Chapter IV ☯ Adjustment
Near Falls City, NE, Aug. 6, 1966, 23:55 CST
After Sarah tells us our options, I decide I’ve had enough of sitting around. I stand, dragging Samantha up with me.
‘Feel like walking?’ I ask her.
‘Okay,’ she says, unsteadily.
‘I think I want to take a look,’ I say, surprising myself.
Samantha surprises me even more.
‘Me too. I don’t know why,’ she says.
We take a few steps towards the flames. Sarah touches my arm.
‘Are you sure you want to do that, dear?’ she asks, concern in her face.
‘You said we had choices,’ I say.
She lets go of my arm, stands back. Samantha and I walk closer to the flames.
There are now a couple of fire trucks in the field, men in wet yellow raincoats squirting water on the flames. Debris is scattered around a crater, the blackened earth has been sprayed up in the air. In the darkness, in the remaining flashes of lightning, we can see shapes of metal, chairs, the landing gear, lumps on the ground. A section of the fuselage, blackened, all the windows missing, sits on the ground, not far away. Above the window holes, the words ‘Braniff’ are still visible. It’s the section where we were sitting, and about the only big, recognizable piece left.
We stand looking at the scene for a minute. I feel someone come up behind me. Sarah touches my shoulder.
‘Most souls stay near their first bodies. I suspect that you separated in mid-air and came down apart from your body, which explains the separation. It’s rather unusual,’ she says.
Samantha is starting to cry again.
‘Are … are we in there?’ I ask.
‘Are you sure this is something you want to do?’ Sarah asks. Again.
‘You hold onto Samantha. I’m going,’ I reply.
I pass Samantha, who is practically sobbing again, over to Sarah. I take a deep breath, noticing that I don’t smell anything in particular. No smoke or burning or rain or anything. I don’t feel the heat coming off the remaining piles of flame. I walk closer to the fuselage.
Men are walking around, yelling at each other. Flashlights play over the scene, water splashes over the burning debris. I peer through the window opening of the fuselage, can see some seatbacks reflected in the flickering light.
I step back, then walk around the end of the debris. All that’s left are six seats at crazy angles, the left side of the first class cabin, basically. The bulkhead in front is gone, wires and metal are twisted all around, in tangles everywhere. I edge around and forward. I can see something in two of the seats, some shapes.
In the last row of seats, next to the window, is the body of the woman in black who sat and never said anything, just stared out the window. She’s not saying anything now either, because she hasn’t got a head. It’s just more or less a torso and stumps of limbs still strapped into a seat, her black dress in tatters.
I move forward some more so I can look at the front row, seat 1A. My seat. Something’s in it, but I don’t really recognize it. It’s a body, my body. My head’s still on, but it looks like I sneezed and blew my insides out of my ears, eyes, nose, mouth. My limbs are missing. I’m not there anymore. I’m here. Funny, I don’t really feel anything. A fireman comes around the side of the wreckage and spots my body still propped in its seat, turns aside and starts retching violently.
I stand for a minute taking it in. Then I walk back around the debris section, up the small incline to Samantha and Sarah, who are still standing and hugging each other.
At first, Sarah hesitates to speak, then asks, ‘Did you see what you needed to see?’
‘Apparently so,’ I say.
Samantha comes over and re-attaches herself to me. She’s crying, but no longer sobbing. We hug for awhile.
‘I suppose I should try to find Jeannie and the pilots,’ Samantha says, breaking the silence.
‘We can try,’ I say.
We look around the field. People are walking around, some dressed like Sarah, some obviously the dazed recently deceased like us, some firefighting volunteers from the nearby towns. More fire engines, cars, ambulances, gawkers begin arriving. The field is getting crowded.
‘Who is Jeannie?’ Sarah asks.
‘She was the other stewardess working the flight with me,’ Samantha says, crying again.
Sarah takes a small leather-bound book out of a hidden pocket in her dress. She opens it, takes out a stylus and taps and writes on the page. There’s a light glow from the page reflected in her face. She reads for a moment, then looks up at us.
‘A guide by the name of Molly says that she is helping a woman named Jeannie from the back of the plane. She’s wearing a uniform. They’re about half a mile from here,’ she says.
Later, I’ll realize how weird and amazing her book is. At the time, we’re still in shock and just accept her announcement at face value. She writes a short note back in the book, then shuts the cover and puts it back in her hidden pocket.
‘They’re going to wait for us. Come with me,’ Sarah says, and walks off to the southeast, away from the flames. We follow without questioning.
Suddenly, Samantha looks up at me with a surprised look on her face. I can tell what she’s thinking. We don’t have lights, and it’s pitch dark out here (the lightning has receded far to the south), but we can see very clearly were we’re going.
‘It’s okay,’ I tell her, holding her hand.
After about 20 minutes of walking across the field and a road, climbing across barbed wire, we come to the banks of a creek where two women are standing looking at a book like Sarah’s, their faces glowing in the darkness. They look up when they see us approach.
Jeannie, like Samantha, is still in her Braniff uniform, and looks perfect, even though she too has been crying. She runs toward Samantha and I feel relieved, lighter. Jeannie can take over the propping up Samantha duties.
The other woman comes forward, extends her hand to me.
‘I’m Molly Brandon. I’m happy to know you,’ she says. ‘Would you like something to drink?’
I can still have a drink? Is the pope Catholic?
‘What do you have?’ I ask her.
‘I have some brandy, it’s usually best in these situations. I also have water, some lemonade. Your choice,’ Molly says.
‘You are prepared!’ Sarah says. ‘I was caught flat-footed.’
‘Well, I just happened to be out camping. Wasn’t expecting this either,’ Molly replies.
‘Uh, brandy would be good,’ I say.
Molly takes out a flask and a cup and pours me a good belt of brandy. I raise the glass to her and then drain it down my throat. It burns all the way down, reinforces the feeling that I’m actually still alive, warms my belly, gives me a glow.
‘God, that’s good!’ I exclaim. ‘You two should have some.’
Jeannie and Samantha manage to stop hanging on to each other long enough to take some brandy. It seems to help all of us ‘right the ship,’ as it were. We sit in a circle on the ground.
‘I’m not sure what to say,’ says Jeannie.
‘It’s okay, dear. Most people don’t. Take your time,’ says Sarah.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ says Samantha.
I just stare at the creek.
Finally, I look up at Molly and Sarah, who are sitting side-by-side and calmly looking at the stars which have finally appeared with the passing of the storm, rocking back and forth slightly.
For some reason, I feel the need to thank Sarah. She accepts my thanks with a little laugh, saying it’s her job, and the moment passes.
‘What’s next? We sit here the rest of the night? You said we had choices, and we’re still in the first dimension. Maybe it’s time to talk about those choices,’ I said.
‘Of course, dear,’ says Sarah. ‘What about you two? Do you care to hear this or would you prefer more time?’ she asks Jeannie and Samantha.
They look at each other and then nod. ‘We want to hear,’ says Jeannie, who seems a little calmer and more together than Samantha. I seem to remember from seeing them together earlier in the day that Jeannie looked a bit older, maybe that’s why. They look the same age now, though. Forever 25.
‘Well, I mentioned that your options are to stay here and wander around, do what you like, become a guide to help others, or make the transition to the next dimension. And that’s exactly what you can do,’ Sarah says.
‘If you stay here, you’ll have realized by now that you can’t interact with anyone from the first dimension. You’re in more or less limbo, able to talk only to those who are deceased and haven’t transitioned yet. You won’t feel rain or wind or any sensation from the first dimension. You won’t be able to haunt houses or slam doors or fly through the air, but, as you saw on our walk when we hopped fences, you still have to go around obstacles, obey the laws of physics and gravity, which still apply. You’ll walk around, maybe hitch a ride on a car or truck if there’s room,’ she says.
‘But you have to ask yourself, why would you just stay here and wander around? Some people do it because they like to watch other people without those people knowing about it,’ she says.
‘You mean Peeping Toms?’ I ask.
‘Exactly. Some people stay here and just watch others. Sometimes it’s a jealous husband who stays and watches his wife. Sometimes it’s just a nosy gossipy type. There are a million reasons why someone stays behind,’ she says.
‘The second option is becoming a Guide like Molly and I. You hang around an area like this and whenever someone dies, you … guide them. You do what I’m doing now, answer questions, tell them their choices, guide them in making their transition, or just send them on their way. There are training programs in almost every populated town where you can go. Other Guides train new Guides and the program perpetuates. Been going on for centuries. They answer your own questions, show you how to deal with the recently deceased, and get you ready to serve others. People who do this generally enjoy helping others through crisis. And crisis isn’t something you will encounter in the next dimension,’ Sarah says.
That raises many, many questions, but I stay quiet, thinking. Jeannie and Samantha are staring at the ground, absorbing the information.
‘The final, and I do mean final, option is to make the transition. But once you do, there’s no coming back, at least not that anyone has successfully discovered,’ she says.
‘In most populated towns are what are known as wormholes or strings, portals between this dimension and the next, a planet far away we refer to as Dragan. The portals are available and seen only by the deceased who can make the trip,’ she says.
‘If you step into a portal, you are basically transported through to the other side, on Dragan. As a Transitional, you end up on one of what are known as the Embarkation Islands, where you will be cared for in a healing house while you rest up and heal and adjust to your new life and body and reality. The transit makes you very tired and weak; it usually takes about 25 days in the healing house to recover from it. Then, after the 25 days of recovery are over, you are released and you can take ship for the mainland, which is where you can spend eternity doing whatever you’d like,’ Sarah says.
‘Yes, eternity. To our knowledge, no one in the second dimension has ever suffered an injury, illness, or death or experienced the aging of their bodies beyond what you have yourselves right now. Later, we can talk more about that. For now, you can think about whether you want to go ahead and make the transition. Something like 97 percent of all people and 100% of animals make the transition almost immediately. A few hang around and watch their funerals, but most are eager to experience what’s next,’ she says.
‘There is a portal in Falls City, about seven miles away. We can take you to it, unless you’re thinking about hanging around. We will either stay with you and help or take you to the portal, or leave you alone, as you wish. You’re under no obligation to be a Guide. You can just … wander around. Some do,’ she says.
There’s a very long silence in the dark. In the distance, we can hear the sounds of engines and men shouting and see the remaining glow of flames from the crash site. More sirens, more cars are coming. Samantha and Jeannie are holding on to each other still, while Molly is sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs. I lean back on my hands, stretching out my legs in front of me. Even though it’s been a very long day, I’m not tired anymore.
I’ve never been one to just sit around and now I’m getting a little restless. I never have really liked sitting around in cow pastures.
‘Do we need to look for your captain, see what other people are doing or choosing?’ I ask Jeannie and Samantha.
They look at each other, undecided.
‘I’m not sure I would want to see him right now,’ Samantha says. Jeannie nods her head in agreement. I think I agree; he might be a bit, well, embarrassed. I would be. Not that it’s his fault or anything.
‘I think it would be good to go to town. Sitting out here in the dark is kind of creeping me out, you know?’ Samantha says, standing up.
I stand up and agree with her.
‘I’ve never been to Falls City, Nebraska. Anything to see there?’ I ask Sarah.
She laughs again. I realize it’s a delightful noise and makes me happy when I hear it. She’s well-suited for her chosen job.
‘There’s nothing there to speak of. Folks will probably be aroused by things right now, but it’s usually a pretty sleepy place. It’s about seven miles, so it’ll take us a while to walk it,’ Sarah says.
‘I’m up for a walk. I’m feeling a need to stretch my legs, put some distance from all this,’ I say.
‘Me too,’ says Samantha, surprising me.
‘Come with us?’ she asks Jeannie.
‘Okay, why not?’ Jeannie says.
Molly and Jeannie stand up. Sarah starts off toward town, the rest of us behind her. Samantha is between Jeannie and I and we’ve all linked arms. Molly brings up the rear. We walk through the dark Nebraska countryside toward the distant glow of Falls City. ★
• 2599 Words written by Steve @ 21:34 | 09-Dec-07 in Death • Critique It [16]
Chapter V ☯ Choices
Falls City, NE, Aug. 7, 1966, 04:00 CST
I think it takes a couple of hours, but I’m not wearing a watch, so I don’t really know. Eventually, we arrive in Falls City by walking on a side road, coming into town from the east. A street sign at a corner says we’re on 21st Street.
We walk a few blocks into the center of the small town, to the downtown shopping area. It’s quintessential America. There’s a town square, a courthouse in the center in a typical early 20th-century style. The square is surrounded on four sides by blocks of stores, the usual array of five-and-dimes, barbershops, department stores, a movie theater. It looks like a movie set.
The clock on the courthouse strikes 4 a.m. It surprises all of us. Jeannie, Samantha, and I stand rooted on the spot staring at the clock. We realize we’ve only been dead about four hours or so. It seems much, much longer.
We finally stir ourselves as Jeannie spots some other people, including a man wearing a uniform, standing near the courthouse entrance. She runs over to the man and hugs him. Samantha cries out, does the same. Molly, Sarah, and I walk closer. I see that it’s the flight’s first officer, whose name I didn’t remember. He’s good-looking and all, but you can see in his face he’s been through something that you really shouldn’t ask about.
There are two people dressed like Guides and the woman in black who was sitting behind me is now sitting on a bench by the front courthouse steps. She’s just sitting there, her hands folded in her lap, staring across the square, completely calm. Journalist that I am, I want to ask her some questions. But I leave her alone.
Samantha is explaining to the first officer that I was a passenger who helped her out, calmed her down. He extends his hand, but can’t meet my eyes. A sadness permeates his entire face.
‘I’ve forgotten your name, I’m sorry,’ I say.
‘Jim Hilliker,’ he says.
‘Sean Donnelly,’ I reply.
We stand there a bit awkwardly. The girls aren’t saying anything. Molly and Sarah are standing apart at a discrete distance, giving us space. What is there to say?
Surprisingly, Hilliker starts crying a bit.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he says to Jeannie, and turns to her. She hugs and holds him. Samantha puts her hand on his shoulder.
‘It’s okay, Jim,’ Jeannie says. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Um, yeah,’ I say. ‘It was a tornado or something. I’m sure you did what you could.’
Can you say awkward? But really, it’s not his fault. He probably wasn’t even at the controls.
Nobody says anything else for awhile. This is new. Very new, very raw. As we stand there, I begin to wonder if he and the captain really did everything possible. Shouldn’t we have stayed on the ground in Kansas City until the storm passed? Hell, I was in as big a hurry to get home as anyone else, but it wasn’t worth what happened. I figure that’s what Hilliker is thinking. But I’m going to leave well enough alone. You can’t predict goddamn tornadoes. He surely wouldn’t have flown into it if he’d known, I decide.
Hilliker finally clears his throat.
‘So, they’ve told you the choices? What do you think you’ll do?’ he says.
Samantha speaks first.
‘Hanging around is kind of creepy. I’m no ghost. I think I’ll be on my way as soon as possible,’ she says.
Jeannie nods in agreement.
‘Me too. There’s nothing here for me,’ she says. ‘I’ve done my time as a servant of the people.’
Hilliker looks at me.
‘I’m moving on too, I guess. Like Samantha says, I’m no ghost,’ I say.
‘Yeah, I think I want out of here myself. I feel like I should hang around for awhile though. Maybe help out anybody from the flight or something,’ he says.
Sarah steps forward, touches his arm.
‘You shouldn’t feel an obligation, Mr. Hilliker. There are people here to help. Take care of yourself. You’ve been through a traumatic ordeal. You should do what’s best for you,’ she says.
I’m suddenly aware that there is a small group of four or five people standing on the periphery of the courthouse square. Among them is another man in a uniform.
Hilliker thinks for a minute.
‘I … haven’t seen the captain. We came here pretty quick. I’m not sure what to say to him,’ he says.
‘Well, I think he’s standing over there, if you do think of something,’ I say.
Jeannie lets out a little noise, and starts running over to him. Samantha follows. The Guides and I walk slowly after them.
I decide to ask Sarah, who seems to be full of good advice, what to say.
‘What can you say to the man who may have unintentionally and unwittingly caused your death?’ I ask.
She stops for a second, thinking.
‘I think you shake his hand, and then let him do the talking, ‘ she says.
As we walk up, Jeannie is hugging the captain and crying again, while Samantha stands close and has her hands over her mouth. The captain looks embarrassed. The other people with him are two guides and, I presume, a couple of voyeurs.
I decide it needs to be played diplomatically. I extend my hand.
‘Captain, I’m Sean Donnelly, one of the passengers. I’m not sure what to say, except, well, things will be okay, sounds like.’
Lame, I know.
He shakes my hand firmly, starts to say something.
‘I’m sorry. We didn’t know it was going to be so bad …’ he drifts off. Hilliker is coming up behind me.
They shake hands.
‘Jim, I …’ Pauly starts to say, choking off.
‘Don, it’s okay. How could we have known?’ Hilliker says.
And then we stand there. For what seems an eternity.
Finally, Sarah, god love her, clears her throat.
‘Anyone other than me want some brandy?’ she says.
Again, is the pope Catholic? ★
• 1053 Words written by Steve @ 14:29 | 10-Dec-07 in Death • Critique It
Chapter VI ☯ Choices
Falls City, NE, Aug. 6, 1966, 05:00 CST
And so we stand there and drink brandy. One of the Guides produces some cups, Molly pours from her flask. The brandy again scorches a path down our throats. We start to revive, the awkwardness passing with each sip.
‘Well, folks, you’ll understand if I really don’t want to hang around too long. I think I’ll transition here pretty quick,’ Captain Pauly says.
‘You don’t want to hang around, see what the investigation comes up, find out what happened to us?’ Hilliker says.
‘Won’t that take awhile? Like a couple of years at least?’ I ask.
‘Yes, but I really want to know,’ Hilliker says. ‘Unless the Guides know?’
‘I’m afraid that we only know what we hear. Eventually, the news of the cause will be printed in the paper and we’ll read about it. But we only know cause of death when the medical examiner reveals it. This case is very different, of course, but unless you hang around and follow the investigators, you’re not going to find out anything,’ Sarah says.
‘The choice is yours. I can certainly understand, Mr. Hilliker, you wanting to hang around and find out. Completely understandable. I’d do the same,’ she says.
Captain Pauly thinks, looks at one of the Guides.
‘You mentioned earlier that there are ways that information comes to the other side. We’ll be able to find out later?’ he asks.
‘Yes. Once documents are printed here, they are also included in our readers by Guides on this side every day. People on Dragan read their hometown newspapers and other things all the time,’ the Guide replies.
‘Then that’s good enough for me,’ Captain Pauly says. ‘When can I get out of here?’
‘As soon as you want. The portal is on the other side of the square, an oval with very bright light in the center. You just walk into it,’ the Guide says.
‘I’ll go with you,’ Jeannie says.
Samantha nods. ‘Me too,’ she says.
‘Do we end up in the same place?’ she asks.
‘The portal here in Falls City is connected to an Embarkation Island known as Ashbourne Island. On arrival there, you’ll be taken to the closest Healing House with an open bed. Once you recover enough movement, you’ll be given a reader and you can get in touch with your friends and family anywhere on Dragan. Since you’re going through at the same time, and have had the same experience, there’s a pretty strong chance you’ll end up at the same Healing House,’ Sarah says.
Captain Pauly starts walking, keeping his eyes on the ground. He’s still obviously embarrassed, unwilling to run into other passengers. He hasn’t figured out what I’m beginning to realize; that Earthly human passions that are destructive or deadly, such as rage, guilt, blame, jealousy, don’t exist after the separation. No one, in other words, will say anything to him or Hilliker about the crash. And after the Transition to Dragan, it will be even less consequential.
Still, while you remain on the Earth side, there are some residual emotions of shame and guilt. You lose them eventually, but not as quickly and completely as after you arrive on Dragan.
‘Captain, some unsolicited advice, but just to let you know. There are airplanes flying around Dragan. Go back to flying as soon as you can. It’s very healing,’ Sarah says.
He turns and just looks at her for a minute. It’s probably too soon for her to have said it, and she senses that she’s flubbed a bit for the first time. I throw an arm around her shoulders.
‘And are there newspapers? Jazz music? Good food?’ I ask.
“All of the above, and more,’ Sarah says.
‘Then onward and upward,’ I say. ‘Captain Pauly, I’m right behind you.’
Hilliker is still standing on the square. It’s obvious he’s staying. He lifts his arm and waves at us, then turns and walks over to a group of passengers. The widow in black walks over to us and joins our little procession to the portal.
I can’t say why I’ve decided to go on. Curiosity mainly. The hanging around thing is too much like playing ghost for me. And I’m not really the Guide type. So, let’s do this, I think.
Rounding the corner of the courthouse, we see at the end of an alley just what Sarah described. An oval-shaped door with very intense bright white light in it. Oddly, the light doesn’t shine out and it doesn’t hurt to look at it. As we get close, I turn to Sarah, who I’ve only known about five hours, but to whom I feel strangely very close.
‘So, are you staying here for the duration? Or will we meet up some time?’ I ask.
‘Oh, I’ll be here for a few more years, then make the Transition. I send messages to my husband and others all the time and they’re expecting me sooner than later,’ she says.
‘Great. Look me up,’ I say and hug her tightly.
‘Take care of yourself. It was wonderful to meet you. Quite a pleasant surprise, you falling out of the sky like that,’ she laughs.
‘Take care yourself,’ I laugh.
I turn towards the portal in time to see Captain Pauly disappear through it. Jeannie is right behind him, holding Samantha’s hand. She turns and waves.
‘I’m afraid you can’t hold hands and do it together, dear,’ Sarah calls.
Jeannie hugs Samantha, then steps through.
Samantha smiles at me, says, ‘It’s been strange, guy, but I’ll see ya later.’ She waves and steps through. The lady in black follows her without looking at us or saying anything.
I look at Sarah, eyebrow raised.
‘It’s an interesting story. Look her up soon and she’ll tell you all about it,’ she says.
‘Well, okay then!’ I reply.
I walk forwards, look back for a second, wave at Sarah, then step through myself. It’s quite a step. ★
• 1038 Words written by Steve @ 19:52 | 10-Dec-07 in Transition • Critique It
Chapter VII ☯ Lightspeed
Falls City, NE, Aug. 6, 1966, 06:00 CST
And then I’m rising through the bright white air.
I always hated church. Saw no point in organized religion. Didn’t mind spirituality. Didn’t believe that it had any connection with organized religion, though. It was money, power, pomposity, control. That’s it. But this is no time for that stuff, some serious shit is going down.
I’m losing my peripheral vision. I’m told later that at this point, most people lose consciousness, for a very good reason. Darkness is flirting with the edges of my sight. The noise is lessening, the rising has stopped. I’m just feeling speed. Going fast. Really fast. Motion in my head. It’s fast. It’s amazing. And it hurts like hell, because, for some unknown reason, I’m still frickin’ awake.
I feel the speed burn away. I start to float and drop. I float like a balloon. The shrieking in my ears has gone away. I’m not sure when any of this happens. I have no concept of time during the Transition. I don’t have the sensation of time passing.
The pain is easing up, then I drop like a balloon. I can look down. The whiteness surrounding me is fading away and there are shadowy mountains on a horizon and above are streaks of colored light in every imaginable hue streaming away from me as I fall and it’s alll very delightful and I’m no longer hurting, but I’m very, very tired. My god, the exhaustion hits me with an impact almost worse that the crash.
It’s nighttime here. I float high above a large lake and there are gondolas clustered around a dock on the shore with lanterns on poles at their sterns. One is being poled out towards me and I realize that I am falling towards the lake and that I have feet because I can see toes. Toes? What happened to my shoes? I count them. I still have ten. I can still count. And I can still realize when I’m naked, which I am right now. Again, I’m supposed to be asleep. Some people will not believe me later when I describe the Transition.
I float down and slice into the water feet first. It isn’t scary, it feels absolutely great. It’s soothing and tranquil and I see fishes staring back at me and a light dancing on the surface of the water above me. I touch bottom and can feel the squishiness of the mud on the bottom. I realize that my skin feels like it’s on fire but not burning or hurting and a million bubbles are streaming upwards from my body, popping on the surface and releasing my steam into the night sky to mingle with all those stars.
I stand in the mud for awhile and just sway a bit with a current and cool off, look around me. Fish swim around. I think that it is a little weird that I can see them and see the surface, but the lake seems to gather the starlight and surround me with it. I begin to feel cool and the bubbles stop rising. I think maybe I should breathe now, but don’t really feel the need. I try moving my arms and my feet come out of the mud and I start floating up toward the night air.
I bob to the surface of the lake and float on my back. I’m staring up at the stars and have never seen them so clear, so brilliant. They embrace me, welcome me. So I just float there. It’s pleasant, I gather my thoughts about me, I can’t seem to move much, it’s all okay. So, that was a kick in the pants, I think, and maybe I should just lie here in the lake.
I remember the crash. It’s like it just happened and also like it happened about a hundred years before. I’m not sure which. I’m thinking that maybe somehow I survived it and fell into a lake in Nebraska and I’m just floating here. It’s not heaven or hell, it’s just Nebraska. I laugh, but make no sound. My mouth won’t move. I don’t seem to be blinking. I’m conscious that I’m just beginning to breathe.
Then I hear the splashes of a boat being poled towards me. A guy is singing. I roll my eyes to the left and I see coming towards me a block gondola, just like from Venice, only fancier. The blackness. Okay, well, that’s a little strange. Gondolas on a lake in Nebraska? Probably not. But I’m pretty copacetic. Hey, I survived that plane crash, it’s all good, right? Maybe I’m hallucinating, I’ll wake up in some hospital, I’ll tell the grandkids about it. The gondolier comes closer.
He’s dressed in a black-and-white-striped shirt and dark pants. He doesn’t have a cap. He’s singing. It’s Italian, but I understand it. I don’t know why. I’ve never understood it before. He’s singing something from Carmen. He poles the gondola up next to me and pulls the pole aboard. He reaches down, stares in my face, mutters something about me being awake how did that happen and then tells me not to worry, everything’s okay from here on out. He pulls me aboard, arranges me on a soft couch, covers me with some towels, then a heavy blanket and takes out the pole to swing us around back toward shore.
I gaze up at him. He’s handsome, Italian, mid-20s, dark hair. I can’t see the color of his eyes in the night, but his teeth are white and he grins. I smell olives and wine on his breath and many other things on his clothes that I can’t identify. He tells me his name is Giacomo and to relax and enjoy the ride.
The couch is angled slightly upwards so I can see where we’re going. We head toward those lanterns on gondolas swaying on the waves at a dock. There are people near them and a bonfire on shore. Giacomo takes his time, goes back to singing. I look at the stars above, the mountains, the lake, the little party on the beach. It’s beautiful. The scene is lightening as a full moon rises behind us. I sense it before I’m ever in a position to see it.
The lake is ringed with mountains purpled in the twilight, capped with white snow which actually sparkles in the moonlight. It’s lovely, but it’s right about here, just before we hit the dock, that I start getting pissy. The scene, the whole scene is too clichéd for me. I’m the cynical old journalist. There’s too much cuteness, too much beauty, it’s all too perfect. And there are no mountains in Nebraska.
I’m annoyed. It’s great, it’s peaceful, I’m okay, but damnit, something’s just not right.
Giacomo pulls us expertly up to the dock. Two men are there, one dressed like Giacomo, the other in black with a top hat and cape. He’s smoking a pipe. Giacomo calls out that he’s pulled in an ‘awake one.’ The guy in black opens his eyes wide in surprise and he leans over the gondola to get a look at me. He’s holding a lantern and he shines it down on me. It’s a little bright and I want to tell him what to do with it, but apparently speech is not going to happen tonight. I can’t move anything, even my mouth. I can barely even blink.
The guy in black draws in a sharp breath against his teeth and, almost to himself, says, ‘So he is! Now that’s a first, that is!’
He’s talking in English. I understand him too. But it’s not Nebraska English. Or even American English. London, probably.
The other guy on the dock, dressed like Giacomo who looks like he’s an older brother, is talking in Italian. I still understand it, but it just washes over me. I don’t remember what is said. He ties up the gondola, then jumps in. He and Giacomo grab me and lift me onto the dock. They get up on the dock themselves, then lift me again onto a long wheelbarrow-type contraption. It’s wooden and has large wheels and two handles at one end. They fix the blanket back on me and start talking about how Gennaro and Sophia have come down to the beach and that the food is almost ready.
Giacomo sees me looking at them and nudges the other guy.
‘He’s still awake! Hey, this is Giancarlo, my brother. You’re okay now, you’ll be fine. This other guy is Louis, he’s your ride into town,’ he says.
I’d reply, but speech still isn’t happening. Too bad; I have lots of questions.
Louis walks ahead of us and Giancarlo takes the handles of the wheelbarrow behind my head. He pushes me down the dock and onto the beach. There’s a party going full blast to my right. I can’t turn my head and the wheelbarrow isn’t angled so I can see, but out of the corner of my eye I can see a bonfire, dancing, a table full of food and drink. I can smell cooking and hear some music and laughter. I want to tell Giancarlo he can just leave me here, but speech is still not happening and Louis is walking away from us in a hurry, like he’s got a train to catch.
We go a short way up a jetty to a road that comes down to the dockside out of the dark woods, which are full of tall pine trees. There’s a scent on the air full of pine and fish and woodsmoke and something in the blanket they’ve thrown over me and something else like lavender in the bed underneath me. On the road is a pretty damn big horse standing patiently between the traces of a black open wagon chewing on something. Louis reaches his side and pats him.
‘This is William. He will take us to our destination,’ Louis says.
Giancarlo pushes the wheelbarrow up next to the wagon. There is a high seat on the front end of it, beautifully upholstered and padded, with glowing lanterns on the sides. In the back is a bed which looks pretty cooshy and another lantern on the rear. The wheels are wooden and the whole thing is lacquered black, polished to a high shine.
Giancarlo takes my shoulders, Giacomo takes my feet and they lift me up onto the bed on the wagon. They cover me with several layers of blankets, put a pillow under my head.
‘Just rest and take it easy. Enjoy the ride. Sleep. Everything’s okay. Have a nice trip,’ Giacomo says.
They jump down. Louis shakes hands with the brothers, they wave at me and walk off toward the party. Louis hops aboard the wagon seat, picks up the reigns and clucks softly at William, who stirs into life and pulls us in a circle to head up the road into the woods. Louis looks over his shoulder.
‘It’s a bit of a long ride, I’m afraid, lad, so you just lie there and get some sleep. Do you good,’ he says.
He turns his attention back to the road. The forest rises up on either side of us and the lanterns on the wagon send bouncing shadows playing among the tall trees, which swallow us up.
I’m not sleepy. I wonder why? ★
• 1999 Words written by Steve @ 19:06 | 24-Jun-08 in Transition • Critique It