Vagabond Fugue- Chapter Three: Refuge

VAGABOND FUGUE Gypsy D. Sideshow

The Vagabond Fugue Book One: The Xandromachia Chapter Three: Refuge

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he almost familiar swirl of light- the bass moan of memory’s voices inside Xander’s head- voices in the shape of a man, of men, of men’s distorted clown-faces emerging from the shadows, men carrying clubs and moving toward him.

Then, light pulling him away to safety, rebirthed to the insatiable muffled cry of gulls, a gentle rocking beneath his feet.

White light fades into colors, then shapesblurry like fever, then shrink-wrapped into the form fitted sea, the salted breeze, the intricate foam bubbles nudging against the hull of a luxury seaborne vessel. From inside the hull, from a porthole, Xander views the hints of sleek stealth-curves, of gunmetal black. He pulls back to a bright living space, a plush king-sized bed, an end table with scattered yachting and fashion mags, a long-extinguished cigar in an ashtray, laying there like a sailor’s discarded thumb.

Xander had a brother, the android woman told him. A brother lost in a jetstream of code, hidden somewhere in this pixilated world. A brother, a man, a long-gone voice inside his head that sounded like his own, a voice that had faded into the blurred shadows of his almost forgotten dreams. A brother? It almost felt like a lie to Xander, an untruth to distract him from occupying this body...this new body that could do anything, even fly...the weight of this remarkable body balanced on his own two feet... two feet on the floor of a boat gently rocking.

What if he had no brother to save?

What if he had no brother to save? What if, instead, he could

take this yacht and moor it to a nearby shore, stride down a weathered dock, lit up with strung lights in the late afternoon sun? Xander imagines the smell of grilling vegetables and meat, the pulse and moan of music...people dancing. Yes....that is where he wanted to be...free, the freedom of flirting with bikinied girls and their fascist hipbones, getting close enough to feel the heat radiating from their skin, the bare skinned curves as they moved close together to the rhythm of the music. To lounge on a blanket on the sand as the sun went down on him, to trace the path of that sun into the hollow of a woman’s hip. The shore. The gulls. The girls. But nothing crying for rescue. He could be free, he began to believe. This dream of a damsel brother could wait.

he yacht t f o s s e n e r y his awa b d e t rror in i p u m r r e e h t t n , i h e g r ughts a ides throu r t s first e y H r e . v r Xander’s tho o e o h d t t r o n f an adjace e mirror h t t a n i m f o l o e r s h m t i nes cona o h b s m e e i n d a u t e s u l r e b . Xand , the pale e m i alaxy t g a e t a h front of him t e g n n o i p … p i s s his eye display, gr d e n u t e n time…studie fi nding in a a p x e d n a g tractin is pupils. h f o s e i r a d his eyes… n s u e i o d b u e t l s o e h h k s blac is cheeks a h n Gazing i k … c e a l l t s t i e l h a t t k a c l a ds pul e leans b H . k c e scar a l n o b , Xander’s han n r i e d n i e l n e i l y , e the rims , tattooed e c a f e m o s his cheek. bloodshot at d n n a w h o d y l d b i n s a s impo r one eye e v o art that n p w at his (his?) y o l d n o y a e h w t s , t nifing i iar to him l i m a then f , s r l e e e v l f fabulously k i t s a g h t n i t r w e only pa ead…glo h s i h f o e d i And then, th kull… the s s t s t a e s e e m b u e t n i e sc where sp i d feels real...th g n i w o l g the unties his t r a e g d n n i t a e X e , t m a gold n his thro w o d oed and o , t t n i a t h c … s t i s e h h r n ove t…his c ocks m r e Looking dow ns the buttons of his shir d n a X ,” l oose . “Hey gir b o r h t t r a e . He inh s bowtie and l r w a o t r s b n e o y i e t c d a some nd wiggle a n i h Xander c . s .. i scarred, like f h r u f s o t p u ju d r with a of washe y a c e d e h t to the mirro s himself… l l e m s n e h t hales, w tide. o l e k i l s l l e sm

The shower flumes over Xander’s body… steam and water, as he traces his ribboned scars. Another flash of memory. A woman pressing her lips against his chest and down his abdomen.

This body....this body, mine.

Xander’s hands trace down below his navel swooning to the heat of water streaming down his body, the steam, the response of his body, rising...

Then it happens, a swirl of light just beyond the shower and over his head.

Xander worries that he is teleporting again, but it is different this time.

This time his molecules stay intact as the swirl of light gets bigger and brighter.

The silhouette of a woman grows more clear, materializing before him. The light dims behind her. Her

body lowers toward the yacht bathroom floor, with grace, she descends lightly onto one knee.

Xander stumbles out of the shower in wonder, dripping onto the floor, getting closer to her.

The woman blinks, adjusting her eyes to the decrease in light. Her eyes rest at the world below Xander’s navel before he remembers that he is naked.

“Uhm...� the woman says, waiting for Xander to realize his condition,

“hello sailor...?”