Psychodyke and the Gothic from Mars

by Karen Goldrick

“You never know what a person will do at the height of a solar eclipse.”

I reached for a stack of forms as yet another wave of tourists arrived.

“Pardon?” I said to Neek the Geek, who sat next to me and watched the overhead fans blow his forms away.

“You heard me,” he said, “Be careful, Brian.”

I pretended to ignore him, but he was right. There were some weird ones arriving in Ceduna to watch the eclipse. Two of them were coming my way. In front, or rather up front, a moderately large female person with spiked red hair and bright blonde tips. I was so mesmerised by the Titian blaspheme I almost didn’t notice the Skinny Chick with Glasses following two paces behind. The redhead lifted her Aviators from her nose, and her eyes burned twin holes into my insignificant self. I looked to the comfort of my forms.

“Name?” I said. No reply. I waited a full 30 seconds before asking again.

“That’s a fulfilling career you’ve chosen,” she said.

I licked my lips. “Could I please have your name?” I asked with as much authority as I could find from my small wooden stool, but behind the safety of my desk.

“Psychodyke,” she replied. “This is Skinny Chick with Glasses and Gothic From Mars is in the car.”

I hoped Gothic wouldn’t melt. “He’ll need to come in person to sign the register.”

“I’ll sign for him,”

“Section 2b clause 10.4 states that —

“I will sign.”

I searched the room for Umbriphile, supposedly in charge. He wasn’t around. Probably out meditating in the midday sun. Neek elbowed me in the ribs. I sighed and continued.

“Locality?” I asked.

“Big smoke.”

I hesitated at the gender question. Asking might cause offence, might cause that huge ring covered hand to flatten my nose across the desk. Probably female. Female with an oversupply of androgens. I ticked F.

“Date of birth?”

“23rd December 1982.” 1962 I wrote.

“Occupation?”

“Chemical Engineer.” Therefore capable of creating weapon of mass destruction. I smiled weakly.

“Aims, goals etc?”

“To blow up the universe.” She smiled back.

“OK,” I said. “Sign here.” I looked around her for Skinny Chick, but couldn’t see beyond ’Psychodykes bulk. “Umm ... next?” I asked. No reply. “Next,” I said , turning up the volume. Neek snuffled into his chest.

“We hear you,” replied Psychodyke. “Skinny Chick with glasses. Big smoke. 23rd December 1982. Animal attendant. Has no aims that I know of.”

“Maybe we should ask her,” I said with more courage than I felt.

“No need. Where do I sign.” I handed over the pen. As soon as she’d finished she carried on. “Gothic from Mars, 15th April, 1990, from Mars, chemical engineer, has no particular aims that you need know about.”

Gothic from Mars, Mars … no … Melbourne.

“Gender?” I asked.

Thus time she hesitated. I looked up over my pen. “Male,” she said. Without waiting for me to finish she grabbed the pen from my hand and signed his form also. Then she turned and walked, or rather stomped, back towards the glare filled doorway. Skinny Chick smiled shyly and turned to follow. I noticed she carried seven globite suitcases.

Ever the gentleman I leapt from my seat. “Wanna hand?” I asked.

She turned back to look at me. “Oh. No thankyou,” she replied as she struggled thriough the door. Neek was ready to give it to me, but before he could begin we heard a wave of loud nasal voices aimed right for the doorway.

“Gotta take a pee,” I said, leaving him to deal with the Busload of Americans.

There are no convenient trees in the desert. Only stumpy dried scrub, red rock and dust. Portaloos had been set up in tent city, which had already exploded beyond all expectation. In fact the queues at the Portaloos defied any resolutions I had to be discreet. Buggered If I was going to wait that long. I looked around the tents. The Japanese, sector, neat and symmetrical, was quiet. Over in the American sector were a couple of blow up palm trees, and some crazy tourists in the above ground pool. The water must be at least 40 degrees. I the end I went behind the clubhouse, the only brick building the whole of Ceduna. At the time, I didn’t think anyone was watching.

I looked at my watch and decided lunch was in order. Neek could handle all those Yanks. Lunch would depend which way I headed. In the American sector, hot dogs and chips with Pepsi. In the Japanese: sushimi with Pepsi. If I ventured over to the hippy chicks and dicks dispersed under a the canopy thing which covered their dusty VWs, then I’d have to eat something brown and amorphous with no meat. Psychodyke was setting up outside of the main group of tents. There wasn’t really any room anywhere else. I sidled over to some scrub and watched, as she set up her two story marquis. Or rather she sat in the shade of a rock while Skinny Chick, sweat streaming off her bare pale shoulders, set up the marquis. It was pristine white, but would soon be streaked with the fine red dust which spread by osmosis under fingernails into eyes and up noses. Through the tinted window of the Nissan patrol parked behind the marquis I saw a shadow. Perhaps the Gothic from Mars. Then the head of Psychodyke spun round and her aviators reflected off my own, cheaper, sunglasses. I turned and walked away.

I came across Umbriphile by himself, channelling all the UV radiation which reflected from his scalp. He wore no shirt, and I could smell the sweet pong of coconut. He had painted three circles on his back with hot wax, now dried a crusty pink. Later, when the sun was low in the sky, his sunburn would rise and he would wash off the wax leaving three unburnt circles of skin. Years of doing this had left three raised circles in his skin.

“Hey, Umbri, how’s it hanging?” I asked him.

“And the disobedient shall be turned back to the wisdom that the virtuous have.” He opened his eyes. “How goeth the census?” “It goeth OK, Oh great Umbri. But I don’t think we’ll be done before the eclipse.” I could see three buses travelling the straight dusty track that served as the only road to Ceduna. Yanks or Japs?

“It must be done.” he said. “We must be ready. All mankind must be recorded before the eclipse.”

“What about womenkind?” I asked.

“Them too.” He swivelled around on his bum and pointed to the canvas mansion behind us. “There,” he said. “I must be there. That will be the centre of the allignment.”

“Okey dokey,” I said, watching a small prop plane bearing a red banner “prepare for the coming” traverse across the sky. “Well, I’ll be going then ... back ... umm yeah. See ya.”

I checked my watch. It was nearly two. The sun still seemed to be at the height of its circuit. Heat rose in mesmerising waves from every surface. I regretted not having put on a hat. Now I’d get a sunburn to rival that of Umbriphile. I turned back towards Psychodyke. The two story mansion, complete with deck, was up. Skinny Chick was carrying in the suitcases, this time one at a time. The remainder were stacked by the rock and I sidled as close as I could, and managed to read some of the labels, which proclaimed in modified cursive that the cases contained: issues, manipulation, ex girlfriends, parents, odd socks, and two which proclaimed male. I turned to leave and went nose to nose with a very angry pair of aviators.

“None of yours,” she said, and gave me a gentle shove in the midriff which sent me tumbling mouth first into the dust. I lay there, not moving, until I was sure she’d lost interest. I lay there so long a skinny hand shook me on the shoulder.

“You OK?” she asked in her skinny shy voice. I spat out the dust, replaced my sunglasses, and sat up, nodding.

“Sorry,” she said.

“What for?” I asked, more abruptly than I’d intended and she backed away.

“No,” I said after her,” Come back. I’m sorry.” I looked around to see where Psychodyke was. She had lost interest. She was in heated argument with the shadow in the patrol. Presumably the Gothic from Mars or Melbourne or wherever he came from.

“I won’t bite,” I said.

“She’s my partner,” she said.

“Business partner? Lover?”

“Just ... my partner.”

“Umm ... here for the eclipse?” The blood had obviously run away from my brain and into my genitals.

“No.” she said.

“Oh.” I shook my head, puzzled. “Then what for? What else is there?”

“We’re here for the end,” she said. She looked around nervously, as if expecting to be struck down.

“The end of ...”

“The world. Mankind.”

“Not womenkind.”

“Them too. She’s really pissed off. She’s had enough. So she’s packed all her things and is going to blow them all sky high. At the height of the eclipse. Only we’ll all go too.”

And Deek had said you never know what a person will do. If only he knew.

“And you’re helping her?”

“I owe her so much.” she said.

But I wasn’t ready to be blown sky high. I reviewed my list. I had yet to: Achieve greatness. Find true love. Become infamous. Discover immortality. I didn’t have time to be blown sky high by Psychodyke.

“What do you mean you owe her? Money? Love? Your life? You can’t let her do this, Skinny. I hope you don’t mind if I use your first name. You should do something. Stop her. Tell somebody.”

“I’m telling you.”

“And what am I going to do?” my mind reeled. Maybe this was skinny chick’s idea of a joke. No-one would take me seriously if I tried to tell them. I pictured them all, laughing at me. Even worse, ignoring me. No-body wanted any interruptions to the celestial and spiritual experience that was the eclipse. I looked nervously over to the Patrol. Psychodyke mightn’t want me talking to her girlfriend.

“OK,” I said. “Tell me exactly what she’s going to do.”

Skinny Chick lifted her glasses and wiped a couple of drops of sweat from her nose. She was probably the only person in Ceduna who’s glasses weren’t tinted.

“It’s him. That’s why she brought him.” She almost sounded jealous.

“The Gothic from Melb ... Mars?”

“Yep. Him.” She scratched her nose again. It was a nice little nose, with a fine powdering of freckles. I hoped she had plenty of 30+ on. “He’s a chem eng student. Brilliant, apparently. She’s kind of adopted him. Nurtured him. Fed him. Paid him money. Brought him leather goods from Fetish. She can be very generous, you know.”

Yeah right, I thought.

“He’s been playing around with protons. He has this small magnetic chamber, no bigger than a squash ball. Apparently; he gets a build up of protons at one end, then the magnetic force that’s set up between the earth and the moon at the height of the eclipse is enough to make it blow.” She shook her head.” I don’t really understand it. I’m not a chemical engineer. I used to clean out dog cages.”

Not having any scientific qualifications, I didn’t understand it either. As far as I knew, it was all a load of crap. As far as I knew, it was absolutely true. I wondered if anyone else had thought of trying it.

“Well,” I said, “It’s simple then. You just steal the ball from him and bury it somewhere so it can’t feel the magnetic force. All this dust has to be useful for something. Anyway I gotta go back to work. Good luck.” Hand in pockets I walked back towards the club house. I thought about telling Umbriphile, but he’d just see it as an extension of the whole celestial experience. Deek was always looking for bigger and better parties. What about the authorities? I glanced around at the red streaked tents. What authorities. No , it was easier to go back to work processing tourists, and not think about Psychodyke or Skinny Chick ever again. And if it blows ...

But unfortunately, I couldn’t concentrate. I kept making mistakes. Probably just as well if the world did blow up because nothing I was recording was accurate. The government wound never be able to work out a fair division of taxes based on statistics I provided.

“I’ve gotta take a pee,” I said to Deek, who was busy making paper planes and flying them into the over head fans.

“Again?” he said.

This time I opted for the queue. There were separate male and female sections, but the girls, noticing that the male queue was shorter, had evened things out. Most people stood, arms folded, staring at the dust or watching vehicles traverse the desert track behind a red cloud. At last one green and yellow plastic door swung outwards. A black umbrella emerged, but became wedged on the door hinge.

“C’mon mate,” said someone ahead of me in the queue. The umbrella struggled, but remained stuck.

“It’s not fucking raining,” said the same voice. There was another voice in my head, urging me to help. I ignored it, and assumed everybody else ignored there own private voice so we all stood in impatient silence. The umbrella retreated into the loo.

“What the —” said the impatient voice. Before I could stop them, my feet walked over. I figured if I helped the guy ... or girl ...; I got first dibs on the loo. But it was neither male or female ... or maybe both ... that stood in the loo. He ... or she had a head of luminous black green hair, spiked up with product so it resemble the back of a witches broom. The skin of ... oh well, lets say ... his face ... was pale ivory cream, with a dark beauty spot exquisitely placed just above blackened lips. He wore a dark green tee shirt, black jeans, and a black suit coat with tails. All miraculously devoid of dust. He handed me the umbrella without a word. I flicked it up and held it as he stepped under its shade.

“Too much sun,” he said. He didn’t smile, or say thanks. Someone in the queue clapped in applause, and he bowed and walked off.

“Wait —” I called after him, then remembered I needed to pee. But someone had already snuck in my loo and closed the door, and my place in the queue had mysteriously closed up.

“Wait,” I called after him again, running. “Are you with Psychodyke and Skinny chick?”

“Maybe” he said.

“Only ... I need you to sign the forms, for the census.”

“Later,” he said, “When this recalcitrant sun is down.”

I stopped and panted with relief. This Gothic guy wasn’t planing to blow up the world during the eclipse after all. Then he stopped walking.

“Sorry. No can do. Won’t be here,” and he laughed for exactly two seconds, and walked off.

Arrogant prick, I thought. Bloody little genius chemical engineer. I’d show him. Show him what?

I fantasised about saving the world and becoming a global hero, complete with financial trimmings and party invitations. I peed behind some scrub while I hoped no-one was looking, then started to walk back towards the clubhouse. The sun was lower now. Still bright, but the shadows were almost long enough to provide shade. It was three hours until the eclipse. If I really was going to save the world, I’d have to come up with a plan. I stopped at a vending machine, and purchased two warm Pepsis, one for me and one for Deek. I opened one and drank the flat sweet brown liquid. Not even enough carbon for a descent burp. I considered drinking Deek’s, but it wasn’t worth it. I’d heard, when I was younger, that a tooth placed in a cup of coke, would rot away to nothing in less than a week. I wondered what would happen to a magnetictic proton bomb.

But all we really had to do was steal the thing. Steal it and bury it so it never saw the alignment of the eclipse. We ... me and Deek. I shook my head. No. Me and Skinny Chick. She might at least know where the damned thing was. There was another reason I wanted to work with Skinny Chick. One I scarcely admitted to myself. Maybe ... just maybe. But, then again, she was probably gay.

I adjusted my glasses, and stood tall. I was ready for anything. Placing the other Pepsi in the knee pocket of my khaki pants, I sidled over to the now red streaked two story tent. I stopped at least 50 meters away, and tried to blend into a saltbush while I formulated my plan. But all I could think of was the hot sun and how strange the warm air rising above the tent looked. After five minutes there was no plan. After another five I changed my mind and turned tothe clubhouse.

I almost ran into them. Psychodyke, solid arms folded, Aviators firmly in place, shaking her head slowly so as not to disrupt the halo of blonde tips radiating from her head. And Umbriphile, his sunburn complete, now dressed in his cream cassock, pointing to the top of the tent. What were they talking about? The weather? The unique canvas design. Was she confiding her grand plans to him, or merely agreeing that the approaching eclipse would indeed herald a magnificent event for mankind, and womenkind, and everyotherkind kind on the planet. All doubt left my mind. Psychodyke was capable of anything, including blowing up the world. And the only person who could stop her was me.

Still with no plan, I took a good look at the tent. One of the upper rooms had black shaded windows. The Gothic from Mars would roost there. As would his toys. I was armed with my warm can of Pepsi. I was ready.

I walked over to the northern corner, out of sight of Psychodyke. There was a back entrance. Zippered up but apparently unguarded. Skinny Chick was no-where in sight. Still no plan. I walked resolutely over to the door, bent over and tugged the zip. But it was jammed. Bending over closer I could see the canvas wedged between the stainless steel teeth of the zip. Should be easily dislodged. I tugged, but it did not give way. I tugged harder and the interlocking teeth separated. I couldn’t think of a swear word horrible enough to describe my frustration. Now my only way in was to disengage the zip manually high enough so I could climb in. I never saw the shadow which blocked my light. Something did make me turn, however, and my face swivelled directly in the path of an enormous ring covered fist.

When I next remembered it was dark. Absolutely pitch black. And I couldn’t move. For a while I didn’t even try. Unable to contemplate where I was or who or what. Then I thought about the darkness. Was it midnight? Had I missed the eclipse? I appeared to be curled up in an ball. Wedged more like, my knees compressing my trachea. My feet and hands tangled together. I couldn’t work that out either so I tried my other senses. All I could smell was sweat. All I could taste was dry saliva. So I listened. And I realised I could hear moaning. Someone moaning. Moaning, swearing, gasping for breath. My stomach turned to ice.

The moaning didn’t let up. If anything it became worse. It was a male voice. Maybe. Although in its pain so high pitched it might be female. After a while it occurred to me that there was a rim of light in my dark cave. I had to tilt my head to see it, which cramped my neck and I almost screamed as loud as the poor tortured soul outside. It was definitely there. My way out. I didn’t even pause to think that maybe I didn’t want a way out. It never occurred to me that the same fate might be awaiting me. I wedged my head up and found that whatever was above me gave way. Suddenly there was too much light and I closed my eyes. I couldn’t untangle my numb hands, so I had to use my head again. I kept my eyes closed and raised the lid, for by now I realised it was a lid, enough to wedge my foot out and keep it up. This time I opened my eyes slowly. I was in a room with soft grey walls and piles of suitcases. I was in one of the suitcases. The other person in the room, the one moaning, was the Gothic from Mars.

He was curled up on the soft floor of the room, clutching his belly. His green-black hair now laced with sweat and pasted over his face and neck. His suit coat torn by his teeth. He rolled around oblivious to me. Food poisoning? His winkle picker flailed perilously close to my face. Then I saw it. In the middle of the floor a black cross. The light from the lowered sun streaming through the hole in the canvas almost completely centred it. And on that cross, a small glass sphere.

By now I was sitting up. I could easily reach it. I’d done it. I’d saved the World. All I had to do was grab the ball, climb out the hole and down to the ground , bury it, and I was a hero. No-one would know, of course. I’d have to rectify that. Some how ...

And while I day-dreamed about my success, she burst into the room. When I say burst, she had to unzip the connecting door, which gave me enough time to duck down back into my case and close the lid.

“Feeling better?” she boomed not sounding very sympathetic.

“No. Got any more Panadol?” he croaked.

“You’ve already had six, little Martian. Your liver won’t stand for it.”

“Who cares, PD? We’re all going to oblivion anyway. I’m taking my liver with me. I just need to ... get rid of this ... fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck ...”

“What did he eat last night, Skinny?”

“Nothing, PD. He wasn’t hungry.”

“Useless member of the opposite sex.” I could almost see her hands on hips, shaking her head. “Give him the Peth. I just need him to be able bodied enough to set the thing at the right time. Seven minutes. That’s all we need . Seven minutes of compus mentus and we’ve done it. It’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it Skinny. The moon, blocking out the sun. Venus overshadowing Mars. The female, triumphing over the male. And in seven minutes, this female will have the last say.”

“Ouch,” said Gothic.

“Pull yourself together. It’s nearly time. Help him up, Skinny.”

I heard footsteps on the canvas. Gothic moaned once more, then was quiet but for some loud breathing. I was trying hard not to worry about the fact that I’d probably missed my chance. To save the world. I wondered if Skinny Chick knew I was here. Maybe I could alert her. Together we could overcome Psychodyke. Gothic shouldn’t be too hard. How many minutes had passed while I lay there, thinking. It was time to do it. Bit still I hesitated, because I had no idea what to do. All I had to do, was make sure the glass ball wasn’t on the cross at the height of the eclipse. So I should time my exit for just before the height of the eclipse, and in the confusion kick the ball out of the way. Psychodyke would probably kill me, But at least I’d save the world.

I had no way of knowing the time. I couldn’t see my watch. I startled counting. But was I counting too fast or too slow? Maybe there was just one minute to go after all. I clenched my fists, still tangled around my feet, girded my loins (although I still don’t know what that means) and took a deep breath. Then I kicked the lid open and tumbled out on the floor. When I recovered my bearings, I was lying prone and they were all looking at me. I tilted my head so I could see the ball, and lunged toward it, but before I was anywhere near it she kicked me back across the floor. Winded, I struggled for breath. Skinny Chick winked at me and shrugged, but didn’t exactly swing into action.

I could see out the window now. Outside was quiet, and an eerie half light. And through the hole in the canvas I could see the sun, by now almost completely covered by the moon. A crescent of bright light like a halo on the black lunar shadow. You’re not supposed to look at an eclipse. Retinal burnout resulting in temporary or permamant blindness, But since we were all off to oblivion, I might as well watch this celestial marvel. The last thing I would ever see.

Gothic from Mars picked up the glass ball. He pressed a small button on top of it, and placed it back on the cross. At the height of the eclipse, when the sun, moon, and this tent were perfectly aligned, it would go off. Some magnetic atomic devise that I didn’t care to understand. And all these people, Deek, the Yanks, the Japs, the hippy chick and dicks, and everybody else in the world, would be evaporated. I wonder it the real Martians in years to come, would ever know what happened. Would they realise I tried to stop it.

And Umbriphile would never see another eclipse. He always said this would be the climactic event of the world. Well he was right. In fact, that was Umbriphile now, wasn’t it, climbing up the tent. His bulk covered our view of the sun. He smiled serenely, and climbed on. Determined to place himself at the epicentre of the eclipse.

“Get off, you dirty little man,” yelled Psychodyke, She picked up a nearby suitcase and swiped at him, but he stuck to the canvas like a determined pale moth. She swung her bag for another swipe, then the whole tent seemed to shudder. Next thing I knew, I was tangled up in canvas, suitcases, and bodies, and we all hit the ground hard.

So we all missed the eclipse. I heard muffled swearing and more groans from Gothic. I heard some damn fine cursing from Psychodyke. I heard Umbriphile crying out and someone else laughing. By the time I’d found myself and removed the debris, the moon was already moving away from the sun. One by one we all stood and looked at each other. I hoped Psychodyke didn’t have any kind of weapon concealed in her tight cargo pants. Only Gothic remained, motionless now, in the dust stained canvas.

Skinny Chick bent down to help him. I gave her a hand. We folded back the canvas until we had all his legs and arms free. All of them. Four legs. Four arms. Two heads. I dropped my bit of tent and my jaw, unable to carry on, but Skinny chick bent down and helped them up. Them. There were two of them.

“Praise be,” said Umbriphile. “The Messiah is born. The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and he shall be called Immanuel. It is as the prophets said. A divine Mieosis.” He went down on his knees before the Gothics, who were dusting off their coats. Miraculolusly, the second gothic had been born fully clothed. I was having none of this.

“So which one is the virgin, and which one the son, Umbri?” I asked.

“It matters not,” he said. Somewhere up behind the Patrol stared up, the noise cracking the silence of the crowd still watching the sun. It powered off in a cloud of red dust. Leaving her baggage behind her, Psychodyke was going to start again. Skinny chick tapped me on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” she said in my ear.

“What for?”

“For saving the world. While you distracted her, I was able to loosen the pegs.” She took my hand. Gothic 1 and 2 were talking together, shaking off the lips of Umbriphile as he tried to kiss their feet. They didn’t seem to care that world had just been saved. I turned back to the eclipse. The moon loosened its hold on the sun, and crept away. The darkness faded into light, then a rosy din as the sun, out from hiding, set over the red purple dunes. With my free hand I removed the squashed Pepsi can from my pocket and offered it to Skinny Chick, and we toasted the New World together.