The Jovian Legacy (3 page)

Were
they really my parents though?

Jack
grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge. Outside the black Volvo
Estate had returned, this time with the two men leaning against it,
one smoking, watching his flat. As Jack ran down to confront them
they scrambled inside and drove off. Jack scissor-jumped the gate
and managed to catch the number-plate. What he saw disturbed him.
It wasn’t a New Zealand plate. The black background to the
plate intensified the luminous green lettering of JOVIAN.

“What
the hell is going on?” he questioned himself aloud.

After
some ringing around Jack was told that NZTA had no record of the
plate. He replaced the receiver.

A
scheduled tour of the university Jack was intending to go to was on
the next day. He felt relieved to get away from his computer for a
while, as he thought it was too much for a seventeen-year-old to
handle, right now anyway.

As
Jack was being led through the university with his group, a school
friend ran up to him.

“G’day
mate!” Shaun greeted with a red-faced grin, “haven’t
seen ya around for a while. How are ya? You look a bit off
colour..”

This
was all Jack needed. A counselling session from one of his unruly
mates. “Nah, I’m okay, she’ll be right. What are
ya gonna study?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Engineering.”
Shaun replied, filing in with the group of students.

“Cool.”
Jack said, keeping the conversation short. Shaun, taking the hint,
went on ahead.

Mates
are mates and sometimes like to make a mockery out of things,
he
regarded.

For
the rest of the day Jack tried to concentrate on the guided tour, but
his thoughts kept pulling him back to unanswered questions and
deep-seated anger over it all. In the Faculty of Medical and Health
Science room, a young woman caught Jack’s attention. It was
obvious that the girl’s attendance was for one reason only, her
attention engrossed in the dialogue of the tour guide, occasionally
dipping her head to jot some notes down. Though Jack thought she
looked to be a lot younger than other students there.

Must
be open day for the year elevens
.

There
was something about her that prompted Jack to want to speak to her,
apart from the fact that she was incredibly attractive.

Her
name was Megan, and she came from Canterbury where she had lived on a
sheep station. During school holidays she helped her father muster
sheep, and generally mucked-in with her brothers and farm workers.
In turn, Megan came to be intrigued by Jack. Naturally, as with all
students, Megan spent hours in front of a computer as well. Still,
she thought Jack knew a little more about computers than she did -
there was something about him that told her so.

Megan
was
younger, two and half years younger than Jack in fact, but mature
beyond her years. Their friendship grew, and soon they were spending
a lot of time together.

For
something different to do Jack took Megan out on a fishing charter.
The charter boat moored in a pretty cove with water so clear they
could see blue mau mau darting back and forth in synchronised
precision. A chilly breeze developed, but the pair were happily
oblivious to it, and made the most of the day. As they ate their
lunch they talked about their interests, about school stuff, and
about what they wanted to do after they finished uni.

Megan
found something mysterious about Jack; it was as if he was holding
something back, but she couldn’t figure out what, as he seemed
so genuine and happy. Jack became enamoured with Megan and felt that
he had known her somewhere before, but knew it was highly unlikely,
telling himself he was probably only thinking about his mother. No
matter what, they agreed, for now they would simply enjoy each
other’s company and not pressure each other into anything
serious. It was this mutual respect that allowed the friendship to
grow.

In
any case
, Jack considered,
I
still feel like I need to do a lot of growing up
.
And he secretly believed he wouldn’t know what to do with a
‘serious girlfriend’.

Jack
had no intention of sharing his last few weeks’ experiences
with Megan, not yet anyway, her being the last person he would want
thinking of him as a lunatic. Well that is what he feared, and he
didn’t want to scare her off. To Jack, Megan was too good a
catch to blow it.

S
everal
weeks later Jack had the urge to make contact with his parents again.
He sat at his computer and logged onto the program. Five small
windows appeared across his screen. The first one showed himself at
six years old on the tray of his father’s tractor; the second
showed himself being born; the third, his mother and father smiling
at him; the fourth, his camping trip, and the fifth displayed him
looking down at his parents’ yacht in the great vastness of the
ocean.

“Far
out!” he cried, stunned.

Thumbnails
of his experiences. Jack found this extremely weird. Weirder still,
he thought, was the wording accompanying each thumbnail.

It
read,
“If you wish to
alter the course of events in any of the above, please click on the
icon of your choosing.”

What,
now I can alter my life history simply by typing in whatever I
choose?
Jack thought wildly
.
This is crazy!

Suddenly
he felt daring.
What
if
I played around a
little. After all, it’s just a computer,
he precariously thought.

Jack
typed beneath the icon showing his birthing movie, typing in an
imaginary situation, with a duration of three hours. Excited, he
donned his virtual reality helmet.

Jack
feels warm again, and wet and claustrophobic, back in the confined
space of his mother’s womb. Water sloshes around him, and he
hears the now familiar sounds of his mother’s groaning and
crying out in pain. He once again senses the muscles contracting as
his body is being forced down the vaginal cavity, his mother’s
pelvic area expanding, making way for him. He feels again a huge
surge of muscle, a shriek of pain, and someone’s gloved hands
on his head. His eyes remain shut while the doctor’s hands
expertly manoeuvre him out from the warmth. He cries. A soft nappy
is wrapped around his tiny unwashed body and he is placed in his
mother’s arms again. Jack opens his eyes. This time he can
see her plainly, and can also understand what they’re saying.

“Oh
my, I got meself a little pappy - Oh Johnson, look what we’s
got!”

“You
is so clever, Boo” her husband spoke. “What we’s
got sure gonna be good. We gonna be a good family, Boo. Now we got
seven little pappies, we’s sure gonna have a good time!”

Excellent!
Jack nearly says out loud
,
realising with astonishment
that he is black, born into a large African American family in the
1960s.

This
is going to be so so cool
.

He
is bathed and given to his black mother. Jack is now worried, as he
knows what happens next. A huge brown breast looms towards him that
is bigger than his entire body, the nipple being unceremoniously
shoved into his little mouth, causing him to gag. He isn’t so
sure of it being cool anymore, and turns his face away from the
monster mound, thrusting out his little arm.

Everyone
in the room is taken aback. “How did he know how to do that,”
a nurse says, the staff looking at each other blankly.

Jack
is whisked away and placed in a crib, in a temperate room with other
newborns. Most are sleeping but a few are crying. Jack watches the
faces of women walking past. Then at the ceiling, considering that
other babies had much the same boring view. A young mother peers
into his crib and smiles and him. He wonders what he looks like and
turns his head, making out his reflection in the plastic side of the
crib.

Yep,
I’m black all right!
he
deems, scrutinising his big brown eyes and button nose with puffed-up
rosy pink lips. Jack sticks out his tongue at his reflection.

Black
as ebony…this is going to be fun
.

More
babies cry. This annoys him.

“Will
you shut the hell up!”
he
yells in a voice so high and tight that it even gives him a fright.

He
hears a tray of cups and bowls crash to the floor. The other babies
are now screaming, and Jack looks up to see a nurse’s face, her
expression of sheer terror. She flees the room, and within moments a
team of doctors and nurses gather around his crib.

Better
play it cool now
, he says to
himself.

The
sea of faces stares at him; Jack stares back, tight-lipped.

A
doctor’s attention turns to the nurse. “Nurse Carter,
have you been rostered on too many shifts? I know we’re short
staffed, but if it’s going to affect you, we can’t take
risks. These babies require round-the-clock care and if you feel
it’s too much for you I will arrange for another nurse to cover
your shift.”

“No…I’ll
be fine, thank you, doctor. I think I’m just a little tired,”
she replies, confused, smoothing her uniform nervously. Jack watches
her intently. An embarrassed Nurse Carter attends to the other
babies, who begin to settle down. Another nurse lifts Jack from his
crib, taking his temperature and making a few notes. Jack notices
the tag she places at the base of his crib:
“24-hour
monitoring required”.

Oh
boy! I’m going to have fun!
he
wickedly thinks.

He
is taken in to his mother who cradles and smiles at him.

Jack
bites his lip.
Shall I or
shan’t I?
He smiles
back at her in a wide cheesy grin.

“Omigod,
Omigod! Nurse!” she screams, holding Jack away from her. “My
baby! My baby! He smiled at me! He only two hours’ old! He
too young to do that! I given birth to the devil! Yeh, he the
devil! Take him away!”

A
nurse quickly takes the now angelic-looking Jack from her and into a
different room. He is placed in another crib and a team of doctors
gather around him. They write notes, take his temperature,
scrutinise him and write more notes. Jack remains quiet throughout.
After a few minutes they leave. Jack sees that one nurse has stayed
back to keep an eye on him. She is seated by the window and has
opened her book - a novel written by Virginia Andrews entitled
Flowers in the Attic
.

He
feels the urge again, stretching out his little black arms and
pulling himself up into the sitting position in his crib, grinning to
himself. “Bloody good story, poor kids to have a mother like
that that leaves them all cooped up in that room for three years,
aye.”

The
nurse drops her book and
she
screams, so loud the entire
ward of babies start screaming again too. Bedlam. Jack lays there
giggling hopelessly, laughing so much he piddles himself. He makes
sure he is quiet when the doctors come rushing back in. Pretending
to be asleep, Jack listens to them talking. One of the doctors says,
“I think we need the senior paediatrician and a psychiatrist to
take a look at this baby.”

Jack
peeps at the clock. Another half an hour to go, and wonders if he
should cool it.

Nah,
half an hour’s not long. May as well make the most of it,
he
thought, trying not to grin.

He
watches the doctor dialling numbers on the big black phone attached
to the wall of the ward, placing the phone up to his ear.

Jack
cups his little round hands over his mouth. “I’m sorry,
your call cannot be connected due to overloading, please try again.”
The doctor, ever so slowly, removes the phone from his ear and turns
towards Jack, approaching him with an unfathomable look on his face.
It is a look of horror and anger, which unnerves Jack a little. The
doctor picks up Baby Jack, who had wrapped himself back up in his
blanket and tucked his arms back in. The doctor holds Jack at eye
level, the pair looking intently at each other.

“What
are you?” the doctor said in a very methodical voice. Jack
gazes at him innocently. “What are you?” he repeats, a
little louder. Jack peeps at the clock. Twenty minutes to go.

“Well,”
Jack replies sweetly. “Me’s a little black boy - can’t
ya tell?”

The
doctor quavers. Jack notices the beads of sweat that have suddenly
appeared on his forehead.

“Young
man. How old do you think you are? I can’t believe I’m
having this conversation with a…” he says, keeping his
grip firm.

This
time Jack wriggles his arms free and claps his hands together. “Oh,
I’m actually seventeen, but you see, I have this computer and I
asked it to take me back to my birthday so I could know what it’s
like to be born again.” The doctor awkwardly places Jack back
into his crib, turns and walks stiffly out of the neonatal unit and
into the hall. Jack then hears a noise of someone dropping to the
floor, then the running clatter of shoes. In a few minutes Jack
hears a siren and sits up in his crib, craning his neck to see out
the window. An old American police car with its flashing turret
light, draws up alongside the front doors. Jack is aware that he has
opened a can of worms.