Earth time: 1870’sWhen Wife-ie died, Arthur of the North was sixty and inconsolable. His mother, painful as she was, always had the best ideas, the best solutions, and it was she who kept his son, James the Strong, in toe.? James the Strong—aptly named, as he was the only man on Planet Hy Man to finish the yearly challenge of pulling a spaceship down the main street on Arrival Day—was a hard son to manage.?Very little went on in his brain apart from shagging and spaceship-pulling, which was his idea in the first place.
“What’s the point of a spaceship you can’t pull?” he said, and after watching him pull robustly, no one argued.
Arrival Day started a year after the Settlers arrived, causing the first of many riots that no amount of treaties could stop. The last thing the Incomers wanted to do was celebrate the arrival of the “up themselves” Settlers, while the Foreigners weren’t even invited.?In the end, each group had their own Arrival Day celebrations with the promise of unlimited hemp, a day off work, and free run of the nurturing shed, apart from the Aliens.
No one had any idea what the Aliens did for celebrations. It was rumored that they treated every day as a celebration around the fire with roast veggies and a four-legged-creature race on Sunday, some say with super-strong home brew.? James the Strong, now a grown man of “forty score and whatever,” had spent most of his time strutting about the place with his “head in the clouds.”
His idea of thinking was staring, and his idea of a day’s work was to “hang about the nurturing shed.”? He had a string of women lined up waiting for his procreation seed and a string of men wondering what would happen to the city when he took over from his father.?Wife-ie dying didn’t help.? She was taking ages, and it had Arthur of the North “not himself” and James the Strong no longer under her control.
Wife-ie took her time to pass on.? She was grieving the loss of Loud Mouth, her second-hand man, and would not let go until his statue was finished and erected over his cremated body.? Every morning, Wife-ie stared up from her bed, searching the eyes of Aggie, the only person she sort of trusted.? The two helpers had passed on, never really getting over the isolation caused by helping Wife-ie. Quietly cremated, their remains sat in urns in the arts corner waiting to be placed under Wife-ie’s obelisk (women weren’t entitled to statues).
Wife-ie’s obelisk had been built six months ago when Wife-ie first took to her bed. It was built in a rush and then sat blocking a decent part of the sun waiting for Wife-ie to “kick the bucket.”? The jealousy for the two helpers had passed on to Aggie, who spent her spare time avoiding “up yours” finger gestures from the other women. Being exempt from procreation duties did have its downside.
Aggie started from the bottom, a wee girl no one noticed. It was Wife-ie who saw her sitting in the corner, ignored by the other children in the shed. She lifted her up and took her home to her two helpers.
“Every woman needs one maternal experience,” she said.?In truth, the two helpers were getting on a bit, and Wife-ie was always one step ahead when it came to future planning.? She looked at Aggie as memories flooded back of that pickup day. Aggie was just a thread of girl, legs like a flagpole.
Wife-ie thought to herself. Maybe her son would notice . . .
“The future of the planet depends of you, Agnus,” said Wife-ie.
“It’s Aggie.”
“I depends on you, Agnus,” said Wife-ie.
“It’s Aggie.”
Wife-ie peered at her helper with watery eyes. “The statue—is it finished?”
Aggie, dabbing her master’s mouth with ice, nodded.
“My Loud Mouth finally put to rest?”?Aggie nodded again.
“Just as well,” groaned Wife-ie, “the last thing I need is to get up and do some shouting.”
Aggie looked at her master with pity. She had as much power now as an empty packet of seeds.
“Have you checked the itinerary for his funeral?” spluttered Wife-ie with a cough.
“Yes,” Aggie lied.
“I don’t believe you,” said Wife-ie, sparking a coughing fit; phlegm flew from her mouth.
Aggie shoved a paper cup under her master’s mouth like she had done a million times before.
“I want pictures.” Wife-ie wiped her mouth.
“Yes, well, picture-taking requires equipment, which as we speak is in the hands of those recycling idiots, who have some stupid idea of making it sleeker.” Aggie sighed. “Like that’s gonna make a difference.”
Wife-ie began to fidget.
“Shall I get your son?” said Aggie.
“No, he has been here every day.”
Aggie nodded.?“He’ll just bring that pickling awful Strong fellow. Shifting spaceships has ruined him. I told his father all that applause and shagging would go to his head, but would he listen?”
Aggie slid another ice cube between Wife-ie’s lips. “Here you go . . .”
“I mean celebrating the Settlers’ arrival was his stupid idea. Told him it would be a curse.” She coughed, spat into her cup, and missed.
“Better?” said Aggie, reaching for a cloth.
“Now there’s a festival for each pickling arrival, which always leads to a riot. I mean celebrating the day of running folk out of town—who would want to celebrate? Bound to rub some up the wrong way.”
Aggie wiped Wife-ie’s mouth. “Love a good riot.”
“Oh, you would, wouldn’t you, Agnus?” said Wife-ie.
“It’s Aggie.”
Wife-ie shifted uncomfortably. She scratched all over despite her silky sheets. She scratched her bum, ignoring Aggie’s gentle “leave it” slaps, and closed her eyes. She had no regrets. ?She ran her tongue around her lips.
Aggie rubbed more ice.?“Better?” she said softly.
Wife-ie blinked at her assistant.
“That library was meant for women too.”
“I know.” Aggie’s face softened.
“You should be able to visit.”
“Don’t worry about that now,” Aggie hushed.
“Remember the drawer.” Wife-ie gestured beside her. “Take before anyone”—she coughed—“gets here.”
“It’s OK,” muttered Aggie. “I know what to do.”
Wife-ie looked at the sun streaming through the window; what she wouldn’t give to see Hubby’s outstretched hand pulling her to the horizon. She’d had enough . . .?She tapped Aggie’s cheek.? Over the last few weeks, Aggie had nursed her, made her comfortable, listened to her . . . she was a good sort.
“I killed my Hubby,” she said.
Aggie wiped her brow. “No, you didn’t. You made his last moments happy.”
“And now I am to follow.” Wife-ie turned to Aggie. “Do you think it still goes on over the horizon?”
Aggie touched her cheek. She knew she was talking about sex. She always did just before she fell asleep.? Aggie offered her a pain tablet.? Wife-ie slid her hand into Aggie’s and squeezed it.? A tear filled Aggie’s eye.
“Don’t forget the drawer,” whispered Wife-ie.
A tear rolled down Aggie’s cheek followed by another.
“I’m ready to go,” Wife-ie murmured.
“What about Arthur of the North?” muttered Aggie.
Wife-ie didn’t answer.
Aggie stared down at Wife-ie's face; was she asleep?? She waited . . . not a sound. She put her fingers under Wife-ie’s nose . . . nothing. Her ear to Wife-ie’s chest . . . silence.? Aggie sucked in her breath, wiped her tears, and, after one final feel for a pulse, stood.?She knew what she had to do.
She emptied the drawer, hid the contents in her room, and ran to Arthur of the North in the library.
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