Dream of the Worlds


Dream of the Worlds Trilogy, Book 1


a novel by Ivan D. Alexander




Dream of the Worlds

River of Life

1. Khartoom
2. "Ahoy"
3. Abdulah
4. San'aa
5. First Contact

The Offering

6. India
7. Mananam
8. Kidnapped
9. Arrested
10. Montmarte

Redemption

11. Star Ship
12. The Dream
13. A World of Light


It happened nearly four thousand years ago, at the end of the time of Earth's building the great pyramids, and other great stone monuments to the heavens, that we were forced to withdraw from your world. Earth was decreed to be henceforth in 'Quarantine' until such time that the events that had lead to our departure were forgotten. Now, except for a prescient few, they have. Thus, we have been asked to return. This request was given to us from the Stellar Unity's Commander. She was newly selected by a hundred million Dreamers. But the Quarantine had not yet been lifted, so until then we are here in secret. The Quarantine will lift at the official time of 'Contact.'
My name is P'aanxat 'vah 'Aan, or simply P'aan. I am an Alien on your world who has been chosen to come in order to fascilitate our new Contact. But your governments want no one to know we are here, though we know you have a strong desire to know, as do we. But it will not be easy, because we cannot reveal ourselves until you express your desire to lift the Quarantine. If this seems absurd, we can offer no explanation. That is how it is in the Dream.
So this is my story, of how my Dream was received by you while on Earth. I have seen much of your world, even before I came here. But it is my time amongst you that is the most important to tell. The world changed me, but in some mysterious way, it had also changed around me. On Earth, I am called Paul.


River of Life

1. Khartoum
"Ra'am! Ra'am! Ra'am! Ra'am!..."
Scores of men and women were standing together, closely, looking up at the sky, their heads back, loudly chanting the ancient, sacred chant, calling the many names of the 'One.' They too were dressed in cloth of fine woven linen, their fine features reflected off the gold-trimmed gowns and tunics. The city was now empty of their kind. Only these few remained, chanting for their rescue. Above them, in the darkening sky, light rained down on them in shifting spectrums of red and blue. From above, their chants mixed with a loud hum of sharp staccato chords, as if millions of angry bees had stationed themselves there. The small band was surrounded on all sides by armed men, their crude weapons and shields reflecting the light from above, helmets on fire. Some held burnished copper shields over their heads. Their spears raised, they were advancing... "Ra'am! Ra'am! Ra'am!..."
I woke suddenly from the disturbing dream.
I must have fallen asleep on the flight from Cairo to Khartoum. It was late at night and I had been travelling from North America for over twenty hours. The sick feeling from the imagery I had just dreamt was still with me. The cabin was darkened, small and close, the smell of strong cigarette smoke drifted inside. The plane was on a descent. The largely native population of Arabs and Egyptians were now waking and shifting in their seats. We were on final approach, and the 'no smoking' signs came on. We landed at Khartoum airport before dawn. The dry hot stagnant air of Khartoum greeted me at the airplane door. It reminded me of my dream. I knew I suddenly had been transported into an exotic land.
As the other passengers disembarked sleepily in the motionless night, the stale heat of day reflecting off the cement runway, the desert's night air enveloped me as if in a welcoming embrace. The officials at the airport eyed the new arrivals wearily, their dark, bored faces revealing that this monotonous scene was being replayed for them but once again, as it had on countless nights. All stood to one side of the small terminal as the baggage slowly found its way by hand into the receiving area. There was little sound. On their Arab and African faces were written weary resignation, as if nothing would work right and if it did, it was in the hands of Allah anyway. At the Custom's counter, the official studied my passport and visa with great care. I began to feel something might be amiss. I had already learned through my short stay on this world that one human being could not always trust another, nor even to show emotions. I remained impassive. He suddenly looked up and smiled: "Welcome to Sudan." I smiled back and took my passport, much relieved. Having only hand luggage, I was ushered through quickly. I checked out into the darkness outside the terminal and took a cab to the city center.
A waiting taxi took me in. I gave him instructions to drive me to the Acropoplis Hotel, downtown.
"But that is impossible, sir. The hotel was just bombed."
I looked at him with incredulity, about to say that this was the place recommended to me only two weeks ago.
"Quite seriously. Thirteen tourists died. Mostly English." He looked at me through the rear view mirror, then continued: "But I know a very good hotel. It is the Sahara. It belongs to my friend, Abdulah. I will take you."
We drove quickly through the now deserted, dusty streets of Khartoum. I paid the driver and took a room at the Sahara.
The hotel had that jaded elegance that bespeaks of a grander age. The room upstairs was sparse, but it had a bathtub. I undressed and managed to coax from the tap a warm bath, and lit a cigar. The light was already showing through the window. As I was about to get in, a furtive rap on the door suddenly made me cautious. I could not guess who would want me at this hour. I knew I had gotten past security at the airport, so did not suspect that they were already onto me. When I opened, a hand slipped me a piece of paper, and withdrew. On it was scrawled in large capital letters:
"YOU ARE NOT SAFE HERE. PLEASE SEE ME IN MORNING. ASK THE HOTEL MANAGER."
It was simply signed: "Abdulah," who I guessed was my taxi driver's friend. I crumpled it up and stepped into the bath.
Through my window, I could see the new day had already begun, but I lay in my bath water, too tired to sleep, watching the smoke curl towards the ceiling. It brought back to mind the time only a few weeks ago when I first landed. I began remembering it.


2. "Ahoy"
"Hello! Ahoy!" A strong, cheerful voice rolled across the waves to me. "The tide's going out. You need a line?"
I had noticed the current was stronger than I expected and shore was once again becoming distant. It took me a few seconds to find words to contemplate a reply. Earlier that morning, I had landed on the swells off the shores of New England, at Cape Ann. Shortly after dawn, I was waving goodbye to my fellow shipmates aboard the Star-ship that brought us here. As the small shuttle craft sped me down to the planet's surface, its monitors and controls manned by the pilot, I watched the dark side of the planet relieved by the slow moving dawn traced on Earth's horizons. But the craft had already departed. It had left the planet's surface before the boat crested the horizon. At the time of landing, the ship's metal hull had been dimmed to a dull silver to avoid visual detection. The radar grid over this region had been taken care of from aboard the Star-ship. I knew I was safe.
I realized the voice was waiting for an answer.
"Yes! -Please!"
I watched the small boat grow larger as it approached me and my heart began to leap lightly. My first contact! After an absence of nearly four thousand years! It filled me with both excitement and a mild apprehension. Would I know what to say? I would have to speak! What to do? I already used voice to bring forward the boat. I fumbled with the oars as the boat drew nearer, its engines roaring steadily over the waves. Suddenly I had to abandon my dream, and focus into this reality.
A tall, bearded man was standing at the boat's railing. The engines had been cut back and he was gliding slowly towards me. A short while back, before the boat came into view, I had felt small, like a speck on this vast ocean of life. Childlike, I dreamt into my mind fantasies of where I was and what I would encounter this day, as my landing craft quickly disappeared from view. I had suddenly felt abandoned, on my own, in this mock inflated raft, an Earth copy fabricated aboard the Star-ship. I felt small and vulnerable in the great presence of life on this planet. What if my boat capsized? I could swim, but what of the cold? It was as if I were experiencing the anxieties of birth into a new world. What did the early explorers from Europe feel when they first saw this new world, not so long ago? I could feel their presence as they approached these shores... Suddenly I was thrust back into my presence as I heard the strong male voice call to me. He was a large man, doubtless of European descent. He was smiling at me broadly.
"Strong current here. 'Thought you'd need a hand."
I called back my gratitude: "Thank-you-very-much!" fumbling with the new words, hoping that I was not giving myself away. As he threw me a rope, I fastened it as best I could to my little boat. He pulled me along side and motioned me to climb aboard.
"Hi, my name is Tom."
I replied, more calmly now. "My name is Paul. How are you?"
In my nervousness, I was ready to bring my hands together in my world's customary greeting but quickly realized that this is not the custom here. He did not offer me his hand, so I did not offer mine. He looked at me in a bemused way and obviously appraised my small frame, dwarfed by his great size.
"Been out fishing?" he asked, after what seemed a very long silence.
I thought it best to reply to the negative, having no fish aboard.
"No, just gone outing this morning." This was true, in a manner of speaking.
His boat had a strong odor of stale marine life. Great wooden crates were stacked to the rear. I realized he was a lobster fisherman.
"How are the lobsters today?" I asked, timidly.
He looked wistful, "They're staying at the bottom. Water's too cold." His smiling eyes kept looking at me. "I'm taking her back to port. Want a lift?"
In my still puzzled and cautious state I managed a smile.
"Yes, that would be fine. I was tired of rowing."
This was the truth, as I had begun to ache from the unfamiliar exercise. He turned away and took command of his craft's controls. The boat gave off a roar and I felt myself being pulled by its powerful engines. How different from our crafts which use energy fields to propel them. The craft and passengers move as one, with no discernable sensation of motion, except when falling. Here, I could feel the propellers pushing on the mass of water beneath the boat, passing that energy on to all aboard as everything began moving in unison. How different this felt!
My excitement began to mount as I had a chance to observe Tom. He was an older man, by Earth years, perhaps sixty. His great, big back was turned to me and he seemed preoccupied with something on his mind, no longer jovial.
"Are you from around here?" I asked him.
"Yeap, my wife Nettie and I, born and raised on this island, but we're thinkin' of moving away. Cape Ann just ain't what it used to be. Too many tourists... uh, I mean people."
I listened to his thoughts forming his next reply: "How about yourself?"
I truly did not know what to say, trying hard to focus into this reality, but words came into my mouth.
"I'm from abroad, just having a small adventure at sea."
He laughed again, amused at my words. "You don't look like you're from around here. I used to have a friend who was half German and half Mexican, dark like you. You reminded me of him. He even had large, blue eyes like yours. You from South America?"
I thought I'd venture a risk. "No. Much further away."
"Oh," he nodded, as if he understood. Still looking at me quizzically, though he asked no other questions. We rode in silence awhile, the engine chugging steadily as we cut through the water. He mused to himself: "I remember my friend Rudy. He was quite a guy. Always in trouble..."
After a long silence, he turned again: "Paul, wanna have lunch with us?"
I beamed at the prospect, being already a bit hungry from the long morning's work, though it was still early.
"I'd love to. Thank-you." His large frame smiled in reply and we rode on towards his harbor. We create our own reality, even here, I thought.
We pulled into a small harbor and were soon tying up the boat at a floating dock. I tried to help but was inexperienced and of no real value.
"Don't know much about boats, do you?"
I nodded helplessly. I had not yet learned to shrug my shoulders, though upon observing others later I soon realized this was a common body language spoken without words. We have similar non-words spoken with the mind.
"Can I leave my small boat here for now? I may be taking it out later."
He motioned towards the dock: "You can tie it up next to mine. It'll be Okay." There was that very American word I had puzzled over in my studies: "O-K!"
The dock, busy with activity, was a clutter of lobster crates and small buoy markers. There were people about tending to their boats. The sound and smell of boat engines and sea gulls filled the air. As I climbed the short ladder up from the dock and stepped onto the stone rim of the harbor, my feet became firmly planted on the planet's surface. In the company of the human beings around me, I felt no longer small. I looked at my watch, a device of our own manufacture which also had other functions. It was just before noon. The gravel beneath my feet felt good. Beneath the now hot sun, the air smelt fresh of the cool sea mixed with the faint smell of decaying marine animals. Only a few hours ago I was in space, beyond the Earth's atmosphere, full of expectation. Now I was out of the water and standing on land, the soil of my new planet. I breathed in and exhaled a long sigh of thanks.
Vehicles that I recognized as being for transport, trucks and cars, were nearby. Tom's was there too but looked bigger than the others. "There's my big Baby! I love this truck. Let me check in with the harbor master. I'll be right back."
As he walked away, I looked around me at the houses of the picturesque village. They were clustered together without much land between them but were an appealing sight. I tried not to appear awestruck, overwhelmed, it was all so different from my home world, Ka'ananda. On my world, we either live very far apart from one another, or in closely spaced units in buildings that rise like pyramids to the sky. Soon Tom was back and we climbed into his truck...
It already felt so long ago for me. Yet it was only a few days ago. Time was faster than my Dream.





3. Abdulah
I flew from Boston more than twenty four hours ago, to London. Now I was here, in Sudan, in Khartoum. I was not sure why. The directive for this mission, as it is for all Dreamers, is to follow my path as the Dream takes me. Events took me here. Perhaps it has to do with our past visits to this world. The Dreamers sometimes think so. But that was nearly four thousand years ago.
The sun was up, and I was hungry again. I thought it best to heed the note of last night. Though I was not in the mood to see anyone, I went downstairs and saw the desk clerk. He got me the manager, who immediately went out of the hotel. Within minutes, he was back.
"Ah! You must be Paul."
A tall, dark skinned man came into the lobby. He was wearing a long, off white jellaba, his thick bushy head was bare, but on his feet were very bright red slippers. He extended his hand. Strong white teeth flashed in his broad African face.
"I am Abdulah. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. Thank you for asking for me this morning. I meant what the note said."
"How did you know about me?"
"It is my business to know all newcomers to Khartoum. But, please, come take breakfast with me."
Outside, the sun was a bright glare over a very dusty street filled with people and a few noisy cars. We sat down for the morning meal at an establishment on one of the main streets of the city. The street's dust seemed to follow us inside the cool and dark dining hall. It was an establishment frequented, so it seemed, only by men. The small room smelled of food. The paint on the walls was once a dark green, but now it had faded and was peeling in places, which gave the room a dreary look. The bright sunlight from outside made if feel cheerful nevertheless. We sat down at a dusty empty table in the corner. Abdulah spoke freely.
"What brings you to my country?"
I listened to his question in my mind but, unsure of his angle, I answered obliquely.
"My travel permit is to visit your ancient temples."
He looked at me in a curious way, as if my lie was too obvious.
"But you may not have the freedom to visit them. You are a wanted man."
I knew I was wanted in the States. I did not suspect that the long arm of the American government would reach so far in such a short time. Still, I felt I should appear untroubled, at least to leave him some doubt.
"Maybe I can lose them," I smiled at him. Abdulah smiled back, but his eyes were thinking.
Menus were brought to us, one page of faded lettering on yellowed paper. There were many dishes listed.
"They have many things," Abdulah explained, "but today they have only fhool."
"You mean beans?"
"Yes. They are very good, with onions." He shrugged. "We are a very poor country." Water was brought in metal goblets. Then, when the waiter had left, Abdulah turned to me seriously.
"I can delay the American officials who are asking about you. But not for too long."
"Why would you do this? Why don't they arrest me?"
Abdulah eyed me a moment, as if to assess his answer.
"They need to know who you are, and where you are going. I think they don't know why you are here." He stopped and looked around at the other guests eating. "But why are you here?"
"Then you don't know?" I asked, listening for him with my mind. Looking around him to see if anyone else was listening, he answered in a low voice:
"No. They said I had no-need-to-know."
I smiled at him, amused at his genuine puzzle as to why I should be so important, and could not resist my answer:
"You have no need to know."
Abdulah leaned back in his chair and let out a big laugh. Most tables had men bent over their food, talking amongst themselves in low voices, but now they all stopped and turned to look at us. However, since nothing followed, they soon resumed their meals. A dry, coarse round flat bread was served, along with a few dandelion-like greens called 'salat.' Sudan being a strict fundamentalist Moslem country prohibited alcoholic drinks. The restaurant served a local brew called 'karkade.' It tasted like a red berry juice, but actually was a kind of tea made from a local weed, served very sweet. The tables were set with large bowls of salt, dark gray and coarse, mined nearby in the desert no doubt. They also served regular tea, which was also very sweet, about a fourth sugar. The Arabs believed that the very sweet tea helps them fight off the great heat of day. The day was already hot. I enjoyed my humble meal, using the bread as a spoon to scoop up the boiled beans as I saw the others do.
Abdulah broke the silence.
"No. I am serious. They are after you, and they never let go. Did you commit some big crime in America?"
"I committed no crime, not to them, nor to anyone," I answered also seriously. "But the government agents want me because I know something they do not want others to know." Abdulah put down his bread, waiting. "They know that I know their biggest secret."
"So big?" he asked, eyes growing wide, trying to understand, hoping I would say more.
"It's so big, that anyone who knows can die for it."
Having said that, Abdulah let it rest. After all, if the secret is that big, surely he did not feel he had the need to pry into it, nor pay the price. So we went on to talk of other things. After breakfast, we parted with a promise to see each other again in the day.
I spent time idly in Khartoum. My tiredness left me after breakfast, so I walked at leisure. No one seemed to follow me, nor take special interest. I noticed there were not many women visible about, except those shopping at the suk. This appeared to be a very male dominated society with the women relegated to the household duties of raising children, cooking, taking care of their man's needs, and providing the home's upkeep, so different from the land I had just exited. There, though the male and female relationships were at times strained, they nevertheless appeared in public together. Here men were everywhere, talking among themselves, lounging lazily in shady spots, smoking and drinking tea, while the women were seen only at the marketplace, busy buying and selling the few staple goods available, or not seen at all. There had been drought and famine in recent years and the bare stalls spoke of the hardship these people have endured. The desert has been slowly reasserting its claim to the land. But somehow the people here would survive. 'Insh'Allah,' was a common term. "If it is God's will."
A small beggar boy, ragged and terribly thin, approached me. From his dark, African head stared sad eyes, glazed with hunger. I felt moved to give him something. I bought him a drink of sugar cane, which he gulped down noisily. At a nearby stall, I also bought him a few oranges and some nuts. I guessed that he preferred money to my humble gifts, and I knew that he spotted me for an American by my clothing. Word gets out quickly around Khartoum when a foreigner is there. Except for a few employees and advisers from Eastern Europe, few foreigners came here. The boy took my gifts and disappeared into the crowd. Perhaps if I saw him again, I would buy him more food.
Abdulah and I met again later that afternoon. He was a gracious host, and he no longer openly pried into my affairs as he had earlier. After he showed me where the Blue and White Niles meet, we walked to a section of town inhabited by Ethiopian refugees. He invited me to be his guest for dinner, which here is typically served at four in the afternoon. Though we were already late, we went to a friend's house which also serves as a local restaurant. The whole household lived under one roof enclosing a small courtyard.
As we passed the heavy metal doors to enter the small compound, we paid our respect to the house elder who sat in a tiny room by the entrance: "As-salam alaikom!" His nearly blind eyes looked up, his aged mouth softly replied: "Alaikom salam." God's Peace be with you.
Abdulah walked into the courtyard to greet the residents there. No visitors were present, so we were quite alone with the family. They began to exchange greetings.
"And how are you Joseph?" Abdulah began.
The man of the house smilingly replied, "I am well, Abdulah, and how is your family?"
This followed by, "We are alright. Is everything alright with you?"
Which then necessitated, "Yes, alright, and with you?" And so on. Young children were on the floor, playing shyly, staring at the stranger everyone believed was from America. Their bright, black eyes would look up at me in wonder and then gleefully giggle into their hands. Small rabbits ran freely on the floor beneath the tables and around the chairs where the members of the household were sitting. They were a man, a woman and three daughters; tall and beautiful, ranging in age from near puberty to married with children; and two small children playing on the floor. The middle daughter caught my attention immediate. She was lighter skinned, with dark blue eyes, which she turned away when I looked at her directly. Being near evening, they had already eaten and were passing the time combing each other's long, black hair. The one who looked different from the others again caught my attention. She was thinner, though well formed and finer boned, endowed with a lovely grace. Her proud head had beautiful facial features. Her hands and feet were also well formed and appealing. I guessed she was in her mid twenties. She held me with her eyes, looking at me almost defiantly. Then she would release the faintest trace of a smile. I asked Abdulah about her.
"She is a friend's daughter. Joseph was in the service of her father, before the war, who was a highly placed government official of Eritrea. When the revolution came, her father was killed. At the time of his death, when he knew the end was near, he asked Joseph to swear, even if they were of different religions, that he take care of his only daughter. She could have become a queen. But events had overtaken her land. Her name is Soussan-Anna, which means in Arabic 'graceful flower', though she calls herself San'aa. Isn't she beautiful?"
I could tell Abdulah fancied her, which explained why he was so eager to come here for dinner. She did strike a beautiful image in the half-light. Though surrounded by humble people in a shabby setting, she was regal in an unassuming way. Yet, I knew that her mind was fire and she was capable of intense emotions. From inside my heart, I felt San'aa was stunning. She looked at me with her blue eyes, and I felt as if she could see through me. There was a courage and beauty about this woman, so unlike the other women I had met here.
Abdulah ordered the standard dish. The rabbits were more than mere pets. This stew was served on a large, flat bread in a shield-like platter. We broke off the bread and dipped it into the delicious stew. Though my eating habits are vegetarian, here I did as the others. We were also served wine, which is forbidden, but the Ethiopians did not necessarily obey all of Sudan's Moslem rules. Abdulah seemed to be happy to look the other way. He enjoyed drinking it, especially since San'aa usually served the wine to us in her calm, elegant way. He would straighten and smile whenever she approached the table. She would avert her eyes and avoid contact with him, which led me to believe she was not overly fond of his approaches. I did my best to not pry into her mind, out of respect. But when she brushed past me to fill my glass, which I had barely touched, I could feel her intensely, as if a fire brand had passed near my cheek. Perhaps it was only the pheromonal presence of the young women that had heightened my senses, but there was a psychic perfume about her. Abdulah was right. She was beautiful.
As the evening wore on, the family sat in silence or spoke to each other in whispers. The woman of the house had been busy in the kitchen and now emerged to join us. She was friendly and laughed openly at Joseph whenever he showed any buffoonery, especially after the wine. The younger daughter and the grandchildren also dithered. Abdulah spoke and laughed loudly, both because of the wine and because he was eager to bring attention to himself. After the chores, the other young women passed the evening in the background combing each other's long, black hair. As we all got to know one another better, Joseph was curious about me and my visit to Sudan.
Both in Arabic and in English, he asked me: "Where are you going in Sudan, Mr. Paul?"
Abdulah hastily answered for me: "He is going to look for the Queen of Sheba!"
I smiled, amused at his novel idea, and answered: "I am visiting Sudan and Egypt in search of history. I will be looking at temples and pyramids down the Nile."
Joseph then asked: "Are you an archaeologist then?" He seemed genuinely interested.
"Only a student." I replied, "I will follow the river of life through the Sahara, to Cairo. Then, I plan to visit Alexandria. Maybe then, I will fly to London or Paris."
At the mention of those two cities, I noticed that San'aa looked up sharply and long at me, her mind active on some idea. I chose not to pry.
Joseph, jokingly then said: "May you find Solomon's mines and become a rich man!"
"I have enough for my needs," I laughed.
Joseph then muttered something about his riches. "These are my riches," he motioned around the room. "My daughters!" He also gave a short laugh.
Then I could feel words forming themselves in my mind: "Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for thy love is better than wine." I did not look at San'aa.
That night sleep evaded me, from the jetlag, which I suffered same as would any man, but there was still that perfume in the air, a wondrous scent that made me think of San'aa. She reminded me of those wonderful courtiers I had seen on our learning tapes, their long fine limbs, full lips, large almond eyes set in high cheek bones. They were the women of ancient Egypt and the Mediterranean... Ancient songs of Ka'ananda haunted me: "Because of her I cannot sleep. It is because of her eyes that sleep evades me..."
The next morning Abdulah and I met again at the coffee shop downstairs in the hotel. He was happy to see me.
"Goodmorning! How was your night, Paul?"
"Not long enough for my jet lag. I need this strong coffee. And how was your night, Abdulah?"
"I slept badly," was his reply.
The coffee was strong and sweet. I told him I truly enjoyed our day together. Abdulah talked excitedly about our visit to Joseph's house, and then added:
"What are you doing tonight?" He seemed very intent on having me join him.
"I am free. What do you have in mind?"
His eyes gleamed as if he had hatched a devilishly clever plot. "Why not join us at my village outside Khartoum, at my friend Mohammed's house. He makes great aragi, a wine made from dates. He will sing for us by the moonlight." Then his grin really opened up. "And San'aa will also be there. I had invited her earlier!"
"Cool. And she accepted?" I asked, excited to know she had.
"Of course!" he beamed. "She said that you and she will be my guests! She made sure I also invited you."
I could not tell he had thought out this idea very well, but he was so happy that it did not matter. It seemed that San'aa had.
I replied: "Cool. I will be happy to be your guest, and San'aa's." He rose to leave.
"Wonderful! Then I will see you here this evening at eight!" Abdulah stopped as if to reconsider, then added: "Why do you always say "cool"?"
"It's very American. I saw it in a film last night, when I could not sleep. Is it not correct?"
"I don't know. I learned English from the BBC."
"Oh? Okay. I'll drop the 'cool'."
We both laughed about it. Later, I had the day to wander the city by myself. I particularly enjoyed the market stalls, the suk. There I could watch the friendly barter that took place between people who obviously knew each other. Though Khartoum is a small city, because of the drought and the war, many people were migrating there as a rallying point in which to rebuild their lives. Nevertheless, in a common bond of misery, they all made do as best they could, which led to a relatively peaceful existence under the watchful eyes of the strict mullahs and police. It is a city one could walk at almost any time of the day or night without the fear so common to American cities, though the bombing was a different matter. But I was a respected guest in a country with a strong tradition of hospitality and not frequented by tourism. On my visa application, I had stated that I was exploring archaeological sites to make my visit appear more legitimate, though not so far removed from the truth. The real reason for my being here was more complex. I had to re-enter the reality left behind by our ancestors before Quarantine. This was demanded of us in the Dream.
The desert setting did not make the city beautiful. There were no great vistas except at the Nile's edge, and even those were limited. The city's buildings, except for the main palace, were of a more recent vintage and generally not well kept up. The University of Cairo at Khartoum was impressive, and the students there were good humored and eager to speak English with an American. They asked many questions about life in America. I also spoke to an African American Marine guard at the American Embassy. He compared duty here to an outpost on the edge of nowhere. He said he would rather be in Beirut. Maybe he was not centered in his dream, even in this land of his ancestors. To him it was not beautiful. But I liked the dusty streets, the goats that ate the refuse left behind at the suk, my beggar boy who showed up then and again unexpectedly, smiling more this time, the hot and dry desert air, the smell of humanity in the summer heat, the low buzz of flies in the stifling part of mid-day, the voluble prayers to Allah five times a day, and the strong and sweet coffee and tea. I liked men smoking water pipes, and the flies. There were always flies. It was Africa. It was all so different from America, from Ka'ananda. And yet, it had a strong appeal to me. In some strange and distant way, I felt at home. I thought of San'aa.
That evening, already past eight-thirty, fashionably late I thought, San'aa and Abdulah appeared at my hotel and we set off in a taxi towards Mohammed's village. We drove a distance past the tomb of the Mahdi, in Omdurman. General Gordon's fall is still talked about here, and Abdulah let me know that he annually celebrates the Madhi's victory with Dervish dancing. Past the city into the desert, we soon arrived into a small village of low houses and small courtyards enclosed by mud walls. By then dark had fallen, the moon rose brightly into the starlit, Saharan sky. By its light we could see only the faint outlines of the village. The people were silhouettes in the dusky light, their outlines relieved only by the light of oil or kerosene lamps. Electricity was not available here.
I sat in back with San'aa. Abdulah sat in front with the driver. He would turn periodically to watch over us as if he were inspecting a precious cargo, and grin uncomfortably. I enjoyed riding with my fellow seat mate and watched her. She was cool, composed in her demeanor and speech.
"How long will you be in Khartoum?" She asked me softly.
I said that I expect to be travelling within a few days.
She said: "The Nile is low and you will have to go overland. Perhaps you can take the train to Wadi Halfa, or take a bus to Karima and boat from there." She rearranged the folds in the hem of her long, native gown. She did not wear the veil as is customary for some of the women. But her eyes would have revealed her even if she did.
As we entered the village, I realized I had just stepped backwards in time into Earth's, or even Ka'ananda's, early prehistory. There were no civil amenities, no electricity, no light other than that generated by the moon or by fires, no pavement. Water, I learned, had to be trucked in from outside. And yet, all the faces I could see were smiling or talking animatedly. Children were playing. Life goes on, I thought, even here under these harsh conditions. San'aa also looked upon the scene with interest.
"Is this your first time here?" I asked.
"Here yes, but I had seen villages like these before, in Ethiopia. These people are from the South of Sudan, not unlike people I knew. The villages look the same."
I said that perhaps villages are a universal way of life.
She looked at me, "But they are different in America and in Europe, no?"
I nodded that they were different, mostly, except in remote mountains, but that people were not all that different from one another no matter where they were. Some villages were just neighborhoods in larger cities.
"I had been to Paris when I was a little girl. My father took me when my mother was still alive. He was half Italian, his father an officer. I loved Paris. It was beautiful."
I smelled the faint scent of musk on her. She looked beautiful in the reflected light. She had breeding. Thinking of those on Ka'ananda who had dedicated themselves to a holy life, I said: "Though their material wealth was nothing, the Spirit that shone through them made them rich."
She merely looked at me with those dark blue, inquisitive, exquisite eyes. I wanted to talk with her more, but we were coming to a stop. We had arrived at Abduhla's village.
We stopped at a small square. When the taxi driver turned off his lights, we were suddenly met by intense darkness. Soon, as our eyes again accustomed themselves to the faint light of the moon, I realized we were being approached by a small group of people. They were speaking a non Arabic dialect. As San'aa and I sat in the back, waiting for some instructions, Abdulah and the driver were already out of the vehicle. Then we heard loud cries, as if a long lost son had returned. Abdulah's name was mentioned, and that of Mohammed. We were being welcomed, and I guessed that we had arrived. Though we could not see the people we were meeting, shaking their hands in the dark, their faint outlines and their voices revealed friendly gestures. I felt they were obviously happy to meet us, and we felt the same in return. As we were ushered towards the entrance to a small courtyard and house, I noticed Abdulah had paid the driver with instructions. I thought to myself, "Allah-karim." God provides.
By the light of an oil lamp in the small compound, I could make out the features of Mohammed. He was a tall, handsome man, with the confident bearing of success. He was quick to give a generous smile and I could sense from shaking his hand that he was a good and honest man. His wife Aodea, also smiling by his side, was small and I judged was very young, perhaps still in her teens. She had an impishly pretty face and a body modeled after a Frezetta painting. She hung onto Mohammed, much to his smiling enjoyment, through the introductions.
"I am happy to meet you sir," said Mohammed to me in surprisingly good English.
"And I am happy to meet you and your wife. May God bless your home."
Aodea immediately detached herself from her husband and embraced San'aa as if they were sisters. They went off chatting merrily. An older woman whom I gathered was either a neighbor or Aodea's mother had also greeted us gleefully. "Eeeeeeehhh!" she would exclaim. Just beyond the entrance, towards the house, was tethered a small donkey. He stood impassively, chewing fodder, though he looked at us once.
We all sat on small cots in the courtyard. By the light of the oil lamps, I could better see the faces around me. I suspected that, for our hosts, San'aa and I were guests of honor. Abdulah went on with the introductions: "San'aa is from Joseph's house, seventh Laffa." Turning to Mohammed, he whispered, "She is the woman I told you about."
Aodea sat between her husband and San'aa, holding her arms affectionately over both of them. The older woman came back with a tray of refreshments. As we were thirsty from the long trip, all were glad to see her. By the light of a now beautiful moon framed by a canopy of stars our eyes grew accustomed to the dark. The old woman poured the drink into small glasses for each of us. Mohammed then proposed a toast: "May your visit always be a blessing for us, and, by the grace of Allah, may our humble home be a blessing to you." We drank the cool, sweet liquid, which I recognized as the national drink karkade. Being the male in this male dominated society, I thought it was now my turn. "We are blessed to be your guests, and may Allah provide you always with abundance and with many children." Aodea, though a little sad at my words, quickly beamed. She had recently miscarried.
After conversations where I learned more about the village, both Mohammed and Abdulah, as if in a conspiracy, withdrew from the courtyard. I could not see over the mud walls, both because of their height as well as the darkness beyond. The old woman had withdrawn to her home for the evening. San'aa and Aodea remained locked in conversation, though at one point, when I was thinking of how beautiful the moon was overhead, she looked at me as if to say, "Can you believe this? I love it here." She is a daughter of the desert and this setting, surrounded by kind and friendly people, suited her. I loved it too.
In a few minutes Abdulah, followed by Mohammed, reentered grinning broadly. In their hands were a couple of glass flasks filled with a clear liquid. Abdulah whispered to me, "This is aragi! It is the best date wine in the village. The old woman next door brews it." Aodea also was joyful. She brought out a tray of small, finger foods. We were getting ready for a party.
When the drinks were served to all, Mohammed pulled out a large, handsome, stringed instrument. He called it a lute. It was inlaid with finely crafted, wooden pieces of geometric design. I moved closer to San'aa, who now was again looking at me, as was Aodea. They would then both look at each other and smile impishly, as if sharing an intimate secret. I asked to see the instrument and holding it, softly strummed its strings and praised it for its obvious beauty. "Is it old?" I asked. Mohammed said it was given to him by an old man in his village in the South. He thought the old man had gotten it long ago in trade. "Can you play?" he asked of me. I said, "Oh, no. Please. It is yours. Perhaps I will try it later." He seemed pleased at this and began to play for us.
Music flowed effortlessly from Mohammed's fingers, as if they were connected directly to his soul. He sang us love songs in his native tongue, which I did not understand, but which were beautiful nevertheless. Aodea caressed him from behind, arms around him, kissing him on the neck. I was delighted to see such free and open affection. It was never seen in public here. It was not the Moslem custom. She was like a little nymph, and Mohammed adored her. Abdulah lay back with his head swaying to the music, eyes closed. San'aa and I were sitting closer, also leaning back against the wall. The air was warm, fragrant with the smell of the desert night, filled with music flowing from a man possessed by the spirit of a god. In the darkness lit only by the moon and a small oil lamp, the setting became magical, as if the jinns of the desert had possessed the small courtyard. I felt good. I turned to San'aa: "This is beautiful." She smiled at me with her wonderful eyes. The aragi was taking possession of my soul.
When Mohammed had finished, we all sat in the dark silently. How wonderful, I thought, to have been invited to share in this. San'aa's hand moved closer to mine, touching me delicately. I reached for hers and pressed her fingers tenderly into mine. She had stopped drinking her wine, and I thought it wise for me to do the same, not sure of what affect it could have on me. We did not clap, but just sat in total appreciation of the wonderful gift Mohammed had bestowed on us.
Though it was already late, I felt I had to share with them my music. I asked for the lute, which I held with reverence as if a great treasure had just been entrusted me.
"This is music from a very distant land, one you never heard of. But I know some melodies that I think you will like, and I want to play one for you."
Abdulah looked at me curiously, as if I had somehow put myself in competition with him. I tried a few chords, harmonics, changed the tuning to one I recognized and quickly worked out how the instrument was to be played. Being a fairly universal system, it was easily done. I played them a song from Ka'ananda.
It started softly, notes detached from each other in time but brought together by their natural harmonics. These were brought together into chords, which became the background for a compounding effect of the same. The chords sounded like the audible energy of one of our Star-ships. I could tell the sounds coming from the lute were such as they had never heard before. I only hummed the song. Aodea looked into my eyes with her black eyes swimming as if in a sea of tenderness. San'aa's face caught the light of the moon, which made her more beautiful still, her eyes searching deep into mine. Mohammed, grinning, obviously approved of what I was doing with his instrument. I could hear him thinking to himself that he must learn to play this. Abdulah closed his eyes as if drinking in the sounds. He has had quite a bit of aragi. When I finally stopped, even the little donkey turned his head. They almost in unison let out their breath, as if they had been holding it through the song. I sang as if to to myself the ancient song's ending lines:

..."I flew to her on golden wings,
My lips longing for her kiss .
Her body was a jeweled temple,
Her soul a goddess of love."

It was already past midnight. The bright moon was like a large jeweled disk arching high into the sky. San'aa and I were being invited to stay the night. Though we did not know this at the time of our invitation, Abdulah had already planned it this way.
The taxi had long departed and, we were told, there was no other transportation to Khartoum until morning. The village, being in part a refugee camp, was also somewhat outside the law. It had actually been condemned by the government, but because of a near uprising, the authorities decided to turn the other way and let it be. By coincidence, many residents at the village were also employed as policemen in Khartoum, which gave the authorities an added incentive to ignore what happened here. We seemed to be left with no choice but to accept.
"You can stay in our house," said Mohammed. "Aodea and I will sleep outside on the cots in the yard."
I thanked him for his kind invitation. The interior of the dark hut felt cool. The cots were placed against the wall. Otherwise, the barren interior, having no windows to catch the moonlight, was pitch black except for a small oil lamp. But it had a feeling of dread.
"Where would Abdulah sleep?" I asked of Mohammed, suddenly cautious. Abdulah was in an adjoining courtyard brushing his teeth.
"He will sleep in the house with you."
I did not know if San'aa was aware of this, but it suddenly struck me as being a situation less than ideal for her.
I asked her opinion: "Would you prefer to sleep outdoors, under the stars in the cool desert air, or inside that dark house with Abdulah?"
Of course, my phrasing had the desired effect. She preferred the open courtyard. At least, if trouble arose, there was moonlight to warn us. In pitch darkness, there would be no warning.
"San'aa and I would rather that you and Aodea and Abdulah have the house. We will gladly sleep outside. We do not wish to trouble you."
At this Abdulah spoke out: "No, no. It is better if you, our honored guests, sleep inside."
I answered that we wish to be under the light of the moon and the open sky of the desert, that for us it would be a special treat. Abdulah then also decided that he would sleep in the courtyard.
The matter resolved, past midnight, we all settled down for the night. San'aa had the small cot against the wall. I shared another but a foot away towards the center of the yard. At the head of my cot was also the small cooking fire and an assortment of cooking utensils. Abdulah's was located at the other end of the yard under a canopy of straw. Beyond him was tethered the small donkey. San'aa and I were given a cotton sheet to ward off the chill of what would become a cool night. San'aa turned to me and said:
"What do you dream of as you close your eyes?"
I thought about it awhile, decided that my response would be too full of ideas that might seem strange to her. I answered with a question instead.
"I don't know. What do you dream of?"
She looked up at the sky. "I dream of the night lights in Paris. They remind me of those stars up there."
I looked up with her. I said: "Those stars remind me of a great city too, but it is very, very far away. In those stars, I am at home."
She looked at me, obviously puzzled by my strange response, but it passed quickly. Then she became philosophical: "I guess they remind everyone of home. No matter where you are, by looking at those stars, you know they shine on your home."
I reached over to her cot. "May I kiss you?"
Her eyes had no resistance in them. Her lips felt soft and warm, sweet to the taste. Her breath like perfume, her skin soft to the touch.
"Graceful flower, Soussan-Anna, goodnight."
As the moon arched through the sky, like a goddess carried high by the heavenly bark of the Nile, we fell into a light sleep. Faintly in the distance I heard barking dogs. Then Sana'aa's hand reached over to me.
"Abdulah is watching us," she whispered.
He was standing by the hut's entrance, drinking from the ladle which served the wooden water barrel. Realizing that we were awake, he walked over casually, though obviously still under the influence of the aragi. My eyes fully accustomed to the lunar light, I could now see him clearly, smiling at us in friendly persuasion. His presence felt strong around us. He pulled up a cot next to mine and began talking over me to San'aa. He would say:
"How did you like tonight?" Or, "Did you like the music?"
She nodded and answered without encouragement to him. His head still swimming in alcohol did not notice her coldness and smiled to himself as if he knew something we obviously did not. Finally, after a long and thoughtful silence, he said: "San'aa, I want to talk to you."
She did not respond immediately. I thought it was for her to say what it was she wanted to do, though I could already sense a very strong sensation of fear coming from her. It seemed that there was the possibility of conspiracy, of abduction, of rape, of never being seen again, all running through her mind. In truth, I did not know that there might not be accomplices to support these fears, perhaps but a short distance from here, making an escape impossible, though I could not sense them. San'aa stayed silent. I thought I would volunteer an answer for her:
"Speak with her here, Abdulah. She should not leave this house at this time of the night."
Abdulah glared at me, but quickly composed himself: "Why do you think I would wish anything bad for her?" Again over my head to San'aa, "I just want to talk with you. Come with me."
There was no answer from San'aa. Through her mind was a confusion which somehow equated her rejection of Abdulah with the loss of a future opportunity to see me, which froze her into inaction. It was an absurd notion, no doubt induced by the late hour, and I again felt I needed to interject: "This is not a good time to talk, Abdulah. Maybe you two could talk in the morning."
Now I had triggered an anger in him. His temper was rising, as if he would lash out at me. I did not know for certainty that he was not armed, perhaps with a knife. He was Dervish, proud of his tradition of the Mahdi, and I to him was an American, an ally of the English, a potential enemy. A long time had passed since the Mahdi had severed General Gordon's head and skewered it on a pole for public display. I did not sense a real threat of this ancient anger, though Abdulah may have still been living in that past time. I felt the need to take control of the situation.
"Abdulah, you are bothering San'aa at a late hour. It is already past three in the morning. She does not wish to go with you alone, unescorted, not even to talk to you. I suggest you wait until morning and talk then. Go to sleep."
He looked at me as if entranced in a drugged stupor: "I want to talk with her," he passed through clenched teeth, "alone."
I thought the situation over. San'aa was still lying perfectly still, almost holding her breath. This has now become no longer her concern directly, but a battle of wills between two males in a very male society. I suddenly had to fall back upon instincts that had been bred out of my race thousands of years ago. My maleness had to rise to the surface, and yet it could not show itself directly. I calculated my chances of survival if I were to be engaged in combat with Abdulah. They were slim. He was a powerful bull next to me. I also thought of using my mind-control device, but to what avail? It is only good in a pinch. Here we would be burdened with him until after dawn, tiring me to exhaustion and possibly overburdening the device itself into failure. Above my head were ashes and a fire poker I could use, if I were surprised into an attack. But, though it is the way of Earth to defend oneself by whatever means are available, it is not my way. It is in the accepted custom of Ka'ananda that one suffers the unfortunate consequences of earlier choices poorly made. It is almost a matter of honor, where a person would even accept death to having to retaliate against an aggressor. A fully conscious and competent being capable of forethought, should never find oneself in that position. So he or she must suffer the loss. I thought it best to use my mind. Some mysterious memory resurfaced.
"Abdulah, you are now pressing us and we are becoming unhappy."
He replied: "I am talking to San'aa. This is not for you."
"Yes, you are right, but we came together as guests, at your courtesy, and we expect to be treated as such. If you do not leave us to sleep, we must wake the host, Mohammed."
He started at this: "Why do you wish to wake him?"
"Because, Abdulah, we are guests in his house and he must know of this."
"But you are my guests," he replied, visibly troubled.
"No. this is Mohammed's house and he must know of this."
Abdulah pondered on this. The natural chemistry of alcohol and the late hour worked on him in silence, his energies slowly dissipating his ardor for San'aa. She had shown no response to his approaches and now lay quietly in her cot. But then she knew her cue well. She finally ventured: "Abdulah, it is impossible. I cannot go with you. I am here with Paul as guests of Mohammed and Aodea."
I knew we had him. He felt suddenly rejected. It was as if she had reached over to Abdulah and slapped him hard. He looked up hurt, as if his fondest dream had just been spilled into the sand, his ardor cruelly swallowed, his heart but a mockery plucked out and pecked by birds of the desert. I felt sorrow for him.
After a silence he said: "You are right, you are Mohammed's guests and I am wrong."
He started to rise to leave. I quickly reached over to him: "But we are here as friends, Abdulah, you and I and San'aa." I extended my hand to him. He took it and shook it a long time.
"It must be the aragi. I am sorry. I am not an evil man. Why did you think I wanted to harm her?"
I answered that I did not know, but that it was late, we were all tired, and that it would be best if this was forgotten by morning.
"Perhaps I misunderstood. We are friends?"
He looked at me. His dark face long and dejected.
"We are friends."
Abdulah rose and walked back dejectedly to his cot. When he got there, the little donkey, startled, brayed loudly, which set off a chain reaction of dogs barking throughout the village. But I sensed that as soon as he got there, his anger returned. I could not trust that my Arab logic had actually worked on him. I knew from my learning nodules that the host, by Moslem culture, was obligated to protect his guests with his honor. If I had wakened Mohammed and complained about Abdulah's behavior, to not lose face, he would have had to reprimand him, or worse. This, combined with San'aa point blank refusal seemed to have deterred him for now. But, for how long?
When all had quieted down again, San'aa drifted back into sleep. It had gotten surprisingly cool and I put my arms around her to warm her as she slept. For me, however, still adrenal, sleep was elusive. I watched the moon a long time as it moved across the sky on its mysterious bark. Of course, in my rational mind, I knew there was no bark. It was but a large asteroid trapped within the Earth's gravitational pull. But in some other Dream of my mind, the Heavenly Bark upon the Nile was still carrying its magnificent cargo to the Goddess of Love, to Hathor or Isis. In that same, semi-conscious dream mind, I dreamt that the goddess was in my arms, wrapped in the arms of her lover, protected from desert demons, watched over by the all-seeing Horus. Perhaps it was the hallucinogenic effect of alcohol. Seven meteors crossed the sky in succession just before dawn. I wondered if anyone aboard ship saw them. Or was it their way of giving cheer? Soon a lonely cock crowed, and then was followed by another, which soon became a chorus. These were then joined by the morning call to prayer from the minarettes, to Allah, to the One, the All Forgiving One. Soon, the light of day would rise.
The moon had already set in the horizon. The desert flower, still asleep, was safe again, as she was safe in Joseph's house. I could hear the village fires being rekindled and the drowsy voices of little children rising from their beds.
The next morning, over morning tea, which is served upon rising, we all got to know each other better. By daylight, Mohammed seemed more boyish than the night before. His broad smile lit up as he spoke and stretched the night's sleep away. Aodea, now dressing to go to market, changed from her humble dress to a long, elegant sari-like gown. Her small hands had been hennaed with ornate, indigenous designs. She offered to also do this for San'aa, who demurred. Abdulah rose sheepishly, his eyes blinking in the strong morning sun. His head still hurt. He came over to San'aa and me when the others were out of hearing range.
"I am sorry about last night. I don't know what happened to me. Maybe I am not used to drinking so much. It will not happen again."
We said that we understood and no harm was done. He seemed relieved.
The morning sun, already hot and yellow, pressed its heat into the reddish soil of the village. A slight breeze blew the red dust into small dancing devils. Children ran about, oblivious of the heat and dust. Mohammed was preparing to go off to work. He was an important man at the granaries. We expressed our gratitude for the beautiful evening and thanked Aodea for her kind hospitality. A tall, black woman and her small child settled down by the house with her tea pot and small, fried-dough breads. From her little stall, she sold these to passersby. These were also served with the morning tea. After many goodbyes, as-salams, and more introductions to curious neighbors, San'aa and Abdulah and I set off towards the bus depot. No taxi showed up. At the depot, Abdulah, still silent and somber, decided that he would visit another friend at the village for breakfast. San'aa and I boarded the small bus for Khartoum and waived him goodbye.
On the trip back, there was a child-like enthusiasm in San'aa. She seemed delighted to be with me alone, and able to talk freely.
"I do not like Abdulah. Thank you for helping me last night," she said. I said that I thought this was an isolated incident and that Abdulah seemed truly repentant the next day.
She interrupted me: "Oh, no! This had happened before to another friend of mine. It also happened to a Dutch girl who was visiting. But she was without escort and Abdulah bothered her all night until she gave in. I am lucky."
I looked into her eyes and smiled. "I do not think it is in you to give in," I said.
She smiled back, but turned suddenly serious: "You are right. I would never give in."
We chatted in this manner until we reached the city. We both truly loved the magical, romantic evening. I escorted her to Joseph's house. Upon parting: "I will see you soon?" I asked.
"You will see me soon, Insh'Allah. Call on me tomorrow afternoon. I wish to show you my aunt's house in the desert." Then she pondered a bit: "Can you ride a camel?"
I laughed, saying that those beasts do not look like anyone could ride them, but I would try.
"Good!" She smiled, "Then we will ride together."
I spent my day again dreaming of San'aa, whose face would not leave my mind. I wished for the day to pass quickly, which it did not. But finally, afternoon came. I went back to Joseph's house.
I did not realize that "riding together" meant the two of us on one camel. San'aa and I left Joseph's house to visit the neighbor who housed her camel. The camel's name was Sa'ba, and he had a natural way of posing whenever anyone looked at him. Obviously, the beast had personality. I tired to contact Sa'ba's mind directly to get some idea of how best to ride him, but this led to an argument from which I quickly recoiled. In his mind were the equivalent of jealous, unkind words. Sa'ba in my presence was ornery and determined to obey his mistress only, and pointedly disobey me. San'aa vocalized an unfamiliar sound that reminded me of hissing, which brought Sa'ba to his knees. We mounted him. At Joseph's house we saddled him with provisions, water skins, and made ready to ride into the desert.
It was like riding into a sea of red sand. It reminded me of the nearby planet Mars. Except for a litter of scattered stones and boulders, the red desert stretched endlessly into the horizon. There were a few shrubs, which Sa'ba would occasionally attempt to nibble, but the vast expense of solitude was stunning. The dryness in my nostrils reminded me of the desert of my home. Aboard the camel, we swayed steadily, the thick pads of his feet trampling leisurely the sand and rocks below in a soft crunching sound. San'aa sat in front, holding the reins, and me behind her. It reminded me somehow of the time I first landed, which now seemed an eternity ago, when I negotiated the ocean in my small inflatable boat, rising and falling with the waves. From time to time, Sa'ba would look back at me in derision, raising his lip, and then turn and spit, as if punctuating some internal remark. I did not listen. He was San'aa's and Earth's. Still, he did have a lovely face, when not spitting.
It felt good to have San'aa in my arms, holding on to her for balance. The desert wind would find her scent and bring it to my nostrils. She felt soft and appealing. I became intensely aware of her every movement, her every mood, as if she bathed me in her body's perfume. Her small, finely shaped ears showed invitingly beneath her hair bound by a knot. I wanted to bite them. Her soft, coffee colored skin looked smooth, even under the punishing wind and sun. Her hands were calm, lightly holding the reins. Her feet, crossed before her, showed from beneath the blue-black pantaloons that gathered at her ankles. Her dress was different from mine. I wore khaki colored shirt and trousers with boots. She had a desert styled, Tuareg design, blue-black gown with sandals. I realized how at home in her world San'aa really was, though she had been to university in both Khartoum and Cairo. I leaned over to her, whispering close to her ear: "How far?"
She smiled, and turned to look at me. "Not far. Soon."
As we rode, we watched the sun slowly slip into the horizon, the western sky turn a pale, orangy red.
At dusk we arrived at an oasis bordered by small trees. Near the center of the small village were larger trees, some of these date palms. There was a main well, around which the houses clustered. A couple of houses had painting on the walls showing flowers and birds. How far removed they were from these things, but how needed they are by the soul. We arrived already late in the evening and the villagers were readying for the night. A few old men now gathered in small, lamp lit clusters. They nodded as we rode by on Sa'ba. Women were still drawing water from the well for the evening meal. Animals and children ran about the narrow, dusty alley ways but stayed close to home for fear of the dark. It was obvious that not much happened here after the sun set. It also appeared some of the houses were deserted. I asked San'aa about the empty homes. She said that there had been a serious drought and people moved away. The well's water had turned brackish for awhile. Only recently have they been moving back as the forage for animals was getting better. She then added:
"My aunt is also away. So we have her place for ourselves." She added softly: "She would not mind. This was a place of her love."
We dismounted Sa'ba's high perch after he kneeled in that protestingly submissive way of camels. Once off, he suddenly seemed comfortably at home. A village boy came to help us unsaddle the beast.
San'aa quickly set up house at the small, one room adobe walled house. The ceiling, and roof, were basically open to the sky, except for wooden poles stretching across. These would hold a thatch in the rainy season. There were no mosquitoes, nor flies, which was a relief, since the windows and ceiling were basically open to the outdoors. The night air, already cooling, gently circulated into the house, bringing with it the fragrance of the oasis. In one corner, she set up a little oil lamp. In another, a small cooking fire was started, warming water for tea. A large, finely porous clay urn stood sweating in an alcove against the wall. It held cool water in it. There were grass mats on the floor over a bed of rushes. The small hut spoke of economy and simplicity. It was a self contained little oasis of comfort in itself. San'aa looked up at me from the fire, her eyes dancing in the firelight: "Come, sit by me."
We had not spoken much since we arrived. There has been an unspoken energy between us since the night at Mohammed's. We both knew why we were here. It was as if we were both willing to partake in the forbidden fruit. For reasons differing for both of us, as if holding our breath, we did not speak of them. She was a woman, perhaps wanton in the eyes of her culture. I learned the villagers called her the 'Egyptian.' I too was an outsider in their eyes. But she felt inside my Dream, as if the Light had brought her closer to me. I felt her inside, same as I knew she felt me a part of her. It was an attraction that transcended the merely physical. Her presence was a warm perfume to me. We felt as if we were being brought together for a greater reason, a picture perceived but dimly. Yet, when I looked into her eyes, I knew she reached for me as I reached for her. Softly, remembering, I answered her desire with words she would recognize.
"I am Black but comely. Come to me oh beautiful daughter of Jerusalem." She did not answer. Her smile told me she understood.
The small flame in the corner flickered. The cooking fire glowed red. Her face made radiant by these fires rose into mine. Her lips pressed hard against mine.
She undressed me tenderly, as I undressed her. Slowly I pulled off her outergarments only to discover she wore nothing beneath. My hands tingled as I touched her firm but smooth breasts. With all her garments to the floor, I stepped back and watched her. By the soft glow of the oil lamp, she looked golden, her brown skin catching the light, it caressing her playfully over her thighs and breasts. She was shapely, her legs coming to fine ankles over delicate, sensually shaped feet. Her buttocks full, round and muscular, insolently defiant. Her stomach had a slight pout, though her waist was slim. She reminded me of women I had seen on my preview tapes, maidens scantily clad, perhaps dancing girls in the Pharaoh's court. Her breasts caught proudly the flickering light, nipples stood upright like soft delicate cones of offering urns. She had let her black curly hair down in a cascade over her shoulders and arms, seductively letting the light reveal the smooth lines of her neck as she coyly turned her head. "Do you like me?" she said. We both stood sensually naked in the flickering light of the little lamps.
"You are beautiful, San'aa. You are a goddess."
"You are my lover."
"My Cleopatra... Enter my Dream."
Hot fire raced through me as we touched. Her lips parted slightly as I caressed her, her head held in my left hand as my right arm embraced her smooth body. I pressed my mouth over hers, she returned my kiss hungrily, her tongue reaching into mine. I felt as if I were devouring a forbidden fruit so rich in passion that it would burst within me. The Light filled me and I could feel her intimately, her very breathing and heart beat as one with mine. I caressed her all over, my mouth kissing the sweetness of her thighs. She reached for me and held me as if she had my life in her hands. Her lips kissed me tenderly around my stomach and legs. Rich perfume drew me nearer, my lips gently, eagerly searching for hers. Her thighs parted for me willingly, easily offering to me what treasures she had hidden within. They were the Earthly treasures of beauty and love. We loved each other smoothly and slowly, for a long time, loving and tender.
It was the love of a man for a woman and a woman for a man. San'aa loved me as I loved her, locked together in a life-giving embrace. But we did not let it go, almost torturing ourselves into letting it linger, squeezing from that wonderful moment all the passions that could be had. We would stop, look at each other by the soft glow of the flickering flame, looking into each other's eyes. Then we would reach for the wine San'aa had opened. We drank together its dark forbidden red fluid. Our mouths savoured sweet dates, their brown syrupy color reflecting the lamp's flickering light, and then would eat of each other's love again. The tea, unattended had gone cold, but it did not matter. We loved again into the night, our bodies intertwined as one long caress, gradually building into an explosion that I would catch and push back again into my being. San'aa had let herself enjoy her passions to the fullest, spent in faint convulsions, leaving her body moist against mine. I held back only to relish the passion again, each thrust a renewed pleasure that would not allow itself to die. Her sinuous motions yielded to my demand. We loved slowly and fully into the night. Thus we spent our first night together by the fireside. Like in Dream time, soon it was dawn. Exhausted, we slept, still locked in each other's arms.
The villagers of the oasis liked San'aa and were happy to see her. After the obligatory inquiries about each other's respective families, they continued about their usual daily activities. They had a deep respect for her, as if they knew she was somehow important and different from them. The children loved her also and always ran up to meet her. I became accepted in the same way, with some reserve, though the older village women eyed me warily. They knew I was not of their world. However, San'aa's happiness, as well as my own, was infectious and whatever misgivings they may have had about two people, unmarried, alone in a house at the edge of the desert, they never voiced a reproach. To them, in some strange way, we were both outsiders, so their laws and codes of conduct applied to us only loosely. After days at the oasis, loving and dreaming on the edge of this little village, we reluctantly decided it was time to return to Khartoum.
Sa'ba was happy to be saddled again, though he raised his lip and sneered at me when I approached. After goodbyes to the villagers in the early morning dawn, we set off across the desert. Sana'aa sat before me, as before. But this time, she wanted me to hold the reins. Sa'ba looked back as if struck by shear disbelief, but then acquiesced. He understood. We would be friends yet. In his head, which I could hear more as a feeling than sound, he was soon humming himself a simple tune he heard from the village minstrel, and now responded without resistance to my holding the reins.
We made preparations to leave. Joseph had been apprehensive at first, but between San'aa's pleading for her freedom and his love for his dear friend's daughter, he felt he had no choice but to let her go.
"Remember my daughter, you are Christian, after your father," was all he could say to her as we waited for the desert crossing bus.
"I will be careful, Joseph. My father would have allowed me to go. He loved Paris as much as I do."
We had negotiated the day earlier for Joseph allowing me to escort San'aa to Paris. I had explained how San'aa being seen with me would endanger her, not because of me, but because of the suspicion that she was of the royal family of the Selassie court, which she was. Joseph accepted my reasoning, but it was San'aa's insistence that finally made him decide in her favour, and mine. So now we were waiting in the dark.
At the first call to prayers, before the first light of day, the muezin called into the night from the minaret across the empty square. Tearful goodbyes were being exchanged around us at the depot. The road we had chosen was to cross the desert by bus from Khartoum to Karima, the ancient Egyptian site of Napata. Then we would see about either catching a Nile steamer or, if the Nile was too low, go by rail to Wadi Halfa, near the Egyptian border.
As we waited, a small gathering of men sat silently in the dark. Joseph and San'aa's two older sisters accompanied us. Three of the men began grumbling beneath their breath. Finally, one walked over to me. I was sitting on the raised edge of the receiving area of the depot. He stood opposite me and began looking at me, silently. I tried making conversation and inquired, in pidgin English: "Bus to Karima?"
His eyes silently glared at me. I understood that he did not wish me well. Quite to the contrary, he stood motionless, silent, visibly angry. The other two men were now watching us. My attempt to probe the man's mind revealed only a blank of confusion and that his name was Yasser.
Suddenly I became concerned for San'aa's safety and that of her family. I was not prepared for an attack or abduction. Yet, the danger was present. Americans had been abducted here before. One had been killed recently. He made no move towards me, did not respond to speech, and seemed to have a mind so angry it defied communication. I had already learned that I have no means of reaching with my mind certain types of earthly behaviors. I thought it best to wait. So we both looked at each other in what had become a foolish standoff.
Finally, he spoke: "You are American!" I nodded. He glared at me again. "You not take what not yours!"
I shrugged: "I take nothing." Confusion still reigned.
He looked at me again, and then at his friends, and then said: "The police ask about you. You cause me trouble!"
Now I knew that I did not understand.
Joseph and San'aa and her sisters sat quietly, as if they were afraid to upset this man further. There was something in this Arab's logic I could not comprehend. I wanted to reach over to San'aa and ask her what this was about, but dared not lose my visual hold on the man, nor involve her. Pleasantly as I could, I inquired: "What wrong I done to you?"
Now his friends were getting bolder, edging closer to us. The situation had become uncomfortable, almost alert. I remembered the bombed hotel. My hand moved closer to my watch. For some mysterious reason I was being harassed. Finally, I thought I would hazard a risk.
"Yasser," I said, "what do you want of me?" He looked shocked at the mention of his name.
"Then it was you! Because of you, police arrested me. You knew!"
He was ready to launch at me. He looked pained, as if I had committed a great wrong to him. His friends had begun to rise. Like a shadow out of the darkness, I spotted Abdulah's long white robe. To my eyes, he seemed like one of the desert's jinns, or spirits, that come to people for good or evil. He approached us calmly, the two others withdrawing again to their sitting position. Yasser froze into immobility, as if in the presence of a superior.
"What is the problem, Paul?" Abdulah asked of me.
"No problem," I said, "but this man feels I have taken something of his. I do not know what it is."
Abdulah spoke in a quiet tone: "You have taken something, Paul, but that will pass." Then he turned to Yasser, sharply: "What has this man taken from you? "
Yasser sat silent, as if sulking.
Finally, Abdulah spoke again: "This man is a good man. He has nothing of yours."
Yasser, again staring at me said: "He is American. He is Israel. He take our land!"
Now I understood. I answered: "It is the governments who make policy, not I. I am not Israel. I am not America. I am Paul." I looked into his eyes a long time. "I am only a traveller in your world. Go in peace, Inshalla."
Abdulah looked at Yasser, then at me. "Leave this man to me, Yasser. He is not your enemy. Let him go in peace."
Yasser, still sulky, turned on his heels with a snort, as if he were Sa'ba. His friends rose to accompany him. I understood his pain, or his imagined grievance, and wished I could help him. I could not. His was a Dream in which I could play no part. The small group of vengeful beings walked away from us, taking their confusion with them. Such gentle souls and yet so angry. Across the square towards the beautiful mosque at the other side, prayers had already been called, the faithful doing spiritual ablutions towards the K'aaba at Mecca. The sun was rising. Abdulah said to me: "It is good I came when I did. They could have done you harm."
"Thank you," I said. "Shukrahn. You are like a guardian angel. How can I repay you?"
He looked at San'aa. "You can take good care of her." Then he looked at his red slippers. His eyes suddenly gleamed. "You could also send me desert boots like yours. From America!" he laughed.
How was I to understand the part Abdulah played for us. How could I judge him? He was neither saint nor devil, though I did not feel I could fully trust him. He did what he did because of the bigger world, that it demanded of him to be how he was. He was only who he was, no more, no less. I reached over and put my arms around him:
"You are a friend. Of the many faces of God, Abdulah, that is the most important. You are my friend."
The bus arrived. San'aa and Joseph embraced for perhaps a final goodbye. Her sisters were crying and held her too. Then Abdulah gave her an embrace. I threw our packs on top of the bus. They were secured there. The bus soon filled with Bedhouins and black Africans. We waved our goodbyes and lurched forth as the machine's large wheels ground forward. Soon, our friends were left behind, waving in the early morning light, left in a trail of fine dust.


4. San'aa
The desert stretched empty, grey and yellow in the early morning light, but soon it turned red. The vehicle's large wheels tore up the distance over nearly invisible tracks of the open terrain. The engine's roar and grinding wheels mixed with the loud rush of air and hot dust flying through the large open windows. All the passengers, sitting glumly in their seats and holding on to whatever they could, fought the lurching machine to remain seated. There were no seat belts. The cushions had long given way to the pounding of countless human seats. They were now flat and painful. The bus was in fact a converted truck, with welded metal seats and an improvised sheet metal canopy stretched over steel ribs. This new camel of the desert had no glass windows, only steel bars between the passengers and the red desert beyond. Somewhere, far in space, travelling at multiple light speeds, was the Star-ship. I wondered if they could see me, or my other two fellow travellers, Tenya and Angel. We were not to seek each other out, unless circumstances brought us together. I wondered if they felt so far away from home as well. Even stellar travellers feel isolation and homesickness at times. Speeding and lurching wildly through the rough Libyan desert on the Eastern Sahara, I suddenly felt very far away from home. Where was home? I thoutht to myself.
As we settled into the rhythm of this rough mode of transport, San'aa and I tried to maintain good humour. "Fun, isn't it?" I said. She looked at me with eyes trying to hide her discomfort, then laughed: "It is better than forty days on Sa'ba!" We would cross this stretch of the Nubian desert between Khartoum and Jebel Barkal, Karima, in about fourteen hours at reckless speeds. The driver hoped to find it by dead reckoning as there were no roads in this Nubian wasteland. The sun was now hot and bore down on us. The oppressive pressure of dust and noise was unrelieved by the barren, shimmering landscape. Yet, it was beautiful. It reminded me of the desert Skarala on my world.
On the many stops to the call of nature, all disembarked and the passengers scattered into a wide circle around the solitary bus, all facing off into empty wilderness. There being no shelter, both men and women would kneel within their robes and thus relieve themselves in the tent of their own privacy. San'aa and I would also join this vast circle, though, having western clothes rather than the customary robes, we had no way to maintain our privacy. San'aa, unashamed, was unable to refrain from revealing her marvelous bum into the circle. I must confess I too suffered a certain, uncomfortable shyness. But it must have been a rule of the desert that no one overtly noticed. And on the stops to the calls to Mecca, all likewise disembarked and silently stretched out our prayer rugs, and bowed. It was as if in memory of how hard life was in the desert, that one needs to stop and remember that there is more.
Nevertheless, despite these hardships, the passengers remained relatively cheerful throughout the crossing. We would offer our water bottles to them, from which they they relieved their thirst, their lips never touching the metal spout. They in turn shared with us what little food they had, bread, cheese, nuts. I marvelled at the Arab patience with thirst. Even the small children, riding uncomplainingly in the bouncing bus, suffered patiently. At times we would bog down in soft sand, which would bring the lurching monster to a halt. Young men would clamber down from the roof where they were riding, chattering instructions noisily, and unlatch large metal tracks attached to the rear of the vehicle. These would then be placed under the large wheels and the bus would be inched forward until the soft sand was passed. This exercise proved futile at times, however, and all would disembark to help push the large machine. This was quite an adventure in itself, but it was done in good humor, accompanied by much shouting by those who knew to those who would not listen. Then we roared off again good humouredly into the open desert, the young men laughing, clambered atop the roof, hanging on for dear life. Once again the whole world seemingly became a noisy bouncing turmoil hurling towards the desolate horizon.
After more than six hours of this kind of bruising travel, we approached what appeared at a distance a small oasis in the middle of this red sea of sand. We were in the middle of nowhere. As the monstrous beast lurched and belched towards this one spot on the horizon, one of the boys who had been riding atop hung down off the side and looked into the passenger compartment. Much to my surprise, it was the small beggar boy I had befriended at Khartoum. I had not noticed him before. He as quickly clambered up atop and, as we approached closer the oasis, began a loud rapping on the roof, signaling he was getting off. The bus stopped at the one mud house with a compound wall around it. A veiled woman was standing in the doorway. There were a few palm trees around a well, and nothing but barrenness as far as the I could see beyond. It could have been a house on the planet Remous. The young beggar boy jumped off and came running into the bus.
"Please! You must get off here!" he announced in his young voice.
Aside to San'aa: "I know this boy. He is a beggar boy from Khartoum."
"He is no beggar," San'aa answered. "I know him too." Then to the boy: "Ibrahim. What are you doing here?"
Tugging at her sleeve, Ibrahim was ever more insistent.
"You must come, please!"
San'aa and I disembarked. Ibrahim and I climbed atop to untie our now much dusty baggage. We got off and the bus rolled off noisily into the distance. The woman in the doorway watched all this with her eyes from behind the veil. When we got closer, she exclaimed in a loud, shrill voice:
"Aaiiiii! San'aa! My daughter!"
San'aa was taken aback.
"Fatima? I thought you were in Cairo! Oh, my mother's sister! So that is why Ibrahim is here! You are a wonderful surprise!"
Ibrahim stood by shyly as this exchange took place.
"I want you to meet my dear friend, Paul." Then turning to me: "Fatima is like family to me. I call her aunt, though in truth she is a very dear friend of our family." A note of sadness came to her on her last. "But we are family now, the only survivors of that terrible war."
"Let us not dwell on the past. Please, come inside. You must be tired and thirsty."
Fatima led us into the compound. Ibrahim struggled with the baggage. The yard behind the house was an assortment of small dwellings, chickens and goats, and a half dozen tethered camels. There was also a donkey.
"What does Fatima do here?" I asked aside of San'aa.
"She is keeping an inn. This was what she did before Cairo, but now she is back."
"But who stays here?"
"The camel caravans that still pass through here on their way to Egypt."
Inside the cool house, away from the desert sun, Fatima and Ibrahim treated us like honored guests. I found out that Fatima was lower in station than San'aa's family, though still of importance in the Selassie court. But all that was past now. They had all become family in a common sorrow.
"Ibrahim, were you on the same bus with us by accident?" San'aa asked, as cool drinks of sweet curd were being served.
"No," Ibrahim answered shyly. "I had overheard the police chief in Khartoum. They were going to arrest you at the next stop. I knew this, so I thought to alert you before."
"By why did you not tell us before?"
"Spies. I did not know who had been sent along to watch you."
"Was Abdulah involved in this," I asked.
"I do not know. I only overheard the police chief."
"Then you did well, Ibrahim. You certainly are no beggar boy," San'aa said smiling.
"This man was good to me when I was hungry," Ibrahim answered simply. That was all he needed to say.
"Then you did a very important service, Ibrahim," said San'aa. "You are a noble man. Thank you."
Ibrahim smiled shyly at the acknowledgement and went out to play with the animals in the yard.
We discussed the matter further, retelling to Fatima our circumstances, when she offered:
"Please stay the night," Fatima offered. "Tomorrow, you can take my camels to Merowe. By where the Nile doubles back, there is an airport there. Ibrahim can show you the way. Then I will send for the camels later."
San'aa and I were given one of the dwellings for the night. Ibrahim brought us wine, and San'aa lit the little oil lamps for the evening. After our meal had been served, we lay about lounging, grateful that the night was not being spent in some miserable Sudanese jail cell, both separated, maybe forever. Our joint thoughts left us in a sullen silence.
"Life is so simple here. It is beautiful to me," I spoke to break the silence.
"There is a simplicity to the desert people I cannot describe. They can sit quietly for hours, doing nothing. I love that about them. It is peaceful here. Would you like some wine?"
"I'll take some, if you take some."
San'aa smiled seductively, and poured us two goblets.
"I'm surprised Fatima let us share this room."
"I asked for it. And she never refuses me," San'aa said to me, her eyes watching me over her glass. "But what if they had captured us?"
She was testing me as her protector. I answered truthfully.
"I am not defenseless, even if I carry no weapons."
"Then how would you stop them? With magic? Or would you be clever, and talk your way out?" She laughed at me lightly.
"I have other powers." I thought about it awhile, drinking the warm red liquid, watching San'aa stretch sensually on her mat. "I could control their minds." She looked at me with amusement, disbelieving. Seeing she did not take me seriously, I added: "You want me to show you?"
"So you are a magician? Or a hypnotist?" she asked, teasingly.
I took the Light source from my wrist and held it up to her.
"See this? It could do magic. I could make this device play back to you your innermost emotions, and you would be helpless. Then, you would do exactly as I say." I smiled at her, since in her mind I was entertaining the absurd.
"I don't believe you."
"Allright. Let's see if it works on you." I went over to one of my bags and retrieved another instrument, one which looked like an Earth lap top computer. This was remanufactured on board the Star-ship to appear of Earth manufacture. I activated it and calibrated it for what I needed. Then I pressed a command into the wrist device and suddenly it burst into a pinkish glow, filling the room. The larger machine responded with its own series of flashing lights, the two machines playing off each other. San'aa gasped, her eyes wide, as if witnessing some devilish magic.
The fire light was overpowered by this new light, but it soon subsided, and again her lovely features were reflected by the soft glow of the oil lamps. Her lips parted, as if she was about to whisper to me, then she put down her goblet, and looked intensely into my eyes. Outside, Ibrahim took up his flute and was playing it softly, like an offering to the gods of the night. I put down my goblet too.
We both stood there, looking into each other's eyes. This was not the first time desire filled us so. It happened even on the bus. But this was more intense, like you could feel it flow from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head, holding a warmth in the middle. We were enveloped in it, rich and perfumy, and sweet like chocolate. Our breathing became heavy.
San'aa stepped closer to me, and I reached over to her and undid the fastener that held her gown. It fell to the earthen floor in a helpless heap. She was naked, beautifully naked, the light playing off her firm breasts. I was about to unzip my trousers when she stopped me. Her hands reached over to me and she tenderly pulled me over to her. Then she undid my trousers and slowly pulled them down, and then my shirt. We were both nude, standing a few feet apart, watching each other for a sign. What had been a gentle play turned into a seductive game of desire. I was about to pull her down to the mat when she held out her hand to hold me back. The flute stopped, and a beat of silence separated us for the briefest moment. Then her eyes refocussed into the room, as if she had suddenly woken from a sleep
"No. Not like this. This is a magic... it is unnatural. I don't want it like this."
I understood instantly, and also removed my mind from the the drug like light from the Light source machines. I then reached down for the gown and brought it up to her shoulders, and covered her nakedness. San'aa was a woman of integrity and self respect, and to be seduced by an artifice was not the love making she desired. It had to be real, a genuine passion because of inner desires, and not one fabricated by forces she could not understand. I reached over to her, and pressed my lips gently on her forehead.
"It's okay. It doesn't have to be like this."
San'aa closed her eyes, as if suppressing some inner desire, clinging to her inner self. We did not notice when the oil lamp sputtered out, but the darkness once again reclaimed the night when the Light source, sensing it was no longer needed, shut itself down. San'aa and I lay in the dark side by side on the woven mats, not speaking for a long time, letting the passions that had risen in us dissipate slowly into the night. I could feel her breathing next to me, feel her inside myself. She gently placed her hand on my chest, feeling my breathing. Then her lips found mine, and I returned her kiss hungrily.
The next morning San'aa was up before me. She was with Fatima. I rose, reluctantly, still exhausted from the night. When I dressed and stepped into the already brilliant sun, San'aa and Fatima were outside watching me, smiles on their faces. Fatima was unveiled. She was a pretty woman, perhaps in her late thirties.
"What a beautiful place this is, Fatima! I believe the jinns of the desert had play with me last night."
This brought mirth to both their faces.
"I hope you slept well," Fatima replied.
"I've never had a more wonderful night. It must be the magic of Nubia." My face betrayed amusement.
This brought more giggles from them as they eyed me with dancing eyes. I knew what Fatima suspected but did not say. San'aa looked ravishing in the hot morning light.
"I have saddled two camels for you. They are my best," Fatima said.
"They are tireless."
This last was said with knowing emphasis, which also brought their hands to their mouths, to hide their smiles. I smiled back.
"I am sure they will carry us all through the night." They giggled again.
Young Ibrahim saddled the camels with the provisions we would need for the long journey, especially with the mandatory water bags. Fatima gave us directions to the water wells we would need. Then, when all was ready, after embraces of goodbyes, we were ready to go. But I needed to do one more thing, at San'aa's request.
"Ibrahim," I called to the shy boy. "I have a special gift for you."
I took off my communicator device and handed it to him.
"This is a very powerful device which I wish to leave in your safekeeping. I will not need it for now."
Ibrahim took it and looked at it, turning it over in his hands. A puzzled look crossed his brow.
"What is it?"
"It is a way to call for help. See that red button? If you press that, no matter where I am, I will know you need our help. But do not do it frivolously, as this will set off a chain reaction and many, many are liable to answer. So press it only if the danger is real."
Then San'aa added: "Ibrahim, you are a serious boy. Do not let this fall into anyone else's hands, ever, except Joseph. So hide it for now. It is very important. If you can do this, then I will know you are a man, worthy of my father's court."
Ibrahim looked very serious, as he took back the device from me, and nodded a silent agreement, and hid the wrist mechanism into a pocket in his gown. Then Fatima entered the courtyard to bid us safe journey.
"You will have all you need, except for additional water, which you will find at the wells. When you get to the Nile, you know where to leave the camels. We will send for them later."
With that, she gave San'aa a kiss and me an embrace.
"Allah be with you, in peace and safety."
We both shook hands with Ibrahim, who held his other hand over the Light device hidden inside his shirt. We knew the path following a great wadi that would parallel the ancient road across Nubia, but would keep us hidden from view. As the day's heat rose with the midday sun, we tightened the burnooses around our head, so only the eyes were showing, and rode off into the desert. From a distance, we would have passed for local Arabs.
Having travelled on Sa'ba, I became easily accustomed to the swaying motion. It really was like being at sea, swaying with each passing swell. But here, the land was barren. There would be forage for the camels at the water holes. We first rode towards a long escarpment to the east, and then followed a large wadi, which was totally dry, that ran north. From time to time, we would exit the wadi and resume some ancient path left by the human and animal footprints of a thousand years. This was a very old trail long used by slavers from central Africa. White bleached bones of animal and man marked our way like sinister cairns. Now, it was little used, except for two lone figures swallowed by the vastness of the desert around them. After a golden sunset, we found an ancient shelter under an overhanging rock on the side of the wadi. We made camp and built a small fire from dried camel dung. Over the fire, by the light of a million stars, and the small starved flame before us, we made tea.
"This is the time of the year serious wind storms can come out of nowhere," San'aa said seriously.
"Now, I wish I had my Light device. Then I could have called on the Ship and they could have stopped it."
San'aa looked at me, with that look that betrays impatience.
"Oh, really. You have such stories. I believed you could take me to Paris. But I'm not sure about your stories of your space ships."
"Oh? Then why did you suggest I leave the device behind? If you thought it had no power."
"It definitely has power," San'aa answered seriously. "But you Americans are very ingenious. Everyone knows that. Look at your rockets that sent men to the moon, many times. I do not doubt the power of the device. But I cannot really believe you're from another world." She stopped to think about it. "If you are, then prove it to me."
"I can't. But even you said that my almost Asian eyes and reddish curly hair makes me look like a spaceman. Do you trust me?"
"I trust you. But not your stories of outer space. You're exactly like me... except you're a man. If you were different, somehow, I'd know it. Anyway," she paused for a moment as if remembering something, "all Americans are from mixed races, so you probably look normal there."
"Allright. I will prove it to you. But not now. I'm very tired."
"Me too, my spaceman." Her testy mood changed. "But can we snuggle just a little? It's so cozy by the fire, in this little cave." She gave me a mischievous smile.
"Allright, my wonderful Earth beauty. You're warmth against me will remove all my tiredness." The night was cold, but we did not know it.
We watched the crescent moon rise late into the night, and finally sleep took us. By the time we rose, the sun had already crested the escarpment behind us.
A windstorm caught us on the next day, making breathing difficult. Sand stung our eyes, and soon we were the color of the desert around us, the sand having covered both camel and rider with a fine veneer of reddish brown dust. But then it passed, and a water hole we had been looking for came into view. I dismounted and immediately lowered the long rope and rubber bucket attached to it deep into the black well. When it hit, I could hear a splash rise to the surface. From nowhere, feral camels and donkeys showed up. I poured the first helping into a stone trough which was for watering animals, and the second was poured over San'aa and I, much to our delight. As we watched the animals drink, our camels as well, I asked:
"Where do these animals come from? Are they strays, or abandoned?"
"Probably both. But somehow, they survive. But if humans don't come here for water, they die."
"Then drink hardy, dear ones. But leave some for the jackals. We're all in this together."
I pulled up more water for them, and did not stop until they all seemed satiated. Then I filled the trough again, just in case, and also refilled our water sacks. Then we again mounted, heavy laden once more. The sky was a perfect azure blue with a hint of gold in it. We rode off towards the northern horizon. Another day.
The sun burst brilliant yellow from the earth every morning, and sank hot red or gold in the evening sky. Finally, after six days, we came to the Nile. The last yellow sand dune seemed interminable. Our tired legs pulled the flagging camels behind us. As we reached the crest, San'aa and I both sank into the sand, looking over the crest. We could hear activity in the distance rising from a cloud of dust. The Nile's belt of greenery was just beyond, its water reflecting the near evening light. Beneath us, at a distance, were military vehicles on maneuver, dust clouds punctuated by sharp bursts of far off explosions. They were playing war games. Beyond them was the small airport, our destination.
"Best if we wait them out," I ventured. "Or they may ask too many questions."
San'aa's eyes, visible through the burnoose, raised against the sand and glare, spoke the same sentiment. She nodded. Over to our right were the ancient pyramids of Kush. I pointed to them and San'aa understood. Like thieves we backed down the dune and, sheltered by the mountain of sand, made our way towards the pyramids. We would wait there until the vehicles left.
The sun was close to sinking in the sky by the time we reached the stone structures. They were made of limestone, about the height of a seven story building, each stone rectangle block placed upon another over two thousand years ago by hands that died long ago, their bones hidden somewhere in the desert, some dying in the hardship of building. The desert yields little, and the stones even less. But these monuments were now silent testimony to their ancient efforts to please their gods, their kings. Now they were tombs to those long ago dreams.
"I know of these pyramids," San'aa said, pointing to the tallest. "That one, with the flat top, belongs to a great king of Kush called Taharko." Then she pointed to a mountain across the Nile. "And that mesa over there is Jebel Barkal. It was a sacred mountain crowned by a pinnacle which once held a small temple of gold at the top. It was believed this pinnacle was the mountain's uraeus, like the cobra in the pharaoh's crown. The mountain was dedicated to the goddess Hathor, a goddess of love, and temples were built below."
As we looked into the distance, the vehicle continued on their maneuvers. I motioned we should climb to the top of Taharko's pyramid. We climbed the stone blocks opposite the military activities and crouched on top. There was an energy in the air here, so I had an idea.
"You want to see some more magic?"
"But you don't have your power device."
"This monument, combined with the mountain, have power enough. I can use my mind to show you something you may not believe."
"Oh?" San'aa looked at me a moment, then decided she would trust me. "Okay. Show me."
We had now forgotten the distant danger and again became engaged in ourselves, much as we had through the desert crossing. No one existed for us, but each other.
"Okay," I said. "Sit opposite me, like this." We squatted, cross legged. "Then hold my hands." San'aa took both my hands in hers. Then as an afterthought. "We'd better have a drink of water first."
After we settled in, we closed our eyes as if in meditation. Then I added:
"Now let your body relax... Let your mind empty, like water... just slipping away... Do you feel it? . ..until every drop is gone."
"I feel it," San'aa murmured at long last, her eyes closed. "It feels cool, draining..."
Sitting like this atop the pyramid, I began a low chant:
"There is water in the Earth; there is water in the sky.
The power of the pyramid joins with the power of the mountain."
We sat in silence, with nothing around us but for the wind blowing in gusts.
"We descend into the Earth... And rise into the sky... Feel the power..."
We felt as we were sinking into the stone, and then the soil. A vision appeared:
There was a din in the distance, and over it we could hear the familiar chant:
"Ra'am! Ra'am! Ra'am!..."
It looked like a battle scene, though we knew that it was the scene of men and women working, driven mercilessly by their overseers. They were the laborers of the builders. They thirst and they toiled. They died from exhaustion. Young mothers with their small children crying by their sides. Neither were spared when the stones moved, sometimes their thin bodies caught beneath the crushing blocks. Some were trapped, slaves of war or ill fortune. Their souls cried out into the sky, to their god, to Ra! But to no avail. They were damned to be slaves of Ra, or raabs.
Another scene rose into our now receding dream, vague and distant, but still real. It was a battle scene, of men rushing to and fro with weapons, charging at each other, Egyptians banners flying, striking at limbs and torso, the clash of metal on metal, or flesh. There was a loud roar of hoarse voices as they fought, frustrations vented or screamed in anguish as lances and swords pierced them, some mortally, mixed with the screaming neighs of horses. Arrows flew in clouds, men and horses fell, rose and then fell again, to die in puddles of blood. Cries mixed with fury and dust and despair. High overhead hovered large metal disks, flashing multicolored lights, like beacons. They stayed in formation, a dozen or more, high above the battle. Then one after another moved into file and descended on the tumult below, as if for a closer look. Some men stopped and looked up, others cut them down. Then the fury of battle parted, like in a dream, and a silence reigned over the dusty desert, now bathed in light. Then one by one, the ships fired a red ray into the men below, striking some but missing others. Bodies exploded in this new quiet, surreal ballet of limbs and brains blasted from existence, exploding into clouds of blood and flesh, left to fall like a fine red mist on the men who were spared. It all happened quickly and silently, so that those who lived were stunned, confused and frightened, or left angry. Somehow, they had been cheated of their rightful victory. They had no right, and some raise their fists to the sky in defiance and anger. Then the ships departed, one by one, leaving behind only the anguished, red matted dust over the living and dying men. The battle, fought at another level, remote, from another world, was over.
I felt I was merging as one with all this pain, like the red swirling dust around me. I felt anger, hatred, resignation, thirst. The pain of injustices, of conquest and destruction, and of masses of human beings, caught between moving armies, fleeing, leaving behind loved ones, and the bones of those who died. It was suddenly a vast drama of the whole Earth, of thousands of years of suffering, of famines and plagues, and war, of man pitted against man, of rapine and bastard children. Then, in the dream, we could see this was a paradise lost, a world which had been violated and, in the loss of its innocence, had fallen into patterns that would haunt it through the ages. The vast genetic pool of human beings moving en mass to escape, or to conquer, merging into new races, new breeds of white and black, and mongol. It all reduced itself to a simple end: slavery and war. It was they who were the men and women who built these large monuments, like the pyramids, to their gods. But the gods were us. And the monuments were to us. And we failed them. Even hunted them. We were dreaming of human pain, of pity and deceit and abuse and cruelty, all suffered by one human being at the hands of another. Then finally we had a dream of resignation, of sacrifice, and of forgiveness. That too was our Dream. But it was the wrong dream. We were no longer there for it.
These burning painful images were then followed by another dream. It was what felt like another lifetime. As best I could, I pieced it together, for this had become very hazy now. We were both looking into it:
"I was poor, a priest of lowly station, in what is now Northern Africa. I had adopted the ascetic life style of my order, a life of self-denial, which left me in constant fear of dying by starvation. While trying in that lifetime to overcome this fear, which I thought was the lesson I had to learn, I fell in love with the beautiful young daughter of a local nobleman. She was rich and aloof to my approaches. In fact, she loved me too, but could not bring herself to reveal this to me. In the dream, I could see clearly that this self-denial of her love was not because of my lowly station, which in fact she secretly admired, but because she felt inadequate in herself. Her leg had been twisted by a slight deformity at birth, which was a secret she never revealed to anyone outside her household. Though she was very beautiful to all who saw her, nevertheless, because of this slight deformity, she never allowed any suitor to approach her. And thus, though she loved me, she could never show me her love. Because of this, I suffered in that life and finally, because of total self denial, I died. I had starved to death."
As the sun touched the horizon, we opened our eyes. San'aa looked dazed, having difficulty focussing on where we were. As her mind slowly realigned itself, as did mine, we again focussed into our presence in this reality. We now looked into each other's eyes with a new understanding, a new kinship. We had looked into a hell, and had returned from it sadder, with a new awareness of who we were.
"It's like I'm remembering," whispered San'aa.
"You are remembering... When we were there, long ago." She looked around at the desert. I continued: "What you see is what is stored in this land. And it is also stored in you, and in me."
"Then I have known you?"
"A very long time ago, we did. But now your seed had mixed over the millennia with the seed of Earth. So that is our difference. Only that."
San'aa and I rose, holding onto each other.
"It was sad to see it so. There was so much pain."
"It is why we left. The Earth needed to heal itself."
"Has it healed?" Her inquiring look penetrated deep into me with a new awareness.
I nodded silently. "Almost." But the inner vision lasted only a moment, and San'aa's mind began to forget the dream to reasserted itself into the present.
"You're teasing me! You're a hypnotist, aren't you?" She pushed me down, playfully, rolling atop of me. "Tell me it was all a trick!" Then she began kissing me as we rolled together playfully atop the ancient stones. Their secret was revealed to us only in that moment, now once again locked within the silent energy that held them together in defiance of time. But the ancient machine still worked, if only briefly.
Kissing her back, I gasped between kisses: "No! Really! It was all true." And then I smiled, which broke the seriousness of what I was trying to say. It was no use. Her ego no longer wanted to believe me.
"And you did it without your power device," she managed. "You are a hypnotist!" We rolled down and then lay on our bellies, watching the sun's final rays fall behind the horizon. When we looked towards the military vehicles, they had formed a long line and were leaving the area past the small airport. We decided to descend and make our way into Merowe before darkness fell.
Just then a strange vacancy in my mind warned me of danger. I had already known this feeling while on this world, like I was about to die and all became very still. It always came on the heels of ill will by others. I turned to look down the way we had climbed and saw men silhouetted in the approaching dusk. There were a half dozen men, silently climbing the dark stones, and they were heading for us. Amongst them, I spotted one man who was dressed in Western clothes. The others looked Arab.
Their leader approached us first, his head covered by a burnoose against the desert sand. I recognized him first in my head, and then when he spoke.
"Did you think we would abandon you?" He stopped a few feet away from us and watched us, knowing that our escape was impossible. Neither San'aa nor I answered, both knowing who was addressing us. I could confirm his identity by his size, and the way his eyes recognized us. "Did you think you could lose us?" His voice was almost mocking.
Our pursuer had caught up with us, and now was playing this game to test our helplessness. I had to force myself to recall all I had learned aboard Ship from my learning tapes. I had prepared for almost all contingencies, but the effort left me confused. Then, as if from a deep recess of my mind, my mouth formed words, as San'aa stared at our attackers. She also knew the man standing there was Abdulah.
"Who can protect you from Allah if it is His will to scourge you? And who can prevent Him from showing you mercy?"
A sadness came over me, realizing that the man before me, whom I thought was a friend, now had come to capture us. We were caught. Abdulah chose his words carefully.
"I see you know the Koran. The Prophets have fear of Allah and do not yield to the unbelievers and the hypocrites. Allah is wise and all knowing."
Sensing danger and my desperation, San'aa quickly interjected:
"And He is merciful!"
But Abdulah only raised his hand, as if signalling her to silence. She stopped and looked away, as her culture had trained her to do in the presence of a dominant male. Abdulah addressed me again:
"Are you a spy, Paul? This man tells me you are a spy."
"No, I am not a spy." The Westerner had now joined the others, and stood looking at us impassively. "But no more questions now. We must go and catch a plane to Egypt You are my friend, so let us go."
Abdulah looked to the Westerner, and then back to us, his eyes sad but glazed with the duty of following orders.
"I'm afraid not. San'aa is coming back with us. And you..." He paused a moment, as if wondering if the next words were the ones he wanted to speak. "...And you are in the hands of the American."
"I thought you were our friend..." San'aa looked at me with pity, seeing how impossible our situation was. There was little chance of escape, and now we were posed with separation, maybe forever. Her face showed her anger and sadness.
"Come over here San'aa, and talk with me."
Abdulah took San'aa to another face of the pyramid, away from all of us. In my mind I could hear voices like whispers, but could not recognize what was said. This left me more puzzled, because only an enemy can hide his thoughts so well. Even San'aa's thoughts were veiled.
The American now stepped over to Abdulah, as if to gain his full attention.
"Take the girl." Then he looked at me with steel blue eyes that might have been beautiful once, when he was a young child, but now were clouded with the drug of power. They had turned cold. "And you know what to do with him."
"No! He has done nothing!" San'aa cried with a strength that masked her plea. But new words formed themselves in my mouth.
"Is there no law in the desert? Did Mohamed not say: You shall not kill one another. Allah is merciful, but he that does that through wickedness shall be burnt in Hell-fire."
Quoting from the Koran stopped Abdulah short for an instant, his mind quickly assessing where he was, and what he was doing. It was the momentary confusion I counted on, the one that also caught his men off guard. I could have at that moment reached for his pistol, which was still tucked into a sash at his waist, and held it against his head. As a shield I and hostage, it would have given San'aa and me an avenue of escape. But I used my mind in another way. With my training, the momentary confusion gave me a wedge I could force into his mind. Abdulah responded as I had thought he would.
"But I do not kill you through wickedness. I am ordered to."
"Then you are slave to an infidel," I said loud enough for the other men to hear. The American looked sharply at me, his steel cold eyes rounding suddenly with an awareness of fear. The hardness of his face dropped into a slack uncertainty. The other men looked at him, and then at Abdulah. They did not like what they had just heard. An awareness rose in them, as I had hoped it would, that they were being used by an infidel to do his dirty work. Abdulah stood his ground, trying to remain in control, but he knew he had lost it for a moment. His men were now turning against him, and he could read the signs. So could the American. He reached down to the crisp crease on his pant leg, as if to straighten it, and then looked up at us, and waved his hand as if to dismiss us.
"Let them go, for now." He briefly glanced towards Abdulah, and then to San'aa, as if his eyes were able to tell them something. It was the briefest exchange of glances, but in that instant I felt my angel had fallen from grace.
The tension that had built into that moment was suddenly lost, as if it had melted into the stone beneath our feet. In their minds the pursuit had just ended, and there was no longer reason to remain. They turned from us, as if one body, and began the long descent down the side of the pyramid. San'aa and I were left standing alone at the top in the near darkness. When they had left, we both let out our breath as in a long sigh of relief, as if we had been holding it all the time they were there. Then San'aa rushed over to me and put her arms around my neck, burying her face into mine.
"I was afraid. I thought you were going to die."
"So was I. So was I. This was their intent."
When we got down to the desert, San'aa's eyes looked inquiringly into mine, very seriously. They had a light of their own, as if the stars above us had condensed into that beautiful being who was not standing troubled before me. She raised her hand to my eyes and caressed them, as if imparting wisdom with that simple motion.
"What did Abdulah say to you?"
I watched her face in the approaching dark.
"Nothing. He wanted to know why we got off the bus. That's all."
Then she reached for my lips with hers, and with the gentleness of a feather, kissed me. I took her hand and we cautiously made our way back to the camels waiting in the dark. But I felt in her hand something had stepped between us, like a furtive shadow of doubt. As we walked silently in the darkness, I prayed to Ra'am that it would heal.
Fatima had given us introductions to a friend's house. We were greeted with a warm welcome and brought in for dinner. Our camels were unloaded and watered and fed. We learned that a plane would leave for Cairo the next morning. But that the airport had been sealed to entry, and only officials of the military were allowed to enter. Without proper papers, we could not go. So we would have to take another route, by rail through the desert to Wadi Halfa, and then on a Nile steamer down Lake Nasser to Aswan. Once there, we would be safe. So the night was spent in good company. Later in the night, both unable to sleep, we walked in the desert in the shadow of Jebel Barkal.
As the moon lit the horizon, San'aa and I walked towards the mountain. We mounted it from behind, the moon rising like a jeweled disk in the sky. It was a large moon, like the disk in Hathor's crown. As we approached the summit in the dark, we were surprised to find a young boy softly singing to himself. The pyramids in the desert caught on their flat, triangular surfaces the rays of Earth's sister heavenly body. Darkness reigned within the shadows. I explained to San'aa my dream and how it was significant to us. She said at one point: "Paul, how do you know these things? Who are you?" I explained that it always could be just imagination, but that in my profession, in my training, that was not very likely. Than she earnestly asked: "Where are you from?"
"I'm from up there." I pointed to the stars.
She seemed very serious for a long time, not saying anything, as if thinking it through. Perhaps it was too phenomenal to accept and she had chosen to ignore it. But in some part of her mind, she knew.
We were now at the shrine atop the mountain. Dark shapes of hawks soared high above us, riding the warm currents of air in the coolness of the night sky. The moon shone brightly, giving the whole summit the eerie feeling of being on an alien world, almost moon-like itself. Stones beneath our feet rang with the clarity of glass bells as we walked on them, ringing in the night. The boy had left. We talked into the late hours. San'aa was almost beginning to believe me.
"Tell me your story again. How did you get here?"
I explained how I first landed off the coast of the United States, how I secured my passport and other documents of my identity, and how I accessed the accounts that already were in my assumed name.
"How can your ships travel so fast? Nothing on Earth can do this."
"We use the energy of the stars."
She looked out over the desert, thinking about it, wondering how the power of the stars could propel ships in space. But her mind turned away from it. If I had explained it to her, then, it would not have been accepted, so I let it rest. There would be other times, when I could explain the mysteries of our technology. We sat on a rock in silence, just breathing in the cool air, listening to the wings of the hawks in the sky. In the distance were headlights of trucks coming in from the desert. They no doubt had also crossed it by dead reckoning and were glad to have arrived at their destinations, even if late. The desert did not cheat them of their lives, this time, as it did not cheat us of ours. I was about to tell San'aa of something that came to my mind about the temples when she quietly placed her hand on mine, and said simply:
"Let's not talk anymore."
The moment was too rich in its silence for speech. We were communicating at another level. At that moment, San'aa was coming back into my Dream.
After some confusion over the availability of seats on the train, San'aa and I managed to buy what were supposed to have been first class seats. It did not matter to us that the cushions were missing, nor that many more people were squeezed into the compartments than they were designed for. But humans must make do, and so we did as all the other passengers did. We learned to suffer like everyone else, with dignity.
Our first stop, after many hours of rolling slowly through a beautiful, but soon monotonous desert, was to be Abu Hammad. From the train window, we could see the outline of Jebel Barkal disappear like a distant silhouette on the horizon. The train moved slowly because of the condition of the tracks. Sand occasionally washed over them and the train ran a risk of derailment, or it would drift out from under them, and we would sway from side to side as we progressed over the undulating sands. Sand reached into the first class compartments also, as the windows remained open for air. In the sultry heat of day, we ambled onward at the slow pace of a trotting camel.
By the time we reached Abu Hammad, where we needed to change trains for Wadi Halfa, it was already past midnight. The small town in the middle of the desert seemed a beehive of activity with tea stalls and food merchants set up to do an active trade. As soon as the train pulled away, they quickly extinguished their lamps and cooking fires and settled into the cots by their stalls. Within minutes, the town seemed totally asleep. San'aa and I had been drinking tea at the stall of an older, stout woman who was now snoring loudly next to her frail husband. As we were returning the glasses to her counter, she woke, eyeing us suspiciously. There were some grass mats spread near her, and I asked if it we could use them to rest. She grunted and nodded, which we gathered was her consent, and San'aa and I lay back on the mats with our heads against our packs, listening to our sonorous companions. The sky looked beautiful with stars, complemented by Hathor's moon watching over us. We slept lightly until the arrival of our train. Then, with the sound of a loud gong, all the stall merchants rose. The woman next to us rose first and rudely jabbed her husband awake. He rose sleepily, rubbed his ribs where her elbow had been, and began rekindling their cooking fire. Even in this land of male domination, there is democracy in the market place. The other stalls also lit their lamps and fires , and within minutes all were ready for business. The market looked as if it had been open all night. I admired their adaptation, and wondered if they all suffered a kind of jet lag.
The next train, for reasons we did not quite understand, was totally full. It seemed to be an exodus out of Sudan for Egypt. Our tickets were honored, but there were no compartments for us. We were allowed to stake out for ourselves a small piece of the corridor by a window in a bend created by what used to be a toilet, but now was but a hole in the floor. It was still much used, nevertheless. A cosmic humour, I thought, but it was more comfortable than riding all night atop the roof. That was were most of the other new passengers went. They all pulled at each other so that none would slide off as the train rode slowly through the desert night, their burnooses rolled tight about their heads to keep off the night chill. I thought to myself that this was still better than forty days on Sa'ba. San'aa looked at me and laughed: "I just thought I'd rather be on Sa'ba than here."
San'aa and I spent our time talking, sleeping on our luggage, trying to walk the length of the train, stepping over people either sitting or lying down. We made friends with the many young men aboard on their way to Egypt to work. They shared with us stories and small edibles, such as halvah. Red dust was everywhere, even in our mouths. San'aa and I talked about Ka'ananda. "Are other men there as beautiful as you are?" she asked. I replied that I did not feel so beautiful at the moment, all covered with dust, my hair matted in it. "But your hair is dust colored anyway!" she laughed at me. Her black hair was also turning a dark reddish hue. She was full of childlike wonder, sometimes quizzing me to see if she could catch me off guard. "Are all Americans as crazy as you are?" Though she believed me, in some imaginary way that made sense to her, it was all too incredible for her to absorb. The young male passengers paid special attention to her. This did not annoy me, but it did make me cautious. One of them asked: "You have gun?" And then he made with his forefinger like he was shooting, as he had seen in American movies. I winked, and let him think what he will.
By daybreak, we were still hundreds of miles from our destination. The train rumbled slowly through the monotonous landscape. A fine dust perpetually swirled inside the cars. Numerous stops allowed us to replenish water and food, though they offered little else in comforts. As the sun rose into the sky, it became very hot inside the train. The landscape was beautifully bleak, a red stretch of rock and sand, sometimes broken in the distance by small mountains. If I were on Ka'ananda, I could have climbed into my craft and within seconds been hovering over those mountains and canyons, exploring every crevasse, setting foot on its soil if I needed to. Here, to explore, I would have to walk through the midday heat. Space moves slower here. Those canyons were seen only in my imagination. We crawled across the desert throughout the day, etching the distant horizons in our minds, like indelible hot and hazy dreams. When it got especially dull, San'aa would tell me stories of her childhood, first in Adis Ababa as a young child, and later in Eritrea. Then she would ask:
"Tell me more stories. What is this Dream you mentioned?"
Her mind had begun accepting the improbable world I was telling her about, searching for a common ground of what she could believe as real.
"When we use the energy of the Light, we can also use it to influence our brain patterns. There is a whole society of Dreamers on our world, of which I am a member. It is our duty to dream. We do this in what are called Dream chambers. They are powered by the Light, and all of our dreaming is then recorded and interpreted by powerful mind machines. In this way, we can see reality as it truly is, and then, if need be, change it."
"Is that why your stories are so strange?"
I could tell I was losing her. So I decided to make it simple.
"We Dreamers see the world with another part of our mind. By using machines that can calculate to infinity, we can see reality as it sees itself."
"Oh... Then are these dreams fun? Or are they like nightmares?"
"Oh, no. They are neither. They are only dreams in a neutral sense. Actually, though they are very exciting and relaxing at the same time, they are mainly work. We try to remain detached from them, as we know that they are only our mind's interpretation of reality from another angle. For us, reality is the Dream."
"But can you change reality?"
"Yes. By being. By doing. But also by using Dream maps. They are grids that show us where everything is in relation to everything else. Then we go back into the Dream, using the Light, and we are able to redirect the Dream, and change reality. You see, we are all, each one of us, part of the same living matrix throughout the universe. We are our Dream reality."
"Oh?... And what is it like aboard your ships? Do you have Dream chambers there too?"
"Yes. They are everywhere, even on Star-ships. The Dreamers go wherever we go as a people. We could not imagine leaving our planet without them, as they are so important to our entering new realities. You see, the reason I am here is not to spy on Earth. Instead, it is to live here with my mind and being to see how we could best effect a Contact with your world. But we are here unofficially, you know. We did not do this, long ago, and we got in trouble. That was when the wars started."
"I think I understand. At least, somehow, I feel I do."
She listened to this, kneeling by the train's window, her hands folded before her with her chin resting on them, her now dusty long hair tossed loosely by the breeze. The light started to fade on the western horizon. She was looking out on it. I continued:
"Each Star-ship has a huge bank of Dream stations. It really is the brain center of our command. The Commander then really just executes what the Dreamers see and do. The rest of the ship is very much like any vessel travelling through universal space. It's kind of like a small city."
"With stores?"
"Ah? Yes. You can buy and acquire whatever you need, even your own shuttle craft for a planetary trip, if you'd like. But we don't have money like you do. Everything is calculated by our market systems, and then netted out."
"Don't explain that." She smiled at me, as if to say that some things are really boring. Then she had another thought. "And how do people dress?"
"In every imaginable manner. But, for work, mostly in tunics or body suits."
"Are these suits comfortable? Pretty?"
"Quite. They are specially temperature controlled so that the wearer can work in any environment, even sub zero, though they work poorly if it's too hot. And they are semi-transparent, or opaque, as the wearer wishes. But that is for space work. On the planet, we wear different clothes."
"Have your people been in space a long time?"
"More than ten thousand years."
San'aa would then look dreamily off into her own space, her mind trying to imagine what I was telling her. Then she would break the silence with another question.
"Is it dark in space?"
"It depends on your velocity. At great speeds, it is brilliant with color like a giant rainbow."
"Oh? And is it light or dark aboard ship?"
"It's dark in the areas of the Dream chambers. The rest of the ship is well lighted, except in some work areas, but the light is not like your electric light. It has a darkness to it. It is an inverse light, so that it removes the blackness of ordinary space by reversing it into light. It's what we call the Light. The actual air itself glows."
"Do you have children aboard?"
"Sometimes. And animals too. Even big ones."
Her eyes went wide.
"Big ones?"
"Yes. But they are tame. They are almost human-like. But that is the product of the Light. They are even vegetarian, though their manes are usually very full. Imagine animals that look like male lions."
San'aa nodded, as if she understood, but then shook her head. Her curiosity was now momentarily satisfied . She really could not imagine where I came from. I even doubted she believed me, entirely. In her mind, it was all still only a story.
"But how can you travel so fast? We can't reach other stars, and you say you can be there in a matter of days..."
I thought of how to best explain what to this world must be an unbelievable mystery, star travel, which for us is a common occurrence.
"You know Einstein's theory of relativity?"
"Like E=mc2? Every secondary student knows that."
"Well, that equation is true, but we see it differently. For us, the way it reads is mc=E 1/c. When you multiply it out, you get the same result, but it explains something different. What all the space travel worlds know is that if you go fast enough, your energy in this universal plane shifts into matter in a perpendicular plane. That's why "c" becomes "1/c". Then, once you've shifted into that next plane, you resume acceleration again until you merge into the next one. Now, in whatever direction you accelerate, you will continue that direction, but now you are travelling at a quantum speed."
"Why?"
"Because each universal plane, in any direction, is moving away from your point of origin at the speed of light."
"So you mean..." San'aa's mind struggled a little here. "You mean that as you go into each perpendicular universe, you rematerialize as matter, and go faster?"
"Well, it's incremental, and your scientists here would see that if they could ever achieve enough velocity. But as you accelerate, you are already merging some into the next plane, so you are actually travelling in space faster than what your velocity appears to be. Does that make sense?"
"I don't know. Give me an example."
The train crawled through the desert at a maddeningly slow speed, so we had lots of time to talk.
"Look at it this way. If you went aboard a star-ship destined for Alpha Centaury, as you speeded up towards it, the star would actually be coming towards you. But as you accelerated, it would come towards you faster."
"You mean space moves towards you?"
"In effect, yes. As you move towards it, at progressively greater speeds, your destination is moving towards you. But the real reason is that you are constantly merging into newer planes of reality."
"Can you get lost in these other planes?"
"Usually no, but it can happen if we go too far from the Galaxy. That's why we haven't explored beyond that." I thought about it a moment, how others have succeeded, races far advanced of ours. "But others have."
"How?"
"They shot at the black hole in the center with sufficient velocity to make it through." San'aa looked at me like I was crazy, as if to say that's impossible. She knew her sciences fairly well from her university studies. "Do you know where you end up?" She shook her head no. "At another part of the Galaxy. If you go fast enough, you clear the Galaxy and then jump into another. But if your velocity is not great enough, you remain trapped there. So we still can't do it."
By then, darkness was falling. The stars were showing themselves one by one, their light reaching for us at accelerating speeds, which on our plane shows up as the stars receding from us, the Doppler effect. But we were slowing even more, as we approached our final stop. San'aa kept looking out into the desert, thinking of what I had told her. Surely, she thought to herself, these are fantastic stories that can't possibly be true. Then she whispered, more to herself: "Your world is strange..."
We were in Wadi Halfa.
Exhausted we fell into our two little metal beds that were arranged for us by a fellow passenger with pull. The man who had occupied the room prior to our arrival was told to sleep in the courtyard. The hotels were all full and only by the generosity of a man who was both government officer and mulah, did we find this room. When I inquired about the man who was evicted for us, the official casually replied that the man is a convicted pick-pocket and that he owed him a favor. The convicted man, a handsome young man who could have been a successful business executive in another land, smiled at us graciously, then turned to his bed outside in the courtyard for it was late. We were also warned not to stray beyond the hotel walls at night: "Bad men there." San'aa lay quietly on the bed next to mine, asleep from exhaustion, her rhythmic breathing sweet. In my mind I could vividly see her with the wind of the desert on her hair. But I too needed sleep, and fell asleep thinking of travelling the stars.
Over the next days, at a slow and leisurely pace down the Nile, San'aa and I found our way into Egypt. We moved as the Spirit took us, traversing Lake Nasser at night by passenger ship. The moon waned full over the darkened waters, their stillness stretching towards a mysterious silvery land in the distance, its light reflected on dark faces. After evening prayer, with all rugs laid down carefully towards Mecca, we all turned in for rest. Beings moved like shadows aboard ship, silhouettes against the distance statues of Abhu Simbel. The boat's engines had stopped and only the lapping of water against its sides was audible from below. For safety, and by request of the ship's captain, we slept near his quarters on the upper deck. The gentleman who had influenced our hotel stay in Wadhi Halfa was also helpful with our stay aboard this very full ship. We slept on deck under the moon as if under a protective wing. At day break, the royal statues of Abu Simbel greeted us like golden gods in the yellow sun. The engines again came to life and our little caravel of sleepy worshipers once more made its way down the Nile.
At Aswan, we found our way to the elegant Old Cataract Hotel made famous by Agatha Christie's novel "Murder by the Nile." From a veranda outside our window, like the one from which she wrote, we enjoyed the views of Elephantine Island and white sailed feluccas crossing this lazy bend in the beautiful River of Life. They looked almost as if they were not real. After days of hardships crossing Nubia's dusty deserts, we welcomed a luxurious bath in the hotel's generous, thick porcelain bathtub. The valet brought us wine and canapes to enjoy with our bath. We felt we were in the best of Europe's elegance in this dusty land. The bath was large enough to accommodate both of us together and we lay in its crystal clear hot water toasting each other's good fortune for having come successfully into Egypt. The Light had been with us. San'aa seemed suddenly much happier than I had known her before. We both revelled in the warm bath imagining ourselves as Anthony and Cleopatra.
After our luxurious bath, we dressed for dinner. The rough ride of the desert behind us, it was time to reaqaint ourselves with the finer things. Our clothes were cleaned and returned to us fresh, and our appetites had rekindled. As the sun set over the distant hills across the Nile, we joined the other guests for dinner in the Cataract's sumptuous dinning hall.
When San'aa entered the veranda where guests were gathering with their drinks, it felt as if all eyes turned on her. She had metamorphosized from a desert nymph into an elegant Egyptian woman. Her long wavy black hair flowed easily over her bare shoulders. Her long gown gave her slim body an elegant, desirable bearing that radiated her natural sensuality. Dark blue eyes sparkled as she talked. The maitre d'hotel approached us.
"Bonsoir madame et monsieur. A table for two?"
The gentleman showed us to a table by the window, a little bit apart from the others to offer us greater privacy.
"Bon appetit, madame, monsieur."
Once again we were blessed with a beautiful vista of the dusky Nile. A dark golden light had settled over the water. San'aa was very comfortable in this new setting. She felt so much a part of the rich elegance, that I felt we were already in Paris. Her mind was tranquil and joyous. It seemed this side of life was every bit as natural to her as trekking in the desert.
"You are beautiful by the candle light, San'aa. I love looking at your face."
"Paul, I am so happy you brought me here. I had travelled with my father to places like this, long ago, and your bringing me has reminded me of him." Her hand reached over to mine.
The candle light played on her fine, golden brown cheek bones, the last glimmer of light from the horizon still on her dark curls. She studied the menu with the casual air of a regular patron. How far she seemed from the little room where rabbits ran the floor before they became the next day's dinner.
"Do you know what you would like?"
"I think the lamb in mint sauce might appeal to me. And you?"
"Being vegetarian doesn't allow me much choice, but I think that I will try the salad sampler with humus, stuffed grape leaves, and tabouli."
The waiter hovered over us like a nervous moth whose eyes shone with a genuine eagerness to please. He was a small man, wavy hair not unlike San'aa's, and had amber colored eyes. He smiled graciously.
"Would the madam and the gentleman be ready to order?"
We ordered.
"San'aa, would you like some wine with dinner?"
"I'd love some red wine. And you?"
"Red sounds good. A drink of the gods. Do you have red, dry, garcon?"
"A oui, but we only have Omar Kayan at the present. It is a good Egyptian wine, a 1986 vintage, quite good."
We were hoping for a French wine, but were happy to have a local vintage: "Yes, that will be fine, thank you."
The wine came and I offered to have San'aa taste it first. Upon my turn, I discovered it was surprisingly rich in bouquet, a heady aroma that soothed the senses within seconds.
"Where do we go from here, Paul?"
"We'll stop at Cairo. I have a rendezvous near the Great Pyramid. Then we'll head for Paris. You still want to go?"
She nodded yes eagerly.
"I want to follow you."
"Do you not think my stories of Ka'ananda strange? Would you follow me even to the stars?"
She smiled, the wine having its pleasing affect on her senses. "Why not? I love the stars! But take me to Paris first."
"Okay, then. We're headed for Paris."
We raised our glasses, as if concluding a good bargain and laughed. "And to the stars!" we both cheered.
The entertainers came later in the evening on the veranda. They were African drummers. Their drums and music was fast paced, drumming that made the body want to move, heady and frantic at times. San'aa was totally absorbed, swaying and singing to the music. The music rich and intense, but against my will, I was distant. The stars far above us reminded me of where I was, and why I was here. Where was I in my Dream? The drums called to me, but offered no answers.
The next day we set off to explore Aswan. We enjoyed ourselves on trips by felucca on this lazy expanse of the Nile. Across the river, at the lovely garden of Elephantine Island, which appeared to be in continuous bloom, San'aa and I were fetted by a gardener we met there. He was a round faced, gentle man with tatooed crosses on the backs of his hands. When I asked about these, the tatoos being as much a puzzle to me as hennaed hands and feet, he answered that he was Coptic and this was his way of reminding himself of his religion. He than winked at me and said: "I am a Christian." I nodded in consent, but wondered why he furtively shared this secret with me. Perhaps it was because he was a member of a minority surrounded by a vocal reminder five times a day that God is in Heaven and that there is no God but Allah. Obeda, the gardener, picked flowers for San'aa and served us jasmine tea in the garden, under the canopy of a gazebo created from a giant jasmine bush. He obviously took a liking to us being together and said so: "You are a magic to my eyes." He then pointed, as if instinctively, to the stone steps that led down to the river. "There," he said, "is where they carried the bark of the gods. Once a year the god and goddess would start their journey up the Nile at their temples in Edfu and Denderah and, after days of feasting and celebration, travel up the Nile in the company of priests and Pharao's officials until they reached here. They would then be united at the temples on Elephantine Island. After more feasting, now two gods joined as one, they'd return down the River to their temples."
Obeda then reached down into the river and splashed both of us with its water. "Now you are blessed!"
It seemed like a good idea, so San'aa and I, laughing, also splashed each other. "And here is some holy water for you, Obeda!" and I splashed him lightly as well. Down in the dark passageways to the river, he laughed a hearty laugh, which reverberated throughout the stone corridor. Even in this land of Mohammed and Christ, we were still in the shadows of Horus and Hathor.
When in a few days we reached the temple at Kom Ombo, the beautiful Ptolemeic temple dedicated to its sacred triad, the goddess Hathor and the crocodile god Sobek, and to Khonsu, the moon god. San'aa asked me: "What do the people of Ka'ananda believe? Do they believe in love? Do you have gods? Are you like Christians or Moslems?"
As we walked the massive corridors of the temple, its silent stones still vibrating with the inumerable liturgies which had taken place there in millennia past, I pondered her question. I thought of the passion between two beings. Of love and hate and how closely they shared the same horizon. I thought of the lovemaking that San'aa and I needed, sometimes painfully so. We would end our love making sometimes dripping in sweat, exhausted, and yet still needing more. It was as if we were tortured by it. We were somehow locked together in some magical force, as if making up for lost time, to be tortured by the same. We were now standing high on an embankment overlooking the temple below and the vast sweep of the Nile bending towards the West just beyond, palm trees and greenery blanketing the river's edge. The early morning sun was warm in the clear blue sky, bathing the temple's wheat colored stone in its bright yellow light. I knew this was once the sight of a desert route that in ancient times stretched South into Nubia and Ethiopia. Slaves were bought and sold there. The pain of time was still etched in the desert sand.
I turned to San'aa. "Come," I said, taking her hand. "Let us go down to the Temple."
In the now deserted temple, the tourists who had arrived by bus earlier had scurried through the ruins of Kom Ombo hurriedly and once again were on the bus departing to assault some other treasure of Earth's antiquity. Inside one of the small rooms set in the massive wall of the East side of the Temple, barely visible by the dim light, were hieroglyphs carved on the chamber walls. The cartouches were dedicated to fertility, to the birth of children, and to the wonders of life and divine birth. We ran our hands over them, trying to feel their contours as much as taking in through our fingers the message carved into them long ago. One of them read:

The waters of Life that are in the sky come;

The waters of Life that are in the earth come.
The sky burns for thee,
The earth trembles for thee,
Before the divine birth.
The two mountains divide,
The god becomes.'

I could almost hear the words chanted in chorus in their ancient cadence.
"I think this may be the right one for us." I took hold her hand. "Pass it through this cartouche." She held her hand there, gently feeling its ancient smoothness, almost trembling in response to the timeless message.
San'aa looked at me, her figure outlined in the dim light, almost as if her face were lit more by an inner light, only enhanced by diffuse light from outside. She squeezed my hand softly. "It's... I can almost feel something..."
We sat ourselves in a lotus position, opposite each other, knees touching. I knew that San'aa personal essence had already so mixed with mine that we now radiated as one. Our love making was more than pleasure. We were merging together in our being. In the stillness of the chamber, now bathed in a new light, I spoke words from an ancient Utterance:

"Behold this place;
The walls are dismantled,
The temple is no more;
To Whom do we speak?
(Pause. Silence.)
Behold the flooded land,
Upon the shore of the Divine Nile,
That we may drink thy water;
To Whom do we speak?"

The room glowed brighter still. San'aa's eyes now closed, she fell into a deeper trance, my mind guiding her through the labyrinth of forces making themselves known to us. I could feel her, as if she were inside me, her love coming through me like hot blood pressing into my veins. My love flowed out to her, her blood pulling me into her being. The Light had merged us together as one, both our minds calling on our greater beings to act as our guides through the powers locked in this Temple. I felt myself walking up processional steps, my hand in San'aa's, though I knew we were sitting in the room. My breathing had become heavy, as hers. She could now feel me, responding to my mind, feeling and seeing the same vision. "Oh..." she whispered. "What are you doing?" almost pleadingly.
I whispered back: "Have no fear. I will take you. Can you feel me?"
Her face lit into an entranced smile. "Oh yes! I am one... with you!"
"It is more than with me," I answered. "We are with the One. Watch!"
It was as if great, black clouds parted before us in a vision of light filling the darkness. The spectrum shifted from red to blue to yellow to pure white. Thousands of years parted before us, taking us back in time. The land was greener then, the Nile more blue than it is today. A single high note, a perfect harmonic, made itself heard, lifting us up into the sky. Like souls on wings, we floated over the vista of the then Egyptian landscape, looking down at life below us. We could see in exact detail all the activities, any we wished. How they dressed, worked or played, or how they thought and felt, all was known. There was wheat in the fields. We were like gods, lords of the sky and the land, flying over our domain. In our flight, we realized that the wings were machines, man-made, only replicas of the wings of birds. They functioned because of their ability to catch, through sound emanating from and reflected on the glowing, circular breastplates, the Earth's energy in a way that gave them the power to lift. By using a pattern of natural harmonics we guided them where we willed. San'aa and I flew unencumbered by care or sorrow, as if we were above those Earthly ties.
"We are Angels!" she said, filled with joy and fear, and a powerful sense of wonder. We wished to fly higher, to reach to that Light that was shining on us. Joyfully we floated higher and higher, into the Sun, the land looking more magnificent still. It was so much like the Light. There was a joy all around us. To our souls it was magnificent!
Then a voice thundered at us:
"I am I! I Am Unis!"
We could feel the words' pressure on us like a branding fire. We stopped. The voice thundered again:
"You betrayed me!" The thunder died away but the strong voice resumed: "Though I gained power greater than any mortal. I became Ra! I was left in ruin! I am buried in the stone of my Pyramid. Powerless. A dried corpse. A dead King suspended between Dark and Light. Four millennia ago, you deserted me. Why did you desert me?"
San'aa became frightened. Her fear now translated through our connection into fear in both of us. This was a danger which could crush us, do serious harm, and immediately we retreated to a lower level. I spoke:
"Unis, hear me!" But silence was my only reply. The the voice spoke again.
"Speak, little ones." He sounded mocking.
"How did we betray you?" There was a pause.
"You left me. You had taken me and shown me your heavens, and then you left me to die on Earth." His voice now more quiet, almost pathetic. "You went back into the sky without me. Your beautiful multi-colored machines rose above the clouds, one last time, to where you had once taken me. Into the stars and moon, into the land of Kha. You left me."
His tone was tragic, like someone whose betrayal had left a deep permanent scar. "You could have made me a God!"
"And those who did not return with us? What did you do with them?"
"Ha! Ha, ha!" His laugh thundered around us. "Those, I captured. I made them into my slaves! The women. My slaves." Then, sneering: "Their sons built me pyramids. Look!"
Below us unfolded a scene I had dreamt a hundred times before. There was a small group of men and women, dressed Egyptian style. But they were not of Egypt. They were the children of Ka'ananda, trying to call down a ship to take them away. "Ra'am! Ra'am! Ra'am! Ra'am! Ra'am!..." There was a group of armed men all around them, closing in but fearful of the great light from the large ship above them. It was a great ship, much larger than our shuttle crafts, come down to rescue them. In one of the women's arms was a young child, which she clutched to her breast as if to protect it from the great beast. We looked into the woman's face and we could recognize it. It was San'aa! We both recoiled as if stunned by the vision, our breath fast. The image dimmed. Some of the men were massacred before the ship could reach them, others, more valuable as lovers and working slaves were held. Only the children and women were spared, to also become Earth slaves. The ship retreated. This tragic play was to be repeated again, and then later again, for the last time. Earth became Quarantined.
"Why did they leave!?" screamed San'aa, still in her dream state.
"I don't know. It was the Dreamers. They ordered it, to preserve Earth's reality."
The dream left us as if cleansed of its heavy air. The chanting of "Ra'am!", the call to the gods for rescue, died away.
We both sat in silence, shaken, the menacing image of Unis close to us again. I spoke:
"Now we have returned, Unis. It has been a long time. Our absence was necessary because of what followed. But we could not make you a god. You are in the One as we are. No greater, no less. We are all mortal beings who share in godhood, but we are not gods. But you have waited for us?"
We could not see him now, though we knew he was near. San'aa cleaved closer to me, as if remembering a past separation. I held her tight. I continued:
"We had made errors then, and many paid for them. The woman with me had suffered through her seed because of those errors. Your power was great, but not greater than the godhood of your being. We did not know what we had done until it was too late. Then we left you. We needed time to mend our mistake. We came back again, but then left for good, until now. It was the only way we could forgive."
We could feel his great sigh.
"Even now we cannot return without great care to correct those wrongs. Unis, we could take you to the stars, but could not take you with us. We failed even in taking back our own. The Dreamers demanded it. And it was they who locked you in your pyramid."
"I thought it was because my heart was not pure. Because my priests had failed in their utterances. They had failed in their sacred rites of the Un're, the opening of the mouth. But I see more clearly now. It was my lust for power. My greed for power. Oh! I was so weak, for I needed this power."
The brightly colored temples below us glowed with the sun's radiance in a way not seen since antiquity. Colors were brilliant, bright paint highlighting the great columns, with gold leaf. The Pyramids also threw off their special light. Unis was becoming more defined as a form, no longer just a voice above us. He was almost a god, but he had trapped himself into his suspension between Heaven and Earth. His vanity had built a great edifice, but his soul became too entangled with his creation. And now he was lost.
"Oh! Liberate me!" he wailed. "I have been here too long. This stone fortress oppresses me," he said with a heavy lament in his voice. "Let me join the mortals again so that I may once again through birth and death to rejoin you."
"Your cycle of birth and death was not for us to break. We came here in your time to reach you, to touch you gently, but instead we became entangled in your passions for glory and power, and greed. To free you, we must once again return, but now we will need your help."
I thought of whether to proceed with my speech. San'aa felt my hesitation and quickly came to my assistance, urging me to go on.
"We will need your help to merge Earth's reality with that of Ka'ananda, the land of Kha. Unite us as One in the One, and Earth and Kha will reach together in a Contact. Then, the knowledge that we almost passed down to you, the Light and the Dream, can become real here too."
The King looked at us from his hollow eyes, his great and once splendid face now a drab, phantom Pharaoh. His lips looked parched, nose prominent with thick nostrils, but his head still carried a thick ram's head of hair.
" But how can I do this? Can the people of this world then fly, like you do in your ships? Can they go to the stars?" he asked.
"Remember when man on Earth first learned fire. Then, how long did it take to learn to fly through the sky in their flying machines? It will be the same with the Light. Yes. They will use it to power their new technology. But the flight to the stars... that may take a long time. The stars are alive. And the Dreamers will have to ask for their permission."
He suddenly straightened, expectant that perhaps there was hope to break away this spell that had trapped him for millennia. Perhaps he could again join the living, and be a king again, a humble king, a wise king who rules more from being rather than by doing. No longer a king who rules because of "I am I", but a king who rules because "I am my being."
Unis bowed his head as if in acknowledgment of the wisdom that was shining down on him from the One. We all three remained silent as this lesson pressed itself into his being, and into ours. But we knew these lessons must be learned over and over again, as they become so easily forgotten in this world where each being fights the being of another, and none hear each other, so the godness of each is lost.
I paused. "There will be a test. You must listen carefully." His eyes now looked straight into mine. I spoke more from my Dream than from my mind. Even I did not know what words were to follow. These words formed themselves in my mouth:
"There will be a child. She will be a beautiful child and will rise from amongst all the others. She will have the power to Dream. So this child will be despised and feared by these others. She will be pursued by those who will seek to destroy her. Unis. Her name will be Maya. You must save her."
The Pharaoh straightened as if he understood. Like a lightning flash, he flew from our eyes into the clouds of light. Thunder rolled after him as if one of our great Star-ships had just departed from the atmosphere into the open dimensions of space. Then, after the last peels of thunder died into the distance, all went silent.
San'aa reached for my mind again: "Was He the One?"
"No. He was but a messenger of what had been, into which he has trapped himself, and into what is to come, when he will be called upon. But he was in the One more than he knew. He and you and I had all been as one once. Now let us return."
Our descent was swift, almost uncontrollably so. Fear began to grip us like a cold veil that would hold us under until we drowned. Our descent became confused, like a great vortex of discordant images swirling around. The land beneath us caught fire, with black smoke rising high into the sky, covering the sun. A great pyramid lying upside down, glowing an eery light as if lit from inside, a great Star-Ship swung in from a distant orbit, glowing with the fire of its great engines, which was followed by hazy images of distant temples. The Taj Majal appeared as an apparition covered with water, distant mountains rose from the Earth to become the great Himalayas, a lone man sitting silent in a black cave... The images began to fade out, one by one, and chanting, low and sonorous at first, but progressively higher became heard, a murmur at first, like a distant drone of priests in solemn meditation, then louder:

"It is Unis who flooded the land
When the River emerged from the Lake.
It is Unis who pulled papyri to honor Hathor;
It is Unis who reconciled the Two Lands.
It is Unis who will unite with his mother,
Like Horus and Hathor of old,
Will become Mountains Divided."

Not a moment too soon, we surfaced for air. With a loud gasp we breathed-in the dank air, replacing the fetid air in our lungs with fresh oxygen. We emerged from a tunnel which, running deep under the temple, was used to initiate neophyte priests and priestesses into the order. When they could swim without fear from one end of the dark tunnel to the other, they were accepted. I opened my eyes, but we were still sitting cross legged in the dim chamber. San'aa opened her eyes.
"We were merged as one, in the Dream," I said.
She looked into my eyes, her eyes still adjusting back to this reality. She smiled. "I believe you now. It was like a dream. But who else will? How did you do this? Hypnosis?" Then, as if vaguely remembering something forgotten: "Where was I?"
Already, the memory of it was fading, as it always does for those who are not of the Dream. That is perhaps the greatest handicap we have in reaching Earth beings. As we connect with them on a higher level, they remember briefly and then they forget, left only with a confused memory of what had been, dim impressions that turn themselves into myth, or gods.
We walked back into the natural light of day, the sun shone brightly from a perfectly blue sky. The Nile continued downstream in its lazy, timeless, dreamy way. It flowed East to West, once, long before humans inhabited the Earth. The lateened sails of feluccas dotted its surface as they have through centuries. We felt clean again, as if we had washed away the mummified dust of millennia. The desert appeared no longer red, but of a wheat color, almost golden. It was good to be alive in the natural cycle of things, even if we must die. Though I knew that my life would be three times longer than that of the average person on Earth, still it was good to have San'aa by my side. Already she shared in that part of my Dream that brought me here, and that will power me while I am in this world. Then how we dream together will power us into the future. This is the first lesson of the Dream: We are our dreams, and they are us. Together, they become our future. This happens naturally, but on my world, we have learned to harness this force into our newer technology, as someday will happen on Earth. Then, she will have come into the Dream.
But I digress. We had an important rendezvous to keep.


5. First Contact
A taxi delivered us to the Victoria Hotel, a few blocks from the train station. We checked in and immediately went out for pizza. which we found at a fine Italian restaurant some distance from our hotel. The nearby neighborhood offered the usual assortment of street vendors, tinkers, sidewalk furniture makers, hawkers and food vendors. The place had an enchanted evening's worth of entertainment of Arab life and food smells mixed with faded architectural remnants of European sophistication. We had reached Cairo.
Allah is mysterious, I thought. Upon reading the local news, we learned there had been severe flooding in Khartoum due to extremely rare and unusually heavy rains. More than ten thousand homes had washed away and nearly a million people were left homeless. San'aa and I were concerned for Joseph and his family. We also worried for Abdulah and Mohammed and Aodea. We could not know their fate, since communications had been interrupted by the storm and flooding. Food relief was bound to come in soon. The Dream moved in mysterious ways.
For greater mobility, we leased a taxi and driver. Driving here made driving anywhere else seem sane and serene. All the traffic lights had been set to flashing yellow, as it seems no one paid attention to the reds and greens. It was a happy free for all that, Insh'Allah, somehow it all worked. Soon, we reached the pyramids just beyond the city.
The desert stretched beyond them in an eternity of sand and dunes. Young boys hawked goods or rides on donkeys or camels or steeds. After buying the necessary tickets, we moved along with the crowd towards the false opening in the side of the Great Pyramid. This was the entrance that actually was a dead end, there only for the priests to deliver their offerings to their dead king in ancient times . It was never meant as a point of entry, but much time had elapsed and much was forgotten. An entrance into the ancient tomb had been forced there. Inside, we climbed a steep, long shaft into the interior, which was hot and stuffy, filled with the noise of gleeful tourists jostling and running frantically up and down the shaft. Not befitting of a Pharaoh's procession, alas. San'aa and I carefully negotiated the many small steps to the top.
"There was the original entrance," I said, pointing down a dark tunnel. "It had been sealed up shortly after completion, more than four thousand years ago."
About a third of the way up from the base, at the center of the massive stone monument, we reached the King's chamber. San'aa and I looked at each other. For a brief moment, we were actually alone, but then the tourists came running in again, boys jumping up and down, trying to make as much noise as they could. The ventilation being bad, they soon stopped. There was little for them to do in the chamber. The stone walls held their stoic silence. Their parents were also unimpressed. Comments like: "That's it? That's it?! I came all this way for this? Let's go back down. I want to ride the camels." We knew the tomb had been defiled. It had been a long time. Earth having shifted on its axis, the pyramid's powers had diminished. We felt it too. It was empty, even in our brief moment of solitude. What the priests knew had long been forgotten.
When we reached the base of the Great Pyramid, a jovial older man, portly around the middle and topped by a great turban, offered his services.
"You want to ride a camel?"
"Yes. We need a camel," I answered. "How much will it cost?"
The camel man looked at us, then looked up as if calculating.
"For two people, one hour... One hundred dollars, American."
San'aa and I looked at each other, both thinking the price high. The man quickly picked up on this, so immediately countered himself with:
"Okay. For you, only fifty dollars."
We remained silent. I raised an eyebrow at him, then thought into his mind what was a fair price. It was much less. For a reason he himself could not explain, he immediately countered this with:
"Twenty-five dollars, American. That is my best price."
A smile came to our faces.
"Okay," I said. "What's the camel's name."
Beaming and glad to have struck a bargain, the camel man replied:
"'Super-jet.' He's very gentle, and very fast. You want picture?"
This resumed the bargaining again, this time with San'aa.
"How much for the picture?"
After dickering, the price came down from ten dollars to two dollars. But he was sure to stress "American."
We mounted Super-jet and he took our picture. Then he instructed us in the handling of the reins, to dismount and mount, which we already knew, and said he would hold the picture until we returned. We rode off into the desert past the Great Pyramid. The Sphynx was to our far left. Dunes undulated like a shimmering sea of hot sand.
"Where are we going, Paul? There is nothing out here. It's open desert."
"To a power source, out there."
San'aa rode behind me into the vast emptiness in silence, wondering if the sun had not affected my judgement. Soon, I felt what I was looking for. I turned back to San'aa:
"There used to stand a great pyramid here, but it was destroyed long ago. There is no trace of it now, except the power it left behind. I believe we are now where it once stood."
I dismounted and walked off alone, San'aa staying behind with the camel, holding its reins. I called back:
"Yes! This is it!"
She left Super-jet and walked over to my side. The pyramids behind us now looked small.
"Is this is where the pyramid was? But it's empty. There's no trace."
"Not as empty as you think. Watch."
"More magic?" Her sense of awe was beginning to mix with fear, but she quickly dismissed it. "But how did they build it?"
"Don't you know?" I looked at her, realizing that that too had been forgotten. "With barges. This whole area was once flooded." She raised an eyebrow, as if to punctuate the impossibility of such a thing in this dust dry desert.
I smiled at her. Then I stood erect, my head up, my arms held behind me, hands outstretched as if doing a strange kind of yoga, and let out a single note, which rose steadily into the sky. San'aa watched me, puzzled.
"There it is... I feel it."
A steady white light began descending around us, as if sustained by my chanting, then became gradually stronger. A wind picked up, flinging bits of sand against us. I yelled over the wind:
"The priests used to do this!"
Then a strong harmonious sound engulfed us, and the wind died down, as if we were inside a protective cocoon. Images began forming around us, as if by holographic projection. It was an image of the Star-ship's interior. I could identify the command station, crew members sitting at their monitors before three dimensional projections in a hollow ring of light. Then came into focus Ma'an, the Ship's commander. She looked tall and regal, dressed simply in a long tunic, tinted purple with finely spun gold, her golden brown hair tied at the top in a kind of high pony tail. Then I could make out Ta'an, my strategist. San'aa's eyes grew wide, as if witnessing what had to be truly magic, but accepting this strange phenomenon in her mind. She had seen enough magic to believe I can conjure any images I wished. She moved closer to me, as if to find shelter in something she could understand, and touch. The hologram of the Ship's commander spoke:
"Welcome, Paul. And to you my daughter. We have been waiting for you."
Both Ma'an and Ta'an raise their hands in greeting, held together before their chests as if in prayer. They both said:
"Na'amsat to you both."
"And in the Light to you, Na'amsat."
San'aa mimicked me and also said 'Namsat', but nothing more. She remained wide eyed and could could not take her eyes off of them. In her mind, in spite of all the preparation she had, she still beheld the images with some inborn dread, like some memory that haunted her from another time, of malevolence and superstition and stories of good or evil spirits. I broke the frozen silence, using my voice to sooth her fear.
"It is good to see you again, Ma'an, Ta'an."
"We are glad you could make the rendezvous unharmed, as scheduled."
Their images shimmered before us in the pinkish white light.
Then looking down at my wrist, Ma'an added:
"And I see you no longer carry the Light source. We knew you had disconnected it some days ago. It is locked from use, no?"
"Yes. I gave it to a boy, for safekeeping. It can only be activate to summon help, if needed."
"Do you think it was wise?" Ma'an inquired, without prejudice.
"It was allowed in my Dream," I answered. It looked if she would offer a response, but none was given, and it was dismissed as quickly as it was acknowledged. Then I changed the focus to the business at hand, the reason for our meeting. "Have the Dreamers seen a path for me?"
"For you, and for San'aa," Ma'an answered.
"Then we're going to Paris?" I asked with hope.
"Alas, no. Your trip to Paris must be diverted for now."
"Is our reality in danger there?"
"Yes, for now. The agents who are following you are laying traps in your path. You may not succeed against them on your own, without the power source. So the Dreamers see your joint reality broken at Paris. But it is only for now." She looked at San'aa compassionately, reading her mind to see if she understood. Then turning to me: "Do you see another path?"
"I don't know..." I answered, puzzled. "It was the path I had chosen. but my dreams are cloudy here. It is hard to see a path..." We both stood looking at each other within the bright halo of light around us. "May I continue with this mission? Without the Light?"
"If it is in your Dream. You are the script writers. We are only the players in your Dream." With this, Ma'an and Ta'an both smiled at us, watching San'aa to see how she absorbed these strange words. "But let Ta'an explain it better." She motioned to Ta'an who now addressed us.
"It is good to see you again, my friend." He smiled at us both. "You've been busy, Paul. New England, then New York, now Egypt. My, my!"
"Not always by choice, my dear friend. The Federales keep me on the move." We both smiled at each other. It was good to see my trusty companion again. In the Dream, his path and mine are always joined.
"But you may not like what we must suggest to you." Turning more serious: "You and San'aa are sure to be captured if you go to France now. They spotted our ships on radar, and are convinced we are about to invade their secret world with a revelation of our existence. So they feel they must stop you at all cost. They're almost panicking, and are waiting for you at all ports of entry. But there is something the Dreamers asked me to do. It comes from our archives, and they want you to know this. Here, I will have it beamed to both of you. Maybe it will help you understand more."
Ta'an pressed some commands into his console, and words formed instantly in our minds, at a very rapid rate, in less than a second:

"In the year 363 of the reign of Ra Harmakhis, the ever living. (about 2000 BC). Ra was in the land of Nubia with his warriors, but foes conspired against him. Then the god Ra went on his way in his bark together with his following, and landed in the nome of Edfu.
"Here the god Horbenhudti (which means Horus the sparrow hawk) was in the bark of Ra, and spake unto his father: 'O Harmakhis! I see how foes conspire against their lord.' Then spake the majesty of the god Harmakhis to the person of Horbehudti: 'Thou son of Ra, Exalted One who didst come forth from me, slay the enemy who is before thee speedily.' Horbehudti flew up to the sun as a great winged disk ; therefore was he henceforth called the Great God, the Lord of Heaven.
"After this last victory the gods returned to their own country. Harmakhis came in his ship and landed at the Horus Throne (at Edfu). Thoth spake: 'The darter of rays of Fire who came forth from Ra, he conquered the enemies in his form of a winged disk; from this day he shall be called the Darter of Rays who emergeth from the horizon.'"

Ta'an turned his attention to another monitor and found what he was looking for, and then pressed in more commands. "These were from ancient hieroglyphs, taken from temples in Egypt, as I'm sure you'd recognize," he said. "This is from the same era, but more commonly known in this world."

'Thou shalt not harken unto the words of that prophet, or that 'dreamer of dreams'; for the Lord your God proveth you, to know whether ye love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul.' Now it goes on: 'And that prophet, or that 'dreamer of dreams', shall be put to death ; because he hath spoken to turn you away from the Lord your God.'

"And that's it. Do you know were it comes from?"
"I know. It's Deuteronomy, 13. But you know the text has been much garbled. Those are very ancient writings, written by priests long ago. The prior text you showed us is more accurate."
"True. But it does make an important point, for you now. 'To be put to death?' and 'Dreamer of dreams?" Does they ring true?"
San'aa nodded in acceptance. She already knew how to Dream.
"They do. They wanted no greater god above them. So it is not yet my time,'" I answered. "But that was long ago. Now it is the Government who wants us."
"Exactly. But it is still the same. Except we don't use the 'darter-rays' anymore. So they're trying to track you down, and they're stumped for now. They're very frustrated that all efforts to capture you have failed. And they're afraid. As you can see, this game between the priests' powers and our powers had been going on for a very long time, even in our absence."
Then Ta'an again looked at San'aa, who was listening to every word as if spoken by a god.
"So, for both of you, the Dreamers have studied the reality Matrix, and one pattern fits all patterns at present."
To add emphasis on the gravity of what was being said, Ta'an stopped a moment, and then continued:
"You must pass through India. It is important that you enter that other land we once knew. There a valuable passage will open for you."
"Does that mean the rift between our two worlds can heal in India?"
"Not directly," replied Ta'an. "But we see a vortex in the grid. We still do not know what it means, but it is in India. There, find the Karla caves, and it will become clear to you, and to us." Then turning to San'aa, who had remained shyly silent through this exchange: "You may join Paul, if you wish... If it is in your heart to follow."
Breaking her silence, still awed, San'aa answered softly:
"I will follow him anywhere."
They both smiled at her response, then Ta'an, in his characteristic good humour asked: "Would you follow him to the stars?"
San'aa saw the joke and smiled back. Then Ta'an resumed his serious tone:
"Now, Pa'an, if I may call you by your true name. You have to make a choice. It seems that San'aa has already made hers." Looking approvingly at her: "She speaks like a daughter of ours."
"I believe she is," I said. "But what of the pursuers?"
"You will not lose them. But they will be thrown off, for now, maybe," answered Ma'an. "The work you are doing has begun healing. Earth should not remain Quarantined for too long." Then addressing me directly: "Do you wish to do this? You can be released from your mission, if you wish."
I looked at San'aa, who nodded approval.
"We'll go to India. Or wherever the Dreamers see. There is too much at stake." I looked over to San'aa, who looked back with a deep air of respect in her eyes. Her mind had suddenly connected with mine. "This is too beautiful a world to be lost. But what about visas for us?"
"Our couriers in Cairo will get them at the embassy. They have already been drawn for both of you, and will be waiting at the airline counter. Everything will be ready, including the air tickets."
"But how?" San'aa's mind formed the question, without speaking.
"We can see into the embassy computers, and we have people responsive to us on the ground. It is not difficult."
I knew the meeting was ending, so I raised my hands in the form of Na'amsat. Ta'an and Ma'an did the same, as did San'aa.
"The Light be with you, in 'Aan," spoke Ma'an.
"And with you in the Dream," I answered. San'aa bowed her head, realizing suddenly that the strange interview was over. but her mind rebelled and blurted out questions without speaking:
"But no, wait! Who are you? What does your world look like?" She needed this information to help her accept all that was happening here.
Ma'an and Ta'an both looked at her a moment, then at each other. Ma'an spoke:
"Very well, child. We will show you." She closed her eyes as she said this, looking regal in her purple tinted tunic laced with gold. Then she gave San'aa instructions: "Close your eyes and let your mind be quiet, wander freely. We can only show you aboard our Ship for now."
I knew the Ship's Dream chambers were then instructed to send down a telepathic message from one of our powerful computers, directed to our location. I could see what San'aa would see in her mind, though each of us would see it a little bit differently. As I was thinking this, a powerful image formed itself in my mind. I could see the exterior of our large Star-ship, porthole lights flashing, its massive and yet incredibly light structure suspended effortlessly in the blackness of space surrounded by millions of points of light. Then the interior of the Ship, as if we had magically penetrated its hull, came into focus, and I could see the Command center where Ma'an and Ta'an were standing. The work stations manned by both men and women in work tunics were backlit by the holographic images on which they were working, pressing commands into their respective controls by passing their hands over patterns of light. Then we could see the Dream chambers where long rows of cubicles, some of which were occupied by human figures lying inside. They were the Dreamers. Small robots and human like androids attended to these individual Dream cubicles. At the center of the chamber was the large machine that, powered by a great green-black crystal, registered all the brain pattern activity of the Dreamers. San'aa's mind sent an inquisitive impulse towards that, the source of her vision, but it remained unanswered. She yearned to know more. Then she was shown the walkways, and living quarters, and the technical staging areas of the Ship where shuttle craft sat idly. Everywhere, there were human beings dressed in a variety of uniforms, all of different colors, and some of which were skin colored, nearly transparent. She passed through a large, spherical mass of water in a large chamber entirely covered with a wild array of jungle growth. This water globe had humans swimming in it, though this vision lasted only the briefest moment. It was not deemed important enough to focus on. Then she was outside the Ship again, watching it receded slowly at first, and then disappear in a sudden burst of rainbow colored light. The image faded.
San'aa opened her eyes, and spoke just above a whisper.
"Was that dreaming?"
Ta'an and Ma'an did not answer her, except with a smile, but she felt the answer inside herself. She knew what she had seen was real.
The images of our encounter then faded as quickly as they materialized, and the wind again picked up. Super-jet, the camel, had moved over closer to us, and was now nudging against us with his snout, asking us what was that all about. San'aa watched the light fade and the desert's hot sun returned our world back to normal.
"The priests did this?" she asked, incredulous, regaining once again command of her reasoning mind. Then turning to me, a serious look in her eyes. "Who are you?"
"Come, let us walk a ways back, and I will tell you."
I took Super-jet's reins, and we walked back to the pyramids in the distance, the camel trailing serenely behind us. The Light had its effect on him too. I began to explain:
"My real name is Pa'an Xat Vah 'Aan, or more commonly, Pa'an. I am not a magician. I an an Alien and live on a very distant world, light years from here, called Ka'ananda." San'aa studied me with her beautiful eyes. "We are cousin worlds, yours and mine. Long ago, we had the same beginning when consciousness was brought to both our worlds by a very ancient race."
San'aa thought about it awhile. Earlier, she would have laughed at me, but now she remained serious.
"But I never heard of your world," she said. "I didn't even know other worlds existed. Though, I always suspected they must."
"You could not know. That is because of Quarantine. You see, we had to leave your world, long ago, until such time that our presence here was totally forgotten. Now, you see, it has. But we are back. We've been asked by the community of Living Worlds, what we also call the Unity, to reintroduce Earth to what had been forgotten. You see, there is a very big universe out there full of sentient and intelligent beings, some of whom have advanced far ahead of us, far beyond the mind and reason. This is the community of worlds the Earth has forgotten."
San'aa thought about it, her brow furrowed, her mind reaching over into mine. The Light from aboard Ship still held its power over her.
"But why did they call me a 'daughter' of theirs?"
"Because when we were here, long ago, and had to leave..." This suddenly became difficult for me, the wake of thousands of years of regret and guilt. "We had to abandon some of our own behind on this world."
San'aa looked at me with sudden understanding.
"Like we saw in the dreams? You mean the wars? And the flying machines?"
"Yes. And the Dreamers have reason to believe that you are a descendent of ours, that you carry our seed. So you see? You are one of us."
"Is that why you sought me out?" she asked, earnestly.
"Yes, in a way. It happened in the Dream. I was going to meet you, somehow. I did not know how, then. But Adbulah played his role."
A puzzled frown formed on her face.
"Is he one of you?"
"No. He is only travelling in his Dream, as his path crosses ours. He doesn't know this."
San'aa again got lost in her thoughts.
"Does that mean that all in my family carry the seed?"
I could not answer that, not knowing any more than what the Dreamers saw. So I remained silent. She added: "Then I don't know what to think. It all seems so unreal... It feels like I'm in a dream... I wanted to touch them." Then seriously, looking into my face: "Was it real?"
"It was all a Dream," I answered. "Everything is all in the mind, the Dream, even what we call real." She looked at me, trying to understand what I was saying, which was the truth as we saw it. "And they were nearly a quarter million miles from here."
I smiled at her. But she was too puzzled to smile back, and walked beside me quietly. The pyramids were almost upon us once more.
"But you look so normal..., like one of us... No wings."
"We don't do wings anymore." I again smiled at her. But San'aa's thoughts were far away. I continued. "Some of us on Ka'ananda are from your world, same as some of you are from ours. Remember how beautiful your grandmother was? The Eritrean? Didn't people marvel about her beauty?"
"All said she was young and beautiful even into her old age."
"When your world was shut off from the other worlds, those who stayed behind intermarried, sometimes by force. Your great-great grandmother was married to an important Egyptian king. So, there you are."
San'aa furrowed her brows, thinking. It was strange to her to be a descendent of such improbable ancestors. But her mind did what all minds do when faced with what is impossible to grasp, and turned it into a fantasy it could live with.
"So I have a seed of the stars?"
I smiled and nodded, willing to let it go for now.
"We all do," I said softly. "Come on, let's get back on Super-jet."
We mounted and resumed the ride back to the pyramids, which now were around us.
Past them we arrived back to the portly camel driver, who seemed agitated and ran over to us.
"They took the picture!"
"Who?" I asked. But I already knew.
"Men! Strangers. They come and take away your picture from me. They not even offered me money!"
"Maybe they liked your camel," I offered, humorously. But he shook his head.
"No, no! They were serious... left in a jeep, for Cairo."
I turned to San'aa.
"We'd better not waste time. They're onto us already." Then to the man, "Here is the payment for the camel, and the photograph. Speak to no one of this."
He nodded in understanding, then smiled broadly when he counted the baksheesh I gave him, and bowed graciously. "Thank you, sir. Ma'asalaam."
We jumped into our waiting taxi and made it clear to our driver we needed to get to the aiport in a hurry, to stop for nothing. The driver did as we bid, and the hair raising ride got us to the terminal without stopping. When we got to the airline that had a flight leaving for India that afternoon, our tickets were already waiting for us. And with them were two new passports with visas stamped into them. The Ship works in mysterious ways.
When we sat down to wait for boarding, San'aa noticed some men in the terminal watching us furtively.
"They're going to arrest us," she whispered to me.
"No, they're not," I whispered back. "Just act as if you don't notice them."
When our turn came to board, while passing through the metal detectors, one of the men, the one in charge, came over to me casually, asking me to step aside. A woman approached San'aa with the same order. They were going to take us into a side room for a body search.
"We did not set off your alarm," I protested.
"Please follow us," was their simple reply.
I looked at San'aa, who had a panicked look about her, as if betraying some inner guilt. I smiled, and winked at her. Then I projected my mind into all the personnel present, and motioned to San'aa to hold still.
Within a few seconds, they began to walk away, then back again, as if unsure of where they were going. Then, feeling they were sufficiently disoriented, I instructed them to carry on about their business as before, that there was nothing odd at hand. They then resumed to inspect all the other passengers, almost bumping into each other with eagerness in their work. We slipped away quietly, and handed in our boarding passes. Within a few minutes, the airplane's doors closed and were locked. Soon we were cleared for take off. As we circled Cairo to climb to the altitude needed, I pointed down to San'aa the Great Pyramid.
"See those, way down there? That's where we just were."
"But what about the agents at the airport?" San'aa sounded a little confused herself.
"Those pyramids are not as dead as we think," I winked at her. San'aa smiled, and shook her head. It all still seemed so impossible. But she had seen it with her own eyes, at the Taharko pyramid, and out in the desert when the Ship beamed down its images, and now here. She looked over to me as the sky beyond the cabin shone a golden blue through the cabin window.
"I believe you." Then she put her arms around my neck and gave me a solid kiss. "And you did it without your strange device. You're really an Alien, aren't you? Or an Angel."
I pressed her hand, thinking that sometimes a fairytale is easier to be made real than the hard truth. The plane righted itself onto its course and were on our way to Delhi.


The Offering

6. India
I could feel the world from inside my mind. I was in my Dream chamber. The computers already chose my grid map coordinates. My state just before sleep was used to call up the multi dimensional space of interrelationships that would define a reality matrix into the powerful machine. Earth would be my destination. Engulfed in a gentle glow, the Light picked up these coordinates and fed them through the infinite capacity of the computer. In my almost sleep, images of another being of myself passed through my near-consciousness, like if I were travelling down ethereal pathways with no beginning and no end, turning and twisting within reality, and then back on themselves. As I fell deeper, entering this new world, like waking in a dream, I entered my Dream.
Forces and patterns that are invisible or confusing to us in our waking state suddenly became clear and simple to follow, like the inverse of meditation; where rather than meditating on nothingness and stilling the mind, I was placed at the other end, interrelating greater and greater totalities, where the greater the interrelationship, the clearer and easier it is to understand the matrix. Having placed myself thus on my own Dream matrix, I now reached in and manipulated those parts of reality that were soon to affect my normal, conscious mind. These were ordinary events, mostly, unhindered by interferences by other beings. The machine would register all this and, using the Light, examine it all in detail, playing all the possibilities against each other. I was just about to enter into the world of Abdulah when I realized that I was still flying aboard the airplane on my way to India, and that this was merely an Earth dream without the power to effect change. Yet, how pleasurable to be inside the Dream again, I thought. The plane's plastic cabin around me, close and stuffy, smelled of people, and I woke slowly. San'aa's face came into focus, looking at me with tender feeling. I had been dreaming an Earth Dream, without the power to change, but it felt good, like a loving caress.
We were coming into Delhi. An announcement came on to fasten the seat belts and extinguish all cigarettes. We were on final approach, landing on the tail end of a storm that had just passed. As the plane entered this air mass, it rocked violently. The overhead storage bins rattled and groaned under the weight of their heavy contents. Passengers around us began looking frightened, glancing at each other nervously, trying not to betray their fear. A young woman across the aisle, from Connecticut, stared wide eyed. She had confided to us earlier that she left her husband and children behind, a kind of needed running away, to follow her guru to India. Her legs were very hairy, her hair long and stringy, unwashed. "Quite a ride," I grinned, trying to make her feel good. She was having second thoughts as to why she was here. San'aa also shared the same sentiment. The large wings moved up and down with the violent motion, but soon were being reflected off the wet pavement below, their lights casting mysterious shadows into the dark mist. We touched hard, and rolled furiously in the way that Earth's flying machines do upon landing. Though it was only about four in the morning, and all the passengers still sleepy, many were jolted awake. Almost all clapped from relief when the plane actually touched down.
Stepping off the plane down the metal steps, away from the shrill whining engines, the ground received us warmly. Soon the intrusive noise was behind us. San'aa asked, as we stepped onto the ground:
"This is India? It feels strange being here."
A flow of people carried us as if in a stream, and the warm, humid air reached up around us like a warm wet wrap. Already a distant and alien smell was insinuating itself into our senses. It was like an animal smell, of sweat and smoke and decay, humid but not fetid. It drifted in from somewhere past our vision on the edge of the flying field, lost in the darkness. I sensed there were people there, that they lived there. Their presence, though plain and humble to excess, felt like music on my being. We had stepped into that vast pool of the subcontinent of human beings, like a vast pool of an ancient human subconscious. And there was a deep familial comfort in it.
"This is India," I said. "Can you feel it?"
San'aa nodded silently, as if listening to some half heard prayer from far away. The storm had passed, and there was magic in the still night air.
Past the usual confusion of having one's passport stamped, repeatedly it seemed, shuffling through customs, armed soldiers in yellow green uniforms seriously examining our papers, and faces, throngs of passengers either waiting for arrivals or for their departure, we found ourselves inside a very dirty and crowded terminal that in fact was meant for domestic flights. Apparently, the storm had forced us to land at an alternative runway. It was much more chaotic and crowded than I could imagine. Lone figures hunched over their baggage. Men in large turbans sleeping alongside their brightly dressed women lying down beneath low plastic benches, boys running about. A young man dressed in a white, though now soiled lunghi, brandished a small broom to sweep up cigarette butts. He talked amiably to strangers as he worked. We watched him. There was something in his demeanor that seemed so different from anything we had encountered elsewhere. His work was humble. San'aa and I watched him awhile, as if adjusting to this new reality. He was a good looking young man, perhaps in his early twenties, jet black hair, coffee brown skin, fine features on a longish intelligent face, strong hands. There was a fine firmness about him. Yet, he worked at his very menial job with joy and lightheartedness, occasionally chatting with waiting travellers. There was no regret, no bitterness, no sense of having been defeated. He was totally at home with his little broom, its sweeping defining his being, as if occupying perfectly in each motion the time and space of who he was, like his simple being was his only offering to his god. How rare in this world, I thought. Hallowed are his sandaled feet. The Spirit of 'Aan was in him. And yet, we knew that to approach him, to bring this to his attention, would perhaps only disrupt whatever it was that he found, only to puzzle him. We remained content to merely have seen him.
"There is something different here." San'aa spoke again, almost in awe.
"I don't know what it is. It feels old... ancient," I observed.
"But there were no government agents after us. And that's good."
"I think we're safe for now," I agreed.
We stepped out into the night beyond the terminal's entrance. It was still dark, though the sun would soon be rising over this land. The street still smelled of wet. Suddenly it seemed as if a hundred eager faces were speaking excitedly at us at once. Some had tattered shirts and lunghis. Others had teeth red stained from chewing beetlenut. A couple of them had large turbans. They felt like a swarm, but in fact there were only about a dozen, all eagerly and vocally solicitous.
"Rickshaw! Miss! Mister! Please take my taxi! Good price! What your country?"
"How much?" I inquired good naturadly.
"As you like. Come this way. My rickshaw over here."
We were led almost involuntarily away from the still voluble group of men all eager to take their taxi.
He was a thin young man, frail almost to the point of being breakable, the thin shirt on his back betraying a bony frame beneath. His long wiry arms carried our heavy packs. The rickshaw, really a motorized trishaw, likewise had seen heavy use, with stains and scratches and dents.
"How much did you say? We are going to Connaught Place."
"No problem. As you like. I take you."
In fact I was not sure where we were going. I knew approximately how far our destination lay from the airport, but no more. As our young driver kicked his scooter-like taxi into life, we put our packs beneath us in the back, sitting on them. We roared off into the dark night streets of New Delhi.
"Gandhi's palace," he pointed out in the dark. The streets seemed totally deserted. "Parliament house." The boulevards were wide and devoid of traffic or people. "Delhi Gate." He was giving us an impromptu tour.
His little machine roared and sputtered, then coughed. We stopped. He tried kick starting it again. San'aa looked around nervously at the dark streets. "No petrol?" I ventured. Determinedly, he got out, examine his machine, turned a little switch, and the small engine came back to life. He smiled. His name was Deepak. Dawn was almost upon us, though the streets now felt cool and wet.
We turned onto a side street. We had travelled quite a distance already, I thought. He must have sensed my question. "Short cut," he called to me. "Cigarette? Biddi? You have?"
"No, sorry. We don't have. You have cigars?" I asked, partly out humour, but partly because I would have liked one. He shook his head. San'aa was falling asleep on my shoulder. It was still before dawn.
Ahead was a crowd of people. We had been rolling through narrow streets that had makeshift boxes and sleeping platforms covered over with burlap like tents. Living accommodations, I thought. Most were already up, some lighting small fires to ward off the morning chill or to make tea. The smell of sewage became noticeable. Mangy looking dogs patrolled these streets. Cows roamed freely or reclined leisurely next to these makeshift homes. Any open area or parklike expanse was used for these shelters. I was beginning to feel distracted. It was still dark. With an air of confidence, Deepak kept his little machine going.
"Poor people live here, yes?" San'aa stirred, as if I had spoken to her, but then fell back asleep.
"My home. My family here."
As he said this, he beeped his buzzar-like horn and kept driving into the dark of what I was sure was a large crowd of people. They were dressed in brown and soiled white robes, some tattered, some appearing to have never been washed, his scooter heading straight for them. The forlorn gathering of frail humans looked like ill pilgrims. They heard him coming and like dark shadows backlit in a slow moving nightmare they painfully found the power to move themselves out of the way to not be run down like animals. As this human sea of buzzard like beings parted before us, I could smell them, their stench as if they were covered with urine. I began to feel ill myself, a wretchedness from deep inside the pit of my stomach. Their slow moving robes and bodies rolled past us as we pushed through the crowd. The air thick and heavy, their oily stick limbs and bony fingers made as if ready to reach into our open vehicle and pull us out. They were malnourished. Some were leprous. Sorrow flowed from them and me. The wet on their bodies and robes still reeked. And then we were through them. I never saw their faces, the men and women, only hollow eyes staring at our meager possessions. To them San'aa and I were wealth. They were the poor of Old Delhi. As we drove past them, the dawning outline of the Red Fort and Great Mosque loomed before us. Deepak dragged one last puff on his biddi and threw it down. This was not new to him. He turned off his one headlight.
"Is this Connaught Place?" I asked.
"No, better. Hotel is from my friend."
"But we are tired. I asked to go to Connaught Place," half amused, but now also annoyed.
"No, no. My house. You are my friends."
He pulled up to a small establishment where apparently he and his family lived. It was his friends "hotel," though no sign advertised it as such. San'aa woke, and we sleepily dragged our things to the hotel's gate.
Deepak woke a dishevelled looking gate keeper, who was also the desk clerk. He was sleeping behind a metal grate which acted as a door. He spoke something to him hurriedly in the sing song manner of the native speech.
"Yes, sir, madam. We have room."
"How much is it?"
"Two hundred and fifty rupees. It is clean room."
It seemed to be high by local standards, about US$13 from what I had learned, but then again... I looked at San'aa, who seemed not to care.
"Okay."
I was ready to pay the driver when he pulled me over to the side and whispered: "You have American dollars?"
"Yes." Thinking it may cost me four or five dollars for this crazy ride that took me to a totally different destination than I had asked for.
"Thirty dollars, American."
I became suddenly less sleepy. "Thirty dollars?" I gaped. "Too much!"
The desk clerk appeared to be suddenly busy with some detail and paid no attention to us. I calculated that that amount of money was perhaps half of his month's wage. "No. Take me Connaugh Place and I will pay you Ten dollars, American."
"OK, you give me Ten."
He had his skinny hand out to me.
"How many children do you have, Deepak?"
I did not wait for an answer. This was our first day in India, and I was sure that we could not solve nor understand all the problems that already showed themselves in the span of an hour.
I gave him the American Dollars. He looked happy. The desk clerk showed us up to our room. It was far from clean.
The next morning, still the same day, woke very loud. It sounded as if every truck and car horn was being blasted outside our window. The bare cement bathroom, turned black with age and mildew, its single naked bulb casting sullen shadows, had only a trickle of cold water from a headless shower. It urged us to move from these less than desirable quarters.
"I think we should do better that this for lodging," I said. San'aa agreed. Our welcome to India had not been glamorous.
Now more awake, we set off to explore our new surroundings. While partaking in a simple breakfast, really lunch, we sat at a nearby food stall. It was no more than a small room cut into the side of a building. The young boys working there, preparing tea, scrubbing pots, wiping tables with a grey rag that had not been rinsed for a long time, were wiping their noses when not busy. Then they served the few guests sitting at low, small tables. They ran the place. The puri and chickpea sauce was passable and pleasantly spicy. The tea, chai, was strong and sweet, flavored with cardamum and cloves, thick with milk. "This I could like," I said. San'aa answered that she did not mind the place. It was warm, sunny, noisy, and the street thronged with people. A large uddered goat and a strong smelling buck were our neighbors. Large cows, numerous motorized vehicles from large, heavily built trucks with incredibly loud horns, motorized three wheeled rickshaws, to an assortment of automobiles and motorcycles not seen elsewhere, were parading noisily before us. The trucks had large letters painted on their rear gates: "HORN PLEASE!" which everyone took literally. This explained the noise level. Still, in that loud, warm, smoky air, though we did not know why, we were pleased to be here. Its cacophonous madness felt peaceful somehow, like everything would work out, though it seemed impossible that it would.
We repacked our things and hailed a taxi downstairs. To not repeat last night's mistake, I insisted the driver use his meter for the fare. He was an older man, greying and grizzled about his beard, and agreed readily. We sped off towards New Delhi, leaving the Old Town behind for now. I watched my driver's gnarled, old hands move expertly in controlling his machine, his mind still. By either chance or skill, the chaos of traffic before us parted as if by magic and we always managed to get through. Almost hit a cow, once. It stood placidly chewing the remnants of an old plastic bag, forcing traffic to divert around it. His hand leaned heavily on his little horn. India was a very odd place.
We sped by a pleasant looking complex on B.K. Singh Marg Road that appealed to me. "Stop here!" I shouted to the driver over the city's din. We pulled into a little gardened area. There were other tourists there, both of Indian as well as of European and other Asian origin, a rather international set. A room was available for a fairly high price. When I paid our fare, including a tip, to our good driver, he held the few rupees to his forehead and thanked us. He his hands together as if in blessing. "Thanhebhad."
Though still somewhat jet lagged, San'aa and I thought it good to take a walking tour. Connaugh Place was only about twenty minutes away on foot, and Singh Marg proved to be a very interesting street. San'aa and I walked along its busy edge watching people at work or hurrying to and fro. Small horse drawn carts would clatter by, laden with people. Buses would roar by, listing badly to one side and belching black smoke, fully loaded beyond capacity. Even large motorcycles converted into three wheeled people carriers loaded to the breaking point lumbered by. When the noise became too intense, we detoured onto side streets. Tradesmen along their sidewalks were busy fabricating their wares, pots, beds, chairs, sandals, bicycles, electric motors, hammering or tinkering or just whiling the time away chatting amongst themselves. Children were at play or just staying close to their elders. Shrines with small god statues painted red or yellow, draped with daisies or spattered with rice and ochre, dotted the sidewalks, beneath banyan trees or in wall niches. Young women would bring them gifts and bow in supplication. San'aa and I watched all this as we walked, enthralled by the silent devotion this noisily busy world offered.
Young men washed beneath water pumps, squatting under the water spigot, lathering their brown bodies with a bar of soap in one hand while pumping cold water with the other. Some went about this ablution seriously while others flashed bright white, or red, teeth in smiles. Cows raided vegetable stalls, the vendor chased them away brandishing a threatening stick, but not striking them. The cows were gods. It was hot in the mid afternoon, and dusty, music blared from shops' loud speakers, but our feet were not deterred from their desire to walk. We were enjoying just being. There was so much going on around that we could not take it all in at once with the mind. It was as if we were listening with our feet, a curiously chaotic, even joyful, babble. Walking besides me San'aa observed:
"It is so strange here, like a blending of the sacred and profane, the very old with the very young."
"Not so unlike Africa, is it?"
"But the spirituality is different. Here it feels almost as if you could touch it."
"Then it's like Africa of long ago, before the European conquests."
"But Europeans were here too, no?"
"It seems they got absorbed into this, whatever it is we feel, just as did all the earlier conquerors. When they came, they left not the same. The real India always endured."
"But why do you think the Dreamers sent us here?"
"Maybe because of that. Earth's ancient soul is permanently enshrined here, like some ancient offering to the gods, which they accepted. " But upon reflection, I ventured further: "Or maybe they really don't know, and we are to find out."
The large, circular and white colonnade of Connaugh Place spoke more of being more in the present. They spoke of a people who felt they were very important and were bringing this grandness to their younger brothers. The place spoke of Britain and her empire. But it was the other way around. In the end, it seemed, it was this new empire that found itself faced with one very old. Now it was once again happily and haphazardly absorbed into that wonderful chaos of India that seems part of this land. Connaught Place, though it still boasted its grandness, now seemed quaintly seedy, less structured, almost free and natural.
"We'd better find out about getting ourselves to the Karla caves."
"Do we have to hurry?" San'aa protested. "I just like being in this colorful, mad, crazy quilt of life."
"I think we will find it everywhere we go here. We'd better inquire at the train station."
The next day brought us out again. My hair had grown long and become quite unruly, so I stopped at a barber's for a hair cut, which cost me pennies, but was cut far too short. We wandered back over towards Old Delhi to explore it once more. It was even more crowded here, as it seemed to be everywhere. On a crowded avenue, with the incessant din of motor vehicles, people and animals, horse drawn carts, children, loud music, cooking food, smoke mixed with noise, we passed a large sign over a small shop which said 'Stocks and Bonds.' The shop sold other things as well, such as watches, cameras, jewelry. But the sign reminded me of my accounts in the States, which I wanted to access, so we went in to check the markets. A large man inside, sitting behind a large glass counter, precious stones and electronic devices spread before him, smiled invitingly for us to come inside. He was Mister Gupta.
"American?" he asked in perfectly good English. "Welcome to my shop."
He gave San'aa an admiring look. "You must see my astrologer. Many wonderful opportunities await you both, if you know where to look for them."
"We're just passing through. I wondered if you have a machine where I could check up on investments?"
"You are an investor from America?"
"Well, yes, but can I invest through you?"
"Oh, yes! Of course! Many foreigners have invested through me, from France, Australia, England." He smiled contentedly as he said this, his chubby hands folded contentedly over his ample waist. San'aa went over to a case to admire the precious stones displayed there. "But first I must have your horoscope read by my friend. He is very good and never makes a mistake. I never make investments without him."
A lean, older gentleman, with an air of aristocracy about him, came in and began studying my palm.
"Very interesting. This is a very successful business man. Very interesting. Not the usual hand I see. No... What is your birth date, place and time?"
I gave him the birth records I was given when assuming my alias identity.
"In the West they do astrology by the Sun. Here we follow the Moon.
In the West," the gentleman continued, "you would be Aquarius, but here you are Cancer." He studied his little book for a moment, then looked up at me. "You will have very good luck for one-half year, then it will be very bad for you. Much trouble, money troubles, very difficult, bad."
"You say I should not invest after six months?"
"Yes, invest now only, then too late. Must make decision quickly or all will be lost. All opportunity lost. But you can protect yourself by wearing on your little finger on left hand a blue sapphire, one carat. This will protect you. Otherwise, seven years, very bad. You will work very hard."
I glanced over at a small glass cabinet display full of a variety of gems. San'aa was already holding a small sapphire in her hand. I thanked him and turned to see a smiling Gupta.
"And your friend must have her horoscope read also."
He motioned to the astrologer to look at her hand, which she offered, eager to be amused.
"Ahh!" The astrologer exclaimed. "This woman is a beautiful woman." He continued studying her hand, and then her face, and the rest of her as well. "Yes! Yes! She is one hundred and one percent Indian." Then turning to me. "You must always listen to this woman. She will keep you from the bad luck that will be yours in the future." Then he clicked his tongue, and shook his head. "One hundred and one percent!"
San'aa smiled, then again admired her sapphire. I could see it would be hers in a moment.
"How much?" she asked.
"For you, a very good price," offered Gupta, amiably. We already knew those words.
The pendant slipped easily over San'aa's neck and a bargain was struck.
"Will you come to my house tonight? You can be my guest for dinner," he invited us with great eagerness. I had already forgotten about my questions about investments. Instead, we noticed that the shop carried a variety of goods, what I would think of as being non investment items, cameras, binoculars, small tape players, pocket knives, even musical instruments. At our astrological readings, I did notice some young African men come in and open a valise with small radios and watches inside, but Gupta merely waved them away. I never saw a stock market quote machine. But most dispturbing was my sudden consciousness that there was no longer consciousness coming from him. Rather, it became a sudden darkness, an absence of light, which made me cautious. I already knew that feeling. San'aa was about to say something in the way of acceptance when I interjected:
"I think we will not have time to accept. But we are honored by your invitation. Maybe another time we are passing through Delhi..." I looked at San'aa and her eyes said she understood. Having made a sale, Gupta did not press it, though he would have covetted more of my investments.
"Yes, yes. Maybe at another time."
We thanked the skillful merchant and again joined in the noisy energy of the street. It felt good to be on our own, and not followed, for a change.
In a couple of days we stood in a long cue to purchase a second class ticket to Bombay. But first, we would stop at Agra.
The train station looked like the airport. There were people everywhere. Their belongings in valises or boxes, or just bundled with ropes and straps, acted as their resting places. They sat atop them, lay next to them, or just sat in small groups huddled, waiting for the arrival of their train, which was often late. Tea merchants, boys and old men, walked around the quay shouting: "Chai! Chai! Chaiii!" They poured a hot, spicy tea rich with milk and sugar into irregular, little earthen ware cups that were meant to be broken and returned to the soil after each use. Food stands sold samosas and puri with a dahl sauce. We figured out which platform our train would depart.
The train pulled in, its windows barred against the crowds outside and containing the masses inside. The bars made me feel uncomfortable in an event of emergency. What if we had to escape the wagon? The people moved into the old wagons easily and in an orderly way. It amazed me that they could be so passive and still aggressive in their entry and exit, with so many people. Their passive aggressiveness was a subtle art.
A small argument broke out as the train pulled away from the platform. San'aa and I watched this escalate with a concern that soon turned into a popular amusement. It seemed a gentleman was not sitting in his assigned seat but instead crowded himself onto the edge of a three seat bench. This made four people sitting uncomfortably. One of the four was a Westerner. The woman opposite, middle class by her appearance, told the intruder that he was not in his seat. An argument developed that quickly degenerated into a shouting match of "Stupid!" and "Shut up!" This brought the train conductor running with a large book tucked under his arm. He checked the tickets and seat numbers and indeed agreed with the woman who had brought the complaint to everyone's attention. The fourth man left. But he shortly returned. He again confronted the small conductor.
"She said 'shut up!' to me. That is not right."
The woman looked defiant. In this land where women still are reserved in a secondary social position, her shouting to him was an affront to his favored masculine status. She remained silent. San'aa and I looked at each other, wondering what would follow.
"She said 'shut up!'" he commenced once again. The conductor looked at her, pensive disapproval etched on his brow.
"I said 'shut up' because he was sitting in that man's seat!" She pointed to the young Westerner who had remained silent throughout. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, being the center of unwanted attention. The two combatants pouted visibly.
The man ostensibly wronged then turned to the small train conductor with the big book under his arm.
"I want to sign the complaint book!" he demanded in a shrill voice.
The conductor opened the large book, its green cloth binding cracking audibly over the clatter of the moving train. The pages were carefully pressed back and a pen was presented to the wronged man. He wrote in it with all seriousness. When he had finished, satisfied that he had said his due, the woman piped in: "I want to sign the complaint book also!"
By now it seemed the whole train had turned out for this impromptu performance. The aisle were crowded with men and women standing over the pen wielding combatants. Bodies pressed against us too. They were now murmuring approval or disapproval over what was going on. The Westerner sat quietly. The woman with almost exaggerated motions took the book and wrote in it. A loud murmur of approval went up from the women in the crowd. Then, as if anti-climatic, there was silence. The conductor started to reach for the book. The crowd looked at him, then at the two, then at the Westerner. A long silence followed. Against his will, and distressed by some inner shyness, nevertheless the Westerner stood up and walked to the conductor who now had the book once again under his arm.
"I want to sign the complaint book too," he said.
The conductor instantly beamed and opened the book with a flourish. The crowd, which had been taking sides with either the man or woman, now breathed a large sigh of relief. They approved. The young man signed the book and sat down. The train compartment was now well satisfied and the original culprit left to find himself a seat elsewhere. Justice had been done.
The countryside unrolled outside our window. We passed little villages with children running by, waving, dogs or goats running beside them. Pigs rummaged outside the villages. Water buffaloes wallowed in muddy waters. In the distance stretched the fertile fields of India, cut by rivers or irrigation canals, tied together by roads, vehicles waiting for the passing train at road crossings, people, always more people, occupied in their activities or just sitting under large trees next to their bicycles, old men sitting at the train stations as we passed by. We passed brick works and quarries and women carrying baskets on their heads, their colorful long skirts swaying from their hips in the wind. They were often barefoot. There was a sensuousness to the land. It felt warm and welcome, though we could guess how hard the people here worked to survive. And yet, somehow, they made it look easy.
Within a few hours we arrived at Agra.
"Why are we stopping here?" asked San'aa as we joined the throngs exiting the train. "This is not the way to the Karla caves, is it?"
"I know of Agra only from my holographic studies. When we're up there, far away, it seems so inviting to come down here and join in what we see. But we can't, because of Quarantine. So I wanted to see it for myself. The Taj Mahal is here."
"Is it a power source too?" San'aa asked, wondering.
"It is." I smiled at her. "But only because it is beautiful."
We joined the crowds outside the station, and were instantly surrounded by a now familiar chorus of taxi drivers. Some were bicycle rickshaws.
"Mister! Mister!" they yelled over to us. "You want to see Taj Mahal? I give you very good price!" They looked at us to see if they got our attention, which they did. Then they exclaimed gleefully: "Free!"
We began walking away, shaking our heads, but they ran after us, persisting:
"What your country? What your name?"
A few steps away, as the noisy swarm retreated back to the station, an old hand abruptly reached up for us. It was bandaged to cover up sores or scars. Beyond the elbow were tatters of an old and soiled robe, now the color or rich brown earth. A man from the country, I thought, or a beggar. His face had the furrows and creases of decades in the sun, twisted by a smile that spoke more to some inner part of my stomach then to my mind. San'aa saw him also, and wanted to step around him, but his hand persisted. I reached into my pocket and retrieved a small coin.
"You will go to the gods in the Himalayas!" he cackled after us. His eyes were deep black and had the far away look of someone who was looking deep into the past or future, or just into darkness. But I could tell he was not blind. "...And you will find the light in the darkness!" he called out after us as we were turning to leave.
San'aa stopped to look back at him. His large turban, now greasy with age, was bobbing up and down as he was nodding to us.
"What's he saying to us?"
"Probably what he says to every passerby," I ventured.
"Don't forget the Karla caves!" his voice trailed after us.
We both started at this, and stopped to look back at him again. But he had already forgotten us, giggling to himself, lost in some inner dementia. I involuntarily looked up, as if the Ship were beaming something down to us, or to him. San'aa and I both looked at each other and shrugged, not knowing what to make of his strange last remark.
We crossed the square where an old man was sitting glumly in his wooden cart. It was painted dark green, with red and yellow flowers painted as an ornamental border. But the wood was old, and the paint had faded. Yet, they still spoke of the love that was lavished on this cart, long ago. The old man looked at us approach, without showing eagerness or regret. The tired little horse harnessed to it meditated on its own thoughts. When we came to his cart, the man smiled.
"Can you take us to a hotel by the Palace?"
He nodded, and got down to help us put our packs in the back. Then he held San'aa's hand as she stepped onto the metal rung and climbed into the cart. I hopped in also, and we rode off, without fanfare. The grey whiskered driver slapped his long thin whip against the small horse gently, just to remind him that there is a job to do. We trotted along.
Around us, over the steady clopping of the horse's hooves, was the usual clamoring riot of cars and buses honking, bicycles ringing their bells, pedestrians in a mad tangle of humanity, and everywhere bright colors. Cows mingled freely with the traffic. We passed a garish Hindu temple well attended by supplicants to their gods. A noisy wedding procession surrounded us as we passed through its celebrants dancing to discordant music, the groom up on a regally decorated horse. The bride was hidden beneath the bright red canopy of the bridal cart.
"How do you like this country?" I asked San'aa, watching her eyes taking in all this crazy quilt of life around us.
"I'm beginning to love it! It's so crazily mad. So finely mad."
"It's magic, isn't it? A kind of spiritual magic you could almost cut it with a knife. And so noisy!""
"The people are poor, but their spirits are rich," she added, paraphrasing what I had once said to her. "It's beautiful."
We arrived at the hotel, and a turbanned guard came out to take our things. He smiled graciously, but his eyes spoke with subdued disapproval of our mode of travel, as if the old man's cart was somehow offending the opulence of the elegant hotel. The pride of a now faded raj still ruled. We paid the driver for his gentle ride. He held the money to his forehead and then quietly rode away.
The large hotel room had a balcony overlooking the dome of the Taj. We changed from our travel clothes and lounged in the afternoon light on the recliners of the veranda. Drinks were brought, along with a light snack of finger food. In a sing song Indian-English, the attendant asked if we needed anything else. I ordered champagne, which he brought in shortly. We lounged languidly, looking over the small city.
"It's good to be alone again," San'aa said, lazily. "The train was so crowded." She reflected on it awhile. "It's not so crowded where I'm from."
"It's even less crowded where I'm from."
"What's it like on your world?"
I looked over to her, then over the city, remembering.
"It's like no place you've ever seen," I said. "Our population is only about a tenth of Earth's. And our cities are all on the coast. Very tall cities, pyramids that rise to the sky." San'aa looked out to the Taj, imagining what it must be like. "The land mass is mostly one great long continent, with fabulous canyons and mountains, surrounded by great oceans. Most of the interior is a great desert, not unlike where you come from. And the oceans have many small islands. Many people choose to live there. My house is in the desert, on the edge of a great cliff with a waterfall."
San'aa looked over to me.
"Do you have servants?" she asked.
"Oh, yes. Many. But they are all machines. Androids." She looked shocked, as I smiled at her. "But I only have one. His name is Master."
San'aa's shocked looks then turned into a smile.
"Master? Isn't that an odd name for a servant?"
"It is. But he likes it."
"Do you think I will ever see your world?"
"I don't know. Do you believe you will?"
"I don't know what to believe, sometimes." She looked puzzled, like she was trying to understand her own words. "But all you have shown me... I guess I believe you." Then she again turned her attention to me. "Is there much danger to your mission?"
"Those who would stop me, would do so at any cost." But the mood was getting too serious for the lovely setting, so I added: "But don't worry. There is a greater force then they."
"I hope so." San'aa casually rolled over to me and put her arms around me. "No matter where you're from, I don't want anything to ever happen to you."
"It's getting late. Let's go see the Taj."
As we were about to leave our room, a troop of monkeys descended from the rooftops and began foraging through the table scraps on the balcony. I looked at them and they noticed me, and ran off screeching alarm in their own language. We went downstairs and walked over to the Taj Mahal grounds.
It was nearly dusk when we got there. The dome of the Taj had changed from a brilliant white to a soft golden color. Visitors were leaving the grounds, so it was not as crowded as when we first entered.
San'aa and I walked silently in the gardens surrounding the magnificent tomb. The light on the Taj changed slowly to a golden pink, and then a darker pink. We reached the stone railing overlooking the river below and watched the light fade further into a purplish hue.
San'aa's hand touched me softly.
"There's the first star. Let's make a wish."
"I already have."
"What did you wish for?"
"Am I allowed to tell you?"
She looked amused.
"Of course! You can tell me, but no one else."
I looked into her eyes.
"I wished that you could come and see my world. And you?"
San'aa looked away, out over the river.
"I wished that we could be done with this mission, and we could go to Paris." Then she thought about it, and looked over to me. "And I wished that you would always be with me."
"The we'll need a confirmation of our wish that it will be so."
"How?" San'aa asked, puzzled.
"Well, on my world, when you see a shooting star, we call it a message from the stars. Then any wish will be granted, once you see one."
San'aa liked that idea.
"Oh, good! Let's look for one!"
An Indian man, an employee guarding the grounds, came over to us to remind us that it is near closing time. He offered that we could take one more look into the palatial tomb, as we still had not. I thanked him, and he walked away.
"Oh!. Now we won't be able to make our wishes come true."
"It's all taken care of. He will let us stay as long as we wish."
San'aa looked over to me, and understood instantly that I had used my mind.
"Oh? Then let's go down to the garden and lie down. We could see the sky from there."
We walked past the long shallow pools before the Taj and stood there a moment watching the last light reflected off the water. As we looked into it, a sharp streak crossed the sky, reflected brightly in the pool. San'aa grasped my hand.
"Then our wish will come doubly true!" she exclaimed gleefully.
I took her in my arms and held her close, our lips coming together.
"You are a beautiful dream to me, my princess."
"And you to me, Paul." She pressed herself against me.
"I love you, my lovely Cleopatra."
We stood there a moment, her long curly hair falling luxuriously down her back. She closed her eyes and let me gently touch her lips with mine. We then walked down to the gardens. Behind us a large moon rose over the end of the river, reflected below like above.
We rose early the next day and made preparations to leaves. Bombay was still an overnight train ride. The steaming locomotive arrived late, so we did not board until late evening. As we rode in silence, the Indian countryside and passing villages offered us a distant relief from the crowded compartments inside. At night, we would wake from our berths to look out onto the dark train station outside. The ubiquitous "Chai! Chai! Chai!" spoken in quick cadence was always there to cheer us. San'aa and I would usually order a cup and enjoy the hot steaming caffeined drink drowned in milk and sugar. I ordered coffee once and much to my amusement watched the young boy barely dip his little spoon into a jar of instant coffee and then mix it with hot water and a little bit of milk. It tasted like lightly ill flavored hot water with milk and sugar. San'aa went out and found a samosa stand and bought some. I ate one of the three samosas she got me, but it did not taste good. It was cold. While we waited for the train to move, I handed over the other two to a tiny, very thin young woman sitting forlornly on the platform. She had wraps against the night chill. Her brother, still a child, had run off in search of food. Her little hand reached for the samosas with the gesture of hands in prayer. She moved so slowly. The two little treasures were rewrapped, I knew in anticipation of sharing them with her little brother. I wanted to buy her more, but she was not asking for more. Then I returned to San'aa.
When we reached our berths, they were occupied. I politely asked the five people now sitting there if they could excuse us. They quietly slid away like mysterious shapes into the shadows of the train compartment. The train pulled away and soon we were again leaving behind the lights of the station for the dark countryside.
When I woke, the day was ready to dawn. A small man was sitting at my feet. He had no place to lie down, even the floor was crowded with sleeping shapes, so he sat there, looking apologetic that he was on my berth. I nodded that it was okay and he rewarded with a beautiful and grateful smile. The other passengers in our little cubicle were still sleeping, one snoring audibly. Another began to stir and swung his legs over the side of his berth, yawned, belched, and began to descend from his precarious perch. He found his slippers in the dark, he thought, except they were my shoes, and proceeded to shuffle his way over the bodies to the toilet. The little man at my feet looked tired, so I motioned to him that he could take my place. He lay down quietly. He was smiling to himself, but it was not visible on his face. San'aa was still sleeping in her berth above mine. Then she looked over the side and saw me by the dim light.
"Who's that in your berth?"
"Someone who needed to sleep."
"Oh?" She slid down from her perch and joined me, sitting on the edge of my former berth.
We were skirting the suburbs of what would prove to be a large metropolis, Bombay. My shoes returned and the man climbed out of them and back into his perch. A little boy came over to look at me, noticed I looked back at him, and ran away.
San'aa had just opened a package of biscuits and jam, and we were preparing an early morning snack, as we had not had a formal meal since we left Agra. Like a plaintive little voice, I could hear it:
"I am hungry... I need to take food..."
I walked over from where we were sitting by the window, the distant lights of the Indian countryside were still visible in the pre-dawn darkness, to where was a small figure huddled by the exit door. The clatter of the train's wheels seemed loud over the sound of rushing air. The occasional whistle pierced the early morning peacefulness. I held out what I had to small hands which reached up and took the food. I could not see its eyes. It quietly, almost secretly, began eating of the food given. I returned to San'aa, not wishing to disturb the little being further.
"Who was it?" San'aa asked.
"Just a little person. A boy, I think. Probably an orphan. Did you feel its hunger also?"
"Yes. But none of the other passengers responded to him."
"They usually do, somehow," I answered. "But he is so little. And they're still asleep. There is so much hunger in this land. He is just one more little hungry mouth to feed."
"Can we take him with us?" she asked. I looked at her, giving her the feeling that it was improbable.
"He's still hungry. Do you have more food?"
"Yes. Take this samosa," she said.
"You take it this time," I said.
San'aa went over to the little shadow covered in rags and hiding in the corner. It probably did not have a ticket for this train.
She bent over to it with a mother's instinct and handed him the little banana leaf parcel with food in it.
"What is your name, little one?" San'aa asked of the child.
"Anand." was his sole reply.
"Do you have a family, Anand?"
"Yes."
"Where are they?"
"They're in Bombay. We are too poor, so I have run away. Now I am coming back to them. I am hungry and tired."
"Do you want to come with us?" she asked.
"Oh, yes!"
Then to me, "Paul, can we take him with us? He is such a beautiful little boy. Can we take him even if only to his parents?"
"Of course, we can. Can we take a look at him?" I asked.
Anand stepped from the shadows. His hands were greasy with the samosas he had just eaten, flakes of dough and biscuits still clinging to his lips. He was thin and frail with lovely, large doe like eyes, his hair straight but matted and dirty. His ragged clothing was also soiled. Yet he had an air about him which spoke of having been loved with pride, of an angel fallen from the grace of life's comforts, but unbroken by it.
"Do you have a ticket for the train, Anand?" I asked.
"No."
"Then you are travelling with us now."
San'aa beamed. She had turned Indian herself looking rather splendid in a black and red Punjabi suit we had purchased in Agra. After he had drunk some of our tea and eaten more food, we made a place for him on San'aa's berth. He curled up in his tattered clothes and soon was asleep. I stayed up, listening to the rhythmic clatter of the train's wheels rolling on the steel rails into the distant Indian dawn.
By sunrise, Anand was awake and full of chatter.
"Would you like to come and see my parents? I have lots of brothers and sisters. They would like you. I live in a lovely neighborhood." He delivered this without interruption. "There are lots of houses there, and people. I get milk from cows on the street. I even had a dog once..." He chattered in this way until we came to the station.
"Were you able to save money while you were away from your family?" San'aa asked Anand.
"A little."
"Will they expect that you had more?"
"Yes."
"Paul, can we do something for him?" San'aa begged. I knew she meant money.
"How much should you have saved, Anand?"
He gave a small sum. I thought about it. If I gave him money, then his family would send him off again. If I give him nothing, nothing was asked for. But then nothing was given. I thought of how much I had made in my, Paul's, assumed account beyond what it should have been by now, had it been left alone. It was the final criterion for the Unity that I leave that account with what was in it when I started this mission. There was a great deal to spare not only for Anand, but for others as well. I must give something, I thought.
"Anand, how much would it cost to send you to school?"
He gave me a sum, which I suspected was too low. He was about nine years old, and still had limited schooling. His chances in life, like so many other like him, were fragile, perhaps destined to a life on the streets. I could not save them all. But I could help those that the Light of 'Aan puts in our path.
"San'aa. Can we give him the money he needs for his family, and then all the money he will need for school? But this must be given only to his family with the promise that it will be used as such."
San'aa looked into our money belts and counted out the bills there. There was over a thousand American dollars equivalent.
"Let's keep a little for ourselves to last us a few days. The rest is for him, and his school."
San'aa gave Anand a small portion.
"This is what you saved," she said. "I know it isn't much, but it must not encourage your parents to send you back. Now this amount," San'aa held up a large number of bills, "this will be for your schooling. Do you agree?"
Anand smiled broadly, shaking his head vigorously. His eyes were wide with disbelief.
As we were approaching Bombay, I took myself to the exit door at the end of the car and opened it. Cool air washed my face and founds its way into my partly opened shirt. San'aa stayed with her new little friend Anand. I looked out the open door.
"Cigarette?"
It was a man in his thirties and, as it turned out, the father of the little boy who had spied me earlier. He also came to enjoy the view of the passing suburbs, they already stirring with morning activities, and offered me a smoke.
"No, thank you."
He smiled at me. "I should quit. I know. But..."
He pulled on his newly lit cigarette. The trail of smoke curled upwards as it escaped his mouth and then was suddenly captured by the rushing air outside the train. It disappeared instantly and blended itself with the pale smoke rising from the neighborhoods beyond.
"My name is Paul. What is yours?"
"My name is Rashni. How do you do?"
"We must be near Bombay. It looks like it will be a large city."
"This is your first time?"
"I know Bombay only from my studies."
"Then you are European or American student? At first I thought you might have been from the desert, but your dress is European. And your wife?"
"We are very much interested in seeing your country."
He smiled at that and took another inhalation of the smoke from his cigarette. He did not seem happy with this smoke, but nor did he have much choice. The tobacco ruled him and he resented it, giving him an air of detachment.
"What kind of work do you do?"
"I am a school teacher, but I have been to work in Japan. Now I am returning to my village near Karla. My brother works the family brick works there."
"Then you know the caves there?"
"Of course. The old Buddhist caves."
"Is it easy to visit them?"
"Quite easy. You can see them up the hill from the village. There is a large abandoned fort above them. The ruins are plainly visible. The caves are just below." Looking out over the passing scenery, as if remembering something he had forgotten. "There is, or was, an old man at the caves. I do not remember his name. But he is their keeper. For a small fee, he can show them to you."
The train was slowing. We were approaching holding yards criss-crossed by rail switches. People whom I presumed were rail workers stood around or walked the tracks to their destinations. The train's wheels clattered across the switches and found their way into the right path. Rashni's little boy came over to me and stood next to me, looking out the door.
"You must be careful. Hold on here."
He smiled at me, now no longer shy. His father held onto him. Then Anand came over to join us. The two little boys had already become friends. They ran off presently to engage in some imaginary game. A greater contrast between them could not be more obvious. One was a well dressed, middle class youth. The other an urchin. But their friendship ignored that.
"We will come to see the Buddhist caves," I said.
"Oh yes. They are very interesting. Date back to the time of your Christ. We are Hindu, of course, but we still visit them. There is also a small Hindu temple there, very beautiful. You should come when we have a festival."
He gave me directions, as well as directions to the little village where his brother has the brick works. All made ready to disembark, as we were pulling into the last stop, Bombay.
We watched Rashni and his family melt into the sea of people moving steadily and laboriously towards the exits. Anand held onto us, his newly adopted family. Small urchins, beggarly in appearance but undaunted by their plight were busily and playfully collecting from under the rail cars the refuse dropped by passengers unto the tracks. Dogs ran behind them, some only three legged.
Anand took us to visit his family. We entered a very poor part of Bombay, then turned into a quiet side street with tightly packed houses on both sides. The usual, happy presence of children and animals, away from the heavy traffic, gave the place an unwarranted airiness. It was filled with the cries of very young children and happy squeals of older ones at play. Cooking fires mixed with incense shared the air space with the sounds of popular Indian music from plastic radios. It was a neighborhood that managed to grab for itself a small space of this crowded city and make it into its own village. Even San'aa, who had seen much poverty in her world, was taken aback. When we arrived, the family was very happy to see little Anand again, but puzzled and a bit suspicious upon seeing us with him. They were not sure why we were here.
"These people are here to help us," he cried to his parents. " Look! They have helped me save this money!"
They took the small bills from his hands. They amounted to about thirty U.S. dollars, total. Anand's mother stroked her little son's head. His father looked serious and stern, as if to say: "Is it all you could bring?"
"We wish to help Anand, and your family," said San'aa. "I know that you are a proud people and do not wish to have strangers help you. But your little boy is a very special little soul, and we want to do this for him."
They held still, not responding. Anand's mother held him close, as if afraid she would lose him. The other children, two girls and two boys have now come forward. They ranged in age from about four, the youngest boy, to fifteen, the eldest daughter.
"How can you help us?" the mother asked.
"We think he should go to school. He is a very bright boy and could go far."
They nodded in agreement, except that their nod was more in the form of a shaking of the head from side to side.
"But we cannot afford to sent him to school," the mother said.
"We can find work for him at a school of a friend. It is at a village near Karla. But we must be the ones who will arrange it for him. If you agree to this, then he will make money for the family and learn at the same time. But he will be away from home a long time."
The parents looked at each other, suspiciously, and then responded:
"He belongs here with us. It is not right to take help from strangers. You are not of our family. Not our caste."
Little Anand looked up, near tears. The parents ushered him into the house, with the other children following. And then they closed the door. San'aa and I were left standing outside.
"They are too proud to accept," San'aa said despondently. "His fate is in there hands."
"I know. We want to help, but that is his path in life. And we cannot change it, unless he himself chooses to change it. And he is so very young."
We only spent a day in Bombay, partly because the ill tasting samosa I had on the train gave me an unscheduled day of rest on the toilet. But by the next day I felt better, and was able to travel again.
When we arrived at Karla, at the station of Lonavla, a taxi took us to the Rashni's village. The road was surprisingly busy and the head-on traffic only managed to avoid collision, saved no doubt by the voluble honking. It was good to see countryside up close and again feel the dry dusty air. There were hills and trees and verdant fields and village people. We arrived at the village by early afternoon, and set off to find Rashni's house. We found our way to the brick works as directed. In the distance we could see the remnants of the ancient fort at the crest of a hill Rashni had spoken of. Its black walls still showed the jagged teeth of where the sentry looked down upon the valley. In those days, no doubt, those walls bristled with weaponry ready to rain death on anyone foolhardy enough to approach uninvited. We found the school house, and then turned into the small courtyard that was Rashni's house.
"Namaskar! I am happy you came," exclaimed Rashni upon seeing us.
It was the traditional greeting, the formal of 'Namaste'.
"Namaskar," we answered, holding our hands as if in a prayer, as is customary. So like Na'amsat, I thought. His brother raised his hands to us in the same way.
"It is my pleasure to meet you Paul, San'aa." We introduced ourselves to Rashni's brother. "My name is Mani Lal. I trust you have found the people of our village hospitable. "
San'aa liked Mani Lal. He was not what she expected from the owner of a brick yard. And he seemed to like her in return, smiling broadly. Mani Lal had the appearance of a gentleman farmer, a bit aloof yet no doubt a good businessman. He continued:
"Oh, I could read your mind," he addressed to San'aa and me. "You wonder why I do not look like a brick worker. Well, my friends, it is because I have not had to do this work all my life. My apprenticeship was over long ago. Now, I only own it. Others do the work. Would you like to see it?"
Rashni excused himself and left us for other errands. Mani Lal took us in hand, not an uncommon custom in this country, and walked with with us to the edge of the village.
There were rows and rows of sun dried and baked bricks stacked like so many silent sentinels waiting for their turn to raise another roof.
"You see. This is where my workers fashion the brick in those forms. The clay is heavy and wet. It is hard work, but this may be their only livelihood."
I could see the grayish, yellow soil sticking to the men's and women's arms and legs, dried above the elbows and knees from the hot sun. They smiled broad smiles at us as we walked by. Somehow, the hardship of their labor did not diminish them as human beings. They would not let it. Their mind's eye was focussed on something higher. And I suspected Mani Lal was the same.
"This brick yard was bankrupt when I found it," he continued. "The workers were near starvation. I was able to buy it and pay off their debts. Now, it is working again, not to make anyone rich, but to work and live."
"May I try to do this?" San'aa asked, eager for a new experience.
Mani Lal looked at her, puzzled but approvingly. "Well, of course, if you wish."
She rolled up her pants to above the knee, showing him her lovely legs, and squatted down as the others did. Imitating the other workers, she began filling the wooden forms with the heavy wet clay, first by wetting the insides of the wooden forms, then pressing a ball of clay into each. Then she trimmed it. Mani Lal did likewise, not to be outdone by a novice, but his movements were quick and tidy. San'aa tried to keep up in friendly competition, which brought a smile to his face. After about a half dozen of these, cut and squared, trimmed and carried over the the drying yard, tiredness began taking over.
"Phew!" she said. "I don't think I could do this all day."
Mani Lal laughed, and said: "You could learn. I could teach you. But come, into my house, and share in refreshments."
The sun was hot on our backs, the sky clear and a deep blue. It was good to step into his cool abode. Children brought us tea and cold beer. After idle conversation, Mani Lal offered us a room where we could spend the night. I was eager to see the caves, and invited San'aa to come along.
"Oh, I don't know," she said. "I don't like caves very much. Maybe I can stay at the village and visit the school, and talk to the children."
"Yes! Yes!" Mani Lal exclaimed eagerly. "I will take you."
"I'll go alone. I like caves. They speak to me." There are some things that need to be done alone, though I would have enjoyed her company.
Mani Lal gave me directions, and happily took San'aa by the hand to show her the school. The path to the caves seemed lonely, but that was what had opened for me, so I did not protest, and ascended the long path up into the hills towards where the old Buddhist caves were guarding their secrets. The path was deserted save for a young couple kissing under a small tree. They looked embarrassed. I waved. They waved back and assumed an air of propriety, obviously unsettled for having been discovered. Such lovely shyness. The climb again revealed the distant, majestic dark walls of the ancient fort. There was no movement there. Those were far newer than the caves, built when Buddhism ceased to be a major force in India, but now themselves passed into oblivion. They were both ancient monuments abandoned to time. Now peacefulness reigned about the land.
The climb took me closer to the entrance to the old caves. An old iron gate barred the way inside. It was locked. While I stood there, deciding whether to chance climbing over it, an old man appeared by my side. My startled look, as I did not hear him, nor sense him, only brought a long gaze from him. He did not smile, but rather deliberately pulled a large key from his shirt and slowly proceeded to open the gate.
"Thank you, sir."
"I will show you," he said softly. He slowly moved forward ahead of me and began the remaining ascent to the sculpted stone work. Dark openings carved out of solid volcanic rock gaped from the side of the mountain. Little sitting areas and gutters to drain them of rain were likewise carved from the monolithic rock. Small windows peered from the cave walls. The old man reached into one of these and, in the dark, found a candle that had been left there. He lit it and held it high. I followed him into the darkness now partially relieved by the small flame. He stood inside the dark silence, as if transfixed. I likewise stood in the cool hollow of stone. It was peaceful. I could hear my breath, it coming and going in a steady rhythm. The quiet inside the cave pressed down upon me from all sides, gently relieving me of the fatigue I had brought with me from below. I felt light inside, as if being restored. The silence in my head was relieved only by the high pitch of the blood rushing through my head in its labyrinthal ways, like an unconscious movement that centers me in my personal universe. This movement sounded like a whisper, an unconscious voice that travelled the veins of the Earth to me all the way from the stars: "Man'an'nam."
The silence, broken only by loud cawing of crows outside, returned. The old man standing in the gloom said nothing. Then I heard it again: "Mananam." I looked at the old man, but he only stood there, still as a statue. Then with that same slow way as I had already seen, he walked back into the strong light of the afternoon.
"May I see another?"
"Please come."
"Did you hear something in the cave?" I asked him as we exited.
"Only the crows. They are talking to us."
His eyes made little crows feet around them as he finally smiled at me. We walked into other caves, some smaller, others larger as if meant for a gathering. There was always that sense of them having been inhabited, meditated in, of worshipped in, discoveries of mysteries, some sacred, others profane. Paintings of Buddha once adorned these walls. Each cave was like an opening into the mysteries of a universe that closely guarded its secret, except to those few who had chosen to discover, or be discovered. Before the discovery of the Light, this is how it was done. They were Dreamers in their own time, long ago, Awakened ones, in their own way. They had found a Way. But why was it lost? Was it lost in scripture, and not rediscovered in reality? The stillness kept itself closed. The caves guarded their secrets well: "Thou art That." And in the dark stillness of nothingness, the listener was left with his own thought. It stopped there. The old man left me in my solitude as quietly as he had appeared.
A voice formed itself inside my head again. "Man'an'nam." Then it left, as easily as it came, as if back into its own reality.
"Where?" I asked of the darkness.
I sat down on a small stone ledge, letting my eyes look into the darkness, hearing the voice of my breath. A dull vision formed before my eyes, an old man in a monk's robe, looking at me with blind eyes. He pointed to the north, and spoke one word: "Jumbesi."
I was about to ask another question, where was Jumbesi, when the apparition vanished.
Reluctantly, I stepped back into the light. I reached down into a shallow well by the cave that trapped the natural spring from inside the mountain, and touched the water. Instantly my mind flew back to the well in Egypt, where I splashed San'aa with the waters of the Nile, and she me. We were laughing then, carefree and happy. Now, it felt as if that water reached far back into time. The ancient fort still stood with its dark walled sentries over the valley, still a half day's walk away, unconquerable, unclimbable, to be conquered only by time. Even the strong light of the sun could not remove their dark mocking, as if to remind us that we are all mortals in an immortal world.
I did not see the old man again, but left him a small offering by the small pool for the upkeep of the temple. In the meditative silence of the sacred grounds, I felt myself pulled back into another age, apparitions of hooded beings in long robes, as if my mind was involuntarily entering the Dream. It lasted only a moment, and then it was gone. I was standing alone by the gate once more, which I closed quietly and began my descent back to the village.
The visions of the caves stayed with me a moment longer, trailing my steps back down the hill like cosmic water. I let this river wash over me, coursing in its own way, letting myself be carried by it, guided only by faith, a belief in a greater being than that of myself. Time was suspended in it, and I do not actually remember the steps of my descent. But voices from below, and the smell of cooking fires, reminded me where I was. When I returned to the village below, Mani Lal and Rashni's families greeted me.
"Welcome, Paul! You and San'aa will be our guest for the evening. Other villagers will join us."
"You are back," San'aa exclaimed happily when she saw me. "I have had such a lovely time with the people here." Then more seriously: "Did you find anything at the caves?"
"A voice that spoke into my head."
"Is that what the Ship expected you to find? What did it say?"
"The Dreamers don't have all the answers, so that is why we need to be here on Earth. They can only vaguely direct us. I only heard the words: Man'an'nam, and Jumbesi."
"Do you know what they mean?"
"No. Only the word 'Aan, which is a very powerful word."
Then I turned to Rashni and asked him.
"You're a school teacher. Do you know what 'Mananam' means?"
He looked puzzled and answered no, though he had some thoughts on the linguistic roots of the word. Then I asked him about 'Jumbesi'.
"Ay, yes! That I know. It is a village high in the Himalayas, in Nepal. There is an important Tibetan monastery there."
"Is it far?" San'aa wanted to know.
"It is a three or four day journey from here, by train and bus."
Looking suddenly troubled, San'aa asked: "Can we fly?"
I smiled at her, and took her hand.
Food was served, and guests began arriving, all wishing us welcome to their village. Mani Lal enjoyed San'aa's company as much as possible, but his wife frowned at him when his ardor for her became too obvious. Being a gentleman, he tactfully withdrew, but watched her through the evening nevertheless. San'aa did not mind the extra attention.
As darkness fell, the family water buffalos were being herded home from the fields. Though electricity had been introduced here, families sat in their little homes or the courtyards outside by the small flames of oil lamps or cooking fires. There was a busyness of evening activity in the village. Voices mingled with the cries of children then carried by the cries of animals. Yet, there was a peacefulness settling in. It was dark and, in a quiet way, the village became alive with its own light. We stayed up until we both were too tired to answer any more questions from our friendly hosts.
The next morning, much to our surprise, a little boy was standing in our doorway. As tea was being served, the girl carrying the tray stopped and looked at the strange little urchin. He smiled at her, and she ran past him. Then she turned and smiled at him. It was Anand.
"What are you doing here?" San'aa asked of him, surprised to see him.
Anand looked up shyly at her, then at me.
"My parents sent me back out for more money." He looked at the dust on his feet. "But I did not want to do it again. So I knew you were going to be here. So I came." He looked up at us earnestly. "I want to go to school."
"Have breakfast with us," I said. "Then we will take you to the schoolmaster." Anand beamed at the prospect. "I'm sure some arrangement can be made. He's a good man." Then, looking at the water buffalo being taken out to pasture. "Do you like water buffalos?"
Anand shook his head from side to side, which meant 'yes'. It looked like we could find him work, while he was in school.
Mani Lal and his family were excellent hosts. Before leaving, we gave him some cut tea I had purchased in Delhi. We talked at length of the old man at the caves. "He is like the voices people hear at the caves. We all hear them, each of us different things. He is mysterious. The villagers believe the caves are haunted, or they hold a special power there," Mani Lal explained. "All the people in the village have great respect for the old man and everyday someone would bring him food." I did not know how they knew who would be next to bring food, but somehow they knew. It was a village. Later in the day Rashni took us to the Hindu temple on the other side of the valley, just below other Buddhist caves. Anand accompanied us, and we introduced him with the proposition we had in mind, which was eagerly accepted, so that his begging days were over. Anand would now have a village, and a school. San'aa and I paid the necessary stipend for all the school years until graduation, but he would have to earn his keep in the way of the villagers. His eager smile told us he was ready to start.
After heartfelt goodbyes, we reached the road where we could catch a ride back to Bombay. Rashni and Mani Lal both came with us. Anand too, now scrubbed and in fresh clothes, was accompanied by the little girl who had brought us morning tea.
"It was good to have you visit us," Mani Lal spoke with emotion in his voice.
"And you have left us a little gift, a gift from the gods," added Rashni, looking at Anand. "We will look after him." He was an educated man in the ways of the modern world, and yet in him reigned a villager's simplicity. He had faith in his gods, and all they bestowed on him was a gift. Then taking San'aa's hand, he bowed deeply, as if he would kiss it. But he straightened and brought his hands together in Namaste, as if bestowing a blessing on her. She returned the blessing.
"It is you we thank for your kindness and hospitality," I said to them all.
"And for the goodness you have shown to our young friend," added San'aa. She took Anand in her arms and gave him a warm embrace.
A bus came lumbering down the road and we boarded for Bombay. As we pulled away from our little party, Anand raised his small hand and waved. We might never see him again, I thought, but his little presence left an impression in our hearts that would stay with us a long time. In the face of terrible hardship, a little soul would always show itself and light the way to bring goodness from misfortune. It is the way of the Dream.


7. Mananam
Soon we could see through the small windows the distant jagged white peaks of mountains etched on the horizon. Our plane was approaching the end of the vast Indian plain and was up against the first foothills of the great Himalayas. Our jet hopped over these hills and we were soon descending into the large valley of the Kingdom of Nepal. Small farms passed beneath us, followed by clusters of homes, and then the whole city became visible. We landed in Kathmandu still early in the warm and sunny afternoon.
In sharp contrast to the heavy atmosphere we just left behind, cool thin air greeted us at the airport. A little Japanese built taxi, its splayed wheels veterans of many bumpy rides, sped us over potholed roads towards the city past short, brick buildings with small second story windows. There were shops and food stalls downstairs, with living quarters upstairs. People were everywhere, walking or riding rattly bicycles, men in multicolored rimless caps, cattle and water buffalos, wooden carts pulled by bullocks, children in blue and white uniforms cheerfully walking home from school, flowers in window boxes, loud Nepali music. It was a busy and instantly enchanting land, cordial and joyful, not so unlike India, but more lighthearted, like it took itself less seriously. And it was less crowded. The smells of auto and diesel fumes mingled with cooking fires and incense, choked off the land's natural smells, though it was pleasant nevertheless. A smoke stack next to rows of bricks defined a distant brickworks. "Brick works," San'aa pointed out me. We smiled in common understanding. But our first destination was money. We went to the American Express office.
"You want to change dollars, mister?"
This was offered after I exited the office with fresh travellers checks still in my hand.
"No, we are going to the bank. Thank you."
He ran along besides us, a little man with pinched features that made it difficult to bestow trust on him. He kept close. We moved away instinctively, feeling his eagerness.
"I give you good rate. Better than bank."
He quoted me a rate, which I knew was about twenty percent higher than the official current exchange. I ventured a chance.
"Only change fifty dollars. Okay?"
"I do a hundred."
"No. Fifty or nothing."
"Okay, fifty."
He hurried San'aa and me into an alley and up a flight of stairs into an empty room.
"You wait."
This did not sit well. We should have gone to the bank, I thought. A moment later another man entered, much more businesslike and cosmopolitan than the small street peddler. He greeted us cordially.
"You have a traveller's check for fifty dollars? Please only sign your name. I will fill in the rest."
I pulled the fifty dollar check and signed it, handing him the note. He took it, examined it and wrote down a number. I again suspected that perhaps this was not the best idea. San'aa also sat nervously, as if forewarned by some ill omen. But he merely reached into a desk drawer, counted out Nepali notes, and handed them over to me.
"Thank you." There was a total trust in the man, though this may not always be the case. Maybe this was our omen, I thought, that we were safe after all.
Escorted downstairs, we were left on our own in the street, somewhere near Freak street. We looked lost and a passersby quickly assured us that we would find good hotels in the Thamel section. Because it was still early, we thought to walk the back streets so to take in the city at leisure.
As we walked the narrow alleyway like streets, I noticed the small gods hidden away in crevices and sidewalk shrines. These were well covered with offerings of yellow flowers and red ochre. Butter lamps burned in some of the shrines and the smell of incense hung like pleasant clouds. Like in India, young women at times bent over them, tending to the needs of the small god inside. A small rat, a messenger of the god, no doubt, happily helped itself to the rice left at the shrine. Overhead, the low balconies, crooked and settled with age, hung part way over the narrow street. Asian faces looked down at us from small windows, ancient carved shutters covered the faces of others. There was a beautiful oldness to Kathmandu. We were well away from New Road and lost in the labyrinth of alleyways filled with people and sacred cows and thin dogs. Yet, it felt totally natural to be here, as if the organic smells that surrounded us were part of the same fabric that made this city alive. There was a spiritualness to this city, like in India, but different. Kathmandu had the happy chaos of a lighthearted old soul.
After we checked into a hotel, bathed and changed from our travel clothes, we set off to explore Kathmandu. It was already evening, and the streets were filled with native and tourists strollers. The main streets were well lit with electric lights, but the smaller side streets still held that ancient mystery of darkness relieved only by dim oil lamps, or candles. We found a trekking office and inquired about a trek to Jumbesi.
"You wish to go to Mount Everest base camp?" the manager asked of us.
"No. Just to Jumbesi, to see the monastery there."
"Ah, yes. There is a Buddhist monastery there. But then you could go a little further and see Namche Bazar. It is a very beautiful setting. The big mountain Ama Dablam is visible there. Do you know of it?"
I nodded that I did. San'aa was becoming more interested in the trek as he spoke.
"Can you buy things at Namche Bazar?" she asked.
"Yes. There is a big market every Saturday. And then you can go to Everest base camp. It is not so expensive. Only three days more." He looked at us eagerly, hoping we take up his offer. We remained non-committal. He then added: "There is an airport at Lukla, very near, if you wish to fly back. Then it is less walking."
San'aa seemed to like the prospect of Namche Bazar, so we commissioned to go there, after Jumbesi. Then we could fly back. We were told our guide, Amar, would meet us tomorrow. We set up a time and place and left to enjoy the night in the mysterious city. We walked to Durbar square. There were musicians and native dancers at the square, so we lounged with all the other tourists, foreign and native.
The next day, we went to the Hindu temple on the Marsyandi river, and climbed the hill on the other bank. From there, we could see the cremation ghats, smoke curling up from the burning human bodies, where the ashes were then swept into the slow river. The hill offered us a good view of the little valley, watching worshippers enter the temple to commune with their gods. Monkeys ran about the stupa dotted hill, and cows grazed lazily around them. The peel of bells rolled up from the temple. Incense mixed in the air with the faint smell of roasting meat rising from the ghats.
An old man dressed in soiled rags, a tattered turban on his head, walked up to us. He was carrying a large brown cloth bag and a basket with a reed flute in it. He squatted a few feet from us on the stone stair landing, and placed the bag before him. Then he placed the basket to one side and pulled the flute. He carefully untied the knot that held the bag shut and let it fall once untied. Immediately after this he began playing his flute. A snake rose from the bag and balanced itself before him, swaying to the music. It was a large cobra. Soon a small crowd gathered around us to watch the performance. Courageous tourists cautiously approached the little basket and threw a few rupees into it, then hastily stepped back, same as we did.
As we watched the snake dance, ourselves entranced by the magical notes from the flute, two Nepali men approached us, and squatted down next to us. They did not speak, but merely enjoyed the snake charmer's performance. Then at length, one spoke.
"Are you Paul?" he asked of me.
"Are you Amar? The man sent by the trekking company?"
"Yes. I am to be your guide. This is Sanu. He is my assistant."
He pointed casually to the other man, Sanu, who raised his hands in greeting. "He will be cook. He will get us supplies, all we will need for the trek."
We all shook hands. Then Sanu asked of us:
"You are going to Jumbesi? That is on the way to Everest base camp. I am Tamang, and that is my country. I know it well."
"Do you know the Tibetan monastery there?"
"Oh, yes. It is up on a hill, past a stream. Very pretty."
"That's our destination."
"Why do you wish to go there?" he asked, curious.
"There is someone there I wish to see."
San'aa was too captivated by the cobra to share in this conversation. As we sat there, watching, a tall thin sadhu walked up the stairs from the temple below. His long saffron robes flowed easily with his step. On his dark tanned forehead framed by long graying hair was painted a golden trident, and in his hand he held a long staff. He stopped at the landing, his amber eyes set in a deeply tanned and lined face focussed ahead as if held by some inner vision. Then he looked over to us, and then looked at San'aa. He was about to speak, when he shifted his gaze to the cobra. Then holding San'aa's eyes with his, he slowly moved to the cobra and faced it. Now he looked into its eyes, and steadily moved his hand to its head, stroking it gently. His eyes again shifted to San'aa as he withdrew from the cobra, and he smiled at her.
"The cobra's spirit is now your spirit," he said quietly. With the same air of mystery, he left.
"He sent a chill down my spine," San'aa whispered to me. "What does he mean?"
But Amar and Sanu were excited by the encounter.
"It is very good luck!" Sanu exclaimed.
"He is a very holy man. Because his heart is pure, the cobra did not bite him," Amar added.
"But what if his heart were not pure?" San'aa asked.
"Then the cobra would bite him and he would die... and then be reborn."
San'aa nodded in comprehension. The snake charmer looked at her and smiled, inviting her to touch the cobra.
San'aa looked at the snake a long time, and then shook her head.
"I don't think I want to be... reborn... yet."
Amar and Sanu smiled at her. They had simple, child like smiles that rose from deep inside their bellies, as if they could not control them. It will be an easy trek.
After a long bus ride to Jiri, our little party set off into the hills and crested the first of many high passes that lay ahead of us. There was snow on the pass, and many tattered prayer flags fluttered in the cold and stiff breeze, sending their faded prayers to heaven. Along the trail were also large stones with prayers carved into them, mani stones, to thank the gods for a safe passage. The sky would threaten snow, and then part suddenly to reveal a deep blue, flooding the mountain in yellow light. Then we would descend back into the tree line and once more be engulfed by a deep and mysterious forest. Our trek had begun.
San'aa and I fell behind Amar and Sanu, who were eager to get us to our destination. Sanu was dressed in native garb and had a large basket on his back, suspended by a thick strap from his forehead. Amar had western clothing and carried a large back pack. San'aa and I had smaller backpacks for clothing and toiletries, and water. Walking at these altitudes dehydrated us easily. We talked as we carefully chose our steps over the rocky path.
"Tell me more about the Dream," San'aa asked me at one point. "Is it like your God?"
I answered these questions as truly as I could, framing the answers in ways she could understand how things are on my distant world.
"We believe on our world that all of reality and the mind are connected," I answered her, choosing my words carefully. "That it is all One. Everything, even what we think of as inert, is a living part of that One. It is something your world knew long ago, but is largely forgotten now." San'aa listened to me with full attention. "So we try to understand this One, the universe, with our minds. But we discovered, also long ago, that reason fails us in this. It is impossible to understand infinity with the conscious mind. So we turned to the Dream."
San'aa nodded, grasping what I had just said.
"So do you interpret these dreams, then, to see all the connections of infinity?"
"It is more technical than that," I replied. "We have a class of people, who by their choosing and training, spend their lives dreaming the Dream. They are the Dreamers, and they do this in Dream capsules." San'aa looked at me with a question on her brow. "What they dream is then fed into a super computer-like machine that draws out a three dimensional grid map, what we call the Reality Matrix. From that Matrix, we can then know where reality is coming from, where it is, and where it is going."
This made an impression on her, and she had another question ready.
"But once you know this Matrix..." she stumbled in her mind, trying to understand what she was about to ask, "then there is nothing you can do to change it, is there? It is like what we call 'fate'."
"Well, yes and no. This is why it is so important that it is only a Dream, because then nothing is fixed in it. And once it is known, we can act on it, how we choose, to respond to what we know. But you see, it is not known with reason, but with a part of the mind that is beyond reason."
San'aa pondered this last. A new questioned formed in her mind.
"Then it is like talking to infinity, no?"
"Yes, very like that. Infinity is talking to us in the Dream. And we respond. That is how we understand the One without reason. We call it 'Aan." I stopped my words and thought about it, letting San'aa see it in my mind. "You see, the waking mind sees only pieces of infinity. But the Dream sees infinity as it sees itself. And where we fit into this, and how we relate to it, is who and where we are in this infinity. That too is 'Aan, our God. It is to understand the Oneness of the universe without Reason."
I looked at her, to see how those words affected her. She looked back at me with childlike wonder. I continued as we walked:
"It is a little like what you have on Earth. People here believe in their God, no matter what religion it is they believe. And they pray to this god for what they want. We do the same, in a way. But there is one more thing we can do." San'aa walked steadily next to me. We were descending the mountain, so the walk was easy down a gentle slope. She looked over to me. "We can Dream, and in this dreaming we can change reality. That is what is meant by being in the Dream, or being in 'Aan."
"So that is what you are doing on Earth?" she asked astutely.
"Yes. But it is also what we all do, all living things, while alive on any world. You see, I am here in my Dream to see how we can once again unite our two worlds. And if we succeed, then Earth can be admitted into the Dream and join all the other Living Worlds. Then she can also share in our technology. But all living things do this, even if they are unconscious of it. What most people on Earth had forgotten is that they are doing this, so to reconnect with their greater being in the Dream, they usually try to escape into nature, "To get away from it all,' or in effect, to temporarily disconnect their consciousness. What we did, as have other worlds, was simply go to the next step. And now your world will too."
"But what if you're killed?" San'aa's voice betrayed a strong concern.
"Then Contact becomes delayed, or worse. Possibly indefinitely."
We walked in silence for awhile, admiring the majestic beauty around us. Tall peaks covered with snow were visible in the distance. At times, we passed isolated homes surrounded by well tended gardens and fields. Cattle grazed on the higher slopes. In the small villages we passed, often no more than a few houses, children came out to greet us, and give us directions on how to get to the next village. They seriously held out their little arms to point the direction of the path, and then beamed us a great smile. Then their little hands would extend for us to give them sweets, "mitai?" or "pen?", or anything they could play with. I had sugarless chewing gum, which I broke into little pieces and which they put into their mouths eagerly. We noticed that more than one child swallowed it whole, after only a few chews.
"Tell me more about your technology," San'aa asked after a long silence. "You call it the Light. How does that work?"
"It is like what you know as electricity. But rather than utilizing a flow of electrons, we use photons, light. It is what powers our space ships, our cities, and even gives special power to how we process our food. That is why we live so much longer than do the people here, almost three times as long." San'aa's eyes widened at the thought of living past two hundred years. "It also makes us telepathic, to a point, so it opens our minds to the Dream. But if we do not have this Light for a long time, then its power fades."
"So everyone on your world is telepathic?"
"Mostly, though there are exceptions. But everything that comes in contact with the Light gets that way, even the animals." San'aa gave me a puzzled look. "Really. There are large spheres that travel throughout our world and radiate this Light. So the beasts and plantlife are then endowed with a heightened consciousness, and they relate to each other differently."
"Do they still attack each other, like animals do on this world?"
"Mostly, no. But we do have scavenging animals that eat flesh. Most of the rest of our wildlife, like ourselves, have become mostly vegetarian."
"I cannot imagine such a thing," she said, after thinking it over. "Animals must eat each other. It is part of the food chain."
"It changes in time. But it takes a long time. Only humans have the choice to change it at will, if we wish to step outside the food chain."
The mountains were once again visible over the crests, as we were ascending again. Our legs were beginning to feel the fatigue of the trail, and the day had become late. We saw Amar and Sanu in the distance talking to a Nepali who, no doubt, was the proprietor of a tea house. We came within hearing distance.
"We can stay here for the night!" Amar called to us. "There is food and good drink. They have chang." As we approached closer, we could see both Amar and Sanu were quite pleased with this last news. "It is our Nepali beer," Amar explained, "and it is very good for tired muscles after a long trek."
We all smiled at the prospect of fortifying our aching muscles.
"All right. Here for the night it is. Let us order chang, and drink hearty." Then to Sanu, who smiled in response: "Dinner can wait."
Inside the smoky but warm thick wood frame building was a gathering of Sherpas and local Nepalis. There were a few tourists warming themselves by the fire. We sat at a rough wooden table and a large bowl of chang was brought to us. It had a milky frothy color, almost bluish. We dipped in our cups and toasted the success of our journey. Food was being served here as well, so Sanu did not have to make his little cooking fire and prepare a meal. We talked and drank late into the night as a furious storm pelted snow against the thick walls. Candle flames danced before us as the wind found its way through chinks in the wall, and almost went out if anyone opened the great wooden door. Our hosts were cheerfully eager to bring us more chang.
As we enjoyed our stay in this warm but increasingly voluble establishment, I noticed a beggardly man sitting by himself in the shadows by the corner of the room. He looked up at us from time to time, staring at San'aa, and then looked down, as if caught in the act of spying on us. There was something familiar about him, but I could not place him. I watched him, without being obvious. He looked up at us one last time, and quietly stole his way outside. The wind almost blew out our candles again before he quietly shut the door behind him.
"Tomorrow, we will be in Jumbesi," Amar advised us volubly. The drink had already taken its effect. "Sanu and I will go to visit an old friend, a school teacher, from when we were boys. And we have many friends to see. But we will show you the path to the monastery, so it will be easy for you. It is higher up in the mountains." He grinned at us, half forgetting what he was trying to say. "...That is if we don't drink too much chang."
Outside the night wind hammered at the windows. As the fire died down and the air in the room also turned colder, Sanu left for bed. Amar was visibly nodding off. We paid Ang, the proprietor's wife, and with more compliments which she accepted graciously with a broad smile, we bid her goodnight. San'aa and I turned into our small, cold room with the one candle to offer us light and warmth. It offered little of either. But Sanu had gotten us warm sleeping bags, so we slept well.
The next morning rose bright and cheerful, and when the sun crested the nearby peaks, the snow almost immediately began to melt. Sanu and Amar set off to visit their friends. We followed the trail they had pointed out, past the old stupa at the end of the village, and up into the valley that took us towards the monastery. We trekked past fields of early Spring wild flowers clustered on the sunny slopes, and past fresh patches of snow on the dark sides of hills. By a clear mountain stream was a massive mani stone, its large carved letters calling out prayers to the gods as the water rushed by. As the sun rose higher, it illuminated the steep slopes with golden light. High up above the tree line, green with lichens and brush, the highest peaks wore a white cape over their green mantle. It was quiet, San'aa and I walked alone, with only the sound of our boots and the steady tap of our walking stick on the rocky soil for company. High above us circled a lone hawk. Horus, I thought, the desert god. We steadily climbed a path up the slopes that would carry us to the monastery on the mountain.
"It is so beautiful, isn't it?" San'aa spoke after one long spell of silence. Truly, it was so beautiful that to speak would have somehow intruded upon the sacredness of the place. Then, looking up, San'aa exclaimed:
"Look! There are lights there!"
Indeed there were. Three specks of bright light were maneuvering high above us.
"So they know where we are," I answered, feeling suddenly reassured. "Those are shuttle craft from the Star-ship. But they wouldn't show themselves unless there was cause."
"But how did they find us?"
"They spotted my molecular signature."
San'aa looked puzzled, so I explained.
"Each one of us gives off an aura that defines who we are. It is a signature of our molecular make up. They aboard ship can read these, so they know."
"Can you call to them?"
"Not without my Light source." I smiled at her, reminding her in my mind that it was she who suggested I leave it behind, to be more natural. "But let me try the Light amplifier."
I pulled out the small black lap-top-like case and pressed in the commands to activate the machine. It gave off a soft whirr and a pinkish light, but nothing more. No holograms appeared before us, so I put it back into its case.
"I don't think they are meant to contact us, only to let us know that we are being observed. Usually, that means the Dream has some obstacle in it, and we may have to take it as an omen."
I pondered my own words, trying to fit meaning into them. The three small ships zigzagged through the sky in perfect formation, and then hovered over one portion of the sky a moment. I wondered if my trusty android, Master, was in one of them. In the few minutes there, clouds formed around them, cloaking them, and also gathering more moisture, to the point where the clouds were about to drop rain. Then they flew up abruptly and were lost from view in seconds.
"I guess they've gone back to the Ship," I ventured, a momentary longing in my heart. But my mission was here, with San'aa. We proceeded.
Soon we stopped at another stream, also with a mani stone. A row of low buildings in the distance, guarded by a forest of poles carrying prayer flags fluttering in the wind, gave us our final fix on the monastery. There, the largest building, we guessed, was probably the main temple, or gomba, and all the lesser buildings adjacent to it were its functional halls or habitations. Higher up, more low structures, more huts than houses set low into the hill side, were no doubt monks' cells, though Sanu told us there were natural caves as well. As we passed this last stream with the mani stone, before the final ascent, we saw three still figures sitting on a stone wall by the side of the road. They could have blended into the landscape, except for their enigmatic smiles which gave them away. Covered in thick yak wool robes, now soil colored though once wine red, their hats pressed tightly over their heads, they were three elderly nuns resting. They had been gathering firewood for the monastery and were readying for the final ascent.
"Namaste!" we called to them upon approaching.
"Namaste," they each answered in turn, smiling. Somehow, they looked as if they knew us. The eldest motioned for San'aa and I to sit down next to them, which we did, grateful to ease our tired legs from the long climb. They were in no hurry, and neither were we. Then one of the nuns noticed San'aa's mala beads, which she wore about her neck. These had been purchased from a trader on route. They immediately became excited by this and made it known to her that she is like them. Amidst much laughter, their warmth and charming calmness made us feel already welcome. But few words were spoken, except those spoken from the soul.
We all rose, they slowly shouldering their loads of fire wood, and we all proceeded up the path leading up to the main buildings of the monastery. At the gomba, San'aa and I were introduced to an elder monk. The nuns left the courtyard without ceremony and proceeded to their quarters. A young novice then ran inside the gomba.
A sleeping dog raised an ear, looked up, and then fell back to sleep. The yard was enclosed, defensible in the event of attack, I thought, or just to keep uninvited guests out. Large prayer flags hung from the main building, along with small ones fluttering from the roof. A long colorful tanka, depicting scenes from the life Buddha, also hung down a wall from a small balcony. The gomba's wooden beams were painted bright red, and the windows in blue. In the bright sunlight, the grounds had the peaceful beauty of a gentle palace, as if the sturdy walls enclosed the inner courtyard from the turbulent outside world. Beyond the courtyard were visible hills. To one side were steps that led to an upper courtyard. There we spied five young girls hiding and giggling to each other. They looked over the wall, and then retreated amidst more giggles. I called to them. "Olah! Haii!" They then stood up and revealed themselves, still giggling. They were novice nuns, as I could guess from the dress, and were full of mirth at the sight of strangers in their midst. They could not have been older than fifteen. San'aa waived to them, and they came cascading down the steps like a bunch of puppies full of giggles.
"Hello. My name is Paul. This is San'aa."
"Hello!" They responded.
They looked up at us with their bright, black eyes, unkempt locks of hair falling over their eyes. One was holding a needle and embroidery in her hands. The others had books.
"Look," they said, "Mala beads. We have too!" This they directed at San'aa, who took them off her neck to show them. They immediately showed her how to chant the sacred prayer, "Om, mane, padme, om", and count the beads in so doing. While they engaged themselves in their exchange of smiles and limited words, I awaited word from the Abbot.
The novice soon exited the gomba and came over to tell me that the Abbot would see us. We followed him into the cool, dark interior, and he closed the door behind us.
A low chanting came from the opposite side of the large room. By a window made bright with sunlight, an old monk was standing there, with a cloth polishing small butter lamps. He looked no different from the other monks we had seen working about the compound, but he was the Abbot. Chanting softly the "Om, mane, padme, ohmm," as he worked, almost absentmindedly, he seemed absorbed in his own meditation. Around the room were large tankas, paintings of Buddha and his desciples expressed as stories on mandalas. There were walls of prayer books, pages held together with string and carved wood covers, silk prayer flags, and little butter lamps casting a faint glow in the darkened room. There, in a lotus position, was a great Buddha, His large golden statue presiding over the spirits of the temple. Little lamps at his feet gave moving shadows an almost living presence. The temple smelled pleasant, as if perfumed with some exotic incense. A gold trimmed human skull was illumined by one of the butter lamps, incense curling smoke through its eyes. San'aa observed this skull closely with apprehension, it being a representation of death in her world.
The old monk came over to us and offered us freshly made butter lamps. He lit a taper, taking the flame from one of the lamps at Buddha's feet, and then had us light our own lamps, which we did in silence. I offered him a small donation, for the temple, which he took gladly, smiled, and proceeded to light an additional ten lamps. I gathered my donation was more generous than I thought. He turned to us, at long last, and smiled.
"So you come from a far away land to our temple," he said, in a meditative way.
"Yes, we are from very far away."
He stood by the window again, working as he had before, his fine hands delicately handling the small brass lamps. He was not chanting now, just polishing quietly. After more silence, he spoke:
"You have asked about Mananam?"
"Yes, I wish to meet him and speak with him. He is here?"
The old monk nodded.
"Do you wish to meditate, same as him?" he asked further.
"We are on an important mission, and alas cannot spend much time. We are wanted by agents of a foreign government. If we stay, your monastery may be faced with danger."
"I see," he answered calmly. He was not disturbed by my frank news. Then added: "What brings you to him?"
"I have heard his name in a cave in India."
"Then you have indeed come a long way." He said this in a way that made me believe he knew I was from a much greater distance, or that seeing from inside the cave gave me some greater depth. He resumed softly: "Mananam is blind. But he does for us very important work." He paused, as if letting my mind absorb the importance of what had just been said. San'aa remained silent, as if in the presence of a greater soul. He resumed: "Still, he is dying. He has gone too far." The he looked at San'aa, as if anticipating the the next words would be uncomfortable for her. "He is at a cave, above here in the mountains. My novice can take you there. But the visit must be short."
San'aa suddenly felt uncomfortable. She said, aside to me:
"Paul, you know how I feel about caves..."
The Abbot answered her, as if he had heard her clearly.
"You may stay here and visit with the nuns, if you wish. There is no harm. The nuns would welcome your company, especially the novices." He smiled serenely. Then his eyes suddenly became more animated. "Do you have jam with you?"
"Why, yes," she answered, surprised.
"Good. They love jam. Maybe you could give them some as a gift, so they could share."
He said this with an amiably toothless smile.
We bowed and thanked the old Abbot. San'aa rejoined the young nuns outside, who were eager to see her again. The Abbot's novice took me up the path that led to the caves in the mountain. I looked back at San'aa who was already lost in laughter with the young women.
We climbed up towards the forest of tall wooden poles flying prayer flags. A light rain had begun to fall. High above the gomba, the clouds parted only enough to let the sun's rays bathe the hill momentarily, and then retreat behind more clouds from behind the mountain. We arrived at a series of cave openings set into the side of a cliff.
"It is here," he said simply, and then turned and left to attend to the needs of other caves. His activities included bringing food and drink to the monks in meditation there. He did not seem to notice the sign.
I stepped into the dark opening. There was a small oil lamp near the entrance, which I took with me into the cave, but it cast little light. Cut into the rock at one end of the long cave was a square air shaft, which also allowed some light into the interior. It was silent. I stepped closer in and began to feel a presence, more like a breathing. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see a dark shadow of a monk sitting lotus on a high stool. Nothing else was evident in the stark cave, except for his wooden food bowl and a water pitcher on a rocky ledge. As my eyes became more accustomed to the dim light, I could make out his robes. His eyes were closed.
"Mananam?" I asked in a low voice, as if not to disturb him.
Silence was the only response, except for the monks steady breathing. Then he opened his eyes, slowly. I could now see that they were sightless.
"I am Mananam," his voice answered, almost as if it came from the walls themselves.
"I am Paul. I have been seeking you."
The still, almost immortal sightless face turned towards me. There appeared the faintest trace of a smile.
"You are here to see me? But no one comes for me."
"I heard your name at Karla, in a cave, in India."
"You know me then?"
"No. Only your name."
He meditated on this, holding me in his silence. Then he spoke evenly, as if the words had been rehearsed a long time.
"Then you are the one... Bring me some water."
His old face turned towards me, though he was blind, as if he could see me with some inner vision. I brought him the bowl he had asked for and froze, watching him. I was in the presence of one who had looked into death, and lived there. I knew I was in the presence of a greater being.
"You know me then?" his steady voice said again. "You have come a long way to see me. But I cannot see you."
He still looked at me with that impassive face. His small frame, made smaller from long fasting, was covered with the impeccably clean linens. The room was bare, for this man, I thought. He was being kept here like a god. He pulled his robes closer around him, as if he were cold, then spoke again.
"When my illness became pronounced, I renounced everything, even my life. I knew I was going to die. But I did not want to die in a hospital ward. It was so lifeless there, doctors pumping you full of chemicals, drugs trying to prolong death, tubes in your veins. I came here instead, into the mountains, where I could meditate on life in a life of peace. I left everything behind."
"You are dying then?"
"No! I am alive. Only my sight left me. The rest is whole and is again healthy, for now."
"The Abbot said you are doing very important work here. But he did not say what it is you do?"
A smile came over his face. He turned towards me as he spoke.
"I dream. I meditate, in the Dream."
I wanted to laugh out loud with joy. We were connected after all!
"Mananam... then you are the one I am to see... But of what is it that you dream?"
He did not respond for a long time, as if the answer was hidden somewhere in his silence. I waited. And then he spoke again:
"Do you know why I am called 'Mananam'?" he asked, after a long silence. I did not reply, and he knew that I would not. "It is because of my work. Mananam means that one creates with the reflection of one's being." He let that sink in, to make sure that I sufficiently appreciated what he had said. "In my meditation," he continued, "I dream of the world as it is. And I also dream of the world as it is to become. This was taught to me by the monks. There are many who dream as I do, here surrounded by these hills of ice, by this mountain desert, and through us flows being. We do not create by doing, as most of you do on the outside. No... We create by being. And to do this, we are very still." He stopped, as if in thought. I knew he was looking within. Then he spoke again:
"Of all the things you have seen so far on your travels, what was it that impressed you most?" His question had a steady tone to it, like a teacher asking his pupil. I thought a moment before I answered.
"The old man who drove a small horse cart at Agra. I was moved by the richness of his simplicity, and honesty."
Mananam smiled to himself, and asked again:
"And the rich merchant? Did he not impress you?"
"Gupta?"
"If that is his name."
"I felt a darkness from him just when he was most honest with me."
"Good! Then you have learned the ways of this world. But was there anyone else, maybe a boy or young man, or a girl?"
"I don't know. I had met many people, as had my companion, San'aa."
"Ah... San'aa..." He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. "All come to us to teach us something, even if it is the negative of that that we must learn. Be careful about San'aa. She is a victim as you are."
He then retreated back into his inner world, offering no other explanation, and silence once again regained the dark interior of the cave. Then, as the room began to brighten, a shaft of rays coming through the small opening in the wall, he spoke again:
"Look outside. There is a rainbow over the valley. Do you see it?"
I stepped over to the air shaft, which offered a clear but narrow view of the valley below. Indeed a rainbow had formed between the mountains.
"Yes. There is a rainbow over the valley."
"Then you really are the one I have seen in my Dream." Then as if coming from deep within his being: "Bring me some water." Mananm drank, put down his bowl and asked: "Why are you here on Earth?" I did not answer immediately, unsure of myself. I knew I had travelled a long way for this meeting, and now two worlds were about to meet as equals, but words failed to come easily.
"Because your Dream and my Dream must merge," I said at last, not sure these were the words I wanted to say.
He continued to hold his silence, nodding to himself imperceptibly.
He is in his perfect center, I thought.
"May I tell you my Dream?" he asked, not expecting an answer. "I dream that I am dead. That I spend more time in that fabulous world where dwells the spirit than I do in the flesh." He took in a deep breath. "And there, I do my work. I heal what had been so sickened on my world, by fear and greed, and by lack of faith. By confusion. They are the true evils, that keep us from entering the Dream. So much murder and grief, so much war, disease and violence." I listened quietly. "I was sick when I came here, dying. The monks restored me to life. It was then that I saw that it was not I who was sick, but my world around me. And its poison was killing me. I will die soon, nevertheless. But in my heart I am well."
"But suffering is what this world is about. Isn't it?" I said weakly.
"Until we learn to heal ourselves, yes." He raised his hand as if to touch me. "Then we can dream. To dream is a gift to us of the gods, or the angels, and when we are like them, then we can enter the Dream."
"But our dreams here cannot change our reality," I almost protested.
"But of course. We are here to learn, on a much lower level then that of the gods." He paused for a moment, as if to listen to his next words. "Our dreams are only an offering. But when life makes our dreams come true, then that is our redemption. And then we change reality."
"So our dreams do have power here, if the cosmos delivers to us their manifestation?" I thought about it a moment. "So that is what we have forgotten. With all of our technology, we forgot that reality delivers us our dreams."
"That is how the monks see it. And that is why they are still. They wait for their dream's manifestation."
Mananam turned his head towards the light shaft, as if listening to some message there. Then he turned to me again:
"So you are a Dreamer too, from another world?" His hand reached for mine, so I reached out to touch his hand. "Tell me. How do you Dream on your world?"
"I can show you." I reached into my pack and withdrew the Light amplifying machine. "But I will use a technology from my world to help you see better."
"Ah?" was Mananam's only reply.
"Let me put my hand on your forehead, to help you."
He nodded okay. I pressed commands into the machine and it gave off a soft silent glow. He moved as if he felt the faint radiation. Then I put my hand on his forehead, on what is his third eye. "I will show you from my Dream. Let your mind see this freely."
I concentrated into his mind. His forehead felt cool. His breathing sounded steady, unforced. My mind probed past the many layers of physical rejection he had accomplished, past the levels of dreams that had been turned into a new reality, and into that part of the mind that defines for us who we are. There, I focussed images from my world, images of me, of my home, of our ships, of our tall pyramidic cities, our mountains and oceans and desert landscapes, our lives. He met my android, Master, and he saw my first descent to this world, and he saw the Quarantine. He saw it from my point of view, feeling it as I felt it, flying through vast stretches of space as we do, with the Light, experiencing the Dream chambers as I experience them. When we were done, a long time had elapsed. Mananam glowed as if from within. He had become one of us. I felt exhausted and drained. Cool perspiration formed on his forehead. The machine's light had intensified, and now softened again. After a long silence, Mananam spoke:
"I have seen with my eyes as I have never seen before. It was hard to lose my sight. My eyes were my lifelink with who I was. But what I had just seen, I had seen with new eyes. Thank you, Pa'an. But you are not alone. There are others?"
He looked into this within his meditation, and silence again filled the darkened cave. Clouds had moved in and the light from the shaft had dimmed. Yet, in the darkness there was Light. A circling hawk gave off his cry over the valley. Mananam smiled.
"He is talking to us." Then his face again regained its composure. "Do you want to see what I see in the Dream?"
Mananam raise his hand. I knelt before him and he placed it on my forehead, as I did for him. At first, nothing came through, then in slow bursts, I could see in my mind images that welled up from within his soul. Soon my head ached, then my heart. The images were not clear, but the feelings cut through me like a dull blade. Of all the suffering I had witnessed on this world, it was no more than preparation for what I was witnessing now. There was a depth to this pain that enveloped all the terrible trials of mankind, of slavery and torture, of abuse and violence, and sex for survival, for money, and souls lost in the maelstrom of addictions, of deceit and murders, of starving children. It was a harrowing clash of the darkness and the Light, all played out by billions of conscious beings on this world, crying out to their God, massed and murdered by the millions in the name of right and reason, all driven by fear and hate. It was as if all their souls had become lost, confused, and they were destroying themselves in their agony. I was looking into hell. I suppressed an agonizing scream, but then could not longer do so, and I screamed a long, slow and tortuous moan. A violent shaking took hold of me until that agonizing moan stopped. Mananam withdrew his hand.
When I could speak again, I asked hoarsely:
"Why is there so much pain?"
"That is the other side of life. But there is also joy," he answered calmly. It was as if he had seen this so much that he was used to it, and it no longer cut him the way it cut me. "What you saw was the suffering of my world. But now it is joy that must find and take hold of it. That is the faith my world must find within itself When there is no fear, no hate, then we could merge both our worlds."
"When human beings become true to who they are in their greater being, who they are really are," I whispered.
"They don't remember they are angels. But they're not allowed. Few would allow another to be who they are, because then they would lose control over them. No one allows it, not even the governments." Mananam answered my unspoken question: "Especially the governments."
"But why do they suffer so?"
"Because the joy of life must first become its own pain. All living things feel joy and suffer pain, same as you do in the Dream."
"Can it change?"
"If it is in our hearts. When we change what we instinctively believe in our hearts, and put away our poisonous toys, maybe then."
"You mean disarm? Disarm mistrust of one another. And stop all this pollution. End this ecological disaster?"
"Yes. And greed. End this control over one another. We must first be free. And that we cannot achieve. We have not yet awakened."
"And if our dreams do not merge, violence and abuse continue, as they have for a very long time. It is then like a cancer that grows. And the world would die?..." But Mananam only shook his head. We did not finish our thoughts. Then he stopped to listen.
I too became aware of a distant buzzing, like helicopters approaching the monastery compound. It was distant at first, no louder than the wind, then it grew closer. One passed overhead, over the cave. I quickly ran outside to see. The choppers had descended over the Gomba.
As I looked into the distance below, I could hear voices, and then screams, as monks and nuns began running away. Men in camouflage uniforms, holding weapons, jumped out of the copters and chased after them. Some were taken prisoner. My heart sank.
"San'aa!" I yelled into the vast emptiness before me. Then ran back into the cave. Mananam sat impassively, knowing what was happening outside.
"I must go down to the Gomba! There is trouble!"
"I know. I should have told you... But that is how it is in the Dream."
He raised his hand, as if in farewell, and then added: "Bring it all to the good. Always bring it to the good." He then turned into himself, and I knew that I had been dismissed to return to the chaos of the real world outside. But his presence suddenly reentered into the room. "Oh! Leave me your machine. With it, I can see infinity." He smiled, as if the troubles of the outside world no longer concerned him. Inside, I smiled too. That there should be so much grief in this world, and to not take this grief seriously, to be detached from it, is absurd. But then so is the opposite.
I quickly pressed in the commands he needed and bowed to him deeply, in reverence for his soul, and left him in the solitude of his Dream. Then I ran as fast as I could down the long hill to the Gomba. "Shit!" I thought.
Before I got half way down, the choppers noisily lifted off and retreated down the valley. By the time I reached the Gomba, they were gone beyond a row of mountains, only their retreating buzzing still being heard.
"Where's San'aa?" I asked of the Abbot in a panicked voice. Some of the nuns were with him, crying. Monks looked deeply saddened, silent.
"She was taken with the others."
"Why? By whom?"
"They said it was for questioning."
"But why did you not resist? Fight back?"
"It is not our way to resist," the Abbot replied. "We hold all life sacred. Even the enemy's. She did not resist."
Fury raced through my heart. At the moment, I could have lifted a weapon and showered the helicopters with fire, if they had still been here. But they were gone, and I was overtaken with a feeling of helplessness. But my fighting spirit did not leave me.
"Well, I can resist," I answered through clenched teeth. I could feel the fury pounding in my temples. Then calm regained me again, thinking how on my world conflict of this kind was now alien to us. A peaceful composure reasserted itself, and I calmly turned to the Abbot and the holy men and women with him.
"Namaste," I bowed deeply to them.
"And we worship the god in you." they answered, and bowed serenely.
"Namaste."


8. Kidnapped
Vaulting over rocks in my I came to the stream with the large mani stone inscribed with prayers. I stopped, exhausted, and leaned against the large rock. The cool stream rushed by me, whispering its secrets in nearly incoherent voices. I looked up at the sky, which had again turned blue, and wondered why the Ship could not read me now. I wished I had my communications device. Leaning back, I breathed deeply of the thin, cool air.
I was about to resume my loping trek to Jumbesi, when a feeling of lightness came over me. Around me was a voice of a thousand harmonies rising and falling like voices from a distant choir drowning out the babble from the stream. Light filled the space around me, and images began to form in my eyes. It was Ma'an and Ta'an, standing before me, as they had in the desert. They were dressed in the silvery one piece utility duty suits commonly used aboard Ship.
"We could read you, and picked up your distress frequencies," Ma'an spoke in a casual way, as if speaking to a wayward child.
"Are you near?" I asked, still unsure if they were not images induced by my stress.
"We're beyond Earth's moon," Ma'an replied calmly.
"But you can be here in minutes. Damn it! I must intercept the choppers. I must rescue San'aa!" My voice had desperation in it, and they could sense it, but remained detached. Ma'an replied calmly:
"You cannot do that. They already landed." The news struck me like a hard blow. I wanted to be with her, needed her now more than ever, and I could not. "If we retrieve you now, it will end the mission. Then you may not return to this world for a very long time."
"Like dying?" I asked, in a coarse voice. Ma'an did not answer. "But I must rescue her. They think she's one of us. And you know what that means. They may dissect her!"
"We know. You may rescue her. But we cannot help you directly in this. If we do, Earth's reality will again close off, and we will be forced to leave..." Ma'an looked off dreamily, as if she were not talking to anyone in particular, "... maybe indefinitely."
"But we are so close! Why did I not see this coming?"
"Because' Earth's reality is muddled. Dreams close off too quickly here." Ta'an now looked at me sympathetically, as did Ma'an. "But we can tell you where she is going."
"You know where?" I asked, hope again rising in me. "But how?"
"Two ways. We intercepted their communications. And we can track San'aa's aura signature." Ma'an's face began radiating a near smile. "She's being taken to Paris."
"Paris? But why?"
"Because Abdulah is already there."
"Then she is living her Dream," I said listlessly. "She wanted to go to Paris, and now she will." I thought about it, the image of Abdulah sinking in. "But how does Abdulah come into this?"
Ta'an answered.
"Simple. He wants San'aa, to take her back. So, my dear friend, That is where you must go." He smiled at me, offering me support. "Not only go there to rescue San'aa. But go there because Abdulah now has the power to destroy this mission."
I looked up at him, a questioning look on my face.
"How?"
"Because he has the bait. You will see."
Then Ma'an spoke in her turn.
"The Dreamers have cleared a path for you. But not completely, so there will be much you must still do. But for now, otherwise, we are powerless. It is up to you to succeed. We will stand by. And if you fail, we will retrieve you, if we are not too late. The Light of 'Aan be with you."
They faded out, and the stream was once again my lonely companion. But I was wrong. Across the stream, on the bank not far from me, stood a Tibetan wolf, watching me. He must have come down to drink and became curious of the light and sound that surrounded me. It must have also entered his consciousness as it had entered mine. So he stood there, watching and listening, seemingly unafraid.
"So, you see," I said to him, almost more to myself, though I knew he heard me in his mind, "the trap is set."
He continued to look at me, comfortable in my presence. I knew the monks never hunted them. There was a sharing in the way he looked at me, almost as if to acknowledge that I was in his space, and that he allowed this to me.
"You understand, don't you?"
The wolf lowered his head to drink, as if in answer.
Amar, Sanu and I made our way to Lukla. The same day we all boarded a STOL aircraft for Kathmandu. They asked little about San'aa, and I was vague in my response. So their normally cheerful demeanor changed also. We sat quietly in the small cabin. The little twin engine propeller plane, fully loaded with passengers and baggage, roared at the high end of the runway. This runway was tilted down towards the valley and tucked up against the hill. Clouds were already rolling in from the valley below, so there was an urgency to take off before they obscured visibility and once again cancelled the flight. The pilot gunned the throttle, released the brakes, and the ground crew pulled out the wooden blocks under the wheels. The engine roared louder and the small craft vibrated vigorously as it began its swift roll down the sloping runway. We quickly reached the end of it and, at the last moment, heavily lifted off the ground before the runway ended at where the cliff fell off into the abyss. The landing strip was on the edge of a mountain. No sooner were we airborne than the pilot banked sharply to the left. This was to avoid the mountain directly ahead of us. Amar and Sanu smiled at each other, nervously. It was their first flight. We then settled into a smooth flight path down the great valley towards Kathmandu, leaving the clouds behind us. To our right stretched the vast, jagged panorama of the snow capped Himalayas. We covered in about half an hour what had taken us nine days to reach on foot. We landed at Kathmandu Airport.
At the airport, I immediately went over to the international flight desk and tried to arrange for a flight to Paris. Amar was with me.
"This man is my friend," Amar said to the agent behind the desk. "I work here many days, helping tourists find trekking companies. You have seen me." The Nepali agent barely acknowledged him, looking disinterested. "This man needs a flight to Paris, today."
The man looks into his computer, then shakes his head.
"There is nothing available for a fortnight."
"But I need a ticket immediately," I almost shouted at him. "This is an emergency."
"All the flights are full. I am sorry, sir. Maybe you can come back tomorrow. Maybe someone will cancel."
Exasperated, we left, empty handed. I returned to what had been our hotel, now only mine. It felt empty, like an angry force had ripped it open and now there was nothing there, only me. I had to kill a whole day before again trying the airport. Amar and Sanu and I parted, if somewhat sadly. But they understood something terrible had happened, so were quietly sympathetic. I explained that San'aa had left abruptly by helicopter, but I could not share the truth with them, for fear that it would bring the authorities' attention to them too. I had to get to Paris.
I walked the streets of the old part of the city. Narrow alleys were broken by low doorways that cut through the old brick walls into small courtyards, some holding statues of gods. The ubiquitous young gayly dressed women carried baskets with flowers, and left them as offerings to their gods. But these gods did not hold joy for me now, only a dull kind of anger instead, like some miniature messengers of the vengeful God of the Hebrews. Ancient temples smelled of incense, and rang of bells, the worshippers striking these to keep away the evil spirits. I did the same, for no real reason. Throngs of native people walked past me. I did not look at them, but rather tried to escape into a less crowded part of the city. I found a lonely street littered with large pieces of flesh, some covered with gauze against the flies, and some covered with flies. It was a butchers' alley.
A large, healthy looking water buffalo, his wide curved horns arched gracefully over his back, stood tethered to a stake at one of the shops. He stood patiently ruminating, waiting for nothing in particular. Then a young man, in his mid teens, came forth from the shop and approached the large beast. He held a large knife in his right hand and stood over him, as if mentally measuring him. Another boy, younger and thinner, ran out of the shop and held the horns forward, keeping the beast's head down. Then, without preamble, the older boy lifted the large knife and lowered it hard over the buffalo's neck. With a loud thud he cut a deep gash, which instantly squirted blood. The buffalo, suddenly brought alert, was instantly woken from his reverie, his eyes turning to the boy, and then to me, a look of amazement on his face. The boy, now also spattered with blood, warm red fluid squirting down the back of the animal's black hide, raised the knife again and once more hacked at the beast's neck. His hands were trembling now. The alley suddenly reeked of blood and decay and flies. The eyes of the stunned beast turned to me and spoke from deep within my head, as if to say: "Why is he doing this to me? He fed me. I thought he was my friend." The stunned look lasted but a moment more, and then his eyes glazed. Shock had set in. By the next blow, the head came totally severed and the buffalo kneeled, slowly at first, blood running from his neck, and then with a loud thud, came crashing sideways to the ground. Other boys ran out, gleefully preparing to catch the blood and dismember the new carcass. I stood back, paralyzed with weariness. A fat older man wearing a small white cap sat in the corner of the shop, its owner, approvingly watching over the work, as the younger boys set to butchering. Words came to me I remembered from a famous twelfth century Abbess, Hildegard of Bingen: "I call forth tears, the aroma of holy work. I am the yearning for good." Tears silently ran down my face. Why was there so much blood?
I returned the next day to the airport alone. The same agent was behind the desk.
"I am sorry, sir, but all the flights are still full. No space even for one person."
"Fuck! Look harder," I said, impatiently. "There must be a way."
The agent scanned the computer again.
"Maybe... through Calcutta... No. that flight is also full." He looked up impassively. "Maybe if you come back tomorrow..."
I looked at him with eyes that would pierce his skull. The man looked stunned, opening and closing his mouth as if it had suddenly gone dry. Then he looked up at me with a new recognition in his eyes.
"Ah, yes! You are the tourist from yesterday. I have reserved a special VIP ticket for you. You can fly this day, in four hours."
I took the ticket he presented and wheeled away from him without thanking him, before he could change his mind. So much for there being no seats, I thought. My baggage was already with me, so I found a tea stand and waited for my departure. As I looked about the airport, I scanned for any activity that would betray that I was being followed. Travellers were coming and going, some being met at the airport by their Nepali hosts, white scarves or garlands of flowers, and smiles, presented to them as they arrived. I sneered to myself in mockery. But no spying eyes showed themselves. For whatever reason, they had decided to leave me alone, for now.
I landed at Orly the next morning. It felt odd to once more be in the midst of Western civilization. Everything sparkled like new. All the travellers were orderly, well dressed, some with expensive name luggage. In Nepal, and India, a cardboard box tied with rope often served the same purpose. But here there was order, a proud discipline that left little room for variation. Things were expected to be right, whereas the world I just left was in the hands of the gods. Sometimes things worked. And most often, they did not. It was a soft world, there. Here, it looked hard and military trim. I took a seat with my luggage and awaited the car rental company's agent to deliver me my vehicle. This I had arranged earlier, when I withdrew funds from the automatic teller machine with the plastic card and number allotted me by the Ship. The last few days, since I left Jumbesi, left me tired, so I closed my eyes.
I woke up startled to find rough hands grabbing me, pinning me down in my chair. I woke up quickly only to see hard faces looking down at me. "Come with us," was all they said.
A tall man of bearing and obvious authority held up his arms, as if to hold back a crowd, and announced in a loud and clear voice.
"It's allright! We're police!" He pulled a badge from his pocket and held it up for all to see. By now, a small crowd had gathered to get a closer look at what was going on. "I am inspector Pierce, Interpol. This man is a suspected terrorist. He may be armed and dangerous. Please stay back while we apprehend him."
The crowd stepped back in a loud murmur. There was shock on their faces, while all the same they seemed relieved someone was looking out for their welfare and making the world safe from terrorism. My hands were handcuffed and I was led away through a door in the terminal. They took me to a holding area for prisoners.
I wasted no time getting out. The policeman nearest me suddenly burst into tears, as did another. Pierce came back into the room and also fell into uncontrollable hysteria, tears running down his cheeks. They cried like children, open mouthed and loud, red faced. I had the guard give me his key, between sobs, to release my handcuffs and immediately slipped out the door. They did not follow, trapped within their childhood fears.
When I reentered the terminal, I noticed the rental car was waiting for me. I quickly filed out the exit. Passengers who only moments ago saw me handcuffed looked stunned, and kept their distance. I had to find San'aa, and could not waste time here.
The rental agency clerk wanted me to fill out forms. I did not have the time for that.
"Look," I said. "You fill out the paper work. Here is my passport, I'll pick it up in the morning. Where do I sign?"
The stunned young man pointed on a form, which I signed quickly, took the keys. In my rear view mirror, I could see Pierce and the others exit the terminal at a run. They were still drying their faces. I burned rubber out of there.
In the city, I stopped at a tourist office for directions. I wanted a very inexpensive hotel, in a little known part of town. They did not know where to send me, but finally settled on a small establishment in Montparnasse. I drove there. In the cool morning rain, the streets had the pleasant smell of fresh water mixed with blossoms. It was Spring, and the trees were in bloom, wearing garlands of pink and white flowers. People hurried about the streets with large black umbrellas unfurled. The city was beautiful, but its charm held no spell for me, not now. I had to find San'aa. With my Light device I could have located her easily, but that was not to be. I had to use the Dream. I found the small hotel in a seedy part of town.
A small, dark and badly dressed man was standing behind the counter. He looked at me with surprise at first, then an understanding dawned, and he smiled a crooked but ingratiating smile. The lobby had a shabby look, like it had not been cleaned for a long time, and the furniture was once new, but long ago. Yet, in some way, I found this attractive. I asked for a room.
"We do not have many visitors from, err... your country," the man said with a faintly Russian accent through his crooked smile as he pulled out a large book for me to sign. "Mostly, it is refugees, from Africa, or the Indies." As he said this, he looked at me suspiciously, trying to guess my business. "But we have a clean room, the only room. It is downstairs."
I signed in, telling him I was here to find a friend. He seemed to understand. He continued:
"But Monsieur..." I raised my eyes to see what he was about to say. "...it is located near the entrance to the Catacombs..." He touched his nose knowingly. "...If you know what I mean."
I smiled at his remark. He obviously assessed that I am running from someone. I then asked:
"The Catacombs are under here?"
"Ah, oui. The Romans built tunnels all under here. One of them exits into the cellar by your door." He stopped and studied me, still trying to guess. "Let me take you to your room. But Monsieur, it is better if you carry with you your passport."
I nodded in agreement, but gave no explanation. He showed me the stairs behind the clerk's counter that led into a dank basement. An African man was standing in the doorway to what I realized, from the smell, that it was a commonly shared bathroom. He was very dark, well muscled, and only half dressed, holding a grimy towel, but he smiled at me. He watched us disappear into the gloom at the end of the hall.
The clerk opened the old door which, once upon a time, had been painted a dark brown. Now large peals revealed that it had also been red underneath. The room was small and drab, and windowless. As the clerk began explaining about the bathroom, a loud roar filled the room as if we were sharing a wall with some infernal machine.
"It is the Metro. But it does not come by too often," he explained, almost apologetically. "And across the hall is the entrance to the Catacombs. There is a lantern inside, and matches, if you should need them. He again tapped the side of his nose. "That will be one hundred francs."
I thanked him with a tip, and he left happy to have rented an otherwise unrentable room. I lay down on the musty bed and looked up at the ceiling. So this too was Paris, I thought.
Later in the day, as I was getting hungry, I decided to chance exploring the streets nearby. In fact, I rather needed the walk to clear the musty smell from my lungs.
The cool, drizzly Paris evening had a suffused glow from the lights reflected off the wet pavement. I walked towards Ile de la Cite, down Rue Saint Jacques, past little Vietnamese and Chinese restaurants. The famous Left Bank, or Latin Quarter though no longer Latin, known for its quaint cafes, of which I expected to find many. At the moment I failed to find any. After walking some more, off Rue Gay Lussac, I stopped into a once opulent but now faded cafe. Its former grandeur was still reflected in the brightly polished copper coffee brewing urns and marble topped tables. Ordering a glass of red wine and a small sandwich, I settled myself into a chair at a table near the window. A television played in the corner, over the bar. Most everyone seemed to be occupied with their own thoughts, as was I. I ate slowly, watching the rain fall outside.
This was a tiny village, I thought, when the pyramids were being built. Now it had grown to be one of the great cities of this world. Yet, somehow, it reminded me of my time in Boston, except that the people here were different. Paris felt old. There was still something of that old Gallo-Celtic village still here, though now it too was a modern city. At the bar, the French faces were talking, sometimes quietly or else volubly and gesticulating, yet they spoke in their minds to one another as if they knew each other from very long ago, like very old friends. This is something I do not remember seeing so much in America, though I did see it in Africa and India.
My thoughts also wandered to San'aa. I knew she was nearby, but still did not know where, exactly. Yet, in my mind, I felt her.
I finished the bread and cheese and sipped the wine slowly. It warmed me from inside. A passionate game of cards had begun at a table away from the TV at the far end of the bar, engulfed in a heavy cloud of Gauloise smoke. Exclamations of "Saloprie! Putain!" and "Merde!" punctuated the slap of cards on the marble top. Sardonic smiles framed by lips clutching acrid cigarettes gave away the losing hands. I sat watching them from my solitary corner table, half lit by the flashing colors from the TV. It was still raining outside.
A boxing match was on the screen. The Frenchmen suddenly became totally occupied by it, forgetting their game and shouting out their vicarious immersion in the fight, as if remembering some ancient battle in which they fought and died, but never quite forgot. How long would it take for Earth to truly forget, I thought. Other worlds sometimes took thousands of years to let go of a violent past. Ours did. And what if I died? Would it bring upon this world more violence, more death, and souls displaced by a reality they could not understand? I looked out the window, thinking. The rain had stopped. I paid and left.
Back at the hotel, I again lay down. Closing my eyes, I tried centering myself in the Dream. It is that moment of time, just before sleep, when thoughts dart through the mind in sometimes incoherent patterns. Images flash, moods, feelings, and then ideas of problems still unsolved. It was a magic moment in the mind, one that Dreamers on my world learned to control and look into by slowing it down. Slowly, in mythical jerks, the images became more coherent now. Some part of my mind thought of how it is easier to accomplish this with the Light, and how it can also work better underground, sometimes, by tapping into that huge reservoir of energy stored in the Earth. I lay back, breathing measured breaths, my eyes closed, slowing down the processes of my mind. In minutes, I had entered the Dream state, and in it I lingered, just before sleep.
I must have fallen asleep, because suddenly I woke with a start. Another metro rumbled by. A clear recollection of seeing Pierce standing over San'aa at what appeared to be the headquarter police station. There was a bright light, and others standing around her. They were firing questions at her. San'aa looked tired.
"An interrogation," I said to myself. "They're interrogating her."
I raced upstairs and found the hotel clerk.
"Where would they hold interrogations in Paris?"
"Who? You mean the police?" His eyes lit up with excitement. I had given him the satisfaction of knowing that he had suspected right all along.
"At the Gendarmerie, of course, bien sure." He gave directions to get there.
I quickly drove to the police headquarters, found it, and parked on the sidewalk. Then I approached the main desk.
I must have looked unsavory, because the desk captain eyed me suspiciously, and made an effort to ignore me.
"Where do you hold your interrogations?" I demanded.
"We don't answer questions to any clochard or vagrant that walks off the street," he sneered. "Go on. Out of here!"
"The woman you are holding is not the one you want," I persisted. "I am the man they're after."
His demeanor changed instantly, and he signaled to other officers standing by for back up. They drew their weapons and approached me.
"Escort this man to 205. He is expected there."
They led me away, at gun point, though I explained that I would not resist. Still, rules are rules, and they did not wish to take chances with me. They had already been instructed to be on the lookout for me. We approached the said room, when a door opened. I could hear part of the conversation inside. I recognized Pierce's voice.
They all stopped and looked at me when I was brought in. There was a momentary silence, like the scene had not been rehearsed and no one knew what to say on cue. Then the paralysis was broken with a sudden flurry of activity. The second in command, I guessed, quickly sat down behind a desk. The two police officers who brought me in stood guard by the door. A third man dressed in civilian clothes slouched down on a comfortable chair. His pouty lips and watery eyes told me he did not like his work, but this was what he had to do. He was a medical examiner. Pierce spoke first.
"No tricks, Paul."
"Whatever do you mean?"
"What you did back there at the airport. Don't do it again."
"I won't do it again."
Pierce let out his breath, almost in relief.
"You know we've been trailing you for a long time."
He let that sink in, to let me know the severity of their mission.
"So you know who I am, and where I have been," I volunteered.
"We know something about you, thanks to San'aa. She proved very helpful in the end."
I looked up, surprised and confused.
"What is her role in this?"
"Never mind her. She's allright. We have you, and that's who we want."
The other officer, the second in command now spoke up.
"Monsieur. Would you be so kind as to remove your outer clothing?"
The medical examiner began shifting in his seat, as if he were about to be called.
"That can wait for now," Pierce interjected. "I would like to get to know this gentleman better first." Then, turning directly to me: "Paul, would you mind having a drink with me? You will be under guard, of course, but I would like to talk with you, alone."
"But where is San'aa? She is the one I am concerned about. You kidnapped her at Jumbesi."
"Yes, of course. But then you came, and that was the whole point. Don't you see, it's you we're after, not her. She's fine. Shall we go?"
I nodded, submitting to this demand. We all rose as a body, and filed out the room. I was led by Pierce, who was tailed by the two policemen behind me. The inspector was last. The examiner remained.
"Let me show you Paris," Pierce said with a sardonic smile as I got into the waiting police car. "We live here in a very beautiful world."
"Paris is a beautiful city, but are you not American?"
"My duties take me all over the planet, especially if I am following a world traveller like yourself," Pierce answered with a pleasant smile.
We drove off in the police car, Pierce and I as passengers in the rear, the driver and the inspector in front. Another police car trailed ours. The driver, like a good soldier, stared straight ahead. As we drove the now dark city, the street lights casting moving shadows on our faces inside the vehicle, no one spoke for a time. I broke the silence.
"So why have you been following me?"
Pierce looked at me. His long frame was couched uncomfortably in the smallish car, legs and knees buckled in front of him. Yet, he looked relaxed, almost as if he were enjoying himself. I could tell he liked his work, that of a government agent on the hunt around the globe. He had a handsome face, greying about the temples, a man who looked like he took care of himself. The inspector, by contrast, was smoking nervously in the front seat. He did not take care of himself, his health was fragile, and he was overweight. This was not the case with Pierce. I could like this man, I thought.
"We tracked you on radar when you landed off New England. And we spotted you via satellite, when you were making for shore. And we spoke to the people you saw in Boston, but they seemed to know little. But then we lost you." He again looked at me with those intelligent grayish blue eyes. "So do you see? We're curious. We want to know who you are and what are you doing here?"
I still was not totally sure that they were sure that I was an Alien. I could have been a spy landed here in some mysterious craft of the enemy's manufacture. But I had an idea that, though the governments of this world deny our existence, they are very well informed if one of our ships makes it into the atmosphere, or crashes. I suspected, without fully knowing, that I was in the latter category. I was an Alien specimen, to them, and they were interested in me.
"So I speak several languages, travel easily about the world, and know a great deal about you. Does that answer any questions for you?" I looked up to guage Pierce's response. My mental powers were not as strong as before, an inevitable side effect of having been off Light for so long, but I could still read his face.
"You look like us. That's a good start. And you speak well. I would never know you're from anywhere else than here, if I met you casually. San'aa didn't know at first, though she knows now."
"And Abdulah?"
"He knows something, but he is not sure what he knows. But he came to us with your communications device, that thing you had on your wrist."
"Oh? So that fills out the picture." I understood immediately why Abdulah was here. He was trading, the device for San'aa. Or was I missing something? "Does the device work for you?"
"No yet." He was being very frank, which meant he wanted some information from me. We pulled into a small street lit by a cabaret sign. The vehicles pulled up to the door, lights on, and Pierce and I exited. The others remained in the car.
The bistro was small, darkly lit, with only a small door to the back. The bartender greeted us cordially as we sat down at a small table, looked solicitously at us, though with a puzzled expression. He was not sure if I were a friend or prisoner. He seemed to know Pierce. Two policemen stationed themselves outside the door, as I am sure did others somewhere in the alley at the rear of the establishment. But now, out of ear shot, we were alone.
"A bottle of red wine, your best," Pierce ordered. And bring us something to eat.
"Ah, oui!" The bartender turned on his heels and disappeared behind the counter. Pierce kept his gaze on me, and I tried to look relaxed, though I felt weary inside.
"Why would you come here?" he asked at last. This, I felt, was the most important question on his mind.
"I came because it was time to do so. We are very close now."
"Close in what way? Do you plan an attack?" One of the policemen was straining to hear us, though we spoke in English and he most likely would not have understood. "Or are you just here to observe us?"
"We hold no malice towards you. And you are no threat to us, so an attack would be a very wasteful effort. No. We are not planning an attack." I looked up at him casually, and smiled. "Why, were you worried?"
Pierce smiled back, but it was a tooth smile, and it did not migrate to his eyes.
"We don't want to be boring, or paranoid, Paul, but we have to explore all possibilities, all contingencies, at all times. This is what our organization is paid to do. And you, to us, is an unknown input into the world equation, so we have to find out." He looked at the bartender coming to us, and suddenly became silent. The man brought us a bottle of wine, two glasses, and some small kanapes. The other patrons were occupied in their own conversations, or drinks, and paid no attention to us. When the waiter left again, Pierce resumed his questions: "Then why are you here?"
"Aren't you curious first as to how we got here?"
"We already know."
"So you have our technology?"
"Top secret and can't discuss it. But we know how your ships work."
"Then why don't you have some for your air force?"
Pierce poured me a glass of wine, and then himself, and held it up as if in a toast.
"Why do you think we don't?" He raised his glass. "To our mutual understanding and goodwill."
"To a meeting of worlds," I answered, and we clinked our glasses together. After we each took a small sip, I asked him: "So, are you threatened by our being here?"
"Yes. In some ways, we are. But you are not like the others, those that look almost like big insects, with those big eyes. You're almost exactly like us, and by that we are puzzled. We don't know who you are."
"You wouldn't. We have been forbidden from coming to your world for nearly four thousand years. This is our first foray here, and we want to see how we are received."
"Then the others aren't from your world?"
"Well, of course not. And they trespassed."
"Then how many worlds are there?" Pierce suddenly looked agitated, and feeling quite small.
"Millions. Didn't you know?"
"Well, no. We thought for the longest time we were alone in the cosmos, and that maybe somewhere far away there would be a world like ours."
"There are. Many like yours, and many more different, and yet all inhabited. Why would you think you were alone?" I looked at him, truly amused. But then I realized that this was the depth of the Quarantine, and its intent, to isolate a world to allow it to develop without interference. "And that is our intent, to break your isolation. Does that answer it for you?"
"Yeah. But my people aren't going to like it."
"I know. We're afraid of that. But we do things differently from how you do it on your world. Here, you have the police and government define order for you. On our world, we use a technology that is in some ways related to your psychology and spirituality. So it's hard for us to relate to how you see things."
Pierce took a bite of his sandwich, but it was a listless bite. He was thinking. I sipped at my wine, and passed on the food. As he pondered my words, I added:
"We understand that your power over the world would be threatened by our appearance."
"You bet it would. It would cause riots."
"That's not what we mean. We don't think we would cause riots. The public, worldwide, is quite ready to receive us into your world. I think the threat would come from the governments."
"Why? If you're friendly, we would share our knowledge with you, and you with us. That would work for us."
"But your legitimacy to power would be threatened, because we would become a power greater than yours. And the people might turn away from your legitimacy to rule."
"Thou shalt have no greater god over us..." Pierce spoke to himself. "But, Paul, look at our predicament. We would love to know of your technology, and of your world's culture, and of space travel. But then, people might stop paying taxes, or joining our military, or even obeying our laws."
"Have you actually programmed these possibilities into your future strategies?"
"No. That's why we want to know why you are here. You see," he looked around himself instinctively, as if he were being chased, "we can't allow you to come into our world. You would destroy what we have built up."
"But that's the challenge to your future, Pierce. We will come, someday, and you should be ready to receive us."
"Then that's the challenge, and we have to do what we need to to make sure you don't return."
I understood just then that his statement may have had a double meaning, and that perhaps he meant to keep me a prisoner here forever.
"We must return, or your world will be lost, possibly forever, to the outside universe. It's a very big Galaxy, Pierce, and no one man should stop a world from becoming free, to explore it when it is ready."
"That's what I'm trying to say. We're not ready."
"We know. But it will not be for governments to decide when you are."
"Then that's a threat of war."
"Only if you want to see it that way. To our way of seeing it, the governments will be the least ready when the people are, because their power base will be eroded by a higher order of things."
"We can't believe that, since we represent the best of what this world has to offer, the best research, the best minds, the best law and order, and the best in freedom."
"Pierce, you have been led to believe this, but that is not how it is. The best is in all those private individuals, thinkers, artists, architects, teachers, writers, and dreamers. They are the best of your world. But even more, the best are those who are honest, trustworthy, and live by a higher ideal than merely personal gain. Granted, given where you are in your evolution, all this would not exist without a government that punishes after the manner of the God of your Bible. But you are only the police of this world. The best comes from ordinary people who dare to dream the impossible, and then do it."
"Then what do I report to my government?"
"That you captured me."
We both laughed, as neither Pierce nor I really believed this to be a credible report. But in fact, it was true. I was a prisoner, and he had control over my future, even my life. But Pierce was thinking of something else.
"But that is impossible in this world. How can you protect people's freedom without a police force?"
"That is the paradox, isn't it? How can people be free if they are not already free in their hearts?"
"So I have only one option open to me."
"You have to arrest me."
"There is nothing else I can do." He looked at me with sad eyes. "I am only the instrument of my government, and I must obey my orders."
"If that is how it is in your Dream."
He looked up at me, wondering what dreaming had to do with this.
"Paul, I like you. Even if we can't accept you in our world. I like you."
"I like you too, Pierce, even if we are of very different worlds."
"Let's go back." He gulped down the last of his wine.
"Can I see San'aa now?"
"Of course."



9. Arrested
The inspector took over once we arrived back at the police station. Pierce stood by, but he remained silent.
"We know you travel under false papers, Paul." He let that sink in, that I was in big trouble. My silence gave him permission for his next statement. "And we know you can be dangerous. So you are under arrest."
"I've hurt no one."
"But you have broken our laws. No one can do that and not be considered a criminal, possibly dangerous." He looked seriously at me, as if he had spoken a profound statement.
The inspector sat at his desk, smoking a cigarette, looking at me. The air in the room had grown heavy, almost greasy. I could hear breathing.
"Colonel Pierce has told us who you are. We know who you are, Paul. Why did you come into France?"
"You captured the woman I was with."
By now it was getting quite late, and I had become very tired. I was tired of their questioning, their meaningless laws, and their foolish way of carrying them out. I had grown tired of being here, on this miserable world run by miniature minds. I wanted out.
"I can't answer any of your questions."
"Damn it, man!" he retorted. All pretense of civility now gone. "Don't you know what you represent?" His breathing was heavy, an odd smell of fear emanating from his body. "You're a threat! People out there get a whif of who you are, and you're dead meat. They'll eat you alive. We're protecting you, don't you see? The French government wants you safe, as is due to any free citizen. Do you know what I'm talking about?" He stared at me to see if I understood. I nodded. "Then cooperate with us."
"What do you need to know?"
"Who else is here with you."
"San'aa."
"No! We mean of your kind, those who came with you. Where are they?"
"Why? So you capture them too?"
"If you don't cooperate, you will never see San'aa again."
I looked helplessly to Pierce, who suddenly turned impassive. He did not return my gaze.
"What have you done with her?"
The inspector was growing visibly impatient with me. He started pacing up and down the room, brushing close by me as I sat in the metal chair. He pulled out another cigarette and lit it, casting patterns of ill smelling smoke into the air.
"Paul. You could disappear, and never be found again. Or we could remove a part of your brain, and you would never remember who you are, or worse. Do you understand me? We have power over you, and you are helpless before us. Or you could cooperate, and we give you a new identity, a nice villa somewhere, maybe in one of our territories, and you would live the rest of your life as a free man."
He turned and peered at me to see if any of this was making any kind of impression on me.
"Where's San'aa?"
"Why should you care? She worked for us."
"I don't believe you."
The inspector looked at Pierce, as if a signal had been sent his way, and he interrupted the questioning.
"Look, Paul. She was in Abdulah's charge. Now, she doesn't really know anything, and is quite innocent of what the Inspector is talking about. But she was working for us, that's all."
"What do you mean, that's all!" I yelled. "You duped her into coming with me? To follow me, and spy on me? And Abdulah was behind it?"
"He was working for us. We had to know where you are."
I shook my head as if to dispel some horrible dream.
"I don't believe you."
"Allright. See for yourself." Then Pierce turned to one of the guards at the door. "Get the girl."
San'aa was not far away, because the guard came back with her momentarily. She walked through the door, a worried look written over her face. She quickly assessed the room, the people there, looked over at Pierce, and then at me. She was trying to guess if they had been torturing me, but realized with relief that I had been unharmed, though at this late hour, I looked like hell. She ran over to me.
"Oh, Paul! Oh, my beautiful Paul. I had been so worried about you!" She threw her arms around me, and covered my face with kisses. "Are you allright?"
"I thought you had run away." I tried to muster up a smile.
"Oh, no! They kidnapped me!"
"They just told me you worked for them."
She reacted by letting go of me, and stepping back, and then launching herself onto me again.
"It was Abdulah! He used me. But I didn't know, really!"
She began stroking my hair as if I were a child, and nervously looking around the room, like a trapped animal planning escape. I took her hand in mine, and kissed it gently.
"I didn't believe them."
"Don't believe them. Your mine, and I'm not theirs."
Just then, the inspector had grown impatient with this course of things.
"Madame, you must tell him the truth, about your working with us."
"That's a lie! I never worked for you, nor for anyone!"
The inspector pressed on, Pierce silent in his chair.
"You came willingly when we came for you. And you accepted payment for your, err... services. Is that not so?"
"You said I have money in some bank account. But I have no idea what you are talking about." She looked over to me, to make sure that I knew she was telling the truth. "And I came willingly only because you said you would kill him if I did not." Then turning to Pierce. "Go on, tell him! Isn't that what you said to me?"
Pierce shrugged, as if this was not his argument. Then San'aa turned back to me.
"Look! I'm telling you the truth. They used me, and threatened me. But I told them nothing, nothing!"
From some secret signal given, the guard came over and took hold of San'aa's arm. She violently pulled it away, but he took hold of her with greater vigor and began dragging her, with the help of the other guard, back out the door. She looked back and struggled, but they were more powerful. Then, as she was about to go through the door, she yelled back:
"I love you, Paul! I love you! Don't listen to anything they say!"
The inspector again resumed his command. Bringing in the girl obviously didn't have the desired effect.
"Okay. Get the examiner in here, on the double!"
A policeman jumped to and immediately grabbed the phone and called for the examiner. He was heard running down the hall, a medical bag in hand. Pierce nodded to him, and he put down the case, opened it carefully, and began retrieving the instruments inside.
"Would you mind rolling up your sleeve?" the inspector asked.
"Why? Are you drawing blood?"
"We need it for our medical labs. It's standard procedure. You do realize you are under arrest."
"Very well." I rolled up my sleeve.
The pouty faced examiner produced a large seringe, the type used for blood samples, but larger. He started poking nervously at my veins.
"Was this properly sterilized?" I asked meekly.
"We've taken every precaution," was the examiner's only response, as he put on his latex gloves. He was a man who did not like his job, but it was what he had to do.
The needle pierced my skin inside the elbow. Pain shot up my arm and down my hand. Red blood squirted into the holding container. A look of satisfaction appeared on the faces around me.
"It's the same, red like ours," said the examiner. An audible sign of relief was hear in the room.
"Did you expect green?" I said feebly. A tragic look came across Pierce's face. He looked at the inspector, who nodded to the examiner.
"Take a tissue sample," ordered the inspector. "Have no fear, he will use a local anesthetic."
But fear was exactly what I had begun to feel. I looked over to the door and watched Abdulah enter the room, followed by three body guards. His eyes spoke to me of sorrow. His dress was impeccably Arabian, a long jeleba, polished red slippers. His eyes caught mine, but only betrayed that he too was helpless. He took a seat offered to him by one of the policemen, his men standing alertly around him. Abdulah gave off a sigh.
"I am a human being, just like you," I said, almost in a whisper, as the examiner further prepared his instruments.
"And examine his genitals." The inspector spoke absentmindedly, as if I were not in the room. He had the power, and I was now only a laboratory specimen.
I smiled and shook my head, feeling the absurdity of his request.
"What do you expect? A double penis? Three testicles?"
But they were without humour, dead serious.
"You can't treat me like an animal. Not even for your science," I almost pleaded. I could see no way to escape from this nightmarish scenario, and wanted to wake from such a terrible dream. But it was not a dream. It was the way the world was in their Dream, the way they saw it as the right thing to do. "You shouldn't do this even to your animals," I whispered softly.
But they were busy and ignored me, too intent on what they were about to find out. Fear was now setting it. It was a close fear, the kind that starts out slow, almost like it isn't fear at all, but then squeezes around the heart muscles, and stays lodged in the throat area, making it difficult to breathe. Soon my brain raced in an abnormal, adrenal state, making me want to flee. Perspiration formed in beads on my forehead and under my arm pits. I realized I was a trapped animal. I saw in my mind the slaughter of the buffalo in the alley, its eyes just before death. I saw Mananam in his cave, eyes blind but seeing with an inner light. And I saw little Anand's face when I offered him food to slack his hunger. For a moment, I thought I was aboard Ship, safe inside my Dream chamber. The image passed immediately as another large needle was brought over to me, pressed against the flesh of my neck. I suddenly felt helpless, powerless. The sting raced through my head, then stopped. A scapula in hand, the examiner came closer to me, looking over my head. I could feel his breath on my neck, like the breath of an animal that was about to attack.
"This will hurt only a little. You will feel a pinch, and some discomfort, but it will pass. We will quickly bandage you up." The examiner was trying to be humane to his specimen.
"Pierce!" I looked over to him as the knife was about to cut. "On whose authority are you acting?"
He was slow to respond. "The very highest. Believe me. It comes from the very highest. Need to know only." Then he turned away, as if what was happening was not his doing. He was only following orders.
The man with the scalpel slowly moved it over to me, and very calmly, after applying some gel on my skin, almost in slow motion, cut a deep gash into my neck, just behind my ear. Oddly, the pain appeared only after awhile. And then it burned. The anesthetic had not yet taken. Blood trickled down my nape. My shirt had been pulled back from there. I looked down at my feet. My mind felt suddenly quiet, faint, like it could not believe what was happening was true. Yet, it began to sense that they were more than merely curious. They were not going to let me go. Years of training, of the Dream, passed before my eyes. The Light, so rich and life giving, came back into my consciousness. I remembered the sadhu's eyes when he touched the cobra. I was their sacrifice, for they were not pure. I sat very still. I could tell from their eyes they were disappointed. They had expected something different. Maybe some sort of miraculous healing, the wound healing instantly. But I was like them, even in the color of my blood. The inspector puffed furiously on his cigarette, his facial features set cold but frightened in the harsh florescent light. I waited. In my mind, faintly aware, I wove patterns of the sleep I suddenly craved. I wanted to sleep, to close my eyes and retreat into that safe world that we all know. My soul wanted to retreat into death. But San'aa was out there, so I did not let it.
The room became strangely quiet, like it was slipping away. They were all silently busy with what was going on, like children watching the dissection of a frog in a classroom. They did not notice the slight change in the spectrum of the florescent light, a shifting from sterile white to an almost pinkish blue. I felt a tingling on the back of my neck where the wound was. A warmth pressed itself there, like someone had just placed a compress on it. But they were watching the examiner putting a piece of my flesh in a sample container. It was not much, only a sliver about two centimeters long. All eyes were turned on him, me a momentarily forgotten, harmless prisoner. The door was well guarded. Only Abdulah's eyes were on me, looking at me intently. He knew I was Alien, and he had a thousand questions. But they would not be answered. The light grew stronger, and their faces and eyes slowly froze into vacancy. Suddenly, they were no longer there, but travelling somewhere in their childhood memories. The Light gave me new strength, new vision with which I could see them no longer as mere humans of this world, but as small souls who had to learn in the only way they knew. Their lessons were to be learned through pain, as has happened to them many times before. The Light intensified, so even Abdulah no longer could focus on me. Instead, his eyes were looking in on some distant memory of what had happened to him as a child. He remembered his pet dog. As a child, he loved his little dog. It was not a very fancy animal, an offspring of many copulations of uncertain parentage. But one day it annoyed him repeatedly and angered him. So on that morning, he raised a wooden chair and in frustration struck it hard, crushing its skull. Realizing what he had done, he immediately collapsed in a puddle of tears. He had cried for days. Now his face looked sad, the blur of distant memory robbing it of its self control. Tears formed on his cheeks. Then he sat there, crying softly to himself.
The pouty man, as he was removing his medical instruments for more surgery, likewise showed signs of sadness. He had seen his mother struck repeatedly by his father, when he was still a very young boy. Then one day his father, when drunk, dowsed her with kerosene and set her on fire. She died in the kitchen without resistance, horribly. His young eyes watched her as she sat, engulfed and forlorn, apathetic, her large brown eyes consumed by the flames. She looked at him calmly as she burned, until that last moment when the flicker of life left her. He was then too stunned to cry. It was ruled an accident. He never forgot this. His lip trembled. His hands froze, unable to hold his instrument. He began to tremble and whimper.
A strong light had now entered the room, like dancing particles of luminescence. The inspector's mouth dropped open, and he began to jibber unintelligently. In my mind I could see him facing aliens, those fearful 'greys' he knew about, them strapping him to a table, cutting open his sex organ and extracting fluid from it. He began to scream a long and silent scream, as if in a slow motioned nightmare. A policeman had thrown himself to the floor, gasping for air. He was facing his greatest fear, of drowning. And now he was drowning in his mind, watching the surface of the water rise farther and farther above him, him sinking helplessly. He would never breath air again, and he was clutching at his throat. The others were undergoing their own nightmares, falling from great heights, run down by screeching locomotives, buried alive, tortured only in the ways their own minds could torture them. I rose calmly from the table as they froze before me, mouths agape, unable to scream.
Only Pierce had remained unaffected.
"They're here."
"Yes. They're here."
We looked at each other a moment, the only two minds the Ship's rays were not attacking.
"I want to see them."
"You can't. They're a million miles in space."
"But I have a need to know!" He sounded frightened, almost pathetic, as this power being used against him was nothing he could return. He was helpless.
"You will know when the time comes. Not now." I looked at him, and turned my neck to show him.
"You're healed!"
I nodded. "I have to go now."
"I know." We looked at each other a moment longer, almost friends. I looked over at Abdulah. He sat quietly, hunched over, still staring into space. The others had also relaxed from their horrors, just standing or sitting, like men half asleep.
"Goodbye, Pierce."
"Goodbye, Paul." Then his face changed. The neutralizing rays had been turned off him, and his mind likewise entered into that strange world the others had undergone. His mouth opened, and his eyes slowly rolled wide, as he let off a loud silent scream. He too had just entered into his own nightmare.
The Ship's magic would last only so long, and then be forgotten, as if it had never happened. They would all waken from their horrors, but remember almost nothing of it, as if woken from a half remembered dream. Only a few minutes of their lives would have been lost.
I rushed to the door. It was unlocked and unattended from the other side. Down the hall, I nearly ran over a policeman walking calmly.
"Where's the girl?" He looked at me blankly, like he had no idea of what I was talking about. "The beautiful woman, African!"
He pointed down the hall. "Two rooms on left." Then he turned and resumed his walk as if I had never asked him, or was ever there. I rushed over to the room and found San'aa sitting alone in the dark. The lights were dimmed, like a dark chamber of four stark walls. She sat in a chair, staring at nothing in particular. I touched her shoulder, and her head turned to look at me, but recognition was slow in coming. Then her eyes smiled, consciousness once again fighting to regain their control. Her hand moved up to me.
"Paul?"
"What have they done to you?" She shook her head, then drifted away momentarily before coming back. "They drugged you." She looked up with a questioning look, then smiled at me.
"Well, it's okay. We drugged them," she answered with a half wit.
"Right." I took hold of her, and raised her to her feet. "Come, we have to get out of here, quick!"
"Come on, we must leave? "
San'aa took my hand and I nearly dragged her into the corridor. Personnel were walking past us, but they paid little attention to us, as if we were not there.
The Ship's taken care of them too, I thought. "They beamed all of them. See?" I pointed out to San'aa. "They don't even know we exist."
"Like hypnosis?" She sounded a little dopy.
"Yeah. Just like hypnosis."
We left the building and got into my rental car. San'aa stayed close to me, hugging me. I held her with one arm, when I did not need it to shift. Then, waking little by little, she began covering my face with kisses, and I returned her kisses. Within minutes, I had to stop the car and we lunged at each other with passionate kisses, nearly smothering our breaths away.
"Where have you been?" I asked her, when we stopped kissing for a moment. She answered me in between kisses on my eyes, my head, my neck.
"They took me to a military post... Then they let the other nuns go... to walk back... to the monastery. Then they transfered me to a commercial... huhh!.. airliner, under guard, until we reached... ahh!... Paris." She stopped, looked up at me, and smiled.
"Well, you wanted to come to Paris."
"What a way to go!"
Our conversation was again interrupted by our passion, and we did not speak for a long time. San'aa was back to her old self again. At long last, we again drove off into the night.
"But what is Abdulah doing here?" I asked finally, as we had fallen into a silence thinking of all the things that had just happened to us. "He never spoke a word."
"An African, in a white man's world, will do that sometimes. His thoughts aren't revealed."
"But he looked so rich."
"He is rich. His company was a partner in an oil well development, and they struck oil, out in the Nuba desert. So now he is a wealthy man."
"Is that why he came here?"
"He came to claim me."
"You spoke with him of this?"
"Briefly. He wasted no time in stating his intent."
"Are you tempted?"
San'aa looked into my eyes, almost flirting, and smiled.
"Jealous?"
"Maybe. A little."
"No need to be. Remember? I said I'd follow you anywhere." She gave me a squeeze, and put her head on my shoulder. We were cruising the streets of the city with no destination in mind.
Suddenly remembering something. "Say, what did he say to you that time on the pyramid in Kush?"
"Oh, you mean at Karima?" I nodded, looking at her. "He wanted to know if I had sex with you." She let off a little giggle.
"And what did you tell him?"
"Yes, of course!"
"Did he look troubled by this?"
"In fact, he looked away, like now I was a fallen woman. Then he asked me if I planned to stay with you."
"And you answered?.."
"I said I'd follow you anywhere." She gave off another happy giggle.
"Even to the stars?" I smiled at her in the uneven light of the street lights passing overhead.
She threw her arms around me. "I knew you'd come for me!" She sat up against me as close as possible, given the stick shift, and looked out happily as we drove the Paris streets, like a big piece of the past had never happened.
I pulled up to my humble hotel.
"You're staying here?" she asked, mocking me. "Not the Palace, is it?"
"It was the safest place I could think of. They'd never expect to find me here." I looked at the two men by the doorway and suddenly recognized them. "But someone else figured it out. Looks like we have company."
"Who?"
"Abdulah."
San'aa and I entered the hotel. Before us was the ever present desk clerk looking nervous. Opposite him was sitting a handsome, tall African. It was Abdulah. He got up from the sofa chair. When he rose, we could see where the upholstering had been torn, covered by his seat. He bowed deeply as we entered.
"As-salaam alaikom."
"I told him naahhthing, Monsieur," the desk clerk quickly added, nervously, his Russian accent suddenly thicker.
I waived to him to let him know it was allright.
"It's okay. We know each other. We're old friends." Abdulah smiled graciously. Then to him: "I'm surprised to find you in Paris."
"My business takes me many places now," he replied graciously. Then he added: "I am glad you are well, and that they did not cut you open after all."
"They tried, but we got away," I smiled at him. He accepted it without explanation.
"What they say... that you are from another world... is it true?"
I nodded 'yes'.
"Then that is why I am here," he continued. Turning to San'aa. "I am here to take you home. Joseph asked me to do this."
"But I don't understand. Why should Joseph request this?" San'aa wanted to know.
Abdulah reached into his long gown and retrieved something from an inner pocket. It was my communicator.
"Do you recognize this?" He held it up for us to see.
"How did you get it?" I asked, though not really puzzled.
Abdulah raised his hand, as if this was not what he came here to discuss. Then again to San'aa:
"Joseph thought it wise to let me have it. So please come back with me, to your home." He hesitated, as if torn by some inner conflict. "And I will give this back to Paul. It is Joseph's wish."
The desk clerk was witness to all this, and was staring at us with great fascination, if confused. But he held his silence.
"That is impossible, Abdulah. If San'aa goes back, she will be hunted down. She already knows too much."
"This is not between you and me, Paul." He was once again the man who desired San'aa in the desert. "It is between San'aa and me." He looks at her tenderly. "You see, I love her. And I want to take her home, to be with me."
"Then say it to her," I countered peevishly. "Don't say it to me."
Abdulah now faced San'aa with genuine emotion.
"I love you San'aa. Come with me. I can forget everything, and... forgive."
San'aa looked at him with pity in her eyes. She shook her head.
"You belong with me," he implored her earnestly.
"I am sorry, Abdulah. I cannot go with you. You're a fine man, but I will not be your wife."
A look of dejection crossed Abdulah's face, which then turned into a frown bordering on a scowl. He held up the Light device as if he was about to fling it, crush it, but then held himself, reconsidering his options.
"Give it back to me, Abdulah. It is of no use to you. It is locked except for the emergency signal. And you don't want to press that."
"I know about the emergency signal. Joseph explained it to me. But I never pressed it."
"You could have pressed it when I was on the examiner's table," I said, testing him.
He only looked at me and smiled, then shook his head.
"This is of more use to others than to me," he held it up for me to see it better. "The government men know I have possession of it, and they offered to pay me handsomely for it."
"No they won't," I said. "Don't be a fool, Abdulah. They'll kill you for it. You do not know who you are dealing with. Give it back to me."
"Give it to him," San'aa insisted. "It's his. It is not of this world."
"Why do you need it?" he asked, casually. "You could always get another, can't you?"
"I need it to call my Ship. We're going home."
"San'aa too?"
"Yes," she answered flatly. "I'm going with him."
The desk clerk was now entranced with rapt attention. He still could not guess what it was really about, but he was beginning to truly enjoy this, though he was not sure what 'from another world' meant. After all, I looked human like everyone else.
A commotion outside spilled into the hotel lobby. Just then two people, a man and a woman, the usual hotel guests, came down the stairs and stopped at the bottom of the landing. They froze as Abdulah's body guards came rushing in, followed by Pierce and two police officers. All stopped just inside the door. There was no time to lose.
"Abdulah! Give me the device! Now! I can stop them with it."
Abdulah hesitated, looking first at them, then at us. He looked as if he was about to throw it to Pierce, who already held his hands out for it, when he wheeled and tossed it to me. The two police officers and Pierce were then drawing their weapons, ready to fire at us, when I caught the communicator and, without hesitation, turned and tossed it to Pierce, who caught it mid air. He held it in his hands, momentarily confused by what had just happened. Then he straightened and looked at me.
"No tricks, Paul."
"No tricks. But give it back to me. It will be of no use to you."
"Are you kidding?" He replied, triumphantly. "Do you know what this is worth to us?" I shrugged, not offering to answer. "How does it work?"
"By magic. But don't press any of those buttons, especially the red one."
He immediately pressed it, but nothing happened. This done, he then turned without a word, and fled through the door way, his prize in hand. The policemen, without further instructions, also followed him out. San'aa and Abdulah and I stood there, dumfounded. The hotel clerk watched us, also amazed. And the hotel guests remained frozen at the foot of the stairs. They had never moved.
"That's it? Nothing else?" I ventured, breaking the surprised silence.
"So they took the bait," said Abdulah, finally, smiling. He shook his head to indicate he did not understand. "It is useless to them, just a worthless toy. But I could have made money with it."
"I know, as now you know." I smiled at him. "It is locked, and no matter how much their scientists play with it, it will be of no value to them."
Abdulah smiled back.
"So it was all a game, after all," he said. "You always knew it was useless."
I nodded agreement.
"Even the red button?"
"I had to keep you intrigued."
"Why?"
"So you would bring it back to me."
"But now it's gone..."
"Not in the plan."
We both gave off a short laugh together, as did San'aa, understanding that there was never any communications of device for any of us. It was always a decoy, a mockup to make people think it did something. At least that was what I now wanted them to think. In fact, in the right hands, it was a very useful communications device. And now I wished I had it, to call the Ship.
"You see, Abdulah, we were here long ago. But then we made mistakes, and we don't want to repeat those mistakes again." His eyes looked at me with understanding, as if they understood from deep within, remembering something of very long ago. "So we are very careful with what we bring into this world. It could be used in ways never intended."
Abdulah nodded, the tension between us dissipating little by little. San'aa began relaxing also, though she was still tense. Only the couple at the foot of the stairs were still frozen in place. I spoke to them.
"It's okay. You could go now." They woke instantly and hurried out the hotel lobby door. The desk clerk kept watching us, fascinated, but not understanding.
"They got what they came for, for now." I was dismissing Abdulah with the others, so he too could return to his world. "But they may still come back for us. After all, they are only doing their job and following orders, so they have no choice in the matter. I think we should all leave now." I looked at Abdulah, then at San'aa. I needed to protect her. "They'll come especially for you, Abdulah."
"But I know nothing." He suddenly began to feel fearful.
"But they don't know that. Can you get out of the country quickly?"
"I have diplomatic papers... forged, of course." He gave me a sad smile. "I am alien in this land too."
"We must all leave before they return!" San'aa sounded alarmed.
Abdulah spoke with his eyes that he hated to leave so empty handed. But we had sworn friendship in the desert, and he did not forget this.
"Alas, farewell, my friends. Allah be with you on your journey..." He hesitated a second, "...wherever you're going."
"Farewell, Abdulah. You again have been a faithful friend. Even as an enemy you are a friend. And again I take away what you wanted most."
"It is God's will," he answered simply.
"Learn to live in peace in this world."
"We have many enemies."
"Not if you remember Allah is merciful."
We both looked into each other's eyes.
Then San'aa spoke to him:
"Goodbye, Abdulah. Give my love to Joseph and my sisters. It may be a long time before I see them."
The hotel clerk hobbled over to us, suddenly in charge of his establishment, but looking concerned.
"Monsieur. I do not know what this business is all about, but I cannot have you in my hotel. I must think of my other guests."
There were no other guests present at the moment. But Abdulah gave us his farewell, raising his hand to his forehead, his lips, and then to his heart, and lowering it to the floor with a flourish, and turned for the door. His men followed him. He exited without looking back. The desk clerk pulled on us to follow him downstairs. San'aa and I were taken down into the doorway that led to the Catacombs. The clerk lit the lantern for us.
"God's speed," he said, surprising us with his genuine concern. "I hope you have better luck on the other side." Then he quickly left us in the darkness relieved only by the small flame. In time, he too would forget.
"Oh! You know how I feel about caves," San'aa lamented, holding onto my arm with an iron grip. "Do we have to go this way?"
"It is our best bet. Everywhere else will be watched. Come on, we can do it. I know of these Catacombs from my studies."
"You learn a lot on your Ship, don't you?"
"We can learn a year's worth of knowledge in a matter of minutes." I smiled at her, but her eyes spoke concern.
She pressed closer to me as we stepped under spider webs, bats flying in the pitch blackness ahead. Soon, the narrow tunnel opened into a broader one, with human skeletal remains stacked on ledges and in niches in the wall. San'aa looked at them in near horror.
"It's okay. They've been dead a very long time. There are no ghosts here." I looked around a larger room with bones stacked from floor to ceiling, skulls grinning at us in piles. Words came back to me: "And death shall have no dominion... Though lovers be lost... Love shall not." It was Dylon Thomas, to relieve the darkness of death. San'aa and I walked in silence, peering into the darkness.
"What's that sound? It sounds like it's breathing. Oh! Paul! It's ghosts!"
"No! All caves breathe. It is a normal exchange of air with the outside. Listen..."
"No, no. It's different now. It sounds more like a drum beat." We both strained to listen. "Could it be the city?"
In the still silence of the caves, now that we were far away from our entry, indeed, there was a beat, like a distant rising and falling of sound, fading at times to nothingness. Its sounded like it almost had a life of its own, a distant life, both friendly and malevolent. It felt like the beat of a million hoofs ground into the earth beneath their feet, like armies on the march long ago, now all dead.
"Of course!" I said, finally. "We're underground. Remember when I said caves speak to me?" San'aa nodded in the darkness. "Well, this is it." "Ghosts?"
"No. Watch. I'll try to use my mind to help us see it better."
A distant drumming began to insinuate itself into our minds, almost audible to the ear. Then faint images, distant at first, but then closer came into focus before us. They were images of dancing, aboriginal dancing, bare feet in dry dust, bodies tatooed, dark and painted, frenzied by drugs for their god, whirling to the savage beat. Images of Africans dancing in groups, bodies writhing in abandonment to the drums. Then native Aborigines, stomping the ground to the clatter of sticks, droned up by didjeridoos. One image came very close, as if it were looking in on us, as if he could see us, then retreated to dance around the totem of a corroboree. Then we could see Native Americans, drumming and chanting by fire light, their voices rising up to the night, star filled sky as if to soar with eagles. Then it fell silent, and only a distant murmur of 'Ohm' was audible. The old wizened face showed itself, briefly, to vanish in the darkness again. "He's alive," I said, more to myself. "Who?" asked San'aa, also aware of the images, even if only dimly. "The Dreamer," I answered. "That was the old monk you saw at the monastery. Mananam?"
I squeezed her hand in acknowledgement. We had been standing in place, listening. When the chanting stopped, we opened our eyes. Before us was a large cross made entirely of human skulls. San'aa almost screamed, but I held her mouth.
"We can't be heard here."
"What is it?" she asked, startled.
"It is their way of saying that they are waiting for the Second Coming."
"You mean Jesus Christ?"
"The next King of Kings. King of the Christians, and the Jews... and even Moslems. All the dead are awaiting the awakening." I thought about it, looking at the cross. "But what if He's not coming? Then they are only so many bones. Nothing to fear, but fear itself, so the living could awaken."
We were silent once more in the dark, proceeding cautiously until a sign pointing to the exit showed itself. When we got to it, the door, surprisingly, opened easily from inside. It was designed to let out anyone unfortunate enough to have gotten lost there after closing. No guard was present. We put out the lantern and stepped outside the labyrinth. Fragrant blossoms greeted us in the cool night air of Paris. It was the middle of the night, but taxies were about and we hailed a cab.




10. Montmarte
"To Montmarte, s'il vous plait. Take us to a bisro. We're hungry."
"Bien sure, Monsieur." The taxi sped us away from the world of the dead into the brightly lit streets of Paris.
Past Moulin Rouge, we were taken to a small bistro on a side street. San'aa and I ducked into a doorway unseen and entered a surprisingly large establishment full of people, even at this hour. Loud music greeted us, a band playing Parisian versions of blues jazz. Patrons sat at tables, drinking and talking volubly. A few partners were on the dance floor, pathetically shuffling away the late hour. The air was thick with smoke, the atmosphere dark. We took a table in a corner by a window and ordered dinner.
"At least you're seeing of Paris," I said, feeling apologetic.
"It's not the same, somehow. I had a different vision of being here." San'aa looked glumly about the room. She was in no mood to dance. "This is not the city of lights I remember as a little girl. My life was free and gay then, and I was young."
"You're still young, and beautiful." I tried to coax a smile from her, but none showed.
We sat a while in silence, watching the other patrons, studying the menu with little enthusiasm. When dinner was served, we ate listlessly, speaking little.
"So how shall it end?" I asked with a sense of gloom. "I feel like I've brought you on a merry chase."
San'aa leaned over to me, elbows on the table, our heads touching. The view outside our window above us was a parade of legs passing by, cut off at the hip, as if they belonged to no one. When our hardly empty plates were taken away by our sleepy waiter, we raised our nearly empty glasses sardonically.
"Here's to Paris."
"To Paris."
The wine lifted our spirits momentarily. In a more lighthearted mood, we began to reminisce.
"Remember the camels in the desert?"
"And Sa'ba?" San'aa replied
"The pyramids, and the Taj Mahal?"
"It was so beautiful then, so carefree."
"And the Himalayas... Remember little Anand?"
We sat in silence a moment, thinking.
"Remember the snake charmer?" I spoke again to break the silence. San'aa nodded, smiling to herself. "He said you had the spirit of the cobra."
"And I said I didn't want to be reborn yet... Yes, I remember."
"It was all so easy then... Where did it go wrong?"
"They put me onto you, and then took me away," San'aa answered quietly. "Why couldn't they leave us alone? What are they afraid of?"
"They are afraid. Of us, themselves, what our coming would do to them. How could they control their policed world if we came?"
"They couldn't, could they? And they know it."
"So they must hunt us down. They have no choice." It was not a happy thought.
I looked about the bistro through the haze of smoke at the faces around us. Some were florid, sweaty, crooked teeth set in forced smiles.
I continued:
"Look at them. They hide here,. from themselves... I guess they're having fun, if they drink enough." This brought a smile to San'aa face.
"They do look funny, don't they?"
"But they don't know it. It is to entertain the absurd to think escape from the world brings happiness to it."
I reached up and touched San'aa's luxurious long hair. We were likewise being watched by the patrons in turn, but it did not matter. To us, we were alone.
"How do we get out of here?" San'aa spoke softly.
"I don't know. I need a power source."
"To call the Ship. Like Notre Dame Cathedral?"
"Maybe. Or the Eiffel tower. After all," I said, thinking of it, "both are temples to this world's great Age of Reason." I looked up into San'aa's eyes. "I wish I could show you more of Paris. I know you wanted more than this."
"I don't feel like it. Not now." She paused, looking into her mind. "I miss the sunlight, and open spaces, like I know back home." She looked up and smiled. "I wish I hadn't suggested you leave your Light source with Ibrahim. It was a bad idea."
I smiled back at her.
"We'll manage. It was part of our Dream. Don't get attached to it."
"But all use it on your world."
"Different realities." I thought about it a moment. "I think you'd like my world. There is much sunshine and great open spaces. And no pollution. No disease. And we have freedom. But even we're not perfect."
"I'd like to see it," she answered, hopelessness again setting in. "Do you think we should try the Cathedral? See if it is a power source?" She looked up into my eyes. "After all, it was dedicated to a great God of Love." "Even if this god was an oppression to others. The signal was badly garbled over time, though the message lives."
"Still. It may be our best bet. Shall we go?"
I nodded that should leave.
We walked back to the main boulevard, De Clichy, and walked casually past the brightly lit Moulin Rouge. Crowds of people strolled the boulevard, tourists mingling with street people, some solicitous. Prostitutes lounged, bored but trying to look sensual. A Japanese businessman approached one hesitantly, but she made it easy for him, and they left together. San'aa and I walked arm in arm, just glad to be together, watching the activities around us. A card shark was doing tricks, for money. We knew we were in the world's most civilized city, but here something had gone flat, like a sour note that brought to your attention that the piece was not so good after all. Here, Paris sparkled with neon lights, but they were more like beacons of faded glory.
"Can we take the Metro?" San'aa suddenly asked. "Then I can say that I at least saw that."
"Yes! Of course. And let's stop at the Eiffel tower as well. Then I can say that I was there!" This brought laughter back to us.
"Okay!"
The brightly lit Metro made us forget our darkening mood. We got off at Champs de Mars and climbed back to the cool night air. The Eiffel tower stood like a proud, brightly lit sentinel over the now deserted park. We walked hand in hand down a park lane, electric lamp posts guiding our way towards the great tower, which now loomed large over us.
"I'm so happy, here with you," I said, squeezing San'aa's hand. "We're both a long way from home." She looked up at me, her eyes sharing the same feeling with me. "Somehow, I feel lost here.. I feel like I lost control of my Dream... I'm drifting."
"Me too." Then suddenly, without warning: "Let's dance! Come on, dance with me!"
San'aa took me in her arms and we danced a silent waltz, spinning around down the dark lane, lamp posts spinning around us for our orchestra.
"This is what life should be like!" San'aa threw back her head in laughter. "It should be joyful! And free! And in love!"
We stopped, breathless, and took a seat on a park bench. The water fountain was spraying a fine mist on us, made colorful by the prism of lights reflected in the water.
"Tell me more of your home," San'aa said after a long silence.
"I have a beautiful home," I said. "It is high on a cliff in the desert... The whole world is my panorama, so when I wake in the morning, I feel like a soaring bird. Just above is a natural hot spring that gushes up from the rocks, like this fountain. The water goes around the house and then down a long waterfall, where it disappears into the desert sand below." I stopped and thought about it, remembering. I remembered the way our homes could mimic any environment we wished, by merely pressing in commands into the home's main control panel. I could have it even mimic what is outside, giving the place an illusion of having no walls. I added: "There is so much I could tell you, but you would have trouble imagining it, or even believing it. I wish we were there."
She reached up to my face.
"I was just thinking of little Anand. I wonder what he's doing now at the village. I hope he's happy." Then to me directly: "Tell me something to cheer me up."
"Have I told you how your hair frames your lovely face just right, like a black halo of wildness." She leaned closer into me, the natural perfume of her hair in my face. "And I like the way you ride a camel." She looked up and smiled at me. "And I hope you'll always be wild and free."
"Oh God, Paul. Never let me go. Oh, God. I love you! I'll always love you, no matter what."
I looked down into her eyes. "You know, life can have so many strange twists and turns. But my love for you will always fly true, no matter where life takes us, or what we do."
"Can you see me in your Dream?"
"What Dream? I can barely see myself in it... But yes, I see you in it."
Her lips reached up to mine and we kissed, a long kiss.
A police car, lights off, was circling behind us, and we spotted it.
"Oh, no," San'aa said feebly. "They're back."
A distant buzz of helicopters was becoming audible far to our right.
"I know that sound. This is not good."
"Its' not good. What are we going to do?"
"Come on! Quick! For now, the best defense is an offense!"
I took San'aa's hand and we ran for the police car. The police officers looked surprised that we would approach them. They sat momentarily confused.
"Notre Dame! s'il vous plais," I commanded. "Immediatemant!"
Their minds responded easily to my suggestion. The car's lights came back on and we got in the back. Aside to San'aa: "I still have some powers left." She pressed her body close to mine as we sped off into the Paris night. The two policemen in front of us acted as if nothing had happened. When one of them was about to lift the hand set of the car radio, I simply said: "Non." He put it back.
The gargoyles of the Cathedral stared down at us with lifeless, sinister eyes from the two towers overlooking the lights of the Seine. We got out of the car. One of policemen followed us listlessly, and knocked at the door of what we guessed was the rectory. Muffled, shuffling footsteps could be heard behind the door. Someone was coming downstairs. It opened. A young looking priest dressed in night clothes and slippers looked out at us with surprise.
"Why do you call at this hour of the night? Is there trouble? You interrupted my morning prayers."
"Maybe we answered them," I answered flippantly beneath my breath. San'aa felt in the same festive mood, all of a sudden. She liked this sharade we were playing with the law.
The policeman then very earnestly answered the priest.
"We're investigating a suspected burglary. These people saw... err... someone enter the church. They're here to... err... help identify him."
"Oh?" the surprised priest replied. "Please, do come in."
He locked the heavy door behind us.
"He may have gone to the roof. Which way are the stairs?" the policeman continued.
"This way, through the Cathedral." He took us to a large stair case. The large edifice of stone was dark, blackness lost in the high vaulted ceilings. Only the faint light from small devotional candles before the saints lit the way. "I'll wait here below, and call out if I see him."
We climbed two levels, when the policeman responded to my suggestion.
"I'll... check this level," he said to himself mechanically.
"We'll check the roof," I replied.
On the roof, the city lights stretched away from us in all directions. A low whisper of distant traffic revealed the city was again coming alive, even if it was still before dawn. The Seine stretched serenely below us, lit by the lights of the quays. This holy place like a temple on the Ganga in the city of light. We stood on the edge of the roof between the two towers, with only gargoyles for company looking down of the world below.
"Is this a power source?" San'aa asked, hesitantly. "The city is so beautiful from up here."
"I think so. Let me try."
I raised by mind into the sky, head erect, hands held stretched out behind me, back arched back slightly, like I did at the pyramid. I held that position for a moment. Nothing.
"I don't know. It's not working, somehow... I'm must be doing it wrong."
"Let's try the tower," San'aa offered.
We climbed higher into the belfry. In the distance, our ears could faintly hear the sound of police sirens, coming closer. Behind them, still further away, was the buzz of choppers, lights flashing high in the sky. A search light was activated and soon was directed towards the Cathedral. San'aa and I hid behind a large gargoyle.
"Looks like I brought on the wrong kind of power," I joked feebly.
"Why don't they just go away? What are we going to do?" San'aa's voice was distressed. "They're going to catch us and put in prison. We'll never see each other again. And you'll be cut to pieces."
We held each other, feeling the sense of impending gloom.
"I don't know. Nothing makes sense anymore."
"Why can't they leave us alone? We haven't hurt anyone. We've done nothing wrong. Oh, Paul... I'm tired. Please... Do something."
She curled up under my arm, her head on my breast. I stroked her head, leaning down to kiss it. We crouched in the darkness hidden from the splendor of the city lights. The choppers came closer, their lights casting sharp shadows around us. I too was tired.
A strong light began scanning the roofs and towers. The gargoyles momentarily looked like they came to life when the light hit them, and then retreated again, frozen by their darkness. We cowered behind them. It had turned cold.
"This is Pierce. We know you're in there, Paul!"
A loud amplified voice rained down on us from one of the choppers. The air was now buzzing with their whirling blades, like a malevolent technological invasion on this house of God. Soldiers in camouflage with weapons aimed stared out the chopper hatches. Pierce continued: "Show yourself, and no harm will come to you."
"What do you want?!" I yelled back over the din of the choppers.
The roar of the blades was deafening. We stayed hidden, crouching in the dark.
"We don't want to start shooting," Pierce called to us. "Give yourselves up!"
Just then, the door to the stairs of the belfry opened and the young priest, now dressed in his cassock, stepped out into the search lights. For a moment, he was lost in the blinding light, holding his hands over his eyes, looking up. He walked over to the roof, still not seeing us.
"Please do not shoot! This is a house of God! You have no right!"
"Step aside, Father. This is military business." The voice came from above.
The choppers held their positions. The young priest turned and was startled at seeing us crouching behind a large, grotesque gargoyle.
"What have you done? Are they after you?"
"We're innocent. But in some way, I think I have offended them. They think they are the power of God. And I told them they're not."
This brought a small chuckle from the priest. But then he became serious again.
"I don't understand..." he shook his head. The searchlight passed over him and then to the roof below. "We are the servants of God. This is a house of worship, not war. What are they doing?"
"You are. But with their guns, they have the power. All must bow to them. Even you, Father."
"I will not! They may not invade this house!" He stepped closer to the edge, in full view, so they could better see him. Holding out his arms as if on a cross, he shouted back at them: "You there! The one who spoke! Can you hear me?"
"Yes. I hear you." The belated reply was barely audible over the rattle of the choppers. It seemed impossible that Pierce could hear him without an audial device.
"Put away your weapons! These people are unarmed! This is a place of sanctuary!"
"That is not your business," the voice replied. "Bring them out, or stand aside. I want to see you, Paul!"
The priest lowered his arms, dejected, and returned to our hiding place. He crouches down next to us.
"I don't understand. They would defile a church with their weapons. How can that be? What can I do?"
"He wants me. I'd better show myself, like he says."
"No! Paul, they'll shoot you!"
"What can I do?" I responded quietly. San'aa turned silent, wringing her hands in the darkness.
I stepped out over to the ledge, looking up at the noisy machine.
"Okay, Pierce. You see me. What do you want? We didn't hurt anybody!"
"Hey, Paul. Fuck off!"
"Nice talk for a man at church!"
"Well you gave me that piece of shit! The damn thing has nothing inside. I thought I got a good one, but you're the one who got the last laugh, eh?"
"Oh? My communications device? Yeah, it's empty."
"Hey! Where'd you go when we had you at the station?"
"I dematerialized and rematerialized here."
"You're a son of a bitch." He said nothing for a moment. "You know, Paul, when our guy saw you over in Egypt and Sudan, he reported that his mind did funny things when he was near you. Now I know what he meant.
Where you guys come from, you could really play mind games, can't you?"
"We sure can, Pierce. It's called using the truth."
"Fuck you!"
"Fuck you too!" We both stood facing each other, he in his flying machine, me on the roof of the Cathedral.
"Nice talk for an angel," he sneered.
"I've turned gargoyle on your world."
We both stood there, neither being able to give into defeat. The priest sat quietly behind me in the shadows. San'aa was watching this strange exchange with wide eyes. None knew where it would take us. Then I stepped back to her and took her in my arms.
"My love." I held onto her, just feeling her against me. "I have become lost in my Dream. There is nothing left now. I don't know what to do."
"Come on, Paul, go into your Dream. Surely there must be a way out of this!"
"Oh, San'aa. Only Angels Dream. I'm only a man on this world. Here there's another force that powers over us."
"Dream, Paul, Dream!"
"I am not fit to Dream anymore. Not here, not when faced with aggression. I am lost. I can't fight anymore... Maybe it was all only a dream." San'aa looked defiant still, but now had pity in her eyes. "I'm tired. There is something in this world that does not love love, and it's beating us."
She bit her lip, still looking at me with that mixture of fight and fear.
"Okay. Then let's die," she added quietly. San'aa looked off into the night vision of Paris, as if wishing to capture those twinkling lights in her memory forever. But then it would be too short.
"You mean jump?" A wave of pain washed over me, a pain I had forgotten millennia ago, but now crept into every part of my being. I felt afraid. "All right then. Let's commit suicide. Then they can't have us. And our love will die in each other's arms."
"Better than vivisection... or crucifixion," she joked feebly.
The priest listened to this, shaking his head, as if he too were about to cry.
The voice boomed over us again.
"I'm giving you one more minute, Paul, to surrender. If you do not raise your hands up, I'm firing gas at you! Fair warning!"
I looked back at the priest, for some sort of salvation, but he had none. He stood up and only said:
"Pax domini vobiscum. You are in God's hands now." He raised his hand and signed the cross over us. San'aa lowered her head in acceptance.
The young priest again leaned against the gargoyle, and turned away from us. San'aa and I looked up at the choppers hovering. A small crowd of early commuters had gathered beneath the Cathedral. They were looking up at the towers and the choppers, curious of what was going on. Television cameras also made it to the scene.
"Clear the area!" the voice commanded from above. But the crowd failed to disperse, believing they were watching the shooting of a movie.
"You are right," I said, at last. "There is nothing left to do."
"Can't the Ship read your signature now? This is when you need them most!"
"If the Dreamers allow. But our mission is over now." The noisy military machines from above were penetrating into our skulls. "I'd rather die then not have our freedom!" I shouted over the roar.
"Me too!" Tears welled in her eyes. She then added softly: "They won't take us alive."
"Maybe it is time to be reborn," I whispered into her ear, with a sad smile.
"But our hearts are pure."
"I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too." Putting her head on my breast, she said very softly:
"Let's jump."
The roar of blades whirling overhead were deafening. They had again come very close. San'aa and I again looked into each other's eyes. We put our arms around each other, holding tight, maybe for a last time. Her lips reached up to mine, and touched them softly. I returned the kiss from the very depth of my soul. Then we touched our foreheads together, oblivious of the noise and lights above us. The priest looked up at us, lost in his own vision clouded by tears. He stayed where he had fallen, leaning against the hard stone. We then turned to the edge, hand in hand. The priest crossed himself, and averted his eyes. With one last look into each other's eyes, we launched ourselves off into space.
A momentary gasp rose from below as all faces turned up to see us fall. Some were also crossing themselves. We could see them in slow motion as gravity began taking us down. The air felt cold and fast, rushing around us, the ground suddenly appearing to be very near. I felt San'aa's closeness to me as if she had reached deep inside. Her hair was flying in the wind, eyes closed. I closed mine too, knowing we would hit in a split second.


Redemption.

11. Star Ship
Nothing happened. I opened my eyes, and found I was looking into San'aa's as she opened hers with the same look of surprise.
"Are we dead?"
"Does it feel like we're dead?"
"I don't know. I don't know what it feels like."
"Me neither."
Around us showed soft grey walls glowing with their own light, like we were inside a large metallic egg. Then my consciousness allowed me to accept what was obviously true.
"San'aa! The shuttle craft!"

The choppers seemed momentarily confused. Their search lights were lighting the ground, the Cathedral, the sky, unable to see us now. Men in camouflage uniforms holding rifles looked out of the hatches to see where the two bodies went. They knew we had jumped. But we were gone.
When we had stepped off the edge, a strong light immediately engulfed us. In a millisecond, we disappeared from below and were now suspended high above the city. We never felt a thing. The air in the bubble of Light felt warm and pleasant, almost envigorating. San'aa's surprise continued. There were tears in her eyes. I could sense the fear in her heart, the fear of jumping to her death. She seemed momentarily confused. I reached over to stroke her head, holding her long curly hair in my hand. I stroked her forehead, removing a lock of hair from her face.
The large bubble of light had now grown transparent, so we could see the outside world, faintly. Far below us we could see fuzzy city lights. Tiny choppers hovered over the small Cathedral, thin beams of lights pointing erratically. A thousand meters beneath us two fighter jets whizzed by, and disappeared into the black night. Above us stars shone in an irregular light. San'aa and I held each other tight.
"I love you Paul, and I thought I lost you," she whispered close to me. "Where am I?"
"They triangulated the Light onto us. We are now suspended in a holographic image, high above the city," I answered, still puzzled myself, trying to make sense of how it all happened an instant before death.
"They heard us after all."
"The Dreamers heard us?"
"Be on standby." A voice I recognized spoke to us, soft and reassuring. "Welcome home, children. Sorry to make it so close."
I nodded silently in understanding. I knew the jump ended my mission. We could not return to Earth now. The reality Matrix would close off, and now San'aa was one of us. I kissed her on the forehead.
"We are sending down a shuttle craft, to pick you up. Paul, you will be surprised to see who's at the controls." I could feel a smile in the voice. "And San'aa. You are a brave, beautiful daughter. Please, accept our apologies for the difficult trial we just put you through. But you are safe now. Please be welcome."
San'aa managed a smile, her fear slowly dissipating from her. She remembered Ma'an's voice. High above us three small shuttle craft were coming down for us, keeping us aloft with their force fields. The helicopters below were now pointing their search lights up at the sky. They could see the crafts. The fighter jets would be back bristling with their fire power.
"The ships are keeping formation," I said to San'aa. "They will be here in a minute."
Inside the ethereal capsule we stood on what felt like a spongy mass. The grey light had now shifted to a golden hue. They were closer, preparing us for entrance into the descending craft. Here there were no controls, no visible place to sit, so we both sat down on the soft transparent floor and waited as our capsule slowly rose.
"This is a rescue capsule," I answered San'aa's unspoken question. "Not a craft at all. It's used to rescue from remote locations off Ship." San'aa nodded, still struggling to understand what had happened, and where we were.
"Am I really going with you?" she asked, dreamlike. "Are you sure we're not dead?"
"We're alive. And we'll never die. We'll go on and on and on." I put my arm over her. "They are here."
A mechanical voice called down from one of the ships:
"Prepare to board."
The ships were now directly overhead. San'aa became more focussed, once again becoming her natural self.
"What if I had not jumped, Paul?" Her mind suddenly raced with doubts. "Would you have left me behind?"
"No. I would have come back for you. But you did jump. So you are here with me." I smiled at her, making her feel a little more reassured. The flashing blue and red lights from the ships were now illuminating us inside the capsule.
"But how did we get here so quickly? I never felt a thing," San'aa asked, curious.
"All the molecules in your body were accelerated at once. We can do that with the Light. We were levitated out of there in a flash, faster than the eye can see."
We were slowly maneuvered into an open bay of one of the ships. We were now even higher, the great city looking like a shrinking spider's web of twinkling lights. We could no longer make out the helicopters. The light from the open bay almost blinded us at first.
"Don't be afraid of the Light," I said. "It is more in your head than in your eyes." San'aa had momentarily closed her eyes, but now opened them again. We were inside.
A soft hum emanated from inside the craft, rising and falling. It was the power source. The cabin was bare, as I remembered it, except for two soft, contoured chairs with controls on their arm rests, which were near the center of the craft. We stood up and walked over to these. San'aa was taking everything in. She had never seen such smooth lines, almost organic, and such a barren interior. Flashing lights were at one wall, where stood a man. He turned, and I recognized him instantly. San'aa looked at him in amazement.
"Hello, San'aa, Paul. I asked to bring you back. Thank you. I see I carried it off successfully. I hope it was not too uncomfortable for you. I am Master." As Master spoke these words, he darkened the cabin and activated the viewing wall. The sky above filled with millions of stars. The planet below rested on its dark side, except for the distant city lights. San'aa stared at Master.
"But he looks like you... How can that be?" she said to me, just above a whisper.
"Meet my trusty android, Master." Master bowed to her. "On our world, our private androids are often made to resemble us, stylized of course. Master brought up his hands in 'Namaste'.
"I am almost like Paul," Master offered, "even down to the DNA. Except I am a machine, so I can think. But I cannot Dream." Then he became suddenly preoccupied. The ship had now left formation and was speeding back into outer space. "I'm getting signals that we are ready to rendezvous. Please take your seats."
We sat down in the contoured seats, watching the viewing wall. The Earth's crescent had now become a distant orb, the moon nearby. Stars surrounded the planet on all sides. San'aa was watching it all in silence, as if spellbound. Then she asked:
"Is this picture real?"
"Oh, yes. There's so much for you to see of my world."
But San'aa only half heard. She was busy watching Master standing at the controls. There was no sense of motion. The Milky Way stretched away from us like a thick blanket of stars. A small bright star seemed to grow visibly brighter, and within a minute was a large oval stationed against the great black void. It was the Star-ship.
"Look! How big it is." San'aa was staring at it. "It could hold half of Paris!" She turned to me, excitement finally reaching into her. Indeed, our vessel looked most imposing, poised elegantly in the emptiness of space. The lights blinking around it made it look almost alive.
"It probably can come close. This is one of our larger vessels."
As we came up below it, it did indeed seem to fill the whole black sky. Multicolored lights were flashing on and off like a million fireflies. Larger openings, which were the entry bays, glowed brightly with a strong white light. Small figures were visible inside these, dwarfed by the great dimensions of the bays' openings. Our small ship made for one of these, a tiny vessel within the belly of a great one. San'aa looked about her, the bright light now filling the viewing wall, mouth indiscreetly agape. A soft hum entered our ears, more like in our heads. It was the power source.
"Wow! This is so amazing... I never dreamed of anything like it."
"You like it so far?" I asked, teasingly.
"I had no idea. I thought all your stories of your world were fantasy. Now that I'm here, I just can't believe it. I'm a little bit freightened." She looked over to me and smiled a nervous smile. "Am I really here? Pinch me."
I teasingly pinched her arm lightly. She put her hand into mine for reassurance.
"Prepare to dock. Please remain seated until the vehicle comes to a full stop. And keep your seat belts fastened until the captain turns off the seat belt lights."
Master looks over to us with a smile, and then added:
"I've been listening in to your flight recordings."
San'aa and I both smiled. An android with a sense of humor is a rare gift.
Technicians and androids were busy in the receiving bay area. The bright light dimmed once we entered the Ship. Master positioned the ship down where he was directed, the control panels now glowing a steady light. We had arrived. A wall opened, and San'aa and I stood up from our seats.
"Are you ready?" I asked. She nodded, not speaking, but taking absolutely everything in. "You know, you're the first one aboard this Ship from your world, in a very long time."
"You mean others came here?"
"Not for thousands of years."
"How old is this Ship?"
"It has a life of its own. It is now nearly six thousand years old."
"How can that be? The Light?"
"It powers more than just molecules. It's one of the primary forces of all matter, so things do not break down the way they do otherwise."
Master stepped out first. I took San'aa's hand and led her to the open hatch. She looked out, hesitantly, then realized that a crowd of people had gathered to receive us. We stepped into the landing bay.
"They look so child-like," she whispered to me, as she looked out over the people waiting for us to step out of the ship. "Are they really adults? And look at the children! They're so beautiful!"
I squeezed her hand. Some of the children aboard Ship had also joined the receiving party. We stepped out.
A loud cheer, heard more in our heads, came up from the gallery below. It was a welcoming, a heartfelt welcome for San'aa and I, us newly returned from the planet.
"They're using the crystal," I whispered aside to San'aa. "It amplifies their minds, so you could hear them even without sound. Welcome to my world."
San'aa looked at me, as if I were speaking some foreign language she did not understand. A tall, regal woman approached us. We recognized her instantly. It was Ma'an.
She walked up to us, a bright smile on her face. Ma'an was dressed in formal attire, a beautiful full cut gown, shimmering in the light, revealing her shoulders. Her rich auburn hair was left hanging down her shoulders and back, like San'aa's. Her face glowed as she spoke to us.
"Welcome to our world, child." Ma'an gives San'aa a warm embrace. And then to me: "She is as beautiful as we could ever imagine." Then to San'aa: "Welcome home. You are the first to return to us. I think you will find our world a very easy place." Then she brought her hands together. "Na'amsat."
San'aa held her hands the same.
"I am speechless. This is so... I have never seen anything like this before." She looks around at everyone smiling at the new arrival. "I'm just a simple desert girl who wanted to go to Paris. I never dreamed of this..."
"The Dream works in mysterious ways," answered Ma'an. Ta'an walked up behind her, also smiling. I knew he was responsible for the rescue and was happy we made it back safely. "But come to your quarters and take of the Light. You will be relaxed then. You have had a trauma. You must be so tired. There will be time enough to meet everyone and make acquaintance with all here. Please come this way."
Ma'an took San'aa by the hand and let her away. Ta'an came up to me.
"So you did it, my dear friend. You brought her back with you. She is a beauty."
He put his arms around me, embracing me warmly.
"With your help, Ta'an. We could not have done it without you, and Master. But tell me, how do the Matrix grid maps look? Did we make any headway?"
"Quite! Earth's reality is now one step closer. You know that Tenya had been returned earlier."
"She was in the former Soviet Union. Any problem?"
"When Gorbachev stepped down, she returned. Having been an important official there, writing the party speeches, she had more influence than the Dream allowed. So it was time for her to return."
"And what of Angel?"
"He's gone off Light, like you did. Now it is a matter of concern that he abandoned his Light source somewhere in Central America. The last we could trace it, it was in the hands of a medicine man in Jamaica."
"Did he lock it?"
"Well, that's the problem. It is fully operational."
"So you will have to retrieve it?"
"Well, that's still an unknown. You can help us work on it in the Dream."
"I need rest for now So does San'aa. We're both exhausted."
"I understand. Of course."

We lounged aboard the Ship for the next several days. San'aa explored, and was introduced to all the functions aboard the large stellar craft. She enjoyed trying out all the various uniforms the attending robots brought her. She filled each one as if they were made for her, which they were. The novelty of her being here never seemed to wear off, and she had more questions than she could say. At the great viewing wall in the main gallery, we would stand and look out into space, the millions of worlds beaming down on us. Earth was amplified for a better viewing, though we were at a great distance from her. San'aa would look up at her world, watching it in silence. At one time, she asked:
"She is so beautiful, isn't she?" I nodded silently. With the power of the Light, we were both now more telepathic, she hearing me in her mind as if I had spoken to her. It was an adjustment, but she was a quick study. "How can my world be so troubled? Don't the people there know what they have?"
"Some do. Alas, many do not."
"I wish they would lift their vision from the small obscurity of their personal lives, and see the bigger picture."
"It's called attachment. And many on Earth are attached to their personal little problems, and fears. That is why so many are enamored with power. It is their way to deal with their fears."
"I understood it once. I even believed in the things they believed. But I can't now. It seems such a tragic loss."
We stood a moment longer, just looking at the lovely turquoise world.
"Look!" she said. "Over on the east coast of Africa." There was a particularly clear view of that part of the continent, with no clouds. "See how the earth puckered there. It looks like an old elephant skin!" she exclaimed cheerfully. In fact, it did.
"Appropriate for your home continent," I said, also amused.
After we had laughed about it, I suggested:
"Do you want to see our Dream chambers?"
"I've heard so much about them. Yes! I'd love to."
We took the accelerated walkway, which allows us to take great steps aided by an artificial gravity. Each step motion was picked up by the machine and transported us a distance, to gently place us down again, for the next step. In fluid motion, the experience was like being on a carnival ride, much to San'aa's delight. Others on the walkways smiled at her childish amusement. Children were especially amused to see us gliding by. They would giggle into their hands. We smiled back. When we got to the Chambers, San'aa stopped and looked into the darkened gallery, awed.
The great room held long banks of small chambers covered with a light filled dome. They looked like they stretched deep into the Ship's interior. Android attendants were monitoring the Dream stations. As we looked out into these, one of the capsules opened and a naked man rose from it. An attendant immediately brought clothing over to him. He left by another exit. Except for the light coming from the Dream capsules, the hall was otherwise dark.
"This is the brain center of the Ship," I explained. "No interstellar Ship can travel the galaxy without their vision."
"But doesn't the light bother them?" San'aa asked, trying to understand what she was seeing. "I couldn't sleep with so much light."
"They're not sleeping," I explained. "They are Dreaming. It is different." We walked deeper into the cavernous hall. As we approached one of the capsules, it opened, and a tall man stepped from it. He too was nude. An android came over, but the Dreamer waived him away gently.
"Pa'an! I knew you were back. And with you is your companion." He turned to San'aa, who was mildly shy at being in the presence of this tall, naked man. He noticed it in her mind. "Oh, please, do not be embarrassed. We are not as private of our nudity as your world is. It's accepted here." He smiled broadly at her. Her mind instantly relaxed. "And so you are San'aa. It is a great pleasure to meet you. You have been the subject of much of what we have been doing here, lately. I am honored to know you. My name is Rhu'an." He bowed to her, hands in the customary greeting.
"And my pleasure to meet you," San'aa answered, still hesitantly.
"Can you explain, Rhu'an, how the Chambers work? San'aa's mind has a million questions about them."
Rhu'an stopped to think a moment, and then answered with voice:
"I could try. You realize, this is a practice so old on our worlds, that we almost have forgotten how it first started." Then more to the point: "You know what it's like when you're just about to fall asleep?"
San'aa nodded, hearing him more in her head.
"Well, it's like that. The images we see," Rhu'an continued, "in a semi sleep state, puts us into a special kind of sleep, more like a meditation. Then the machines register all our brain patterns, and those go onto a highly complex Grid Matrix. I see Paul has told you about that?"
San'aa nods 'yes'.
"I think I understand that part," she replied. "But it's still a mystery to me. We don't do that on Earth, do we?"
"In fact, you do. Amongst some of your tribal people this knowledge is known. Usually, this state is induced with hallucinogens. But some tribes can do it naturally... like the Australian natives." He paused, to let her see what he meant. "They call it Dreamtime."
"You mean they do what you do naturally?"
"In a much simpler way. We have advanced this method of dreaming to its next technological level. Now all technology on our world is geared to the Dream. It helps us see reality, all of its infinite interconnections, and it even helps us run our great Ships in the galaxy." Then Rhu'an remembered something and motioned to an android to bring him clothing. He zipped on his one piece body suit, which looked seamless when on, and excused himself for his abrupt leave. "We will talk again. But I must confer with the Ship's strategists immediately. I just received the message." He was about to turn and walk away, when he stopped himself. "You are a beautiful woman, San'aa. I hope all the women on your world are as lovely as you. Welcome."
San'aa's mind filled with all of our thoughts, beyond the words spoken and her understanding of the Dream chambers now captivated her interest.
"Do women Dream? Can I become one?"
"Of course. Women Dream as men do. But not children. It takes many years of training to attain the Dream, and that could damage a young and fragile mind. But you can, naturally, if you wish. It is a chosen profession on our world, not unlike those chosen by the technicians. Both are highly regarded, especially those Dreamers involved with raising the consciousness of newer worlds."
"Like what you do?"
"You see, the Dream can be beamed down to any world, in theory. But this has not been perfected yet. It is something we're working on."
"You mean like a great telepathic message to the planet's surface?"
"If that is what reality demands. You see, if a people are not ready, the Dream will have little effect on them. So we must wait until the planet tells us it is ready."
"So how do you know?"
"We listen," I smiled at her, teasingly. But she could already sense the answer from my mind. What I meant, was that we cannot intrude into a world uninvited. But on every world, some minds will awaken ahead of others, and it is to these that we communicate in the Dream.
Ta'an and Ma'an and the other personnel of the Ship confered on the matter of Angel's communications device. It was agreed that there should an attempt to retrieve it, or at least deactivate it, before we returned to our world. San'aa was thrilled with excitement at the upcoming return to her world. Though she was awed by all she learned and saw on this new world for her, she was nevertheless already missing her own. Even the power of the Light held less of a spell on her than the bluish glow from her own world. She may carry a seed of ours, but she was still of Earth.
San'aa spent time in the Light chambers used to teach technique to all personel. She learned in a matter of hours what would have taken her months and years on Earth. Even she could scarcely believe the success of those learning machines, that they worked. Within two days, San'aa knew enough to understand our language. But more importantly, from her perspective, she even knew how to fly one of our landing crafts.


12. The Dream
The days, when I was not called away to the Dream chambers, and when San'aa was not at her learning tapes, were spent lounging about in our private quarters. The Ship has these scattered pretty much throughout the giant craft. Most private quarters were near where personel worked at their Ship's duties. Mine were near the Dream chambers. In our room, we would turn on the Light, and bathe naked in its luxurious rays. It always refreshed and rejuvenated us. Then we would lay about on the large floating sleep platform. Small robots would bring us whatever we called for. They floated in and out of the room silently. All of our material needs were met.
"Do they even pick up our clothes?" San'aa asked, watching one of the robots tidying up after us, after we had a messy meal.
"They'll even bring you fresh clothes, if you need them. But who needs clothes." I reached over to her and we rolled atop the soft platform.
"Are all the people on your world so free with their bodies?"
"If they wish to be. Clothing is a way to protect oneself. If it is cold, then it is mandatory. But in a climate controlled world like ours, and one free of disease, then it becomes voluntary."
"I did notice some of the men and women at work stations wearing uniforms you could see through."
"Not out of the ordinary. Would you like to try one?"
Her eyes lit up, then she reconsidered.
"I'm too shy, for now. Maybe when I have been here longer, and am used to it."
We laughed. Earth's ways followed us up here in more ways then one.
"Let's go swimming," I said.
"You have a pool here, aboard Ship?"
"We call it the swimming gallery. It's not exactly a pool. You'll see."
We passed Ta'an on our way to the swimming area.
"Pa'an. I'm glad to see you. There are serious questions about Angel's mission. Can you meet me at main control in a few minutes?"
"Yes. Of course." Then to San'aa: "Swimming will have to wait for now. You want to come?"
She nodded in her head that she did, and we directed our near flying walk down the corridors to the Ship's command station.
When we arrived, Tenya greeted us.
"Hello! It's good to see an Earth person's face again." She smiled at San'aa.
"You're the one who was down in Russia, aren't you?" San'aa inquired.
"Yes. It's a great pleasure to meet you." Then to me: "You got back safely, thank 'Aan. I heard of your near disaster over Paris."
"And what happened to your Earth-walk?"
"I got too close to the top." She turned to San'aa by way of explanation. "Three of us came to Earth together, and now two of us are back. Angel is the one who is still on the planet's surface. I presume that is also why you are here, to discuss his situation." We nodded. "Well, in my case, as you know Paul, I became a Party writer for the Soviet power structure. Quite a good position, too!" She smiled at us.
"But it did get you in trouble," I teased her. We were like family.
"Well, sort of. You see, changes were happening there anyway. They realized their system was not working, and the cover-ups of the truth had sprung leaks. So I wrote brilliant speeches that revealed, very indirectly, of course, what the true nature of things were."
"Didn't you offend by doing that?" San'aa wanted to know.
"I did. But Gorbachev was a close ally of mine. So I was protected by his political apparatus."
"Where did it go wrong?"
Tenya gave us a mischievous smile.
"I had a lover. And his passions, and mine, were our downfall. So I hurried the process, unintentionally, for his sake. You know what happened then."
"Communism fell. And what happened to Mikhail?"
"He joined private industry and the intelligencia. Now he works quietly from behind the scenes as a consultant."
"Is that why things changed so quickly there?" San'aa asked.
"It too was unintentional. But the people of the former Soviet Union had their own agenda, so I cannot take all the blame. But the Dreamers saw disaster looming for me, and for the country, if I stayed. So I have been back for some time now, while you two were enjoying yourselves in India."
"Here comes Ta'an now. I want to hear more later," I said.
Ma'an was occupied with her assistants at the main command unit. We were directed to take another. As we took our seats, the Grid Matrix maps lit up before us in large, three dimensional colors. Ta'an took his seat. The large viewing wall showing Earth in the distance was to our left, as we faced into the center of the command chamber. Ma'an was at the center. The communications stations were across the large chamber. And to our right, overlooking the main docking area, was the shuttle craft command unit. All were busily occupied with their duties. San'aa looked at each one, trying to remember from her studies of the past few days, how each unit operated. Then her attention turned to the Grid maps.
"Okay," Ta'an pointed to the three-D maps. "Here is where we are. Angel is represented there. See the vortex right by him? That was created when he disconnected his Light source, like you did Paul," he momentarily turned to me, "and Planet-walked without it." San'aa was following easily what was being said. Tenya looked on with interest. "The problem we see, that is, the Dreamers see, is that the vortex can't close off where it's supposed to. That means, well... it means that either we go back down to the planet to retrieve it... or we have to figure some other way to close off the reality hole there." He looked at me, then at Tenya and San'aa. "Any suggestions?"
San'aa's quick mind could see the problem instantly, but she was still too unskilled to offer a countermeasure. This was all too new for her. Tenya looked at it, and then offered:
"Can we construct a reality loop over here?"
"In theory, the Dreamers could work on it, to see if the loop closes. But the vortex has the ability to shift unpredictably. So we haven't tried it yet."
We studied it some more. The lines and figures on the map kept changing gradually. "It's the effect of the spinning of the planet," I said aside to San'aa. She looked at the shifting colors as well. Then she whispered back: "Like our astrology?" I smiled at her. She was not far off the mark.
After all had been silent awhile, thinking of the puzzle, I offered a possible solution.
"Why don't we all play out diversionary scenarios. Each one of us will have a different reality played out, given from our personal points of view." Ta'an nodded in understanding. "Then we'll have several possible routes to chose from."
"Why doesn't Angel simply retrieve his communicator?" asked San'aa.
"He could," answered Tenya, "if he chooses to do so. That is always the best strategy. But he is out of touch with the Ship."
"But you know where he is. Why not beam in on his aura signature?"
San'aa had really adjusted to our world with unexpected ease. She was now comfortable making recommendations.
"That is an excellent idea, San'aa," Ta'an replied. "And we tried it. But the vortex expanded when we tried. So you know what that means..."
"He would die," she answered simply.
"Yes. That is the danger." He thought about it a moment. "That was what was happening to you and Paul. So we did not intervene until you gave the clearest possible signal that it was time to retrieve you."
"You mean we jumped? It was suicide," San'aa said, emotion entering her voice.
"We know. But Earth's reality has a different energy. It's still wild in some respects. So a crisis has to happen before we could act freely."
We all nodded in agreement.
"Then I think we should play out the probable scenarios," I again offered. "That may be our best chance. Especially as Angel himself is in no clear danger for now."
"There is still one other possibility," Ta'an suggested. We all looked to him, but already we heard him in our heads. "He could stay behind on the planet's surface, indefinitely."
"Would he want that?" San'aa asked.
"I wouldn't have minded," Tenya replied. "It would all come clear when Contact was finally established, and Quarantine was lifted."
"It's a high price to pay," San'aa shared with us. "There is still much that can go wrong, before Contact."
"The Earth may shake off any attempt, at this time, if it is not right," Ta'an added. "Or there could be a new global war. Too chancy."
"But when will Earth be ready?" San'aa persisted.
"When she let's us know she is," Tenya answered simply. "We cannot approach before."
"You see," I added, "we are as responsible for Quarantine as the conditions on Earth that led to it. The resulting conflicts and hardships suffered by your world were as much our doing as hers. So we are both partners in the reality's reconstruction."
"So until Earth shows us that the time has arrived," Ta'an added, "we are powerless. That is why we sent down scouts to review conditions there. They had to be there, in their personal realities, so we could monitor their progress. And now," he looked at San'aa, "you are part of that reality also."
"But I'm here, and Angel is there," San'aa pointed to the map.
"That may be part of the vortex," Ta'an confided reluctantly. "Three came. Maybe only three can return."
This led our small group into a sadder space. The natural, logical outcome of that was that one of them, either Angel or San'aa, would have to stay behind. But the Dream is not logical, so before long, we let the sadness pass and returned to the matter at hand.
"Pa'an's recommendation makes the best prospect for now," at last offered Ta'an. "We'll go with that for now."
As we broke up, San'aa and I made our way back to the Dream chambers.
"Now you'll see another of our mysterious practices," I said to her.
"I don't follow exactly what it is we are to do."
"We're going to watch a movie," I said casually. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, as if to say that I am no longer on Earth. "You'll see."
In the Dream chambers are special stations equipped to replay Dreams that had been interpreted by the great machine. A large crystal, the kind used in our meeting rooms, for what we call the Sing, was also used in these stations. Its purpose was to activate a certain part of the brain that can interact with the stored memories of the Dream. We entered one of these. The crystal, a large ring on a pedestal, shone dark green, as it does when not in use, almost space black.
"Let's take our positions in the station," I suggested. I will retrieve a memory nodule and play it in the machine there." I pointed to a small vial that held a crystal liquid in it. I went over to it, and selected a nodule from another machine that dispenses it. First I pressed in the code for the memory I needed, and presently a small capsule dropped into the vial. Then I set the read for a slower speed, keeping in mind that San'aa was still unaccustomed to this kind of viewing. The crystal responded instantly, glowing a soft green-like florescence. San'aa took her seat next to mine. We both looked at the great screen before us. Lights dimmed and images began forming on the screen.
"It feels like I'm in there," San'aa said, awed by the total involvement projection we were witnessing.
"Kind of like a virtual reality on your world," I said, winking at her. "But light years ahead."
We leaned back, and watched the crystal glow brighter as it was engaging the memory capsule. We were entering a viewing of a possible Dream.
"Remember," I said. "This is only a simulation. It did not actually happen. But it's a projection of what could happen, given where the Reality Matrix is now. Let's see where it takes us. We felt as if we were swept into a new drama, though we never moved from our seats.
""" [The ship was already retreating as Master waved. Within seconds, he was gone from sight. Only a small flash high up in the sky revealed that he had switched into a higher speed.
The boat had the usual mechanisms that powered Earth's boats, with sound effects, though concealed beneath the nose was a positive-field generator. This gave the ship the power to cut through the water by lifting up the nose and pulling the rest of the machine behind. A kind of front-'wheel'-drive boat, it seemed. It was of the Star-ship's manufacture. San'aa let me take the control of this craft, as she had not seen one like it in her learning tapes.
"How does it feel flying the shuttle craft, knowing exactly what to do? You handled that ship as if you were born to it," I said as we pulled away towards shore.
"I felt as if I was. Those two days spent on the learning machines has opened vistas for me I had never imagined. I know things I don't even know that I know. Like a dream... How can that be?"
San'aa shook her head in amazement, then flashed me a smile. I could see her lovely face looking at me in the dusky light.
"You're a natural, that's why." Her eyes danced, and I could catch that sense of mirth that comes from being very much self pleased. "But most people could learn in the same way, though some take longer. We all have different minds. Yours is just more attuned to this kind of learning. Now, how is your Jamaican?"
"Is one thing I know, mon. I and I just look 'pon this land and water the land and water is my home. You know what I mean?" She laughed. The trauma of our rescue had already been put behind us. San'aa was now a new woman.
"Me say to you, 'Hey, Roots!' Me love you there, Rastawoman." I answered lightly. "Let's go find the shaman!"
We both lilted in the ways of the Islanders, enjoying the easy and freeing speech, more playing than speaking in the literal sense. It felt good. San'aa and I were off on an adventure again, like fleeing the desert. This is a strange world, I thought, remembering our earlier travels. The lights of the village of Negril were already visible on the horizon. The sea waters parted before us in brilliant waves of iridescent plankton. A large sea turtle swam before us, and then quickly fell behind. We headed for the beach.
We secured the boat and waded ashore from a shallow anchor, then headed for the beat of reaggae coming from open air restaurants. Somehow, it felt odd to be on the adopted planet once more. But we were only in our new Dream.
The restaurants were really no more than bamboo huts, with a small one burner kitchen shed, and a cook toiling behind the lone flame. Music blared from loudspeakers up and down the beach from other similar establishments, some brightly lit, others lit only by candlelight. The reaggae beat washed over the sands like swells. Young blacks moved to the beat naturally, as if their audial sensors were connected directly to their body's muscles. The beach had a dark and beautifully rich rhythm to it.
"You want some dessert?" asked a tall, dark young woman. It was already past dinner time.
"What have you got?" I asked. San'aa was busy studying the crowd of young people lazily hanging around the still warm beach. Most sat on benches at plain wooden tables, either drinking Red Stripe beer, or hard liquor. Some looked stoned on ganga.
"We have coconut cake, banana cake, ganga cake, and lime cake." She paused. This was a code word, I decided. "And we have ice tea, coffee, and mushroom tea. It's on the menu." She awaited our reply.
"Do you have any French fries?" asked San'aa.
The tall woman looked at her as if she were deriding a younger sister.
"Now woman, why do you want fries when you could have ganga cake. You hungry?"
"No. But I don't know what is 'ganga cake.'"
At that the young woman gave a big smile. "Then sister, you should try some!"
"Just a small piece for me, thank you," I added, "and some mushroom tea."
"We'll share, sister," was San'aa's timid reply. The woman walked away. A handsome young man came over to our table and sat down opposite us.
"Welcome." He smiled at us and said this in a silky voice. "You just arrive to Jamaica? You got a place to stay?"
He reminded me of Abdulah at Khartoum. The Dream is replaying itself, I wondered.
"Yes, and no. We will need to find a room before long. You have a place in mind?"
"Ah, yes. I own the Paradise Gardens across the road. It is a very quiet place, with a restaurant. My friend Maxwell is a very good cook."
The tall woman had returned with our order.
"What you be doing here, Prince? I thought you be across the street?"
The man stood up and flashed a smile at her. Then to us:
"I am sorry. I am being rude. My name is Prince. I'm a musician in L.A., but I spend half the year here." We exchanged names and greetings. Prince then looked down at our place. "Oohh, I hope you're ready for this! They make a powerful cake here. And tea! Ooohh! But will I see you at my place?"
We nodded in agreement.
"Good evening, then." Prince turned and left into the dark of the beach. San'aa and I both were reading his mind patterns as he spoke and both came to the same conclusion.
"He's real, isn't he?" asked San'aa. She meant did he pose a threat to us.
"Yes, I think he's real. I think Prince is okay." The excitement of travel, of risk and intrigue, was again upon us.
I took a mouthful of the hot tea. There was a thick mushroom lying at the bottom of the paper cup. San'aa tried it likewise. Then we both took a couple of bites of the sweet, speckled cake. It was surprisingly tasty, mild. After a couple of bites, San'aa put her hand on mine.
"I think this is not right," she whispered, suddenly looking threatened.
"Why? Is it bad?"
"I feel it burning my lips. I'm very sensitive to this. I really feel that we should not eat it."
"Ah. I too am feeling mildly odd. Then let us not chance it."
I walked up to the kitchen to pay up.
"Cake okay?" the cook asked. His eyes were yellow. His hair long and matted into stringy dreadlocks.
"Okay, and very good. But we decided not to eat it," I said.
"Maybe you want some ganga?" he added.
"No. It is not for me. Thank you. It is better for you?"
"It is for Jah!" he uttered, with genuine reverence, as if to someone above him. "For Jah."
"For Jah." I nodded. "We have another way, for my Jah."
He grinned with his yellow teeth, took my money, and bid me farewell.
San'aa and I walked down the beach to where Prince had directed us. As we walked the short distance in the darkness, I turned and asked San'aa:
"You feeling anything?"
"No," she replied. "You?"
I also replied that I did not. Past sleeping cabins, we entered into a quiet little courtyard garden illumined by flaming torches. San'aa instantly liked the place.
"Let's stay here for now. Tomorrow we'll tackle the hills." Then she added: "I'm feeling funny, like the lights are very light and the dark very dark."
"It's the tea. Good thing we didn't drink the whole thing. Look at my legs, I thought I had seen large praying mantises walking up my thigh. Ha! Ha! It's the tea!" I laughed. "And the cake!!" Somehow this became very funny to us.
"But we hardly had any, Paul. Ha, Ha! And you're seeing things! Ha, ha, ha!" She peeled with laughter at what was not that funny.
"Hello, my name is Maxwell. Prince said you'd be coming, and in good spirits I see."
"Hello! My name is Woody Allen," I replied, San'aa holding her sides with laughter. "Got a room? Are we in Radio Days?" A sobering thought suddenly took hold of me, then left me again. Maxwell shook his head, looked us over, and then took us down a gravel walkway flanked by tall flowers and palms to a bamboo cabin. It was small but clean, and we agreed to take it.
"For ten days?" he asked. "If you wish."
"Yes, ten days. Thank you. Do you have any mineral water? We are terribly thirsty." This was said with more laughter. Maxwell was a large and burly man, dark skinned, but with the gentleness of a lamb. His quiet hulk lumbered away, then came back with a bottle of water.
"Good night. But don't let the night get you," he said with a grin.
Inside San'aa and I closed the door, I put down the one large bag I carried, and we lay down on the one large bed. We lay there, still, looking up at the slow fan overhead. Time passed with each revolution of the fan.
"Look at that thing go around... I could almost make meaning of it... Look how it doubles back on itself..."
"It's not like the Ship, or the Palace... but it will do. Got any champagne?... I see what you mean... "
"No, love, but I do have to go to the bathroom."
We got up and started to make it to the door, only a few feet from the bed.
"It's too far, Paul! Can you make it?"
"Yes! I got the handle, but I can't open it... There it goes. Easy now." Back on the bed, we ventured to turn off the light. But then turned them back on again. Both our minds simultaneously felt that we were falling into an uncontrollable vortex of blackness.
"I don't like this anymore, Paul. I want it to stop.]"""

Just at that point, I stopped the machine, as we were too deeply into it. I could see San'aa looking puzzled and disoriented, like she wanted to get up and take some air.
"Are you okay with this?" I asked her.
"Oh, give me a minute. How fast is this thing going, anyway? I feel like it's spinning me out of control. I'm glad we could shut if off."
The lights came back on of themselves, as happens when the machine is not engaged. I thought maybe we should stop for now and try it again another time.
"Oh, no! I want to get on with it. Where's it taking us?"
"Into a vortex. Okay, here goes!"
I again resumed the read cycle of the machine, but slowed it down some more, as it was difficult to absorb it all at the current speed. San'aa took her position again in the reclining chair. The lights dimmed, and the reader resumed where we had left off.

"""["...Jah!.."
Somewhere in the darkness our souls wandered aimlessly until the drug had passed from our bodies. We fell into a dreamless sleep.
The next day Prince greeted us at the restaurant.
"Did you sleep off allright?" he asked us with a sly twinkle in his eye.
We chatted over good Jamaican coffee about the effects of such a powerful dessert combination. He said most everyone here takes ganga on a regular basis, that it is part of his culture. He does not do it much, but sometimes. We asked about a little village up in the hills near here.
"Prince, we're looking for a man who lives alone in those hills. He grows herbs and tobacco and is known by the local people as a medicine man. He is reputed to have a powerful magic."
"I do not believe in magic, Paul. I went to university, you know. But the people do talk of such a man. If it is the man you are looking for, I believe they call him Wooley-Booley. He also grows powerful ganga."
"Do you know him?" I asked.
"I don't know him, but there are people who could take you to him. That cook at the restaurant yesterday, for example. He knows Wooley-Booley, I think. Why would you want to see him?" asked Prince.
"Because he has 'powerful magic' and I need it."
He looked at me in a oblique way and then asked:
"Are you sick? I know a good doctor on the island."
"No, Prince," I said, smiling involuntarily. "I am well. But this man Wooley-Booley has a knowledge I am very much interested in."
"But the people in the hills are weary of strangers. It is best not to go alone."
"I know. That is why we should go with the man you mentioned, the cook. He's a Rastafarian, isn't he?"
"Yes, but not so strict. His name is Muta. I will ask him. Maybe he could take you. But it will cost." He rubbed his fingers together, to show what he meant.
Muta met us at his restaurant the next morning. An old Soviet made Lada taxi came to take us into the hills.
"This Wooley-Booley man is an old man, but 'bad.' He is a powerful magician. Now he has a new magic." This was said by Muta, who sat in front, in an almost askew fashion with awe in his voice, as if talking to himself. But it was more out of reverence for the sorcerer of the mountain.
We climbed steadily over badly rutted dirt roads past humble dwellings filled with children and women and chickens, dogs, pigs, goats, but few men. We also passed an occasional wreck that had not been moved. When we passed such a vehicle on especially bad turns, the driver would turn back to look at us and laugh an open mouthed laugh, which meant: "Ha,ha! I survived this part of road again!"
The vegetation of palms and jungle at sea level gave way to green woods and fields of higher elevations. It felt less hot, though nevertheless still humid. The driver turned off the main road at a little store in a wooden shack, sporting big corrugated metal signs for Coca-Cola and Red Stripe Beer, and then climbed higher onto a small track. Houses fell away. It was us and the high jungle around us. At long last we came into a small clearing and the driver stopped his car.
"Here, mon. Yeah, me leave you here to walk." He pointed into the woods at a small trail that got lost in the vegetation. Muta paid the driver part of the money and we followed him silently into the wood.
There was an air of mystery about the place, as if ancient African gods had posted themselves to guard the entrance to sacred grounds. An older woman came abruptly out of the wood ahead of us followed by a younger woman, probably just of puberty, and they hurriedly and silently filed past us on the narrow trail. Muta gave us a knowing look. We were close.
A smallish wooden shack appeared out of a clearing surrounded by neatly kept gardens. The plots were squares and rectangles of a variety of herbal plants and tobaccos. Muta directed us to the cabin. There was no one around. It was very still except for the bird life of the jungle that called to us their wild, knowing song. San'aa and I stooped under a porch and stepped into the small front room of the cabin.
The room's dim interior was relieved by shafts of light that penetrated through dusty windows. As our eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could make out masks on the walls. They were of wood or bone and feathers, and appeared to be of African and Arawak origin. One large wooden mask had choir strands from the nose and ears, giving the visage a particularly hairy look. Some had a skull motif. In addition to this curious collection were dried herbs and other plants hanging from the low rafters. Muta stood silent, as if transfixed by an unseen presence. San'aa stayed close to me, her desert toughness on guard against any unwanted surprises. I was fascinated with the masks. They reminded me of home. But I knew we needed to focus on why we were here, though my curiosity was taking better hold of me. We came for Angel's device.
A faint aroma called to us from the other room. It smelled of ganga. Muta walked over to the door and knocked gently. An old voice answered.
"Who here?"
"I and I, Wooley-Booley, come to see you," answered Muta.
"Who are yuh, mon?"
"Muta. And my friends Paul and San'aa. She from Africa."
"Oohh! Box me soul. She come first, den. Den yuh. Den te mon."
We filed into the room, darker still than the first. The smell of ganga smoke thick in the air. Sitting before us in the dim light, still crouching and preoccupied with work, sat a small, dark man of long matted hair. His hand went for a large, white cigar, which he brought up and then placed in his mouth. He sucked on it noisily, an end sparking with fire. Then he exhaled deeply. He continued to work.
"Yeah. Yuh come fe I. But I an' I already know."
He continued his work. After a long silence I spoke:
"We come from a distant world and come as friends, Wooley-Booley. We came for something that a friend of ours left behind."
"No! No! Yuh come fuh Jah!" responded Wooley-Booley. "An' I will show yuh Jah!"
He turned, still crouching, his eyes turning on us. He had a thick brow and low forehead, a wide nose, massive jaw, and thick yellow teeth. His eyes shone with the look of a sorcerer. There was a spirituality hidden behind the dark yellow pupils. He was clever and well versed in his art. He knew how to heal, and this gave him a great power over those in pain and in fear. His legs crossed under him, Wooley Booley took another long drag on his cigar and closed his eyes.
"Dig, mon," he spoke as he opened his eyes.
Wooley Booley reached into a large wooden box, one in which were his special talismans and treasures, and produced from it a large object wrapped in velvety purple cloth. He unravelled this slowly. Then he looked up.
"You understand? Dis' serious ting. Yuh now will see Jah."
He finished unwrapping the item until it became quite small and finally reached the treasure itself. Before we could see it clearly, he quickly maneuvered so that a bright light came from it. Then, smiling broadly, he pushed another button on it and placed it before him, but out of our reach. Then he leaned back, for effect. It was Angel's communicator device, same as the one I carried.
"I control dis in all Jamaica... I an' Jah control..."
As he spoke, the device began forming a three dimensional image which created a semblance of Angel. The image had faded as quickly as it formed, then again reappeared, this time giving the sign of greeting, hands held in a 'Na'amsat'. Wooley Booley quickly reached over and deftly pushed another button to make the image stop, just as it was about to speak.
"Yuh see wha' I know. I know dis from Jah. You understand, mon?" His eyes screwed up at us, in a long look, his head tilted to one side, as if he were about to turn away. He then proceeded to carefully put Angel's device back into its wrapping and back into the box. He shook his head slowly, as if affirming to himself. "This from Jah... from Jah..."
"If this is from Jah, Wooley Booley, then how can the people have it?"
"The people, if people right, I feel is a macca ketch science meant fe I, and Jah."
"San'aa is from Africa. Is she right people?" I asked.
He studied her. He shook his head. Then studied her some more.
"She is from Africa? Noo, ta raas wit' dis bullshit. She be child of Africa? She be right people? Yes, mon, yuh mek fun of I! Yuh tek me precky foolish?"
"Wooley Booley," interjected Muta. "This man and this woman come from very far away. They want to buy this from you."
Wooley Booley shook his head again. He assumed to know from where we came.
"You from America? No. From Jah is not for sale. What Jah bless no mon have. Only for right people. But me show you herbs, tobacco, ganga, me have hot peppers. Dem for sale." Then he added with a wry smile: "Fuh de right price."
"Who are you, Wooley Booley?" San'aa asked. She could tell he had been watching her. She felt he wanted to flirt with her.
"Oohh! Wha' seh now who she be de queen of Jamaica? Easy now." He winked at her, then more seriously: "I am who I am wha' I am. Wooley Booley wuz born into Rastafa, an' now who I am. An' now I and I in de power of Jah. I am de right people, mon."
"If you are chosen for this, you are the right people, then what will you do now?" I asked out of curiosity.
His mind was racing, excited beyond words. Images flashed of glory and wealth and power. Only his greed stayed hidden from view, quiet, sullen until satisfied. Yet, before us was a great man highly revered and loved by his people. Now, since he took possession of this device, he no doubt has become confusing to them, disappointing. That was what I felt from the woman and daughter we passed on the trail. They had become afraid. I added:
"If right people come, Wooley Booley, they may not know you. But if you know them, then you will be highly rewarded. They may treat you as a god. You may become a god. Will you agree to be a god?"
"Wha' yuh seh! I no god! Yuh can't fake an' play lie. Only Jah is God. Me know right people, from Jah."
He looked up and actually looked like his feelings were hurt. I quickly tried to undo my mistake.
"You are a man of God, a good and wise man. That is your salvation, Wooley Booley."
This seemed to relax him again, his offense taken soon forgotten. After another long silence where he became preoccupied in his mind, I said to him:
"From Jah is my friend. It is his image."
He looked at me, then smiling shook his head a number of times as if to emphasize that surely what I said is wrong.
"It is from my friend, Angel. Show me the device and I will prove it to you. I can make him talk," I added.
He looked up sharply and then moved away the box. Then to Muta:
"Back weh! You take dis' devil man way from me! Dis' mon put I in blue marga! He abbly no respect for Jah!"
Muta quickly motioned me over and whispered into my ear.
"We better go. This is now an angry man. He has powerful magic. I don't want to stay here longer, mon."
San'aa picked up the situation and also began for the door. We hurriedly filed out into the first room with the masks and then out into the bright daylight. Birds greeted us with song in the jungle and bees hummed over the blossoms in Wooley Booley's lush garden. But he had been paying less attention to it now. He had his mesmerizing toy, and the rest was being neglected. It was like four thousand years ago, I thought. If he had accepted the offer to become a god, we would have repeated the patterns again. I was glad Wooley Booley did not fall for this. But he did not know what he had. Unless... The thought occurred to me. Unless he had it because Angel gave it away. That would create a different reality, I thought, and him having it would then be right. But what if the technology falls into scientific hands...? The Dreamers would have to work on it. As Muta walked ahead, hurriedly, San'aa and I fell behind and talked in low voice, almost at the telepathic level.]"""

I looked up and checked up on how San'aa was doing. She was totally absorbed in watching herself in a Dream, which was very strange to her. Admittedly, this was one of the things I never quite got used to either. It seemed strange to me as well. Our minds had adjusted to the machine, so I speeded it up a little.

""" ["What shall we do now?" asked San'aa. "He won't give up Angel's communications device. He seemed to have figured out how to make it work, sort of. Ta'an was right on when he pinpointed this hill in Jamaica. He had the right man. But what did we learn from this?"
"That this medicine man is a little confused, but his heart is more or less in the right place. Except he is greedy to hold onto the gold he got. To him, the communicator is a very valuable device, even if he uses it only for magic and to impress people."
"Then it's a replay of Pierce?"
Muta was walking way ahead of us, eager to get away from here. I pondered my answer.
"I think it's different this time. Pierce represented control through power. Wooley-Booley represents control through magic. But he believes in his god. Pierce, well, we don't know what he believes. And now, for all we know, no one is following us."
San'aa nodded, thinking the same thoughts.
"But why didn't you show him your communications device? That would have convinced him."
"It would have been easier, if I had," I answered. "But then I would have given us away. He would know who we are. That would break our secrecy, alas. And secrecy, at this point, is our only power. So getting it back will not be so easy."
"We cannot take it by force, then, can we?" mused San'aa.
"No. That would be against the Unity's instructions, and furthermore, it would break the Quarantine, which would affect both our realities. We could not even think of it. Wooley Booley has the device and he has to give it up willingly. Even gladly. It is only for us to be able to take it back, without coercion. But how?"
"We could have used the mind, and made him give it up." San'aa smiled, then turned serious. "We have to go to Australia, then. That too was part of the Dream." She thought about what she had just said, almost as if from some deep involuntary part of herself. Then added: "He may see Jah in a very surprising way."
Using my communicator, I requested a craft large enough to accomodate at least a dozen people. Master would rendezvous with us at sea.
San'aa and I enjoyed our remaining days on Jamaica, enjoying the very pleasant and mild climate. It would rain in the afternoon, and then clear again for a warm evening. We would watch the sunset at Trader Dick's or just lounge on a wooden canoe away from the surf of the beach, the boat handled expertly by a young native boy and his paddle. After dusk we just sauntered over to one of the many beachfront bamboo hut restaurants and enjoy a leisurely dinner, reaggae playing in the night air. We avoided the desserts.
At the appointed time, San'aa and I bid Maxwell farewell, paid up our bill, and launched our modified boat for the eastern horizon. On our own again, Master contacted us.]"""

I stopped the viewing, and we both sat back, drained from having taken in so much information, with ourselves in it, in such a short time. It was like living life on fast forward. We needed a break. So we ordered some refreshments brought to us by a small robot. It floated into the room, hovered quietly for a moment, and then poured from its dispenser two glasses of a refreshing drink. It's mechanical eyes looked at us, waiting for futher instructions. I nodded that it was okay, and it turned and silently left the room. We both gulped it down. Instantly, we were awake and alert once again.
"The Light," I winked and toasted San'aa.
"To the Light!" she returned, and up ended the effervescent drink. Then we resumed our positions in the readers, and again lay back to watch the reality projections. The lights in the room again darkened.

"""[We were greeted by Master.
"I got this larger ship to accomodate at least a dozen people in addition to ourselves. I figured that was what you wanted?"
"Very well done, Master." Then aside to San'aa: "Master has always had the ability to anticipate my thoughts. I sometimes think he's almost human."
"But I can't dream," was his reply. It was as if he heard every word. "However," he continued, "I can speculate!" He gave us a teasing look.
San'aa gave him a warm embrace, as if he were family, which sometimes it felt as if he was.
"This ship is perfect for what we'll need. Now, let's call up those Dream maps we saw aboard the Star ship and let's see where we are."
The three dimensional images appeared before us as if suspended in mid air. Master was back in the pilot's seat. San'aa and I were both in our respective passenger-cum-pilot seats. We all perused the images and decided on moving closer over the Australian continent, which we did within minutes. There was no cloud cover within which to hide, so we stayed far up from the planet's surface to not attract attention. We were well beyond the reach of conventional radar.
San'aa was first to see it. Her Dream training, as limited as it was aboard the Star ship, nevertheless was well received by her wonderful mind. She could not contain herself.
"Look, up here in the Kimberleys. There is a clan that is gathering for a ceremonial gathering of men and boys. It is the Djaru clan. Master, let's get a closer look at them, if we can."
"It is still night there, so it should be no problem, but we can't get too close without arousing attention," I added.
We quickly descended to the vast land stretching below.
"Master, let's light image it so we could see it better. Also, sound."
Master touched his panel and the image before us became almost lifelike, though the colors were off somewhat.
"Listen to what they are chanting," exclaimed San'aa. The sounds of the Aboriginal corroboree reached us first, before we could focus in on the activities.
"Dja-veed! Dja-veed! Dja-veed! Dja-veed! Dja-veed!..."
This was sung in rapid succcession, the men standing about a painted wooden pole at the center of concentric circles marked into the soil. Their dark brown, heavily ridged faces and strong, lean dark bodies were painted white and red and yellow designs of lines and dots. Their hair was tied back by headbands and in their hands were held large wooden and flattened poles, which we guessed were hunting boomerangs. In the background, before fires of wood and brush, were other men gathered and clapping wooden sticks for rythm. All were chanting in unison. One even had a large metal can on which he banged the rythym. Women, we could see, and little girls were kept at a distance, but they too looked in on the tribal ritual. Then the chanting stopped abruptly and a cry went out. All the women bent down low to the ground, making the little children and girls do the same. The children had a blondish, curly hair. Then one of the elders stepped forth into the firelight. He held aloft a large wooden shield with designs on it. All the women were silent as he solemnly held it above him. Then he tilted it for all the men to see. A murmur went about the gathering. Then, as silently and mysteriously as he came, he retreated into the bush. The women again were allowed to sit up and the chanting commenced once more. Now they were singing a song to Baiame:
"Yo! Ngarrk ngagangan najorr nga-ganay, garrk marrk bernda nga-dul? Muwungu! Niyarndula dara nga..." which we could only partially translate as:
"I am here! I came on foot from (somewhere) but the grass is high. Can we burn it? We want to find food and fish here..."
Then the chant commenced again, the men swaying and stamping their feet into the red dust, the light of the fire casting eary shadows and little boys looking wide eyed while sitting with the men. The painted bodies writhed and danced in the firelight, now again chanting "Dja-veed!"
We again turned to the Dream maps to see where the fit existed.
"The Dreamers had foreseen this, but look at what they did here," pointed San'aa. "They brought these two vectors together in the form of a vortex, right here, look. This allows us to come into this reality here and interfere, without damage." We all studied it intently, even Master. Then he added:
"Ta'an said this would be a viable strategy. He favored it over the back-up strategy where Wooley-Booley was mentally forced to give up Angel's communications device, which would be easier. "
"Agreed, San'aa?" I asked.
"It's a bit theatrical, but I think it's the best choice," she answered.
"Okay. Then let's go!"
Master brought the ship closer to Earth, and then, with a flourish, brough it abruptly to a quick stop over the corroboree. Our ship lights were in full view, turned up for effect. San'aa was watching the whole event as if transfixed. We knew the rush of air from the maneuvre was still coming down onto the gathering of Aboriginals.
"This is exciting," she whispered. "I feel as if I had seen this before."
"Probably in your racial memory, my love, in your racial dreams, as I have seen it in mine."
All the people below us, still clutching their spears and boomerangs stood as if frozen before the great lights, all their faces looking up at us with child like wonder. Some were crying, as were some of the children.
Then one of the elders, taking courage, stepped towards us. His hair was grey and his face had a thick, white beard. He looked up at the large ship and spoke loudly, to make sure he could be heard:
"You! Of the giant boomerang! You who dropped from the sky! I am leader, chief of this clan! We are the Dja-ru clan. My name is Jumba-Jumba! Are you Dja-veed, our god of rain?" He waited, but we held silent. Then he asked again: "Are you Baiame, or Waldjiri? You been our gods?" Then he retreated into the gathering of men and women and children.
"I guess we have to answer him, don't we?" I said to myself in my mind. San'aa nodded yes. "You, the people of the Dja-ru clan. And you, their leader, Jumba-Jumba. Please welcome us amongst you. We come from Dreamtime. We come in Peace."
We could hear a murmur rising from the people below us. Some started falling to their knees, others ran away. But a solid core of elder men stood their ground. Jumba-Jumba spoke again:
"We been calling you for long time, gods of Dreaming. Welcome to our small band. Show yourselves."
Master, at my signal, slowly brought the craft down lower to the ground, now only a few feet above the planet's surface. He also lowered the power source to a dimmer light, one which would not harm the people below us, should they touch the ship's hull. Then, after San'aa and I gave him the nod, he opened the main door and lowered us into the midst of the corroboree.
San'aa and I stood hand in hand before them all, men first and women behind them. A long hushed silence gave way slowly to whispers and fingers pointed at us. We smiled and walked forward a couple of steps. They retreated, almost in unison, but stood staring with intense curiosity. At long last, Jumba-Jumba came forward. He took tentative steps and then, placing his spear to the ground, knelt before us and put his head to the ground in a humble bow. I reached down and touched him on the back of the head, gently.
"Please rise, Jumba-Jumba. It is we who are honored to be your guests. We come to your little gathering as unannounced visitors. But we are not here as a blessing to you. Rather, it is we who will need your blessing in the form of help for us. Let me explain."
The nervousness was broken and voluble talk took over where only moments before there were hushed whispers. We all walked over to the fires and sat down crosslegged on the ground with the men. The ground felt cool, as did the evening, and for the first time I became conscious of being on a continent very different and distant from the others I had visited so far. I explained to all who were seated first why we came here, and then why we needed their help. All had questions:
"Can you fly to the sun with this ship? Do you really come from Dreamtime? Do your people look like us on your world? Can you help us hunt? Can we do a burn? If we go with you, will we die?..."
We explained that we could not answer all these questions yet, but that they would definitely not die. Also, that if they chose to help us in this matter, that is was a Dream matter, they would not get hurt in this doing. They could refuse, of course, but we needed them. I said to them: "Same as we came to you in Dreamtime, so we need you in our Dreaming." To this they responded enthusiastically.
We also told them that they would probably totally forget the experience once it was over. Then it would only incorporate itself into their myths, to be remembered as Dreamtime lore. They had many questions about that especially.
Then San'aa and I retreated from the group of men. But the women gathered now about San'aa and asked all their questions. She answered these as best she could, but careful to also explain that she was a woman of Earth like they, and that her knowledge of Ka'andana, the world of Dream, was incomplete. Still, they held a lively conversation. By now the children had gained confidence and, realizing the corroboree had been stopped, came running over to try their hardest at getting our attention. Their lovely smiling faces and bright eyes were difficult to resist. San'aa was surrounded by them. Then the men returned.
"It is agreed then to do as you say. I will be followed by twelve men," spoke Jumba-Jumba. "They come with me."
"We only have room for twelve men all together," I answered.
"All thirteen or none," was Jumba-Jumba's reply. They stood looking sullen in their own stubbornesss. But there was a hidden reason. They knew we only had room for twelve, which meant one of us had to stay, just in case.
"I'll stay," ventured San'aa. She understood immediately. "I want to be with the people here while you visit Wooley-Booley.
All the women nodded in agreement. Jumba-Jumba's wife stood by her side, holding her hand.
"Then it is agreed? The men will come with me. It will be light soon, so we must go now. This trip will take only minutes. We will be back before daylight, whether or not we succeed."
"But what are we to do?" asked Jumba-Jumba.
"I'll explain." This was followed by further questions, much laughter, and finally and enthusiastic reponse to join in.
"Be prepared to board," I called to Master. The large engines of the ship, which the men kept calling the 'Giant Boomerang,' lit up and the ship hummed a few feet above the ground in anticipation at the next leg of this mission.
"Do not forget your sticks and music instruments, I called to the men." Then we all filed into the belly of the ship, me being last. Jumba-Jumba turned to me and said:
"I never been in an airplane before." Then he smiled.
"Everyone take your seats," I ordered. They all looked about them, wide eyed, as if suddenly they were children entering a school classroom for the first time. They were awed at the sight of Master, who smiled at them. Yet, they knew instinctively that he was a robot android. Then they looked out the viewing windows, some waved to their friends and women and children below, who waved back. There was much turmoil, but finally all settled down in their respective seats as ordered by Master. Then we waved down for one more time, this time the ship lifting off slowly. The fires suddenly seemed very small and we took off in a split second to where we could see the sky brightening on the distant eastern horizon. There was a gasp from all the guests aboard, and then much agitated conversation. All were having a hell of a time flying about the world at speeds seen only in their Dreamtime.
We were off to visit Wooley-Booley. He was about to be visited by members of the Dja-ru clan. In his dreams, they would be Jah. As we are all from Jah. And in their Dreams, he would be the child who gives up his covetted toy. They would do it gently, as would he. There was a Rasta-Dreamtime connection. They did not know how, nor would they remember. But now all involved would become part of the Dream, and it would be remembered as if in a dream. But that is Wooley-Booley's tale. And it will be the Clan's new Dreamtime myth. ]"""

A pattern was beginning to emerge that made sense to me. San'aa could see it too. We got up for a moment, stretched, and then immediately got back into our seats. The story was getting to an important climax. We hoped it would offer us an answer for what we needed to know.

""" [As Master put the ship back through its channels to return to San'aa, light was dawning over the eastern coast of the Australian continent. All aboard were excitedly looking through the viewing walls and pointing down to the planet below, their paint now smeared over their brown bodies. Far below us a jet passed, its passengers unawares that they were being observed from an Alien craft full of Aboriginals from Australia. The skies were clear, so Master had to be cautious in his maneuvers to avoid detection from ground radar, or visual. He dimmed the ship as we approached the Kimberleys. Jumba-Jumba was solemnly holding on his lap Angel's communications device. It was still wrapped in its velvety purple cloth.
"Thank you, Master. Once again you have performed beautifully," I offered.
He gently brought the ship down over the clan's grounds. The horizon was glowing a reddish gold. The clan ran up to the ship, but kept a safe distance. San'aa was in the forefront, taller than the others, and beautiful. We had only been gone for an hour, but already I missed her. "Master. Everyone. We can stay but a short moment. Then we must be off. It would not be safe for us to stay longer. You all performed beautifully! Thank you."
San'aa ran up to me as soon as all disembarked and joined into a noisy and excited chatter telling all they could as fast as they could. Only Jumba-Jumba held his poise as he was greeted by Ruby, his woman.
"Paul!" San'aa ran over to me. Then she looked down at my hand. "You've got a cut. It's bleeding!"
"It's minor. I got bit by one of Wooley-Booley's boars. Its tooth caught on me as we were making a get away. But I will heal quickly." In fact, it was already almost healed.
"Were you spotted?" she asked, almost out of habit more than out of need. She could already see the whole seen in her mind.
"Jumba-Jumba and his clan performed a beautiful corroboree," I said, also out of Earth habit. "They had Wooley-Booley in tears, after he got over the initial shock and fear of seeing them. He wanted to know who they were and where were they from. Jumba-Jumba, in a deep base, responded that they were the Djahhhh-ru. He especially lingered on the first syllable. One of the boys had brought his didjeridoo and played its deep, eerie sound. Wooley-Booley, now convinced that these people were messengers from Jah, became very fascinated by the instrument. He wanted to have it, to exchange it for a mask. But Jumba-Jumba said that it could be had for a mask, and that piece wrapped in purple cloth he held in a box. This caught Wooley-Booley by surprise, and he confessed that the piece in the box was not his, that it belonged to Jah. So an exchange took place easily. If it belonged to Jah, then it had to be surrendered to Jah. Of course, to the leader of the Dja-ru. Amid more dancing and singing, Wooley-Booley joined in, after a few more tokes on his ganga cigar. He passed it around and the clan enjoyed it as well. They're still feeling it. We were having a wonderful party when men and women from the village showed up at the house, inquisitive as to what was going on. When they came in, I had to put a freeze on everyone's mind and then help the clan back into the ship. It was still daylight, so Master had to keep it out of sight until then. In helping one man past one of the Jamaicans, I accidentally hit my hand against the sharp tusk of a mask by the entrance. See, it is healing already."
"I thought you were really bit," San'aa teased me. "My hero." She was being sarcastic.
"Why the long face, Jumba-Jumba?"
"Because you will be leaving, then, and I will be without memory of you."
"But you will have the mask you got in exchange," I offered.
"It is not the same. I want to remember this night. And I want to remember Wooley-Booley, and then he remember me."
"I understand, Jumba-Jumba. Wooley-Booley is a good man, and in the end, not a covetous one. But we cannot change things, at least not now. But maybe soon. But you will remember some things, perhaps more than you can think. Some things will appear familiar to you, yet without explanation. Like the fact that when we flew at near light speed, you asked what was happening, why colors and shapes were like in a dream, and I replied that you were experiencing the effects of 'merging' with another universe, but that we were not quite going fast enough to do that. And then you wanted to know who was in that other universe, and I answered that it was ourselves, only that we were perpendicular to ourselves, and you laughed thinking that I meant that we were connected at the belly."
This brought a good laugh from Jumba-Jumba and he became less serious. Then he added:
"Can my clan see the device we brought back?"
"We can stay only a little time longer, as the day is already upon us and we wish to leave before we cause a disturbance in your country's defense system."
"Not 'our' defense," he countered, again being serious.
"You're right," I said. I thought: The military was not an invention of his people, as they never had a warrior class. The Aboriginal peoples of Australia never understood land ownership as did the European settlers, other than as a form of trusteeship. To them, their land was covered with stories and spirits and songs of the Dreamtime. It was a time when, if a man knew all the songs of the clans through which he would travel, they would let him pass in peace, a kind of passport of songs. And other than the skirmishes between feuding clans, they did not know war as it has existed in the rest of the world for these last four thousand years. "And furthermore," I continued, "we are way out here in the outback, free on your own land. So, why be afraid, as there are few who could see us, save some lone miners or oil men. And after prolonged solitude, they may not trust their senses anyway. Okay, then. I will show you."
We all gathered around, both men and women, and their children, and sat down on the ground by the pole of the corroboree. Master had also joined us. San'aa and I watched as Jumba-Jumba, who still held Angel's device, carefully enfolded the velvety cloth. When he had done so, he gave the cloth to Ruby, who then gave it back. Then, with great ceremony he held it aloft for a time, then with solemnness, passed it through the hands of the other elder members of the clan who had come with him on the mission. They in turn each passed it on to the others, and then passed it in turn to the women, who showed it to the children, before it was finally passed to San'aa and then to me. Master stood by, looking self absorbed. I took the device and placed it on the ground. Then, in like pageantry, I lifted my hands as if to signal for all to be still, and then reached down and pressed the controls on the communicator. An image began forming itself, at first pink and small, but then larger and more lifelike. Before us was standing a very good facsimile of Angel, though slightly shorter than his real size. He held up his hands in the manner of greeting, "Na'am'sat," and then looked around, as if he knew we were there.
"Greetings." I had chosen for him to speak in English. "I am Angel, a citizen of the world, and of many worlds, all of which are beautiful and inhabited by wonderful peoples. I am a guardian of the secret Light of Peace. These secrets are held by us in the form of sounds, or songs, which when heard remind us of who we are and why we pass through these worlds as living beings. To you, these sounds would only appear as music, but they are very special in that they communicate directly to your soul. In our songs, we remember that each one of us, each living thing, is connected to a vortex of infinite life. But upon my experiencing your world, so far, I have discovered that these same songs do not exist here, that they are not yet part of your Dream. And for that, I have chosen, while being amongst you, to be without these sounds. This means that I will be without the means to recreate them in the manner of my world. Instead, without this device that you hold before you, I will be forced to rediscover the music of Peace again from the beginning, in the way that you must. So I will live as one of you, listening to the songs of your souls, and mine, yet a stranger to my own land." Angel then looked around, as if waiting for his words to have the desired effect, then he continued. "So I will play to you the sounds of which I speak. Then all, of your world and mine, will understand. They are the sounds of Dra'avid, and Ra'am, of the many names of 'Aan in the One."
What followed was one of the most moving and beautiful pieces of music any of us had ever heard, including myself. I knew it was a piece created by Angel, and this was his way of passing from one world into the other, even if he had done so against the Unity's instructions. But that is why he left behind his communicator, so that he could have the freedom to do as he chose.
I looked around at the clan gathering and saw faces transfixed, as if suddenly reborn from a deep sleep, as if they were remembering. Tears formed in some of their eyes. Others were closed. In each heart was felt the beauty of life, of all living things, and of the whole world around them, even in the minutest detail. It is all filled with love. Only master stood by, as if preoccupied in his own mechanical thoughts, though I suspected that I saw a faint smile on his face. Even there the Light can express itself in surprising ways, I thought, almost alive. San'aa's hand reached over to mine and she pressed it gently. Tears were also running down her cheeks.
"I remember," she said. "I remember who I am. It is like a Dream. In 'Aan, from where we all come," she whispered. "The things all around us... all of life, all the animals and plants... They are all so filled with love for us! Oh, how did we forget?... I want to go home."
Then the image faded, and there was stillness all around. The air was warming with the morning sun, it shining yellow upon the red earth, reflected of the green leaves of mulberry bushes. An insect crawled past my feet, leaving its small tracks as testimony of its existence. It looked up at me and I let it pass, careful not to crush it. I turned to the gathering.
"It is time for us to go."
San'aa and Master and I turned to go the ship. At the foot of the entryway, I turned and looked back again at our new friends. They all stood there, their dark brown bodies silhouettes against the bright sun, children holding onto their parents. Jumba-Jumba held up his hand.
"May your Spirits guide you in your Dream," he called.
I answered them from my mind. I knew they felt it as if they had heard it with their ears. Then I turned back and walked back to Jumba-Jumba. Before him, I very carefully unwrapped the purple cloth around Angel's device. Then I handed him the cloth. The communicator, I put in my pocket. Not a word was spoken. It was a gift, in a way, from Wooley-Booley and Angel and me, all at once. All understood.]"""

San'aa and I woke as if from a Dream. We both took a second to refocus our eyes into the present.
"So there it is," I said, at long last when the crystal died back to its original black-green.
"What does it mean? I just saw myself in a movie I never made."
"I told you it was a movie," I said, smiling. She looked at me with wonder in her eyes.
"Your world has things I could never even imagine. But what did it accomplish? It didn't really happened?"
"Maybe nothing. Maybe everything." I realized I had better explain this riddle. I continued:
"You see, in the way the Dream unfolded there, the communicator ended up with us. But we can't return to the surface, for now." San'aa was waiting, unsure of where this was going. "Let's report to Ma'an and see where we are with all this."
"But we still need to find Angel."
"Or we could abandon the Light source, and let it will find it's own place on the world, for reasons clear only in the Dream. Remember the one I left with Pierce."
"It became useless. But how?"
"Let's see what happens to this one. But one thing is clear. We cannot do nothing, as this might adversely affect Earth's reality."
We went back to the command station, and found Ta'an still there. We were absent no more than an hour, and he was still busy with the reality Grid Matrix. He looked up as we approached.
"What did you find?"
"An Australian Aboriginal connection."
"Dreamtime?" he asked, already understanding.
"That, and Angel doing important work on Earth. It will involve music."
"Ah." Ta'an knew of Angel's passion for music. At one time, while on Earth in Mexico, he played with a mariachi band. "Let's call Kahla. As his strategist, she might shed more light on the matter."
Tenya also returned with her version of what she saw in the Dream. Surprisingly, she saw the same Australian connection, though without the Wooley-Booley version in it. She too saw the device end there, in time. Within minutes, Kahla arrived. She was introduced to San'aa as Ka'an, but she quickly explained that she adopted the Earth name Kahla.
"So what you're saying," Kahla was addressing us all, "is that Angel has an important mission left on this world. Music, the soul of the people... So he will do it with music!"
"And the communications device is a price he was willing to pay for the chance to stay there and follow his Dream," added Ta'an. "Does it fit into a pattern of the Dream?" he asked Kahla. Her blue eyes looked up at him from the Matrix. She nodded with her long golden curls. San'aa seemed captivated by this beautiful woman. "Then that may be what it's all about. Let us meet again tomorrow, and the Dreamers will have had a chance to work on this. We'll have new input then."
We parted, excited by the prospect of seeing a new reality opening for Angel. This is what the Dreamers and strategists do on a regular basis, I explained to San'aa.
"It leaves me tired," she confided. "How can they do this everyday?"
"I said it takes many years of training. Now you see why."
"And you do this too?"
"Have for decades, almost half a century. It's my work."
"How old are you, really?"
"The Light keeps us in a rejuvenated state of health for a very long time. I'm not quite a hundred Earth years old."
"But you look so young. I first guessed you were in your late twenties!" She looked at me in amazement. "Will this happen to me too, if I live on your world?"
"As far as I know, of course."
"Wow!" She stared, thinking about it. "What other magical secrets haven't you told me about?" She asked, smiling but serious at the same time.
"Lots. All in due time. But for now, I want to go swimming!"
"Okay!"
It took us a couple of minutes to go down the accelerate walkways to the swimming gallery. We arrived breathless, having just skipped nearly the whole width of the large, oval Ship. When we entered the gallery, San'aa stopped cold. She looked up and could not believe what she was seeing. She looked to me and was about to speak, when she again turned back to the room. A nude bather had just past by her, but she did not even notice her.
"How do you do that?" she gaped.
"It's suspended by a force field. That's why it's perfectly round."
San'aa looked up at the great fluid sphere ahead of her, suspended in mid air, as if floating on air. The whole ceiling was a great viewing wall full of stars. A head popped out of the sphere, for air, and then dove back into it. Human figures were seen swimming inside the great fluid ball, and then disappearing on the other side, legs still kicking.
"What is it?"
"Water."
"No. I mean, how do you keep from drowning in it?"
"It's designed to always return you to the nearest surface. You want to try it?"
We stripped the one piece travel suits we were wearing. San'aa's lovely brown skin reflected the bluish orb in the simulated sunlight of the room. She walked over to the sphere and touched it's surface. Just as she did, a figure floated down from the top of the sphere, suspended on a gravity field, and floated down besides her casually.
"It feels wonderful," the crew member confided to her. "You'll like it," she said with a smile. San'aa smiled back, a little shy.
"I know I've seen this before somewehre..." She was searching her memory, having forgotten she was shown this briefly once before.
"Come, I'll show you how it's done."
I lifted up my body effortlessly and plunged into the great orb of water. Then I resurfaced, suspended about half way between the floor and ceiling of the gallery.
"Come on in! The water's perfect!"
San'aa imitated what I did and landed into the orb with a splash. Then she too surfaced, caught her breath, and began giggling hysterically.
"What's the matter?"
"It tickles!"
"It's the force field. You'll get used to it. Come, swim with me!"
We began doing laps all around the orb, diving into it at will, and then resurfacing wherever. San'aa still had trouble with her giggles, but I could tell she was really enjoying herself. We could have swam for hours, but other duties called to me. We levitated down from the bluish orb and landed softly on the gallery floor.
"No one, back home, would ever believe this," she said breathlessly, still feeling the giggles. "I never imagined such things possible." Then she looked over to me, looking beautiful in her wet nakedness. "Oh, Paul. I'm in heaven."
"No. It's the same reality. You're only about ten thousand years ahead."
"I want to see more!" She said eagerly like a child with a new toy. "You will. But we still have to attend to this Angel matter. We'll come back for a swim tomorrow. Let's go back to our quarters." I watched her dress. "I'm so in love with you!"



13. A World of Light
We walked into the Control Center. Ta'an, Tenya, Ma'an, and Kahla were all standing together awaiting our arrival. They stood beaming, as if they had a secret they could not wait to share with us.
"What?" I asked. "What is going on?"
Their minds were a jubilant play of frivolity. San'aa knew it too, and was quicker to catch on. She noticed Ta'an had his hands behind his back.
"There's news about Angel?"
Like children who could wait no longer, they had to show me what they had found. Even as Ta'an's hand was coming forward, I already knew.
"You found it!" San'aa and I both exclaimed almost in unison. "But how?"
"Your ruse worked," Ma'an answered. "We don't really understand it, or how, but it worked."
Then Ta'an held forth what he had been hiding behind his back. It was dirty with soil still clinging to. But we recognized it instantly. It was a communications device, and we knew it was Angel's
"You mean playing our dream tapes produced the device?" I asked, still not understanding.
"In a way," Kahla answered. "We noticed on our monitors that Wooley-Booley, who had the device, somehow, and we don't know why, had the device buried in the jungle away from his house."
"And then?" We both wanted to know.
"We sent down a robot craft, triangulated it out of the ground, and replaced it with an empty mock-up."
"So that's what you did with Pierce." It was all beginning to make sense. "Without the human touch, by using robots, the reality grid could be fooled. How does the Matrix look now?"
"Look for yourself," they beamed with self satisfaction. San'aa and I both looked over to the steadily shifting grid map.
"Look, Paul. The vortex is closed."
"Almost." It was Ma'an. "A much smaller vortex opened over here, and that means that troubles will arise again, later. But for now, he is safe, and the communicator is also safe, with us."
"So now there could be no technical interference from Earth's scientists, who would have otherwise discovered its energy source. And the Quarantine remains intact," Tenya added.
"Do you think there was some sort of link between Wooley-Booley and Jumba-Jumba?" I wondered.
"Probably some mind link already existed," Ta'an answered. As strategist, these things made more sense to him. "When you and San'aa jointly played out the Dream scenario, the mind link got stronger, and for some odd reason, that made Wooley-Booley nervous. Maybe he thought he had finally seen 'Jah'."
We smiled together, thinking of Wooley-Booley really encountering the Australian gang. But in some mysterious way only the universe can know, it worked. Even our infinity capable computers can't always guess the right outcome. There is always an element of the unknown in all things we do, or that happen, even when we calculate risk to almost one hundred percent.
"What about Pierce?" San'aa wanted to know. "Does his reality Matrix look secure from here on?"
"He'll show up again, of that we can be sure. There is something between Paul and him that was not completed. Even you, San'aa will be in some way a part of that play. The reality Matrix shows that for us, with a fairly high degree of accuracy."
"Can we see him on our monitors?" I asked.
The four confered with one another, in a split second, and the answer was presented by my strategist.
"I think it would be okay," Ta'an answered. "We could locate him and put him on the hologram screen. You want to be in the picture?"
"Sounds great!" I suddenly became excited by the prospect of seeing my almost foe once again. Strange, I thought, how we gravitate to where there is trouble for us, like we need to complete a scene that had not quite played out. Like real life, no doubt.
"Put him on. Will you be my spectators?" They all nodded yes enthusiastically, like children about to watch a marionette play.
All took their seats at the monitor, but only my projection would be visible on Earth. Then Ta'an played around with the control boards, passing his hands over them as he watched the grid maps shift to his commands. In a moment, he had the alignments he needed.
"Okay, now. Let's see where the good Colonel is." He made some finer adjustments. "Ah, yes. He's relaxing in his game room..." Ta'an played around with the controls some more. "I think he's watching TV."
An image began forming before our eyes. I took my seat.
"Okay, Ta'an, put me in the adjacent love seat." Ta'an worked the program to show my projection in a seat about three feet away from Pierce. "Okay, now."
We could see Pierce almost jump out of his seat, much to the amusement of the small crowd that had now gathered around us.
"What tha'!" Pierce stared at the hologram with disbelieving eyes. He was dressed in a T-shirt, shoes off, a beer by his side. Obviously he was done with his day's work. Some program was on Parisian television. He stared at my image for a long time, even rubbing his eyes, before he spoke.
"Paul?"
"Hi, Pierce. Do you believe in ghosts? Angels?" Pierce shrunk back visibly, as if he were about to get up and run out of the room. "It's okay. I'm only a projection." I continued looking at him, and then I smiled. "Take a drink from your beer. It'll get warm."
Pierce reached over to his beer as if he had been given a command. A glass of drink was placed by my side, out of the viewer, so I reached over and picked it up, so now I too had a glass in my hand. "Cheers!"
"Cheers..." he answered feebly.
"To your health Pierce. As you can see, I am quite healthy, here on the other side. And so is San'aa." This brought a chuckle from the others. "Did you think I would abandon you so easily?"
"Where are you, Paul?" Pierce finally found the courage to speak.
"Aboard a Star-ship, very far out in space. We're about to leave for our sector of the Galaxy, so I thought I'd come by and say goodbye."
"Goodbye? Are you leaving us?"
"It's time to go home. But it was a hell of a visit. Do you miss me?"
"Yes..." he stammered. "In fact, I do. In all my assignments, yours was the most interesting I ever had." He had started to visibly relax. "Will you be coming back?"
"You don't make it easy for me, chasing me around the globe. What should I do?"
"I was only following orders, you know."
"But they will have the same orders for you next time, won't they?"
Pierce stared into his beer. He had shut off the TV with his remote control.
"I hope to meet you again, Paul. Since we talked that night, my life hasn't been the same. I mean, nothing makes sense anymore. I'm like a man walking in a waking dream. I don't know what's right or wrong anymore."
"Some people get strengthened around me, others get confused. It happens." We looked at each other a moment, both thinking back to the short encounter we had together. "What about the Inspector? Is he allright?"
"Alas, no. He had to be committed to a hospital. His liver acted up, and he started babbling incoherently at odd times. We became very worried about his health."
"I could tell it was bad. He'll recover in time." Then I asked what I needed to know most. "What do you think happened to the Light source device I handed over to you?"
"You gave me... a Light source?"
"Yes, the communications device I threw to you at the hotel lobby."
"Ahh!" His memory began to come back in foggy images. "That was you? I had almost forgotten about that. What did happen?"
I looked over to Ta'an and Ma'an, to check if it were alright to tell him. They nodded in agreement.
"We exchanged it."
"Exchanged it?" He seemed momentarily lost. "How did you exchange it?"
"We dematerialize yours, and rematerialized in its place a false one."
"That's why it was empty... So that's how you did it? Well, I'll shake your hand on that. You got the better of us." He rose to come over and shake my hand. I extended mine and the two hands met, but they felt like nothing at all, only shaking of hands in mid air. "You're really not here..." he looked disappointed. "But I would shake hands with you in person, for sure. You're a fine fellow, Paul."
"You too, Pierce. I got to like you, after all." He took back his seat, looking at me. "Maybe next time, we won't be on opposite ends of our philosophical ideals. Then we could be friends."
"I'd be friends, if they let me. You know. But they won't."
"I know. That's why I wanted one last visit with you, to let you know that this is our redemption, Pierce. That we are friends."
Pierce nodded sadly, like he was about to shed a tear. But years of conditioning, military training, and his original belief system did not let him cry. He simply looked sad instead, denying himself the relief crying would bring.
"It's time for me to go."
"Already? Can't we talk some more?"
"I'd like to. But I can't chance distorting our mutual realities further. We've stepped into the unknown already." He nodded, as if he understood what I was talking about. "Be well, my friend. God's speed."
"Do you believe in God?"
"Yes, in a manner of speaking. We call our god 'Aan."
"Then 'Aan's speed," he added. Just before he turned away, he suddenly needed to know: "How fast to do you go in space, anyway?"
"At multiples of light years. It's easy, when you know how."
"It's always easy when you know how," he joked. "I guess we'll have to find out, someday."
"You will."
Pierce was about to ask how we survived the fall, when I signalled to Ta'an to end the transmission there. When his projection went out, I felt sad inside, like I had really said 'goodbye'. The others picked up on my emotion.
"Remember the Grid map, Paul." San'aa came to my rescue. "We'll be encountering him again, no doubt. And we'll probably wish we hadn't."
I smiled at her, thinking that the time will bring its own trials at the time, no doubt. Still, when we are connected with another soul, even if it is in the negative, there is an attachment there. Like when slaying your enemy, later there is regret.
"Any damage to the Reality Matrix?" I immediately asked of Ta'an.
"Looks good. Vortex dissolution in progress. No damage. We're okay."
All sighed in relief, knowing that such a transmission had its risks. I looked up at the great viewing wall in the Control Center and saw Earth's bright blue orb suspended in the black, star studded sky.
"That's were I was," was all I could say.
Soon after, we made preparations to leave, to go home. All the shuttle craft were secured into place by our androids and young technicians. It was the only way these young men and women could travel off world, to sign up as technicians. But some would go on to other things, and some would even become Dreamers. Ma'an again resumed command, ordering coordinates into our travel systems. The Dreamers selected the best path for the return journey. When the Reality Matrix showed all was clear to go, the great engines of the Star-ship were put in motion. They sounded like a million bees in our head, like it was alive, but the sound was only momentary as our brains adjusted quickly, and soon we could barely hear it. Without any sense of motion, the Ship propelled itself past the last planets and asteroids of Earth's solar system and sped off into the brilliant emptiness of space. We had jumped to light speed within minutes and were merging into the multiple dimensional depths of our star systems at this end of the Galaxy.
San'aa and I were again standing at the great viewing wall in the main gallery, looking up at the stars. Earth was no longer visible on the screen. An infinity of stars blanketed the sky, a thick swatch of worlds and stars cutting across the viewing screen. They were our Galaxy.
"It is so beautiful out here, isn't it?"
"It is. It is always beautiful, no matter where you are in the Galaxy."
"Is it like this through all the galaxies?"
"We don't really know. We only know this one. Even at our advanced stage of technology, we still cannot reach the nearest one. But there are races, far ahead of us, who can. We only know we can from them."
"There are other races, even more advanced?"
"Why yes. Even in our own Galaxy, there are millions of living worlds. And some of them are far ahead of us."
San'aa shook her head. The world we had just left behind had suddenly become very small in her mind.
"I feel so small, but like I'm part of a very big family now," she mused, looking out on the stars.
"You are. And so are the people of Earth. They just don't know it yet."
"When will they know?"
"When they tell us they are ready."
"And when will that be?"
"The Millennium is coming. That may be a time of great awakening. Remember what Angel set out to do."
"Music. He wants to bring the Dream to Earth with music."
"Then Earth will Dream, and we'll know it's time to come. Or maybe it will be in some other way. The Dreamers think maybe we'll make contact first with the people whose hearts are pure. The images are not clear... Maybe Mananam. I believe he has started the Dream."
We stood silently looking up at the screen, watching the worlds recede from us. After a long silence:
"I know they will tell us when. Maybe your world will light a light for us... And we for them."
San'aa took my hand, and I gently squeezed hers.
Just then, the Ship's great engines lifted an octave in pitch and the sky before us exploded into a rainbow of colors.
"Farewell, my beautiful world," San'aa said softly, as the screen burst forth into a million lights surrounded by an infinity of rainbows. "Farewell, Earth. Wake soon." Then she paused for a minute, thinking, and added: "Farewell, little Anand."
I squeezed her closer to me, us both looking up at the receding stars. She reached over to my lips and kissed them gently. I kissed her deep from within my soul, like our mouths would connect us through eternity into one. She then put her head on my shoulder, still looking up at the sky.
"We're going home, my beautiful."
"I'm going home."
We stood like this for a long time, alone, as all the others were now occupied with their functions aboard the Star-ship. Only we had the liberty to do nothing and watch space unfold before us. The Ship had again stabilized in one of its dimensional shifts, and was cruising steadily through a chosen plane, though now we were moving away from Earth at multiple light speeds. The shifting panorama of rainbows had once more solidified into a black sky blanketed with stars and distant galaxies. But our Galaxy was still the most majestic of all, lighting our way home like an old, familiar friend.
"Farewell, Mananam," I said softly. "God's speed, in 'Aan."
We turned to each other and looked deep into each other's eyes.
"My world's not perfect either," I said gently.
"Nor mine."


END.