Train To Heaven

Mercury

It was a bright sunny day. A fresh wind danced in the foliage of a horse-chestnut tree, with roots anchored in a vast cemetery. A raven flew down silently and landed on a low branch. Directly below, there was the body of a dead raven. A man and a young boy walked near. The boy paused near the dead bird. He sought council on the nature of death. The man hesitated to answer. He was surprised by the boy’s questions. The man saw the raven above and asked the boy to look at both birds. Then he asked the boy to observe all the differences. The boy enumerated all the differences he saw. The man said that death was a mystery with many different explanations. He encouraged the boy’s curiosity. He said that people believe different explanations. He told the boy several versions. If he made a pretense of possessing the definite answer, the boy would explore no further. They began to walk and play football with a fallen chestnut. The raven made a loud croak. My eyes opened.

I grabbed my alarm-clock, the source of the noise. It had been a dream. I stopped the bell and smiled. It was my graduation day. I would not be there because I quit two weeks earlier. I had been researching a history assignment, when I made a startling discovery. There were parallels between the modern education system and the Nazi education system. I withdrew from classes immediately. My teachers were baffled. I told them I was busy with my own life.

A bargain was struck with the Irish principal who had a heart of eider-down. I proposed to bring him a sheaf of my poems. If the poems were deemed worthy, I would be awarded a diploma. I delivered the poems and the Celt asked what my plan was. I would seek employment on a tugboat. The principal smiled and gave me a diploma. I saw him two days later, on the stairs of a bank. I was playing guitar. He smiled and politely asked if I worked on the tugboat. I assured him I would soon be on the water. Many friends came to visit me during the summer. On several occasions, we almost solved the mystery of existence.

One night, four friends came to dine with me. In the middle of our meal, we glimpsed the truth. It flashed like a multi-coloured snake in tall grass. Only a small part was visible. The head and tail were hidden, but the direction of its movement was obvious. A bookstore in San Francisco. There we would await further insights. Four of us saw it. One friend could not see it and he apologized immediately. I instructed him to sell my belongings and inform my mother after I was gone.

It was almost dawn and we left in an old car. We first stopped at the university. We decided to purify ourselves in the sauna. Our salt water dripped on the cedar planks as we had a nice conversation with a literature teacher. After the sauna, we emerged into the light of day. We felt all the promise of youth. Before we had gone far, the driver remembered his sister’s imminent wedding. We decided to go and detoured to his house. The bride’s mother came to the car, followed by two dachshunds. She told us the ceremony had started and we were ushered inside. After several steps, I had a sudden strange pain. I wanted to sit down and told the group that I would come inside later.

I went back to the car and sat inside. I fell asleep and when I awoke, I was inside the house. The ceremony had commenced. All of the guests were in different historical costumes. It looked like a meeting of an anachronistic society. I guessed that the bride was a member of such a group. The men and women were standing in separate lines. I was near the end of the men’s line. Directly across the room I saw a girl from my elementary school. Since the school was in a distant town, I was mystified by her presence. She wore a beautiful purple dress in the style of eighteenth century France. I stood near a small mahogany table.

On the table was a likeness of the Roman god, Mercury, done in bronze. It was skilfully wrought and I was attracted. I knelt and turned it slowly around to admire the craftsmanship. After I withdrew my hand, the statue moved its feet, almost imperceptibly. I looked at the guests. All eyes were on the bride. I looked at the table again. The bronze statue was dancing! It was a Greek dance and I was enthralled. The little figurine whirled and capered on the polished wood.

The metal limbs moved with human suppleness and Mercury danced exquisitely across the table. I looked at the bride and looked at the figurine again. I noticed it was larger. The dance gave it power. I was transfixed by the complex foot movements, which reminded me of a serpent on sand. I shivered when the statue looked at me. The bronze dancer smiled and touched its winged helmet.

I was angry, but I could not avert my eyes. When the figurine was the size of a doll, its wings began to pulse. The statue jumped up and flew around in circles. After each round, its size increased. The air was acrid and smelled like welded metal. My eyes ached and I could not shut them. When the statue was a meter in height, it hovered and struck me repeatedly with metal wings. Its mouth moved, but I heard no words. The blows from the wings were painful and I was disgusted by the emotionless bronze eyes. I tried to protect my head and then I was unconscious.

School

I woke in dazzling white light. Like a clear day on a glacier. I touched my head. My fingers were smeared with blood. I gently rubbed my bruised scalp and remembered Mercury’s assault. It had been real. I was in a long corridor with white walls, a floor of white linoleum and a white ceiling. I was definitely in a place I did not like. I tried to open a door. It was locked. I ran around and tried dozens of other doors. I made a full circuit of the building. All of the doors were locked, except one.

I entered another corridor. One side of the corridors had windows. The other sides had doors. The corridors extended along the entire circumference of the building. The windows of the inner corridor were opaque and I could not see through them. There were no people or signs of people. I ran to the outer corridor. The windows here were transparent. I saw an empty park and an old sycamore in front of a sign. Only the word, “School” was visible through a gap in the foliage. The surroundings were vaguely familiar.

I told myself that I was probably suffering from partial amnesia. I tried to remain calm. Through the window, I saw a white car cruising like a shark on wheels. It turned the corner. I ran along the corridor in the same direction. None of the windows could be opened. I ran until I had to turn.

The corridor extended to the next street corner. At each corner, I looked outside at the street. Each time, I saw the white car turn the corner. The entire outside wall of my prison was made of windows and I could not hide. Because I had seen no people inside the building, I was not worried for my immediate safety. I did feel that the white car would intercept me when I went outside.

I returned to the window near the sycamore. I smoked a cigarette and waited. Whenever I looked outside, I saw the white car. I could not see the face of the driver, but I felt his presence. When darkness came, I covered my fists with my jacket. The white car made another sinister circuit. I smashed the glass. The operation did not work exactly as it does in films. I checked myself for injuries and felt lucky that I had only some minor scratches. I brushed the glass off my jacket and ran like the shadow of a bird.

Megaphones

Running along unknown streets, my way was illuminated by the blue flickering light of TV sets. Nearly exhausted, I saw tall buildings and entered an industrial zone. I smelled smoke and some type of soup. I heard screams and crouched behind a garbage container in an alley. There was light in front of me, so I crept forward cautiously. I heard shots. The screams got louder. Interwoven with the screams, I heard unintelligible commands coming from megaphones.

I noticed another softer sound. It was like the sound of flowing water. It was not raining but the streets were wet and the drains were gurgling. I ran to the exit of the alley and slid on the filthy water. I wiped my hands and realized that the soup I smelled earlier was blood! I vomited violently. I staggered onto a street that was full of dead and wounded people.

Men, women and children had been butchered all along the street. People in uniforms kicked the bodies and killed any that were alive. My instinct for survival superseded my horror and I turned away and fled back into the alley. I crouched in the gloom to assimilate what I had seen and could not. Trembling like a dry leaf, I sobbed. Hearing boot heels in the alley, I ran like an animal.

I saw stairs going down and I took them. At the end I crashed into a wall of people. They were dressed in nice clothes. There was light and the sound of applause. My eyes gathered the images but my mind was confused. I was inside a football stadium. I was in the middle seats. I recognized a face of an old friend. I went to stand beside him. My clothes were smeared with blood and dirt. He showed no recognition and took a bite of a sausage he was eating. One of the teams made a good play and he jumped up to cheer. I slumped into an empty seat and closed my eyes.

Bear

Opening my eyes, I found myself behind a market in Vancouver. I touched my head and felt some sore areas. My clothes were filthy. Wait! I remembered the stadium. But how did I get here? My mind reeled. I lit a cigarette and looked around. It felt good to recognize where I was. At least I did not have total amnesia. I promised myself, that I would never ingest a hallucinogenic substance in the future. Several years earlier I had taken LSD and if the past days were the consequence, it was not worth the experience.

I wasted no time and walked two blocks to my girlfriend’s house. I had known Lili for about a year, but I had never been inside her house. Her parents were Chinese and very traditional. I was the wrong color. To keep the peace, I always met her at the market. I decided that today I would break protocol. Compared to my recent experience, her parents would be an easy task.

It was a good omen that Lili’s misanthropic dog was not outside when I reached the gate. During our first encounter, the beast had given me a permanent scar on the thigh. Curious to see a Chinese household, I knocked boldly on the door. There was no answer. I walked to the back of the house where a vegetable garden covered most of the yard. Beginning to feel a kinship with the gardener, I went up a staircase to the kitchen door which was open. I called Lili and she did not reply. I knew she was a careful person, so I sensed something sinister.

I went inside to investigate. It was an old house and very cluttered. A quick tour revealed that I was alone. I lingered in a bedroom that had to belong to Lili. Her clothes were scattered around and the air was fragrant with muguet. It was the scent she wore especially for me. My reverie was interrupted by the realization that everything was blue in colour, except for her clothes. I had not known that she was fond of that colour in particular. There were blue bed sheets. The walls were blue. I was standing on a blue carpet and saw a chair that had been painted blue. On a low table there was a bouquet of blue flowers in an amethyst vase.

I smelled wax. On top of a table the colour of periwinkle, there were several blue candles. I was beginning to appreciate the fact that Lili was a very deep girl. Then I had another revelation. The clutter was not normal. Someone had ransacked the house! I looked around the house again. Everywhere there were signs of a burglary. I was furious and wanted to punish the bastard who was responsible.

I went to the kitchen and grabbed a butcher knife. Then I went downstairs and froze at the last step. The hairs on my neck rose up. Across the garden, I saw a huge brown shape near the fence. There was heavy fog and it was difficult to see any details. Nevertheless, I saw the unmistakable form of a bear and tried to deny it. Within a heartbeat, the beast had halved the distance between us. My fingers tightened on the knife hasp and I made the decision to fight.

I yelled in Swedish, “Ten thousand little black long-peckered devils!”

To fight the interloper I ran full of adrenaline, my body acting without the guidance of my mind. My mind occupied itself with the hot breath of my adversary and the texture of its fur. I pressed against that fur and explored with the knife. I had acted so fast, the bear was not able to avoid my attack. My anger was concentrated in the point of the knife and it found a space between two massive rib bones.

We fell on the soggy garden as one grotesque entity. I clung like a leech and sawed viciously. Finally, the bear was still. I staggered away from the warm body, garden soil adhering to my gory clothes. Trembling convulsively, I dropped the knife. It was dark. I found a faucet and washed my hands in the gloom. Spent, I walked across town toward my home.

Mbutu Gatukai

At home my door was open. I walked in and left a trail of clothes to the shower. I went to my room to dress. As I sought for a pair of pants, I noticed that everything was scattered and torn. The mattress on my bed had been slashed. All the other rooms were also in chaos. On a table where my stereo system had once been, I found a carton of melted vanilla ice cream.

The adjacent window was smashed and bits of glass decorated the drying cream on the table. Under the window I found a tire iron. I wanted justice. My mother had filed a police report and left a copy of it on the coffee table. My herring-bone jacket, a five pound salmon, my stereo and my identification had been stolen.

My stepfather entered with a mug of coffee with whisky. He sat amid the wreckage and drank. The phone rang and he answered. As he talked, I saw a black antique car through the window. The driver motioned for me to come out and get into the car. I did this and told the driver about the robbery.

He said, “We shall look for a fool in a herringbone jacket armed with a fish. If the bastard has your identification papers, we will know that he is the culprit.”

I laughed.

“I am Stone Eagle. First we will eat and then I have a proposal.”

City lights formed symmetrical designs on the highly polished hood of the car. We agreed to have Indian cuisine. It was good to be with a friendly person and I hoped that my life might normalize. We had two beers and a bowl of lamb curry. We ate with gusto.

“Do you know the Solomon Islands?” asked Stone Eagle.

“Yes. They are a small group of islands in the south Pacific Ocean, near New Guinea.”

“Correct. Many years ago, I went there.”

“I see.”

“Do you want to go there?”

“I have never thought about it. It would be interesting.”

“My friend needs someone to return his boat and I cannot go. It is a special task. It is a very high honour to be chosen. In those islands there is a special animal like a small red cow. It has horns and hooves but on its front legs it has hands like a man.”

“Certainly.”

“It is true. but you must never speak of it. These animals are rare. They possess intelligence but they cannot speak. They communicate by telepathy.”

“You seem sincere."

“I am sincere. You were chosen because you have an open mind and a good heart. We will talk with Sam. He is an islander and the guardian of one of the animals. The creature is old and must be returned. I brought it here when the islanders feared it might be discovered by forestry operations. I learned that these animals are very capable navigators.”

“What is the religion of these people?” I asked.

“It was not explained to me. Will you help to protect an ancient culture? They will remember you in their stories.”

“Clear the path! In a sacred manner, I come.”

“Excellent.”

We left the Indian restaurant and my heart was light. Stone Eagle smiled and drove us to

Chinatown where he led me to a door between two restaurants. At the top of a steep staircase he knocked on a green door. A man, who was the colour of mahogany, opened the door.

He smiled and spoke melodiously. He was slim and agile. Only the lines on his face indicated his age. His teeth were perfectly white as coconut flesh. His trousers were blue and he wore a pristine white canvas shirt. He clasped my hand. His grip was firm and conveyed honesty.

We were ushered in to sit on an old sofa. Three cups and an ornate teapot were ready on an overturned box. Sam pulled three cigarettes out of a packet. I exhaled the smoke from my first puff and realized that Sam had not used anything to ignite the cigarettes. Stone Eagle gave me a cup of tea that smelled of spices. We drank the tea and Sam said that the boat was not seaworthy and that the voyage would thus be impossible.

I was swallowed by sadness, but did not understand my powerful emotional response. Droplets of water accumulated in my eyes and gravitated to my beard. My wet cheeks were cool.

Stone Eagle produced a cassette from his pocket and handed it to me. “I want you to have this.”

“It is music from Mbutu Gatukai, a town near the mountain you would have travelled to.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Let him hear it,” said Sam.

Sam took the tape and carefully loaded it into a small cassette player. I relaxed on the sofa. Stone Eagle closed his eyes while Sam studied my face. The music seemed vaguely similar to the gamelan music of Indonesia.

I closed my eyes and saw blue ocean swells, white spume and sunlight. Birds flew amid tangles of thick green foliage. My body began to sway. I was suddenly aware of a forked tube that connected my heart to each of my eyes. My water flowed profusely. It was as if a rusty faucet had been opened after many years. I felt at peace and tasted the ocean. Salt, alkaline, metal, bitter and honey. Time was measured by the procession of flavours. At last I tasted dew on flower petals. My heart swelled and joy encompassed me. The music ended.

“Let him see the boat,” said Stone Eagle.

We went to the harbour. Sam walked catlike on the undulating planks and leapt onto an outrigger. In the aft there was a cabin. I came aboard with Stone Eagle.

Stone Eagle explained many things. Inside the cabin was the cow. She sat with the composure of a lioness and I stared at her human hands. There on a woven mat I saw ten fingers and two well formed hands connected to two bovine wrists. She had two short horns and beautiful eyes. She breathed slowly and evenly through her nostrils. I wanted to touch her, but I did not dare to try.

There were photographs pinned to the bamboo walls of the cabin. Pictures of the men who had taken the journey. I saw a photograph of Stone Eagle. He was standing on a beach. Behind him was a forested mountain. He told me that the cows were hidden around the world I order to protect them. The animal’s life span was relatively short and they must return to their island to die. The pilots for the boats were always chosen from another culture.

Sam worked at repairing the boat while I listened. Night fell and we all worked together. At dawn Sam pronounced the boat seaworthy. and showed me a sketch. It depicted the cow in the cabin. A naked man sat behind her. On his head was a helmet with two short horns. A belt of polished cowrie completed his costume.

“You will go. You will wear the belt and the helmet. When you want to talk, you must sit behind the cow and think of the music you heard at my house. The cow will speak to your mind. She will explain everything and my people will take care of you.”

I was speechless with pride. Stone Eagle smiled. I wondered what the cow ate. I was about to ask this question when Sam and Stone Eagle unfastened the bowline. I donned the belt and helmet and sat behind the cow. I thought of the music and relaxed. A beautifully resonant voice entered my mind. I listened like a child and received a lecture about the boat.

The cow piloted our boat through the Strait of Juan de Fuca. During the voyage I learned about climatology, celestial navigation and all aspects of seamanship. I did not count the number of days of the voyage but remember it as a time that was free of fear. Any questions I had were answered by the cow. I saw the Hawaiian Islands loom and disappear. The climate became progressively hotter.

My most vivid impression of the voyage was the act of communicating with the cow. An experience that cannot be properly conveyed by mere words. It was a sexual experience but conducted in the spiritual realm. When I communed with the cow our souls made love. All of the non-physical aspects of sexual union were purified and magnified. A satisfaction I had never before experienced filled my body, heart, mind and soul. Our energies vibrated in perfect harmony.

We arrived at our destination at night. The motor was not needed for the final approach. Stars hung in the vault of the sky like crystal fruit in an inverted bowl of black velvet. I gazed up at the silver moon and realized that I could talk with anyone who was also looking at the moon. The word buwan entered my thoughts. I tied the bowline to a palm tree.

I was profoundly tired and slept on the thick grass away from the beach. When I awoke and stretched my limbs, I was in a house and smelling bacon. A beautiful little girl was looking at me. She smiled and said a few words to an old man who sat in a bamboo chair near a window. He smiled and filled a cup with hot tea. He handed it to the girl and she timidly approached.

I drank now the same tea that Sam had served many days ago.

“You will live forever in the memory of my people,” the old man said in English.

“Where is the boat?” I asked.

“It is in a safe place. You arrived two days ago and the ceremony is complete. You will not speak of these things. Another journey will begin soon. We trust you to be silent.”

I asked no more questions and was served a full English breakfast by the little girl. Later I went down to the beach with the old man. Several dozen islanders were gathered there on the sand. A man in an orange sarong took a photograph of me. The islanders began to do a slow dance. My guide put his arm on my shoulder and led me to a rusty car that awaited me on the coastal road. I was given some money and a packet of documents.

The old fellow shook my hand and slapped the hood of the car as if it were a reluctant horse. I was driven across the island to a small port. The driver stopped at the quay and led me to a small boat. The Captain told me that he would transport me to a Dutch ship that was anchored at a nearby. That ship would calling at Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle and Vancouver. I could disembark where I wished.

Shaman

It was a wonderful voyage. The food was excellent and I was re nourished. I read dozens of books and made a friend of the engineer. He had a collection of classical music. We had many interesting discussions in his quarters. I decided to disembark at San Francisco. On my last morning at sea, I woke with a large sore on my left wrist. It looked serious and was painful. The ship’s doctor said I had probably been bitten by a spider. They often hid in the cargo.

After the ship was anchored, I took a taxi to Chinatown and visited a doctor. He consulted a book and confirmed the diagnosis of the ship’s doctor. I was ordered to eat a handful of capsules immediately and to purchase more. I obtained the medicine at a nearby pharmacy and went to find food. I heard a familiar voice behind me, turned and saw my friend James from Vancouver. He said he had come to San Francisco to recover from a funeral. We decided to dine together. We walked to a restaurant. While we ate, James studied my face as if my journey was reflected in my eyes.

After the meal, James wanted to take me to a special place. On the way we walked past a large willow. I told James it was a species of Salix and that the bark contained salicylic acid. Aspirin. He laughed. We came to a small house. In the backyard there was a beautiful tree decorated with thousands of birds and butterflies. The birds were the size of finches and their colour was the green of immature oranges. Legions of butterflies extended their black and golden wings.

I remembered that I had some seeds in my pocket. The little girl in Mbutu Gatukai had given them as a gift. They were small, shiny and black. She had worn a necklace made of them. I gave half to James. We offered our open hands to the birds. They left the tree and divided into two flocks. Symmetrically, the tiny green creatures left their perches and each took a seed. I knew that each seed was a prayer. When the last bird disappeared I saw that the butterflies remained on the tree. James turned and walked slowly. I followed in silence.

I decided to go to Vancouver. James accompanied me to the bus station. We sat in the cafeteria and waited for my bus. As I drank a cup of horrible coffee I saw an old man by the door. He was behind James. When he looked at me I felt cold and nodded involuntarily.

I watched in awe as the old man’s clothes became the robes of a shaman. His jacket became a leather shirt. He wore a necklace of bones and had raven feathers in his hair. His umbrella became a stick carved into the shape of a serpent. Then he quickly transformed back to normal. It was a glimpse of an alternate reality that only I had seen.

The old fellow adopted a strange stance and lifted his umbrella. He shook it and made it rattle. I was blanketed in fear and my mouth gaped. The old man hissed like a snake and made the sound of a raven. James placidly drank his coffee. Just before he exited, the old man sneered. I regained my composure and I chose not to speak of this.

My bus was announced. James said goodbye. I tried to sleep on the bus. At each station, people went out to buy food and drink. Because I had used all of my money to pay my fare, I remained on board. On the second day an old gentleman gave a paper bag to me as he went along the narrow aisle to sit next to his wife. Inside the bag I found two roast beef sandwiches and a half-kilo of peanuts.

I moved to an unoccupied seat near the man and ate ravenously while we talked. I learned that he was an Australian and had been a soldier in Burma. He was captured by the Japanese and imprisoned for four years. He sobbed as he remembered the torture and starvation that he had suffered. His wife threw me a disapproving glance. After his heart was emptied we promised to correspond.

I returned to my seat and slept. As I sank into sleep, I was aware of a dark pulsating substance. It alternated between incomprehensible expansion and infinite diminution. I felt each pulsation behind my eyes. Rain began to fall and I awoke. The light of oncoming traffic shone on the wet window.

Court

I fell asleep again but my conscious mind observed the process. Listening to my heart, I felt layers of warm water cover my body as I sank into a deep sleep. My breath was a mere whisper. I was suddenly amazed to be standing in hot clean sand. The smell of the sea filled my nostrils. I knelt and grasped a handful of sand. It tickled my fingers and I laughed. I rinsed my mouth with the salty water. It was real! I looked toward the vast silver sea and began to walk. I turned to look behind and saw twelve gigantic intricately carved thrones with seats of red leather arranged in front of some sand dunes. I could not see beyond the dunes and stood in awe like a prisoner awaiting a verdict. I sensed that the owners of those seats would soon come. My body trembled and I awoke suddenly.

Earthquake Red Pyjamas

The remainder of the trip to Vancouver was uneventful. Of which I was glad. Assuming that my old basement was occupied, I went to a civic shelter. After a shower, I walked to my bunk and used my jacket as a pillow. I was asleep quickly. A strong physical sensation woke me. When I opened my eyes, I was on my hands and knees.

I recognized the new location in which I now found myself. It was the house where I had been born. I saw my tiny hands and understood that I was trapped in the body of an infant. I heard my father in the bathroom and crept toward him. He rushed out and the toe of his alligator shoe struck me on the chin. I tumbled over and wailed in pain. My mother came and comforted me.

“It was an accident. Your father is late for work and he did not see you.”

My father rubbed my jaw and hurried away. I was an infant and couldn’t speak. I felt a strong tremor, heard a loud thump and several rumbles. I was back in the civic shelter again and everyone was awake and murmuring nervously. The earth shook its mantle like a dog drying its fur. The noise became a cacophony. I grabbed my jacket. The building swayed again and I heard a prolonged rumble. Small things fell from shelves. I saw a man with a map and I approached him. He said that the epicentre of the disturbance was located at the convergence of the borders of British Columbia, Alberta and Montana.

He had a car and invited me to go with him to the location. We stumbled out to the street. Travelling Eastward under a grey sky, neither of us talked. Most of the earthquake damage was confined to the urban area. After many hours, I knew that we were near our destination. On a road lined with poplar trees, I saw a house that attracted me like a magnet. I told the driver to stop. We rang the door bell. A big friendly man opened it as if he knew us. He invited us into the kitchen and his wife gave us mugs of coffee.

I remarked that it was cold in the house. The man said that his furnace was broken. I offered to repair it. We finished our coffee and the man led me to a staircase. In the cellar, I took the inspection plate off of the motor. I found some faulty wiring and I made new connections. The fires ignited, the motor began to hum and a warm breeze pervaded the house.

I saw a small bedroom in the cellar and asked who slept there. The man said that it had been his son’s but the boy had died. We went into the bedroom and stood near a window from which I saw a sandbox out in the yard. The woman came down and summoned her husband to breakfast. I remained in the bedroom and when I looked at the window again, I saw a young boy, dressed in red pyjamas playing in the sandbox. He seemed to be unaware of my presence. I thought that he should be dressed for the outdoors. He turned toward me as if I had spoken and I signalled for him to come in. He dropped his blue plastic shovel and pail.

I heard a noise behind me and turning around I saw the little boy. He had some books under his arm. He smiled and got into his bed. I sat on the edge of the bed and talked with him, feeling an inexplicably strong love for the child mixed with an intense sorrow. This admixture of emotions attained an equilibrium. I began to read to the boy from an illustrated history book and paused to look at the boy.

He had grown a moustache and his eyes looked ancient. I tried to conceal my amazement and completed the first book. The boy began talking. He told me that money was a prime engine of history and he spoke as an adult. We discussed the book. The boy said people do evil in the pursuit of money. He spoke with the voice of a wise old man. I learned many things. After I felt that I should leave, I hugged the boy and told him that I would visit him again. He lay his head back on his pillow and looked very sad. I extinguished the light. Upstairs, I told the man from the shelter that it was time to return to Vancouver.

Cane Field

During the trip there was again no conversation. I saw many workers repairing the earthquake damage. Most of the men were working to restore electricity and communication. It was dark when we reached the city. I got out of the car on a quiet street and walked until I saw a house with a massive laurel hedge that dominated the front yard. The laurel was in seed and the sidewalk was stained with purple berries. I hid in the protection of the branches and smoked a cigarette.

I heard a soft rain begin. I was very tired and slept there in the hedge. I woke abruptly when I slapped a mosquito on my neck. I was soaked in sweat. The brilliant sun forced me to close my eyes. I rubbed my eyelids. I heard strange bird songs and shaded my eyes to surveyed the area. My memory demanded a laurel hedge in Vancouver. Instead, my eyes saw a vast field of sugar cane. I was in the tropics.

Wary of snakes, I walked along a row of sugarcane until I came to a fallow field. The harvested area was bordered by jungle. The lush vegetation was inviting so I walked to the edge and sat on a tree stump.

Soon I heard voices. A group of five people emerged from the jungle. They smiled and came toward me laughing and speaking softly. The eldest man stopped and lit a small fire in the field. An elderly woman spread a large cloth nearby. A young man began to roast skewers of meat, while a young woman peeled some large fruits.

They invited me to eat with them. While we ate, I studied the face of the elder. His features were remarkably similar to a Filipina woman I knew in Vancouver. I spoke her name and everyone laughed. The elder took my hand and placed the back of my fingers gently against his forehead. I was certain now that I was in the Philippines. After the meal the women and the young men walked toward the sugarcane. The elder led me across the field. A black dog came from the jungle and ran toward us. It stood in our path and showed its teeth.

The elder took a machete from his belt, ignored the dog and hacked at the emptiness behind me. I heard a shriek and turned to look. The shaman I had seen in San Francisco was standing there! Making an incantation he brandished his umbrella. The elder Filipino took a small bundle from his pocket and held it in his fist. The shaman hissed, frowned, sneezed violently and stepped back.

A sarcastic grin stretched across his leathery face. His cruel, thin lips parted and a small black and yellow frog crawled out of his mouth. It fell near my feet and hopped toward the jungle. I watched its progress until it reached the trees. When I looked again for the shaman and the dog, they were gone. The elder replaced his bundle and gripped my arm.

He led me to a large tree and indicated that I should sleep. He sat near me and we heard a dog howling in the jungle. I gradually relaxed and was given a piece of raw ginger to chew. My sentinel went to help his family cut the sugarcane. My thoughts centred on the Filipina woman in Vancouver. I recalled the fragrance of her hair and fell asleep with memories of her humanity and courage.

Shark

The roar of a diesel motor woke me. The sugarcane field and the jungle were gone. I was in a bus on a highway in the dark. The passengers were murmuring in English. The road signs indicated that I was in America. There was a new white cotton shirt on my shoulders and the taste of ginger was in my mouth. A memory of the shaman warned me to be vigilant always. I was becoming accustomed to experiences that defied the rules of space and time as I had once understood them. I decided to ask the man beside me if he knew our location.

I turned toward him. He was sweating profusely. Distended veins wove Celtic patterns under his skin like rivers of ink. He appeared to be in great pain and it was impossible to ignore his agony. He moaned under his breath and his eyes searched ahead as if he was desperate to reach a physical objective.

He offered a trembling hand. I gripped it and closed my eyes. On the black screen of my closed eyelids, I saw a large shark that was hunting along the edge of a coral reef. Schools of fish avoided the hunter like sentient clouds of coloured smoke. Orange, purple, yellow, green and silver. The sunlight illuminated the coral but the depths beyond were only a blue potentiality. The shark was sleek, powerful and it moved with awesome beauty.

I heard the mechanical sounds of a click and a twang. I saw a spear strike the shark’s flank and cut a large gash. I felt the shark’s agony and I convulsed involuntarily. The shark made spasmodic movements and its blood made pink billows in the warm sea. It swam toward the deep water. I opened my eyes and released the man’s hand.

“Did you see it?” he asked softly.

“Yes. You are the shark?”

“Yes, if the shark dies, I will die.”

“How can you be a shark and a man simultaneously?”

“I leave my physical body. When I am a shark I appear to be asleep. However, because my shark body is wounded I cannot completely return to my human form. I must divide my energy between both forms.”

“As a human I have much responsibility.”

“What will happen if both your forms are weakened?”

“I will try to reach a sea-cave that I know. There is plenty of food, the entrance is easy to defend and the current runs out through a hole in the back which will help me breathe without needing to swim. The problem is not only the wound. The smell of my blood attracts predators.”

“Can I help?”

“No. I must swim to the cave.”

“How did you learn to transform?”

“It was accidental. In some maritime cultures sharks are worshipped. Each clan has a shark priest. It is an inherited vocation except in extraordinary circumstances. According to tradition the priest anchors his canoe in the lagoon and beats a special rhythm on the hull. The sound travels a long distance under the water to summon sharks.”

“I heard a shark priest in a dream and I transformed. After I could close my eyes and recall the rhythm to transform. With each subsequent transformation the shark became more substantial. My predicament is a consequence of this practice,” he explained with stoic resignation.

Our conversation was ruptured by the cry of a small child. It’s mother took a piece of cold chicken from a bag near her feet, tore a tiny piece off, poked it into the hungry mouth and the youngster gnawed contentedly. Eventually the bus stopped and all the passengers began disembarking. I was unsure of our location.

The shark-man came awake. Enough hours had passed for me to know that he had reached the cave. We disembarked together. The pavement was wet from rain but the sky was now clear. We bought coffee in the station and my new companion broke our silence.

“I came here to attend a special school. Do you want to come? It is very exclusive but I can pay for your registration fees.”

“What will you learn?”

“Psychokinesis.”

“Yes, I want to learn. Thank you.”

“I am confused. The other sharks ate me but my human aspect has survived. I feel very different.”

“You appear to be the same as before. Except your eyes,” I said.

The Three Methods

I followed my companion past a delicatessen sign which boasted “The Best Pastrami In Portland.” We soon came to an old building of red brick. Inside we completed the necessary forms and I learned that my companion’s name was Tim. We went directly to our classroom door and arrived before it had commenced. A lecture in an adjacent classroom attracted our attention.

We put our ears near the door. The lecture was about the ancient Egyptian postulate that a human has seven souls. Three of the souls are immortal. When the body dies they return to heaven and obtain another body. The four remaining souls serve as the body’s companions during the dangerous journey to the West.

“Tim, maybe you used one of your souls as a shark. The other sharks ate that soul. Now you feel different because you have only six souls.”

Tim did not respond but when the lecture ended he spoke to the instructor. The gentleman gave Tim a slim book and advised him to read it. I looked at a clock on the wall. It was time to enter our classroom. We sat and had not waited for long when a woman entered the room.

She was graceful and her demeanour was that of a goddess. She had brown eyes and her hair was the colour of beech. Her gown flowed in luxurious radiant blue folds like curtains of water to her ankles. The garment was fashioned so as to show her breasts completely. I recognized the attire from a fresco I’d seen at Knossos in Crete. A soft golden cord was tied around her waist. Behind her, more students came in to take their seats.

When all was quiet she spoke, “Hello and welcome. I am Phyllis. I prefer to use a direct approach so texts will not be necessary. To begin with I will impart to you several techniques for condensing energy. The first technique is the Concentration Method. Stand up please. Choose a spot on the chalk-board as your target. Imagine that a ray of light extends from your forehead. Direct that ray to your chosen target. The second method utilizes your breath. It is the Delivery Method. Breathe deeply and imagine that your exhaled breath is a column of water. Direct that column of water to your target. The third method is the Polarization Method which utilizes your intent. Imagine that your eyes are lasers. Direct those lasers at your target. Practice all these three methods.”

Phyllis sat and watched us. I tried each method. Phyllis asked us to sit after an hour had passed.

“Do you have any queries?”

I asked Phyllis to explain the difference between the first and third methods. She told me to be patient and that I would learn the answer for myself. During our rest period, Phyllis placed small unlit candles along the edge of the chalk-board. Above the candles, she wrote our names. She went out to drink a cup of tea. Tim and I decided to practice the three methods. We aimed at our candles. After awhile Tim’s candle ignited. I was disturbed by this and I quickly sought the exit.

Kame-San

I ran out of the building in a panic. Once on the street I realized that again everything was different. I leaned against a wall and smoked a cigarette. All the signs I now saw were written in Japanese. I looked back to where I had come from but Portland was gone. I sucked on my cigarette. My eyes darted back and forth until they rested on a sign in English which read “Texas Fried Chicken.’’ I had not eaten since the cane field.

Digging into my pockets for some money, I felt conspicuous and tried to adopt a calm demeanour. I walked in search of food and soon found a small restaurant with steamy windows where a man was cooking noodles in a large vat with expert dexterity. As I looked at what the other customers were eating, a waitress followed me with her eyes. Indicating a dish being enjoyed by a man in a black sweater, I sat next to him.

I was served a large plate of the crescent-shaped morsels which the man beside me called gyozas. They proved to be delicious when washed down with green tea. It was dark when I finished.

A policeman informed me that I was in Osaka. He gave me a map and showed me an inexpensive place to sleep. I thanked him, began to walk and remembered something that made me smile. I had a correspondent in Osaka. I had met the old man and his wife on board an airplane. We had never visited but we had corresponded. His name was Kanazawa and he owned a fish brokerage. His family bought fresh fish from the boats and sold it to restaurants.

I laughed because I knew the address of his house and I had a map. My excitement was so strong, I almost went straight to his door. At the last minute I remembered good etiquette and found a phone booth to call the house from. A woman answered and she identified herself in English as Kanazawa’s daughter-in-law. She announced my visit to Kanazawa-san. She also told me that she would hire a taxi to bring me there within an hour. I thanked the woman and waited listening to the soothing evensong of crickets. My body vibrated in unison. Presently a black taxi arrived.

I was taken to the house and there underneath an ancient maple I saw Kanazawa, his wife, his daughter-in-law and her two children. They were all in evening kimonos and geta shoes. Kanazawa paid the taxi and bowed. I bowed. His daughter-in-law bowed and smiled. I bowed again. The children giggled and bowed. I bowed to them. Kanazawa led me inside his house.

The décor had elements of ancient, modern, oriental and occidental. Shoji, tatami, futon and a Zen garden coexisted with a modern kitchen, a piano, a European dining table and a gigantic television set. I was formally introduced to the family. Kanazawa’s wife, Suhiro, bowed and smiled though her eyes betrayed she was disturbed by my sudden visit. The daughter-in-law, Yukio offered to show me to the o furo.

The Japanese bath. She explained how it was used and demonstrated the order of procedure. The children watched and giggled. I was to scrub thoroughly and rinse before I entered the bath. I thanked Yukio and began to undress when she left. I heard a scratch on the paper door and it slid back. A slim arm appeared like a beautiful golden snake with a kimono and a pair of plastic shoes in its mouth. I washed with green soap and rinsed with a small plastic bucket. When I was clean, I got into the bath.

The water was volcanic and clear as quartz. Patience was required in order to submerge and not be boiled. I heard soft piano music and a chorus of insects. The Second Movement of the Seventh Symphony of Beethoven accompanied by cicadas. Sweat and tension left my body. Yukio came again to the door and told me that Kanazawa-san was asleep and my own bed was ready. I dressed and found her down the hall carefully smoothing my futon. She said the family would go to Shimoda City in the morning and I was invited to come.

We would sleep at Kanazawa’s brother’s house during a local festival. I happily accepted her invitation and slept well to awake at dawn. We had a breakfast of rice and fish. Mrs. Kanazawa prepared our snacks while I helped Yukio load the luggage. I tried to converse with Kanazawa about Buddhism and Shintoism. He smiled and told me he was a Christian. I was mildly surprised but decided to remain silent on the subject.

I saw crowded cities, empty rice fields like emeralds and thick forests of tall bamboo. I adored the cobalt roofs of the farm houses. From time to time, Yukio spoke to me until sleep took me. One of the children woke me when we arrived at another fish brokerage. Young men carried boxes of fish on ice to and fro.

A fleet of motorcycles formed a neat row beside our parked car. Each box was an individual order to be delivered by motorcycle. I was presented to Kanazawa’s brother, Tetsu. He had a wife and two sons. Tetsu was a short energetic man and somewhat younger than Kanazawa. Before our luggage was unpacked, Tetsu gave me a bottle of cold beer and a package of cigarettes.

Kanazawa was getting old and suffering poor health. His wife was worried, Yukio was busy so I decided to interact with Tetsu. Supper was served on a low table laden with seafood and beer. Tetsu laughed and told jokes. His English was limited so he recruited Yukio to be his translator. Two hours after supper, Tetsu and I had a poetry competition. Each drunken utterance was translated by Yukio and celebrated with another drink. I was very happy.

After many bottles of beer, Tetsu’s massive eyebrows lost altitude and settled over his eyes like tired caterpillars. He bowed awkwardly and went to his bed. Yukio took me to a small room deep inside the house and prepared a futon. The house was built around an inner garden and the paper walls of my room were illustrated with the shadows of trees and moonlight. The serenity of the outdoors without the risks ensured that I slept well.

I heard tinkling laughter and awoke. I raised my head and rubbed my eyelids. I saw three beautiful little girls stationed near my bed. The eldest girl was approximately six years old. She bowed daintily. The other two girls imitated her gesture and giggled softly.

“Can you talk English?” I asked.

“Yes. A little. This is our house.”

“Tetsu is your father?”

“Yes. Take us to the temple.”

“Where is it?”

“Please. Please. Please.”

“Can you show me where to go?”

“Yes, yes.”

The three girls went out and closed the screen. I heard Tetsu snore. I decided to escort the little darlings. We could probably go and return before the others were awake. I followed the little ones outside. They jumped and laughed. The eldest girl held my hand. While the city slept we walked to the ocean.

“What is your name? Were you at home last night?”

“I am Etsuya. She is Kaori. She is Kyoko.”

I stopped and bowed. The girls laughed and bowed. Etsuya tugged my hand and indicated a road which led to the beach of a sea that was the colour of spinach. I saw a large pillar of rock about one hundred meters from the shore. It was crowned with an arch made of red and black lacquered wood with a stone shrine beyond. A braided rope was tied around the girth of the rock and it spanned the sea to a large stone on the shore. The girls ran to a small boat near the smaller stone. They got into the boat as if they had done it a thousand times. Each one adjusted her hat and her ribbons and all hands looked very impatient to get underway.

I dragged the little boat into the water and started for the shrine. One of the girls sang out with infectious delight. I saw the cause of her joy. A gigantic sea turtle. It swam alongside, raised its head out of the water near the gunwale and allowed Kaori to touch it.

“Kame-san,” said Kyoko.

“Kame-san,” I repeated.

I continued toward our destination. I saw a small platform and some steps. I propelled the boat the remaining distance and stowed the oars. I gripped the platform with both hands and scrambled off to tether the boat. I stood for a second regarding the view and turned around to help the other girls get out of the boat. The boat was empty! I went up to the shrine and found only a small niche filled with fruit. An exhaustive search proved that here was no place on the rock where the girls could hide.

I looked at the ocean for any sign of them and saw only the shell of a turtle. It submerged and began to swim away. My heart ached. I was certain the girls had not gone into the water but hey were not not on the rock and I did not know how to explain this to Tetsu. I rowed the boat back to where we had found it. The wind came from the sea and brought rain. The water became agitated with white foam. In town the streets were already busy. I arrived at the house of my hosts and tried to calm myself. As I shivered in the yard, Tetsu appeared at the doorway. His son threw me a towel and Yukio brought a cup of tea.

“Where did you go?”

“Yuki-san, I was at the sea shrine with Tetsu’s daughters. We rode a little boat. We arrived at the shrine and the girls vanished.”

Yukio looked concerned and moved backward. “It is impossible that you saw Etsuya, Kaori and Kyoko. They drowned last year.”

After Yukio spoke those three names Tetsu shouted angrily. Suhiro began to weep and was taken into the house by her sons. Yukio implored Tetsu to relax but he bellowed and rushed inside the house. Yukio now began to weep. She spoke but I did not understand. Tetsu came at me from the house armed with a long fish-knife, his eyes radiating hate. Yukio blocked his path and was pushed to the side. I sprinted away with Tetsu pursuing me for ten minutes. I turned to look at him on the roadside panting for breath. I ran to the highway near the beach and signalled to a truck which fortunately stopped.

I ran to the door and said, “Tokyo.”

The truck-driver smiled, gestured his assent and gave me a cigarette. The rain poured heavily. The truck-driver played a CD of flute music for our entertainment. I closed my eyes while fat blobs of rain played a cacophony on the vehicle’s roof. I heard an angry roar followed by a shrill whistle and instinctively covered my head. The earth around me churned in a convulsion. A storm of debris fell onto my shoulders. I was thrown out of the vehicle and landed in a metal culvert banging against its sides.

Wolf

I smelled spruce and inhaled deeply before opening my eyes. I first noticed that I had the body of a wolf. I stretched my limbs and shook vigorously. I moved my tail. A plethora of forest aromas intoxicated me. I dug into soft earth. I relieved my bladder on a tree. A forested slope of mixed conifers lay around and behind the thin trees I saw bare rock.

The stone ledges looked interesting so I ran up the mountain with joy. A rivulet gurgled on my left side and I veered toward the sound. I drank cold water and continued until I reached a small waterfall. When I attained the top of the mountain I surveyed the valley below and the mountains behind me which were crowned with snow.

I heard the cry of an eagle. It flew high above the valley as if held aloft by the power of my admiration. It circled and landed near a more distant waterfall. I walked in a circle three times and sat down. The waning light was becoming a peaceful evening. I began to sense a powerful female force and knew that he moon was rising. There between two peaks was the yellow lunar glow.

I sang my questions and slept under a nearby ledge. I stayed in those mountains hunting small animals. I envied the eagle and was obsessed with its ability to fly. I asked the trees for the secret of its flight. They did not know. On the chance that the moon might know, I asked her many times. She heard my songs but answered only with her mute light.

Once, I saw a little snake coiled by a seed-cone. It had green diamonds on a black background. I was fascinated and soon learned I could communicate with it. I told it of my obsession and the snake said it knew how to transform. Evidently, must go to where the eagle had its nest on the cliff.

We must close our eyes and we must leap. We must pray for the transformation and we must believe that it will be accomplished. We talked of these things on our way to the cliff where we found an empty eagle’s nest. We went to the edge of the cliff and leaped.

I imagined that I was an eagle. Fresh cold air streamed through my fur and I opened my eyes. The dark valley looked beautiful but it was rising to meet me rather than gliding under me. The valley floor ended my flight and the impact crushed my legs and cracked several of my ribs. My head ached and the thirsty earth absorbed my blood. I was immobile underneath a large hemlock tree. The little snake was uninjured and I saw it slither away before I lost consciousness.

The Wind

My human body was doubled over a window sill when I awoke limp as a wet sock. I was too weak to move and had the bitter taste of vomit in my mouth. I raised my head and saw another window only a meter away. Behind it a family was eating their breakfast. I recognized them as former neighbours. They looked directly at me but not in disgust. My sense of pride made me attempt to come off the window sill. This effort caused me to vomit yellow bile.

Helpless and shamed, I watched the mother wash dishes. A small grey kitten walked near my head, paused to chew on a flower and then walked away. I closed my eyelids and saw the silhouette of a man on a chess-board. The squares were red and black but began to change colours rapidly. I experienced each new colour as a taste. A warm wind began and gradually intensified while the colors were absorbed by darkness like the embers of a dying fire. With the emotionless roar of a locomotive, the wind became a furious tempest.

I was blown away by the maelstrom and opened my eyes to the reality of my new situation. I was in an abyss of wind with no reference point. Ascent and descent were unknowable abstractions. I was only conscious of motion. I saw a thin silver cord near my face which remained static. I grabbed the cord and it cut into my hand. The storm pulled with mighty force and a sudden pain tore at my heart. Simultaneously my movement abruptly ceased.

I discovered that the cord was fixed to my heart. I grasped it with both hands and pulled to relieve the pressure. The wind swallowed everything except righteous anger and tenacity. As my resolve increased, the tempest diminished in perfect counter-point. Light returned and I was standing near the window. The neighbour woman was now drying the dishes. Her complacency was unbearable.

It was a cloudy day with brief interludes of sunshine and I decided to go to the harbour. Clouds thickened on the flanks of the mountains while I walked. Cold rain began to fall and I was visited by a sadness that escaped categorization and remedy. My body was exhausted, my thoughts were turbulent and my heart was swollen with questions.

I heard something behind me. It was a small white dog which was diligently following me. I saw my mother walking near the harbour and shouted for joy. As I ran toward her, the rain became a downpour. She paused to adjust her umbrella and continued on her way. I followed and tried to think of an explanation for her behaviour. When I got under her umbrella and tried to speak to her, I saw that she was sobbing. She stopped and dug into her bag to find a cigarette. I stood directly in front of her. She ignored me and lit the cigarette. When I gripped her shoulders she shivered and I heard raucous peals of laughter. It came from three drunk men who were wrapped in filthy blankets and sitting against a wall. The dog growled and showed his teeth to them.

“He wants his mother,” said one man.

The others snickered and cackled. My mother ignored them but the dog seized the blanket of one man. He cursed and threw a bottle which the agile animal dodged. Green glass shattered on the wet pavement. My mother finished her cigarette and walked away. I implored her to speak as I stood with the dog near the broken glass and watched her depart. The drunk men coughed and spat.

One fellow offered me a drink and said, “Your mother cannot hear you.”

His voice was familiar so I studied his sardonic face. I started backwards. He was the shaman from the sugarcane field and the bus station. He tilted his head to one side and put on an innocent expression. He drank from the bottle and smiled. I regarded him with fear and contempt.

“Shit! Tell him the truth,” said one of the other men.

The shaman laughed and looked at his companions. Then he turned toward me.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

I looked into his stony eyes.

“Kid, you are dead. You died in your friend’s car before that wedding.”

I knew that he spoke the truth and saw that the three men were looking intently behind me. I turned around to see a young man whose hair was braided and tied with green yarn. He put a hand on my shoulder and said my name. He opened a pouch and sprinkled a circle of corn meal around us.

“Texas corn-magic,” observed the shaman with sarcasm.

“Do you think you can enter the circle?” the young man asked.

The challenge was declined.

Two of the men were already walking away and a large raven flew overhead. I threw my clothes out of the circle. A pattern was cut on my skin with the fang of a rattlesnake. Thin rivers of blood made an animated tattoo which was rubbed with crushed herbs. Then I sat with closed eyes. I smelled sweet smoke and opened my eyes. I was in a small earthen room. It had seven walls. The young man gave me a cigarette. I exhaled a cloud of smoke over the fire.

“Smoke gives form to your breath. I am Badger. I am your relative. You have many different bloods. Your Cherokee blood is strong. You were born on our land and we are your guides. We are of the Wolf Clan. Your clan name is Kagali Unegi Waya. You now know three directions. Your birthplace was in the South. Innocence. You went to the West. Introspection. Then you went to the North. Wisdom. What you lack is enlightenment. It is found in the East. You are not in balance and are between life and death. You have no child and you are the last of our lineage.”

Badger took me to Ataga’hi, a place where wounded animals go to be healed. Without spiritual vision the broad expanse of purple water appears to be dry land. I learned some herb lore and some hunting. I heard ancient stories. I learned to combat spiritual parasites known Raven Mockers.

Awiakta

When I was ready I went to the East. Practising each day what I had been taught. On a beautiful little mountain I built a house. I planted a garden, dried meat, fish and herbs. When this was accomplished, I went to a river to wash. After my bath, I reclined on a fresh carpet of sphagnum intending to have an active dream. I listened to the river and meditated on the old stories I had learned. Several hours later I was looking down at my recumbent body.

The skin over my heart was swelling. My flesh opened and there emerged a green sprout. It took energy from the sun and from my desire. The mature stem made flowers and roots grew deep into the earth below my body like organic bolts of lightning. My flesh opened and separated from the stem. The wounds disappeared and I watched the corn ripen. Projecting from one of the husks was a human arm. A tiny woman was inside. I put her on the earth. As we held hands she grew to my height.

I named her, Awiakta. Her hair was the colour of a raven. Her eyelashes were the colour of corn silk and her eyes were hazel green. Her teeth were like tiny clouds and her face was the colour of the sky. Her left arm was the colour of cocoa and her right arm was like red clay. Her hands were strong and graceful and her wrists were thick. Her legs and feet were the colour of sand. The colour of charcoal covered her buttocks and extended up to her neck and right ear while her left ear, breasts and belly were the colour of teak. She had no navel. Her vulva was adorned with a soft tuft of the same colour as her eyelashes.

Awiakta harvested the corn. I watched her with great pleasure. She sang and her voice was honey to my ears. We brought the corn to our house. Awiakta re-arranged everything in the house. She made clothing from the pelts I had collected. We slept beside the fireplace. When the first full moon appeared, Awiakta slept out under a pine tree.

I woke one morning to the sound of Awiakta’s singing and walked to the river. Awiakta was washing in the cool water. She smiled and I went into the water. Awiakta sang and scrubbed my body with fine sand until my rattlesnake scars glowed. Grabbing between my legs playfully, she ran to the shore and I chased the sound of her laughter. Awiakta entered a canyon where I found her on a rock in the river. She collapsed with laughter but armed herself with a stick. I advanced slowly because I saw fear in her eyes. I raised my arms and she raised her stick. I caught her wrist tightly and looked at her face. She dropped the stick.

I released her arm and broke the stick. I threw one piece into the river and gave the other piece to her to throw. We watched the two pieces disappear. I led her to a grove on the shore. She stood like a statue as I combed her hair with my fingers and rubbed her shoulders. Dappled sunlight penetrated the foliage above and discs of light danced randomly on her multi-coloured skin. I kissed her and tasted her sweet mouth. We joined our bodies and mingled our potentials.

Afterwards, Awiakta craved fish and fruit. Her skin developed a beautiful glow. I ate venison, peppers and corn. I told her everything I knew. Her questions taught me much that I did not know. Her instincts were pure and undiluted. Her common sense was impeccable and she was a complete woman. Her pleasure was to make us comfortable.

We shared our time and our chores. We never parted company except to hunt. We collected food and fuel. She taught me to make bird snares and she was an accomplished fisher. We made deer skin shirts and decorated them. Gradually her belly swelled and I rubbed it with herbs. Her breasts soon resembled teak melons. Her water broke one afternoon while she was picking mushrooms.

The baby boy had thick black hair. The left side of his face was blue like his mother. The rest of his skin was brown-red. We named him Bjorn. I shared many pleasant hours with Bjorn and I invented a game in which I would shake the seeds off a dandelion. Bjorn would catch them on a pine twig smeared with resin. The difficulty varied with the angle of the sun and the intensity of the wind. Our son had the reflexes of a cat.

We had neighbours to the North. A group of eight people who lived in a limestone cave. There were five women and three men and they were very old. They had become refugees and had died during a terrible winter back in 1838. They were our only friends. Bjorn often walked to the cave to visit them.

One cold morning, Bjorn set off to visit our friends who were expecting him. At twilight one of the old men came to our house. His haste indicated a problem. He told us that Bjorn had not arrived at the cave.

“Please wait inside the house. Awiakta has made soup. I will search for Bjorn,” I told the old fellow.

It was autumn and I guessed that Bjorn had chosen his usual route. Foliage the color of fire swirled around my ankles as I walked. My will was focused on the location of my son. I exhaled clouds of frost in the brisk wind. I saw a small mound of twigs two kilometres from home under Bjorn’s favourite tree. I found him underneath but he was pale and feverish. I carried him home. His hair smelled the same as his mother’s hair. It was dark when we arrived. Awiakta was waiting near the door and she carried Bjorn to the hearth. His complexion had faded away and he was delirious.

Awiakta bathed him. I moved his bed near the hearth. He was not able to eat or drink. The next morning our old friend returned to the cave and said that others would be coming to sit with Bjorn. The three old women arrived late in the afternoon. Bjorn awoke and drank some soup. His fever had diminished somewhat. When he slept, the old women stayed near his bed. He had frequent nightmares.

Bjorn remained ill. The old women remained by his bed. I eventually saw a common theme in Bjorn’s nightmares and discovered the cause of his lingering illness. I used Badger’s teachings to save my son. I found a certain kind of tree and I cut four twigs, carving them into points. I purified them with smoke and sang a prayer four times. I told the old women to go back to the cave and to send all the men to my house.

After dusk I pushed the twigs into the earth near the path to the house. The next day at noon I heard a horrible scream and ran to look. Two old men stood near a third who had collapsed. Awiakta came out from the house. The stricken old man had a hole in his forehead. His skin shrivelled like a rotten peach. His body became a pile of dust.

One old man spoke, “I was the second person to die in the cave. Now, I know that this man took all of our days and was the last to cross over. He has continued the evil practice even after his own death. Bjorn has many days.”

I explained to Awiakta that Raven Mockers attack people during an illness. They enter a person’s dreams and quicken death. By curtailing the life of their victims, they increase their own. This man was not the shaman I had previously encountered, but he practised similar magic. I was happy that Bjorn would recover but a danger still existed.

Coffee House

During Bjorn’s recovery the horizon became unstable. Trees behind the house undulated like reflected images on a wind-swept pond. The disturbance had a definite boundary which coincided with my moods. The boundary was near when I was troubled and far when I was happy. When the weather got hot I was troubled. Awiakta knew of my discomfort and suggested I go for a long walk North over the mountains.

I took the journey. When I reached the edge of the forest the trees were undulating as if they were painted on silk. I turned to look at my family. They were working in the garden and neither of them looked at me. I entered the forest and the trees fluttered around me. Penetrating the forest made the disturbance more intense. Farther along the trees were visible only on the crests of each undulation. All else was grey in colour. It was a difficult walk on this fluctuating landscape because I had to infer from the context of an incomplete terrain where to step. I bashed my forehead on a solid object.

It was a street sign in the midst of the forest. During countless walks in that forest I had never seen any such thing. I rubbed my forehead and continued. After a few steps I saw a traffic signal among the pines. The light changed from yellow to red. Then I made another discovery. The undulations emanating from my house created the forest. Those which created the city came from the direction I was walking. I saw a piece of a sidewalk and a trash container. A faceless torso paused to dig for bottles. I stepped on the sidewalk and looked backwards. From that perspective I saw a big city street.

There were a few trees here and there. I heard the sound of traffic. I walked along the street until all vestiges of the forest were gone. I stopped at another traffic signal. A sign indicated that I was walking on Broadway. I crossed the street. A man with bright green hair asked me to give him money. My eyes were stung by the fumes of the vehicles and I smelled a miasma of fried foods.

I needed a cup of coffee as a remedy for a monoxide headache. I saw a group of people who were advertising different religions. They pushed pamphlets into the hands of reluctant pedestrians. A prostitute who was dressed in chamois boots and a pink silk blouse walked past them. One of the pamphleteers watched her go by.

“You can’t push a horse with a piece of rope,” she sassed.

I saw a neon sign which read “Ouroborous Café.” I went inside and found a table. A slender Chinese woman put a cup of coffee in front of me. My headache began to dissipate. On my left was a man who was writing in a small notebook. He placed a cigarette on his thick lower lip and anchored it with his thin upper lip. He stroked his neatly trimmed beard and adjusted his eyeglasses. He looked at me.

“The style of your clothes seems to be South-Eastern. The decorations are Sioux. Are you lost?”

“My clothes are Cherokee style. You guessed the decorations correctly. I love the prairie patterns.”

“A very interesting combination. I am called Alun and I am pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise. My name is Waya. You English?”

“No, I am Welsh.”

“Alun, is this city your own fabrication?”

“Yes, it is. I have a wee house nearby in the forest.”

The jukebox began playing an intriguing African melody.

“I have seen your house. In fact one morning I chased an angry raccoon out of this kitchen and followed it to your lovely house. Your wife is certainly interesting,” he continued.

“I think I understand something of this phenomenon. Our individual realities emanate in undulations. Their intensity varies with our emotional condition. Their effects are polarized.”

“The same old conundrum. I have written twelve pages explaining all this utilizing the Theory of Particles. As you know, waves have no mass. It was a very real raccoon I evicted two days ago. If you are interested, I have another theory. An analogy, actually. By the way, I can say with certainty that you are partly Welsh.”

“My father’s mother was born in Cardiff.”

“Of course. Think of a gigantic oak tree. Each acorn is independent of every other acorn. They fall to earth and are scattered by animals. Each one is a potential oak tree. Many creatures take refuge in the physical manifestation of each tree.”

“Do you suggest we are from the same tree?”

“I do, certainly. It is obvious.”

“I‘m hungry. What food do you have?”

“Couscous. Tea and some fruit.”

I noticed a change of ambience and looked out the window. The street was full of people in Arab garb. The sound of traffic was replaced by the bleating of goats and the occasional roar of a camel. Alun put his hand on my shoulder.

“We shall eat in my private room.”

He led me to a red curtain which he pulled back to reveal a room containing a hammered brass table surrounded by cushions. The walls were decorated with tapestries, scimitars and poems written in beautiful Arabic script. We got comfortable. A young man brought tea and poured the liquid from the teapot to the cups and back repeatedly until a light foam appeared on top.

Our food arrived. We ate the spiced chicken with our fingers. Three musicians came into the room and began playing a lively melody. Our table was cleared and small dishes of dates, candy and melons were brought. A radiant woman entered the room and began to dance. I gazed at her and licked the melon juice off of my fingers. Her hands told many stories. In the movement of her navel, I saw the orbits of the planets. Her breasts were cornucopias and her eyes were lakes of compassion. The dance evoked peace, fire and gravity.

I heard Alun’s voice, “You may stay if you want. However, there is a train station across the street from which you can go to meet eternity. I have decided to remain here.”

I knew then that I must go.

The Train Station

I stood up and told Alun what my decision was and went to the door. It was dark and the street was slick with rain. The landscape had changed again and city now seemed vaguely European. I paused to ignite a cigarette. Alun stood beside me. He indicated the train station across the road with his chin.

“Good luck.”

“Thank you. Maybe we will see each other again.”

“I would enjoy that.”

I pushed open the door and went across the street. I walked inside the station. The roof was very high and it covered a vast network of rails. I saw a man with a yellow hat, dancing with a woman wearing a lovely red bonnet. They were oblivious to the throng. A large black man gave me a brochure on the topic of Islam. I watched the dancers and studied the brochure. I wandered toward a huge destination sign which clattered frequently as it was updated. The crowd muttered and murmured. Arrivals and departures were announced in every language. Evidently, there were different trains for different religions and one was expected to choose.

I studied the sacred texts of the Muslims, the Hindus, the Jews, the Christians and many others. The first four were not difficult to assimilate but multiple schisms and thousands of unique indigenous belief systems created a task that was overwhelming. I strolled inside the train station and questioned people. How exactly is Jainism different from Hinduism? How is the Hopi creation myth different from that of the Cherokee? Do the Zoroastrians believe in a Final Judgment? Where does the Atheist Express go? Is there an Agnostic Shuttle? What was Nietzsche’s decision? Was Goethe with him? Had anyone seen Giordano Bruno?

Trains came and trains departed. Many nice people asked me to accompany them. It was difficult to watch them go as I sat and contemplated my predicament. My choice was a very serious matter to me but I reasoned that if multiple truths co-existed, as I had recently seen; then my choice was merely a detour or a farce. Yet in life and in death there are always consequences.

I sat and smoked cigarettes. This indecision had caused me anxiety and I tried to clear my thoughts. I became angry instead. Most people I was looking at had worried expressions on their faces. until I saw some people who were waiting for the Buddhist train. They looked downright serene so I waited with them but walked away before their train came. I walked faster and faster. I was running when I reached the door. I saw the Ouroborous Café across the street. Alun was writing in his notebook at the front booth and drinking coffee. I saw a taxi, hailed it and decided to flee the scene.

I studied the road carefully. Although the driver was going straight the train station repeatedly appeared on our right like an annoying video loop.

“Go past the train station!” I yelled.

I wanted to return to Bjorn and Awiakta. The driver grumbled. I saw the train station yet again. Rain began pouring down and I tried to control my breathing.

“Jesus Christ Almighty!” shouted the driver.

I saw a tall pine in our path and then I heard a symphony of broken glass and bent metal. I lost consciousness and when I awoke I was with Bjorn.

It was a bright sunny day. A fresh wind danced in the foliage of a horse-chestnut tree, with roots anchored in a vast cemetery. A raven flew down silently and landed on a low branch. Directly below, there was the body of a dead raven. A man and a young boy walked near. The boy paused near the dead bird. He sought council on the nature of death. The man hesitated to answer. He was surprised by the boy’s questions. The man saw the raven above and asked the boy to look at both birds. Then he asked the boy to observe all the differences. The boy enumerated all the differences he saw. The man said that death was a mystery with many different explanations. He encouraged the boy’s curiosity. He said that people believe different explanations. He told the boy several versions. If he made a pretense of possessing the definite answer, the boy would explore no further. They began to walk and play football with a fallen chestnut. The raven made a loud croak.

Fin