Human Sister

check things out. If all went well, he would return in four hours to this same location on the surface of the ocean to rendezvous with Elio and me. Elio and I would then climb aboard the second sub and follow Michael to our underwater hideaway.
    The ocean was relatively calm where we stopped to launch the sub. Elio had gone below about a half-hour before to help Michael pack. I remained up top in the cabin, monitoring the pilot computer.
    The designated time to launch Michael’s submersible came and went, but the computer showed no sign that Michael had, as yet, even sealed himself inside the sub. What were they doing? Was something wrong?
    I looked for options on the computer and found “Video Monitor: Hold,” which I clicked. On the computer screen appeared Elio and Michael, hugging each other and kissing. Michael was standing half in, half above the submersible. All of the supplies we had placed beside the sub were packed, so everything appeared ready for launch. Then, through the monitor, I heard a buzzer sound in the hold, perhaps signaling that the launch was running behind schedule. I saw their lips part, their arms release each other.
    “You’re my human brother,” Michael said. He appeared distraught, the outer edges of his mouth turned down, the integumentin between his eyebrows tightened into tiny folds.
    “Ja,” Elio said. “I’m happy we’re brothers—and lovers.”
    The buzzer sounded again, and again they hugged. This time I saw their tongues meet as they kissed.
    I felt—I don’t know how I felt. Stunned, I guess. I’m not sure if it was then or minutes later that an acidic mixture of anger, disbelief, and the wild bottomless imaginings of jealousy—all the intimate things they might have done together—began corroding my insides.
    “Michael, listen to me,” Elio said. “Sara and I will be back here to this very spot, on time. I love you. We both love you. We’ll be back, and we’ll go with you to Anzen.”
    Michael blinked, and I saw a tear fall from one of his eyes.
    “We’ll be back,” Elio said. “You just be sure you’re here when we get here. I promise, we’ll be back.”
    Michael scooted down into the submersible’s pilot seat. The transparent hatch above him closed and sealed with a hermetic sigh. Their eyes fixed on each other; the hold beneath the submersible opened; swirling bubbles and the metallic edge of the hold sliced away their views of each other; and they parted quietly, going their separate ways, into the unknown future that swallows every good-bye.

    As soon as the sub was launched, our boat resumed making its way through fog and light rain along a path that would have taken us, had we continued on it, to Magnasea’s mining platform. Elio came up from the hold and reported that the launch had gone well. I didn’t say anything, just nodded. Appearing sad, he walked to the starboard window and peered out into the gray blankness enveloping us. Was he worried about Michael’s safety? Was he worried about how he was going to keep his and Michael’s love a secret from me in the cramped quarters of Anzen? Was he rehearsing what to say to me when I found out? Would he assert that I had told him I was glad that they’d become best friends? That they loved each other? Would he remind me that I had let Michael feel my desires, had even let him participate in one of my masturbations?
    And what would I say in response? Yes, that’s all true, but… But what?
    Elio turned toward me from the window. “You think he’ll be all right?”
    You promised never to keep secrets from me, I thought, but I said, “Yes. He knows the systems of the sub and of Anzen better than either of us. He’ll be fine.”
    Elio nodded, then turned back toward the window, and the sour silence between us continued. I tried to remember: Had I seen any signs? I had often observed them hugging. And kissing, yes, but Michael kissed everyone and everything, it seemed, even the leaves of his plants. But not with his tongue. And they had held hands. Michael couldn’t help touching and caressing everything within reach. He’d often held Grandma’s and Grandpa’s hands, too. There was that one time, just a few days earlier, when during the discussion of Bashō’s frog haiku, they’d leaned their heads together and I’d thought: If I didn’t know better I’d think those two were lovers.
    “It is memory that keeps each moment from being alone,” Michael had said.
    For me, here in