Love is Strange

Nobby O'Toole never saw the bright shaft of light that split the deluge and envelop him. The seventeen-year old crumpled to the sidewalk. His tall lanky body lay twitching in the downpour.

The warrior Wiro woke from happy dreams to find his consciousness inside a shaking sodden body on a hard, broken surface under a torrent of precipitation. He attempted to access the host's brain and nervous system.

Nobby, confused and upset, struggled to rise. Strange sensations rattled inside his head.

This host is aware of my presence! May Furg be fed to a herd of Grimalkins!

Nobby stumbled as he righted himself.

His host's incoherent response threatened to overwhelm Wiro. This species, humans they called themselves according to Furg's rambling, stimulant-induced indoctrination, was a potential foe with rapidly advancing military capabilities. Wiro's mission was to speedily determine the threat.

Sweet Jesus, I'm hearin' voices. Ahh, I'm gonna hack my lungs out. Another good fart would make my stomach feel better. Fuggetaboutit, I'd crap my pants. The Chinese army's stompin' through my skull. Tim's party's tonight. Maybe Nora'll let me score. What a shitass summer this's gonna be. What a pissass godforsaken turd-colored day; I can't see crap in this weather. My head, my head, what's goin' on? My conscience? Beautiful. It's pourin' out it's hot it's humid I don't want to be here I have to be here I'm soaked I need a life... I feel like somethin's tryin' to possess me. I ain't done enough to rate the devil; I'm still a virgin, for Chrissakes...

There seemed no order or discipline or rationality to this host, just anger and sensation. Wiro struggled to keep his links as Nobby swayed.

Perfect, Nobby thought. I'm so dumb I get drunk the night before the last exam. What if I flunk? Nah, I did OK; the bullshit flowed from my pen faster than the ink. He stepped off the curb.

Wiro, shocked at the cascade of emotions, grimly held on, a silent rider as Nobby stumbled into an intersection.

A lumbering bus splattered Nobby as he crossed the street to the subway entrance. "Aaagghhh," he screamed, "my foot's soaked. Hey asswipe," he roared, "I got the right of way here, you moke." Damn rain. I coulda broke my ankle! Son of a bitch. My shoes're ruined, my ankle's achin' an' I'm still not at the subway. What's going on? Gotta get to the train. Shit, I need a beer. In his discomfort he barely noticed the newsstand headlines about potential Democratic presidential candidate Jack Kennedy defending his Catholicism. He reached the entrance and tottered down the subway steps.

The torrent of searing feelings and physical impressions assailed Wiro. For the moment he needed to stay in the background and observe this strange alien and his environment.

Nobby hurried through the turnstile and squeezed into an about-to-depart student-packed train. Wiro unobtrusively explored his host's neural system and sense organs. The subway picked up speed and rocked and swayed through the underground. Nobby's pulse quickened.

There's Nora with Tim. Great.

Wiro experienced the whoosh of the rushing air, the whirring fans, the screeching wheels and the back-and-forth of restless banter. He smelled the body odors and the wet clothes and the perfumes and sensed the testosterone. And an underlying tension.

Making his way to Nora and Tim, Nobby caught sight of Sebastian "Sebe" Pepe, leader and "Warlord" of the Cougars. In an era of teen gangs the Cougars were one of the largest.

"Hey, Fuckface." Pepe's tone dripped scorn.

"You looking in a mirror, Pepe?"

Wiro observed the ritual unfold. The taunts before the battle? At last, a cultural similarity? Perhaps I can observe battle tactics.

"We'll see how smartass you are when we're running your turf."

A challenge? Would his host complete the ritual?

"Pepe, no more, I'm telling you. Keep yourself and your boys outta my neighborhood, an' away from my friends, got it?" Nobby reached Nora and put his arm around her. Pepe, lithe and lean and almost as tall as Nobby, wore the Cougar uniform: tee shirt, open leather jacket, dungarees, and motorcycle boots.

The train pulled into a station and the last hordes shoved their way in. After several attempts, the doors rumbled shut.

"Hey, O'Toole, you ain't tellin' me shit." Pepe sniffed loudly. "An' that's what you are, boy; a living breathing steam-hissin' turd." Duck tail hair flopping across his forehead, he thrust an arm at Nobby, his finger jabbing the air. "The Cougars go where they want, when they want. Got that...boy?" He pointed at Tim. "You and your pussy friend with his pussy crew cut."

The words in the middle of the car took the mood from end-of-year mayhem to palpable menace. The bedlam, horseplay, and rank-outs of a typical school-time subway ride home braked into a stock-still silence. Heads turned and eyes focused. Tension blended with humidity. In a quiet voice Nobby said, "What'd you say...?"

"Ho, ho, ho, O'Toole, you fuckin' deaf, as well as stupid... boy?" Nobby's anger swelled as Pepe's arm pulled back.

They do not control their emotions and channel them as we do, Wiro realized.

Pepe stood, a mocking smile punctuating his words. His eyes swept left and right, calculating, waiting, all the while winking and nodding and chuckling.

Nobby's eyes pinned Pepe, watching, anticipating. His face calm. But his stomach churned.

His host's adrenaline roared as Wiro braced for a skirmish.

"Who's the bitch you got ridin' on your arm?" Pepe's voice rose in mock pitch. He looked directly at Nora cowering behind Nobby in her St. Servilia uniform. "You want a real man, baby, c'mere." He leaned toward her, leering, his tongue licking above his upper lip and nearly reaching his nose.

"Nora, step back, please." She squeezed behind Tim. "Pepe, nobody threatens my girl, an' nobody threatens my neighborhood, 'specially an asshole like you. An' nobody calls me boy, particularly someone who had the best part of him drip off the whorehouse wall..." He looked around the car. "I mean what the hell you do last Sunday for father's day, Pepe, send a telegram to the whole U.S. Navy?" There was a simultaneous intake of breath by everyone in earshot, followed by nervous laughter.

When do these pre-conflict rituals cease?

The train began slowing for the next stop. Pepe curled his lower lip, snorted derisively, and began to turn away. With one swift move he pivoted and his knee flashed up. Nobby turned the blow away with his leg and came at Pepe, taking his open jacket by the lapels, jerking it up and bringing it swiftly down. Pepe's pinioned arms flew upwards in surrender. As the train halted and the doors hissed open, Nobby brought his knee up flush into Pepe's groin. With a mewling gasp, Pepe folded. Nobby spun him around, lifted him by the back of his belt and the neck of his jacket, and with the crowd parting, carried him to the door. He flung him onto the gray, dirt-strewn platform, where he lay, groaning.

Nobby stepped between the closing doors. Pepe cringed and in a hoarse, agony-filled voice croaked, "You'll pay for this, you cock sucker and you will most definitely eat shit."

Nobby looked down at Pepe and sniggered, "Hey, Pepe, if I eat shit, asshole, what'll I do with your clothes?" He pulled back and the doors shut amidst real laughter.

An efficient warrior, he promptly disposed his foe. Wiro wondered whether his host would chant the yell of triumph or return to slay his adversary.

"Nora, you can come back here." Nora, petite and auburn-haired, again squeezed back into the confines of Nobby's arms. Nobby spoke softly, his eyes intent. "I apologize for the language..."

Wiro noted that his fruits of victory might be of a more personal nature.

She put a finger to his lips and ran it back and forth slowly. With her other arm she pulled him closer, looking up into his face. "It's all right," she whispered. She fitted herself against him. His stomach calmed, his face became composed.

The black leather-jacketed sleeve with the brass knuckled hand streaked toward the back of Tim's neck. Nobby moved rapidly and deflected the assault upward with his left hand. With his right, he drilled a smashing blow into the attacker's nose. Blood spurted.

"Prick forgot to get off." Nobby pulled out a handkerchief and meticulously began wiping his hand, while scanning the crowd for more unfriendly faces.

"Sneaky, like the rest of them. Thanks, Nobby," said Tim.

Nobby turned to the bleeding Cougar, his voice harsh. "You've got five seconds to get your sorry ass out of here. You're lucky we don't drop you between the cars." The attacker, hands in front of his bleeding face, backed away, moaning.

Wiro waited. Would this Nobby exterminate his foes like vermin or would he and his cohort merely raise their voices in triumph? These are strange creatures; they do not fight to the death. No shouts of conquest, just a low hum of words throughout this enclosure as if this were an every cycle occurrence.

"A long time coming," said Tim.

"Yeah," said Nobby. "Those Cougars think they can walk anywhere and do anything. Not on our turf. You agree?"

Tim sounded resigned. "Afraid so. Shit, it's the end of the year; I thought we wouldn't have to deal with this crap anymore."

Nobby pursed his lips and turned his attention back to Nora. Her finger resumed its journey. Their eyes met, and softened. She molded herself into him. The noise and motion vanished from their consciousness. They stood, alone in the crowd.

Ah, a courtship ritual, Wiro recognized. What can this lead to? Does this warrior have needs? I perceive discomfort and ... engorgement.

Nora, Nora. Nobby wrapped his arms around her. Damn, I'm gettin' a boner and this subway's jammed. Pepe's a dickhead. Wish Nora'd let me get a little. Maybe after Tim's party. What's that damn thing in my mind? Drinking too much? The shakes? Voices or something? Am I possessed? Nora's breast pressed against his chest. It's my dirty thoughts. The nuns were right. Tell that to Mister Winkie down there threatening to tear my pants...

"...I have to meet my mother at the station," said Nora as the train approached their stop.

Nobby, upset, said, "We're going to Tim's party tonight, right?"

Nora shook her head slowly. "Ahh, I can't. My folks found out last night there's beer and I can't go. I'm grounded for the weekend. I wanted to tell you but..." She glanced around.

"Any way you can sneak ...?"

"Not a chance." She slipped her hand to his upper thigh. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Wiro sensed the lust, the hangover, the gastric discomfort.

The train doors opened; Nora hurried up the stairs to meet her mother.

As Nobby and Tim reached the now-sunny street, Nobby said, "I'm dying for a brew; let's stop off at the Shamrock." They walked under the marquee of the local movie theater, where Psycho played.

"I'd love one, but I can't," said Tim. "My mother told me if I'm gonna have the party I gotta clean out the basement. I'll see you tonight."

I must complete my mission. Nobby wobbled as Wiro attempted to assume command of the motor centers. The gusher of emotion threatened to short-circuit Wiro's fundamental nature.

The sign read "The Sober Shamrock". Neon waterfalls and brewery logos glittered in the streaked window. Nobby entered.

The human odors of fetid air, sweat, sour beer, and stale cigarettes filtered through his host's senses and merged with Wiro's awareness. He struggled to sort the sounds of muted conversation, coughing, rattling glass and squawking chairs. Amid an assault of fleshfood smells Nobby crossed into the smoke haze and approached a scarred flat wooden surface with six dispensers. Behind it stood a monstrous specimen of rolling flesh.  One of the pallid patrons addressed him as "Tappy".

Nobby shouldered to a vacant spot alongside a short tubby fifty-something office worker, frustration frowning his splotchy plump face.

"Beer?" Tappy drummed his fingers on the bar.

"Yeah, gimme a Schaefer's."

Tappy drew it, skimmed it, set it down and waited.

Wiro froze. Nobby put his hand in his pocket and extracted some round metal. Barter? Ah, exchange mechanisms.

The humans perched on their stools reminded Wiro of the stone monoliths under the four green moons of the home world. The liquid numbness they consumed seemed to shelter them from their own unpleasant realities. Above the low-level din, black and white images flickered on a glass screen.

The beverage sat in golden amber majesty. His host's salivary glands began their involuntary work. Nobby reached for the glass, lifted it to his lips and inhaled the aroma. His nasal apparatus discerned the difference between the overall odors infesting the bar and the lager in his hand; a not unpleasant sensation. The salivary glands demanded satisfaction. Nobby drank the beer in one gulp. Wiro analyzed. An appetite enhancer, but not fleshfood. Stimulants... and nourishment, but from a variety of carbohydrates in liquid suspension. Aerating bubbles. Wiro sensed a sensation in his host's stomach.

Nobby opened his mouth and belched, a thunderous roar, a twelve-second four-octave bilious battle-worthy tremor-inducing discharge. Wiro trembled, fearing discovery. Everyone turned.

"Two more," Nobby said, belching again. "I've a thirst." He pushed the glass and his change forward.

He took the two beers plus Tappy's buyback and wandered toward an empty table in the deserted rear. He paused at the jukebox, dumped in some change and Dion's Where or When clicked on. He sat and lowered his face into his hands.

For Wiro, a new experience; the primitive rhythm and plaintive lyrics invaded his awareness and created new sensations. Should he seek control or violate procedure and attempt a discourse? He made his decision. "Entity named... Nobby ..."

"Jesus!" Nobby said aloud.

"My name is Wiro, not Jesus," Wiro soothed.

I really am possessed by an evil spirit, Nobby thought. Demonic images flew, the threats and warnings and teachings of a lifetime of nuns and brothers and priests flashed and tumbled. Exorcism, that'll free me. Dread swelled; inwardly he wailed. Maybe it's just a hangover. Hope welled up...

The emotional tidal sweep caused by Nobby's anxiety engulfed Wiro. He sensed a religious reaction. What gods do they venerate? In his warrior core perhaps this Nobby is a worshipful person. I must maintain contact. "I am not a demon! I am a," He searched for a word, "friend."

Nobby chugged his beer. What are you Am I drunk Are you real What did I do...? The thoughts spewed.

Tell some truth. "I am neither a fiend nor a spirit nor an enemy, merely an observer. We made a mistake and I must reside briefly in your mind."

Nobby finished the beer and swallowed half the second. I'm drunk and this is an epic buzz. I've got the ghost of all my past Schaefers rattling around in my skull. "OK," he thought, "Who are you and where are you from and why are you here?"

"I am Wiro. I am part of a survey mission. My people are called the Ganch. We are from the planet Merkin, beyond your solar system. Several of your years ago our scientists discovered your world from the emanations of your atomic and hydrogen devices. Our craft hovers outside the reaches of your atmosphere, instruments trained on the surface."

Nobby rolled his eyes and finished the second beer. "And I'm Captain Video and if you don't get out of my mind or wherever you are I'll summon my Video Rangers and we'll blow away your sorry ass into another galaxy."

This was not in Furg's briefing! Alarmed, Wiro said, "Who is Captain Video?"

The response flew from Nobby's mind. "My alternate identity when aliens try to crawl inside my skull. Right now, I'm kind of drunk so the Captain's in hiding."

"Who are the Video Rangers?"

"They're childhood friends." Enough of this; "what made you come here?"

"Your species will soon explore beyond this planet. We decided to probe and see if you are threat or opportunity."

"Opportunity?" Nobby's head throbbed.

Wiro lied. "For trade and for mutual benefit. Shipleader insisted we use a new and untried technology and I was volunteered to integrate my mind into a dominant entity. My Culture Interpreter and Assimilator operator, Furg, consumed too much stimulant."

"Stimulant?" Nobby picked up the third beer.

"In your terms, Furg was drunk during the whole process and sent me without proper training. My body remains in stasis on the ship."

I really am out of my gourd, thought Nobby. "So the H-bombs brought you here?"

"Yes."

"How long you gonna be here?" How long will I have this hangover was Nobby's real consideration.

"One or two more of your days."

"Will your presence hurt me?

"No, I am here to observe, reassimilate and report."

"Scout's honor?"

"By the Warrior's code."

Nobby's mind raced. If it's a demon maybe it'll help me; if it's my drunken subconscious maybe it's figured out how to... "So, Wiro, Tim Rohan's party's tonight. You any good with chicks? Got any tips? I want to score." Am I crazy? I'm talking with myself; I'm believing there's something in my mind and I'm asking it how to get laid? Nobby shook his head, and took a deep slug of his beer.

Wiro recognized the opportunity presented.

Poison Ivy blared forth.

Nobby descended Tim Rohan's basement stairs to the sound of primitive rhythms, loud conversations, raucous laughter and rampaging pheromones. Gyrating couples and beer swilling singles crammed the room. Chairs and old couches lined the knotty pine-paneled wall. Metal garbage cans, loaded with ice, beer and some soda were strategically located within easy reach. Sound and spirits ruled. In a far corner stood an altar-like table filled with glasses in front of bottles of gin, vodka, rum, scotch, Irish whiskey, bourbon and mixers. For the moment, beer was the beverage of choice.

Hands with cans of beer were raised as Nobby reached the bottom step. "Ave, Nobby, Ave, Nobby, ooga booga booga, Ave, Nobby."

The chants transported Wiro to his first post-battle feast under the darkling moons of Greb IV after the great defeat of the poison dwarfs.

"Ave, Nobby, Ave, Nobby, ooga booga booga, Ave, Nobby, king of the Cougar killers," the crowd in the basement chanted.

"Because there are ladies present, the only thing I'll say to you clowns is "aw shucks", said Nobby, his head twitching as Wiro's memories intruded. After a ten second pause, he gained control and added, "But I gotta tell you we did ourselves proud this afternoon. It's our summer vacation present to the neighborhood. I don't think Pepe an' his Cougars'll show their face around here any time soon. We kicked their ass an' them wimps ran like chickens. As far as I'm concerned, they ain't nothin'. A beer, please." Tim thrust a cold can of Schaefer into Nobby's hand.

"To Tim the host," Nobby yelled

"To Tim the host," the crowd intoned, drinks raised. They took large gulps.

"To the two bucks he charges, an' all you can drink."

"To the two bucks an' all you can drink." Yet another gulp.

"To the neighborhood." He raised his can to the crowd and emptied it. Tim handed him a fresh one.

"To the neighborhood," they bellowed. A third swallow as cans emptied and fresh ones keyed opened

"In that case, school's out, I'm out, it's summer, so let's paaarty!" He chug-a-lugged the can. As the beer ran down his chin he received another.

The more Nobby drank, Wiro knew, the more he might stay in the background and observe these strange and wonderful rituals. And perhaps learn more about this Captain Video and the Video Rangers.

The Teenager's Why Do Fools Fall in Love? blasted from the 45. The buzz of alcohol-fueled conversation vied with the music.

"Hey, Tim, looks like the whole crowd is here." Nobby scanned the room.

"Yeah, it does." Tim pushed his hand through his crew cut. "Well, we're seniors next year; we can celebrate that." He opened a beer and gave it to Nobby.

"Bet your ass. I'll drink to that." Nobby chug-a-lugged the can. "I can do what I want now."

"Without Nora? Where is she?"

Nobby swallowed a burp. "Grounded for the weekend. Her father found out about the beer and booze and said no way." Nobby searched the crowd. His eyes lighted upon an extremely tall and thin flat-chested sallow-faced girl with brown stringy hair. "Who's that?"

"That's Beth O'Hare," said Tim. "She just moved into the neighborhood; went to some kind of convent school. I think she tagged along with May Woods."

"She leave her tits home? What good's a girl without funbags?" Nobby wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Christ, her ears are so wide her face looks like a cab with the doors open."

Wiro was mesmerized by Beth's beauty. He beheld a goddess, a vision of Merkin loveliness in a human form. All thoughts of reconnaissance fled. Wiro's emotions surged.

Tim looked at Nobby. "You OK?"

Nobby nodded. Not a good idea to tell Tim he's hearing voices. "Nothing that another beer wouldn't cure. What's the deal with this Beth?"

"Beth has to be one of the real innocents after three years in nun's prep," said Tim. "Gotta believe all she knows are hymns, Latin and prayer."

Nobby grabbed another beer. "Well yeah, OK, but hey, ugly is... I think I'll meet her," Wiro forced Nobby to say. The words sounded strangled. Tim stared at him. Mickey and Sylvia's Love Is Strange boomed through the basement.

Couples moved to the center of the floor as Wiro steered Nobby jerkily across the room.

"Um, can I get you another drink?" Wiro, besotted with Beth O'Hare, resisted Nobby's efforts to move away. He leaned forward, trying to peer down her blouse. Beth gazed at Nobby, her equine acne-pitted face and large blue-green crossed eyes aflame with a mixture of innocence and alcohol. "One of those Coca Colas with just a little rum in it, like the others." She continued talking as he stepped away. "I've never tasted anything like that before. It's so... relaxing..."

"...Oh, thanks, that was quick..." She took a gulp. "Mm, yummy."

The Dubs' Could This Be Magic? began. Wiro made Nobby take the drink from her hand and lead Beth, crinolines rustling, to the dancing area.

"Check out Nobby," said Tim to a friend. "Nora's out-of-sight-out-of-mind and there's Nobby, this afternoon's hero, walking like a robot, putting a move on her convent-hidden replacement. Well, that's beer for you -- helping ugly people since the 1500's."

Wiro, with Nobby forcibly in the background, gently lifted Beth's head from his shoulder and kissed her. She pulled back from him, a look of shock and confusion on her face.

Tim assumed a narrative tone. "...And today's hero goes from the covert to the overt...and what's this we see? Why, ol' Nobby's at full attention, he's risen to the occasion. It's smack out of the den of Beth's crinolines, there for all to see. His pants look like a triangle. If Beth looks down, you are finished, boy, her scream'll bring the cops; if Nora finds out, it's easier: your ass is grass. Mind over boner, head over hard-on. Concentrate!" He began to laugh.

Wiro finally realized his predicament; Nobby in full prong, rut-ready. He forced Nobby to gently push Beth toward him, and once again become enveloped in the now-protective layers of crinolines.

Tim, still laughing, turned to his friend and said, "See anything new or unusual in Beth tonight?"

"Fear?"

"Not even close," said Tim. "Hope. I mean, think about it. Beth's a holy innocent; convent-protected, taller than most of the guys, shaped like a pencil, flat face, flatter chest, cross-eyed, complexion like stucco, elephant ears. I'm guessing that Nobby's the first guy she's really seen up close and, how shall we say, personal."

What does Nobby see in her?"

"Hey, who knows?" Tim shrugged. "Maybe he's possessed. He's sure acting weird."

The Platters began singing The Great Pretender.

"Beth, everybody's going. Tim's walking me home. I'm leaving; I think you should, too. You can come with us." May Woods, in her too-bright lipstick and non-revealing clothes, stood nervously grasping Tim's hand. "You know what your Ma will say."

"May, I'm having such a good time I think I'll stay a little while longer. My mother's working tonight. I'm sure Nobby will see me home." She stroked his arm possessively. Beth's eyes were a little too bright, and her pronunciation slightly too precise.

"Beth... Beth, you aren't tipsy are you?" A look somewhere between dismay and disapproval flashed across May's face. Tim stifled a laugh.

Beth remained seated, her arm entwined with Nobby's. "May, I'm shocked you would think such a thing. All I'm drinking are Cokes. You go, I'll be fine."

"Well, all right. Call me in the morning, though." She and Tim proceeded up the stairs.

Wiro, with Nobby forcibly recessed, stroked Beth's back and her neck, feeding her Rum and Cokes. He learned a new aspect of Earth culture: of widowed working mothers, four older sisters, two married, and two in the convent, Beth's three years at Non Sum Dignus Convent School and of her departure because she considered herself unworthy.

She looked at the last couple weaving their way up the stairs. "Nobby, I think everyone's gone. Shouldn't we go?"

Wiro panicked. He was more than rut-ready; he was in two-back mode. Overcoming Nobby's opposition, he ran his hand softly across her neck. The Penguins' Earth Angel began.

As they danced, he forced Nobby to kiss her. This time, her lips gave under his. Gently he pushed her closer, moving slowly to the mood of the song. He kissed her again, Nobby's tongue slipping beyond his lips and meeting hers. Her lips opened and, despite Nobby's resistance, his tongue charged forward. Sensations stormed through Wiro's borrowed awareness.

The song ended and the next record snapped down. The Three Friends started singing about Blanche. Wiro broke the kiss, gulped, and resumed, guiding Beth to a sofa near the corner. Her arms wrapped around him as he eased her down.

In the ensuing half-hour, Wiro, in control of Nobby, and with Beth's vacillating cooperation, deflowered her on Tim's basement couch. There was pain, passion, tears, acceptance and passion again. As the pinnacle neared, Wiro's connection with Nobby slipped downward.

Horrified, Wiro tried to stop as his essence fled Nobby and flowed into Beth.

The Nutmegs sang Story Untold.

As they lay in the afterglow, Beth turned to a clear-headed Nobby. Her eyes now shone with a new light. "Do we get married now? Can I still wear white? I think I hear the baby talking to me."

Nobby, knowing only that a half-naked Beth O'Hare lay beside him, wanted to scream.

Two days later on a calm Sunday evening Nobby O'Toole leisurely poured beer from his second pitcher. He watched the amber liquid trickle and gradually, slowly, fill. He lifted his glass, looked, sipped, swallowed. He'd spent Saturday and Sunday laying low, trying to recall Tim's party. Flashes from that afternoon and evening haunted him. Was any of it real? Friday night with Beth O'Hare? A figment of his imagination? He gently placed his glass atop a sodden coaster. There seemed barrenness to the Sober Shamrock this night. The back room was deserted, Nobby's comrades gone their own way.

A shaking, rising voice shattered his reverie. "Where have you been? Why are you avoiding me? I haven't seen you since ..." Beth O'Hare, in a loose white blouse and khaki shorts, loomed, eyes red-rimmed. "I'm going to have a baby..."

His neck began to tighten. Goawaygoawaygoaway, he thought. "That's impossible; there's no way..." he blurted, his tone sharper than he wanted.

She pressed her lips together, controlling herself. Softly she said, "The baby talks to me. It has since Friday night..."

"How the hell can that be?" he roared at her. The beer was wearing him down. "That's crazy; we're not talking about pixy dust." He lowered his voice. "Something else is going on, I don't know if it's good or evil or..." She began to cry.

Way to go, asshole. An unfamiliar twinge of remorse made him stand and pull out a chair. "Sit, I'll get you something to drink." OK, he admitted to himself, I was drunk and I was horny, but Beth O'Hare? Whatever possessed me, it's long gone. No more cajoling, wheedling, controlling, voice; at least not inside me, he thought. No, now it's the old fashioned way; Beth chases me down and finds me here tonight. Beth, a girl I barely know, who takes unattractive to a new level, who never stops talking, thinks she's pregnant and I'm the daddy. I lose Nora and get Beth? I can't hide.

She seized the Rum and Coke and took a tentative sip. And another. And a third, larger one. She worked to compose herself. "We need to talk, Nobby." She said, her voice still shaky. "I'll be back after I freshen up." And with that she went to the ladies' room.

He stared at the chair across from him with the almost-finished Rum and Coke, apprehensive, waiting. Should I get out of here? I do not need shrill right at this moment. The temptation was great. Shit, she'd just come to my house. Noooo thank you.

The thoughts galloped. I'm screwed big-time. I'm harnessed forever. Do the deed, plant the seed. But I didn't do it; I tried to stop. Not my fault; whatever controlled my mind did it, if anything ever existed in the first place. Getting caught is the sin, not the act. He shoots; he scores! How's she know she's pregnant? In two days? And voices? Bullshit. Maybe she does know. First time, first kid. Just turned seventeen and trapped forever. Mom and dad will say I have to do the right thing. They have this 'you sin you pay' view of life. Technically I haven't sinned -- the old full consent of the will deal -- but my penance is indenture. Duty. Obligation. Honor. Marriage? To a girl whose face looks like the side of a house? How did Tim describe Beth? -- A chewed pencil with ear flaps? A girl I barely know, who spread her legs once, who everyone tells me never stops talking, who's a bundle of nerves and such a religious nut she makes my candle-lighting mother look like an infidel. Is Nora, the girl I really have the hots for, out of my reach? What to say to her? The devil made me do it? An alien? She won't believe, but she'll see my shame. I'll have permanent atonement. What have I done? Christ, God, Jesus, somebody help me! Where'd the voice in my mind go? Was it ever there? What about me? It'll work out. It will. It will...

"Are you the entity called Nobby O'Toole?" The voice sounded tinny, the enunciation not quite right.

Nobby stared down at his glass. "Yeah." As he looked up an 'aw shit not again' feeling ran through him. An exceedingly tall creature in a shining garment covering its four limbs and three feet stood less than a yard away. The round orange head, dominated by inordinately wide ears, featured three large unblinking eyes, an insignificant mouth and loose flesh where the nose should be. He experienced no fear; courage by Schaefer's, he figured.

"We seek you." The creature inclined its head to the pitcher. "A stimulant?"

"It's called beer; Schaefer, to be precise. And this is a major league enough-is-enough hallucination. I must be really, really shit-faced."

"I assure you I'm quite real." The creature stood motionless, presenting no threat.

"Look, fella, Halloween's four months away. Nice costume and extra points for the ears and the stilts to make you tall but get the hell out of here, will you?"

"I seek Wiro."

"Wiro?"

"Yes."

Nobby snorted. "You're going to tell me you're from the ship that's hanging out above the planet?"

"Yes."

"What do they call you?" Nobby stared at his beer, shaking his head slowly.

"Brioc."

"Brioc, eh? Where's..." He searched his sodden memory. "...Furg? Wiro said he goofed."

"Furg was to reassimilate Wiro to his corpus on our craft. Furg failed; Wiro has not returned."

Nobby laughed. "So, Furg's a drunk. Like a beer?"

Brioc stood impassively.

This isn't happening, Nobby thought. It's worse than Friday night. "Think I'll add some music to this dream." Nobby walked to the jukebox, dropped change in and made several selections. Brioc remained standing.

Brioc began twitching in tempo with Stranded in the Jungle.

"So you like rock'n'roll too," Nobby cackled. "Well, Brioc, what're you doing down here in your native dress?"

"Shipleader tires of waiting for Wiro. We examined Furg's logs and determined that Wiro was sent into you. I was told to come and confer." What passed for his eyes watched, unblinking.

Nobby filled his glass and drank down half in one gulp. "Are you real? My folks would..." He looked up at the ceiling, tallying the cobwebs and estimating the weight of the grease.

Brioc raised his hand slightly. "You have notified your birthers about Wiro? What would they say?" His voice held no emotion.

Nobby toyed with his glass. "Their imagination doesn't run in that direction. Mine neither. Maybe if you were one of the saints or something. But Wiro? Not a chance. I know I'm still drunk or insane or am possessed. Pick one. Anyway, whatever was in my skull is gone." He looked around. "Everyone is. Except Beth, of course."

"Who is Beth?"

"Unfortunately for me, someone who's in the ladies' room fixing her face." Nobby drank some beer and moved the coaster around, little swirling motions that left a moist trail on the scarred table. "So what are you going to do, Brioc?"

"I must find Wiro."

Nobby's laugh sounded hysterical. "You can't find your guy?"

"No. We were unable to extract his essence from you."

"That's because it wasn't there." Nobby giggled and drank as Purple People Eater played.

Beth came round the corner and halted, her purse swinging from the momentum. Nobby went to her, took her elbow and guided her to the table. In a mock-polite voice he said, "Beth, I'd like you to meet Brioc." Her mouth opened, shut, opened. No sound emerged.

Brioc's eyes widened and he began to sway in rhythm to the music. "You are... the entity named... Beth?" The voice moved from tinny to squeaky.

She nodded mutely and clutched the edge of the table. Trembling, she began to genuflect. "Are you an angel come to rebuke me for my sin?"

After a moment's silence, Brioc said, "I am not such a creature. I am Brioc from the planet Merkin. Our people are called the Ganch." The flesh where a nose would be began to expand outward as Brioc took a step forward. "Entity named Nobby O'Toole, how many more like this Beth are there? She is the most beautiful female in all the planets. I now understand why Wiro has not returned."

Nobby thought Brioc was one smooth-lying SOB. "Not too many; Beth is kind of distinctive."

"Are you actually there?" Beth trembled. She groped for her chair and settled herself into it. With shaky hands she seized her drink and finished it.

"Yes." Brioc's nose continued to grow, his attention focused on Beth. "You have such beauty I do not know if you are but a dream."

"Oh, she's real," said Nobby. He poured himself more beer. He turned to Beth. "Tell our best costume winner, Brioc, about the voices you're hearing."

Beth flushed.

"Go, ahead," Nobby urged. "This is all a figment of our imagination anyway. And as we both know, confession is good for the soul."

Beth said in a low voice, "My baby talks to me."

Much to Nobby's amazement Brioc said, "For how long do you hear? What do you hear?"

"Ever since Friday night." She glared at Nobby. "He says he's my friend and he's afraid and so am I."

"Does your, friend, this voice, baby, have a name?"

"Wiro." She finished her drink. Nobby's eyes widened. This can't be, he thought. Nobby downed his beer, took her glass and went to the bar to the tune of Going Out of My Head.

"May I talk to Wiro? Can he hear me?" Brioc waited.

Her lips moved in silent communication. After a full minute she murmured, "Yes."

Nobby drank off half his beer and handed her the Rum and Coke. She took a mouthful and waited.

"Wiro, it is Brioc."

Beth said, "He knows that. He asks what you want."

"Wiro, we must extract your essence back to our craft and return to Merkin. There are others in the place they call New Mexico. We fear detection."

"Wiro asks if they are the Video Rangers." She looked confused. Nobby grunted in quiet amusement.

"We know of no such beings."

Beth sipped her drink. "Wiro says he does not want to leave."

"He must; Shipleader has commanded it."

Beth's eyes widened. "Wiro says there is another way."

"There is no other way; we must return." From his garment Brioc extracted a small device.

"Wiro says that the way is for you to stay with me; Wiro will join us in nine Earth months."

Nobby spat out his beer and began to laugh. "Wiro... suggests you... marry...? To this...?" He pointed to Brioc.

Eyes lowered, she nodded and took another mouthful of her Rum and Coke.

"Maybe we're all possessed." Once again Nobby's giggle verged on the hysterical. "Unbelievable. Imagine when they post the banns; that'll raise eyebrows around here. I'm sure you'll love the pre-Cana with Father Vondel... Can't you just see the announcement in the paper? What'll it say about the groom's forebears? What do they put on top of the wedding cake? Do bakeries have interplanetary figurines?" He paused and drank more beer. "This has to be a drunken fantasy. No, it's a nightmare."

Why Don't You Believe Me? echoed from the jukebox.

"What you suggest is not possible." Brioc pointed the device at Beth. "Shipleader says I must act."

A shaft of light came through the cobwebbed ceiling; the bright molecules enveloped Beth. She sat motionless in her chair. A minute later she began to cry, "He's gone! My baby's gone!"

"He was never your baby," said Nobby, in a quiet voice. "He was... What was he, Brioc?"

"A warrior, far from home, here on a mission," said Brioc. "His essence somehow passed into the one named Beth and is reassimilated into his corpus on our ship." Brioc looked at Beth. "We must repair what we damaged."

Nobby snickered.

"There's not much you can do. My baby is gone and I'm..." The words seemed to ache.

"You shall be as before... unsullied. That is the least we can do for the harm we have caused." Brioc pointed his instrument. Beth was surrounded by light. A moment later the molecules enveloped him and he vanished.

Nobby looked at Beth. "You OK?

"Not really. That's probably why I'm here." Her smile was forced. "I think I need another Rum and Coke."

A minute later Nobby returned.

She drank half and looked at Nobby.

"Any better?"

"A little," she said, and reached again for the glass. "Was any of this real?"

"I didn't think so; I thought I'd drunk too much." He sipped his beer. "Now I'm not too sure." He looked at her. "You?"

"Before Friday," she said. "I'd never had any alcohol. I, I don't know." She twisted her purse in her hands, her tone both anxious and pleading. "A vision, I suppose; but angels don't look like that. And if it wasn't real, what was it?"

"Our dreams, our nightmares, the future" Nobby topped his glass. "I can't tell you." The jukebox whirred and the Fleetwoods sang Come Softly to Me. Is she looking a lot better or am I getting drunker? Did Brioc do something there? Was any of this real?

Beth stared at her half-consumed drink. A tear seeped down her cheek. "Would you please dance with me?" Her voice broke.

Nobby sighed. Anything but the waterworks. He stood. 

She rose and slid into his arms. Wordlessly they moved slowly around the floor.

As the song ended, she lifted her head from Nobby's shoulder and kissed him.

He pulled back, shock and confusion on his face.

And kissed her back.