The Last Christmas On Earth

EPISODE V-1

Episode V

James's frustration

Feeling to be observed, James took his eyes off the screen and found Helen leaning against the door: she was holding two cans of cola in each hand and was smiling. In her gaze there was a mixture of envy and tenderness for his way of throwing himself into things because he had the habit of facing every little commitment with such dedication that it looked like the most important thing in the world.

"Any news?" She asked as she went around the desk. She handed him a can and approached the monitor.

"In these days I spent hours and hours glued to the computer, I literally burned my eyes and in the end, you know what I discovered?" He asked her back.

"I do not know."

"I discovered that the whole world is infested by ghosts, by people with no history that appear and disappear here and there without leaving a trace. And that two of these ghosts live among us, and that one of them is even my wife, "said James sadly.

"Don't let yourself go in despair, in my opinion, things will clear up sooner or later."

"I really doubt it ... I also talked to a friend of mine who works at the CIA, he promised he would lend me a hand. But for now I still have not heard from him, it is a sign that nothing is happening ... "

"I told you, sooner or later we'll find out something. Do not get mad."

"In fact, I wouldn't take it too much, except that she wasn't my son's mother, I wouldn't take it at all," James pointed out disconsolately.

Helen sat on the edge of the desk and uncorked her can, James closed the laptop and pushed it away because he had had enough for that day.

"Maybe I shouldn't ask you ... but how does Eve behave with you and Harry?" Asked Helen in an uncertain voice, fearing that he wouldn't like that intrusion.

"If I have to be honest, she behaves even too well, and that's exactly what doesn't convince me. For a few days now, the affectionate wife of the far early years seems to have returned, I no longer recognize her."

"I think you should just try talking to her, maybe it's really just a big mistake."

After drinking a sip of cola James tightened his lips and scratched his unkempt beard. He reflected briefly on it for the umpteenth time, but the conclusion he reached was the same as ever.

"You're right, talking to her would certainly be the simplest and the most correct way.

The problem is that I don't feel like doing it, because so many things have happened by now that I have completely lost the faith in her, whatever she told me I wouldn't believe her," he explained, and she looked at him doubtfully.

"I wouldn't trust her even if she brought me her birth certificates and family tree. At this point it is no longer even a psychological or affective issue ... my loss of confidence in her is a metabolized, physiological thing."

"I can't blame you," she considered.

"And then ..." James started to add, but he stopped and bowed his head.

"... And then what?" Helen encouraged him to continue. He shook his head, barricaded behind his silence; then she put her hand under his chin and gently lifted it, winning his weak resistance without effort.

"We have always told each other everything, we have always been each other's refuge ... go on, talk ..." she urged.

"I never would have thought it possible, but after all that has happened I am afraid."

"Explain yourself better, what should you be afraid of?"

"I'm afraid I don't know who sleeps in my bed, I don't know who my son's mother is. I am afraid to discover that her life is all a farce, because if this were the case then mine would be too ... I am afraid of having spent the last twenty years interpreting, without I would even know, a role that was assigned to me in a history written by somebody else."

"I think you're exaggerating, I don't think such a thing is possible ... and then there's Harry and he's not a farce. You know very well that there is nothing more real and concrete than him" she replied, thinking sadly of how much she would have liked to have a child.

"Perhaps as always you are right, perhaps it is only a gigantic misunderstanding," he conceded to close the conversation, then hastened to change the subject.

"Tell me rather, how is our friend?" He then questioned, forcing himself to return to be the strong and self-assured James that Helen knew.

"You mean the stranger one?"

"And who else could be?"

"He's acting well as promised, waiting for the Festival to start, swimming and fishing and spending a lot of time with Sally. As a matter of fact, from time to time he continues to poke around, but he does it very discreetly," Helen told him.

"I'm afraid he can make trouble at any moment," said James.

"I don't think so, maybe he's a good guy and we just misjudged him," she suggested.

"I hope you are right."

"I hope so too ... by the way, did you know that Meg has a sister in Wisconsin?"

"Actually I've never heard it ... and to be honest I don't really see what matters."

Helen hesitated, afraid that James would scold her for what she was about to say.

"Well ... yesterday I went near where she lives and I stopped to ask her a couple of questions. I was curious to know if she had really seen the aliens and then I wanted to make her talk about the guys from the other night," she told him embarrassed, beginning to unroll the bandage that wrapped her finger.

"I think it's psychosomatic," James told him, noticing Helen's automatic gesture.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your finger, psoriasis or whatever it is. As soon as we talk about a certain topic or something that is vaguely connected, you start scratching it," James explained half-seriously, but Helen didn't smile and he felt stupid. She finished to unroll the bandage, James saw it and felt the blood stirring because he had the impression it had been put in a pencil sharpener. The finger had kept the original width at the base, at the point of the attachment to the hand, but going up from phalanx to phalanx it got thinner and thinner. The nail hung from a small piece of flesh and the last fingertip was almost completely gone. At a precise point, then, James even had the impression of seeing the white of the bone.

"I'm sorry, I'm an i***t. Come on, I'll walk you to the hospital," he said standing up, but Helen declined his offer with a shrug. She just scratched it, then sprayed the sore with the disinfectant spray she had in her pocket and began to wrap it again, holding her breath due to pain. James looked away and avoided insisting because he knew it would be perfectly useless.

"In short, Meg wasn't there," she continued telling him, dropping the "finger" topic while putting the spray in her pocket. "She hung a sign on the door where it was written she went to visit her sister in Wisconsin."

James found nothing strange about it, but not wanting to hurt Helen's susceptibility, he preferred to keep quiet. They spent a few minutes in silence because they knew that whatever they talked about in the end they always fell back on the strange facts of the past days.

"So if Eve has changed her attitude, is it better anyway?" Helen asked after a while to break that chill atmosphere.

"I don't know ... I told you, apparently we could be the classic happy family that anyone can see during snack advertising, but in reality, I often have the impression of living with two strangers. Lately, Harry has changed a lot too."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, he treats me with detachment ... besides the Egypt topic has become a real fixture, he spends all his time looking at photographs and pictures of the Sphinx and the Pyramids and drawing geometrical plans."

Helen knew very well that in some cases talking is perfectly useless. Without saying anything, she climbed down from the desk and walked around to wrap his back in an embrace.

"Only a few days ago my home and my family were my safe haven, my refuge from the world ... now the outside world has become my refuge from my very home and family," he explained to her bitterly, and she embraced him a little harder.

Willy finally found the strength to sit up, propped himself up on his slender arms and slowly turned his torso to push the legs, that dangled off the void, out of the capsule. When he was certain that he would not fall, he carefully bent forward and took his voluminous head in his hands, in an attitude that if he had been human it would have seemed a tremendous daze or worry, or both. After a few minutes, he started trying to get his body back on track. He took care of his numb toes first, then turned his shoulder blades and head several times as he slowly bent and stretched his arms and legs; meanwhile, he had begun to study the Studio curiously. In one corner all the instruments and equipment found onboard the flying saucer in 1947 were arranged in beautiful order, reproducing exactly the flight deck of his aircraft. No one but him would have been able to establish precisely what they were and what they were for, but the scientists were sure that there were no weapons among those objects and therefore they decided to give him back everything, convinced that Willy would know how to use them. At the opposite corner of the room, there was a small gym equipped with a bodybuilding machine and an exercise bike, a treadmill and a basket containing some balls, a skipping rope, and some dumbbells. Hanging from a coat hanger on the wall was his old space suit, next to it were placed some tunics of various colors and a jogging suit, which someone had arranged to have tailor-made for him in case he did not have wanted to stay naked. A door led to a real bathroom, complete with bathroom fixtures and all the rest. Another portion of the Studio was intended for a dining area and was furnished with a simple steel table and two chairs. A wall unit attached just above it contained furnishings and various types of preserved food and drink. On the near wall, there was an opening connected to a conveyor belt that would provide him with food whenever he wanted. The walls of the house were plastered with graphics and signs affixed in order to instruct him on the behavior to keep and on the function and functioning of everything around him. A large bulletin board housed some photos depicting the Ufo Crash of 1941: his shuttle landed in Roswell and his traveling companions. Those images would have served to refresh his memory in case he needed it. Meanwhile, a rather large screen was transmitting, without interruption, images of the planet Earth and its landscapes, of the pyramids scattered all over the globe, of the Mona Lisa and of the Vitruvian Man of Leonardo.

And later those of many places imbued with mystery like Stonehenge and Rapa Nui, of animals and plants, and finally photos of all the Team members. Clearly tired of waiting, Willy surprised everyone by suddenly lowering himself off the edge of the capsule; to avoid falling he grabbed the metal handrail that framed the machine and once he found the balance he spread his arms to see if he could stay on his feet. Feeling that his legs could support him, he took courage and moved his first unsteady steps towards his equipment, but after a short stretch, his weak muscles no longer supported him and fell to his knees. He continued crawling with infinite patience and once he arrived in front of the machinery he clung to the edge of a table and pulled himself to his feet. He carefully examined his equipment and fussed over it with difficulty moving his long, slender fingers. What the scientists had thought to be a useless plain of raw metal came to life suddenly projecting a hologram that reproduced his features. He touched the shelf in one precise point and a violet light generated by a pink crystal, installed on one of his instruments, scanned him from head to foot. Immediately afterward his computer recited something in an unknown language, that Margareth thought to be very similar to the Sumer one, communicating the results of the check-up. Willy nodded, seemingly relieved, then returned wearily to the capsule.