Anchors of Mist

Steven Hubbell

Copyright 2012 Steven M. Hubbell All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my beautiful sister, Ruth.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I express my heartfelt appreciation to Uncle Mickey and Aunt Bet for your inspiration, encouragement, wisdom, jocularity, and friendship. Special thanks to my precious muse, Diana - for dreams come true.

TABLE OF CONTENTS Joeys World Primordial Screams Threshold The Great Divide Netherlands Crossing Over The Living End Spotlight Water Birds New Horizons Peaking The Face in the Water Going Home Letting Go The House on the Hill

CHAPTER ONE

Joeys World
Joseph carefully positioned the last green shingle in its proper place at the apex of the handsome little red and green cabin he had just constructed. Now he wished he had his blocks. He glanced through the cloudy kitchen window at the big sycamore tree; the flaky mist drifted like ash through its pale, slick branches. A biting chill crept through the seams of the bare wooden floor and clung to his fingers. This was going to be a long day. Fortunately, it was Friday. He was four when his mom went to work for the phone company, thats when he started spending the days at his grandmothers house. As long as the weather was clear, she usually just sent him out to play in her small back yard with the mysterious forbidden alley across the fence. Rainy days were bad enough, cold rainy days were worse. He wasnt allowed near the gas heater, and that was the only warm spot in the house. So he sat on the stiffly sagging floorboards with his coloring books and his modeling clay and his Lincoln Logs and he hoped the sun would come back soon. Dont worry, Joey, his grandma told him as she washed the breakfast dishes, Spring is just around the corner. He was five now, he knew what spring was. Spring was when the roses would bloom again. Spring was when the frogs would come out. And then it would be Easter, and then his birthday. And then it would be summer, and he could spend the days with his brothers. Despite their sometimes scary sibling shenanigans, he idolized his five older brothers. The oldest two were in high school; Francis was a football and track star (like their dad had been) and Matthew was a debate champion. James was a junior high lover boy with a beautiful voice who liked to make people laugh. Peter was quiet. He was in middle school, and he was an artist.

Luke, who was in the fourth grade, wanted to make his parents proud and be a preacher. They were his favorite people in the world, and it seemed like he hardly ever got to see them. Spring felt like a long way off from that cold kitchen floor. Grandma Medallion toweled the dishes and put them away, then sat at the little square kitchen table with the yellow and white cotton tablecloth and opened her knitting box. She looked down on him from her chair and shook her head at his dispirited mood. Your father never spent a day in his life moping around feeling sorry for himself. That didnt really help. His grandmother was lonely, too. She missed her past. His being there didnt diminish her melancholy disposition, it merely reinforced his. Winter only made things worse. Joseph lived for five oclock, when his mom would pick him up. Even more than that, he lived for weekends. Thats when he got to just stay home. Thats when he got a chance to be with his family. And some weekends came with special events. Like cooking outside with his dad. He loved it when his father grilled, it was his one chance to hang out with him. Enjoying the peaceful sounds of the quiet neighborhood at the edge of their small town, accompanied by the enticing scents of sizzling juices and smoldering spices, they shared a deep appreciation for the simple pleasures of the back yard. Sometimes they would toss the football, sometimes they would pick up sticks, sometimes his dad would sprinkle lemon-pepper in Josephs hand. Sometimes they would just sit on the steps and look out across the dewberry patch to where the towering cottonwoods grew. It was true that he usually sat next to him in church, but the focus was all on the preacher. He loomed large above the congregation, pounding the dark pulpit with his big black Bible, issuing dark threats about eternal hellfire. Joseph knew his dad could protect him; he felt safe leaning against him. He could hear his sweet voice through that strong arm when they sang hymns. Listening to the wonderful stories of Jesus walking on water and stilling storms and restoring sight to the blind and healing the lame, the boys imagination was infused with a vast cadre of astonishing possibilities. And when the sermon turned menacingwith Judass dark betrayal and Peters cowardly denials; with the brutal lashing and the cruel crown of thorns; with the horrific walk up to Golgotha with a splintery cross on his back, where he

would confront those terrifying nailshaving his fearless father near gave him comfort. In the back yard, he got to see his dad relax. Not that he was a tense man, but he was one who took life seriously. And yet he loved to laugh. His favorite people were those who could penetrate his veneer and get a good hearty chuckle out of him, like his younger brother. Josephs Uncle Victor could make just about anybody laugh. He was an odd mix of counselor, writer, professor, journeyman, and preacher who approached life as a glorious gift to be celebrated with wonder and joy. Josephs mother found Victors mirth disconcerting, as she believed a preacher should carry himself with more solemnity. Joseph figured his dad would have been a good preacher. It had been ages since his dad had cooked outside. He recalled it was a warm Saturday afternoon, and Mr. Medallion was in an unusually tender mood. Josephino, have you seen the roses today? Joseph looked up at him with bright, expectant eyes. Before the boy could respond, his father added, Why dont we see how theyre doing? The older boys were usually busy with homework or school functions or friends, so Joseph was the one who was always available for his dad at times like this. He cherished the attention, yet he felt self-conscious and intimidated by the larger-than-life figure of his father. The tall man gently wrapped his long fingers around the boys small hand and they slowly walked from plant to plant, stopping to smell the huge white ones, the tiny scarlet ones, the delicate pink ones. They inspected the new buds, checked for bugs. His dad knew their names by heart, and each plant was labeled with a small metal tag. The west rose garden was his fathers sanctuary. They smiled together there, and breathed deeply the distinctive aromas of each variety currently in bloom. Daddy? he said shyly, not wanting to intrude on the sanctity of the moment. Yes, Josephino? Mr. Medallion responded. Is this a dream? No, son. This is real, his father responded. Im glad, Joseph said. God created a wonderful world for us, didnt he? he replied.

Yes, sir, he answered. We should always remember to be thankful, his dad added. Yes, sir, the boy responded, then paused, wanting to say more, Daddy? Yes, son? Is this what heaven will be like? Joseph asked. Probably very much like this, his dad replied. Thats good, because nothing could be better than this, the boy stated. His father smiled. Neither of them considered how ephemeral this moment in time would be, they simply enjoyed their current abundance. Only later did both father and son come to see that those days would soon be lost foreverthose days of boundless trust and infinite possibilities. Those days of innocence. Lets go check on that chicken, Mr. Medallion said, mussing his sons soft curls. Josephs father had always wanted a daughter. He heard stories from his grandparents and his aunts and uncles. He never forgot his father telling him about the day he was born. We were living out west then; summer came early that year and there were all these windstorms and your mother had five little boys running around the place and the sand came in faster than she could sweep it up. That was a rough period for her; I was working all the time and she was at home with your brothers. Your grandma came up to stay with the little ones while your mother was in the hospital. Then his dad chuckled. Old James, he must have been all of six or seven; he didnt want to take a bath, so he just told your grandma to go home. He had that deep little voice. Go home, Grandma, he said. Mr. Medallion continued, Anyway, I was in the waiting room at the hospitalthis was before they let the fathers in for the delivery, which was just as well in my caseand they had a system to tell the fathers whether they had a boy or a girl: a pink light came on if it was a girl, a blue light if it was a boy. Well, I was watching the lights next to the number of your mothers room, and the pink light went on. So I thought, Its a girl! But then the blue light went on, and I thought it might be twins. Then the pink light went off and it turns out they just made a mistake and pushed the wrong

button the first time. Everybody believed we would finally have our girl. But God gave us you insteadour sixth son.

***
Joseph stood next to his mother in the back yard, helping hang clothes on the line. It was a warm spring evening. Tomorrow was his birthday, and his dad was going to grill some chicken. The closest thing he could compare his excitement to was waiting for Christmas. This is Friday, right? he asked. Thats right, she responded. And tomorrow will be Saturday, right? he continued. Yes, Joseph. Hand me some pants, she said. Because Daddys cooking chicken for my birthday, he announced. I know, pumpkin-head. And it will be here soon enough. Now hand me some more of those pants over there, she replied. There were a lot of blue jeans dangling in the muggy southeast Texas breeze that spring evening. Croaking toads competed with cacophonous cicadas. Blinking fireflies flashed intermittent sprinkles of light over the lush St. Augustine grass. The sky above was blue, the clouds on the horizon were pink. Joseph noticed the hues were ever shifting. Pale magenta became burnt orange where it splashed across the flat cotton fields beyond the woods across the street. His eyes seemed to penetrate the dense foliage, perhaps it was the angle of the light, and he was mesmerized by the beauty. Mom, he finally said, is this a dream? She looked at the clothes folded on the picnic table, and then at the freshly-washed shirts and jeans hanging on the line, and then at the wad of wet shirts and socks and underwear still in the laundry basket. No, Joseph, she said flatly, This is definitely not a dream. Can I catch lightning bugs? he asked. When were done, she replied. How do you know? he asked. When were done? she asked. If youre dreaming or not, he said.

She laughed. Well, I guess you could try pinching yourself, she said. If it hurts, then you know youre not dreaming. He pinched his arm. Mom? his voice wavered. Yes, Joseph? she said. What if you dont feel anything? he asked. Then either youre not pinching hard enough or you must be dreaming, she replied. Do people sometimes lie in dreams? he asked. People in dreams arent real, Joseph. Nothing is, she said. Why? he asked. Why what? she replied. Why arent dreams real? he asked. Because dreams are just made of our imaginations. Everything there is only make-believe. Scary things in dreams cant really hurt you, and you cant carry treasures back from them, either. Its just wishes and fears, Joseph. Its all made up. Like a fairy tale. Then why do they seem so real? he continued. I have no idea why your dreams seem real to you, maybe you just dont have a very vivid imagination, she chuckled. In my dreams, anything can happen. I could turn into a big gooney-bird and you could break out in purple spots. As he smiled up at her beautiful, reassuring face, large blue feathers sprouted from her head. A big orange beak replaced her nose. Her body abruptly fluffed out and feathers protruded bizarrely from her blue and white checkered dress. She had big red chicken feet. His fingers were covered with purple dots. They covered his arms and legs as well. He laughed in shock. But suddenly he was frightened, and confused. And he didnt know what day it was, and he knew that he couldnt tell the difference between what was real and what wasnt. He wasnt even sure whether she was in his dream or he was in hers. So he just stood there and wept softly.

***

Joseph assumed he was normal. He had no idea that his dream sensitivity was unusual. He did not realize that his speculations about the nature of reality were being significantly influenced by an increasing inability to distinguish between the actual and the fantastical. As far back as he could remember, Joseph could remember his dreams. He did not simply recall a few sensational highlights, interspersed with vague metaphoric imagery. To be sure, he carried the diverse archetypical symbols and intense emotional impressions back to wakefulness as well; but these components were overshadowed by the almost palpable presence of complete and vivid details. He could still see the rose-crested sunset; still feel the cool, stiff grass beneath his feet; still smell the wind-blown denim; still sense the thrilling joie de vivre. He remembered every word of every conversation, he could still see every face. He sometimes had trouble distinguishing just who the other players were, but he always experienced the events from the perspective of an active participant. He did not realize that their presence in his waking mind was blending with each coming day so that the two merged into one uninterrupted continuum. To him, the dreams were just an extension of his full life. He didnt dread or resist sleep, as some children do, for he knew further adventures awaited him there. It seemed to him like he was always awake, always engaged in the inexhaustible exploration of intriguing new discoveries. Of course, he knew there was a difference between the two worlds. He saw that he went to bed and woke up in bed and assumed he had actually never left his bed. He also observed that time and place and familiar forces like gravity behaved in unpredictable ways in that other world. His freedom might increase, but so might his bondage. He might experience flight, or he might experience feet of lead. Events were supercharged and abbreviated; his fears could be more paralyzing, his accomplishments more heroic. In short, all the rules were suspended there. And so, as unpredictable and intense as they were, Joseph found his dreams provided a welcome, if brief, respite from the strictures of reality. He grew up in a world dominated by adults who expected children to be seen, not heard. As a child of the sixties, he watched his older brothers respond to the turbulent events of the times. Strife first entered the Medallion home when the older boys were forced to contemplate being

drafted to fight a war with no obvious justification. It was one thing to obey instructions to sit down, be still, and remain quiet; it was quite another thing to follow an order to go kill people on the other side of the world. The one big truth in the Medallion household was religion. God came first, the Bible was his Word. He made the world, and it was good. But Satan brought sin, and sin brought death. So Jesus Christ came to set things right by introducing love. It began with fearful obedience and evolved to loving obedience: the Ten Commandments and the Golden Rule. Naturally, Joseph had questions about his familys core beliefs. If God was love, for instance, how could he send people who try to be good, but fail, to join Satan and his deliberately wicked demons in hell to be tormented for all eternity? And why didnt believers have the power to perform miraclesto cure, to heal, to raise the dead? Thats what Jesus did; thats what he said his followers should be able to do. Where was the living evidence, he wondered. Did the power die out with the first generation of believers? Flamboyant showmen evangelists on the television shouting for dollars did little to assuage Josephs concerns. What happened to humility and turning the other cheek? These and other questions like them did not prevent Joseph from believing the story. So, at the tender age of eight, he accepted the savior before the congregation. He understood the rules, and he knew how to follow rules: confess your sins, repent of your sins, accept the blood of Jesus on the cross as payment for your sins, be baptized (born again), and give your heart to him. His family sang beside him, Come home, come home. Ye who are weary come home. He knew he wanted eternal life. He knew he wanted to join his family, to come home to where they were. So why was it so difficult to walk that aisle? Trust and obey, for theres no other way another tune played. The act of standing up and walking alone through the crowd to tell the pastor that he wanted to give his heart to Jesus was daunting. He didnt know if it was his painful shyness or his training to remain out of the way or his own will being terrified at the prospect of relinquishing control over his own life. He overcame all the barriers, though, and took that walk. Baptism day came some time later. Except for the fact that it would be inconvenient, waiting to baptize a new believer made no sense. The delay made the conversion feel incomplete. When the big day arrived, Josephs

expectations were high. His heart throbbed and he felt light-headed. He wondered if he would hear the voice of God when he emerged from the water. He didnt. He was so distracted by fears of having to remove his clothes, and trying to keep from getting water in his nose, and making it safely up the stairs of the mysteriously concealed rectangular concrete pool sandwiched between the pulpit and the choir loft that he hardly realized it had happened. He toweled off, put on dry clothes, and disappeared into the flock, where he returned to being invisible. And so it was that, quite some time before Joseph had any notion of what an individual identity was, he had declined the right to his own free will. He did not belong to himself any more, he belonged to God. He didnt hear voices, but he knew what he should do. He should erase dirty words from the boys bathroom wall. He should frown at naughty jokes. He should be kind to everyone. He should accept being last in line. He should respect his elders. He should subdue his inclination to ask troublesome questions. He should pray on his knees every night. He turned out to be a pretty good little sheep for a while. There were little truths at home, too, like patriotism. His dad had served in World War II. Joseph knew he should be grateful for every soldier who ever fought in an American uniform. Was he supposed to admire both Yankee and Confederate soldiers? And what about the soldiers in other uniforms, werent they also fighting for something they believed in? Watching his brothers watch the television for their Viet Nam war draft numbers, Joseph found everything about war to be shocking and horrific and utterly inexplicable. How people could get so enthusiastic about such a brutal business bewildered him. The fact that he put his hand over his heart and pledged allegiance to the flag in school each morning instilled a different kind of patriotism, the kind that made him want to make his country better. The proposition America, right or wrong struck him as simply idiotic. Another little truth at home was family pride. Remember youre a Medallion, his father would say. Everyone in town knew his family. Each of his brothers tried to outperform the one who came before, with Francis setting the pace as a straight-A student and first-string quarterback. What

could a last son do but try to keep up? How could he ever forget he was a Medallion? But in time, he realized he didnt even know what that meant. According to family lore, his ancestors fought in the U.S. War for Independence and in the Battle for the Republic of Texas. His ancestors fought in the U.S. Civil War. His ancestors invaded Britain during the Norman conquest. His ancestors were Scottish, English, French, Spanish, Vikings, Celts. According to the Bible, his ancestors were Adam and Eve. The more he discovered about the roots of his family tree, the more he came to see that his genes were spread beyond his ability to conceive. He figured that whatever characteristics these ancient people may have passed to him through their blood had been refined for generations, culminating in his own mother and father. He could only look to them for clues to how he was supposed to beand to his other relatives. Nevertheless, he was fascinated by the ever-expanding roots of his lineage and came to perceive a connectednessa brotherhood of sortswith all people. It caused Joseph considerable dismay to disagree with his parents. He hated conflict, but he grew to equally detest being told what to do, how to do it, and especially what to think. As the youngest, everyone was his elder, and he was inclined to trust them all unless he had some reason not to. The neighborhood bully taught him the folly of unquestioning obedience. And his own conscience told him that certain positions defended by some of his elders were just plain wrong: racism, exploitation, materialism. Even wise King Solomon made mistakes, he recalled. Even great King David screwed up. Even mighty Moses disobeyed. Only Jesus kept his hands clean from beginning to end. The questions just kept coming. Why could people not simply love their neighbors? Pray for their enemies? Why did they cling so fast to judging, to manipulating, to fearing and hoarding, to fighting, to warring, to accusing and demeaning what they refused to attempt to comprehend? Was it really as simple as good against evil? Would the demonic shades of conflict forever be a blight on the face of the earth? The only answers he could find were enigmas. Jesus said he came to bring not peace, but a sword. And yet the sword he brought was sacrifice and service. It was washing the disciples feet, it was service until the excruciating finale. It was generosity in the extreme. But Jesus also said, My peace I give

you. From the Christmas star to the Easter sunrise, all he ever did was love. To Joseph, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Then where did the problems come from? What was behind the fear and the greed and the aggression and the infernal eternal strife in the world? A malicious entity prowled, provoked. Joseph knew he could muster the faith to shield himself from this wretched thing called Satan, but how could he rescue the beautiful world from its diabolical influence? When he could find no one else to turn to with his irresoluble moral dilemmas, he turned to himself. Having come to the point where he could not ignore the plethora of paradoxes accompanying his Christian experience, he was forced to draw his own conclusions. He would find the answers, he vowed, by becoming the architect of his own reality. These thoughts were revolutionary to him; they were presumptuous, arrogant, uncomfortable thoughts. If he were to choose a different path, he would be responsible for the consequences. But maybe thats what it meant to grow up. And in this fragile state of evolving self-consciousness, Joseph decided to believe that his dreams were important. He did not know that most people did not awaken each morning with stark details of their dream-lives filling their minds, informing their decisions, and influencing their first thoughts. He lived in a sort of parallel universe: days were the domain of reality and nights were the realm of dreams. Overlaying both worlds was Josephs faith in an omnipotent God, a heroic savior, and an immortal soul which was to listen to the inaudible Holy Spirit. Eventually he came to realize that his relationship with dreams was not commonplace. This discovery did little to suppress his own intuitive faith in their significance; it may have strengthened it. He wanted to believe he was the same as everyone else, that he was not a freak; but he was also attracted to the burgeoning concept of individuality. He wondered if his unusual dream recall could be part of his unique identity. In his young mind, there was nothing to suggest that this place was anything but an equally valid reality. Except that in dreams, the pain was mostly on the inside; whereas when he ripped his toenail off popping wheelies in the street, enduring physical consequences ensued. Which is not to say Josephs nocturnal adventures were entirely innocuous. He could never understand why his feet were so heavy

sometimes, like they were magnetized to the ground. The physical constraint was oppressive, maddening. In reality, he was the fastest little kid on the block; his speed was his super power. Why did he often feel so weak and helpless in his dreams? He wondered if he suffered from some undiagnosed pathology. He had no awareness of living in fear. True, there were dangerous kids in the neighborhoodthe sadistic bully and the reckless mischief-maker who liked to make disturbing proclamations like I love Satan, I hate God. (The latter boy was in Josephs Sunday school class.) But Joseph knew love was stronger than hatred, and light was greater than darkness, so he trusted he would survive and managed to overlook their sometimes pernicious abuses and their frequently nefarious and vulgar indiscretions. It also helped to know he was loved at home. This was his anchor. He was pretty sure he wasnt as loved as his brothers who had accomplished so much more than he had, but he was secure in having a home to return to until the time came to leave the nest. His anchor felt both temporary and a little unpredictable. Joseph spent weekends and evenings investigating the secrets of his neighborhood. He enjoyed ditches and culverts. He liked climbing trees, watching clouds, looking at small things up close. When he got his first magnifying glass, he was enthralled. When a neighbor showed him what could be done to the head of an ant with a beam of sunlight, he was astonished: snap, crackle, pop! He was mesmerized by the buzz of katydids and the blinks of fireflies and the ceiling of stars. His waking life was a cornucopia of surprises. Then, each night, he cycloned into sleep. There was a merry-go-round in his skull when his head hit the pillow; images swirled as he spun beneath them. He often startled himself back to consciousness with a lurch, feeling as if he were falling. The days adventures accompanied him to sleep, where he dreamed such things as he would never dare imagine. But there they were: dominating every night and presenting themselves to his waking mind each morning as perfectly credible candidates for reality. In his earliest recurrent dream, his father chased him around a large water tank. His mother ran away from him; behind him, those heavy footsteps pursued. A tall chain-link fence surrounded the great blue concrete cylinder so that he could not escape into the shadowy woods beyond. He followed

the only path before him and ran in a large circle, his dense feet adhering to the ground each strained step of the way. All night long he fled, afraid. Frustrated. Panic-stricken. He would awaken from this dream panting for breath, his heart pounding in his chest. It was such a relief to escape. Frightful dreams didnt dominate his life, they merely accompanied it. He kept their contents bottled up, ashamed of what they might be saying about him. Did he fear his father? Was he supposed to fear him? The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, he recalled from church. Somehow, love and fear were tied together. Why did his mother run away? What would his father do if he caught him? What had he done? Spoken out of turn? Asked a forbidden question? He wondered if he was a backslider. He was nine years old. In some dreams he could not speak. Whether he wanted to shout in fear, call out to a friend, or simply answer a question, he could not get any sound to emerge from his throat. It was a suffocating sensation; he was starving to express himself. He tried to confide in Luke, whom he trusted most of all, but Luke was over at his best friends house most of the time. His mother tried to listen, but she was overworked and worn out by her endless slough of chores. He felt largely invisible to everyone else, because thats how he believed he was supposed to be. When he drifted off into his private contemplations, people at home would say, Hes off in Joeys World again. Joeys World was a lonesome place for Joseph.

CHAPTER TWO

Primordial Screams
He preferred to be called Joseph. He didnt mind his brothers calling him Joey, except when they did it to make him feel small; but he hated to be called Joe. Only strangers called him Joe. He told people his name was Joseph, and if they did not call him by name, he would not respond. He thought surely even he had this much right. So everyone mostly called him Joseph. Except his father, who decided his name was Joe. He liked to say, Well, if it isnt old Joe Blow from Kokomo. Joseph could never bring himself to challenge that particular authority. When he was a bit older, approaching his teens, another disturbing dream series emerged. It began innocently enough: Joseph followed his brothers to their secret fort. Dusk was settling on the scene, and the tangled woods grew increasingly dense as Joseph struggled to keep up. He was thrilled to be with them, he wanted nothing else as much as he wanted to be accepted as one of the brothers. Then he remembered they had not invited him, he had followed them out there against their wishes. When the brothers pace slowed, Joseph finally caught up to them. They were not happy to see him. Francis spoke first, Hey, squirt, what are you doing here? Then Matthew said, Weve told you before, this is the Big Boys Forest. Pipsqueaks dont belong here. Why dont you just run along home now, before you get yourself hurt. James added, Yeah, runt, this is no place for babies. With that, he chucked a peanut-sized pebble that thumped Joseph in the ear. Joseph began to cry. See what I mean?

Peter continued, Theyre right, you shouldnt be here. It gets pretty rough sometimes. Why dont you go on home and play with blocks or something? Joseph checked his tears, realizing that the stone hadnt actually hurt him. I have as much right to be here as you do. Warts dont have rights, James replied. I dont think its fair that everybody in the family gets to decide for themselves but me. Im a Medallion, too. Its not my fault Im the youngest, Joseph protested. Nevertheless, Francis replied, you are. And until you grow up a little more its my job, as the oldest, to protect you. Matthew filled his pockets with dirt clods, and Francis scoped out the area. Joseph couldnt tell if they were going to divide into teams or if it was every man for himself or whether they were preparing to meet some as yet unrevealed opponent. At this point, James landed a small clod on the back of Lukes head. Luke whirled around, Hey, what was that for? Dereliction of duty: you were in charge of ditching the squirt, James responded. Hey! I thought we agreedno head shots, Luke protested. Francis spoke up, Yeah, James. Remember what happened with Peters eye? I was aiming for his back, James protested. Well, aim better, Francis told him. Luke turned to Joseph, Are you still here? You need to beat it. He scooped up a few rocks and started tossing them at Josephs feet, like he was trying to frighten away a dog without hurting it. His tone shifted slightly as Luke noticed Josephs painful solitude; not that long ago, Luke had been the youngest. I tried to tell you it was dangerous, but you were off in Joeys World as usual. Go on home. Joseph remained. Now he saw that instead of gathering stones and clods, his brothers were arming themselves with rifles and bullets. Youre too little to be here, added Matthew. You dont even have a gun.

And if he did, James said, Mamas Boy here wouldnt know what to do with it. This aint fun and games, bud; this is the real deal. One of these babies can blow your head off, he continued, holding a pair of handgrenades in the air. Mothers going to be looking for you, Peter quietly interrupted. You know hes right, squirt. We dont have time to baby-sit right now, Matthew calmly stated as he slammed a cartridge into his gun with a cold click. The click seemed to echo in the woods around them, and everyone froze. Then another click sounded in the distance. Get down! Francis whispered loudly, shoving Joseph out of the clearing and into a thick cluster of greenbrier. Everyone else dropped to his knees. But it was too late. Francis was hit firstin the head. He fell with eyes wide open and landed on his face. James took several shots to the chest in rapid sequence, his assorted rifles and grenades flying out of his arms as he recoiled before landing motionless on his back. Then Matthew, then Peter, then Luke went down. One, two, three, four, five: not one brother left alive. And just like that, Joseph found himself alone, hidden beneath the twisted branches of the thorny shrub where Francis had shoved him. He heard scraping boots from all sides. Darkness had fallen; the air was thick with moisture, making it difficult to catch his breath. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he lay near the fallen forms of his brothers in the open space before him. Small, helmeted, foreign creatures with bayonet-tipped rifles emerged from the thick vegetation and began probing and rolling the corpses over with their feet. Joseph could feel his pulse in his ears; the cascading sound of the rapidly pounding rhythm terrified him. The boots got closer. Soon, he would be discovered. He knew there were at least two handgrenades over near Jamess body. Plus, every one of his brothers had a rifle or two. It never even crossed his mind to try to use his brothers weapons. Unlike the running away dream, which remained fairly constant, this one evolved over time. In the beginning, it was just a clod fight. Then, some episodes later, the rifles appeared. The ambush came in a later installment. The dream stagnated at this point, and he often awoke panting as he waited for his unknown enemy to emerge. In some versions, the dream would begin with Joseph trapped at the edge of the clearing, huddled beneath the thickly-

thorned bush, watching helplessly as his older brothers scrambled in futility to flee the onslaught of machine gun fire. He saw them fall, he saw them die, he heard the approaching footsteps. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was found to be alive. A few weeks passed before his recurrent nightmare had him spotted by the enemy. There were seven of them in all. As five of the enemy soldiers rummaged around the bodies, the other two spotted Joseph. They approached him slowly, then one of them kicked him in the ribs with the heel of a boot. His eyes were closed, yet somehow he could see their every move. When he didnt respond, the second man speared him. Black blood poured out of the wound: he felt a cutting sting, followed by warm oozing mud. He remained motionless. They figured he was dead. They fired a few rounds in him to be certain. His torso took the bullets with convulsive little jerks. He thought of piercing pain, but experienced only thumps of numbness. Half a dozen holes punched through his torso, each one oozing mud. The mud felt kind of cool. He remained still. As they gathered and disappeared into the trees, a pair of deafening explosions erupted in their midst. The ensuing shrapnel ripped through the tight wad of men with deadly effect. Josephs eyes flew open at the brilliant concussion. There was no further movement in the trees. Examining himself, he noticed that his wounds were bleeding some kind of tarry slime. I really am the black sheep of the family, he thought. Then he stirred, he rolled over, and he stood up. Shocked to be alive, he excitedly realized his brothers might also have miraculously survived. Francis, he said as he dashed to his brothers corpse. Francis, its okay. Theyre gone. Please be okay. Suddenly, the glaze left Franciss blank stare and he blinked, smiled, and sat up. Hey curly locks, you shouldnt be here. He looked around at the bodies of his slain brothers. Watch this, he said. Then Francis took a stone about the size of a pinto bean and flicked it in Jamess direction. It hit him in the ear, and James sprang to life. Hey! No head shots! he shouted. Francis responded with a wide grin. Then James noticed Josephs black wounds. Hey, kiddo, are you all right? then, furtively, Where did they go?

I think they found your hand grenades. They got blown to smithereens, Joseph answered. The others were roused and soon busied themselves continuing their previous exercise of finding good stones and clods. For every fist-sized clod James collected, Francis had a dozen little stones; Matthew seemed to have an endless stash of ammunition bulging from his pockets. Peter looked to be more interested in strategic positioning and Luke seemed to be covering Peters back. Curiously watching them prepare for the next round in the joust, he found that he had no stomach for it. So he finally took their advice and headed home, leaving his brothers to their frightful sport. When he awoke, Joseph had the startling revelation that he was not put on earth to follow in his brothers footsteps. He would have to locate his own unique destiny. He wondered why he felt so cut off from the family. He had a tough time believing it was simply a matter of age. He remembered he had bled black blood. Joseph figured he must have done something to cause his stifling sense of isolation; his mangled dreams offered no decipherable answers. Their contents haunted him, though, and he found it impossible to dismiss these enigmatic whispers from his mind. Some people cautioned him to avoid giving too much thought to his dreams, as if to do so might have negative consequences. His father told Joseph not to let his imagination carry him away. Listen, Joe, you need to stop thinking about this nonsense. God gave you a good mind. If you will just pray and spend time in the Word, I think you will find some direction in your life. Isnt it possible dreams are something God gives us, too? What if Im supposed to understand my dreams? Wouldnt it be wrong to ignore them? Joseph wondered aloud. Listen, Joe, everyone has strange dreams sometimes. But theres no reason to think youre not just making that junk up. What makes you think its not just your overactive imagination spinning these silly tales out of a dozen random images that pop into your head while youre asleep? You cant allow yourself to be distracted by your own fairy tales. You start building castles in the sand and you know what will happen in the end, dont you? Everything his dad said made sense, except that Joseph knew he wasnt embellishing his recollections. When he awoke, it was like stepping out of a cinema: the entire movie he had just experienced was fresh and sharp in his

mind. He wasnt manipulating the contents of his dreams any more than he manipulated the memory of any actual experience. Honesty was paramount to him, and he certainly endeavored to be honest with himself. He understood the dreams themselves were fabricated, and he assumed he was the fabricator, but the events contained in his dreams were something over which he had no conscious control. This was what he found so intriguing. Why did I dream that? he couldnt help but wonder, and, It must mean something. What does it mean? And still Joseph dreamed, recalling every lucid detail; he had no idea how to suppress them. Even if he were to learn some method to do so, he would have been disinclined to pursue this path. He might not like them, but they were important to him. They seemed to be trying to help shed light on issues he didnt even know he had. But as he grew older, Joseph decided to follow his fathers advice and focus on accomplishing something worthwhile in the real world. He found himself encouraged to pursue drama. He was also drawn to participate in student body government. He was elated when he was elected to serve as the freshman class president. He ran into the house after school that day and could hardly manage to contain his excitement when his mother came home from work. I won the election! he announced. What election was that? she replied. Im the class president! he told her. Well, youre a big fish in a little pond. Youre going to have to fix your own dinner, sweetheart. Your father and I are going to Lukes scholarship banquet, she said. He had been walking on air all day; now his feet were firmly planted once more. His heart sank, his whole body seemed to shrivel into a sticky, pointless mass. He wondered if his castles of sand might in fact be more substantial than his attempt to build on solid rock. So Joseph started casually asking everyone about their dreams. He talked to people at church, he talked to people at school. He talked to adults and to children, to family and friends and even strangers. All through high school he continued his inquiries. What he discovered was that there seemed to be four types of dreamers: (1) those who sometimes recalled bits and pieces, then

quickly forgot them entirely; (2) those who occasionally remembered vivid highlights of their dreams, but felt no personal connection to them; and (3) those who recalled entire dream sequences, but apparently believed they were either meaningless or utterly indecipherable. The fourth type could hardly be classified as dreamers at all, for these were people who had no recollection of dreaming. He only found one other person who seemed to take dreams seriously: Uncle Jonah. What Uncle Jonah told him was that God could talk in dreams, but so could the enemy. He said the only way to know was by applying discernment. Discernment came from reading the Bible, he said. So Joseph read the Bible. It didnt seem to work, though, for his dreams became no more decipherable. Their parents expected all their sons to go to college. Though each of them had to scramble to fund his own education, it was unthinkable to reject this path. Joseph embraced the idea, and eagerly worked to fulfill this expectation. He was thrilled when he was awarded a pair of generous scholarships to supplement the meager savings he had managed to accrue through various menial high school jobs. As Joseph discovered the universe of ideas housed in the university libraries, he hungrily gravitated toward any information he could find which might shed some light on his dream life. He latched on to a few credibleseeming interpretation systems. He knew from experience that you could die in a dream and still wake up in the morning. The literature suggested that death implied transitionbut from what to what it did not say. He studied theories of recurrent archetypical imagery and an array of analytical elucidation hypotheses. Seldom did they hint at universal insight, rarely did they stray into useful applications. The best that dream analysts could do was to translate the parable word for word, metaphor for metaphor. It was up to the dreamer to find a personal meaning for the symbols. At the end of his first year in college, frustrated by his inability to decipher the codes imbedded in his dreams, Joseph decided he needed a drastic change of scenery. The autumn he spent in Europe enlightened him on many fronts. His dreams there were of majestic Michelangelo and brilliant Leonardo, of noble King Arthur and of pure Sir Galahad. But these grand dreams quickly faded when he returned to college in the spring. They were

usurped by more modest imaginings, by snippets from his own measly personal history. Focusing on psychology that semester, he decided to accept the theory that dreams were merely random synaptic signals flashing through his brain; that this activity was simply a physical processing mechanism humans (and possibly other creatures) experienced. It was well documented that REM sleep, wherein dreams occur, was essential to maintain normal mental functioning in people. People have to dream to stay sane. To accept his dreams as a purely physical function required to sustain himself as a healthy organism, similar to the involuntary process of his beating heart, served as a reasonable and reassuring conclusion. It softened his disappointment with the inability to reclaim the illustrious dreams of Paris, of Florence, of Venice. More importantly, it also helped Joseph feel less abnormal. Everybody does it, everybody dreams. But he still dreamed vividly, unable to resist the compulsion to live each moment in that other world as if it were equally valid, equally relevant, equally real. And typically awakening with complete recollection of his dreams details. To say these nocturnal adventures amounted to nothing more than random bioelectrical synapse activity did nothing to alter their immediate intensity or their emotional residue. When Joseph began a series of dreams involving the girl he left back in high school, he found himself thinking of her more and more often. He couldnt rest until he resolved this issue.

***
Joseph was driving down an isolated country road. Rows and rows of dark, freshly-tilled soil flashed like fan blades by his window. He noticed a strange cloud of dust in the distance, then smiled when he saw its source. It was Joy way out there in the grassy field behind the white, two-storied farmhouse, driving an old red tractor; she was shredding the pasture out by the creek. She had been watching the road and spotted his car well before he pulled into the long gravel driveway; she was there at his side, panting and smiling in her overalls when he opened his door.

Mom made some lemonade, she said, leading him to the porch swing. Have a seat, Ill bring it out. No need, honey, said her mother, emerging from the house with a tray. You kids relax, its hot out here. She set the tray on a small round table, then handed him a glass. Fresh squeezed, she said. Looks wonderful, he replied, then took a sip. Its great. Hey, what about me? Im the one whos been mowing, Joy said as she helped herself to the other glass. Arent you having any? Joseph asked Mrs. Loft. Mines inside. Ill just leave you two love birds alone, she replied. Theres more in the kitchen if you run out. Thank you, he said as she returned to her chores. She really likes you, Joy said. Im glad. I really like her, too. Cindy and I were talking about how lucky we are to have you and Brad, and then we got in this big argument about which one of has the cutest boyfriend, she told him. He was moved by the innocent flattery, by her pretty face, by the charming intonations of her voice. As far as Im concerned, Im the lucky one, he said. As she leaned over to kiss his cheek, a gust of wind blew toward them from across the creek. Then the rain began. I need to put the tractor up, she said. And I need to get my windows, he responded. Could one of you help me gather the chickens? Mrs. Loft called out from behind the house. Ill do that, he said. As he dashed out back to help her mother round up her small brood of laying hens, he noticed Joy was running to his car.

***
The contents of the dreams never quite aligned with his memory of those days. He had never actually seen Joy on the tractor, for instance. Nor did he recall a porch swing at her houseor a porch, for that matter. And did they even have chickens? For some reason his dreams had a tendency to

enrich the nostalgic impressions those days left on his heart. The feelings were real, the details were embroidered. Yet even his memories were questionable. Time and distance and intervening experiences cast them in a new light so that whatever had actually transpired was distorted by these new lenses. It was a bit of a struggle for Joseph to recall how that relationship ended. At first he remembered the agonizing days leading up to the decision. Then his mind took him back to the days of their initial meeting. It was autumn. He was a senior, she was a junior. He had given her a ride home from drama rehearsal one night when her truck wouldnt start. He had a lead role in the show, she was on the stage crew. He drove a little blue bug, she drove a big brown pickup. Her cheerful disposition soothed him and the sound of her voice made him happy. Joy was a farm girl. Her pleasures were simple: running with her dog, walking along the creek, playing card games, hanging out in the hammock. As far as Joseph knew, he was her first boyfriend. She seemed like a child to him: innocent, modest, happy. Her aspirations were humble, she dressed in jeans and T-shirts and sneakers. She didnt wear makeup, except for the occasional pale blue eye shadow used for special occasions. He had scarcely noticed her before, she thought he hung the moon. Joseph was a big, noisy, puffed-up frog in a small pond. A nonconformist, he challenged the dress code with the length of his hair and his open-toed sandals and his black and orange belt made of yarn. He carried his Bible to school, but usually left it in the car. He still went to church every week. He was fully engaged in school affairs but seldom attended dances or parties. He did go to a dance once. When he was a freshman, some friends persuaded him to invite his big crush to the homecoming dance. He was over the moon when she said yes. He returned to earth when she danced with everyone but him. It wasnt her fault, he didnt know how to dance. He had athletic friends, but didnt play sports. He admired and enjoyed the exceptionally bright kids in class, but wasnt inclined to compete with them. He was outspoken, had a cutting wit, and believed foremost in honesty. He delighted in the fact that his mother once called him fearless. The greatest thrill he had ever experienced was a standing ovation.

Joseph took Joy out to dinner one Friday night. It may have been her first date. It wasnt his. He had started to wonder about romance when he was in elementary school. In the first grade, a girl in his class walked over to him during recess and told him she loved him. He experienced his first crush when he was seven, his first kiss when he was ten. Although his family went to church every week, his neighbors managed to introduce him to more worldly matters. He went steady in the sixth grade and met a girl at the movies in the seventh grade. When he was sixteen, he was madly in love and singing love songs all the time and dreaming of a future together in a mountain cabin near a waterfall. But that hadnt worked out so well. A friend had persuaded her to host a New Years Eve party. It was a chilly night; it was freezing, in fact. When he left his conversation with her mother in the kitchen to find her for their longawaited midnight kiss, he saw her across the room, through the crowd, on the sofa, being kissed by another boy. It was his first heartbreak. Shock, rage, disappointment, betrayal, pain: soul-crushing sadness. His true love was untrue. Utterly dumbfounded, he rushed out the door and took off blindly running through the icy streets. The biting shards of dashing sleet did not dispel the bitter sting of that awful vision branded into his eyes. He tried to erase the lingering pain by giving himself to someone else. A number of times. The magic never seemed to endure. He never felt more satisfied than when he had a companion. But he never felt more anguish than when these love affairs ended. The intensity of emotion evoked by these experiences was like a drug, and he craved it. And so it was that Joseph found himself over the precipice and falling in love again. Before long, Joy became his everything; and he knew he was hers. So he was shocked to realize that he was going to let her go. But he could see no other way to devote himself completely to college. He knew that if he didnt set her free, he would long for her every day they were apart. He would drive home to be with her every chance he got. This is not what he wanted his university experience to be. He remembered his mom saying Joy was like his little puppy dog. In one way, it was a kind reflection on her loyal devotion; in another way, it was a demeaning attack on her humble disposition and apparent lack of ambition. As he began to imagine what it would be like to leave home and begin a new life at some faraway university, he saw that it would be impossible to

succeed if he retained this attachment. It broke his heart to break her heart, but he could see no other way to accomplish his goal of redefining himself as an adult. Just as he would have to let his mother and father go (his brothers had already gone), he would have to muster the courage to say goodbye to Joy. It was almost sunset when he picked her up and drove out to a spot by the bridge and parked off to the side of the road. He looked at her fondly; she was completely unprepared for this surprise. Moms frying chicken tonight. Can you stay and eat with us? How could he start over without her? Who would be there to pick him up when he fell? To share his achievements? To hold him close? His tears began to flow. They had been flowing on and off for days. Whats wrong, Joseph? she asked hesitantly. Even after months of increasing intimacy, she still approached him timidly. Like a shy little puppy dog. He still wasnt used to that degree of humility. She placed her hand in his. He looked at it there, squeezed it gently. Youre the best thing that ever happened to me, he began. For the past few weeks, its like youre far away, like youre somewhere else, she quietly observed. His chest was heavy, thick with the mourning he had already begun. He had tried to lock his emotions away, but he still sensed a desperate stirring like a distant yearning. His mind had taken the reigns, with its reasoned deductions about time and distance and study obligations and social opportunities and personality differences, and Joseph had allowed it. So now he dispassionately spoke what was on his mind, while his captive spirit peered anxiously through the bars to see whether the words would shred her tender heart. Im not sure were equally yoked, he began. I dont think were on the same path, he started again, adding, I dont deserve you, Joy. What he meant was that he was a rising star on his way to glory and she was just a simple country girl content to stay home on the farm; he was on the verge of discovering his great calling in life and she was going back to the same old high school. What he said was that he had to approach his new life

with no attachments. That he wanted to define his own identity, and he needed to start from scratch. I knew this would happen, she replied. Their hands remained entwined as she smiled sadly, holding the tears back. She took her hand away and placed it against his cheek, Its okay. I understand. Her calmness eased his pain. I think youre wonderful, he said. He saw her as a new creature, who could neither be his burden nor his comfort anymore. He admired her silently. The war inside him was subsiding, and he was settling into the new landscape. I guess this means were not going to the prom, then, she observed. I think that would be best, he replied. Im sorry. But once I realized it, I had to tell you. My mom likes to say that when something is meant to be, nothing can prevent it. I guess this will show us if we were meant to be. I know Im nothing special. I dont know why you ever wanted to hang out with me in the first place, she said. Thats crazy, I think youre wonderful. I know the girls you dated before me. I can see why you dont see me as worthy as they were. Thats not true at all. Ive always been proud to be with you. Those always ended because they couldnt ever decide if I was the right one or not. And now ours ends because I believe you are the right one. Does that seem a little strange to you? He knew she was right. She was always sharper than he gave her credit for. Her modest personality was disarming, though, so lots of people made that mistake. He had no response to her astute observation, it would take some time to process. He had always believed his relationships failed because his companions couldnt commit, now he saw himself facing the same challenge they had faced and saw through their eyes how he had been not just a friend, but a burden for their hearts to carry. Like Joy was for him. His head spun as he was forced to confront his infantile grasp of romance. So, do you want to stay for supper? she asked. I cant, he replied. Im sorry. He started the engine, intending to drive her home. I need to walk along the creek, she said, then stepped out of the car. Im still going to be your

friend, you know. She closed the door and ran across the bridge, her hands to her face. He watched her swaying beauty like a vision fade away. Driving home, as he glanced across the plowed earth, he glimpsed a speck of a star in the southern sky. He wished her love and peace and happiness all the days of her long life. He whispered the wish like a prayer, no longer sure he knew the difference. Two years had passed since that uncomfortable spring night. He made a few calls and found out she now attended college not far away. He phoned and asked if they could talk in person. He drove over a few days later. She seemed to have all but forgotten about him, and his apologies sounded inappropriate, misdirected, vacuous. He was embarrassed by his bombastic, self-absorbed intrusion. But he succeeded in putting that dream to rest. So it was that Joseph was finally able to make use of the contents of a dream, to respond to its specific concerns in waking life so as to solve a real problem. He wondered how long he had harbored that subconscious uncertainty about this relationship which had ended so long ago. He wondered if other people were ever motivated to act in certain ways, even if they were unaware of the influence, as a result of some dream components. Surely, he conjectured, it must happen all the time. Then why, he wondered, was the potential power of dreams so neglected? Joseph could no longer accept that his dreams were random or irrelevant or primal screams. To believe that, he decided, was an irresponsible conclusion. If human life had any meaning, he deduced, then every psychological aspect of the human experience had to be relevant. Including dreams. So, having chosen to assume there was a meaning, the challenge now was to somehow harness the potential of dreams themselves: to discover their true purpose and unleash their power. Rather than view his extraordinary sensitivity to dream life as a defect, he decided to imagine it was a gift. So he invested a considerable amount of attention on how he could best take advantage of the deluge of information presented to him each morning before he opened his eyes. He started a dream journal. He bought a little recorder and softly spoke into it every detail as soon as he woke up. Sometimes exhilarating, sometimes disturbing, sometimes tedious, Joseph disciplined himself to regularly capture the contents of his dreams for later review and contemplation.

What he found in this process was that to record a dream served to distance him from its tenacious hold on his consciousness. He would not lose it, for it was saved on the recorder or in the journal, so he could forget it. The results were mixed. The very experience of reliving the dream in order to record it was sometimes overwhelming. He would weep, or tremble, or coil in revulsion as he bared all. A dreamer, he began to see, may cross many thresholds.

***
Insects buzzed loudly in the mist around his head as he hunched in a low limb of an enormous tree. His body surged with the unfamiliar awareness of immense power, accompanied by ravenous hunger. As he climbed out on the limb to get to the leaves, he felt the wood bend and crack beneath his great weight. When the limb snapped, he deftly reached out and caught the next limb over with a foot before descending with a heavy thud to the earth below. The biting insects were maddening. Occasionally he would manage to swat one, then consume it gleefully as it writhed in his mouth. He had long, sharp canines and his fingers were fat and leathery. He glanced at his black, hairy feet. He pulled an engorged tick from his ankle and enjoyed the little pop in his mouth when he bit into it. The taste only made him hungrier. He saw his long, thick, muscular arms were covered with dense, dark fur. When he attempted to make a sound, he grunted and experienced an unnerving rumbling vibration in his massive chest. He realized he was an ape. He found himself giddy as he let go of his last thought, that he was free to be thoughtless. His mind fled and left his massive body there to enjoy the sizzling sensation of sanctified spontaneity. He had no responsibility, no ethical awareness. Guilt was as distant from his world as humanity. It was unknown to him. Like love. Like hope. Like faith. His ignorance was utter bliss. All he knew was the moment, and at the moment all he wanted was to find something good to eat. To fuel that wonderfully large bulk which was the totality of his being. He was firmly planted at the epicenter of his universe. What he did not perceive did not exist.

He sniffed the air and followed the enticing scents. It did not feel like he was moving, though; it felt like everything moved toward him. He pulled the earth to him with his knuckles, and with the earth came trees with thorns and trees with fruit. When the fruit trees arrived, he stopped moving the earth around; he stood and celebrated his omnipotence by feasting on the thing he had summoned. He was the unchallenged master of his domain, and his domain was both infinite and omnipresent. The only law was his immediate desire, and he obeyed it faithfully. If it led him to devour, he obeyed it. If it led him to ravage, he obeyed it. It led him to dominate. It led him to frighten and to overpower, to kill and to consume. And it was always right. It was the law of survival, it was the law of self-preservation, it was the only law in the world. It was the law of nature, and he was its source. When he awoke, Joseph wrote it down just as it came back to him. He wondered where he conjured up that beast. He knew he was responsible for every aspect of his dreams; as the dreamer, he was its author. The impressions were disquieting. It troubled him to discover he did indeed contain a primal scream. He even decided to shave his beard. He started to grow his first beard over the Christmas holiday when he was eighteen. Facial hair was against the high school dress code. Before he stepped into the building, he was spotted and intercepted by the vice principal. Come with me, Medallion. Joseph followed him to his office, where Coach Ackman grinned as he walked to his desk and retrieved a rusty razor. You know the rules. Now youre going to find out what happens when you break them. The coach then escorted him to the nearest boys restroom, handed him the razor, and instructed him not to come out until that growth was removed. As an eighteen year old, and president of the senior class, Joseph told him, I feel it is my duty to represent other adult students and demonstrate our right to free expression. If you will just let me grow it out, I can prove that a beard is not a distraction in the classroom. Tell it to the razor cuts, Medallion, replied the coach. Next time, its three pops. Im going, Joseph said. But, for the record, I believe the rule infringes on my liberty and Im obeying your orders under protest.

Dont worry, Ill be sure to put it in your permanent record: arrogant, subversive and insubordinate. And you better be done before the bell rings, or its three pops. Joseph looked at his watch, then he walked into the restroom. He stepped up to the sink and ran the water over the old razor as he pulled out his own fresh razor and the small bottle of shaving cream he had in his pocket, anticipating the turn of events. He finished the job smoothly, splashing on a little Old Spice for good measure. He looked at his watch, then exited; he handed the wet, rusty razor back to the coach as the bell rang. Why arent you bleeding? the coach asked. Joseph replied bluntly, I used the force. He was having a hard time letting the issue go, so he ventured, Surely you must agree that a beard is natural. Shaving is unnatural. Even teachers arent allowed to grow beards, the coach replied. What?! he said, astonished. Thats crazy! He paused, then mischievously retorted, But Miss Slawinksi has a moustache. Coach fought back a chuckle. His voice softened slightly as he said, What is it with you, Medallion? I know your father, hes a very respected man in this community. Your brothers were team players, they never pulled these stupid stunts. Youre turning out to be a real disappointment. Joseph knew what coach really meant was that he was a loser because he didnt play football. His brothers were athletic (even Peter played football), and they knew how to please people in authority. He wasnt and he didnt try to. The speed he had as a child was thwarted when he injured himself in a fall and subsequently put on weight as puberty approached. In middle school, his coach also taught science, and felt it was appropriate to make derisive comments about Josephs poor athletic performance in the classroom. By the time he grew out of that phase, he was utterly disgusted with organized sports. Instead, he was drawn to the stage. Ever since he was a child, he loved to act. His fate was sealed when, for his first freshman drama presentation, he quoted 1 Corinthians 13. At the end of his impassioned rendition, the teacher enthusiastically stood up at her desk and proclaimed, Mr. Medallion, Im going to make you a star! She cast him as lead after lead. The stage became like a second dream life.

In a way, growing the beard when he finished high school had been Josephs declaration of independence. It was natural, it was a sign of maturity, and it was a mild form of rebellion against the establishment. Besides, in all the pictures Joseph had seen, Jesus had a beard. When he got to college, Joseph found beards were not that uncommon. He tried a moustache for a while, but finally decided that shaving his face was just as pointless as wearing a tie. Soon his beard became second nature to him, and he seldom gave it any thought. After the beastly dream, though, as he stared at himself in the mirror looking for signs of his humanity, the hair on his face disturbed him. So he shaved it off. The face beneath it looked youthful and innocent and utterly incapable of the savagery exhibited in his recent crepuscular behavior. He wanted more than anything not to become the mindless, craving, heartless, murderous beast he had inhabited in that dream. This state of being, he told himself, represented hedonism in the extreme. To live for no other purpose but to satisfy ones own desires was the most primitive state he could imagine. Joseph knew he was the source of his nightly fantasies. He did not discern any otherworldly influences. He decided that neither God nor the devil were sending him messages, he was sending them to himself. But what was he trying to say?

***
He was standing in the wings, frantically reading a script he had never laid eyes on. The play was under way. Thats your cue! somebody whispered from the dark, spurring him on. He dropped the script and walked into the light. Actors were saying things and he was trying not to get in anyones way. Whenever someone would direct a line at him, which meant he was supposed to respond, he had no idea what he was supposed to say. He crashed through the pregnant pauses by blurting out whatever came into his head. The other actors were thrown into turmoil, the scene degraded into a cacophony of specious obloquies hurled by a posing parade of thespian egomaniacs.

***
He was standing in the wings, frantically reading a script he had never laid eyes on. The play was under way. Thats your cue! somebody whispered from the dark, spurring him on. He hid the script in a sleeve as he nonchalantly walked on stage and picked a book up from a table. He opened it and slid the script out so that it seemed he was reading the book he had just lifted. What is that youre reading? one of the actors ad-libbed. The future, Joseph replied. It tells me everything that is about to happen, he added.

***
He was standing in the wings, frantically reading a script he had never laid eyes on. The play was under way. Thats your cue! somebody whispered from the dark, spurring him on. Somehow, he had memorized his lines. He confidently walked into the spotlight, then realized he was not wearing pants. The crowd burst into laughter.

***
He hated dreams like that. They were just frustrating and annoying. What did they mean? What were they trying to tell him? Why, he wondered, did he not dream of something more profound? Why did he so rarely dream of courageous adventure? Why did he so seldom dream of flight? He daydreamed he might be heroic, but his confidence seemed to vanish in the dark. He tired of recording his dreams, and found he was able to dismiss them almost instantly. His dreams were simply beyond his ability to decipher. They were therefore meaningless. But when he was actually dreaming, all his rational, sober, broad-daylight declarations and resolutions about their irrefutable irrelevance dissolved like so much vapor.

***
Tall trees crammed an immense cathedral like innumerable columns. Mornings light peered through the towering trunks in multi-colored shafts. Everything was dripping with dew. Joseph himself was dripping with dew. He noticed his hands were moist, and his bare feet were, too. He reached out to touch a tree. The bark looked like chocolate, and it was both firm and soft to the touch. He flaked a bit off with a fingernail, but it just tasted like wood. A bird called from somewhere above the emerald canopy. There was no reply. Joseph craned his neck to see the roof of the enclosure, but only the gently swaying branches and their lush liquid leaves could be seen. The air was thick with moisture, almost boggy, and warm. He could hear a brook babbling nearby, and he decided to find it. A trail opened before him. Following it, he heard the bird again. At first it sounded bold and cheerful, but then the melody turned soft and tremulous. The sound delighted him, but he couldnt discern its direction. He didnt want to disturb the source of this sound, so he simply stood still and listenedall the while his desire to know its source growing in intensity. The music seemed to travel throughout the cathedral, reverberating in muted tones from all those creamy brown pillars of living wood. It wasnt so much a song as it was a few notes repeated in random patterns at random intervals. It was like a bird with a human voice, he finally concluded: a girls voice. But was she laughing or was she crying? Joseph couldnt be sure, but he had to find out. Hello? he called softly. Hello? echoed his own voice back from tree to tree. After this, only silence. No bird sang over the canopy, no girl laughing or crying. The trail ceased to be. Everywhere he turned he saw only trees. The roof began to darken, and the great canopy started to sway, as if a mighty wind stirred. All was still below, still and increasingly dark. The trees crowded in, encircling him. Now he was shoulder to shoulder in trees. Now the trees entirely consumed him.

***

Though he knew his dreams had no meaning, by force of habit he still dissected them. The cathedral was religion or quest for purpose and meaning, the trees holding up the roof were a symbol of primitive nature worship, the quest for the babbling brook was human curiosity coupled with the primordial sustenance of flowing water, the open trail was a fantasy of omnipotence, the indecipherable and unattainable girls voice which brought him delight was the companionship he craved, the echo of his own voice was Josephs loneliness. The colorful sunbeams were hope, the breeze was comfort, the darkness was despair, the powerful wind demonstrated his comparative helplessness, the encroaching trees consuming him represented his inability to assert a compelling identity. In the end, he could see that he was no more than compost: dust in the wind. These interpretations didnt help. He assumed the dream elements merely represented the universal angst of humanity and bore no individual significance. Dreams where he longed for something he could not obtain merely fed his growing dissatisfaction with their presence in his consciousness. Anyone who has dreamed of finding a diamond knows how it feels to wake up. The sound of that sweet voice assailed his heart. He could not bring himself to ponder the sensation, but neither could he escape it. The possibility that the solution to his loneliness resided in the far reaches of a dream was too disconcerting to contemplate in waking life. But while he dreamed, the dreams were utterly real to him. This was his kryptonite. He was their slave while he was there. The dream world was thus more real than the real world, for the real world is less than a dream from the dream worlds point of view; whereas in the real world, dreams are at least acknowledged to exist (however impotent we may believe them to be). When one is held captive within a dream, there is no other world. But all that was about to change. Because it was about this time that Joseph stumbled upon an entirely new approach to dreams. He had enrolled in an anthropology course to satisfy a degree requirement. Non-Ordinary Reality was taught by a man with wiry blond hair growing gray at the temples and thinning in the back. He wore thick glasses and began his first lecture by saying that grades were irrelevant. Then he introduced unfamiliar words like shaman and strange phrases like altered states and cosmic consciousness. This unconventional professor openly presented concepts Joseph had only privately considered in the

company of his closest friends, like the use of psychedelic substances as tools to aid self enlightenment. He was intrigued by the enthusiastic nonchalance with which this bizarre little man laid out the class curriculum, which, as the course title suggests, involved reaching beyond the sociallyaccepted norms of exploration; Joseph almost fell out of his chair when he saw that dream-walking was on the agenda. Rarely had Joseph so eagerly devoured a subject as he did the required reading for this extraordinary class. He wondered if the previous courses were all merely preludes to this experience. Cosmic consciousness was a new thought to Joseph. It was a seductive idea: to encounter, with the goal of coming to understand, hidden dimensions of reality. To take a step nearer to the omniscience of God. He remembered that this was the serpents temptation to Eve, and then to Adam. His reading included the proposition by some authors that dreams could be mastered. Mysterious stories of metaphysical revelations involving the mastery of lucid dreaming struck near to Josephs heart. In some peoples opinion, dreams were a part of the pathdreams were relevant. And dreams could be manipulated. This was also a new thought to Joseph and, in some ways, more enticing than even cosmic consciousness had been when that concept first appeared to him. If he could somehow gain power over his dreams, then he might find a way to use them in his quest for individual purpose. Or at least liberate himself from their clutches. He knew he was supposed to trust that God had a plan for his life, and that he should just live according to certain basic ethical principles and pray and read the Bible and the will of God for his life would miraculously come to pass. But his grandma said that God helps those who help themselves, and his mother told him he had his own star to follow, and he questioned the legitimacy of prohibition on personal inquiry, so he was inclined to help himself find that star through all means available. He was ignorantly fearless and consequently inclined to unravel the secrets of certain forbidden fruits. The readings were primarily fictional accounts of dream quests and discoveries, products of overactive imaginations or hallucinogens; they resonated for Joseph in such a way that he was inspired to test some of the theories they posited. He initiated a series of experiments to induce a lucid dream. The approach he favored involved first becoming self-aware within

the dream, then using that information to influence its contents. Once he could awaken and therefore liberate himself within the dream, he would become virtually invincible (as far as he could tell, he was immortal in dreams). Once he could control the contents and direction of his dream, he would experience approaching omnipotence in that world. He remained skeptical about gaining access to the universal knowledge that seemed to accompany this mystical state of cosmic consciousness he was reading about. He was cynical about the whole idea of wrapping ones mind around the universe and all its underpinnings. All he was really interested in at the moment was getting a handle on his own state of mind. If he could improve the quality of his own life one iota, his experiment would be a success. He decided that, if he could manage to become selfaware in a dream, he would endeavor to seek out a guide there. One step at a time.

CHAPTER THREE

Threshold
He was supposed to find his hands first, then look at his feet. Or to let a glance at his hands remind him to look at his feet. This combination was suggested as an aid to experiencing a lucid dream. The hands and feet were triggers to self awareness. Since Joseph had the advantage of not being likely to forget his dream, he would surely know the next day if he had succeeded in having a lucid one. He found it difficult to discipline his mind sufficiently to follow this simple procedure when he was in a dream. A glance at the hands rarely occurred, and remembering to look at them was just not happening. Annoyed by his inability to penetrate the barrier between the two states of consciousness, one night Joseph was listening to the wind blow through the little chimes he had tacked out over the porch. Ting-ting, ting ting ting-tingting, it sang. He imagined he could hear a lullaby: Joey, see your little hands; Joey, see your little feet. Joey thinks hes wide awake; Joey, you are fast asleep. Joey, look at where you are; Joey, see what you can do. Joey, you are fast asleep; Joey, make your dreams come true. It struck him as mildly ironic, but there was a certain truth in the idea that if he could obtain self-awareness within a dream, then he could live out his wildest fantasies (and therefore make his dreams come true). He could play any role in any scenario he could manufacture. He could be King Arthur. He could even be Sir Galahad. In his dreams. And so the music continued. Then he thought he heard a womans voice humming, and still somehow he could discern the words.

Joey, see your little hands: Joey, see your little feet. Joey thinks hes wide awake; Joey, you are fast asleep. Joey, look at where you are; Joey, see what you can do. Joey, you are fast asleep; Joey, make your dreams come true.

***
The sun burned, he sought shade. His legs were hot iron, his feet were wrapped in dense cakes of steaming clay. The air was thick with heat, he could feel it warm his lungs a little more with every inhalation. He shook his canteen, he felt its weight; it was as thirsty as he was. Still he plodded on. Across a low plateau, a dark boulder cast a cool shadow in the sand. He saw in it a chance to escape the blistering rays and wait out the scalding day. The hard-packed dust beneath the clunky weight of his clay shoes resounded with every weary step. He sucked in the dragon-fire atmosphere, the temperature of his blood flow rose some more. His head was lost in a foggy throb. The lump of darkness shifted places behind the heat waves. Now it moved a few meters to the side, now it floated in midair, now it was sliced in two. He squeezed his eyes for moisture, attempting to clear the blurring haze away, to no avail. His lips were leather, his tongue was a protuberance of swollen rubber clinging to the cellophane roof of his mouth. He flared his nostrils and drew another painful breath. His ribs ached. And then the stone rose up on four feet and started to walk toward him. The motion was deliberate, it was actual. This was no trick of the eye, no atmospheric temperature displacement illusion: the rock was alive. He let his forward motion cease, finding it oddly painful to accomplish the simple feat of stilling himself. But he had no reason to continue in that direction when his destination, his cool shadow, turned out to be a creature inhabiting the desolate landscape before him. It continued its approach. With no hope of escape through flight, paralysis was his only alternative. So he stood there like a statue and observed as the features of the creature took on definition. When he saw what it was,

the foreign panorama seemed somewhat less unfamiliar. The presence of the lion told him where he was. He had yearned to go to Africa when he was a child. He practically wore out the animal section of the encyclopedia when he was in the fourth grade, deciding whether he would rather be a wildlife artist or a veterinarian. He loved the luscious syllables of Tanzania, Serengeti, Kalahari, Kilimanjaro, Somalia, Ethiopia, Kenya; he trembled at the mighty dangers of the Congo and pondered the historical wonders of the Nile and the Red Sea. But mostly he imagined the majestic mammals living there. He had seen plenty of lions on TV (Mutual of Omahas Wild Kingdom was a childhood weekly staple), and photographs of lions, and lions behind bars in zoos, and lions lazing in the distance from the car on a little fabricated safari land somewhere up near Dallas. This was different. The handsome, bronze-hued animals lean body moved powerfully, its elegant musculature revealed in each measured step. Though the wide-set eyes squinted under the glare, Joseph could see the beasts contracted pupils and pale yellow irises. A thick muzzle protruded in front, with long white whiskers and a tar-black nose. The lips were also black, in stark contrast to the creamy fur beneath his mouth. The thing must have been eight feet long, its great blonde mane made it seem to stand almost five feet tall even on all fours. Unable to muster the strength to be afraid, Joseph simply stood and admired the magnificent creature, whose stride did not alter until it stood close enough for the man to touch. Then it stopped. Joseph recalled a conversation he once had with a friend, who asked him what he thought he would do if he met a lion in the wild face to face. Joseph stood dead still and said, Youre beautiful. The lion looked him over. The man had little to offer in resistance to an attack, he had no apparent defense at his disposal. The animal saw no threat, no danger, no tension. He saw only an unarmed human male with nothing but respect and admiration in his eyes. The absence of fear produced a calming effect, and the lion sat, then reclined before him. Joseph felt the coolness of the shade it cast across his feet. He slowly knelt to the ground, then rolled over to let the comforting shadow cover his body. The relief from the heat was intense, and he swiftly fell fast asleep.

***
Joseph stood at the edge of a deep canyon. Far below him he could see a winding river. This doesnt look like Africa, he thought. Towering sycamore and massive bald cypress trees dappled the sandy limestone banks on both sides of the silvery, sinuous stream like strands of tattered carpet. The ground beneath his feet rumbled, as if a herd of stampeding bison were approaching from somewhere over the rugged savanna behind him. Looking down, the valley corridor appeared lush and inviting as the clear stream sliced its spine of life-giving liquid through the solid, unyielding earth. Above him, a yellow-gray haze blocked the sky and strangely consumed light. A certain ominously impending inevitability permeated the atmosphere. There was no sun, no moon, no stars, and yet, neither were there clouds. He noticed how close he was to the edge, and suddenly considered the possibility of an earthquake loosing the foundation of his precarious perch. The vibration of the desert floor intensified. Something was coming something avalanched across the vast space behind him; an irresistible force was about to collide with a very moveable object: him. Turning to face the frightful fury of the unknown power charging his way, he watched in terror as a swirling black mountain of sand devoured the sky on the horizon, hurling razors of dust and annihilating everything in its devastating path. He could either stand and be consumed by its rage, collapse with the stone beneath his feet, or leap into the gorge below. His hands trembled with uncertainty; he watched them shake. He sought firm footing; he noticed the tips of his shoes extended past the edge of the cliff. Joey, see your little hands; Joey see your little feet. Joey thinks hes wide awake; Joey you are fast asleep. The trigger worked. The gateway opened. Suddenly he knew exactly what to do. Leaning out above the winding water, he flew. Because now he knew he was dreaming. As soon as he knew this, he realized that he could evoke his dream powers. He knew some of the unusual things he could do in dreams, because he had done them before in dreams where he didnt realize he was dreaming. He had flown in dreams before, for instance. Sometimes he had found himself falling, and this had become his catalyst to defy gravity. Other times,

he had found a ledge or the top of a building to allow himself to become airborneand then he had to jump. He hoped he might learn how to fly by just by willing it, but the closest he had come to this was running as fast as he could, then crazily diving into the air. Sometimes he just landed on his face in the dirt. But he experienced little or no physical pain in dreams. There was plenty of potential for mental anguish, though. Fear, doubt, loneliness, shame, panic, and a sense of hopelessness had all visited him there. But so had joy and peace and courage and sheer exhilaration. Like this moment, flying above the dream river. He had leapt, and he felt the air lift him to hover there, marveling at the landscape. He turned left, facing south, and immediately was moving in that direction. Joseph remembered he was looking for something, or someone. He wanted to solve a problem, to answer a question. It didnt seem like it would be that difficult to follow these few simple steps: notice your hands, notice your feet, realize youre dreaming, determine your objective. But memory and rational thought behaved quite differently in his dreams than they did in waking life. Some pure force of will was required to overcome the barrier and set the dreamer free to consciously explore. Or just dumb luck. It may have been the lullaby. He had looked at his trembling handsthat started the sequence. Then he noticed his feetfirmly planted in the quaking stone. It unsettled him briefly to observe himself so agitated that he was physically shaking; but the two-step signal worked, and the melody came to mind, and it dawned on him that it was just a dream. Just a dream, he thought. What an understatement that was. He wondered briefly if in reality he was sleeping in the shadow of that lion. He wondered what he would encounter when he woke up. He couldnt decide if he was relieved to know he was dreaming or not. Before he could manage to draw a conclusion, he had this cascading catastrophe to contend with. The great cloud of dust hurling toward him was entirely beyond his control. In this sense, it felt very real: very dangerous. It might not kill him, but it might hurta lot. Before he could formulate a strategy, Joseph gave in to his instincts and jumped off the cliff. He could have fallen like a rock and tumbled downstream with the current. He hoped such a fall would not harm

him. He also knew he did not want to feel the sting or endure the frustrating paralysis bound to be accompanying that blinding sandstorm. As soon as his feet left the ground, he knew he would not fall, but fly. He had only to choose a direction, and this triggered the question: What do you want most of all? Yes, yes, he remembered at that moment, he wanted to find a guide. Somewhere south of the border he would find someone to show him the way to make the most of dreaming. So he was flying south. He soared, reveling in the liberating sensation of weightlessness. Mountains rose up before him and the air cooled. Steering only with his imagination, he felt himself drifting away from the river, to the west. Central Mexico, he thought, or perhaps a little farther. The thought of a specific location transformed his glide into a steep decline until he slammed into the firm ground below. Landing was a skill he had yet to master. Joseph tumbled across the rugged earth before grinding to a stop. Flat on his back, he gazed up at the blue sky with its bright yellow sun overhead. A hawk on the wing cast out a lonely cry, echoing back as a mournful reply from some faraway canyon. He sat up and inspected himself for damage. Finding none, he stood, brushed the dust off his clothes, and studied the landscape. Spotting a small figure on a distant mesa, he observed motion. He knew it could only be one thing. Hey! he shouted, waving both hands high in the air, Over here! The figure in the distance did not make any effort to acknowledge Josephs presence, but seemed to be moving toward him. Infused with a growing sense of anticipation and excitement, he waited anxiously. A dry wind rattled the cacti, stirring loose sand across the dry, scaly terrain and whistling through the thin leaves of gnarled mesquites with pale golden flowers knotted to twisted branches and distorted twigs. He noticed the stippled splotches of lichens on the cold gray, warm pink boulders. He savored the exotic sensation of the amalgamated alien vegetation. She now stood directly in front of him. Her hair was long and wispy and the color of sand and air. Her dress swept the ground as her bare feet seemed to hover just above it. Her toenails were pearls. She looked into his eyes with an expression of utter innocence, yet he could sense an immense weight of wisdom behind the soft, deep hues absorbing his gaze. Then she giggled softly. The sound was familiar.

His heart ached as he beheld her, knowing she was only a dream character. She had no past, she had no future. She had only this moment to exist in Josephs dream. She was much too beautiful to be true. She was, quite literally, unreal. He caught himself on this line of thought, afraid it could lead to her disappearance, and instead returned to his mission. He knew he had to suspend the disbelief. She was as real as he was at this instant in his mind. Persisting with that perception was sufficient to keep the dream alive. I think you can help me, he said, I think youre my guide. She laughed. Her laughter stung his ears, it was so warm and melodious. He recalled the cathedral of chocolate trees, as if it were a real place. He distinctly remembered having actually been there. He realized it was her voice he had heard. It dawned on him that he had been looking for her all along, even before he knew what he was looking for. The discovery delighted him. She watched him think these things, then smiled and shook her head. What funny thoughts, she said, then asked, Just who do you think I am? Joseph felt as though he might burst into tears. He knew she was only a character he had just dreamed up to fulfill his impossible fantasy. She represented the companion he could not find. Yet here she stood, flesh and blood before him, and he could not manage to get a firm handle on reality; he could not, or the dream would vanish. He wanted at that moment to forget that he knew he was dreaming, to just let go and follow this beautiful creature wherever she cared to lead him. But something told him this would not accomplish his objective. The knowledge that he was in a dream gave him at least this much clarity of thought. He understood that relinquishing control to her would change the dynamics of the dream, potentially reducing it to a pointless frolicking escapade. Soon, he would open his eyes and it would all be gone. He needed something to take back with him, some secret from this magical place that would allow him to somehow access its mystical power. Okay, I can see youre struggling with this. Ill help you. Her tone was suddenly serious, and her beauty only intensified when the youth he first beheld was instantly replaced by a mature woman. Joseph was dumbfounded by the transformation. He feasted on her comely presence and waited for her to continue. A ribbon of light draped her

shoulders in an encircling aura that reminded him of a bright ring around a full moon on a frosted night. She stood there silently for a long moment, examining him. Finally, she spoke. What are you trying to accomplish? Forgetting everything else, Joseph was lost in the contents of the dream. He responded with the first thing that came to mind, I want to be able to find you in the outside world. To speak the words nearly broke his heart as he realized he was talking to a dream. Who are you? she asked. This simple question took him by surprise. Joseph, he said, My name is Joseph Medallion. The woman looked at him quizzically. Who are you? she repeated. I dont understand, he said. What do you mean? She looked frustrated now. What makes you think you want to find me when, in the first place, you dont even know whos doing the looking and, in the second place, you have no idea what youre looking for? I know that my heart pounds when I hear your voice, he said. I know that my life is empty without you, he added. She regarded him with soft blue eyes. The sight of her pity was difficult to endure. The dreamer, pitied by the dream. Still, she was more beautiful, more real to him, than anything he could remember. And there she stood, close enough to touch. He did not want this moment to end. He wanted to be rational. He wanted to accomplish something. He wanted not to fall in love with this dream image. But it was too late. Im trying to learn how to control, I mean, how to let my dreams help me understand myself, he tried to explain. She smiled again. Her topaz eyes brought to mind two gentle stars outshining the crystal blueness of an early evening sky. Oh, she said, I see. Are you sure you dont just want to exploit your dreams so you can indulge your hedonistic impulses? For the first time he believed in love at first sight. He knew he shouldnt let himself become attached to this dream image, but he had no choice in the matter. In the world of dreams, Joseph had not found the mental discipline to suppress the will of his emotions. Besides, it was too late to try to talk himself out of it; she had already stolen his heart.

It suddenly occurred to him that she could read his mind, that she knew everything he was thinking and feeling. This, he realized, was part of her appealpart of her charm. He had always wanted a companion like that. Someone who knew exactly how he felt, because she could feel it with him. And here she was! But she wasnt really here, he remembered. But he didnt want to let her go. I may never see you again, he told her, after thismoment. He chose the words carefully, knowing each instant could be the last. And in the end, oblivion. What is more transient than a dream? Yet its very brevity gives it strength. It deals in essences, not substances. Everything is a sign, everything is a clue. It speaks unfiltered, unrehearsed. The lenses are removed, and all is in view. And then its over. What is more ephemeral than a dream forgotten? Your company, youare precious to me. You make me feel alive. I dont want to lose you. You think Im not real, she thought in such a way that he could hear her. Now he realized he could also read her mind. It reminded him of a lullaby. Youre as real as anything in my life, he said softly. More real, right now. You mean, at this moment, because this is where you are right now, she said aloud. Well, yes. And no. I try to live in the present, so that means you are my life right now. But even when Im awake, even when Im at work or driving or eating or watching TV, I would rather be here, be in a dream, he heard himself say. Especially now that Ive found out youre here. He felt the weight of his confession. The words shocked him, only because he had finally said them out loud. He knew he often preferred the landscapes of his dreams to those of the real world, but he had never admitted it. People who wanted to live in their dreams were deficient misfits, escapists, or worse. Delusional. He was not one of those people. He had a decent job, he attended a reputable university, he lived in a comfortable apartment. He enjoyed good music, good food, good wine, good books. He had good friends, or maybe they were just amusing acquaintances. But at the beginning and end of every day, he was still alone. So what is it you really want, Joseph? To dream your life away? Is it to live where nothing is real and everything is perfectly suited to satisfy your

desires? Are you saying you want to be omnipotent, controlling every circumstance of your own destiny? she asked in rapid succession. The sound of her voice speaking his name only served to strengthen his mounting despair. The tenderness, the love he perceived, pierced him. She cared enough to ask him important, honest questions. She valued his internal life; his longings and confusion did not repel her. He mattered to her. He wished he were lovable, but mostly he just wanted to be loved. Simply by being there for him, she proved her love. He was still in the dream, and he knew it, but the dream was in control. He wanted it not to be a dream; he wanted not to be dreaming. But he also did not want to wake up. I just want not to be lonely, he finally said. I cant help you with that, she said. Im not lonely with you. I could not be happier than I am at this moment, he replied. You dont even know me, she replied. Yes I do, you are my dream come true. I know that I have always longed for you and that I will never find happiness until I share my life with you. All I have ever wanted was for us to be together, he told her. And then she took his hand.

***
Joseph sat on a rock near the gorge where the hawks voice had echoed back to him once, long ago. Peering up into the soft azure sky, there was no bird in sight. All was silent. A haunting melody drifted into his mind. He quickly glanced at his hand, and saw that it was wrapped around her hand like a gentle vice. She was still there. The feeling was more exhilarating than flight. What do you see when you look out there? she asked him. The river, he said. Where does it end? she continued. It flows to the sea, I guess, he said. Where does it begin? she asked. He stood up and looked out at the world around him. The water comes from mountain snowmelt, and from rain, and from springs. He studied the

hoary peaks in the distance; they reminded him of white-capped ocean waves. Wind carried it up there from the sea, he continued, anticipating her questions. The sun warms the ocean and the water vapor rises, forming clouds. The clouds bring the rain, and the snow. And thats what makes the river flow, he finished. What do you see? I see you, she responded. Imagine that. He wondered what she meant. He wondered if she was referring to that fact that he, as the dreamer, was responsible for its contents. Everything in a dream is conjured by the dreamer. The landscape was merely a projection of something Joseph carried around inside himself. So was this delightful companion who sat near him above the canyon. But maybe she meant that he was like the ecosystemdependent upon each relationship for his survival. He was a part of nature, not apart from it. Yes, he could see that, too. He wondered if the trees in the cathedral had not, in the end, consumed him. What if, instead, they had befriended him? Perhaps he had been embraced. He thought about that earlier dream, how it had ended. He thought about the fact that it was just a dream. He let himself think beyond the apparent confines of the dream he was in. Yet he remained in the dream. He straddled two worlds as he spoke of the real from the perspective of the illusory. But thats not how it is out there in the other world, the one I didnt invent, he said, then was sorry he did. Its full of schedules and responsibilities and cars and streets and crime and litter and smog and concrete. Well maybe you should leave, she replied simply. He almost laughed at her nave expression, then he almost cried. I dont know how, he said. The words came out like a sob, caught in his throat. He knew that if he cried, she would dissolve into his pool of tears. He would awaken, and he would remain alone. Is it like that everywhere, out there? she asked. No. There are places like this, he answered. Well, why not go find one? she suggested. The woman stood and looked out over the sleek stream meandering through the high walls of stone. Then she leaned away from the boulder where they stood, and drifted up into the light chasm breeze. Before she was

out of reach, he took her hand again. He could feel the weightlessness inside him. He let his feet leave the rock, and coasted through the air beside her. A place like this would be nice, she said softly, reverently, as they glided casually over the winding river forty or fifty feet below. It was exactly what he was thinking. But where will you be? he wondered. Right here, she whispered warmly in his ear. And then she was gone. The river was shallow and clear beneath him as Joseph let his body glide near the intermittent canopy of the stream-side trees. His spirit soared as he absorbed the grandeur of the panorama before him. But he felt a little lonely. Glancing back at the river, he saw a great sea abutting a sheer mountain cliff. Then he spied a cavity in the side of the mountain; a pale blue glow seemed to wink from within.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Great Divide

Joseph woke up smiling, with a tear in his ear. He kept his eyes closed and breathed deeply, remaining motionless as he let the entire dream sequence into his conscious mind. He savored its contents from beginning to end. The nature elements resounded. He harbored no misconceptions concerning his ability to dominate or subdue its awesome forces. He found the humbling reminder of his frailty strangely comforting. When he thought of the woman, though, his heart swelled with anguish. The emotional impact of the encounter left him haunted by a hunger for her company. Before he knew he was dreaming, his behavior had been one of mindless compulsion; one thought alone drove him: to find relief from the heat. When he realized that he was not awake, he found it not unlike attempting to get his bearings with a compass but no map when he was lost in a big city. But rather than pointing north, this compass was telling him that he was the creator of this landscape, and its only inhabitant. Anything he might encounter was his own fabrication. The implications were confounding. He knew he should be able to manipulate the contents of his dreams. So far, though, he was still struggling to control his responses to the erratic and peculiarly permeable world around him. The dreamscape was manageablehe was able to traverse distances with minimal effortbut it was difficult to find familiar landmarks and he wasnt sure of his desired destination. Plus there was the added complication of knowing that he was interacting with images generated in the recesses of his own mind which could dissolve at any moment. This kept him highly sensitive to the transient nature of his surroundings: earth, wind, sea, people could vanish in a heartbeat. Because they did not exist in the first place.

Yet, even when he knew he was in a dream, these fantasies still managed to impress him as the most real and vital substances in his universe. And perhaps they were, for that very reason. Because these dream scenarios were manufactured by his subconscious mind, perhaps they offered windows to his hearts deepest yearnings. Maybe dreams were like maps, with roads displayed and alternate destinations; maybe dreams were where you got to take the road not taken. Maybe dreams could show him the path to his hearts true desire. And then there was that dream girl. He couldnt shake the feelings she evoked. But she had to exist in the real world, Joseph knew, or else he would be forever, in fact, alone. He started paying more attention to the traits of the women he knew in an effort to ascertain how far from his dream ideal he was going to have to go to oblige reality. It was not an unpleasant exercise. Each woman, he observed, had her own unique loveable attributes. He was looking for someone extraordinary, though; he was hoping to stumble upon that sensation of love at first sight. He did not believe such an experience could only happen in dreams. But everything in his life seemed stuck in low gear. He saw the same people every day, went to the same classes, remained on the same worn track. He prayed for guidance, for direction. He watched and waited, always wondering if the next woman who crossed his path might be the one he was looking for. And then he met Cecilia. Sparks did not fly for him when he saw her, she was nothing like the girl of his dreams. But apparently she saw something she liked. He was sitting at a table near the student union early one Friday morning, studying. He noticed her when she stepped out of the building and sat a few tables over, primarily because they were the only two people in the courtyard. She didnt carry any books, she didnt even have a cup of coffee or a snack. She just sat there and watched him study for a few minutes. Then she stood up and walked over. Its too nice a day to be looking so serious, she said. He glanced up at her. Her appearance made no particular impression on him. Yeah, he replied, it is a nice day. The air was brisk, the sky was clear. A few grackles issued their rasping creaky-gate sounds from the sidewalk by a hedge where they hunted for scraps. He gave her a cursory smile and continued to read.

What-cha got there? she asked, grinning widely as she sat in the chair next to him. For the first time, he noticed her doe-like eyes. Pinocchio, he replied. Pinocchio? Thats a childrens story, she commented. It doesnt feel like one, when youre trying to read it in Italian, he said. You speak Italian? she asked. Non molto bene, he responded. But I needed a language for my degree, and I fell in love with Italy. Italy! she exclaimed. The farthest Ive ever been was Mexico. I really need to focus on this right now. I have a test today, he explained. A test. Thats what they do here, right? Take tests, she said. I take it youre not a student? he asked. She laughed loudly, Me? No! Where would I get money to go to college? Besides, I never even finished high school. I finally got my G.E.D. They had a program in prison. Her words had the desired effect of shocking him. Didnt expect to hear that, huh? she said. Im sorry, he replied. Thats why my hairs so short, she added. Theres a bunch of perverts thereon both sides of the law. What else you got here? she asked, looking at the other books on the table. The Collected Works of Carlos Castaneda, Statistical Validation in Experimental Psychology, The Science Supporting the Search for Extra-Terrestrial Lifeyou must really be some kind of a head case. He laughed. Her candor was refreshing. Why dont you ditch this junk and lets go for a drive, she suggested. I cant do that, he responded. I need to keep my grades up to stand a chance at grad school. And Italian is my hardest subject. Okay, okay, I get it. What time are you done? she asked. My last class lets out at two, he replied. And then Im guessing you have plans, she said with a subtle pout. Not really, he said, his mind racing for some reasonable excuse to be unavailable. Great! she said. Where should we meet?

He just wanted her to go away. He started looking around for another male student he might point her towards, but saw none. Here would be fine, he said, leaving himself one last out: he could just not show up. Make it two-thirty. Its a bit of a walk. From where? she asked. Astronomy, he replied. Two-thirty, then, she said. Good luck on your test. Thanks, he responded, relieved to see her walk away. After his last class, Joseph was mentally drained. He was relieved that it was Friday, and that the day was over. He was frustrated by how poorly he felt certain he had done on his Italian test. Then he remembered the girl in the courtyard. As he slowly gathered his books and rose from his chair, he was glad to have postponed their meeting until two-thirty. As much as he liked the idea of companionship, he disliked the feeling of being manipulated. This person, this girl he had met, was rather assertive. She did seem more like a girl than a woman to him, like she was fresh out of high school. But then he recalled, she was fresh out of prison. He figured her forward behavior was a shield, a facade she had manufactured to protect herself. He guessed that she was actually quite insecure. She couldnt have been much more than eighteen or nineteen. What could she have possibly done to wind up there? he wondered. She looked harmless enough, he recalled, and was actually rather fetching when she turned on her charm. Something about big brown eyes turned in his direction had a way of hypnotizing him. But he hadnt fallen under her spell yet, and he had a strong gut feeling as he descended the three flights of steps to the ground floor that she had more complications in her life than he had any desire to deal with. He wondered if he was prejudiced against people who had been in prisonhe had never really thought about it before. Mostly what he felt was remote pity, mingled with mild curiosity. His indifference to her plight reinforced a growing awareness that he was not cut out to be a psychologist. Yet here he was, in his final semester toward that degree. He thought briefly about simply ignoring the arranged rendezvous and heading for his upstairs room in the old boarding house where he lived a few blocks away. But if he didnt show up, she could just hang out where she had found him until he showed up again, which would mean he would try to

avoid that courtyard, which was his favorite study space. It was too late; if he was going to nip it in the bud, he should have done it when she asked to meet again. On the other hand, he could still put an abrupt end to her interest in him at any moment. So he decided he would show up at the courtyard as he had promised. He didnt have to; she was waiting on the steps of the astronomy building. She smiled and ran up to him like he was her oldest and dearest friend. Here, let me help you with those, she said, reaching for his books. He was taken by surprise, and she managed to fetch them from his arms before he could respond. Thats not necessary, he said. Please? she replied sincerely. Ive always wondered what it would be like to be in college. If Im walking with you and carrying books, everybody will think Im a student. He felt sorry for her. He smiled sadly and let her hold on to the books. I parked right over here, she announced, leading the way. He was reminded of the time the man tossed his backpack in the trunk before giving him a lift to Rome. His belongings were being held hostage for the moment. He followed her. So, I guess you have big plans for the weekend, she remarked as they walked. Just work, he said. I work all day Saturdays, then Ive got a report I need to work on, on Sunday. And some reading homework. You work too much, she commented casually. School costs money, he replied. Dont you take holidays? Sunday is Valentines Day, you know, she observed. Happy Hallmark, he said. Oh, come on. Surely youre sweet on someone, she told him. A catch like you? Tall, handsome, smart, hard-working Hey, youre not gay, are you? No, he laughed, Im not. Well, you would be a catch for either side, she said. You have to do something to celebrate. You do believe in love, dont you?

Yes, he said. But I dont celebrate it at Valentines Day. I celebrate it at Christmas. And Easter. Are you telling me youre a Jesus freak? she asked with a pretty grin. Im not a freak about it, but I do believe in Jesus, he responded. Praise the Lord! she shouted, I love Jesus, too! I got saved in prison. Joseph considered what that might mean. He imagined there were a lot of conversions happening in a hopeless environment like that. He had no reason to doubt her sincerity. He relaxed a bit when she made that proclamation, as if the words themselves were some kind of shield from danger. He started thinking of her as a lost sheep that had been found. The thought cast her in a new light. He wondered why she was being placed in his path. As her story unfolded, she began to impress him as the most unfortunate person he had ever encountered. She affixed herself to him and he could not convince himself that her unnerving attention was anything but fleeting infatuation. He did not begin to guess that she was exhibiting full-fledged obsession until she had thoroughly ensnared him with her tragic story. Child abuse, deception, homelessness, stealing food and clothes for street children, imprisonment, chronic suffering, terminal condition. She was either the most courageous soul he had ever met, or the most outrageous fabricator. Everything she said seemed to be supported by the evidence. Scars. Tears. She just had one last wish, she told him. When I saw you all alone with your books, I realized you were the real reason I was there. I was just trying to get a decent job. I knew I didnt stand a chance, but I said, What the hell? and applied anyway. Theres too much competition. Plus, nobody wants to hire a jailbird. But at work, they treat me like scum. I know I can do more than wash dishes. I would be a great waitress. I even took a bartending class. And then the lady told me they couldnt even consider me. And then I prayed, and there you were. He let himself believe that he was some kind of chivalrous knight, dutybound to serve this maiden in distress. He heard the small, still voice whispering, She needs to know that love is real. You will be the evidence. If he understood correctly, Joseph was facing the most extreme challenge of obedience to faith he had ever experienced. Love her, the whisper commanded.

He knew that he was supposed to love everybody. Of course he should love her, too. But while loving most people simply involved being thoughtful and courteous, loving Cecilia would require considerably more. Why not? he thought. What have I got to lose? Befuddled by the utterly unpredictable and uniquely intense caprices of his new companion, Joseph decided that his destiny was to protect this vulnerable girl from additional sufferingto save this wild child from herself. He would be her savior. Going for broke, he joined her flight from reality. The next thing he knew he had dropped out of school and they were married and heading south of the border to start a new life. The ride was precipitous, horrific, extreme, and, fortunately, brief. When she grew bored of his company, she simply disappeared. Eventually he tracked her down and learned enough of the truth to finally escape her world. She had violated parole, and had he not been so obviously gullible and ignorant, he may have been charged as an accomplice. She never cared about him, and their marriage was a scam. Some savior I turned out to be, he thought. He found himself back where he had started, alone and undone. In his humiliated state, the only solace he was able to find was in taking long walks between his shifts at a corner convenience store. Once he recovered somewhat from the devastating embarrassment of his own astonishing idiocy, he grew to enjoy the sense of liberty the changes in his life afforded him. He loved not having homework or tests or wondering about graduate schools or selecting a career. He daydreamed, writing songs and poems and stories in his spare time. They were mostly dark songs, though. Heartbreak and illusion, false gods and desperate pilgrimages, fat dragons and their noxious fumes. People didnt want to hear that stuff. Another year passed. He was feeling restless, he needed a change of scenery. He needed to hit the road. So he took a vacation and went to visit an old friend up north. The trip offered an intense distraction, which helped to subdue his self-loathing. The prismatic snow under the distant sun, the unfathomable cold and the foraging elk and the mourning buffalo, the agonizing uncertainty and the thrilling spontaneity of hitchhiking across the country reminded him how much beauty and wonder there is in the world. If only he could manage to find a way to make a living from his love of wilderness, he thought, then he would know he had arrived.

Leaving school resulted in a huge paradigm shift for Joseph. He had to admit to himself he had always believed people with college degrees were superior in some way to those without. Now that he had chosen to be one of those without, he started wondering if the people on his new side of the fence werent actually the more enlightened. Without the multitude of professors and required subjects and degree plans dictating his path, he realized that he was free to choose his own priorities. That felt good. So Joseph guilelessly accepted his minimum wage salary as he aspired to become a creative maverick. His family was naturally concerned about the turn of events in his life; but he was an adult on his own, entitled to make his own mistakes. Another year went by. He was promoted to assistant night manager. He liked his boss and he liked his coworkers and he didnt mind the work itself, but the routine was wearying; he might not be a cog-maker, but he was surely a cog: a cog in the consumer machinery he vehemently disliked. He despised being treated as a servant or a whipping post by certain foul-tempered customers who blamed him for everything from bad traffic to trouble at home to the price of gas. His writing wasnt going anywhere and neither was his music. He loved the process of writing, but the stream of products failed to find an audience. He had submitted, he had performed, he had received a lukewarm reception. What he managed to earn barely paid for groceries. His aspirations for freelance success diminished with each passing month, and his agitation escalated. He just couldnt seem to pinpoint an alternative path to sustain himself in a way that would seem worthwhile. Selling beer and gas and cigarettes surely couldnt be his perfect destiny. And then he had a dream. He was at the university library, at night, doing research for a paper about ethics. He found the passage he had been seeking, and paraphrased it in his notebook: The purpose of a thing is to fulfill its function. The function of a shovel, for example, is to dig. A shovel which digs well is a good shovel. Likewise, a person who fulfills his or her function well is a good person. The only thing left to determine was what that function should be. The answer would present one or more moral imperatives by which people could measure their goodness as human beings. Some said the unique human function was thought, or the ability to reason; so a good man would be a

thinking man. Others suggested it was the ability to engineer, or the inclination to explore and conquer. A good man would therefore be a developer, or an explorer, or a conqueror. Joseph was inclined to believe the uniquely human characteristic was the ability to love and to exhibit compassion. A good man would be Jesus, Joseph concluded. The lights in the library flashed and he knew it was time to leave the campus and head for home. The brisk air stung his nostrils sweetly, the aroma of autumn stirred in the wind. He smiled and bounded down the sidewalk. He belonged here. He loved it here. He had never been more satisfied than when he was a student at the university. When Joseph awoke, it took him quite some time to remember why he had dropped out of college. It would be dishonest to blame Cecilia. For better or worse, she was merely a catalyst. If he had really believed in what he was doing when they met, she could never have persuaded him to walk away. He concluded that he was studying the wrong subjects, and had just taken a hiatus to refocus his interests. That morning, before going to work, Joseph went to the library to see what was required for him to finish his degree. By June he was back in the classroom, in December he received his Bachelor of Arts in psychology. He then found a graduate program that let him focus his attention on watershed management. He got a research job at the university. He was finding a foothold. He believed he was making progress toward discovering that which could fulfill his deepest longings. And, importantly, it existed in the real world. As his ignominy with Cecilia finally faded to a murky smear in the back of his consciousness, Joseph found that memory replaced by lingering impressions of the dream girl. The thought of that long-ago dream caused his heart to physically ache. Her presence had elevated his spirits in ways he could not recall having ever experienced before, though he would later come to realize he was merely suppressing these passions from his past. He had managed to divorce himself from the intense attachments he had made in his youth; he succeeded so entirely, in fact, that he could no longer recall them at all. A shield of apathy had been erected, a wall of numb indifference had replaced the desperate infatuations of his adolescence. But now the old yearning returned, stirred to life by the melancholy memory of a

moment in a fantasy. And he could not manage to mend the breach in his wall of desire. Through this gap rushed his trove of abandoned feelings, his hunger for intimacy, his desperate longing for companionship. It drove him to extreme distraction. He knew he had to accomplish the same kind of erasure with the emotional bondage gripping him now as he had managed to accomplish in previous encounters with illusion. So he went out on a limb, and then he proceeded over the edge. Driven to unequivocally reexamine his priorities, he followed a perilous path he hoped would allow him to utterly recalibrate his perception of reality. Already overwhelmed by the maelstrom entailed in composing, peerreviewing, and defending his thesis, what he managed to accomplish was to almost utterly derail himself by inducing a living nightmare. When he was given the opportunity to use the phone, he called his dad. With his gentle support, Joseph managed to survive this mortifying escapade; though he feared the residue might interfere with his future job prospects. It was difficult for Joseph to humble himself entirely before his dad. His account was honest, though, and probably a bit too explicit. Joseph paid the fine, but it was a talk with Josephs father that put the judges mind at ease and set the impetuous young man free. He struggled to put the daymare behind him, but there were lingering consequences: he saw demon eyes, for one thing. Red, glaring, ravenous eyes appeared on the shower wall, on the ceiling above his bed, in dark hallways and closets. Jesus casts you out! he would say, and they would vanish. He bought himself a little gold cross necklace and he never took it off. He decided he must have opened a window for this dark visitor by exploring beyond the accepted margins of human inquiry. He recalled his mother once telling him, Youre not afraid of the devil himself. As long as Jesus is here, he now thought meekly. He kept his terrible secret to himself, always hoping that one day he would muster the courage to tell someone he trusted the crushing tale of how he had tried to conquer a dream and ended up behind bars with a demon on his tail. Seeing now that his curiosity concerning states of consciousness could have disastrous results in the real world, he abandoned all thought of dream questing. He spent more time being thankful. And he kept his pocket New Testament close at hand.

He thought of his fathers parting words on the phone. You have so much going for you, Joseph. Just keep your eyes on the prize, Son, and complete your degree. Im sure everything will fall into place after that. He noticed that his dad had addressed him by his full name, and had called him Son. He felt a sense of relief, a renewed hope for a promising future. He could still make his parents proud, he decided. He took the advice and threw his full attention into his thesis. It took a number of major revisions to satisfy his professors. But after several anxious weeks spent gathering fresh data, then tweaking, massaging, and presenting it in a way that could pass as adequately innovative research, the committee approved his work. It was a proud day in May for Mr. and Mrs. Medallion when they watched their youngest son receive his Master of Science degree. In June, Joseph landed a job in the field of river management. His pals at the convenience store raided a fresh box of moon pies for the sendoff. At his new job, he was treated as a professional by colleagues he admired for their expertise and commitment. He made new friends, kind work friends, and they enjoyed each others company. But they all had their own lives after hours. Still in the same old apartment, still longing for companionship, still hearing sirens almost every night, Joseph wrestled to break free from the obstinate grip of his unrelenting dissatisfaction. He had found a fragile path to personal serenity. The water was the way: the river and its tributaries, the aquifers and springs, the wetlands and oceans, and the wildlife and native vegetation that steadfastly enriched the world in little hidden pockets of paradise. Wherever he went, it was there: a creek, a vine, a flower, a lizard, a dragonfly. It was all accessible. He could reach out and touch it. He was connected. But when he drove home, he was still alone.

CHAPTER FIVE

Netherlands
A year into his new job, Joseph found himself fully engaged in helping to execute a coastal waters conference. It turned out he had a knack for encouraging fellow nature lovers to believe their ecological enthusiasm made all the difference to the future of the planet. The whirlwind event exceeded everyones expectations. Unaccustomed to the steady stream of demands he encountered during the three-day gathering, he let the long drive home through the country towns along the narrow highway soothe his frayed edges. The sun set slowly over soft alfalfa fields and sprawling hay meadows. He was reminded of a painting he had seen in Paris, by Vincent van Gogh, of wheat fields and crows. An unfamiliar serenity accompanied him. The stars were shining by the time he pulled into his parking lot, and he wondered if he might at last have found his place in the world. He wanted to share the exuberant feeling. His first thought was to call his mother. But she had not shown much interest in his work. It was enough for her to know that he had a degree and a job, the details were more or less irrelevant. He thought about Luke, now an ordained minister of the Gospel. To someone who saved souls, preserving nature had to seem like small potatoes. Possibly even pointless. God will take care of nature, he figured a preacher must think. But Joseph clung to stewardship as a shepherd clings to his flock. Besides, he was just passing on something James had taught him. They were at the beach at the time, he recalled, and Joseph was just a kid. Francis was off at college, and Matthew had enlisted in the army. James would be the next to leave the nest. They hiked to the place where the muddy river flowed into the gulf, and his older brother started picking up trash. Leave the world

a little better than you found it, he explained. Joseph took that message to heart. When you go to college, will you still be my brother? he had asked. Well, Francis may have run off and picked up some kooky ideas, and Matthew could end up in some trench in southeast Asia, but were all still brothers, James replied. Its just that we grow up. Before long, youll be grown up, too. And even then, well still be brothers. Joseph wanted to believe that was true. He wanted to ask James if he remembered that day at the beach. He knew the words would come off sounding maudlin, mushy, sappy, mawkish, sentimental. His brothers despised these qualities. Just like his dad. He didnt pick up the phone. Instead, he lit a candle and turned on the television. He found a small salmon steak in the freezer and sizzled it in the skillet while he steamed some snow peas. He uncorked a bottle of Chardonnay, poured a few ounces, swirled it in the glass, and inhaled the buttery vapors. He gazed into the steady flame of his vanilla votive and gently probed the thawing meat. Then a reporter mentioned the Gulf of Mexico. A red tide infested the Texas coast that afternoon. Apparently no one saw it coming. Hundreds of miles of shoreline reeked with dead fish. Sinuses burned, eyes watered. Coastal inhabitants with respiratory conditions were cautioned to remain indoors. Slaying by the tens of thousands, the toxic algae took a heavy toll. Josephs belly churned, his gut told him the catalyst was man. Whether it was over-fertilized crops, confined animal feedlot operations, neglected industrial discharges, failing septic systems, inadequately treated municipal effluent, poor range management, development-exacerbated soil erosion, or a pernicious stew of all of these chronic contributors combined with that ubiquitous toxic residue they called nonpoint source pollution didnt really matter. In his mind, short-sighted human arrogance slaughtered those helpless creatures. He wondered what his stupid little conference had accomplished. The whole ridiculous affair seemed vapid, hollow. And if that was so, so was he. An old menacing emptiness clawed inside. The feast on his plate disgusted him. The wine tasted obscene. He was to blame. His own indulgent lifestyle fostered the exploitation which was slowly but surely degrading the natural world. The thought nauseated him.

Joseph scraped the food into a bowl on his patio for the wandering neighborhood cats. He tossed the wine from his glass into the grass. He took the dishes to the kitchen sink, almost washed them, then set them aside. Too much busy work, he thought. He never imagined he might see himself as too meticulous, too fastidious. Maybe it was because he aspired to be a natural man, and nature seemed to harbor so much chaos: constant conflict, survival in the balance at every turn. Nature was full of venom and fangs, claws and teeth, thorns and stings. How else could it protect itself ? Nature hurts, he thought, and chuckled gravely. It was an idea he had for satisfying the safety inspectors at a preserve he monitored. They wanted to remove the massive limb of an old oak that extended over the path, because someone might bump a head. Joseph suggested they just affix a sign to it with the words Nature hurts. They decided to just leave the tree alone. He went ahead and washed the dishes after all: no point in attracting roaches or ants. He hung the glass to dry, and decided to turn in early. He was depleted. He spotted the New Testament on the nightstand by the bed, and picked it up. He held it like a delicate little bird nest. He closed his eyes, he asked for wisdom, he opened it randomly to Matthew 13:30: Let both grow together until the harvest; and in the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my barn. He closed the book and wondered at the meaning. Was he the wheat or was he the tares? He left the small candle burning in its small burgundy etched-glass container, put the book down, and turned out the light. He stared at the ceiling and let his thoughts spontaneously play out upon the flickering canvas before his eyes. He imagined the perfect day at work: walking to a stream through the woods, monitoring the water, listening to the birds. The creek was cool and clear. He loved the feel on his hands as he scooped a sample, as he took its temperature. The trees were his friends. Same with fish and fowl and amphibian and reptile. All the little mammals were his buddies: the raccoon, the porcupine, the ringtail, the opossum and the fox and the badger and the deer. And then there was the water itself, with its naked rain and trickling brooks and dripping springs and seductively flowing creeks and streams; it could almost be a lover. Yet he knew at the end of the day any love he might display was unrequited. The boulders did not miss him; the flowers did not long for his

return. The river did not perceive him at all. To nature, he was irrelevant. As he had been to every other endeavor he had attempted. He couldnt stop that toxic tide. His mind turned to the fiasco with Ceciliawhat was that all about? He thought God whispered to take care of her. Had he misunderstood, had he imagined it, or had he simply failed in its execution? Perhaps it was all delusional. Perhaps there was no purpose after all. Or maybe he was uniquely disappointing. He pondered these possibilities dispassionately, staring at the ceiling. Suspended images sputtered overhead as if cast by an old projector. He watched his childhood unfold: his blond locks bobbed in the sun while he stroked the head of a horned lizard; he was back on the bed at his grandparents farm and it was Sunday after dinner and the grown-ups were talking and laughing and playing forty-two in the other room; he was in his new upstairs room back home, alone at night for the first time, and everything was blue. How many dreams had he dreamed there, he wondered. And why had he dreamed at all? What had they amounted to? He imagined he had managed at last to simply will them away. He believed he had detached himself so entirely from their grip on him that he could at last be free of the nagging doubt concerning their relevance. They were just like strange foreign films to him now. As Joseph drifted off to sleep, he vaguely wished he might find some semblance of the abandoned past in his dreams. Perhaps there was some unfinished business for him in that domain. Maybe it was like that relationship he had ended in high school, he realized. He had had to see Joy face to face before he could move on. He knew it made no sense to compare the dream world to the real, but his consciousness had already begun to sift across the threshold into the world beyond. Lingering in the netherworld between the two, he glanced briefly at the calming glow from the candle across the room. The space suddenly exploded in size. He didnt know where he was. He didnt know he was dreaming. He only knew he was standing. He was standing at the mouth of a tomb, perhaps, or a cave, looking in. He thought he could see movement, something seemed to be glowing in there. Briefly he

thought of the resurrection. He remembered the eyes of a demon. He entered cautiously. Hello? he called. The volume startled him. The sound of his own voice in the deep cavity before him struck his ears with a force that almost made him retreat. But he lowered his head to clear the entrance, stepping forward tentatively. Anybody here? he said, quite softly this time, almost a whisper. The whisper stirred through the hollow space like a thread, searching for life. He could almost see its vibrations seep out like tiny tentacles through the warm and humid air. Yes, someone responded. It was a shy voice, a nervous voice. It was the voice of a young girl. Hey, Joseph said tenderly, bending down to eye level as the child appeared. What are you doing in here? She held an amber oil lamp in front of her. Its flame was steady and blue. Waiting, she said. Waiting for what? Joseph asked. She glanced anxiously at the caves entrance, then set the light down and knelt beside it. How about if I just come in, then, and wait with you? Joseph responded. He sat down on a smooth slab of travertine near the girls fire. She held what appeared to be a small animal in her arms, and Joseph saw that it was a toy: a stuffed lamb. About the size of a football, the little creatures white wool had yellowed. A blue ribbon with a small bell was tied around its neck; it looked like she might have found it in the trash. The lamb reminded him of something, but he couldnt figure out why. Joseph had the feeling he had seen the girl before. I like your little lamb, he said. Does it have a name? Tee, she replied shyly. Hey, Tee, he said, And whats your name? he asked the girl. Guinier, she replied. He knew he didnt know anyone by that name. Have we met? Joseph asked her.

***

Joseph stood at the entrance of a small cave. He sensed that he had been here before. He felt like someone was inside. Then he remembered the girl, and hurried into the cave quietly calling, "Are you still here? She stood near a small dripstone formation, its milky white surface giving her pale skin a slightly aquamarine tint. She was a little older than before. She no longer held the stuffed animal. He was puzzled by the change. Im glad I found you, he said. Did you? she responded. Well, yeah, he said, here you are. Am I? she responded. What do you mean? I see you right in front of me. Do you? she asked.

***
Joseph stood at the entrance of a small cave. He was excited to be there. Someone he wanted to see was inside. He ran in and found a young girl rinsing her feet in a deep pool beneath a creamy white wall of flowstone. Joseph watched her for a moment, noticing how her toenails reminded him of little pink pearls. Do we know each other? Joseph mustered up the courage to ask. She didnt acknowledge him at once, continuing to bathe her feet in the artesian water as it spilled out over the edge. The earthy fragrance of lush ferns and thick mosses permeated the air, mingled with exotic overtones of cinnamon and yeast. When she turned her gaze to him, he thought he might recognize her. He listened to her thoughts tell him, I held your hand once. And then you held mine. Unable to process the connection between the present dream and the abandoned one, he decided to proceed as if this was a first encounter with the lovely girl before him. Would you like to go for a walk? Joseph asked, reaching to take her hand. Thats not possible, she said, withdrawing a step before he could touch her. Her movement became a graceful arch and he observed with fascination the liquid motion of her flowing skirt as she turned her face away.

He took an unsteady step toward the girl, and saw she was now a woman. He stood motionless, paralyzed by her beauty. He was stunned by the fact that he had not previously recognized her. He remained still and felt the earlier emotions she had evoked in his dreams collide with his disbelief and penetrate the seams until he was once again inundated in his fantasy of love for her. Ive missed you, he said. I know, she answered. There was a hint of sadness in her voice. Where are we? he asked her. What is this place? You dont know? she said. She placed a gentle hand to his cheek and he could hear the melody in her mind, Joey, see your little hands, Joey, see your little feet Then he understood. His heart sank. Oh, was all he could manage to say. Joseph stared down at his feet. He thought about things he could do in dreams. Flying. He could fly if he wanted to. But he couldnt fly in a cave, at least not very high. Could he? He allowed the thought to carry him up, he floated around the inner perimeter of the cave. He was thinking like a bat. Why limit himself to that? He thought, instead, like a dreamer, and penetrated the ceiling. There were chambers upon chambers, rooms upon rooms. They were filled with people carrying on their daily lives. Kitchens, bedrooms, dorm rooms, board rooms, cubicle islands and automobile interiors and sidewalks and shopping centers and seemingly every tiny pocket of space inhabited by people composed this underground maze he explored. Gliding through walls was a new experience. When he returned to Guiniers chamber, she was gone. He ran to the entry of the cave, and suddenly found himself standing at the end of a long wooden pier. He was a hundred feet out from a sheer rock wall and a thousand feet above the ocean. Then he saw her. She was on a small sailboat. All at once the air turned black. An enormous wave billowed up from the far horizon and blocked the sky, rising from the distant depths and towering from above. Guinierthe boatwere nowhere in sight. He could only see an immense wall of water collapsing upon him. He opened his eyes.

His heart was pounding and he knew at once what had just happened. He had teetered on the edge of a lucid dream, one minute managing nicely, the next being flung into circumstances beyond his reckoning. He was angry for an instant, knowing he could have endured that wave. Then he could have spent some time with her. At least now he had a name. His dream girl was called Guinier. Days passed, then weeks, as Joseph contemplated less and less frequently the details of the dream. Flying through walls was novel. But what was it he had seen? What were all these places, these chambers, with their microscopic realities and their stone cold boundaries? Did we all go about our lives like that ape he had dreamed up, constantly imagining our little microcosms of existence were universes unto themselves? Despite the empirical evidence to the contrary, were these tiny pockets of experience what people actually considered to be real; is this what was meant by reality? It was so laughably limited, yet also thoroughly convincing. To Joseph it was like that proverbial tree falling in the forest, though: even if nobody hears it, wouldnt it still make a sound? He knew there was more to life than meets the eye, more to experience than the senses can detect. A simple magnifying glass proves that. He tried not to think about Guinier. Nothing could be more futile than to become attached to a dream person. He was not that far gone, he told himself. At first, he did in fact spend many restless nights trying to conjure up another lucid dream. When this failed, he decided he was relieved. The dreams were too distracting. It was too much effort to dream, he concluded. He just wanted to sleep. And so, one night, when he finally decided he was done with trying to bring her back, she showed up again. Joseph stood at the mouth of a cave. Nearby, a cliff dropped a thousand feet to the sea. A fragile wooden pier dangled out a hundred feet from the vertical wall of stone, like a disaster waiting to happen. The place felt familiar, unsettling. The sky was clear, it was about sunset. A soft breeze brushed his skin tenderly. He wore dark blue jeans, and a pale blue pullover shirt. He wanted to stay away from that pier. He placed a hand on the entry of the cave, then noticed it. He looked at his other hand, then down to his feet. He heard music. He knew where he was. And he was thrilled.

The cave was now well lit, like a large cellar. The air was warm and moist and seemed to be infused with a sweet herbal fragrance, above and beyond the subtle scents of mosses and ferns clinging to every surface where the outside light could penetrate. Im in here, she said, bathing. Joseph hesitated. Come on out when youre done, he finally said. I cant do that, she said. I already told you. Yes you can, Joseph answered, stepping into the cave instinctively. He saw a large iron tub with claw feet. It was white, and deep. Theres plenty of room, she said. The waters warm.

***
He was floating in a deep, steamy pool of fragrant water. His body was submerged and his head rested against the cushioned lip of a huge iron bathtub. The ceiling was studded with white spikes of dripping stone. Across the water, on the opposite end of the tub, Guiniers face smiled at him. Their toes almost touched in the middle, where they poked up through the surface like twenty little turtle heads. See, she laughed, plenty of room. Joseph laughed also, splashing playfully as he floated on his back, You could practically swim in here. He felt so relaxed, suddenly understanding that whatever his perceived burdens were, they were all just self-induced fabrications: mountains made of molehills. He couldnt fathom why he should ever be less than utterly satisfied with his life. Looking across the surface, he saw the reflections of shadows and light dazzling across the stalactites. When his eyes came to rest upon her pretty face, Joseph admired her like a work of art. Their previous conversation came to his mind, and Joseph gazed into her eyes. They reminded him of water. They seemed to blend each sea green shade with every hue of ocean blue. He could even see the sparkles on the sand-strewn strands, and bright black pebbles on the bumpy beaches. Her eyes, to him, contained the wonders of the world. Why cant you leave? he wondered to her.

You know why, she said. Then she turned her head to the side, her body curled slightly. No, I really dont. Theres nothing out there to be afraid of. He saw she was trembling. Please dont cry, he said gently, surprised to find that he could sit on the bottom as he extended a hand to touch her hair, that would break my heart. His fingers were almost there.

***
They stood together near the entrance. He was clothed again. She wore a lavender gown with silver sleeves. Come on, youll see, he said, offering his hand, Just right out here, well just step outside. In her eyes he saw an anxious concoction of fear and trust, of jubilant anticipation and roiling terror. She cautiously lifted her hand.

***
He was standing alone, on a pier, high above the ocean. Far below was a small white boat with a silver sail. The sky turned black as the great wave approached and Joseph knew what he had to do. He dove. The flight was brief, straight down. He pierced the water cleanly as the tsunami smashed over the pier. The water was green and gray and black and blue, and effervesced with the turbulence caused by the mighty ocean collapsing overhead. His chest ached and he remembered, Breathe. His breath came in steady, measured cadences; there was no pressure, no fluid filled his lungs: there was only the life-sustaining air. He was safe. He was weightless. He could enjoy this. He swam around, looking at the sea life on every side. And above him, and below him. Joseph could feel his eyes open wide, taking it all in as if he had never really seen in three dimensions. Mesmerized by the new sensation, and by the stunning shapes and size and textures and configurations and colors of corals and sponges and urchins and cuttlefish and squid and bioluminescent jellyfish and unidentified floating and swimming and pulsating life all around him, he momentarily forgot about the boat.

But then, with a rush of panic, he remembered Guinier was out there; he sped to the surface as fast as his limbs and the desire of his heart could carry him. He briefly feared that some huge whale or giant shark might appear to bar his passage. He knew such fears could manifest themselves in dreams if he allowed himself to dwell on them, so he dismissed the thought. He did just barely glimpse a great dark form in the faraway green ocean of his peripheral visionand an indefinable dread thereby was rooted in the back of his consciousness. When he broke through the surface, the face of the ocean was placid and blue. White clouds billowed in a calm sky. Guinier sat on the edge of the little battered sailboat with her legs dangling in the water. Hey, youre here! she said happily. You, too, Joseph replied, grabbing a smooth teak rail and hoisting himself up onto the deck. Yeah, Guinier said, I made it this far. He looked at her windswept hair and her rosy cheeks and her brave demeanor. Her dress was ripped from the arm to the knee down one side and she made no effort to conceal her exposed flesh as the stiff breeze tossed the soft fabric about. But Im not too sure about getting past that, she said. Joseph followed her gaze and shuddered at what he knew he was about to behold: it appeared as an enormous gray menace in his mind before it reached his eyes. The first visual clue that something was amiss in that region of his universe was the lightning. It dashed and flashed in aurora-like splinters through bright crimson rips in the bruised purple clouds fuming over the vast reaches, carrying complete conflagration for the large island it struck. But it wasnt an island, he realized; it was a colossal vortex. It appeared as a flaming tornadic waterspout, a whirling and fuming wall of liquefied energy. Accompanying the terrible sight was a deafening roar. He observed the looming nightmares irruptive mass envelop the distant horizon. Only now it wasnt so distant at all, and the tremendous volume of its horrific wail grew ever greater, and he could feel the boat being drawn into its vacuum. Seeing what was about to transpire, the two little people on the fragile craft leapt up and embraced the mast. At that moment, the fuming colossus of whirling wind and wave struck the tiny ship like a palpable clap of thunder, sucking them at once into a gaping maw of unearthly fluidic space.

The two grasped fast the mast, their wide eyes locked to each other, as the mountainous spinning force gulped them as one into its frothing jaws. Joseph held on desperately. Guiniers hair flew around in wild syncopation to the violently whipping sail under the force of the terrible gale until the wall of water devoured everything; then the strands swam through the savage swale like silky threads of satin tousled playfully by the swarming sea. Joseph, meanwhile, felt the sudden pressure of the liquid mountains fall force itself into his pores and squeeze his breath away. His first instinct was fear, but her eyes still held his eyes. Her poise gave him the courage to relax and accept the inevitable, whatever the inevitable might be. Still clinging to the creaking, heaving mast, he allowed himself to be baptized by the ocean through and through. The sail was torn asunder and deftly spirited away, streaking through the cyclones stream like a sleek silver stingray. The mast, shattered at the base on impact, leapt off the deck splitting all stays before spearing the hull on its swift journey to the ocean floor. Now he saw that they were holding only to each other. It was their first embrace. The power of the feeling of her body next to his overwhelmed all his senses. His mind said they should be tumbling in the torrent as helplessly as flotsam or jetsam, but they were anchored to each other and inexplicably held steady and fast. He remembered he had flown through walls; now he was letting walls fly through him. As they shared the intense explosion of that torrential whirlwind spinning in their midst, Joseph laughed wildly: as if some heretofore subdued dimension of his identity had been utterly liberated. The cacophony of wind and water whistled through his pores. His skin felt like ice; his every muscle contracted, then relaxed; prisms of lightning charged through his veins, seeping into his bones like warm sunbeams. It was effortless, he discovered, to hold on to her. Youre glowing! Guinier laughed as she shouted above the crashing sea. Joseph looked at himself, and saw his hands radiate a subtle golden glow. I, I feel like he began, but she pressed her fingers to his lips. Dont talk, she said, placing her mouth close to his ear as they dangled in the air like two leaves suspended from a spiders thread. Dont think, Joseph. Just be.

Her fingers tasted like honey. Her hair smelled like jasmine. Her voice sounded like music. Her body felt like peace. Her smile looked like starlight. He just floated there with her, and beamed, and closed his eyes. His eyes opened. He lay in his bed, in the dark, alone. I can do this, Joseph thought, I can bring her back. He closed his eyes gently, breathed deeply, and summoned the dream to return. He had to finish it. This was not the end. He breathed deeply. He recalled the frightening power of the fiery hurricane, the unfathomable depth of the ocean floor below, and then he was there. The universe of water spun around him and he ascended like warm mist at the center, looking for signs of the tiny ship lost in its grip. When he spotted it, he floated over and noticed that Guinier was drifting casually overhead. He continued his ascent until he was beside her. They glided deferentially through the sky above the churning storm, eventually leaving it far behind and settling like feathers upon a warm white boulder overlooking a small valley. Guinier turned to him and said in a friendly, cheerful voice, Well, that was interesting. Yeah, Joseph responded, his heart still racing with exhilaration. She took his hand and smiled at him, Dj vu. He remembered holding her hand before. He still savored the warmth as he recalled the feel of her body pressed close to his. What just happened? asked Joseph. You were the one glowing, she responded, you tell me. I just let the storm pass through me: it felt wonderful! I just opened myself and let it happen, it was effortless. It was as simple asas breathing, he recalled. Do you know where we are? Guinier asked. Yes, he said, I never really left. Not really. Yes, you did, she responded. Well, maybe for a minute, he admitted. But Im here now. Why did you come back? she said. Because, he replied, because I knew there was something else I had to do. What was that? Guinier asked.

I had to say, he paused, not sure what was about to come out of his mouth. I had to say thank you, he finally responded. For what? she asked. For being here, for holding on to me. For letting me hold on to you, he answered. She looked up at him with her bright, innocent smile. Youre welcome, she said. You helped me find my way back to the earth. You reminded me that I belong in nature. You helped me find my place in the world. He wanted to say more, he wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss her and keep her forever. As the intensity of his desire mounted, he realized with dismay that he could see through her to the landscape beyond. He took a deep breath and continued, And I had to tell you: I love you, Guinier. This was the first time he had spoken her name. He suddenly wondered at its origin. It was such a beautiful word, Guinier. He knew the dream was ending. He could sense that the conclusion of this episode was near. The fading had begun, and it would not be abated by his wishful longing. Every dream comes to an end, he knew. This one had run its course, and he would soon hold it only as a precious mystery in his heart. I love you, he repeated as she vanished from view.

CHAPTER SIX

Crossing Over
The sound of his own voice woke him up. I love you, it said. He laughed. I love you, too, knucklehead, he replied. His response thrust him starkly into the present tense. The fabric of his dream disintegrated and he let it go. He chose not to succumb to its enchanting lure, reminding himself it was merely the representation of his own internal dialogue rendered in three dimensions. In spite of his own cynicism, though, Josephs attitude began to change. Little things didnt seem to bother him as much. He was more sensitive to other peoples problems. He gave up worrying over issues he could not control and made more of an effort to see the bright side of things. He became more passionate about his work. Beauty took on a new meaning. The surface of the world he inhabited sort of seemed to dissolve, revealing hidden essences. He knew his dream was somehow responsible, but he also knew a dream was just an extension of the dreamer onto a boundless canvas. By allowing the storm to pass through him, rather than fighting or fleeing it, he had found the solution to one dysfunctional component of his personality and discarded illusions of control and delusions of self importance. It was a step in the right direction. But it was not the entire journey. He began to see that each new vantage introduced heretofore unimaginable horizons. And he still journeyed alone. Frightened by the possibility that his long-desired soul mate might exist only in his dreams, he concluded that solitude was a universal state. He conjectured that even people with real companions were, in truth, alone most of the time: locked in their little chambers of reality, constantly struggling to validate their worlds. However compatible, however harmonious, however

balanced and mutually satisfying a relationship appeared on the surface, nothing could compare with the effortless joy of being in the company of his dream companion. He knew it was futile, fruitless, fatally flawed, and agonizingly unreal; but he lived for the precious timeless hours he could spend in his dreamswith her: with Guinier. In his more pragmatic moments, Joseph would see that she was no more reciprocating his love than nature back on terra firma was; nor could she. Of course a dream woman would be faithful to the dreamer of the dream, he mused. After all, she only existed in his mind. The rocks and the algae and the duckweed and the dragonflies were at least real. But they couldnt carry on a conversation. But he was just talking to himself when he talked to Guinier. But she was utterly real when they were together. And around and around the conundrum swirled, like that sodium thiosulfate he added to the titration vial when testing for dissolved oxygen. Drop, swirl. Drop, swirl. Drop, swirl. Until the liquid clears. Only this potion never cleared in his mind, the anticipation Joseph felt when he closed his eyes at night haunted his days. He had let himself begin to imagine that perhaps his dreams were more real than he had previously thought possible. He even let himself entertain the notion that his extraordinary sensitivity to dreamscapes destined him for an entirely unheard-of manifestation of companionship. When he was dreaming of her, he did not want the dream to end. Yet all dreams end. But then, so does life. And he wasnt altogether sure who or what his soul would experience after that. At times, his obsession with relocating his dream of Guinier bordered on debilitating: distracting him from his actual life. Contributing his energy to safeguarding the watershed began to pale in comparison to revisiting the profound, provocative, exciting and fulfilling adventures he had with his dream guide. For though he loved her in his heart as a woman, he never forgot that her essence was more than that. And, sadly, also less. It was this suffocating sadness, this impossibly intense desire for union with an illusion, that finally cracked his shell and landed him in a place he had never been before: a place he would not soon forget.

***

He stood outside the cave. The moon told him it was a dream; he didnt have to look for hands or feet. It smiled and glowed with a certain blue intensity that made him decide that either he was dreaming or he was going to pretend he was dreaming. The moon can do that to a person. This was a dicey decision. Presuming to be in a dream requires one to assume the laws of physics are suspended. It is to presume to defy reality. Nature has little respect for the fearless, gravity does not obey delusion. But he didnt care about that. He didnt care that if he jumped off that cliff and he was wrong about this being a dream, he would be smashed to bits. He already felt crippled, mangled, an invalid. His loneliness tore at him like a scythe; his flesh felt like so much fabric slashed and twisting, like tattered denim dangling on a clothesline in a stiff breeze. The cave reassured him it was dream. And Guinier would confirm it when he saw her. He entered cautiously, the space was dimlike the wicks had all been turned low to preserve the oil in the lamps. He didnt need to speak to know he was alone. The tub sat in the middle of the deepest chamber of the cave, as it had since it first appeared. A soothing steam hovered around the water, and Joseph knew it would be warm. It was always warm in the cave. Everything was warm there. Even, he realized, with Guinier absent, their secret space still soothed him. Gazing into the hot bath, he recalled the time she had invited him to join her there. The pleasure of that memory led to the thought of enjoying a nice long soak; Josephs clothes slid down his skin like liquid, leaving a colorful little puddle of fabric at his feet. He stepped over the rim of the tub and felt his body absorb the comforting heat and the soothing wetness. His muscles relaxed as soon as he was entirely immersed; he floated for a moment, then let himself sink below the surface. Just keep breathing, he told himself. His eyes still open, he watched the water shimmer above him. He could see the soft flame of lanterns glowing through the blurred atmosphere. It reminded him of looking through tear-filled eyes. He laughed as he thought he might be swimming in his own tears. He laughed. And he cried. He felt both safe and vulnerable, both satisfaction and yearning. He let go of thinking, allowing only feeling to accompany him. A sweet ache rose within, a powerful desire to release some hidden, forbidden passion stirred. The water level rose as his eyes continued to feed the stream clear, salty tears.

My cup runneth over, he thought. He felt no shame, he felt no remorse, he felt only a sense of longing mingled with a strange serenity. The weeping was a relief, like he was shedding some great burden he didnt know he carried; it was as if a sinister thorn was being extracted, or like an obstruction, a dam, a blockage was being removed. He lay beneath the surface and gazed through the crystal-clear water at the flickering reflections on the roof of the cave. He felt a small shudder through his liquid atmosphere. Curious, he let the waters buoyancy lift him from his anchor at the bottom of the deep tub and his body drifted upward. When Josephs head broke the surface, he was delighted to see Guinier standing there. Her silky crimson robe caressed the svelte feminine figure beneath it; lingering over her like a soft caress. In her hands, she held a carved wooden tray. She placed the tray across the tub and it secured itself to the rim. We need more light, she thought, then said, You looked hungry. He sat up in the tub and studied the colorful assortment of fruits and pastries she had placed before him. Delicate fragrances permeated the moist air with a symphony of sweet scents. The salad was artfully arranged to nestle into an wide green leaf: a big white split banana splayed on a bed of juicy mango curls, ripe melon balls, bright blueberries and plump purple plums. A little round strawberry tart, topped off with a dollop of whipped cream and a cherry, sat at one end of the elliptical platter. At the other end, a small white bowl held the juicy pink flesh of a freshly sliced peach. The sight of the spread elicited a powerful appetite. This looks delicious, he thought. Arent you going to have some? he asked. You go ahead, she replied. Theres no time, she thought. He watched her glide gracefully across the damp stone floor from lantern to lantern, turning up the wicks as she went; she didnt appear to be in a hurry. The motion of her body was like a dance; the simple activity began to feel like an event, a ceremony of some kind. As she approached each lamp, she would slowly kneel over the thin glass chimney and gently twist the little knob at the side of the lantern. The light from that lamp would leap up and travel out to eliminate every dark corner in its vicinity. He saw treasures tucked away in hidden nooks and crannies. Piles of blood-red rubies and puddles of shimmering emeralds, pools of sparkling

sapphires and mounds of glittering diamonds tossed the light back in dazzling displays. Feasting on Guiniers world with his eyes, he realized he was no longer hungry. The solid wooden fruit tray and all its delectable contents disappeared. Come see, she suggested. He methodically got out of the tub and put his clothes on. There was no towel in sight, so he simply started dressing his wet skin. The weight of the cloth felt substantial, real. He had to button every button on his shirt. He had to zip up his pants after putting them on one leg at a time. Everything was splotched with moisture. This did not feel like a dream. It seemed to be happening too slowly. He was mesmerized by the variety of precious objects he could now see lined every seam in the cave. I just wanted to look at it one more time, she said, and share it with you. The remark both puzzled and delighted him. He wondered what she meant by one more time. He didnt like the sound of that, but he was so distracted by the strangely familiar souvenirs she had accumulated that the thought quickly fled his awareness. Where did all this come from? he asked. I found it, she responded shyly. She lifted a small object from a niche in the wall and handed it to Joseph. This is the one that really started my collection. I had already found the little lamb. I thought it was a present. I was very young then. He glanced at the fluffy white sheep propped against the wall with the pale blue ribbon around its neck. You were just a baby then, she said, but so was I. Thats when you started dreaming, thats when I was born. I saw this little t on the ribbon, so I named him Tee. He tried to remember his infancy. He walked over to the lamb and picked it up. He held it against his nose and the fragrance spoke to him. I do remember this, he said. He noticed the tiny silver cross embossed in the ribbon: that was the t she was talking about. You threw it at the curtains one night. It was still lost in the folds when your family moved away from that house, she explained. She could see that Joseph was trying to understand how she could know these things, so she continued. The secret of the dream world, Joseph, is that here is harbored

every moment of your waking life. Here is where you can find things you lost, remember things you have forgotten. Every fear, every hope, every wish is stored here. But what about you? he wondered. I have always been here: watching, collecting. I couldnt come out until you looked for me, she responded to his unspoken question. He looked with new eyes at the items tucked around the chamber. He looked at the two-inch tall red plastic Indian figure she handed him. Knifeman! I never thought I would see you again, he said fondly. It fell out of your pocket when you were running away from something that frightened you, she told him. He was always the hero in cowboys and Indians; he rescued all his buddies whenever they got captured, he explained. Then she handed him a silver bracelet with the name Joseph inscribed in cursive letters. This came off when you were playing in the woods. It was pretty tarnished when I picked it up. But it still looks brand new. I polished it up, she said. I gave this to a girl in the sixth grade, he mused to himself. I was expected to go steady that year, for some reason. So I asked a pretty girl I didnt know if she would wear my ID bracelet. For some reason, she said yes. I guess she felt like she was supposed to go steady that year, too. I never even held her hand, I cant really remember anything about her, except that she was taller than me, and she had long hair, he reflected. Guinier handed him a tiger-eye ring next. He inspected it closely, Its not broken. I remember I punched a locker and it cracked the stone. It still fits, he said, admiring it on his finger. You dropped it in a creek, from a bridge. I found it at the beach, she observed. He briefly wondered what beach she might be referring to, then removed the ring and turned his attention back to the piles of precious gems radiating around him. Where did all those jewels come from? he asked. I know I didnt lose those. But you did, Joseph, she corrected him.

I never had handfuls of sapphires or rubies or emeralds or diamonds, or big chunks of silver and gold, he responded. Yes you did, Joseph. Every time you visited me here, you mined a little more treasure, she said. Her eyes grew moist as he struggled to process what she was saying. This was the last thing I found, she said, and handed him a thin gold chain with a tiny cross dangling in the center. I love this cross, he thought. I dont even remember losing it. I found it in a forest. I laughed out loud when I found itits such a dainty thing. But then I cried, because I knew that meant it was lost to you, she said. I was afraid you might have heard me. I did, he thought, and I thought you were a bird. He held the delicate piece of jewelry in the palm of his hand; the gold chain felt soft as he pressed it with a finger. A loop clasped the tiny gold cross to a link in the chain. That loop was broken, she said, adding, Things get mended here. I guess its yours now, he replied, and attached it around her neck. She put her fingers to the cross with a puzzled expression, then said, We have to get out. There was a sense of urgency in her voice, and a hint of despair. I cant stay here any longer. Joseph hesitated. He didnt want to leave the cave; the thought frightened him. He knew that whenever they left the cave, something mind-boggling happened. He would have preferred to climb back into the water. He wondered if the fact that she had to leave the cave had anything to do with his insisting she step outside with him the last time he was here. He didnt know why he had wanted her to go outside with him. The cave was comfortable and safe and reassuring. It was their special hideaway. If he were controlling this dream, he would have slipped into the tub and taken her with him. If it were up to him, they would have savored that banquet together. But it clearly wasnt up to him, for suddenly the walls of the cave began to quake. The ground beneath their feet shifted violently. We have to go, now, she insisted, taking him firmly by the arm. As he followed her rapid progression through the corridor toward the glow of the moonlight outside, the ceiling began to collapse; huge stalactites crashed down, exploding on impact and sending sharp shards of shrapnel in

every direction. Columns crumbled. Dust filled the air and Joseph found himself coughing as the ubiquitous particulate matter irritated his lungs. When they finally emerged from the mouth of the crumbling cavity, they stood side by side panting and trembling and sucking in the fresh night air. The moon was still up there, just as Joseph had left it: giddily smiling and winking and dancing overhead like some kind of carefree Cheshire cat with a sly secret. Its reassuring glow seemed misplaced among the sterile void of space; it reminded him of those glowing jellyfish. Their hands remained entwined as Joseph gazed upon Guiniers petite features. She looked like a child again, the way she looked the first time they met. She sighed sadly and he followed her gaze to the place where the cave had been. The whole hill had collapsed; now it simply disappeared, leaving only a hungry void. Not water, not air, not anything. Nothing was there. He felt a chill run up his spine and tingle the back of his scalp. Something is very wrong here raced through his mind. He was gripped with fear. This is where I live, she said. Joseph stared into the emptiness, trying to find something to fix his eyes on. But there was nothing there. I have to go home now, she added. He held her hand more tightly, No, he said, dontyou cant leave, I wont let you go. He quickly snatched her into his arms and held her close. She beamed briefly into his shining eyes, her kind face smiling a sweet farewell, and then she vanished. Will I ever see you again? He threw the question out like a fly at the end of a fishing line, into the nothingness. It languished there like an abandoned strand of spider-web, unanswered. Josephs arms clung to the empty space where she had been. He wrapped them tightly around the absence of her being and found himself propelled without resistance, and without end. He felt himself falling, but he wasnt falling down. There was no down here, just as there was no up. There was only the sensation of falling, or rather, being propelled in a directionless current without form or color or texture or any sensible, tangible, perceivable substance. He was falling inward. Breathe, he reminded himself. Slow, steady, deep.

He searched the emptiness in all directions. No light, no darkness, no shades of gray. Visually indescribable, a kaleidoscope of atomized transparency veiling an abyss of substancelessness much thinner than mist softened his gaze into a dreamy acceptance of the oblivion into which Guinier had dissolved. He, too, would dissolve thencompletely lose himselfif this was the only alternative to having her near. And so he did. His eyes grew heavy in the mistlessness. He wanted to rest them, to relieve them from the paradoxical glare of vacuity. And so he let the lids fall down on his dissolution, on his union with oblivion. When he opened his eyes, Joseph was in bed. He felt well rested, like he had slept all night, but it was still dark. He took a deep breath and half-smiled at what had just transpired. He let his feet fall to the ground and he walked to the bathroom. He splashed his face at the sink and looked in the mirror. The dim glow from a small amber nightlight reflected in the glass. He saw his hands. He looked down and he saw his feet. I could still be dreaming, he thought. He raised his hand to the glass and touched it. It was smooth and solid. Maybe not, he thought. He walked to the window above his bed and looked across the wooded space between his apartment building and the next. He saw thick fog. He wondered if the moon was out, if he could see it. Hey you, he heard. His skin crawled. Someone was in his apartment. He frantically wondered if he had a weapon of any sort, to defend himself. Then she laughed. You, you cant be here, Joseph heard himself say. I know, she said. Weird, isnt it? He wanted to leap across the room and wrap his arms around herto prove that she was really there. But he didnt want to do anything which might result in her departure. So he remained on the bed, slowly letting the curtain fall back over the window. Can you see the moon? she asked. No, he said, just fog. Ooh, Ive always wanted to sleep in a bed, she said dreamily, walking across the room to where he remained motionless on his knees on the mattress. Its really soft, he responded. Come see.

She slid herself under the covers and placed her head on his pillow, and he curled up behind her. Do you have enough room? she asked, Are you comfortable? Yes, he said, perfectly. He slid an arm around her and wrapped her up in his embrace. Mmm This is comfy, she said softly. He could feel her body rise and fall with each breath she took. Her skin was warm, and soft. Her hair smelled faintly of herbs. His eyes blurred slightly, just before he closed them, and he followed her to sleep. Come on, she said excitedly, what took you so long? Guinier was running down a mountain. The icy wind whipped through her hair. The slopes were deep in snow and her feet just made contact with the blinding surface of the powder as she led him down a steep incline to a vertical edge. He could barely manage to keep his balance as his feet skidded downhill after her. See? she said, its easy! With that proclamation, Guinier arrived at the cliff s edge and took one last bounding leap. She went straight up. Joseph wasnt sure he could accomplish such a graceful bound, given the fact that he was plummeting toward the precipice utterly out of control. Gravity was his propulsion system, and it was not pointing up. Nevertheless, he mustered all the heart he could find and, just before collapsing into the avalanche below, he dove. Miraculously, it took him up. Guinier was now just a fading speck in the clouds. Joseph followed. The clouds bit his cheeks, they stung his ears. Still she rose. He accelerated his ascent. How high are we going? he called out from behind. All the way there, she answered, unspeaking. How far isbefore he could complete his thought, he caught up to her. Now they were proceeding at the same pace. Once again he felt that sensation of falling in no particular direction. Only this time, he was holding her hand. And this time, instead of facing the ominous void, they were surrounded by stars.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Living End

He wasnt surprised to wake up alone: he wasnt insane. He knew the difference between dream and reality. He dreamed she was there, thats all. He knew that. He dreamed that he dissolved and he dreamed that she visited him, in his apartment. Within this dream he dreamed, with her beside him, that they met in their dreams and flew to outer space. The dream was kind of elaborate, to be sure; it was still just a dream. However many layers deep he journeyed in his sleep, the fact remained: she only existed in his dreams. That was what he told himself. That was why she wasnt there when he woke up. And it would be foolish to imagine there could ever be any reason to assume otherwise. But that dream definitely got his attention. The fact that he noticed his necklace wedged behind the mattress when he awoke that morning didnt help matters. It introduced a vague doubt to his mind, or maybe it was a vague optimism. He told himself it was just one of those strange coincidences. The clasp wasnt broken, and he put the cross back around his neck. He felt a twinge of sadness as he realized this meant she wasnt wearing it any more. But, of course, she never really was. He didnt know what to make of the sequence of events he had just lived in his dream; he only knew that when he dreamed of her, his heart soared. He knew that when he was awake, she only existed in his mind. He tried to analyze her qualities, to use his infatuation with this figment of his imagination as a template for identifying potential companions in the real world. It didnt work. She could not be reduced to a recipe: a pinch of mindreading, a spoonful of childlike wonder, a cup of ravishing beauty, two sprigs of laughter, three cloves of wisdom, a dash of twinkling eyes and voila!the perfect mate. He walked to the place in his apartment where she had appeared and he stood there from time to time. He couldnt be sure of the precise location. He remembered being at the window, looking out. He remembered there was a fog. He wondered if there really was a fog that night. He wondered at the

phase of the moon, whether it was full and somehow bright despite the cloudy mist that greeted him the following day. He shook it off. It didnt matter. It wouldnt prove anything. There was nothing to prove. It was just another twist on an old theme, of dreams of dreams. So many layers. He couldnt help but wonder how far waking life was from being something similar. Mortality put an endpoint to the dream of life. This much was certain. Would he awaken at the end, or would he dissolve into the mistlessness? Or would he enter a new layer of the endless dream? He chided himself for humoring such questions. Pointless, irresoluble. Get on with your life, he told himself. But her absence was tangible. He could not shake the feeling that she had been in his room, had slept beside him. That he had held her in his arms, in his bed. The room would never look the same. The pillow where she placed her head took on a new significance. Even though he knew it wasnt true, he couldnt help but see his world differently. Now that he had followed her home, and she had returned the favor. The star-filled flight was another novelty. It was unrelated to the moment in the bedroom, he thought. Absolute liberation from gravitywithout the tumultuous pressures of the sea. It was past even the atmosphere; the planet was left behind and they were greeted warmly by a million glowing constellations. The stars were a powerful and compelling mystery. Every fear, every hope, every wish, she had said. He loved stars. He recalled a dream he had after he moved to his own room, where a star landed in the back yard. He had put it in a bucket and kept it in his closet. He could see it glow with his mind even when the closet door was closed. That glow comforted him for weeks, for months, as he settled into his new bedroom where he would spend the nights alone for the first time in his life. He wondered if he was destined to spend all the rest of his nights alone. He knew enough to know that real stars are mostly balls of gas being consumed millions or billions or trillions of miles away. He still treasured them as wish-inducing fragments of an abandoned childhood; he still sensed a tinge of remorse when he failed to admire their compelling, beckoning presence in the night sky. But he seldom saw stars any more, the glare of the city consumed them. He knew they were there: perceived or not, appreciated or not. Unreachable,

untouchable, and ever present. Even during the day. And billions of years after they die their light continues to shine. They are, in this sense, eternal flames. The heart of the light may exhaust its fuel supply, but the light itself is everlasting. It boggled his mind to ponder the mechanics of the cosmos. He remembered what he was taught from birth, how God created the heavens and the earth. With his voice, out of nothing, he invented the ultimate perpetual motion machine. Let there be light, he said. And light there was. The birth of stars, the birth of everything. And the second to the last thing he made was man. Of the dust of the earth, in his own image, he formed him. Then he saw that it was not good for the man to be alone. And so he sculpted his supreme masterpiece: he made her. Joseph wondered again where his her was. He remembered his ethics class. A good man performs his function. He wondered if each person has a unique function to perform, a unique contribution to offer, a unique set of gifts to engage. If each person was designed to have an individual identity. To say a good man or woman thinks, or conquers, or invents, or explores, or gives, or cares, or teaches, or heals, or leads, or inspires, or whatever, was inevitably incomplete. It depended on the person. The only real good was to harness ones own potential: to make the most of what one had to work with. Follow your heart, it will lead to your star, he seemed to remember his mother had said. But everyone had to have a Polaris, tooa reference point. Otherwise it would be self-serving chaos resulting in entropy. One body, in Christ: he was the north on the compass. What would Jesus do? he asked himself from time to time. He took the question seriously. He knew he was no savior, there could only be one. So what was left for him to do? Joseph wondered if he had been made to wonder. Perhaps his inquisitiveness was his functionlike the function of a knife is to cut. Maybe Josephs function was to ponder the purpose of his being. Maybe, in Josephs case, a good man was a questing man. So, as he wrapped up business at work one Friday, Joseph decided to go on a little quest. Monday was a holiday, and he was looking forward to the long weekend ahead. Excited by the prospect of stargazing, he took off early and started driving. He had no destination in mind, he just headed west away from the lights. The land rose, hours passed. The blazing sunset in his

eyes was encouraging, no reason to assume the night would not also be clear. He didnt know what to expect, he wasnt looking for anything in particular. He just wanted to sit on the ground and peer into the unimpeded sky for a while. He avoided the big highways, sticking instead to county roads, farm roads, ranch roads. Shortly before dusk, he came to a river. The turnaround was designed so that one could drive down one side of the bridge and circle around to return in the opposite direction. He slowed to inspect the small dirt road, decided his little car could handle the ruts, and steered down the hill to the edge. He didnt care about the river, he was here for the sky. Pleased that there was space beneath the bridge to tuck his car safely off to the side, he parked and walked out to have a look around. The air was comfortable, the sun was disappearing over the hills to the west. The landscape sustained little vegetation. The river carved softly through the rocky bed below, some distance below. Drawn to the stream despite himself, Joseph sought out a likely access point to descend to the waters edge, but couldnt locate one. Even if he could get down there, he couldnt see a way back up. Besides, he wasnt here for the river. It was only by accident that he happened to stop at its bank. He wanted to stargaze, so he followed the slight rise to the west and found a smooth patch of sand to pitch his pallet. He didnt know how cold it was likely to get, but he had an extra blanket and his poncho, in addition to his heavy jacket, just in case. It was still warm as Joseph watched the last pale flares of sunlight fade into the deep blue velvet arms of dusky twilight. He watched it go and he watched the far horizon fade from view in its absence. Night crept up from behind, it almost startled him when he turned around to find a twinkling feast of constellations in the east. The darker it got, the more he could see. Polaris was up there, and so was the Milky Way. A few planets outshone their stellar counterparts. Tiny white specks of satellites followed slow trajectories across the great expanse. Meteors dashed in quick little arcs, depositing faint tracers of light to dissolve in their wakes. The night sky was alive. Whether there was actually any life out there was debatable, though. It was a strange predicament: to theoretically be able to calculate the vastness of the universe, yet to know of no other living

creatures beyond planet Earth. Joseph couldnt help but see a similarity between looking into space and looking into dreams. Both were limitless and, as far as could be determined, lifeless. The only living planet in the cosmos was Earth, the only living thing in the dream was the dreamer. Coolness crept in slowly but surely. Joseph was pleased that no cars had paused in the vicinity. He relished the silence and the solitude. He layered his clothing and lay beneath the blankets on his back in the dirt and breathed the unsoiled air. He smiled. The universe was all around him, he could sense it swarming from every side. Beneath him, on the other side of the world, dawn was breaking and the stars were fading. He imagined he could see them through the glare of day, and through the dark mass of planet between them. Its presence, the existence of the universe itself, gave him comfort. Its incomprehensible expanse absorbed his attention entirely. The vision before his eyes was deceiving. Smaller objects appeared brighter because they were closer. Everything was moving, but most of it seemed to be holding still. One mass affected another mass; shadows were being cast; forces were being applied. Joseph knew he was being affected by these celestial forces, though he could not know how. He knew there was more going on than gravity and inertia and Newtons laws. There had to be a reason for his heartbeats. The best he could do was to find something to believe in, then believe in it with all his being. His supreme philosophy was that whatever you do, you should do it with all your heart. He had given his all to romance, he had come up short. He remembered his dismal disaster with Cecilia. She had used him up and walked away. Maybe his inner compass had overestimated his facility. Maybe she was the price of humility. Perhaps he was out here to just let it go, perhaps thats what the stars would show. He had thrown himself into creative expression and encountered both flaccid and hostile rejections. He once thought maybe they would get it when he died, like maybe he was another Kafka, another Thoreau. He hated to delude himself, but he could not stop writing any more than he could stop dreaming. So now he gave his all to more modest pursuits: preserving nature and exploring his identity. Why do I exist? He knew the answer was out there. And it was in here. The cosmos does not differentiate between the two. Outer space is inner spaceits all stardust.

He turned on his side, curling to conserve the warmth of his body. He made a pillow of his poncho and recited a childhood prayer. Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the Lord my soul to keep If I should die before I wake I pray the Lord my soul to take Being there on the ground beneath the stars of the cool desert night reinforced his sense of insignificance. He was just another grain of sand. He knew he was transient; and if he died this night, he would like to be greeted by something other than oblivion. If there was anything other than oblivion. He touched the cross he wore around his neck. The air was dry. Joseph wished he had brought the ice chest over, so he could snack on an orange and get a drink of water. Now he was too comfortable to go fetch it from the car. Glancing in that direction, he saw something move. He stiffened and let his mind race through the possibilities. He watched, his anxiety mounting as the movement continued. Whatever it was, it was on the other side of the car, so he could only see it as shuffling shadow. Then he saw a spark of light, followed by a dim blue glow. Hey you, she said. He knew the voice. Carrying a small lantern, a slender, strangely sparkling figure gracefully traversed the uneven terrain between the car and the pallet where Joseph sat up and squinted through the darkness. You need fire out here, she said casually, warm you up. His mind was perplexed. The stars were just as they had been. The pallet, the canyon, the bridge, the car: they were all where they were supposed to be. Joseph shook his head swiftly, trying to clear it. He didnt acknowledge her presence. Im thirsty, he said aloud to himself, standing, wrapping the poncho over his shoulders, and walked toward the car. Hello? Guinier said. Youre not here, Joseph replied, refusing to look in her direction. When he reached the car, he opened the door and retrieved his ice chest, then carried it back to his bed on the ground. He pulled out a bottle of water and an orange. He took a drink. He peeled the orange. He ate a slice. He shivered.

Guinier placed her lamp on the ground between them, a few feet from Joseph, and reclined in the sand like some lady attending a Renoir picnic. The flame glowed brilliantly. Joseph ate his orange slowly and tried to regard her as just another cactus, some nondescript yucca in the dark landscape. He could not help but sadly admire her beauty in the dancing lantern light. She simply sat there facing him. Her expression was one of melancholy compassion. Her dress sparkled, the fabric both reflecting and emitting stars. Joseph experienced the bizarre sensation that he was gazing at the cosmos personified. I wondered when you would get here, she said. I dont even know where here is, he responded. I think you do, she said. Joseph looked around at the desert plains. The moon was up, a quarter moon. The lantern glow blocked his view of the distance. Like a lamp unto my feet, he thought ironically. Why are you here? he asked. You seem tense, she replied. Because you cant be here. This is a real place, and youre not real, he told her. Now thats real progress, wouldnt you say? she said with a soft hint of satire. Progress? Progress?! he spat the words. Just stop it! Just get out of my head and let me have my life back! Sorry, too late. Your life is over, she responded solemnly. It was spoken like a pronouncement. The words struck him with some force. Thatthats ridiculous. If my life was over, I wouldnt be here arguing with you. But you said yourself Im not real. So what makes you think you are? she said calmly. Her composed demeanor infuriated him. Because I dreamed you up! he blurted. You only exist because I invented you in my imagination, he added indignantly. How do you know I didnt dream you up? she asked. The outlandish statement paralyzed him momentarily. He raised his fists to his temples, teetering at the brink of madness, struggling to compose a convincing reply. Then he lowered them and calmly replied, Because I wake

up every day and brush my teeth and go to work and do my job and come home every night and go to sleep, and then I wake up again. How do you know you dont just dream youre awake? How do you know that what you call waking up isnt just another layer of the dream? she asked. Her questions were exasperating. He had had enough of this conversation. You want to see how I know? Heres how I know, he said. Then he closed his eyes tightly and shook himself vigorously, slapping his own face a few times for good measure. Joseph opened his eyes to see a quarter moon dangling among the stars overhead. He studied the empty space where she had been standing. He ate another slice of orange. Come on, he heard, its time to go. There was a sense of command in the voice. Searching with his eyes for the source of the sound, he spotted a silhouette at the edge of the escarpment overlooking the river. It was gazing out at the broad, dark chasm. Then the figure turned to face him, creating a path of light between them with the lantern at the end of an outstretched arm. Her gown was the hue of the night sky: black and indigo, and studded with what looked like stars, but he surmised were little diamonds. Her hair caught the blue glow of the lamp, appearing to radiate a fiery silver aura as the cool, arid wind tossed it about her face and shoulders. The sight of her beauty enthralled him. So, where are we going? he finally said, standing and folding the blankets. I should put this stuff in the car, he thought. No need, she thought back to him. Youre done with all that. He was a little startled to recall she could read his mind, and that he could read herswhen she wanted him to. It was more comfortable for him to speak, though, so he responded aloud, You know what, Im not really ready to concede that point, so Im just going to put this stuff in the car first. Youre so funny, she thought to him as she giggled. Sticking to his plan, Joseph continued to gather his gear. He hauled it all over toward the overpass. He didnt realize until he got there that his car was

gone. He tucked the blankets into a crevice between the bottom of the highway and the concrete slope, then plopped the ice chest on the ground. He tossed his poncho over his head and walked back across the desert night to where she waited. It seemed to be getting warmer as he approached the path of light. The warmth was comforting. His bones felt frosty, and his joints were stiff as he plodded for what seemed like miles across the dusty earth. You wanted to see stars, right? Guinier said when he finally arrived at her side. I wanted to see real stars, he responded. What is real about stars? she asked. He didnt know what to say, how to respond. Are they brighter than these? she continued. Looking up, Joseph admired the infinite sky. No, he said, about the same. Can you touch them? she asked. No, he responded. But you know they are actually there, or at least they used to be there. Are these stars not here? she asked. No, theyre not, Joseph answered. They seem to be here, but theyre not really here. He looked at her, longed for her, then said bluntly, Neither are you. Are you here? she asked. He had to think about that. No, he eventually responded, Im not. Then where are you? she asked. Im over there, asleep, he said, motioning to the spot where his pallet had been. Thats funny. I dont see you there; I see you here, she quipped. Because when I sleep, when I dream, I dont see myself asleep; I see myself in the dream. When I know Im dreaming, I know Im asleep in reality. If I start thinking about it, I usually wake up. So, why dont you just do that, then, if you dont want to be with me? she asked. I tried that, but youre still here, he admitted. So, werent we supposed to be going someplace? he said, accepting the fact that he was trapped in

this dream. He didnt mind not being able to wake up; he was frankly elated to be back in her company. Are you ready? she asked. No, but that never stopped me before, he replied. Guinier swung the lantern up and sent it hurling back toward where Joseph had been sleeping. He watched the bright blue comet arch across the sky and smack into the earth like a great sapphire fireball. Then something ignited, or rather, everything did. Azure fire flared out from the point of impact, blazing and consuming the earth in every direction. Joseph stood stunned, astonished by the expanding circle of electric flame. Like water in a placid pool when a pebble drops, ripple upon ripple, the sizzling circle grew until it struck him that he would soon be consumed by the approaching inferno. Guinier was heading down the rocky cliff, moving as effortlessly along the impossibly steep and treacherous embankment as if she were out for a leisurely stroll down the sidewalk. Concerned that he might have unwittingly become somnambulistic, Joseph paused to ascertain a manageable angle of descent; but the flames were upon him, so he saw no choice but to skid, bounce, and roll down the rock-strewn wall of the gorge like a harvested log on its way to float the river. And he took the ride about as well. When he finally came to a stop, he was on his back in the mud. Guinier was only halfway down, and continued without altering her pace. He had time to stand up and brush himself off before she arrived. Thats one way to get down, she smiled. Above them, the horizon was ablaze. Joseph was glad fire burns up, not down. He relaxed a bit and took time to marvel at the beauty of the firestorm, now exhibiting angry red and yellow hues, raging at the top of the cliff some hundred feet above. But then he noticed it wasnt stopping there. Its going to cross the river soon, she said. Why did you do that? Joseph asked her. How should I know? You are mistaken to assume I act of my own volition. Then, how do you decide what to do? he asked. I dont decide, she said, I just do. He remembered her telling him once, Dont think, Joseph. Just be.

Large masses of flaming debris were cascading toward them, and Guinier dove into the rushing river at their feet. When her head came up an instant later, he was surprised to observe that she was a hundred meters downstream. He had no idea it was that swift, or that deep. With little choice, he dove in after. The stream kept a furious pace, driving him along faster than he had fallen down that hill. The sky streamed red and black through the liquid ether of the crystal water hurling him away. He surfaced to find himself alone in a large pool. The sky sparkled softly, the air was clear and still. He floated on his back and gazed up, then sank to the soft bottom and continued to gaze. He breathed deeply and thrilled in the serenity. It reminded him of something, but it didnt seem to matter. Here and now were everything. He had no awareness of loneliness, no knowledge of it. He knew no regret, no remorse, no sense of inadequacy, no sense of failure, no guilt, no shame, no ambition, no desire, no time, no placejust now, just here. The weightlessness intoxicated him. He felt so restful, so contented, so satisfied. He wondered if he was in paradise. Your life is over. Thats what she said, wasnt it? Was I burned up in that fire? Why wasnt my car there? He tried to piece together how he came to be at this place, lying in a mattress of fine white sediment at the bottom of a pristine pool looking up at constellations. Did he actually drive out to the west, to get away from the city lights? Or was that only a dream? The only thing he clearly remembered was that Guinier had been there. Of course, he realized, he must still be dreaming: dreaming of paradise. Funny how contented he was to be there alone. He peacefully let his eyes close. When Joseph opened his eyes, he found himself in his bed. He pondered the dream he had just had, then realized he didnt know what day it was. He laughed at his confusion. Had he dreamed the whole excursion? Was it Friday or Saturday? I dont remember driving home from the desert, he thought. Or did I even really go to the desert? No, no, that was all in the dream. But he clearly remembered taking off work early. Unless he dreamed that, too. He was sure it had to be Friday, nothing else made sense. He had dreamed the whole thing. He recalled that Monday was a holiday and considered whether there was anything he absolutely had to do at work, then

decided to take personal leave and give himself a long weekend. They frowned on this kind of thing at the office, but it was his life after all. Excited by the prospect, but less inclined to act on his previous plan to drive out to see stars, Joseph called his supervisor to inform her. Still early to call her at work, he dialed her home number. Hi Jessica. This is Joseph, he said. Hello Joseph, is everything all right? she asked, a hint of concern in her voice. Yeah, everythings fine. Im all caught up at work and everything and I just decided I would really like to take the day off, he said. That shouldnt be a problem, she laughed, since its Saturday. Oh, he stuttered, Ioh, uh, great! Enjoy the weekend, she said. Dont forget, Mondays a holiday. No, I wont, he replied. Thanks. Sorry. No problem. But you might want to go back and sleep a little while. It sounds like you could use the rest, she suggested. Yeah, he faked a laugh, I should probably do that. He looked at his bed and noticed it didnt appear to have been slept in. He knew he hadnt made it up yet, he was too distracted by not knowing what day it was. He was relieved it was Saturday. He decided to believe he had made the bed out of mindless habit and he just needed some fresh air. He glanced at his hand as he opened the door, then looked at his feet as he stepped out to the porch. He held a cup of coffee. He didnt remember making this coffee. It was his favoritethe Columbian served back at the student union caf. His head spun a little and Joseph swayed on his feet. He looked back at his hands, then back at his feet. They seemed slightly detached from his body, which seemed slightly detached from his mind, and Joseph realized he was in a dream. He still didnt know what day it was, since he had dreamed up that phone call to Jessica. But it didnt matter, because he would remember when he woke up. Thats just the way it worked; the waking mind and the dreaming mind are strangers: the dream could never confuse the facts when he was awake. He was thankful for that. It looked like a nice day outside, so Joseph decided to go find a creek to walk along. He finished the coffee, then dressed and drove over to a local

park. He had only been to one area, where the stream passed near the parking lot, and was anxious to hike through the woods along its shores. Nothing about the adventure was unusual, it bore no otherworldly qualities besides the vague memory of a tidy bed and a good cup of coffee. He looked at his hands and feet again and they were securely attached. He decided he was just drowsy when he woke up. But if it was Saturday, what happened to Friday? He walked along the winding stream corridor, pausing to look at rocks and plants as he continued to try to piece together the events of the last twenty-four hours. He took off early from work, that much he knew. He must have just gone home and taken a nap. It had to be Saturday. He didnt dream up that phone call. The path beside the creek ended as the stream poured down a narrow gap along a series of steep waterfalls. Joseph made his way through the thick vegetation to perch on a boulder where he could look down to the woods below. He felt connected to the riparian corridor, he belonged here. As he searched for fossils and imprints in the calcareous streambed, he had the disconcerting impression that he was being watched. Glancing around to find no evidence of another person in the vicinity, he returned his attention to the stone banks around him and the stone substrate beneath him and he saw what appeared to be eyes gazing out of the rock. Dozens of pairs of lidless eyes peered endlessly outward, like spirits entombed in the skin of the earth: silently, placidly screaming for liberation from their prison of stone. You are free! Set us free! they seemed to be wordlessly shouting. He was free. He knew he was free. His heart felt like soaring, his stomach fluttered and he asked himself if he could fly. He felt a buzzing in his ears, then realized he was hearing something. It was a telephone ringing. It was his telephone ringing. He turned in the direction of the ring and realized he was in bed. He groggily shook himself and reached for the phone; sunlight streamed in through the curtains. Hello, he said. Joseph? Are you okay? the voice asked. Huh? Yeah, Im fine. Who is this? he responded. Jessica. Youre presenting at the staff meeting today, remember? Staff meeting? Thats not until Tuesday, he mumbled.

This is Tuesday, she said. Where have you been? I tried calling all day Friday and you never picked up. You must have heard my messages. He looked at his blinking answer machine. Didnt we talk on Saturday? Joseph asked. Didnt I call you? No, you never called me, and I dont know what were going to do if you dont get up here now, she said. Joseph laughed nervously. Im sorry, he said. I guess I overslept. He looked at his clock, it was fifteen past nine. The meeting wasnt until ten. He could make it. He was prepared. Ill be right there, he said. He frantically threw on a vest and blazer and found his good shoes. He splashed his face and gargled and went to fetch his keys from the dresser. They werent there. He looked through pockets, he looked on the floor, he looked in the bathroom, he looked in the kitchen, he even looked in the bed. He glanced at his watch and started to panic. Ill look like an idiot if Im late, he thought. He decided he must have left them in the car. He dashed into the parking lot. His car wasnt there. His heart started pounding. His head felt like it might explode. This was insane, how could this happen? He never left his keys in the car. But then why couldnt he find them in the apartment? He had to call Jessica. At least now he had an excuse. When he got back to his room, he discovered he had locked himself out. He walked anxiously to the managers office but the sign said she would open at ten. He didnt have any coins in his pocket or he would have used the pay phone by the pool. He resigned himself to knocking on neighbors doors, asking to use a telephone. He started next door. There was no answer. He walked upstairs and knocked. Still no one home. Glancing around, he noticed that no one was in the parking lot, no one was outside in the entire complex. It wasnt that strange, he guessed, for no one to be roaming around the apartments at twenty past nine on a Tuesday morning. He had to get word to the office before the meeting began. Jessica was in charge of it, and it was the whole division, not just the environmental group. The division manager would be there, and maybe even her boss. He had hoped to make an impression, but not like this. He jogged down to the convenience store on the corner; it was closed. There were no cars on the highway, no people on the sidewalks. This made

no sense. This street was always busy, this store was always open. He hadnt lost his car, he had to still be dreaming. Anger rose, misted with relief, and flushed his cheeks. His ears burned. Slow and steady, he reminded himself, Breathe in, breathe out. I have to wake up; I have to wake myself up. I need to do something crazy, to shock myself awake. He looked at the storefront, he looked at the dumpster. The easiest thing would be to break that glass, he thought. That should do it. Beside the dumpster he noticed a couple of rusty metal pipes. He picked up the larger one and took it over to the window. He was just about to strike it with the bar when he saw the reflection of someone in the glass: only it wasnt him looking back at himself, it was Guinier. Go ahead, but I dont think it will work, she thought to him. He almost hesitated, to wonder why he couldnt see his own reflection, but he didnt want to interrupt his escape plan, so he loudly commanded, Go away! His voice sounded muffled and distant. He swung that heavy piece of iron with all his might, anticipating an earth-shattering awakening. But the glass was mist. He fell forward with the ferocity of his thrust and tumbled across the floor, scattering maps and sunglasses and candy bars across the clean, white linoleum. She followed him in. This is a strange place, she said. He still had the pipe clenched like a baseball bat as he stood erect and entertained the thought of taking a swipe at her. Oh dont be ridiculous, that wont help either. Dont you get it? Its over. Its time to let go, she said. Defeated, Joseph dropped the pipe with a noisy clank. It landed on his toes, and he let out an audible gasp anticipating the pain. The pain didnt come. I cant do this, he said. Im sorry to have to tell you this, but you really dont have a choice, she responded. Breathe, breathe, he told himself. He had not been trapped in a dream since he was a child. Even when he dreamed of that war, he knew he could wake himself up if it became too troubling. They speared him, they shot him full of holes, and that didnt wake him up. He always told himself he chose to continue the dream, that he chose to confront his fears. Maybe he was

wrong. Maybe he had less power in his dreams than he imagined. But he knew a dream couldnt kill him. Of course dreams can kill you. Havent you ever heard of dying in your sleep? You dont think dreams have anything to do with that? she asked. He had never seriously considered the possibility that someone might actually die of fright or surprise or exertion brought on by events in a dream, but he had awakened panting or crying or shouting enough times to realize now that it was a distinct possibility. But if he was dead, wouldnt he know it? Surely it wouldnt seem like a dream, would it? If he was dead, where was God? Shouldnt there be someone there to greet him? That song is right, you know: Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream, she sang softly, the melody coursing through the still air like a light breeze. Her voice was angelic. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream. She sounded like a child, like a perfectly-contented solitary little girl singing quietly to herself in the playground. The sound was hypnotizing, drifting in and out, in and out. He looked at her again, and she smiled broadly. But so is death, she said. He thought about his notions of death, he remembered his prayer in the desert. You cant be God, he told her. Which god? she asked. The God, he replied. Theres only one true God. Which one is that? she asked. Is one persons god the same as the next persons god? People dont define God, he replied. I thought people defined everything, she said. No. That way of thinking is just self-deception. Each person draws certain conclusions about reality, but that doesnt change reality itself. God is the ultimate reality. Which god? she asked again. Power? Pleasure? Passion? Pride? Popularity? No, no. Those things are all temporary. God is eternal. God is the omniscient, omnipotent, self-existing creator of the universe, he responded. Not ringing any bells, she said.

Okay, try to imagine this. Think of the most powerful, wise and loving being that could possibly exist. How did the philosopher put it? God is that than which nothing greater can be conceived to exist. Hmm. So why cant I be God? she asked. For one thing, Jesus prayed, Our Father, which art in heaven... Jesus who? she asked. Oh, for crying out loudJesus Christ, the Son of God. You dont know who Jesus is? He thought everybody knew about Jesus. Why would you think that? You never mentioned him before, she replied. Yeah, well, I guess it never crossed my mind that you could have athat it would be relevant to you. He was born to a Jewish couple in Bethlehem, in Israel, about 2000 years ago. His mother, Mary, was a virgin. His Father was the Spirit of God. He healed people and worked miracles and introduced the world to love, Joseph recited from his deepest memories. Wait a minute, you just said his father was God, she interjected. Thats right. A spirit. Yes. So Mary was a single mother? No. No, she had a husband. But he wasnt the father of Jesus. Poor guy. Must have been hard on him. What was his name? Its not about him, its about Jesus. In the end, he was nailed to a cross and died there; he gave his life for the sins of the world. Thats pathetic, she said. But he rose again on the third dayhe came back to life! His friends went to his tomb to anoint the body and he had risen! he responded, growing excited as he realized deep inside he desperately wanted to believe this narrative. He wondered if that was what salvation was really all about, simply believing the Good News. Thats quite a story. Are you sure you didnt just make that up? she asked. Of course I didnt make it up. How could I make something like that up? You would have to be demented to fabricate a story like that and try to pass it off as true. Its what I was taught, growing up, he answered. Sounds crazy. So, where is he now, this Jesus of yours? she asked.

In heaven. At the right hand of the Father, according to the Bible, Joseph answered. Bible? she inquired. Its a book, a lot of people believe it is the Word of God, he replied. It starts with the Old Testament, which describes creation and the history of the Jewish people. It ends with the New Testament, which tells the story of Jesus and his followers. And where is this heaven he supposedly went to? Oh good grief. How can you not know about heaven? How would I? Its a place of peace and joy and perfect contentment. There is no want, there is no fear, no hunger, no disease, no loneliness. Its where a person wants his soul to go when he dies, he tried to explain. Its where God is. So you mean he came back to life, and then he died again? she asked. No. No. He ascended into heaven, through the clouds, he replied. So heaven is in the sky? she asked. Actually, Jesus said it was inside us. Oh. You mean, sort of likehere, she said. He looked around at the dreamscape where he found himself: at the empty, disheveled convenience store where they were standing. I dont think this is what he had in mind, Joseph replied. But theres a lot of it I dont understand. And then what? Guinier asked. She appeared to be genuinely interested in hearing Joseph tell this story. Well, an angel appeared and said he would return one day just as he had departed. They refer to that as the Second Coming, or the Rapture. So he flew away, and hes supposed to fly back some day. Why? she asked. To establish the Kingdom of God, to judge the living and the dead, he said. There will be wars and earthquakes and flood and famine, and signs in the sky, and then the end will come. Havent there always been these things? she asked. I know. But I guess it will reach an all new level around that time. Its supposed to be a mystery, though. No man knows the hour. Not even Jesus. Only God knows.

Sounds pretty intense, she observed. So hes going to fly down and judge everybody, based on what? Well, that depends. If you reject the cross, youre judged on your merits. The good you did versus the bad. The main thing, I think, is whether you acted out of love more than out of selfishness, he suggested. Jesus said that as we judge, so we are judged. If we refrain from judging other people, I think that works to our favor. Plus, he is both perfect wisdom and perfect mercy, Joseph added, so his judgment will be both just and forgiving. I believe those two characteristics are mutually exclusive, Guinier observed. How can he maintain his integrity for justice if he doles out mercy to everyone? Thats where forgiveness comes in. Christians believe that the blood of Jesus washes away sin. But you have to accept the sacrifice. What does that mean: accept the sacrifice? she asked. It means accept that he was who he said he was and that his blood on the cross was shed for you. And follow his example. To me, it means be grateful and live to love, Joseph said. There was a pause in the conversation as he contemplated what he had just said to her. And you believe this? Guinier said, This is what you call reality? Yes, actually, I guess I do, he said. Incredible, she said. I believe Jesus is the personification of love. And I believe in love. Incredible, she repeated, peering out across the road and up into the pale blue morning sky. Following her wide-eyed gaze, Joseph noticed a mountain range of thunderheads rising up above the shopping center across the street. The white clouds billowed and rolled. They were moving in fast motion. He could feel his heart thumping; his throat was dry, his knees were weak. He had wondered whether the Second Coming of Christ might be something witnessed by each person, individually, after death. Something like this. He stepped out into the parking lot and stood beside Guinier, whose attention remained fixed on what was happening in the sky across the street at that moment. Its so beautiful, she said, almost in a whisper.

Joseph, transfixed by the vision, couldnt speak at all. Then he heard thunder.

***
His neck was stiff, his side ached, his exposed shoulder was painfully numb. He felt chapped cheeks and tingling toes. He drew a quick breath and opened his eyes. An eighteen-wheeler rumbled down the highway. The sun was rising over the bridge across the river. He could see his car still parked over there where he had put it. He didnt have the ice chest with him, there was no sign of a fire. He shivered and stood up stiffly, stretching and rubbing his right arm briskly with his left hand. The dawn was monumental. He unrolled the poncho from the ground and slipped it over his head, then walked over to the edge of the river. He searched the ground for clues he had been this way before. He found none. He tried to replay the dream in his mind, but it swiftly dissolved from his grasp. Soon, no trace of the adventure remained accessible to him. The day was beautiful, though, so it didnt seem to matter. He felt strangely normal. When he reached the edge of the cliff, he noticed the waning crescent moon in the sky. The shallow river below meandered slowly eastward, quietly flowing in shadow. Nothing seemed more important to him at that moment than to be thankful: thankful he was alive, thankful he was awake, thankful the sun had risen, thankful his car was there. The drive home was uneventful. In his mind, he rehearsed the presentation he would be giving on Tuesday. He was excited at the opportunity to talk about his work, to share his passion for the rivers. He hoped he would make a good impression and was oddly confident he would. He realized he cared deeply about his peers, and about the effort to pass along healthy streams and thriving tracts of wilderness to the generations to come. Earth might not be all there is, he reasoned, but it is home. He recalled that Adam and Eve were given dominion over the earth, to subdue it. He struggled with that concept. The wrestler subdues his opponentwrestles him into submission. Dominion implies a master, a master implies slavery. He loved the wilderness. He loved the innocence of ruby-throated hummingbirds, the humility of symphonic tree frogs. He loved

the rhythm and the design, the interdependent fabric of nature itself. One long strip of asphalt could destroy much, one massive patch could kill an aquifer. He concluded that mans dominion implied benevolence, and that the mandate to subdue implied being a tender caretaker. The best masters are the best stewards, he decided. The world should be subdued as the restive stallion should be subdued, with respect and admiration for its free spirit. It should not be made into a plow mule. To do so would destroy a precious thing. He arrived back at the city in the afternoon. The weather was inviting, and he felt a little giddy knowing he still had two more free days, so he drove out to a little natural area he had discovered on the south side of town. He had never ventured out beyond the picnic tables near the parking lot, so he parked and started walking east, following the creek. He came to an overlook where the terrain slipped steeply away and the stream followed a narrow channel over low falls before speeding down toward a subdivision of cookie-cutter houses where the water became a shocking green due to the great long plumes of filamentous algae. He wondered what kind of bottom-dwelling organisms he might find in this creek, and picked up a rock. He saw a healthy damselfly nymph clinging to the wet stone. He peered curiously into its gleaming eyes.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Spotlight
Joseph was excited to have plenty of time to fine-tune his presentation. He worked on his laptop and synchronized some of his favorite songs to the words and images, creating a soundtrack for his slide show. The whole water division was in attendanceabout 120 peopleplus a few board members and the executive director. They werent there just to see him, of course, but he was going to make the most of his slot. His task was to propose a vision for a reorganized water protection section within the organization. He needed to energize the staff so the changes ahead would not seem daunting, and at the same time defend the relevance of such an effort so that those responsible for funding would be motivated to invest in the plan. He integrated research and awards and accolades with statements gathered from interviews with coworkers about big-picture issues like purpose and ethical issues like a responsible legacy. The slides showed pristine streams and polluted streams and children playing and families swimming. An old fisherman in his dingy. A rice farmer on his tractor. A speculator surveying an undeveloped canyon. Obnoxious roadside billboards. He tossed in an occasional graph and some pie charts for good measure, to show how both the ecology and the economy had improved due to the diligence and integrity of the agencys ongoing commitment. Nature was a value-added asset to the community. People lived and worked and played and supported businesses around these parts because the landscape was healthy. To invest in the welfare of clean water was to invest in the future of the region. Nice angle, said the public relations specialist afterwards. All those references to children and future generations was a shrewd stroke. Thanks, he replied, disgusted by the narrow vision of this adman.

One high-level manager told Joseph the presentation gave him goose bumps. The head of the division smiled, and he knew he had done his job. As the meeting was breaking up, the division managers supervisor approached Joseph. You seem to believe in what you do, she said. Yes maam, I do, he answered. Where does all that passion come from? she continued. I love nature: the flowers, the trees, the creeks. I think its beautiful and the least we can do is take care of it, he gushed. No, she said, I mean what makes Joseph Medallion tick? Where do you get your inspiration? Oh, he began, well, my mother was my first role model. She told me to follow my star. And I learned to fish and we went camping and spent a lot of time in the woods out on the farm where she grew up. Thats not all there is to it, she commented. Well, he paused, not knowing how his words might affect her, then continued, I guess my real inspiration is Jesus. He believed in love so much that he lived and died for it. I think thats pretty impressive. Bingo! she exclaimed, then clapped him on the back. That was a fine piece of work, Mr. Medallion. Thank you, he replied Id like to join you in the field, she continued, and see just what it is you do. That would be great! he answered, Id love that. Ill have my people call your peopleset something up, she said enthusiastically. I dont really have any people, he chuckled, my job is pretty simple. Well, I have a feeling you better get ready to step it up a notch. I believe youre capable of performing at a higher level than youre accustomed to. Do you know how to seize opportunity, Mr. Medallion? she beamed back at him. Her zest was unnerving. He was highly suspicious of the glare of success, and it made him feel kind of light-headed. This woman, Mary Driscoll, knew governors. She was the supervisor of his supervisors supervisor. There was only one person above her in the hierarchy, and he gave her full authority over her large domain.

Joseph liked his job the way it was. He was happiest out there with the nymphs in the stream. Im so far down the totem pole, he liked to say, if you step on me youll get mud between your toes. But he also enjoyed sharing his love of nature with people, and it was particularly satisfying to get to do so with people in authority. He wasnt about to close the door on Marys vision for him, whatever it was, so all he could think to say was, I always try to give it my best. Yes, Mary responded, I can see that you do. I think youll find you can have just about anything you need to succeed, based upon what Ive seen here. Okay, well, Ill look forward to it. I mean, to going out in the field together, he said. She laughed with a friendly cackle, Me too! Joseph didnt drive home that day, he floated. He thrived on the kind of attention and encouragement he had just experienced. It felt as good as making straight As. The Chardonnay tasted superb this night, and the shrimp sauted with garlic and butter and the wild rice on the side hit the spot. I think youll find you can have just about anything you need to succeed. He kept hearing it again and again. Success, he asked himself, what exactly is that? He knew that the legal designation in perpetuity was, in fact, a revocable condition. And he kept remembering this beautiful smile from some lady he didnt know in the back of that crowded room. The real world seemed pretty dazzling to him, pretty dreamy. He drifted off to slumber without a care in the world.

***
Joseph was walking backwards through a clear, shallow stream, stirring up a sediment plume by twisting his feet through the rough, rocky substrate as he walked. He was dislodging an abundant diversity of aquatic organisms. He held his dip net downstream firmly, being careful to capture the creatures as they swam or drifted with the current. He glanced at his watch and continued the kick for a few more seconds, then lifted the net and placed it in a large bucket sitting on a flat spot of dry limestone. He hand picked what he could, placing them in a small white tray,

then gently used forceps to gather the remainder as they squirmed and clung to wrinkles in the net. As he knelt to inspect the trays contents, intending next to sort them, something large moved. He felt it through the ground. It made his stomach flutter. The bedrock beneath him heaved, then rose with some velocity until Joseph found himself above the surrounding trees. He had the strange sensation that the woods were his audience, and they were waiting for him to say something. Hey, I like your bugs, was the first thing that came into his mind as he glanced at the contents of the little white tray still before his knees. The air was still, the sun was high, the trees were silent. He stood up, careful not to let the dizzying height of his strange stone stage unbalance him, and looked out at the pristine panorama. Youre beautiful, he proclaimed loudly, and I love you. A sustained gust suddenly stirred the trees into a roaring chorus. Joseph stood firmly with the wind in his face and wept openly before the shimmering sea of cheering leaves. The valley was giving him a standing ovation. When he awoke, the dream nestled firmly into his subconscious mind. More immediate and pressing, though, were his memories of the previous days events. Josephs reflections were a stew of apprehension and excitement. He knew he had accomplished his assignment. He had also called positive attention to himself, and he may have even succeeded in getting the new division off on the right foot. Plus, the executive manager said she wanted to go on a sampling run with him. The other things she had said weighed on him. He wondered what she had in mind. Mary was as good as her word, and their time in the field was priceless to him. She pumped him full of confidence. The next thing he knew, he received a call from the head of a clean water organization in Washington, D.C. Soon he found himself engaged in high-level discussions, contributing his perspective to innovative projects and engaging a passel of impressive peers. In the following months, which swiftly turned to years, Joseph was sent to share his enthusiastic vision with environmental agencies all over the country. His approach was simple and unassuming, he didnt try to impress anyone with his pedigree or his statushe saw himself as the local country bumpkin with plain common sense attitudes he wasnt shy about defending.

He just said what he knew to be true: that progress in protecting stream systems could best be accomplished through mutual respect, community involvement, accurate data, free exchange of information, open and honest dialogue, a pinch of compassion for the future, and a rational dose of foresight. He spoke at conferences and served on committees working to improve watershed management strategies from east to west and from north to south. He knew he was no more enlightened, no more qualified to be talking to these people than he had been before the spotlight fell on him. Most of the people he met were far superior to him in their educational background and technical knowledge and professional experience and intellectual prowess. His edge was his passionthe fact that he was utterly committed to the cause of a healthy planet. That was something you couldnt learn in school, that was something you either found inside yourself or you didnt find at all. His enthusiastic faith in the value of open communications and in the strength of the publics hunger for meaningful stewardship involvement was Josephs irrepressible appeal. It turned out he was an authority when it came to giving his all to something he believed in. And in seeing the simple solution. If there was an inter-jurisdictional issue causing a bottleneck in peoples ability to respond, for instance, he suggested the experts should try picking up the phone and talking to their counterparts across the borderlines. Red tape was no excuse for red tide, he chided. People in the business of safeguarding the environment served a higher authority than bureaucrats in the business of safeguarding their own jobs, he insisted. About a year after co-hosting a national conference in his own town, Joseph was called to the nations capitol to set the agenda for the first meeting of a new steering committee assembled to develop and launch a water quality awareness campaign to ignite nationwide citizen participation. Following the culminating event of the campaign, a national water appreciation day, he was invited back to speak at the celebratory conference. His surprising career twist introduced him to all new levels of influence, of satisfaction and enthusiasm, of honor and acclaim. (Power, pleasure, passion, pride, popularity.) He failed to make the connection. Before the big day, he decided to drive down to his small hometown to visit with his parents. When he arrived, he noticed the large American flag by

the driveway. That hadnt been there before. Beside the door was a little metal plaque that read God Bless America. Joseph knew why they had placed these emblems of patriotism outside the house. That foul September day, the day the sky was silenced by the grounding of all air traffic, reminded them of Pearl Harbor. To Joseph, it was the day a handful of twisted lunatics infected the most powerful nation in the world with the plague of war. Mr. and Mrs. Medallion were convinced the Muslim conspiracy to conquer the Earth had their small local church squarely in its sights. Joseph really just wanted to talk about his work, about his adventures around the country in service of the nations waters. But they were fixated on a different kind of patriotism, the kind that demands bloodshed and human sacrifice. Joseph spoke up for the innocent children trapped in their homes on the receiving end of invading Americans. His mother called him a coward, told him he would have deserted his own family when the Indians raided. She said he was a traitor and if she had her way traitors would be shot dead in the public square. You dont know anything about war. Ive lived through three wars. Youre just a typical example of the spoiled generation that believes it is entitled to the blessings of liberty your ancestors fought and died for. She was also saying that he was a non-entity throughout his childhood when the bloody battle which wanted to snare his treasured brothers appeared nightly on TV. He had lived through war, too. The fact that she could not comprehend this, the fact that she would not even acknowledge the existence of his personal experience brought to mind all those long years of forced silence. In retrospect, they were unendurable. His decision to approach his adult life with brutal honesty, what some might call reckless abandon, was linked directly to his observations of society during the war with Viet Nam. He had never worn the uniform, but he knew exactly what war was: brutal, heartless, primitive. The unfortunate turn of the conversation motivated an early departure. On his way out, his mother said something demeaning about his little water talk in Washington. He had wanted to show them that he was a success, he had hoped they would be proud of him, but they had never appeared to be more ashamed to have to call him their son. The drive home was long and miserable. A curtain of silence fell between them. His exposure to people in positions of authority around the nation afforded Joseph a glimpse at how decisions were made. Well-educated, well-

connected, imperfect people were doing their best to work with each other to establish priorities and address insurmountable challenges together. It was all about the people who were allowed in the room where the decisions were being made. What were their motivations? What were their goals? What were their personal priorities? What were their pet projects? What were their world views? People spoke of peace in hushed tones, like it was either a dirty word or an open admission of navet. Those who spoke the word aloud wondered if their subversive language would put them on the terrorist watch list. War on terror, how could one not be for that? But what about those children over there? Those terrorist children. It made his skin crawl to feel so alienated. It certainly cast a new light on his second trip to Washington, D.C. On his previous visit, he had stayed at a run-down hotel near George Washington University to save the committee some money; this time he was near LEnfant Plaza, closer to the action. It was still a bit of a walk. Unfortunately, it was fall, and it rained a lot. His place on the agenda was minor. He had twenty minutes in a break-out session on watershed management, attended by about forty experts in the field. He was billed as an specialist in citizen involvement, and was flanked by a mechanical engineer from Amsterdam and a geomorphology consultant from Colorado. By the time that strange medley of presenters concluded, just about everyone in the room seemed as baffled as Joseph was about why this hodgepodge of speakers had been put at the same table. Before the conference ended, though, the man from Holland sought Joseph out for advice on winning public support for mandatory range management ordinances. Joseph was also part of a panel before the plenary sessionwith all 300 or so attendants in the room. He found it neither daunting nor uncomfortable to be placed between the massive poultry production company spokesman and the environmentalist filmmaker who had exposed egregious degradation caused by faceless corporate hog and poultry processing plants. It was obvious to Joseph that the chicken man could take his ardent belief in the integrity of his profession and work with the movie man to demonstrate a model operation which would inspire the entire foodprocessing industry to clean up its act. All they had to do was remember who they were serving: the future. Integrity. Legacy.

Both sides laughed at Josephs suggestion. Perhaps there was no such thing as a humane meat-production facility, and everybody but Joseph knew it. Gridlock and manipulation of perception. Supply and demand, consumption and consumer product. One side pushed cheap meat while he claimed to care about the animals and the ecological impacts of its waste, the other hawked righteous indignation against cruelty to animals and the overabundance of chicken excrement in the streams while he watched football and ate buffalo wings. At the conclusion of the session, in front of the other panelists, a stunning young woman approached Joseph and asked if she could have a copy of the speech he had given some months earlier in Houston. He was flabbergasted. She took his breath away. When he recovered, he blushed and said, Sure! You were in Houston? He remembered that speech. It was just a few days after the foul September event. Joseph was still hopeful that his country would seize the opportunity, with the sympathetic eyes of the world watching, to demonstrate its noble character. He saw the tall buildings around him and imagined the horror. He viewed it as a heartless, desperate massacre bred of malicious cowardice. For him, murdering strangers to prove a point proved only that the perpetrators were murderers. He hoped beyond hope that his nation would not allow itself to be seduced into exchanging blows with evil on evils terrain, bankrupting both the pocket and the soul. Put a lock on the cabin door, he thought, and dont let people bring weapons on the planes. No, but I heard about it. Im with Environmental Defense, she said. We like how you think. Youre very articulate and straightforward. We need more speakers like you. Youre so intense, and plain-spoken. He was astonished. He hoped his ideas might make an impression on people, might reach their hearts and open their minds. But he was usually talking to scientists, who tended to be somewhat pragmatic; these people were rather cautious and reserved concerning intangible concepts like moral imperatives or responsible legacies. Heres my card, she said, handing it to him. You can send it to me here. Would you like me to just email it? he asked. She smiled brightly, he almost fell over from the effect it had on him. That would be perfect! And any other talks you would be willing to share.

Sure. I would be happy to, he said. Then he asked, Do you live here, in Washington? Her response indicated she had other business to attend to and the look in her cool gray eyes suggested that she knew he would be disappointed by her inability to linger. Her combination of searing energy, deep purpose, and sheer physical beauty, Joseph figured, must affect every man she talked to the way she was affecting him. I live in Georgetown. Thank you very much, she said, and turned to walk away. Well, youre very welcome, he replied as he watched her start for the door. She paused and turned, I really appreciate this. Of course, Joseph heard himself say, its my pleasure to be of service. What a stupid thing to say, he thought the instant he said it. He read her card: Josephine Guerin, Senior Planner. He watched through the wide front window near the entrance to the building as she disappeared into the rainy night. Thin trickles streamed like tears down the glass between them. Goodbye, Josephine, he thought wistfully. His brief encounter with this dark-haired angel from Georgetown was the only evidence that his being there had accomplished anything at all. When he had balked at the suggestion to relocate and take a role at the national level, he lost his clout at that table. The offer to speak began to feel more like a consolation prize and less like a blue ribbon. His little talk had turned out to be just that: a little talk. He felt like he had just helped win the big game, he felt like he was just the water boy. When one ascends, the view gets grander. Distances shrink, and proportions revealed by the larger scope place things in fresh perspectives. His little town, his little watershed, grew smaller by comparison. Yet he began to understand that what he wanted most was to focus on something smaller still. Instead of trying to care about the waters of the nation, or the waters of the state, or even the waters of the basin, he wanted to focus on one little creek. This, he started to imagine, was a manageable unit: one tiny tributary. If done right, it could be a model for the others.

He drank a glass of wine at the closing reception, ate a few skewers of shrimp. He didnt hang around to network. Those days were behind him. He had given it his best shot, he figured, and it would be what it would be. As he started walking back to his hotel, a thin mist replaced the thick drizzle, so he decided instead to enjoy a few local sights first. He found himself heading for the impressive Smithsonian building, then walked west along Jefferson Drive. The great white monolith of the Washington Monument speared the dark, wet sky before him. The weather kept people inside, Joseph scarcely saw another pedestrian. He angled along the walkway until he stood directly beneath the impressive obelisk, then proceeded to stroll beside the reflection pool to the Lincoln Memorial. He noticed the foul-looking water was shallow and littered with debris. He thought how a nation, especially a democracy, was a reflection of its people. The people elect the president, the president is supposed to mirror their will. His president was not mirroring his will at that moment. Before him, cast in marble, the legendary savior of the union sat poised and dignified like an immense king on his throne. Mighty pillars and stately steps gave the temple-like structure an ancient Greek appearance. The experiment of democracy really began with them, thought Joseph. He considered Socrates, remembering how he once wanted to be an important philosopher, too. But he didnt want to drink poison. He pondered the meaning of martyrdom. He looked up at the magnificent sculpture of Abraham Lincoln and felt nothing but small. It was a long, dreary walk back to his bed. He discovered a hole in his right shoe when he stepped in a puddle. His whole foot was numb by the time he reached his room. He walked out onto his small balcony to get a last glance at the city. All he could see was a wall and another building. He noticed a seagull chasing a moth through the frosty air around a tall street light. Warming his bones with a hot shower, Joseph felt a sting of embarrassment as he recalled those two panelists laughing at his suggestions in front of the entire conference. What was I even doing there? he wondered. He recovered slightly when he remembered Josephine's request for copies of his speeches. The more he thought about it, though, the less confident he was that she would be impressed by anything he had ever said or thought.

***
Joseph stood in front of a plate glass window on a busy sidewalk in a big city. He had been walking against the stream of pedestrians and stopped to see if he could tell what was poking his lips. In his reflection, he saw a piece of wire had come loose from his braces. When he tugged at the wire, he realized he could extract it if he chose to. He hesitated, concerned that he might do irreparable damage to his teeth if he took this wire out. But then he recalled that he hadnt worn braces in years, which led him to deduce he must be dreaming. When he pulled the wire out, the braces unraveled and fell from his mouth in large chunks of metal. It was a great relief to have all that wire out of there. But then he noticed a tooth was loose, and when he went to touch it, it fell out in his hand.

***
As Joseph started the process of withdrawing from the national dialogue, he settled uneasily into what he knew would appear to be his professional decline. Caught in his own inner turmoil over the transition, he was slow to recognize that a big shift was under way in the distribution of power. The environment, already neglected when the project started, had become dispensable under the sense of national emergency that gripped the nation. A palpable stench of vengeance hung in the air like smog. Budgets were redistributed, ecological research findings were red-white-and-blue washed, programs were eliminated, personnel were replaced. Fear-peddlers thrived, suspicion professionals flourished, mercenaries abounded. Patriotic mania threatened the fabric of the Constitution. The fear of weapons of mass destruction led to a Shock and Awe invasion in public and covert assassination strategies in private. Unwarranted renditions. Waterboarding. Third-country detentions. Terrorist watch lists. Predator drones. Friendly fire. Civilian casualties. War on terror. Why not just go ahead and declare war on Satan and be done with it? Joseph thought. As far from the action as Joseph was, he could feel the impacts. Natural resource protection and environmental education were viewed as potentially

counter-productive to the national interest by certain legislators. Josephs work was under scrutiny, he was asked to create a fiscal defense for his program. I suggest you just lay low until this thing blows over, Mary advised him during a staff meeting. He was a rung up the ladder now, and she was sitting in on his new supervisors team meeting. The senator has made it clear that he plans to shut us down if we dont curtail our soft programs. We have to look at the big picture, we have to demonstrate that were trimming the fat. Medallion, you and your program need to go hide under a rock. He knew his work with citizens and with peers around the nation cost more than it had to cost. There were less expensive ways to do everything he did. He had no problem with that line of reasoning. But the assault was directed at the philosophy of environmental education itself. He began to see that certain people did not want children to believe that the environment had any intrinsic value beyond its potential to be mined, harvested, drilled, paved, or otherwise exploited to generate revenue. Profit margins were at stake for those who made a living by degrading, peddling and consuming natural resources. In this time of national emergency, encouraging children to recycle was harmful to the economy. Go buy stuff, he seemed to remember the president saying. Conservation and thrift had become un-American virtues. He didnt attempt to fight the tide, he let the storm pass through him. He knew he still had friends at his side, but he knew they were all anxious about their jobs under the new belt-tightening that had come upon them. He had no one to turn to, no one he could share these struggles with. And still he was looking for some tiny, precious parcel of the globe to care for. With the pressure from above, his search took on a new urgency. Once again he was prepared to let his dreams provide aid, if ever they couldor at least a temporary sanctuary for his troubled mind. Joseph drove down to the coast to sit on the beach. The drive took no time at all. He was pleasantly surprised to find himself alone on the wide, sandy shore. The sound of the surf soothed his senses, as always. He wondered if he should have simply been a fisherman. The water was gray. The sky was gray. Even the sand was gray. When he waded out to feel the splash on his legs, he noticed his feet still felt dry. The breeze was strangely absent, but it was always windy at the beach. Even the sound of the surf, he observed, was subdued.

Hey there, Mr. Superstar. He turned to see a familiar face. Her hair was like a wink of gold against the gray dunes where she stood. Hey yourself, he replied impassively. Long time no see. She approached him with her usual leisurely pace. He watched, unfeeling, her approach. So, Joe Cool is it now? He turned away, preferring the gray of the watery horizon to the intense azure beauty of her eyes. At least now he knew why his feet felt dryhe wasnt really standing in water at all. I see you found yourself a life. Joseph laughed coldly at himself. Life is brief, he said. When was the last time you took a walk in the woods? He couldnt remember. It seemed that even if he had been around nature, he was always so full of himself and his bright ideas that he never seemed to actually see it any more. The environment had ceased to be a living thing for him, it had become a cause instead. That was the loss he had been mourning, not knowing for what he mourned. Its pretty nice to feel relevant, she said, but it makes it that much more painful when youre discarded. I had this friend in college who came from a rich family. He told me that he envied me, because I could lose everything and it wouldnt be that great a loss; whereas if he lost everything, it would be catastrophic. I thought that was about the most arrogant thing I had ever heard. But, in a way, he was right. Joseph looked down at the splashes of color which were Guiniers reflection on the water. Yeah. Just look what happened to Lancelot. The higher you rise, the farther you fall, she observed. He remembered a song, its soothing melody spun through his mind: The higher you climb, the more that you see; The more that you see, the less that you know; The less that you know, the more that you yearn; The more that you yearn, the higher you climb. Thats pretty, she said. Thats Dan Fogelberg, he replied, my favorite musician. He looked around, admiring the tall tufts of grass nestled in the soft white dunes. He

noticed a pale yellow starfish on the smooth, sandy strand. He walked over and picked it up, he held it in his hand. I dont think it belongs on the land, she said. I think it belongs in the water. How do you suppose it got here? he wondered aloud. Rough seas, maybe, she said. Or maybe it was just its time. Do you think it has a chance? he asked her. Not if it doesnt get back in the water, she replied. Is it still alive? He could feel the moist motion of the intricate organism he held. Yes. He held the fragile creature in his extended hand, offering it to Guinier. No, you should do it, she said. He thought about hurling the starfish out over the waves like a fivepointed Frisbee, but that seemed rather indelicate. Instead, he waded out, then swam out a little further and released it gently on the sea floor. Hang in there, little guy, he thought. Youre too beautiful to die. When Joseph returned to shore, Guinier said, It probably feels like it has a whole new life now. I hope so, Joseph replied. Where there is hope, there is life, she said. Actually, I think the way it goes is where there is life, there is hope, he corrected her. Dont you think it works both ways? she smiled. Well, you cant have hope unless you have life first. Somebody has to do the hoping. Okay. So, here you are. So why do you still look so gloomy? Oh, me. Right. Its justI guess I thought I had found my calling for a minute there, Joseph remarked. What makes you think you were wrong? she asked. Its over. Nobody cares what I think any more, he said. They told me to go crawl under a rock. I dont see any rocks around here, she observed. She was right. He saw sea, he saw sand, he saw sky. There were only two possible places to hide: under the dunes or under the water. Maybe youre like those starsyou know, sending the light out that keeps shining for a million years after its gone.

He chuckled. I wish, he thought. A gentle breeze brushed across the fabric of Guiniers skirt, and the gray sky turned blue. I feel like my life is over, he said. Why are you so keen to believe you only have one life to live? she asked. Nobody knows what happens when you die, he said. Im not talking about that, she said. Look at that sea star you rescued. Its life would have been over. Now it has another chance. I may have just prolonged its agony, he commented. Okay, then, try to look at it this way: What happened to the life of baby Josephthe one who lost the little stuffed lamb? He grew up. And his life ended. And then came little boy Joseph. Where did he go? He grew up, too. And his little boy life was over, wasnt it? But then came another life, right? And another one after that. Those arent lives, those are just stages of life, he started to explain. Only because you choose to see them that way. But baby Joseph died when little boy Joseph appeared, and the life of little boy Joseph ended when big boy Joseph was born. The life you had after you became what you call important put an end to the life of anonymity you lived before, didnt it? In a way, yes, I guess it did, he acknowledged. Now the new life of fame and glory is over, you think, she said. Yes, Im pretty sure that life is over. And why is that life over? she continued. Because I didnt want to move to Washington and leave my river behind, he said. You chose to end your life of accolades and audiences because you know you can care for your own little river better, right? So your life as a big shot has ended, so what? Youve started over from that place before, havent you? He knew what she was saying, and he knew she was right. But the plummet he encountered at the end of his moment in the sun had taken him by surprise. One minute he thought he was navigating the journey, the next he felt like he was locked in the brig. But nothing about him was different.

The Joseph swabbing the deck to look busy was the same Joseph they had placed on the pedestal. No, she interrupted, hes not. Not what? Not the same Joseph. You were shy and humble and modest and nave and your passion came from the heart. You used to mop the floor like you expected Jesus to walk through the door, but God forbid you have to stoop to such a degrading and meaningless chore anymore; one might get the impression you think its beneath you now to get mud between your toes. You moved into your mind, Joseph. The old simple creek Joseph died that night in the desert. And the laptop Joseph was born. Ugh, he groaned, I dont care if I never see another cell phone. So be happy. Be new. Joseph looked at his plight from a new angle, checking off little annoyances from his glory days. He hated airports, he hated schedules, he hated the pressure of making good impressions. He hated the inevitable critique that followed his appearances, he hated wearing fancy shoes, he hated growing attached to people he would never see again, and he hated to see himself on TV. Suddenly he realized what a relief it was to be demoted, to be irrelevant, to be out of the spotlight. Now that he thought about it, he loved the feeling of anonymity. Being invisible is better, he thought, and Im good at it. Well, she mused, not that good. Why cant you be over there? he asked. Over where? she responded. You know, on the other sidewhere I am? Who says I cant? she responded.

CHAPTER NINE

Water Birds
When he woke up, he had a vague flash of remembrance. Could Guinier have a living counterpart in the real world? he wondered. He thought about Josephine, then dismissed the thought; aside from her kind words about his writing, she hadnt shown the least bit of interest in him. Then he recalled a certain pretty smile in the crowd from the day of that long-ago presentation where his rise in status began. He thought about how relaxed and competent this unfamiliar womans encouraging smile of support and approval made him feel. Then it occurred to him that he had seen her since then. They had interacted only briefly, but he recalled that she worked in environmental enforcement. How curious, he thought, that she happened to come so strongly to mind. He mulled over the idea of living multiple lives in one lifetime. He knew he retained some essential characteristics of the earliest developmental stages of his personality; he had often called on, and counted on, certain core values and beliefs embraced from childhood. He could not accept that his identity was an ever-moving target. He grew, he changed, but he did not utterly abandon his past as he moved forward. He wondered if he was deluding himself to believe that he actually did have some constant self which would accompany his journey through life, or if this was just a coping mechanism people used to make sense of the world. He started to wonder if purpose itself was something invented by the human mind to maintain motivation; ambition and aspiration and the very concept of a destiny began to look a bit like desperately artificial constructs. He recalled philosophical and psychological interpretations of self perception and self image he had previously rejected, and he allowed himself to reexamine his conclusions. Though the comfortable idea of a constant

self seemed to make sense from a visceral perspective, he could see how a truly evolving (and therefore ever-new) state of being would be considerably more adaptive and liberating. He wondered what it would do to his point of view if he were to genuinely approach his life as a fresh opportunity, one day at a time. His identity crisis offered a therapeutic distraction from the annoying changes he encountered at work. What his job now entailed was an inordinate amount of time spent justifying his activities and crunching budget numbers. He seemed to have become something of a toxic asset. Arguing ecology versus economy, he found, can be disheartening. Its difficult to measure the value of preserving biological diversity and healthy streams in dollars and cents. Everyone knows the adage about an ounce of prevention, but few managed to apply that truism to the environment. He had a hard time ironing out the exact costs of degraded waterways in a way that made a compelling argument for investing in water quality protection. He was back to square one. In the new climate of investments in increased security, something had to give. His time in the field was curtailed, his trips out of state were eliminated. They didnt entirely give up on him, they sent him to workshops. At one of these insulting training events (Restructuring Priorities to Do More with Less), he noticed a familiar woman sitting alone near the back of the class; he planted himself in the chair next to her. What a waste of time, she said as he sat down. Well, you know, its that pendulum swinging, he commented. Hey, she said, I know you. Joseph, he said, Joseph Medallion, and extended his hand. Hi Joseph. Im Elena, she replied, shaking his hand firmly. Weve actually met, but you probably dont remember. She had a strong grip, though she was quite petite. So they made you attend this pointless seminar, too. Yeah. I think this is what they refer to as trimming the fatthrowing money away to reprogram us. I think Im obsolete, he replied, adding, with his Dylan impression, The times, they are a-changing. She giggled. He got butterflies. Tell me about it, she said. And so he did.

I went to this one personnel management class; they have this theory that people perform best when you give them more work than they can possibly handle, he began. She laughed. Stress to Success, Ive heard about that. Yeah, it ranks right up there with Machiavellian Gridlock and Who Moved My Maze? and The Seven Secrets of Master Manipulators. Well, Im like, Tell it to the French, or the Italians. I think they have a better idea about balancing work with life over there. I just really dont like being yanked around. And Im certainly not going to become a puppet used to yank other people around. They spoke in hushed tones at the back of the room while the supercharged instructora cross between Bob Bountiful and some fraternity pledge who had just stepped out of a Harvard graduate class in business administrationdroned on adnauseam about the thing not being the thing. The thing is not the thing, the people are the thing. It doesnt matter what you do, or what you used to do, what matters is the people who do it. And when the people who do it matter, it gets done. Youre here because you manage the people who get it done. They think they know what it is, but you know the it is not the it, because the thing is not the thing. This is ludicrous, she groaned. A lot of people are talking about moving into the private sector. They say thats where the money is, Joseph commented. But you have to wonder about working for a profit-driven environmental firm. They still do what the money tells them to do. I dont care about the money, I just dont like this new permit everything, inspect nothing philosophy theyre shoving down our throats. Ive spent a lot of time and energy helping these operators get up to standards, and now were just throwing the whole codebook out the window. I have a friend in climate research; he says the administration has so many reviewers that EPA stands for Every Paragraph Altered. He laughed, Right, Enlightened Perspectives Abandoned. Just insert one word to clear scientific evidence for anthropomorphic impacts on accelerating climate change, and you get no clear scientific evidence. All the Presidents Men, she said.

I know. It would almost be funny, if it werent so sad. I guess you have to laugh about it, Elena observed, to keep from crying. She took it personally, like it was an affront to her career and to her profession. Joseph knew how she felt, but he was coming to see the changing tide in a larger perspective. To him, it was an annoying and disturbing and temporary setback in the burgeoning environmental consciousness. He tried not to take it personally. But for some reason, he was outraged by the effect it was having on Elena. The two of them lingered after the class. Neither wanted the conversation to end, but Joseph explained that he had car-pooled with some colleagues and couldnt keep them waiting. She offered him a ride, and he was happy to accept. Do you need to head back right away? Elena asked him as she pulled her tall, boxy vehicle out onto the highway. Joseph looked at her, smiling, Im as free as a bird. I was looking at the map on the way up here. Theres a little lake nearby. You want to go see what it looks like? she asked him. Sounds great, he said. When they reached the small reservoir, she parked the car near a gazebo. From there they watched a flock of cranes glide over the shimmering lake and disappear to the west. The sun was nearing the horizon, they watched a stiff breeze from the north skate across the surface before leaping up the hill to their vantage point. Joseph was wearing the warm navy-blue and beige varsity-style jacket he received for being at the job ten years; Elena wore a dark brown corduroy blazer. You want to walk down there? she asked. Absolutely, he said. Why dont you take my jacket? Are you sure you dont need it? That wind is cold, she replied. Just being near you makes me warm, he thought. She gave him a little smile that suggested she knew what he was thinking. His large coat fit easily over her own jacket. It swallowed her up, giving her the appearance of a child. When they reached the waters edge, she pulled up her sleeves, reached in, and retrieved a waterlogged chunk of wood from the muck. Lets see what we have here. Joseph smiled broadly. He had no idea she knew macro invertebrates.

Yeah, she said, I do stream monitoring as well. Looks like mostly leeches and worms. Not exactly the ideal substrate for stoneflies, is it? he said. He wanted to sound intelligent, he wanted to impress her. But mostly, he wanted to see her smile again. They say theyre good eating. You would need quite a few to fill up the bowl, she retorted. Ive actually eaten grasshoppers before. It was part of survival training. How was it? Not bad; it tastes like chickenlittle tiny chicken, she said. I had pickled octopus, once, in Venice. It was part of my survival. I spent the last three months of my teens starving all over Europe, Joseph told her. That sounds exciting, Elena said. It was kind of like eating a fat, round rubber band, he replied. I also tried escargot while I was in France. Oh, thats supposed to be good, she said. Yeah, it is, supposed to bewith garlic and butter. But mine was raw. I found some snails under a bridge between Calais and Paris and thought, well, you know, escargot. It was a bad idea, he said. Eating raw snails? Trying to hitchhike under a bridge. The snails were pretty tasteless: a little too crunchy, though. Youre not supposed to eat the shell, she laughed. Well I couldnt coax them out of there, he replied. I also had rattlesnake once, in Santa Fe. Oh, Ive had that, she said, its not bad. Maybe a little tough. I thought it was delicious, he added. Yeah, but the skin gets stuck between your teeth, she said. Yuck! he laughed. I know, and then all you have is those little fangs to pick it out with, she continued. Thats deeply disturbing, he said. What, yours didnt come with fangs? she asked. Mine didnt come with skin, it was friedin small chunks. Sort of like chicken nuggets.

Well, you were in New Mexico. Theyre a little more civilized over there, she said. Where were you? he asked. Texas, she replied. Where are you from? he asked. He knew from her accent that she was not native to the area. Id love to tell you, but then Id have to kill you. Thats classified, she said. No, really, Joseph pressed. Seriously, where are you from? The Land of Lincoln, she replied I saw him once. Hes rather large, he said. I didnt grow up in a log cabin, she added, but we were way out in the country. He loved the sound of her voice, her charming humor, her stubborn honesty. The fading light and freshening wind soon persuaded them it was time to depart. She returned his coat when they got back to the car. On the road again, they chatted effortlessly about everything: from his wild first year at college to her tour of duty with the Air Force. She described herself as a dove surrounded by hawks. She hated the idea of war as much as he did. Though they were in agreement on the topic, it was nevertheless a dark subject, and the next few miles went by in silence. Do you mind if we take a look at this site up here? she asked. Theres a nice little municipal park, so its lit at night. I just want to see if I can tell whether the algaes declined. There was a discharge violation upstream last week, she explained. Are you kidding? You should know by now thats my idea of a good time. She smiled and watched for the exit. Looking across her to the east, he saw the moon. What? she asked, feeling his eyes. Youre beautiful, he thought. Huh? he said, Oh, I just noticed the moons coming up. Great! she said, That will mean more light! Exactly! he responded. Her energy was contagious. Joseph felt stronger just being near hermore alive. The park was vacant when they pulled in. I wish I had the company truck right now, she said.

Were not even in our river basin yet, are we? Joseph asked. My territory covers multiple basins, she explained. Of course. I knew that. Well, if anyone comes around, you can just show them your badge, he suggested. I dont have a badge, I just have an ID card. But if they see the truck, nobody gets concerned. Unless they happen to be blatantly violating their permit. Does that happen? he asked. Not at my sites, she said, then smiled, Not more than once, anyway. He admired her confidence and her determination. She seemed to him both innocent and wise, both youthful and mature. He loved the combination. She hurried over to look at the water while he wandered slowly behind her, pausing to look at the great old oak trees mingled with pecans and sycamores near the gently sloping banks of the dark river. He followed a side path to a paved area beneath an ornate iron lamp post. This looks like something in Paris, he said softly to himself. That could be the Seine, he continued. Then he noticed she was standing next to him, admiring the lamp post, too. Ive never been to Paris, she said longingly. I was there about this time of year. I spent a night in the subway. Unintentionally, of course. I had some pretty creepy dreams down there: pick-pockets, roaches, mosquitoes, homeless men hacking up phlegm and peeing on me, he recalled. Its a beautiful city. Sounds charming, she responded. Her dark brown eyes reflected the bright yellow glow of the park light as she looked up at him. Above the lamp, the beaming blue moon laughed with all the stars in the sky. It was snuggling into the high, thick, open branches of the massive live oak towering over them. The wind picked up, the cold front was following them home. He looked at Elena again, who was frozen in some private contemplation. Her eyes were wide and warm. Youre twinkling, he thought, gazing dreamily into their midnight ebony softness. Then he realized the sparkles he was seeing were tears.

Whats up? Whats wrong? he asked tenderly, putting his hands on her shoulders. Hey, youre freezing. Here, Im sorry, you need this more than I do. She let him wrap his coat over her shoulders and looked at him with a vulnerable, almost pleading expression. He could tell she wanted to say something, something painful, something difficult. Its okay. You can trust me, he said. I believe that, she responded. The problem is, she paused, then continued, I didnt want to believe itI dont know how its even possibleyoure going to think Im crazy, she started. I would never think that, he responded. She looked away, the silent tears streaking her face. He placed a finger beneath her chin, gently turning her face back so she could see his eyes, Please tell me. She took a deep breath. I love you, she said. Joseph wrapped his arms around her and drew her trembling frame to his heart. He looked up at the moon and feared he might be dreaming. He smelled the sweet fragrance of her long, soft hair; her words lingered in the air. She gently pushed herself from his arms and backed away. I found this little black book in your pocket, she said, when we were at the lake. She held out his pocket New Testament. Its sort of my Linus blanket, I guess, he remarked. I admire people who have faith, she said, thumbing through the pages. Well, Im not much of an expert. I believe Jesus was for real, thats about as far as Ive gotten. I was a Catholic, she said. She closed the book, put it back in the pocket. I sang in the choir. I would love to hear you sing, he thought. I still have my guitar. I actually used to be in a group. Sort of folk and country music. I got real close to one of the singersI thought I might be in love, she said. For reasons he couldnt comprehend, the words stung. He couldnt bear the thought of her with another man. I dont sing any more. I doubt if I could even remember how, she said, seeming to be saying more than what her words were telling him. He watched

her struggle with some inner turmoil, but had no idea how to respond. So he just stood there admiring her, listening, feeling these ancient emotions of jealousy and passion well up within him. She turned her eyes back to his, Oh, Joseph, she started, throwing her arms around his neck, then burying her head in his shoulderclinging to him as if clinging to life, I dont want to never see you again! What? he stammered, Never see me? Why would you say that? This isnt the end. This is justthe beginning. Besides, you still have to drive me back to my car, he added, trying to insert a little levity. She stepped back and looked down. I have a past, she said. He cocked his head slightly, then smiled and said, Everybody has a past. I certainly do. He thought for a moment, unsure how what he was about to say would affect her; but then he determined to just go ahead and shatter any illusions she might be harboring about him, so he added, Ill bet youve never been in jail. I have. Twice. She looked at him with wide eyes, unable to hide her surprise. YouFor what? Well, the first time was a case of mistaken identity. But the second time you could say I was at the wrong place at the wrong time doing the wrong thing. I got lost, and ended up trespassing. That doesnt sound so bad, Elena said, It gets worse. I spent the night in jail, he responded. Just for wandering onto some private property? she asked. Well, it was State property, he explained. Still, it seems they could have just ticketed you or something, she suggested. Did I mention, I was naked at the time? All the police could find was my shirt, he told her. They gave me some pants. I remember seeing these scorpions crawling all over the walls, being eaten alive by ants. They put me in a little cement cell with a drain in the middle and I stood there and shivered for who knows how long. I thought they were going to gas me or something. As he shared his terrible memory of that day, her compassion and warmth and sympathy infused his recollection with a new clarity. I was trying to let go of a dream, he continued, but I ended up unleashing a

nightmare. He decided not to go any farther. Anyway, he concluded, we make mistakes, we learn from them. But Im pretty sure that put an end to any hopes I may have had for a political career. She couldnt help but laugh at the picture he had just painted in her mind. So Joe Cool has a wild side. When was this? I was in graduate school. I thought I was just going to blow off a little steam with some friends, to take a peek over the edge and see if I could get my bearings. It was a bad idea. When we stopped at a small island in the river, I felt an irresistible compulsion to ask them what they thought about Jesus. They laughed, so I went for a walk. The next thing I knew I was surrounded by this tall fence, and I couldnt find the way out. I felt the need to confess and repent. I took off my clothes and waded into a slippery pool to be baptized. Then I was under the awful impression that I had committed the unforgivable sin, and had been condemned. Then I thought there was a parade going on, and a great feast, and I was locked outside: like the guy who showed up at the wedding banquet in the wrong clothes. Everyone I knew seemed to be there; they walked through this line and paused to look down at me. Someone asked if anyone knew me. One by one I watched them shake their heads. None of them knew me. None of them could say a word on my behalf. I was devastated. I wasnt really surprised, thoughI didnt know me, either. But then I realized that I was happy for themthat I loved them all regardless what they thought of me. I saw them as the ones who had remained faithful, and who were now receiving their reward. This gave me great comfort. And that thought cleared my mind, and pretty soon everything made sense again. The only people who were actually there were the staff, and the police. They saw I was harmless, they took it easy on me. Supposedly its all been expunged, whatever that means. She looked at him with fresh eyes, shaking her head in disbelief, then smiling, then shaking her head again. So anyway, I was just thinking you probably never did that, he said. Well, no, I never did that, she said, trying to process the bizarre revelation he had just presented to her. It sounds like a terrible dream. He looked at her, embarrassed but relieved. My dreams were never half that bad, Joseph said quietly. Certain boundaries shouldnt be crossed.

Ive never been in jail, Elena said, and Ive never tried drugs. Alcohol gives me a headache. I believe adults are entitled to make their own choices, thoughas long as they dont hurt anyone else in the process. I mean, its your life, right? Joseph admired her, she refused to judge him. He wondered if he was being given a second chance. I think I have a pretty good idea what hell is like, though, she continued. Its like being in a cage. Joseph let her words sink in, knowing everyone must experience the darkness along the way, still wondering at the source of her sudden sadness. She gazed out at the river in the distance. Is this really what the Seine looks like? she asked. Her eyes were glistening, like a woman yearning for that which she knows can never be. At places, outside the city where it isnt all walled in, he responded softly. With a moon like that, and this cool wind, it does kind of remind me of Paris. Except I was alone in Paris. Here, I have you. I would much rather be here. Oh Joseph, she sobbed, turning to see his eyes, Im divorced. I wanted to love him, I tried to love him. But I dont think I ever really did. I wondered if I even knew how to love. I failed at the most important thing Ive ever done. He looked at her and felt a stab in his side from the impact of the knowledge that she had been another mans wife. He thought about the girls he had loved and left behind. Then he smiled at her with a new depth of sadness in his eyes. Did I ever tell you about my honeymoon in Acapulco? he replied. It didnt work out, though, because she was already married. She failed to mention that little detail when she proposed. I got it annulled in the end, sort like being expunged. I think thats supposed to mean it never really happened. She cast her eyes out again, wondering if he was making fun of her, watching the timid streaks of moonlight skim the face of the water. He stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He felt light-headed, almost giddy, having shared his terrible secrets with her. He had imagined that such revelations could only result in creating an insurmountable distance between himself and his confidant; instead, he felt more connected to her than he had ever felt to anyone.

They silently absorbed the overwhelming beauty of the night. The warmth of her body comforted him as the wind hurled by. Constellations swam about their heads and they relished each others contours. Her hands clenched his hands tightly across her chest. He could feel the power of her heartbeats. He resisted the urge to pinch himself, to prove that this was real and that he wasnt dreaming, because he was afraid he might be wrong. If we were over there, if we were standing near the Eiffel Tower, we would see Sacre Coeur all lit up on the hill, he said, allowing the vision he was conjuring for her to come to life for himself as well. He could feel her body tremble as she began to weep. The Champs Elysees would cut across there, through the Arc de Triomphe. We could see the Louvre together, and the Musee dOrsay, and Notre Dame. We could sip caf noir, eat baguettes with brie and pat. She shook her head slowly. A tearful voice leaked out, broken and wan. Why would you want to share all that with a used piece of furniture like me? she asked, squeezing his hands painfully. He pulled his fingers from her grip and curled them around her tiny waist, then softly spoke into her ear, BecauseI love you, too. She instantly spun around and her feet left the ground. The feel of her supple figure in his lonely arms was heavenly. His eyes closed when their lips met; her breath was wholesome and sweet. He could taste her tears. He opened his eyes, and saw her eyes were open, too. There was nowhere in the universe he would rather be than where he was that moment. With Elena in his arms, his world was complete. That night, his dream came true. Thank you, he thought prayerfully. Joseph tingled with excitement as she drove from the park to the office. They held hands, he placed his palm on her knee. They were both falling in love, but they both knew enough to take things nice and slow. When they got to the parking lot, she pulled up beside his car. You know, he said as she turned her car off and they sat side by side in their bucket seats, Ive been looking for you a long time. Tears began to form, but he held them back. I just want to say, Im really glad I found you. She leaned over and kissed him firmly, holding his head tightly in her small hands. She pulled back and opened her wide brown eyes and said, I had given up. I didnt think you existed.

What day is this? Joseph asked, so flummoxed by his blossoming happiness that he had lost all track of time. Elena smiled at him, Its Monday. Does it matter? I was hoping I might get to see you again tomorrow, he answered. I know, Im sorry. Its just, I was hoping we could spend some more time together. Are you hungry at all? she asked. He looked at her incredulously; he thought for sure his appetite was showing. I could eat, he said. What did you have in mind? You could follow me home and we could see whats in the refrigerator, she responded. I would love to see whats in your refrigerator, he said. They kissed again, less desperately this time, knowing they would soon be together, not knowing what exactly would happen when they entered her house. He followed her home, smiling at the new sensations he was experiencing. It reminded him of waiting for Christmas. He knew he was getting the best gift of his life, and he couldnt wait to open it. Already he missed her company. The old emptiness he had known before was now a new aching to be in her presence. His mind raced ahead as he told himself to take it one step at a time and see what unfolded. He wondered what her place would be like. He wondered if he would see pictures of other men in her life. He wondered what kind of music she listened to, what kind of books she read, what kind of food she enjoyed. The drive was one long thrill ride for him as he watched her tail lights glow and easily merged into her rhythm on the road. He thought of the overlook at the lake. He thought of the moon at the river. He tried to believe she had actually said what she had actually said. He felt giddy, his heart soared. This was better than any dream, he thought. His entire armory of senses was genuinely engaged in this real moment. He had never felt more alive. And he was wide awake. He had to deliberately calm himself to keep from hyperventilating. He followed her down his own familiar avenue, then turned left where he would have turned right if he had been heading home. When she pulled into her narrow drive, he parked behind her. Her place was less than a mile from where he lived. He took his keys and left the door unlocked.

She stepped down from her tall vehicle and he walked up to her side. She walked to the front door and unlocked it. Please excuse the mess, she said. I wasnt expecting company. Up a few steps, the front door opened to an abbreviated hall with a small den on the left and a small kitchen on the right. Down the hall was the bedroom on the left, and the restroom was across from it. It was a tiny old house sandwiched between two new duplex apartments. In front, near the curb, was a large flower box. He couldnt tell if there were flowers, the porch light didnt shine that far. He saw signs of her enforcement work on the kitchen table, on the sofa; binders and reports and files were tossed here and there. The kitchen was small and, except for her books, mostly bare. A few dishes were stacked in a rack. Elena turned on the hall light, then dropped her chubby black briefcase onto a chair. She flicked on the kitchen light and Joseph closed the front door as he followed her in. She walked to the refrigerator like a woman on a mission. She found what she was looking for and took out a large clear bowl covered with plastic wrap. This is pretty good, she said. I hope you like salad. Joseph watched her get two plates and two forks from the sink. Im afraid all I have is water to drink, she told him. So, are you a vegetarian? he asked. She laughed, No, I just dont find much time for shopping or cooking. Is this okay? I hope this is okay. He smiled broadly, Of course its okay. Its just now I see why youre so tiny. Grasshoppers and grass, thats a pretty lean diet. I eat other stuff, she said, chuckling the words. Oh, Im sorry. I almost forgot about the rattlesnake. Hey, I like barbecue and enchiladas as much as the next person; but its such a hassle to eat out, and its not much fun alone, she said. Well this certainly looks like a fun feast, he teased. I have a hibachi. How do you feel about grilled food? I love it, she responded. Next meals on me, then, he announced. He took her hand as she sat down, after she had placed two glasses of iced water on the table. He smiled, then closed his eyes. She held his hand and watched him say his silent prayer. I like to say thanks before meals, he said. He actually enjoyed the salad

quite a lot. It contained little surprises like pine nuts and wheat germ and olives and carrots and raisins: things he never ate. Every bite was a gastronomic adventure. The evening ended with a kiss and a date for dinner on Friday. He wished he didnt have to wait that long to see her again, but didnt want to interfere with her schedule. Five minutes after he left her house, Joseph was back at his apartment. He had her phone numbers in his pocket. The first thing he wanted to do was call Elena and tell her he loved her. He stood over his phone, resisting the powerful urge to use it: not wanting to frighten her with the fireworks of elation exploding in his heart. He hoped she might be as anxious to carry on their conversation as he was, but he did not want to run the risk of smothering her with affection. She had her life, and it was full. He decided he would try to let her set the pace, and just be thankful whenever he got the chance to be with her. But I could just tell her I was calling as a courtesy, to let her know I made it home all right, he thought. He convinced himself that such a call would not be intrusive, so he picked up the receiver and dialed her number. He heard the beeps when he punched the buttons, but it sounded like dead air on the line. Hello? they said simultaneously. I didnt hear the phone ring, he said. Did your phone ring? My phone didnt ring. Why would my phone ring? she said, I called you. But I didnt hear your phone ring. He laughed out loud. Thats because I was calling you, only I never got a dial tone, he said. You were calling me? she said. Yeah, to tell you I made it home okay, he replied. Why were you calling? he asked. To make sure you made it home okay, she said. Actually, he admitted, I couldnt stop thinking about you and I had to hear your voice again before I went to bed. Im glad, she said. Thats exactly how I felt. Im looking forward to Friday, he told her. Me, too, she said. Ill be thinking of you until then, he said.

Thats very mutual, she replied. I love you, Elena, he said. I love you, too, Joseph, she responded. Good night. Good night, he said. Sweet dreams, she added. The words struck an awkward chord in his head, and he paused an instant longer than he intended before saying, Sweet dreams to you, too. Maybe Ill see you there. That would be something, she said. Yes, he replied, it would. There was a brief pause, then both of them simultaneously said, Thanks for calling. They laughed. I better hang up now, Elena said, this is getting weird. Okay, well, bye, Joseph said, then remained on the line to see if she was going to say anything else. I miss you already, he heard her whisper as she hung up the phone. I miss you, too, he thought to her. Tuesday came and went with mechanical precision. Seeing the world through the rejuvenated eyes of a man in love, Josephs tasks became laughably irrelevant. As the days dragged by, he passed the restless hours planning to prepare the best meal he had ever made. Wanting everything to be fresh, he waited until after work Friday to buy groceries. Shopping was pleasant, though he wished he had thought to ask her to join him so they could decide together what would be on the menu. He headed first for the butchers counter; he would build the meal around the meat. He saw the butterfly pork chops and the rib-eye steaks and the filet mignon. He looked at the chicken and the shrimp and the various fishes displayed in the window. Nothing seemed adequate. Then he noticed a large glass case to the side, filled with water. Lobster! he thought. That would make the impression he wanted to make. Nothing was too good for his lady. Never mind he had never cooked lobster before. How hard could it be? He selected his two victims and the butcher placed them on ice in a plastic bag. He was worried they might get frostbite, but figured the butcher knew best. He wistfully bypassed the wine section, not wanting to give her a headache, and headed for the vegetable area where he selected a bunch of

asparagus, ten Brussels sprouts, and six small red potatoes. He picked up some crescent rolls and wondered what he should do about dessert. Everybody likes whipped cream, he thought; so he picked up a can of ReadyWhip, a carton of strawberries, and a package of shortcakes. When he got home, it was almost dark. The moon would rise a bit later, Elena was coming at seven. He decided it would be fun to cook together, so he tidied up and lit some candles and put the groceries away, liberating the lobsters into the sink. He felt kind of sorry for his captives, but he had watched Mrs. Loft cook live crawdads once and this would be much the same. She arrived promptly at seven and Joseph stood at the door with a shy smile. The four days between their parting and their reunion had given his head enough time to work up a healthy skepticism about his initial enthusiasm. His heart told him to trust his feelings. As he watched her step out of her vehicle and march across the parking lot, his feelings said, Shes adorable. I love her. She paused at his door, stood on her toes, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him. You look so good, she said. You, too, he replied, taking her by the hand like a schoolboy. He walked her to the small deck through the glass door near the bed. They stepped outside to his little iron table with its two chairs. A red hurricane lamp glowed softly in the center of the table. Could I have a bowl? I figured I should bring something, so I brought some strawberries, she said as she placed her small bag on the table. How do you feel about Ready Whip? he asked. Yum, she replied. So thats your hibachi? Yeah, he said, but I decided we would just cook inside, then eat out here. Youre the chef, she responded. I know, he said, thats what scares me. Im usually kind of a natural when it comes to cooking, but Ive never cooked what were having tonight. Ooh, she said, sounds mysterious. Follow me, and we shall see. And please grab those strawberries, he said as he led her to the kitchen. I think our dinner is trying to escape, Elena observed.

Both lobsters were out of the shallow sink, one on each side, very slowly making their way to opposite ends of the counter. Joseph looked for a bowl and Elena swiftly picked up the two lobsters and placed them back in the sink. Youve done this before, he said, slightly disappointed. No. But I know how to handle dumb animals, she replied. He poured her strawberries into his bowl, rinsed them, then got out the can of whipped cream. So whats the best way to do this, you think? She smiled mischievously. Probably with the mouth. Here, he said, handing her the can, Why dont you show me? She selected a strawberry, shook the can with the precision of a lab technician, and removed the cap. She aimed the white plastic dispensing tip at the strawberry in her hand and pressed firmly. A perfect dollop of whipped cream emerged. She took a bite and licked her lips. Delicious, she said. Oh, he said, I see. He took the can and shook it vigorously. He picked out a strawberry and depressed too early and too firmly so that whipped cream spewed out and landed on the counter where one of the lobsters had already begun to make its escape again. Feisty little guys, arent they? she commented, reaching to return it to its holding cell. Wait, Joseph said, lets see what it does. The lobster approached the white blob slowly, then stopped with its head at the edge. Do you think its drowning? she asked. I think its eating, he replied. Who doesnt like whipped cream? Maybe its a culinary discovery: whipped lobster, she joked. Ooh, like those monkeys they drown in brandy, Joseph said. What? Elena replied. You never heard of that? And then they eat their brains right out of the skulls, he added. Youre making that up, she said. No, really. I heard its a delicacy. They call it pickled monkey head, he replied. They do not, she said. Well, in their own language, of course. Where? she asked.

Over in China or someplace, or maybe Indonesia, he answered, out east somewhere. Maybe New Jersey. I think Ill pass, she said. They eat cow brains in Missoula, he said. Its a specialty of the house: hash browns with scrambled brains. How would you know that? she asked. I spent a couple of nights there during a blizzard. I slept in the snow and I dreamed I was sunning on the roof. I thought that was pretty cool, he told her. Sounds very cool. What were you doing in Missoula? Traveling got in my blood after that fall I spent starving in Europe. I decided summer would be a good time to cross the Mojave desert. My brother Luke joined me for that one. Hes closest in age, and was curious to see what hitchhiking was like. That worked out so well I decided to go find a blizzard in Montana. On foot? she asked. I sold my car when I went to Europe, he said. I didnt get another one until I had to, when I got this job. So, how was this specialty? she asked. I couldnt do it, I couldnt seem to wrap my mind around brains as food. But the hash browns were kind of soggy, he said. Brains will do that, she said. Are we done with our experiment, or are we just going to watch him eat all night? Done, he said, intending to grasp the lobster as nonchalantly as she had done. It arched back and threw its big red pincers in the air. How did you do that again? he asked. Its supposed to have bands on the claws, she responded, approaching it a bit more cautiously now that it was aroused. I felt sorry for them, so I took those off, he admitted. As she was about to grasp it, the lobster flipped its tail, which sent it skidding through the creamy spot on the counter. Oh, thats going to help, Joseph laughed. What was in that whipped cream? she asked. Elena was determined to show the creature who was boss. Oh no you dont, she said as she took a

lid from a pot on the stove and placed it over the bold little beast. I think we should start the boiling. The waning gibbous moon rose behind her on the patio. He admired the play of moon shadows on her face, the glow of moonlight in her hair. The night was cool, but the small deck was protected from the wind so that only occasionally did the chimes stir. The music seemed to punctuate their conversation. He spoke of his trip to the north, she talked of her college years. She noticed him studying his feet after he had cleared the plates and they were sipping coffee. A bowl of whipped cream sat next to the bowl of strawberries near the candle, and they each prepared their own saucer of shortcake. Thinking of getting new shoes? she asked. What? he said, looking up at her. Oh. No. I was just making sure I wasnt dreaming, he replied. Youre not a dream, are you? he asked. She dipped a strawberry in whipped cream and leaned across the table, holding it before his mouth. He took a bite and savored it as he gazed into her eyes. That tastes pretty real, doesnt it? she asked. Yeff, vewy weaw, he replied. The budding romance held steady and true. They met for pizza after work, they took walks along greenbelts, they strolled through sculpture gardens, they cooked for one another, and they delighted in each others company. She sipped his wine and he enjoyed her tabbouleh and their happiness was electrifying. If anyone was talking about his newfound bliss, Joseph was oblivious to it. His sense of pressure to find a more satisfying job was eased by his new perspective. Elena gave him someone to talk to, someone who cared and understood. Her feminine charms were a bonus in the bargain. All he lost was loneliness. And, apparently, Guinier. He dreamed still, and drifted in and out of being aware he was dreaming. But the contents tended to be brief and once or twice removed from him personally. He wondered if this was how people with satisfying lives dreamed. The memories that presented themselves in the mornings were distant and vague. He was able to dismiss them with little effort. He finally felt like he was firmly grounded in the real world. And he had never been happier. Josephs surprising sudden state of satisfaction soon had the unforeseen effect of making his job seem insufferable. He was silenced, subdued, and

reprimanded for expressing unpopular opinions. After hearing of a billion dollar scheme to pipe floodwater from the local river to a big city outside the basin which couldnt seem to manage to curtail its consumption after paving over critical recharge zones of its own aquifer, he got in trouble for emailing a dream to his supervisor.

***
He was driving from crossing to crossing as the river snaked for the coast. Along the road he spotted what looked like tar pits, but were collecting ponds for floodwaters. The excess rain from floods spilled into massive pools of slime and debris. Mosquitoes festered in the noxious stagnation. An immense mosquito the size of a helicopter emerged, behind it trailed a long hose with no end in sight. The creature pierced the surface of the slimy pit, sucking the foul fluid into itself. The engorged body sent the liquid through the tube extending from its rear.

***
His supervisor got an email from her supervisor, telling her they must delete all traces of the correspondence immediately. She called Joseph in, explaining that such irresponsible communication could cause considerable damage if it came to light in a public information request. He told her that it was just a dream that had disturbed him, and in any event he thought the public had the right to know what they were scheming. It was the peoples river, after all. Sympathetic but unyielding, they instructed him to refrain from such behavior in the future. They said he was welcome to share his concerns freely, as long as he did so privately. He knew he had done all he could do there. He knew his vision was no longer welcome. He finally gave notice at workexplaining that he had nothing more worthwhile to offer than what he had already given. He remained long enough to wrap up a few assignments. They gave him a farewell party at the office. Many people wished him well. Some were truly sorry to see him go. He left behind bright, good-hearted friends when he

resigned. Those who knew him best seemed to honestly regret losing his gadfly ideas, but they also seemed somewhat relieved. He was not an easy man to keep under a rock. Now that he had found the love of his life, Joseph could no longer measure his own value according to performance reviews. He didnt find another job before he walked away, he had previously selected a reasonable lump sum retirement cash-out option which would get him by for a while. He was in no hurry.

CHAPTER TEN

New Horizons
On his first day of freedom, he took his cup of coffee to the patio. He spread some maps and journals on the table, took out his laptop, and started writing. He enjoyed transcending space and time with words. At his leisure, at his discretion, at his pace. No pressure. No critics. No audience. No expectations. No work plan. No boss. He practically levitated with the novel sensation of true individual liberty. He intended to make the most of it, however long it might last. Elenas world was changing fast, too. Near the end of summer, she found an old fieldstone house in the country west of town and bought it. Joseph visited her on weekends there, but the weeks between them were long. He read a lot, and wrote some. He started studying painters. And he went for long walks all over town. The traffic, the bustle of the people, the serious expressions on so many faces reminded him of that dream where he flew through the walls of the cave to find all those miniature habitations. One Saturday afternoon, as they pulled weeds in her garden, Elena suggested they take a vacation. I dont think you can take a vacation when youre not employed, he said. Its like being on permanent recess already. Well I need a vacation, she said, and I have it coming. Lets go somewhere. Where have you always wanted to go? she asked. He stopped tugging at the obstinate root in his hands for a moment to ponder her inquiry. He thought of places he loved: Colorado, California, Italy, Mexico Well, theres always Paris, he finally said. Lets go! she said excitedly. Lets go to Paris in April. Is that crazy? Am I crazy? she asked, suddenly less secure about the idea. I certainly hope so, or I dont stand a chance, Joseph replied.

As it turned out, Paris was a bit beyond their budgets. Joseph was living off his savings and Elena had her new mortgage to keep up with, so they decided a road trip would be more affordable and just as rewarding. They agreed on New England in the autumn. So instead of waiting for April, Elena decided to take two weeks off in October. They would drive to Maine. As the date of their departure approached, so did the time for Joseph to renew his lease. His car was recently burglarized, in the parking lot where he lived. They didnt have to break a window, it wasnt locked. They only took his sunglasses, a pocket knife, a map, and a few quarters, but he still felt randomly violated. On the other hand, he figured whoever took the stuff must have needed it more than he did. He continued to refuse to lock his car. She invited him to rent the second bedroom at her house, he didnt want to risk what they had together by entering a contractual arrangement. He couldnt imagine that the long drive to the east coast with Elena would be anything but fantastic, but he wished they were going to take the trip before he had to decide whether to move in with her or to renew for another year. He knew they were compatible, but he didnt know if anyone could ever be twenty-four-hours-a-day compatible. There were so many unknowns to him, to both of them. He took a chance and they agreed he would stay at her place, paying rent month to month while he looked for another apartment in a safer neighborhood. His move-out date was October 10: the day before they were leaving on their big trip. His last day in the apartment was solemn and quiet. He spent it vacuuming and mopping and cleaning the tub. He intended to get his deposit back, and there was no reason not to. Twelve years had passed since he moved in, since his nightmare with Cecilia ended and he found that job as stock boy. Three and a half years of college, he recalled, and there he was, at the age of twenty-three, sacking groceries again. He was sacking groceries when he was fifteen. But he was so relieved to be free of the season of deception he had endured with his false bride that it had been utterly liberating just to be able to carry his own weight and no one elses. He had a hard time believing it. And then he had gone back to school and finished his degree, and then he thought he would save the world from itself. And now here he was drifting again, but this time drifting in love. He wondered where the years had gone, why he had never thought of relocating in all that time. Somehow he had allowed himself to become just another

square of linoleum on the floor. He scrubbed the kitchen corners until they looked brand new. Then he walked over and reclined on the now bare mattress.

***
Joseph carried a box across the vacant room of his apartment and placed it by the door. The space felt sterile, and not only because he had mopped the kitchen and scrubbed the tub. All his room amounted to was a little box with windows. He was finally moving out. He glanced through the sliding glass doors to the porch, and noticed someone standing out there. He was slightly surprised, but then decided it was probably the new tenant. Hello? he said, sliding the glass open. A young woman stood by the rail next to the steps and smiled at him. It was a sad smile. I figured someone should be here to say goodbye, she said. That was nice of you, he responded. He looked at her closely, trying but failing to find some clue that would hint at her identity. Her long sandy hair and piercing blue eyes made her quite unforgettable, so he couldnt imagine that he had ever talked to her before. Im sorry, I dont remember meeting. Are you a neighbor? he finally said. You could say that, she replied. Or, at least, I was. A few months earlier, Joseph would have been more than happy to linger. He couldnt help but be attracted to this stranger at his door; but his heart belonged to Elena now, and he wanted to give their relationship every possible chance to succeed. All he wanted at that moment was to finish his packing and be on his way. Well, Joseph said after an awkward pause, thanks for the send-off. When she didnt leave, he decided to indulge the intrusion and added, So you live around here? For the moment, she answered. I move around. How did you know I was leaving? he asked. I saw the boxes, she said. It was pretty obvious. Where are you going? Out west, he responded. Sounds like fun. Well, have a nice life, she said. Thanks, I plan to, he replied. You do, too.

Always, she said, then asked him, Do you mind if I add this to my collection? He noticed she was looking at the wind chimes hanging from the eaves over the porch. Sure, you can have it, he answered. I thought Id just leave it for the next person. I like the music, she said, then hummed a few notes that reminded him of something he couldnt quite identify. Yeah, he replied, me, too. That thing sang me to sleep a few times. I know, she said, then hummed some more. Her voice was pure and gentle, like a lullaby. He walked back into the room, not sure whether to slide the door closed as he entered, and the woman followed him inside. Let me help you, she said, walking over to his last three boxes and lifting one. He picked up the remaining two and followed her to his car. She set her box down. As he stuffed the rest of his belongings through the open hatchback, the woman said, You should probably give it a last walk-through, just to be sure. Yes, he replied, I intend to. Mind if I come with? she asked. He looked at her again. She was stunning. Her baby blue pants and yellow pullover gave him the impression of sunlight on the ocean. She wore white sandals, her toenails were pearly and pink. No. I dont mind. But I will need to drop off the key when Im done and I should probably lock it then, he said. They walked together to the room; he knew it was the last time he would ever enter this door. He felt no sense of loss, he had no attachment to the place. But he began to notice he had a strange attachment to this woman who was hanging around him in these final moments. He walked from the closet to the bathroom to the kitchen to the bed, she drifted along behind him. As he knelt on the bed and peered out the window above it for the last time, he noticed she was standing at the bathroom door, her arm propped on the wall, watching him. Hey you, she said, then sauntered over and sat on the bed beside him. This was like a dream, he thought, like a dream he once had. She stretched

out on the bare mattress and placed her head on the bare pillow, then curled up and went to sleep.

***
He liked his room at Elenas place. It came with a nice futon, and a chest of drawers where he put all his personal things. He combined his pots and pans and knives and forks and plates and glasses and bowls with hers so that between them they pretty much filled the cupboards and drawers. It took the better part of the day to get all his things from his place to hers. As usual, he had waited until the last minute to pack. She had to finish some business at the office, and she came home exhausted. Theres spaghetti, if youre hungry, he said. I grabbed a burrito on the way, she said, it was a long day. She set her satchel on the floor by a chair, he picked it up and laid it on the counter. Yeah, he agreed, it was. Im sorry I couldnt help you, she replied, Its just so hard to get off. Now I remember why I never take vacations. Did you get moved in all right? No problem. It was therapeutic. I took most of my furniture to Goodwill, that took a few trips. Ill just get whatever I need as I need it, he replied. They kissed goodnight, and she went off to shower. Joseph had a big decision to make, but he didnt want to make it until after the trip. He knew that time on the road would tell him if he could trust his instincts about Elena. Until one meets the love of ones life, how is one to know it has happened? What but his prior failures did he have to compare it to? So he chose to be pragmatic. He would proceed slowly and make his decision after their adventure on the road. When they got back, he told himself, then he would know. He put the leftover spaghetti in a bowl and covered it with plastic wrap. He enjoyed the sound of someone in the shower, of someone there with him. When he thought of who it was, he enjoyed it even more.

***
See where I hung them? she said. Joseph looked up to see his old wind chimes dangling from a trellis canopy overrun with blooming white wisteria. A statue of a woman carrying grapes over her shoulder stood above a small pool; her feet were surrounded by magnificent red roses, her skin was a sleek blue patina. French bistro tables and chairs decorated the space. Last time we had to leave before dinner, she said, now we can relax and enjoy it. The two sat across from each other as a waitress arrived with a carafe of water and a basket containing a thin, crusty loaf of bread. You like strawberries, she stated. She said something to the waitress that he didnt understand, and soon two plates of strawberries were brought to them. Guinier said something else, and a bowl of whipped cream was placed in the center of the table. He noticed when he bit into it that the fruit was bright red through and through. The texture was firm but full of juice, and the sweetness went to his head like champagne. Good idea, she said, then called the waitress back again. When the bottle arrived and the flutes were filled, Guinier dropped a strawberry in her glass so that its sparkling contents spilled over the edge. Then she laughed and tossed one in his glass also. As it erupted in his hand, Joseph took a quick sip and found himself draining the flute in one smooth swallow. The glasses were refilled, and this time Joseph kept it closer to his chest to prevent any more surprises. They sipped their champagne lazily as the afternoon sun cast colorful shadows through the latticed flowers. They nibbled cheeses and pats, they dipped their spoons in mousses and souffls. Daytime was suspended and nightfall remained far away. What could be better? asked Guinier. Music? Joseph suggested. An accordion player took his cue and began to play a familiar tune. It was Josephs lullaby.

As he listened to the lyrics in his mind, he knew where he was and he couldnt imagine any other place he would rather be. The subtle smell of bread fresh from the oven permeated the air. Joseph opened his eyes wide, and he was alone. In his new room. The dream unsettled him. There was a real-live-flesh-and-blood woman in the next room who loved him, yet still he savored the sweetness of his dream beneath the wisteria and sunbeam roof. He wondered if part of the appeal of dreams was their impossibility. Yet nothing impossible had happened in his dream of the garden caf. Except that it had happened in a dream. Why not make that dream come true, he thought, with Elena? The morning came with crescent rolls. Like a bridge between his two worlds, the warm aroma helped Joseph shake off the transient dream and redirect his attention to the substantial goodness of the real world waiting just outside his door. Elena was in the kitchen. Her starburst tie-dyed T-shirt looked like an exploding rainbow. He laughed when he saw her, Whoa, Im going to need my shades to come in here. She smiled at him, singing happily, Im free! Im free! For two whole weeks Im free! He was happy to see her so happy. He didnt realize how much the job weighed her down until he saw how thrilled she was to let it goif only briefly. What mattered was the present moment, though, and in that moment they were both exhilarated by their shared sense of liberty. How far do you think well get today? she asked eagerly, as if the distance itself might reinforce her newfound freedom. Are we going someplace? he asked, still transitioning from dream to reality. Oh, yeah. Maine, he remembered. I guess I should pack. I dont think well have any trouble making it to Arkansas before dark, she continued. They have that diamond field over there, that could be our ticket. Sure, why not? he replied. On the way there, they decided to forego the diamond quest, opting instead for a campground in a state park south of Hot Springs. It was almost the middle of October, and they werent sure where autumn was. The day was warm and the evening was comfortable as they unrolled their sleeping

bags by a small tributary to a nearby river. Joseph lit a fire and they ate hot dogs and smores for supper. The night was still and quiet. Peering at the fathomless patches of stars through the wide branches of the tall pines overhead, Joseph thrilled at the queasy sensation of being sucked out into space. Elena slept quietly through the night as he stirred and stoked the coals and stared at the sky. Did you sleep all right? she asked him as they scrambled eggs with bacon in an old iron skillet the next morning. I dont know if I slept, but I feel rested, he said. He had no recollection of dreaming, and it took him by surprise. I love that smell. I know. If only you had your coffee, she said. If only, he replied. Its always something, isnt it? If I had coffee, then Id be wanting cream and sugar. Well, thats kind of a matched set, she said. Im sure Ill manage, he said. What comes next? She took the map from a bag and opened it on the ground near the small campfire. Tennessee, she said. Say that again, he said. What? What you just said. What, Tennessee? Yeah. I like the way you say that. You sound like a southern belle. She continued tracing their route. Then comes Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania Maryland comes before Pennsylvania? he interrupted. Thats right, then New Jersey and New York and What about Delaware? Isnt that up there somewhere? he asked. Yeah, but it looks like it would be out of the way to go there, she replied. Good grief, then how much more to Maine? Well, after New York, we have Connecticut, Massachusetts, Vermont and New Hampshire. Then comes Maine. Unless we stayed north, in which case we would end up in Quebec. Cool. Thats way up there. Really, she said. So I guess we should get going, he smiled.

I guess we should, she agreed. They thought they might be seeing signs of colors in the trees as they crawled across Tennessee behind an endless caravan of heaving loggers. Passing through Memphis, both confessed indifference to Elvis Presley, though Joseph did a fair job of mimicking the famous voice, Love me tender, love me sweet; all my dreams fulfill. For, my darling, I love you, and I always will. She looked at him with a bright smile on her face, I love the sound of your voice. That wasnt me, I was channeling Elvis, he replied. No, she said, that was you. And I like your version better. Joseph continued the laborious task of constantly adjusting his speed to match the crawling traffic. Who knew Tennessee was so big? he finally said. Or so slow? she added. Would you like me to drive for a while? Yes, please, he quickly responded, and started looking for a chance to pull over. Shortly before nightfall, as they were approaching Knoxville, Elena let out a deep sigh. Thats about all I have in me, she said. I dont like driving in the dark. Really? Joseph responded, Thats always been my favorite time to drive. Youre welcome to it, she said. How about we fill up and switch, then? he suggested. Are you sure? We could stop here for the night. Looking at the map and seeing nothing in the surrounding landscape to persuade him otherwise, he answered, Nah. Were almost to Virginia. Maybe well finally get out of this logjam up there. How far is that? she asked. About a hundred to the border, it looks like, he said. Its getting kind of hard to read this map in this light. If we had one of those GPS things, we wouldnt need the map, she observed. I like maps, he replied. I think they have maps on them now, she said.

I like paper maps, he responded. I like the small letters and the wrinkles and the coffee stains and the fact that its impossible to use the legends. It makes me feel like a real explorer. She laughed, Okay, Columbus. I think Id rather be Amerigo Vespucci. No one ever heard of him. The next thing you know, his name is two continents. You would like to have places named for you? she asked, somewhat surprised. No, not really. I guess I just like the idea of someone who doesnt get a lot of attention finally getting recognized in the end. It kind of validates that person, he mused. You know, like van Gogh. Joseph drove for another few hours before finding a place to camp. We need a better flashlight, Joseph announced as they followed a narrow trail to an open area where the dim light was of little aid, and they stumbled about the task of finding a flat space without too many rocks to sleep on. It probably just needs fresh batteries. Ill add it to the list, she said. How can you possibly see to write out here? he asked. The list is in my head, she replied. Oh. Of course, he said. Finding a likely spot and then rolling their sleeping bags out in the dark, they were too exhausted to even consider a fire. They giggled and tripped over and bumped into each other a few times in the process, but soon were settled beneath leafy trees and starry skies. Did you hear that? Elena asked. He did, actually, hear it. Something was rustling in the leaves. Poking his head out of his sleeping bag, he scootched closer to her. Probably a raccoon or something, he replied. I miss our fire, she said. Me, too. Next time well find a place while we can still see, he told her. You can put that on the list. And a candle. Okay, she responded. I just wanted to get out of Tennessee, he explained. I know. And so we did, she said.

Whatever it was moved closer, and so they snuggled together as best they could, like two nascent butterflies in their separate cocoons. The closeness comforted them, for the greatest fear either of them knew was loneliness. Neither of them had been to the east coast, and both had always hoped to go there some day. He loved the idea of new horizons, especially those long anticipated. What will the shores of Maine look like? Could the vibrant colors of the New England trees actually rival those of Heidelberg? What species will we see? he wondered. The forest around them was dark and dense, the night sky gave no clues as to their hues. Tomorrow would arrive soon enough, he figured, so he tried to sleep. But the sound they had been hearing grew louder, and was reinforced with other wilderness noises. He was sure there were more than one of them out there, and now they were grunting as well as rooting. He wondered if they might be wild pigs. He hoped they werent wolves or bears. He and Elena had walked quite a distance from the car, so he tried to see if the closest trees had low forks and could be climbed. She wasnt making any sound, so he assumed she was asleep. He saw something large move. It was bigger than a pig or a wolf. Then he saw the eyes: strange glowing yellow eyes. He slowly lowered the sleeping bag from his shoulders, preparing to place a protective arm around Elena. When he reached across her, a sick weight twisted inside: the bag was there, but it was vacant. His heart throbbed as he imagined she had gone to use the restroom out there somewhere. Maybe she went to gather firewood in the dark. The form retreated suddenly, and Joseph felt a panic that it may have spotted her, wherever she was, out there in the woods. Alone. Suddenly his fear enraged him and he leapt from his bed and started looking for a stick, or a big rock. He tripped over something hard and metal. He found a small log he could use as a club. He spoke softly at first, Elena? Where are you? A few new sounds scurried in the deep woods. The air was still and he could see his breath. His eyes at last began to adjust to the lack of light so that he felt bolder as he took a few steps toward the trail they had followed. He thought she might have gone to the car for something, and decided that would be a good place to start looking.

Elena! he called, a bit louder now, as he hurried up the small trail through the thick woods, Elena! Still no response. They hadnt seen any other campers, or any other cars. As far as he knew, they were the only people in the park. She should have told me she was going somewhere, he thought. But then he wondered how she could have left without him knowing it. He heard a large splash behind him, to the left. It came from back near the camp site. He froze in his steps to listen. A womans voice screamed, No! He heard a larger splash, and then what sounded like a crocodile rolling a gazelle in a river. He ignored the path and made a bee-line through the dense foliage to the sound he was hearing. It resounded in his ears as his feet seemed to stick to the forest floor. He tried to call, Im coming! but his words caught in his throat so that he could only grunt. His feet would hardly move, he had to drag them one at a time through the leathery roots and the sticky decaying detritus. He slogged through the bog. When he finally hit a hard surface again, he tore across the shoreline to find a scrap of fabric slashed against a great boulder overlooking a placid lake beneath the stars. There was no other sign of struggle. There was no movement in the water, there was no sound in the woods. He gasped breathlessly at the tranquil scene before him, unsure what to do next. He wanted to call out, but his throat was constricted by some force he could not surmount. Then he heard chimes. New treasures, new fears, she said. Joseph turned quickly to see a familiar face. He wept with relief as he processed the implications of her appearance. I love her, Guin, he said. I would be disappointed if you didnt, she replied. So this means shes okay, right? he asked. Who knows what it means? she responded, then turned to gaze at the scenery. This is a pretty place. I didnt realize we were so close to the water, he said, absorbing the serenity of starlight dappling the still, black surface. I never told you, Joseph, she said, interrupting his reverie.

Never told me what, Guin? He now thought of her as a beautiful, sparkling friend; maybe as the sister he never had. He could detect the smell of flowers in her hair. That I love you, too, she said. He turned to look at her, and saw tears on her face. His heart flushed with shame, he had abandoned her without really saying goodbye. Her sweet perfume was white wisteria. Joseph was mystified by the pronouncement. I had to tell you, she concluded. Joseph looked tenderly into her eyes. Would it be unfaithful to kiss her? What if it was a goodbye kiss? What was a goodbye kiss? Did she even want him to kiss her? But hadnt he just made her up in the first place? Yet they had shared so much together. Yet she didnt actually exist. Yet he had loved her. Its okay, she thought, you can kiss me now. Instead of Guinier, he now saw Elena standing there. He rushed up to her and took her firmly in his embrace, pressing her hard against the thrilled beating in his chest. Youre all right! Everything is going to be all right! When she looked into his eyes, he saw his own reflection. There were tears on his face.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Peaking
When he opened his eyes again, Joseph was on the ground next to Elena in the southern Allegheny Mountains. The air was brisk and clean as the sun climbed through the trees to the east. He looked at the form beside him and smiled. The dappled rays of dawn splashed through her brunette hair in russet wisps of ginger. He beamed and rose and wandered towards the woods where they were hearing noises in the night. He could discern no signs of animal activity. He wondered when the dream began. Good morning! called Elena. Wow! I know, he said, Isnt it magnificent? Kind of chilly, though, she added. I was just thinking about a fire, he said. They saw the fire pit and the tidy stack of wood beside it. They saw the little grill. He laughed, That must be what I tripped over last night. No, Im pretty sure that was meI tripped over it, and you tripped over me, she responded. They shared their elation at the spectacular colors in the hills as she gathered a skillet and ham and eggs from their gear and he ignited a toasty flame. They could hear a rocky creek tumbling nearby, and merrily anticipated exploring it. When they did, they found it fed a wide pond. Vibrant green and yellow trees reflected in the lakes smooth surface. Autumn in New England, Joseph said. Not yet, Elena replied, this is only West Virginia. You mean were not even there yet and it already looks this beautiful? he asked. Thats what I mean, she said, smiling.

It was her turn to drive, and she did so with gusto. The winding green roads were mesmerizing, the scenery was phenomenal out both windows. How much farther? he asked. To what? she replied. To New England, he said. Not far now, she told him. But where does it start? he asked, clarifying the question. If I remember correctly, it starts for us in Connecticut, she responded. He looked at the map, then announced, Thats only about 300 more miles. Like I said, not far now, she replied. And on the way we get to see Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York, he added, sounds like a bargain to me. Where would you like to stay tonight? she asked. Why dont we play it by ear? he suggested. I wouldnt mind a bed. With all those rocks on the ground and those noises in the woods, I feel like I wrestled a bear all night, she said. He looked at her, remembering his dream. Then he leaned over and kissed her warmly on the cheek. What was that for? she asked. You are my treasure, he replied. The landscape rolled before them and they wondered whether they left autumn back in Virginia. There was quite a bit of congestion on the road, and Joseph was behind the wheel when they approached the exit for New York City. He looked at her and raised his eyebrows, Here it is, our chance to see the Big Apple. Her look had shades of panic. I hadnt really planned on a big city holiday. They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway. They say there's always magic in the air. But theyre dead wrong, I know they are, cause I can play this here guitar, and I wont quit till Im a star on Broadway, he sang across the seat to her. Then he followed with, Start spreading the news, Im leaving today. I want to be a part of it, New York, New York. As he wrapped up his George Benson and Frank Sinatra imitations, the exit was behind them and Connecticut was thirty miles

ahead. Elena relaxed considerably when she saw they were not taking that detour. Id like to see it some day, though, he said. I hope you dont mind, she responded. No, no. This is our autumn in New England trip and, as you pointed out earlier, New York is not in New England. Ill get there someday, he said, letting the adrenaline that had flooded his veins with the thought of encountering this particular world-class destination fade with the passing miles. I want you to have a say in this, too, though. I dont want you to think there are things you cant do because youre with me, she tried to explain. Dont worry, Im driving. If I really wanted to see New York right now, we would be there instead of here, he reassured her. Im glad, she said, that you didnt. I get kind of claustrophobic in crowds. What makes you think New York is crowded? he asked. Very funny, she answered. It couldnt be much worse than this, he said, noting the bumper-tobumper traffic. Whats going on, do you suppose? Have you noticed all the Canadian license plates? Who knows? Maybe just too many people crammed into too small an area, she offered. Maybe, he said. As evening approached, Elena was driving again. Springfield, Massachusetts was just up the road. I hear a shower calling, she told him. Sounds good to me, he replied. How about there? She saw the roadside motel he was referring to at the next exit. Maybe something a bit more off the freeway, she observed. Lets get a little closer to the city and see what else pops up. Maybe we can find the place where those revolutionaries used to hang out, he said. Right, she replied, Well just look for the lanterns. As it turned out, they did find the lanterns. The Lions Den was tucked between newer building in an old district of town. Elena just seemed to sense its presence, and the next thing he knew they were standing at the registration desk of a historic Colonial hotel.

Can we afford this? Joseph whispered to her. Well share a room. How much could it be? she whispered back. It didnt matter because there were no rooms available due to the Canadian holiday. According to the reception staff, the entire eastern seaboard was booked up. A few additional checks at other hotels seemed to confirm their assessment. Oh Canada, he sang. She looked at him. Why did you stop? Thats all I know, he replied. We can be rolling out our sleeping bags in Vermont in an hour or so, Joseph said. Ill drive. I doubt theyll have showers, Elena responded as they exited another lobby and he took the drivers seat. You look fine to me, he said as they buckled up. Two nights in the woods havent diminished your beauty a bit. You say that now. Wait till the hair on my legs grows out, she said as he headed back to the highway. That wont bother me, he assured her. I love that youre a natural woman. No makeup, no frills. I figure what you see is what you get, she said. I like what I see, he responded. Im glad, she replied. Did you think to get batteries at that place in Connecticut? he asked. I did, she smiled. I got you some coffee, too. With cream and sugar. I love you, he said. Now we just need a fire, she answered. Right, and someplace to build it, he said. You want to enlighten me on our options there? She studied the map for a minute, then announced, Theres a place on the Black River, it looks like. That would put us up near the beginning of the Green Mountains. Sounds great. I hope we have plenty of lemnas bread, he said. Of what? Lemnas, you knowthe stuff the elves gave to Frodo and Sam, he explained. Right. Of course.

Well, Black River, Green Mountains: it does sound kind of Tolkienesque, he said. Works for me, she replied. As long as they have maple syrup, he added. Absolutely, she replied. They were pleased to find adequate lighting at the park to locate a designated campsite without any trouble. The other sites were pretty close by, but so were the restroom facilities, and they were able to park next to where they would sleep. It was early enough so that several other campers were roaming about or sitting in little circles around their fires; the place had a large family reunion feel to it. At least we shouldnt have to worry about strange animals wandering our way here, Elena said as Joseph got the fire going. Carrying our own wood was a good idea, he said. I have my moments, she replied. As they roasted sausages, a burly man in a white undershirt stepped almost between them and the fire. Joseph was afraid they might have broken some park rule, the way he approached them. Can we help you? asked Joseph. Youre in my spot, he said. The sign at the entry said you could select any empty site. This one looked empty, Joseph replied. I was here earlier, I marked it, the man said. Were sorry, Elena interjected, It was dark and weve been driving all day and we just took the first open place we found. It looks like theres an open space right over there. Since were all settled in here, would you mind seeing if that one wont work for you? Its closer to the bathrooms, and the water. The man kind of growled, then left as abruptly as he had arrived. What were you saying about strange animals wandering over here? Joseph said softly. I think he smelled the sausage and just wanted to see if we would offer him one, she observed. Funny way to ask, he replied. He started to feel a little guilty about not sharing the foodthey had two uncooked sausages in the ice chest. But he

got over it quickly and enjoyed the modest meal as the man took Elenas advice and set up where she had suggested. I think were the only people here without a tent, she noticed. Hmm, Joseph said, It is kind of nippy. Elena watched as he wrapped a few large rocks with foil and placed them in the coals. When they finished eating, he scooped them out and formed two small bundles by rolling the foil-covered rocks with towels. Foot warmers, he said. Do you put it in your sleeping bag? she asked. Im not sure, he confessed, Ive never done this before. First time for everything, she said. They snuggled as close as they could through their sleeping bags, each with their own rock towel tucked in the bottom. He could tell she was still cold. Do you think our bags would zip together? We could make one large one and keep each other warm, he proposed. Its worth a try, she responded. They were made for each other. He was actually a bit warm from the neck down, though he could feel the nip with his nose and smell the frost forming in the air as the night progressed. She had been quiet and still for some time, and Joseph was just dozing off when suddenly it sounded like someone was throwing pots and pans around. Then he heard shouting, Hey! Hey! Get out of here! Git! Hey! Hey! At first it sounded like some lunatic camper was having some kind of fit, but then people at another site started shouting, and another, and pretty soon the whole park seemed to be in some kind of frenzy. What on earth? Elena said sleepily. Joseph pulled the fabric up around his ears, Must be those Canadians, he said. She giggled, then gasped, Did you see that? He did see it. It was big and hairy and black and quite close to where they were lying exposed on the ground. Now we know why everybody has a tent, he said. Dont worry, our foods in the car. Theres no reason for it to come over here. Maybe he heard we didnt eat all the sausage, she replied. Yeah. Its probably that guy who came over here earlier, he said. Hes a werebear.

A what? You know, like a werewolf, only bigger, he explained, like Tom Bombadil. Thats a comforting thought, she replied. Ill protect you, he said. He knew he would stand between them if it came to that, like Luke had stood between himself and Simon. Happily, with all the commotion in the area, the large creature soon made a hasty retreat back into the dark, thick woods. The next morning, all the buzz around the place was about the bear. Excited voices in the vicinity spoke of what their neighbors had heard, had seen, had done in response. Rumor was, it started with an open can of tuna fish. The bear was attracted to the smell, and the people with the exposed food woke up and began to beat pots and pans to scare it off. It stumbled over the tent at the next campsite, which naturally woke its occupants. They started hollering, and the poor bear kept moving; but the sites were close together so that wherever it fled, it came upon more people. Im just glad we didnt get stepped on, Joseph told Elena. She was trying to unzip the doubled sleeping bag. Yeah, she said with a light-hearted hint of sarcasm as she tugged at the stuck zipper, thats what Im glad about: that it didnt step on us. Well, we were right here on the ground, you know. It could have stepped right on us, he said, merrily lying on his back and admiring the trees above. Yes, I know, she responded, we could have been stepped on. It probably weighs quite a bit, he added. Right, she agreed. We could have been squooshed, he continued. Yeah, she said, not to mention the claws. Exactly, he said. But Im still glad we didnt bring a tent. Its such a hassle: putting it up, taking it down, dealing with the dripping dew. Or, in this case, the melting frost, she observed, adding with a frustrated laugh, I think were stuck in here, I cant get this to move. Let me see that, he said, wrapping his arms around her to have a go at forcing the zipper down. Holy zip lock, Batman, this things really stuck good. The feel of her warm body in his arms gave him other things to think about, and he gave up his attempts after a few vigorous tugs. Batman? she asked, her softness pressed against him.

Im sorry, he said with a smile, I mean Catwoman. I guess well just have to stay in here forever. Whatever you say, Boy Wonder. The sun was beginning to shed a little light on just how close they were to all the other campers, but they ignored the fact and spent the morning giggling and cuddling and delighting at togetherness within their cozy chrysalis. They eventually peeled their way through the opening at the top, emerging from the soft cocoon like two disheveled butterflies. Thats when it hit them: they had arrived. Once they had extricated themselves from the oversized bag, they simply stood speechless and beheld the flaming fall foliage in every direction. They had been seeing tufts and patches of stunning trees along the way, but now they found themselves completely engulfed by the towering displays of red and gold and indigo. Josephs eyes went moist; all these glorious colors were frosty, shuddering swansongs. Soon they would be fleeing their perches to ride the breeze and settle in their graves. His heart ached at the melancholy radiance of it: the brevity of a leaf s life. Looks like we made it, she observed excitedly. He remained silent a moment longer, then simply said, God is great. He turned his eyes to Elena, He gave me you. She smiled shyly, her excitement at the dazzling forest glittering in her countenance. Then he added, You said something about coffee? Boil some water, she replied. As they enjoyed the comforting heat of their small fire, Elena leaned into Joseph, I think theyre talking about us. Looking around to see who they were, he noticed a few people gathered near a car who did seem to be glancing at the couple repeatedly as they spoke boisterously about the nights adventure. On the ground, without even a tent, he heard someone say. Not like a tentll keep a bear out, someone replied, and the conversation drifted into bear encounter stories. Whoever left that peanut butter out was just plain stupid, another voice interjected. I heard it was bacon, someone else said.

Well, at least theyre just talking about last night. I thought maybe they were commenting on the two lumps in one sleeping bag this morning, he told her softly. Her blush was brilliant. Rather than remain in proximity to the chattering tent city around them, they decided to explore the trails. Occasionally they would encounter other hikers, and more than once were told that they should go to this county or that county if they really wanted to see some impressive autumn displays. Its peaking in so-and-so county, they would say, Yesterday it peaked in thus-and-such county. Apparently there were a lot of peak seekers among them. Looks pretty peaky here, to me, Joseph told Elena. She wholeheartedly agreed. As they drove off in search of maple syrup shortly before noon, Joseph pointed excitedly to the right, I think its peaking on that hill. She laughed. I think its peaking over there, too! she replied. Theres a lot of peaking going on around here, he laughed. Yes, she agreed, there is. I like peaking, he said coyly. Im glad, she replied, then added, So do I. They found a maple orchard which also boasted, on the sign, of hot apple cider, and they purchased a few pints of syrup to take home. They should sell pancakes, Elena commented as the two travelers drifted back to the car. Even better, waffles, he replied. Yum, she said. Youre making me hungry. Whats good around here, you think? he asked. I dont know, she responded. What else comes from Vermont? Cheddar cheese? Ooh, I love a good, aged, razor-sharp cheddar, he said. Well, lets see what we can find, she replied. Looking through her guide books and brochures, Elena discovered a place that gave public tours of their cellars. Joseph drove, and this became their next destination. At the end of the tour, Joseph pretended to gasp, I wasnt sure if wed get out alive. It was like being trapped in the sarcophagus of the stinky socks, she said.

Really, he chortled. I think Ive lost my sense of taste, he added. The samples didnt seem to have any flavor. Im sure it will be wonderful, once we recover, she reassured him. We need some crackers now, he said, and I wouldnt mind a bottle of wine. Theres a little market. Why dont we see what they have? she suggested. Smoked ham, he added. Maple-smoked ham. All right. That, too, she agreed. She drove for a while, he studied the maps. Their path ran north along the edge of Vermonts Green Mountains, and the vast array of dazzling colors on all sides held them in an indefatigable state of awe. Each of them knew how to appreciate the awesome splendor of nature, but neither of them knew how overwhelming that experience could be when it was shared with the right person. Until now. What river was that? he asked as they crossed a flash of flowing water. Youre the one with the map, she said. Where are we? he asked. Highway 100, she said, Just passed Killington. That must have been Au-ttauOh-ttauAhtt-au-che-cheequechee, he tried to say. Excuse me? she chuckled. Oh-ttau, Ah-ttau-kwetchy, he stuttered again. Easy for you to say, she teased. Ottauquechee! he exclaimed. Gesundheit! Keep an eye outwere heading toward the highest peak in Vermont: Mt Mansfield, 4,383 feet, he announced. Really? Cool. How far is that? she asked. Just about sixty miles, as the crow flies, he responded. So thats only likefive hours in Vermont time, she said. Something like that, yeah, he concurred. I kind of like this pace. I feel like I could drive around here for days and never get tired of the scenery, she sighed. Me, too, he replied. And theres no hurry, since were already there,

Amen to that, she smiled. My mother would like you, I think. Im sure I would like her, too, he responded. Well have to plan a trip up there sometime, she added. Id like that, Id like to see where you grew up, he said. Then he added, Did you know were less than a hundred miles from Quebec? Wait a minute, I thought we were going to Maine, she said. Youre driving. Im just saying, he responded. Well I dont know about you, but Im working up an appetite for lobster, she said. Mmm. And clam chowdah, he replied. So well just check out this mountain, then its off to the coast. Dont forget New Hampshire, she said. Right, he said, Sorry about that, New Hampshire. Whats in New Hampshire? I heard its peaking there, she smiled. Oh, then forget the mountain, he said with playful enthusiasm. What exactly did you plan to do, climb it? she asked. Well, it is the highest peak in Vermont. It would give me something to brag about. She fixed her eyes on him a second, then looked back at the road. What? he asked. If you want to climb it, thats fine with me, she said. Actually I was just curious to see what it looks like. But if its peaking in New Hampshire, I think we should just hang the next right and check it out. And so they did. And so it was. Peaking. Everywhere. When they arrived at a visitor center on the border, two yellow and orange maple leaves skittered over and invited Elena to be in a photograph with them. A lime green birch leaf held the camera. A couple of other species rolled in the grass at her feet. That was some greeting, she said as they returned to the car. I think they just wanted to peak for you, Joseph said, feeling strangely flustered by the attention she had received. You did notice that most of them were girls, right? she said. I dont think it matters that much with leaves, he said. Youre not upset about me taking pictures with them, are you? she asked.

Not at all, he answered. Youll probably end up on the cover of their next brochure. Would you like me to drive? she asked, not sure how to interpret his remark. Nah, Ill drive. That way you can pronounce the rivers, he replied. As he pulled back onto the highway, Elena took their bearings. So were at Woodville, no, Woodsville, on 112. Yep, Joseph replied. Were almost to the White Mountains, she announced. Any rivers? he asked. Am-mon-oo-suc, she said, then repeated it: Ammonoosuc. Excuse me? he responded. Were about to cross the Ammonoosuc River, she said. He looked at her doubtfully. Im serious, thats what its called, she laughed. Then what? he asked. We could either go north, to Franconia Notch, or south, to Wildwood. It looks like both places have camping, she told him. Ooh, Wildwood, he said. I like the sound of that. I dont know, she replied. Wildwood is close to Mt. Moosilauke, which is actually higher than Mt. Mansfield; but Franconia has the Old Man of the Mountain and the Flume Gorge. Good grief, how can we go wrong? Maybe we should flip a coin. Well, Wildwood is closer, and we could just stay on 112, and its farther from the freeway so it might be less congested, she observed. Then Wildwood it is, he proclaimed. They made it to the park with time to settle in before the sun went down. They were near the Ammonoosuc River, they were near Mt. Moosilauke, but mostly they were near to the earth and to each other. He stoked a fire, they snacked on ham and cheese and crackers. He spotted the bottle of wine from the cheese place. I forgot a corkscrew, he said. Could you just break the top off or something? she asked. I think Ill just make some more of that good coffee you got me, he responded. I hope its okay. I dont really drink coffee, she said.

Its perfect, he said, Just like you. The blue magenta sky seemed to infuse her mellifluous chocolate tresses with sparkling streaks of silver. He remembered the first time he laid eyes on her in moonlight; he relived it. He was still falling, falling deeper in love. He wondered how far the journey would take him. He wondered if his dream could have come true, if he had found his soul mate. I mean, look at you, he continued. Young, strong, honest, bright as lightning, pretty as a dove, playful as a puppy, gentle as aas a Dont stop now, Im liking this, she teased. As a soft little lamb with a ribbon around its neck. Being near her was like encountering a force of nature. I cant explain it, how you make me feel. Youre such a woman, and yet youre such a little girl. Youre like a flower, a wildflower just standing there being beautiful for no reason except that you cant help it: its just the way you are, Joseph blathered nervously. If only you could read my mind, he thought then you would know exactly how I feel. I feel exactly the same way about you, she thought. When they retired, they didnt warm rocks. The idea of bears prowled in the recesses of their minds, adding an increased edge to the already intense emotions they were experiencing together. Joseph didnt want to sleep, his dream was in his arms. Yet sleep he did. Im glad youre happy, Joseph. Thank you, he said, then wondered, Why are you still here? I thought you turned into Elena. Maybe I did, and maybe I am. Why dont you ask her some time? she thought. Thats crazy, his thought responded, I could never do that. She would think I was nuts. Whats real, Joseph? What do you mean? Concealing yourself ? Hiding the truth? Is that whats real? Concealing what? What truth? The truth that you cant let me go. The truth that you really arent sure shes the one youve been waiting for, that she is in fact that mystical creature you like to refer to as your soul mate.

She has to be. The way she makes me feel, the way I feel around her. The way she feels around me. We were made for each other. Just be careful, Joseph, Guinier said solemnly. The sound of her voice startled him, and he felt his body jerk in response. He listened to the silence of the trees around him. He tried to make out their colors in the crisp starlight, but, of course, it was impossible. He looked at Elenas soft hair and he wondered at his dream. What was she saying? That he was insincere about his love for Elena? That he had dreamed her Guinierup again because he couldnt let her go? That he had manufactured the concept of a soul mate in the first place? And that he should ask Elena whether she was, in fact, Guinier. Crazy, he thought.

***
Shes going to die, Joseph, she said. They sat together at the waters edge. What? Who? What are you talking about? he replied. The sun was low on the horizon. Elena is dying, Guinier said. Clouds were rolling in. Thats ridiculous, Joseph responded. Shes as healthy as an ox. Shes the healthiest person I know, maybe the healthiest person Ive ever met. Youre the one who told me my life was over, that night in the desert. I seem to still be here. He noticed a distant flash of lightning. Ask her, she responded. Thunder mumbled through the darkening sky. Youre crazy, thats just crazy. Why are you saying this? What are you trying to do? The wind began to stir. Im here to enlighten you, remember? she said. Leaves flew by. You cant know things like that. Youre not a prophet, youre not a spirit. He could hear them scrape the grass as they landed. Why not, Joseph? Havent you ever heard of angels appearing in dreams, Joseph? He could see them sail across the ruffling surface of the lake.

You cant be an angel. I couldnt fall in love with an angel. I have no right toWhen? When is she supposed to die? He watched them skate to the opposite shore. When her life is over. You will be apart then. She motioned with her hands as she said it, so that she finished speaking with her hands away from her body, palms facing him, like some kind of saintly statue. What? Why are you telling me this? He wondered if Christ stood this way just before ascending. You will miss her terribly, Joseph, she said, raising her hands to her heart. More than you can imagine right now. A flash of lightning stabbed a tree. Why are you trying to scare me? It burst into flames. No, Joseph. I told you, I love you. I have always loved you, and I always will. Elena will not always be with you. You will be alone once more. As she concluded, she bent her neck, bowing her head, and cast her eyes at the ground. Please dont say that, Joseph said, following her gaze. He saw a tombstone. And then another. And a third. The truth is hard and cold: it is unyielding. What you do with it is all that counts. It started to rain. What am I supposed to do with this? The rain was cold, and hard. It was unyielding. Dont be so afraid to follow your heart, knucklehead. Above the clouds, he spied a glimmer of silver. He woke up repeating that word: knucklehead. He sniggered to himself as he thought of Francis, and of James, calling him that. He wondered what his brothers would think of Elena. He wondered what she would think of them. He wondered what kind of wedding she would like. He wondered if she would elope with him. He wondered if they were already eloping. Did you say something? Elena asked. I was just wondering what kind of wedding you might like, he said. You know, if you ever got married again. Did you just call me a knucklehead? No, I was talking to myself. Oh, she responded. I guess I would have to think about it.

Yeah, he said softly. Thats what I figured. Okay, Ive thought about it, she said. Id like to be near water. An ocean? A lake? A river? he asked. Yes, she said. And it would be just me and him, and whoever performed the ceremony. I dont want an audience. So, a big wedding then. Thats right. Big sky, big trees, big water, big dreams. Do you ever dream, much? he asked. Funny you should ask. I just had a weird dream. Something about a small sailboat and a big wave. Were you alone? No, no someone else was there. There was this huge cloud and then this manI didnt recognize him at firstwas there. Seeing him made me relax, she smiled. What about you? Do you dream much? I feel like Im dreaming right now, he said. Do you think theres any chance that I might be the one who got to stand next to you by the water, if you ever didget marriedagain? Are you trying to propose to me? she asked. Im just saying, I would like first dibs. If you ever, did. Yes. I am trying. I know you hate the idea of marriage and I know I dont know what it means but I know I want to be with you for the rest of my life and I wonder if you would like to be with me. Open your eyes, Joseph. I am with you. But what about tomorrow? Tomorrow well be in Maine, or the next day. I hear they have a nice ocean there. I hear they do. If you would marry me, Elena, I would be the happiest man in the world. Oh, Joseph, she said, placing a hand on his cheek. I love you so much. She paused and glanced at the sky, then continued, I think we should just get through this magical night without making any promises we feel obliged to keep in the morning. Just look at those stars. Lets not spoil a perfect night by introducing unnecessary complications. Okay, he said. Youre right. I love you.

I love you, too, she said softly, then whispered, Ill see you in my dreams. His heart pounded. He didnt know whether he was embarrassed or relieved, whether he had been courageous or reckless. He decided he was glad he had said what he had said. It was, after all, the truth. His mother taught him to always tell the truth. He remembered the day he learned that lesson. It may have been about the same time his father started calling him Joe. He wondered for the first time if that may have been his life sentence for the crime of dishonesty. What have you done?! his father scowled. Im sorry, he said. Sorry isnt good enough; you could have burned the whole house down! the large man roared. What on earth? Whats going on in here? asked his mother, appearing suddenly from nowhere. Your son has been playing with matches, his father said to her. Joseph, you wouldnt do that, would you? There must be some mistake, she suggested. Theres the evidence. Thats clearly a burn mark, he replied. Joseph, terrified at the thought of being punished by both of them together, blurted out, It must have been Simon. He must have come into the house when no one was here and made that spot on the floor. I know for a fact he plays with matcheswhen no one is around. You expect us to buy this cock-and-bull story? his father replied. My children dont lie, his mother said forcefully. She turned her soft blue eyes on Joseph as she continued, If Joseph says he didnt make that mark on the floor, then Joseph didnt make that mark on the floor. You dont actually believe his father started to say, but she cut him off. And thats an end to it, she concluded. He used to think he would drop dead if he told a lie. Later, finding himself spun into the web of an accomplished liar, he saw that some people had no trouble with it. Some people got so good at it they didnt even realize they were doing it and started to believed their own lies. He chose to avoid them. The truth was too precious to soil that way. He decided he was glad he

had said what he had said to Elena, again. He had a fire going before she stirred, with sizzling ham and skillet toast. Yummy! was her first word. She looked at Joseph with a new air of confidence, a new layer of trust. She knew now that he was utterly serious in his intentions. She was pretty sure he had proposed to her last nightthat that moment was not part of her dreams. But she wasnt entirely sure. So did you want to climb a mountain, or just look at one? she asked him. Well, as you may recall from our conversation last night, I am not averse to challenge and adventure, he replied. It would be an adventure, wouldnt it? I mean, usif we were toWe wouldnt get caught up in bills and playing social games and competing with each other among our peers and growing cold and distant and ending up wondering why we ever thought that would be a good idea, would we? Well, first of all, I dont compete. And I love that about you. And second of all, I dont have any peers and I dont have any debt and Ive never grown cold and the only distance that could come between us would be if you left me. The only question is, why be married? Since Im not an expert on the subject, I can only say that, to me, marriage means Im yours for life and you can count on that. I definitely dont like making promises, but Ill gladly promise to stay beside you and love you as long as I live. I guess marriage just tells everyone else that youve made that promise to each other. I dont know, I think thats worth something. I just dont know that I believe it matters what other people think, or know, or know they think, or think they know. Am I making any sense? No, he said gently, handing her a plate of ham with a slice of buttered toast, but thats okay, because its just you and me. And Im going to love you anyway. You want to try this coffee? Its really good. Here, have a sip of mine and see what you think. She took a sip from his cup. Not bad, she said, handing it back, kind of smoky. Thats probably from the ashes that blew in there, he observed, gives it that campfire flavor. I think Ill just stick to water. So, whats on the agenda today?

I guess well head east until we reach the ocean, then either turn or get wet. Or we could hang around here a few days. Theres a river, and that mountain. We can stay as long as we feel like it, she said. Well, it is peaking in New Hampshire. Maybe we should stick around a while and watch it peak. They staked their claim on their little campsite and ambled off to find the water. The sun was warm but the air was nippy, like in the mountains. This was the mountains, he reminded himself. It wasnt like the Alps, though, or the Rockies. He tended to think of anything less than about 5,000 feet as a big hill. They followed a trail through the blazing trees and they crossed a little wooden bridge over a stream. This cant be the river, can it? he asked. No, I dont think so. It looked like a real river on the map. So we should follow this creek some more, right? It has to end up at the river. Thats usually how it works, she replied. Unable to resist the beckoning brook beneath them, they were soon exploringdancing from rock to rock in an effort to keep their feet dry. Look at this one! she exclaimed, lifting a gleaming stone from the stream. I know, he replied enthusiastically, its like an Easter egg hunt down here. Theyre everywhere you look. They laughed and sorted through the cobbles and pebbles like they were appraising gemstones. The stream tumbled down to the river, which took them by surprise. All at once the little creek widened into a deep trough and there it was: the Ammonoosuc River. I should have brought my front-end loader, he remarked, I see I few boulders here Id like to take home. They rested at a grassy overlook and gazed at the sky. Do you think it looks so blue because theres all this yellow and orange everywhere? she wondered aloud. Sounds like a pretty plausible theory to me, he said. I didnt know you were an artist. Hardly, she laughed, I cant even draw stick figures. I think youre right, though. Van Gogh was all about complementary colors. I got to see some of his originals in Paris. The paints so thick you can

almost sense his tormented spirit in the frantic precision of the brushstrokes. I read that he was so immersed in his work that he looked like a painted manwith stark splotches of colors on his clothes and his hands and his beard. Id sure like to see what he could do with this landscape. Maybe youll have to do it for him, she suggested. I wouldnt even know how to start, he replied. He looked up at the sky, the white sun slinging its evocative sparkle through the twitching, shimmering flush of the intrepid foliage. The maples tossed their scarlet stars across sweet gum constellations of indigo. Spanish oaks stood grim and bold, their unwavering shadows were crimson and gold. Tear-dropped poplars shone yellow and green, hoary white frostweed curled frail and lean. The blazing hummocks sported fallen leaves like decorations, like blazing medals of honor: for sacrifice, for endurance, for valor, for sheer majesty. He gazed at the river flowing clear as ice, he listened to the swaying music of the wind, he watched the flocks of autumn migrate south: the drizzling trickle of falling leaves gliding down. The crisp sting of the air and the gentle lull of the stream transported his senses to such an extreme that he wondered if he might be back in a dream. He let his eyes return to Elena. She was turning over rocks, looking to see what kind of bugs were in this river. You know, he said, as beautiful as all this is; if I could ever figure out how to paint what I see, I would paint you. She smiled excitedly, lost in her reverie, They have stoneflies: tons of them! I hope they can handle ice, he replied. I have a feeling winter comes early around these parts. I wouldnt mind a night indoors, she said. With a nice warm shower. Id like to see a lighthouse, he said. Ive always loved old lighthouses, for some reason, she responded. Thats funny, me too, he replied. Imagine that. Sometimes its spooky how similar we are, she said. I know, he answered, its almost too good to be true. Almost like a dream. Oh, I didnt tell you the rest of my dream, she said excitedly. You mean after the mysterious stranger and the big wave?

Right. It turned out I did know him. He turned out to be you. Isnt that funny? Hilarious, Joseph replied. No. I meanI didnt mean it like that. I was glad it was you. Its just that I never dream about people I actually know. Well, maybe sometimes. But not like this. Why, what happened? he asked. We held each other, she said. You rescued me. Well, as I may have mentioned, I believe dreams can come true. Yes, she said, I know. Thats what scares me. Why should that scare you? he asked. Because of the way it ended. But it doesnt matter, she said, it was just a dream. What? What happened? You called me by another womans name, she said. Thats strange, he said. Maybe I didnt recognize you. Thats exactly how it waslike you thought I was someone else. But I could see the love in your eyes, she said. To see you love someone else that way, even though I knew it was meI dont know. I know its crazy, but it kind of broke my heart. Dreams can do that, he said tenderly. Im sorry. But the strangest thing was that I felt like I actually was this other person: that I had always loved only you. It was like I had no past, no complications. I felt so beautiful, so free. It was almost like I could flylike I had just emerged from some dark place and found you waiting there. I am here, for you, he reassured her. Oh, why couldnt we have met before? Everything would have been different, everything could have worked out. It still can. It doesnt matter how long it took, the important thing is that we found each other. What makes you think it cant work out just perfectly for us? She paused. Her voice was almost inaudible when she finally spoke. When I was in the service, I got sick. They thought it was a cyst. I was so uncomfortable, I couldnt do my work. So I let them operate on me. There were complications. There was a lot of bleeding. They told me I could never

have children. They said it if I ever managed to get pregnant, it would most likely kill me. Josephs heart almost burst when she said those words: like he was seeing what Guinier had seenthe awful truth she had spoken of. He couldnt let himself follow that line of thought, so he cut it off. I told them they were crazy. I had never really thought much about whether I wanted to be a mother or not, but when they told me that I couldnt be one, I went ballistic. I said I didnt care if they did botch up a simple operation, that it wasnt up to them if I was going to have children. I couldnt let myself believe them. Maybe I still believed in miracles back then, I dont know. Joseph continued to listen, to let her get this out while she had the courage to do so. We didnt actually try to have children, but we didnt do anything to prevent it. I dont think Dennis cared one way or another; he was such a child himself. But one day when I came home from work I was so hot, so hungry, I almost consumed him. Ive never felt that way before. It was like my body was telling me to conceive a child. But we didnt, even after that. The words bit like a blade. He wondered if she still craved him sometimes. He didnt know what to say, so he said, Maybe it was him. Maybe he couldnt have children. That wasnt it, she said. I dont know why I told you all that. I feel ashamed, now that I said it. Whats to be ashamed of ? You were married. Thats how married couples are supposed to feel about each other. He felt like he was far away, like he was at the bottom of a deep well trying to comfort someone up on the surface. His chest felt like a hot iron cage had been soldered to his lungs, and then an icy stake was plunged up through his center. Like he couldnt catch his breath. Like he had been cast down to simmer in coals of solitude. I just wanted you to know that I cant have children, she said. Who needs kids? All I wanted was you, he said. Wanted? she responded. Thats a pretty tough image to dismiss, he remarked. I guess I feel kind of embarrassedto have been assuming all this time I was something special, something unique. Im just processing a new reality, thats all.

Im sorry I said anything, she told him, I just had this absurd notion we could be completely open and honest with each other. Like there would be no secrets between us. I like that. I believe in that. I want that. Its just, I used to have a problem with jealousy. I guess this gives me a chance to see if Im over it. Of course I want you. But I only want you if you want me. Oh, Joseph. I want you like I want the air, she said tearfully. She fell into his arms and they held each other by the rushing Ammonoosuc in the bright autumn dawn. I feel like we have a secret, she said with a sly smile. Whatever it is, I love this feeling, he said. Thank you for putting up with me, she said. One things for sure, its not going to be boring. Oh, you can count on that, she said with a new radiance. I havent seen this side of you, he said. I think I like it. Youre going to see a lot more of me than that, she said. I can hardly wait, he replied. Im sorry I dont have a ring. Thats not important. I dont care for engagement rings. That simplifies things, he said. Do you want to explore around here a little more, or head back? That depends. Did you want to climb that mountain? she asked. I couldnt get any higher than I am right now, he told her. Its a great view from right here. Then why go anywhere? she responded. Why, indeed, he said. Why dont you show me those stoneflies?

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Face in the Water

They spent another night on the ground and got an early start the next morning. They thoroughly enjoyed the bucolic landscape with its remarkably diverse shrubbery and everything was proceeding smoothly until they approached the state line. Elena was driving, Joseph was trying to see what was happening up the road. The traffic had come to a standstill. Must be a wreck, she guessed. I would suggest an alternate route, but there is no alternate route, he said. Ya caant get the-ah from he-ah, she said. But there is a sofa for sell. A what? she replied. See? Out there in that guys yard. A couch, a nightstand, a couple of lamps, and a bookcase, Joseph replied, indicating the yard sale they were crawling by. Thats funny. Oh, look. Were moving again, she said. Look! Another yard sale! Need an aquarium? he asked. How about a ukulele? No, but Ive always wanted a mandolin, she responded. Ill keep looking, he replied. We just got passed by a bicycle, she observed. What could they be doing up there? You dont suppose they have a checkpoint or something, do you? I dont know. Maybe Maine is full and theyre turning everyone back, he suggested. Must be all those Canadians. Then why isnt there any traffic in the other direction? she asked.

Hey, it was just a theory. I havent had time to analyze all the variables, he answered. Do we need a bird cage? We could use some wings. Were averaging about two miles an hour, she observed. How much farther to the border, do you think? About two miles, she said. Nice trees, huh? he remarked. Oh look! Another yard sale! Ive heard of window shopping, but this is ridiculous. As slow as were moving, at least you can get a good look, right? Yeah, but I would need my binoculars to read the price tags. Im surprised theyre not bringing stuff to the car, he replied. They are. Look, she said, Two cars up. This is crazy! Theyre stopping traffic to sell cider on the side of the road? I think the traffic was already stopped. Theyre just taking advantage of that fact, she hypothesized. Hmm, seems like more than a coincidence to me that all these houses are having yard sales and all these cars are standing still, he countered. Hey, theres a nice bed over there. A wicker rocker, some more old oil lamps, a toolbox, a bust of Ralph Waldo Emerson A what? Where? she asked. Not really. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention, he chuckled. What I want to know is wheres the old colonial furniture? Wheres the Tiffany lamp? Wheres the antique silver tankard? she asked. You probably have to go inside to find that stuff, he replied. Hey! Were moving again, she said. Oh, never mind. I knew the scenic routes would be slower, but I had no idea they could be this slow, Joseph observed. At least were not surrounded by huge logging trucks, she reminded him. True, he said, it is beautiful here. And you are the one having to drive. I think Ill just relax and enjoy the ride. You want some apple cider? she asked Joseph as a woman approached her window with a pitcher and cups on a tray. No thanks, he said. Im not crazy about cider.

Just one, thank you, Elena told the lady. How much was it? Joseph asked. It was free, Elena said. He watched her empty the small paper cup in one smooth gulp. She licked her lips and smiled at him. And its delicious, she added, very fresh. He smiled back and said, Very. It turned out they had stumbled upon the Fryeburg street fair. They did not stop to investigate, and the road opened up before them as soon as they were east of town. Would you like me to drive for a while? Joseph asked. Now you ask that, she said. Well, unless we were going to conduct a New Jersey fire drill in the middle of the road, I dont know how I could have taken over before now. New Jersey fire drill? she asked. I try to be politically correct, he replied. Oh, she said, right. Lobster tonight? he asked. And clam chowdah! she replied. Her eyes sparkled as she continued driving east into the sunlight, toward the ocean. He could see her feel the power of the Atlantic pull her closer with every mile. She was supercharged. She had never seen the ocean up close, she had only flown over it. Her enthusiasm was contagious. Joseph was experiencing elation of his own. He had long dreamed of roaming craggy shores. Sandy beaches filled him with supreme serenity, rocky coasts sparked him like lightning. The deep Pacific he had briefly surfed, the warm Caribbean had washed his wounds, and the choppy Gulf of Mexico was in his blood; the cerulean Atlantic he had never touched. Elena pulled over in Naples, where they refilled and switched drivers. Portland was about forty miles ahead. The plan was to hug the coast from there, driving north, until their intuition told them where to stop. She really wanted to see a lighthouse, he really wanted to see cliffs above the ocean. They had come to the right place. They found exploring the coastline quite daunting. Each dead end was an adventure unto itself. Every inn they checked was booked for the Canadian

holiday. This could be tough, Elena said. Wed probably have to go way up to Acadia if we wanted to camp. Thats still a bit north. When they asked a local the best way to get to a certain little village on the coast, the man replied, Ooh, Im sorry. You caaant get the-ahh from heahh. They looked at each other and laughed. Lets just see whats down this road, Joseph said at one point. The uncertainty of finding lodging weighed on him a bit, but he was still enthralled by their proximity to the ocean. He figured they might sleep in the car on the beach somewhere. He was just trying to find that beach at the moment. Hey, look at that! Elena said as they rounded a turn to a wide, smooth, shallow bay on the right and a rocky promontory on the left. At the top of the cliff stood an elegant building with wide windows overlooking the inlet on one side and the ocean on the other. That could be a restaurant. And I bet they have lobster, he said. The small parking area was packed, but he managed to tuck the car out of way. They walked up a narrow stairway to a tidy reception area. Im sorry, said the woman at the counter, But were all bookeduh, excuse me. A man stepped up from a back room and said something to her. Oh, well, it seems weve had a cancellation. Im afraid its our smallest room, it doesnt have a private bath. Theres a shower down the hall. It does have a nice ocean view, though. Do you have a restaurant? asked Joseph, still thinking about his chowder. We serve the best lobster in three counties, harvest them ourselves, she said proudly. Well take the room, said Elena. Very good, the woman responded. Restaurant opens at seven; the pubs open now. Is it okay to walk out there, on the beach? Joseph asked. Thats a private beach, reserved for our guests, so, yes. But be careful, its slick and theres a lot of mud. And the waves are unpredictable. And its pretty windy out. But youre welcome to explore, she said. If youll get your bags, Jason will show you to your room. Should I move the car? Joseph asked.

She looked out the window and he pointed the car out. Its fine, she said, as long as youre not blocking the drive. Oh, and you might want to follow the sidewalk up along the terrace. There are some nice artisan shops and pretty views up there. For some people, each day may harbor a hundred miracles. Some people can see each sunrise as if it were the first sunrise they had ever seen. Joseph couldnt. He tried to live in the present tense, but his past was always there as a reference point. And so when he did have a uniquely profound experience, Joseph appreciated it keenly. He was having such an experience that afternoon. All his dreams were coming true. The cliff above the ocean, his soul matehis bride-to-be beside him. It was one of those rare moments when he knew he had indeed arrived. The coast of Maine that cool October day embraced him like a long lost friend. They walked up to the shops and looked at pictures and ceramics and carvings and sculptures of fishermen and boats and lighthouses and puffins and whales. The people were friendly and the panorama was fabulous. Joseph and Elena were the first to be seated at dinner, and they chose a window table. They couldnt get enough of the ocean views. The platters of food were large and everything was scrumptious. I didnt know I was this hungry, Elena said. The beachll do that, Joseph said. This is good. The best in three counties. Youd have to go to New Brunswick to beat it. Or Nova Scotia. Ooh, I bet its cold up there. I bet its cold right down there. Brrr. Im glad we found a room. I think the room found us. Im glad we found each other. At the end of the meal, Joseph was uncomfortably full. As they made their way back to the room, he stopped at a large leather sofa facing a wide window. I need to sit down. Are you okay? Elena asked.

Ill be fine. One too many clams, he replied. Can I get you something? she asked. Alka Seltzer, Pepto Bismol, Tums, whatever they have. Unfortunately, they didnt have anything like that. Neither did Joseph or Elena. She helped him up the stairs and he headed for the toilet down the hall. He spent the next ten hours, on and off, in that tiny room. It contained the only shower on the floor, or he would have spent even more time in there. As frustrating as it was to conclude that day in this way, the challenge gave Elena the opportunity to demonstrate another of her gifts. Her compassion and gentleness served to greatly reduce Josephs embarrassment at his predicament. As sick as he was, her supportive companionship assured him he was right to take the plunge with this person. The next morning, Elena brought coffee and orange juice to the room. Joseph had drifted off to sleep, finally sure he had no more visits to the bathroom left in him. The smell of the coffee stirred his senses, and he opened his eyes. Hey you, she said. For a moment he thought he was looking at someone else. He almost called her Guinier. Hey, he said weakly. I didnt mean to wake you. I didnt know if youd want something to drink when you got up, so I just brought a few things. They have quite a spread down there, but I know you probably arent interested in food right now. He cleared his throat. Probably not, he replied. Like what? Croissants, pastries, eggs and bacon, waffles she began. Uggh, sounds delicious. I think Ill try a sip of juice first and see how that feels. Do they have apple juice? She looked at him askew a moment, to see if he was joking. He was clearly too sapped to be pulling her leg. Im sure they do. Why dont you go enjoy breakfast? Maybe bring me a glass when youre through, he said, pushing his head into the pillow and going fetal. She walked over and felt his forehead, kissed his hair. You get some rest. I love you. In sickness and in health, he mumbled. Till death do us part, she added softly.

Forget about the juice, he said. As she dimmed the light and left the room, Josephs body begged for sleep, but his mind raced. They were only able to book one night, which means they had to be out before noon. Something else might open up, but it was unlikely and they werent first on the waiting list. He could faintly hear hammering in the distance, like someone was repairing a pier. The sound was comforting. He thought of the wind chimes they had seen, with the little clinking seagulls. Someone was knocking. Joseph rose painfully and donned his robe before opening the door. It was Jason, the steward who had helped with their bags. Im sorry, Mr. Medallion. Theres been an accident. Joseph regurgitated an ounce of bile on the welcome mat. We think it was a wave. They found your wifes purse, he continued. But we havent found her. He wanted to scream. He wanted to flee to the place where her purse was found and scour the ocean to find her that instant. But his feet held fast to the floor. His voice was a lump of chalk lodged in the throat. He stood paralyzed, suffocating. When Joseph awoke, it occurred to him that Elena didnt carry a purse. The coffee was still warm, the orange juice was still cool, and Elena was still at breakfast. Sunlight streamed through the white lace curtains, casting pale shadows against an angular olive wall. He smiled at the curve of the glass, which consisted of rectangular panes craftily constructed to accommodate the shape of the turret. The beverages rested on an oval tray in the middle of the round mahogany table occupying that space. An elegant chair with lionclawed feet was placed at either side. A bright pink rose stood in a slender crystal vase. He sat up against his pillow, then turned his torso and dropped his feet to the floor. He stood up and felt his head swim. He steadied himself against a bedpost, then took a step toward the table. He sat down, looked out the window, and took a sip of the coffee. It stayed down. He dressed and grabbed a jacket and went off to find Elena, pausing on the way to brush his teeth.

She sat on the terrace, reading a book as she nibbled a strawberry tart. She, too, was picture perfect; her lovely silhouette against the distant blue horizon took his breath away. Youre up already. She sounded surprised. I napped long enough, he replied, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. She gave him her lips instead. He smiled feebly, That was a risky proposition, after the night I had. For better or for worse, she said. Well Im hoping we just got the for worse out of the way, he responded. When you finish, Id like to go check out that beach. It doesnt look as windy this morning as it was when we got here. Im just nibbling now. I was just waiting for you. The tide was low and the muck was thick. Knobby boulders jutted here and there, like they had been dropped by some passing giant. The smell was weedy and clammy and fishy and robust. It looked like what had been passing though his system all night. He took a few steps away from the edge to catch his breath. Kind of aromatic, huh? she said. Yeah, kind of. Now I know what a clam feels like, he said. I feel intimately connected to this coast. Are you going to be able to ride? she asked. Sure, he responded. I still want to see a lighthouse. Great! she exclaimed, Me, too! The staff at the inn was more than happy to share their knowledge about the various lighthouses of Maine. The couple was drawn to one that had a small museum at the bottom and an open stair to the top. It stood near the edge of rugged cliffs, and there was a wide jetty of boulders fingering out into the choppy surf. When they arrived, though, they saw none of these things. A thick fog clouded that stretch of coast, and it was all they could do to make out the building with the big light up top. Apparently, the weather was keeping tourists away, as there were no cars in the lot. I hope its open, Elena said. She turned off the engine, they remained in the car. I hope this fog lifts, Joseph added. You cant even tell theres an ocean right there. How do you feel? she asked.

Uncannily recuperated, he replied, and ten pounds lighter. She shook her head and smiled, Im guessing youve had your lobster fix for a while. Youre fine, and you ate the lobster. No, Im pretty sure it was those steamed clams. Are they supposed to be that gritty? he asked. I have no idea, she replied. You think I was supposed to wash them in that finger bowl? he asked. Possibly, she replied. I cant imagine that anyone likes gritty clams. I should have watched what the other people were doing, he said. I just didnt want to seem that dorky. You know, Excuse me, how do you eat this? Youre definitely not dorky, she said. Well, Im glad to hear at least I pulled that off, he replied. Hey, look, somebodys going in, she observed. Excellent, he said. Now we just need the sun to come out. They walked through the frigid mist to the small enclosure beneath the tall structure. Huge lenses were on display, and photographs of the lighthouse being built and ships and weather events plastered the walls. The waves could crash quite high in turbulent times, they saw. A bearded man in yellow rainwear removed his coat and hung it on a peg. Where you folks from? he asked with a friendly lilt. Texas, Joseph said. We came up for the lobster. He laughed, Plenty of lobster around here. Its not cheap, just freshern anyplace else. It was wonderful, Elena said. We had some last night. Well, any questions, Im happy to help. Observation sections open, you want to go up. Just go slow on the stairs and dont touch anything you shouldnt be touching, he instructed them. They concluded their review of nautical memorabilia on the bottom level, then climbed the steep steps to the top. Above them, an immense light turned in its perpetual circle. This is the candle tower, thats the candle, said the lighthouse operator, who seemed to appear from nowhere. At least it used to be. Actually, it was a lamp, fueled by oil taken from the heads of sperm whales. He expounded on the history of the lens and the changes in the light source over the years,

including details about reflective capacity and housing weights and how it was lifted into place and how much candlepower of illumination it emitted and how far out to sea it could be seen. These days we use a light bulb. Were on city power, but we have a generator, so it cant lose juice. I just have to keep the lens clean and keep an eye on the bulb and be ready with a replacement. Glancing out the window, he added, Looks like the days clearing up out there. Usually does this time of year. Anxious to get out near the surf, Joseph turned to descend the steps. Youre thinking of walking out there, Id advise against it. One wave can carry a three hundred pound man, land him a hundred feet out in the ocean. And I can tell you, its cold out there. Just the thought made them shiver. Thanks, Joseph replied. Well keep that in mind. As the sun warmed and scattered the soft white vapor, the water appeared to be calm and safe. Remembering the old sailors warning, Joseph and Elena cautiously made their way to the shore-side edge of the jetty. Just then, the loud, low blast of a foghorn startled them, so that they both jolted in place. They laughed, and turned to the lighthouse, where the old man who was watching them laughed back, wagging a finger. I think he was trying to get our attention, she said. Well he sure succeeded, said Joseph. Good thing I have an empty stomach. Hey, Im hungry. You want to have a picnic out here? Sure, she said. Not that I need to eat again. I was finishing my second plate when you found me this morning. Beach appetite, he said. Just be sure to wash the clams. We dont have clams, she said. Oh, good. Then we dont have to worry about that. A few bites of cheese and a slice of ham and Joseph was practically as good as new. So, what comes next? he asked. What about West Virginia? We could go back through Kentucky, wed hardly even touch Tennessee. Love me tender, love me sweet, all my dreams fulfill. For my darling, I love you, and I always will, he sang. Is that the only Elvis song you know?

One for the money, two for the show, three to get ready; now go, cat, go! But dont you step on my blue suede shoes, he added. Sorry I asked, she teased. I actually had a pair of blue suede shoes, in the sixth grade. With platform heels. Sounds classy, she said. It was. Especially when I wore them with my lavender leisure suit, he said. What a cutie, she replied. I think theres a picture somewhere. Ill have to be sure to burn it, he said. Dont you dare, she responded, then asked, Would you like me to drive? Either way, he said. How about you start, Ill finish. Sounds good to me, she agreed. You can catch up on your sleep. Why dont you crawl in the back and get comfortable? The idea appealed to him, so he made a cozy pallet and she drove south and west. The steady rumble of the engine reminded him of a train, only without the click clack of the wheels on the track. The wheels on the pavement were smooth, and they were transporting him home. A new home. So much had happened so fast. He glanced out the window at the colors rushing by, he closed his eyes. He wondered if he had told her enough about his past. He had heard more than he needed to hear about hers. There would always be mysteries, always new horizons to reveal. He couldnt think of anything critical he had left out.

***
Joseph was having trouble walking. He had no destination in mind, but he wanted to stroll and his feet wouldnt touch the ground. He laughed at his predicament, unable to propel his body in any direction due to lack of friction. You havent mentioned me. You havent mentioned your obsession with dreams.

She stood beside him on a forest path. The trees were radiant. Im not obsessed with dreams, he thought back, not any more. But you still seem to be obsessed with me, or else why would I be here? I have no idea why youre here. Or why Im here, for that matter. Or why I cant touch the ground, he said. You told me once that I was wrong to assume you acted of your own volition. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe in dreams I dont consciously control as much as you think? I dont think, I just act, she replied. And just say whatever pops out of your mouth, he added. How could you ever have thought you loved someone like that, right? she thought. I wasnt thinking that. You were about to, I was anticipating. Come here, I want to show you something. She took him by the hand and his feet settled to the path. He walked with her to a spring of clear, still water. Look in there, Joseph. Take a long, hard look. He did as he was instructed. He saw the emerald water, he wondered if it was as deep as it looked. He saw dark fish and bright fish, mosses and ferns. He realized the mosses and ferns were terrestrial, they were reflections. Perfectly clear reflections. He noticed his own form in the water. He saw two heads on his body. He bent over to see more clearly, and the other head bent with him. He saw her face on the second head. She smiled, Surprise! He stood up suddenly and turned to find himself alone. When he looked into the pool a second time, he saw only one person, with one head. He stared hard at the reflection: it was Guinier. She casually gazed back. Im in you, you numbskull. I was there before you were born, and Ive been with you ever since. You fell in love with the you inside you always thought was unlovable. You were not unlovable, nor were you unloved. You see me as the faithful one, the one who was only yours from the beginning. But I had no choice. No one else could have me, Joseph; I could only ever be true to you because you are all I knowyou and the world you bring to your dreams. This is where I live. But I am with you in both worlds. He shook his head and the reflection was Joseph again, shaking his head. He could see his own consternation. What am I going to do without you? Joseph wondered.

Hello? her voice said in his head, Im still here. He turned to see Guinier propped against a large mossy rock, breaking off pieces of a twig and tossing them into the water. He was still trying to sort out the conversation he had just had with the reflection, and failed to respond. The reason you cant have me, Joseph, is because you already do, she said. Im the vulnerable child in you. Im your subversive ideas, you unanswerable questions. I am your aspirations and your nightmares. Make a wish, Joseph. I am that wish. Anything is possible in my world. I am hope. I still believe in miracles. I still believe in dreams come true. And I still believe in you, she said. Now, kiss me. He looked into her pretty face, he bent forward, he closed his eyes, their lips touched. Her kiss was soft and warm. He opened his eyes to Elenas eyes. Were there, she proudly announced, then asked, How do you feel? He sat up, perplexed. The space had been emptied of the gear. Night had fallen. Elena snuggled up beside him. I set up camp, but this is pretty cozy right here, she added. He wrapped an arm around her and delighted in the closeness. He looked out the window and saw the blazing campfire. A pot was on the grill, the ice chest was out. She had done it all. I feel fantastic. I dreamed I was walking on air, he said. Elena smiled, Now that were together, I feel like maybe dreams can come true. Mine already has, he replied. He took her head in his hands and put his lips on her forehead. Youre here, he thought, youre really here. She giggled softly, Im not going anywhere. The waters probably boiling. I thought some cocoa might be good. So, where are we? he asked. Shenandoah Valley, she responded, I figured we should cross the Appalachians tomorrow. I know how you like mountains.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Going Home
***
Guinier, is that you? Joseph asked as he approached a small person kneeling in the grass. He saw the soft blond curls, he noticed how the sunlight seemed to bond with her graceful demeanor, he knew it must be Guinier. But she was so diminutive. When he reached her, he put his hand tenderly on her shoulder. When she looked up, he saw it wasnt her. In fact, it was a little boy. He had a magnifying glass and he was looking at something in the grass. My name is Joseph, the boy said. Thats funny, the man answered kindly, sos mine. I was just watching this roly-poly crawl around. I like roly-polies, he said. What do you like about roly-polies? Joseph knelt down beside him. Well, they dont bite, and they dont stingthey cant hurt you at all and theyll crawl around on your hand, like this, he said, lifting the small creature from the grass and placing it in his other hand. First it has to unroll, then it will start crawling, he explained as he held the little ball in his open palm. The pill bug uncurled and began to crawl across his hand. It kind of tickles, he giggled. Thats really cool, said Joseph. Could I try? Sure, okay, he responded, wanting to be friendly. Then he hesitated a moment, and added, But you have to be very gentle, because its one of Gods creatures. Here, put your hand next to minelike this. Then it will just crawl over to you.

As big Joseph knelt next to little Joseph in the back yard back home, he saw how large his hands had grown. The little boys palms were pink and delicate, the mans were calloused and brown. The boy laughed again. It tickles, doesnt it? But Joseph could hardly feel the creature crawling at all. Now me, the boy said excitedly, placing his open hand next to the mans. The pill bug returned to his palm, and he let it crawl into the grass. Its so tiny, said little Joseph. Joseph looked at the child. How could I not love him? he thought. Whats not to love? Do you think it matters how big you are? the child asked. I dont think its how big you are on the outside, the man responded, I think it just matters how big your love is. I have big love inside me, said the boy. I know you do, Joseph, Joseph said. But I dont know what to do with it, he added. All you can do is share that love with people who need it. Youre like a pitcher of water, and you can help people who are thirsty. You can fill up their cups. What if I dont know how? What if no one wants my love? asked the boy. You know what? Sometimes people act like they dont want something because they dont know what they want. Sometimes they are so busy trying to figure out what they want that they dont know they already have it. Im sure you fill a lot of hearts with joy, Joey. Do you mind if I call you Joey? The boy thought about it briefly. Nah, not really. Sometimes I act like I do because I want to seem more grown up, Joey said. Im the baby of the family. But Im not a baby. Thats right. Youre not a baby at all, are you? Youre a big boy. But dont be in too much of a hurry to grow up. Try to enjoy just being a boy, because once youre grown upits harder to just be yourself. But what if you dont like who you are? What if nobody likes you because youre just a runt? We both know thats not true. Everybody who knows you, likes you. They dont act like it all the time, maybe most of the time, but think about

those times when they do let you know. Thats whats real. The other stuff is just growing pains. Peter took me fishing once, Joey recalled. And he showed me how to make a man out of clay. There you go, Joseph replied. Francis said he would let me drive his car when Im old enough. He already lets me steer in the driveway sometimes, Joey continued. And Im sure he will. James promised to take me to the beach some day, just the two of us. And youre going to have a great time when he does. Matthew is going to teach me to play tennis when Im big enough to swing a racket. They all love you, Joey. Brothers just act tough because theyre brothers. Any one of them would stand up for you if they thought you needed them to. Luke dove right off the trampoline, one time, right onto Simon, because he was going to hit me with a hammer. You would be surprised how much Luke cares about you. Even Luke doesnt know it yet; the closer you are, the harder it is. He remembered correspondence he received when Luke went off to college, long letters expressing his brothers tender affection and heartrending regrets. He looked at the boy again, who was hanging rapt on his words. And you know your parents love you, right? Joseph asked. Daddy used to love me. He used to call me Josephino, or Pasquale. Now he just calls me Joe, Joey said. He has a lot on his mind, Joey. Its a big family, and he wants to make sure hes taking care of everybody. He still loves you. Hell always love you, even if it doesnt always seem that way, said Joseph. Mama cut her hair. I dont hardly recognize her any more, Joey confided sadly. Its hard when things change, isnt it? Especially when people we are close to change. She cant help but love you, even if she doesnt understand how you think, Joseph observed. Shes your mother. Shell always be your mother. You dont know it yet, but she sometimes thinks of you as her heart. But youre a dreamer, Joey. She isnt. Dreamers like you are rare, and people

dont understand them. I know it can be tough, I know that you feel all alone. But youre really not, Joseph said, trying to offer comfort. Oh, I know Im not alone, Joey said, because Jesus loves me. Joseph looked at the boy compassionately. He could see the faith, the trust, the burning desire to be good. Thats right, Joey. Jesus loves you and will always be there when you need a friend. But how do you know hes really there? Why does he have to be invisible? Joey asked. Im not sure, Joey, but I think it has something to do with faith. You just keep believing. I can tell you right now, your best and most important dreams will all come true, Joseph assured him. How do you know? Joey asked. Because, little guy, I was you, Joseph said. Joey looked at him closely. No way! he said. Youre huge! Well, Im not all that big, Joseph replied. Biggern Francis. Biggern Peter and James and Matthew and Luke. Youre even bigger than Dad! Joey exclaimed. Joseph chuckled, Remember, its whats on the inside that counts. Youll grow up soon enough. You wont always be the smallest. Just take it day by day, minute by minute. Enjoy those roly-polies and crawdads and tadpoles. Slow down and spend some time with the rosesDad will follow you out there, youll see. Ask him if yall could put one in a vase for Mama some time, see what happens. Joey lit up at the thought. Im going to do that right now! he said eagerly, leaping up to run into the house. I think thats a great idea, Joseph agreed, rising to his feet to watch the boy go. Just before he reached the door, Joey stopped in his tracks. He turned around and said to Joseph, Are you really me? I truly hope so, Joey. Because I think youre wonderful, he responded. Does that mean this is just a dream? the boy asked, his bright countenance sinking. It pained him to watch the wave of disappointment about to collide with the vulnerable child. You know what, Joseph, the man said, sometimes dreams are only make-believe. Sometimes theyre not real at all. But when

you dream of something wonderful, those are the dreams that matter. And those dreams are as real as anything. And Ill tell you a secretpeople who always remember their dreams are lucky. Because they can take the great ideas they get in their sleep and bring them to life when they wake up. You remember that, okay? And remember what I said about the roses. I will, the boy replied respectfully. He opened the screen door, then turned back one last time. Do you think you will remember me? Joseph fought to suppress the tears that threatened to choke his reply. II, he couldnt bring himself to lie to the innocent before him. If I ever do forget, I promise Ill do everything I can to find that memory again. Youre a very special boy, Joseph. Just keep believing in yourself. You know whats right. Keep standing up for it. Mama says that everybody has a star, and they should follow it, the boy said. Mamas right, Joey. You do have a star. And youll find it. And youll know exactly what to do when you do, Joseph replied. Okay, Joey answered, flashing a brilliant smile. He became suddenly serious. He wanted to ask a question, but he didnt want to be rude. Joseph noticed he was struggling with something. What is it, Joey? Whats on your mind? he asked. I was just wondering, are you real? the boy asked. Im as real as anything, Joseph responded. But how can you be real, if Im just dreaming you? he continued. Its kind of like that big love inside you, he started, not sure what he would say next. You cant see it, right? Its just there. But you know its real, because you can feel it with your heart. You mean, like Jesus? Joey asked. Sort of like that, Joseph replied. Are you Jesus? Joey asked. No, Joseph. Only Jesus is Jesus. We can try to be like him, but hes one of a kind, he said. We make mistakes sometimes. Like when you burned that little cowboy and it left a mark on the floor. I told Daddy Simon did it, Joey admitted gravely. We all make mistakes, because were not always perfect. But Jesus was always perfect. You might think of him as the perfect big brother. Like Francis? Joey asked.

Joseph smiled, Even more perfect than that. You mean, like Daddy? the boy inquired. Your daddys a good man, Joeyone of the best. But remember, Jesus is the Son of God. Hes better than any man ever was, he told him. As he watched the boy consider his words, Joseph could sense the dream was nearing its conclusion. Joey? he said as he walked over to him, Could I ask you a favor? What is it? Joey asked. If Simon ever tells you hell give you a buffalo nickel to go to the top of his barn, dont go. Simons trouble, Joey. You should stay away from him. Okay, said Joey. Joseph watched the child enter the house, then he watched the house slowly diminish as his body glided away. He saw the whole neighborhood shrink and fade. He felt his soul like sand sift through the sieve of time. He woke up warm and snug, with Elena cuddled near. He stroked her smooth shoulder, then he looked up at the night sky. Mingled with the stars, he noticed a speck of light in motion. He wondered how high that jet plane was flying, he wondered where it had been, he wondered where it was going. He often wished he could be up there, heading for destinations unknown. Tonight, he did not wish that. Tonight he was grateful to be exactly where he was. He thought about his words to the boy in the dream. A single star can be hard to find, especially when you dont know how to distinguish it from all the other stars, he thought. He wondered if he had found his own special star. He wondered if it shone especially for him. He felt the rise and fall of Elenas peaceful slumber. He wondered if marriage was like baptism.

***
He was on his hands and knees beneath a large palm tree. His stomach twisted in knots. The sound of water lapping nearby compelled him to rise. He strode to the rhythm of the surf until he came to the waters edge. It was night. He could see the sand beneath the waves. He waded out into the gently lolling hush. The silky skin of the glistening sea wrapped warmly around his knees, around his thighs, around his torso. Still he could see his feet.

He waded farther and farther from shore; a small fishing boat was anchored near. Still the water was shallow, still he could wade easily, still he could see his feet. Cast your net on the other side, he heard a kind voice say. But sir, someone protested, we have been casting our net all night and still the hold is bare. Trust me, my friend. Cast right over here, the voice replied. Joseph glanced to where the kind man suggested they lower their nets. Fish were everywhere.

***
Their heads were still swimming with the sights of the New England autumn splendor behind them as they thrilled at the subdued Appalachian vistas. West Virginia and Kentucky flew by. When they reached the Ohio River at Paducah, Elena remarked, This is where I grew up. Mom lives just about an hour from here. Do you want to stop by? Joseph asked. Its a long way from here to Texas, she replied. Im good either way, he said. I could meet your mother, or I could drive us home. We should save that visit, Elena responded. Maybe well come back in the spring. Okay, he said. We need to shower first anyway. The road from Memphis onward was familiar. Though it was quite long, they nevertheless enjoyed the ride. The conversation ebbed and flowed; furtive glances and subtle innuendos stimulated imaginations and inflamed desires. Both of them were wide awake when Joseph turned the car up the rocky limestone drive. Elena smiled broadly, exhibiting an irresistibly attractive expression of elated exhaustion. She looked exactly like Joseph was feeling, and Joseph was feeling euphoric. They exited the car and he followed her to the door, neither pausing to bother with the gear. She unlocked the door and flipped on the light. I love you with all my heart, he said.

Youre just saying that so Ill let you shower first, she teased, but thats not going to happen. After the shower, she wore a plush blue robe. They sat at the kitchen table. He had lit a candle and uncorked the bottle of red wine from Vermont. He had placed two glasses on the table. He had a bowl in one hand, and a fork in the other. I cant believe I get to sleep in my own bed, she said groggily. I think Ill pass on the wine. What are you eating? Joseph smiled at her. Spaghetti. Its still good. Want some? How can you? No, Im really not hungry. You look so sleepy. Why dont you turn in? I feel like writing a while. Okay, she said. She stood and leaned across the table to kiss him. Her robe parted, and he slipped his fingers against her warm ribs. You better go on, he replied, removing his hands from her smooth sides and pouring himself a glass of wine. I love you, she said. Sweet dreams, beautiful, he replied.

***
Joseph was dangling from a rope grappled precariously to a root upon a precipice. He was harnessed to the rope, so that he hung upright, but the wall of the cliff receded so that he couldnt touch it with his feet. In the recess of the wall was a large cavity, a grotto. Keeping his eyes on the rope above him, noticing how it was losing its hold above in jerky little fits, he let his eyes look down. Beneath him was an inferno. The distance was so great that it appeared as a red ember surrounded by blackness. If Joseph were to fall, he would end up as a speck of flame far, far below. Elena wanted to call out, but she couldnt find her voice. She wanted to grab that rope and pull him up, or at least secure it more firmly, but she had no body. She could only watch the perilous action unfold. Then a hand extended from the space in the cliff, a womans hand. Joseph saw it, and reached out to take it.

***
Joseph was dangling from a rope grappled precariously to a root upon a precipice. He was harnessed to the rope, so that he hung upright, but the wall of the cliff receded so that he couldnt touch it with his feet. In the recess of the wall was a large cavity, a grotto. Keeping his eyes on the rope above him, noticing how it was losing its hold above in jerky little fits, he let his eyes look down. Beneath him was an inferno. The distance was so great that it appeared as a red ember surrounded by blackness. If Joseph were to fall, he would end up as a speck of flame far, far below. He knew that if he could manage to swing without loosening the anchor above him, the cave would preserve him. He could feel heat rising, perspiration beaded on his forehead. Something moved in the darkness, in the depths of the grotto. Something passed behind a waterfall. It was a woman. She was beautiful. Joseph watched her approach. She stepped onto a ledge and held out a hand. Joseph reached out to take it. He looked into her eyes. It was Elena.

***
It was still dark when she awoke to the fragrance of bacon cooking. She had slept well, but felt like she could use a few more hours slumber to be completely rested. Fragments of the dream flashed through her mind: something about a deep hole, something about a fire. Joseph was there, he was in trouble. There was a lady. She rescued him. Elena recalled the feeling of helplessness. Her inability to manifest herself in the dream nagged at her. She groggily rose and slipped into her robe, brushed her hair, and walked into the kitchen to find Joseph happily making breakfast. Good morning, sunshine, he said. You must still be in the other time zone, she replied. It smells great in here, what time is it? Almost six he replied. You look particularly pleased about something, she observed. I have a confession, he replied. I think Im in love with your stove.

She laughed. Im making omelets, he announced proudly. Smells like bacon to me, she said hungrily. Thats just the appetizer, he replied, handing her a crispy slice. She watched him shake the eggs in the skillet and nibbled on the thin piece of maple-sweetened meat in her hand. How was the wine? she asked. Oh, you know, so-so. It probably just needs to breathe a while, he replied. She took another bite of the bacon, then asked, Are you sure you want to get married? Its too done, isnt it? You like yours more chewy, less crispy, he ventured. What? No, silly, its perfectjust the way I like it, she replied. I was just thinking, theres no reason to rush into anything. Are you having second thoughts? he asked, expressing his honest concern. Not for me, for you. Havent you ever wanted a family of your own? I was kind of hoping you would be my family, he replied. But thats all I can give you, Joseph, is me. Didnt you ever think about having children? she asked. Only once. When I lost my virginity. Thats all I thought about for the next few months. It scared me to death, he admitted. Really, Elena. I dont need children to make my life complete, I only need one person for that: I only need you. I dont know how I got so lucky, she responded, but Im willing to accept it. Must have been all those years singing in the church choir, he remarked playfully. So, what do we do first? What do you mean? I know we need our birth certificates, he commented. What else? Whats your hurry? You already got the girl, she said. Well, not totally, he replied. Trust me, Joseph. I was yours the first night you held me, she confessed. I knew I would never want another man to hold me like that.

So you dont have any residual, he wanted to be delicate, but he needed reassurance, cravings? For anyone else? Her mood darkened, I should never have told you about that. I just dont want to always wonder if Imlikea consolation prize, he commented. I dont know ifI guess I just hoped you could feel that way about me, he continued. Im sorry, I know you cant help how you feel about someone. Joseph, she said warmly as she walked over to him, turn off the stove. When he woke up, his head spun briefly, then he remembered everything. He remembered Elena taking him by the hand. He remembered walking into her bedroom. He remembered her robe gliding to the floor. He turned to watch her sleep peacefully beside him. He felt happy and whole. He watched her slumber. He enjoyed being close to her. She opened her eyes and smiled, Mmm, good morning. What time is it? He glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost nine, he said. Lets get married. I said yes already. Werent you there? she replied. I know, but Im ready, he said. She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair, then picked up a brush from the bedside table and ran it through the thick strands. We will, she said, I promise. But not today. We still have to find someone to do it, and think about where we want to be, and probably get our blood tested or something. Do you even know where your birth certificate is? Yes, I think so. Okay. Theres no hurry. I should let you enjoy the rest of your vacation. The phone rang. It was in the kitchen. I should probably get that, its probably some problem at work she guessed, rising and slipping on a large yellow shirt. Kind of early to be calling, he remarked, Especially since youre supposed to be off. Its for you, she called from the kitchen. Oh, he said. Be right there.

He stepped into his jeans and walked to the other room, wondering who would be calling him. Wondering who even knew where to find him. Hello? he said. I didnt know how to get a hold of you, your phones been disconnected, the voice said. Matthew? Joseph replied. Yeah, he said. Mom wanted everyone to know, so I said I would track you down. Nobody knew where you were. Finally we decided to try Elenas house. Fortunately, you gave her number to Luke at some point. I thought she might know how to get in touch with you, he explained. Wanted everyone to know what? Joseph asked. Dad had a stroke, his brother told him grimly. How is he? Where are you? Joseph responded. Hes lucid. He cant move his left side, Matthew answered. I was in New Orleans, Im almost to Beaumont now. They want to keep him in the hospital for observation; but you know how he is, he just wants to get out of there. Good. I hope he goes home soon. Thats where hell be happiest, Joseph said. We have to be sure hes physically ready to leave, though. His health is the most important thing right now, Matthew expressed. True, but I think home is where hell heal fastest. You know he hates being poked and prodded, Joseph rejoined. Francis talked to the doctors, hes on top of the medical end of things, Matthew said. Good. Then hes getting the best care available, Joseph responded. The signal broke up, the conversation ended abruptly. What happened? asked Elena. Dad had a stroke. Hes in the hospital, Joseph said. Im sorry. Are you going to go down there? she asked. I dont know yet, I think they have enough cooks in the kitchen already, he said. I think Ill check in on Luke, see how hes doing. You do whatever you need to. Just let me know if I can help, she said. Ill make you some coffee.

That would be great, he replied. Im just going to find his number and step outside. Hey, Luke. Hello, Joseph. You talked to Matthew? He just called. Hes around Beaumont. We got cut off. Hes calling right now. Im going to put you on hold a minute Im back. I told him Id call him after we talk. Where are you? By a window, near the waiting area. Its the only place I can get good reception. Thank you for being there. It comes with the territory. Hows Mom holding up? It hit her pretty hard. She just keeps saying, A mighty oak has fallen. Joseph could hear the tears in Lukes voice as he repeated those words. I wish I was there right now. Im all right, he replied stoically. Im worried about Mom, though. Hows Dad seem to you? He looks the same. Thats whats so strange. He looks like he always did. He just cant move his left leg very well, and his left arm tingles. He talks fine, just a little more slowly. I dont know, maybe I just dont want to see anything wrong. Hes insisting we take him home, though. I figured that was a good sign. Me, too. Are they going to let you? Im going to do whatever Francis advises, hes the doctor in the family. I agree. Hes flying in today. I dont know how long hell stay. Its hard for him to get away. Im glad hes going to be there. Tell Mom Ill call her when they get home. Okay. Here comes the nurse. Im going to have to hang up. Oh, Luke, Elena and I are engaged. Really? Thats great, Joseph, he said warmly. Were just having a quiet little ceremony. You can tell whoever, if it seems appropriate. Okay, Luke responded. Well talk later.

When Joseph returned inside the house, Elena let him hold her. He felt certain his father would be all right, but it hit him for the first time that he would one day have to say goodbye.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Letting Go
The splendid fall was followed by an unusually bitter winter. The scare with his dad was a wake-up call for Joseph. He seemed to have nebulously assumed the Rapture would happen before his parents died, for some reason. Probably because this is what they seemed to believe. The unforeseen turn in his fathers health persuaded Joseph to salvage what he could of the relationships with both his parents. His mother recovered from her shock quickly, and went about the task of helping his father restore as much mobility as possible. Mr. Medallion turned out to be a model rehab patient. Soon he was walking around the block without a cane and jovially complaining about the food and service he was receiving. This did not encourage Mrs. Medallion (who was providing the food and service) to endeavor to improve either one. Joseph wished he could cut a rose from the garden for his dad to give to his mom. But there was no more rose garden. He had given that up. And his fish pond became a slimy frog-breeding hazard. When he was forced into retirement at the age of seventy, his role as a community leader led to his full-time involvement in public services. He particularly enjoyed working at the senior citizen center, where the residents treated him as a youngster. He had to give that up after the stroke. He had already stopped grilling, and had finally asked Joseph to help his brother lug the massive beast of a barbecue pit to Lukes place a few blocks away. His dad had spent many productive hours after retirement writing letters and family reflections and amusing anecdotes. After the stroke, the writing stopped. He now spent time with the Bible, time in bed in front of the television, and time with his family. But he still managed to drive out to meet

his buddies for coffee at the local grocery store. Joseph decided his initial overture to his dad would be a small oneso he asked if he might come join one of these coffee sessions. His father happily agreed. Mr. Medallion drove, Joseph sat beside him. They drove down by the old little league field, he remembered snow cones and first kisses. They drove beside the tennis courts, he thought of Matthew. The rocket slide still stood red and tall, Luke came to mind. Mr. Wheatsbetter lived across the street from the park. He ambled out with his familiar gait and insisted on sitting in the back. You have long legs, like your dad, he told Joseph, patting him affectionately on the shoulder. Besides, I only have one, he added, You know the other ones wooden. Everyone who knew Mr. Wheatsbetter knew about his wooden leg. Anyway, youll have to get back here when we pick up L.D.; between his broken neck and his bad hip, he cant sit in back seats. I really feel sorry for him, but it makes me thankful for what I have. Joseph remained where he was as his dad drove a few more blocks, to L.D.s house. He stepped out with a staff that would have made Gandalf proud and Joseph held the door as the elderly gentleman managed to wend his way into the front seat. The staff slid in after. Watch your head, Mr. Wheatsbetter told Joseph as he scooted into the back seat behind his father, that stickll knock you out. Thats what L.D. uses it for, dont you, L.D.? What? L.D. replied. I say you use your staff to do Karate and Kung Fu, Mr. Wheatsbetter responded loudly. Oh, no. I gave that up. Im getting too old for contact sports, he responded. Now its strictly Tai Kwon Do. They also teach gymnastics, though; I think Ill try that next. L.D.s one of the smartest men youll ever meet. Hes an engineerhe was a big-shot professor at Rice, Mr. Medallion told Joseph. Josephs in the environmental field, he said to L.D. I hear ecologists are taking a beating under this administration, L.D. observed. Yeah. But apparently its nothing new. People who work in Washington told me they would rather work with someone who openly opposes them

than with someone who pretends to be their friend but doesnt offer any support, Joseph replied. I hear you left your job. So what are you doing now? Mr. Wheatsbetter asked casually. Im writing. And painting, Joseph said. Scribbling and doodling, huh? he teased. Can you make a living that way? Who knows? Ill go back to water if the well starts running dry. Thats what I did before, water quality work, Joseph explained. Must be nice to have a choice, the friendly, garrulous man continued. I dont know how someone your age can afford to retire, though. Im not retired, Im writing. And Im painting. Ill get another real job when I have to, Joseph said. Last time I heard, you need money to survive, Mr. Wheatsbetter continued, you cant live off your good looks forever. Believe me, Ive tried. He smiled widely and pinched Josephs arm firmly. It hurt. He knew he wasnt dreaming. They pulled into the handicapped parking zone, and Joseph mused that they were a bit overqualified to occupy this space. His dad went to fetch a shopping cart for L.D. to lean on. He placed his staff so that it dangled out the back like a big gnarly rudder. Dont wait for me, Mr. Wheatsbetter called out, Ill be there before you can shake a stick. L.D. lifted his staff from the basket and shook it, Youre not here, he said. Joseph was torn between accompanying his father, who walked with L.D., and waiting for Mr. Wheatsbetter, who was still extracting himself from the back seat. Go on, Joseph, you go help your dad, he said. The other two men were in the building and scooting past the registers to the coffee bar before Joseph put his first foot on the sidewalk. L.D. sat at the table with the other coffee club members as Mr. Medallion walked to the counter and requested three cups. Youll have to get your own. Just tell her youre with me, he told his son. One, please, Joseph said to the lady in the hair net. Are you a senior? she asked. No, maam, he replied.

Fifty cents, she said. He paid the lady, then helped his dad fill the cups. When they got to the table, Mr. Wheatsbetter was already seated. He handed Joseph a dollar. Thats a tip, he said, for bringing it over. Joseph stood there and stared at the bill, unsure whether it would be more polite to accept or decline. You never gave me a tip, Mr. Medallion said, And I bring you your coffee every day. I assumed my illustrious companionship was payment enough, he replied. Your illustriousI, his dad began, Plus the fact that I almost married your sister, he added. You never even went out with my sister, Mr. Medallion replied. But if I did, I would have convinced her to marry me, Mr. Wheatsbetter retorted. He turned to Joseph and said softly, Actually I never even got up the nerve to ask her out. Then he spoke loudly again to Josephs dad, Then that preacher showed up and she married him instead. I would have been a preacher, if I knew thats what she wanted. Youa preacher?! Mr. Medallion hooted. He sat down at the head of the table and concluded, Never in a million years. Joseph put the dollar in his pocket and sat between the two best friends. He stood again to shake hands with the former jeweler and the ex banker and the retired sheriff and the farmer and the young Viet Nam veteran and the mysterious man in the plaid jacket who held a small pad and periodically wrote things down. He watched the men interact. He noticed that they formed little clutches, sort of semi-permeable cliques. He observed a certain deference to his father. Some gave it of respect and friendship, others were compelled to show it of pity. Seeing his father through their eyes, Joseph was suddenly mindful of the precipitous decline his dad was exhibiting. Even among seniors, his dad was old. It struck Joseph how few contemporary friends of his father were still alive. It was the first time he could remember looking through his fathers eyes.

I want to take you to Galveston, Joseph announced to his father as they watched Mr. Wheatsbetter enter his home. For your next birthday. If thats okay with you. Mr. Medallion was silent for a moment. He may have been fighting back tears. Ill have to check my calendar, he said tenderly, but I think I can work you in. If I manage to live that long. He often said things like that, but Joseph just couldnt believe his dad would not fully recover. He had lived a healthy life and spent many youthful years as a star athlete. Sure, he put on weight at one point, but he had lost that. He looked as fit as a Stradivarius. You could be the next Methuselah, Joseph said. His dad chuckled softly, I doubt that. On his drive home, Joseph thought about Mr. Wheatsbetters comments. He was a funny old guy, Joseph had always liked him. He heard about a parttime position at a nearby park, and submitted an application. A week later, they hired him. His duties were simple and his pay was minimal and he was glad to put a stopper in his slowly leaking bank account. You want to hear about the River Elms Homeowners Association meeting? Elena asked Joseph one night after he had started his new job. They had finished dinner and were watching Captain Kirk trade quips with Spock and McCoy in an old Star Trek episode. River Elms? Wheres that? Thats our subdivision. What river? Theres no river around here. I guess if you climbed high enough, you might see the river from here. If you climbed up into a blimp, maybe. So we have an association? he asked. Thats why I was late getting home, she replied. They had their annual meeting this evening. I asked you if you wanted to go. Oh. Right. No thanks. So, what do they do? Mostly charge fees, apparently. And theyre raising them. Fees? How much? It was a hundred, but now its going up to a hundred fifty. For what?! Mowing the grass at the park. What park?

The River Elms Homeowners Association Park: you know, that little patch near the pier by the pond. Its about forty by a hundred feet, Id guess. Oohfour thousand square feet of grass. It may be two hundred feet long, Im not sure. The only people I ever see out there seem to be the people who live over there. Theyre our officers. The president lives in that first house on the water, the vice president lives next door. The treasurer is two more houses down. Who do they get to mow it? The treasurers son, or his brother or somebody like that. I dont know, it was hard to keep them straight. They may all be related. Thats convenient. So every house in this area gives one hundred fifty dollars a month to this clan to pay some guys kid to mow the lawn where they picnic. No, its an annual fee, she said, not monthly. So its not that much. Oh, well, thats totally different then. Do they do anything else? Theyre supposed to enforce the rules. What rules? We have rules? Well, youre suppose to keep your dogs on your own property, for one thing. How many times have those idiot dogs got in our trash cans now? And all those lovely deposits they leave all over the yard. Not to mention my punctured pond liner. Apparently theres an animal control guy that picks up strays for the county. Really? Has he ever been out here? Not that I know of. But thats part of our property tax, thats different. Oh, right. That goes to the Sheriff of Nottingham. They said its ultimately the responsibility of each homeowner if they want to keep their neighbors dogs off their property. Now theres some enforcement with real teeth. You want to hear the other rules? Is there one about drunk musicians blaring until two in the morning? Because you know thats what time they finally turned that racket off last Friday.

I thought you said it made you feel like we were on a honeymoon in Tijuana. It did. Until about midnight. But Im pretty sure that band was consuming mass quantities. The music wasnt improving with age. We didnt talk about that. It was mostly about what kind of animals you can have. You can have chickens, or goats, or horses, or cows, but not donkeys, or dove. Whats wrong with donkeys? he had to ask. Theyre too noisy. And no peacocks. But apparently ducks are okay. What about pigs? No. No pigs. And no emus. No emus? Apparently the president has something against them. Whats wrong with dove? It had something to do with some kind of bird disease, I think. They didnt want to infect the chickens. Does the president have chickens? No, he has ducks. Naturally. So where exactly do these rules come from? They vote on them at the annual meeting. I voted for chickens, but not for pigs, she said. I also voted against the increase. But I was in the minority. Why am I not surprised? What about that go-cart racetrack across the street every weekend? Thats not against the rules? Theyre not in the subdivision. And the house with the stadium lights? No. Everybody on that side of the street is exempt. They can pretty much do as they please. But theyre all on twenty-acre tracts or larger. So if you can afford more land, you dont have to follow the rules. Or pay the dues. Something like that. Not to mention the ag exemptions they get from their property tax. God bless America. So how many homes are there in our little fiefdom? About a hundred fifty.

So theyre charging us $22,500 a year to mow the lawn and to tell us we have to keep the neighbors dogs and cats out of our own yard. I think cats are free to roam. Well that will certainly help curtail the feral feline population around here. Did you just do that calculation in your head? What? Oh, yeah. I had a great third grade teacher: you know, 15 times 15 is 225. Just add the zeros. She used to play this multiplication record on Fridays. Whoever had the most right answers won a soda water of their choice. I drank a lot of Grape Crush that year. They were giving you soda at school in the third grade? Sometimes I even had root beer. So you were like James Dean or something. Something like that. Shirley Ann Podlipny beat me a few times, but she was a genius so it was to be expected. Of course. Oh, and theyre also fixing up the parking area; thats why they need to raise the fees. What parking lot? The one by the lake. And theyre going to add grills and picnic tables. Do we know whats wrong with the parking lot as it is? Some kid tore it up after Christmas, cutting donuts in the mud on his new four-wheeler. Some kid? Actually, it was the treasurers son. But I think hes supposed to help them fix it. Yeah, I get it. Right after he mows the lawn. I still dont see how that justifies a 50% increase in our fee. It seems like they could manage to give this kid a job and buy a hibachi for $15,000. Then everybody could save $50 a year. I think they think theyre trying to stimulate the economy with the trickle-down effect. Yeah, but whose economy? Whats the name of this president, Ronald Reagan? I dont remember. I wrote it down somewhere. Oh, and they also want to fence it in.

Of course they do. And they dont actually raise that much, because apparently only about half the homeowners ever pay their dues. I wonder why. Maybe we should join that half. Whos checking the books over there? The treasurer. Oh yeah, I forgot. And supposedly the president, although he didnt seem to know much about it. Thats comforting. Maybe one of us should run in the next election. Maybe we should figure out how to just shut their whole little scam down. Let them have their pond and get out of everyones pockets. I dont think thats an option. Its in the property deeds. I love politics. Its like a big onionyou just keep peeling the skins back and when you get to the middle, theres the treasurers kid cutting donuts on his new ATV. Its a nice little pond. I guess we should go fishing out there sometime, get something for our investment. That would be fun. Its closed right now, though. Because of the ruts. You know what we need? We need an association to take care of stuff like that. Very funny. Im nervous about tomorrow, Joseph said. I think its wonderful. I think you and your dad will have a great time, she replied. Joseph left home at dawn, and arrived at his parents house around nine. Im afraid your fathers not feeling well, his mom told him as she greeted him at the door, but hes determined to go. We could just spend the day here, Joseph said, but Mr. Medallion was already out the door and on his way. Nonsense, he wheezed, Im fine. Hes been looking forward to this for weeks, she said, ever since you suggested it. That was thoughtful of you, Joseph.

He smiled and kissed her, then opened the car door for his dad. Well be back before dark, Joseph told his mother. I want to go to the cemetery first, his father said. You have kinfolks buried there. Whatever you want, Dad. And I was hoping to take you out for a birthday dinner, if youre up to it. Are you kidding? I wouldnt miss it, he answered. Joseph listened as his dad commented on the small towns they drove through; he seemed to be connected to each one in some way. When they reached the seawall, Mr. Medallion wasnt sure which way to turn. Joseph felt certain they should go right, but his dad pointed him left and soon they ran out of beach. I guess its the other way, Joseph said. I guess so. It looks different, his dad replied. The cemetery appeared where Joseph thought it would be, on the right off the seawall drive. They parked and walked around the tombstones. His father didnt speak, he silently read the names and stroked the smooth stone slabs, pensively pausing here and there. Turn right, his father instructed him when they were back in the car. Thats the house where my father grew up, he said. Joseph pulled over and stopped. Do you want to get out? he asked. No, no. I can see it fine from here. Hey, isnt that Gaidos? We could just park here and walk over, Joseph suggested. Im not sure this is public parking. Lets just go on and drive over there. I just wanted to see if the old house was still there, he said. It looks pretty good, Joseph remarked. Yeah. Aunt Lolly was pretty well off. Didnt seem to matter much, though, as far as my father was concerned. She liked to smack him with her big diamond rings. He had to take a job when he was six or so. Lets go eat. Mr. Medallion ordered shrimp, but only picked at the edges. The dinner was delicious and came with dessert consisting of chocolate cake covered by chocolate fudge with ice cream under whipped cream. Im sorry, I dont seem to have much of an appetite, his dad said. Thats okay, itll make good leftovers, Joseph replied.

That must have cost a small fortune, Mr. Medallion said as they returned to the car. I couldnt even begin to count how many times you bought dinner for everybody, Joseph said. This is nothing compared to that. His dad was silent for some time. He was pale, he was exhausted. Mr. Medallion looked out the window at the fallow fields. Joseph had hoped they might walk on the beach together, but the wind was too brisk for that. Now they were driving home, and he could sense that this was his opportunity to build that bridge he had hoped for. I was wondering what some of your favorite Bible verses are, Joseph said. Oh, the usual, Mr. Medallion replied. The Lords Prayer, the 23rd Psalms, John 3:16. Yeah, said Joseph, me, too. I also like the Beatitudes. And 1st Corinthians 13. Uh huh, said his father. That didnt seem to be going anywhere, so Joseph started again with, Do remember much about your wedding day? Oh, he responded, I remember everything about that day. My best man was David Fairchild. We didnt have a car, so he drove us to your mothers home on the farm. It was a beautiful ceremony. Well, youve seen the pictures. I gave your mother a beautiful corsage. We took a bus to a famous old hotel in Austin. It was so luxurious. But her corsage fell off the windowsill. Your mother cried and cried over that silly thing. The brief hours flew by as Mr. Medallion told Joseph of the years before the war, and the day he met his bride-to-be, and their first house. He relived the challenging days of raising small boys, of moving from town to town with his job in a big company. Joseph absorbed the reflections. He recalled the days when he could hold his fathers hand. He felt like this was just as precious, though; he felt like he was holding his fathers heart. The end came fast. When Luke called to tell him the situation was critical, Joseph started driving. He didnt know what he would do when he got there, he just knew he had to go. The last time Joseph had visited, his dad was already more spirit than flesh. The image of his father appeared to him as a reflection in a glass. He remembered standing beside him in front of the bathroom mirror. His eyes

were like small blue candles flickering from somewhere beyond his shrinking shell. He wondered what his dad saw when their eyes met. Youve saved me tons of times, Joseph had told him. You saved all of us when we needed you. Now you need to let us save you, he remembered having said. You have to eat. You have to get stronger. The doctor said you should take one of these every day. He tried heroically to swallow the big pill. Nobody should eat vitamins on an empty stomach, he reflected. And who knows how long his stomach had been empty? But he was just following the doctors orders and hoping that pill might be the first step in his recovery. He realized now that his father was just trying to make him happy. When he coughed up that little pellet of blood, Joseph knew that vitamin wasnt going to cure him. By the time he arrived, the body had been removed. Joseph walked into his parents room and stared at the empty bed. Peter was on his way, Francis would be there in the morning. Luke was seeing to the burial arrangements and Matthew was sitting in the kitchen with their mother, who was in a subdued state of shock. James was working, and would be there in time for the funeral. Im glad youre here, honey, she said when Joseph joined them in the kitchen. Youll be okay now, Mom, Matthew told her. Josephs here. Joseph sat as Matthew rose. The house was empty and silent. Her eyes were wide and frightened. He took her hand and smiled sadly. Hes in heaven, Mama. Hes happy. I always hoped he would go first, she said. He could never have managed on his own. But I never thought it would be so soon. Her tears flowed freely, and Joseph wept with her. God always knows what hes doing, he said. Well, Im ready to go now, she announced. Ive been ready for some time. But we had to get your daddy taken care of first. Then she wailed, Oh, your poor sweet daddys gone off and left me! He followed his fathers brothers to the pulpit. Both of them were preachers. Both of them had done this kind of thing before. But today they were burying their brother. Today he was burying his dad. He read a letter he had written after the Galveston trip, and another he had written after his

fathers death. I could never cry in front of you before, he read from the letter in his hands, but now I can. He remembered the feeling of Jamess hand on his shoulder, before they walked into the chapel. He recalled his words, When you feel like youre talking too slowly, take a deep breath, and slow down. Oh, what am I saying? Youre an old pro. Youll do fine. He took a deep breath, and slowed down. Joseph drew strength from the words. He looked out at his brothers. He saw Mr. Wheatsbetters wife and children in the back pew, he saw what remained of the coffee club gang near the front. He looked at his brothers wives, he saw Elena. He saw his fathers brothers: Uncle Victor, Uncle Jonah. He witnessed the tearful expressions of his nieces and nephews and he savored the sacred intimacy. Something was different, something had changed. Now he knew what it meant to be a Medallion. After the funeral, Joseph sat alone with his mother on the back porch while the rest of the family dealt with all the visitors. What day is this? she asked. Sunday, he said. Its Mothers Day. A perfectly glorious spring day, she replied. Your daddy and I would come out here every morning and just watch the birds. He never had much to say, we would just sit here and listen to them sing. He was a good man. Nobodys perfect, but he was a decent, honorable man. We never had two nickels to rub together, but that didnt matter. We just wanted to make a good home for you boys. I think we did that. You all turned out fine. I like your girlfriend. Shes a keeper. Were engaged. We havent set the date yet, he replied. Oh, good. Ive always said all you ever needed was a good woman. Your daddy never stopped believing that your writing would take off some day. Youre still writing, arent you? she asked. On and off, he responded. The Europe book turned out all right, but Im not great at marketing. No. None of you were really meant to be salesmen. Peter tried selling encyclopedias one summer, she chuckled quietly, I think that was probably the worst summer of his life. Whats meant to be will be. We always enjoyed those poetry books you used to send us. You were the dreamer in the family. But we never gave up on you, she said.

I havent given up. I guess Im still just looking for the perfect story, he replied. He could see she was exhausted. Her sleep the night before was fitful. Joseph had sat up with her through the night, holding her hand and gazing at the large portrait of his handsome father on the wall. You should probably go lie down for a while, he suggested. Talk in the house centered around their mothers care. At one point, Elena offered to make room for her at their home. Luke was already preparing space for her, which would mean his own teenaged son and daughter would have to share a room. It seemed like a logical, if immense, sacrifice. Luke was the one who stuck around, they all seemed to assume it came with the territory. She wouldnt hear of leaving town, in any case, and she was physically unable to stay alone safely. The conversation bounced around the kitchen and the dining room in hushed tones as Mrs. Medallion reclined on the sofa in the den. What about Westminster Village? their mother said loudly from the other room. Thank God, Francis sighed. It was a perfect solution. She needed full-time care, they offered full-time care. At first, she took to the center like a bee to honey. But then she fell against her bedside table and cracked her nose. The bruise had just faded from her face when she fell again and broke her arm. Without both arms, she couldnt support herself on the walker. She got a bladder infection in the hospital. And then a bed sore. She was in pain, fading day by day. Joseph visited his mother on Mondays, leaving home early and returning late. The drive reminded him of his college years, when he used to drive that same road back to his home town for holidays or birthdays. One Sunday morning, a few weeks after Joseph had settled into his new routine, Elena received a troubling call from her brother Jacob. Their mom had disappeared. It had been less than twenty-four hours, so the authorities werent doing anything to help locate her. But she had never not come home before, so there was clearly cause for concern. I feel like I need to go up there, Elena told him. Joseph understood, he would have done the same thing. I know you cant leave. I dont know what I can do to help, but I have to go, she said.

Its okay, he told her. Jacob needs you. She arranged to take emergency leave from her job and left that afternoon. Josephs heart sank as he watched her drive away. He suddenly felt very lonely. The days were getting shorter, the sun was rising later, and Mrs. Medallion was holding on by a thread. All his life Joseph had observed that when people got sick or hurt, they recovered. They might have a wooden leg, like Mr. Wheatsbetter, or a neck brace, like L.D., or even a walker, like his mom had before she broke her arm. But they had always recovered eventually to resume their lives. When Mr. Wheatsbetter died, something changed inside Josephs dad. He stopped going to the coffee club, he stopped walking around the block, he stopped leaving the house. He even stopped going to church. When Josephs dad passed away, something changed inside Mrs. Medallion. As distant as she often seemed from her husband while he was still there, she now wished only for his company. She missed him, and she missed her childhood farm. She just wanted to go home, to a home that no longer existed in the real world. When Joseph arrived at the elder-care facility, he spotted his brothers car. He was happy to see it. It was Lukes birthday, and he had taken the morning off. His family was with him. Joseph gave Luke a card with a drawing of two little boys wishing on a star. Their mother was asleep at the moment. Happy birthday, he said. Luke forced a smile and replied, Thanks. He opened the envelope and looked at the picture. His eyes were tired, his heart was heavy. He turned to Joseph tearfully and said, I miss my mama. Joseph stepped up and held him as the mountain of a man accepted his younger brothers embrace. Joseph could feel the sorrow coursing through him like magma. Luke? their mother said, Are you still here? Im here, Mom. And look, Josephs here, too, he replied. Hi, said Joseph, walking over to kiss her cheek. Her face beamed, she looked like she might be about to cry. But no tears came. Its good to see you, she told him. Its good to see you, too, he responded. You look beautiful. Come sit with me, she said. Her withered body could hardly respond to her desire to sit up, to wake up and interact. Luke helped Joseph prop her up on her pillows.

Drink some water, Mom, Luke suggested, holding the cup to her lips. She looked up at him with her wide blue eyes and dutifully took a sip. This tiny task took all her effort and seemed like a major accomplishment. Thats good, he said, touching her soft hair. He put the glass down and stepped back, making room for Joseph to sit next to the bed. Mattie? Is that you? she said, peering across the room. No, maam. Its me, Terri. Lukes wife. Oh, Mattie was here last night, she said. Im sure she was just looking in on you, to see that you were okay, Joseph said. See, Lukes whole family is here. Well, I wish she would knock, she said. Then she looked across the room and saw them all, and smiled. She turned her eyes back to Joseph, who held her hand tenderly. Why am I here? she asked. We couldnt leave you at home, its time you let people take care of youthe way you always took care of other people, he said. But why am I in jail? What did I do? she implored. Youre not in jail, Mom. Remember, this is the place you decided to live. They do all the cooking and the cleaning. You just push this button, and someone will come. Why cant I get out of bed? You fell. You broke your arm. Do you want to sit up? Do you want to get in your chair? Why wont God let me go home? she asked. Maybe you have some unfinished business here first, Joseph offered. What could I possibly have left to do? she replied with exasperation. I raised six wonderful sons, I was married to the same man for more than sixty years, I ran the race I was given to run. Her emotions were unfiltered and powerful, but she had lost the ability to cry. She could only grimace now, and little pearls came to her eyes. Will you take me home? she asked Joseph. Mom, I dont know if we can get you in the car, he responded, turning to catch Lukes gaze, finding he and his family had left the room. Im your mother. If I say do something, I expect you to do it. I didnt raise my sons to disobey me or to make excuses.

Ill need to talk to the nurse, he said. She grimaced again and turned her face away. I just want to sit on the porch and look out with Daddy. Her voice trembled, Josephs heart shattered. Im sure hes waiting for you, he said. You guys are going to sit out there on some porch in heaven and look out for eternity. And youll be with your mama and your daddy, and Aunt Mattie... She recovered her composure, then turned and gave Joseph a hard look. So, you didnt do so hot after all. He took the cut silently. Then she shook her head, Just look at this hair. Where are my scissors? Joseph, find me some scissors so I can cut your hair. Heres some, Granny, said Jeremy, Lukes son. He emerged from the bathroom where he had been standing by. Like a guardian angel, he couldnt seem to pull himself too far away from her. Theres my boy, she said warmly. Joseph squirmed and Jeremy gave him a timid smile as he handed him the scissors. Wait a minute. You look like you could use a trim, too, she said to her grandson. Yeah, Jeremy, Joseph said, Youre looking pretty shaggy there. I think I hear my dad calling, he replied, stepping toward the door. Yeah, I got to go. Ill see you later, Granny. Joseph stood and followed him to see that he actually exited the room this time. Luke waved from the sitting area down the hall, and his family left to have lunch. Lukes gone to eat. Here, he said as he kneeled next to the bed so she could reach his head, placed a cloth over the bed to catch the fallen hair, and handed her the scissors. She received them with a look of mild surprise, and possibly gratitude. Now dont worry, Im just going to take a little off the sides, she said. Oh, how did I ever do this? she grumbled as she tried to clip his hair neatly with one hand tied in a sling. There, she said at last, thats better. He folded the towel and took the scissors back to the bathroom and put them in a drawer. He wondered if she should have these in her room, but then realized she couldnt even get to that drawer. He didnt dare look in the mirror. Joseph! she called. Are you still here?

Yes, Maam. Im here, he replied, dashing back to her side. She looked so small, so isolated, so frail. What on earth were you doing in there? she asked. Just putting away the scissors, he replied, and putting the hair in the trash. Oh, dont you look nice, she said. Yes, well, I just visited my favorite stylist, he responded. Sit down here, honey, hold my hand. I need to tell you about the day you were born. Okay, he said, happy to listen. For the last few months, even before Mr. Medallions death, her world was one of long ago. She told tales of the wild west pioneers and the savage Indians, of tragedy and mystery. Following the ancient oral tradition, she passed along her family history. Afterwards, on the drive home, Joseph took notes. It was a difficult pregnancy, not only because we were way out in the middle of nowhere. There was an unusual amount of wind that year; I couldnt seem to keep the sand out of the house. I knew something was different, but I didnt know what it was. She paused and set her piercing blue gaze upon him. He still wasnt used to looking at her without her glasses on. Her soft white hair grew to her shoulders; her once plump, pink cheeks had grown lean and pale and hugged the contours of an elegant, slender face he hadnt seen since childhood. A family portrait hung on the wall across the bed. He studied it when she napped. He was about four in the photograph. From time to time, he couldnt help but let the tears run their course as he gazed at all those bright, innocent smiles of long ago. There was so much movement, she continued, so much activity. I felt sick every dayevery single day, she said. The memory exhausted her. She grimaced, and Joseph didnt know whether she was in physical pain at that moment or whether she was fighting off tears that could no longer flow. Its okay, Mom. It all worked out, he said, placing a second hand on hers. I couldnt have another child, she said softly. Im sorry, he replied.

It wasnt an accident, Joseph. It was a choice, she responded. Mama told me I should get my tubes tied after Luke was born. Well, it must have been hard. You already had five boys, he said. That didnt matter. I could have raised ten sons. But your father wanted a girl so badly. I know, Joseph said. Thats why I could never tell him. Thats why I never told anyone, except Mama. Thats okay. Im sure he understands now, Joseph replied. Youve always seemed so independent, and yet, also, so lonely. Like you were missing a part of yourself. Ive always wondered if Im fine now, Mama. Im happy and healthy. I found the girl of my dreams. I love my life, he insisted. She slowly raised her hand to his lips, Hush, now. Let me talk while I can still think clearly. I saw how hard it was for you. I saw how you struggled to keep up with your brothers. But you were up to the challenge. She paused to catch her breath, to collect her thoughts, to let the words sink in. Her eyes grew wide and she smiled as she gazed at him. You were the most beautiful boy. Everybody loved you. But they were jealous of you, because they could see I favored you. You were my baby, Joseph, and it seemed to them like you took me away. I know it wasnt your fault. But I think I may have held you responsible. Her words faded and she drifted off for a moment. When she opened her eyes again, she said, It wasnt a mistake, Joseph. Its okay. Im sure you did what you thought you had to do, he replied. The button in the waiting room: the pink button. I begged them not to tell your father, not to tell anyone. But hes gone now and I dont suppose it matters to anyone else. But you should know, Joseph. Because you were there. Her voice broke as she struggled to continue, They pushed the button as soon as she came out and they saw it was a girl. She was so small, her little heartjust wouldnt beat strong enough. Her tiny little body couldnt manage to take that first breath. And then you came out big and strong as an ox. I wanted to hold you both, but they put you in my arms and just carried the other little bundle away. She was like a wisp of wind, just passing

throughand the blue light went on, and the pink light went off. Her name would have been Faith. Joseph felt a surge of emotions cascade through him. His mother closed her eyes, a smile of relief traced across her strained face. He held her hand and watched her sleep. Her name would have been Faith, he thought. When his mother awakened, he was still there, still holding her hand. I brought you some plum jam. Elena made it. Its really good. She sent it for you, he said. Why dont you let Luke have it? His family will enjoy it. I cant taste anything anymore, she responded. Then she said, Is James here? Not right now, he answered. Do you want me to tell him something for you? He works too hard. He helped CarlaCarrieoh, whats his wifes name? Carol, Joseph said. Carol. Im glad he found her; she needed him and he needed her. He never quite seemed satisfied with the way he found the world, she said, then looked at Joseph with her icy blue gaze. Like you. But he helped Carol raise those beautiful girls, and they all found sweet husbands. Now I wish he would just relax and take some time off. Maybe go back to Europe. You boys always seemed to come to life after that. Im glad I got to go. You know, Daddy and I went to London. Your Uncle Victor and Aunt May escorted us around like we were royalty. He was such a cut-up. Im very fond of them, he replied. Theyve always been so nice to me. They were just so far away. But thats what happens to families these daysall corners of the globe. Your daddy just wanted to come home, to give you boys a home. Oh, your poor daddy Her voice trailed off. I have his journals. I brought one with me. I wonder if you would like to hear some things he wrote. Ive been reading through it, some of its pretty funny. Oh, good, she said. We could use a little cheer around here. So he read her about the time his dads white-haired uncle almost got into a fistfight with another elderly gentleman in the parking lot in front of

the shoe store over some political matter. Then he read about the time his dad was visiting with the judge at the courthouse and they brought in a man wearing a dress. His only request was that they let him change clothes before he went to jail. After this came the tale of the church outhouse; there was a big argument about whether to move it closer to the building for the sake of convenience or to leave it where it was hidden in a small thicket for the sake of dignity. The stories were gentle and had a soothing effect. She slept. He watched her breathe, her small frame rising and falling gently. He wondered how many breaths she had left in her. The drive home was acutely melancholy for him. His heart felt gray and overcast, like it was about to pour down rain. When he arrived, he called Elena. Her mom was still missing. The police had issued a missing persons report. Joseph could hear the frantic dismay in her voice, he wished desperately he could be there to comfort her. Weve called all her friends. Nobody has seen her since Saturday. Her cars gone, apparently she just drove off without a word, she said. Im going to help Jacob around the shop, Mom handled all the books and everythings a mess up here. Im sorry, sweetheart, he said. Hows your mom doing? she asked. Weak, he replied. She looks like a different person. She just keeps saying she wants to be with Dad. Im sorry. I wish I could be there. I miss you, she said. I miss you, too, he replied. He wanted to tell her about his sister. He wanted to hold her and tell her she was his world. But the distance was a wall he couldnt penetrate. I love you, he simply said. Ill call as soon as we know anything, she responded. Luke phoned Joseph the next morning, their mom was worse, he hurried back. He prayed along the way. It reminded him of his last drive to see his father. He pulled in at the facility as he always did. The sun was bright and the air was calm. He pinched a small twig from the big pine tree by the parking lot; she always enjoyed that smell, it reminded her of the farm where she grew up. He didnt notice the extra people in the lobby. He didnt notice the sad eyes of the elderly residents in their chairs who knew him by now, who

watched him walk down the hall to his mothers room. She lay there in her bed as she always did. She was sound asleep. Vague whispers of figures hovered softly all around, but Joseph could only see his mothers tranquil face. She was having pleasant dreams. Joseph stepped up beside her bed and leaned over. You look beautiful as always, he said softly to her ear. I brought some pine needles. He positioned the twig carefully on the bedside table and took her hand. Her fingers were stiff and cold. Her eyes were calmly closed, her expression was serene. Slowly, he bent and kissed her cheek. The skin was smooth and cool and lifeless as glass. He stood up swiftly, gazing at her eyelids, waiting for some movement. He had watched her sleep so many times, watched her small chest rise and fall, wondered how many more times it would. There was no rise and fall this time. A hand touched his shoulder. It was peaceful, Luke said. Now shes free. Gone home, Joseph replied, then turned and buried himself in Lukes shoulder. No one answered when he phoned the house in Illinois. He called the shop, and Jacob answered. Shes on her way to St. Louis, he said. They finally found mom. She had gone up there looking for this old Lebanese bakery she remembered from when she was a girl. I dont know, maybe I should have seen it coming. Shes been getting all nostalgic lately. Anyway, she stepped off a curb up there and broke her hip. She wouldnt give them our number, I think she just wanted us to worry. Elena left about an hour ago. Shell be at the hospital in a few hours. Im sorry, Joseph said. Im glad you found her. Yeah, well I dont know what were going to do next. She wont let anyone stay with her at the house and she has a deathly fear of nursing homes, Jacob said. Hows your mom doing? She passed away, Joseph said, his voice cracking as he uttered the words for the first time, this morning. Oh, Im sorry, Jacob responded. He gave Joseph the number for the hospital.

When Joseph finally talked to Elena, the conversation was bleak. You dont have to try to get back for the funeral, he said. I can, if you need me there, she offered. Well manage. Youve got your hands full up there. You just do what you need to do, and Ill do what I have to do, he said. I wish I knew what were going to do next. Moms lucid enough to refuse going to an assisted-living facility. She thinks Im going to move in with her, Elena said. Joseph was silent. He couldnt contemplate that possibility at that moment. Of course I dont intend to, but I dont know how to tell her that, she added. Joseph spoke at his mothers funeral. It was small, graveside. Bright crimson roses and snow white lilies bloomed around her coffin as the sun beat down on the small canopy. In the beginning, Peter stood at the head of the casket and, in his tenderly tremulous tenor, delivered Amazing Grace. Luke and Matthew tearfully uttered prayers. Francis sat in the front and strengthened his brothers. At the end, James wandered over to a spot in the sun where he stoically sang The Lords Prayer. After the service, Francis walked over and put a hand on Josephs shoulder. That was real nice, Joey, he said affectionately. I know Mom and Dad are proud of you. Joseph had long suspected that his eldest brother had discarded religion in college, so his first response was to wonder if Francis actually believed what he was saying. But he had never known him to lie. It was the kindest thing he could possibly have said. Joseph almost burst into tears, but then caught himself. Thanks, I hope so, he replied. When I get this leg fixed, Francis said, Id like to get back to the slopes. You and Elena should join us. We would love that, he said. Its always so good to see you. Have you set a date yet? he asked. No, weve been pretty distracted. We keep saying well get around to it when everything settles down, he replied. Luke stepped over and placed a hand on Josephs shoulder. Thank you for doing that, he said.

The whole thing was perfect, Francis observed. Just like she wanted. James and Peter wandered over to share in the solemn fellowship, then Matthew walked up. Their eyes spoke volumes, but no more was said. Each of them was processing his own loss in his own way. Then the six sons slowly disbanded. Glancing at the casket of his mother and the tombstone of his dad, Joseph wondered whether he and his brothers would ever gather together again.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The House on the Hill

Winter came early that year, the pipes froze in October. She wont come down here, Elena said. I dont know if this house is safe for her to live in anyway. She doesnt know her way around, she doesnt have any friends down here. Joseph was trying to find a hairdryer to blow on the pipes, trying to figure out how to flush the toilet. But she cant stay alone, and Jacobs got his family to think about, she continued. I know, he responded gravely. It seems like were born with a debt to our parents we can never repay. I guess we all just have to decide when we have given all we can. This old house has so many problems. I thought it was a steal when I bought it. Now it just feels like a major hassle, she observed sadly. Well, people are still moving out here. You could probably find a buyer if you decided to, he said. The idea numbed him through and through. He had started to set down roots, now the ground was collapsing beneath his feet. I know I could sell it. And I know I cant keep driving back and forth every time another emergency pops up. Theyre losing their patience with me at work, she said. No. You cant keep doing that, he agreed. But what about us? she replied, finally posing the question they had both been actively avoiding for weeks. You are my world, Elena. Wherever you go, he said, Ill be there. They were married on a windy shore above a large lake. They left behind their cozy little pocket of paradise. He followed her across Texas and Arkansas and they wound up on a hundred acre spread of farmland in

Illinois. The house was on a hill, and from the porch they could see the wide, brown Mississippi River churning its muddy way between vast expanses of flat, open fields. You know what this reminds me of ? he said to Elena one night after her mother was asleep and the two of them sat in white wicker chairs, holding hands, listening to the whippoorwills and gazing across the tall magnolia trees. Paris. He was hoping to make her laugh. It had been a long time since he had heard that sound. She tried to smile, she held his hand more firmly. Well get there some day. He could tell she was preoccupied with something; he knew she would tell him what it was when she was ready. I never heard whippoorwills there, though. They mostly had pigeons and Joseph, Elena interrupted, Im scared. He wasnt expecting that. Her quivering voice unnerved him. I went to the doctor this afternoon, before the grocery store. Ive been feeling kind of strange. Im tired all the time, and kind of nauseous. I figured it was just all the changes and everything. But it wasnt. He could feel her distress. What did they say? he asked. Im pregnant, she announced. I love you, he replied. Im afraid, Joseph, she said. I know, he responded. Its in greater hands than ours. She smiled at him wanly. What do you think of the name Hope? she asked. I think its a wonderful name, he answered. When they went to bed, Joseph didnt want to fall asleep. He, too, was afraid. He usually avoided asking favors of God, knowing he was supposed to accept the Fathers will, but he couldnt prevent himself from doing it this time. Please dont take her away, he begged tearfully, silently.

***

He was fishing on a wide lake. The sun was hot and the exposed substrate near his feet smelled like dried catfish. He spied a large boulder to prop himself against, reeled in his line, and wandered over to try his luck from there. What are you using? someone asked him. Im sorry, he said, startled to see an old man sitting on the other side of the big rock, I didnt realize there was anyone else out here. Whats your bait? the man continued, What are you fishing with? Oh, uh, just plastic worms, Joseph replied. Well, no wonder youre not catching anything, the man snorted. I dont care so much about catching, I just like fishing, he replied. Do you come here a lot? the man asked. Joseph looked out at the lake, trying to ascertain where he was. When he recognized it, he wondered what he was doing there. No, not really. How come youre alone? the man asked. IIIm not sure, he stammered. Wheres Elena? he asked. Iwho are you? Joseph replied. Dont you know me? the man asked. I havent changed that much. Joseph looked at him closely. He was about his height, a little thinner, a few decades older. He had a lean, clean-shaven face that sort of reminded him of his dad. Only without the glasses. Oh, look. Here they come, the old man said with a smile. Elena ran along the beach, chasing a small boy with golden hair. The boy raced up to Joseph and leapt into his arms. Daddy! he cried out with elation. You sure are a handful, she said as she caught up to him. She gave Joseph a kiss. He admired her glossy green one-piece swimsuit. She had towels draped over a shoulder. Youre looking quite lovely today, the man told Elena. Whos your friend? she asked Joseph. I dont know. He says I should recognize him, he told her. And you do look fantastic in that. She smiled modestly. You lovebirds are a thing of beauty, the old man said. I wish you would just slow down, appreciate what youve got.

Elena looked at Joseph and suppressed a giggle. Can we swim now? Mom said we could go swimming when you were done fishing. He looked at the adorable little boy, who was weightless in his arms. He looked at Elenas beaming face. Just slow down, Joseph: one day at a time. Dont take things for granted. You already know it, now act like it, the man said. Okay, Joseph responded, Ill try. Dont try, numbskull, he countered, do. He smiled at Joseph warmly, who imagined for an instant the old man was going to cry. The stranger then turned to Elena, It was wonderful to see you. He leaned over to the boy in Josephs arms and pretended to pinch his nose, then poked his belly. You, too, little whipper-snapper. Then he put a hand on Josephs shoulder, who felt a mild tingle run down his arm. Take care of yourself, Joey. You have everything you ever wanted, and more. Just be thankful, and keep the faith. Who are you? Joseph implored with his eyes. You know what, Joseph, the old man thought, sometimes dreams are only make-believe. But some dreams are as real as anything. He winked impishly, then turned and walked away. That was a funny old guy, Elena commented as they watched him disappear across the parking lot, pausing to wave one last time. Joseph noticed a woman over there, possibly waiting for him. She looked vaguely familiar. Who was that, Daddy? the boy asked. Oh, Joseph responded, just some crazy old coot. Can we go swimming now? the child asked. Joseph looked at the boy with sparkling eyes, We can do better than that, budwe can go flying. When he looked over at Elena, her feet were already off the ground. Last one to Paris is a rotten egg! she exclaimed.

***
All his life, Joseph had fantasized about a white Christmas. It never happened back home, nor was it likely to. With all the crowds and cooking

and commotion, some years they actually had to run the air conditioner. He remembered well those days of long ago. He remembered decorating the eaves with twinkling lights. He remembered wrapping presents and stringing popcorn. He remembered huddling around the piano and harmonizing with his brothers while his mother played carols and his dad made fudge. He had always imagined that the presence of snow on the ground would elevate the event to an entirely new level. But when the flakes began to silently drift down, he forgot all that. All he could see was cold. Bitter cold. His brothers were far away, his parents were gone, he felt distant from everything he had ever known. Elenas morning sickness had subsided, and she had settled into the new routine as her mothers caregiver. He daydreamed and he reflected and he felt like a superfluous appendage. Jacob regularly invited him to help around the shop, but Joseph wasnt a carpenter. He spent most of his time hunched over a little Victorian end table in a niche he had carved out at the small shack near the house, where Mrs. Hart stored her old furniture. Here he read and here he wrote. He read of Celts and Caesars, he scrutinized Gauguin and Van Gogh. He memorized some Shakespeare, revisited Thoreau. He contemplated dreams, he recorded thoughts and memories. And he hungrily consumed every book he could find about King Arthur. On Christmas Eve he found a surprise. Tucked away in an obscure legend about an enchanted garment sent to reprove infidelity, Guinier was the wife of a knight called Caradoc. She alone could don the charmed cloth properly; she was the only faithful lady to be found in Camelot. A chill crawled up his spine. He wrested his eyes away from the page and let them rest upon the window at his side. Through the frosty glass he saw the landscape glowing white. He peered into the southern sky, his thoughts far away; the setting sun was swallowed by a darkening gray. He could feel the sting of the air in his nostrils, he could see his breath. He shuddered and drew his poncho up around his ears. Then a glowing apparition in the east appeared, like an angel bearing a small amber star. She stepped into the shed with a cup and a lantern. She placed them on the table and sat in an old chair he had found among the cluttered throngs of furniture in the cramped space. He never sat in that chair; he had put it there for her. It was dense, and heavy, and black as tar, and elaborately carved with

dragon claws for feet and dragon wings for armrests and dragon heads peering out from the shoulders. Thanks, he said, sipping the hot liquid from his cup. I figured you needed some fire out here, she replied, keep you warm. Her eyes were bright in the lantern light, his blood began to thaw. Tomorrow Im going to pull out the sled, she announced. Her aspect was that of a cheerful child, excited by the prospect of playing in the snow. Her voice shook something dead inside him back to life. I hope youll come in soon. Moms playing the piano. Im going to make popcorn. We can string some for the tree. He thought of the mandolin wrapped under the tree, the gift he said was a vacuum cleaner. He leaned over and took her hands. You look like a queen in that throne. Then he stood up and closed his book. So where do you do this sliding? he asked. Right out here, Ill show you, she replied enthusiastically. They paused on the step to gaze at the snow-laden glade. The moon hid, leaking a pale blue blush into the dusky sky. Stars peeked down through a gap in the clouds. She set the lantern on the ground beside a birdbath where the powder stood three inches above the ice. Then she took his hand and led him to the edge of her sledding slope. Whoa! he exclaimed when they arrived, startled by the precipitous decline. You could end up in the river if youre not careful. She laughed. Looks pretty steep, he said, peering down at the impressive plunge. Are you sure its safe? Of course its safe, she replied. Ive done it a million times. He had his doubts about dashing down that hill, sled or no sled. He took a step back, encountering the uneasy sensation that he was about to fly. Dont be such a chicken, she said, like a sister egging on a brother. Come on! With that, she pulled him over the edge and they slid out onto the crunchy surface. She held his hand, balancing him, and they slowly began to gather speed. Its just like skiing, see? Yeah, he laughed, barely managing to keep his feet beneath him, but these arent skis.

The grade was less steep than it appeared to be, and soon he found his center. Over his shoulder he spied the colorful lights adorning the house on the hill. Music drifted through the rafters, snowflakes fluttered by. They slid down the slope like two blithe sprites, hand in hand on a silent night. I must be dreaming, Joseph thought. But he was wrong this time.

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