August

Issue 47

The three moons of Nornic cast a blue glow over the old church. Converted from an old transport, it lay on the edge of the ocean, like the carcass of a beached whalephant, its metallic skin sinking between its ribs. The bent antennae of its guidance system sagged, unused. Waves kissed the shore, hushing the grief of mortality.

Over the years, the church had steadily lost members. Only a few of the aged were left during the last meeting I attended, years earlier. The elder and deacons, the old vanguard, had gathered to determine whether they would let the Kachuktapa make use of the main sanctuary. Potakpo, the Kachuktapa pastor, stood at the pulpit to present the request on behalf of his people. He said, “The Kachuktapa believers, they grow in number. The sanctuary is only room big enough now. You have few believers, yes? You can go to small deck room, yes? You like furniture made for your bodies, yes? Room switch is smart.” He waited in front for a response, in good Kachuktapa fashion.

Elder Payloxi stood. “Please wait outside while we discuss your proposal.”

Potakpo started. Thousands of eye facets blinked, but he said nothing. He waddled out. The door clicked shut.

Deacon Crater burst out, “You call that English? I couldn’t understand a word he said.”

“That’s because you’re deaf,” I said, below his range of hearing.

“If they’re gonna come here and live and work, they oughtta learn the language!”

“They want to use the sanctuary.” This time I said it loud enough for him to hear.

Deacon Smith shook his head. “The more we give, the more they ask for stuff. Now they’re wantin’ to use the sanctuary! I’d let ‘em, you know, but they have no concept of how to keep up a place. Their rear ends are covered with sand every time they walk through the door!”

“They need the space."

“No sir! Ain’t right. My granddaddies founded this church! Paid for this old transport from their own pockets. Converted it into a proper church with their own sweat. No sir, I ain’t standin’ by and lettin’ ’em take it over. It’s our church!”

A furrow divided Elder Payloxi’s forehead into two halves. “I would be more inclined to allow them use of the sanctuary if I could see some spiritual fruit, but have you ever watched their children? They are out of control. They don’t know the meaning of manners. They weren’t raised with any respect. Of course, you can’t blame them. They are only taking after their parents.”

Smith hadn’t finished. “We shoulda put a stop to them when they first came. Now they’re takin’ over. For an advanced carbon-based life form, you’d think they’d care more about the environment. But no! Their transport systems pollute everything. Radon powered! Ha! It’s ruinin’ our atmosphere, changin’ our world ‘n our way of life.”

I sighed, already knowing they wouldn’t change their minds. “The Kachuktapa are here to stay. That’s not going to change. They need the space, and we have it available.”

Payloxi’s white eyebrows nearly met at the furrow. “Bill, I know you are fond of these people. I have no complaint about the work you are doing with them. But they don’t take care of the place. They won’t take the time to learn the language, and my backbone screams every time I hear their music. We need to see them make some concessions. Until then, I say they can continue to use the back room. Perhaps in time, if they show a little effort, they will have their own building.”

They did get their own building. Over the next three years, they built a structure better suited to their shapes. In the meantime, the church in the transport disintegrated. The hull rotted at the side of the ocean.

Ironically, the Kachuktapas’ church benefited from the deacons’ decision. Instead of continuing to meet with a single, large congregation, they split into two groups, each meeting in different places. Both congregations flourished. They used division to multiply. They built up an outreach program to their own people, and began to send out missionaries to others.

As I walked one last time to the transport, my feet sunk in the sand. The ports were all sealed shut. Someone had spray-painted obscenities on the old hull, shameful words that shouldn’t be said. I turned my back and looked up to the stars. The sea took the light of the sky and gave it back.

Feathery touches tickled the back of my neck. I turned and looked into Potakpa’s face. His multifaceted eye, covering most of his skull, reflected the moonlight a thousand times. Because his Kachuktapa exoskeleton didn’t allow him to communicate feelings through his face, he showed emotion through his long antennae. “What does that touch on the back of the neck mean?”

Potakpo thought a moment, and he responded in his own language. “You grieve for your church?”

“I do.” I realized, once again, that he knew more of human body language than most humans.

“I touch your neck to take some of the grief from you.”

I pressed the hard ball joint of his shoulder to thank him, and turned back to the stars. I switched to his language in a sign of friendship. “We’re all aliens here, your people and mine. We’re travelers in a strange land. Your people know it, but mine have forgotten. We’ve forgotten that we immigrated here.”

“You came to us. You brought us the words that brought us life. You are a great people. We are forever indebted to you.”

I sighed. “My grandfather’s generation knew the power of God. My generation knows much less, and I shudder when I see what my son has to face in his generation. We are no longer a great people. We are dying, Potakpo. Your people continue the work of God. Mine no longer care to.”

One of Potakpo’s antennae coiled tight as I spoke, showing he didn’t understand. But that didn’t stop him from touching my neck again with the other, to take more grief from me.

“Hey! That’s it!”

Potakpo sprang backwards on four of his ten legs. In the Kachuktapas language, loud outbursts mean anger, and they avoid it whenever possible. I lay face up on the ground, my soft midsection completely vulnerable to his pincers, to ask his forgiveness, but I couldn’t keep from laughing. “We have the Kachuktapa expression for ‘compassion’ now.”

“We do?”

“Uh-huh. The phrase is ‘Touch the neck.’”

He stuck five legs out on one side, then swayed to the other and stuck the other five out; he was excited. “Now we can translate II Corinthians.” Then he buried his rear section into the sand, as he always did when he considered what to say. “God allows us to suffer, so God can touch our neck. Then we can touch other’s necks as God has touched ours.”

Potakpo pulled his rear section back out and kicked five legs out sidewise. “It is so good to hear God speak in Kachuktapa!” He turned to me, and said in English, “Thank you.”

He shook off the sand and walked over to the empty shell of the old transport. He found a spot directly below the bent guidance system, and touched the hull with his antennae.