I'm no hero. Far from it. The only thing I had on my mind that day was getting to Laverne's in time for my nail wrap. I was standing at the corner of Main and Sixth, waiting for the light to change., when this red rubber ball comes rolling out onto the road from between two parked cars.
Where there's a runaway ball, there's bound to be a runaway kid, right? I wish someone had told that to the bimbo who was driving the SUV. She didn't put on her brakes or even look to the side of the road to see what was happening.
The kid was about six, the same age as my brother. I called out a warning, but he didn't stop, so I tackled him from behind, pushing him out of the path of the SUV. At the last second, the driver tried to brake, but it was too late. I don't remember anything after that, thank God.
When I woke up, I was lying in the grass. There were people all around me. A chick wearing armor said "Bonjour, ma souer."
I mumbled "No parlez-vous."
This guy with shoulder length red hair and a close cropped beard stepped forward. He was wearing a dress but somehow he managed to look butch. Must have been the bulging muscles, hairy legs and raw hide boots, or maybe it was the sword at his side. Not one of those skinny little dueling blades. This baby was as wide as my arm and about three feet long. Looked sharp, too.
I was about to duck for cover, when the red aired guy spoke. He had an accent. Scottish, I think, or maybe Australian. I can never keep them straight. "Welcome to the Elysium Fields," he said.
I rubbed my eyes. Elysium Fields. Wasn't that a Beatles song? "How did I get here? Look, I'd love to stay and chat, but I have an appointment to have my nails done--"
"I don't think you understand---"
"---and if I'm late, Laverne will be pissed off, and I'll have to listen to her bitch about how is money, and I---"
He raised his voice. "Madame, you're dead!"
My jaw dropped. "Is this some kind of joke?"
"No joke. You're dead. Because you died a hero's death, you will spend eternity in paradise."
"This is heaven?" I looked around. All I could see was green grass, flowering shrubs, fruit trees and lots of people dressed in weird clothes. There must have been thousands of them. Maybe millions. Fire fighters, police officers, knights in armor, ninja types dressed in black, Indians wearing almost nothing and some dark skinned guys with woolly hair who were stark naked. I blushed and looked away. "Where are the angels? Where's God? "
"This isn't Heaven. It's the Elysium Fields, where heroes go when they die."
"You mean like some kind of bonus for good behavior?" It was all starting to come back to me. The red rubber ball. The bimbo in the SUV.
"Indeed." He waved his arm. "All of this is here for your enjoyment."
"My enjoyment? You've got to be kidding? Where's the mall? Where are the restaurants?" I grabbed my head. "For Christ's sake, I can't spend eternity in a garden. I've got hay fever!"
"Don't worry. You'll get used to it," the red haired guy replied. He held out his hand. "My name's Art."
"Donna. Is there anyplace around here where I can get a drink?"
"An excellent idea." He helped me to my feet. "I know just the place."
The bar was called "Elysium Suds." It was as dark and unnatural on the inside as the Fields were light and colorful outside. The air smelled of stale cigarette smoke and beer. The floor was chipped linoleum. The walls were covered with imitation wood paneling. A row of neon signs hung above the counter, each advertising a different brand of beer. It could have been any corner bar in any city in America, except for the fact that the bartender was one of those half horse, half man creatures--Minotar? Centaurs? I should have watched Xena more often.
There were enough people to make the place look busy but not enough to make it seem crowded. The patrons were dressed in the same Halloween costumes as the people outside, but they seemed more normal somehow. Like movie actors taking a break between takes. A couple of women were playing pool in the corner. One of them looked a lot like Wonder Woman, before she left the island of the Amazons. As she leaned forward, her short, pleated white skirt hiked up in the back, revealing shapely thighs and a little bit extra. The Chinese guy in a nearby booth was getting an eyeful.
I thought about warning the chick in the short skirt, but then I changed my mind. Why spoil the Chinese guy's fun? God knows there was little enough to do in paradise.
Art and I picked seats at the bar. There were only two left, and yet, when we sat down, two more empty seats appeared as if by magic. I ordered a margarita on the rocks, no salt. Art asked for ale.
"So," I asked, as I played with the green swizzle stick that came with my drink "What did you do to get into paradise?"
"I saved Britain," he said, without batting an eye.
"No shit." I am no egghead, but I'm not stupid, either, and I had seen Camelot. "Are you King Arthur?"
He nodded. "That's right." He proceeded to tell me about some of his battles. Meanwhile, his hand slowly inched its way up my leg.
When I died, I was wearing a black leather miniskirt with black tights and a sleeveless, black turtleneck sweater. Even though I had been run over by an SUV, my clothes were spotless. I wondered if I would have to wear this same outfit for the rest of eternity. Black is my favorite color--it's suitable for any occasion and makes me look ten pounds lighter--but it's nice to be able to change clothes once in a while.
Art was telling me about how he killed a dozen Angles with his bare hands. Meanwhile, his bare hand had just reached the hem of my skirt and was starting to edge upward. I was trying to decide whether I would let him get to third base on our first date, when this old guy with long gray hair and an even longer gray beard appeared. Unlike most of the people in paradise, he was dressed in normal clothes, a three piece navy blue suit with a white shirt and maroon tie.
"Art, my boy." the old guy said, slapping King Arthur on the back.
Art glowered at the old man. "Go away!"
"Now, is that any way to talk to your favorite wizard?" The old man took the seat next to Art---a vacant one had suddenly appeared-- and ordered a vodka tonic from the bartender, who always seemed to be there just when he was needed.
"Whadda you want?" Art mumbled into his mug.
"What makes you think I want anything?" the gray bearded man asked, looking all innocent.
"Because I know you."
Favorite wizard? I put two and two together. "You must be Merlin!"
Merlin gave me an old fashioned, courtly bow. "At your service." Though he looked old enough to be my grandfather, he had Art beat when it came to charm. "Arthur, aren't you going to introduce your friend?"
Art was sulking, so I introduced myself. "I'm Donna. I'm not really supposed to be here. I mean, I'm not a warrior or anything. All I did was save some kid who was about to get run over."
The old guy pretended to be impressed. "Where would the world be without children? Speaking of children---"
"I don't want to hear it!" Arthur shouted, slamming down his empty mug , causing glasses up and down the length of the counter to jump. Without batting an eye, the bartender wiped up the spills, using his tail as a rag.
"All I was going to say was that children nowadays are maturing at a young age," the wizard said mildly. "For instance, there's a boy in Pakistan who has discovered a way to hijack the US defense missile grid using a PC. All he has to do make a phone call, and half of Britain will dissolve in a mushroom cloud of smoke."
"So?" Art replied.
"So, Britain needs it's hero."
"Screw Britain. And screw you, too."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I leapt to my feet. Hands on my hips, I exclaimed "I thought you were supposed to save England in its hour of need!"
"Britain, not England. And I've already saved Britain. Twice. Let Britain find some one else this time."
"Now, Arthur---" the old man began.
Art ignored Merlin. " You don't know the whole story, Donna. One hundred years ago, Merlin showed up here. He told me that Britain was being invaded again, this time by aliens from Mars, and that he needed my help to halt the invasion."
I held up my hand. "Hold on. History was never my best subject, but I think I would have heard if Martians had invaded England."
"You did hear about it," Merlin said. "A fellow called Welles described the invasion in a book. The British government forced him to publish the account as a work of fiction, but it was all true. The only thing Welles left out--because he didn't know about it--was the roll Arthur and I played in defeating the Martians."
"You mean the War of the Worlds? I saw the movie. I don't remember any knights. Didn't a germ kill the aliens?"
"Enterococcus rubricus," Merlin told me, beaming proudly. "That's the name of the germ. I created it."
"Really? So what did Arthur do? Did he sneak aboard the spaceship and put this enterowhatsit in the aliens' food?"
"Don't say it!" Art growled.
Merlin ignored him. "Arthur was the germ."
Art covered his head with his arms and groaned. "Now do you see why I don't want to have anything to do with this crazy old man and his hare brained schemes? I, Arthur, King of all Britain, came back to life as a bacterium! I killed the invaders by giving them diarrhea! God, it's so humiliating!"
I tried hard to keep a straight face. Red heads often have bad tempers, and I had not forgotten about the three foot long sword.
"But you won't be a bacterium this time," the wizard promised him. "All you have to do is stop one boy, and you will save Britain a third time. Think of the glory!"
"How much glory can there be in cutting down a child?"
"That's the genius of my plan. You won't kill him. You'll convert him to the side of peace. He'll become a great scientist, saving millions--billions of lives with his inventions. And it will all be thanks to you."
"Hmmm." Art stroked his beard. "I wouldn't mind being a peace keeper, for a change. Like that Gandhi fellow. The women really go for him."
"You'll be bigger than Gandhi."
"Bigger than Gandhi?" I could tell that Arthur was beginning to soften to the idea, but he wasn't ready to concede yet. " You promise that I won't be a germ or a flea or some other disgusting creature? "
"Cross my heart and hope to die," Merlin swore.
"You're already dead," Art reminded him.
"On my mother's honor, then."
"Your father was the Prince of Darkness. There isn't much honor in being the Devil's doxie."
"If I'm lying, may God strike me down with a bolt of lightening."
"OK, I'll do it."
"I knew you would." Merlin took a short, wooden stick out of his jacket and waved it over Art's head. He mumbled some words that sounded like Latin. There was flash of light and a puff of smoke.
When the smoke cleared, Art was gone, and Merlin was sitting in his place. He ordered a second vodka-tonic for himself. "And get the lady another of whatever she is drinking, too."
Usually one is my max, but apparently alcohol in paradise isn't as potent as it is on earth. Even after two mixed drinks, my thoughts were crystal clear. I went over everything I had just heard. "You tricked Art, didn't you."
"Nonsense," the wizard said. He dropped one hand on my knee. "Everything I said was true."
"Yeah, but you didn't tell him the whole truth, did you?"
The old man's blue eyes twinkled. "Had I told him the whole truth, he would never have agreed." He was a faster worker than Art. His hand was now halfway up my thigh.
"So tell me, what's Art going to be when he gets back to earth?"
"A computer virus. A very tricky computer virus which will dog our precocious young hacker for years. By the time he finally locates and neutralizes the bug, he will have matured enough to realize that you can't save the world by destroying it. "
"Oh." I took a sip of my drink. "Art's going to be pissed off."
The old man shrugged. "Heroes are always temperamental. That's why they need people like me to manage their careers." He leaned towards me and nibbled my ear. His beard was as soft as lambs wool, and the palms of his hands were nice and smooth, not calloused like Art's. I recognized his cologne. It sells for sixty bucks a bottle.
"Mr. Merlin!" I exclaimed as one of those soft, skillful hands slipped down the back of my skirt. My skin tingled at his touch.
"Please, call me Merl."
I don't usually consider myself "easy", but there was something about the wizard that I couldn't resist. "Not here! People can see."
"There's a motel behind the bar," he suggested. "We can rent a room, get to know each other a little better. Afterwards, I'll take you to this nice little bistro where the chef makes a delicious coq au vin."
An open bar tab. Fine French cuisine. Charming men. Maybe paradise wasn't going to be so bad after all.
Bio:McCamy is a long time contributor to Aphelion as well as Assistant Short Story Editor. You can find out all about her and herwork by following the link below to her new and improved (Post) Millennium Fiction website.
E-mail:mccamytaylor@earthlink.net
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