The Temple

    
 I saw it off in the distance, shimmering like ice crystals in a lightning storm. When the Narsazi had told me it was carved out of solid salt but I had just smiled. People are so gullible and the Narsazi believe anything, the more wondrous the better. They are a nation of hookah smokers and storytellers.
 Not so with John Henry Steele; I am an archeologist, formed by my rigorous discipline, and thus disinclined to credulity. I left fairy tales behind when I left my nursery.
 So, why did my pulse race when I finally beheld the Temple of Darsh glowing in the distance? Was I still dazed by the bowl I had shared with the High Priest who shared its history with me?
 He was a cunning little monkey, the High Priest. Bald, toothless, brown as a nut and quick as mercury to frown or smile. He took my offering and handed me a little white bowl filled with a brownish liquid. I took a quick taste, blanched and handed it back to him. He peered at me through llama's eyelashes and grinned.
 "It is miracle juice," he said. At least that is what I think he said; my Narsazi is only rudimentary. "Now you will see clearly, white man."
 Indeed, I thought.
 "I can look into your soul, white man. In you, I see a thorn bush of little men who  fight each other. Some are angry, some are weeping and some laugh. Do not be afraid. I see that one day there will be no longer a battle in your heart. On that day, you will be a free man like me."
 I looked at the naked little priest and tried to look attentive and respectful even though he was speaking utter rot.  My career as a scholar has taught me the wisdom of bridling my tongue and looking as though I agreed with my colleagues no matter how harebrained their theories.
 The priest laughed. "Ah, now you think that I am nothing but a mad old man. No, do not speak. I can see it in your heart. But I tell you, white man, I speak the truth. You will see the temple of Darsh and you will be given a vision. Through the vision, you will dig up the thorn bush that grows in your heart." Then he muttered to himself too quietly for me to make out the words. I gathered that I was dismissed. I bowed deeply and left to find Smedley Johnson, my doctoral student.
 Smedley was in the camp, directing the porters and organizing our equipment.
 "I say, Doctor S. You look a bit pensive, what?" said Smedley. I detected a note of concern.
 "Not at all, Johnson," I said, my voice suitably chilled to end this line of enquiry. There is no welcome mat in front of my psyche, thank you very much.
 "Now then, Johnson. Is everything in order? Are we ready to make the trek?"
 "Oh, yes sir, Doctor! The men are waiting for your instructions."
 "Right ho! Let's talk to their mucky-muck."
 Their chief was a tall man with a long white scar across his right cheek as though he had lost a duel in Heidelberg. I lifted my right hand to acknowledge his status and explained what I wanted. His face was impassive until I mentioned the Swamp.
 "You want to cross the place of miseries?" he said, clearly shocked.
 "It is, by far, the most direct route," I said firmly. "Will there be a problem?"
 "The men will not cross it," said the chief. "The ground is cursed!"
 "It is the only way," I said. "The Rushi will not let us cross their land and mountains block us from the west."
 He spat out an unpleasantry when I mentioned his enemy, the tribe to the east.
 "You must take us through the swamp; we will pay you double," I said.
 "They will refuse," predicted the chief, but I sensed that his resolve was softening.
 "We will leave in ten minutes," I said. "Come Johnson, let us see to our tools." And we left the chief muttering his protests. My theory is that eventually men will do as they are told if you act as though they had already agreed. Perhaps it is arrogance, but it works more often than not with these primitive peoples.
 From his silence and his wrinkled brow, I could tell that Johnson was ill at ease so I allowed him to broach the subject.
 "I say, Doctor, is it wise to transgress against the Narzasi's ...er religious views?" he said.
 "Science must not be slowed down by the immature and ludicrous superstitions of primitives," I said shortly.
 "No, I suppose not," he said, but I could sense that he was dragging his feet. Johnson is of good stock but his great uncle was Archbishop of York and he is loathe to trample on religion in general. Not that he is a believer himself. If he had been, I certainly would not have taken him under my wing; I will have no truck with religious blatherers.
 "Right! Let's be underway," I said, hefting my instruments onto my shoulder.
 ---
 The Swamp was before us: malodorous, muddy and rank with decay. I could see mangroves and sword grass and between the dying cypress trees, little blue and red butterflies fluttering in the beams of light that filtered through the canopy. The Narsazi porters stopped abruptly and dropped their packs on the ground.
 Despite my protestations, they would not look me in the eye. They started to sing a sonorous song together which they believed would protect them from evil. I controlled my anger with difficulty and stooped down to speak to the chief.
 He was singing and nothing I  said could induce him to stop.
 "Perhaps, we can make a cache here and go on without them," said Johnson. "We can pay them to guard what we can't carry."
 I hated being bested by half-naked savages but I had to admit that Johnson's plan was better than my frustrated fantasy of taking out a whip and compelling them into the swamp.
 We gathered the most necessary things together in two large packs and made our way onto the spongy, tobacco brown ground. The chief and his men watched us with a mixture of anger and fear. I could see them making little hand gestures to fend off the evil that we would surely stir up.
 "Fools!" I hissed under my breath. Johnson said nothing, just hitched his pack higher on his back and trudged ahead of me.
----
 As unpleasant as the swamp certainly was, there was no denying that it was full of the most amazing animals: butterflies of vivid and unlikely color, birds that sang and chirped descants and trebles, frogs that croaked in basso profundo and contralto. If only the smell mirrored the sounds! All around, it was miasmic like a million corpses freshly exhumed. The mosquitoes were maddening; great malarial hordes of them, whining and complaining around our ears like a demented welcoming committee.
 "Bloody awful, what?" said Johnson, swiping at his ears.
 "Welcome to higher learning," I said. "They never build great architecture in easily accessible places." To which, he sighed and plodded on.
 I noticed that the pooled water was especially murky in the center of the swamp. It was roughly the color of manure and equally pleasant-smelling. I tried to keep clear of it as well as I could but at one point, I had no choice but to plunge in and hope that the mud would not spill over my boot tops. Absolutely ghastly. And already it was getting dark.
 We had clambered onto a higher spot covered over with reeds and grass and tried to build a fire. The wood was dead enough but so damp that it only smoked disagreeably. We took brandy for its fire and tried to sleep.  Surrounded by nocturnal noises and thousands of pinprick eyes in the night, sleep was elusive. I could hear Johnson praying under his breath.
 The sunrise brought with it its usual cohort of flying irritatants. I smoked my pipe in self defence, and smiled to see all of the midges and mosquitoes flock over to the clean-lunged Johnson. Ah, the perils of abstention.
 We fought through a particularly dense grove of mangroves and flopped exhausted on the muddy ground. Johnson's face was a muddy bloody mass, red as a tomato and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. I offered him my canteen and filled up my pipe again.
 "What do you make of the stories about the Temple, Doctor S.?" asked Johnson, wiping more mud onto his face.
 "Which stories?" I asked, for I had heard many.
 "I heard that it was a place where the white god-man had appeared to their fathers' fathers' fathers," he said repeating the Narsazi formula for 'once upon a time.'
 "It's a variant of the Quetzalcoatl myth," I said glibly. "But it's not to be taken seriously by real academics." Like you and I, I implied.
 "No, of course not," he said hastily. "I just find it interesting that the myth is so widespread in the Americas."
 "A good story is told again and again," I said. "Merchants bring not only goods by myths as they travel."
 "I suppose you're right," he said but his voice lacked that snap of assurance that I like to hear from my protégés.
 "What do you make of the encircled cross, that they display in their art?" he asked.
 "Interesting," I nodded. "But probably coincidental. Remember that depictions of the swastika were found both in the Indus Valley and in China: you wouldn't say that it makes them Nazis, would you?"
 "How old do you reckon that the temple is?" he asked after a while.
 "Certainly, the Narsazi and the Rushi have been living in close proximity to the flatlands for millennia, so we can hope for quite an old building, but I'll know more when I've had a chance to see the grounds and the interior," I said.
---
 We trudged through the muck for several hours before we broke for a well-earned lunch.
 "It's just odd..." said Johnson, sipping from his canteen.
 "What?"
 "I reckon that the myth of the white god-man and the cross symbols could be coincidental but how do you explain the lack of an altar?"
 "Go on..."
 "I mean, have you ever heard of an ancient people who build a temple without providing for sacrifices? It goes against all I've learned so far."
 "Johnson! Listen to yourself! You begin to sound suspiciously like a Salvation Army tub-thumper..." My words were light in tone but I was having difficulty in holding my scorn in check.
 "Well then, Doctor Steele, please explain to me how a pagan temple can have such un-pagan accouterments." His tone was phlegmatic. I paused to damp down my fire, counting to ten. When I spoke again, my voice was level and calm.
 "Well, as to that, Johnson, who can say? Perhaps, sacrifices were held at another location? We will know more when we have had a chance to poke around."
 I sounded calm but inside I was still churning. How dare he question me in that tone of voice? That arrogant pup, that evangelical mealy-mouthed hypocrite! How had one of the God-fearers gotten into my care? I had made it clear to the Dean that I was not interested in Christian scholars, an oxymoron if ever there was one. We plodded on.
-----
 "What is it, Doctor?" asked Johnson pointing at tracks under a cypress tree.
 "Jaguar, I suspect," I said. "Better have your revolver close at hand."
 If I wasn't agitated before, finding the tracks hardly encouraged me. I hate jaguars. They prowl like mist, hiding in the trees, skulking in the reeds, as silent as death. I have seen a jaguar kill his prey by crushing its skull in his jaws, driving its canines into the brain pan. Grisly.
 "Listen Johnson, jaguars are fond of ambushing their prey. Watch out for those trees on your right. They like to attack out of a blind spot."
 My words were seconds late, for as they were leaving my mouth a mottled streak shot out of the trees and seized Johnson by the neck for a killing bite. I managed several shots, all wildly inaccurate but at least I succeeded in driving of the huge cat. It shot back into the trees and howled with fury. I shivered.
 I knelt down to see to my colleague. Poor Johnson. The jaguar had completely severed his neck and the blood was gushing out. He opened his eyes and attempted a smile. He mumbled something about the devil you can't see, his words thick with pain. Then his eyes closed. He was gone.
 What was I to do with his body? I had no proper shovel for burying him and I could not burn him. I didn't like to leave him sitting in the mud but then what difference did it make to him? He was off floating into Eternity, perhaps to meet the Maker that he believed in.
 I took what I most needed from his pack and trudged out of the swamp's black heart. Finally, I came into a clearing where the ground became more stable and there in the distance I could see the temple.
 It glowed like a beacon of hope in the early evening light, nestled into the foothills of the great mountains. My heart skipped in a way that was most uncharacteristic of me. What did emotions have to do with science?
 I gathered some mercifully dry wood and made myself a proper fire.  I could hear the jaguar in the distance, roaring like a portent of doom. I shivered in my blanket.
---------
 The temple was exactly as it had been described in Fra Tomasso's work. The Jesuit had been given leave to enter it by his Rushi adherents but his report was hidden away in the Heretical Archives. "A temple unlike any other", Tomasso had written and I could see that he was right. I had to admit that Johnson's questions were burning at me. Why would a primitive people build a structure like the Temple of Darsh and why had it been left wholly abandoned? I could see why I had been told it was made of salt. The stone had a crystalline structure which certainly looked like salt. I tasted it to be sure.
 There appeared to be no central place for sacrifices and no quarters for a priestly hierarchy. It was as open as any Gothic cathedral with windows open to the light of the sun and stars. It almost reminded me of an observatory. The art was all highly abstract and confusing. The cross was an obsession with the temple builders. Fra Tomasso had written that it was "as Christian as St. Peter's would have been  Brother Francis controlled the spending." No wonder his work was consigned to the works of heresy. I had been lucky enough to have snatched a few hours with his manuscript on condition that I would not publish what I'd read.
 Night was quickly coming so I made my bed in front of the large stone centerpiece. It was a dais, sculpted with a huge cross in the middle, almost like it were a treasure map. X marks the spot, I thought to myself as I stretched out.
 That night, I dreamed of a star. It was flowing across the sky like a leaf pulled by a fast flowing river. As it drew ever near me, I gasped for it was becoming impossibly large. I felt overshadowed by the piercing brightness of the star.
 But it was no star. Rather, it was a silver structure, a cathedral of pipes, drums, axles and graceful metal ropes and pulleys. It was an engine but one of such startling size and complexity that I was sure that it could not be man-made. It was a tower, a globe and a pyramid all in one. I gaped to see it.
 I saw rainbow coloured filaments, all fluttering out toward me like the stingers of a jellyfish. I was utterly paralyzed. The filaments attached themselves to my face and neck. I could feel a coldness spreading throughout my body as though I was being lowered slowly into ice water.
 My body buzzed with impulses so that I lurched to and fro as though moved by invisible hands. And then it was over. I felt like a butterfly pinned to a corkboard, analyzed and catalogued.
 And then, a flood of memories breaching my tightly guarded consciousness: my first day at school, meeting the bully Dawkins, smoking behind the chapel, reading "The Golden Bough" in the library and deciding to leave my boyhood faith behind. I saw my romantic affairs, all utter failures. I saw my mother's deathbed and how the windows were all blacked out with dark crepe. I saw myself in the chapel choir, sing hymns that I could no longer believe.
 I was swept into a birds-eye view of the mountains surrounding the Temple of Darsh, as though I was flying from the heights to the place where the temple foundation was being laid.
 The builders were not men. Not men as I recognized men. Rather, they were elegant beings, symmetrical as humans are but gifted with many arms and no legs. How they moved was a mystery to me, it was as if they hovered over the ground.
 They were erecting great white columns of some shimmering stone in a circular pattern. The stones moved into place by the power of a great engine, like the one I first saw in my dream. Was it that I was dreaming that the engine was virtually silent? Such a construction with our tools would have been a loud and smoky affair.
 Once the columns were in place, the engine dropped a sheet fluttering to them, which hardened like a spiders' web over them. And then, a radiance suffused the freshly laid material and it glowed. Next, one of the beings placed himself at the center of the temple and stretched out his four arms to each of the cardinal directions. From the end of his arms came a glittering golden powder so that the temple was filled with a golden light.
 I was dazed and fell to my knees. At once, a being came to me and lifted me to my feet. He said no words, but somehow I could tell that I was being rebuked, that it was somehow inappropriate for me to kneel.
 In the place where the being had been, I was amazed to see that a circular depression had appeared. I moved over to examine it and I saw it slowly fill with an opaque liquid which glittered like quicksilver in the great golden hall. The being came to me and touched my forehead with one of his arms in such a gentle way that I could only feel like a young child or a lapdog. As he touched me, I could feel every negative memory that I'd ever had flood back into my mind. The bullies, the cruel masters, the distant father, the lusty choirmaster, the girls who spoke of love but practiced infidelity, the battlefield cries and the muddy terror of Flanders. I cowered under my load of pain and grief.
 The being touched me again even more gently and I knew that it was offering me the pool. Greatly alarmed, I stepped away. What would the quicksilver waters do to me?
 I sensed that the being was perplexed. Why would I resist such a benison? Did I not know that there was a realigning waiting for me in the pool? I shrugged my shoulders; I did not know what such a thing could be. I sensed a flood of warmth coming from the being and it was as if I could see a picture. It was a thorn bush, covered over with little men: some happy, some sad and some angry. The angry ones attacked the others until they were all angry. Now, the thorn bush was growing until it completely filled me, its thorns piercing me through.
 I looked at the being. He looked at me. Why would I choose to be full of angry men and thorns?
 I wanted to be free and thorn-free but I was afraid. It touched me again and I was transported into my mother's arms when I was very young, the days before governesses and schoolmasters. Everything within me relaxed and I found myself taking a tentative step toward the pool and then another one.
 I dipped my foot. It tingled in the silvery waters. I stepped in and sank to my shoulders in the warmth and safety of the healing pool. I remembered a Bible story from my youth, about angels stirring the waters of the pool so that cripples could be healed. I lowered my head and opened my eyes under the yielding liquid. I could see my body as though there were candles light within it. My bones glowed, my organs suffused with a tender light.
 I saw the little men swimming away from waters that washed over the thorn bush and a moment later there was no longer a thorn bush. Instead a tall plant, unknown to earthly botany, grew. Its leaves were intensely green and a white bud appeared. It opened into a waxy trumpet flower which released a fragrance of citrus and other spices that reminded me of Christmas baking.
 I rose out of the waters like a child newborn.
 The being came up to me and showed me a small silver disc emblazoned with the very flower that I saw opening within me. He put it in my hand and closed my fingers over it. It glowed within my fist making it red and vibrant. It had no teeth to signify smiling but it made a humming sound that made me smile in return. I put it in my breast pocket so it warmed my heart with its heat.
 And then I fell fast asleep.
-----
 I woke in the half light with the sun about to touch the top of the mountain. I cast off my blankets and proceeded to make my breakfast. As I sat with a steaming cup of tea, I pondered the dream. Perhaps it was not so strange that I dreamed of celestial beings in such an otherworldly place. And then I felt a subtle burning in my breast pocket.

The Elf in the Alder Part 2

     PART 2
 "He's coming to," said a voice from far away.
 "Give him a drink of cordial; he's been through quite a shock," said another distant voice.
 I felt myself being propped up and a cup was put to my lips. I drank something that smelled of roses and lavender and tasted of lemons and something in the chocolate family. It went right to my head and I slumped onto my back again.
 "He's out again," I heard dimly.
 "Give it a moment to work," said the first voice. "Humans are so big!"
 "Maybe we gave him too concentrated a dose?"
 "Hey Chocky,  shine a light in his eyes."
 I could see a bright light through the red of my eyelids and I carefully squinted. I was surrounded by Blue Wednesday and a large number of other little men. I was completely muddled and my head ached. The room was spinning around on me in a way that reminded me of unwise alcoholic consumption during my turbulent youth.
 "Ah, there you are," said the elf prince with a huge smile. "Welcome to Nod! Are you feeling better?"
 "Murgh," I said. My mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton.
 "Better give him some more cordial," said Blue Wednesday to another elf. I was propped up again and given another mouthful. Immediately all pain ceased and I felt like I was floating.
 "Better?" asked the prince.
 "Where am I?" I asked, trying to fight my way out of my daze.
 "I just told you. You are in the land of Nod, my father's kingdom."
 "The Witch!" I cried, remembering suddenly.
 "Shh, be calm. She is far away from here," he said in a soothing tone. "You need not be afraid."
 "But how did you do it? How did I come here?"
 "We used the Silver Wand," he said simply.
 "The Wand? But the Witch said that you could not wield it! She said that you were not made of stern enough stuff."
 "Gruzzela is given to wishful thinking," said the prince. "The Wand, though made by an evil man, is not, in itself, evil. Wroth only stored natural power within the Wand; he was not able to bend it to his will alone."
 "What is your plan now?" I asked.
 "Perhaps, you mean, what is our plan, for I perceive that you are with us, no?"
 "Yes, yes...if you like. What is our plan, then?"
 "Come, let us go into the King's Council Chamber!" said the prince clapping his hands. "We will see what we must consider."
 I tried to get up but my legs were not functioning in their usual capacity, and then I fell asleep.
-----------
 I woke up, feeling hung over. I was lying on a large, vividly coloured rug feeling uncommonly stiff.
 "Rise and shine!" said Blue Wednesday, coming into the room with a candle and a bowl of porridge.
 "I can't eat!" I said, feeling fizzings of nausea rising from my belly.
 "You should try, my friend. You'll need your strength for our task."
 "Task, what task?"
 "I told the assembled company that we two would act to draw Gruzzela away from Nod."
 "We two?" I complained to the elf. "Why do we have to be the sacrifices?"
 "That's what a noble does," said the elf. "That's why we are called nobles."
 "You're forgetting that I am no noble," I carped in a decidedly ignoble way.
 "Ah, but there you are wrong, sir," smiled the prince. "You showed nobility from the first I knew you."
 "Pah, that was nothing! I just got out my ladder. What I object to is you volunteering me."
 "It's because I find you so charming," he said.
 "Now who's being charming?" I groused, but I let him lead me into a small anteroom just off of the council chamber.
 "We will need the Wand," he said. He went to a wooden chest bound in silver straps and took a key from his neck. He unlocked the chest and drew out a long velvet bag.
 "Behold, the Silver Wand," he whispered, pulling it out. It was slender and so full of light that it hurt my eyes.
 "What will you do with it?" I asked.
 "Come with me and see," he grinned.
 "I should have ignored you when you blundered into my alder," I said. "I should have just kept reading my Agatha Christie and gone on like normal."
 "Ah, but you didn't, my noble friend," he laughed. I grinned in spite of myself. We spent several minutes following a tunnel which connected to the Great Mole Tunnel. Eventually we came to a foul-smelling section. The elf turned to be and threw his shoulders back. "Now, don't be alarmed..."
 "Alarmed? Why would I be alarmed?" I said, very alarmed.
 "We might need to run past this last bit."
 "Why?" I stuttered, but then I saw the answer: a huge red slug towered above us dripping a clear slime like an nightmarish rainfall.
 "Don't let its drool hit you!" screamed Blue Wednesday.
 I didn't have to ask why, because I could see that the drool burned through everything it touched. We scuttled around the immense gastropod which fortunately was no quicker than the garden variety of slugs.
 We ran up the tunnel and came out in the midst of a burning desert.
 "Where are we?" I asked, trying to make sense of my surroundings.
 "Namibia, is what you humans call it. In our language, it is called the Golden Sands."
 "But that's impossible! There is no way that the tunnel took us so far so fast!"
 "Why not?" asked the elf.
 "Because Namibia is thousands of kilometers away from England!" I protested.
 "And?" said the elf.
 "...and we haven't been traveling for more than a couple of hours."
 "So?"
 "So how could we go thousands of kilometers in a matter of a few hours?"
 He brandished the wand with a broad smile on his face. "I may have helped with that,' he said.
 "Well, now what?" I asked.
 "Now we create a diversion here that will draw off Gruzzela," he said.
 "What makes you think that she'll come so far?" I said.
 "Because I will use the wand, and its power will be like catnip to her. She will come as fast as she can."
 "What kind of a diversion did you have in mind?" I asked. He gave me a curious look and lifted the wand over his head. At once, I saw the ground fall away; I was splayed out on a massive rock which soared over the desert. I screamed and gripped the edges of the boulder to keep from falling off to my death. The rock itself gave off an eerie buzzing sound as though it was singing in a strange language. I was a sitting duck for the Witch.  I vowed that if I survived I would kill Blue Wednesday!
 "She will make for you like a bee for nectar," smiled the elf who suddenly appeared beside me.
 "Where will you be?" I gasped.
 "I will be hidden in the sand dunes below us."
 "Your plan is that the Witch will find me and blow me into a thousand smoking pieces!" I shrieked.
 "Calm yourself, my excitable friend! She will not kill you if she sees that you don't have the Silver Wand. She will understand that your appearance is due to the wand so she will know that it is nearby. She will not kill you but interrogate you."
 "You credit her with a calm intelligence of which I have seen no sign," I protested, remembering well her blood red eyes and uncertain temper.
 "Fear no evil, my noble friend," said Blue Wednesday.
 "But-"
 But he was gone.
----------
 I said the usual bad words that Fear suggests so ably, all from the vantage point of my belly (as if I could hide from the Witch). How long would it take her to find me? I prayed passionately that the elf was correct in his prediction of my non-destruction.
 I could hear the sound of enormous wings flapping; I looked up and saw Draco like a fast-moving speck on the horizon. I squeezed my eyes shut and trembled.
 "Ha! The weedy human!" said the Witch. I opened my eyes and got to my knees. "Well, out with it! Where is the Silver Wand?"
 "I don't have it!" I cried.
 "Do you think I'm an idiot?" she shrieked. "I can see that you don't have it! Where is it?"
 "Blue Wednesday has it!" I cried. "But he abandoned me here to face you alone!" (This was true enough)
 "Where is he?" she said lifting me up and shaking me like a leaf.
 "I...don't...know!" I stuttered.
 Just then a flash of light knocked the Witch to one side and she dropped me like a sack of potatoes. I saw her go careening over the side of the boulder screaming.
 "You did it!" I cried to the elf who was helping me to my feet.
 "Not yet!" he said grimly. "She is harder to kill than that!"
 And that was extremely true, for from a distance I heard a blood-curdling roar. I looked over the edge of the rock and the Witch was rising up again as though gravity could not rule her.
 "Quick!" said the elf. "Hold my hand!" I grabbed for his hand and together we shot into the sky deftly avoiding the Witch's attack.
 "Distraction accomplished," yelled the elf in my ear. "Let's make ourselves scarce!"
 I was about to agree completely with Blue Wednesday when a slender gold cord snaked between us and tore me out of his grasp. I went hurdling down and down, only to be jerked up again into the vice-like grip of the Witch.
 "Got you now, you weedy sneak-thief!" she snarled putting away her golden cord. "This should bring that vile elf back in a hurry!"
 We dropped down out of the heavens and came to rest in the desert. She lifted her fingers to her mouth and whistled. I could see the dragon pulling her chariot alight near us.
 "Now, for you," she said grimly. She lifted her hand and I was frozen in place. I tried to move but it was no use. I tried to catch the dragon's eye but his attention was focused on his mistress.
 I looked up hoping to see the elf come charging down with the cavalry or something but I was disappointed. No doubt he had already taken himself home to wait for the Witch's return. She would kill me for sure. Of that, I had no doubt whatsoever.
 "Where is he?" she fumed.
 "He appears to be gone, your Thornship," said the dragon.
 "I must have that wand!" shouted the witch. "Well, at least I will have the pleasure of disintegrating this pipsqueak!"
 "A thought?" ventured the dragon.
 "What? Speak up, Draco!"
 "If you destroy him, you throw away your only bargaining chip with the elves."
 "The elves care nothing for this one!" said the witch.
 "Such a point of view does not describe the usual attitude of the Children of Laxity," reasoned the dragon. "Is it not more likely that the elf is waiting for you to drop your guard?"
 A three-fingered cleft appeared between her eyes as she pondered his words, "What do you suggest Draco?"
 "We are too much in the open here. Let us take him back to your tower and hold him in your dungeon. Perhaps you can lure the elves to his rescue?"
 "We will certainly torture him!" said the witch ferociously.
 "Naturally," said the dragon gently. "I'll make sure that the human suffers all of the agonies of Hell itself!"
 "He'd better!" snarled the Witch. She picked me up and threw me into the back of the chariot still frozen. You have no idea how painful it is to fall on one's face unable to break the fall, or how dull it is to have your face flat on the floor of a chariot for the duration of a long flight. Dragons are fast but not as fast as  an elf with a wand.
 We got to Gruzzela's tower and I found myself unfrozen so I could enjoy the torture that was soon to come. She gripped me by the neck and tossed me into a gloomy cell. I sat on the floor rubbing my sore nose and trying to get the blood flowing in my pins and needles feet.
 Draco appeared at the door of my cell and he lead me out to the torture chamber.
 "Now, you'll have to be roughed up a bit for authenticity," he cautioned. "I'll try not to leave any disfiguring scars."
 "Please!" I whimpered.
 "Be brave, little human," said the dragon raking my back with a quick slash of his claws. I shrieked with pain and fell flat on the floor writhing.
 "My apologies," said the dragon. "I will tell her that you passed out and that I will finish the torture when you have come to your senses!"
 I could only moan. Eventually, I crawled to a bucket in the corner of the room, found some water in it and tried to wash out my wound.
 When I was a student, I had studied the Medieval mystics for a History course. I remember reading "Dark Night of the Soul" by St. John of the Cross and pondering how God could dare to abandon his cherished children, trusting that they would not give up hoping in him. In my own dark night, I raged against the cold-heartedness of God, and the elves, deserting me in this bitter cell. Eventually, I tired of my recriminations and I fell asleep.
 I was floating in the air, high above the clouds and near to the sun. I was Icarus, aloft on temporal wings. I continued to climb closer to the fiery chariot of Apollo, feeling my wings start to melt. Did I care? I was so close to the Great Glory that I could feel no fear. The feathers started to trail behind me as the wax melted. I reached an apex and wingless, I started to fall. And then I was caught up in a strong, waiting hand.
 "I will ne'er leave ye nor forsake ye," said a voice sounding like the pastor of the Presbyterian church I had visited in Aberdeen one summer. "Ye walk as an orphan, when I call ye son."
 I found myself deposited in the middle of a green meadow dotted here and there with brilliant wildflowers. Did a river run through it, or was I the river? I flowed over the green grass like a mist, or a curl of smoke.
 I saw the elves weeping; many of them lay dying and broken. I could not stay with them for I continued to flow. I saw a great tower broken in pieces but so full of light that my eyes ached from the sight.
 And then I heard singing. I had not heard such singing since I was a schoolboy listening to the cathedral choir. Shivers passed through me and I could feel tears coursing down my cheeks.
 I could see every manner of creature walking through the meadow throwing ribbons and flowers in the air as though at a wedding feast. I saw animals, angels, elves and men. Every mouth was opened wide in a great tumultuous song. It was a song to raise the dead. And it had its effect, for among the broken dead I saw eyes opening, limbs flexing, and mouths opening to join in the singing. I found myself joining in the song, as though it were known to me.
 I found myself face to face with Blue Wednesday. He reached out to me with an unreadable expression playing about his eyes. Compassion? Mockery?
 "Just a little longer, Noble Friend," he said. "Fear no evil." Had I heard those words pass his lips before?
=======
 I woke up with a sour taste in my mouth and a body wracked with pain. My back was on fire. I stumbled to my feet, my head spinning as though it was not fully attached.
 I could hear an odd noise, a scratching like a cat trying to persuade one to open the door but it came from down beneath the flagstones. I put my ear to the floor and the sound amplified.
 I felt a tremor go through the cell as though it was being pulled against its will. I heard a cry of violent anger resounding down the corridor. It was the Witch! I pressed my back against the wall as though I could hide from her rage.
 The door rattled as though it were being wrestled open but then the walls started to shake as though made of jelly. The flagstones parted and light started to stream into my cell. I babbled in my fright. I heard a booming and all of the foundations shook. I could feel the cell shift to the right and then the left and then there were stones everywhere.
 I was flat on my face and I could taste blood streaming from my torn tongue and cheeks. All was blazing light, so painful that even my shut eyes burned scarlet in my aching vision.
 I could hear the Witch shouting in defiance. I felt a blast of air like a bomb going off and a brighter light than before. A cry of anguish and rage from nearby. I felt a hand dragging me to my feet.
 "Fear no evil!" cried a familiar voice. It was the elf come to rescue me at last.
 "I will have this vengeance at least!" I  opened my eyes to see the Witch tottering toward us with bloody hands. I pressed the elf against me and prepared for the worst.
 Suddenly, a great light struck Gruzzela. She shuddered and cried out a foul spell. The elf and I melted together fused in her death rage.
===
 "What's that one, Dad?" asked young Stephen, learning his wildflowers with the help of his father, the learned Doctor Crane.
 "That's a beauty, Stephen. It's called an 'elphin embrace'. You can tell by the deep blue outer layer of petals."
 "It looks like it's hugging the big, white part in the middle," said the imaginative boy touching it carefully.
 "When the light fades, the blue part actually closes over the white part in an embrace, hence its name," nodded the botanist.
 "But why 'elphin'; is there a story behind it?"
 "I should say so," smiled Dr. Crane.

The Elf in the Alder-part one

I was seated in my garden enjoying a book when a large black bird came crashing into an alder on the wooded bank behind me. When I looked again, the bird was gone but now there was a tiny bearded man clinging to the topmost branch. "Who are you?" I called up. "But you can't see me!" he yelled. "But I can see you." "That is not helpful!" he cried. "The spell is failing!" "Come down immediately," I said. "I can't! Heights paralyze me!" "An odd place to be for one so afflicted." "You great hulking fool!" he sputtered. "I am not here by my own design! Please help me down." "Oh very well. Just give me a moment to find my ladder." "Please hurry," he whimpered. "Sorry for calling you a fool!" --- Once I had the little man out of the alder and seated on my counter drinking tea and brandy from a thimble, he told me everything. "My name is Blue Wednesday and until recently I was a prisoner of the Malificent Gruzzela!" "Who might she be?" I asked. "More later," he assured me. "Why did she take you prisoner?" "I'll get to that." "But how-" "Look, friend, why not let me tell my story my way?" "Sorry, sorry..." I apologized. It was difficult for me to work as a journalist for the Times and not immediately fall into the role of Inquisitor. I am always rushing raconteurs to the point, urging them to cut to the chase. Impatience is one of my character flaws. "Where was I? Oh yes, a prisoner of the cruelest witch ever to curse mankind. Why, you may ask, did she take me prisoner?" "I did ask," I murmured gently. "You see before you the scion of the House of Nod, prince of my people. The witch was holding me hostage against the yielding up of the Silver Wand." Here he gave me a sharp look, no doubt to arrest any questions concerning the said Wand. "The Wand is all she lacks," he continued. "Her power is already beyond that of all other workers of magic, fair or foul. It was vital for my father not to give into her, even though it would mean sealing my doom." "But you escaped," I said, nudging his story ahead a tiny bit. "Ah, I befriended a mouse who lived in the wall near my cage. I persuaded him to bring me a page out of a spell-book that I'd seen in her library. It was a spell for transforming oneself into an invisible crow. Unfortunately, Reggie rather mangled the spell in bringing the page to me. I found that I could turn into a bird but my motor controls for flying were not very predictable." "And that's how you found yourself in my alder?" He bowed to me. "Precisely! The spell had a rather short shelf life. And now we must put our heads together and plan our next move." "Our next move?" I protested. "Surely you mean, your next move?" "What? After hearing my story, you are untouched by my plight? Do you not see that your own future, indeed the future of all who live on this green globe are affected by this dread witch? To do nothing to help me would be criminal!" "Until this morning, I'd never even heard of this Gruzzela!" I complained. "How do you imagine that I can do anything to help you, save rescuing you from my tree?" "But, my dear friend, there are no coincidences! It was fated that you should rescue me and join our struggle against the forces of evil!" "Please, little man, I cannot indulge this grandiose notion of yours. Now finish your tea and be on your way." The little man shook his head sadly and hopped to the floor. He left without saying another word. I watched him disappear into the woods directly behind me. I went back to my garden to enjoy the summer sun dancing on my begonias, to smell the fragrance of honeysuckle and try to forget the wild story that the elf had told me. I picked up my Agatha Christie and soon lost myself in the plot. It had to be the parson; he was the only one who I didn't seem to have a motive. I heard St. Martin's bell sounding three and I went inside to make myself a cucumber sandwich and a pot of tea. I was inspired by the smell of fresh strawberries so I tossed a few into a bowl and covered them with fresh cream. "What a pig you are!" I said to myself with a broad smile on my face. I went outside to note with displeasure that the sun had gone behind a rather dark cloud. Rain! I thought, as I scurried to bring everything inside. I heard a rumble of thunder and I swore as I slopped tea onto my sandwich. Where was my perfect afternoon going? And what was that shrieking that I heard over the wind? Shivering, I slammed the door shut and tried to go back to my ruined tea. The storm seemed to gain in power with each passing minute. I looked out the window; the trees were thrashing back and forth under a violent wind, leaves were scattering everywhere. I switched on the radio to see if I could get a weather report for this most sudden storm. I could get absolutely no signal which distressed me. What was going on? I turned on the television set and again, nothing. It was most irregular. I picked up the phone and there was not even a hint of a connection. It was like I was isolated on a desert island. I wondered if my neighbour, the Major, was likewise cut off. I tried to open my door but the wind was so strong that I couldn't open it even a crack. I began to sweat. Who ever heard of a hurricane in England? I decided that I would be marginally safer downstairs in my little wine cellar. I confess that I opened some port for my nerves while I sat in the dim light and tried to remember my childhood prayers. "Praying?" said a thin voice from the dark. "And so you may, so you may..." "Who are you?" I asked, my voice even thinner, almost a squeak. I could not see anyone in the gloom. "I'm a friend of the elf Wednesday. He told me to come to you and pass on this message." A tiny note was handed to me by what I now could see was a dark rodent of some sort. I opened the thrice-folded note and read the following: Still think it's none of your concern? This storm is Gruzzela clearing her throat; it will only get worse for you! Join us!! Mole can take you safely to headquarters. Blue Wednesday I turned to the mole. "The elf says you can take me to his headquarters." "That I can, mate. I tunneled into your cellar from the North Branch of the Great Tunnel. If you have a shovel, you can access the G.T. with just a bit of elbow grease." I went to get a spade and together we widened his tunnel so that I could travel through it. I will say nothing of the Great Tunnel except that if gardeners knew what moles were really capable of, they would all turn in their rakes and hoes and surrender their gardens en masse. Moles have rather let us off gently. Don't let those furry, funny little faces fool you. We traversed the Great Tunnel for several hours until the mole turned to me and indicated a slowly sloping branch. "That's your way, mate! Good luck!" "Thanks very much Mr...?" "Oh, we moles don't have names as such. We don't hold with such anthropomorphic muck. Mr. Mole is sufficient for me." "Thank you Mr. uh...Mole." "Just deal with the witch, mate. That's thanks enough for me!" I went up the sloping branch and come to a round green door. I rapped on it and hearing nothing, opened it slowly. I looked around a well lit room with maps on every wall and a plethora of beakers, burners and test tubes in the sink. Water was still running. I spied a note on the table. She's onto us. Getting out while the getting is good! Will send someone to find you. Avoid open areas. B.W. What was I to do? Should I go back into the tunnel? Clearly, the headquarters was no safe place for me. I reluctantly headed back into the tunnel but then stopped. If the witch had figured out the location of the headquarters surely she would soon be onto the Great Tunnel as well? I was paralyzed with fear. I heard a racket at the front door of headquarters. That decided me, I lunged for the back door to the tunnel when a searing flash of flame flew past me and reduced the door to a pile of smoking bits. I turned around and saw a tall woman with blue black hair and flaming eyes standing there with fire leaping from her outstretched palms. "Fancy another?" she sneered. I shook my head no, and shivered. "I thought not. Right! Where are the Elves and my Wand?" "I just arrived," I said. "There was nobody here." "Zut! I am beginning to lose patience with this rebellion!" Her face turned an exceedingly unpleasant shade of red and I could see her palms flare up again. I fell to my knees expecting a bolt of fire with my name on it. "Mercy!" I cried. "Mercy?" she said. "What does that mean?" "Um, you know, mercy? As in, have mercy?" "What? What are you blubbering about?" I could see that mercy was a wholly unknown quality to Gruzzela so I stopped blubbering immediately. "Right! You will take me to this elf prince!" "But I don't know where he is!" I moaned. "Do I have to do everything?" she bellowed. "I'll do anything I can to help you! " I cried, hoping to avoid being flambéed. "That's more like it!" she said, her palms returning to a low blue flame. "Now tell me all you know." This did not take long but I threw in a few lies (journalistic licence) to keep her from poaching me. I told her that Blue Wednesday was aware that she knew of his headquarters so he went over the Sea to Elvish Island and the courts of his father. This was, of course, a bit of balderdash, but I had to buy some time to think. "You will sail with me to this Island," she said. "Come, we will ride in my chariot!" Her chariot was a large copper coloured affair pulled by a silvery dragon. As soon as we entered it, she cracked a large whip and cried: "Over the sea, Draco! With all speed!" I cried out directions as we set out for a wholly imaginary island. What she would do to me once she uncovered my ruse I didn't like to think. I decided to find out what was going on. Once a journalist... "I am told that there is no one as powerful as you," I began. Flattery is never a bad way to go when talking with the rich and powerful, I have found. "I am the 'ne plus ultra'!" she said proudly. "Once I have my wand back, there will be no stopping me. "Your wand? But how did the Elves come by it?" "They are filthy thieves!" she shrieked. "It was always to have been mine!" Her voice had the tone that I had heard politicians use when trying to justify something that they should properly be ashamed of, like awarding a government contract to a relative. "How do you mean?" I asked respectfully. "I was the heir of Sir Wroth! I had the keys! I was the Immaculate Thorn! The Wand was rightfully mine!" "I don't understand anything you just said," I said carefully. "That's because you are a mere human! What can you know of the Real World?" "Perhaps, one so wise as you can explain it?" I said. "Wroth made the Wand when he was at the apex of his powers. He concentrated all that he knew or suspected of magic into it. The one who wields it is beyond any other power. I was his heir, holder of the keys to his tower. I was named Immaculate Thorn and I was charged with carrying out his Cleansing Campaign." "Um, Cleansing Campaign?" "The Real World was no longer to be divided between the Children of Severity and the Children of Laxity; the True Worshippers would ascend on high while those who turned from ruthless devotion would be purged! Ha! And I was to be the one who would cast out those limp, soft hearted, brainless ones..." Here, her face became so grim that I could not look on it anymore, but shivered in fear. "You are a True Worshipper?" I said presently. "I, alone." she said glaring at me. Of course, I wanted to ask her who she worshipped, but I held my tongue. She was becoming agitated and an agitated fanatic is not good for the health. Her eyes were red with blood. "Fear not, mortal. Know that soon I shall wreak such vengeance on those Elves that they will never rise again. The Children of Laxity will wail and gnash their teeth! Ha!" "But how did the ...eh Children of Laxity come by your wand?" "When Wroth was on his deathbed and I was trying to nurse him back to health, the elves stole it from the Tower." "And now they wield it against you?" "Oh no, they would not dare do such a thing; they know that only a True Worshipper may use the thing. Elves are not made of stern stuff." We soared over the grey sea and in the distance I could make out a grey island shrouded in mist. It was right where I had indicated that it would be, which I found rather strange. How did I know that an island would be there? "That's the island," I called, thinking that when we landed, I could escape somehow. I will confess to being terrible at thinking on the fly. Those who play chess against me know that I take forever to make a move. I am always considering my steps carefully. But what could I do? We swooped down and came to a crunching halt on a sandy beach. "This is Elvish Island?" asked Gruzzela. "It does not reek of Elvish ways or Elvish blood." "Oh yes," I squeaked. "...Um...no doubt they have clouded their scent to escape detection." Would she buy it? Her face was difficult for me to read even if I dared to look into her terrifying eyes. I got by with tiny glances. "Guard the chariot with Draco while I reconnoitre," she said briskly. "I will get to the bottom of this!" I watched her disappear down the beach and heaved a huge sigh of relief. I looked at the dragon and was surprised to see it peering intently at me, and then a ghost of a smile stole over his scaly face. "What are you going to do when she doesn't find any sign of the elves?" said the dragon. "Pardon me?" I said, gaping a bit. "You heard me. If this is Elvish Island, I'm Robin Red-breast." "How do you know?" I gasped. "Because I happen to know that there is no such place as Elvish Island." "But you followed my directions here!" "Well, it would not do for me to tell Gruzzela that we were on a wild goose chase." "Why ever not?" I asked. "Because I am in league with the Children of Laxity, although we call ourselves the 'Children of Light'. I keep an eye on the Witch so that the elves are protected," said the dragon. "Let's escape then! Let's fly away and join them!" "I can't do that, little human. My job is to pass on intelligence from the enemy camp. If I flee with you, the Witch will know me for a traitor and I will cease to be useful. But, never fear, the elves know exactly where you are." "Will they be able to rescue me?" "That remains to be seen," said the dragon calmly. "You will need your wits about you when she comes back." "I don't know what to do!" I snapped. "Can't I just run off?" "Where would you run to?" asked the dragon sagely. "You're on an island in the middle of nowhere. If you run off, she will know your true colours." "I am doomed," I said hollowly. "Nonsense, we are, all of us, in the hands of God. Don't be afraid, frail one." "I wouldn't have thought that dragons were devout," I said bitterly. "Amazing how much you don't know, when you think about it," said the dragon calmly. "Hush now, I hear her coming. You better have a good explanation!" I heard her before I saw her. She was shouting out all sorts of oaths and I knew that I was doomed. "Here, take this," hissed the dragon. "It will lead the elves to you." He handed me a small silver necklace with a tooth on it. I quickly threw it over my neck and braced myself. She came thundering up the beach and called out, "I have found their lair. Come quickly and we will ambush them!" "Well, that's a bit of luck," hissed the dragon to me. "But how in hell..." I said. "Hurry," shrieked the Witch and so we hurried. It was hard to match her pace as she hurtled through the forest, following a trail marked out with smooth white stones. I stumbled along, trying to understand what was happening to me, like a man trying to break out of a dark dream. At length, she turned around and beckoned to me. "Here, we must be very still. The Elves are directly ahead in the clearing ahead of us. I will cast a Net Spell but it may not be effective over so great a company so be prepared to seize any who may escape," she whispered. Ahead, I could see about a hundred small men massed around a fire. They seemed to be focused on one of their number who was reading from a large red book. Gruzzela lifted her hands on high and started to cry out her spell when suddenly all of the Elves in the clearing disappeared. "It's a cheat!" yelled Gruzzela. "A holograph!" We entered the clearing to see that it was completely empty. My head was spinning. Just then a blazing light sprang up out of the place that the fire had been. I screamed like a little girl, completely blinded and I felt strong hands gather me up and pull me away and then all was blurry. -------------------

Auld Lang Syne

I was walking in velvety darkness. If there was a path at my feet, I could not see it. Does a blind man know if he is floating?
I could see a pinprick of light in the distance and I moved toward it. It increased in size and my eyes dilated.
I stepped through a doorway and saw a man dressed all in formal black attire. He was standing in front of a fire in the comfortable study. He smirked at me and raised his wine glass in a mock salute. He was extremely ugly in a completely unconventional way.
“I have been waiting for you,” he said. I noticed that his eyes glittered but his mouth betrayed no emotion. I said nothing. I looked for Hector but he was not there. Where was he?
--------
I woke up then. I looked at my clock, took a drink of water and rang for Percy. He helped me into my chair and went downstairs to prepare my breakfast. It was a Thursday, so I had office hours after ten. No time in the lab until noon. I looked in the mirror and frowned. My skin was too yellow, my forehead too lined, my eyes too bloodshot. I wheeled back to bed and picked up the book I had been reading. The author was some sort of Jewish mystic and I quickly lost patience with his Kabbalistic babble. If he knew something new, it was hidden under odd revelations of wrestling angels, number systems and God. None of these made sense to me and I threw the book into the fireplace with an oath.
I ate breakfast and Percy wheeled me to my waiting car. I was driven to Caius and entered my office to listen to the mewling and puking of those callow fools that I was given to tutor. I hated this part of the work and the students knew it. Without fail, every fresh new face went pale witnessing my decrepitude and the slow working of my disease. I hated their healthy young faces and longed to smash every pitying look they gave me.
I am obsessed with life, now that mine is concluding with a whimper. I long for health but no doctor can give it to me. I have become a connoisseur of treatments: chemic, holistic, naturopathic, clinic and placebic. I have undergone radiation, massage, vile herbs, colonic irrigation, stretching, crystals, and surgery. Nothing is effective. So now I am going to take matters into my own hands.
-------
I instructed my driver to take me to visit Greenfields. The grounds were well manicured and the buildings stood proudly in the light of a soft April sun. Appearances can be so deceiving.
I spoke to the nurse at the front counter and she wheeled me into Hector’s receiving room. He seemed little changed in the months that I have visited him. His eyes were the usual dull brown, and his face sagged like a balloon with a slow leak. Drool collected in the corners of his mouth. I took out my kerchief and dabbed at it like a solicitous nanny.
“How are you faring today, Hector?”
He never responded to my questions nor even gave a sign that he had heard anything.
“Do you know why I visit you, my boy?” I asked. “I am building a track record as your kindly uncle. One day soon, I will remove you from this place and take you home with me. And then, everything will change. Oh yes, your body will have a captain once more and this captain will have his ship. So be well, Hector!”
I bowed to him and prepared to wheel away. I stopped because I saw something wholly different appear in his eyes.
“I am not yours,” said Hector. And then he went blank again.
-------------
My doctor was the best that money could buy. And what did my money buy? A death sentence.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Goode. Your disease has reached a terminal phase,” he said, looking down at his papers.
“How long, Doctor?”
“Perhaps as much as six months, more probably less.”
“There is no hope of remission?” What a fool I was, grasping at straws. He could barely look up at me. He shook his head.
----------
The lecture was advertised as being “A Scientific Examination of Astral Travel and Soul Migration.” My heart sank as I wheeled to the first row; the hall was full of old women and mad-looking foreign types. I was surrounded by true believers. I feared I would be the only scientist there.
A man wearing dark robes advanced to the lectern and the lights dimmed. He spoke as though telling a story rather than propounding axioms. In spite of my misgiving, I leaned forward and listened. Desperation will do that.
-------
I wheeled myself back to my car. My mind was racing. It was probably madness, but what did I have to lose? I would arrange for my man Henderson to draw up the necessary papers tomorrow and Hector would be my ward before the week was out.
------
“What you are proposing is madness, Uncle Hugo!” said my nephew, his face a battlefield between amazement and dismay.
“It may be, Clive...but what other choice is there? I die anyway. What if it is a possibility? What if I can leap from one body to another at the moment of death?”
“Soul migration is neither sound science nor good theology,” he said firmly.
“I need your help,” I said holding up my empty hands in supplication. “If I can make the leap, I will need your help with the legalities as executor of my estate.”
“It is appointed to men once to die,” he said.
“Don’t quote Scripture at me,” I said. “Do what I tell you to!”
“Very well,” he said grimly, his lips tight with displeasure.
---------
I smiled at the inert form of Hector as my chauffeur belted him in beside me. I looked at him critically: broad shoulders, well formed legs, perhaps a bit adipose around the trunk. What joy I would get from transforming him into a physical specimen. What pleasure to feel the slight burning of exertion and a racing heart. I would make this lump of flesh into an athlete, a demi-god, a colossus! I pictured myself walking, running, bending and hurling the javelin like an unclothed Spartan at the earliest Olympics. Oh, to be free of this hideous body and its umbilical cord to my wheelchair! I shivered with anticipation.
I had Hector fed and then wheeled into my laboratory. I gave him a powerful sedative so that my migration would not be resisted and then I had my chef make me a last meal.
-------
Hector was fast asleep; his face almost human now that his ravaged psyche was not tearing it into all directions. I held up the draft of poison and drank deeply. At once, the child’s prayer flashed into my hazy thoughts. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
--------
I was back in my dream again, walking in the bright darkness toward a distant light. I stepped into the room of light and at once I felt Hector’s somnolence. But where was Hector? I had to cast him out of his room and take his throne.
A door opened and the man in black entered.
“Where is Hector?” I asked.
“That is not your concern; you can’t get to him except through me.”
“Who are you?”
“Apparently I am a stranger to you, Doctor Goode.”
“How do you know my name?”
“There are no secrets in this plane.”
“What is your name?”
“I have many, but you may call me Judge, for that is assuredly what I am.”
“I have no argument with you. I merely want to take over this useless body.”
“Useless, is it? Tell me what you know of usefulness, Doctor.”
“Obviously, an insane mind is not worthy of a healthy body.”
“Really? Present your case and I will judge it.”
“You can’t tell me that Hector is worthy of his healthy body. He is not even present in the truest sense. He drools, grunts and gapes. We slaughter livestock with more self-awareness than Hector possesses.”
“Very well. Now present your argument for taking over his body.”
“If you know my name, you know that I am well regarded in my field for the brilliance of my insight and experimentation. I could go on living for many more decades with a healthy body. Think of the good that I could do! I simply need more time.”
“Your words are persuasive. Now I will weigh your heart...” He reached out to my chest and flicked the pale skin with a long fingernail. I gasped as a line of blood appeared. He reached in and pulled out my beating organ. He pulled out a brass scale and laid it carefully on it. He stooped down and a most disconcerting grin appeared on his ugly face.
“My dear Doctor, my scale tells me that your heart is almost completely self-centered. All your work is done to amplify your reputation in the scientific community. You never married because it did not suit your nature to share anything with a woman. Your profession relationships are marked with competitiveness rather than collegiality.” He took my heart and smelled it closely. “It is weak from lack of use, Doctor Goode.” He shrugged and put my heart back inside my chest. I gasped as I felt it beating within me.
“So that’s it?” I said, trying not to shake.
“I will give you a choice,” he said. “I will permit you to take this body but with one stipulation.”
“Tell me,” I said; my voice a squeal of desperation.
“You can have a healthy body but you must give up something.”
“Anything!”
“I want your mind.”
“But, but, without my mind, I am nothing. You can’t ask me to submit to the broken mind of an insane man!”
“That is your choice. What will you do?”
“It is no choice!”
---------
I woke up then, lying in a sour pool. I felt strong hands pushing on my heart and I gasped for air.
“Easy Doc... We almost lost you there.” The voice was Percy’s but I was still blind. “Not sure what happened there?” His voice held an interrogative but I was hardly in the mood to discuss poison with my underling.
“Can you talk Doc?” I found that I could not. To my shock I could feel drool collecting at the corners of my mouth. I gurgled like a newborn.

The Christmas Hamster

I knew that I would regret it, but when I looked into his beady brown eyes I saw such a naked longing that it about took my breath away. It was as though I could hear him saying, “Save me, Jake! It’s all up to you!”
Oh, please don’t think that I am a sucker to every cute rodent that gives me the Bambi eyes; I am tough, masculine and I don’t worship at the shrine of cuteness. Japanese pop culture, with its wide-eyed anime, gives me the willies. Give me a fishing rod, a stallion to break and a cold beer after a game of football and all is right with my world. Okay, I’m exaggerating a bit but nobody would ever call me a girly man. Maybe my brother would, but consider the source: Chuck is an ex-Marine, ex-football captain and general all-conference hard-ass. He thinks it’s sissy to use a bottle opener when you can just as easily chew it off with your teeth. Daddy raised us tough in this hard scrabble land.
So why was I even considering the rodent? The truth is: my kids make me. You talk about Bambi eyes. They all three of them came to me and said, “Oh Daddy, if we had a hamster, we would love it, and take good care of it, and it would really be no problem, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.” You can’t hear those squeaky voices with those big blue eyes dialled on full Daddy laser without feeling a tug. It sure didn’t help that Alice was in on it either. “It’s just a hamster, Jake. At least you won’t have to take it for walks.”
So, call me a sucker if you want, but you would have had to be superhuman to turn down those four. Here I was at McCardell’s Pets, checking out the critters. Along comes McCardell himself and sizes up the situation pretty quickly. “He’s cute, isn’t he, Jake?” I mumbled something noncommittal and he wraps a meaty arm around my shoulder and starts massaging. “He’s pretty cheap, you know...”
And just like that, I’m walking down Main with a cage and a hamster called Louie. You can’t miss me; I’m the guys with the burning cheeks, hoping that I can get the rodent home before one of my buddies spot me. No such luck; out of Bud’s comes the shambling figure of my old wingman Steve.
“Heya, Jake!”
“Heya, Steve. Kinda early to be drinkin’, isn’t it?”(Best defence is a good offense, as Coach Myer used to say.)
“Aw Jake, you’re sho boring when you’re shober! Hey, whatchoo gothere?” (So much for my best defence.)
“Nothin’, Steve. Hey, does Wanda know you’re tying one on?”
And suddenly, Steve bursts in tears, snot bubbling out of his huge honker.
“She lef’ me, Jake. Wan’a lef’ me!”
“Whoa Steve, just settle down. Take a deep breath and talk to me.” I gave him a few tentative pats on the back so he could get his breath back. He took a deep breath and rubbed the snot over the rest of his red face.
“Now, Wanda left you? Why would she do that?”
“She shays I’m an alcoholic and I need to get into a Twelve Step program or she won’t come home!”
I was staggered. I mean, I know Steve loves a beer every now and again, but an alcoholic? I didn’t know what to say to him. Suddenly, this thought pops into my head. “Tell him to try the A.A. meeting over in Buckley at St. Mike’s.”
So I told him about the meeting at St. Mike’s and he gave me a slobbery hug and told me that I was “the beshtes’ frien’ ever.” He staggered off, leaving me with the question, how the heck did I know about the A.A. meeting? I could hear the hamster rattling in his cage and I hurried out of the cold into my truck.
Out here, you need a truck and chains. It snows and snows, waits a minute and then snows so more. My cousin out in Seattle likes to send me emails about how warm and green it is out there this time of year. I like to ask him if he misses White Christmases, which usually shuts him up. I fired up the truck and headed for our spread up Sunshine Road.
Now when I say ‘spread’, don’t the idea that I am some kind of rancher like Daddy was. I’m purely a weekend farmer with a few head of cattle and a little seed corn. But I do like having elbow room and living out of the town. I’m a country boy.
I parked in front of the shed and hustled the little package into my office. Yeah, I said ‘office’; although my wife likes to call it the ‘cave’, like it’s a place for gnawing bones and breaking wind. I set the package on my desk and left to brew some coffee. I raided the cookie jar because I’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, or ‘several sweet teeth’ according to Alice. She watches me like a hawk, always reminding me to floss. You’ll note that I said ‘reminding’ not ‘nagging’, right?
I brought my coffee into the office and took the wrapping off of the cage. The varmint just sat there looking at me with those little eyes. I made sure that he had some fresh water and added some seeds to his dish. I ambled over to my easy chair and picked up my paper.
Wars and rumours of war, like the Good Book says. I flipped to the sports section to find out if the columnists figured the football season was redeemable. 3 and 8 was not very pretty. Maybe the new quarterback would find his stride soon. Maybe chickens would fly to the moon.
A thought popped in my head, I hadn’t spent any time with my kids yet this weekend. Well, there was time for that later. Kids need to get at least four hours of cartoons on a Saturday morning. But then my brain starting to argue with me. They grow up before you know it, I thought. How old was Bruce now? Eight? Pretty soon, he’d be old enough to take trapping.
I went to the rec room and there were three pairs of eyes glued on the antics of some green clown with buggy eyes on the t.v.
“Hey kids! Who wants to go outside and make a snowman?” Six eyes stayed focused on the t.v. and assorted mumbles emerged from three mouths. “We’re watching Count Dizzy, Daddy! Maybe later...” Oh well, I gave it my best shot, I thought shrugging my shoulders. I didn’t even see Alice standing in the doorway.
“Okay kids, everybody up and at it! Boots, coats, scarves and mittens! Your Daddy has a hankering for some fresh air and snowman-building! Let’s go!”
Women amaze me. With two sentences she had those three dressed and outside in less than two minutes. I wish I knew her secret.
We made snowmen for the two boys and then a snow princess for my own little princess. You can tell them apart because the snow princess has a pointy hat. I know it looks a lot like a dunce cap (which the boys made sure to point out) but Kristin was so happy she was positively glowing.
“Make snow angels!” the thought popped in my head. It was a dumb idea but the kids were all excited and red-cheeked, so I did it anyway, fool though I might be. They all jumped down with me and together we made a herd of angels, a stampede of the heavenly host. And then it was inside to fill up on hot chocolate and marshmallows. I went back to my office feeling as light as a feather. God, I loved my kids. I don’t know why I spend so little time with them. I picked up the cage and peered at the hamster. Louie stared right back at me.
“I kinda love my kids,” I said, full of beans.
“I know,” he said. “You just don’t always think of how you can show it to them.”
I dropped the cage.
=====
My heart pounded as I poured myself a quick shot in the kitchen. It was only my imagination, it was only my wild imagination. Hamsters don’t talk! Just calm down, Jake! I took a deep breath and tried to relax. Clearly I was under some substantial strain that I was unaware of, right?
“Jake! What are you doing with whiskey at lunchtime?” Alice bustled in with a tray of sandwiches.
“You would drink too!” I muttered.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m cracking up...”
“Oh Jake!” she said, ruffling my thinning hair. “Quit goofing around.”
I shrugged and tiptoed back to my office.
He was sitting calmly in his cage which had fallen on its side.
“So Louie, you can talk?” The hamster just got up on his haunches and looked at me with those bright eyes. I laughed nervously, glad that I’d said nothing to Alice.
I picked up the cage and put it on my desk. I opened my laptop and started playing “Angry Birds.” Several hours later, it occurred to me that I was hungry. And then I thought, I should really do something special for the mother of my children, like maybe take her out to the DQ or something. When was the last time we went on a real date? Maybe I should do it right and take her to the nice place out in Birch Creek?
Well, we had a great time. Why didn’t we do this more often? I drove the sitter home and went to my office to turn off the laptop.
The hamster looked at me and put his paws up on the cage.
“You wanna get out, Louie?” I picked him up and gave his head a pat.
“You know, Louie, I had a great time. I should take Alice out more often. What do you think?” Do hamsters smile? Because, if they do, this one was beaming. I tickled his ears because dogs like it so why shouldn’t hamsters?
“You know, when you do that, it’s kind of irritating,” said Louie. I didn’t drop him because this time I was frozen with shock. I slumped into my armchair still clutching the hamster.
“You really can talk, Louie?”
“Please, my name’s not Louie. I am the angel Timaes.”
“I must be drunk,” I whimpered.
“On two glasses of Merlot? I highly doubt it,” he said, his little nose wrinkling up.
“You know what I drank tonight?”
“Did you miss the part where I said I was an angel?”
“Why would an angel come to my house?”
“To help you.”
“To help me do what? Do I have a Quest or something?”
“You’re already beginning your quest and that’s all I’ll say about it.”
My mind raced; God had big plans for me. Maybe, it was to be President or something, or to be an apostle or a missionary to Hollywood or something. The hamster just sighed as it read my thoughts.
“Why do you think that a quest has to be so grandiose?” he asked. “What if God just wants you to be a better father and husband?”
My bubble popped and went shooting around the room. “That’s my quest? God sends me an angel so I’ll be a better Dad and Husband?”
“You went to Bible School, didn’t you Jake?” asked the hamster.
“I had a couple semesters,” I admitted. They booted me out for missing chapel too often.
“Do you remember what it says in Luke about John the Baptist?”
“Um...”
“In fact, they read this passage at church last Sunday, and your pastor preached a sermon about John, didn’t he?”
“Aw Louie, I guess my mind was on the Bronco’s. I must have missed it.”
“It says that John the Baptist would prepare a way for the coming of Jesus. You do remember Jesus, don’t you Jake?” Now he was just being sarcastic.
“Course, I remember Jesus...” I muttered.
“John was to come in the power and wisdom of Elijah...”
“...to turn the hearts of the fathers to their children.” I finished. I must have been paying a little bit of attention last Sunday.
“Exactly,” said the hamster. “I am here to turn your heart back to your children and your wife.”
“My heart is not turned away from my kids,” I protested.
“In the last year, of your eight thousand odd hours, you spent nearly a thousand on your laptop surfing and playing games. On the other hand, you spent only sixty with your children. That’s roughly ten minutes a day. You spent more time playing Angry Birds.”
“Ouch.” I said rubbing the remnants of my hair. “Are you serious?”
“Oh, our record-keeping is most accurate,” said the hamster.
“What do I do?” I asked.
“You need to show fruits of repentance,” said the hamster. “Am I being clear?”
“Fruits?”
“You remember what John the Baptist said? ‘Those who steal must steal no longer.’ You have stolen from your family and now you must restore what you owe.”
“That’s a lot of hours to make up,” I said. “How am I going to do it?”
“Not to be a Luddite, but have you ever thought of turning off your laptop?”
I turned off the laptop, which beeped sadly as it said ‘sayonara’. “Level with me Louie; is there any hope for me, or have I botched it?”
“Psht,” spat the hamster. “Don’t be foolish. It is never too late! But don’t worry, I will stick with you in this and I won’t leave until my task is done.”
“Because then you’ll have earned your wings?” I said brightly.
“You watch entirely too much television!” grumbled the hamster.
=============
I know I watch too much t.v., but I changed my ways. Instead of holing up in my office, I spent time in the rec room doing what my kids were doing. I hung out in the kitchen, actually helping my wife clean up and such. I know I did kind of a crappy job of cleaning, but Alice smiles anyway.
=========
“What is it Daddy,” asked my little princess.
“It’s a present for all the kids,” I said. “But this year, the youngest gets to open it.”
“No fair!” whined her brothers from under a pile of torn wrapping paper and toys.
She tore off all of the wrapping paper and pulled out the cage. “It’s a dead hamster!” she sobbed. “Daddy, it’s a dead hamster!”
I smiled.

Klepto

Your Honour, I wish to deny all of the charges brought against me. They are absolutely untrue, or at least highly misleading.
Please examine my Portfolio, your Honour. Am I not fully normal? I have none of the Traits, none at all. Just look at my Evaluation. The People’s Collective Wisdom doesn’t make mistakes. It’s science. My eyes have just the right degree of spacing to indicate normal brain function; my teeth are regular, white and cavity-free, and just look at my x-ray. Note the absolutely typical spinal formation.
What’s that? My PsychoSexual scan? You know, I must have misplaced it, but I can assure you that it was as regular as pie. Hetero-Extrov-Aggresso: well within the SafeHappy Parameters.
I know it looks bad on the surface but there is an explanation. Let me tell you the whole story.
I woke up last Saturday full of joy and ready for another great day. I took my FullLife vitamin supplement, ate a ProteinPlus RealMeal from the dispensary and took the bus into town for some rest and recreation. That’s when I allegedly deviated from the Norm. Your report will indicate that I stole a briefcase from a man on the bus but nothing could be further from what really happened.
I saw the man sitting at the back of the bus, massaging a tablet and reading today’s Truthlines. His briefcase was taking up the only remaining seat on the bus. Being an Extrov-Agresso, I have been awarded a Leeway for occasional confrontation within the Guidelines, as you will have read. I told the man that he was required to remove his case. The man, a florid, heavyset individual, pretended not to hear me but continued to tickle his tablet. I remembered my GentleLessons from second form and attempted a reasonably accurate tightening of my cheek muscles to mimic a smile and tried again.
“Citizen and friend,” I said. “You are over utilizing the scant resources of this bus. Kindly remove your case.” I said this in muted tones with my hands held out in a placating gesture. I did everything by the book but the red-faced man chose to ignore me. I considered a violent response but I knew that I would be in violation of the Guidelines so I changed tack. I took his briefcase and ran off of the bus with it, thus liberating the seat unlawfully taken by the briefcase.
Your Honour, I declare to you that I am innocent of AntiSocial actions. I did not steal the florid man’s briefcase; I attempted to heighten his appreciation of his own shortcomings. Pardon me? Yes, it is true that I attempted to sell the briefcase and its contents to a second party, but in my defence, I was wholly prepared to donate the proceeds to the PeoplesCharity. As I have already said, my actions might be construed as being impulsive but my intention was completely ProSocial. The florid man had to be taught a lesson in civility.
Oh, your Honour, the PeoplesProsecutor is not presenting me in a very good light. I realize that I was apprehended with the proceeds from the sale of the briefcase at the HopeLucky Track but my intention was to parlay the sale into an exceedingly generous contribution to the PeoplesCharity. The governing body clearly recognizes the healthiness of the HopeLucky Track otherwise it would not have been permitted, so I am at a loss as to...Pardon me? Rationalizing? I’m not sure what you mean by the word, Your Honour. I am merely attempting to explain my actions in the clearest light...Yes, yes. I will sit down now. Yes.
======
I hate the ModCenter. You would think by now that I would be used to it but every time is worse than the time before. They sent me in to see a BehaviorProbe and have my levels tested on entering. Big surprise: my adrenals were off the chart and my theta’s didn’t even register. They immediately shot me full of Relaxos and I slept like a baby.
I woke up an hour ago, ate a MoreFibre RealMeal and went in to see the Happiness Counsellor. Her name was Doctor Laura and she spoke with a very soothing voice. I have noticed that the Counsellors are always females of late breeding age. I believe that the thinking is that they will stir latent maternal-child responses. I know that I always feel guilty when I talk to one of them.
“Now John, would you say that you were happy at the time of your last offence?” she asked, her tablet open on her knee.
‘I was very happy, Dr. Laura,” I responded, a big smile on my face.
“And yet, you broke the Guidelines,” she said with a little frown puckering the corner of her mouth. “Were you taking your meds?”
“I may have forgotten,” I said mildly.
“This is your fifth offense, John.”
“I know, but there were extenuating...”
“Please John, we are friends, are we not?” Her eyes became less maternal and more frank.
I did not know how to respond to this; she was not a friend, she was a Counsellor for the State. I could see that she was expecting a positive response so I nodded.
“I am going to have to tell you, as your friend, that the Guidelines recommend a StrongerCourse.” My mouth went slack and my eyes widened. I had heard that the StrongerCourse was more about punishment than rehabilitation. It was the equivalent of the State saying, “We have done the best we can.”
“You can’t be serious Dr. Laura!” I protested. “I am your friend! You must not allow them to put me through the StrongerCourse!”
“I am your friend,” she affirmed. “But you are not cooperating with our treatment. You are refusing to take your meds. My hands are tied.” Her face was frozen and unyielding. This was not the Dr. Laura that I had counted on. She got to her feet and left the room and then they came for me.
=====
The StrongerCourse Complex is nothing like the ModCenter. It is made entirely of brick and the windows are barred. There are no soothing counsellors but rather Elderbrothers who attend us with electroshock canes and SolemnReflection cells. My cell partner was a squat man named Lindale. He grimaced at my ingratiating smile and ignored my outstretched hand.
“We don’t do that in here,” he said gruffly. I dropped my hand and wiped my face clean. What were the protocols here?
“Sorry, Youngerbrother,” I said.
“I’m not your bloody Youngerbrother, you can just forgot that shit they taught you on the outside. This is the real world, mate.”
“What are the protocols?” I asked.
“Survival,” he said. “And stay well clear of the Elderbrothers! Sadists, every one of them. Break the rules and you’re liable for electroshock and that’s no day in the park. He stooped down and showed me the burns on his scalp. “I was a slow learner,” he said grimly.
“How long have you been in here?” I asked.
“Ten years.”
“When do you get out?”
“You don’t. Leastways, I never knew anybody who got healed here.” He said the word with an ironic tone.
“The Guidelines say that rehabilitation is the goal of all Correction,” I said.
“You can forget that shit here,” he snorted. “This is the jungle, mate. Survival of the fittest.”
We went into breakfast together, picking up plastic trays and setting them before a scowling fellow who spooned a grey gelatinous mush onto our chipped plates. It did not look like a Realmeal and I raised an eyebrow at Lindale. He shook his head impatiently so I bowed and took my food to a long table. We joined several other men who were already deep into the hideous food, smacking and slobbering like a pack of hounds. I shuddered.
It tasted as bad as it looked.
====
We stood at attention outside of our cell while an Elderbrother with a clipboard was calling out names for work detail. I was put in a group of men and we were taken to the State Forest to gather branches for grinding into pulp. Before going out each man had to kneel in front of our Elderbrother and submit to having a button pierce his ear. We were told that the button was our invisible leash. While we were in the Forest it acted as a GPS device and if we left the Forest it would create a cerebral storm which would kill us. He smiled grimly and wished us a good day.
I was led to a line-lined path, given a wheelbarrow and told to fill it with smaller branches. I walked down the path and threw branches in. My brain was racing. Was there a way to escape? I pushed my barrow and thought. It seemed quite hopeless. I worked through the morning and afternoon.
Night was beginning to fall as I reached the end of the path. Nobody had mentioned where to go at this point. Did I press on? Which way? Left or right? Something inside me called out, “Run!” So, without thinking, I ran with all my strength, even though the button on my ear was starting to hum in a most disconcerting manner. After some time, I noticed what seemed to be a glimmering just ahead. Why not, I thought.
I found myself in front of a small cabin. I knocked at the door.
“I’m coming,” I heard a man’s voice answer. The door opened and an elderly man stood before me. He was dressed in a dark brown robe made of some curious fibre.
“Ah, a Youngerbrother!” he said smiling at me. “You are escaping?”
“They told me that escape was futile,” I said. “I don’t know why I ran.”
“Your heart was wiser than your head,” he said. “Come into my workshop and I will redefine ‘futile’ for you.” He guided me to a workbench and told me to sit. He lifted a magnifying glass to my earlobe and examined the button. “Ah, an M-230. I have just the thing for it. Lucky for you that I live within the bounds of the prison territory, otherwise this thing could give you quite a headache.” He rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a slender black box. He held it up to the button and abruptly the button stopped humming and fell out of my ear into his hand. He tossed it to the floor and ground it beneath his heel.
“All is well,” he said. “Now come and we will have some pottage.”
Pottage turned out to be a stew of wonderful texture and flavour. I had never eaten anything so fragrant and rich.
“It’s good isn’t it?”smiled the old man. “Nothing in my pottage is synthesized or extracted. It is the food the God has given us.”
“It is remarkable,” I agreed holding out my bowl for another helping.
“I have no wine,” he said, scooping out the pottage. “Do you have a taste for some ale?” I shrugged my shoulders and he left for his larder. He came back with foaming mugs filled with dark liquid. I tasted it delicately and immediately swallowed so deeply that I began to cough. It was magical and made me feel like the first time I’d taken the blue meds. I was filled with joy.
“Slow down, slow down,” laughed the hermit. “It is quite strong, you know.”
We sat in front of a fire while the hermit took out a wooden appliance and began tamping a brown substance into the bowl. He took a burning stick from the fire and soon fragrant smoke filled the air around his head. I could not imagine what he was doing but it almost looked as though he was sucking in smoke from the appliance in order to blow little clouds of it from his nostrils. Odd.
“Now that we have eaten and drunk, let us further enjoy ourselves with speech,” he suggested. “I will suggest a topic that we can discuss and we will see if we can come to a meeting of the minds. The Greeks called it a symposium.”
“What shall we discuss?” I asked.
“Freedom,” he smiled. “A very apt subject for one who until recently has been a Youngerbrother.”
“What is freedom?” I asked.
“A pertinent question,” he nodded, blowing smoke from his mouth. “Are you free now?”
“I am,” I nodded. “Now that my button has been removed, I am free.”
“No man is free,” he said. “We simply do not see the chains that bind us. We act out of fear, hatred, impulse, and compulsion to do things we would rather not. We are more machine than flesh, I fear.”
“The Guidelines say that that obedience is freedom,” I said.
“That depends on whom you obey,” he said, blowing smoke.
“Our first obedience is to the State,” I said.
“Do you think so?” he asked. “Youngerbrothers usually do not view it that way.”
“It is true that I find myself in violation of the Guidelines,” I said. “But, surely that is my weakness at work, my failure to be a perfect citizen.”
“You must be right,” he said, in a tone that suggested that he thought otherwise.
“How do you see the matter?” I pressed.
“Freedom is a creature that dwells within,” he said. “Most of us make the assumption that if we appear to be free that we must be. Perhaps the fact that you are unable to fully obey the Guidelines means that you are freer than most of your fellows. Tell me about the meds they give you.”
“The meds merely make me calm!” I protested. “But, what you are saying cannot be true. The Guidelines are our mother and father, our life pattern!” Surely such a truth was self evident, I thought.
“You must have been a good student in the State school,” he said, sucking on the appliance so that his face was lit up by its glow.
“I was Worthy2ndTier in my final year,” I said proudly. “Top marks for citizenship and social awareness.”
“And yet, here you are, on the run from the State and a violator of the Guidelines.” He tamped his appliance into the fire. “Something is wrong with this picture.”
“It’s me,” I said. “I’m what’s wrong! If only I had remembered to take my meds!”
“I am upsetting you,” he said mildly. “Perhaps it is time to sleep?”
He fell asleep in his chair in front of the fire and I considered all that he had said. The man must be mad to question the self-evident truth. It was then that I saw a little golden cross hanging from a golden chain by his fire. What a lovely piece. It glittered like the sun on water.
====
I had also fallen asleep in my chair and I woke to the sound of the hermit clattering around in the next room. I could smell something otherworldly cooking and my mouth watered. It was a smoky smell, sweet and only slightly acrid. I stumbled into a room in which a large iron contraption dwarfed everything else. In the centre of a large iron pan, the hermit was cooking brown tubes which crackled and jumped. I thought I would die of pleasure.
“Sit you down, Brother,” he said. “Sausages in ten seconds.”
We sat together and he told me about his past and his youth in a land called Russia. I was intrigued to hear about his years in what he called a monastery but most of what he described was difficult to understand.
“Enough of me,” he said. “Let us speak of your future.”
“I cannot imagine my future,” I said. “I cannot go back to the State...”
“You must not,” he said. “You must take the Freedom Road to Canaan.”
“I don't know what that means,” I said.
“I will send you to Marta; she will know what you must do,” he said. “Come I've packed you some food!” We walked out to the trail and he gave me instructions to get to her house. He also gave me a capacious coat to cover my bright red uniform. He did not give me the little gold cross that I’d noticed and put in my pocket.
==
Marta's stone house was a day's walk down the trail. It was twilight when I arrived, tired and thirsty. I thumped the doorknocker and waited. The door opened and bright blue eyes glittered at me.
“Who are you, young man and what is your business with me?” I detected the refined English of a foreign learner.
“I am a Youngerbrother fleeing the State,” I said, opening my coat to show her the red of my uniform. “The hermit who lives in the forest said that you might help me find the Freedom Road.”
“How does Father Sergei imagine that I could do this for you?” she asked, her lips pressed tightly together.
“I don't know,” I said.
“Well, come in. I will give you a meal and a bed.” I went in. I saw a room that was filled with photographs in silver frames. Everyone looked like they were from another time; bearded men in uniforms, girls in long dresses with their hair tied up in bows, horses and dogs, pigs and chickens.
“You like?” she asked noticing my interest. “Old country, old ways. Now everything is new and cheap and ugly.” She sniffed with hauteur. “You would like tea perhaps?”
“Tea?” Presumably something Russian, I thought.
“Sit down. I will make some!” I sat down in a capacious leather armchair and peeked at the books on a small table beside me. I saw a leather book, The Brothers something or other by a Russian writer and an old picture book, “Imperial Russia.” I riffled through its pages: more soldiers, proud-looking women with flashing eyes, and black bearded monks clad in dark robes.
“It was another world,” she said, seeing the book in my hands. She bore a large tray with a silver pot and china cups. She poured an amber stream through a silver strainer into the cups. Then in went a dollop of a red shiny substance which looked like a gel.
“If you like old ways; this is how we drank tea when I was a little girl.”
It was surprisingly good.
“So you are a Youngerbrother? What is your name?” she asked when she'd finished her tea.
“My name is John.”
“My older brother was named Ivan,” she said, her face softening ever so slightly. “Why are you fleeing the State? Not that any sane man would not,” she added.
“I tend to steal things,” I confessed.
“You are poor?” she asked.
“I take things but I don't know why. I had forgotten to take my meds.”
“The State makes you sick,” she said. “They wash your brains. Maybe it is a mark of sanity to rebel against it all.”
I shook my head. What she was saying went against everything I believed to be true. Was the State not our father and mother? Were we not its beloved children?
Dinner with Marta proved to be beyond words to describe. She made a red pottage of some sort of vegetable which she called borscht and poured a red fluid that she called wine. I felt like I was immersed in a russet glow. After we had eaten, she poured more tea and she spoke of her girlhood in Russia and the persecution of her people by the government.
“You can see why I fled Mother Russia,” she said. “But your State is even worse. Your police are like Ivan the Terrible’s oprichniki only with computers and cameras. There is no privacy and no freedom. A man cannot read the books of his choice or believe in his father's God.”
“I was taught that the State is our mother and our father and all that we need for happiness,” I murmured.
“What kind of a mother does not let her children grow to maturity? What kind of a father keeps his child in perpetual infancy?” she said. “The State allows no freedom,” she said grimly.
“Freedom is obedience,” I quoted, curious as to what she would say.
“That is like saying ‘Stupidity is intelligence,’” she said tartly. “Freedom is the opportunity to choose. It is a matter of spirit, not flesh. You cannot tell a man, ‘I will set you free, brother! But, here, first put these chains on!’”
“When you say ‘freedom is a matter of spirit’, what do you mean?” I asked.
“There was once a man of God who was told by the authorities to bind his lips and not speak of the Almighty. He refused, saying that obedience to God was more important than obeying the State. For his stiff neck, he was taken to prison and chained between two guards. This did not stop him from speaking about God, in fact, his conversation with his captors, a captive audience, if you will, was all about God. There was never so free a man as this prisoner.”
“I’m not sure what your point is,” I said.
“You do not see?” she sighed. “You have lived too long in slavery, John. Freedom for the man of God was not in his circumstances. His spirit was so free that he was full of joy, even in his chains. This is what true freedom means.”
“I am free now,” I suggested tentatively.
“You carry your chains with you,” she said tartly. “Consider this: you steal for no reason and do a thousand things for no better reason than you learned to do them in your State’s school. Until recently, you were kept in line by drugs. You are only now starting to consider what freedom really means.” She got out of her chair and placed an elegant hand on my shoulder. “But sleep now, John. Tomorrow I will set you on the road to Canaan.”
===
We rose early. Marta made me a substantial breakfast and packed food for a long journey. She explained that Canaan was a long walk and suggested that I stay close to a stream that ran down from the distant mountains to the west. It was there that I would find Canaan and freedom. She also told me that if I needed a place to stay that I should visit her nephew Piotr who lived two days travel along the stream. She accepted my grateful thanks with an imperial nod and just the ghost of a smile.
I settled by provisions in a rucksack and slid it to my shoulder. In my pocket, I could feel the pressure of a small picture frame that I could not resist. I walked to the stream and headed for the north and whatever freedom might be.
====
I saw smoke in the sky before I saw Piotr’s house. It was a ramshackle affair, as was Piotr himself. Never have I met a man who was so indifferent to personal grooming. In his thick brown beard I saw signs of his last few meals.
He met me at the door with a cry of joy and a huge hug. He was more grizzly than human.
“Any friend of Marta’s is a friend of mine,” he assured me, massaging my shoulder with his massive hand. “You look like you’re starving!” Indeed, I was at the end of my food and eager to dine with a man who knew how to eat.
We sat down to a roast that he assured me was once a great feathered bird. It sounded wildly unlikely but to my amazement, I found it quite succulent. I ate like a starving man which earned me the approval of Piotr. He actually stopped shovelling food into his own mouth to watch me. I poured me a glass of clear liquid which I took to be water. I swallowed rapidly and spewed the flaming liquid over the remains of my bird.
“Aha!” he laughed. “Vodka does not agree with you?”
I gasped and shook my head no. “I thought it was water,” I finally got out, tears streaming from my eyes.
“It is water, the water of life. Long life!” he toasted and threw back his glass. I smiled weakly, raised my glass and tried a tentative drink. It burned going down but I didn’t shame myself a second time.
“Now you are a real man,” he laughed. He brought out a cake of sorts and cut us both thick slices. It was filled with little chunks of matter, all the colours of the rainbow. I looked doubtful and he laughed again.
“Little pieces of fruit,” he said. “Go on, you will love it!” And love it, I did.
He pulled me to a comfortable chair in front of a roaring fire and together we sat and digested our feast. I looked around the room and immediately I was struck by a lovely statuette made of a whitish substance which glowed in the light of the fire. He noticed my gaze and picked it up.
“It is a Pieta, carved by an unknown sculptor,” he said proudly. “It was from my father’s estate. Look at the face of the Madonna! Such tenderness and understanding! This sculptor, whoever he was, had a loving mother.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“My dear fellow, the artist creates what he knows. This artist knew a woman of great compassion and maternal feelings. I like to think it was his own mother.”
“I never knew my mother,” I said, yearning for the Pieta with every longing of my heart.
“The State was your mother,” he paraphrased sadly. I said nothing. Time passed in the glow of the fire.
“Tell me about Canaan,” I said eventually.
“It is a place that they who fled the control of the State created. It is a place where fear and control are eschewed and men and women can be free to rule themselves.”
“I cannot picture such a place,” I said. “How can such a society work? What would they do with a broken man like me?”
“How are you broken?” he asked gently.
“I steal things for no reason,” I said my face burning with shame. I took the cross and picture frame from my pocket and set them in his lap. “Look! I stole these things from people who were only kind to me! I am broken.”
“Don’t say ‘broken’,” urged Piotr. “Say ‘a little bent’ instead. Why do you steal?”
“I don’t know. I see something and I long for it. It fills my mind until the only relief I can get is to take it.”
“How horrible for you!”
“At least when I lived in the State, they gave me meds to curtail my impulses.”
“Ah yes, the chemical control,” he said heavily. “It works when you take it.”
“Mostly,” I said. “So, you see, they will never let me into Canaan. I cannot live without strong controls.” My heart was a heavy lump of rock in my breast.
“So for you, there is no freedom?” he said.
“How can there be?”
He lifted up the Pieta and held it up to the light so that it reflected into my eyes. “You see the baby clinging to his mother. What if freedom was choosing to give your heart to someone bigger and stronger for safekeeping?”
“You are speaking of the State?” I asked.
“Bigger, stronger and loving,” he amended.
“You are speaking in riddles,” I protested.
“Am I? Ah well, I am content to sleep now.” So saying he shambled off to bed to leave me gazing at the lovely statuette. At once, the sharp, salt edge of desire rose in my heart. To take the Pieta was a longing like thirst in the desert. I could think of nothing but lifting it in my hands and putting it in my pocket. It would be mine and my hunger would be slaked for a little while, another little while. I tried to turn my back on the mother and child and compose my body for sleep but it was like a piece of meat stuck in my teeth that I could not ignore. I got out of the bed and looked at it again. How it shone in the fading firelight!
The face of the woman was calm as though the child was the only thing in her universe. The child was also calmly beholding his mother. What would it be like to be so calm, so relaxed, so focused and yet so at rest? There was no strain on the two faces, just a connection that went beyond time and space. Somehow just looking at the two made my heart stop racing and I was breathing easier again. I thought that maybe I could put the piece down and sleep.
===
I could see the walls of Canaan ahead of me in the distance. I reached in my pack to find a fruit. To my surprise, I pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper. A note was tied to the package. I read:
Brother John,
After much prayer, I am giving you a gift that will remind you never to give up and always to pursue true freedom.
I unwrapped the package. It was the Pieta.