Cocoon master
Leo Elsinger
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 Leo Elsinger
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Thank you for respecting my hard work.
~
This entire abode oppresses me. Now more than ever. It is too cramped, there are too many walls. One big room, that’s what I want, one big room for everything: eat, sleep, talk think mate bathe work. But I have to wait because I don’t know whether … –
With three hands he pounds the wall, feeling the vibrations of the sturdy resin bone interfere with the immersion show he is experiencing through his receiving hood. No, there’s another effect in the show. A text field appears at the bottom left of the screen. Then, interrupting the music, a voice says, ‘Rekmet, are you there?’
Of course I’m here, you silly cow, but I don’t want to see you. Rekmet are you there. Can’t you see I’m here why are you following me around you know that … – Rekmet sighs and pulls the hood from his head. The loud base still vibrates through his upper hands, the howling high notes degenerate to a sharp grating, emanating from the hood. The sickly smell inside his work room, left uncleaned for too long, soon makes him forget the ethereal air from the show, and dirty walls replace the panoramic scenery of the lifeless rocks on Planet 36.3, Stagtaband’s favorite venue for their immersion shows.
The panel in his work room slides open and Sahash is standing in the doorway, holding a steaming cooking bowl in her bottom hands. Rekmet’s gaze slowly travels up her body, from the profoundly bent legs that make her look like a newly hatched, up along her wide, protruding pelvis and her tight body, wider and a deeper green than that of … – with her bottom arms trained to be more muscular than her upper arms, until his gaze rests on her head, just a little too narrow to be beautiful and tapering into the weird peak of the southerners.
‘What are you doing here? Did I let you in?’
Sahash remains impassive under his gaze and lifts the cooking bowl. ‘Cat sauce. I brought you an entire bowl full. I have some for myself in my own abode.’
‘You’re not answering my question. Did I let you in?’
Sahash shakes her head and makes a compelling gesture with the bowl of cat sauce. ‘You’re not eating properly. And since there’s no one to –’
‘I know there’s no one! You don’t have to tell me, you stupid cow! I didn’t let you in, you hear me?’ Rekmet gets up and stalks threateningly toward Sahash. A sliver of respect floats through his mind when he sees that she stands her ground, but this does not deter him. He pushes her back into the hallway, turns her around and gives her a solid kick.
Sahash stumbles in her effort to hold on to the food. Her upper hands fail to give her sufficient purchase, and the bowl lands on the floor. It tilts perilously and dribbles some turbid sauce, then slowly cants upright. Sahash has managed to remain standing, clenching her four hands around the knobs on the wall.
Rekmet walks past the bowl, but not without inhaling the strong scent of the sauce. ‘Was my abode not filthy enough yet, stupid cow? Look what you’ve done!’
As he says this, he can see that Sahash is getting angry. He shuts his mouth, but it is too late. Sahash approaches him, and before he realizes what she is doing, he is pinned to the floor on his stomach, every one of his limbs held in a rock-hard grip. And his muscles were smarting so much already.
‘You may be a great cocoon master, but if you keep this up, you’ll lose yourself. Yes, I came in without your permission; and I plan on leaving without your permission, too. If you want to stay something of a man, you’ll eat my sauce. I know how good it is. I’ll leave it to you to find out for yourself.’
Her voice has the same lightness it always has. Could she not at least pretend that this was an effort for her? Of course, it must be due to his muscle contractions from the … –
Sahash lets go. He is free to move his limbs again, but he stays on the floor and waits until Sahash has left. Only then does he get up; back to the concert, back to this alternate world on 36.3 where the sound blows the cobwebs from his mind and he can escape this abode that suffocates him. And withers him.
As he passes the bowl he hesitates, crouches down and laps up a blob of cat sauce hanging from the rim. Too good. He sighs and picks up the bowl. When he turns around, his foot slithers in the spilled sauce. He wipes it in a crack at the bottom of the wall and frowns. There’s a vile smell coming from the hole. These resin bone walls are fine, but woe betide when the resin dissolves; then the bone grit starts to smell. What kind of animal had it come from anyway? He would have to ask someone. An omnivore, surely, judging by the indefinable, sickly odor. Probably human.
Through the hallway, to the front, and then left into the dining area. The table has been positioned invitingly beside the window. He activates the air wall in front of the window, but immediately turns it off again when the undiluted, rancid air from the dining room enters his nostrils. He’ll just have to accept the burning stench from outside.
He places the bowl down on the table, wraps his legs around a stool and removes the lid from the bowl. Cat sauce. Sahash makes it better than … – these days Sahash makes the best cat sauce in the neighborhood. Why does she bring it to him? She has a steady mate and she is not of his kind, needing more than one mate. And he does not want any other mates as long as … – With his upper hand he takes a big bite and chews a large lump on the left, chews a smaller lump on the right, swallows the tart sauce that leaves such a thick aftertaste. Only now does he realize how hungry he was. Another bite; he nearly chokes on it. Has he got any sourdough left? A sideways glance reveals the jar of sourdough on the counter top. Half full. He has not had any sourdough bread in weeks.
And he will not have any now. This sauce is much too good. He does not feel like getting up and my bread never tastes as good anyway as when it was made by … –
‘Hello, Rekmet.’
Startled, he looks up. Rashom. ‘Well, little brother.’
I want to be alone I’m not in the mood for company doesn’t that shithead realize what is he doing here I hope he’s not going to start going on about … –
‘Don’t you want any sourdough bread with that?’ Rashom is already moving to the kitchen counter, opens the bread cooker, pours sourdough in and puts water in a measuring cup.
Chewing, Rekmet gazes at his brother. He is measuring the water so precisely; totally unnecessary. So the bread will be a little thicker. Or airier. What difference does it make? He hears the ding of the cooker. Now he will get his bread after all; and he will not even have to leave the sauce for it.
His brother sits down across from him. Here it comes here’s the reason why he came let it be a good reason let it not be … –
‘Have you heard from Qasha yet?’
Rekmet cringes. His back hurts. And that shithead even puts on his soft voice oh I’m so happy with your compassion you can leave it at home from now on you know what you can just stay at home yourself too. ‘So you came here to remind me, little brother? Were you worried that I might forget she’s gone? No I haven’t heard from her yet. No the ship hasn’t been found yet. Yes it’s been more than thirty days. No the divergence in her course has not been explained yet, and if that’s what you’re here for you can get the hell out again right away!’
The cooker dings again. Rashom rises and opens it; the smell of hot bread momentarily displaces the stench of rot and incineration inside the dining room. The cooler does its work and Rashom returns with the sourdough bread. He breaks it into four pieces and puts them down in front of Rekmet: ‘Here, brother. I came because I know that you’re alone and never prepare any food for yourself. At least, that’s what I thought. It seems you do feed yourself, but you should know that cat sauce is too heavy to eat without sourdough bread. So have this. I’ll come by again tomorrow and yes, I’ll be asking you again whether you’ve heard anything. Because if you keep denying that she’s really gone, soon I won’t have to come by here anymore. Do you like your wallowing, cocoon master? Are you at least wallowing pleasantly in your loneliness? If so, I’ll come back tomorrow to enjoy it again.’
As Rashom stalks out, Rekmet calls after him, ‘You could have been a fine cocoon master! This was a good try – for an amateur!’
He wipes the bowl clean with the last piece of bread. He checks beneath the counter; there is still plenty of honeydew in the demijohn. Then he takes out two glasses and fills the first one. The neck of the demijohn hovers over the second glass when he stops himself. With a thump he replaces the demijohn, with a clatter he puts the glass back on the shelf. He only needs a single glass. Just one. Why aren’t you coming back Qasha why did you leave in the first place all our problems had been solved when we found this planet hadn’t … –
He empties his glass in one gulp and throws it on the counter. Back, back to his work room back to Planet 36.3 oh anywhere is better than here. In the hallway he rubs his arms, his shoulders, his sides. His muscles are bunching up again. The pain is getting more intense. He has to keep taking more and more muscle relaxers, but the pain comes back with increasing swiftness, telling him to release the spirit of … –
His favorite song has just started when the call signal interferes with it. Now what? Have I become that indispensable? Just let me enjoy Stagtaband. Leave me alone. ‘Rekmet!’
Through the murmur in his singing ears, he hears Pirkal’s voice: ‘You’re needed here, cocoon master.’
‘I’m right in the middle of a Stagtaband show, man! Devils With Four Limbs is about to start!’
‘You’re on call, and I’m calling you.’
‘Okron? Omosh?’
‘Okron has given up. Omosh doesn’t feel up to the task.’
Rekmet deactivates the player and takes off the hood. ‘I’m on my way, Pirkal. I’ll take the Hunt Line. As soon as I’m inside the swarm tube, I’ll contact you so you can fill me in.’
At least Pirkal understands. He does not need any pity. The work will do him good but then I won’t see any messages coming in and if she should … – He takes an extra muscle relaxer and heads outside.
The Hunt Line is close by; fortunately the swarm tube is just arriving when his rigid legs hoist him up on to the wide platform. He sighs. It’s quaint, of course, keeping a rolling swarm tube intact by way of attraction, but could they not have installed a floating one beside it? The noise and the bumpy ride … I used to enjoy those things, with Qasha… – It is busy, more crowded than he had expected. He hurries toward the front tube; fewer worldlings use it. There is some room left on the middle floor. He lays down, folds his six limbs against his body and rolls toward the back.
A sociable looking young woman rolls up beside him. She exudes a light smell of musk. But he feels no urge. ‘Travelling far, lady?’
‘Far enough to enjoy the ride, sir.’
A provocative voice. Just his luck. ‘I need to get off at the Cocoon Center.’
‘Don’t worry, I can enjoy myself immensely even for short periods of time.’
Grumbling, he places his receiver over his ears and activates it. ‘I have work to prepare.’
‘Cocoon master?’
‘Hm.’
A slight pinch in his shoulder. ‘Take good care of all the hatchlings, cocoon master. I myself have been talked out. By a colleague of yours. Just tell the hatchling that it’s worth the trouble.’
Rekmet throws her a sideways glance. ‘Why didn’t you come out of your own volition?’
With a bump, the swarm tube starts moving. They shove their feet firmly into the foot braces, but leave their shoulders unfastened, so that they roll against each other with every bump. Every time this happens, her rough skin grazes against his own. It annoys him that he is enjoying the experience, but still he does not fasten himself.
‘Yes, that’s something I think about a lot. The best way I can explain it, is that I felt that they should come get me.’