Gable Álvarez Antonia María, My Lil’ Friend Jaar

MY LIL’ FRIEND JAAR

Historical Fictional Short Story

Written by Antonia María Gable Álvarez

It all started during Shemu, ten years ago, when I was a flowering 9-year-old. That Shemu the harvesting had gone well for our city, and the Pharaoh was planning the construction of Mer, the pyramids that would be made to bury, honor, and protect the Pharaoh and his family when they passed away. I had always been close to the Pharaoh and his family, because my mother was the royal seamstress, and she made and fixed all the royal family’s clothing.

Since I can remember, she would take me with her and have me play with the Pharaoh’s children of my age, Lapis, Rashida, and Adom. The Pharaoh had always had a soft spot for me, even more than he had for his own children. See, I always did what I was told, I was a soft-spoken, shy child, and the Pharaoh had taken a liking to me, for he was the same as a child, or so he told me. One day, while I was watching the other children play in the pools formed by the river, sitting on my mother’s lap as she sewed a headdress for the Pharaohess, I decided to go home early to get some sleep. I turned and told my mother “Maut, I am going to go home and sleep now, please”

My mother looked me in the eye and said; “Very well, you be careful Tutu, and don’t cross the river by yourself” and she blessed me with her thumb on my forehead. I waved goodbye to the royal family, yelled “ila alliqaa`” and walked alongside the river towards the city, watching the swirling currents become dark with the water as the sun, set behind me. I reached a part in the river bank which was curved and met by a large sand dune covered in large leaves that sagged over the dune, making a small, dark hole, invisible to the distracted pedestrian. Inside this natural coverture was the tiny playhouse my father had made me when I was very, very young, and in it, I kept sweet figs and grapes from the market, pretty pieces of cloth from mother’s most gallant

dresses and a small carving knife I kept to cut my fruit and carve shavings of papyrus to throw in the river on hot, long days. I always stopped by my playhouse and checked to make sure everything was there, and I did so that day, even though it was getting quite dark and my mother did not like me getting home after dark. I popped my head in and grabbed a fig from the bag on the floor, and proceeded to walk along the river bank until I reached the first large cluster of houses of our city. The city was not very far away from the Pharaoh’s house, and getting there before dark was not too difficult. The city was loud that night because the next day was the first day of the Nmside market, a traveling market that sold everything you could think of during Shemu, harvesting season. I slipped between the cracks of the city, looking up at the towering, stacked houses between the alleyways, and walking quietly until I reached our house. My mother and father would not be home until late, for my mother was to finish the headdress for the Pharaohess, and my father had been churning cement since the morning, and probably would not be home until the sun rose again. I pushed open the door, kicked off my sandals, and served myself a bowl of Molokhia that my mother had left for dinner. I sipped it in silence and watched the cool wind make the curtains rustle from the table. The noise outside was growing louder, drums, yells, and singing had broken out in the center of the city, festivities to honor the harvest of this year. After I finished the Molokhia, I washed my hands and face with the bowl of water by my parent’s bed and closed the door to the house. I climbed up the small ladder in the corner of the main room which led to my own room, a dark, tiny attic which was covered in pillows and a soft cloth, and had a window that looked out onto the other side of the river, where the sand dunes were larger and the bushes were scarcer. The moonlight was bright, bright enough so you could

see across the east side of the desert clear as day. I curled up into a ball and laid a thin sheet of cloth over my body. I slowly fell asleep to the distant drumming and chanting of the festivities and descended into swirling, peaceful darkness.

A few moments later, I snapped awake, with my heart beating heavily, to nothing. I lifted my head to see what had awakened me but everything was still and silent, and the moon was still shining in the sky calmly. I looked out my window into the dunes, the palms, thin acacias, and tamarisks moving lazily in the soft breeze. As I was dozing off again, my eyelids slowly shutting, I saw it through my halfshut eyes. A bright, blue light, brighter than anything I had ever seen before, zooming over the dunes. It was so fast that I barely saw it as it crashed into the far side of a larger dune, and saw instead that it had left a trail of light, fading by the second, that lead to the place where it had crashed. I was now fully awake. The light had been the brightest I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t seem to understand the blueish tint it had had. I quickly stood up and ran to the ladder to see if my parents had seen it too. As I climbed down the ladder I saw my parents sound asleep, laying face down on the thick cotton mattress, my father lightly snoring. I contemplated getting them up and decided they wouldn’t let me go investigate if I did, so I silently grabbed my sandals and a cloth to put over my head and left very quickly. I walked through the intertwining streets and alleys of the city, taking the quickest way to the east side of the river where I had seen the light crash. Even though I was only 9 years old, I was the smartest of the children I knew and took classes with the children of the Pharaoh about history, writing, and star charting, but I was the very best at numbers. I often talked with the Pharaoh, and even taught him the greek numeral systems that my father had showed me. I had them carved into a tab of clay that I kept by my window, along with

Egyptian and some Italian numerals. I got to the east edge of the city, not too far from my home, and I crossed the river on the rickety wooden bridge that had been there since I can remember. I paused in the middle, looked at the swirling dark waters below me, and shivered. I had never liked the river. I crossed the bridge swiftly and crawled up the large dune I had seen the light crash into, once at the top, I slid down carefully, and walked around the diameter of the dune, and saw something I have never forgotten to this day.

It was a ship, though I didn’t know what it was then, it was a sleek, metal disk-like object which at the time, reminded me of the moon. I had never seen anything quite like it. Of course, I’d never seen metal, and my first instinct, not the best one, was to touch it. I did, and still have a scar on the palm of my hand to this day from the burn. I almost yelled, but I covered my mouth with my good hand and held my burnt hand to my chest. The pain was magnetically throbbing, and I felt it all over my body as I curled up in a ball and fell on the sand next to the disk. That’s when I heard it. A soft, short-breathed purring. I stood up quickly, and, still holding my hand to my chest, I backed away from the metal disk, a little too fast, and I fell back down to the sand after losing my step. From a hole on the disk rose an odd figure, which reminded me of the Pharaoh’s cats. It was small, about half my size, and it was skinny and had a large head, which is rubbed with its slithery fingers, and large, black eyes, that shone with the infrastructure of a million stars. I watched it, wide-eyed. Looking back, I realize that I wasn’t scared of it, only in complete awe. Its skin was blueish, it looked like Hura clay, but it was shimmery like it had been polished. I swallowed, hard, as it came towards me slowly. It was limping and holding its side as if it’d been hurt. I kept still, and to this day I don’t understand why I didn’t run. Awe? Shock? I wasn’t paralyzed, just oddly

calm. I didn’t see it as a threat. It purred, and then said, in a raspy, low voice, “Is sālam”

It was the Southern word for ‘Hello’. I looked at it, only a meter or so away from my feet, and said slowly “Is sālam?”-

It narrowed its eyes“You are a human, yes?”

Once again in Southern Arabic Egyptian, the tongue of the Pharaohess which I was luckily fluent in. “Yes. What is it that you are?”

It laughed and saw its white, sharp, tiny teeth inside its smallmouth. “I am a being from outside”

It sighed, “I come from a nearby Solar System called Artemos, I am a traveler, and I come to study this planet”

I did not understand. “You come from the sky?” And pointed up, having forgotten that my hand was burnt. I winced and pulled it to my chest. He saw me do this and held out his hand. “Give me your hand, child”

I held it out gingerly and looked him in the eyes. He grabbed it gently and I felt immense pain shoot up through my arm. I squirmed but did not remove my hand. He lowered his head and opened his mouth. At this moment I feared he would eat it. I almost pulled my hand away but he simply licked it, with his long, thin, jet black tongue. It felt slimy, but as soon as it lifted from my palm the pain was gone. I looked at my hand, and the burn had scarred, and I remembered thinking that it resembled a lighting streak across my palm. I looked up to the creature, and whispered: “Thank you”

He smiled and fell to the ground weakly. I got up and kneeled by him “What happened to you?”

He lifted his bony fingers from his torso, and I saw that he had a large hole, spewing thick, bright green matter. He had been hurt in the crash. “I have little time left, a small one. In my ship are manuscripts about the history of humans. They speak of science, art, and love.”

I did not understand then, but I held his head up and said: “What is your name?”

He coughed and closed his eyes. “My name is Jaar. It is nice to meet you. What is your name?”

“My name is Tutu. I am sorry that you are hurt Jaar”

He sighed “It is alright Tutu. You are kind. You are not afraid as they said the humans would be. Please, read the manuscripts. They talk about my culture and people as well. They are my life work, Tutu”

I nodded “Yes, I will. You are very strange, friend” in Southern Arabic Egyptian. He looked up, eyes wide. “Friend? what does this mean”

I held up my hand. “Amico”

I said in Greek, hoping he’d understand. He smiled. “Niùs. This is how you say friend in my language, the language of the stars.”

He coughed one last time and fell limp on my knees. “Farewell, friend”.