[KI]
A shaft of hot pink sunlight blasted along the edge of the doorway.
“It will blind me yet,” Mama complained.
Chara laughed. “Just turn your head, Mama.” She grabbed the water jug. “I’m going to the well.”
“You’re a good girl,” she heard Mama say as she closed the door behind her.
Squinting against the light didn’t bother Chara. Every day she looked forward to watching the sun melt down into Mount Aconcagua. It was her favorite moment in daily life. “It’s even worth carrying you,” she told the water jug.
“There goes silly Chana, dreaming again,” said one of the village women.
“Look,” another woman clucked, “she’s walked right past the well.”
“Maybe she’s planning to fill her jug with fine evening air.”
Chana didn’t mind their teasing. “Blessings to your families,” she called, circling around the well. Then off she raced to her favorite rock, clambered up, and took a seat. She placed the empty water jug carefully beside her.
The setting was almost perfect. Only one thing could improve it: Teo.
[SHŌ]
Click, click. Chana smiled at the familiar sound.
“Beautiful colors tonight.” Teo held up the camera hanging from a strap around his neck. “Beautiful girls, too,” he added, snapping Chana’s picture.
“Oh, you stop.” She batted her eyelashes and heaved a dramatic sigh. “Don’t get distracted, lover boy, or we’ll miss the sunset.”
Teo kissed her and nodded. “You are right, as ever.”
They sat quietly, watching the west bleed crimson and magenta. The only sounds were the clicks from Teo’s camera and the muffled signs of village life behind them.
Chana let her head’s weight press into Teo’s bicep. “Look how the horizon curves,” she said.
“The great circle of land and sea,” Teo replied, lowering his camera. “Imagine how many people have sat and watched the sun set today.”
“But at different times all over the world,” Chana said. After watching Teo focus and click a few more pictures, she put her hand on his arm. “What was it like before people knew the Earth was round?”
Teo grinned. “I supposed they worried about falling off the edges.”
“Yes, I think they did.” Chana did not join in Teo’s laughter; the idea fascinated her. “How long do you think it took for everyone to believe in a horizon curving to infinity?” When Teo kept on shooting, she continued. “Or did it happen all in one day? Someone showed the world absolute proof that you can’t fall off the edge of the world? No, in the past so many people’s minds could not have been changed at once. You need computers for that, right? Teo?”
[TEN]
Teo faced away from her, his shoulders squeezed upward. He didn’t move. He seemed to be holding his breath.
“What’s wrong?” Chana asked in a fearful whisper.
“They’re incredible.”
Before Chana could ask what he meant, she saw the three birds. At least, she thought they were birds for a few seconds. Then she saw through their wings into the tangerine glow of the sun’s last gasp. Lines of intense green lights outlined the birds’ bodies.
“Airplanes?” Teo guessed.
“Too small even for a child to fly in.” While Chana spoke, the bird-planes sank steadily. Columns of steam blasted from their underbellies; they landed, smoothly as falling seed pods, on the scrubby grass.
“Let’s go closer and see,” Chana urged.
The fear in Teo’s eyes held her back.
“Right,” she soothed him. “We’ll watch from here.”
The bird-planes rocked back on their ends. Their middles split and unfurled like hides before tanning. Only these hides were nearly clear, and they glowed a spooky, pale green.
“Chana!” Teo hissed. “Look.”
As if she could do anything but look! Still, she gaped harder as a little being crawled out of each wrapping. “Like living quartz rock,” said Chana. She tried to understand their shapes, but they changed and changed.
“Jelly in a bag,” said Teo.
The creatures bent down, arched up, spun in a complete circle. The dim twilight picked out white veins through their lavender bodies. One of them angled its bulbous top toward Chana.
“They’re aliens. Real aliens.” Her voice came out as barely more than breath.
Teo nodded slightly. “I know.”
A little lavender visitor rolled and dragged its way forward. Even though it had no eyes, Chana was sure it stared at her.
A spray of orange-yellow at the horizon signaled the end of the day’s sun. The ground’s grays battled with blackish green, fighting disappearance. The aliens must have known: they squirmed back toward their little ships. Chana realized that their visit, like the sun’s, would soon be history.
“Teo.” She spoke firmly so he would listen. “Your camera. Take pictures now.”
With shaking hands, Teo raised the camera. Click. The visitors froze. Click. They hurried to their ships. Click, click. Climbed in. Click. Green lights on. Click, click, click. Taking off, rising, silhouetted. Click. Vanished.
The sun vanished, too. Teo took Chana’s hand.
“In the future,” she said, “a boy and girl will stand here.”
Teo kissed her shoulder. “Yes. And they’ll ask, ‘What was it like when people didn’t believe aliens visited Earth?’”
“And they’ll wonder,” Chana whispered close to his ear, “who took those pictures that made everyone believe, all at once, that alien visits are as obvious and true as sunrise and sunset.”
Wrapping her arms around Teo, she stared up at the pale stars. “I should bring home the water jug,” she sighed. “I’ll see you here tomorrow.” She spoke those words to the sun. And to anyone else it cared to invite.
Anne E. Johnson lives in Brooklyn, NY. She writes speculative and historical fiction for kids, teens, and adults. Dozens of her short stories have been published, and many can be read in her collection Things from Other Worlds. Her novel-length fiction includes Ebenezer’s Locker, Green Light Delivery, and Blue Diamond Delivery. Learn more at AnneEJohnson.com.