The Foreigner

Mrs. Bobbit was a fine woman. She wore an apron over her smock that was printed with sprigs of Mint, stalks of Rosemary and various other common herbs found in neighbourhood gardens and grocery stores. You knew she was a fine woman once you realized that the apron was aged at about twenty years old, and was pressed meticulously every weekend after it had been in the laundry.

Let’s be honest. Who irons an apron aside from a woman who knew how to keep house twenty ways from Sunday?

As I was saying, Mrs. Bobbit was a fine woman, wearing an apron with herbs printed on it, over her bright yellow smock. It was a lovely late summer’s day as she baked apple pie, humming to herself as she rolled the dough out over her counter. The birds were singing, the sky was blue, and her husband was tinkering out in the garage with some contraption or other, lost in a world of nuts and bolts. Really, the knowledge that her husband was there, but out of her way accounted for a large portion of her cheer.

Looking out the window over the lush fields, Mrs. Bobbit sighed with contentment and smiled dreamily out. Life couldn’t be better. Bryan was coming home from college the next day, where he was studying to be a doctor. Rachel was marrying Jimmy from church. All was as it should be.

As Mrs. Bobbit gazed into the sky, her thoughts drifting between wedding ceremonies and overly-large government pay-cheques from the health sector, a black spot appeared in the otherwise smooth blue surface. She hardly noticed this spot, since it was likely to just be an approaching crow.

The spot grew larger. And then larger.

Mrs. Bobbit kept smiling, but her expression became marred by a small frown. The V in her forehead increased as the black speck grew larger and larger. Finally, it was clear that it was no speck, but some sort of thing right above her yard. It was jet black, made out of some form of metal that did not reflect even a glimmer of the bright afternoon sun. The shape was that of an elongated capsule. It hovered upright and eerily quiet a few feet off the ground.

Those damned teenagers, Mrs. Bobbit thought to herself. What have they gone and done now?

For a moment, she entertained the thought of hollering for help from her husband, but decided against it. What sort of woman could not handle a few misguided youths? Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she turned and walked out the screen door.

Cautiously, the homemaker stepped up close to the capsule like object. It’s sides were incredibly smooth; Mrs. Bobbit almost reached out a hand to touch the surface, feeling an overarching curiousity at how that surface must feel under the skin of her palms. Before she could raise her right arm however, what appeared to be a doorway opened with a loud “whoosh”.

Whoosh.

Startled, the lady jumped backward, quite literally. Out of the doorway, which revealed a shiny metallic interior, something stepped out. Or more accurately, something misjudged the height at which the capsule was hovering and stumbled onto the ground with a large crash.

It groaned and slowly began to stand up. It shook what appeared to be a head, as if trying to clear it, and made grumbling noises as it rubbed its back with three fingered hands.

Mrs. Bobbit stood stock still. Apparently, she didn’t have a bunch of rowdy teenagers on her hands. Rather, she had one of those foreigners she was always reading about in those magazines (the ones with that funny cross-like symbol on the cover, which her husband subscribes to) standing in her yard. Privately, and she would never mention this to Bob, she never saw the big deal about foreigners. One just had to be firm and nice to them, and you got all sorts of things like fortune cookies and that curry stuff Rachel brought home one time.

It was quite one thing to think that, but quite another to have one of them standing right in her yard, uninvited.

The Foreigner blinked its large eyes that had no pupils.

“My good lady, do you think I could trouble you for a glass of water? You see, I’ve run out of fuel for my ship, and a glass should be able to see me through the last stretch home,” The Foreigner said in a distinctively male voice.

“I’m sorry?” Mrs. Bobbit stammered.

“It’s such a mess. I told Sally to fill the fuel tank the last time she took it out for that intergalactic concert,” he said, sounding annoyed. “Teenagers. Never know what they’re thinking when you’re talking to them,”

“Do you need some help?” Mrs. Bobbit talked slowly and gestured broadly. The way you would, when you talked to a three year old.

“A glass of water Madam, that’s all I need,” The Foreigner said patiently, although he was tapping his webbed foot. His gray skin shimmered in the sun.

“Water? Is that what you said?” Mrs. Bobbit asked.

“Wa-ter,” The Foreigner said firmly, enunciating each syllable clearly.

“Ahh, I have just the thing for you,” Mrs. Bobbit bustled away back to her kitchen.

As she filled a plastic mug with cold water from a pitcher she had removed from her refrigerator, the lady of the house kept an eye on the stranger in the yard. The Foreigner, despite his lack of features in terms of a nose and eyebrows, and in fact, lips, somehow managed to convey boredom. He kicked at a pebble with a webbed foot, then nudged a garden gnome with that same appendage. The gnome, to Mrs. Bobbit’s horror, almost fell over, but the panic-stricken Foreigner managed to catch it before it shattered to a million pieces. He set it back to its original position and straightened up, attempting to look innocent.

Sneaky foreigners, Mrs. Bobbit thought to herself, replacing the pitcher.

Back outside, she handed the water to The Foreigner sullenly.

“You have my utmost appreciation,” he said as he began to fiddle around the smooth surface of his capsule. A small hatch appeared and very carefully, he began to pour water in.

“Some of my peers tell me that this particular postal code in this part of the galaxy is incredibly…shall I say…seedy? There’s been reports of perfectly respectable citizens of our constellation going missing when they pass through; even reports of bodies turning up with missing body parts, as if they have been dissected,”

The Foreigner shook his head.

“But you seem perfectly civilized, so I’m sure it’s all just nonsense. Damned media,”

The water dribbled down to its last drop. The Foreigner fiddled around the hatch, and it closed up again, leaving no trace that there was ever an opening there. He handed the mug back to Mrs. Bobbit.

“Thank you. Like I said, I truly appreciate your assistance. Maybe we’ll meet again someday Madam, and hopefully in far happier circumstance,” he said, and waved his elongated hand at Mrs. Bobbit.

With that, he turned and began to climb rather clumsily back into his capsule. The door slid shut with another loud whoosh.

Whoosh.

The capsule once again look perfectly smooth all around. With barely a hum, it began to drift up back into the sky. Soon, it became a speck. Finally, it disappeared.

“Foreigners,” Mrs. Bobbit sighed, once the capsule had completely vanished. “Don’t understand a word they say, and without an ounce of civilized manners,”

With that, the woman turned and went back to baking her pie in her kitchen, wondering if it was too warm for a stew.