The spring day is cozy warm underneath a massive timeless live oak tree, right next to the cherished memorial at Forsythe Park in Savannah, Georgia. An elderly couple was sitting merrily upon a well shaded isolated bench, throwing soda cracker crumbs to the numerous birds that congregate on the ground and sipping strong black coffee. The time in the morning must have been around 1000 hours.
Beside them sits the daily morning news and inside a small article on the front page, just beneath the main article, is a short account that makes mention of an international ESL instructor who suddenly went missing in the land of Romania, under unexplained circumstances. Not many details were known since the people present had no idea of just what had really taken place. The entire account seemed both baffling and mysterious.
As the pleasant couple sat tossing crumbs to the pigeons and sparrows, the elderly lady takes notice of a strange white pigeon or dove among the others, with something mysterious tied to his leg. She asked the elderly man to feed the dove while she eases up on him, catching him firmly with both hands. The man unties a joint of bamboo that had been bound on by a string of silk. Inside this bamboo joint, he found a note of what appeared to be vellum, rolled and tied securely with more silk.
“What on earth could this be,” he said to the lady?
“I don't know, Eddie dear,” spoke the lady to the man, “why don't you just open it and see?”
So the elderly man opened what appeared to be a long note, unrolled it with his trembling, sun-scarred hands, then proceeded to read it aloud to his dear wife sitting attentively beside him; and the note read as such:
"To whoever finds this note,
During the year 19--, I traveled into the forbidden lands of Bohemia, eventually pausing in Seville, then moving on into Dacia, as the territory is called among the people who occupy it. Although technically speaking, the lands have other names on map titles for legal jurisdiction; among the people and the races who make up the unique, creative culture of Bohemia, their primary territory is still known as Dacia, even to this very day.
I came by invitation, a most positive invitation and one that was hardly ever issued, except unto an honored cherished few. I was very proud and pleased to accept the offer. English was the international language of business and every progressive Bohemian wished to engage the powers of negotiation, being the true lords of individualism and free enterprise that they in fact are. In order to be most effective, especially since all of those surrounding the territory were engaged in the arduous task of learning the language, the very intellectually inclined Bohemians desired nothing more than the opportunity to prove themselves effective. To accomplish this feat of approval from the surrounding lands, they desired highly skilled and accommodating instructors, and I was most delighted to accept their gracious offer with their invitation.
I had built up a highly respected reputation among those of the ESL instruction circles in the far east and to a much lesser degree, the near east. Although I had never traveled into the lands of the Bohemians, my gifted reputation had preceded me all the way into the heartland. They had initiated the contact, without me ever having to appeal to their offices for permission to give instruction. Such is the endowment of high technology and computers, all effectively smothered in the luscious gravy of perfection in the highest degree.
I was to begin my tenure and experience in the land of Bukarest, then move by frequent rail travel into the various other towns and cities as the need dictated. This assignment fit the nature of my personality most perfectly since loving life on the move was always an intricate part of my nature and identity.
I hoped a plane on the fourth of May, from the city of Hong Kong, then jetted on toward the municipality of Bukarest, where I was to engage my first instructional assignment. The city appeared most clearly a concrete jungle of sorts from the air as the plane neared the runway. The province of Bukarest surrounded a large concrete and pavement metropolis, although I could detect the encompassing presence of what appeared to be immaculate, classical structures.
When the plane eased up to the landing ramp leading up into the waiting area of the airport terminal, I walked past a number of people holding up rather large signs with their friends or family member's names vividly written. Off in the distance ahead, I soon saw on a sign held up by an attractive gypsy lady donned in typical traditional bohemian dress, my name clearly penned in black marker on a large white background.
I smiled, then politely said with a confident smile as I leaned over the railing between the ramp and waiting area.
“I am him, the one that you are appointed to meet with.”
The lady smiled broadly, then rushed up to greet me with an embrace.
“Welcome to the finest that all of Bohemia has to offer! I am so glad to meet you, Mr. Graystone. I am sure that you are tired after your long travel and that you are in need of good rest, so I have already inquired upon selecting your quarters for the daytime remaining. I will escort you to your quarters, and we will resume our meeting on the matter of your assignment tomorrow, following breakfast, if that is alright by you,” she replied in her heavy Romanian accent?
“That proposal sounds like a winner to me,” I said with a smile. “It sure is a mighty long way from Hong Kong to here, even by air, but I am still glad to be here just the same,” I said with a heavy sigh.
We paused by the curb just outside the airport terminal. A yellow cab pulled up, which seems to be typical all over the world these days. The lady stepped up to the window on the driver's side, spoke a few words, then soon she was pointing toward the door on the driver's side for me to get inside. I did so and in no time, we were on our way.
It felt like some twenty minutes passed as the lady engaged a conversation with the cab driver in the local Bohemian dialect. All that I could do was just sit and listen as they spoke. I could actually make out about a third of what was being said, and I could deduce enough to gather in about half of the conversation. Before I knew it, we were pulling into a rather plain, almost rundown appearing concrete flat collection. The complex was about twelve stories high. It did not feel imposing, but it did not feel particularly inviting at the same time. As I gazed upward, several apartments had clotheslines drooping lazily with what appeared, even from the car far beneath, as being soaked clothing just out of the wash. People were nowhere to be seen at the present time. I assumed that they all had left for work and would be gone for the day.
“Well Mr. Graystone, welcome to your new home. Your home will be room number 4231, in the complex directly in front of us. Here is the key.”
She then handed me a brass ring with what appeared to be an antique small version jailers key on it.
“Have a good nights rest and enjoy the rest of your day,” she continued to say. “ I will be here at 0900 hours sharp to pick you up for breakfast. I expect you to be dressed casually, washed and ready to leave just as soon as I arrive. I will be knocking at exactly 0900, to repeat myself. Is there anything that I need to repeat or that you did not understand, sir?”
“Not a thing,” I said with a sharp smile. “ I heard you all too loud and clear.”
“Great then, I will be seeing you in the morning; until then..., Mr. Graystone.
“In the morning,” I said as I exited the car, being careful to walk around it and lug my baggage from the automatically opened trunk. I heaved my bag out from the hold, then firmly shut the compartment lid as the car then eased on off. Here I was again, in a foreign exotic land and it was around 1000 hours, give or take some..., and now I was all alone …one more time out of many in my life, maybe hundreds..., I don't know.
I paused, gazing ahead at the complex before me, then sighed a deep breath before I began tugging my luggage toward the double glass entrance door. Although the routine had been played out many times in the past, something about this time felt different. I couldn't lay my finger on specifically what this new difference was, but it was surely there, almost taunting me with this feeling that I couldn't specifically explain. I shrugged it off and kept advancing forward along toward the doorway.
I walked through the double doors of the building, dragging my luggage and passing by a number of women and men, who never even appeared to notice that I was in the room. I paused to glance around for the elevator and upon noticing it, I made my way toward it. I punched the up button, then paused, waiting for it to come back down. No one walked up, but several people moved passed me with their heads down, appearing weary from the tasks that lay ahead in the remaining portion of the day. Soon the elevator paused and the door opened. I walked inside and was on my way toward the fourth floor and my new living quarters.
Upon my opening of the door to my new quarters, I was shocked at the plain, but thankfully clean, simplicity. There was a bed with no mattress, only a wooden plank with four legs, basically. There was a thin foam mat like the kind one uses underneath a bedroll to keep out the dampness of the ground, but that was it. There were no pillows; quite obviously, the Bohemians do not believe in them. I couldn't do much to change the bed, but I could change the pillow situation quickly, my experience living on the road had taught me that much over the years.
I was adapted quite easily to all of the remaining situations, a real gift from being raised up on the tobacco farms, living most of my life outside and off the land. Few modern-day Americans possess this cherished, proud quality of background and the unadulterated blood of ancestry in fortitude, genuine creativity and stamina, with the phrase 'live free or die...', 'forever free', being a part of our cultural iconic speech in general. Back home, sometimes we call it the gift of meridional ingenuity; but here I must apologize, out of a lacking in time to explain the term to prejudiced outsiders and ignorant insiders, who blinded by their infective narrow-mindedness, will always so miserably fail to understand, regardless.
Quickly I took out my leather flight jacket, zipped it up and commenced stuffing it full with my soiled clothing. I took the sleeves, crossed them in the front, then tied them tightly in the back. Now I had a really decent pillow that had proven itself many times during my life on the road. The pockets inside the coat also served as blissfully secure places to store my money, other valuables and my passport. Probably the most valuable item that I possessed had to have been my passport since passports are the item most often stolen when offshore..., and then one's cash. In this manner, the thief would probably just skip my coat wad to search in another place or else he would never think to look in the first place and simply just move on. No doubt that such has happened many times over the years, considering the many hostels and dive motels that I have stayed in during my exotic experience and life on the road in general.
Developing skills such as this and the ability to adapt into quickly changing living circumstances, strange food, and weird customs, are part of what a traveling man must do to simply survive while in the great beyond. Thankfully, few westerners can accomplish this feat of mental gymnastics in good cheer... and the ability to do so is what causes the demand for those of us who do to remain so high right now.
I personally don't need western food, western clothes, most of the western customs, western women and in many cases, not even western language. I figure that this reality was noted on my former job assignments, and probably was one of the reasons why they called me first to make the offer, especially with this assignment being such a highly paid and lavishly accommodated assignment, but I have yet to see the accommodation part being one to covet. We'll take it all in stride and just wait to see what else was under her skirt, I told myself in the silence of mental voice.
Just outside the back door, I had noticed upon coming in signs speaking of a pool, a library, and a pub. I think that I will ease on down there, now that I have entered into my room, got a taste for my accommodation and have finally dropped my luggage case and computer bag off. Quickly I put on my bathing suit and grabbed hold of my favorite T-shirt, which was a classic speaking of buffalo hunters doing it better on the wide open plains since one of my favorite loves in life was to elk and buffalo hunt. I made my way on down to the pool where I relaxed and took rum shots at the small bar by the poolside. I was really perfectly contented to ease down into the water for a few minutes, climb back out, have a shot or three and just lay by the shaded poolside until I felt like climbing back into the clear pool.
By the time that I had tired of the pool and the rum, my bathing suit had dried and I was ready to make my way toward the library. Here it was that I spent the remaining portions of the evening, and where it seemed that most of the other people were. As I browsed through the bookshelves and the many titles, I was shocked to discover that more than just a few of my own books were stocked therein among the others. I even peered across the study stations and observed one or two people engrossed in volumes of my own work!
Seeing that made me feel really happy on the inside and I soon moved on into a comfortable seat, where I could engross myself into someone else volume of study. This particular volume that I had found was on a subject matter that I really enjoy, an in-depth study of the romantic era and those creative characters who made this movement so unique. Just as I was becoming engrossed into the study, a young, exceedingly attractive bohemian maiden of about seventeen or so, sauntered in to sit down ever so smoothly right there beside me, in another comfortable, reclining seat.
She was dressed in her gypsy best, appearing more as a person from back in time, maybe around the time of the romantic era, I imagined. Her hair was dark black and around shoulder length. I imagined her to have been one of the gypsy fortune tellers from old, who could see all and know all by simple inquiry. She caught me glancing at her and smiled sleekly, in such a manner that seemed to welcome me in toward her very heart, inviting me to introduce myself.
“Well hello!” I spoke to her, first in English, and was astonished at her reply back to me in perfect English. She continued on with the warm smile.
“This flat seems to be an interesting place; I've just made it here, what about you,” I said in good cheer, hoping to initiate a conversation.
“I live here,” she replied. “I have been here now for about six months. I only sleep here, since I am always away at work or at school. It is very rare that one would catch me here like this.” She continued to give me her enchanting, smooth smile.
“Maybe we'll see each other around. I have a busy schedule myself, with classes at the University Academy, and such as that. I am on for two different shifts, morning and evening. I doubt that I will make it back here before 2200 hours or so,” I replied to her.
“I am sure that we'll see each other by and by, with our heavy schedules and everything. You'll be moving around a bit, I am sure and so will I. I am amazed that I have lived here for six months straight. I am expecting to move on any day now,” she laughed as she replied to me, always giving me that warm, inviting, soul embracing smile of hers.
“That sounds great, well what do you do?” I inquired, with a gasp and quick laugh.
“You'll see, I am part of the culture show here. We have a heritage and culture that is more than three thousand years old, you know. All things mystical originate here in Dacia, my friend. You will see me again and find out much more about me in the days ahead. Right now, I don't have time to speak much,” she replied as she arose. “I must be going now...., chau and alvitisan.,” she said with her pleasant smile. She then sauntered away from the room where I was sitting.
The following morning at exactly 0900 hours, my liaison arrived, hammering away at my door. I had just taken my shower and was finishing tucking in my shirt tail when the knock sounded. I yelled that I was on my way, then exited the bedroom, making my way over toward the door, being very careful upon opening it.
“Well it's about time,” spoke my liaison in her heavy Bohemian accent. “I wasn't sure if you were apt to the early rising type that is so much in demand here,” she rigidly inquired, gazing at me above her delicate spectacles.
“Oh yes,” I replied. “I function at my best early in the morning.”
“Well that's great,” she quickly spouted. “Here, you'll be expected to arrive on the job ready to work at 0730 every morning. The students are expected to arrive in class at 0800, and we do not tolerate late arrivals. One incident invites suspension, two and most are out of the academy. We are almost as strict with our instructors, even sometimes more so, as some begrudging opinion.”
“I would automatically assume that much,. I replied as we ducked into the back seat of a yellow taxi parked by the curbside.
“Yes...and we would have assumed that you were experienced enough to surmise that much..., so we investigated your employment records, Mr. Greystone...., and you had not one incidence of late arrival in all of your years in the teaching business. So on that starting note. We feel that you would be at a fine candidate for our most cherished of positions!
“Marvelous,” I replied with a conservative smile, “just wonderful, as I would have it to be.”
The woman’s facial expression then changed.
“However, Mr. Graystone..., we do have a minor concern...., as we have indicated from records in your work file based on observations from your supervisors and your co-workers.”
“Oh really,” I replied with my eyebrows raised in shock. “ I want to hear this, let's just be out with it.”
“Our concern at the school is that, according to the records, you were noted as being real handy with the ladies. On that note, I just wanted to inform you that we tolerate no form of fraternization here inside of our academic facility. That means not only between teachers and adult students but also teachers and their coworkers. I want to just let you know as well that we take all reports of suggestive actions or behaviors very seriously. The prescribed penalty includes both suspension without pay and termination, with you finding your own way back to your homeland...with your own money...”
“I understand,” I snapped. “I wasn't aware of this...me being so handy with the females anywhere,” I half laughed and half sighed at the conclusion of my sentence, then scratched my head in astonished puzzlement.
“I also want to inform you that all such reports are placed immediately into an instructor's work file. In other words, it haunts a person everywhere that he goes.
“What about the females?" I inquired in sarcasm, attempting to break the thick feeling of seriousness hanging in the air.
“What about the females?” the lady firmly asked.
“What happens to them?,” I inquired with a slight laugh.
“Well Mr. Graystone, in our culture a female has the right to approach a man and request any favor from him that her heart desires, and at no detriment to her employment, reputation or otherwise. We even go as far as to encourage this activity, on certain specific occasions.
“Oh.., you don't say?" I snapped in surprise. “Then you condemn the poor man...? How could you be so cruel, my dear?” I attempted to maintain an air of comical sarcasm concerning the entire subject being discussed.
“No!” she snapped seemingly in a flush of anger. “If the female makes the first move, then the man is all clear to respond. It is just that when the man moves first, then we assume that he must be imposing himself on her.”
“But she always has the right to refuse,” I returned, half in sarcasm.
“No! Not always..., the man does not always give her the right to refuse and back away, so in our culture, we simply just take the right to advance from him and leave that responsibility with the ladies.”
“Well how nice,” I replied again in sarcasm as the car pulled into the corner restaurant.
We both exited the taxi and made our way into the restaurant, taking our seats in heavy wooden benches with wooden tables between them.
“Have a seat and we will wait for the morning special.”
“What's the special,” I asked in anticipation?
“Eggs of the sea turtle, with a seaweed dressing, smothered in a sauce of the horses' hoof and lime lily. It's a local delicacy and has been for generations.”
“Wow,” I replied, attempting to suppress the turn of my stomach. “I can't wait to give it a try.”
When the plates arrived, we began eating and she commenced to speak of the school and all of the expectations that would be upon my shoulders once I arrived. I had been around enough to know that this heavy talk was all just part of the process involved in “feeling out” new clients, to see if they would be a proper match for the school, the students and the staff. As always, the heavier they talk, it had been my experience that it was, the better the job and more pleasant the academic atmosphere. The real deal here was that the school recruitment staff just did not want these young rookie foreign instructors to get the idea that they would have a cushy job, with virtually nothing expected from them, quick available access to every local party line and all the easy women that a battle-hardened body could handle on any given weekend night. The analysis really was just that simple to spell out here.
Before I realized it, we both were on our way to the academy that I would be employed in. The building appeared to be a high rise apartment complex with an appearance that was rather plain, at that. There were a few academic notations on the walls here and there, but that was about it, besides a well-dressed work staff. I could only imagine what the classrooms looked like.
Soon I was to find out and just as I had suspected, the classrooms were just as plain as the walls outside. Nothing in the way of high tech equipment, only a marker board. Upon opening the door, my liaison then addressed me.
“Mr. Greystone, as you can see, room G73 here will be your workstation for at least the next ninety days. Right now, that's about all that I can say on that matter. In two days your accommodations will change from where you are now into a place much closer by, but I am not sure where specifically, at the moment. We are looking for one in within easy walking distance. How do you feel about this?”
“Sounds fine by me,” I replied with a hint of joy in my voice.
“Well, everything here is very straightforward, Mr. Greystone. What we want most of all is for the students to enjoy the lessons. You see, the students here go to school some nine hours a day. They are tired by the time English classes begin. They want to have fun. We are searching for instructors who can encourage students to enjoy English classes by organizing classes in a joy-filled, pleasurable way. Is doing this consistent with your past experience?”
“Sure, I understand well the concerns,” I articulated.
My liaison then proceeded to stage a classroom setting, where a number of colleges and associates were present and she asked me to teach a number of specific details. All of the people present in the room were fluent into a perfection, in the English language. Some of these people suggested that they had difficulty in understanding my aristocratic accent, since my family background was into high-level corporate agriculture, rice and tobacco, to be specific. We owned and controlled more than half a million acres back home on the delta, and took great pride in our national corporate flag as well as our gifted, endowed blood heritage, no matter what the critics have to say about it.
My liaison then drew a picture on the marker board of a cat, a mouse and a piece of cheese. Upon completing the drawing, she then inquired of me to instruct the class as to the proper methodology in explaining exactly what the picture meant in English. My response was to stage a series of group assignments, beginning first with very simple sentences in English with the words cat, mouse, and cheese. I went over those sentences on the board, then proceeded to allow the group to go over them, with members of other groups being free to offer corrective advice when needed.
“Excellent,” they all cheered and clapped! “You have passed our qualification exam. Be ready to begin work on Monday morning at 0730 sharp!”
Personally, I couldn't have been happier. I enjoyed the free time, but I was tired of not having a more regimented day, as I was so used to. The world around me, I was beginning to feel, had lulled into a drag. What I needed was more in the way of excitement. I enjoyed the company of real intellectually inclined thrill seekers, but finding that breed could be tough to do at times all over the world. Most of the individuals that I encountered fell into two categories; the boring social do-gooders, as I called them, with their socialist idealistic dreams on how to improve the world or the boozers, who arrive from afar only to do the same old things that they do back home, which is to drink and whore. I honestly never minded a certain amount of it, but I would much rather explore some oasis of enchanted forbidden knowledge, old majestic ruins or go night hunting for roebuck out in some distant, forgotten plain somewhere. I want to live for the thrills in living and being alive, for crying out loud, and I had tired of simply bird hunting with my favorite dog a long, long time ago, I want to tiger hunt or go for elephants, for crying out loud!.
My liaison and I traveled to two or three more academies on that day, for me to observe and process a bit of how-to information regarding this program's expectations in the classroom, then we made our way back into my original accommodation. I said my parting goodbye and she let me know that she would be back to pick me up on 1200 hours sharp tomorrow, and for me to be packed up and ready to go. I assured her that there would be no problem with this, then proceeded to get my bathing suit for another routine of the same engagements as before, on every other day. First the pool for a couple of hours and the rum shots by the bar adjacent, then a good shower and the library until bedtime nears. Sometimes I might go back into the pool come nightfall, but that was only on occasion and not a daily basis. It all was beginning to feel like a drag, but such is how most of real life is, unfortunately.
I finally made my way into the library around 1350, and sat in my usual seat, reading material on the golden age of piracy and the wild, libertine lifestyles of the sea captains made so famous during that age, another favorite topic of mine. I soon felt a wisp of cool air stirring and smelled a strange perfume that hinted of belladonna rose. The incense-like odor nearly placed me into a zombie type of euphoric trance. I was immediately sitting on a cloud, I felt. I glanced to my left, taking notice of the same young lady dressed in traditional Bohemian attire. I saw her embracing, coaxing smile that seemed to give me the feeling that all was destined to be extraordinary as the near future dawned upon me.
“I thought that I would never see you again,” I slightly gasped. “Wow, you're back, I see.”
“I never said that I would be gone forever, and I said that we would meet again, did I not,” she replied?
“Evidently so..., you're back!”
“Well, that is how this business that I am in is. I am in, then out for an unknown period of time, I am back for a couple of hours a week...I just never know and simply just go to where ever it is that I am sent.”
“I enjoyed our last meeting and discussion, I hope that we can meet from time to time,” I said.
“Oh yes, and that is almost certain, we will see one another in the future, and we will meet up in unexpected places. You can be sure of that.....So..... what is your position here?” she asked, somewhat hesitatingly.
“I am an international ESL instructor. I make my living on the road. I was stationed mainly in the Orient for the last ten years or so, but I have spent time in many other places over the course of my life.” I informed her.
“Like where,” she politely inquired? “Tell me more, I love a good adventure story, especially when it is true.”
“Well, I have spent time in South America, Canada, pretty much all over the USA and a few more places, here and there.”
“Wow,” she replied, “what kinds of adventures have you had?”
“I have been night hunting for deer on Salinas beach, fishing for marlin, and I have helped excavate for artifacts on Machu Pichu, just to name a few,” I said to her.
“I find that most interesting,” she replied, “please tell me more.”
So for the next hour, I tried to inform her of a lifetime in adventure, from pirating fancy yachts off the Virginia coast to living off the land in the Montana woods. I also told her of my days working the many different jobs that I have held over the years, in a multiple of fields and trades. Sometimes, when I reflected on the past, I felt as though I had lived three or four lifetimes..., all crammed into one, and I was just forty-eight years old, “now imagine that” I replied to her in an effort to emphasize the excitement found in living.
“Have you ever been married?” she politely asked.
“Yes, twice.”
“Were you in love?” she asked again.
“Well young lady, I thought so back then. I honestly don't think that any person goes into a marriage without feeling that they are not in love, for the most part,” I informed her.
“You are probably right,” she replied. “Do you have any children?”
“No, mine are all grown, but I once had four.”
“Four?”
“Two boys and two girls! On the last count, that totaled four.”
“I find that interesting,” she said with her unique smile, one that warmed into my very soul itself. “Do you think that you'll marry ever again?”
“I cannot really say,” I responded to her question. “Who knows the future?”
“I think that you will,” she responded again with her haunting smile. “I think that you will and vanish into a forbidden oasis with a real angel..., one day not too far away into the future,” she said as she smiled.
“What are you speaking of,” I inquired?
“Well, I have my call and it is time for me to go once again, but we will meet one day soon, so until next time, Mr. Greystone,” she replied as she arose, then sauntered off in her full-length Bohemian dress, though of differing design. The sweet euphoric hint of belladonna rose seemed to fill the room, then follow her as she walked away. I was literally stunned and did not know what to think of our past conversation. We will just have to see, I said to myself. We will simply just wait and see what holds for the days in the future. The present moment, now, is all that any of us have and it is whatever that it is going to be.
Two more days passed and I did fail to chance meeting her. I had begun working at the academy full swing by now. The hours were very good, three classes, forty-five minutes each, then a siesta break from 1100 hours right on up until 1400 hours. During that time there were theatrical productions going on around the campus by the students, and very professionally conducted, I might add. There were also catered meals with tables here and there, a lecture going on or some company offering wine tastings if you prefer. I, myself, enjoyed the wine tasting and the opera show, so that was how I spent my free time since I preferred to plan my day classes the evening after work. For some unknown reason, I felt as if I worked better during those hours.
By the second day of work, my accommodation had been moved from where I originally was, into a place just adjacent to the academy where I was employed. Here, although there was no pool or health spa, I had the company of other expatriated instructors. Although I was the only one from America, the others were from places scattered all around Europe and I found them to be most interesting to speak with.
One of these persons whom I found to speak with, was a Greek lady, although I was shocked to learn that she knew nothing of the classics nor even of her own historical heritage. She had never even heard of the Spartans or Thermophile, but she was very conversational and interesting just the same. She had been living in Bohemia now for four years and was very quick to point out what she had observed to be their many shortcomings. According to her telling, if I ever wanted a forged document of any kind, then I could get it anywhere inside the territory of Dacia with great ease. I was delighted to receive the information, but could just not imagine why I would ever have a use for it. I preferred to engage in any activity that I indulged in on the straights, myself.
My new accommodation was in easy walking distance from the academy. This was a real boon unto me, I thought. The director asked me exactly what it was that I expected to make for my services and what I expected from my accommodation, as is nearly always the case on the offshore ESL jobs. I knew that average pay was a thousand a month in American coin, so I told him two thousand, hoping to give myself some playing room. I also told him that I expected total accommodation. Total accommodation meant that all rent and utilities, including WIFI, of course, would be completely covered. I also expected that food, at least two meals a day would be covered. I only anticipated getting about a third of what I asked for..., but to my shock and surprise...., I got it all, just like I asked for! Maybe it was my verifiable experience or my serious, skilled demeanor, or maybe it was both, I am not sure. I was, without a doubt, a definite winner in this venture and so far, all was going well according to both plan and schedule.
I was walking from my job, back toward my accommodation..., I never will forget it..., during the lunch siesta and I passed this rather intriguing lady. She wore the traditional Bohemian dress that is somewhat popular around here, but at the same time, tend to be dying out in favor of western blue jeans and T-shirts, although during work hours nearly every male dresses in standard suit and tie. I had noticed that the ladies hair was in a circularly braided bun, but her face appeared as if it was painted white, which again, is actually part of the traditional costume here in these parts. I thought that she appeared familiar by her demeanor and general ways of movement, so I decided to speak. Upon her reply, I instantly recognized her to be the lady from the other accommodation with the captivating smile.
“I am so glad to have run into you, and I would never have guessed that I would meet you here,” I said with genuine excitement in my voice.
“I told you that we would definitely be running into each other again, did I not?”
“Yes,” I said, “most emphatically yes, but I would not have anticipated it to be here, so far away from where it was that we first met.”
“Time has a way of doing some unexpected things,” she said, freely giving me that warm enticing smile that seemed to be born from within her very soul.
“Are you staying anywhere near here?” I couldn't help but ask, although I tried to refrain from doing so, the question just naturally flowed out for reasons I can't explain.
“Yes, of course, I am staying in the hotel in easy walking distance to the right, over there...,” she pointed. “If you look real hard you can make out the building on the skyline in the distance. The building is just a few blocks away. I can't promise you that I will be there tomorrow night, however, I am always subject to be relocated on a moments notice. Such is just the way of life at times, but I love it just the same anyway and would not have it any other way.”
“What was it that you said that you did?" I asked playing dumb since she had never really told me what it was that she did.
“You'll find out, Mr. Greystone,” she replied. “You'll know very soon enough. I would speak but I just haven't the time to do so right now.”
She walked on passed, going on her casual way. I could hear the swish in her gown seemingly for quite a bit of time after she passed, as well as smell her euphoric perfume of the belladonna rose, but when I glanced backward, as always, she had eerily vanished from my line of sight.
My days continued on, with classes, grading assignments, reviewing questions and designing course regimentation. As time progressed I developed a circle of friends, both ex-patriots and locals, all of us searching for that unique adventure to indulge ourselves into. Quite often we would go to really fine restaurants in the evening with my group after work, there following all of us making our way into a local dance hall or saloon, just to round out the day.
When it all began, I would have a momentary glance at a seated lady in the distance, who appeared exactly in likeness to the young college lady that I met back at my former accommodation, in both her dress and her mannerism. As time progressed, these distant recognitions grew in frequency, and as always, she was dressed in the Bohemian finest, with the traditional braided hair bun in the rear of her head; again not that uncommon, but in much less frequency seemingly now than ever before. Her particular dress bore the bright glint of high quality and being brand new, whereas the others bore a strange dull appearance from the distance.
Now, however, I was taking notice of her in multiple settings. On most occasions, she was simply a well-dressed patron at the local restaurant, but now I was seeing her appear in crowds out on the street, the star showgirl in the many stage productions that we entertained ourselves with late in the evenings on the weekends. I even once could have sworn that I noticed her teaching in the academy that I worked in since this school was home to some three thousand students and at least a hundred English instructors alone.
There was one night...and I will never forget it...., where I rode out to a really fine dinner show on the other side of the Bukarest province, in a slightly smaller town. It was a trip far away from the academy and the community surrounding it. I was with four other people, another man, and two women, but only as accompanying friends in a semi-professional, intellectual context. The dinner show was one embellishing Romania’s national hero, Count Dracula, which is their version of a medieval production. As always, as any could imagine, Count Dracula came out the hero who won the damsel in distress. The conclusion was always met with great, energetic applause.
All of the waitresses were dressed as medieval cathedral damsels, but the one who waited on us, bore the exact likeness in every detail....her hair, the way it braided in circles behind her head...her mannerism...her voice, in both tone, accent and composure...In every detail, she bore the appearance of the young college lady. I simply could not help but address her.
“Wow,” I said, with excitement in my voice, “you sure get around, don't you? Why didn't you tell me that you worked here at the dinner theater?'
“Who me?” The lady gasped, placing her hand upon her chest in astonishment. “Have we met before? I am sorry, but I just don't seem to recall.”
“You remember,” I said, now numbed in shock? “We met back at my former accommodation. The other day we met when I was walking back to my accommodation during the siesta time. It hasn't been that long ago in time...”
“I truly apologize, sir, but there is no recollection on my part. Maybe you have just had a long day and are a bit confused. I am so sorry about this misunderstanding tonight, sir.”
“No, no, I am so sorry. I never caught your name. What is your name, there young lady,” I gasped?
“My name is Roxanne, Mr. Greystone, and if we should ever meet again, I promise that I shall recall in vivid detail.”
I gasped heavily in shock. I glanced around in disbelief as to what I was experiencing. The others sitting at the table with me simply gazed forward in complete astonished silence, as if not knowing what to make of the situation. A thick invisible cloud seemed to hang heavily above all of us, coldly settling in among us as the moment felt to be standing still. Surely the hands on any clock would show this time freeze since obviously the earth paused in its rotation for a brief moment or two.
“Well...,” the lady sitting across from me said as the waitress turned and walked away. “I guess that it is getting time for us to make our way back. I know that it is a bit late, maybe too late for some of us, if you should all agree?”
She then spoke a few sentences in the local vernacular that generated hard glances toward me from the others as they proceeded to arise from their seats.
The others removed the napkins from their laps, slowly arising, speaking now only of the commencements and the show, and doing so only among themselves. I felt like a ghost inside the group, since now they only interacted among themselves, but I honestly didn't care, because all that I could really think of was the event that just occurred....and the young lady named Roxanne. All of them must have thought that I was mad, hitting on the waitress like that so rudely, and in mixed company, and inside a professional, intellectual context besides. Or was it that I had violated one of their cardinal rules here in Dacia, I had made a forward movement toward a female. The rule here was that the move wa shers, then he was free to follow suit, as I suddenly recalled. Maybe I will simply just change my tactic next time around.
Maybe my forwardness was the real reason why I was being ignored, I deduced. My forwardness could also explain the look of contempt in the eyes of my company. I had momentarily forgotten the local rule, or should I say, the national rule regarding men and women and the inter-reactions thereof. This rule was different from what I was used to, and therefore, easy to forget, but that was what I chose to work here for...., something very different from the usual, was it not? The hot feeling of excitement suddenly flushed through my body as the thought passed through my mind.
The days passed and all eventually eased back into a normal flow from the shock of that fateful night. I still could not shake the picture of the moment from my mind. By now six or eight months had passed since my early days on the job. I had now proven myself as an ESL instructor and I had been asked to teach university classes to adults in the evening, from 1800 hour until 2200 hours. I accepted since there would be plenty of breaks and the pay was just as good as the day classes with the senior high school classes. Now I was making some four thousand a month American as an instructor, an amount unheard of in these parts by instructors in general. The problem was that I worked six days a week and sometimes seven, although rarely. These people were devout Roman Catholic Christians, and going to mass on the Sunday Sabbath was a must...always.
As I stood before the class, in the moment of me giving instruction concerning verbs and adjectives showing action, I glanced across the student body before me. There were some forty-three students in the class. One all alone, some two-thirds of the way back..., lifted her head...., and to my astonishment and surprise, I saw her once again! My breath left my body for a few seconds and I felt light-headed. There she was and I knew it to be her, there was just no question about the matter in my mind this time. I would remain calm, however, I told myself. I will just Bogart it all off, like ole Humphrey Bogart would, my hero from the old movie shows. Remain cool, I told myself, like a body on ice.., just remain cool and let it all unfold on its own, don't force it...For Good Lord's sake, if it won't fit, then please don't force it, the words in my mind screamed!
When class intermission time arrived, the students were going out into the hallway toward the soda machines and snack bar, for cigarettes, coffee, and ham sandwiches. I noticed her walking ahead of me, but I determined that I would remain silent, and pretend not to have noticed her, but then she paused, allowing me to pass. There was no doubt this time as to exactly who this young lady really was. I am so sorry, but the cute little kitten can't lie her way out of the fish barn this time around.
“Well hello, Mr. Greystone,” she said to me as I walked passed. “I didn't expect to see you here at night like this, let alone instructing a university class.”
“Yes, I just received the offer to give instruction at night. Now...let me see if I have it right...was the name Roxanne,” I asked, fully anticipating a hearty yes, and maybe, how did you know that, with the way that events had been unfolding lately?”
“No, of course not,” she replied with her warm smile. “I don't recall us exchanging names yet during one of our chance meetings. My name is Esmeralda...Esmeralda Glendora, to be exact. I am studying to engage in international business, so I need to brush up on my English. I recall that you taught here, but I was not expecting to meet up with you as the instructor at night, and the syllabus does not really name teachers since instructors are always moved around from class to class, especially ESL instructors. I am well aware of these details, sir.”
“ My name is Arthur...Arthur Graystone, great-grandson of the all-time famous Captain Graystone, renowned for his heroic naval actions at the battle of Trafalgar and Tripoli.” I said with a chuckle and a smile, though my veins still flowed with the chill of astonishment at her not admitting to our prior meeting nor of her telling me that her name was Roxanne.
“I am somewhat familiar with the battle, but not the heroes..., but I take your word for it, just the same,” she replied with her endearing, nearly spellbinding smile. “When class is over, feel free to join my gathering of friends and myself in the local pub for easy drinks and conversation, Mr. Graystone, or ..oh..., I mean, Arthur.”
“I accept the offer,” I replied, intentionally keeping conversation direct and to the point. To be honest about it, how could I ever refuse her. I pretended to hesitate just the same. In this manner, I was being careful to give her the complete lead, even though doing so went against my inclinations and general custom.
“So your great grandfather was El Captain Greystone, made infamous during the battle of Trafalgar. Honestly, I do detect a somewhat heavy Irish ring in your voice, though it seems a mixture of Irish brogue and Texas cowboy if you should ask me.”
“I have been told that before,” I said to her. “All over the Orient people made the same statement.”
When classes ended, I followed her across the street to the local lounge, as we would call it in my home country. The conversation was rich and very pleasurable, all of the dances very graceful and smooth, nothing could ever go wrong, I whispered to myself in silence. She was drawing me inward, deeply inward toward her very soul, I tell you, as we glided across the floor breast to breast. She drew upon my soul, as does a strong magnet unto a fragment of steel. I felt as if she were attempting to merge even our very souls together, as one. Her hex was hypnotic, I was short of breath, the vapor on the motion wind and her breath...intoxicatingly euphoric, in the most pleasant sense! I soon felt like a zombie moving about the dance floor, wanting to leave, but the magnetic attraction of her soul upon mine, refusing to allow it. As we moved in tune with the Tango, I thought that I could hear her whisper sounding like a light rustle in the distant wind...saying.
“Yes.., can you feel the flow, Arthur? Can you feel the hex of my soul upon you and your very composure? You'll continue to meet me and behold me in various situations, you can never escape my spell, the hex of my bohemian chant. Never fear, my dear Arthur...just follow the flow of the pull, listen for the rhythm of the possessing spirit chant, dare to follow the feeling in its song...and you'll find heaven beyond your greatest dreams, my dear sir...”
My mind was spellbound beyond my ability to forgo. Oh, what now am I to do? Where am I to find solace from it? Her face remains with me wherever it is that I go, though her physical body is present with me not. To only touch her, nay, only the very fabric of her delicate Bohemian dress, sends waves of shock forward into the limbs of the mortal hand upon it, rendering a sensation of tingling numbness, like that of bayou snake poison or the poison of an aquatic snail found in the exotic South Sea. The pull upon my mind..., my weary soul..., even the force felt upon my physical body..., is much more than the capacity to forbear!
I feel as though I am floating breathlessly, drifting along inside the realm of the night breeze. I am now myself outside of my body. No longer is this compulsion one of simple mortal attractiveness, it has now entered into the realm of spiritual magnetism...and I fear that there is no retreating from it. I am now defeated totally by this enchanting vixen, this magic nymph from the exotic lands of Bohemia. Help me, please deliver me, if indeed, there be any manner of assistance for my poor helpless wanton soul!
I continued on with my instructional responsibilities, designing the classes, presenting the material, making the flow of the information to include real-life items, situations, and events, then polishing up the instruction with a flow that artistically, that ever so smoothly caught the eye and bore itself into the intellect. Some evenings I saw her, but she slipped away before I could speak, then it was as if on other evenings, she vanished from before me. I seized up the attendance sheet in a frenzy of both emotion and wild curiosity. I searched madly for her name...Esmeralda...., but it was not present, even though I could have sworn that on the evenings prior, it had been! How could this be? Was I really going crazy? Was this woman some perverted fantasy all inside my mind or was she, in fact, a real, living, breathing person?
I will never forget the time nor the moment...The date was December 30, 19--, at 1900 hours, I was approached by some of my evening students to accompany them at a certain bohemian circus festival there on the edge of the city, Budapest. This event had been one of cultural renown for the last six hundred years, according to the local legend. I had entered inside with an open mind, pushing the events of the recent past completely outside of my intellect, designing only to enjoy the evening before me. We nine purchased our tickets, then walked on inside to take our seats.
The tent was not fancy, rather a bit plain, if one should really ask me. The seats that we sat on were simple plastic chairs and some few short wooden benches. Some time passed, while we laughed and made ourselves pleasant carrying on a simple conversation. The first act was that of a young, female contortionist, who danced to the sound of bohemian’s best, in company with three very seductive belly dancers, two of auburn hair and one of red. Her act was extraordinary, to say the least, lasting thirty minutes or a bit more.
At the conclusion of the act, the vendors came out and proceeded to walk among the patrons. Some sold popcorn and cotton candy, others hot dogs and hamburgers, some other were offering bohemian beer and local wine or Pepsi Cola. Upon those vendor's exit, came the one's offering trinkets of fake gold that all of us felt were of little use but were fun to examine. Several of us arose to use the restroom nearby since we had a bit of time in between the acts. By the time we had retaken our seats, it was time for the second act.
The lights suddenly appeared, showing a lone clown juggling five pins and telling jokes in Romanian. Abruptly he was accompanied by other clowns who appeared to be putting on various styles of comedy acts. I am not fluent in Romanian, so I was only half aware of what was being said. One of the clowns, in particular, was only about waist high, he appeared to be dominating the show. Gradually the lights dimmed, causing the others to fade from view. In the local Romanian dialect, he addressed the crowd of onlookers.
“Good night from the province of Budapest, and we are all so pleasured to see you here. It is the wish from all of us that you will enjoy the evening to the fullest. Feel free to purchase the food and drink, including the local wine, at your convenience at any time during the course of the show tonight. Restrooms are to the adjacent side of the tent entrance, for your convenience. There is this one small wrinkle that we must iron out starting here tonight, how many are from the local province?”
Many hands arose amid claps and cheers.
“Well, this is so good for us doing the performance here tonight. We always want to welcome the home crowd, but we don't want to ever forget our visitors. How many are from other provinces scattered around the country tonight?”
Several hands went up and the short clown dressed as a rat, went around asking them questions about where it was that they are from, then he resumed his former place on the stage.
“How many of you here tonight are from other lands,” he said, making overtones suggesting that he was more a lover of men and interested in their well being, than any others around. All of our hands arose, with the males being somewhat hesitant, as one might imagine.
“Outstanding, this is extraordinary here tonight, to say the least.”
He then moved around among us, asking where it was that we were from, always being careful to throw in a wisecrack for audience appeal. Finally, he paused before me with his microphone close to his mouth.
“Well good evening, sir.” he said, just before extending the microphone to me, “and what is your name?
“Arthur...Arthur Graystone,” I replied into the microphone.
“Greystone, Greystone...? Well Arthur, where is it that you are from?”
“The US,” I replied.
“The US, the US...we just don't have many people who ever come here from the US, although a few of our company have traveled there a time or three. What part of the US are you from, Texas? Oklahoma, maybe..?”
“I am from the land of cotton, but that is close enough,” I replied, trying not to be specific.
“The land of cotton,” he replied? “I have heard of a few places in my life, but never that one. Tell us more about this land of cotton..”
“Well old times there are never forgotten...,” I replied, attempting to be general and sarcastic at the same time. I am like this for security reasons when I am out of the country, and many other places, than anything else.
“What are you expecting to find here tonight, sir,” he asked, holding the microphone to my mouth?
“Well, I don't know. I pretty much have an open mind about it all, to speak the truth.”
“Were you expecting to find something here...shall we say...enchanting...? Shocking...? Or maybe, completely consuming, with a high level of excitement...,” he said into the microphone?
“If possible,” I replied.
“Well I can tell you right now...., many who have come here have found this....and much more on nights such as this,” he spoke as a drum rolled in the background and the lights dimmed to the crash of symbols.
A circular light instantly appeared on the stage before us. In the center of the light stood a lone ballerina dancer. The dancer danced to a piano concerto for about three minutes, then paused, taking a sword that was handed her, and proceeding to swallow it all the way down to the hilt. She then retracted the sword, swallowing fat swords, thin swords, small baseball bats, and a variety of other implements.
She then swallowed one sword with a loop in its handle, seemingly to clench it hard with her very teeth. A hook then dropped from the circus top center that was tied to a rope. This hook was smoothly placed into the loop, and the string tightened, lifting the girl all the way to the tent summit, where she proceeded to dance a ditty all the while clenching the sword with her very teeth. Watching this act truly did cause my blood to chill, fearing what might happen to the young lady, should she twist wrong, lose her grip on the sword or some other mishap not yet conceived by my overactive imagination. Finally, she completed her act and was lowered back down to the ground.
“Let's have it now, for the one and only, Matilda form Maraviaaaaaa,” spoke the midget clown! “A sword swallower like no other. Who has other very interesting talents.”
The almost evil clown then walked up to the young girl as she arose from her bow on the stage. “Tell us about some of your other talents tonight,” he said, then extended the microphone to the girl's mouth.
“I can read palms, gaze into crystal balls and see into the future,” she said.
“Oh? Well that’s great,” replied the clown with a slight laugh. “What do you see for us here tonight?”
“Well, what I see is that one of us....one of us from the foreign crowd over there...is really going to get carried away here tonight.”
“Oh really? Well, that's nice! Can you see which one of the crowd will get so carried away?” asked the clown.
“I can't see that specifically, but I can tell you for sure, that the event will most certainly happen right here tonight during the time of this very show,” replied the girl.
“Well there you have it, good people of the audience. Right here tonight, during this very show, one of our viewers is going to be carried away farther than his wildest dreams could ever take him. Don't miss the action, right here tonight,” he spoke into the microphone with great excitement, trumpet announcements and drum rolls as the lights suddenly went out.
When the lights suddenly came on in about two minutes, a giant was standing in the center of the circle. This giant had the Guinness book of world records as being the tallest man on earth. He did not appear that tall from my seat, but when I walked up to him later on, I was shocked to find that I was only waist high to him. The man had very little to say but appeared to be a gentle sort of soul who, in actuality, gave the distinct appearance of being in immense pain constantly. His hands and knuckles were knotted in such a manner that betrayed the presence of severe arthritis. We all had our picture taken posing with him, then walked back toward our seats. When the people of the audience had finished posing and speaking with the giant and had retaken their seats, the lights suddenly went out again into a near pitch black darkness.
For about two minutes the lights remained out, then suddenly snapped back on, focusing on the center of the stage, where stood a very young lady. I gazed in a manner causing me to feel as though I was straining my eyes. The young lady stood poised, with both hands together and gazing upward, with her hands outstretched upward, but together, as if she were about to dive headlong into a pool of water. Another set of beams suddenly focused on a metal ring about four feet in diameter, with a loop of cloth in the upper center now at the top of the circus tent, but gradually descending, coming to a stop just above the young lady in a manner causing it to appear slightly out of reach.
The manner in which the light beams meshed together caused the lady to appear as if she ascended into the very air, to take her seat there in the center of the metal ring. She very skillfully began to move her arms in a circular manner reminiscent of a fairies wings, as her body moved all around the metal ring, appearing more as flying than a body simply moving. Obviously, the skill and training to accomplish such a feat had to have been rigorous. Gradually the ring of death moved upward until it came to pause in the very crest of the circus tent itself, now some thirty feet off the ground. As she moved, her hands appeared to emit some sort of dust or vapor, which bore the lusciously sweet incense type odor.....of the belladonna rose! As I breathed the fumes, I suddenly felt giddy, nearly euphoric from the magic power of the mist. I continued to watch as the ring of death gradually floated outward from its resting point until it came to pause above the forward point of the crowd.
I could not help but continue to gaze upward at the young lady, feeling as though I had met her before somewhere along the way, although I could not quite place a finger on the exact specifications as to where I had met her. She continued to flutter around the center of the ring, now suddenly grasping the center loop of cloth, to pivot herself upside down, with her face down and backward toward the audience...I seized a quick glimpse...I thought that I knew her! Slowly the ring floated again, until it seemingly came to pause just above my head, but yet slightly outward from me, in such a manner that I did not have lean my face backward just to catch a glimpse.
The young lady then caught the loop in the bends of her knees, hanging upside down with her face directly toward mine, she quickly moved her hands which gave the appearance of emitting the incense vapor bearing the sweet belladonna rose. I recognize her, I said in excitement to myself! I know you, I thought out loud! Then as she continued her enchanting upside down dance, I could no longer contain my self. I just had to spout out her name. “Esmeralda,” I said aloud! “I am almost certain that it is you!”
The young lady smiled toward me, then moved her hands faster, emitting more of the exotic incense vapor, causing me to breathe inward through both the astonishment of the moment and some mysterious force upon me exerted by the vapor itself. Suddenly, at that same moment, I felt my physical body arise...and move gradually toward the ring. I heard a gasp from the audience, but I dared not even as much as an attempt to glance downward, but only held my gaze steadfast upon the floating ring and fairy nymph.
My body gradually moved toward the young lady herself, who then called out my name as I floated near her. “Arthur,” she whispered as I neared. “I have something to show you.”
As my body neared the ring of death, to the very point that I could seize upon it, the ring commenced floating back upward again toward the crest of the circus tent. Inside the center of this crest, was an opening through which the ring now floated, until we both found ourselves outside of the tent, but inside a different dimension. My present reflection upon that moment gives me the feeling that we were inside some sort of hidden, spiritual dimension. I will go on and venture to say that the experience was metaphysical since it was certainly not one of the mortal realms.
We passed very quickly through an expanse of nothing but trees, moving so quickly that the very limbs appeared more as blurs than limbs where I could make out any botanical classification of the plants. The general feeling was one of being compelled to move inward as if going through a tunnel. Then just as suddenly, the ring came to pause in mid-air, gradually descending down toward the earth into what, no doubt, had to be the most beautiful spring meadow oasis that my poor weeping eyes had ever beheld.
“Arthur, I told you that we would meet again. I told you that we would see each other more than any could have ever imagined. But honest love knows when the love before it is just as pure, Arthur. Let what was intended to be, stand on its own, forever,” she spoke in a voice of whispering wind as our feet came to rest upon the grass of the meadow floor.
I gazed around me and the trees appeared to be of a variety that I knew not the classification of nor had even seen any pictures thereof. They bore the appearance of being some sort of tropical variety unknown to me at the time. Above me, I beheld fruits of a strange variety and type, giving me the feeling that they were tropical, although the meadow itself in its entirety, did not appear to be tropical, but in fact deciduous. The contrasts here in appearance baffled my mind to a degree that I could not arrive at any sort of conclusions about. Surely this really had to be one of the heavenly paradises, but the feel bore one of slight evil jest at the same time.
“Arthur, this is my home. You have food in abundance here and shall never want for anything. The weather remains the same here all the time, like springtime on the Hawaiian islands, both day and night. There are no bothersome insects or dangerous animals. The fruits and berries pack all of the nutrients that the body needs to thrive and do well. There is no need for fire since it is not necessary to cook or stay warm here, nor need to take life for meat and protein since the fruit bears all in complete nourishment. Ahead is a low mountain covered by forest, and a waterfall. Beside the waterfall, there is a ledge. Underneath this will be our new home. You have all that you need here for a complete endless life of perfect contentment. Come... be with me...for eternity.”
I was speechless into a surging numbness. I could hardly force myself to speak the words. I finally did so as I spoke the words, “Yes, I want to be with you forever.” The sound of the songbirds in the air seemed to increase in volume as I accepted her gracious offer, and I will never forget what followed my acceptance.
Instantly we were transported before a flowing, gentle creek, onto a knoll beneath what appeared to be the heavy outstretched limbs of a live oak. Instantly our clothes fell from upon our bodies, being caught by a couple of wrens and removed, followed by a couple of blue jays who placed upon our bodies brand new robes of lily white, gleaming as if the coloring were combined with the very light of the sun.
The time in this enchanted oasis appeared to be morning, and we stood beside each other in the direction of the rising sun. Gentle butterflies placed upon our necks garlands of flowers and beads of hardened goldenrod nectar on strings of fine freshly spun silk. Before us lay fruit in handwoven rush baskets of varieties both known and those unknown to me. Among them, I saw peaches, figs, apples, muscadine grapes, avocado and even what appeared to be banana. Ahead in the far distance, toward the rising sun spoke a voice of rushing water and thunder, for it was unto the being of eternal light that we repeated our vows.
Following our ceremony, we paused to have our reception amid the fruit. Many nearly forgotten onlookers from the spirit world arrived to congratulate us. In the crowd before me, I recognized my grandparents and many relatives long since passed on, that I had not seen since my distant childhood. The feelings of the moment were sheer ecstatic joy beyond measure. Not only were family present there that I had once known, but there were others of whom had passed long since before my birth and my time. I was honored to meet them all. I also got to meet her family and our unseen friends, the guardian angels, that I felt I owed so much to for taking care of us on so many occasions inside the realm of the mortal...and even inside the sometimes imposing venues beyond. As we made our way from the knoll by the creek-side, the cheering crowd accompanied us to the deep ledge, which would be our eternal home and the place where we would consummate our marriage that following evening.
Before that time, I asked her if it would be possible to contact my family back home, to tell them the good news of my new relationship and the outstanding events that had occurred in my life. She informed me that it would indeed be very possible and that she highly encouraged doing so. She handed me a quill pen and what appeared to be a sheet of vellum, telling me to pen the specific details of the events exactly as they had occurred. Following my completion of this account, she held out her right hand, upon which landed a white pigeon dove. Inside a joint of bamboo, she folded and placed this account, being very careful to tie the joint onto the leg of the dove with a band of silk. She leaned to whisper some words into the ear of the pigeon, and upon securing the message onto the leg of the bird, he then up and flew away."
