The Civil Servant

Another three months passed, during which Aile’s determination grew as her melancholy continued to fall away seemingly unprompted, at least to the other people around her. It had been long enough for her to spend some time fantasizing, and long enough for her to become more obsessed since her quarry, the rumored doctor, seemed to continue to elude her, but it was not quite enough time for her to have started feeling the first tinges of despair.

During those months, especially after the ski trip, Aile’s previously frosty attitude toward les volants thawed considerably again. She saw them through new eyes; instead of being something that would forever taunt and be denied to her, she saw something beautiful and wondrous that she herself might become, if only she could convince her wings to sprout. For during the previous era of the nightmares, which now had all but stopped, she had come to feel that perhaps she was a le volant changeling: one of their babies somehow placed in Paris before they themselves arrived. Kuléo’s treatment of her; new scientific papers about the potential effects the two universes were having on each other even before they collided headlong in a point above the city; all were like matches to her mind’s fireworks. Every small thing in her mind that could possibly fit was now filed away in a new space. If it were the title of a book, it would look like this:

For she had also begun to use the term in her mind exclusively, figuring that if she were truly one of them, she would not use words from a foreign language, from a foreign universe, to describe herself.

Aile used the excuse of wanting to get out and have some exercise, and perform civic duty, to run errands for Na’aulele, as a way to get to spend more time around them. After all, if she was one of them, she ought to know their customs, their language. One inevitable day, she would finally grow her wings for all the world to see, no longer hiding among humanity; she intended to be prepared to blend in with her new life.

“Civic duty” was a workable excuse mainly because some more adventurous of the elderly Na’aulele had finally come from their world. The first group were all in their prime, flying into the unknown to see what was out there. No elderly or children had come with them. Later, when some of the first group returned to report what they had found, more had decided to come. Much to the chagrin of curious Parisians and other Earth-dwellers, seemingly nothing originating from Aile’s world could pass through in the other direction. Many different schemes were tried, and even some of les volants aided in those experiments, but nothing worked. One of the last attempts involved having one of them carry a light-weight human up to the shimmering apparition in the sky and fly through; luckily they had decided to have a flyer stationed underneath just in case, because that human was suddenly in free-fall.

After that, the experiments were mostly abandoned. Les volants could bring things through with them, of course, so they brought photographs and other such representations of their world with them. It was a bustling trade. Artisans in their world were making a virtual killing at selling their work in Aile’s world, and to some degree that was paying for their stay among the humans.

They lived in various places on their world as well, of course, but the place that had collided with Aile’s, and which seemingly formed a stable and unchanging gate for them, was a large island nation. The continents, geography, and many other things about their world were quite different from Aile’s; they had found themselves content not to venture into space or other such things that gained humanity such detailed information about their world, but one could still roughly say that it was somewhere slightly north of the equator, and in the middle of a large body of ocean.

Due to its location and the sound of the language of the ones who had come through, many started thinking of it in terms of Hawai’i, Palau, or any one of a number of other small island nations in Aile’s world; but in reality the resemblance was just that: a resemblance. Hunéa, as they called it, was not Earth.

One breezy, chilly February day, Aile was pedaling her bicycle down a quiet side street on her way to visit Iola, a slightly stern grandmother of a whole family of Na’aulele who had come across to Earth last year. In the basket on the front, she had several loaves of bread and sundry other small things for Iola.

Pedaling down the street with the wind whistling by her face, she felt like she could almost be flying low. She daydreamed of what it would feel like for the wind to be whistling through her feathers as well, the sound of their silky rustlings following always behind her. She nearly ran someone down, and, listening to the yelling from behind her, decided to pay more attention for the rest of the trip.

Aile parked her bicycle in front of the building, and walked inside to Iola’s apartment. Hers was a type of building that had become trendy among Na’aulele, quite Old Paris chic: old stone and bright colors, antique chandeliers for lighting, dark-stained wood and wrought iron railings. They had been modified to fit wings, but their essential style hadn’t changed.

She knocked on the door, and it swung open a bit.

“Salut?” she said hesitantly as she swung open the door a bit more.

She walked lightly into the apartment a bit farther with the basket on her arm.

“Oh, Aile!” said Iola loudly behind her, causing Aile to jump several inches into the air and screech. Iola laughed heartily, a laugh of good humor, not scorn. “Ha, jumping into the air like that! We’ll make you one of us yet... you spend so much time in our community as it is.”

Aile felt her legs nearly give out under her as she heard the matriarch voicing her innermost wishes out loud. She had never actually managed to say anything to Kuléo, and no other Ka’aulele had said anything more. But hearing Iola’s words, she felt some of that warm fuzziness from the ski trip return.

Iola stood not more than a few inches taller than Aile. Her hair was black, a shade to rival Aile’s midnight locks. Les volants did not show the signs of aging in the same way as most people; at all ages, their hair could be seen to range among blond, white, red, silver, black, and even a deep blue. Like many Na’aulele, Iola had a slight Polynesian cast to her features. She was thin by human standards. But of course none of that was what caught the eye when looking at Iola. It was the large wings on her back that ranged from a tawny caramel shade to pure white.

“Let’s see what you brought me,” she said. She took the basket from Aile and sat it on the table.

“Here is your change,” Aile told her, and set it down on the table next to the basket.

Iola hummed as she went through the basket. The hairs on Aile’s arm stood up a little, as they always did when she heard Ka’aulele song. There was something otherworldly about it, as if some subtle breeze that only they could feel were sweeping through the room.

“How about this weather?” Iola said rhetorically in that accented French peculiar to her people, between hums. “Sure is cold on the wings after coming from Hunéa, but what can you do?” Aile nodded with a slight laugh. “It’s not like we can bundle them up in coats while we’re in the air. Come here, sit, sit for a moment!” She gestured to a chair that looked like it had seen better days, but had never been more comfortable. “Let me make you some coffee to keep you warm for the rest of your rounds.”

Aile nodded politely and sat in the chair. It was every bit as comfortable as it had looked from standing.

As Iola worked in her kitchen, Aile studied the room further. Dark blue walls held paintings and a few other curios from Hunéa, mixed liberally with items from France, England, and other places on Earth. It was clear from the collection that Iola, at least, was fond of rainbows; but Aile had seen much the same tastes in other Ka’aulele homes.

Iola came back from the kitchen with two mugs, slightly snagging one wing on the door that was still low for les volants, nearly spilling the coffee and muttering in her melodic native language. Seeing Aile again, she smiled as if to cover her gaffe and carefully handed her the mug.

Aile held it carefully with both hands. Like a wine taster with a fine vintage, she always sniffed at the aroma of Ka’aulele coffee before sipping it slowly; they tended to use some spices from their world that were like an exotic blend of cinnamon, cardamom, and something else with no Earth equivalent. Some humans had found a fondness for it, but most found it too foreign to use on a daily basis, not to mention too expensive. It was pure ambrosia to Aile’s senses.

“And how are you doing these days, young Aile?” Iola asked as she sat down at another chair, this one with a lower back to help with wing clearance. “Keeping yourself busy with your deliveries and school, hmm?”

Aile nodded. “Oui, I am well, thank you. School is going well, and may I say that this is some fantastic coffee?” she interjected with a winning smile. Iola nodded and smiled at the compliment. “And how are you, Madame?”

“Oh, I too am well,” Iola replied. “Not getting any younger,” she said with a smile, “but I’ve somehow never felt so alive either. I had gotten so bored in the old country. The elders are treated well, but I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to visit your fine world, for a while at least. And now that I find myself here, I’m not sure I really want to leave, either.”

Aile was more than a little surprised; this was the first time she’d heard one of the Na’aulele say something so closely echoing her own inner turmoil. Iola’s words, both just spoken and from when she first arrived, made Aile feel a bit bold.

“I...” At first the words would not come. She had spent so long trying to hide this feeling inside her that it was like betraying some secret to a stranger, ignoring the fact that it was her own secret. “I feel the same way,” she continued, glancing up at Iola, and then back at her coffee, blushing.

“It’s good for you to like your own world,” Iola said, misunderstanding.

“No,” Aile countered. “I mean...” Aile’s insides were churning, and her mouth tasted like ashes, but she couldn’t stop herself now that she’d said this much already. “I’dreallyratherbeoneofyou,” it all came out in a rush. Iola looked perplexed for a moment.

“I couldn’t understand you, dear. What has gotten you so upset? Just say it again, more slowly.”

This time Aile found the courage to look Iola in the eyes and say it calmly.

“I want to be one of you. I should have had wings. This coffee,” she said, gesturing to the mug, “makes me feel homesick. I want to fly so badly.” Now that the words were finally coming, they came like a torrent. Aile gestured around the room. “The pictures, the art, it’s all so wonderful.” Aile showed her the hidden place on her ankle where she took markers and drew rainbows every day, a secret for herself to cherish during her days. “And I too...”

Finally she ran down, afraid that when she stopped speaking, Iola would respond, and the response would not be positive.

Iola stood, came over to Aile, and hugged her with her arms.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she responded slowly. “But we are what we are. You can’t change that. And there are so many problems for us here, like not being able to vote, and a sizable part of humanity that dislike us near to the point of hate. This is just a phase. It will pass for you, and you will live in your world and be happy here.” Aile had started quietly crying, hearing those other voices from her head echoed back from one of the very people she idolized. It was the same thing she’d feared to hear from Kuléo, in spite of his inclusive kindness.

“I–I’ve heard,” Aile got out between sobs, “about one of–” She stopped herself from saying “our people”, but barely. “One of th’ Na’- na’aulele who can ch-change people...”

At this, Iola’s face suddenly went from concerned grandmother to scandalized matriarch.

“Where did you hear such things?” she asked, her upset over the rumors overriding her sense about the minds of children. “I can’t believe people gossip about such things. I... Aile, where are you going? Aile!”

Aile had dropped her coffee mug on the table and run out the front door. She jumped on her bicycle and pedaled as hard as she could. She nearly hit a few pedestrians, but she didn’t care. The terrible, feared words were said. She was rejected. The face of her people, the voice in her head said mockingly, had become the alien again.

Everything had turned to ashes.