Cosmic Honeymoon
by Irena
Pasvinter
Our wedding
travel had to be unforgettable. Eve drove travel
agents crazy, and all for nothing. I was
beginning to tire of our endless quest for the
perfect honeymoon.
“Does it
really matter where we go?” I said while
driving to the umpteenth travel agency. “We’ll
have each other, who cares about the rest. A nice
view, good food, fine weather -- that’s all
we need. We could go anywhere.”
After a
pregnant pause, Eve dropped each word like a
miniature atomic bomb, “Of course, it
matters.”
And then we
met Mr Fred Mayhem from the Travel of Your Life
agency.
“Call me
Fred,” he said, smiling from here to the
eternity and shaking our hands with well
practiced genuine enthusiasm.
Observing his
crisp shirt and stylish tie, I imagined him after
a mind squeezing session with Eve: noble forehead,
sparkling with sweat; million dollar smile,
drooping from exhaustion; compassionate eyes,
dulled by a curtain of despair.
But Mr Mayhem
proved to be tougher than other representatives
of the travel agents race. Perhaps it was his
name that hardened him against hardships. Anybody
else would have changed Mr Mayhem to Mr Sweet or
Mr Goodman in no time, but not this guy. Watching
his duel with Eve, I hoped she finally met her
match.
Invincible
Fred stroke a decisive blow at Eve’s
imagination with Cosmic Honeymoon.
“Wait a
minute,” I said. “Are you sure it’s
safe? I don’t want to take risks, you know.”
“One-hundred
percent safe. And absolutely unforgettable. You
can’t go wrong with it.”
“There’s
a Russian saying: he who doesn’t risk, doesn’t
drink champagne,” Eve said, shooting at me a
meaningful glance, charged with contempt. ”I
want Cosmic Honeymoon.”
I don’t
know about you, but when people tell me something
is “one-hundred percent safe” and
“can’t go wrong”, I start worrying.
Even before I could read, I discovered a
fundamental law of nature: anything can go wrong,
and it usually does.
I didn’t
share Eve’s enthusiasm about Cosmic
Honeymoon. Thirty days locked in a “cabin of
your dreams”, orbiting Mother Earth -- sure,
it’s exciting, unforgettable and all that,
but wouldn’t a day or two be enough? Wouldn’t
you start feeling like a squirrel running in its
wheel after a week of this cosmic paradise? And
what about all this honeymoon business -- how do
you do it without gravity? This aspect wasn’t
covered in colorful advertising prospects.
Enthusiasm or
not, when at the flight preparation course they
stuffed me into a centrifuge and sent me spinning
to hell, I thought I’d vomit my heart out.
“I can’t
do this,” I told Eve after they dragged me
out and reanimated what was left of me.
“Too bad,”
she replied. “I’m not giving up on my
Cosmic Honeymoon, no matter what. Right, Freddy,
dear?” Eve fixed on Mr Mayhem the same
hypnotic gaze she used to reserve for me.
That solved it.
Now she’s Mrs Mayhem, spinning on the orbit.
I hope Mr Mayhem can figure out how to do it
without gravity.
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