by D G Rose
Or… Something else? Would we be stuck here? Would the dream dissipate, disappear, and us with it? There were too many unknowns. What would be safest? I’ll admit, I found myself less and less interested in safety. But, what would be best? What would be best for Amy and Miranda and I and for our baby? Was it even possible to thread that needle? Maybe Miranda and I had a fundamentally irreconcilable difference of interests. And did I really have any power to effect change? Was any of this in my control? It didn’t feel like it. Well, there goes my pleasant ride.
Until this moment, until I’d found Miranda again, I’d thought that if I was convinced that there was a God, I'd hunt him down and kill him. But now, I wonder just how good an idea that is. What happens to the dreamed when the dreamer wakes? It’s a question that Miranda and the Person from Porlock had both asked me. And neither had waited for my answer. Each had expounded on their own theory, but their theories were in conflict, and there seemed no way to judge between them.
I should have asked Amy. She would have helped me. She would have talked it out with me, explored the possibilities. I should have asked Amy, but I didn’t. The only thing I have to say in my defense is that I was still new to the idea that there were other people on my side, other people who would, could, help me with the difficult task of living.
Also, if I’m being honest, I thought that Amy was too much enamored of this place, she’d seen some of the horror, she’d been cut and almost killed, but somehow it still felt like she’d skipped the hard parts. Remember how I’d said that I would have to learn not to compare everyone’s horror story to mine? Yeah, I wasn’t doing so good with that.
A flicker of light off to one side broke me from my reverie. I looked to see the sun, which had been climbing towards mid-day, suddenly low in the eastern sky, the horizon still touched with a sherbet orange tinge.
Miranda smiled. “You always enter Xanadu in early morning, that way you reach the city just as the rays of the noon sun set its wall to sparkling their brightest.” And she threw her arms wide. “Welcome to Xanadu!”
I looked at Amy with a big smile and she was smiling too. It felt like an accomplishment.
I take a look around. We are in a willow grove. Off to my right, I can see a large river. Between us and the river are some flooded fields, that I assume must be for rice cultivation. There are a pair of women in the fields with a water buffalo. Along one side of the fields are a couple of houses with thatched rooves. Walking on a berm between the flooded fields, are a string of donkeys, loaded with firewood. Nearby, a woman sits by a pond, her baskets, tied to poles, to stretch across her shoulders lay to one side, as she idly trails her hand through the water.
There is an unmistakable feeling that this is a special place.
We follow the small path, it’s barely wide enough for our ponies. Some boys are flying a kite by the river bank. We can see the kite soaring over the trees.
We keep on the path until we come to a little bridge that crosses a stream. By the foot of the bridge, a man kneels in front of a woman. She is dressed in a pink kimono and he offers her a bouquet of flowers. She turns her head away, as if refusing, but as she turns, I can see the look in her eye and I’m certain that his suit will be successful.
As we cross the bridge, we pass a man and a woman arguing over some small matter, their good humor shows on their faces.
We pass a family, who are enjoying an outdoor breakfast under a cloth stretched between some trees, to keep their table clean and in the shade.
The little path has widened into a narrow road and as we pass a hillock, we come to a small village. In the village, we pause to allow a procession to pass, a high-born lady is carried in her sedan chair, the curtain pulled back so that she can enjoy the passing countryside. A pair of boys chasing an escaped water buffalo almost collide with the sedan chair, but the collision is averted and the laughing boys and their recalcitrant charge disappear, chased by the curses of the servants. In front of the sedan chair parade a troupe of musicians, with horns and drums and flutes, and a servant carrying a red flag that flaps in the light breeze.
On a high hill by the river is a watchtower, and guards survey the passing river traffic. We pass more bermed rice paddies. And to our left is a great house, with its pagoda peaked rooves and its main entrance open wide and inviting.
There is a small stall where a man and his daughter serve snacks and steaming bowls of noodles. Alongside the snack stand is a musician. It’s still early, so the stand is just setting up. A couple of river workers are eating a quick breakfast before going off to start the day.
On the river, we can see a barge passing, who knows what cargo it’s loaded with? Deckhands push it upstream with long poles.
We come to a building with an open-air stage. The stage is on the second story and in front of the stage, hundreds are gathered to watch the play.
To our left, we see a pair of women who have climbed to the roof of their house to watch the play without paying admission.
A tall masted barge, with its sails furled, is pulled up alongside the bank, at an impromptu or illegal landing and goods are being loaded and unloaded.
On the far side of the river, we can see the twin village to this one.
We cross a wide short bridge. There is a toll keeper, but he seems too busy enjoying the bright day to collect many tolls and we pass unmolested.
In the river, a boat lays at anchor, several of its crew fishing from its decks.
Once over the bridge, we pass another sedan chair, the carriers appear to have gotten tired and abandoned their stations, leaving the sedan chair on its side and its occupant stranded, but unworried. He smiles and waves as we pass.
We are slowed down by a double hay wagon (like those double tractor trailers) pulled by a single ox, but when the road widens, we pull to one side and pass with a smile.
In the river, a larger barge is polled by its crew, while men on the opposite bank help it along by hauling it with ropes. Who knows what cargo it carries, tea or silk, from within the Empire, cloves or cinnamon from Java and Sumatra, fine paper from Korea or steel from Japan?
We pass a man and his son driving a flock of sheep, and on the opposite bank there as an almost identical flock being driven by an almost identical pair.
A pair of donkeys ride past, and as they do, one rider lashes his donkey with a crop. The donkey bucks in response sending the rider head first into a patch of mud.
Then, we come to a great bridge, it spans the river, a distance of 80 or 90 feet, in a single arch. It’s made of multicolored stone which gives it the look of a rainbow arcing over the river. A barge has lost its tow rope and is drifting out of control under the bridge. A crewman is trying to hook onto the underside of the bridge with a long hooked gaff, while a group of men on the bridge are lowering a rope, hoping to arrest the wayward barge.
The bridge is busy, with hundreds of pedestrians and the occasional sedan chair. All along its sides, the bridge is lined with shops and stall, each one flying a colorful banner. There is an incredible array of goods for sale. Silks, jewels, tailors, haberdashers, toys. And an incredible array of entertainments on display: Snake charmers, sword swallowers, acrobats, puppeteers, actors.
We pass an apothecary shop with a sign out advertising a hangover remedy. So, even in paradise there are hangovers.
We stop for some squares of fried dough, light and airy, like beignets, although served with a cardamom flavored syrup instead of powdered sugar. I burn my tongue on the oily pastry and laugh for the joy of being alive on this bright morning.
We arrive at the city wall, just as the sun peaks overhead and sets the walls glowing with thousands of sparkling lights. There are two gates into the city, one for the road and another for the river. We enter the city proper.
Inside the walls, there is a great crush of people and wagons and animals. We have to move to avoid being run over by a small caravan of Bactrian Camels. As we move into the city, th
ere is a carnival air. There is no central planning, fabulous mansions line the same streets as bars, temples, and noodle shops.
The streets are wide and clean, there’s no trash, no smells from the great waves of people and animals. It’s like a dream.
CHAPTER 31 – A dagger to stab at a god?
The Pleasure Dome dominates the city, visible from every street and alleyway. What made it a pleasure dome? Well, it was undoubtedly a dome and there was something, well, pleasurable about it. It appeared to be made of silk, because it shone in the noonday light, but it also billowed and deformed in the wind. How they kept the windows in place, I’ll never know. And it must have taken some doing, since the dome was studded with windows, hundreds or thousands of windows that glistened and glittered in the brilliant sun and filled the city with mirrored light that skittered and skipped.
Miranda led us straight to the dome. The guards waved her through, as if she were royalty. She gave orders for someone to bring the ponies to the stable, as agreed, and we walked into the dome compound, carrying our small equipment. Everyone knew Miranda and deferred to her. I suppose being the Champion of the Mad Dreamer had its privileges. Seeing her stride through this fabulous palace, brushing off courtiers and sycophants with a wave, ordering food and drink and rooms prepared, I felt that twinge of jealousy. I beat it back down, but I still felt it.
“Wow!” Amy said, holding out her arms and spinning around, her neck craned up to let the whole experience envelop her. “This is something!”
Miranda nodded. “It’s simple, but I call it home.” She deadpanned.
“You live here?” Amy asked.
“Oh, yeah. I have rooms off the Dreamer’s apartments. I’ve ordered a suite prepared for you, next door to mine.” She gave a low smile, that made her look shy, although nothing could be further from the truth. “I’ve kept the suite next to my rooms vacant, just for you, ever since I came here from the Caverns. Come on!”
She led us on, into the dome and upward, on a set of stairs that rose in the exact center of the dome and didn’t appear to be attached to anything. Finally, at the top of the stairs, she showed us to our rooms. A pair of guards stood at attention at either side of the doorway. There was no door, just a hanging length of cloth, some beautiful fabric, rich and shimmering and subtly multicolored. Amy gathered the cloth up in her arm and held it aside so that we could enter.
“No door? I guess you won’t be learning to knock then?” She noted as Miranda passed by.
Miranda booped her on the nose. “You guessed right!”
The rooms were fabulous, with a sitting room, and a balcony that overlooked the river and past the river out to the sea, a separate bedroom, with a bed as big as my old backyard, and a bathroom with a steaming tub that was really more like a pool.
Amy took one look at the tub and turned to look Miranda directly in the eye. “What’s that you say? You must be going? What a shame. I guess we’ll see you in a few hours.”
And Miranda laughed. “Yeah. I actually do have some things to do. I’ll have some food sent up.”
“Tell them to just leave it in the sitting room.” Amy said, with a smile.
Amy stripped off her clothes and dove into the steaming pool. I was right behind her. We lounged in the water until the knots in our spines unknotted and out fingers wrinkled, then we lounged in the bed until we got too hungry to lounge any more. In the sitting room was a platter filled with, what I can only imagine are, traditional pleasure dome foods. That is: grapes, cheese, breads, wine and a selection of small sticky pastries. We ate our fill and went back to lounging. After days or weeks or months on the road, sleeping outdoors, walking endless miles, or riding on ponies, it felt so good to have arrived and to find the welcome so, well, welcoming.
Amy snuggled up beside me. “Nap time.” She said.
“Action nap?” I asked, giving her my irresistible sexy smile.
“Nap nap.” She replied, resisting it with ease. And she was asleep in a moment.
She slept for a while and I tried to sleep, but my stupid brain kept me awake. Everything here was wonderful, but we hadn’t been brought here to enjoy the grapes. I pondered on the package, the package that I’d toted for so long that it almost seemed like it had melded to be a part of me. What was all this really about? Was this whole voyage some kind of set piece, much like the Wedding Guest? In which case, maybe the package was just a prop, some unimportant box used to bait a trap and lure us in. Maybe that would be better. Maybe then, I wouldn’t have a real role to play and I wouldn’t have any decision to make. But, but, the Person from Porlock seemed to think otherwise. He seemed to think that I had a role to play and he wanted to sway me to his way of thinking. And what exactly was his way of thinking? I’m not sure I know. But what he wanted was clear enough; for the Mad Dreamer to wake. He wanted to commit suicide by forcing his god to awake.
And, there was some evidence that the Mad Dreamer, himself, wanted to wake. The dreamquakes had gotten more frequent as we had approached Xanadu. As I understood it, a dreamquake represented something akin to the Mad Dreamer turning in his sleep, preparing to wake. A ripple of wakefulness passing through the Dream.
And what if I did or didn’t do something, and I caused the Dreamer to wake? What then? I kind of hated the bastard. I mean he was the author of all my sorrows. Miranda had said so. ‘And then he came, the Mad Dreamer, or some aspect of him. And he kept me company and he told me a story and he asked me if I’d like to go with him and hear some more stories. So I said yes and we went.’ That’s what she’d said, so matter-of-fact, like it was an everyday affair. Like deranged gods came to little children every day and stole them away. And maybe they did. But really, that bastard kidnapped my sister! I mean, I know I’m to blame, too. I know it, I’ve always known it. But, I don’t want to let him off the hook, either. I was careless, and I’ve suffered for it. But he, well, he was evil. A stealer of children. Or of one child at any rate. I’d seen no evidence that he made a habit of it.
Still, how many children do you have to steal to rate as evil? I think one will suffice. So, OK, the Mad Dreamer is not a good guy. He’s a child stealer, a kidnapper. And his world, while wonderful and fascinating, also contains a lot of horror. I mean a lot.
My mother and her theology group used to talk about The Question of Evil, which asks: how is it possible for an all-good, all-powerful, all-knowing, god to allow evil in the world?
Most people, who want to keep believing in an all-good, all-powerful, all-knowing, god, think that the answer is free will. Like how can god test us and know if we are truly good people if we don’t have the freedom to do evil? I’ll leave aside the question of natural evils, like tsunamis and earthquakes and hurricanes, which don’t seem necessary for free will, and just focus on my problem with free will as an answer to The Problem of Evil.
My problem is that free will as an answer is bullshit. God has already limited me in so many ways. I can’t walk through walls, I can’t really understand large numbers, I can’t breathe underwater. And that doesn’t stop him from determining if I’m a good person or not, so why not limit my ability to rape and kill and ignore the suffering of others and he could just figure out if I was a good person or not by checking to see if I throw garbage on the streets or wash my hands after using the bathroom?
So it seems to me, that you can believe in god, but you can’t believe in a good god. If there is a god, he’s a son of a bitch. And I’d like to get the Mad Dreamer by the throat if I can.
With all this running through my mind, I look down at Amy, asleep, and beautiful, and pregnant with my baby. Whatever I do, I can’t risk them.
Which, of course, leaves me right where I started. Paralyzed. And then there’s Miranda. She’s made up her mind. She’s the Mad Dreamer’s Champion. She drank the Kool-Aid and then showered in the Kool-Aid and then spooned dry powdered Kool-Aid over her Kool-Aid puffs. She can’t see the horrors, or doesn’t want to see them, or
has been sheltered from them.
I mean, how dumb is this thing that she does with the quotations? How petty must her god be, in the midst of all this, this enormous display of power, swimming, as she says, in his own Dreams, that he can’t stand to hear someone else quoted? I don’t know how she can’t see that.
And all this talk about penance? My whole life has been a penance. I hardly think I arrived at the Caverns Measureless to Man in need of more penance. No, all this penance was just some excuse for torture imposed by a sadistic god bored with his old victims.
And yet, and yet, and yet. What a trip it’s been. I’ve met gods and monsters and kings and emperors. I’ve seen, with my own eyes, the Tower of Babel. I’ve been a cricket. I mean, I’ve actually been a cricket. Even the Wedding Guest, even that, had been fun, right up to the point where had it turned horrible.
And look at all I’ve gained. I’m not incognizant of all that I’ve gained. Amy, Miranda, a baby, a possibility of a future with real happiness.
Although, and here is the unanswerable question, might I not have had all those things, and thirty years earlier, if the Mad Dreamer had simply not stolen Miranda?
I get up. Amy sleeps like a statue, so I’m not worried that I’ll wake her. I pad over to the wall, where the package lays, waiting, just as it always has. I pick it up. Shake it. It makes no sound that I can discern. What’s inside? A dagger to stab at a god?
CHAPTER 32 – It’s a bit much, isn’t it?
Miranda walked in, without knocking, to catch me holding the package up to my ear. I almost dropped it, as a sudden feeling of guilt washed over me, like I had no right to be curious.
“Anxious to get started?” She asked me, as Amy came awake on the bed.
I shrugged. It’s not like shrugging was somehow the exclusive province of Miranda. I held out the package to her. “It’s addressed to you. Do you really even need me? Wasn’t it all just some kind of ruse?"
