By the hearth, there was nothing remarkable, either. There were only a few pots and pans, and limited cooking utensils. He had a few bowls and plates, but all in all, it was the most basic of essentials.
Much of his cookware hung over the hearth, neatly stored out of the way. But I quickly saw that I would struggle to reach any of it. Everything in the hut had been designed with his height in mind, placed at a level that was easy for him to access.
I moved onto the table that held all the little glass jars. I’d been curious about those since the first time I noticed them. The table itself was, again, much too tall for me, hitting at nearly my eye-level. I could peer across the surface, but I could only reach the jars that were already close to the edge of the table.
The jars contained dried plants. They appeared to be something that he had grown himself and saved. I could not place what any of them were, but I wasn’t sure if that was because they were foreign to me, or simply because they were dried beyond recognition.
I picked up a few jars that I could reach, studying them closely. I didn’t dare taste what was in them, though I did take a tentative sniff. They varied, some with a flowery scent, others more earthy, and others had a hint of spice.
But nothing sparked my memory, and I finally returned them to the table. They didn’t seem inherently dangerous or odd and were likely just herbs grown for medicine or flavoring food.
After I finished searching the room, having found nothing noteworthy, my gaze shifted to the curtain, wondering what lay behind it. It offered a certain degree of privacy but wasn’t exactly a locked and heavily guarded door. I wasn’t certain that I’d find anything more interesting behind it, but I couldn’t resist the urge to peek.
I practically tip-toed across the room, as if Athos could hear me from outside. Inwardly, my mind was conflicted. Half of me kept telling myself that surely, there must be a huge secret behind the curtain, or why else would it be up? The other half said not to get my hopes up, as it was probably just his bedroom, or something else as innocent as everything I’d already found.
Just as I started to shift the tan fabric aside, the door to the hut thudded shut behind me. I jumped, whirling around to find him staring at me. His expression was unreadable, and I suddenly felt very nervous.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” I stammered, hoping he wasn’t furious. He’d told me not to leave the hut, but he’d never said I couldn’t look around. Still, if he did have a big secret back there, he wasn’t going to appreciate my snooping.
He stared at me silently, his golden eyes searching my face. I flushed with embarrassment, my own gaze dropping uncomfortably to the floor. I could hear the clack of his hooves as he walked closer, and my heart started to race.
I lifted my head, having to crane my neck to see him. Tilting my head back, his ab muscles came prominently into view. I didn’t look any higher, finding myself distracted by the sight of his tight, muscular body. From the waist up, he looked like he could be a calendar model. With him so close, my fingers began to twitch, just barely resisting the impulse to touch his sculpted shape.
Suddenly, I began to wonder if my racing heart was out of fear or… could it be arousal? I tried to shake the thought off, casting it aside. There was no way I was getting hot for an alien. Was there?
He leaned forward, reaching over my head, and pushed the curtain open. Confused, I turned around, then looked back at him uncertainly. He nodded, stepping past me into the room and gesturing for me to follow.
In the doorway, I stopped, surprised. My eyes traveled the room, taking it in. Out of all the things that I had imagined hiding behind the curtain, I had never pictured this.
Shelves. The majority were empty, but the ones that were filled held book after book. This was clearly a room intended as a library, though his ideal collection was far from complete. The extra space proved that.
I walked inside the room, scanning the shelves. He looked a bit sheepish but seemed pleased by my interest.
“These ones are from my home planet,” he said, pointing to a row of books.
Curiously, I reached for one. Holding it in my hands, I flipped the pages. The symbols were all meaningless to me, and I couldn’t make heads or tails of what they were supposed to say. Still, my mind reeled at the thought that I was holding a book written in an alien language.
I tried to put it back on the high shelf but struggled to reach. He assisted me, taking the book and placing it in the correct spot. I already had a feeling that he was fastidious about the arrangement of his books, another sign they were important to him.
He took a few steps further, and I followed closely behind.
“These are the ones I’ve collected here on Terra,” he explained. “I don’t leave my hut much, but books are readily available. I find abandoned books stored in barns, garages, even put out for trash and left on curbs. I’ve been bringing them home for years now, learning what I can about your planet, your language, and your ways.”
I looked over the spines, impressed by the bizarre mismatch of titles. Some were educational – old encyclopedias and aged college textbooks. There were many old classics. Some were children’s books, likeHeidiorLittle Women. Others were more mature, such as collections of Shakespeare,Wuthering Heights, andThe Picture of Dorian Gray. I even spotted a few Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden books, and an incomplete set ofLittle House on the Prairie.
It was odd, I thought, to realize that this alien had read some of the same books that I had. But I also couldn’t help but wonder what sort of conclusions he had drawn about humans if his thoughts were mostly inspired by his reading.
For example, I understood thatLittle House on the Prairiewas a relic from another time, but did he? Did he know that the antics of Nancy Drew were preposterous, or did he think that all young children on Terra had such wild exploits?
I dismissed the thought for now, deciding that it wasn’t my job to explain things to him. Whatever he thought that he learned from his books wasn’t hurting anyone, so what was the harm in letting him carry on?
I moved onto the next shelf, noticing with surprise that this one didn’t hold any books. Instead, this section was dedicated to old electronics. There were a few laptops, and some old cell phones. A few were flip phones, which felt particularly dated.
“What do you do with these?” I asked.
“I find them laying around in town sometimes. Not very often. When I find them, I can usually use them to see static and moving pictures. But they don’t seem to last long. After a while, they won’t turn on or work anymore, and I just put them here.”
I laughed good-naturedly. “You have to charge them,” I explained. “When the battery dies, you have to recharge the battery. When the battery is full, you can make the phone work again.”