Brad Watson - Aliens in the Prime of Their Lives

“I used to smoke, too, of course,” I said, wanting to help the smaller Miss Moses out of her gaffe. “But I quit when I got the chance.” I smiled at them and shrugged. “Why not?”

The smaller Miss Moses leaned forward and nodded, her expression one of earnest concern and sober agreement, but before she could say something else the larger Miss Moses moved us on.

“Yes, it’s a filthy habit,” she said. “It’s a sign of good character that you could stop.”

I had handed my pack of Camels to the counselors and said, You might as well take these, while we’re at it, and they had laughed, waved them off, said, No we don’t even try to deal with those things here. I handed them over, anyway. I remember that I recalled the scene in The Stranger where Mersault, in jail, can’t smoke and says at first he was jittery, nauseous, resentful. Then he says, “Later on I realized that that too was part of the punishment. But by then I had gotten used to not smoking and it wasn’t a punishment anymore.” Remembering this again, sitting there with the Misses Moses, I almost laughed a little bit, and they must have taken my expression to be one of cheerful agreement. Their faces relaxed again, the smaller Miss Moses’s into her sweet front-porch smile, the larger’s into her own, which I decided was indeed just a little bit smug.

By this time the larger Miss Moses had finished making the pimento cheese.

“Would you like a sandwich?” she said.

“Or we can put you a little bit on a saucer, with some crackers,” the smaller Miss Moses said.

I said I would very much like some of the pimento cheese, but as politely as I could I added that I might enjoy it more if we waited until after I had seen the apartment.

“Oh, of course,” the smaller Miss Moses exclaimed in a voice that was nearly hushed, as if she were mortified they hadn’t offered to do this before offering me the sandwich.

“Oh, no, it was very kind of you to offer it,” I said. Still, she was embarrassed.

The larger Miss Moses covered the bowl of pimento cheese with a kitchen towel and said, “Come this way, we’ll go in through the carport.”

I followed her through the kitchen doorway into the carport, the smaller Miss Moses toddling behind me. The apartment was in a low, square addition on the carport’s far side, entered through a plain wooden door. Inside, it was mostly one large room, a double bed in one corner, a sitting area in another, with an old television set and an easy chair and a coffee table. The opposite wall of the room opened into a tiny kitchen and, off of that, a tiny dark bathroom. All in all, it wasn’t so different from other apartments I’d rented in the past, when I was younger and single.

Maybe because I stood there just inside the apartment doorway, taking the place in, blinking a bit, and saying nothing, the Moses sisters took my expression to be one of critical concern.

“Our previous tenants have all found it to be quite comfortable,” the larger Miss Moses said.

“And we don’t charge much for it,” the smaller Miss Moses said. “We don’t do it for the money, not at all.”

I looked at her and smiled.

“It looks fine,” I said. She seemed relieved.

“We want people to be happy,” she said, as if she felt this almost desperately. “Would you like to sit on the bed? It’s old but very comfortable.”

The larger Miss Moses chuckled and gave her sister a mildly critical look.

“Now, Karen, when was the last time you laid on that old bed? Go on, now,” she said to me. “Try it out.” The smaller Miss Moses seemed a little crushed.

I went over to the bed and carefully laid myself onto it, keeping my shoes off to the side, off the coverlet. They both watched me. It was strange, looking at them from that angle.

“It’s fine,” I said. “Feels good.”

The smaller Miss Moses grinned, and the larger Miss Moses smiled also, in a confident way, as if vindicated.

“Come into the kitchen, then,” she said.

In the kitchen she ran cold, then hot water from the faucet into the sink.

“Pressure’s good,” she said. “And the hot water tank is only ten years old. We never have a problem with the drains.”

“Oh, no,” the smaller Miss Moses affirmed.

The larger Miss Moses stepped over to the stove, a small gas model, and turned all the burner dials, causing each of the four to gently harrumph into blue flame. We said nothing, watching them burn small and beautifully for a moment, and then one by one she shut them off.

Then we went to the door to the bathroom, just off the kitchen. The larger Miss Moses flicked on the light switch with a thick finger and two fluorescent tubes on either side of the medicine cabinet mirror flickered on with the sound of someone tapping a tiny fork against a china cup. Once illuminated, the tubes buzzed quietly. The larger Miss Moses ran water into the sink, then ran water into the tub. She flushed the toilet, and we all three stood there crowded into the little bathroom and watched the water swirl and kerplunk down the drainpipe and gurgle as the bowl and tank refilled themselves.

Out in the main room again, I said that I would be pleased to rent the apartment from them, if they saw fit to rent it to me.

“Oh, marvelous,” the smaller Miss Moses said, her smile beatific. The larger Miss Moses smiled grimly and nodded.

“Well, then, how about that sandwich?” she said.

I said yes, I would love to have the sandwich, and so we went back into their kitchen and the smaller Miss Moses and I sat down again at the table. The larger Miss Moses set a loaf of white bread beside the bowl of pimento cheese and the jar of mayonnaise. She set out small plates and found a new package of paper napkins and set those out for us, too. Then she sat down and the smaller Miss Moses began to make our sandwiches, spooning the pimento cheese onto slices of bread, and spreading mayonnaise onto the second slices. She put them together, and cut them into halves, and handed the little plates with our sandwiches on them back to us. When she set mine in front of me, she paused and looked into my eyes with such feeling, I was taken aback and embarrassed.

“We’re so sorry about your family,” she said. I saw the larger Miss Moses stiffen. “Maybe it will all work out, in time.” The larger Miss Moses frowned and laid a large hand on the small, slim hand of her sister. The smaller Miss Moses drew up like a little night flower sensing the dawn. She seemed about to speak again, but then I saw the larger Miss Moses’s hand tighten a bit, dropping her into silence, her lips visibly clamped shut, eyes large and baleful.

“I’m sorry, Percy,” she said to her sister.

We began to eat.

I had watched as the larger Miss Moses had spooned scarlet pimentos onto the orange mound of grated cheddar cheese, and as she had stirred in a dollop of the mayonnaise — which looked homemade, because the jar was a Mason jar with no label, and the mayonnaise was a little off-white, instead of the white-white color of the store-bought kind.

“This is delicious,” I said to them as I ate the sandwich. “It must be the homemade mayonnaise.”

Their eyes brightened.

“Yes,” said the larger Miss Moses. The smaller Miss Moses seemed to blush then, as if I had chucked her diminutive chin and told her how pretty she was. They watched me eat the sandwich. The look in their eyes was almost tragic.

IN A DENSE PATCH OF PALMETTOS ABOUT TEN YARDS off the nature trail, she lay still and stared up at the broad blue April sky. Her hand gripped a torn blue nylon gym bag. The bag was unzipped, a pair of jeans pulled from it and lying on the ground, the belt still around the jeans waist. Some kind of small black beetle crawled along the cuff. A light Gulf wind swayed the high tufts of longleaf pines, rustled through the small hard leaves of gnarly dwarf oaks, through the long grasses and cattails, clacked the palmetto fronds. Across the glinting lagoon, beach sand skittered grain by grain over little green pads of milkwort, into the striated shadows of sea oats and scrub oak bramble.