The sheets of galvanised iron on the roof creak under the burning rays of the sun, and even on the verandah, the heat is almost unbearable. I watch the delightful play of light and shadow in the garden and hear the song of the birds as they chase each other across a pale blue sky - and, I am sad.
I have just put the final full stop at the end of the twelfth chapter of this book I was asked to write. The task was not always easy. Often details would escape me and I would spend hours trying to recall certain things which Thao had said, and particular things she wanted me to write.
Then, at the moment when I was totally exasperated, it would all come back to me - every detail, as if a voice was dictating the words over my shoulder, and I would write so much I would develop cramps in my hand. For periods of about three hours, sometimes more, sometimes less, images would crowd into my head.
While writing the book, with words jostling each other in my mind, I often wished I had known shorthand - and now, again, the strange sensation is back.
‘Are you there, Thao❓’ I would ask, never receiving a reply. ‘Is it one of you❓ Thao❓ Biastra❓ Latoli❓ Lationusi❓ I beg you to give me a sign, a sound. Please respond❗’
‘You are doing this periodically, aren’t you - talking to yourself. I will be glad when this book is finished and you ‘come back to Earth,’ literally❗’
She left. Poor Lina. She certainly has not had an easy time of it, these past months. How must it have been for her❓ She got up one morning to find me stretched out on the sofa, deathly pale, having difficulty breathing and desperately wanting to sleep. I asked her if she had found my note.
‘I know you’re going to find this hard to believe, but I was picked up by extra-terrestrials and taken to their planet. I will tell you everything, but for now, please, just let me sleep for as long as possible. I’ll go to bed now - I stretched out here so as not to wake you.’
‘Your tiredness is not, I suppose, due to some other reason❓’ Her tone was bitter-sweet and I could sense her concern. However, she let me sleep and it was a good thirty-six hours before I opened an eye. I woke to find Lina bending over me, with the anxious air of a nurse watching someone gravely ill.
‘How are you❓’ she asked. ‘I very nearly called the doctor. I haven’t known you to sleep for so long without once stirring - and yet you were dreaming and calling out in your sleep. Who is the ‘Arki’ or ‘Aki’ you mentioned? And ‘Thao’❓ Are you going to tell me❓’
I smiled at her and kissed her. ‘I’m going to tell you everything.’ It occurred to me then, that thousands of husbands and wives must say that very same sentence, having no intention whatsoever of explaining ‘everything’. I wished I’d said something a little less vulgar and common.
‘Good, and you must listen carefully, for what I have to say is serious - very serious. But I don’t want to tell the same story twice. Call our son in, so I can tell you both.’
Three hours later, I had largely finished my account of the extraordinary adventure I’d had. Lina, who is the least credulous member of the family when it comes to such matters, had detected, by certain expressions and certain intonations in my voice, that something really serious had happened to me. When one lives twenty-seven years with a person, some things cannot be misunderstood.
‘Do you have proof❓’ asked Lina. I was reminded of Thao’s words - ‘They seek proof, Michel, and always more proof.’ I was a little disappointed the question came from my own wife.
I asked her to speak of the matter to no one, since my orders were not to speak, but first to write. I felt it was better that way, in any case, because words can be lost in the breeze whereas what is written, remains.
The days and months passed by and now the book is finished. All that remains to be done is to publish it. On this subject, Thao had assured me there would be few problems. This was in response to a question I had asked in the spacecraft on our return to Earth.