Sizzle

 

            Jamal lay on his bed reading. Fully engaged with ‘War of the Worlds’, the world around him could’ve disappeared in a conflagration and he would not have noticed. Finishing a chapter, he sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. It was still the middle of the day, so the sun was hanging in the sky, shining in full force. Somewhat sticky from the heat and high humidity, he could hear his friends outside throwing a football. But it was that moment that a sizzling sound, like that of bacon, caught his attention. Standing up, he followed the sound to his parents living room to find two very average white guys.

              “Uh, who are you and why are you in my living room?” he asked.

              “Hello Jamal,” one of them said. “Sorry for the intrusion. I hope our visit isn’t too alarming. But focus on your reading, it is very important. We’ll go now. Again sorry.”

              “Wait a minute,” he said. “How did you know my name and what is that smell?”

              “You ask a lot of questions,” the other answered. “We know your name because where we are from, everyone knows your name. And that smell is the result of our transition portal.”

              Edging toward the front door, the two quickly exited and left Jamal standing alone and more than a little confused. Following behind them, he looked into the hallway of the apartment building but had lost track of them. Taking the stairs to the main floor, he stepped over the ever-present homeless man that slept in the foyer and went outside.

              “Hey Jamal,” one of his friends shouted, “Catch!”

              Catching the ball, he shouted back. “Did y’all see a couple of white guys come out of the building?” he asked.

              “White guys? Around here?” one answered. “No, I didn’t see anyone. Come on, join us. We need one more player.”

              Throwing the ball back, he declined. “Sorry guys, I’ve got something I’ve got to do. Maybe later.”

              Camilla had just finished milking the cow. Releasing back to pasture, she picked up the nearly full bucket and took it into the house. Sitting it on the table, she closed her eyes and relished the silence of the house. Home alone that morning, as usual, she had a raft of chores to finish before her father came in from the fields for lunch. Glancing through her bedroom door at the sketchpad on her bed, the urge to draw out her ideas was almost overwhelming.

              Retrieving some glass bottles from the pantry, she carefully poured the milk into each one, filling four. Placing them in the icebox, she turned as she heard a sizzling sound, accompanied by the smell of rotten vegetables.

              “Oh my,” she thought, “did I miss some food last night from dinner?”

              Looking toward the kitchen, she saw two very oddly dressed young men looking at her.

              “Hello Camilla,” one of them said. “Sorry for just showing up like this. But we cannot urge you strong enough to continue your work in your sketchbook. Go and get those ideas written down. We’ll take care of your chores.”

              “Pardon?” she said. “Who are you and how do you know my name?”

              “Where we’re from, everyone knows your name,” the other said. “But please, it is very important for you to focus on your sketchbook. Please go and don’t worry about the chores.”

              Nahal stood at the top of the ridge and looked down upon the herd of wildebeests less than one hundred feet below him. It had taken him an hour to reach this spot. It was the only place that this once particular flower grew, and he needed its flowers at this particular time in spring.  Plucking as many of the deep red petals as he could, he placed them in his satchel and followed the narrow path back down to his home in the caves.

              “Out picking flowers again?” his brother sneered at him. “What are you, some sort of sissy or something?”

              “Shut up, Gleb,” he answered. “You’ll see someday how important this is.”

              With a grunt the older and much larger brother shoved past him and left the cave.  “But then again, maybe not,” he said under his breath. “All you know is hunting and killing.” Stepping to his corner of the cave, he removed the large number of items from his bag and organized them on his shelf.

              Standing up from his kneeling position, he was startled to see two very pale and strangely dressed young men standing at the entrance of the cave. “Whoa, hey, who are you?” he asked.

              “Hello Nahal,” one of them said. “We are here to encourage you to keep working on your agricultural studies.”

              “Agri… what?” he asked.

              “Uh, sorry, I guess you don’t know that word yet,” the other answered. “Keep doing what you’re doing with the flowers and berries and other things. It is very important.”

              “Um… who are you?” he asked.

              “Who we are doesn’t matter,” the first answered. “What does matter is the work you are doing. While no one will ever actually know your name, they will know your work. So, keep it up. Don’t let Gleb distract you.” Stepping back into the sunshine, the two moved out of sight.

              Rushing out after them, Nahal searched but found no one. Seeing Gleb approach, he called out to him. “Hey Gleb,” he said. “Did you see anyone?”

              “What? No, I didn’t see anyone,” he answered. “All the men are our hunting, and the women are gathering food. No one is anywhere near.”

              “Oh, okay,” he said. “I thought… ah, never mind.”

              Slipping back into the cave and retrieving his flint, his satchel and a torch, he hurried part way back up the mountain and found his secret cave. Lighting the torch, he made his way deep into the darkness and placed the torch in a crevice behind him. On the wall in front of him, he looked with great satisfaction upon the painted scenes. Looking from one to the next, he found the last scene, painted just the day before and he set to work on adding the scenario that just took place.

              Drawn from his vantage point, the two men stood with the bright glow of the sunlight behind them. Doing his best to replicate their pale skin and odd coverings, he worked for nearly an hour before he finished. Stepping back, he realized that he had made their heads a little too big and their skin color far too light. But it would have to do. It would be a story he could tell his children and grandchildren and this would be a reminder for generations to come.

              “Mike, Gabe, how did the visitations go?” the old man asked.

              “It went well sir,” Gabe answered. “We’ll confirm our success or not by looking at the timeline.”

              “Well, I’m sure you did fine,” he said. “You always deliver my messages so well. Let me know if anything else needs to be done.”