by Ky Lehman
I don’t give someone else’s huge, black canine a second thought as I blearily buckle myself in, close my eyes and prepare to descend into a strange land without my best friend: a land host to my past, my present, and from what everyone tells me, my future.
xxXxx
Getting ready to exit the plane with no great improvement in my vision, I ask the nice, older man next to me if he could help retrieve my hand luggage from the overhead compartment. He does, and courteously informs me that it is nearly our turn to spill into the line filling the aisle. “I’ll let you know when it’s our turn to go, love,” he says.
“Oh. Thank you,” I reply. He must have noticed how those pills have done a number on me; who could miss it with my birds nest hair two hands full of fingers can’t untangle, the huge wet patch of drool on my shoulder, and my groggy squint.
As we stand and dutifully wait, I rapidly blink my eyes trying to get my vision to catch up with the rest of me when it hits me that maybe I’m not hung-over from the pills Nurse Min gave me, maybe I’ve had a stroke or something else really serious, and my anxiety takes a sharp left into full blown hysteria.
To stop myself from panting, I try and hold my breath, but my mouth and my lungs have other ideas as they both open up together and let out a blood curdling scream.
“Excuse me! Excuse me, please!” I hear Stephanie, the bubbly flight attendant, sing out trying to sound poised, as colourful shadows of all shapes and sizes part before me like the Red Sea.
“I can’t see!” I shriek at Stephanie’s fast approaching silhouette.
“I know, Miss Avalon. And I’m sorry we couldn’t allow your dog to fly in the cabin with you, but without the proper clearance documentation, he had to fly in the back. But, please don’t worry, he is safe, and shortly after you step off the plane, you’ll be together again. You’ll see,” she twitters nervously.
“But, I can’t see! Please, please help me, Stephanie,” I cry out again as I find her shoulders and frantically clutch on to her.
“Um, I mean, no, you won’t see him, how stupid of me…but you’ll, um…well he’ll be right there, at the Freight terminal, waiting for you, Miss Avalon…I didn’t mean…” For reasons I can’t quite figure out, now Stephanie and I are both in a flap. “You’ll be with your Benni Dhoo in just a few minutes…that I can promise you,” she babbles.
Benni Dhoo…
My heart warms as my memory shows me the loving light of his unblinking, tawny eyes, and suddenly everything goes as black as his long tendrils of fur.
xxXxx
I cannot believe that in a little over a day, I have visited two different first aid stations in two different continents: both as pokey and as sterile as each other, both manned by lovely, competent nurses: one was hell bent on getting me to settle down and rest, meanwhile the other is on a mission to get me up and moving.
“Let’s make sure your legs aren’t painted on. Come on, now. One. Two. Three. Upsy-daisy,” buxom Nurse Alison with her thick Scottish accent eggs me on as she helps me up from my chair.
“I’m OK, Alison. Really. But, thank you, again, for all of your help,” I try and convince her for the third time.
“You know, you remind me of my sister,” she chatters. “Ever since she was tiny, the moment she gets her dander up, down she goes!”
I want to explain to her that this fainting thing is very recent, and embarrassing, and inconvenient, and only seems to happen when the acute remembrance of an experience, or a someone, blindsides me with overwhelming emotion.
“We’d better go and get your helper dog. I just got a call from his minder. It seems he misses you and he is making quite a fuss!” she exclaims.
That was all she needed to say to get me going. If she wasn’t holding my arm so firmly and my eyesight was back to normal, I’d climb over the crowds of people packing the airport to get to him: to my beautiful, beloved companion, protector and friend who has watched over me and my loved ones for generations. Besides Mike, I couldn’t have hoped for a better escort.
The little grey pills, the deep sleep, the blindness, Benni Dhoo. It all finally makes sense. They have made the farce a reality, complete with Seeing Eye dog, to avoid relying on my dodgy acting skills, all so I can remain ignorant of the Apple Isle location and how to get there, further lessening the possibility of putting our loved ones, past and present, at risk.
Nurse Alison leads me through a rabbit warren of corridors towards the distant sound of Benni Dhoo’s howls and whimpers. We turn a corner and his cries get louder and closer; Alison groans as I pick up the pace, replacing her as leader as I drag her towards the mournful sound. We soon reach the closed door where he waits for me on the other side, and as his desperate cries turn into a cheerful ruckus, I am happy that he knows that I am nearby, and that he is just as excited to see me as I am to see him.
She turns the handle and pushes open the door to what she explains is the Collections area. “Benni Dhoo!” I call out, not caring who else is around to see me go all goo-goo over my furry friend. It’s not as if I can see their stares anyway.
I hear some chuckling footsteps coming our way. “Hello, Miss Avalon. My name is Eddie. Benni Dhoo’s harness is on and he’s ready to go. I’ll take you to him,” he says in a friendly voice. With Nurse Alison still by my side, we walk straight for eleven steps, turn right and then head through another door that closes behind us. “Just stand where you are, and I’ll go get him and bring him to you,” he instructs.
Though the wall, I hear the muffled jingle and creak of the cage door being unlocked and opened, followed by, “Whoa, boy! Slow down!” as fast moving claws scuffle across the tile floor. I stand there, smiling big, impatiently waiting for him to jump up on me so I can wrap my arms around him and give him a big hug, but he doesn’t. Instead, he approaches me with slow steps and diligently sits by my leg. But after a few seconds, when I assume when no-one is looking, he leans against me and rests his head against my hip.
These clever, well-timed actions help me to remember how long Benni Dhoo has lived, how much he knows and understands, and how he communicates in his Morse code kind of way. Based on his restrained behaviour, he obviously knows all about my lack of vision, and that a good Seeing Eye dog doesn’t jump up.
“Is there anything else we can do to assist you, Miss Avalon?” Eddie politely asks.
With Benni Dhoo by my side and my roller-suitcase in tow, I now feel certain that I have everything I need to get me where I need to go. “No thanks, Eddie. We’re all good. And, thank you, both, for taking such good care me and my Benni Dhoo,” I appreciatively say, reaching out to shake Eddie and Alison’s hand.
“It was my pleasure, Miss Avalon. He was a good boy. No trouble at all. Except when it took a little longer than expected for you to come and collect him. He wasn’t too happy about that at all!” he says with a half-hearted chuckle. I can imagine that Benni Dhoo, all concerned and uncertain, would have given the poor man hell.
“You take care now!” Alison calls out as Benni Dhoo leads me out to the taxi bay. He takes me to a road side bench close by, and, in his way, sequentially taps his claws on the concrete instructing me that the taxi has to take us to the nearest train station.
When we get to the train station, Benni Dhoo informs me that my train ticket is in the pouch hanging around his neck. He then leads me over to a conductor who checks the small piece of cardboard I found in Benni Dhoo’s pouch and they both help me board the carriage.
After a long train ride and an equally long nap, Benni Dhoo and I get off the train at the end of the line, and with stiff legs and sore backsides we gingerly start walking. We make our way through the early sunny morning, meandering down sleepy streets, across dry crackly fields towards the pungent smell of salt and brine, all the way to a deserted marina where we finally board a sailboat Benni Dhoo says will only be carrying the two of us, and, of course, the Captain.
Captain Morgan, he excitedly taps out.
With Benni D
hoo sitting beside me and the sea in my nostrils, remembering the Captain is instantaneous. I instinctively listen for his wet feet slapping across the deck to greet me, and when I hear his tell-tale swoosh and clack, I kneel down to match his height and offer him the warm hug of an old friend.
It is in the Captain’s loyal, familiar embrace that I fully remember his kin, Benni Dhoo’s kin and my own, and the Solstice: the sacred event that has called us all back to the Apple Isle many times before.
Chapter 12
I first met Captain Morgan Senior a little over two millennia ago. It was the Midsummer after he and his kin watched over our little fishing boat as we made our way across the treacherous Mediterranean Sea, fleeing from our homeland to the land that called us home.
“Grandfather told me the story many times,” Captain Morgan Junior says with a warm and wistful voice. I remember how close they were and I can hear how much he misses him.
As I stand at the helm next to the grandson of my old friend, I don’t need to see him to know that his eyes are dreamily gazing out across the water even though his brain and his reflexes are on high alert. I don’t need to look upon him to remember the cheeky boy hanging off his grandfather’s arm nearly three centuries ago. But, I do need to see him to know what he looks like as a young man, and if he looks anything like his grandfather did in his prime.
I know Junior has Senior’s bright turquoise eyes, his oval-shaped face, his small features, and his straight, sharp teeth, but I’m itching to know if he has grown into inheriting his grandfather’s long, salt-encrusted fair hair, his muscular human shape, his large webbed hands and feet, and his smooth, lightly scaled, silvery white skin.
“Captain?” I ask.
“Lady Rose, please, call me Morgan. Whenever, you of all people, call me Captain, I turn and look for the old man,” he says.
“Only if you call me Ren.”
“Done,” he says with a shy chuckle.
“So, Morgan, are you still bald, or have you finally grown some hair?” I cheekily ask.
He laughs out loud. “You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?”
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but my patience hasn’t improved much.”
“Oh, I’ve heard,” he says, chuckling again.
“Hey!” I automatically swing out to lightly slap him on what I hope is his arm, but all I feel is air.
“Missed me,” he says with a smile in his tone.
“Well, obviously you’re still really short then,” I fire back.
“Hey!” he exclaims, mimicking me. “Someone’s riled up today.”
Now I fully remember why we are making this trek, I most certainly am.
Benni Dhoo interjects with his tap-talk saying, “Now Morgan is a big boy, his hair is long and copper like the two pennies he hasn’t got to rub together,” he tsks, “and his skin is the same colour. He is a good foot taller than his grandfather was, but his body is thicker to match his blockhead.”
“What the hell, Benni Dhoo?” Morgan exclaims.
Benni Dhoo sniggers, and going from the quiet that follows, I assume he has gone back napping with one eye open.
“And I do have two pennies to rub together. The old dog is full of-”
Benni Dhoo growls. It seems that it is still not OK to swear in front of a lady. Benni Dhoo should know better…
Morgan snorts. “He’s just pi-,” quickly clearing his throat, “…peeved that I cleaned him out of pennies last year.”
“Two Up?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Yep.”
I roll my still hazy eyes.
“Do you remember your first Midsummer at the Isle, Lady…um, I mean, Ren?” Morgan keenly asks.
“Oh, I remember,” I say with a reminiscent sigh. It’s hard to believe that I choose to repeatedly forget the fateful day that set the precedent for all of the earthly lifetimes that followed.
As Morgan chatters away, I am reminded, that, like most of the Tor People, he knows the story of my first Midsummer well. And, thanks to the clans of the Four Corners, the telling and retelling of this lost shard in our fractured history has not altered, enhanced or diluted the truth of what really happened.
With the warmth of the morning summer sun shedding light on our past bonds, I acknowledge what is awakening in me, and wonder, as Morgan briefly recounts our history out loud, if Benni Dhoo is allowing himself to revisit that time, and the life that was once his.
Here we are, the three of us, all born in different bodies and on different sides of the veil, but with the same connection to this ongoing two-thousand-year-old Summer Solstice story. But, in today’s retelling of it, our differences are more evident than ever before as one of us hopes for what was, one for what is, and one for what will be.
xxXxx
Moments after our footsteps marked the shores of our new land, I asked Uncle Ari if I could meet with the brave Morganites who volunteered to protectively surround our boat, taking the brunt of the waves, the cold, and the creatures of the deep, so my child could be born amongst friends. He regretfully shook his head and explained that a face-to-face meeting would not possible until the Solstice: the one day of the year when the Tor People are able to enter the human world. So, I had to wait until Midsummer’s Day to personally thank Captain Morgan and his kin which was a whole week after they made sure that our boat had arrived safely.
Uncle Ari’s relatives and their allies graciously welcomed us into their homes, their hearts and their lives, giving us a short period of rest before putting us to task preparing for the Solstice and the arrival of the mysterious Tor People.
First, we were taken to a meadow where the Solstice celebrations are held each year. It was explained to us that this patch of land is hallowed ground, and the only known place on Earth where the Tor People from all Four Corners of the Earth can cross over into our realm.
St. John’s Clearing, named after the holy man who first discovered it, is a lush square of earth scattered with bright yellow seasonal wildflowers that have delicate faces like tiny suns. It has a small, grassy mound in its centre, a babbling brook running across its West corner, and it is completely surrounded by triangular-shaped trees so tall they pierce the low lying clouds as they reach for the light: a protective square of nature’s grandeur with evergreen boundaries that encapsulate the radiance of the sun shining overhead.
As newcomers celebrating their first Midsummer, we were given the honour of choosing and preparing a spot in the South corner of the Clearing where the sacred bonfire is lit. But, being so close to the end of my pregnancy, I was only allowed to sweep up a small patch of dirt before being marched off to help prepare the feast for the hundreds of visitors we were told were coming from far and wide. During this laborious week of long summer days, I’d regularly walk the short distance from the bustling village to the quietness of the Clearing to take food and drink to my hard working loved ones, and sometimes, just to stand and be immersed in this ceremonious place of peace, wishing my husband was here with me for the arrival of our Solstice son.
With our preparations complete, as Midsummer’s Eve turned into Midsummer’s Day, a single crack of lightning initiated the grey clouds to blow over blanketing the starry night sky, and the heavens opened up and poured rain. The people outside wildly applauded and jumped for joy, and those indoors ran from their homes cheering, everyone happily embracing and dancing in the downpour. This was the sign we had all been hoping for: the unseasonal rain falling as the sultry summer night became the Solstice confirmed the alliance of the Four Corners, and that at noon, North, South, East and West would come together as one.
Uncle Ari woke us before the sunrise and escorted Lady Mother, Lady Elder and me by torch light to the Clearing. On the way, he explained that it is customary for the custodians of the Sacred Annals of the Four to arrive first and to be waiting in their central position to welcome the celestial leaders he called the Luminaries and the chosen Tor clans from each corner.
&
nbsp; We walked through the bordering trees into the crisp dewy Clearing and followed Uncle Ari to the top of the green mound in its centre. He unrolled a large woven mat in the shape of an X across its clover covered peak, making sure each end of the cross was facing the North, East, South and West corners, and as he lightly ran his fingers over its intricate weaving, he whispered sacred words of thanks and hope.
He explained that evenly entwined throughout the X were windings of seaweed to represent the Water people, strands of hot burning hickory to represent the Fire people, peelings of hardy oak to represent the Earth people, the equal spaces left around the knots where all of these natural fibres are joined represent the Air people, and that the plaited strips bordering the entire mat were made up of apple wood from the heavenly Tree of Souls.
“For many moons, the Tor people have waited for you both to come,” he said with a heavy sadness as he gazed down at the centre point of the mat, “but, as your other half has passed on and you are now the sole the custodian of the Sacred Annals, in our grief we must show them our strength, and in our strength we must show them a resolution.
“To do that, I believe that you, Shoshanna, should sit here in the centre where all four points meet, and greet the Luminaries from each corner as they arrive in turn with you, Lady Elder, representing wisdom and receptiveness, sitting on Shoshanna’s left, and you, Lady Mother, representing action and generosity, on Shoshanna’s right,” he animatedly suggested.
“But, what do I represent, Uncle? “I asked.
“The balance,” he simply answered.
“Without my husband sitting by my side?” I asked, confused.
