Jack City

Keta Tells a Story: Part 4

"Is there something different about the skin of a forty- year old that allows you to live longer?" my father whispered.

"No, not at all," Keta replied.  "Eating skin is harmful to us in the long run but it is, and should only be, a last resort.  This thing about the age forty has no relevance. It is what Menendez called a lottery. They did mathematical equations on a computer and came out with names of men who turned that age over a period of three, six, nine and twelve years. It began as random and they made a game out of it."

"A game? So Menendez is choosing who dies?" I spoke, raising my voice.

"No," Keta answered, "He considers this too dirty for his Christian ways. Jake’s father is responsible for choosing who dies."

The kitchen suddenly went quiet. The news devastated Jake, my father and I.  By association, Jake was now under white hot lights. As much as the gory details of eating skin turned my stomach, this new information was just as sickening.

"I had no idea," Jake blurted, "I would have done anything I could..."

"I know son," my dad replied. "You’re a good, young man."

"Yes he is," Keta piped in. "These two children are an impressive team. Menendez decided last year to allow Clemens and me to live among your community as a bargaining tool. I managed to negotiate our freedom by bluffing about the thousands of ships that would eventually arrive and how I could persuade our leaders to forego mass destruction. He requested I ask them to fix the downed craft and had me send a message to the third ship. I did as he asked and falsely translated a message saying that his demand would never be fulfilled by our people as we have come to learn that the people of Earth are too violent to be allowed access to our galaxies. This infuriated Menendez yet he did not argue the point. All he answered was, ‘Very well, your leader’s son will remain in our custody. Please inform the leader that his decision is prolonging the hostage taking and potentially ending his son’s life’."

"You said falsely translated, so the pilot in the third ship didn’t really say what you translated?" I asked.

"Goodness no, translated in your dialect his exact words were, 'Fix the ship? I don't know how to fix the freaking ship, what the hell are you talking about'. I remember it well because it caused me to chuckle uncomfortably. We are an incompetent bunch."

That bit of levity relaxed everyone except Jake and judging from our responses, it pleased Keta. 

"My problem is this: Menendez cannot be allowed to fix our spacecraft. From what I have seen of this man I have to believe and hope that his crew never figures out what is missing. Your world, my world and many others cannot survive the destruction he has planned. He now knows where my planet is and the thought of him being able to travel, using our ship technology, is upsetting. Imagine if he and his associates could duplicate our ship and mass-produce? It would mean the end of us all. Menendez and those he works with are evil."

"Can he fix the ship?" I asked inquisitively.

"Yes," Keta responded, "But only if he finds the missing puzzle. The piece they most desperately need is in a boys’ shoebox."

"Is there anything you don't know?" my father blurted.

Keta shook her head. "Not much."

"So what do you need us to do?" I asked, knowing she was here to collaborate with us.

"I need you to live your lives as you normally would and of course, help me whenever I require your assistance. Help me get home...please."

 

Keta stayed for another five minutes before returning to her house. 

"Is she telling the truth?' my father inquired.

I've mentioned before that I pride myself on reading people's body language so listening to Keta was not an easy experience. As far as I’m concerned, she’s clinically insane but she had my dad and Jake in a trance. It will be difficult, I believe, to get them to re-examine everything Keta just said. Some of her story was way too far out in left field for anyone to take seriously. One thing for certain, next time I speak to Uriel, I was going to bring up Keta to see if there was any correlation. My dreams made more sense than the nonsense the girl with the punk hair just spewed. 

"A bit of it was true...I think.  Vacuuming air was a wee bit preposterous. Also, I can’t fathom why she has to remain on a specific diet, one, two or twenty lungs. The rest is straddling the plausible line at best. If by chance she’s purposely not being honest, then I commend her on her acting skills while at the same time, I wanna know what this chick is up to."

"She’s the real thing, there’s no way she could know things like Ben's little discovery," Jake said, almost inaudibly. 

He had been very quiet since Keta mentioned his dad choosing the names of people to die. 

"I have to go too, thanks for dinner."

I walked with Jake outside, much to the chagrin of my father. Jake was having difficulty looking any of us in the eye and I felt bad for him. We’ve never judged him by his parent and were not about to start anytime soon. He picked up his skateboard and stared back at me. 

"I didn't know Mandy," he quivered.

"Jake, we know, there’s no need to agonize over this," I responded, hoping to console him. 

Obviously, my comment didn’t help because tears welled in his eyes. He lowered his head and cried openly. Not sure of what else I could do, I put my hand on his head.

He surprised me by dropping his board and hugging me. 

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I am so sorry." 

I let him cry on my shoulder until the tears stopped. He held me tight and although the situation was awkward, I enjoyed it.

"You didn't finish the dishes so you'll have to come back tomorrow and complete the task given to you," I joked. 

Yah, I know it was lame but I was shooting for something to make him feel he was with a friend.

Jake let go and wiped the remaining tears from his eyes. 

"You're amazing Amanda Cunningham," he said while stepping on his board. 

He turned and skated away. 

                                                                 ****

 He wasn't sure how to handle his father and was certain that looking the man directly in the eyes would be near impossible.  As he opened the front door to his home, Jake hoped his father would be passed out drunk in front of the television. Most of the lights in the house were off except for one lamp in the living room, which he believed he had left on in error. Jake sighed in relief, thinking the Chief was not there. As he approached the kitchen, his father's arm swung around his neck and held him in a choking grasp.

"Where have you been boy?" the man said.