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Full Planet
part 2
by Feech
The parrot watches me distrustfully with
tangerine-colored eyes.
"This is Maury," Damien says. "He belongs
to Laraine. This is his private room."
I'm returning the parrot's gaze, wondering
just how strong that shimmering steel beak is.
I'd rather not cross a cybernetically-enhanced
creature if I can help it. Animals are
unpredictable enough as it is. He is a sort of
striking thing, though, with a natural
green-feathered body crowned by a bright red
feathered head. His feet and talons are the same
disconcerting steel as his beak.
"Hello, Maury," Damien addresses the bird.
Maury is still watching me, unsure.
"Hello, Maury," I say, feeling foolish.
Some inexplicable recognition lights the
parrot's expression and, to my amazement, he
speaks. The voice is oddly familiar.
"Whatta ya want, Maury?" he asks, bobbing
hopefully on his perch.
"Look at that! He wants you to pick him up.
He must really like you."
I feel flattered in spite of myself.
Supper.
Mrs. Hudson's food is _very_ good.
I'm shoveling down mashed potatoes, one eye
on my father, who seems as intent on eating as I
am, and one eye on Laraine, whom I have just met.
Seems like a nice girl. She doesn't speak, Damien
tells me. Something to do with her mother's
death. Except that that happened eight years ago.
You'd think she'd be talking, at least, by now...
She sees me looking at her and smiles slightly. I
turn my full attention back to my heaped plate.
Well, if Laraine doesn't talk, Maury
vocalizes enough for both of them. She brought
him to the supper table with her, and he has
invited himself over to my chair, up my pants leg,
and onto my lap. From this vantage point he keeps
up a commentary on my food.
"Whatta ya want, Maury?" the bird asks
quietly, surveying my plate.
"Mn-n." I say. "No. Be a good bird." I
hesitate to ask the mysterious Laraine to remove
him, and whenever I look at that beak I know I'm
not about to get in a fight with him myself. I
think he's beginning to see the advantages of this
situation.
"TTTToast?" Maury inquires carefully. He's
pulling himself up onto the edge of the long
table.
"No!" I try to say it quietly, but Damien
and Mrs. Hudson, who eat with the family, chuckle
at me in my predicament.
"Need a hand, Nathaniel?" Damien asks me.
My father pays no attention.
Upon hearing Damien say that, Laraine smiles
at me, rises and comes over to remove Maury. He
goes willingly. No doubt he expects a reward off
her plate. My father and Damien have filled me in
on the recent history of Uranenborg on Hven.
Laraine's mother married Manfred Clavius, my
father Oskar's great-uncle, when Laraine was four
years old. Laraine really is a beautiful woman.
About my age, actually. Too bad she's lost her
senses. Too bad she's from Earth.
The painting on the wall in Oskar's favorite
room is of Manfred Clavius. My father looks very
much like him, and, if you discount being rather
skinny and having the thin D'Yangelo nose, I
closely resemble my father. His hair has some
grey now, but you can tell it used to be a silvery
walnut brown, like mine.
It occurs to me that maybe Maury learned to
talk from Manfred Clavius.
Manfred died in an institution in Norway, and
although Laraine had lived there (yes, with the
bird) since her stepfather's commitment, Oskar
decided to bring her home to Uranenborg. He tells
me that he feels the family should be together,
and that he feels responsible for Laraine since
inheriting the castle. Maybe he has a point
there. I'm certain he's being sincere, for to him
Damien and Mrs. Hudson, hired help, are truly
members of the family. Since Laraine's old nurse
was dead, and Manfred had dismissed all the other
servants, there was no place for Laraine but
Norway. For eight years. Until Oskar brought her
home.
Something about this seems unsettling.
Something besides the thread of werewolf stories
that Oskar seems to be trying to feed into me.
Oh, well. Tonight I'll get a good rest, tomorrow
finish exploring the place, and then I can start
arranging for return passage to Luna.
But there is that Observatory...
I'll be sure and get my fill of that before I
go home.
When I've eaten all I can possibly hold of
the good food, and listened idly to a few minutes
of quiet after-dinner conversation, I excuse
myself from the table. But Oskar stops me.
"Nathaniel, we need to talk."
I just stare at him. We talked for hours
when I arrived. What is there left to say? If he
thinks we're going to have some sort of father-son
bonding thing, he's got another think coming. As
if I'm going to befriend someone who keeps
inundating me with "facts" on "lycanthropy."
He tries again. "Son, Nathaniel, please. I
don't think you've been getting the gist of what
I've been trying to tell you."
I look sideways at Damien. He gives a slight
nod, not looking at me, but I can tell he means
that I should try to communicate with my father.
Well, I suppose I am a guest in his house.
Swallowing doubt and perhaps a little pride,
I say, "Well, Oskar, if I can just have a short
time to look around by myself we can certainly
talk later tonight. I'd like to see the
Observatory."
"Good, that's fine," he says, and I think I
sense a mixture of relief and nervousness in his
attitude. "I'll come find you in the Observatory
later on."
As I leave the room, I hear the click of
Maury's steel claws as he clambers to the floor
from Laraine's chair.
"Love ya," he says.
I close the door.
Besides the Observatory, there is one other
thing in the center section of the castle that
captures my attention.
Off the concourse, in a shadow cast by the
structure of the spiral staircase, is a flat
object covered in velvet-- obviously a painting,
but why covered? I wonder. I approach shyly, as
if approaching a person, and flick a corner of the
velvet up and away.
Yes, a painting, an oil painting, and
evidently a nicely-done one too. The smell of the
paints, captured under the velvet, reaches the
fringes of my senses as I remove the cover
completely.
Looks like Laraine.
Long, curly blonde hair, large, round blue
eyes, even a white dress-- Laraine was wearing a
white dress at supper tonight. But this woman
looks older. Not _old_, just older. It must be
Cassandra. Manfred's wife.
Again that sense of foreboding makes me
shudder, and even though the portrait is perfectly
pleasant I let the velvet drop and feel relieved
when the lady's gently smiling face is covered.
I wonder where Damien took my things when he
put them away for me. I want to touch my
computer, maybe send a note to Mother, just to
feel like I have some ability to reach home. I
was raised on Luna, thank God, and not initiated
into such a questionably sane society as that of
Earth, but still... I could become too comfortable
here... No. That's impossible. My home is at the
Luna University, and nowhere else.
Nonetheless, I climb the spiral staircase to
the Observatory.
Oskar finds me there later as I lounge in the
padded chair that allows me to face the Earth's
night sky. The clouds of afternoon have
dissipated and the view is stunning. I am so
engrossed in my own new thoughts, in the view of
Luna which I have never experienced before, that I
don't hear my father come in. When he speaks, I
startle, leap from the chair, and quickly situate
myself so that I have the chair and telescope
between myself and Oskar.
"Hello, Nathaniel," he says in that
grumbling, yet friendly tone. "Is this where
you'd like to talk?"
I nod and answer, "But I don't know what it
is you want to talk about."
He sits in the chair which I have just
abandoned, immediately affording me a little more
comfort with the situation. I'm at home with the
open sky over my head, and with Oskar below me,
where I can watch him, I'm willing to consider a
more relaxed interaction.
"Nathaniel," he says, and I notice that he
is purposely refraining from using the appellation
'Son', for which I am grateful, "Nathaniel, I
don't think you've been understanding what I've
been trying to tell you."
"And what might that be?"
He folds his hands, biting his lip. I
scratch my nose and wait. He speaks. "Your
mother..."
And it is at this moment that I notice, for
the first time, the gold ring worn on his left
hand...
"Your mother left me because of the very
information which I am trying, in a more delicate
manner, to impart to you. At the time of our
marriage, I assumed a lot of things about
Christina that later proved to be untrue.
"In a way, it was my fault that she left.
The differences between Lunar and Earth beliefs
should not have been a barrier to what was a--
a--"
I feel a stirring of something... for some
reason I see a vision of my mother...
"At any rate," Oskar continues after a pained
pause, "I assumed that she would consider certain
facts of my existence to be, well, mere
inconveniences. As indeed they truly are. But
she-- called me insane and left for Luna. So I've
been trying to be more careful with you, knowing
how you, too, have been raised in a Lunar
environment..."
She wears a ring! That's what I'm thinking
of... a _wedding_ ring... Were they never
divorced? After twenty-one years? But surely she
never _loved_ him...?
There _is_ a certain dignity to my father
that I would not normally attribute to a madman.
"Listen to me carefully, Nathaniel." Now
Oskar fixes me with a gaze I can't escape. I'm
listening. I'll be darned if I'm going to look
away first. "I want you to get this into your
head. I'm certain that, given the heredity in my
family, you have experienced things which will
bear out the truth. Have you not experienced
memory loss on the full moon or, in your case, the
full planet?"
I nod and strengthen my gaze. His is more
powerful than ever.
"In those cases of memory loss, has your
mother ever made an attempt to explain them?"
"No."
He sighs. "If only she would admit--" again
a sigh, still with his eyes holding mine, "In your
case, Nathaniel, I find myself again with no
recourse but to be straightforward and honest.
"I am a werewolf. As far as I know, you, my
son, are also a werewolf. Most of those in our
family have been so, ever since the appearance of
the Fissure. I want very much to be a friend and
father to you. But first we have to establish
that one minor fact. Can we do that?"
If he would let go my gaze! Look away, damn
you! I manage to speak. "You're telling me that
not only do you have some delusion of monthly
transformation, but that I, too, suffer from this
hereditary mental disorder and that you _withheld_
knowledge of this hereditary disorder from Mother
when you were married. Am I right?"
"Nathaniel, it is not a mental disorder. It
is who we are. I would never have lied to your
mother. Never. I could not. But I forgot that
to a woman from Luna, the prospect of lycanthropy
might be... Frightening."
"How could you _forget_ something like that?
What did you expect, that she'd listen to your mad
'confession' and just blithely accept it? Well,
if you think _I'm_ accepting it any easier, you
are gravely mistaken."
"Nathaniel," he grumbles, "It was not a
_confession_. It was merely a statement about my
condition, a condition passed down for generations
in the Clavius family. I am not a monster. Nor
am I mad. I simply have special needs on nights
of the full moon. So do you. Let me introduce
you to this truth. You are a different animal
than you believe you are, Son-- Nathaniel. I've
thought about you so often. Please, let's get to
know each other."
"I think I know enough," I say coldly, and
as I turn away I note with satisfaction that
Oskar's stare broke at the same instant. If he's
staying in my Observatory, I'm going to bed.
I step quickly from the starry room and go to
find Damien. Odd glove-changing habits or no, he
seems to be one of the saner Earth humans.
Damien is all the way downstairs, helping
Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen. He slowly,
meticulously dries each piece of new-washed
crystal she gives him. The old mechanical
dishwasher is busy at the less fragile supper
dishes. I stand in the doorway and clear my
throat.
Damien looks up, and Mrs. Hudson smiles.
"Why, Nathaniel!" she says as if I've reappeared
after a week's absence. "Have some cookies and
coffee. Sitting out right over there."
No need to invite me twice. I take a small
plate and pile it with shortbread and sugar
cookies. I might get hungry later. I'll take the
plate with me to my room.
"Um," I begin, sipping my coffee, "Damien?
I was kind of wondering where I'm supposed to
sleep. You know, where you put my stuff."
"Oh, sorry," he nods and puts down his
towel. And puts on a pair of gloves. It is now
that I notice something else about him. I'm
beginning to question the veracity of my
observances on this planet, but...
I'm almost certain that every time he
clenches his jaw, such as now when he takes a
cookie... and begins to lead me out of the kitchen
to my room... there-- every time he chews. And at
dinner too. Not any other time. Just when his
temple tightens as his jaws clench.
That is the _only time_ Damien blinks.
And he blinks every time he chews.
Curiouser and curiouser.
It's the little details of odd behavior that
get to me. Make me want to go the Hell home. But
not yet. What am I thinking? Of course I want to
go home as soon as possible... the very air here
must carry insanity. I'm tired. I follow Damien
to the bedrooms.
"Here," he says, opening an oak door on the
castle's third level, "Is my room. If you need
anything, just knock. Mrs. Hudson's room is just
off the landing, one floor down. Closer to
Laraine's room. Don't hesitate to contact either
of us."
I scent the air emerging from the immaculate
bedroom and feel my skin crawl slightly. It's
completely suffused with that inexplicable
antiseptic smell, the same one I've almost gotten
used to on Damien himself. But I am glad to know
where he's going to be at night. Never hurts to
be fully aware of one's surroundings.
"This is your father's room." Damien
unlatches another, heavier oaken door and as the
air inside seeps out I go completely stiff. The
plate of cookies in my hand almost falls, then I
steady myself and push past Damien into the room.
What is that smell? Where do I know it from? So
strong...
It is just as I am beginning to recognize the
scent that I see the bars. Blocking access from
inside the room to the glass window.
Not looking at Damien, unconcerned about
intrusion on my part, I cross the dark, masculine
room and peer past the bars-- out the window. I
can see the dock from here. I turn to Damien.
He anticipates the question and says, "Your
father will tell you all you want to know about
these rooms. Suffice to say the bars are a safety
measure. They've been here for generations. Come
with me now and let me show you your own room.
You're tired."
I trust Damien. As I leave, the smell
reminds me of its presence and again I categorize
it, unsure of whether the recognition is
disturbing or comforting.
My father's bedroom smells like the
Observatory at Luna University.