by Leo Nation
“Obviously.”
“I have to admit, I’m confused.”
“I’m not as foreign as you may think.”
Adam’s voice comes to mind: Everything is a resource. Take what you get. See what is.
Woman lays her hand on my shoulder and says softly, “Take it easy.”
“Alright, okay,” I reply, noticing her naked body; I feel my face warming up.
“I am here to help,” she says lightly.
“Well, you bring out the best in me.”
She laughs, “I can help.”
“I’m not against that, but….”
She reaches out and touches my cheek.
“I don’t know what to do,” I confess.
“That is a very good thing,” she replies, “as it should be.” Her eyes are the color of sage with flecks of gold. I now imagine clear water coursing away from the side of a mountain.
“I don’t know what to do,” I repeat.
“All is well,” she says, “remember that.” She looks at Harlequin and they both laugh. I wonder why.
Beside Harlequin both the lion and the leopard close their eyes, letting his hands roam around their ears.
“Is she supposed to be here?” I ask.
Harlequin turns his palms up and rolls his eyes, adding a mystified shrug.
“What do you think?” Woman asks.
“I don’t know what to think. I feel like I just bit a lemon. I have to let this sink in.”
“Take your time,” she laughs.
I try to think and nothing happens. So to fill up space, I say, “This may sound strange but I have something important to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Woman laughs at the sky.
Harlequin joins with silent laughter.
Meanwhile I wait for my cryptic idea.
Harlequin goes to Woman, and with a flourish he drops to his knees at her bare feet. With a quick snap of his fingers, he plucks from space a bouquet of wildflowers. I have seen this trick before, but it is impressive. He stands up and bows like a knight to his lady.
He offers her the flowers.
Woman takes the bouquet. “Thank you, Sir.”
Her voice seems to linger in the air like a sweet bit of music. Harlequin holds her hand and kisses her fingers, one by one.
“Wait a minute!” I say, feeling left out. Harlequin swivels his head and presents a blank stare. “We need to hit the road,” I explain. “We need to know what is so. I don’t want to spoil the mood but it’s time to go.”
Harlequin lifts Woman’s hand higher. She looks straight at me and she declares, “I’m coming with you.”
“Wait, I still have something to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know but I have to say it.”
“Well, when you are ready, then.”
“It’s close—but I don’t have the words.”
“Let me be the first to know.”
I strain to gather a formless thought. “This is not easy,” I say. “We … share….”
“Yes?”
I take a breath and repeat, “We share….”
“Go on!” Woman says.
“We share the … same”
“Yes, say it!”
“We sharethe same being!”
With joy pounding in my chest, I feel like an inventor holding the right filament for a light bulb. I repeat, “We share the same being!”
“Is that it?”
“Yes, that’s it! What do you think?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Why not? Go ahead. Say it.”
“You may not like it.”
“I want to know the truth.”
“Well, if you insist, my thought was, ‘This is what I call slow!’”
She and Harlequin laugh, but I don’t get the joke. He folds his arms over his chest and taps his foot as he looks away. She lays her hands on her hips and giggles at the sky while the jovial clown adds a whistle that nobody can hear.
“It’s true!” I say.
They look at each other and laugh again.
All of our eyes meet and we tumble together into a round of hilarity. I try filling the sky with sounds of new joy. Harlequin rocks back and forth in silent ecstasy as Woman makes merry.
“You’re funny,” she cries.
“I wasn’t trying to be. It just came to me.”
“You lucky man,” she laughs.
“I didn’t know what to say, and then, I did.”
“What does it mean?” she asks.
“I don’t know, do you?”
“I won’t tell you that,” she replies.
“Why not?”
“It’s better to behold who you are.” She says, laughing again. I feel stumped. I look to the sky.
“I knew I had to say it, even before I knew what it was.”
“I know.” Woman laughs.
“We share the same being,” I repeat.
The landscape around us now has a strange look. The golden sky has been turning to a reddish shade of orange.
I nod at Harlequin and I say, “I think we’re related,”
“Is that so?” Woman says.
“I think so. I haven’t said that before.”
“Does it make you feel good?”
“It feels like a new reality.”
“That is interesting.”
“Come with us.”
“I said I would.”
In her presence I feel a pristine kind of clarity. I reverberate to the inner harmony like strings on a Stradivarius playing a Beethoven concerto.
“Hey Harlequin!” I shout, feeling joy rising. “We have company!”
∞ 15 ∞
Woman spreads joy moving among us like a spunky street performer. I am thrilled to have her in our offbeat parade.
“Look at that!” I shout at a white cloud that fills half the sky. Woman looks up and I see the gossamer image in her eye. “Pretty soon,” I say with confidence, “I’ll understand everything.”
I know I spoke too soon, I feel it at once. I don’t want her to think I’m that conceited, so, I say no more—but where did that word come from, conceited? The truth is, however, no matter how bad it sounds, I do believe that it is possible to understand everything. But for now I decide that it’s better to keep it to myself.
The road winds through dry grass, which whispers in a soft breeze. I turn to Woman and she says, “The sky goes on forever!”
I open my arms and I shout, “I … love it!” She laughs at me. Harlequin prances in front of us and now, suddenly, he stops dead, like a horse standing over a rattlesnake.
“What is it?” I wonder.
Woman takes my hand. Together we walk over to him, and I lay my hand on a diamond on his shoulder; he bolts away, skittish. I haven’t seen him act like this before.
“What is it?” I ask again.
Harlequin points at a spot on the ground about ten yards ahead of us.
“A subway entrance?” I wonder.
“Why would it be here?” says Woman.
“It shouldn’t be, but—”
“It has a brass rail,” she says, “covered in red velvet.”
“Fancy,” I say. “I don’t get it.”
“It looks fit for an opera house,” Woman says, “or a symphony … or a theatre.”
“But those stairs go down, and there is no building.”
“What do you think, then?” she replies. “Who would build an elegant entrance like that to go underground?”
“That, dear lady, is the question.”
Harlequin breaks away and dashes down the stairway. We watch him descend.
Now he’s gone, out of sight.
“Hey, Bub,” I cry, “wait for us.”
“He’s gone,” Woman says.
Harlequin’s curly head pops up just enough to let us see his eyes above the top step, almost level with the ground. He wave
s and we take opposite sides of the brass rail. I feel warm velvet under my fingers, and now, cool smooth brass gliding by. Now another patch of velvet.
As we near the bottom step I look around; the lion and the leopard are on the stairs above us. In the foyer Harlequin appears to be free of gravity; he looks like a ballet dancer in a lobby on the moon. He leaps away effortlessly, running into a hallway, out of sight. Now, he’s back again, but spins away and he runs off.
I look at Woman. “What is he up to?”
“Stop right there!” cries a young male voice.
“Oh, oh,” says Woman.
A bellicose boy, about eight or nine, in faded blue jeans, a white tee shirt with blue stripes, and a pair of blue running shoes, struts boldly into the foyer.
“Stop!” he shouts.
He holds his fist in front of his chin, his face as tight as a snare drum. He screams, ready to fight, “You can’t come in. I said stop!”
His face and neck get red.
“Watch out!” I announce. “This kid could be dangerous.”
“Not one more step—I mean it!”
Harlequin ignores the boy’s warning. He shuffles over to him and bends down peering into his eyes, only an inch away.
“Hey!” The boy recoils.
“Careful,” I caution.
Harlequin gawks at me and slaps his thigh. He turns his attention to the boy and chuckles in his face, making no sound at all. He plops an elbow on the boy’s shoulder and, nearly nose to nose, he grins. Surprised by his audacity the boy pushes him back. Harlequin looks hurt and slinks away into the hallway.
“Wait a minute!” I cry after him.
“You can’t go in there!” the boy repeats.
“Now, hold on kid—Harlequin! Wait for us!”
A leg of blue and grey diamonds appears in the hall entryway. Harlequin leans into view with a silly grin and a Tahitian basket full of primary colors on his head. He holds it steady with his left hand as he carries it up to the boy, where he stops and stiffly salutes. Grabbing both handles he tilts a basketful of streaming fluff over the boy’s head and shoulders. The young man’s eyes open wide as he peers through a waterfall of petal soft flowers. The kid looks up at us as colors tumble all around him, grazing his cheeks and shoulders as they fall and gather around his feet.
Harlequin disappears but almost as fast he returns with another basket full of flowers. He stands up straight and lifts his arms; he turns the basket over and colorful blossoms cascade onto the boy, who stifles a chuckle. Now he turns to one side as he laughs. He sees two big cats at Woman’s side, and he says, “Oh!” He runs to them; he drops onto his knees like a three-year-old on Christmas day. He lays his arms around their big necks and hugs wholeheartedly.
“Look at him,” I say. “That’s more like it.”
He buries his face in the lion’s mane.
“Those cats like you,” I tell him.
He looks up. “Do they?”
“Yeah, they do.”
“Of course they do,” says Woman. “Tell us who you are.”
A shadow spooks the boy’s eyes. Obviously troubled he hesitates and says, “I don’t know.”
“You’re kidding!” I declare.
“He’s not,” Woman asserts.
“I guess I don’t know,” he repeats.
“You don’t know who you are?”
“Call him Boy.” Woman suggests.
“I like Kid—or Hot Shot,” I say.
Woman stands her ground. “I prefer Boy.”
Boy looks at Harlequin with delighted eyes.
“Look at that kid!” I laugh.
“Is that name all right?” Woman asks.
“What?” he says blankly.
“Your name, do you like it?” she repeats.
“What is it?”
“Boy!”
“Oh, yeah. I guess it’s okay.”
“You better think about it, Kiddo,” I say, “because you’ll be stuck with it.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “I like it.”
“All right. Boy it is. I can live with that.” Harlequin and Woman laugh as I ask, “Why are you blocking this corridor, Kid?”
“I don’t know.”
“Interesting,” Woman says.
I slide my thumbs under my suspenders and pause for a long thought. I bend down closer. “Why did you try to stop us?”
Boy’s eyebrows tangle as he looks for an answer. “I can’t say—but it’s important—the most important thing in the world.”
“That,” I blurt, “is bizarre.”
“He doesn’t know,” says Woman.
“Try to remember,” I tell him.
“Do,” Woman adds, “See if you can.”
He looks away. “I don’t know—but it’s important. I know that much. Everybody stops here.”
“But why?”
“…It’s my job.”
“Tell me about that,” I say.
“Keep everybody away,” he says, sounding like a mantra repeated many times.
“Who told you that?”
He looks queasy and Woman comes to his aid. “He’s confused.”
“I would be too, if I didn’t know what I was doing or why. What are you trying to hide?”
The young man looks down at his dark blue sneakers.
“Why must you stop us?” I ask.
Boy shakes his head and shrugs.
“It’s too much now,” Woman says. “Let’s ask again later.”
“I need to understand,” I say. “It’s a curse.”
Harlequin and Woman laugh, and again I wonder why.
I look at the passageway. “Do you know where that thing goes?”
“No,” Boy answers.
“No offense, Kid, but we’ve got work to do. We need to get on with it; this kind of stuff gets us off track.”
I turn and walk into the hallway, suddenly knowing what I want to do. Over my shoulder I shout, “I hope this thing comes up for air pretty soon.”
Harlequin and Woman scurry behind me, and the two cats and Boy follow them.
“Look at that ceiling,” Woman says at once. “It must be twenty feet high.”
After timidly following cautious steps we find ourselves groping in darkness, as blind as bats in a cave. As we cling to the stone wall beside us, all I can hear are soft sounds of fingertips sliding on rough stone and a soft shuffle of feet on smooth rock. I can hear an occasional scratch of a fingernail but no other sounds.
“This place gives me the creeps,” I say, seeing nothing. “I have a weird feeling this has all happened before, somewhere deep in some dark old castle.”
“On a lonely hill,” Woman says eerily, “at the stroke of midnight.”
Damn! Where did she get that?
I face her direction, my eyes open wide, and I see nothing, not a speck of light. Is she trying to make this worse?
“It is creepy,” says Boy,
Feeling pressure behind my eyes, I strain looking to see anything. Embedded in darkness, I hear a chuckle behind me; it must be Boy reacting to some kind of Harlequin shenanigan.
In the soles of my naked feet I feel a slight vibration. There it is again, tingling below me. I hear something grumble, and the wall jolts under my hand. The floor starts to quake and the two big cats start a loud purring.
“Okay,” I whisper….” But I stop because Woman says, “Do you feel the difference?”
“What?” I ask.
“The temperature. Feel it?”
“I do,” Boy says.
I hold up my hand. “The air is cooler.”
“This wall smells old, rotten,” she says.
Seeing nothing I sniff the air. “Timeworn,” I reply. The aroma in the air is ancient. Who knows what might be locked away from the world in here for years?
Woman says, “It reminds me of dark ages.”
I reply saying, “I think we’re headed into….”
“What?” Woman prods with a whisper.
> “I think we may be entering….”
“Go on!”
“… a mirthless region.”
She laughs. “Mirthless?”
“That’s how it feels to me.”
“What is a mirthless region?”
“You know, where things aren’t funny.”
Harlequin brushes past my shoulder. I wonder how he can move so confidently in a world without vision. Now I see a tiny swirl of light ahead; it turns slowly on a bend in the wall, a little circle of soft sparkling light. Harlequin sails on around the light, and as he disappears his shadow stretches along the ceiling and down the walls like an eerie phantom.
I feel the wall tremble under my hand.
The floor undulates under us like a lazy wave, and I feel its powerful vibrations passing through the wall.
“What the hell is this?” I say.
“It isn’t good,” Woman replies.
“Maybe we should go back,” I suggest.
“We’re getting close to something,” she says.
“But what? Maybe we could do better without it,” I say. I take her hand. We proceed toward a soft glitter of light, and I feel a tight grip on my bicep.
“Look,” she says.
Ahead of us in a circle of light a contentious boy of about sixteen stomps through the candlelight in a pair of heavy black boots, a white tee shirt under a black leather jacket, and blue jeans that are torn. He reminds me of an angry young Brando reaching through the edge of the light and pulling a straight wooden chair out of the shadow. He turns the chair backwards, and he takes his seat like a biker, his eyes full of scorn and a snarl on his upper lip.
He lays his leather forearms on the back of his chair facing us and says nothing.
“Beware of this guy!” I warn.
“Don’t take another step!” he says.
∞ 16 ∞
“Goddamn it!” The young man commands, “Don’t move!”
At the sound of that I feel my back arch, and I blurt, “Don’t be ridiculous!” An operatic crescendo makes me sound as if I smashed my thumb with a ballpeen hammer, “I can’t believe this—what the hell do you want?”
“You can’t go!” he screams.
I run up to him and stick out my chin. “Come on, Kid. We can talk this—”
“Hell no!” he intrudes, his face red and flustered. “No damn way!”
“Now wait a minute,” I say as I squat down in front of his chair. I land an elbow on his knee. “Take a good look at her, man, does she look dangerous?” I smile. “C’mon!”
