Unearthing the Dead

Richard took a few steps in the direction that Unega had suggested and the entire world changed. He found himself standing inside a circle of stones. They were markers of the first Dutch settlers in America and they organized their head stones in concentric rings in an open field, the oldest residing closest to the center. The delicate stone’s engraved names were barely legible from the centuries of wind and rain. Richard bent down and tried to read a modest marker. He let his fingers trace what was left of the anonymous dead.

“Roosevelt.” Unega said softly. “The boy.” And she pointed in the direction they had just walked.

“He died young.” Richard replied almost to himself.

“Oh, no. He was the grandfather of a man called ‘Thee’.” She said happily. “And you shall know his son, a great statesman and patriot.” She took his arm and led him up a small incline. From there the entire landscape was serene and beautiful.

“I’ve been here before.” He said softly as he gazed around taking in the grand Victorian memorials.

“It is called the green wood.” Unega replied and she smiled as the wind rustled the leaves and caught the spring daylight. The new growth shimmered in the warm air and the sweetness of cherry blossoms filled his senses.

“Am I gone?” He said with a kind of resignation. He was not sad or even melancholy. He wanted to know his actual state so that he could adjust his expectations accordingly.

“We are never gone.” Unega said cheerfully. “We simply crave the sentient.”

He cocked his head confused. Somewhere in the recesses of his heart he understood but he could not reconcile it with his logical mind.

“I stand where you stand. And you shall stand where she stands.” Unega said enigmatically. It confused him even more.

“I just want to go home.” He replied wearily.

“But there is so much to learn.” Unega said with exuberance. “You are on the way home if you face all that comes to you.”

Victoria sat in front of the fire stirring the large cast iron pot. She had cut the pork from the bones and put in all of the vegetables to make a stew. She nibbled on an apple to curb her hunger until supper was ready. Richard was sound asleep and the house was quiet. She gazed at him. His cheeks were red and she was confident that the color signified healing. He was on the road to recovery. His breathing was even and easy. He did not wheeze or cough. There was no interruption or blockage, just his breath. She reached over and very softly touched his forehead. He was cool. There was no fever. He seemed blissfully peaceful. The wind had ceased and the light of day was bending across the earth. Michelangelo whinnied and stamped her foot. She was growing restless being tethered for days in the kitchen. The animal could see Victoria enjoying something sweet and she wanted some, too.

“Alright, alright. I shall give you half.” Victoria said. The horse threw its head up and down and the mare’s brown eyes filled with delight. She placed the apple’s pieces in her flattened palm and Michelangelo’s thick lips devoured the fruit. The chomping echoed through the rooms. Victoria stood there looking at her kitchen that had become a stall. The dried droppings would burn, she thought. It wouldn’t be a pleasant smoke but it could keep the embers from fading. She remembered the stories her grandfather had told of being in India and the only thing to burn in the dry areas of the desert was the dung left by animals and the mummies unearthed from ancient tombs. A foul smoke but better than the kiss of death. The wood beneath the snow on the side of the house was growing scarce and as the days crept on and the snow slowly melted the nights brought frozen temperatures and the wood soon became encased in ice. Victoria knew she might have to part with some of her furniture until they could safely leave the manor house. She took the small spade used to clean the fireplace of excess ashes and collected the horse droppings. She saved them in a wooden pail. As she carried the manure into the small parlor suddenly she realized that the wood used for stretchers could be sacrificed quite easily. They could be replaced with no harm done. Why didn’t she think of this before? She set the pail down and bounded up to the second floor landing passing the wooden chief,Tamanend, and moving quickly into Richard’s studio. There was raw wood everywhere. Canvases that had not yet been painted upon could be sacrificed. She gathered up as much as she could carry and she heard faint footsteps behind her. She stopped and wondered if Richard had awakened.

“Richard?” She called. There was no answer. Then after a moment she wondered if Ashley had arrived. She moved to the threshold and gazed down the stairs. No one was there. As she looked up she watched a man emerge from the shadows on the opposite side. His image took her breath away. She held her breath petrified of the stranger. The Indian moved slowly and calculated. The man was tall and elegant, his dark, naked skin shown in the refracted light of the sun bouncing off the snow. His kind, dark eyes captivated her. She was speechless. There was something so familiar about him. He moved into the light of day.

“I have not come to harm you.” He said softly and he placed his fist over his heart. She took a breath and her heart was beating like a wild rabbit. As they stood there for several moments and his intense kindly gaze melted her, she realized that he was truth. He affected her to her core as if he was an emanation of her own soul.

“Why are you here?” She inquired softly.

“Remember.” He whispered. “He makes you and I remember.”

“Remember?” She echoed. “What is it you mean?” She asked. And as the question slipped from her lips he began to fade.

“What is it I must remember?” She repeated as his remnants began to move into particles of light swirling in the slight rush of air that began as her breath. Then a warm draft enveloped her and she felt safe and peaceful and full of love. She turned back into the studio and it was filled with sunlight creeping in through the slats. She threw open the shutters that seemed to create a dappled effect and as the sun streamed in she could hear the sound of people talking from another time. The studio looked clean and freshly painted. The floors instantly appeared as if workmen had sanded them down, stained them and polished them with coats upon coats of beeswax. She could hear people laughing as if enjoying themselves and it made her confident that she would live through her current situation. She wondered if someone had finally come to rescue them.

“Hello?” She shouted from the second floor landing. But there was no answer, just the soft murmur of people talking. Then it occurred to her that perhaps the house was truly haunted.

“Whoever you are…This is my house!”

Felix entered the house with a park’s employee, his personal engineer, an architect friend, a realtor and a legal representative for the city of New York Parks Department.

“Tell me why you’re interested in this place?” The lawyer asked.

“My girlfriend wants to fix it up and live here.” Felix answered.

“Infested with rats, man. Careful where you step.” The park employee instructed as he wielded a crowbar and flashlight.

“She won’t settle for a condo in Williamsburg?” The lawyer asked.

“She’s a…history buff…She wants this place…for very personal reasons” Felix replied as they were led into the central parlor.

“Beautiful.” The architect remarked as he gazed up at the immense chandeliers as they hung down from the fifteen foot ceilings. Archie the engineer pulled out various tools and began to investigate the walls, joist and structural components of the house.

“Well, so far she’s structurally sound. The wood here is at least three hundred years old and I don’t see any weakness or rot. Which is amazing since the place has taken on water.” Archie remarked.

“Noah’s Arch.” The architect, Louis, added.

“Yeah, well we only needed two rats and there’s probably hundreds.” The park employee said.

“Thousands.” The engineer added

“That’s what fucking’ll get you.” The lawyer said under his breath.

As the men stepped through the house the undeniable sound of scratching and scurrying, squeaking and gnawing filled the air.

“I feel like I’m in the movie ‘Willard’”. The realtor whispered.

“Why is this property condemned?” Archie asked.

“The park was going to raze it for a community center and performance hall but they couldn’t come up with enough funds. With the economy and all, the parks budgets got cut.” The lawyer replied.

“This is a landmark building. I can’t believe the historical society didn’t bring the issue to court?” Louis remarked. “This place cannot be torn down.”

“Are you a member of the historical society?” The lawyer asked.

“As a matter of fact, I am.” Louis said as he pulled out his cell phone and began to take pictures of the grand ballroom.

“All I can say is that politics and eminent domain can pull anything down.” The lawyer added nonchalantly.

“Over my dead body.” Louis said.

“Okay, guys. I need to know if this property is a) structurally sound, b) worth the investment and c) available for sale.” Felix said as he halted the entire group tour.

“It’s not in any of my listings so I’m not sure why I’m here.” The realtor said sheepishly.

“And it won’t be. This is not a property that is up for public sale.” Felix warned.

“This is my house.” An unknown voice said from a distance.

“Who’s here?” Felix asked as he craned his neck to peer up into the hallway. There was no answer.

“Place gives me the creeps.” The park’s employee said clutching the crowbar.

“When I make my report, whoever owns this place can only restore it to its previous authentic grandeur. Nothing else.” Louis added.

“That is what I plan to do.” Felix assured Louis.

“The place needs to be appraised.” The engineer added. “But from what I can see despite the rats and the mold and the water damage the place could definitely be restored and be worth the investment.”

“Gentlemen, let us proceed upstairs…with caution.” Felix said. He nodded to the parks employee who seemed scared to death to move any further into the manor.

“I’m still not sure why I’m here.” The realtor said glued to his spot and moving no further.

“Paperwork.” Felix chuckled and waved him on. “You want the commission, don’t you?” The realtor nodded and shuffled through the room to catch up with the rest. They moved to the badly damaged staircase.

“Okay, well, this is a horse of a different color.” The engineer remarked.

“I’m not going up there.” The lawyer said as well as the park employee and the realtor.

“Okay, you guys stay down here while we scope out the upper floors.” Felix said and he put on a brave show. He was deathly afraid of falling through the staircase into a huge nest of rats. He carefully navigated the staircase and instructed each man to move slowly one at a time.

“This whole thing will have to be ripped out and replaced.” The engineer said. It won’t support more than about two hundred pounds.

“I’m out.” Louis said. “I really want to see the rest of the house, though.”

“Make us an offer.” The park’s lawyer said nervously. “These fuckin’ rats don’t attack, do they?”

“Only if they feel threatened.” The parks employee replied with the crowbar positioned to strike,

“Two million.” Felix answered.

“The land alone is worth 2 mil. 4.3 mil.” The lawyer retorted.

“I am about to restore this thing. It’ll have to be gutted down to the brick. 2.7.” Felix said.

“3.9” The lawyer replied, his voice quivering.

“2.7.” Felix said.

“3.” The lawyer haggled.

“2.8.” Felix replied.

“I’ll see what they say. I think I’ve seen enough. I’m going back to the office.” The lawyer said as he turned and started to make his way out of the house.

“2.8 is doable. Felix said more to himself than to his compatriots.”

“You’ll probably have to sink between 3 and 5 in restoration.” The engineer remarked.

“As long as I can keep it way below 10. I’m not in the mood for a money pit.” Felix replied. “Do you think it’s a deal?”

“I’ll have to crunch some numbers with Louis.” The engineer replied.

“As long as it’s a deal…a decent deal even, then I’m happy.” Felix said as he extended his hand to help the engineer onto the landing.

“She must be something.” Archie said. Felix seemed perplexed.

“I’m flipping it.” Felix shrugged. “That’s what I do.”

“In this market?” Archie replied in disbelief. “Hey, man. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with what you’re doing. Hell the Taj Mahal was built by a man head over heels in love with a woman that was his soulmate. It’s the way you express your art.” Archie said and the words stuck with Felix as he moved from room to room. He had never thought of it that way.

The carriage bobbed back and forth and lurched forward so much so that Mrs. Hopkins felt seasick in the hansom cab. Her face had lost color and her worry about Victoria took over her lean body. She was rigid with tension. They had made it over the Brooklyn Bridge and were quite a ways down Flatbush Avenue. The street was bumpy from clumps of snow and ice that had hardened from traffic.

“We’re getting close.” Mr. Watkins said and he placed his gloved hand on hers. “Prospect Park” He nodded in the direction outside their window. Mrs. Hopkins noticed the snow covered trees. She put her hands to her breast as if to burp.

“You don’t look well.” Mr. Watkins said. She shook her head and moved to the opposite bench so that she could face forward instead of backward. She fixed her eyes on the terrain. After a moment Mr. Watkins slid in next to her. He put his arm around her and surprised not only himself, but Mrs. Hopkins as well. Her normal reaction would be to recoil out of inappropriateness. But today she sunk into his comforting warm embrace. It had been decades since her husband had passed and she made Victoria her life but in the few days of crisis she realized she needed succor. It had been a long restrictive life that was fulfilling yet missing that one element of a warm, nurturing body. A man’s body. The hansom beared right onto Ocean Avenue. Suddenly the cab came to a halt. Mr. Watkins opened the sliding screen to speak with the driver.

“Street hasn’t been cleared, sir.” The driver said. “Shall I turn around?”

Mr. Watkins opened the cab’s door and stepped out. Before them was a mound of snow at least ten feet high for as far as they could see.

“One moment please.” Mr. Watkins said as he climbed back inside. “What shall we do, Miriam?” He asked.

“We’re so very close.” She said.

“We’d have to walk from here. The drifts are at least six meters high. I don’t see how we could manage it.” He replied resigned. “Shall we turn back and try again in a day or so?”

Miriam did not answer. She climbed out of the cab and studied the white monolith before her. The house on the corner was virtually buried beneath the snow.

“If we dismiss the cab now we are on our own. I do not think this is wise.” Mr. Watkins said from the cab.

“I must find Victoria.” Mrs. Hopkins replied and she began to attempt to climb the snow bank. Mr. Watkins rushed from the cab to pull her down and talk sense to her.

“This could put us in great peril.” He said. Her soft eyes yearned for her charge and he could see that she would die if she did not try. He solemnly walked over to the carriage and paid the driver. A few clicks and the clatter of wheels on ice and hooves scraping against the frozen ground echoed through the trees.

“I’m too old for this, Miriam.” Henry said. Then he began to dig grooves into the bank with his hands. She slipped her dainty boot into the grooves and hoisted herself up.

Once on the surface the snow had been packed down enough by it’s own weight and the constant refreezing during the cold nights. As they walked they sunk down about a foot or so and the bank held them up.

“We’re not so far.” Miriam said brightly. But the landscape and landmarks had disappeared under the blanket of white. Only tree-tops poked up from the frozen ground. They walked for about twenty minutes when the eaves of the third floor manor became visible in the distance.

“There it is! There it is!!!” She exclaimed excitedly and out of breath. After a moment they slowly plodded through the thick powder. A lump in the snow with a piece of fabric jutted out into their path. As Mr. Watkins moved close to examine he could see that it was a human form. Mrs. Hopkins held her breath. Her worst fear would be that it was Richard and that he never made it to the house. She turned away and her anxiety seemed to melt into grief.

Henry moved the snow from the frozen man’s body. It looked like Richard’s black wool great coat. He was about Richard’s size. As Henry continued to unearth the body he studied the man’s face frozen in a kind of sleep. It had discolored to ash and blue and so the corpse’s identity was confusing. A myriad of emotions seemed to overcome Mrs. Hopkins. Ordinarily she was as stoic and steady as any Englishwoman hardened by a life in service. But now the thoughts of her entire family, the family that she had raised and loved and worked for out of a sense of compassion and not duty, vanishing in the wake of a storm caused her considerable distress. Her grief could quite easily become unmanageable. She had grown to love Richard as her own son. He was different, the black sheep a creative mind turned from a life of destruction to a life of abundance. If he was gone then she knew half of Victoria would be gone. The girl she thought of as a daughter would be a shell without him. She quite possibly would not recover from the devastation of such loss.

“It’s Mr. Jones.” Henry said and the sound of his voice broke the spell of tragedy.

“Mr. Jones?” Miriam said relieved. “Oh, poor Mr. Jones!” She added as she turned to get a look at him. Henry stood up and brushed the snow from his trousers. He was shivering from the cold and they knew that they had to make their way quickly or risk exposure.

“What should we do?” Miriam asked.

“We can’t do anything until the snow melts.” Henry replied.

“That’s ghastly.” Miriam said.

“He’ll keep until it melts.” Henry assured her.

“I wonder if he suffered.” She remarked compassionately.

“Doesn’t matter now.” Henry said coldly.

“We should at least say a prayer.” Miriam suggested.

“He was a scalawag, Mrs. Hopkins.” Henry said coldly. “I will say a prayer for his soul, but I will not feel sorry for him. He did his job but he was blackhearted.” Henry continued. He bowed his head for a few moments, crossed himself and then took Miriam’s arm.

“Let’s go before we find ourselves like the footman.”

The Covenant of Timelessness

The hum of air conditioners buzzed all round them.  The streets were filled with Puerto Rican barbeques and ex-squeegee men selling iced cold bottled water to people stuck in traffic.  Ashley and Chelsea crossed Third Avenue in Brooklyn and winded their way through the Sunset Park streets up to Fifth Avenue and Twenty Fifth Street.  The immense green foliage was a balm to the urban eye.  As they passed through the huge wrought iron gates and approached the mammoth gothic arches Ashley turned and said, “This is Green-wood.” 

“The mausoleums on the hill gave it away.”  Chelsea said chuckling.

In the manicured field to the right of the large driveway and entrance to the historic cemetery were newly interred Federal Civil War soldiers unearthed from their places down south and laid to rest closer to home.  Green-wood had been established in 1838 and was the second oldest cemetery in the country.  It is a city of the dead and a living museum with rolling hills and lush vegetation aesthetically planted and landscaped specifically for the deceased and their loved ones.  Olmstead studied Green-wood thoroughly and the effect the landscape had on human emotions. Every urban park built since then owes their design and tranquility to Green-wood a model of Victorian reverence for the dearly departed.

They wandered up through the immense gates past the offices and up battle hill.  Chelsea stopped and stood still.

“What is it?” Ashley asked.

“Silence.”  Chelsea marveled.  “We’re in the busiest city in the world and I can’t hear anything but the wind.  It’s amazing.”

“I want to show you one of my favorite places.”  Ashley whispered and she held out her hand.  Chelsea took it and a cool breeze rustled the abundant leaves on the trees as they made their way up the hill. She felt that inexplicable tingle whenever their fingers intertwined.  The simplest touch seemed to have a profound effect on her. The first and most impressive monument was the one dedicated to the Civil War.  Four different life-sized zinc statues flanked the four corners of an immense column representing the four parts of the military: Infantry, Cavalry, Artillery and Engineers.  Its modest yet impressive design gave Chelsea pause.  She could feel the weight that it represented on an etheric level.  A century and a half had passed and yet the glory and sadness of such a momentous event that took literally one fifth of the American population at that time was still palpable.  She could feel it in the very core of her bones.  There were many untold stories and lives that had slipped into obscurity with no witness to pass along the bravery and at times altruism that nameless soldiers had mustered.

“It’s over here.”  Ashley said as they wound their way through the mausoleums and over to a bronze statue.

“This is Minerva.  She’s standing in the highest point in Brooklyn.”  Ashley explained.  As Chelsea moved around the stone rectangular base the inscription revealed that Minerva was the goddess of war and wisdom. The monument sculpted in remembrance of the American Revolution and the patriot dead who lost their lives while gaining freedom.  Chelsea moved close to Ashley who stood just beside the statue and gazed out over the harbor.

“She’s waving to the Statue of Liberty.”  Ashley whispered.  The summer sun reflected off the waters of New York Harbor and the midday air had a slight haze.  Water taxis, tugboats and barges moved to and fro and yet the only sounds that could be heard was the wind and the women as they breathed.

“I think you might like London.”  Chelsea said breaking the serenity. Ashley did not answer but held her gaze.  She loved New York and its colorful history. They sat down on a park bench and took in the view.

“I’m not so sure.” Ashley replied.  “I know that you want me to have a good experience and I appreciate that.”  Then she was silent for a moment and she was lost in her thoughts.  “Down south it seems like there are two seasons summer and rain.  The winter there is rainy.  Once in a blue moon we might get snow but usually it’s rain…for days.  And even though it doesn’t get terribly cold, coupled with dampness it makes your bones hurt.  Can’t get warm no matter how hard you try. There aren’t enough blankets.”

As Chelsea listened she felt as though she had heard this soliloquy before.  It was incredibly familiar even though this was the first time Ashley spoke of her beginnings.

“At least here in New York there are four seasons and real weather.  The winter here is cold, yes.  But it’s dry.  Makes my hair look like crap but I can get warm when it’s dry.” She laughed.

Chelsea wasn’t sure what this had to do with their trip to London but she kept quiet and knew that there would be a thread.

“My mom and I have a saying when it rains for days. ‘ Hide the ropes and knives’.”  Ashley added.

“That’s a bit severe.”  Chelsea replied quietly.

“Those were the years of my teenage angst.” Ashley laughed but there was something real under it all and a heaviness washed over Chelsea.  She wondered if she could make a difference or if she had made a mistake.

“Hurricanes…tornadoes…ice storms…”  Ashley mused for a moment replaying the harsher memories in her mind.  “Anytime the wind blows down there in Appalachia we lose power.  Mama and my sister would play gin rummy by firelight.” 

“And your dad?” Chelsea asked sweetly.

“Ha.  My dad would drink.” Ashley replied and the answer was sharp and pointed.

“I didn’t mean to bring up---“

“Oh, that’s okay.  He doesn’t do that anymore.”  Ashley said cheerfully.  But the weight of it was still visible.

“One time we had a bad ice storm and we were without power for two weeks.  It doesn’t sound like much but when you don’t have the things that you’re used to it feels hard.  We cooked over an open fire and slept under mounds of blankets.  At one point it was colder inside our house than it was outside…We were down to half a loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter…It wasn’t the first time I felt real hunger.”

“Nothing in the house?”  Chelsea wondered.  Ashley shook her head ‘no’. 

“What we had the church brought over from the congregation’s pantry…” Ashley explained.  Facets of her friend were emerging and revealing. Chelsea knew that hardships could sometimes forge extraordinary people.  The petals were slowly unfurling.

“My best friend’s dad had a heart attack from the cold.”  Ashley said in a far off voice. “He died.  It was really sad.  He was only forty-two…I secretly wished it had been mine.”

“I’m sorry.” Chelsea said softly.

“Oh, don’t be.  It made me who I am.  I’m just…afraid…London will bring up all that stuff I’ve worked so hard to forget.”  Ashley explained then she turned and gazed at Chelsea.  She was taking in every nuance and facet, gleaning information and forging something permanent with the raw materials.  “I’ll consider it a myth-busting adventure!” Then she jumped up and took a fighter’s stance.  It made Chelsea laugh.

“I am not my past!”  Ashley said loudly and shadow boxed herself against a mausoleum. “Take that!  And That!  And that!  Haha!”  She exclaimed.

“You’re a lot stronger and resilient than you give yourself credit.”  Chelsea said as she caught Ashley’s wrists in her hands and her soothing touch quieted the excitement within.  A wisp of Chelsea’s hair caught the wind and it took Ashley’s breath away.  She was gazing at Victoria and Chelsea and everyone else that they had been to each other all converging as one in that moment in time.

Chelsea looked down at Ashley’s hands and for a moment they were strong and masculine and she could feel the power emanating outward.  She knew how those hands felt against her body and the sensual desires that they engendered.  Richard.  She could feel Richard before her and simultaneously she could feel Ashley, the softer side of Richard.  And that sensation of spiraling up and outward began at the base of her spine and every place along the way tingled and spun and their was and electric buzz that came from deep inside, a kind of harmonic that heralded the coming of something magical and great.

“They must have an archive or database back in the office.”  Chelsea said and her eyes were on fire as if she were onto something.

“Sure.” Ashley replied and she was instantly transported to the present.

“Let’s go and see if Mr. Rhys and Victoria are here.” Chelsea said and the words were so telling that it made Ashley shiver for a moment.  Victoria and Richard were standing right there with them on that grassy knoll at the highest point in Brooklyn. At times invisible but definitely tactile.  As sure as she breathed Ashley was quite aware of the presence of something otherworldly and the simultaneity of time.

 

 

Richard was still sitting at the Vechte Cortelyu house just across the Gowanus canal.  He was weak and feverish and thirsty.  The Dutch boy had fetched him some water.

“The gentleman that was sitting here.”  Richard began.

“Ya?”  The boy replied.

“Where is he?  He seemed to vanish.”  Richard asked.

“Dat man?  Here?”  The boy looked around bewildered.  “He must have been a traveler like yourself.”

“I’m not a ‘traveler’ as you call it.  I’m alive.”  Richard exclaimed.

“Ya, ya.  You can travel while alive…or not.”  The boy explained as he poured the spring water into a cup.  Richard gulped at it never expecting to be sated.

He noticed the boy’s attention had been interrupted and he gazed off into the distance and then nodded.  Richard thought it quite strange and then the boy turned back to him suddenly. 

“I’ll show you where he is, but…”  He began.

“What is it?” Richard countered and he tried to see what the boy was seeing. 

“There’s an Indian.” He said slightly alarmed.

“Where?” Richard asked.

“There.” And the boy pointed.  Through the wavy glass of the window Richard could make out a lone figure at the edge of the field near the canal.  The Dutch farmers seemed on edge by the Indian’s presence and they methodically began to gather arms.

“No. No. I do not think this aboriginal will harm anyone.”  Richard said getting up.  He knew it must be the Indian he had encountered in the woods on the way to the farm.  It must be Tamanend. The Dutchmen shook their heads and prepared themselves.  They did not want violence but they would not tolerate an attack either.

“I will speak to him.”  Richard said getting up with a bit of difficulty.  They Dutchmen threw open their window sashes and positioned their weapons.  The boy grabbed hold of Richards’s arm stopping him momentarily.

“You must say, ‘Thank you, Ansa.’” He instructed nearly out of breath.  It was a weird request, but he nodded in agreement and stepped toward his destiny.

“You must say, ‘Thank you, Ansa, Please.’” The boy implored.

“Yes, yes.  Thank you Ansa, please.” Richard repeated and he pulled his arm from the boy’s grasp.

It felt as if the land stretched farther and farther with each step Richard took.  The closer he thought he was getting to the figure the further away it actually was.  He surmised he might spend the entire day trying to cross the field.  People on the road seemed further away than the perspective he encountered as he entered the farm.  Once they noticed the figure they moved exponentially farther out of the way than necessary.  Richard thought it disquieting and their fears completely out of proportion to the illusory threat.  With each step the figure came into clearer focus.  At times he was not sure if he were greeting a woman or a man.  The androgynous appearance emanated great physical strength and frightening power.  He stopped for a moment and wondered if perhaps he might be moving closer to an angel or other kind of disincarnated spirit.  The apparition was solid, though, and dense with finite dimensions.  Perhaps the being was a medicine man, he thought.  As he approached he noticed that it was not Tamanend.  The entity had stark white hair and almond shaped eyes.  As he drew near he realized that it changed its outward form to be smaller and more serene.  It was, indeed, a woman.  She was young.  And although she was dressed in the robes and skins of an Indian her countenance had an oriental shape to it.  When he was within a few yards of her she smiled warmly and stretched out her hands.  He noticed that she wore an exquisite buffalo robe.  It was the same bison hide that had saved his life during his trek through the storm.  It was the skin that kept he and Victoria warm through the frigid nights  and the sensual fur that they had made love to each other on while the world was covered in snow.  As he greeted her and their palms touched a jolt of pure white light flooded through him. Suddenly he could breathe and the fatigue that plagued him was gone.  He was shining and new.  He was no longer hungry, tired and sick, but rather virile, satiated and the epitome of health and power.

“Thank you, Ansa, please.”  He whispered.  And the women’s eyes filled with tears of joy as she pulled him close.

“The time is fast approaching.”  She said joyfully.  “When all that you wish for shall be granted.  But you must hold fast.”

“Hold fast?” He repeated unsure what she meant.

“To all the parts of you scattered about the earth. A covenant has been made.  I am one of those parts.”  She said and as she gazed at him Richard could see down into the depths of her brown eyes and he knew that he had been her.  He recognized himself and the power and knowledge that he once had. The industrialized world and its harsh reality made him forget.  Through her hands came the long forgotten mysteries that he had once mastered.  The natural world functions in cycles and defies the linear invention of time.

 “But now is the time.  Now is the place for everything to be set right.”  She said gleefully.  “Be ever grateful for the hard tasks as well as the life-affirming.  The debts are paid and the wheel rotates indefinitely. We are entering the place of evolution where immortality waits.  Go to her.”