. She'd like that."
"Are you okay? I mean, you got a little freaky back there," he
said. "Kind of looked like you saw a ghost or something."
AJ considered telling his friend what he'd seen but maybe right
now wasn’t the time. "Nah, feeling a little off from the drugs."
Darnell nodded his head. "You need anything? I've gotta get
going pretty soon."
"You good for a cheeseburger?"

"L isa loaded your freezer with those pot pies you like," Darnell said,
pulling to a stop next to the junkyard's entrance. It had only been
three days since AJ woke up in the hospital. Even though Doctor
Jayne strenuously objected, she'd finally relented when he pressed
to be allowed to leave.
"Any meatloaf?" AJ asked, a wicked grin on his face as Darnell
transferred him to the wheelchair.
"Don't joke," Darnell said. "She asked if she should make some."
"What is it about your kind and meatloaf?"
"My kind?" Darnell asked, wondering if AJ was baiting him.
"Terminally married."
"Remind me why we're friends?"
 AJ ignored the rhetorical question and pushed on the wheels,
propelling himself to the chain link gate, his arms feeling stronger
than they had in years. "Do you think Jayne has the hots for me?"
Darnell carried AJ's bag and opened the gate. "You're too much.
She grabbed your willy because she wanted to prove that it didn't
matter to her."
"Most action I've seen in years," AJ said. "But that wasn't what I
meant. She said she wants to keep track of me."
"What Pam ever saw in you, I'll never know," Darnell said,
referring to AJ's deceased wife. "No, I think Doctor Jayne sees you
as a medical puzzle to solve. You're a mystery. Woman like that don’t
need a worn out old junker like you."
"So, you agree?" AJ said. "She's interested."
With a sigh of exasperation, Darnell shook his head. "Do you like
your new ramp? The boys in engineering wanted to help out."
AJ's eyes fell on the wide aluminum ramp that'd been installed,
providing wheelchair access from ground level to the porch.
"They also put a couple of hand bars in the bathroom and next to
your chair."
AJ nodded. "Tell 'em thanks. Solid bunch, that."
"Lot of people pulling for you AJ," Darnell said.
AJ had no idea what to say so he pushed onto the ramp and
while difficult, found he was able to handle the grade, something the
physical therapist suggested would be impossible.
"Join me for a nip?" he asked, opening doors on the lower
cabinets. He frowned when he saw that the contents had been
shifted around. "Dammit. Where's my Scotch."
"Lisa reorganized so you'd be able to reach things," Darnell said,
opening upper cabinets.
"I need to know where my shit is," AJ snapped.
"Don't get cranky at me. Your shit's all here. It just got moved so
you can survive."
AJ sighed as Darnell set a bottle onto the counter in front of him.
The exertion of coming home from the hospital had worn him out
and his hands shook as he poured whiskey into glasses.
 "Yeah, sorry." He placed the glass between his legs and rolled
over to his recliner.
"I know it's been tough," Darnell said, pulling over a wooden
chair from the kitchen and taking a swig. "You're lucky to be alive."
AJ shook his head as reality seeped in. "You sure about that?"

AJ shook the empty bottle of painkillers over his mouth. He'd spent
the last weeks drifting listlessly through life, glued to the TV but
paying it little attention. Sighing, he tossed the bottle into the trash,
knowing he wouldn't refill it. He'd kicked painkillers in the past and
didn't look forward to the process. To make matters worse, the
recovery that started off so quickly at the hospital had stalled out.
He was really in no better shape than when he'd arrived home.
"Does this mean you will now cease using the opioids with which
you have flooded your neural receptors?" a woman's voice asked.
AJ heard it plainly, but when he turned, he was unable to locate
its source.
"Is someone there?" He picked up his empty Scotch glass, his
eyes shifting to the empty bottle on the counter. Lisa and Darnell
had been quick to deliver food but were less interested in supplying
booze. Some friends. Bah.
Sitting on the edge of his TV, the indistinct image of a woman
appeared. He squinted, recognizing the repeating hallucination. "Can
you see me?" she seemed to ask.
He blinked and leaned forward. In the process, she shimmered
and disappeared. "Yup, that's what I thought, I'm losing it."
"I am Beverly 49231125-0-B. You have lost optical representation
due to toxic levels of chemicals present in your body."
"Yada-yada-B, I was wondering when you'd come back," he said.
"What? Did the roof fall in on me this time? I can't figure out if I'm
dead or still lying under a stack of rockets. Maybe I'll get lucky and
Doctor Jayne will come dig me out."
 "It is imperative that you cease the intake of opioids combined
with fermented plant material," she answered, flickering back into
view.
"Well, isn't that just lucky then. I'm fresh out of pain killers."
"In observing your behavior patterns, it appears you are
purposefully exhibiting self-destructive behavior. Is it your will to
cease living?"
"You know I'm on to you," AJ said. "You can't be a real alien.
How could you possibly speak English? How could you possibly
understand how the human body works? Even the mannerisms of
your projection are too good."
"And your conclusion is what?" Beverly asked. "Please, say it
directly so there is no confusion."
"You are a hallucination. A construct of my mind to deal with the
fact that my body is failing."
"That is understandable," she said. "It is not an uncommon
response when pairing is made under moments of high stress. We
are capable of causing hallucinations, indeed the projection I am
struggling so diligently to present is akin to a hallucination. That
does not negate our existence."
"When did you become plural?" he asked. "I thought there was
just one of you – Beverly 49231125-0-B."
"This is correct, I am singular. My compatriots have not paired
with you but have taken up residence in your dermal layer."
"Like fleas. Is my subconscious trying to tell me something?" he
asked. "This is very complex."
"You have a surprisingly flexible mind, Albert Jenkins," Beverly
said. "For your protection, I will cause you to sleep while your
kidneys filter the remainder of the toxins within your body. I have a
number of elements you must procure once this process is
complete."
He wanted to object but ended up slumped in his chair, fast
asleep.
AJ awoke with a strong urge to pee. He lifted from his easy chair,
momentarily forgetting about his crushed vertebrae. Pain quickly
reminded him of what his brain had neglected. Recognizing that he
was halfway to the wheelchair, he turned and fell into it. With
urgency he hadn't felt in years, AJ raced to the open toilet room and
grabbed for the bars along the counter.
"Holy crap!" he exclaimed as things below released explosively.
"Are you ill, Albert Jenkins?" An eight-inch Beverly appeared on
the edge of the small square porcelain sink. She wore a white lab
jacket, glasses, and even had her hair cut short, all à la Doctor
Jayne.
"My willy feels like it's on fire and my wee looks like a caramel
macchiato extra expresso!"
"Oh, yes, we are in dire need of hydration," she said.
Just hearing her mention water made AJ realize his mouth felt
like cotton. Without getting off the toilet, he filled a cup of water
from the sink and drank greedily.
"Well done, Albert Jenkins," she said. "I have a few questions.
Would you mind answering them?"
"Questions? This ought to be good," AJ said, his certainty of
Beverly's illusory nature waning as her image remained rock solid.
"We have orbited the human-inhabited planet for forty-two cycles
around your primary star. The technological level of humanity was
limited when we first attempted contact. Further, we were unable to
initiate a pairing. Now that we are planet side, we have observed the
current state of technology and believe your civilization to have
constructed a global communication network to which we would
very much like access."
"You're talking about the internet."
"Yes. We have observed those words being utilized in a manner
consistent with our description," she said.
"You really like to use a lot of words when a couple would do,
don't you?"
"I prefer accurate communication over shorter exchanges."
"Right. You want internet access, but if I recall, you're four
hundred nanometers. I don't think we have a keyboard that small."
 "If you would hold your telecommunications device in your left
hand, I believe I will be able to provide sufficient interface."
"I gotta go again," he said. "This water's really moving through
me."
"Perhaps you could bring your device into the elimination
chamber," she said. "I request further purging of waste from your
fluid elimination system."
"So, drink more, play with my phone, and sit on the toilet?"
"Precisely."
"But you see how I said it? And it made more sense, right?"
"Over time, I will come to grasp your language sufficiently to
make reasonable adjustments for colloquial dialects."
"Oh lordie, I hope the internet helps fix that."
He pulled his phone from a pocket on the chair and watched the
screen flicker to life. Within a few seconds, images flashed at a
speed he thought impossible. Even more confusing was the fact that
his mind felt clearer than it had since before the accident and if he
was honest, years before that.

"C an we be done ? I gotta be honest, I don't think I've seen quite so

much action down there in a long time. I feel like a spent balloon,"
AJ said.
"Certainly," Beverly answered. "There is a cheeseburger and malt
delivery eight minutes from your home. You should restore your leg
coverings and progress to the gate."
"Um, what?" he asked.
"Yes. Calcium, protein, fat, sugars and a host of minerals in a
tasty package. What's not to like?" she asked, her clothing changing
to roller skates, mini skirt, and a red striped sweater. She held a
platter high above her shoulder, balanced on one hand.
"Did you suddenly turn into a TV commercial?"
"In accessing available data, it appears humans prefer
characterized information delivery," she said. "Is it not more
succinct, as you requested?"
He nodded approvingly. "Right on. Now, if there's a cheeseburger
and milkshake at my gate in ten minutes, I think our relationship
status is going to have to change."
"Does this mean you will accept our existence?"
"Let's see how good that burger is," he said, struggling to pull on
his sweatpants.
He was just rolling down the ramp when he heard a banging on
the outside gate. "Hang on," he called. "Who is it?"
"Tastee Burger delivery," a young man called back.
AJ's mouth watered as he swung around the end of the ramp at
speed, only braking when he reached the gate. He pushed the latch
up and the smell of burgers hit him square in the face as he took in
the kid holding his promised dinner.
"What do I owe you?" he asked.
"Looks like this was already paid," the kid answered. "Have a
good one."
AJ closed the gate and wasted no time jamming the wide straw
into the top of the semi-frozen shake. His eyes rolled back in
pleasure as he mowed through the double burger topped with
cheese and bacon, intermittently pulling on the shake.
"Do I have your attention now, Albert Jenkins?" Beverly asked.
Once again, she'd changed appearances. She now wore coveralls
and her hair was pulled back by a red and white polka-dotted napkin
tied around her head.
"Are you supposed to be Rosie the Riveter?" AJ asked. "You know
that was World War II, not 'Nam."
"Yes. You humans have such a whimsical history," she said.
"Why Rosie?"
Beverly stood and walked over to a virtual drafting table,
unrolling a set of engineering plans. "We have work to do, Albert
Jenkins. We need a spacecraft."
FOUR
 GOOD DOCTOR

"A spaceship ? I can’t even walk, you daffy broad. What would I do
with a spaceship?"
"The situation is quite critical. Korgul have nearly depleted Earth’s
natural stores of Fantastium and Blastorium."
AJ blinked. "There's no such thing as Fantastium or Blastorium.
Now I know I'm hallucinating. That's crazy talk. You can't even make
up good words. Those sound like something from a kid's cartoon
show."
Beverly's smile was kind, if not patronizing. "As there are no
English words to describe these elements, I indeed took the liberty
of creating appropriate translations. Given our previous
conversations, I believed these words would hit the spot as they are
both descriptive and memorable."
"I call BS."
"Tell me, Albert Jenkins, what is the provenance of this land you
occupy?" she asked.
"Love the fifty-dollar words, cupcake. Why do you care?”
Beverly interlaced her fingers, placed her chin atop the steepled
knuckles and batted her eyes. “A girl’s got a right to her secrets, AJ.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You called me AJ.”
She tipped her head to the side, leaned forward and smiled,
showing just the smallest amount of cleavage over the top of her
overalls. “Provenance?”
 He grinned at the obvious flirtation and relented. “My grandad’s
granddad homesteaded this whole area back when it was prairie.
The property's been in our family for a hundred fifty years. We’ve
been eminent-domained all the way down to this humble three-acre
lot, but it’s all mine."
"It has not been occupied by persons other than your family?"
"No." AJ tossed the wrappings from the burger and the empty
shake cup into the trash can and frowned when they slid off the top
and fell on the floor.
"Has the ground been removed for any purpose? Perhaps to
provide soil for a civil improvement project?"
"Not friggin' likely," he said. "Gramps said ornery runs in the
family and we protect what's ours. Government comes sniffing
around, we're just as likely to send 'em packing – with buckshot in
their arse for good measure."
"I like this word ornery."
AJ struggled but managed to replace the trash bag with an
empty one, setting the tied-off bag onto his lap. On the counter, an
empty bottle of Scotch stared at him. For the first time in a long time
he didn't feel like getting loaded. Surprising, given that he'd been off
pain killers for over four hours. Scooping the bottles into a second
bag, AJ looked in disgust at the room that served as kitchen, living
room and bedroom. How had he managed to let things get so bad?
"What's a Korgul?" he asked, rolling his trash payload out the
front door. Beverly appeared atop one of the bags as one might sit
atop the peak of a mountain, her outfit having changed to hiking
boots, mid-thigh khaki shorts, and a matching double-pocketed shirt
with sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She also sported a pith helmet.
"A rather unlucky choice of neighbors." She'd adopted a
professorial British accent and was tapping a pen against her chin.
"Korgul. One of two native sentient species of planet Korgut. And
again, I must warn you, I'm creating English translations rather on
the fly here, so don't feel you must criticize my word choices."
"Neighbors?" AJ asked, releasing his grip on the wheels so he
fairly flew down the ramp. "We've searched the skies for centuries.
There's no one out there. At least not nearby."
 "Bollocks," she said. "Firstly, neighbor is a relative term. Space
travel is anything but linear. Secondly, do you truly believe your
technology is such that advanced civilizations would not easily block
detection by your primitive devices?"
"How are you gonna block an entire planet of telescopes? Have
you seen the size of the radio telescopes we have? Come on, lady. I
ain't buying what you're selling."
"A Korgul Prime in its natural form is the size, shape, and dare I
say, consistency of the contents of a robin's egg," she said.
"Consider the implications of space travel for beings with a mass of
fifty grams."
"That sort of mass sounds ideal for space travel, but I don't see
grape-sized bags of goo evolving far enough to construct
spaceships."
"That is very perceptive, Albert Jenkins. If not for the second
species on Korgut, Korgul Minor, the rise of Korgul would have been
impossible. You see, the Prime have a parasitical relationship with
the Minor. It's a rather unlikely co-evolutionary development, but the
fact remains that it occurred."
"I think I saw a TV show like this," AJ said. "Let me guess, the
Prime built the pyramids."
Beverly stared at him in confusion until understanding flooded
her face. "I understand your reference. No, the Prime have only
visited Earth for the last millennia. The time of the Egyptian
pharaohs predates their arrival."
"If Korgul Prime travel without their hosts, you're implying
they've bonded with humans," AJ concluded.
"They have indeed. The latest estimate was that more than
twenty million inhabitants of Earth were Korgul bonded. The very
thing that stranded me and my fellow Beltigerskians was a fact-
finding mission regarding Korgul occupation of Earth."
AJ locked the wheels of his chair and leaned forward to grasp the
lip of the tall garbage dumpster. He only managed to get his fingers
over the edge, but it was enough. With his other hand, he lobbed
the bags over the rim.
 "Twenty million is a lot." He sat back into his chair and heard a
couple loud pops as his lumbar adjusted. The movement fixed the
pinched feeling he’d noticed in one of his muscles, something that
had been bothering him since the medicine wore off. "Oh, baby," he
groaned in pleasure.
"The estimate was based on expedition data from a mission in
the Earth year 1932." Beverly hung suspended from a belaying rope
wrapped around a round metal peg on the end of the dumpster.
"That was a long time ago. We didn’t have spaceships back then.
We barely do even now," AJ said. "How'd you end up plastered to an
old rocket hull orbiting Earth?"
A rocket pack appeared in Beverly's hands and she tossed it over
her shoulders like a backpack, tightening the straps. As the rockets
ignited, she flew to the arm of AJ's chair and landed. "Ours was a
follow-up mission. Unfortunately, our expedition ship was attacked
upon entering Earth's atmosphere. Korgul spies are quite skillful. Our
mission was compromised before we even started. Our ship was
destroyed and our Vred hosts murdered, but not before they
heroically extracted each of us and set us into orbit. Only a few of us
survived but it was more than we might have expected under the
circumstances."
"Vred are other aliens?" AJ asked.
Next to Beverly, the image of a vertically standing reptilian
humanoid appeared. The Vred had leathery skin, a short snout and
long teeth, short arms with chubby hands, stubby lower legs and a
long, thick powerful tail. For reference, a human male’s image stood
next to the Vred.
"On your galactic sentience scale, what kind of being are we
talking about?" AJ asked, wrinkling his nose at what he considered a
walking alligator.
"Vred have one of the widest ranges of all sentients regarding
cognitive capacity: between thirty-six and one hundred thirty-five."
"So, they're no one-seventy-six, then," he said, reciting Beverly's
score.
She sent him an excellent version of an irritated scowl. "They are
a brave, honorable species. The Vred that traveled with us sacrificed
their lives so my crew could live."
“What’s a Korgul look like?” AJ asked.
The alligator-like Vred disappeared and another image appeared
in its place. Korgul Minor were gangly, hairless humanoids with
muted facial features which included a tiny mouth, small bumps
where a human’s ears would be and slits that he assumed were a
nose. Beyond that, its arms and legs were thin to the point of
cartoonish. Next to the humanoid sat a blue-green glob of a slimy,
phosphorescent substance.
“Korgul are a moderately intelligent species,” Beverly said, her
costume changing to a narrow woolen skirt, a simple white blouse,
and a long wooden pointer which she dipped into the Korgul Prime
goo. As she pulled back her pointer, the entire glob of goo stuck to
the tip. She deposited the Prime goo onto the human's shoulder. The
mass moved up the man’s neck and slithered into an eye socket.
“That’s nasty," AJ said.
"And by Galactic Empire law, illegal."
"Let me guess. Korgul don't much care about Galactic Empire
laws."
"Quite," she answered.
A knock on the chain-link gate drew their attention.
“Who are you talking to?” A woman called out. AJ turned and
saw Dr. Amanda Jayne peering through an opening in the gate.
“Doc, what are you doing here?” He wheeled his chair around. “I
was just taking out the trash.”
She unlatched the gate and walked through. “Mind if I come in?”
AJ grinned as he rolled across the dirt. “Looks like you already
have.”
Dr. Jayne’s eyes narrowed as she watched Albert move. When he
stopped in front of her, she turned her head to the side in disbelief.
“What are you doing out of bed and how are you getting around so
well?” she asked.
“Not the first time I’ve been patched up. Not like I’m outta this
chair yet,” he said, waggling his eyebrows and patting the arm of his
chair.
 “You … you look different,” she said. “Would you mind if I
grabbed my bag and came back?”
“Sure doc, I’ll just be in the hootch. Let yourself in.”
AJ watched as Jayne excused herself and disappeared back
through the gate. She had a distinctive hitch in her step. As a vet,
he’d seen it before and knew exactly what it was.
“You cannot allow Dr. Jayne to examine you,” Beverly said. She’d
donned a wide-striped black and white prisoner’s uniform with a ball
and chain attached to her ankle. “If Korgul discover our bonding,
you will be imprisoned and eventually dispatched.”
“She’s going to take my temperature and blood pressure,” AJ
said. “You need to chill. Besides, Doc and I served together.”
AJ pushed through the door and scanned the room. The bag of
trash he’d managed to take out had hardly made a dent in the mess.
He spun his way into the kitchen, grabbed the empty trash can and
wheeled it to his recliner, clearly ground zero. He was in the process
of scraping the entire contents of his side table into the bin when he
heard a knock on his screen door.
“Knock, knock,” Jayne’s voice called.
“Uh, come on in,” he said. “I’m just straightening up.” His eyes
fell on a pile of liquor bottles that had fallen over on themselves. He
sat back in his chair, chuckling.
“What’s funny?” Dr. Jayne smiled, pulling a blood-pressure cuff
from her bag.
“Oh, I just haven’t felt like this for a while.”
“Like what?” she asked, approaching while holding out the blood
pressure cuff. “You mind?”
“Hang on,” he said. “Why are you here?”
She raised a single, graying eyebrow. “I’ve lost a lot of boys over
the years. I’m not losing another one if I can help it.”
“Couldn’t help but notice that hitch in your giddy-up when you
came in,” he said. “Get that in ‘Nam?”
“Our MASH came under mortar fire. Shrapnel in my hip ruined a
nerve cluster. Pretty minor if you consider everything that was going
on at the time.”
“Sorry,” he said.
 “It’s been a couple years,” she said and slipped the cuff under his
arm. “Now people just think I’m old.”
“You are old, Doc.”
Amanda Jayne chuckled. She’d seen the best of AJ’s generation.
Men who fought in a war nobody wanted and died for their country
because it was asked of them. She preferred the unvarnished
honesty of those who knew what hardship looked like. “Some would
say it’s not polite to mention a woman’s age.”
“Good. Never want to be accused of being polite,” he said. “Now,
before you get all excited probing me and all, I need something from
you first.”
“You want to go slow on the pain meds, Albert,” she said. “The
prescription you were given should last for another week, at a
minimum.”
“AJ. And I’m off the pain meds,” he said. “The thing is, I can’t
have you putting me in your computer.”
“You’re in my computer, AJ,” she said. “My computer thinks
you’ve got a few months to live if things go really well.”
“I’m serious, Doc,” he said. “If you want to check me out, it stays
between the two of us.”
“Are you feeling anxiety right now?” she asked. “There are good
people who can talk things through with you. There’s no shame in
needing a little help.”
He chuckled again. “I’m not a head case. I just can’t afford to be
in your computer.”
Dr. Jayne peered over the top of her glasses at AJ, looking every
bit the disapproving schoolmarm as she pumped the blood pressure
cuff. AJ’s heart felt like it was racing and sweat beaded on his
forehead. “One eighty over ninety,” she said, frowning disapproval as
she pulled out an ear thermometer. “And you’re running a
temperature. Are you on any other drugs?”
“Tell her you’re coming down from amphetamines,” Beverly said,
standing on the TV set dressed in a trench coat which she opened,
displaying baggies of drugs hanging inside.
“Stop it,” he growled. “I’m not saying that.”
 Jayne didn’t miss a beat as she pulled out a penlight and flashed
it across his pupils. “Hallucinations aren’t out of the question with
your medications. Your pupils look good, though. Do you feel
feverish?”
“Sorry. That wasn’t for you,” he said. “I’m not a nut case.”
“Never crossed my mind,” she said. “Are you having trouble
keeping your food down? If I’m not wrong, you’ve lost at least
twenty-five pounds since surgery. Some weight loss is to be
expected, but we’ll need to keep an eye on that.”
AJ looked down at his belly. Until that moment, he hadn’t noticed
the weight loss. “Just had a Tastee burger. Feel like I’m on the
mend, Doc.”
“You know this isn’t the first time we’ve met?”
“I know."
She pointed at his abdomen. “This old chest wound is from 'Nam.
I don’t recall the surgery, but I recognize my work.”
“You did good. Maybe too good because they didn’t punch my
ticket. Two months of R&R and I was back at it. I'm hurt you don't
remember me."
“I patched up a lot of boys back then," she said. "Don't take it
personally."
AJ chuckled. "No sweat."
"Your friend said you went on to get an engineering degree and
the two of you built a business.”
“You looking for a date, Doc?”
Jayne pulled out a pad, wrote quickly on it, and signed with a
flourish. “Do you have someone helping you? I’m concerned with
your temperature. It could indicate an infection.”
“Darnell comes by every other day or so to check on me. I think
I’m getting meatloaf on Friday.”
“Today is Friday.”
AJ grimaced. “It’s bad, doc. I don’t know if she puts sand in it or
what.”
“Will Darnell fill a prescription for you?”
“Sure, but Doc, I don’t need meds. I was hot because I tried to
impress you by rolling myself up the ramp,” he said. “Take my temp
again, you’ll see.”
Jayne narrowed her eyes. “That seems unlikely, but you do look
less flushed.” She rummaged in her bag and extracted the
thermometer, taking a moment to replace the disposable plastic tip.
Beverly sat on Jayne’s shoulder. “I hope you know what you’re
doing, AJ. Korgul will go to great lengths to prevent information from
leaving Earth. They’ll kill you and everyone you know, including Dr.
Amanda Jayne, who you clearly have a thing for.”
“A thing for her?” AJ said.
“Pardon?” Jayne said, looking confused.
“Sorry. What I meant was that prescriptions go into the
computer, right?”
“For insurance, yes,” Jayne answered, tugging on AJ’s earlobe as
she inserted the probe. She pursed her lips as she read the display
and then laid a hand across his forehead. “Most unusual. Do you
mind?” she extracted the blood pressure cuff from her bag and
wrapped it around his arm.
“No, go ahead,” he said. “You’d treat high blood pressure with a
prescription too, right?” Giving Beverly a meaningful glance.
“Sometimes. I’d want a few data points before we did that,
however,” she said as she pumped air into the cuff. “Have you ever
been diagnosed with high blood pressure?”
AJ shrugged. “Probably.”
“Your blood pressure reads like a man half your age,” she said. “I
need you to come by the hospital tomorrow so I can run more
detailed tests.”
The sound of a vehicle pulling through the outside gate drew AJ’s
attention. “Hey, that’s Darnell now.”
As he looked back to the doctor, he noticed that Beverly had
constructed a miniature virtual guillotine and was placing her head
on the block.
“I could send a car for you,” she continued.
“I don’t think you’re reading me, Doc. I’m not much for getting
poked and prodded. I appreciate your concern and all, but I’m going
to take a rain check,” he said. “Say, you wouldn’t be up for some
meatloaf, would you?”
 A knock at the door interrupted their conversation and without
waiting for a response, Darnell entered the kitchen. “Oh, hey there,
Doc,” he said. “Making house calls?”
She smiled. “I was in the area. Decided to check on my patient.”
“You’ll never believe it. She thinks my ticker is like a forty-year-
old’s,” AJ said.
“Forty-year-old dog, maybe,” Darnell said, setting a bag of
groceries on the counter.
AJ chuckled.
“Not exactly what I said,” Jayne said. “Are you sure you won’t
come down then? Perhaps Darnell could bring you in.”
Darnell raised an eyebrow as he pulled a foil-topped pan from
the bag of groceries and slid it into the oven. “You miss an
appointment, AJ? I’d be happy to run you over.”
AJ shook his head. “I’m supposed to meet with an occupational
therapist next week. They’re going to teach me how to get around in
my wheelchair. Seems to me, I’m getting around just fine. Might
need a little help cleaning the loo, though. Things got a little out of
control a bit ago. I’d recommend holding it if you feel the need.”
“Actually,” Jayne interrupted. “Albert’s progress is remarkable.
Some might even say miraculous. He should be lying in bed with a
full course of pain killers. When I arrived, he’d just taken out the
trash. His eyes are clear and his pupils show that he’s not on any
pain killers. It’s truly nothing short of remarkable.”
“Did you know Doc patched me up back in ‘Nam?” AJ said.
“Did she now?” Darnell asked.
AJ pulled his shirt up, showing his abdomen. “Apparently, this
was her work.” He pointed at an old scar.
“Life’s a funny circle,” Darnell said.
“You won’t come to the hospital?” Jayne asked.
AJ shook his head. “Seems to me that staying out of hospitals is
the best way to keep alive. Did you know that over thirty percent of
people who are admitted to the hospital never come out?”
Jayne sighed as she packed her bag. “That’s a ridiculous statistic.
Sick people come to hospitals and the vast majority of them leave
better than they came in.”
 “Don’t bite, Doc,” Darnell said. “He’s a master at getting people
spun up.”
“So I see,” she said and straightened up. “Albert, you’ll call if you
feel worse?”
“Don’t let Darnell run you off,” AJ said. “He’s not sticking around
and I’ve got meatloaf to share.”
“Didn’t you say it tasted like sand?”
Darnell grinned. “He’s not wrong.”
“Oh, I see how it is,” Jayne said. “If you won’t come to the
hospital, would you mind if I visited again?”
“Anytime, Doc,” AJ said.
“Great. I can let myself out.”
“Nah, I’ll see you out.” He wheeled after her.
“Is that the equipment that fell on you?” she asked, pointing into
the yard which was still in disarray.
“That’s right. Darnell found me under that pile over there."
“They look like rockets.”
“Good eye. Salvage contract with the Air Force.”
“What do you do with them?”
"I was hoping to get a ride on one of them."
Jayne shook her head and a small smile tugged at her ordinarily
severe expression. "I'll be back in a week, Mr. Jenkins."
"You old dog, you," Darnell said as he joined AJ at the bottom of
the ramp.
AJ shrugged as he looked at his friend. "You staying for dinner?"
he asked.
Darnell's face showed that he thought the idea was ludicrous.
"Not on your life. I'll grab a hamburger on the way home. Lisa wants
a list for groceries, though."
Beverly appeared on Darnell's shoulder dressed in jeans and a
simple white blouse. "Tell him you've created an account with the
Super-V's delivery service and have groceries on the way."
"I have?"
Darnell turned his head, following AJ's eyes, which appeared to
be looking over his shoulder. "What are you looking at?"
"Tell him," Beverly said.
 AJ shook his head. "Sorry, bird caught my attention. Did you
know Big-V has a delivery service? It's even free if you get over a
hundred bucks worth of groceries. And they’ll deliver booze."
"All right. I get it," he said. "The doctor was right, you know. You
are looking better. I can't put my finger on it exactly. Maybe skip the
booze for a while?"
"We'll see," AJ said.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Sr. Farnell: Però, què hi ha?

Rafel: Res! No ha estat res! Li he fet reflexions filosofiques. (Pausa.)

Dª Tulia: Jesus, quina escena més trista!

Lola: Jo m’hauria posat nerviosa!

(Mariagna plora am les mans a la cara.)

Sr. Batista: I ara’t toca plorar a tu?

Caterina: (emportant-se-la) Vaja, anem, i vina am mi. Vina am mi a

dintre, filla meva.

Sr. Batista: Despedeix-te avans d’aquêts senyors.

(Mariagna, mig plorosa, dóna la mà a Lola, que li dóna les puntes

dels dits; a donya Tulia, que la pren fredament; a Rafel, que li
estreny i ella baixa els ulls, i al senyor Pepet, qui, commogut,
soptadament, li fa un petó al front. Després arrenca en plors.)

Sr. Batista: (seguint a Caterina i a Mariagna cap al quarto) Vaja, prou

plorar! Ara entres a la vida, i a la vida hi ha els seus trangols. Aqui
no és com alli dintre. Has de contar que això no ho és la Casa de
Misericordia.

(Caterina i Mariagna entren a dintre’l quarto.)

Rafel: Ara si que parla amb el cor! I què ha de ser de misericordia!

Teló
 Acte segon
(Una sala modesta i abigarrada. Al fons, la porta de l’escala; a un
costat la de les habitacions, i a l’altre la del despatx, amb una
mampara, i un retol que digui: Despacho. Una caixa de ferro; una
taula-escriptori; un piano, i per tot arreu mobles variats i mig vells,
que pel desordre i varietat se veu que són saldos d’una casa
d’empenyos.)

Escena I
(Sr. Batista i Joan de Penya)

(El senyor Batista està sentat a un costat de la taula-escriptori, i va

donant papers an en Joan de Penya, que’ls firma.)

Penya: Bueno. No tinc de firmar res més?

Sr. Batista: Per ara res més. Són els tres pagarés escalonats, que’ls
podrem anar renovant amb el pago d’interessos, fins que cobri la
llegitima, o tingui una desgracia de familia, o el seu papà
s’enterneixi.

Penya: Em sembla que no s’enternirà i tindrem d’esperar lo altre!

Sr. Batista: Molt bé. Aqui té’l taló!

Penya: I què vol que’n faci d’aquêt paper!

Sr. Batista: Cobrar-lo.

Penya: Ah! no puc perdre temps jo. No’m podria donar bitllets?
Sr. Batista: Si, senyor, am molt gust; però hi ha costum de fer
desqüento.

Penya: I desconti, home, desconti; ¡qui mira prim an aquêts tràngols!

Sr. Batista: (anant a la caixa i donant-li els bitllets) Tingui, no més

n’hi faig pagar l’hu per cent. Vegi si és la cantitat.

Penya: (ficant-se els bitllets a la butxaca sense mirar-los) Està bé.

Sr. Batista: I no’ls conta?

Penya: I quants havem de ser a contar-los! Vostè és persona de

confiança.

Sr. Batista: Això si qu’és cert, senyor Penya.

Penya: De Penya…

Sr. Batista: O de Penya. Jo, si puc, estalvio paraules.

Penya: Tal com me veu, sóc marquès.

Sr. Batista: No’m ve de nou! Senyor marquès!

Penya: Doncs a mi si que’m ve de nou. Perquè fa dos mesos que no

ho era. El papà va comprar el titol al Papa.

Sr. Batista: I amb això’s gasten els diners?

Penya: Sempre vesteix i ajuda a fer un bon casament. Perquè ara

jo’m vui casar! Tal com sent! Me vui casar!

Sr. Batista: Pobre noia!

Penya: (rient) Ja! Ja! Ja! Ja ho pot ben dir. Vostè fuma?

Sr. Batista: No, senyor.

Penya: (oferint-li un gran cigarro) Miri qu’és un bon cigarro.

Sr. Batista: No fumo… però fumaré.

Penya: Doncs, si, senyor; em vui casar. Ja tinc uns amors mig
platònics amb una xicota molt guapa, que té un tio molt ric i usurer!
Però això si, primer vui divertir-me. Vui fer lo que se’n diu la joventut!
No l’ha feta vostè la joventut?

Sr. Batista: No tenia diners jo per fer-la!

Penya: I perquè no n’enmatllevava?

Sr. Batista: Perquè no tenia papàs per poder-ne arrancar la llegitima.

Penya: (Encen el cigarro i llença’l misto. El senyor Batista’l cull i’l

posa a dintre d’una capsa.) Que fa col·leció de mistos?

Sr. Batista: No, ca! és per no cremar l’alfombra.

Penya: Dispensi, però com que no he vist escupideres…

Sr. Batista: Com que no’n duien, no’n tenim.

Penya: I no és pas que aqui faltin mobles. Vaia un mostruari que’n

té!

Sr. Batista: Són herencies.

Penya: Ah, ja! del seus papàs!

Sr. Batista: Una mica de tot-hom!

Penya: Doncs, aqui té el meu de papà, que bé me la fa gruar

l’herencia! S’ha empenyat a no donarme quartos, i jo m’empenyo
fins a les dents!

Sr. Batista: Són genis!

Penya: Són tacanyeries! Que’s pensa qu’és poc agarrat? Per ell no
més tindria automovils de vint cavalls i quaranta a l’hora; dònes de
segona; un frac, tres o quatre trajes, i voldria que anés a peu!

Sr. Batista: Si qu’és poc!

Penya: Esperis! I’m voldria fer travallar! Ja! Ja! Em fa riure! Què no
ha travallat ell per mi?

Sr. Batista: Aixis ho penso!

Penya: Com un negre ha travallat. Oh, i travalla! Aquêt vici de

travallar, el que l’agafa no té cura. Però no vui destorbar-lo. Me’n
vaig a veure una róssa.

Sr. Batista: Vegi-n forças ara qu’és jove, i ja sap que jo l’ajudaré fins
aont el meu capitalet arribi!

Penya: Moltes gracies! i bones tardes! (s’en va.)

Sr. Batista: Escolti! Escolti! Em descuidava dels sellos.

Penya: Quant és?

Sr. Batista: Són dugues pessetes.

Penya: Tingui un duro, i no’l descambi-hi. Ja li dono de propina!

(El senyor Batista mira cap aont ha sortit, am despreci, després se

frega les mans pensant amb el negoci que ha fet, i entra’ls pagarés
a la caixa.)

Escena II
(Sr. Batista i Sr. Pepet)

Sr. Pepet: (entrant sofocat i commogut) Senyor Batista, dispensim.

No sé cóm dir-li, ni què dir. He fet tart!
Sr. Batista: Ja sap que no vé d’aqui.

Sr. Pepet: Si, que vé d’aqui, senyor Batista. Mai n’havia fet, am tans
anys!… Però me’n passa una de grossa.

Sr. Batista: Què té?

Sr. Pepet: Quinze mil duros!

Sr. Batista: Què vol dir?

Sr. Pepet: Que he heredat. Que heredat quinze mil duros!

Sr. Batista: Què diu ara? De qui?

Sr. Pepet: D’un germà! pobret! d’un germà d’aquells que semblen de
novela, però que també n’hi han a la vida.

Sr. Batista: I ont ha mort?

Sr. Pepet: Alli on moren els germans que deixen diners: a Amèrica.

Sr. Batista: I ja ha cobrat?

Sr. Pepet: Jo, no encara, però a casa si. Vui dir qu’és com si ja
haguessim cobrat. Tot-hom ha sortit a fer compres. A hores d’ara ja
deuen haver buidat les botigues. Per això és que, com que m’he
quedat sol a casa, m’he hagut de fer el dinar jo meteix, i no he pogut
arribar a l’hora.

Sr. Batista: Bravo! Bravo! I d’aqui endevant què pensa fer?

Sr. Pepet: Lo de sempre! Travallar.

Sr. Batista: Travallar, diu? Reflexionem, reflexionem-ho una mica!

Sr. Pepet: Si, senyor, ho reflexionarem. Ara me’n vaig al Major.

Sr. Batista: Esperis. Esperis i tingui calma. Segui (seu.) Ho sap ben
bé del cert que ha heredat?

Sr. Pepet: El meteix notari m’ho ha escrit, i m’envien els diners.

Sr. Batista: Doncs, bé, jo també tinc de dir-li una cosa que no li
hauria gosat dir, però que ara ve com l’anell al dit ane les presents
circunstancies. Vostè ja és vell, senyor Pepet. Vosté ja té un grapat
d’anys a l’esquena i’ls llibres que porta també… i com que’l negoci
que tinc ara no exigeix gran teneduria, podria retirar-se a viure, i a
viure amb un tres per cent, contant sempre i a totes hores, siguin de
despaig o no ho siguin, am l’amic comercial, i am l’amic particular,
ademés d’un crèdit obert, que’l posarém… a dotze mil duros.

Sr. Pepet: Que vol dir que’m treu?

Sr. Batista: No’l trec, això mai! El retiro… Això és: el retiro de la
circulació dependenta.

Sr. Pepet: Però, això és dir-me que me’n vagi…

Sr. Batista: No ve de vuit, ni de quinze dies. Se li pagarà la quinzena

ab tota rel·ligiositat; però si la casa amortisa mobles, bé té
d’amortisar dependents.

Sr. Pepet: Però que no veu que no podré viure!

Sr. Batista: Am quinze mil duros que ha heredat, me diu que no

podrà viure?

Sr. Pepet: Si no és això lo que vui dir! No veu que ja estic fet an el
travall? No veu que m’hi he avesat de petit? No veu que ja sóc
massa vell, per no fer res? Per estar en vaga?

Sr. Batista: Ja qu’és tan vell com diu, passegi-s.

Sr. Pepet: Passegi-s!… Passegi-s me diu!… I ôn vol que’s vagi a

passejar l’home que ha segut cinquanta anys?… Que ho sé jo per
ôn se passeja, ni ôn se pren el sol, ni l’ombra?… Senyor Batista per
Déu! reflexionem, com vostè’m deia!… Sap lo qu’és dir cinquanta
anys d’estar près i que li obrin de cop les reixes?… De ser lliure se’n
ha d’apendre, i jo no n’he pogut apendre!

Sr. Batista: Això rai, que s’apren aviat!

Sr. Pepet: Si jo ja no tinc temps, senyor Batista!

Sr. Batista: Doncs, no sé què dir-li, fill meu!… El lloc de vostè el pot
tenir un altre que no tingui tanta renda!

Sr. Pepet: Però que no tingui tants anys! Tants anys de veure
miseries i fosca… i parets humides!… He pujat els llibres, com un
pare, i ara que son grans, me treuen! (plora.)

Sr. Batista: Bah! Bah! Vostè rapapieja. Faci-s carrec, si és que se’n
vol fer, que tinc més gasto del que tenia. La noia m’apren francès,
piano, de tot, de tot lo que pot saber una noia!

Sr. Pepet: (responent ensimismat) Ai, la noia!

Sr. Batista: I no és que me’n arrepenteixi. No ho cregui. Ho faig, però

ho faig am gust. No sé què rediable m’ha donat aquêt diantre de
xicota!… Jo que no he sigut mal-gastador, en tractant-se d’ella, allà
va el gasto!

Sr. Pepet: Ai de mi!

Sr. Batista: Que vol un vestit? Vinga un vestit. Jo meteix li compro, li

pago i casi li cuso i li emprobo!… Que vol música? Vinga música, i,
jo que no havia vist més solfes que las que’m treia de la roba, ara
fins li giro la plana. Fins pentinadora li he posat, i cuinera, i vinga
servei!

Sr. Pepet: Ai, Déu meu!

Sr. Batista: La veritat és que mai hauria dit que aquella noia tan
senzilla, molla d’ulls, i amb aquells posats d’ovella morta, arribés a
ser lo qu’és: guapa, xamosa, am bones etxures… res: una noia
qu’és de la inclusa i és guapaça com si tingues pares!

Sr. Pepet: Ai!

Sr. Batista: Però qu’és aquêt gemegar?

Sr. Pepet: Estava pensant amb un assiento pel dia que moriré, i’m
sembla que no es gaire lluny. Caja a Pepet… i a la caixa. Pepet a
caja… i a dintre, i d’allí al llibre inventari del cementiri de l’Oeste.
(Se’n va cap al despatx.)

Sr. Batista: Però, aon va? Aon va tan depreça?

Sr. Pepet: A despedir-me dels llibres i a passar balanç de la vida.

(El senyor Pepet entra al despatx. El senyor Batista el mira marxar,

fent anar les espatlles, com qui diu: “És un infeliç!”)

Escena III
(Sr. Batista, Mariagna i Caterina)

Mariagna: Qui hi havía, padrí?

Sr. Batista: Ningú. El senyor Pepet, que n’hi passa una de grossa.
Ha heredat quinze mil duros.

Mariagna: De debò?… De qui?… Quina alegria!

Caterina: Aquêt si que se’ls mereix!

Mariagna: (cridant) Senyor Pepet!… Senyor Pepet!

Sr. Batista: No’l cridis, que no està gaire content.

Mariagna: No està gaire content d’haver heredat?

Sr. Batista: D’això tot-hom n’està, siga’l qui siga el que’s mori. No ho
està de que jo, en vista de que ja té per viure, l’he tret de tenedor de
llibres.

Mariagna: Vostè l’ha tret?

Caterina: Pobre home!

Sr. Batista: Té per viure!

Mariagna: I se’n anirà de vora nostre!

Sr. Batista: No s’hi ha pas de confitar aqui a casa! Que havem de

tenir vells en conserva?

Mariagna: No’l tregui, padrí!

Sr. Batista: Si no l’he tret. L’he… retirat.

Mariagna: Això ja sé que vol dir treurel; (acariciant-lo.) No’l tregui!…

Li demano jo!… La seva estimada. (El senyor Batista somriu.) Li
demana la seva filla!

Sr. Batista: (cambiant d’expressió i apartant-la) No pot ser!

Mariagna: Tants anys qu’és aqui!… Que li ha fet mai cap traidoria!…
(agafant-li la cara.) I vostè li faria an ell?… No’l tregui. No ho vui!

Sr. Batista: (rient) Mira que n’ets de temptadora.

Mariagna: Que no m’estima, senyor Batistet?

Sr. Batista: Me sembla que te’n dono provas.

Mariagna: Doncs donguim aquesta, no’l tregui, i li faré un bon petó.

(li fa.)

Sr. Batista: bueno, doncs, ho arreglarem.

Mariagna: Si, si!

Caterina: I si, home; això no’t costa res.

Sr. Batista: (cambiant de tó) Què vols dir que no’m costa res?

Caterina: Que no’t vé d’aqui, si no’l vols treure.

Sr. Batista: I què saps tu, si’m vé d’aqui!

Caterina: Perdóna-m, m’ho penso.

Sr. Batista: (sec) Tu no tens de pensar res!

Mariagna: Però, padrí…

Sr. Batista: Res, dic. La dòna no s’hi fica an el negoci.

Caterina: Però, si jo…

Sr. Batista: Ara’l trauré més que mai.

Caterina: Batista!…

Sr. Batista: Ja ho he dit. Ja saps quin lloc ocupas a la casa i, si no

t’agrada, alli hi ha la porta. (a Mariagna) No ho dic per tu… Ho dic…
L’home s’hauria de casar als setanta anys, per no tenir temps
d’arrepentir-sen!

Caterina: Però, què t’he dit?

Sr. Batista: Res!… El teu parlar me desespera… Que m’he

disgustat!… i no’m convé!… Pórta-m una taça de tila! (Dóna una
mirada d’odi a Caterina i entra al despatx.)

Escena IV
(Mariagna, Caterina i aviat Rafel)
Mariagna: Però, què té’l padrí?

Caterina: Ai!… No sé què té am mi!… Sempre m’havia tractat com si

fos un-enza, un no res, una nosa, un destorp!… Però fa un quant
temps, que encara no’m veu, ja’m maltracta. No més am la mirada’m
mataria!

Mariagna: Mare…

Caterina: No’m pot veure, filla meva. Abans, al menos, me tenia com
un gos; però ara’m vol mal, te dic que’m vol mal!… Me té inquina!

Mariagna: Pot ser és vostè que s’ho pensa.

Caterina: No m’ho penso, no; ho sé ben bé!… I què li he fet, pobre

de mi!… Que no he estat sempre una criada per ell?… Que no m’he
deixat trepitjar sempre?… Què li dec fer, perquè’m maltracti! (plora.)

Mariagna: Mare, no plori!… Jo li demanaré per vosté. Ja sap que

m’estima’l padrí.

Caterina: A tu, si, i sòrt ne tinc que tu hagis vingut; però a mi no. Jo
crec que fins me llançaria!… Pobre de mi, desgraciada!

Rafel: Bonas tardes a tot-hom. Què tenen?… Què passa?

Caterina: El teu oncle!… El teu oncle m’ha maltractat!

Rafel: Però per què?

Caterina: Que no’m pot sofrir. Que m’odia. (anant-sen a les

habitacions.) No’l vui veure més!… No’m veurà mai més!… No’l vui
veure!

Rafel: Però escolti, aon va?… Aon va?

Caterina: (plorant) A durli la taça de tila.

 Escena V
(Rafel i Mariagna)

Rafel: Però què ha estat això?… No’s pot venir an aquesta casa que
no’s vegi plorar a algú… Això aviat semblarà una academia de
llanto!

Mariagna: Ha estat que’l padrí no pot sentir a la mare. Li té com un

avorriment!

Rafel: I això li vé de nou?… Fa vint anys que li fa menjar pà del dia

abans, perquè diu que allarga més; que li fa beure aigua, perquè diu
que refresca i engreixa; que la fa anar al llit ab sopar… lleuger,
perquè diu que’l menjar de nits, carrega; i encare no hi està
aveçada?

Mariagna: No te’n riguis, pobra dòna!

Rafel: Si és la veritat… Si no n’hauria trovat cap de dòna que la fes

viure am rosegons del modo que la fa viure an ella.

Mariagna: Ell menja’l mateix.

Rafel: Ell prou!… Però ell menja bitllets de banc per postres.

Mariagna: No es això, Rafel. És que d’un quant temps ensà li té odi!

Rafel: I a tu no?

Mariagna: A mi, al revés. Tot lo que dic li fa gracia. Tot lo que faig ho
trova bé, i si li demano que’m compri lo que sigui…

Rafel: Sua!

Mariagna: Sua, però acaba per comprar-m’ho.

Rafel: (rient) No li has donat pas cap beguda?

Mariagna: Qu’ets tonto!… I quina beguda li puch donar?

Rafel: Beguda de joventut!

Mariagna: Ja! Ja! Ja!

Rafel: No te’n riguis, beguda de joventut!… Quan se té una noia jove

a la vora, els ulls beuen més de gust.

Mariagna: Vaja, no siguis benèit.

Rafel: És que ha cambiat de linies… Tenia tres arrugues al front, que

no les té; tenia el llabi de baix, estret, i ara’l té molçut i inflat; tenia
els ulls prims i llargaruts, i ara’ls té rodons i embotornats… Què vol
dir aquêt cambi de linies?

Mariagna: Què sé jo!

Rafel: Però a tu, què’t sembla?… Aveiam!

Mariagna: A mi no més me sembla una cosa… Me sembla qu’és el

meu pare.

Rafel: I desde quan és?

Mariagna: Desde’l dia que’m va escullir.

Rafel: Ah, dispensa!… Me creia que’ls fills no s’escullien!… Que’s

prenien tal com eren!… Doncs, per què no li dius pare?

Mariagna: Què’t diré jo? perquè no goso.

Rafel: Ja! Ja!… Perquè, sense saber de dibuix, també li troves

cambi de linies.

Mariagna: No t’entenc.

Rafel: Millor per tu!… Ni mai que m’arribis a entendre!

Mariagna: Lo que sé és que’s porta bé am mi; que a la seva manera,
m’estima, i qu’estic molt contenta a la casa.

Rafel: Ja ho sé… i fins hi tens qui es vol casar am tu!

Mariagna: Vols dir en Batistet?

Rafel: I doncs qui?… És l’unic que’s pot casar, aquella prenda, an

aquêt temple economic!… És un noi travallador, aquell noiet!…
Estalvia, sap guanyar-se la vida, am modos; i té uns pares que, allò
no son pares, és una parella d’amors!

Mariagna: Doncs ara se’m porten molt bé.

Rafel: Ja! Ja!… També’t deuen volguer escullir!… Bé t’hauràn

escullit sovint!… El dia que vinguis al taller, faré posar una gazetilla:
Ayer visitó el estudio del joven y ya esperanzado artista la sociedad
más escogida.

Mariagna: És que poden trovar millor!

Rafel: I què han de trovar millor que tu, aquell parell de gall-d’indis,
amb un noi que’ls ha sortit indiot!… Que no ho veus que allò no és
una familia, qu’és una trinitat numérica, una regla de tres; tres
fraccions decimals de cero?

Mariagna: Rafel!

Rafel: Ja! Ja! Vaia un regalo de noi! Tornejat, llustrós, i endreçat com
un balustre d’escriptori! Un noi de paper-xupó! Si fos meu, saps
què’n faria? El vestiria de ferro, amb unes lletres de nikel al ventre,
que diguessin lo qu’és: “Caja”.

Mariagna: Mira que’t pot escoltar, Rafel.

Rafel: Millor que sàpiga’l meu parer. M’indigna… els sentiments

estètics, que una noia com tu, qu’ets guapa, qu’ets bona com el pa,
però del dia, qu’ets… vaja, no’m vui declarar! qu’ets lo qu’ets!
pogués arribar a tenir un home, que ni és un home ni ho sembla. Un
suro, un pisa-papeles. Què vol dir un pisa-papeles? Un pisa-pagarés
d’infeliços.

Mariagna: Rafel, et suplico que no te’n burlis.

Rafel: Vaja, ja ho sé que t’agrada.

Mariagna: No t’ho he dit mai que m’agradés.

Rafel: Doncs, pitjor, perquè t’hi casaries per cumplir, i això no

tindria… dibuix!

Mariagna: T’equivocas. Seria una prova d’obediencia, d’agrahiment,

fins de respecte an aquells que m’han fet dòna, traient-me d’allí ôn
me varen treure.

Rafel: Si no t’hi valdrà am mi la retòrica! T’haurien tret d’alli ôn tu

dius per portar-te en un lloc pitjor! Alli al menos tenies madres, i amb
aquêt minyó, tindries sogres!

Mariagna: Rafel, tu no’t recordes que no tinc pares.

Rafel: Pitjor ell, que té els que té! Tampoc en tinc jo de pares!

Mariagna: Però tu n’has tingut. I tu…

Rafel: I jo no sóc un partit, vols dir… veritat? bueno, doncs, seré un

senser. Jo no sóc un home classificat a la vida; molt bé dius! No tinc
casilla social, ni prestatge celular, ni res jo. La gent d’ordre no saben
aon colocar-me a mi. “És dibuixant!” “És artista!” i és que no gosen
dir “És gandul!” i moltes vegades els que ho diuen, ho diuen
gronxant-se a l’ombra, mentres n’hi ha que’ls fan la feina!

Mariagna: Rafel, jo no sóc de las que ho diuen això.

Rafel: I què has de ser tu, criatura! Mira: ara’m vaig a declarar. Si’t
pensessis que ho dic per tu, em faria un nus a la llengua. Això si: un
nus escorredor per poguer-la deslligar quan fos hora.
Mariagna: Ho deia… perquè’m sembla que tu no estimaràs mai.

Rafel: Ben pensat, perquè el dia que jo ho fes, em vols creure? en

faria massa. N’hi han que pensan: tinc tant cada mes, doncs ja puc
estimar a tant cada mes. Dels vinticinc fins als trenta, amor de
cinquanta duros; dels trenta als trenta cinc, de vuitanta; i el dia que
morin els pares… amor triomfal d’herencia. Jo necessito moltes més
coses per fer feliç una dòna, que fos la meva sola dòna!

Mariagna: Aveiam, digues, què necessites?

Rafel: Conta: Necessito… ja havem quedat, que diners, d’això’n

tindré, perquè n’hi han! Necessito saber ben bé del cert qu’estimo,
perquè amb un cop d’estimar em sembla que ja’n tindré prou; vull dir
que l’estimaré sempre! Necessito tenir talent, perquè quan ella passi
pel carrer ja sàpiguen la dòna de qui és, i no la prenguin per atri; i,
més tart, necessitaré… aguanta-m qu’ara va la bona! Necessitaré un
bordagaçot, d’aquells molçuts, riallers, de color de criatura; d’aquells
que no més am la cara ja animen, i que jira-ls pel cap que vulguis,
tot són sacsons d’alegria.

Mariagna: És massa hermós per poguer ser!

Rafel: I després sebes… Una bona grillada de sebes!

Mariagna: Què vols dir?

Rafel: No’n dic ideals, primer perquè fa carrincló, i després perquè

un mestre de Llotja ho deia. Com més sebes i més grillades, més
depreça’s passa la vida, i Coronela! aqui, i arri! i oixque! i arriba! la
qüestió és arribar al cap-de-vall, però no tallant el cupó dels anys,
com faria aquell ninot, sino flairant-ne l’aroma. Creu-me a mi. Sigues
carrinclona. Tingues un bon floret d’ideals, que tot lo demés… és
carga!

Mariagna: I poguer?
Rafel: Tot-hom en pot tenir d’això! No veus que no’ls volen al
empenyo!

Mariagna: Vaja, que tot t’ho prens en broma.

Rafel: No, tot no! Hi ha dos coses que mai m’en burlo: l’Amor, am
lletra majúscula, i la Belleça, am remajúscula. Tot lo demés d’aquêt
món, és ja per força, o per farsa.

Mariagna: Ho veus?

Rafel: Que no t’agrada que t’alegri?

Mariagna: Si i no. Et voldria com ets, però diferent.

Rafel: Doncs, me’n vaig.

Mariagna: Que t’has enfadat?

Rafel: Me’n vaig a travallar! A fer fortuna! A ser home! Dispensa-m,

però ha estat com un ai! Com una mena de repente de tornar-me
laborioso. També vull ser hijo de Maria!

Mariagna: Que no tornaràs avui?

Rafel: Fins deixaré’l travall per tornar! i fins vindré a dinar!

esborrona-t! Avans no hi venia ni a tiros, per no menjar pa del dia
antes, i ara vindria’l dia antes, per menjar-ne de l’endemà.

Mariagna: I cóm és?

Rafel: Ja! Ja! Ja! Planetes! Es que’m dec anar acostumant an els
aliments de familia.

(Va per sortir.)

Escena VI
(Mariagna, Rafel i Batistet)

Batistet: Ja te’n vas?

Rafel: Em sembla que no’t deu saber gaire greu. No estigues trist!
Ja tornaré!

Batistet: Tan me fa si te’n vas, com si’t quedes.

Rafel: I doncs, perquè m’ho preguntes?

Batistet: Per res. Per parlar!

Rafel: Es veu que parles de franc que malgastes.

Batistet: Que tens ganes de raons?

Rafel: No, home, no; que no saps que jo sóc de la broma!

Batistet: Un xic massa!

Rafel: Fill meu, no tot-hom pot ser serio com tu. Tu estàs vacunat de
Patum.

Batistet: I tu, de què?

Rafel: Jo, de pobre! però honrado! (Se’n va.)

Escena VII
(Mariagna i Batistet)

Batistet: No’n faig cas, perquè ja veig que tot això són els celos.

Mariagna: De què?

Batistet: De tu. Sap que tenim relacions…

Mariagna: Am mi?

Batistet: Em penso que m’has donat paraula…

Mariagna: Mai!

Batistet: M’has donat esperances.

Mariagna: Esperances no es lo meteix.

Batistet: Qué’t sap greu d’haver-men donades?

Mariagna: An aquêt moment no estic per res!

Batistet: Que’n té la culpa ell?

Mariagna: Deixa-ho corra.

Batistet: Ja està deixat. Però recorda-t de lo que m’has promes.

Mariagna: T’he promes que m’hi pensaria. No he pas perdut el

pensament.

Batistet: Però te’l podrien fer perdre, i… (anant per agafar la mà a

Mariagna.) I jo ja saps que t’estimo.

Escena VIII
(Els meteixos, Sr. Farnell i Dª Tulia)

Dª Tulia: Déu vos guard. Què tal, Mariagneta… Com anem?

Sr. Farnell: Com va això, pubilleta maca?

Dª Tulia: Aixis m’agrada. Trovar-vos juntets. Els joves han d’anar

ben units.

Batistet: No està gaire de bon humor.