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Martin, Revisited
Chapter TBD
THE BIRTH OF IMAGINATION
Copyright 2016 - 2020 Christina M. Guerrero
INTERMEDIATE DRAFT
PROLOGUE, FIRST SECTION - Martin - Thoughts while falling asleep. Which led to a short story. Which led to a novel.
CHAPTER ONE - The English Rose - Martin in love.
CHAPTER TWO - The Mooch Message - You may think words don't matter. But they do.
CHAPTER THREE - Congratulations - Time to celebrate. Or is it?
CHAPTER FOUR - The Heart Of Man - Who we are.
INTERLUDE NUMBER ONE - Turning A Writing Project Into A Novel - A few things to consider
CHAPTER FIVE - The Dead Thing - The green spaceship theory.
CHAPTER SIX - TBD
CHAPTER SEVEN - TBD
CHAPTER EIGHT part one - Their Children, Again - Life as a child.
CHAPTER EIGHT part two - Their Children, Once More - Growing up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN- A Scent Of Roses - Pondering infinity.
IN PROGRESS
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - The Spirit Of A Good Man - Don't underestimate people. You'd be surprised what they're capable of.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - G-Rated Swear Words - What pays the bills is not easy.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - His Place Full Of Space - What makes a place a home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Hallelujah - In search of the truth.
CHAPTER NINETEEN - Recovery - The body, soul, and spirit need time to recover from injustice.
CHAPTER TBD - A Bit Of Heaven - The holidays are difficult for some.
CHAPTER TBD - Who's The Hero? - Looking for hope.
CHAPTER TBD - Zombie Caleb And The Holidays - Dealing with flashbacks.
CHAPTER TBD - The Mystery Of Spasiba - Are babies paying attention?
CHAPTER TBD - The Birth Of Imagination - When thoughts become creative.
Draft One:
Nothing, yet.
DISCLAIMER
Except for the first section of the prologue and the interludes, this is a work of fiction.
The rest is either a product of the author's imagination, or used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to real persons, places, things, or events is coincidental and unintentional.
The chewing on Martin’s forehead faded as he woke up.
He immediately tugged on the rectangular baby, hoping to renew the comfort, and hugged it while studying the new room.
New and exciting thoughts flitted through his mind: the awareness of memories. Images of the airplane and the pilot and the new house appeared and disappeared.
More memories: there was enough space in this bedroom for two of The Others, who were sleeping on their own little beds across the room from the crib.
Martin moved the stuffed bundle and observed them; the other children were still.
It was too quiet in the dim early morning. He considered shrieking. Then he remembered the airplane again. Good feelings and thoughts replaced the temptation of mischief; instead, he hummed softly to a tune he had heard them singing now and then.
“Bee bee. Bee bee. Bee bee bee. Bee bee. Bee bee. Elemenoh bee.”
A scratchy high voice said from one of the beds, “Is Martin singing the alphabet?”
From the other bed came a slightly lower yet also scratchy voice, “Yes.”
Martin caressed the rectangular bundle. “A bee. Bee bee.”
He saw around the stuffed bundle that the other two had covered their heads with their blankets; he added, “A bee. See see.”
The first voice said, “It is cute and it is a little bit noisy.”
The second voice said, “Yes.”
Martin said to the stuffed bundle, “Say Pea Pod. Say Gronts. Say Kwistoff.”
“He sounds like ... he sounds like he is getting better--”
“Shh. Let’s listen.”
Martin patted the bundle. “Say Mai Mai. Say Daddy.” He pretended to listen. “No, say Pea Pod. You’re Pea Pod.” He giggled. “Pea pod. Pea pod. Pea pod. Pea. Pea pea. Pea pea. Pea pea pea.”
He flinched when the other two sat up and laughed. Then he sat up and laughed with them.
They got out of bed and stood near the crib.
“Let’s get him out of bed and play with him.”
“How?”
“Like this. You pull the knobs and push the slats.”
Martin watched.
“He is watching. What if he escapes?”
“He won’t. He is not strong enough. Hi, Martin. You want to play with us?”
He reached for them.
“Here. Let’s help him to this chair. And then we help him walk to the bed.”
“Noooo,” Martin protested. “Whee.”
They lifted him by his arms.
He tried to swing his legs. “Whee!”
“He loves that.”
“Again, Martin--”
A knock made them all look up. The door opened and Caleb entered.
Everyone said, “Daddy!”
“Good morning.” He sat on one of the small beds and reached for them. “Let me take the little one.”
Martin closed his eyes shut tight, anticipating the usual hearty morning kiss on his forehead.
As warm lips smooched his skin, The Youngest Other said, “Daddy, why do you ... why do you call Martin ... the Little One?”
“Because he is the littlest out of all of you.”
“I’m little too.”
“You are. You’re my Little Bee.”
“And me, too,” said The Middle Other.
“And you’re my Little Tiger.”
“Daddy, Martin sang pee pee in a song.”
Martin looked up from studying the feet of his sleeper.
Caleb said, “Oh, really.”
The Middle Other said, “He sang it to the alphabet song.”
Caleb smiled and giggled softly. “Did you do that?”
“Fee,” Martin said, indicating his right foot.
“No,” the Middle Other said gently. “One foot. Two feet.”
Martin watched. “Wuh fut. Two fee ... tah.”
The Youngest Other said, “He said it!”
Martin patted his feet and added, “A-deen, dva.”
“Daddy, why does Martin like Russian?”
“I don’t know. Did you ask him?”
“Martin, why do you like Russian?”
He pointed to his feet. “Fee. Tah.”
“This is your right foot. And this one is your left foot.”
“Wite-F. Left-F.”
Caleb giggled softly again. “He has a most unusual way of speaking. Are you all ready for breakfast?”
“No.”
“Then get ready. I’ll change the Little One.”
Martin held a diaper while Caleb gathered clothes and wipes and powder.
“And let’s go,” Caleb said. “How’s my Little One this morning? You sleep well? You like that doll?”
Martin pointed to the crib. “Bee bee.”
“Yes, your baby. Which shirt do you want to wear? This bluish purple one? Or this orange one?”
Martin studied his options, then hugged the blue shirt.
“And we have not unpacked all the clothes yet so you can wear yesterday’s pants. You’ll just have to whine and deal with it.”
Martin smiled even though something about the words made him feel unhappy. When he saw the tan jeans he said, “No,” and tried to kick. One leg moved swiftly; the other twisted and stiffened. “Back.”
Caleb placed a big hand on Martin’s stomach and said gently, “No kicking. You’ll wear the pants. No black pants until we unpack. You have a problem with it, you’ll have to sit in the playpen until your attitude improves.”
Martin cried softly as he was dressed, and tried to express his feelings with, “Dohnopastoo, nohpans, Daddy.”
“It’s okay to disagree, Little One. When we unpack you can wear all your black pants again.”
Caleb carried Martin and they were accompanied by The Middle and Youngest Other. They went down a wide flight of stairs and found Hayley, Garance, and Christopher playing Uno in the hallway.
“Thank you for waiting,” Caleb said. “Let’s go to the kitchen and have breakfast. Your mother will join us later.”
Once they were all seated, Martin looked around. The new house was big and stretched away in all directions. Sun spilled into a big room nearby, and he could still see the wide stairs to his left. Hayley and Christopher set the table and brought cereal, milk and fruit.
The Youngest Other looked around with a big pout and said, “Is Mommy sick?” Then burst into tears.
Caleb offered hugs and kisses. “No, she is not sick. She will join us later. Do you remember me saying that just now?”
“Yes.”
“Diiiiid youuuu get any sleep last night?” Caleb asked.
The Middle Other said, “Only a little bit. We laughed and talked a lot.”
“Did you two happen to see what time it was?”
The Youngest Other said, “it was a four. And a one and a five.”
“That explains a few things. You two will need a good nap today.”
“Daddy, look,” Garance said. She balanced a slice of banana on her nose.
“What is it with you and food?” Caleb said. He returned to his chair and examined a small bowl of hot cereal. “Martin’s food looks perfect, Hayley.”
“Thank you.”
“Let’s take a moment to appreciate our food.”
Martin held his spoon out to Caleb during several moments of silence.
Caleb finally winked then said, “Dig in, folks.”
“Daddy,” Martin said, holding out the spoon.
“You do it. You’ve been doing well lately. Feed yourself.”
Martin studied the creamy cereal. He pushed the spoon into the food, lifted the spoon to his mouth, and ate.
“Good!” Caleb said, messing up Martin’s hair. “How is everyone this morning?”
Christopher said, “I heard owls last night.”
Hayley said, “Me, too.”
Garance said, “What do they sound like?”
Christopher said, “Ooo ooo ooo.”
Martin said, “Ooo ooo.”
“As a brief aside,” Caleb said, “Be careful of what you say around the ... you know who ... to my right. He’s got excellent hearing and he’s a pretty good copycat.”
Hayley and Garance glanced at each other and whispered.
“What’s aside?” The Youngest Other asked.
“It is something extra that you would like to say.”
The Others whispered as they reached into their respective bowls and handed fruit to each other. Martin watched as he ate his cereal.
Caleb frowned as he watched them, shook his head, and said, “I’m looking for volunteers for today’s chores. I’ll need three for help in the garden, and three for help with the laundry and then exploring the house and mapping it.”
As Caleb took requests and made assignments, Martin slowly ate his cereal, alternating with sips of milk from his bottle. He became drowsy and stared when a seizure slowed him down.
“Daddy ... Martin,” said The Oldest Other.
“Oh ... thank you.”
A big hand caressed Martin’s head. “You okay, Little One?”
The Oldest Other held Martin’s right hand. “You will be okay. Relax.”
A voice said from the hallway, “Good morning!”
“Mommy!”
“Momma!”
“Is he okay?” Heather said as she rushed to Martin.
Caleb said, “I think so. I’m still not an expert but I think it’s a mild absence seizure.”
“Hi, Baby.”
Martin slowly turned to his left. “Maiiiii.”
Several kisses covered his head. “Did he eat all this by himself?”
“Yes,” The Oldest Other said. “Then he had the seizure.”
Heather prepared her own cereal and sat between Caleb and Martin. “Did everyone sleep well?”
“We heard an owl,” Garance said.
“Ooo ooo,” Martin said.
“We’re gonna ... we are helping in the garden,” The Youngest Other said, yawning and indicating one side of the table, “And they are explorling the house.”
“Exploring,” The Middle Other whispered.
Martin reached for The Oldest Other, who said, “Can I hold him?”
“Yes,” Heather said. They removed the high chair tray and moved Martin to The Oldest Other’s lap. He leaned back and sucked on his bottle.
Caleb whispered, “Five and Six were up until four fifteen a.m.”
“Should they be outside doing heavy labor? Maybe they could separate laundry with Martin and then take a nap and the other three could help you outside.”
“Good idea.”
*****
Martin placed a white sock on a pile of clothes.
“Good!” The Youngest Other said.
“We are almost done,” The Middle Other said.
“I am glad because ... because I am tired.”
They finished and took Martin by his hands.
“Whee,” he said around a yawn.
“Martin will take a nap, too," The Middle Other said.
They went to the den, where Heather was reading.
“Hi, Babies. Ready to sleep?”
“Yes.”
Martin helped as they set up sleeping bags and pillows. He had his own, and got comfortable, then hugged his Bee Bee and looked around at the new den.
He woke up abruptly and frowned, then remembered the events of the morning.
He sat up and looked around.
The Middle and Youngest Other slept silently. On the couch above them, Heather slept and snored softly.
Martin heard voices outside. From the sleeping bag, he checked out the doorway to the hallway. Across the hall was a screen door and outside was the garden.
He began crawling, hoping to see Caleb.
“Wite-F. Left-F,” he muttered. He tried to use his legs. The right one provided more leverage than he expected. He slid across the smooth carpet and giggled.
When he reached the hallway, he stopped. The light had changed, separating into three distinct rays.
“Ah-deen, dva, tri,” he said.
He moved toward the one to his left. For several confusing seconds, he felt weightless. Then he was aware of the floor, the doorway, and the light again.
Behind him, in the den, Caleb said, “Eight children?”
Heather said, “Yes.”
Martin gasped. He sat up, turned, and looked at the couch. The children were gone. The room was different, with less furniture and zero toys. Heather and Caleb sat sideways, looking out the big window, chatting softly.
Feeling confused, Martin crawled to the screen door. The yard was empty and well-tended, but had only a few trees. There were no children. There was no garden.
“Kwistof?” He said. “Onts?”
He dropped to the floor and crawled to the den.
Heather and Caleb still sat sideways, looking out the window.
“Dad die? Maimai?”
“I’ve always felt more than the two of us here,” Caleb said. “And it’s not only because they are, or would be if they were to eventually exist, literally a part of us.”
Martin moved closer to the couch. He found a stool and managed to stand. He used it as a walker and moved to the couch.
“Maimai,” Martin said.
They continued to look out the window.
“It was a sweet little dream,” Heather said. “Eight children. A total of ten of us.” After a long silence she said, “Well, I better get the chicken out for tomorrow.”
She turned to her right, stood, and said, “Hey! How did this stool get here?”
Caleb slowly turned. “Did you move it when you came in?”
“No.”
Martin stared at them, still feeling confused, gathering some comfort from chewing on his right hand.
Heather studied the couch and the stool. “It looks nice right there.”
She left the room.
Martin reached for her with one hand but she never looked back.
He cried out and sobbed. He reached for Caleb. “Daddy.”
Caleb sighed as he shifted. He turned to his left, stopped, and appeared to stare directly at Martin.
“Die-dee.” Martin stepped closer; he bumped against the footstool which bumped against the couch and Caleb’s thigh.
Caleb touched the footstool and smiled.
“Daddy?” Martin moved closer and tried to snuggle.
They both looked toward the back door when faint voices called to each other outside.
Caleb stood and continued to study the stool. Martin moved closer and held on to Caleb’s huge right hand. Caleb squinted and stared, then walked slowly to the screen door.
Martin tried to keep up, and muttered “Wite-F, Left-F.”
As they stood near the screen door and looked out, Heather appeared and said, “Did you hear something? Something like children playing?”
“Yes.”
“Mai Mai.” Martin leaned against her legs and reached for her.
Caleb said, “And that footstool was moving by itself.”
“I thought so. Other things have, too.”
“Mai Mai.” Martin patted her legs. She did not look down.
“Are you frightened?” Caleb asked.
“No. It seems familiar.”
“For me, too.”
Martin hugged Heather’s legs, then noticed the lights in the hallway again: three separate shafts that illuminated the floor. Out of curiosity, he let go of Caleb’s hand, dropped to the floor, and crawled to the lights.
He felt weightless again, followed by the floor beneath him.
Right away, he saw Heather but she looked different from the other Heathers he had known: more serious, more silent, more pale.
She was at her computer and somehow he could stand near her.
“Mai Mai?”
She stopped typing.
He reached for her.
She sat still.
“Mai Mai?”
He leaned against her and chewed on his left hand, understanding that he needed to think hard but not knowing how.
Heather resumed typing, now on a small flat rectangle, wearing glasses, frowning. Her hair was a mixture of light brown and silver.
“I wish they were here,” she said. “My babies. And Caleb.” She sighed.
Martin tried to analyze the situation. After only a few seconds, he decided to return to the hallway.
“Mai Mai,” he said. “Bye bye.” He hugged her sideways, then dropped to the floor, which was under a swirl of light clouds, and looked for the hallway. He moved quickly.
Clearer thinking finally poked through the mild confusion: he’d better go back to where he came from; if no one could see or hear him, he would not eat.
In the hallway he found the three beams of light. The house around them shifted and reformed. He felt confused yet again for only a few seconds; he needed to get back now.
He simply crawled through the doorway and found himself back in the sunny living room with Heather and the children.
She was still on the couch, yet up on one elbow, frowning at the doorway.
“There you are,” she said. “I saw you crawling over there, and for a moment I thought you had vanished into the sunshine. We’ll have to make sure you sleep in your playpen during nap time.”
Martin studied the room. She was on the couch; the two children snored as they slept on the floor.
He turned and listened for Caleb and the others outside; they were discussing the yard work.
He looked again at Heather. She said, “Come see me.”
Martin moved slowly, hoping she would not disappear.
“Look at you,” she said. “So strong!”
He giggled and moved faster. “Mai Mai. No bye bye. Wite-F. Left-F.” He would finally give in to crying if she vanished.
“Aw. Why would I go bye bye? Come here.” She reached for him.
Martin tried to climb up her legs.
“My baby.” She sniffed him. “Where have you been? You smell like ... lemon Pledge ... and oranges ... and Caleb’s cologne ... and fresh air.”
He touched her face, which was a light rosy-gold, instead of almost white like the third Heather’s skin.
“Mai.” He kissed her cheek and hugged her.
“I love your sweet little Mai Mai. What about mommy or momma?”
He patted her face. “Mai Mai.”
“Aw, so cute. You want to count?”
“Count ya. Wan, twoo, tree, fo-ah.” He held out his fingers.
“Very good! And sometimes I want to eat these little fingers. They’re so cute. Yum yum yum.”
“No, Mai Mai. No eat.”
“No eat?”
“Count.”
“Oh, we’re still counting?”
“Count ya. Dis ... dis ....” He held out his other hand and indicated with the fingers, “Fibe, sis, seben, ocho, nine, ten.”
“Oh, you’re learning so much lately! Ocho? What does ocho mean?”
“Ocho, noo-a-vay, dee-uz.”
“Does ocho mean ... nine?”
He studied his fingers, muttering the numbers, then said, “eight!”
“Good! How about in Russian? Ah-deen, dva ....”
“Tree, chyetira, pee-yat, shest, shem ....” He stopped.
“I always forget the next ones, too.”
“No too. Shest, shem ....” He studied his hands, became frustrated, and sobbed.
“Baby, just wait. We’ll get the dictionary in a little bit and look it up.”
“Bee Bee.” The frustration and mild fear from earlier finally broke through. He continued to sob.
“Where is your Bee Bee?”
Someone on the floor moved, then handed the rectangular bundle to Martin.
“Tik ooo,” he said, and held the bundle close and cried softly against it.
“Baby, you probably need another nap. I don’t think you slept very long. Shh, it’s okay.”
*****
The crib around him was brown and blue, illuminated by the golden glow of late afternoon.
Voices murmured from the other rooms; he could hear Caleb laughing.
Across the room from the crib, the other beds were empty.
To his right was his Bee Bee; he pulled it close and said softly, “Eat? You eat?” He waited then said, “Bee Bee hongree?” The birth of imagination poked through; he briefly pretended Howard was lying next to him, also babbling and being affectionate. He giggled and hugged the bundle.
Too soon, the vision vanished. Martin said sadly, “No Howd.”
That made him quiet for a while. He understood there had been another baby, but now it was gone. What was he supposed to do with the sadness? He wanted Howd instead.
A faint memory surfaced: sitting quietly with Heather and Caleb and looking at photos of newborn Howd. Sometimes they were sad and cried, and sometimes they were quiet.
Martin decided to be quiet, but cried out when Caleb suddenly appeared.
“Oh, sorry for scaring you. Ready to get up? You missed snack time.”
Martin hugged the bundle, then sat up. “Eat?”
“Yes, sir. Come here, Little One.”
“Whee!”
Martin felt weightless yet again as he was scooped onto Caleb’s shoulders. Big hands supported his waist.
“Hold on,” Caleb said.
In the kitchen, Caleb placed Martin in his high chair and served a small plate of cheese and crackers.
“Some water, too,” Caleb said. “You need your water. Then outside for some exercise with everyone else.”
“Chee,” Martin said, holding some out.
“Are you sharing? Is that mine?”
“Ya.”
“Thank you.”
“Spasiba.”
“You eat the rest. You need the energy.”
Martin imagined again. He held the cheese out and said, “Chee Howd.”
Caleb squinted. “Oh. For Howard?”
Martin pushed a few pieces aside. “Ya.”
“Oh, my Little One.” Caleb smiled then shook his head. “That’s generous of you. But he’s not with us. He won’t be able to eat that.”
Martin ate quietly, remembering his conclusions in the crib. Reluctantly, he ate the food saved for Howard, and sighed.
“My thoughts exactly,” Caleb said. “Let’s go get some exercise to raise our spirits. You want to walk?”
“Wite-F. Left-F.”
“Then let’s go.”
Outside, they all walked toward the top of the hill behind the house.
“You okay, little one?” Caleb asked as they climbed uphill along the path.
“Ya,” Martin said. He worked hard at moving his legs while holding on to Caleb’s right hand.
When Caleb called to the others Martin held out his own right hand and pretended to be holding Howard’s hand.
“I wuv you, Howd,” he said softly.
He was not surprised to hear faint laughter in return ... somewhere between imagination and eternity.
TO BE CONTINUED
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