father's magic shop. By now they both knew most of it wasn't really magic, some of it just things for the foolish to gawp at. But there was enough magic there, and childhood memories always drew them back.
The corner of the shop away from the street had been their patch when they were younger and became their rendezvous when they became real boyfriend and girlfriend. Not the side with the desiccated parts of animals, and if rumour were true, even people. Nor the part where the pills and potions were piled high into unstable towers. It was the part lit by old lamps, not magical at all, O'Malley admitted, just a collection of antique lamps casting multicoloured beams of light. That corner was their place, where the lamps’ light, bouncing off mirrors at the back of the window, striking through the flasks and bottles, made little sunbursts of amber, gold, turquoise, and aquamarine reflecting off the jewelled surfaces in the window. That little niche by the end, that little square of pavement in front of the shop. Every night he stood there, when it was still not yet seven o'clock, oblivious of everything else around him, humming a tune.
They would be able to get married the next May, when she came of age. That was all they cared about. It had to be May; it wouldn't have been right if they didn't have the blossoms everywhere, if it had been April or June. What she wanted, he wanted too.
So there they are. Boy and girl.
* * * *
His name was Meph. No one knew where he came from, though there were many rumours. He'd been up top, even been to the stars. That he was a Galactic, trying to pass for human. That he was one of the first humans, returned to wander the planet. No one knew what was true and what was rumour. One side of his face had the texture of wax that had been held too close to a candle and melted. On both sides he had black striations, and his eyes were an unearthly green.
Punishment for his presumption, the locals whispered. They couldn't forgive him for making their nice, neat little town look untidy. The Galactics have taken their revenge; look at his face; look at his hunchback too, they whispered.
Most of them had no idea of what a Galactic looked like—to the people of San Clemente, the Galactics were similar to the gods their ancestors had worshipped once: omniscient, vengeful, capricious.
* * * *
One night, early in that last spring before they were due to marry, Gabriel was a few minutes late. He hurried along because he didn't want Rosie to have to wait for him. Not that there was anything to worry about. They lived in a nice, safe, small little town where nothing very much happened.
He had been working in the orchards when he'd seen the cloud rising. The early fruit needed picking, so he'd worked through lunch and finished late. He'd been up the tree when there was the sound of distant thunder, though apart from a pure white, anvil-shaped cloud, the sky was brilliant, blue and clear.
There'd been a moment when he'd been up that tree and heard the noise and had the strangest feeling, as if there was someone else inside him, and he felt almost overloaded with grief. The moment passed, and everything returned to normal. He whistled happily as he left work. They begrudged every hour they spent away from each other, and he always felt his spirits soar when he walked out the orchard gate.
He got home, changed and went to meet her. He didn't bother to eat. Since Ma had died, he'd eaten at the O'Malleys’ or ate out with Rosie, as they would tonight. Cooking for one had no appeal.
It was a spring evening, cold and clear. What was left of the white cloud was overhead now. It had almost dispersed. The sky was as full of stars as blackcurrant sauce dusted with icing. For a moment he thought of the worlds orbiting those distant suns and felt a moment of vertigo, wondering around how many of them orbited worlds where lads rushed to meet their girls. He drew back from the otherness. The stars were not for any
The corner of the shop away from the street had been their patch when they were younger and became their rendezvous when they became real boyfriend and girlfriend. Not the side with the desiccated parts of animals, and if rumour were true, even people. Nor the part where the pills and potions were piled high into unstable towers. It was the part lit by old lamps, not magical at all, O'Malley admitted, just a collection of antique lamps casting multicoloured beams of light. That corner was their place, where the lamps’ light, bouncing off mirrors at the back of the window, striking through the flasks and bottles, made little sunbursts of amber, gold, turquoise, and aquamarine reflecting off the jewelled surfaces in the window. That little niche by the end, that little square of pavement in front of the shop. Every night he stood there, when it was still not yet seven o'clock, oblivious of everything else around him, humming a tune.
They would be able to get married the next May, when she came of age. That was all they cared about. It had to be May; it wouldn't have been right if they didn't have the blossoms everywhere, if it had been April or June. What she wanted, he wanted too.
So there they are. Boy and girl.
* * * *
His name was Meph. No one knew where he came from, though there were many rumours. He'd been up top, even been to the stars. That he was a Galactic, trying to pass for human. That he was one of the first humans, returned to wander the planet. No one knew what was true and what was rumour. One side of his face had the texture of wax that had been held too close to a candle and melted. On both sides he had black striations, and his eyes were an unearthly green.
Punishment for his presumption, the locals whispered. They couldn't forgive him for making their nice, neat little town look untidy. The Galactics have taken their revenge; look at his face; look at his hunchback too, they whispered.
Most of them had no idea of what a Galactic looked like—to the people of San Clemente, the Galactics were similar to the gods their ancestors had worshipped once: omniscient, vengeful, capricious.
* * * *
One night, early in that last spring before they were due to marry, Gabriel was a few minutes late. He hurried along because he didn't want Rosie to have to wait for him. Not that there was anything to worry about. They lived in a nice, safe, small little town where nothing very much happened.
He had been working in the orchards when he'd seen the cloud rising. The early fruit needed picking, so he'd worked through lunch and finished late. He'd been up the tree when there was the sound of distant thunder, though apart from a pure white, anvil-shaped cloud, the sky was brilliant, blue and clear.
There'd been a moment when he'd been up that tree and heard the noise and had the strangest feeling, as if there was someone else inside him, and he felt almost overloaded with grief. The moment passed, and everything returned to normal. He whistled happily as he left work. They begrudged every hour they spent away from each other, and he always felt his spirits soar when he walked out the orchard gate.
He got home, changed and went to meet her. He didn't bother to eat. Since Ma had died, he'd eaten at the O'Malleys’ or ate out with Rosie, as they would tonight. Cooking for one had no appeal.
It was a spring evening, cold and clear. What was left of the white cloud was overhead now. It had almost dispersed. The sky was as full of stars as blackcurrant sauce dusted with icing. For a moment he thought of the worlds orbiting those distant suns and felt a moment of vertigo, wondering around how many of them orbited worlds where lads rushed to meet their girls. He drew back from the otherness. The stars were not for any
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