Writing for Fun
April 2018
The Immigrant - Jeff Kebbell
During World War II my pocket money was sixpence a week given to me on Saturday morning and unless a family birthday or Christmas was imminent, it would be spent at the Regent Cinema on the Saturday morning pictures, which usually consisted of a cartoon, a general interest film and a western. It started with a community singing and occasionally a barrage of missiles flying from one part of the audience to another. I always had an elastic band and a supply of bus tickets which I could make into pellets for ammunition. One morning I hit the school bully on the back of the neck and when he turned round and hit the innocent child behind him, his big sister sloshed him and the attendants threw him out – a happy memory of those days.
When the money was used for something else or confiscated for bad behaviour, I would join four or five other ne’er-do-wells and go to Joe’s house, an old Victorian house with steps up to the front door and a basement for the servants long departed.
In a particularly rough area of Tottenham this was a pretty scruffy place but when one mounted the steps and banged the large knocker you may be invited into a hall and reception room of faded elegance and dusty beauty. One saw a splendid fireplace with tapestry with a strap hanging by the side to call the servants, old and worn armchairs and moth eaten carpets with long once golden curtains at the equally long windows and an old man with one eye who dressed in a heavy paisley dressing gown,
The usual scuffle for the best seats occurred and finally when silence fell, Joe would hand round a large bag of big humbugs — one each mind — Joe’s one eye missed little and you could easily be evicted for trying to acquire a second sweet. Finally all was quiet, with every boy having one cheek bulging and Joe would tell us a yarn from yesteryear and wonderful stories that I wish I could remember and tell my children.
This particular Saturday he opened his yarn with ‘An alien has landed in my back garden and lives here.’ You could have heard a pin drop on the thick carpet. Joe continued with his tale of a small man with a large head, small body and a universal translator which enabled him to communicate with anyone. His people called Boskopoids, had come to earth once before, many thousands of years ago but aggressive sub-Saharan early man had wiped them out. He was passing by and stopped to see if mankind had progressed but from what Joe had told him, he decided his peaceful people were not up to meeting homo sapiens; perhaps in another thousand years if we hadn’t destroyed ourselves, they would return. We went to the back of the house but the little man and his spaceship had left.
The other boys left and Joe said, ‘I don’t suppose they believed me?’
I said I believed him and we walked back into the garden and to a large old greenhouse that was overgrown with tall rhubarb like plants I hadn’t seen before. A strange thing happened as a voice spoke into my mind – there was no actual speech but it registered clearly in my head.
‘Hello Joe, who have you there?’
Joe spoke ‘This is Jeff, a friend and a believer.’
‘Hello Jeff,’ said the voice in my head.
‘They speak through telepathy,’ explained Joe, ‘and you can either speak or think what you say next.’ Strangely I didn’t feel frightened since the voice in my head was gentle and slightly musical. We passed between the plants and Joe explained that I was to meet a Star Wanderer whose home planet had been destroyed when its star went nova. It happened about two thousand years ago and as their planet died the star could be seen shining brightly in the Middle East over Bethlehem and it heralded a new dawn for the people of earth as the nightfall for its planet. Joe further explained that the creature – immigrant I suppose – wandered through space using the free hydrogen which it converted into energy allowing it to cover large distances. It also lived for thousands of years and when it found a planet with a suitable atmosphere and soil, planted seeds it carried to provide food for the next part of its journey through the universe.
By now we had reached the end of the aisle in the glasshouse and there stood the Space Wanderer. It could not be described as beautiful but majestic it was, like a giant jellyfish on its back with tentacles waving to and fro. It was taller than I was and about eight feet diameter, space blue colour and possessed an immense calmness that made me want to embrace it. ‘Is it male or female?’ I said.
The immigrant chuckled. ‘I’m probably female,’ it said.
Joe had a longing in his eyes that even a boy could understand. He handed me a package.
‘This is for you, it is a will leaving the house and contents to you and instructions how to enter the house. My laboratory is on the second floor and when you are older you will be able to make things that patented, will make you a lot of money.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going with the immigrant. When I step inside its outer ring I will be absorbed into it and travel the universe.’
‘Can I come with you?’
‘No, you have a life and all its adventures in front of you and when you are old, plant some of the seeds from the plants here and we will come and collect you and travel in space together.’
Joe stepped into the plant and slowly melted before my eyes.
‘Goodbye Joe,’ I said sadly.
‘Goodbye,’ said Joe and the plant together and lifting off the ground they moved through the door into the garden. Whoosh! and they were gone. I wept tears and gathering seeds from the plants, went home.