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Orion nebula, and shone like the stars at the world's first birthday. They
made gowns of silk and satin look like scorched burlap and each promised
sensations of power and peace and healing and grace.
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Nothing hideous could wear such a garment and not be beautiful, nothing lame
could don such material and not dance, nothing small could be adorned with
such and not become large, anything was possible in these robes of light.
But the dance did not cease. No one hesitated. All eyes were on the sacks of
silkworm spittle or bags of cotton pulp or tubes of reprocessed hydrocarbons.
No one glanced at the raiment woven from sunbeams and early morning mists,
apparel spangled with fireflies and glowing eyes of the Dwellers of the
Deep, or the robes that pulsed like the long, slow heartbeat of the volcanoes.
Vestments of light were offered and ignored. The blindness of the living
continued in death. It was a Maypole dance around a tower of rotting wood
while crystalline galaxies spun just outside the mud-trampled circle.
There was something . . . a mantle . . . a djellaba, a hooded serape, or
something of spun moonlight, pleated with the aurora borealis. It came toward
me, proffered in alabaster hands and I touched its hem briefly.
How can I describe the sensation of that contact? Not in terms of tactility or
texture. It was not a question of thread count or weave though the garment was
more real than anything that ever touched my skin when I still walked the
earth clothed in flesh. It was more like the smell of soft summer rains and
early morning mists. The taste of fresh summer strawberries and icy-cold
spring water on a hot summer's
day. It was the sound of wind in the trees a whisper amid a small orchard and
a mighty exhalation through a great forest, the chimes of children's voices as
the last lesson book is closed, and the peaceful song of the hearth cricket on
a warm winter's night. But, more than anything else, it was the feeling of
home home for the hunter weary from the hill, for the sailor worn from the
sea.
For me . . .
"For me?" I asked. And the clothing of eternity began to gather into my hands.
FLASH!
And I was stumbling out into the street, again.
No.
The shock of disappointment was greater than the shock of sudden
translocation.
"Noooo!" I cried, and tried to claw my way back toward the green-and-white
marbled crossroads.
The cord brought me up short.
And, a block away, a trio of Threshers rotated on their multiple axes and
began to roll and spin toward me.
* * *
For maybe two hours I played Dodgem in traffic with the ghost grinders. I
moved mechanically, only half caring about some of the chances I took. I was
getting better at jumping from one vehicle to another, despite the
unpredictable bungee contractions of my astral connection. To be fair, the
spinning tops-o'-doom were having more difficulty as the sun inched its way
down the western sky. Maybe they were solar powered: they seemed to lose steam
as they crossed the shadows from the taller buildings, shadows that lengthened
and grew more potent as the daylight waned.
As for my vehicular assistance, there were taxis and cop cars and delivery
trucks and automobiles and limousines and even a fire truck. Now and then I'd
jump out and run into a building, sometimes emerging two blocks down after a
lengthy tour of stores, banks, and offices. There was a church along the way
with a christening. The baby was surrounded by family and the family was
surrounded by well it was difficult to tell, especially since the older ones
were less distinct, but I was guessing more family with ancestors going back
seven generations, at least.
And there were other . . . people. I hesitate to call them "creatures" but
they were and weren't like you or me.
And they floated. Not that everyone's feet were firmly planted on the floor or
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that everyone's feet were even visible at times but these beings hovered over
the whole assemblage like traffic copters preparing reports for the five
o'clock news.
The feeling was different from most of the other haunty scenes I had visited
so far: a sense of peace, of hope, even. But hanging around was out of the
question as another strong yank landed me outside, again.
No Threshers in sight for the moment. I had emerged some distance from my
entry point, the sun was lower in the sky, and I was walking into deeper
shadows from the buildings across the street, now. I
decided to risk staying outside for a block or two in hopes of finding a
street sign to get my bearings.
I watched both ends of the boulevard, figuring the Threshers couldn't pass
through any of the buildings and would have to remain in the light as much as
possible. So I wasn't paying any attention to a dark alleyway and that is why
the thing caught me by surprise as it barreled out and into me like a deranged
cave bear.
It looked like a rabid grizzly. Matted, coarse brown hair, snaggly teeth,
red-rimmed eyes; it staggered erect and advanced like some trained circus
bear, paws waving before it, grunting and chuffing and growling. "Lil buddy!" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]