25.
Bomfa, bomfa, bomfa, bomfa, bomfa.
Emily stuck her head under her pillow and tried to get some sleep. With the warmer weather, Azziz’s cafe had turned from beatnik hangout to beach-bar disco. It pulsated its way through the day then thudded and boomed late into the night. She liked the snatches of seventies music that floated across the bay but couldn’t stand the bomfa, bomfa, bomfa stuff. It rattled the walls and kept her awake.
After a few sleepless nights she hissed at the snarly one at the end of her bed, ‘Negrita, if you can’t beat them, you might as well join them!’
She pulled on her black catsuit and wandered along the beach in the dark. When she got to Azziz’s, the music was so loud she could hardly hear herself think.
The bar was packed, but it was a different set to the winter crowd, these guys were rougher, tougher and coarser. They looked mean and scary. Emily had never seen creatures like this before; they were a collection of mutants and misfits. They eyed her up and down as if trying to decide which sauce would go well with her entrails.
There was a constant coming and going of space scooters, the boom, boom, boom of their spiced up hyper-drives competing with the bomfa, bomfa of the music. They roared off into the sky in unruly groups and thundered back to the beach sending sand flying up over the bar as they skidded to a halt. They lit big bonfires on the beach and laughed and fought as they staggered drunkenly about the place.
The bar had a new sign, Azziz’s Rhum de Camillo, The Best Rum this side of Barbados.
What do they make rum out of? Emily wondered, trying to remember.
‘Sugar cane,’ said Castor’s voice in her head.
‘Thanks Castor,’ said Emily. ‘Sugar cane, dang and blast, the rat, that’s what he’s been up to!’
She didn’t like it in the bar.
Azziz was nowhere to be seen, so she called out, ‘Jesus, I’m scared!’
Zimp!
Jesus appeared and taking Emily by the hand led her out of the bar.
‘It’s not my cup of tea either,’ he yelled over the music.
As they walked back along the beach a greeny-blue beam of light shot up from the bar into the darkness of the night sky.
‘Look,’ said Emily, ‘a laser.’
‘That’s not a laser,’ said Jesus. ‘That’s a photon beam. It’s like a beacon. You’ll be able to see it from the other side of the Milky Way.’
They weren’t the only ones to see the beacon. Even before they reached the other end of the beach, Castor and Pollux lit up the sky with lasers and torpedoes and chunks of glowing slime rained down on Camillo.
Jesus and Emily ran.
Reaching the safety of her cottage, and slamming the door shut behind them, Emily said, ‘I’m scared.’
‘Would you like me to stay?’ said Jesus. ‘I can sleep on the sofa.’
‘I’d like that,’ said Emily and gave him a big hug.
Despite the bomfa, bomfa, bomfa, the boom, boom, boom and the crack of exploding slimeballs, Emily slept well that night. Jesus said he’d come along every evening to keep her company. That made her feel much safer.
Emily didn’t like the noise; she didn’t like this new crowd and the boom, boom of their space scooters; and most of all, she didn’t like slimeballs, but she didn’t want to stop Azziz doing his thing. She didn’t want to be little Miss Bossy Boots and say stop! After all, even though Camillo was her asteroid, Azziz was God’s son.
Each day the party started earlier, each night the music got louder and the crowd bigger and every night the slimeball attack was heavier. By the morning of the fifth day the ground was coated with a layer of blue slime with occasional bigger chunks. The beautiful golden beach was blue; the forest was blue, in fact the whole of the asteroid had turned blue. It squidged up between Emily’s toes when she walked, yuck!
‘Nitrogen rich, makes good fertilizer,’ said the ever-practical Jesus. ‘My garden is going to flourish.’
Nitrogen rich as it might be, Emily decided to stay indoors. The only problem was that she needed a relaxing cup of tea and a soak in her bath to de-slime her toes, which had turned an interesting shade of blue. To do that she needed to chop firewood, so out she went into the blueness.
She liked splitting firewood, especially when she was mad, and before long her wheelbarrow was almost full.
‘Look out!’ warned Castor and she wheeled around to see three scary, tough looking aliens approaching.
‘Stop right there!’ shouted Emily in the biggest bossy-boots voice she could muster.
The aliens stopped and laughed. They staggered, they spat and they hit each other. One stepped towards Emily. She swung her axe at him and he stepped back out of the way, laughing.
Click! Click! Click!
They drew out some evil looking blasters and aimed them at Emily.
‘Sweet little earthling, be a good girl and give us that thing you have in your pocket,’ said the tall scar-faced one.
He lowered his gun and fired a shot into the ground, kicking dirt up into Emily’s face.
She stepped forward, swinging the axe blindly.
Phitchum, phitchum, phitchum, blat, blat, blat!
She was covered with goopy bits of alien.
‘Wow!’ she said, wiping entrails from her eyes and looking at her axe in surprise.
‘Sorry about that!’ said Castor. ‘I couldn’t bear it, I had to step in!’
‘Thank you, thank you Castor. They were after Enzo.’
‘Shhhhh,’ said Castor. ‘They were romoids. They have x-ray vision. They knew there was something in your pocket, so they wanted it.’
Zimp!
Zeus arrived, his face flushed with anger. ‘Are you alright?’ he said.
‘Yup,’ said Emily
Zimp!
He was gone again.
Thunder and lightning came from the beach bar. The music stopped and a few hundred scooters started up, bloop, bloop, bloop, then screamed off into the sky at full speed, dodging lightning bolts. Castor and Pollux chased then on their way with a salvo of photon torpedoes.
Zeus was back ten minutes later with Azziz and Jesus.
Although Zeus still looked mad, he said, ‘We have to do these things in a civilised way. Let’s have a glass of lemonade.’
Emily sat between Jesus and Azziz on the sofa and Zeus dragged the comfy arm chair out and sat opposite them. They sat in silence, sipping fresh lemonade from tall glasses.
Once they were half way down, Zeus asked, ‘Emily, what would you like?’
‘I would like Azziz’s cafe to be just like it was: chilled, relaxed and fun, with just the odd blow out. No thugs, no scooters, no beacon and NO slimeballs!’
‘What about Azziz’s distillery, do you want him to shut it down?’ asked Zeus.
‘Is the rum good?’ asked Emily.
‘It’s rough as guts, but given a few years, it’ll be the best this side of Barbados,’ said Azziz.
‘Well,’ said Emily, thinking, ‘let’s give it a few years and see if it is.’
‘All agreed then?’ said Zeus.
‘Yes!’
‘Well, let’s toast to Azziz’s cafe and his rum,’ said Zeus. ‘Cheers!’
They clinked their glasses together and downed the rest of the lemonade in one shot.
Zimp!
Zeus was gone.
‘Emily, I’m sorry,’ said Azziz. ‘It got out of hand. I couldn’t stop it myself. Let me and Jesus tidy up your place.’