In the Mason Jar
By: G Allen
Tags: Science Fiction, Short Story

“…My family moved to this island a long time ago. Long before me or any of my brothers were born….

They lived in some other place once but no one really remembers what that was like. Poppa told me that they were called migrates or maybe migrants. Migrates used to travel around to do field work for Angelos. Back when the world was wide, before the great city-places. long before there was just our island.

We don’t do it anymore, travel I mean. We had our own fruit trees and fields on the island and never picked more than we needed. None of the others have ever set foot outside, other than the Old Man, me and Julio. But everyone knows that!

We grew beans and had a few pigs, some sheep too. Momma started a green-garden when she was alive, which I keep up. There was a grove of apple trees behind the house and we spent much of fall drying and preserving. We made pots from clay in the river and baskets from reed; I spent entire days pumping the bellows when we fired the pots.

Momma had strange clear pots made out of glass. They had the word Mason written on them in raised letters. We can’t make things like that and I always wondered where they came from. Poppa said that we couldn't make real glass. It was a tragedy when we broke one of those.

Julio and I were close to the same age; we were the youngest kids on the island. We spent a lot of time together when we were not at school, swimming in the little pond, exploring, doing the kinds of things that kids do.

There were six others attending the school-house back then, and our teacher was the Old Man. His name wasn't “old man” but that’s what everyone called him. Poppa said that he was the one who first brought us to the Island.

He didn't look very old, younger than Poppa, but they told us that was much older than the oldest person on the island.

We didn't know too much about the Old Man, other than he was important. Some people said that if something happened to him we would all have to leave the island and live somewhere else, someplace bad from the sound of it.

He never spoke of his past very much, none of the older folks did. If you pressed them they would get angry and change the subject. The Old Man never got angry, but somehow the conversation would take a different track, you would forget about your questions. I always wondered how the Old Man did that — back in those days.

The Old Man taught us a lot of things. How to write words and say them back again, how language works, and how to do problems. Also more practical stuff like how to dry meat and grow things. He also taught us the law to never go beyond this world. That the old world was dead and going there would kill us.

I read about the past in history books. The books were old—falling apart and we had only a few of them. A History of the United States 1800-1900 was one. We had a whole set of something called Foxfire, volumes one through six which taught us how to live on the island. We had another called Bullfinch’s Mythology but the Old Man said that one was not really history at all.

I liked Bullfinch’s Mythology better than the rest, the people in it seemed more interesting than the ones in the old histories. More alive somehow. The story of Icarus was one of my favorites. I felt sad the first I read the story. I thought that it was not fair that Icarus fell when he flew too close to the sun. Poppa says it was justice and folks should pay attention to what’s important. They shouldn't try to do things that can’t be done. I didn't really understand what he meant by that.

Not like I do now.

We actually had a book in our house. It was called Sequoia High School 2034 and contained images of hundreds of young people. We got to look at it sometimes, but we had to be careful. It was old and tattered.

Once I found a book of my very own! It was forgotten in the place where we kept the old stuff from before the families moved here. There was not much left. Mostly junk. I found a bag of flimsy clear stuff sticking out of the ground. When I dug it up, low and behold, a real book that someone left behind and forgot many years ago.

I liked this book the best although back then I could not tell what a lot of stuff in it meant. It had big colorful pictures. I once asked how the pictures got onto the pages. Poppa said it was some old magic that had been forgotten. The Old Man called them photographs, which are made by a camera. He said the books are a waste of time, “there are more important things than mulling over the past” he told us.

One time I showed him the book found. I wanted to ask him about one of the pictures, A long distance away was a thing with frost on the top. That was the thing I wanted to ask the old man about.

He looked at the picture and told me to put it away. After the others had gone home I questioned him about that, I asked him if he was angry with me.

“No child’ he said and he suddenly looked much older than Poppa.

“Could I see that again please?” he asked.

I handed it over and a look of weariness went across his face.

“Do you understand any of this” he asked in such a low voice I could almost not hear him.

“Only a little” I replied”, “The title, says National Geographic and the book is written in English so I can read some of it. The stuff inside is so crazy!”

I showed him the picture again. The words on the page said ”OBJECTS IN MIRROR ARE EXCEPTIONALLY BREATHTAKING.”

He looked at it for a long time and at last said. “It’s a play on words, not really important. The thing in the picture is a car, like the cars that come by the island except this one didn't run on a track. A long time ago you could take a car like that one and go most anyplace. Those other things n the mirror are mountains. Like a hill except that the tops are in the clouds.”

He fell silent looking at the picture and slowly, closed the book.

“Take this back home” he said and I could see a tear leaking out of one eye.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Nothing chica” he said in that low voice. “I knew this was coming. Your people have done something quite grand here but most of you will never understand it.”

I realized that he was crying. Inside; the way people cry when they don’t want to show it. He looked so old and scared at that moment. Older than the stark hills beyond the island. Older than the sun and the moon. He looked like the oldest man alive.

I felt sorry for the old man and hugged him like I would hug Julio after he hurt himself.

The Old Man pushed me away.

“I’m sorry” he said. “You’re lucky don’t you know that? It’s better if we forget about all of that stuff in the magazine.”

He saw my expression; that I could certainly not forget and frowned.

“You are such a pain! You’re young now, it’s hard even for me to understand.

His voice faded off and he played idly with my long black hair. A far-away look was in his eyes, like he was seeing things that no one else could see, and in that instant I thought he really could.

Then he blinked and saw me again.

“Please forgive me child” he said gently, “ This is my fault and it’s not fair for you. I suppose you’ll need to know more about this. You’re going to have to prepare yourself for…” He looked thoughtful for a moment again.

“Tell you what,” he said, “you bring me a different page of your magazine once a week. I’ll try to tell you what’s on it and what the words and pictures really meant; deal?”

We shook on it and I hugged him one last time but he didn't hug me back. When I left I noticed his eyes didn't look so old anymore.

He kept his promise all through that long last winter. I cherished this time I had with the old man. I’m not sure why, but I felt safe around him. Like he would never be cross with me as Poppa was sometimes. He never punished me like Momma. He would never throw a tantrum like Julio. Except for that one time when he cried, I never saw him show emotion at all. The old man told me amazing things about the old world and answered all of my questions.

Julio is the only other person who found my secret. He joined me at my sessions with the old man much to the old man’s amusement and to my dismay. Julio thought differently than me.

Boys can be stupid sometimes! He was more interested in what airplanes were or how old cars worked than seeing some of the places in the pages of the magazine. Julio said that he wanted to be like people in those other places. The Old Man told him that was silly. There were no people like that anymore. He said things were better here in the island. I could tell that Julio was not convinced. I have to admit, I wasn't either.

Julio seemed to have a different relationship with the old man than I did. To him, the old man was perfect, a hero. I told Julio that I saw the old man cry once. He didn't believe me.

This went on for the rest of the winter; until that fateful spring. Spring was always a happy time. We started to shuck our heavy winter garments and began looking forward to better food than beans and dried pork.

One day Julio and I were picking blackberries at the far north end of the island. If you pushed through the undergrowth you could get a glimpse of the highway. That’s what the old folks called it. They said it was a road but it didn't look much like the paths that we used. The highway was a wide silver ribbon, which ran as far as the eye could see. Another highway split off to make the island into a point on the north end. A third crossed the other two and formed the south face of the island several kilometers away. The old folks said that “the man” built the highways. People in other words, but not like us. ”Angels” they said though sounded more like Angelos.

They told us to stay back from the highways and never let the Angelos see you. “Don’t tempt the Law” they would say. “The cars will get you. You will be taken from the island and made to do horrible things. The Angelos eat children and make older folks work until they drop.” I thought that most of this was not real and that they just told us those things to scare us.

But the highway was a bad place and sometimes we found dead animals there. The law said that we should never touch the highway or try to go to the other side. There was nothing on the other side anyway, just crumbly rock and sand.

On that day we were picking blackberries, I was into the hedgerow where I found a particularly good blackberry bush. I could also see the highway and the whizzing traffic. The cars came by so fast that you could hardly tell what color they were, they were faster than birds or the leather balls that the older kids would throw when they play baseball. Faster than the meteorites you can see on a cold clear winter night and there were so many of them. They had a funny smell too. Like right after the lighting hits or in the winter when we made sparks by rubbing our hair. I was sure that no one inside a car could see me but was careful to stay behind some bushes.

One of the cars did something no other had ever done. It slowed and stopped, close to me. Close enough to see the clean lines of it, like a fat silvery raindrop, not like the thing in my book at all. It made a humming noise and was difficult to look at, its skin reflected light like Momma’s mirror.

I was scared and kept behind my bush. The entire side of the car slid open but there was only blackness inside. I got on my hands and knees to get a better look. I could hear movement from the car and a thin leg swung out to touch the ground, followed by another as a person got out.

It was an Angelo, I was sure of that. She had white skin, as white as calf’s skin or white flowers. She was wearing a one-piece flowing garment that was light green in color but changed hue as she moved. Strange looking sandals were on her feet. The oddest thing was her eyes; she had dark covers over her eyes which made them insect-like and scary.

She looked around hesitantly then, reached inside the car to pull out a dull green bag. The door closed and the car began humming, then it was moving more swiftly than a bird and shot out of sight, leaving the Angelo behind.

I was aware of Julio calling my name and the creature heard him too. She froze and I almost giggled. The Angelo was trying to hide. She didn't know that I could see her and that Julio would have no problem spotting her when he blundered through the hedge, which he did shortly.

I grabbed Julio and got him to be quiet. We both watched the creature for a while as she looked around the edge of the highway. Then she came over to where we were hiding and spoke to us.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said with an odd lilting accent. In fact she was speaking English, not Spanish like we did although the old man said we used a language that wasn't either. Spanglish he called it.

Julio ran away, but I stayed put.

¿tuyo novio corrieron dónde? Said the strange woman.

“He’s not my boy-friend,” I replied in English, “He’s my brother.”

“And you are a little braver than your brother I think,” she said. “Is there some way through these brambles?”

I got up and pointed to a hole in the blackberry hedge. She had to stoop and scratched her arm on one of the thorns. She cursed and I could see a thin line of blood.

“Well, let’s have a look at you,” said the woman. I backed down the path, keeping my distance from her.

She sighed. “Look, I’m not going to bite.” she said, “I just want to see what you look like that’s all. Now come on.”

She beckoned with her hand and I came about two steps from her. A thin metal band was wrapped around her right wrist with things on it that seemed to quiver, she fiddled with this for a moment and the black circles hanging over her eyes faded from black to transparent. I could that she had normal looking eyes but, there was something wrong about them. I could see patterns reflected in her eyes that danced; too quick to see. She touched me lightly with a fingertip. Her fingers had silvery pads on them. After a moment shook her head slightly and mumbled to herself.

Then she said; “I cut myself. Do you think we could go to your place and get a Band-Aid or something?”

“I don’t know what a band-aid is” I said, “but Momma has stuff she puts on cuts like that. It burns though.”

She smiled, “That sounds just fine; lead on,” she said and we started walking down the path.

I kept a little ways away from her. Not that I thought she would hurt me. I could outrun her easy if she tried something. I just didn't like her, she seemed friendly enough but she had an air about her, like I was not very important.

She asked me a lot of questions on the way. How old I was, how many people were in my family and how long we had been in the island. She seemed surprised at my age but didn't say why. I asked her if she was an angel and she gave me a thin smile.

“Sort of,” she said. “I’m a lawyer. A guardian angel I suppose.”

We came out of the woods and walked down the dusty road to the houses. When we came to the school shack, I saw the Old Man come outside. The woman stopped, without a word she walked over to the Old Man and embraced him.

“Oh my god,” he said. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

The woman looked sideways to me and said something quietly to the old man who turned white, almost as white as she was.

“That’s impossible” he said, “how?” The woman looked at me again. The Old Man turned and said “vamanos chica; I need to talk to this lady.”

I went, but burning with curiosity I hid under the old man’s house where I could hear them speak. They spoke in the English tongue so it was difficult for me to understand but, the old man taught us enough.