Under the Stars

               Even though it was years and years ago, I remember the scene like it was yesterday.

               I was maybe three or four years old. Old enough not to need to be picked up and carried but young enough to enjoy it when I was. My father had me perched on his broad shoulders and he was pointing out the night sky to me.

               "There," he said, his finger outstretched, "Do you see that pinpoint of light, Stella? That's where you came from. You're not from here, do you understand?"

               I said that I did, because at that age, adults were always right. If my father had told me I was a cow, I would have agreed with him and believed it to be true.

               When I was older, I reasoned that my father was just yarning with me, as people are wont to do with the very young. That was before I turned thirteen.

               Nobody told me that turning thirteen would change everything.

===

               I woke up at the crack of noon like any self-respecting freshly minted teenager on a summer day. I crawled out of my bed into the bathroom. I turned on the water in the shower, stepped in and let the hot water pound my back. I stretched like the cat does, arching it until it felt supple and loose. I let out a moan of satisfaction and washed my hair.

               I stepped out of the shower and shook my hair out. I reached for my toothbrush and glanced at myself in the mirror. I froze. What was happening to my eyes? My irises were darkening and turning a dark purple with a metallic sheen. I wanted to cry out but I was, at the same time, fascinated. And then, just like that, they faded to their usual light blue. Was I dreaming? I left the bathroom with my head in a whirl.

               My mother called me into the kitchen to help with the chores. I said nothing about my eyes to her. If she noticed that I was unusually quiet, she did not remark upon it. She has never been one to speak a paragraph when a word will do and I'm sure she enjoyed the stillness. We chopped potatoes and shucked corn together while I pondered what had happened to me. Finally, when all of the kitchen work was done, I nerved myself to question her.

               "Mum?"

               "Mmm?"

               "I wasn't born on another world, was I?"

               "Why would you ask such a thing?" She looked at me like I was being very silly.

               "It's something Dad told me when I was little."

               She crossed herself, "Your father, God rest his soul,  was a great one for foolish talk."

               "Oh."

               Should I mention what happened to my eyes? I wished that my father was still alive. I could have talked to him. He was my touchstone, my Merlin. Something in my mother's eyes made me doubt her. Like they were haunted or something. I asked to be excused and went back to my room to stare at myself in the mirror. My eyes stayed stubbornly blue. I told myself to snap out of it and went outside to get some fresh air.

               I walked into the woods behind our farm. At once, I could hear a whispering.

               "A human walks among us!"

               "Get the children into the tree!"

               "Does it have a dog with it?"

               "No!"

               "It comes this way!"

               "Hide!"

               What was I hearing? Were some children playing a joke on me? I spoke up. "Who is there?"

               "Don't answer her," came a hoarse whisper from a thicket circled by alders off to my left

               "Do you think I'm an idiot?" came the reply.

               "I can hear you whispering," I said angrily, afraid that I was being played for a fool.

               "Impossible!" cried the first voice.

               "You might as well come out!" I said, striding right to the thicket.

               Out tumbled a pair of squirrels looking extremely nervous. I gaped at them in astonishment.

               "You're not kids," I said stupidly.

               They shook their heads vigorously.

               "How is it that I understand your speech?" I asked.

               "Why do you ask us?" said the bigger of the two. "We've never known a human to speak the language of the Wood!"

               "But you're speaking English," I protested.

               "What's that?" asked the smaller squirrel.

               "It's the language that we're all speaking!" I said.

               "We're speaking Woodish!" said the bigger squirrel. "And so are you!"

               "But I don't know your language," I cried.

               "You're speaking it!" said the smaller squirrel pertly.

               "Oh."

               "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have nuts to hide!" said the bigger one. Off they went chittering into the branches.

               I walked deeper into the Woods. I picked my way over to the small stream that ran through the woods. I sat on the bank and let the water run over my feet. I pulled my hair out of the braid that I'd put it in and shook it. It always made me feel free to do that, like I'd let my hair out of cage or something. I pulled it to my eyes and inspected the ends for splits. It was doing something odd. It was moving like a living thing, pulling itself into serpentine bends and loops. My scalp tingled with electricity. And then the hair turned colour, darkening into a burnished ebony. Sparks fizzed slowly out of the ends of my hair, like the strings of bubbles in Grandfather's champagne glass on New Year's Eve.

               My brain began telling me things like a tiny computer link had just been connected.

               "Gaia-Rah-Non," said my brain. "Your report is due."

               I saw, in my mind's eye, a writing that reminded me of Sanskrit and hieroglyphics without being either of them.

               "What report?" I asked.

               There was no response. It felt like my connection had been dropped, like cell coverage in a tunnel.

               I sat down under a fir tree to think. I felt like a person stuck in a labyrinth who finally sees a way out. But out to where, and out to what? I remembered a dream where  I was lost and alone and suddenly my Dad came up to me and held out his hand to show me the way home. I cried in the dream and I cried now. Oh Daddy! How I need you now.

===

               She knows. Shit. And now I'm going to lose her.

               I remember the day she came to us so well. I was walking restlessly in the cool of the night; I simply could not sleep. Ever since the doctor had given me the negative prognosis, I'd felt like a stranger in my own skin. What was this body that I thought I knew so well? It was a traitor, refusing to give me what I wanted so much. Jamie told me to relax, to trust God but it was always so easy for him. He was not the one with the barren womb.

               I told him to divorce me and find a woman who could give him children but he had just looked at me with those big wounded eyes and said nothing. I burst into angry tears and then fell into his strong arms.

               Later, I wandered far afield like some woodland sylph, yearning for some kind of rest to come to my racing mind. I could see the stars through an opening in the canopy of the trees where a big fir had taken a lightning bolt. I lay down in the grass and looked into the heavens. I  prayed, if bitter questioning and  accusation counts as prayer.

               I saw a star change its color just for an instant. It was giving birth to another star, like a cedar fire spitting out a spark. The freshly born star was moving toward earth, streaking like a comet. It came toward me, slowed down, and then hovered in circles around me. You can believe that I was paralyzed with fear.

               It burned brightly and released a silver sphere which floated on the wind like a dandelion seed. I ran after it.

               The sphere set down gently in a meadow between the wood and the village. Its silver skin turned transparent and then began to open as though it was a germinating seed. I saw, nestled in a bed of textured fabric, a tiny baby. Her eyes were like grey pearls; her hair a waving mystery of dark, curling knots. Her skin was like glass, clear enough to see veins and capillaries just under the surface. I touched the baby and as I did, it began to change. I could see her eyes turn colour until they were the mirror image of my own. I gasped and snatched away my hand. Her eyes began to return to their original alien hue. I touched her again; her eyes transformed again and this time her hair did too until the baby was crowned with the lanky dirty- blond hair with which God saw fit to bless me. Her skin turned the colour of roses and cream and lost its glow. I beheld my child. For she was my child, given to me by the holy angels of God.

               I took her home and showed her to Jamie. I told him that she came from the heavens like Baby Jesus. I told him that we would call her Stella but that she was never to know that we weren't her natural parents. He was stupefied and called me presumptuous. I didn't care. I had my Stella and I would never give her up. She was my gift from God.

               I went to St. Patrick's next Sunday and had her baptized in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. I faithfully attended Mass every Sunday thereafter.

               What did we tell people? Nothing. It was none of their business.

+++++

               I decided that I had to have it out with my mother. At the very least, I needed to hear the truth from her own lips.

               She was in the kitchen drying dishes. She had a faraway look in her eyes. I picked up the other towel and started helping her.

               "Mum?"

               "I lied to you," she said abruptly. "Your father was telling you the truth." And then she slumped over the sink and started to shake. I could see tears run down her cheeks into the dishwater.

               I touched her shoulder but she wouldn't even look at me.

               "You'll always be my Mum," I told her. She turned to me and rubbed her eyes. Then she pulled me into her arms and hugged me fiercely. She told me about how I had come to her.

               "I always thought that God sent you to me," she said quietly.

               "But why am I here, Mum? I mean, what's my purpose here?"

               "I don't know Stella. You should ask God."

               "What if God isn't God from where I come?" I wanted to know.

               "Shame on you Stella! You know from your catechism that God is God of everywhere."

               I shrugged. It was all so confusing. I thanked her for telling me the truth and went back to the woods to think. Maybe I'd ask the squirrels for advice.

+=+

               What do I tell her? That she is Jesus to my Mary? A saint, sent down from Heaven to lead us in returning to you, Lord? Why else would you have sent her? And I've done my part, haven't I, Lord? Raised her in the fear and admonition of the Lord, I did. Took her to Mass every Sunday, even after you took my Jamie away from me. Made sure she attended parochial school from pre-school to the present.

               I turned to Holy Scripture and read the passages that I knew so well: the Magnificat of Mary, the baby Moses hidden in the rushes, and Eli's counsel to the young prophet Samuel. I pray and pray and pray. Are you listening, Lord?

===

               What would you do, Jesus? You were from somewhere else, weren't you? How did you handle walking with humans when you were Other? Did you want to just go back home? Something in me just wants to talk to my own kind, whatever we are. I feel so lonely.

               Well, this was getting too morose. I needed to walk; maybe I'd hike to the top of Cassiar Hill. The view from up there always gave me more of a perspective. I started up the trail stopping every now and again to pop a ripe blackberry in my mouth. I could see bear scat but it wasn't fresh so I didn't worry about it.

               The hike was helping. There's something about working my muscles that calms my anxious thoughts. I pushed aside the branches of a Douglas fir which hid my secret trail to the lookout. I came from the restful dimness of the trees into the bright sunshine and a great view of the flatland to the south. I could see all the farmers' fields spread out like a patchwork quilt. I breathed deeply.

               I saw a turkey vulture glide on a thermal just below me. I sighed.

               I sat down and let the sun warm me. I looked down at the traffic rolling along on the highway far down below. My brain started clicking again as though a connection was once again reached.

               "Are you there, Gaia-Rah-Non?"

               "I am," I said. I noticed that my hair was sparking again. I picked up the ends and I noticed that my skin was turning transparent again.

               "We have not had a report."

               "A report?"

               "Your progress on that little planet."

               "I really don't know what you're talking about," I protested. "I've received no instructions."

               "Nothing?" echoed the voice dully. "Your operating system should have given you ongoing instructions from the day you landed there."

               I assured the voice that I had not. Then, a silence, as though a conference was taking place that I was not privy to.

               "What have you been doing since your mission began?"

               "But what is my mission?"

               "You were sent as our eyes, Gaia-Rah-Non."

               He went on to lay out for me the plight of my people, clinging to life on a decaying world, desperate for a new start on a world that could sustain us. I was to learn all I could about Earth to enable an Exodus.

               "It was only today that I have heard from you," I said.

               "Then you have done nothing." The voice was flat and empty.

               "Nothing."

               "Please understand Gaia-Rah-Non, our time is extremely limited. You have the span of two moons to infiltrate the corridors of power on your planet."

               "This is not possible," I said. "I have the body of an immature female. On this planet, an  immature female generally has a very low status. Here, important decisions are the property of males who have reached middle age."

               "Then we must give you another body," said the voice decisively. "Prepare for transformation."

               I tensed myself. The skin on my hands were flickering so that they appeared now transparent, now pink but that was the extent of my transformation.

               I reported this to the voice.

               "This is not good Gaia-Rah-Non!" Another pause while my voice consulted with the others. "You must do what you can with the body of an immature female. All our hopes rest with you."

               "Understood," I said for want of a better word. I understood the problem but I had no solutions. I pictured myself addressing the United Nations and pleading for my dying race. They would laugh me to scorn, of that I was certain. How would humans react to our Diaspora? Would they revert instantly to the fear of the unknown and annihilate us? Of course they would. They have no problem slaughtering each other, choosing to see differences in ethnicity, religion or politics as more critical than shared humanity. What would they do with us, an alien people?

               One of us would be a curiosity, worthy of study, but several million of us would be perceived as an unacceptable drain on planetary resources.

               I needed some help. And then God sent me a mentor.

                A black bear came trundling through the fir trees and started in on the blackberries. He didn't notice me in his greed for the ripe fruit. I cleared my throat and he turned to me.

               "What are you doing there?" he mumbled, his nose a glossy purple.

               "I need advice," I said.

               "I don't have no truck with humans," he said.

               "Ah, but I am not a human. I'm from one of those little fires in the sky."

               "Little fires? Do you mean another planet?"

               "Um, well, yes."

               "Planets aren't fires, you know. Good thing. Otherwise our feet would get pretty hot," he chuckled.

               "I need advice." I was desperate.

               "Tell me everything," he mumbled, continuing to chew berries from the canes.

               I told him everything. He stopped eating and peered at me long and hard.

               "That is quite a tale," he said.

               "It's true!" I cried, my voice high and stretched.

               "I'm not calling you a liar," he said.

               "Can you advise me?"

               "Nobody looking at you would think that you were anything less than completely human," he noted. "You might tell your people to blend in, instead of appealing to human mercy. Go in camouflage. That's how lots of we animals survive."

               "But there are so many of us!" I protested.

               "You must choose places to come which are away from the cities and towns. Tell your people to come to the forests and deserts, the rocky places and tundras, the high plateaus and the steppes. Once you have garbed yourselves appropriately, what is there to prevent you from filtering into the more promising areas?"

               "We only have two months."

               "Then you had better get started," said the bear tartly.

               +++

               Her eyes were troubled; her body taunt with a secret she had no strength to bear alone. Mothers know. I patted the seat beside me on the couch. She was able to say nothing for a few minutes. I contented myself with marveling over her porcelain skin and expressive eyes. How could she not be my child, when she modeled her human body and face after mine? Every mother should have such a daughter.

               "Mum?"

               "Honey?"

               "It's beyond terrible!"

               "Tell me..."

               She poured out her story. So my little Moses in the Bulrushes was all grown-up and being called to lead her people in an Exodus.

               "How can I help?"

               "Help me research places that I can direct them to," she said. "I need to know latitude and longitude."

               "You'll also need to explain to them how we reckon latitude and longitude," I said.

               "How do I do that?" she squeaked.

               "Show them your atlas," I said. "They'll understand quick enough."

              

               ===

               There is a simple way to say it, but of course it is terribly misleading by its very simplicity. We did it. We infiltrated the planet even as the bear said we must.

               And now we walk among you. We are your hairdressers and traffic cops, your professors and architects. We have won no Nobel prizes, for we must maintain our masks.