neetha Napew - The Time Of The Transferance

The Volvo had turned out onto the highway, heading southeast toward the interstate. Trucks and cars zipped past, belching fumes that reminded him of the swamplands. At first he thought there was a funny smell in the air. Then he realized it was the air itself. There were no industries, no internal combustion engines in the other world. The air there, if not the inhabitants, was pure.

Of course he was going back. Talea, the love of his life, was back there. The love of his life in that world, anyway. What was Mariel doing these days? And Suzanne? What would they think of his exotic gone-to-work-for-some-secret-government-agency story? Would it score points for him?

The young wife turned the radio to the local rock station and the Volvo was filled with the mellifluous sounds of a Ronald McDonald clone hawking the opening of three new San Antonio area burger Xanadus. Ads for Po Folks, underarm deodorant and used-cars-se-habla-espanol followed. The Cowboys were on their way to the playoffs again. Nothing had changed since he’d been gone.

Nothing much at all.

-A Great Deal Later-

The giant came trudging up the river road. He was impossibly tall and gaunt. A scraggly seaweed-like growth clung to his face and there was a wild gleam in his eyes.

The observer of this approaching apparition did not panic, did not flee. She stood her ground.

The giant saw her. Across his back was slung a thick wooden staff, knobbed at one end. Tied to and around it were a number of bulging sacks. Perhaps he was a pedlar, the observer thought.

“Hello there.” The giant did not have a threatening voice. He sounded tired. “What have we here?”

By way of reply the observer darted forward and sank her teeth into the giant’s leg midway between knee and ankle. Letting out a yelp of pain, he began hopping about on one leg, trying to balance his precarious load as he attempted to shake his attacker free. The third kick of that long limb sent her sprawling.

Rolling to her feet, she began spitting ostentatiously while rubbing at her mouth. “Phooey, phooey, phooey! Stink!”

Regaining his balance the giant felt of his not-too-severely injured leg and eyed the young otter warily, ready to dodge or defend against another attack.

“I can’t say much for the resemblance, but the attitude is unmistakable. Will you go and tell your father that an old friend is here to see him?”

The young otter’s brows drew together. She wore a frilly pair of short pants and a flowery necklace. “See Dada? Stinkman want to see Dada?”

“Yes.” Jon-Tom couldn’t repress a smile. When she wasn’t trying to amputate his leg the little furball was damn cute. “See Dada.”

The cub considered, then turned and scampered up the road. “Come wid me.”

As he followed, Jon-Tom drank in his surroundings. The forest appeared unchanged, eternal. The belltrees tinkled melodiously at the merest hint of a breeze. Already the young otter was almost out of sight. She would stop and turn to wait impatiently for him to catch up, then take off with another burst of speed.

“Quick-quick, stinkman! You too slow.”

He would smile and try to lengthen his stride.

She led him to the bank of a large stream. Several homes were built on the gentle slope and as many more in the sides of the banks themselves. His guide led him to one underground domicile which boasted broad windows looking out over the water and a large oval doorway. As they drew near another trio of youngsters materialized to cluster questioningly around him. Thankfully none of them decided to find out what he tasted like.

His guide vanished inside. While he waited for her to return he set his burden down one sack at a time. This did not allow him to relax, since he had to repeatedly but gently slap tiny paws away from straps and seals.

“You’re your father’s cubs, all right.”

“Who’s father’s cubs?” snapped a demanding voice. Jon-Tom spun to confront the speaker. Eyes locked.

For a moment Mudge was speechless, in itself sufficient indication of the shock he felt. Then he rushed to greet his old friend. “ Tis a ghost.” Hand met paw. “No, ‘tis too solid to be a ghost. I never thought you’d come back, mate. We’d sort o’ given up ‘ope, wot?”

“It took longer than I thought to set my affairs in order, Mudge.” Another figure emerged from the doorway. “Hi, Weegee.” She wore an apron covered with appliqued flowers.

“I’m glad you came back Jon-Tom. We all worried about you, every day.”

Insistent fingers were tugging at the bottom of Mudge’s vest. “Dada know stinkman?” Mudge backhanded her across the face, sending her tumbling tail over head. In an instant she’d regained her feet and zipped around to stare at Jon-Tom while remaining out of her father’s reach.

“This is the human I’ve told all o’ you about.”

“Jun-Tum?” Another of the otterlings had her finger in her mouth. “One dad have to save alia time?”

Mudge coughed self-consciously. “Well, once in a while, anyways.”

The cub was not so easily silenced. “You say alia time, dada. Got to save mans alia....”

“Shut up, sapling. Cubs should be fuzzy an’ not ‘card.” He smiled wanly at his friend. “You know kids; tend to misremember wotever they’ve been told.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Well come on in then, mate! Tell us o’ wot you been up to all this time in the other world.”

He shrugged. “Not much to tell. It’s the same dull, smelly, dangerous place you visited yourself.” As he spoke he was staring upstream. Mudge noticed the direction of his gaze, grinned and nudged the tall man in the ribs.

“Now you wouldn’t be worryin’ about a certain red-‘eaded ‘uman, would you, mate? No need to. She’d been tendin’ the ‘ome fires, so to speak, ever since you left. I admit the rest o’ us tended to give up ‘ope from time to time, but she never did. Not that flame-’aired lass. Oh, she’s ‘ad one or two lengthy affairs, but aside from that . . .”

“Mudge!”

He glanced back at the doorway. “Take it easy, luv. Old Jon-Tom knows when ‘is mate is funnin’ with ‘im. Come on, you skinny sight for sore eyeballs. I’ll run up with you.”

“Me too, me too!” The girl cub who’d chomped Jon-Tom’s leg ran up to join them. Mudge ruffled the fur between her ears fondly.

“This is Picket. Fancies ‘erself the family lookout.”

“Does she always look out for you by trying to take a bite out of every stranger who comes down the road?”

“Usually,” said Mudge with exaggerated cheerfulness. “You’ll get to like ‘er. You’ll get to like ‘em all. ‘Ave ‘em callin’ you Uncle before you know it.” He yelled at another of his obstreperous offsping. “ ‘Ere you, Smidgen, put that down or I’ll knock you in the creek!”

Together they shooed the other cubs away from Jon-Tom’s packages. Mudge studied them with interest. “Wot you got ‘ere? Stuff from your world?”

“Treasures, yes. But I’d rather reveal them to everyone at once—if I can get home before your brood steals everything at that isn’t tied down.”

“Wot, me kids—steal?”

“Why not? They’ve got the most light-fingered instructor in this world.”

Mudge put one paw in the air and the other over his heart. “Take me for a cookfire cinder if I ever teach one o’ me own flesh an’ blood to take wot ain’t theirs.” He looked apologetic. “I swear I ain’t been teachin’ “em, mate. They seem to come by it naturally.”

With the otter’s assistance Jon-Tom shouldered his heavy load. Not much farther now. A long walk from Westwood. “If there’s a gene for that I’m sure it runs in your family.”

Mudge frowned as he scratched his head uncertainly. “Don’t ‘ave any relations name o’ Jean. They’ll turn out all right. Their mother’s the civilizin’ influence on ‘em.” He turned to his daughter. “Be a luv an’ get dada ‘is favorite ‘at, that’s a dear.”