Halle's Rude Awakening

You probably know someone whose life was
changed instantly by a near brush with death .

Before this day life was one long sleepwalk; all
established certainties about physical or spiritual
things look now like childish dreamings.
Imagine such an awakening happens to you two
times in a row, then a third and fourth in a week, in
a year.
Anxiety Confusion Dread.
Modern science and medicine provide no
satisfactory answers or relief. Might you reconsider
embracing your familys religious traditions and
beliefs? Even regional superstitions begin to appear
plausible. But provided none, perhaps you must
create your own.
Here is the story of a young womans coming-of-age
by way of spiritual awakening.
Hers is not
according to the usual formulas, such as yoga, TM,
psychedelic drugs or Christian charismata. This
one comes to herself in a seemingly random,
spontaneous fashion just as was forecast for this
generation by historys far-seeing adepts.
--From the Foreword to Halles Rude
by Stephen D. Evans
Awakening
Halles Rude Awakening

By Stephen D Evans
Copyright 2009 by Stephen D Evans

Second Edition 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any
manner whatsoever without the written permission of the Author except by a
reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review or printing a purchased digital
copy on paper for personal reading.
Published in the United States of America
Los Angeles, California
Cover art by Stephen D Evans

FRONT: The specter depicted is named
Vision Serpent by archeologists. My cover
features Lintel 15 excavated from the ancient
Mayan city Yaxchilan. Image shows the
spirit of a god or ancestor emerging from the
serpents jaws and overwhelming the woman
who apparently summoned the vision. I am
showing the stone cleaved, so the spirit is
seeking to enforce reunification with a
dreaming woman.
The Serpent and World Tree (Tree of Life)
were important symbols in Mesoamerican
languages and mythologies (extended back
to earlier Olmec civilization, 600 B.C.)
representing reconnections or doorways to
the spirit world.
Observe how the ancient World

Tree motif resembles a Christian
cross symbol. Its significance may
have been similar also.
BACK: Chickpeas are laid in a

circle on the floor as a traditional
distraction for the cauchemar
spirit, hoping that he will be
occupied trying to count the beans
and leave the sleeper in peace.
iv
Contents
Foreword
Book 1. Cauchemars Country
Book 2. Baptism by Fire
Book 3. Hope Recalls Tomorrow
Book 4. Embracing the Beast
Appendices
vi
Foreword
You probably know someone whose life was changed instantly by a
near brush with death, either their own or anothers.
Concerns of life are suddenly seen anew: I was blind, but now I
see. Before this day, life was one long sleepwalk; all established
certainties about physical or spiritual things look now like childish
dreamings.
Imagine such an awakening happens to you two times in a row,
then a third and fourth in a week, in a year.
Anxiety Confusion Dread.
Modern science and medicine provide no satisfactory answers or
relief. Might you reconsider embracing your familys religious
traditions and beliefs? Even regional superstitions begin to appear
plausible.
But provided none, perhaps you must create your own.
Here is the story of a young womans coming-of-age, by way of
spiritual awakening. Hers is not according to the usual formulas,
such as yoga, TM, psychedelic drugs, para-psychological science or
Christian charismata. This one comes to herself in a seemingly
random, spontaneous fashion just as was forecast for this
generation by historys far-seeing adepts, from ancient Israeli
prophets Joel and Ezekiel to early-20th Century spiritualist Rudolf
Steiner or more contemporary Christian evangelists.
I have adopted an older literary style of philosophic dialogue,
interspersed with drama. So you will find my narrative returning to
an ongoing discourse between active scenes. The most vivid
sequences are Halles experiences across the threshold of
vii
consciousness; in a nether-region she calls Cauchemars Country.

Perhaps I overuse this device, but I did so with definite purpose of
emphasizing Halles contrasting perceptions, feeling most keenly
awake while her physical body slept. During such an altered state,
normal daytime sense-perception feels like dream-awareness by
comparison.
A growing worldwide community of accidental explorers victims
of incubus/succubus attacks, sleep paralysis, near-death or out-ofbody experience, lucid dreaming, alien abduction, and even
kundalini yoga all bear witness to the brightness and raw reality of
this legendary region of soul.
But Legend wont render it utterly false such an alternate
dimension of experienceespecially as quantum theorists are
positing multiple layers of unexplored reality. Far fewer in fact can
personally testify to the existence of an Antarctica or the alien life
forms said to flourish at bottom of the deepest seas.
I would dedicate this effort to members of the ASP-L Yahoo
discussion group: Joseph and Leslie, Odine and Lily and all the
other experiencers of Awareness during Sleep Paralysis who have
generously shared their trauma and their support during the past ten
years online.
Much thanks to my wife and fellow soul-sufferer, Linda
probably the only person on Earth willing to suffer listening to all
my wild tales. She is the one who believed me unreservedly and so
encouraged my own passage right through the darkest vales of
Cauchemars Country. Though her own sleep conundrum is of an
opposite variety, she is equally persuaded that darkness merely veils
the greater Light; surely as our sun continues to rule day and night,
even from the blinded side by way of gentle reflection.
And therefore, new daylight never ceases to dawn.
viii
Book 1
Cauchemars Country
I have always at least, ever since I can remember had a kind of longing for
death.
Ah, Psyche, I said. Have I made you so little happy as that?
No, no, no, she said. You don't understand. Not that kind of longing. It was
when I was happiest that I longed most. It was on happy days when we were up
there on the hills, the three of us, with the wind and the sunshine
The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing to reach the Mountain,
to find the place where all the beauty came from my country, the place where I
ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The
longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back.
-C S Lewis, Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold (1956)
Cauchemars Country
One
It's like I witnessed a horrible crime and never told anybody until
now.
Come here, Talle, were the words actually spoken. But Halle had
more to think about Much more.
And then I wake up to realize, the victim was actually me, not
someone else. It was always me over and over again.
So why do I feel like the guilty one? she said aloud to Talle.
I said, come here, the girl insisted. But her companion had other
plans and kept slinking right on by.
Alright then, be that way. Just leave me to suffer alone. Nobody
needs you.
Talle paused to glance back, as if measuring the girl's mood.
Go! I said, Go As if I really wanted you to listen.
Her full name was Adriana Halitha OMalle. But that name was
meaningless to Halle, a mixed up mess like the rest of her life and
her family, all meaningless. Except for TalleHe was the one soul
felt to love this young woman exclusively and most dependably. He
was her black shorthaired cat.
Halles heritage was meaningless to her mind, having nothing
really to contribute in her search for self-importance. She grew up in
the home of her mother, in a barrio of Los Angeles. Mom was
mostly Latina, dark-skinned like the grandsires of unknown race.
But Mother kept the name of her mother, OMalle, a fiery redhead
paleface from New York. Halle had never met her granny. Nor had
she known her father for long, though it seemed that Mom must once
have loved him. And the girl apparently inherited most from him,
milk chocolate skin and a Louisiana Blacks kinky hair, though
flaming red like her temper.
This morning, Halle was especially edgy, partly because a pesky

tune (or part of a tune) was tormenting her brain. And she was
watching for Mother to pace back in from the other room, wanting to
talk again.
The cat had been edgy too, though he felt better now that the girl
was provoked to holler at him. This was more like it normal. Talle
never minded the temper of his mistress. He just hissed back and
dug in his claws, expecting as ever the reconciling stroke of her hand
upon his bristled black back.
Come here, my totem, she called to him now. You hold still
while I make sparks. Halle didn't really know what the word meant:
totem. Like most of her names for things, she just liked the sound,
and it seemed to fit.
And so they concluded another argument, girl and cat, over
nothing in particular. Talle was just so very selfish, and Halle
couldnt stand it another minute. Thats how she talked at him
because thats how her mom always talked around her.
Yes, Mom said it a lot, about most anything that seemed to get in
her way. She would say it while leaving the room, probably to avoid
a pointless battle but especially in the wake of a young girls
insistent questioning about the dad who was never there. Halle knew
his face from pictures, and she thought she could remember his
smell, like strong medicine. Though one day, after ducking into a
liquor store to avoid crossing a pack of gangbangers, she recognized
the fume of strong spirits instead. Never since had she asked Mom
again, When will my Dayo come home?
A funny little rag doll thats all he left behind for his baby girl.
It was long and gangly, something like Mom had once described
absent father. It even wore a floppy straw hat, like the picture on her
dresser; that is when the big bone hatpin had stuck it firmly in place.
Poor tortured soulDemonized! Mom called the toy, Just like
your dad. And she would beg the girl to take out the pin, or else she
4
Cauchemars Country
removed it herself surreptitiously. Halle always thought it looked

funny, so she religiously stuck it back.
This day, Mother boldly confronted her daughter, one hand pressing
a sore hip and the other worrying a lock of grayed curls off an eye.
The girl was perched on her unmade bed, knees jammed up under
chin. Both postures were out of character. This was serious.
So tell me again. Mom sounded stressed. You were awake?
I was very awake.
So why didn't you call out or scream?
I did scream at least I tried, but no sound came out.
Mom was shaking her head now.
Mother, I couldn't even move, remember?
Yes, and you were lying on your belly when he . Mom
couldn't finish the sentence. It was too horrible to imagine. So Halle
finished for her, for the umpteenth time:
While IT climbed on top, crushing the air out me, and clawing me
and
Enough! The mother's brown face had paled to chalk. I
remember.
In fact, the mom did remember. She could never scrub that
memory clean, though the daughter knew nothing of this part of
Mom's history. Halle had been repeatedly pressed to retell her own
story about her latest nighttime attack, so she could only assume that
Mother was imagining the same again.
Then you awoke on your back. That's the part I don't get.
From where she stood, Mom could see four corners of the girl's
bare back beneath tank-top tee. Several marks shone redly, like nail
scratches in spots where Halle could hardly have reached to claw
herself. Mom didn't dare comment about the scratches, as the girl
hadnt noticed and was obviously already traumatized she could
see it in Halles eyes, a reflection of her own worst fear.
5
Was it truly her seventeen-year-old baby describing what the

mother was hearing? But there was no escaping it:
Why, oh why did I let him move in here? Her inner voice was
repeating it over and over and over, punishing her own
thoughtlessness. Now this it was not like Halle to look so
withdrawn, defeated and scared.
Ow! I still feel sore. The girl was trying to reach her back and
shifted her seat irritatedly. Mother winced as daughter continued.
Yeah, I woke up lying on my back, and IT was gone and I could
breathe again.
You woke up AGAIN. So you must have been dreaming.
Mother! I wasn't dreaming.
Much better, a spark of the true Halle spirit survived.
And that was how the story had always ended before today
before last night's physical encounter. Before it was always about
how the girl had awakened in darkness, unable to move and certain
that Someone or some Thing was in the room watching and waiting
a dark form, like a man but with yellow cat's eyes.
It is only your silly black cat, Talle, Mom would declare, bothered
only that her hormonal adolescent felt it necessary to over-dramatize
another normal nightmare.
Don't worry so much about it, her social worker had urged and
waived it off as temporary teen-age weirdness.
But this, here This was something else. And there were those
scratches, fading now into the rich bronze hue of a young womanly
back. Halle was turning 18 in two days.
I dont know, Momma. Maybe I passed out when the worst was
about to happen. Halles slender frame visibly shivered
involuntarily. But I dont think so I remember every minute and
every touch, right up until the moment I woke up the second
time.
6
Cauchemars Country
Mom was due again for her quarterly visit to the county welfare
office. She knew that the lady would ask and she knew what the
lady must advise. She was the one who protested loudest about the
elder brother moving in.
That lady is a man hater, Momma, was Halle's retort. Well, Halle's
mother didn't trust men either. That's why she labored so hard to
raise a child alone. It was her calling and her sacrifice.
But the brother he was Halle's uncle, their own flesh and blood.
They couldn't just let him rot out on the street. So
Yeah Paulito. You can sleep on the recliner, but don't let our
landlord see you. And to the girl Mother warned, Always remember
to lock your bedroom door, though I told the lady he'd never hurt a
flea.
Call the police NOW. That's what the social worker would say.
And that's what the mother's better judgment was nagging now to
walk right out and do. But she herself felt paralyzed, by disbelief
and by affection, by pity for her own brother; by doubt.
You locked up?
I always lock the door, Mother.
And it was still locked when you got up this morning. Halle had
already confirmed it, several times. The window was stuck shut also,
never once been opened while they lived there. Besides, it was a
fifty-foot drop to the stinky garbage bin below. Halle always left the
blind closed, though she secretly cherished the feel of veiled sun on
the window. And when Talle called up from the alley, she would
sneak a hand under slats to tap her answer on window glass before
running down to the door.
I don't know what to think, Baby. Mother's voice sounded tired
now. I don't know what to do. She was wondering about the
medical risk.
What to do? Halle echoed. What's there to do? Don't you take
me back to that clinic, Mother. I'm NOT crazy.
But that wasnt the sort of doctor Mother was considering, yet. The
girl had no idea what truly worried the elder woman; Halle was still
so innocent. But Mother knew exactly what Daughter was thinking
this moment reliving yet again the terror of last night's events.
Those horrible marks had reappeared, lingered for some seconds
while Mom just stared Then they disappeared suddenly when a
noise interrupted Halle's trance.
Someone was at the door.
Both women rushed to the front room, barefoot. Mom glanced at the
empty couch and exhaled loudly:
It's just him again, gone out and locked out. Maybe I'll just leave
him out
Morning, Mam.
Door opened to frame a tall uniformed figure. Police.
This gentleman live here? A familiar face peeked shyly from
behind the officer. Says he's your brother.
NO I mean, yes he's my brother. But he was just, um
visiting for a few days. Paulo, where have you been?
It was the memories, Conchita! the uncle was pleading. They
worry my dreams, and I had to get some real sleep. You say to never
bring home any you know.
Halle smelled strong medicine when he spoke.
And it was cold in the park, so this kind officer let me sleep at the
station.
You were in the jail? Mother sounded suddenly jubilant. All
night in jail?
We picked him up about nine-thirty after dark, Mam. Not the first
time, Mam.
Cauchemars Country
So he was out ALL night? Mom's voice was dripping with relief.
Halle, Baby your uncle was out all night.
Yeah, Mom so what else is new? Just some motherly
weirdness, thought the daughter.
The cop said that Uncle couldn't be caught out again in that
condition, else he'd have to face the judge next time. Mother was
gushing Thank-you's as she shut the door behind Uncle and shoved
him down in the chair; tossed the TV remote into his lap.
Halle found herself herded back into the bedroom. Mom snapped
the locking chain back in place and spouted, Girl, we need to talk!
Two
What did you say? Halle's face was screwed with confusion.
That French, or something?
Cauchemar, Mom said it again. That's what your daddy called
it.
My Dayo, muttered the girl. Mom, I want to ask you
something
Not now, Baby we need to talk.
Well, we're talkin' Mom! This was weird.
It's Creole actually, what your grampappy used to talk.
Yew nevvah tole me nothin' bout mah grampa, Mother.
Talle, the cat, slunk out from under the bed to jump on top and
distract his mistress.
Later, Babe and I told you not to talk Ghetto.
Sorry. Halle was apt to lapse into the street lingo of her peers
when especially nervous, angry or tired.
Your heritage ain't urban black or barrio, Mamma continued.
Oh, so am I Creole now?
Your daddy is well, his pap was, and his grampap, all island
folk.
This was the most her mom had ever cared to divulge of the
father's family. Why the sudden candor?
When Uncle Paulo mentioned his bad dreams about Vietnam, it
suddenly made sense.
Talle arched his back to greet Halle's nails, then head-butted the
girl's knee possessively. It was a comforting, calming gesture to the
child. She needed to feel what only Talle could make her feel at this
moment.
It's what your dad Dayo used to do Mother's face turned
to the window, before we parted.
Momma What did he do?
10
Cauchemars Country
Drank himself to sleep every night. It was cheap sleep medicine,

just like Paulo has to do. The woman sighed and looked back at her
daughter. Said he needed it to sleep because of the cauchemar.
Perhaps a flea just bit him. Talle bristled and dived under the bed
again.
Who is Cauchemar?
I never seen it, Halle but I think you did and maybe Talle
too.
The cat could be heard growling, like cats do when they are
trapped, paralyzed with uncertainty of the way out.
So, Mother told the story a first to Halle's ears. Dayo (that's
what Mother was calling him now), he heard about the cauchemar
from his grampa when he was just a boy of twelve or thirteen.
Grampap had lived and worked the Haitian docks until he grew old
and could no longer keep up loading his quota of bananas for
shipment to the States. The dock foreman the tallyman, they called
him might simply have sent the old man back into town, there to
waste away in the streets. But Grampap had earned some respect, so
Tallyman stowed him secretly on the next shipment like a beeg
bunch o bananas to New Orleans. Mamma laughed.
N'ahlens, he called it. Funny old guy, always singin' his banana
song.
And that's where Dayo and his pap were living, though none too
happily in New Orleans. So the grampa lived with them.
All men in that shack of a house, Mom sighed. Anyway, your
daddy was having very bad horrible dreams and told Grampap about
it the only one who would listen.
So the old man told Dayo about the cauchemar. Halle
interjected. And you still haven't told meWhat is a cauchemar?
I guess it's a nightmare, or what the Creole call it, but much worse
than most.
Halle went silent at this. Momma continued.
I asked a teacher to look it up for me once; said it comes from an
old French word for crusher, like a heavy body pressing on yours.
11
Now the girl was ready to retreat under bed, her green eyes grown
round like the cat's.
But Mamma, my nightmare is real, she insisted again. It
happens when I am awake, more awake even than now with the sun
shining on the window.
She was in tears, a very rare appearance. For the first time ever,
Halle wanted that window blind opened, despite the dirty glass.
Mother couldn't help but sweep the girl into arms like she had last
done years ago for a child weeping baby tears. This was not a little
one's bad dream, however. The baby girl was become woman, and
doubly so having been rudely awakened from the sanctuary of sleep
to be brutally violated by some manner of intruder, whether real or
spectral, it didn't really matter. To this woman it was as real as she
had ever dreaded suffering to be.
Mom I didn't say this before. But I thought I really thought
I was dead, that my body had died suddenly and that's why I couldn't
move. That's why I couldn't even scream for help.
Now it was Mom's turn to stare.
And somehow, Halle's voice and expression became distant,
Now that it has happened to me, you know, feeling that I died it
doesn't seem quite so horrible anymore Death.
Oh, Halle! Don't say that, Baby.
Why not?
Well, its sin talk it ain't Christian.
Ha! the girl exclaimed. She knew very well that Moms sin
talk was only talk. When did christian really matter to you,
Mother?
Don't you take that tone with me, girl. I was raised a good
Catholic.
Good? Catholic!
I'm warnin' you Just like I warned Dayo.
Momma, you're calling him Dayo now.
12
Cauchemars Country
And why shouldn't I. That's his name, at least what they all called
him. Always brought a smile to his grampappy's face mine too.
Momma's voice faltered. Thought the baby girl named her own
daddy, huh? Like one of your pets? Just like she named herself.
Halle didn't want to go there.
So you were saying about warning him?
Well, he insisted, Dayo did, that N'ahlens was the place be
something about bayou protection against wind and witches.
Expected me and my baby to pull up and shift back there.
And?
Well, I was the one with a good job, our only job. He was fightin'
the nightmares or the liquor or whatever most every night. Said
N'ahlens was the only place safe from hurricanes and earthquakes,
Cauchemar and all the evil spirits. But I wasn't about to take my
baby into that environment. I seen what they do there when we was
courtin', Dayo and me. It's hellish, it's unspeakably wicked, and it
ain't Christian.
Now this was the longest and most thoughtful speech that Halle
had ever heard her mother make, even when she was angry. Usually
it was another I can't stand it another minute and that was the end of
it. Mom would be out of there. It was clear now that the mother was
not going to leave and she wasn't anywhere close to shutting up.
You never seen the like, Baby. And Mom moved closer to hiss.
They do voodoo over there.
Just then, Talle crept cattishly out from under the bed, looking
bored and hungry. He scaled bed and dresser in short skilled leaps to
land atop a higher shelf, his favorite perch. It was also the spot
where Halle kept her Dayo doll. The little man dove headfirst to land
between Halle's feet atop the bed.
Mother snatched up the doll.
Voodoo! She declared, holding it upside down in triumph. It's
creepy and pagan and and it's not Christian!
13
Mother yanked the bone hatpin from the jolly man's head. And
now with that prize safely in hand, she swept herself from the room.
It was a sort of game they played.
Halle lifted the abandoned doll in one hand, its unsecured straw hat
in the other and called after the mother:
But MomI wanted to ask you something
14
Cauchemars Country
Three
What is it, Baby? Mother expected the girl would chase after her,
if only to retrieve the hatpin. But there were things to do in the
kitchen. Mom wasn't angry. In fact, she seemed rather self-satisfied
and cheerful now.
Halle continued her question:
There's a song, a really irritating tune that stays in my head after
every you know, after Cauchemar visits.
Mother didnt answer, her mouth busy whistling as she worked
not the first time, though louder than habit this morning. She
usually had no idea where Halles head was at. The mother daily
agonized that her daughter didnt freely share her inner world. She
missed sorely the young child that would externalize every
imagination. But for some years now
Why must she await such sheer desperation to confide? At least
the girl had finally seen fit to risk it, telling ALL of it. This
cauchemar thing had already unmanned her husband, waylaid a
noble soul from happy hearth and home; now she discovers it
pirating her babys very innocence right from under Mothers nose.
No more! Not if she could help it. Her worry and her role was
somewhat reconfirmed.
Mom was better at singing than whistling, but this time Halle
attended spellbound.
Whats that tune? Its the same. Thats it, Mom!
Halle listened to another stanza, then whined, visibly wilting,
How do you always know what Im thinking?
I dont, Baby. Its just that the song came back with talk of Ol
Grampappy. Its the banana boat song.
So she started singing now, while pacing busily between breakfast
table and fridge:
15
Me loadin' de banana boat all night long

Day de light and me waan go home
All of de workman sing dis song
Day de light an me wanna go home
Day-O, day-O.
Day de light an me waan go home
Day! Me say day oh!
Halle had never heard those words or that funny accent, like
French vanilla swimming in chocolate syrup. But she must have
heard Mom humming the tune before, maybe when she wasnt
aware. For some odd reason, it made her throat and stomach go tight,
her eyes misty with longing, like an attack of severe homesickness.
Suddenly Mom spun her body apace, kitchen apron billowing out.
She clasped Halles hand and a shoulder to spin them both in a
swaying dance, her warm womanly voice lifted in another strain of
the boat song.
Me loadin' de bananaboat all night long
Day de light an me waan go home Hey!
All of de woman dey sing dis song
Me coome ya far wo'k,
me na come ya far idle
Me coome ya far wo'k,
me na come ya far idle
The girl could hardly believe her mothers jubilance, especially
after the horrors of last night, the events of the morning.
16
Cauchemars Country
Coome Missa Tally Man

tally me banana
Coome Missa Tally Man
tally me banana
Six han, seven han, eight han
Bunch!
Nine han, ten han, leven han
Bunch!
Day! Me say day oh! Hey!
Finally Mother launched herself away from dumbfounded partner
to land seat-first in the closest chair. There was flour on her face and
a black curl over one eye. But she sighed with satisfaction.
Chita! What you been drinking, hey?
Go back to sleep, Paulito. The girl hadnt seen this side of
womans nature for as many years, at least. But the Mom noticed
and answered the big question marring Halles brow.
I dont know why Im so happy now Yes, I do know. Just
relieved that things arent very much worse. And the talk of your
DayoMY Dayo. That is, what he used to be.
Maybe he can be that Dayo again, Momma.
Oh no, Baby. Mom stood up, suddenly bothered and busy. No,
I dont think that can ever be. We did the right thing, Halle
staying in L.A.
17
Funny, Halle mused and smiled. The momma stays in L.A. while
the daddy goes off to LA Louisiana. Well, maybe the baby girl will
head for LA too.
What you saying there, Girl?
Oops, shed said it aloud. But Halle danced out the kitchen to her
own room again.
Nothin.
Mom could be so weird, though the daughter rather liked it this
time.
It was Halles eighteenth birthday. Today this new woman had a
votea liberated woman though she hadnt a clue what to do
about housing and feeding herself. Besides, that was the
governments job. Always had been.
No more nighttime attacks. The birthday girl slept straight through
two nights without ever waking to feel watched, suffocated or
restrained. Even at this sobering age, the girls self-composure was
resilient, the haunting and horror all but forgotten. Of course, that
never stopped it before from happening again.
But today it was a day for new hope, for plotting the realization
of old dreams. Halles favorite dream was dancing like the kitchen
waltz with Momma, but with her Dayo instead. She had a vague
suspicion that the jolly man had been wont to dance just like that
with his young bride. Mothers steps seemed quite practiced, after
all. And surely a new daddy would dance with his baby girl likely
singing the very same song. That must be where Halle first heard it,
as an infant, perhaps.
Halle had dropped out of school months ago. Momma didnt know
or didnt say so if she did. And at eighteen, the new woman
couldnt be forced to go back. But then, there was that welfare
check. No more dependent-care money.
18
Cauchemars Country
This girl was no stranger to work. She had spent most of her
truancy volunteering at an urban garden project; many days all alone.
Its what she cared about, religiously just some bushes and flowers;
a few vegetables (city rats got most of those); but no fruit trees.
She always wished her garden had trees, for a shady place to
lounge after sweaty work and to ponder over good and evil. All the
trees in their neighborhood were diseased or trashed by graffiti and
lack of care. She dreamed of having a personal tree, just like one
ancient oak at a reserve where her 5th grade class once visited: space
under its canopy as broad as a cathedral, so peaceful and holy.
That was truly a sacred place. Besides, more trees meant healthier
breathing for people and all the innocent creatures like Talle
like the baby rats she scolded him for catching.
So Halle came home most days exhausted, wearing smudgy jeans
and smelling of damp soil. She let the mother think it was afterschool sport, more probably another scrap with a boy who dared to
defy her glare.
Actually that had happened only once. Mom took the train to work
every day, to the far end of the Valley; never got home until eight or
nine. And she never seemed to worry much over this girls safety or
society such a prickly temperament so long as the daughter
wasnt dating any older boy. Her figure was nice; maybe a bit on the
thin side. But most were persuaded to avoid that crazy chiquita who
would readily explode in a scathing verbal reprisal.
Looke at her eyes, Mahn! Thus she became known for her
venom green devil eyes.
Even the hardest thugs knew to respect her rage and generous
command of vocabulary. It just made them listen spellbound, the fact
that she never suffered speech impediments of common street slang
and cursing. Halle always found a better word, a more colorful name
and retort. They wondered, too, what the tough girl carried hidden in
her school pack.
Halle never showed.
19
Truly, Halle didnt hate boys (not any more) but she preferred the
company of adults, her environmental allies and Talle, of course.
Talle served to define some safe limits for the growing girl. Nobody
else cared to do so, effectively. But she had learned well when not
to talk back, where not to walk and the quickest short cuts out of real
harm's way.
Hey, Hal. Want to meet me at the skate park tonight? one of
the braver, friendlier guys.
Cant Got a date with Talle.
Oh well didnt know you was spoken for.
Yeah, Talle and me, we got it goin.
Dont go doin nothing I wouldn do.
I should have been born a boy, Halle thought, though she never
said it to any but Talle.
And that night at home:
So Baby think you might be bi? Was that really her mother
talking? Mom did that sometimes, out of the blue, just to test her
daughters sensibilities.
No Mom. Best just to take it in stride never react and give her
the satisfaction. I dont like girls much.
Every guy I ever met likes to see his girl in a dress sometimes.
Well no guy has this girl, none except Talle.
She said it now, because she knew it bothered the mother. Moms
Catholic childhood still made her worry about such things. Halle
was so independent and boyish all the time, too much like that
haughty black cat of hers.
But next morn, Halle had awoken to find a flower-print skirt
draped over the bedstead. It just made her mad, her personal
preferences crossed. But she knew where to make the dress
disappear. Even so, she just couldnt stand even Talle for the rest of
that day.
20
Cauchemars Country
But today, and tomorrow what was Halle to do? Their household
couldnt afford to be without the child welfare money. She was no
child any more. It was up to her now to decide. And it wouldnt do
to discuss it with Mother. In fact, Halle had snuck herself to the
county office after school hours last week, pretending a question
from Mom. The lady was suspicious at first then seemed
impressed that this girl was showing some maturity. No, best thing
would be for Halle to get a paying job now. Volunteering was nice,
but even the government expected their welfare graduate to try
growing up, to become a tax-paying citizen.
Heythat aint for me, Lady. Halle had marched back out to the
street, cool as a cat, self-assured as her cat that something or
someone would come along to take care of her too. Thats how the
universe worked, Survival of the Luckiest, or pluckiest. Thats just
how she had found Talle in the alley outside her window one night,
barely out of kittenhood and too sassy to hide from the other cats.
No, Mom wouldnt have to worry any more.
Momma cant worry about me Shes got Uncle to care for now.
So by birthday evening it was decided. Mother talked like she
wanted to dance again, but Halle was feeling too old for that.
Thanks, Momma. Thanks Uncle Paul. The cake, the cash its all
great. Just what I wanted. She was tired now. Thought she might
go to the thrift shop down the block to look for a new dress or
something.
Oh that sounds fine. Said Momma, but there was doubt and
confusion behind her stare. Something told her that her baby girl
had other ideas.
Two nights later, when the commuter bus dropped Mother off, Halle
wasnt found at home. Paulo went out to check the parks and youth
hangouts, even asked his friend the cop for news. But nobody knew
where the girl they called Hal might be.
Ask that Talle dude, man. One voice answered, perhaps a jive.
21
Back home, the Mother was seated outside on the building front
steps. It was her turn to feel homesick. An empty clothes hanger
was in her hand. She had known exactly where the girl was hiding
the flower skirt. Now it was gone. That old school backpack was
gone. Talle, the cat, was missing too. Mist clouded her vision, but
Momma forced herself to gaze upward, imploring the heavens.
The Los Angeles sky, usually hazed over with carbon emissions
and bright city lights, actually sported some lights of its own that
night. The Uncle was stumbling back toward home and his easy
chair around midnight, when he heard the warm womanly voice
singing the same old tune slowly, haltingly:
Star-O, star-O.
Star a come and me carry me load
22
Cauchemars Country
Four
The birthday money was just enough. Halle knew her way round a
bus station. There had been talk of her taking the bus alone to New
York where her granny still lived, many months ago. This venture
was all her own design, though the Red Bull and Fruit Loops
salvaged from Moms cupboard wouldnt last very long. Only the
girl of the house ever ate that stuff. She also had several cans of
Talles food in the school pack and wondered how that would taste.
Funny, she had never thought to try it.
Her cat was in the bag too and definitely not happy. Last stop
had presented one of her greatest challenges, explaining away the
scratching and growling sounds to other passengers.
Its just a video game you know, one of those handhelds kids
play with on the bus. I cant get it to turn off Its for my cousin
Hes younger.
Dont it run on batteries?
Uh, yeah. I guess so.
Well, they better run down soon.
One disembarking old woman, paused to whisper something to the
driver. He glanced in his mirror, but nothing else.
Halle smacked the bagOuch! Talle, stop that A cats claw
had found a hole in his fabric prison. Halle sucked blood off a finger.
A nicer lady handed her a clean tissue.
Them batteries bite, huh?
Air brakes hissed and bus engine quieted again.
Last stop! announced the driver.
The side door swung open. There was a yowl and sudden ripping,
and somehow the cat was out. Before Halle could react, the door
swung shut and the bus was off again. Nobody else had even
glimpsed the black tail disappearing outside. Halle was sitting on the
opposite side, but she sprang up anyway to try and see out a window.
Nowhere any sign of her totem.
23
With tears overflowing her eyes, Halle stumbled forward.

Excuse me, Driver? I just need to get off.
Last stop, Missie.
I need to get off now!
That was it, Miss. This bus don't stop again fer fifty miles.
Halle's tone was desperate: But sir, it's urgent. I lost my
something.
You can go back for your somethin' at the next station. It's a
cross-country line you knew that when you got on.
Oh please, please, please
He tossed a hand off the wheel, gesturing outside.
Look, we're on the frikken freeway. No way to stop, lest
somebody's dyin'. Is you dyin'? No? You don't look it. Then sit
down Pleeeeze.
I may as well be dying, Halle thought. But she dare not mention
the cat it was against the rules. And she had no money left to pay
for a return ticket.
Back at her seat, the girl was weeping in earnest.
That nice lady was still there. She must have noticed the rip in
Halle's pack.
Had a cat once. Bad boy stole it and dropped it way up the
Hollywood Hills. Musta been 30 mile but wouldn't you know it,
that old cat found its way home.
Talle's never been hardly a block from my Mom's house.
Hey, we was only a few blocks from the station there. A warm
hand brushed Halle's arm. Bet your Talle's been further off than you
think. Cats, they do that you know.
Yeah, Halle had to admit. He'd been gone for days at a time, and
Momma had said the same. Never did have him fixed like the
landlord said they were supposed to do. Talle would turn up at home
again, begging for breakfast, sassy as ever.
Somethin' else is 'bout to get out of your bag, Sweety.
It was the Dayo doll.
Oh! she hollered. I can't lose that. Thanks.
24
Cauchemars Country
The lady fumbled through her purse some seconds.

Here, I got some mendin thread and needle. Always carry it, just
like my grandmammy used to do.
Uhthanks again? Talle had no idea what to do with it.
That's alright. Here, let me do it for you. My hands need
somethin' to do on the road.
Conversation was easy with Loyola. It made the hours pass
quickly. She would be stopping in Vegas. Not to gamble No, she
had a step-mammy there. Halle finally asked where she was from,
originally.
Oh, you notice I don't talk like the L.A. black folk. She
chuckled. Grew up in the other LA, just outside of N'Awleans.
Halle almost leapt forward, a big smile stretching her face.
That's where I'm going! My Daddy lives there at least he used
to.
Well, I wasn't goin' to ask. But here goes You old enough to
travel by y'self, I hope?
I turned eighteen two days ago.
Well congrad-ye-lay-shuns, The lady fluttered her eyelashes and
handed back the mended pack. But that don't answer my question.
Halle told her whole life story by the time Loyola was saying
goodbye. She told everything except about the shadow man in her
room.
Should never have told even Momma about that, she mused
recalling the evening before.
Halle had barely hidden her pack under the bed when Mother
rattled her bedroom door. Said something about how the priest might
come say a prayer, exercise the room or something. Halle just said
she didn't want Padre poking around her eternal soul, as it could take
care of itself. Momma left the room looking really worried then.
Anyway, there had been no other intrusion that night, and second
thoughts about leaving home were vanished.
25
Loyola left Halle with a warm hug and God Bless. She said
something about a church in New Orleans where she knew the
minister real good.
I wrote down his name and address for you, Sweety, and left it in
your bag. Preacher's wife is real nice too.
Halle promised to look them up and mention Loyola's name to
them. Then the bus was ready to roll.
Halle spent the next hours reading a Cosmopolitan she found under
a seat. Nobody else was the talking kind. By dark, the box of Fruit
Loops cereal was empty.
Well that's stupid, she scolded and dropped her pack with a
clattering clank. Oh yeah! It's cat food for dinner.
So some hours later, after dozing fitfully, the bus stopped in
Kansas City. It was another hour's wait for the transfer going south.
Halle had forethought to bring a can opener for Talle's meals. The
meat was greasy and fishy, and she wished for some crackers, at
least, to crunch with it. About half way, she couldn't take it any
more. Even the smell on a finger made her gag. So the open can
was shoved under a bench where another stray creature might find it
before the cleaning crew would notice.
Back on the bus, three people sat right next to Halle's chair, one
after another. One by one, three people got up as quickly to distance
themselves. She opened the window a crack and popped the tab of
another Red Bull, hoping to wash the fish stink off her breath. Oh
well, she didn't want any more company now anyway. There was
nothing to see but lights outside. The night air was warm. The girl
was too tired to even wonder how far morning or the next bus stop
would bring her.
Sleep finally settled Halle's mind and soul.
26
Cauchemars Country
That same hour, the stars over Los Angeles were attending the
mother's sad song. Some minutes after Paulo ducked inside, Mom
shut the door between home and her daughter, then thought to do the
same with the girl's empty bedroom door just so she might not
panic upon first sight of open door in the morning.
Whats this? The lamp was still shining by Halle's bed. Strange to
see the blind pulled up, baring the window to darkness. Mother
noticed the bed had been made that morning, stepped in to switch off
the light, shut the blind when her eye scanned past the upper shelf.
Tally Man! The woman swallowed hard.
Yes, Halle had taken her Dayos doll as well. For some reason,
Mother's worry was somewhat soothed by this discovery. She wasn't
used to praying, not without her beads. But the words seemed to
come of themselves to lips of Madonna grieving for the only child of
her young love:
Tally Man Oh Tally Man. Please protect our baby girl.
***
As if in reply, another voice spoke, though no air is able to carry that
sound.
Halitha is her name, he said to another such as he. One cannot
say that they physically stood by. Their feet are not made of such
stuff as could rest on a tour bus floor. Yet there they stood, looking
over the resting passengers, speeding 70 miles per hour across the
plains of Nebraska.
Her name, replied the other. It will take a while to get used to
these gender changes. The last I watched, this Man was a he.
The mother has good reason to worry, continued the first voice
with a distinctly elder tone. This soul was awakened again by the
shadow-self only two nights ago.
There's another duality. I will never grow accustomed to it. They
tell of certain lesser earth-kin that still see the light during their
night. Yet the sons of Man, for all his advancement of spirit they
27
live now as if the cosmos were inverted: Day become Night and
night turned to day in their eyes.
We are only here to watch, Brother. No need for concern about
her spirit-self. That will awaken to the Light in due time. A man's
Name, like all the One's children, is concern for the First alone.
Grace, fellow, sighed the other. I will wonder as I please. I
know and trust full well that this one's destiny is secured by the First
and Last. Though waiting does tire.
The elder voice was conciliatory. Pardon. Our mission this night
won't suffer long, then we can step out of this wearisome time to
refresh ourselves in Paradise.
Until we are called yet again Halitha will achieve full waking
quite soon, I perceive.
Not this night. But harken! The spirit stirs.
***
Halle screamed. At least her mind was screaming, crying desperately
for help. She could hear her inner voice raging and bellowing,
though it made no audible sound. Her panic was utter, so Halle
judged as she stood in the void beside herself. It was appalling, her
own bankruptcy of courage. That realization made her screaming
pause. If only she could move a hand, or just a finger, a toe, then
perhaps the spell would break. The noise was awful. It was like a
swarm of bumblebees in her ears. And the more she focused her
attention to resist paralysis, the louder it grew to a vibrating roar.
Halitha, uttered a thought or was it a voice? very calmingly.
No need to fight. Just relax and be aware.
No! hollered Halle's mind, resisting the urge to simply yield,
trust and rest.
She knew that the dark shadow would be near again. It was
waiting there in the blackness. It was ready, like a great cat of
cosmic night, ready for the moment when its chosen prey would tire
and stop struggling. Then it would pounce with bared claws and
28
Cauchemars Country
hissing in her ears, crushing weight atop her defenseless body,

pressing breath from her lungs and her life.
But I'm already dead, Halle paused to consider. Either I am dead
or in a coma. At least her mind was working somehow independent
of her body. How could this be, except that she had died? A
terrible accident, the bus torn to pieces, body parts everywhere.
Oh, poor Momma.
Then another thought seized her attention, an even worse idea, if
possible. What if her body wasn't dead after all? What if Halle, its
true consciousness, had been ripped out to allow another or others to
usurp her rightful place? So here she was, awake, able only to think
at herself, left out in a cold void to exist bodiless, voiceless, painless
no, definitely not painless. And her body she had despised her
body on past birthdays, however now she discovered desperate love
for physical selfhood Halle needed that scrawny, kinky-headed
form of flesh. It was hers, and nobody else had any right to it! What
are they doing with it now, those others ghosts or demons maybe?
She never believed in such before, but anything was possible now.
They must be marching her body around like a puppet, a zombie,
terrorizing the whole busload of passengers, performing atrocities,
shredding her good name. And maybe then, when they tired of their
evil sport, just for spite return the skin and bones to her control, a
bloody mess, a travesty of its original beauty, an abomination to
live out the rest of her days in tortured shame.
Halle suddenly realized that the roaring noise had subsided. It was
eerily quiet, and she felt nakedly alone.
Laughter.
No!
Jeering voices. Singing, ugly, chanting demon voices like
savage children chattering underwater.
29
What's that tune? I know this song. No, please not the Banana
Song
The words were changed, the message nonsensical and crude:
Come meesta shadow man
Tickle the banana
Come masta shadow man
Prickle the banana
Come monsta shadow man
Squizzle the banana
Smackle, pizzle, snortle, throttle THRASH the banana
Daylight GONE and she never go home.
(More cruel, squeaky, uncontrollable laughter.)
It felt like a sacrilege, like monkeys trashing and fouling her
Momma's church.
Stop! That's my daddy's song. You cannot ruin my Dayo's dance.
You can't!
***
I recognize that rogue spirit there.
Do you remember his name?
His true name, yes. In fact we used to watch together, ages ago,
before the Deceiver bent his desire.
The younger voice moved confidently toward the singing,
sweeping arms like great eagle's wings, calling the intruders name,
speaking spells of order and peace. Then he uttered The Name in a
tongue that mankind has long forgotten.
The teasing tune fell silent.
Elder cheered the younger as he took the arm of another slender
shadow hiding in a corner of their traveling space, shepherding the
specter back to its proper host.
Masterfully done, Brother!
30
Cauchemars Country
The Man is rejoined.

Didn't they name a city for Halitha?
Yes, back when she was a he.
Oh, but there have been many souls borne of Hals spirit since
then, my friend half of them woman.
Hadn't we better step aside before this one spies our presence?
the younger suggested.
You make me look like the novice. Of course, Brother, elder
deferred. My attention lapsed.
At least the offender was kept at a distance this time.
That is clearly why you were chosen follow me now.
***
Halle sat up straight in her chair. The bus driver (third one since
leaving L.A. depot so early the previous morn), he had placed a hand
on her shoulder but never had to shake her from sleep.
Sorry for the rude waking They make me chase everybody out
while the coach gets a cleaning.
No, it's okay. I need to get up.
You can lie down in the station until we get back on the road.
No thanks, Halle answered, overly sincere. I can't sleep again
now. Never again. I don't dare sleep again.
What's wrong, young lady? Bad dreams?
No Well, something like that.
He was a friendly old guy. Said Halle reminded him of his
daughter. She declined at first to join him in the sandwich shop. But
then he guessed the truth about her empty purse and insisted that a
bus driver needs company to keep him alert ... his treat.
I'd consider it an honor.
Oh, alright. Halle followed. This was just the distraction and
refreshment her battle-worn soul was hungering for.
31
Five
Shortly after noon of the new day, Halles bus pulled up to New
Orleans Station. She had no other luggage, just waved to the driver
and set off down the closest street. The streets name Loyola, like
her first friend of this adventure. Halles steps were stumbling in the
direction of a sign directing tourists to the famous French Quarter.
Her trim body needed sugar. Even the Red Bull reserve was gone.
The city buildings started out modern and very tall, but within a
few blocks Time marched quickly backwards to where the buildings
were many decades old, more like the dingy browns and grays of her
own neighborhood in East L.A. Signs turned her steps down Canal
Street. Another few blocks landed her at the corner of Bourbon.
It was a very dark canyon formed by monstrously high buildings
suffering rapid decay. But there seemed to be a light at the end of
that tunnel. Besides, it was where the tourist signs pointed. So Halle
plunged into cold shadow, her pace quickening nervously.
Suddenly shadow yielded to bright sunlight and brilliant color.
Time had warped again, it seemed. These structures appeared like
picture-book illustrations from centuries ago. The view down every
corner illustrated a new chapter of an old pirate tale. There were
enchanting roof lines and ornate iron balcony rails, and flowers
window boxes of flowers, hanging pots of flowers, crawling vines
covered in blossoms of every hue. She passed uncounted touristy
shops, cafes and breakfast inns before her feet began to ache. A
block beyond Orleans Street came Saint Ann. That sounded safe,
somehow. After a short rest at the corner, Halle decided to turn her
tour toward the sun, and another couple blocks opened view to a
park.
Trees! It seemed ages since Halle had seen trees. A gap under the
iron fence invited her to enter the park and wander in among their
32
Cauchemars Country
roots. One grand old trunk welcomed her to sit under its branches, to
rest some more and to reconsider the way she had come.
It was a church; Halle was sure, this castle-like cathedral that
commanded her gaze. It looked just like a fairy tale castle with
pointed spires atop twin towers. An old city clock crowned the
monstrosity of a doorway. The parking lot in front, instead of cars
and busses, harbored display areas for artists of varying styles and
talent. Racks and easels were paraded like soldiers awaiting
inspection. Many of those images, she could see from her vantage,
featured the cathedral itself in miniature.
This was a good spot, seated safely up against her tree. It wasnt
so crowded with tourists and traffic. Though Halle hadnt cared to
engage any person passed on the street last hour, she continued to
feel the need for solitude here in this big strange city of all places.
Well, the girl hadnt forgotten why she was so determined to travel
here of all places. But how was she to find the right address for
her daddy? He had never written his baby girl, or the mother, not as
far as she was given to know.
A church. There was the Church of all churches, a sanctuary for
sinners and kings. If she had cared to read it, a placard explained
how it was named after St Louis, one of the latter kings of France,
though even an urban-school graduate would be challenged to
describe an Old World king as saint anything. Churches kept
records; Halle knew that. She was watching a retinue of robed nuns
disappear into the entryway shadow.
Then a neglected belly growled. Actually, this girl was used to
ignoring hungers pleas for whole afternoons at time. But this day
she had skipped both breakfast and lunch. Three more cat food tins
was she starved enough to do that again?
No way, Sister!
33
Halle was on her feet next, brushing leaf and bugs and gumwrapper litter from her jeans. But a sudden thought made her pause
to unshoulder the school pack again. Carefully folded and stuffed in
a side pocket was the mothers flower print skirt. Even this young
pagan knew that a girl shouldnt enter church without a proper dress.
So she pulled the skirt up over jeans and brushed back her hair. But a
glance at her reflection in a park pond made her go back under shade
to reconsider the pants. It had been ages since this girl went bareshinned and shed brought no other leggings. Anyway, the air was
plenty warm, so the sister backed up against her tree and quickly
stripped off the jeans not daring to look if anybody was watching
and before she could chicken out. At least she had chosen flip-flops
for the journey.
Clopping steps echoed loudly under the arched entry. Halle's
shadow merged into the yawning darker shade and disappeared
within.
Archives is round the other side green door facing the garden. So
the gift shop clerk directed Halle.
This frigid church lobby was already raising bumps on her exposed
calves, so she didnt pause on her way out to study the niche
paintings and murals and statuary. One glimpse through ancient
wooden sanctuary door revealed a cavernous hold bedecked with
lacquered pews, trimmed with gold and red opulence and crowded
with hundreds of doll-faced icons some frescoed, some sculpted,
some of boldly-crayoned window glass though the cathedral was
empty of worshippers that hour. It was the freelance art outside that
attracted Halle, so she detoured her path back out onto the street,
weaving extra steps in and out of the lines of stalls. Most paintings
depicted scenes of the flowered Old New Orleans town. Curiously it
already felt familiar, like a city she had once called home.
It was a narrow stone-paved alleyway leading down one side to the
back of the church. Trying to avoid the chaos of street caf chairs,
34
Cauchemars Country
Halle almost tripped against the post of a single street lamp planted
carelessly out where nobody should expect it. Otherwise, she had
really liked the charm of old world gas lamps neatly lining the walks.
The church garden was visible now between tall iron fencing bars.
She thought what a shame it would be to jail her own urban garden
like that. Bit of a walk round the corner through the single entry gate,
and she beheld unobscured the trimmed lawns and bushes, the bone
white statuary. It still looked more like that other kind of churchyard
to her. The green office door was obvious from there.
Excuse meIm looking for a relative?
A gray-robed monkish fellow swiveled his desk chair to face the
visitor.
Living or deceased?
My daddy, actually.
Living? Well we keep Birth, Baptismal, Confirmation,
Marriage and Death records mostly.
Address?
Usually, but it might be outdated. The man paused to stare over
his reading glasses at the girl. Most researchers [throat clearing]
make a small donation.
Halle just stared back, having no ready retort for what appeared to
her mind as attitude.
But then the churchman observed a hollow-eyed earnestness about
this young womans face and turned back to his desk. There was a
boxy computer monitor on one side with its own keyboard attached.
A lot of the parishes are slow converting their paper files. But
Heaven has blessed us with an industrious staff you know,
because of all the tourism here.
Halle remembered the wealth of dcor and imagery she had passed
inside the church and compared it mentally to the scarcity of cheap
paintings in her mothers Los Angeles chapel. They had one lone
statue there of a Jesus child, paint flaking off the face, its mother
Mary having long ago been absconded by an aggrieved deacon.
35
Name?
Halle, she answered nervously.
H-A-L.
No excuse me, thats my name. Daddys name is Dayo um,
spelled like the song, I guess.
The song? He turned to look back over his rims again.
You dont know the song. So she conceded the obvious spelling.
I can tell it to search phonetically too. They both endured a
pause for the computer to consider the matter. Halle hadnt been
around many computers, even at the school. But to her, this
technology held no fascination. She didnt even like TV so much.
The machines answer was rather too quick and conclusive.
Nope thats funny, actually. It usually returns a list of
something, but no, nothing even close, it seems. Thats assuming, of
course, that your father was baptized a Catholic in a NOrleans
church.
The girl looked blank as the computer screen. This place was
depressing.
I could widen the search to cover the whole of Louisiana.
No thank-you, Halle replied quickly, anxious to walk again. Its
Nahlens or nowhere.
Oh, well then, he sounded impressed, Your dad must have been
from here if you heard him say it that way.
I didnt, but thanks again. And Halle was out of there.
Where did the sunlight go? That was the girls next thought as the
green door shut behind her heel. Even that big stone memorial by
the gate was hidden in fog. Everything was dark and wet and
insubstantial. This church garden graveyard, prison yard felt
unwelcoming, ethereal and creepy all of a sudden. What kind of
weather is this for a city? There had never been anything like it in
L.A., not that Halle could recall. It is typical of a river city, of
course. But the young girls foolish inexperience was beginning to
tell on her nerves. The heavy haze was making her brain feel thick.
36
Cauchemars Country
They call it dead reckoning, what Halle did next, probably

because lots of sailors died that way. She blindly aimed in the
direction she thought the gate should be and launched herself. A
couple bushes stumbled her progress, but her hands finally docked
with the iron fence, and that guided her back out the gate. With a
vague notion of regaining her tree, the lone girl cast off from the
fence to navigate open street. The way was simple, she thought, but
it was too early for lighted street lamps to provide safe beacons. Why
were there no people out to follow? It was truly impossible to see
anything, even her own hands outstretched lamely before her.
Halle turned where she believed the alley started, but there was no
familiar landmark in view, only a gray soup with darker shadows.
Her steps paused, then continued at a crawling pace. Worse, this
lonely environment was eliciting painful memory of the recent
night's dream-world horror, feeling that the mind calling itself Halle
was sundered from its body. The same awareness now haunted her
soul again. Her ears started ringing with that boundless terror. What
if there were others, like her, bodiless Names awakened rudely from
churchyard graves to drift anchorless on a collision course with other
misdirected tourists?
Yow!
Ow Just a cat underfoot, but the sudden feline scream started
Halle's heart to throbbing noisily. Then sudden pain, real pain,
assaulted her numbed senses with a bell-like clamor. A black
lamppost had crashed against brow and shoulder; her forward
probing hands having failed to warn of the barrier. She hadn't hit it
so very hard, not enough to draw blood though the noise was
certain to signal other wandering wretches.
AHOY THERE. A gravelly, bodiless voice bellowed in one ear.
Halle felt the panic rise. Then a toothless grin with heavily
medicated breath invaded her face. Deep blackness surrounded that
ghostly visage like a hooded angel of death. Where its eye belonged,
37
there was only midnight nothingness. If Cauchemar had a face, this

is surely how it would appear.
Arrrrrrr, me missy.
A claw groped and grabbed awkwardly for the girl, hooking her
school pack instead. Halle tried to cry out, but her voice was
paralyzed, same as the nightmare. Her breath froze for an eternal
moment of indecision. Then she slipped a shoulder free of the pack
to bolt headlong into the void without it.
That same grating voice called after her confusedly, but Halle was
too distraught to parse intelligible words. The fog turned abruptly
cold, like air inside the stone cathedral. Only one obstruction tried to
trip her retreat; it yielded with a racket of splintering wood and
flapping canvas. A womanly voice protested squeakily. Halle didn't
care anymore which direction was which. It was fear for the very
existence of her soul that impelled her flight, lest that monster of
death and decay catch her up and consume her forever. This she
knew full well from prior trial against the curse of Cauchemar.
The ground began to drop. Bruised feet slipped down a dampened
grassy slope. Then it was rocks, sharp-edged rubble. She stumbled
and jammed a knee between two larger stones, barely escaping a
serious break. There the exhausted body crumpled into a heap of
utter defeat, panting like a crazed deer beneath the consciousness
named Halle. Another hollow voice called from the unknown
expanse of fog aheadjust a lonely boat horn. Water was lapping
the stones just inches from her face, the wake of a passing barge.
Halle had paused earlier to study a tour map showing the French
Quarter streets, like an island trapped within one loop of the great
Mississippi. She didn't realize til now just how close was the water,
though she might have run for miles for all she knew. But there
would be no further escape this way, not by foot.
38
Cauchemars Country
Six
A lowering sun broke through the fog as suddenly as the veil had
first fallen. And slowly now, as her breathing normalized, the girl's
mind began to clear. She was appalled, and soon scolded herself for
reacting like a girl. Just look what shed lost her only change of
clothes, the last of her emergency food and the single valued
keepsake defining her childhood. Halle had really thought she was
made of tougher stuff. Then she recalled to herself how very real
were the cauchemar attacks. For some moments back there in the
fog her mind had been persuaded to believe that the nightmare
shadow hunted daytime alleys also.
And look at her knee, now! If only she had worn the jeans after
all. She wiped a bloody scrape with the back of her hand, then
rinsed the hand in a splash of river water. Yuk! This water was
brown, like mud and mold, and smelled like it too. She knew better
than to wash an open wound with that.
The girl wanted a nap. Her head and face felt weighted down with
fuzzy lethargy, thick chords of fatigue pulling incessantly at her
consciousness. But rocks would not make a bed. And the river really
stunk.
The south side of park fencing was clearly in view. No, she hadn't
run far after all, but Halle soon discovered that somebody else was
using her tree. Too weary to care, she sidled up against another and
slid down slowly to a restful seat. Head thumped dully back against
the firm trunk and Halle's body yielded to a spell of slumber.
Halle's mind didn't.
***
Vigilance, Brother Our human soul wanders, warned the elder
voice.
39
I see, said the younger. Yes, look. She abandons her bony
sheath readily now. Were you anticipating it this Day?
Truly, no. But we shouldn't be surprised. This soul of Hal is
maturing earlier than previous sojourns.
That is clearly so. The younger moved as if to intercept the path
of their charge.
Not so close, I deem, warned the first again. She may yet
perceive our company.
I realize that imagination continues to distort her sight; I don't
want to alarm either you or she. But observe how the soul is wont to
wander afield.
If she goes too far, her body will protest and enforce the
Rejoining. Elder continued coaching younger. I have witnessed it
many times this Season, how the Curse serves to protect innocence,
even as the Blind is lifted in stages.
So you judge that her awakening will bloom?
If not to full fruition, at least enough to pass some spirit seed for a
new ensheathing.
I urge you, Friend, hailed the second in charge. We should
follow apace.
***
No paralysis interrupted her separation this time, else she was too
battle-weary to notice the passing just a short space of noise in her
head, then peaceful silence while her mental body rose to explore.
Halle's awareness was momentarily distracted by sensation of a
very bright light, intense energy emanating from just behind her field
of vision. In fact, it seemed in this otherworldly environment
that her eyes had focussed to a narrower band than familiar daytime
sight, a sort of tunnel vision. But she could see far when she wanted
it, exquisite clarity of focus stretching for miles ahead or wherever
she directed attention. Sight had become like an arm outstretched,
able to grasp at will across impossible expanse.
40
Cauchemars Country
And thus Halle's self-consciousness growing keener with every

stepbegan touring the city streets of Old Town New Orleans again.
Somehow, by some unthanked blessing, her perception remained
blind to other entities lurking there. Halle was nowise prepared for
such encounters yet, or so her guardians directed. Yet this late 20th
Century consciousness was never alone. The timid soul was
observed secretly by other spirits some with growing admiration,
others with trepidation, yet others with eyes glazed hungrily like
hunting beasts. None dared approach, however, while Watchers
attended.
Halle noticed that her stride was different also, more like skating
than stepping. It was odd, yet oddly familiar. She remembered a
spell of this same sensation now from a prior dream adventure.
This however was no dream. The ground felt solid and air rushed
refreshingly through prototypical lungs. She could whack a
lamppost with an open hand so the ringing metal resounded singing
in her ears. The whole environment stone sidewalk, dormered
roofs, glistening windows, sprays of flowered vines cascading over
balcony rails it all felt and looked as real as the prior daytime trek
from the bus station along old Bourbon Street and down to her
welcoming tree. In truth, it all seemed now far more substantial,
incorruptible enduring and alive.
That's the difference, Halle tagged it finally. Even the bricks, the
stones of structure or street, they glowed with an inner life, a
radiation like black light illuminating the plainest and deadest old
rock, revealing a hidden rainbow of color at its core. Even invisible
air vibrated vitality, a happy blend of virtual viols and pipes. She
felt that the very empty spaces would burst out in song any moment.
There was no shadow here be it despite or more probably because
of the great Light following her progressno shade was cast by any
object in sight. And that observation triggered the girls one pertinent
memory of prior wanderings: Where is the shadow man? This was
41
certainly the domain of Cauchemar, though Halle was not paralyzed

this time. Magically, she was free to explore, to stand, to act.
A thought prompted her to scan the corners and doorways, then she
stopped to turn and examine where her own daytime shadow usually
lurked.
There it was Cauchemar? Surely that was the specter itself. It
appeared to be wearing a coal-black robe, face obscured by hood
fashioned of the same. Suddenly, Halle felt again its dark restraining
power, but only her throat this time, and even that shackle was
shaken loose with newfound resolve.
Why do you follow me?
Yes, Halle spoke; her voice did not fail. It sounded first like the
words were echoing, but in fact they were emanating from the sky
and the air surrounding both entities. It was the voice of a god; no
mere man could speak thus.
Cauchemar cringed. It was just the other night, the girl had
suffered this horror. Then it was towering over her prostrate body.
And those claws, the same had sought to plunder even her innermost
sanctum. Yet now its beastly hands were hidden under dangling
black sleeves and the threatening form appeared so small, like a
mutant child instead. Or perhaps it was Halle which had grown,
Alice-in-Wonderland fashion.
When the cauchemar simply stood there, without even civility to
answer, Halles soul grew bolder and she heard her voice
commanding again, Beat it, you Creep! Leave me alone.
Cauchemar retreated a pace, then stopped. Halle pursued, waving
her own arms like twin-edged blades of Judgment. You are no
longer wanted here I order you to be gone!
42
Cauchemars Country
Then the shadow made itself even smaller, a shrinking dark stain
under brightening light, and slunk spider-like into the tiny space
between buildings.
But Halles attention was suddenly diverted to another curiosity.
Her own hands, held now just in front of her eyes! They too looked
smaller than she remembered lately to be normal. They were also
hands of a child, a little girl and they emanated their own inner
light, far brighter than the stones were glowing, translucently shining
Life.
Beautiful, the young woman declared, then giggled.
That was a word she had never dared use for herself until now
because now, for the first time, this soul could see some part of itself
truly. Next moment she was laughing and dancing uproariously, a
joy overflowing much like her mother had tasted back home in L.A.
***
I feared we had lost sight of our assignment.
Right on schedule, Brother. Observe how the flesh yet endures as
anchor, its strands finally pulling back upon the soul to moor it
safely, though blindly, for yet another Turn in its embrace. This until
the moment appointed when those tethers must break, setting the
soul free for a new Night.
Yes, another Season for Watchers to labor.
I'm not sure yet just how widely she will wake this Day. Behold,
the Firstborn beckons.
Truly, it is to her, to the soul of Hal that He gestures.
If the First is wont to awaken her now, who will dare to thwart
His intent.
Or prolong a spirit's Hals enchantment.
Perhaps the One will reveal the childs True Name during this
Orbit of Earth.
That would be a wonder, my friend. An adventure and reward
well worth all our labors.
43
The elder sighed with pride. She has already begun to show
herself courageous and able to overcome the cursed terror borne of
Hals fall.
She has grown duly grateful for Blessings and respectful of the
Wise.
Such was ever the beginning of awakening true Sight.
Let us leave this child of Adam for now. She is absorbed safely
in her new soul-perception.
***
A folding of light into space, and Watchers were attending
elsewhere. Halle's dream body spun another stanza of delight.
44
Cauchemars Country
Seven
The officer prodded gently with her nightstick.

Sorry, dear. It's time to shut the park gates. You need to find a
hotel bed.
Halle got up rather quickly for a body having just arisen from deep
sleep. It was clearly because her mind had not slumbered.
She exited the main gate of park square and shuffled across the
street to stroll by another row of art exhibits. Sadly, one easel lay
flattened on the pavement, a thin leg broken into three pieces.
Apparently its owner had recovered her masterpiece safely, as a
canvas stood propped on the ground against another rack.
Halle was still pondering her latest quest across the sleep divide.
Like most, she had believed that boundary to be another sort of iron
fence keeping self-awareness out. Now she discovers that some part
of the fence, at least, is actually a gate allowing access into another
realm of consciousness, a kingdom all her own. The graveyard of
shadow was revealed to be lush garden after all. And there had been
a final vision, most perplexing, like peering at a box or cabinet from
the inside perspective an impossible feat for physical senses. Only
this was a container made of fabric.
Of course! It must have been her missing school bag stolen,
rather. But lots of help, such a vision. Better to have seen where the
perp was hiding it, instead of what was hidden inside. And what was
that she had spied? Money cash? Halle intuited somehow that it
was a twenty dollar bill. But how could that be, really and truly? All
her money was spent on bus fare. Just a dream? No, that was
nothing like a dream.
One thing for sure This girl was going to find her missing bag
before anything else. No thief could be interested in Dayo's doll; it
was special to nobody but her. So when he found only cat food cans
45
and nothing else of value, the whole pack was probably cast aside for
rats to raid instead.
Thus did Halle conquer her terror and set course again for the
dread nightmare alley.
Yup, thats what the sign said: Pirate Alleynever noticed it until
now, at least not consciously. Halle could see clearly down the
length of narrow street and beyond the rogue lamp. Bodies littered
chairs set round sidewalk caf tables. And the closer she drew the
braver she grew, yet feeling quite silly and humbled.
They were costumed bodies, dressed obviously to entertain passing
tourists. One was made up as a medieval court jester, complete with
pointy-toed booties and bells. A woman wore white petticoat skirts
with black felt bodice laced up in a spider web. Her bonnet marked
this character as a serving wench. Then there was a pirate blacked
teeth and gold earrings and a three-cornered hat And yet another
pirate, slumped down on the ground with legs splayed out like hands
of a clock, his back propped up against the lamppost. This last was
the only one who moved when Halle came near enough to study his
face.
Arrrrrrrrr. Missy, he groaned gruffly and saluted. His black
eye-patch was askew, but he had enough presence of mind to yank it
back into place before the darkly hooded head dropped again to loll
in sleep against his hairy chest. The faux pirate's snore sounded like
coarse gravel shaken inside a big bass drum.
They were out cold, all these N'ahlens clowns. Mugs deposited on
the tables were empty; one final pitcher of dark ale was mostly
consumed. The medicinal stink was sickening, though the cat didn't
mind it at all. A fluffy gray friendly creature finished sniffing
Halle's shoes and started rubbing in semicircles against her shin. Its
elevated tail tip was tickling the inside of her bare knee, but that was
a familiar and welcoming sensation.
46
Cauchemars Country
So, you're not scared of these hooligans, are you Kitty? Halle
stooped to massage the arched furry spine, just as if it were her own
totem at home. Tears rushed up to fill the girl's eyelids.
Alley Cat ain' no feared a nobodee announced a richly accented
voice it belonged to the bronze and blue-eyed woman standing in
the caf doorway. Halle admired how the lady had kinky locks like
her own, only jet black and framed by a patterned red scarf.
An she always coome bock to make frien'ly wit' de tourist, even
when dey trip and stomp on dya tail. She wore a long skirt,
patterned like the scarf and loose-fitted tunic with a low-cut arching
neckline to match her very broad smile. Halle had never seen a face
with quite so large a mouth, though the lady was bewitchingly
beautiful.
Young woman greeted elder; observed a simple cross dangling
prettily from the shop ladys silver necklace chain.
Ya cane call me Mamba May, like ev'ybodee ailse do. Then lady
turned to enter her shop, as if expecting all guests to follow. You
readee far gumbo?
Halle didn't know what gumbo might be, unless it were a sort of
chewing gum. Her belly wanted more than that, and she didn't have
anything to spend. But she found herself following anyway and
making comfortable conversation.
What's her name? she asked.
Who? Ya ask 'bout de floozy ou'side? Or maybee de alley cat?
Yeah, I meant the cat.
She name a Alley Cat.
Oh Of course.
But and here Mamba paused to confide in a hiss, Juxt
betweens you an me, a b'leeve she be loo-wa in shape a dya cat.
Halle just shook her head.
47
Mamba responded, Oh you learn soon, how lwa serve de vodun.

An de humans like you an me, we mus' scrash de backs far all de lwa
sp'rit, an make dem frein'ly, far shoore.
Now the girl was really lost, no clue what this speech was about,
though the sound of it was hauntingly musical. The timbre of the
woman's voice had changed just then, lower and woody, less
feminine. In fact it felt rather alien, so Halle changed the subject.
I actually came to look for my back sack. You know, like kids
use for school? I was passing by and one of your pirates took it
from me.
Oh now, do'an ya go blemmin' dem pirate doin's on Mamba May.
Dey have dey own tribbles, mine you. Her voice sounded humanly
enchanting again. Anyway A nya'va know dem ta hurt nobodee.
Halle felt somewhat humbled by this and admitted, Well maybe it
was an accident But did you see my pack? I looked all around
outside.
Do'an you worry, chile. Sumtin turn up it always do at Mamba
May's. And Halle found a chair scooted out for her, so she sat.
Now, ya be ready far gumbo an rum?
I don't have money for anything.
Only twenny dolla Dat pay far ev'yting: Gumbo, bread, rum,
bed an dya prayer meetin' far free.
Halle understood about bread and bed, all right. Well that sounds
good, but maybe I can wash your dishes or something to pay for the
night? Then I won't bother about the prayer meeting.
Oh, but dat de bess part, Garlee. You do'an wa'an ta miss dat, no
sirree. An do'an worry 'bout none a dya dishes. We tek care a
comp'nee at Mamba May's.
The gumbo was good, just a sticky chicken stew unconventionally
spiced and slopped over rice. The rum was even better, sweet
molasses to the tongue and red-hot candy going down. A basketful
of biscuits was quick to empty most went into a pocket of her
skirt but Mamba May promptly refilled the basket and the rum.
48
Cauchemars Country
Two bowls of gumbo was all the girl could contain. Waiving off the
third round, Halle sat back again. That's when she saw her Dayo
doll.
It was set up on a display counter among dozens of other similar
dolls of differing color and dress. Anyway, it was obvious that they
belonged together, being of common craft and design. On a stool,
next to the counter, was Halle's school pack also in plain sight.
Nobody had stolen it after all. The proprietor obviously propped the
prize where a searching tourist could spy it.
Tally Man look good daya wit he own folk.
It was my Dayo's doll What was that you called him?
Who was dat? You say Dayo!
Both questions hung oddly in the air a moment while the two pair
of eyes searched each other's.
49
Eight
Huh I ain' heard dat name in de while, no sirree.

Halle stood suddenly to attention: You know Dayo?
So dat what ya really coome searchin far Mamba May no
dummy.
He's my daddy. I came all the way from L.A. to find him. The
girl seated herself again, deliberately quieting her response.
Do'an ya git yo'self too shoore. Maybe Mamba can he'p ya look
up dis Dayo, an maybe na.
Oh, but I would do anything I'll work a whole week for you, no
pay except maybe some leftover gumbo.
Ha! Like Mamba May need dis garlee ta wo'k. The lady leapt up
and disappeared into her kitchen. I gots all dya help a need, far
shoore. Do'an know what to do wit it all.
Halle got up to put the Dayo doll back in its pack pocket. But she
was startled suddenly by the shop lady's shout:
Heya you leezay bums! Mamba May stood in the shop
entrance again facing outward. Shake off dya sleepy spell. Spozed
ta be mekkin more business far Mamba, but ya scare all de customer
away. Rise up. Open dya eyes. Time far Prayer Meetin.
One, two, three of the costumed sleepers answered by stumbling
back in the door to follow their mistress right through the main shop
and down a narrow stair. None seemed hardly conscious enough to
notice the stranger present. Halle couldn't help but tag along
curiously.
It looked like a basement room with walls and floor of closely
mortared stone. It felt like a cave; echoed like one too. What kind
of house would contain rooms like this? The serving wench woman
turned up gas lamps set at intervals along the walls. Light revealed
strange stains on the floor. Halle shuddered when she mistook them
for blotches of dried blood and then corrected her perception. It was
rust from the sawed off stumps of iron bars set in stone, whole rows
50
Cauchemars Country
of them marking where cage-like structures once divided the room

into smaller cells. A dungeon, Halle muttered to herself. Mamba
was right beside her.
Dis here de Spanish jail, long ago, waya dey put pirates away.
Now it be chu'ch, way dya pirates pray. She chuckled at her clever
rhyming. Mamba May seemed to hear everything, even thoughts.
More were arriving by the minute, and everyone seemed to have a
job getting seats and equipment ready. Halle tried to seat herself on
the stone floor and one dark woman offered a flattened cushion. But
bare legs and dungeons do not comfort make.
Excuse me, Mam, the girl called to Mamba and bounced back up
to her feet. I will be right back. There's a pair of jeans and a
sweater in my pack. The lady was already seated in prayer posture,
humming in a low descant to herself, eyes closed. But Halle was
certain she must have been heard.
From the kitchen, Halle could hear more ruckus out on the alley.
She had just pulled on warmer clothes and slung her pack to head
back down to the dungeon room. But the voices made her pause
while still out of sight.
It's time to go inside now, Mr Lafette. It was a strong female's
command, probably the same officer who had moved Halle along.
Awww, protested a familiar gravelly groan.
You know we can't allow anybody to sleep out on the streets.
My mammy gave me this here street
Yes, I know. The buildings, you mean. They give me the street.
Even planted this ol' lamp here fer me.
That's what you say every night odd place to put it; stubbed
my toe against it again last week.
More grunts and groans from both voices.
Get along now, J.B. Im sure you're wife is waitin' the meeting for
you.
Nah May, she don't care if'n I show or no.
51
Good night, now. See you tomorrow. The officer's voice was
fading off, while heavy boot steps entered the shop.
Oh, why didn't I just slip outside while I had the chance? Halle had
never really thought herself a praying sort of soul.
Panic threatened to flood the girl's middle again, when the same
boots tramped straight into the kitchen like he owned the place, but
she rebuked the thought and stood her ground. Halle's pirate almost
tripped, then caught himself with a hand against the sink, never
pausing as the other paw grabbed a ladle. Large iron stewpot was
steaming atop the stove. He still hadn't noticed the slender intruder
when he lifted the lid to serve himself a bowl of gumbo. Nor did it
startle him to spy the girl finally, apparently thinking a customer had
followed him there.
Oh, 'ello You prob'ly lookin' fer the prayer meeting. Jist run
down the stair off'n the main room there, and you're sure to see the
mambo and all.
He doesn't recognize me, Halle perceived, relaxing a bit. But she
hadn't moved or answered aloud.
The pirate glanced at her again, then put down his bowl.
Aww, that's alright, he said gruffly, but not unfriendly. I'll show
ye. She's gonna torture me if I don't attend anyhow. So Halle
found herself following rather than running from this dark man.
Alley Cat followed too.
The other worshippers had followed their leader's example, one by
one combining another humming voice in unison with Mamba
May's. Halle had been vaguely aware of the strange song rising in
volume up the stair. It was wordless, almost a voiceless tone. But
when tardy attendees re-entered the hall, words began to emerge
amidst the chorus like heads of ancient creatures surfacing from the
depths. A drum joined and soon led the rhythm, then a tambourine.
Bodies began to sway and some voices broke out to add awkward
52
Cauchemars Country
harmony. One young boy wore a funny sort of vest, made of sticks
or bones, that chattered under his drumstick like a washboard in
counterpoint to the drumbeats. Soon Halle was feeling waves of
vertigo the whole room seemed to sway like ocean swells dancing
to the music. She couldn't yet understand the language, though they
sung mostly in English, the thickly accented Creole kind.
All were seated in a circle about the room. Halle discovered
herself seated also on the cushion saved for her return. Even her
pirate was swaying contentedly opposite, still oblivious to their
unfortunate meeting earlier that day. So she decided then to drop it
also, forgiving the seeming assault and the scare. Now was a time
simply to rest, let the senses go numb and the mind drift carelessly.
A smoky scent filled her nostrils, Probably moths burning in the
lamps, thought the girl. But then the clear aroma of incense
prompted Halle to reopen her eyes.
In the area enclosed by their circle was set a dark object alone. It
was a little clay pot with three stumpy legs. From this rose fumes of
incense burning upon coals inside. Mamba May stirred from her
cushion to crouch; then kneeled just behind the pot. She sprinkled
some flakes over the coals. Smoke and sparks flashed up to the
ceiling; bouncing reflective glitters off the polished steel Celtic cross
upon the wall, larger version of the one adorning Mays neck.
Music stopped abruptly. The hall went still. Halle felt suddenly
wakeful and alert, her mind sharp as a nightmare's fright. Something
was about to happen.
When the mambo seated herself, the drummer responded as to a
conductor's signal, playing slow and steady single beats. Nobody
moved. All eyes stared straight toward the center, attentions
enjoined like a single shared apprehension. Halle hadn't noticed at
first how the drum beats were steadily, slowly, growing more rapid
in tempo and louder in force, then varying in tone as the drummer
began beating different corners of the skin, the rim and woody body
of a hollowed trunk. Meanwhile one woman the same that had
53
prepared Halle's seat she moved, rising first like the incense
smoke, only to crouch again like a beast, a lioness a horse.
Yes, that was it. She was walking about, center stage on all fours,
pretending to trot and to canter, gallop and finally stop. But it was
only to turn and rear up, then down for another four-footed run round
the other direction. She wasn't a wild beast. This creature wasn't
free. The woman was being ridden, forced to serve as steed for a
cruel master or mistress. It was an invisible rider. Halle could see
the woman wince and startle with suppressed pain, to quickly change
direction and stop whenever the unseen whip landed or heel ground
ribs. It was a bizarre sort of torture for both captive and onlooker.
Like a living puppet, this soul was being robbed of freewill. How
long would it last, this violation of sanctity, abomination of human
integrity?
Foam of spittle gathered round the womanly mouth, sweat glazed
her shins and hair stuck to her amber neck. She was tiring quickly,
soon desperate with fatigue. But now it was Halle suffering the
blows, the awful weight of oppressor. Her imagination had returned
to the secret curse of her adolescence, when the safety of bed and
sweet dreams had been seized by a deathly terror, replaced with
horror and dread. Many nights she had lain awake through lonely
hours, too frightened to allow traitorous sleep to trap her again in
tortured darkness of suffocation. Surely, she must be rendered
helpless again, unable even to cry out in the agony of knowing that
dreaded Presence was near a dark man, a monstrous beast with
gripping claws and unclean appetite. He would grab her and mount
her, crushing the very life from her, and worse enslave her soul in
demonic sport around the void until all but the tiniest spark of
selfhood was chased from her spirit. And there it would remain to
suffer everlastingly, perhaps. Halle didn't really know. But the
question and the doubt was itself a painful sort of fascination.
The girl's body had curled up on itself, rolling forward in a tangled
knot of flesh and fists. Her head ached for lack of oxygen and hope.
54
Cauchemars Country
The shadow man had finally tamed this creature, rendering piteous
beast from human spirit. At least that's what Halle felt it to be. She
didn't shout or make a scene. She only whimpered the word, what
she believed to be the name of her tormentor:
Cauchemar!
The woman's prancing dance ceased suddenly. Her face looked
bewildered, like she had just awakened to find herself out of bed in
this odd posture. Nobody had expected the pause. Not now, not yet!
It wasn't time for the lwa spirit to dismount. This human soul had
been serving the will of another, and she had not heard the small
outside voice intruding. But lwa heard all. The spirit was offended,
or perhaps it was merely distracted from its purpose there. The
ceremony was pointless now, game over. It would search elsewhere
for entertainment.
The drumming too had faltered and paused. The boy lost his artful
grip and let fall the wooden stick with a clatter on stone. All
worshippers' eyes turned to the mambo. Confusion ruled the
moment, and the appointed performer just shrugged her shoulders:
I do'an know what be happenin', Mamba May. Dya lwa up and
lef' me. He be gone now. Daya be no prophecy fra vodun tonight.
Mingled voices moaned in protest from all around.
55
Nine
No, that poor, exhausted woman hadn't even heard the strange girl's
utterance. Nor had any other worshipper. The mambo, however
she fixed her deep blue stare directly upon the guest, Halle.
What ya say, Garlee? There was tenderness and compassion in
her tone, mingled determination and wonder on her face.
Halle untied the knot that her own torment had made of her limbs
and sat back down, simply relieved now that the nightmare wasn't. It
was embarrassing, the room full of eyes turned upon her alone.
I'm so sorry. Did I say something disturbing?
You say, cauchemar, Mamba declared in her most ethereal
voice. Perhaps another spirit had whispered it to her inner ear. You
scare awa' all udda vodu.
Halle could only shrug her own innocence.
You muss be strong, Garl. She have a mighty sp'rit. The room
of worshippers moaned now in agreement.
But why you talk 'bout de cauchemar? Coome hya. Let Mamba
looke at ya agin.
The blue eyes set amidst africanized skin and features lent this lady
unearthly magnetism. Time stopped for some moments, so that Halle
would have been content to continue the examination indefinitely. It
was Mamba who finally broke the spell.
So cauchemar been huntin dya Halle garl? It was May's friendly
voice again.
He did a lot more than that.
But ya mus'an nya'va run fra dat one. Den it catch you far shoore.
Betta ya stand straight an tell dyat hoodoo tallyman waya ta go. The
lady demonstrated with one hand on a hip and the other raised to
poke a finger at Halle's forehead. It made the girl giggle.
Meanwhile, all the prayer patrons were filing out, having aleady
stashed the meeting stuff out of sight. Halle couldn't mistake the
56
Cauchemars Country
meaning of some glances disappointed, bothered, accusing, awed.

Their leader followed the girl's worried stare to the other faces.
Deez folk was juss wantin a word fra lwa tonight. Dey have many
question, like chill'en, much worry an only sp'rit know dya
answer.
And I somehow trashed their chances.
Na, do'an blem youseff. It be cauchemar mischief.
Of all the company, only Halle's pirate remained. He had just put
away the last cushion and was heading for the stair.
You look familiar, young lady, his bass voice boomed. You live
'round here? What's your daddy's name?
The lady of the house interjected, He name a Dayo.
Dayo! J.B. was surprised to hear it too.
You go get suppa, Missa. I coome along soon.
So the pirate stomped upstairs, still staring back at the girl, while
the hostess led Halle through a side door to a dim corridor. There
were many doors disappearing into darkness down its length.
Alley Cat! she called.
A feline cry answered from directly behind them he had been
there waiting all along.
Show Garlee to dya room now. Then to Halle, Alley Cat show
de way and keep you comp'ny far de night. We talk soome far
breakf'st.
Halle said thanks and rushed to catch up with the eager cat before
its waving tail was also swallowed by darkness.
The mambo called after her, Toilette cross dya way. You need
sometin, jus holla.
Good thing I don't spook easy, Halle assured herself as kitty paused
to sniff at a dark room, then another. The floors and walls were all
stone here, like the hall. But when her guide finally turned to enter
one room, the girl was pleased to find lamp light shining upon a
comfortably decorated space. It didn't feel like a jail cell at all. Cozy
57
bed beckoned to weary bones. Her pack found the floor and Halle
landed directly atop the bed.
So that's her trick, she laughed, watching the cat finish his own
bowl of gumbo. It had been set there obviously to attract a greedy
cat. Just a word from the hostess clued kitty that a treat was waiting
in one of the rooms. And Alley Cat could always find it.
A quick detour to the lavatory and Halle was ready for bed. She
could bathe in the morning way too tired to bother now.
But sleep wouldn't visit just yet. She couldn't believe the fickleness
of flesh, having hardly slept on the bus trip either. Perhaps a part of
her feared that the nightmare would follow here too; though it felt
safe to her soul, even after that bizarre demonstration.
What was that poor lady doing? Reminded her too much of abuse
she had suffered herself. Do these people really know what they're
about? Halle wondered. It certainly didn't look or sound Christian,
just as Mother had warned. Worried nerves just wouldnt relax.
Finally, Halle decided that another dose of gin might help. She left
the bed to sleeping cat, grabbed pack and stepped out barefoot on
stone to retrace a path to the kitchen. Her foot had just landed one
step short of the stair top when sound of conversation arrested her.
I tole you, Missa. Dat garl iss olda dan she seem. It was all May,
no mambo.
Aw, what you sayin'? Protested the pirate voice not so piratelike, now that he was sober. She's hardly more than a girl. That's
obvious.
De body, shoore but what bout dya soul? Mamba say she be
olda dan May.
Yeah, right.
Halle remained on the stair, out of sight.
I jis knows it. Give dat wooman a shance and she be mamba in no
time.
58
Cauchemars Country
Sounds like hooey to me, May.

Mamba do'an ever speak hoodoo! You know betta, Missa.
Just a rumbling grunt in reply.
Wheen dya garlee looke in me eye, she see May and den she
see Mamba, far shoore.
Can we just go to bed now? This ol' body had a long day. I feel
like a truck ran me down.
A sigh of womanly resignation followed and she spoke in tone of
endearment spiced with irony, So you wo'k all day, Missa L'Fyette?
Maybe tallyman send ya home rich now, hey?
Chairs scooted and steps sounded. Something made Halle dash
back down into the shadowed stone corridor. Not until all was quiet,
did the girl creep all the way up to the kitchen for her drink.
On the way back again, flickering candles turned her glance. It was
the counter displaying Mamba's voodoo doll collection. It appeared
now this was meant to be a sort of shrine with fresh votive candles
placed there to chase away darker spirits. There was no standard
size, dress or color to the dolls so it's no wonder that the most
familiar shape stood out to Halle's eye.
How did you get back up there? she exclaimed aloud, though
whispered. It was her Dayo doll, set back up in the cozy company of
its peers. But that was impossible she'd been carrying the school
pack over a shoulder ever since retrieving her own. Who would
presume to handle her stuff and why? Talle's cat food cans were still
there and all her clothes, her toiletries and What is this now?
Something extra was sticking partway out of an inside pocket. It
was a folded piece of notebook paper. Halle yanked it out to examine
under candlelight. A note, from her bus buddy, Loyola an address
to the pastor acquaintance. But folded securely inside was a twenty
dollar bill. What a sweet lady! This discovery made the girl feel
quite humbled, both for being perceived by another as needing
59
outside help and also for having doubted the integrity of her latest
hosts. Certainly nobody had intended to rob her of valuables. But
then there was the doll mystery. No way was that going to wander of
itself.
Why did Mamba call the cauchemar a tallyman also? Creepy
Made no more sense than the rest of her foreign proclamations.
Anyway, the girl snatched up her beloved Tally Man doll, made
certain his hat was pinned tightly and tiptoed back to bed. Happily,
Alley Cat was still there sleeping undisturbed, so Halle felt
somewhat protected the night through, she and her possessions.
60
Cauchemars Country
Ten
Sleep tight? The hostess asked cheerfully when Halle sat down for
breakfast. It was pancakes with berry topping and very strong coffee.
She felt like a new woman, having showered and completed all other
purifying rituals. Yes, she had slept without incident, waking only
once with the dawn. Surely, if environment were to blame for
nightmare imaginations, it would have happened here.
I never slept in jail before, she teased.
One, two, three remaining cans of cat food Halle stacked them
deliberately atop the middle of the table as Mamba May sat down
with her own cup of coffee.
I brought this to feed my own cat, Talle, the girl explained. But
he got away before the bus left town. I can't eat it I tried, but .
Then she fished out the twenty and dropped it atop the tower.
Mamba smiled her impossibly broad smile, stuffed the bill into an
apron pocket and scooted cans aside. Movement made that dangling
silver cross swing in alluring little circles over the table.
Halle was thinking how this lady's face would really be ugly if it
weren't so incredibly lovely, a paradoxical wonder. Then she took
the plunge, resorting to one of her mother's favorite tactics.
You knew that I had that money.
What ya talkin bout, Garlee?
I know that somebody went through my pack, because my Dayo's
doll was taken out twice when I wasn't looking.
Mamba wa'an touch customer tings. Dat bad far business.
Halle glaced round the shop, then out the front door.
May continued, An Alley Cat mek shoore dat Missa Pirate wa'an
touch it, na way.
The younger woman lifted coffee to her lips with a very puzzled
frown while Mamba finished that discussion.
I tinkin dat doll gots a mind a its own. Ya ca'an blem nobodee far
doin's a dya vodu. Free sp'rit go waya he want, Mamba continued
instructively. Specially Tally Man.
61
So Halle let it go with a shrug and a smile.

Mamba smiled back.
This lady liked to talk, and she liked most to talk of spiritual matters,
when her tone would fall fully into mambo mode. There was lots
more about the realm of Vodu and exploits of the lwa. The latter
appeared to be lower-natured spirits, some of them deceased human
souls with mischievous intent, seeking to borrow the bodies of
living human hosts for a bit of fun and frolic. It had been the first
time as chosen for the woman last night, the same who had looked
so cruelly tortured. None of this made sense in Halle's world
except as it seemed sometimes to pertain to her nighttime curse.
So Cauchemar is one of the lwa? Halle suggested.
Oh no, Garlee. Mamba's voice dropped almost to a whisper as if
attending spirits would be offended. Cauchemar ain no name a
vodun never! Iss juss a hoodoo-man, dyat one.
But you called him my tallyman.
An dat he be, ya tallyman shadow, an he hant ya soul if ya lets
him. Always cusin an judging ya soul. He do'an want ya sp'rit to
wake. He do'an want a soul to finish its wo'k. He keep on aridin
and ridin til ya too tired and too feared ever to wake agin.
But the woman last night, something some spirit was riding
her too.
Oh dat was juss a short spell, an only cuz dya host is willin. She
willin to loan dem de body, exshange far dya wise word dat lwa pay
back when he throo.
I don't know, Mamba. It felt spooky to me, just like when
Cauchemar rides me.
Na, Garl. Dya cauchemar lie ta you it be hoodoo sp'rit, trick ya
ta tink you ca'an nya'va fight back. But ya do fight, Halle garl. Dya
mamba see it in ya eye. You stronger dan de cauchemar, far
shoore.
62
Cauchemars Country
Then Halle admitted, yes she had broken the spell of paralysis,
once just the hour before her fated return to Pirate Alley. And she
was startled, confused to find the cauchemar was reduced to a very
small shadow puppet of man.
Dyat what Mamba tell ya, Garlee. He be tallyman ghost, only
hoodoo. Some folk call him dya Boggy Man! Now dya real Tally
Man. Dat a diff'n ting. Halle, she know when de true Tally Man call
dya sp'rit ta wake. He ain like a cauchemar na dark, nya'va weak,
na tricky. Tally Man wa'an ta make sp'rit free. You do'an feel no
more like de dead body. Tally Man do'an want ta ride ya like a beast.
He do'an crush you and nobodee scare ya no more. Ya start to
breathe agin. He shine bright like de sunshine, too hot to look at,
mebbe. But when dya eyes of sp'rit open far shoore, he be bootiful
to see.
Curiously, that long speech was all uttered in May's own appealing
voice. Halle could only stare speechless at the brightness of Mamba's
smile; then down at the shine of her jewelry. Cross was spinning.
Clearly this woman had witnessed something of what she spoke.
An den Halle learn her true name. But dat far another Day.
The girl followed the pause with a new disclosure her own full
given name: Adriana Halitha.
Oh dat de name dey baptize you wit?
Halle didn't know whether she'd been baptized.
Oh, well den. Mebbe you ain Christian, Garl. Dat name very
pretty, but it ain ya real name.
So what's the tallyman's real name?
Creole an Africa peoples calls him Lisa.
Halle thought that comical.
Christians call him de Lawd. He dya one who count up de wo'k
we do in dis life an say, Heya, daytime be ova, so you go home
now or he say, You ain finished go back ta wo'k.
Halle brightened up at that. Sounds just like the song!
Song? Ha! No, Mamba ain talkin bout no banana singin.
Well then, are you talking about Jesus Christ?
63
Dat what de mamba say. Tally Man de Big Man, dya real man.
He own eve'ting an dya biggest vodunBondyabe he own
daddy.
Tally Man has a daddy? Who is that?
Aw, coome on, Garlee. Do'an ya evva go ta Sunny School? Bondya mean Goode God, dya only vodun dat really be goode. He de
one dat make dis whole world an de stars an all dya other vodun
be his chillin.
So then, are you christian? That sort of sounds christian. But
what I saw last night didn't look christian. In fact, it looked foolish
and dangerous to me.
Now the hostess drew herself straight and lifted her chin high.
May, she be Christian. Mebe na Mamba, but May be goode
Christian wooman, far shoore.
Halle wasn't about to argue; watched the ladys Christian charm
bounce emphatically surely only iron buffed silvery and worn for
luck.
Now, na moore talk, Garlee. You gots placez ta go. Mamba try
ta help ya fine Dayo agin. I make ya soometin.
The woman certainly had many talents, and drawing was not the
least. It was nice parchment letter paper, even repelling a drip of
coffee. What Halle finally held in hand looked for all the world like
a treasure map. Mamba explained how it pointed the way out of the
city and down a river tributary into bayou wilderness. Once,
everybody around there knew a man called Dayo, but he hadn't been
heard from for years.
Used ta partay all hours wit me J.B., like dyem other leezays!
Tink it be Mardi Gras all de year roun.
She explained how her husband was true owner of their
establishment, noble Creole by birth. Though J.B. LaFette was
always drinking and partying mostly, wishing to play forever the
pirate role instead of the man, like they had all done as children
exploring bayou country together.
64
Cauchemars Country
Nya'va growed up, a tink, she mused, then suddenly brightened

at a hope. One day lwa choose him Den de sleepy pirate soul be
waked to dya true sp'rit.
Last Mamba May knew about it, 'ol Dayo, he was living back up
the bayou where they all used to play, around where his pappy once
lived.
Betta fine a boatman ta help. An ya need money far dat? Coome
back ta wo'k far Mamba May. We dress ya up fine like Missa
Pirate L'Fyette's dancin show garlee creezay boonch a clowns!
The lady laughed at her own idea. Tourist like dyat, far shoore. Ya
know how ta dance, Garl No? Mamba show you.
Halle finally broke free of the womans chatter, walked out of the
shop with map in one hand and Loyola's note hidden in the other.
One call to make before anything else. She had recognized the street
name right away, St Peters. It was just a short block backtrack into
town.
The house number was several blocks north. This trek took Halle
all the way to the top edge of French Quarter district into a newer
section of town at least it had been modernized for another kind of
tourism. Here was a neighborhood of jazz clubs and street musicians,
then across the boulevard was the monument built in honor of a later
King Louis, the patriarch of modern jazz.
65
Eleven
All the open doorways were crowded with people waiting to get in.
The air was a confused haze of music mixed with unusual lunchtime
smells. They all opened early on these blocks, the coffee houses,
restaurants and lounges. Each establishment had a soloist or band
competing with every other on the street. Add to that the surfeit of
unemployed musicians fighting for sidewalk space to lay out hats or
instrument cases for collection of the rain of token thanks from
passing pedestrians. Most of the people Halle could access were
tourists, so they were useless. One door guard just kept asking for
her ID, then threatened to call the cops if she didn't move clear. So
that left the street players, and one could only stand and wait for the
artist's music to pause before presuming a new request. Halle liked
music, but this stuff all sounded the same to her ear.
Excuse me, sir It was her sixth attempt. Can you help me
find an address?
This old white-haired black man never looked her in the eye, just
kept polishing his horn with a dirty lace handkerchief.
I found a house with this number, but it was supposed to be a
church.
The man was staring at the ground now but no, the girl followed
his gaze to a frazzled carpetbag at his feet. One hinge was busted, so
it flopped open suggestively.
I'm so sorry, sir. I don't have any money on me today.
So he lazily set his trumpet down safely, then dug deep inside
baggy pants pocket. Halle was afraid he was about to donate to her
cause, just for spite but all he wanted was a cigar. Sure took his
time lighting it.
Alright, Missy, he finally looked over at the note in her hand.
Show us de eedress.
He studied it a moment; Paused to wave to a buddy across the
avenue, then grunted slowly: Sho don' look like no proppa church
dat ah evva see. But you can go aks dat fella ova dere.
66
Cauchemars Country
There was a small crowd round a better-dressed performer back at

the corner she had already passed. He was playing a mean
harmonica; that much the girl could appreciate. His specialty was
Gospel, though the only song she recognized was Amazing Grace
and a very bouncy rendition of that. In fact, Halle liked his joyful
style so much that she stood listening through three whole numbers
before he finally thanked his audience, picked up the old fashioned
top hat and poured its contents clinking into a jacket pocket.
My name's George, he said to the girl, the only one left watching
his show.
Yes, that other gentleman said you might know.
George was white-haired too, though it remained clinging only to
the sides around his ears. This one was white-skinned also well,
sun burnt mostly, especially on top. But he engaged Halle's inquiring
eyes directly and willingly.
How can I help, Liddle Lady.
I'm looking for a church, where this preacher is supposed to be.
But maybe I have the wrong address. She showed him her friend's
note.
You Loyola?
No my name's Halle.
Just kidding You don't look like any Loyola I ever knew.
'Scuse me a sec. He turned to blow out his instrument and dropped
it snuggly into an inside pocket. The hat had already found its way
on top.
Now, I was just heading that way, if you don't mind following a
crazy ol' mouth organ man.
The girl felt comfortable enough accepting the unfamiliar man's
lead, and any apprehension eased when he started talking about his
dear wife home awaitin' fer him. Soon enough, he turned to walk
right up the path of the very house that Halle was convinced could
not be her destination. It was of classic Victorian design, like the
67
dollhouse she remembered envying when visiting a childhood friend.

Only this one badly needed new paint.
This is it?
Last I looked. And he didn't even knock at the door, just turned
the latch and walked right in.
I'm home, Dear, he shouted up the stair. A side door opened.
Kitchen smells, friendlier food smells greeted them there. Mrs.
George extended a floured hand to the stranger without hesitation,
like she was expecting her man to bring home another stray.
This here's, Halle friend o' Loyola's. Found her accostin' the
local gentry fer directions.
Halle touched the hand and nodded her head to the lady, then
turned back toward George.
Then, you must be the preacher.
Pastor George, corrected the wife. Excuse my husband
Didn't even introduce yourself properly, George.
It was a church, actually. The pastor's wife showed their guest
proudly into the main room, much larger than a living room. They
had removed walls to open it out and added sacred accoutrements
altar step, pulpit stand, simple carven Protestant cross and candle
holders. A matching wooden plaque was placed prominently at front
engraved with only these simple words:
For God so loved the world
As if that was all that needed to be said. Only thing lacking were
stained glass windows and pews to make it a proper chapel. But
Pastor George preferred the folding chairs, the ones neatly stacked
against a back wall. The missus didn't approve, however, that pastor
reserved open floor for dance parties. The three sat comfortably on a
large overstuffed couch by the side wall. They faced the fireplace
mantle way over on the opposite wall, still decorated for Easter
season.
Conversation was pleasant, with a good deal to share about their
mutual friend, Loyola. Then it was about Halle and why she had
68
Cauchemars Country
dared to travel alone and how Momma said she didn't like New
Orleans life because of all the voodoo.
Oh, they don't like when you call it voodoo. Pastor George
interjected. Sounds too much like hoodoo. Vodu is what the old
school faithful practice. Hoodoo is what street performers do.
Then Halle was encouraged to tell about her first day wandering
down Bourbon Street and her night as guest of the Pirate and Mamba
May. Mrs. George just shook her head in disbelief that the girls
steps would lead her there of all places. And why didn't Halle just
come directly to Pastor's house where they could give her a proper
welcome?
But Halle assured them she had been both welcome and safe,
though she had never slept in a jail before and the 'prayer meeting'
was rather strange. The wife was prepared to pursue that subject
further when Pastor George jumped in.
May is an old friend of mine, actually. We used to play together
as youngsters. Though she always had some pretty strange ideas.
Her gram was a well-respected priestess, the N'Awlens mambo for
generations. Name was Laveau, very influential family indeed. But I
was better acquainted with the folk of May's husband. They still
own a great deal of French Quarter property.
She wants to be called Mamba May. Halle said.
Oh don't I know that! She came here to be baptized once. Said
she'd experienced some kind of rebirth or spiritual awakening
many years ago. May is a lot older than she looks, you know.
But she's gorgeous, Halle proclaimed.
Pastor was looking vacantly at his shoes just then.
The wife broke his intervening silence.
What he isn't telling you is that May was his sweetheart back
during their high school years.
Don't go there now, Dear. The liddle lady don't want to hear about
ancient history.
69
I think she deserves to know it, George. The priestess is only

human, after all.
It was something for Halle to think about.
You see, May wouldn't have him, finally. At least her family
wouldn't. She was born a Lady. It was evident that this woman
held a certain reluctant esteem for the other.
That's right, the preacher continued now. I come of simple
Cajun stock. And May, well shes much more than appearances;
holds a number of degrees too, University at Honolulu mostly. But
don't you get the idea she was ever scornful of me. That was never
her way. And she was most humble when she come knocking at our
chapel door.
Did you baptize her, then? She calls herself christian, said Halle.
I know she does. (Both pictured an iron cross at Mays throat.)
Disgraceful! declared the wife.
No I wouldn't go that far, Dear One. May is sincere as can be.
She's never been anything like a traditional Vodu priestess, though
she was born to that office. Her theology is her own, based on her
own experience. I believe she may have faith, real faith in the true
God, after all. But I could never be the one to baptize her. None of
the Southern Baptists would even look at her. She finally persuaded
the Unitarian reverend to do it.
You know what she calls Jesus, don't you? Tally Man. Halle
took the doll from her school pack. The wife sat suddenly back, like
a serpent had struck from out of nowhere.
George Ask her to take that out of my house, out of God's
house! This is a Christian sanctuary, even if nobody hardly attends.
Now, let's not get panicky. The preacher's tone was both
conciliatory and cautious.
It's my Dayo's doll, Halle explained. What could possibly be the
fuss?
What did you say, Liddle Lady?
My daddy gave me this before he went away.
And his name, you said a name, didn't you?
70
Cauchemars Country
George, either you get that abomination out of here, or I will

simply have to excuse myself.
But Pastor suddenly had no time for silliness. The wife marched
stiffly off to the next room while he continued his question.
Your daddy's name is
Dayo. All this seemed overly dramatic to Halle.
So Dayo had a baby girl! Then he called to the wife, Listen to
this, Dear. You remember what Dayo said to you?
An elevated voice answered, I'm telling you, George!
AwOh, well. Anyway, I am glad to finally meet you, Halle.
But didn't you say your last name was something else? Something
Irish, wasn't it?
O'Malle, the girl repeated. Without the -Y.
Preacher George just nodded.
That's how I spell my first name too, and my cat.
Your cat, now.
Talle he was supposed to travel with me, but
Got away, did he? I can see it was upsetting. I'm sure your pet
got home, okay.
Yeah, that's what Loyola said. But he is more than a pet, he's
my Halle suddenly felt shy about finishing the statement
aloudtotem. Sounded now like a pet name. What did that really
mean, anyway?
She was determined then to get down to business.
You know my Dayo too? So did Mamba May.
Yes, of course, May knew most everybody come from that part of
N'Awlens.
That's why I came, actually, Halle continued. She suddenly felt
more grown-up than ever. I mean to find my father and maybe
reunite our family.
George? It was the wife's voice again, returned to the chapel
room.
71
Preacher suddenly swept the offending object from Halle's lap and
hid it from the woman's view. He held a finger to lips gesturing no
comment. Halle accommodated his plan, handing off her school pack
to his other hand. The man stood up to welcome politely his lady's
return. Then smoothly relieving their guest of sweater also, he
deposited all unnecessary burdens at the coat rack by the front door.
The wife seemed more composed now anyway.
George Supper is ready to serve.
Oh, thank you, Dear One. Then to Halle, We'd be honored to
have you join us, Liddle Lady.
Halle hadn't realized the time. But her belly was glad to accept.
Dinner talk was mostly Mrs Preacher asking more detail about home
and mother and California culture. She was from North Carolina,
herself, originally. Met the preacher at Bible college. Her family
didn't like it much, her moving here to Cajun country. But a wife
cleaves to her husband, and George did try to talk civilized mostly,
at least when he was around her family.
When plates were pushed back and glasses refilled, Halle excused
herself suddenly to fetch Mamba's map from her bag. The doll hadn't
strayed. She returned to the table already talking animatedly.
She called it Tally Man too, my Dayo's um gift. Then she
glanced toward the pastor's wife for leave to continue. The woman
appeared not to notice the subject. But Pastor George had no
comment right then. He was very interested in the treasure map.
Just like I remember the old girl made an adventure of most
anything. And looky here: 'X' marks the spot.
She said that Dayo was last seen living in the country
somewhere.
Yes, I see that up the bayou.
What's a bayou? Halle asked then.
Now, George. You aren't thinking about that ungodly place again,
are you?
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Cauchemars Country
Even our Lord retreated to the wilderness, my dear.

To suffer temptations of the devil, George. Don't forget that part.
Then to Halle he explained, We have this discussion periodically.
My wife objects to the, uh expanse of my parish. I am a sort of
itinerant pastor. Lots of folk Cajun, Creole, various native
indian they live spread out in remote parts of the river delta.
That's the bayou.
Then the missus explained again, The bayou is a swamp. It's
crawling with alligators and deadly water snakes, voodoo witches,
all the recluse and criminal types.
And where do you think Jesus would go if he were to walk this
earth today, right here in Louisiana? Do you really believe, Dear
One, that the Son of Man would limit his ministry to the modernized
cities and cathedrals?
Then again to Halle, he continued. We keep this chapel for
modest gatherings, but many of God's children won't ever be
persuaded to enter a church, especially the country folk I spoke
about.
Criminals, George. Nobody's even supposed to be living in there
anymore.
Not officially.
They'd steal your boots and cut your throat sooner than listen to
you preach them the saving gospel.
Maybe so. And Pastor George paused to ponder that. But it
appears I wasn't anointed to fill a sanctuary, now, was I? So they
won't come to Jesus well then, the preacher will take Jesus to
them.
Missus had no further argument at the moment. She simply sighed
and squeezed her husband's hand.
Now, my dear, he gently addressed her. Halle and I need to
discuss this matter of her missing father AND the single token
she retains of his love for her.
You mean
73
Yes, I want to make sure that our liddle lady understands the true
nature of what she holds dear.
Make certain to explain about the awful sin of idolatry and the
terrible hold it has upon this region.
Idol yes. Well I think that these particular idols function more
as totems.
Halle was all ears and quite content now to be left alone with the
man.
If you will excuse me, Halle dear. I have some letters to write.
So the missus left them again.
What do you mean My Dayo doll is a totem?
It's a sort of symbolic representation to help ones imagination
distinguish the character of a particular spirit. Thats one difficulty of
the spirit world: individuality basically isnt.
My wife is correct, these dolls are made like idols. But the
worshippers of Vodun don't actually pray to the dolls like idols. It
serves as an effigy, really, symbolizing the sacrifice and intercession
of the spirit concerned. Nor yet do the Catholics actually worship
their images. They are teaching and prayer aids, to help train the
illiterate in faith much like prayer beads.
Halle thought she understood the Catholic faith, at least. But this
was beyond her experience.
Sorry, I don't get it. One of Halles virtues was honesty with
herself, no games. She couldn't see how this was going to help her
find her father.
Follow me. I'll show you. And Pastor got up.
They moved back to the chapel room and Pastor George retrieved
the doll.
You don't mind, do you? It's safe now to take him out. Then he
handed it back to Halle.
Tell me about him, what he means to you the doll.
Halle felt a bit uncomfortable at first. This was a cherished secret
with roots far back in her childhood, before her earliest memories.
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Cauchemars Country
She nervously pulled the little man's hatpin out as she began, then
stuck it back in to reposition the floppy straw hat. She noticed how
the preacher winced slightly.
I often took him down off his shelf when Momma left me alone
especially after she was angry with me.
So it comforted you to hold him?
Well it was really like he was holding me. Tears welled up in the
girl's eyes. That's weird, I know. A doll couldn't hold me.
But your daddy could have.
He was never there.
Oh now that's where you are mistaken. You see, his spirit was
there, just as his desire intended. And your Dayo doll was the proof
of it.
That's right. The doll looks like Dayo. You know him, so don't
you think so too?
Maybe so, a little bit. The preacher apologetically took the doll
again.
Well, I always thought that it looked like Momma's picture of
Dayo.
Then, you don't actually remember your father?
Not really. If he held me, I was only a little baby.
Halle Pastor started again. The Vodun folk make this
particular figure to represent another personality.
Tally Man?
Well, they call him Lisa.
Mamba mentioned that.
It's very curious, really. The Vodun religion teaches a sort of
trinity of Godhood, similar to the Christian creed, though of entirely
distinctive origin. And they celebrate this understanding in most
everything they do or make. Even their gumbo stew starts with a
triune recipe of favorite vegetables.
That means the number three, right? Halle clarified.
You haven't been to church much, have you?
Halle shook her head.
75
Yes, a three-in-one deity. And like the Christians, a Vodun priest

or priestess will teach of the original Father, who created it all, and
those born first and closest to his being the Son and a twin Sister
spirit.
So this doll is supposed to be the Father? That made sense to
Halle.
No, actually it's the Son, Lisa.
Strange to give him a girl's name, Halle considered. But she knew
it was another language, nothing related to her own. Of course, all
her friends wanted to call her Hal, and that was a boy's name. Life
could be so mixed up sometimes.
George was studying the map again.
Now, what I don't get is why our friend May would have started
the directions from this house.
Halle hadn't noticed that.
The way up the bayou starts easier from that side.
But she didn't even know I was coming here I never showed
her Loyola's note.
You are quite certain of that, he commented.
Halle wondered again about other details that Mamba had seemed
to know the twenty dollar bill and the wanderings of Dayo's doll.
She thought better not to mention that here.
What you say we head out on a fishing trip, Liddle Lady? There
was adventure in the preacher's tone. Just you and me, first thing
tomorrow.
Halle didn't know anything about fishing.
We can follow Mays map and see what we scare up?
Oh, that kind of fishing.
The Lawd Jesus was a fisherman and very successful at it.
Spooked the daylights out of most people back then.
Halle had no idea what Pastor meant by that.
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Cauchemars Country
Loyola was right about Mrs George also. The lady wasn't near so
stiff and suspicious one-on-one. Nor did she seem concerned any
more about their proposed adventure to the bayou. Pastor used to
take their daughter on trips to the swamps. Never once suffered any
mishap.
And don't you worry about the Pastor's integrity, nor what folk
might say about you know, a young girl camping out with an old
man. Halle would be safe as can be with Pastor George, and
anybody who knew him and really cared would say it was true.
I'm not worried about that at all, not with him. Halle considered
how she had already suffered far worse than someone like Mrs.
George could ever know.
Just mind you don't wander off, the woman concluded. Stay
right at his side.
Then the two engulfed all worldly fears in cookie baking and
girlish chatter something Halle had never done before.
Something else she'd never done, not even with her own mother
they sang together. Mrs. George preferred the church hymns, and
Halle even recognized a couple tunes. She discovered that her
memory was quick and voice naturally true when it came to lyric and
melody.
77
Twelve
Hey, Preacher Man. That was the most common greeting by local
folk who crossed their path next morning.
Halle had slept well again mostly, except for one brief stint of
that paralyzed feeling. She'd been able to wiggle a toe, however and
broke her body free before the buzzing in her ears could progress to
a waterfall roar. Sometimes it really did sound like bees flying
round. Other nights it was more like tiny explosions in her brain,
micro sizzles and pops, then she recalled that a tell-tale vertigo
sensation had nagged her all day prior. However she never minded it
so much as the banana-boat tune always scratching at the back door
of her consciousness.
Today, the pastor carried a pack much like Halle's, only larger. He
wore a fisherman's vest sporting a hundred little pockets and a
floppy canvas hat. Mrs. George restuffed the girls pack with freshly
cleaned and mended clothes. She also loaned the girl a large
headscarf because 'those little red curls' were hardly protection
against the sun and scourge of swamp fleas. Why they had to venture
that way, the missus couldn't fathom. But Halle never doubted that
such a wilderness was just the place where her daddy might feel at
home. George was positive as ever, but he warned they had a lot of
stops to make.
It was a short streetcar ride down to the ferry depot, but instead of
a boat, they ran to catch another bus, this one bound for the bayou
preserve.
Used to be a longer ride by river boat upstream, and the old
spillways are all blocked up. The map was bouncing on the elder
man's knees. May drew this to look like what the river country used
to be, but this channel is now a commercial canal, locks and
everything. Nowdays the 'Expy' was a faster route anyway.
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Cauchemars Country
George rented space for his motor skiff at a marina just off the
freeway. It was already outfitted to launch.
Hey George, greeted the harbormaster. Stop and give us some
o' that mouth organ magick.
I ain't no conjurer, Pete. George had lapsed fully into Cajun
speak by now. He handed them both onto low seats in the tiny craft
and immediately busied himself rearranging their stuff.
Sorry, Pastor. I just like your style, even if it ain't the Blues.
Thanks, ol' friend. But me and my companion got places to go
and people to meet this mawnin'.
Pete screwed up his face and lifted his sunglasses to peep at Halle.
Howdy Miss. Then to George, Ol' Lady know whose company
you keep?
Yup sent the Liddle Lady 'long to keep me out o' tribble.
Halle felt an elbow jab her gently.
This one's a firebrand, Petey. She don't stan' fer no nonsense.
Come all the way from Californy by her lonesome to look up her
daddy.
No kiddin'. Any folk we know?
Not likely, Friend. We jist common river rats, kind the good lawd
come to save from our tainted blood.
Aw I get it, George. You mean this gal come o' Creole stock.
The boat motor was suddenly roaring.
Say howdy to yer bride, Pete ... Pappy too.
The screaming engine drowned out any onshore reply or farewell.
The docks and boathouses quickly shrunk to toy-like dimensions.
Back at the preacher's house, missus was still writing letters. Pastor
had other connections in Los Angeles besides friend Loyola. Mrs
George was a mother and grandmother, so it took no labor to
imagine how this girl's mamma must be worrying. In three days she
had her reply from a Father Juanez, warm thanks for the good news
and another mother's mail address. At back of her desk was a tray
full of unopened letters, all addressed to another father from another
79
grandmother in New York. He was overdue again to collect his mail,

which is why wife and pastor agreed not to risk their crossing paths.
Life was sometimes laced with these odd connections; but it wasn't
so unusual for a praying pastor's wife. She had learned long ago,
through many other such adventures, to expect the serendipitous as
Heaven's timely blessing.
Halle and the preacher man that's what he was in name and
character around the bayou they toured the waterways of Pirate's
Preserve for two days before even glancing at Mamba's map again.
George seemed to know every twist and turn, though it seemed to
Halle that they went in circles mostly, and he explained how that
every hurricane transformed the bayou into a whole new maze of
channels.
True to his word, they had many stops to make, and every lonely
camper crept out of hiding to hail 'Preacher Man' like theyd been
expecting him to call. Even the park ranger patrols would toot their
horns and 'Haloo Preacher', not even bothering to pull them over to
board and inspect his wilderness pass. They trusted him to keep it
updated, even if his clientele park squatters never did. George
was unofficial chaplain of the park.
Why don't they just follow you to where the squatter's huts are
hidden? Halle asked him one evening.
One of the rookie rangers did that once, he chuckled. Beached
his boat, sirens and lights a blarin'. But when he hauled the poor
convict to the station, word had already reached the others what he
done.
Firefly Post, is what the preacher called the bayou communication
network.
Other rangers uncuffed the guy, fed him jambalaya, then let him
go his way. Heard later through the Post how that rookie got hisself
sternly lectured by their sergeant fellow 'bout unofficial rules of
engagement.
So they leave your friends alone. Halle had misunderstood.
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Cauchemars Country
No way, Liddle Lady. His voice turned serious now. Penalty's

severe if they catch you squattin' or poachin' or just whistlin' in here
without a license, specially the next time round. But them enforcers,
they know how that Preacher George, in one year's time, done
persuaded more outlaws to quit the Preserve than their whole
division ever scared up on patrol.
He's a modern day Robin Hood, Halle thought to herself, Only he's
legal and friends with the Sherwood Sheriff.
I like your church, Preacher Man she said this aloud.
Makes me proud to hear you say it, Liddle Lady.
She asked him if Mrs George had ever gone out with him on the
bayou. But no, never yet. Though he assured the girl that his wife
understood and supported his unconventional ministry.
She was raised a southern gentlewoman and never took to
campin' out much. Me, I grew up explorin' these parts.
Then he sighed contentedly. Dear One does like to watch the
fireflies summer nights that is, when they come up from the
swamps into town. Then I pretend their glowbug flashin's a kind of
secret code and translate messages from my bayou buddies.
Halle couldn't help but giggle.
Yeah, makes the missus laugh too. Then I know she don't really
mind it much. George waved fingers at a passing firefly then.
Leastways, the ranger station's just a quick call, and they always
know how to find me if she gets too nervous, or I linger too long.
And sure enough, next morning a patrol boat pulled up alongside
their skiff message from the town chapel:
New mail arrived and old mail delivered.
Didn't sound so urgent to Halle, though that never stopped the
rangers from rushing such news to the preacher man.
And boy, could Preacher Man preach!
81
Yer just bein' an idiot! she overheard him browbeating the latest
parishioner.
They had just offloaded their requisite prepackaged medicines and
vitamins and hygienic supplies. He never gave them food or clothes
or tools and such, which would be aiding and abetting a criminal.
But he always made sure they had their own Bible to read or a
Gospel on tape to hear with lots of batteries. And they usually had
questions about heaven or hell or just living a holy life. Halle was
waiting with the skiff while George helped this French Choctaw
Indian squatter carry stuff back to his swamp hut. And the guy had
apparently just asked one of his questions.
Preacher Man never sanctioned any hoodoo.
That poor sucker really was blind, I tell ya his own folks, they
said so and the Lawd, he really did heal them all.
Halle heard some strangely accented complaining tones.
Listen, Friend. God in heaven don't ever do nothin' jus fer the
heck of it. They's always two or three or more messages and
meanings goes 'long with it. The man was blind, and then he could
see. He meant it both ways. His fleshly eyes was opened, them that
had been blind from birth and his spiritual eyes was opened also.
Somethin' new had waked up inside him, an he could feel it swellin'
and breathin' and blinkin' at a whole new world of possibilities.
There were more mutterings from behind the brush.
You don't have to prove it, an' you don't even have to know it or
believe it, really. All you got to do is want it. When your heart
that's what they call yer spiritual self when you start longing for
the Kingdom, that's when it starts to draw near. Then one day, yer
eyes is opened and surprise! There you see it's always been right
there at arm's length all the time. An' that's just what Jesus said about
it too.
Halle could hear them approaching again.
Soon as you discover Hope I mean the real thing, a gift from
the Lawd and you decide to quit this ol' swamp and rejoin
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Cauchemars Country
humanity. Well you just let me know. I got's a pass that'll get us
both out o' here legal. Them ranger gents, they just waive us by, a
grinnin'. You got my word on it. Next storm, all the evidence of yer
outlawin' is washed away new life, new start.
Then stepping back into the skiff, there was a new smile on the
wild man's face.
You ain't trapped here no more, Friend. Faith in Jesus and the
power of his word, that's your ticket to real livin'. This here bayou,
leave it fer the gators and swamp rats.
Yeah, they saw gators, and they saw rats size of fat cats, some
and even one of those deadly water snakes. That was the worst
Halle never could stand even the thought of snakes. The skiff was
made strong and it protected them from predators and pests, all
except the littlest ones. As the days grew warmer, the midges and
mosquitoes came up to feed. Pastor George made the girl swallow
some bitter stuff every morning and night. Midday they had to put
on long sleeves, then smear mud on their hands and faces.
It was with muddy fingers that they handled the map again.
Well, that channel just ain't there no more and that bend is an
island now. George surveyed their final journey. But there's got to
be another way into this section.
While they traveled, Preacher Man told stories. They were mostly
about the courting exploits of frogs and the fireflies. And so it went
on and on, like a TV soap, only the drama turned bizarrely alien
and improbable as Toad married Glow Bug and the moss-adorned
Catfish twins scorned advances of Rookie Ranger Man.
There were also epic adventures told by Preacher Man during
daylight hours that seemed to carry hidden messages. Else, the
swamp transit through humid fumes and buzzing mosquitoes, the
very same bank of bearded cypress trees round every bend it would
have grown unbearably tedious, hypnotizing. Even so, the constant
83
chirping of crickets and frogs especially in the eveningmade the

storytellers narration sound more like singing than simple prose.
The effect was often mesmerizing and it was all the listener could
do to stay watchful to the end.
This journey was taking much longer than Mamba had plotted, and
Halle long ago quit asking how close was the X on their map. By
sundown their prow was docking at a makeshift pier that also served
as front porch to a wooden cabin on stilts. This one was no mere hut,
though thoroughly hidden under trees. Even the noise of other skiffs
upon surrounding courses couldn't reach them in here.
Do the patrols know this house is here? Halle mounted the high
steps behind George to cabin door. It wasn't locked.
Somebody was here not many days ago. That's all he said in
answer.
Then Halle watched, still standing in the doorway, while the man
scurried from window to cupboard to bench cushion and bed with a
tiny broom in handbusily brushing and thumping, opening and
airing. One cabinet was an icebox, the old fashioned kind that used
to serve instead of a fridge. No ice and no perishables were found
inside, so George simply left the door hanging open on its hinges.
Will the owner mind us messing with his stuff? Halle asked
rather nervously.
I guarantee, he don't care.
You been here before? she tried again.
Looks like most swamp shacks I think weve met. Though, our
way here got all tangled up.
He paused facing Halle at the door and grinned. She was
distracted. That banana song was pestering the girl's inner world,
starting the moment she landed a foot on the porch.
Scuze me, Liddle Lady. Left somethin' in the skiff.
Pastor George returned with a bundle, quite heavy by his stoop. It
was one of those items he had stowed under the seat from the pile
found prepared at the marina. He unwrapped it, layer upon layer of
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Cauchemars Country
rags and newspapers, until a clean block of ice was revealed. He

said it had shrunk some since Pete first stowed it, but it would last
for days yet.
He had to know this icebox was waiting, Halle discerned. But
Preacher was busy at the stove.
Again, it seemed to her eye that he always knew which drawer and
which door to open for whatever item he happened to need
matches, frying pan, spatula, salt shaker. Then he was quite
dismayed to find the pot of lard gone empty. Halle was sprawled
atop the bed browsing an old National Geographic when she heard
him utter a Cajun curse and mutter, Creole pup must be livin' off
the grease, lazy squatter.
Everything readied for cooking, George stamped out the cabin.
There was the sound of metal against metal, a splash and cheer, then
a series of thumps. He stomped back up the stair with a triumphant
smile and two young catfish, each fist hooking a gill. Halle cringed
as he cleaned them expertly on the drain board. In short order, they
were sizzling in the pan while he disposed of smelly offal out a
window into the swamp. Lots of splashing and thrashing followed
probably gators.
Fresh fish had been the familiar repast for several evenings already,
and Firefly Post was in full service while they supped. George made
the girl giggle and giggle with an irreverent rendition of their
blinking chatter, one of several twilight tales that week.
Here is a typical bayou story*, told in segments and completed that
afternoon:
*First-time readers are encouraged to skip the following chapter and continue with Halles
adventure for now. No sense getting swamped by a story within The Story.
85
Thirteen
I have edited out most of Preacher Mans embellishments, Creole or Cajun, for
claritys sake. Generally, the bayou tales are full of it, including some local
Indian and African expressions. Im sure that the readers imagination is quite
capable of adding back as much as wanted. Just think about some of the stories
you have heard, after the fashion of Uncle Remus, Paul Bunyan, Aesop or Jungle
Book fables. However, this story may be truer than most And dont you mind how
retellings change some detail or order of events. Thats just the way with bayou
living. (You can compare another rendition at the very end of this volume.)
And if you listen very carefully, you may also notice the sing-song
accompaniment of Frog and Cricket choirs.
Fisher Mans Wife
Part I Of secrets, debts and bayou gold.

I told you about the pirates of Barata Ria Bay, their alliance
with the Lightnin Bug Queen. Well if I didnt, thats another
good story. The fiends were still busy harassing bay folk. They
sailed all over the bayou to kidnap and plunder, so to steal a
creatures twinkle. Anyway, this tale tells how the plot got
discovered, how Queen was exposed in cahoots with Serpent
Bride of all people!
You remember? Choctaw call her Sinti lapitta, horned water
snake believed she was black mambo of all. And most
everyone got tangled in her feud with Bull Gator. Pirates
worshiped the Bride for her perilous beauty, while Gator they
feared and avoided. He was Boss of bayou waterways. She was
Terror of the storm, and she moonlighted as the Great Horned
Owl hunting with the wind. Yes Sir, those monsters and their
minions vipers and leeches, mosquitoes and the likethey
were still at large, and no folk allowed much talk of it. But
better to fall in Rivers churn than serve breakfast to such as
them.
Fisher Mans wife thats right, my story is mostly about
her. The real hero was another snake. Not a snake really, though
obliged to slither and slide about. Nor was she any sort of eel.
You see, Salamander had no proper limbs. They were tiny little
legs, and she was quite proud of three toes each. But they
couldnt be used for much anything yet.
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Cauchemars Country
Most folk hardly noticed Sal, when tramping through the
marsh; just took her for a cypress root, in or out of water. Her
demeanor was mostly misconstrued, dark as mud, no eyes or
face to speak of except when her belly was full of bugs
glowbugs, made her shimmer a spooky green. Then Sallie
looked more like a large shiny worm than snake or conger eel. If
you spotted her, it might make you shudder. Though she wasnt
any kind of snake; more related to Frog Folk, and surely no kin
to the lying Serpent Bride.
Salamander was a special friend to Fisher Mans lonely
missus. Wife and she shared a wonderful secret, a mystery of
the bayou.
Now, let me explain about bayou folk. There wasnt a lot of
division those days betwixt human and animal people. They
respected each other, socialized, intermarried all except those
sworn to the Bride or Bull. Daylight hours, a person might
appear a beast wearing feathers or fur, slimy frog, scaly fish, a
flower or even a bug. Thats how they mostly seem nowadays to
human eyes and ears. But when nighttime fell over bayou land
their twinkles would awaken. Then their true features shone
through the beastly apparel; just plain folk like you and me.
Twinkles are mostly hidden today except for firefly people.
Missus believed even Fisher Man knew nothing of her secret,
that place where Sallie and she got across the stormy Flood. Oh,
he knew she often liked to go and visit Cousin Lil. But they
didnt talk of how she got there. That was sacrosanct. No
creature dared to cross that direction, lest he sacrifice his skin.
All except the Fisher Man famous in those partshe could go
anywhere he pleased in his Indian canoe, with Lantern hung up
on its pole.
No, folk generally passed from mainland to swamplands, just
the one way only. NAwlens was called The City those days.
Though most everyone dreamed of returningsome good
dreams, some nightmares. Wind and flood, River current and
the deepening ford wouldnt let Heron take mortal souls back.
Granddad Heron was stork of the bay. Besides, most could never
pay toll for first passage. So there they stayed to live out their
days until River took their bodies. That was supposed to pay
87

some community debt when folk were buried that way. But
Flood was never satisfied, so he mostly kept on rising.
Some still believe it an extra long storm. But I think they
knew better back then, how most blame belonged to pirates and
their carelessly wasteful ways. Whenever a shipload of twinkle
spilled over, it tipped the bayland balance. Ma River must try to
compensate, while Flood surged higher than ever. Storm clouds
hadnt cleared for whole seasons, prohibiting proper sunrise.
Water was rising to widen the bay, and much of the swamp
ground vanished. Most forecasts were dismal, though one an
old anthem had promised new morning, clear sailing and
commerce between bayfolk and The City.
Meanwhile, it was very hard times and slim pickings.
Salamander found some extra work tracking glowbugs, returning
the babes to Queen mother (before pirates could nab them for
twinkle, she said). But one day Sals bank home collapsed in
high water. So she sought a dry crevice high and safe from the
Mossy Moss murk washed in from the sea.
That was worrying Fisher Mans Wife those days; a
salamander needs moistening mud. So Missus complained of
the friends latest absence away from their meeting place.
Oh, when was that? asked Fisher Man.
Noontime or Midnight, when Gators finished hunting.
And where might that be?
Where
Your appointed place?
But that was the secret; Missus hushed herself and playfully
turned him away.
Fisher Man didnt pursue it. His work required secrets too. In
fact, a brand new bundle of whisperings were shared with Sister
Sal: Fisher Man knew why Salamander hid so long in her cave.
Missus had extra reason today for a conference with her
friend. This noon hour, Sallie was waiting at their special place.
It was an out-of-the-way, inconsequential creek a lost River
tributary. There, the salamander could just barely stretch her
long body shore to shore. And then with hardly a dip found
herself on the mainland side of the bay!
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Cauchemars Country
You might call it magic or luck. Sallie did, for she liked
visiting Lily. Ladys garden lake was so fresh and cool (better
hunting than bayou ways). Truth is, such peculiarity was unique
to bayou living. Missus averted her eyes during Sals
transformation a common courtesy. But upon looking back,
what a wonder to see how the creature extended her length
like the teamwork of multiplied Sallie relations joined beakto-tail bridging the bay. So aging woman could walk and step
safely up Cousins garden path.
Wife was no longer spry though still a bit vain about a
youthful complexion. The fear of losing her husbands attention
was one cause of that mornings strain. Not an argument, really:
old Poodle was dead. So Fisher Man found her in tears. But she
blamed herself, so to excuse that pair of gentlemen just departed.
They were Wisps, faeu boulanger (walking flames of fire).
They were arrived from The City; unusual occurrence unheard
of, in actual fact. Said they carried a message from the
magistrate to somebody about something, only they forgot
what it was at the moment of landing upon the bayou side.
Indeed they seemed far more interested now in good sport and
recreation, teasing the woman and tormenting her pet.
I didnt want to be rude, said Missus. Such innocents about
our ways. I warned against their buccaneer coats. They knew
nothing of pirates, and assured me its only masquerade for
Mardi Gras party nights.
The flames were famished. They looked very thin and
thanked Missus kindly for breakfast. But no, they would have
none of her bacon or grits.
Then before you can spit, they licked our walls clean of their
lovely golden luster. I almost forgot how the stones were so bare
til your lamplight gilded them shiny. Who would guess two such
gents were so hungrily bold!
I realize this calls for some explanation. Bayou people didnt
value gold coin, at least, not the way NAwlens folk do. Gold
was the primary cause of their trouble and the flooding in those
parts. Gold or silver never did them happy. None could trade it
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for mainland goods, being always stranded on the bayou side.
So folk were reduced to bartergarden produce and trappings
and cottage craft. Nor were they impressed by graft. To them it
was City extravagance, not generosity. Those pirates were
pilfering their precious twinkle, to sell cheaply as common gold.
Now Missus, she knew that much of the bayou silver and gold
and gems, were beholden to Fisher Mans lantern and good
reason for folk to avoid him. Fisher Mans lamp was odd
indeed. It seemed not to lighten his path. It looked bright
enough when you were looking straight at it, but no shadow was
touched by its beam. He would use its shine before each morn,
luring creatures close up to his boat. It fascinated every bayou
soul, but dumb animals could never resist it that was those what
had lost their twinkle. He would catch a poor body, study its
hide and then clean off black leeches and barbs. Then he threw
the creature right back in the swamp where it wakens with
new shining twinkle!
Take neighbors Marsh Hare and Gray Fox, for example
theyve been arguing ever since.
Anyway, Fisher Mans lamp would turn a surface of stone to
bright gold, a wood finish to silver. Further, a creaturely body
found deadLanterns light could arrest decay and preserve its
living form. Thus a corpse was quick-frozen hard to crystalline
beauty. The higher he held his lamp aloft, the stronger and
deeper and wider it shone.
Now back to Wifes chaotic morn. Brothers Wisp were finally
saying goodbyes with elaborate thank-yous and bows. How
could they repay their hospitable hostess for such a refreshing
repast?
They were suddenly singing a farewell song, dancing and
swinging her round. A rain of twinkling lights filled the room
like a shower of glistening hail. (Husband had only last week
patched the roof.) Her clean floor was a clattering, jingling,
bouncing clutter with ingots of gold.
When Missus realized what it was, all delicacy departed she
was chiding them loudly for reckless abandon.
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Cauchemars Country
Didnt anyone warn that gold angers Marm River? You cant
throw your money around. And she with barking assistance
from Poodlewas sweeping the mess off the floor, lest any
stray coin roll down to the water. And perhaps he mistook the
gold ingots for treatsPooch gobbled up a dozen.
The gents were persuaded to leave at last. Wife chased them
sternly down the path, where they spotted the cottage garden.
They had earlier complimented her kitchen board covered with
fresh pickings, to cook up Husbands favorite jambalaya.
Womans bounty reminded them of their debt to the ferryman,
GrandDad Heron. Nor would they finally go til she offered, then
promised to send the produce required as toll for their untimely
passage.
Yes! Anything to help, she pled and swallowed the rest of
her pride.
Holy Trinity of vegetables, as all bayou dwellers know root
and stem and fruit of flower. Nothing could be easier, well
worth the price to rid her house of extravagantly bothersome,
complimentary dandies. (For they never ceased to shower
Missus vain imagination with generous assurance of her
beauty.) The Heron required three of each variety of vegetable.
She picked onions and celery and her last remaining end of
season shiny red bell peppers.
Yes, I also encountered those good-for-nothings, moaned
Sallie. (Missus related this part of her tale after noon at their
streamside meeting.) In fact, I heard Daddy Heron complaining
last night and threatening Queen Lightnin: No more deliveries
of new glowbug babes til visitors debts were paid all they
owed him AND Ma River.
The old bird was persuaded that City flames were Lightnin
bug relations. And none could talk him out of it. The Wisps had
failed to pay proper toll, after tossing gold at his feet. They
laughed when he scolded their rude behavior, for disrespecting
Flood. Had to move his hut further up the bank to escape the
rising flow. And that just made his job the harder, fording
further across.
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Wife groaned, So she sends the Brothers to meWhat a
cruel way to treat her own sister! Wife was half-related to
Lightnin Queen; a complicated story.
Our visitors begged for directions, said Sal. And then they
got downright rude when I told them their destination would be
back across the flood. It seems they were told to holiday at
Lilys famous garden. Being in such a rush, Sal suggested they
ride on the back of Bull Gator. Just dont let the Boss get you
round his front cuz those big green eyes will paralyze and
then he gobbles you up!
The Wisps, Jack and Will, were not so sure. Their flames
were considerably spicy.
Missus wasnt listening, being eager to continue her story
instead.
Once the Wisps were off, she returned to the cottage, found
Poodle sick in his basket. She watched him and nursed him.
But Pooch was dead by the hour Fisher Man came.
He was just returned with some wonderful news of exploring
Salamanders cavern. But it was all Man could do to console his
dear wife and understand her crying. She mustnt worry about
the walls; Lantern would repaint them. And Poodle whod been
her aged companion: Lantern will conserve him and so it was
an exquisite statue appeared on his basket pillow.
Take vegetables to Daddy Heron, and then he prescribed her
best medicine. Make of Poodle a present to give to your
grieving cousin, Lil. He had learned of the Ladys most recent
travail, a far greater loss than Wifes. Pooch, after all, lived a
long happy life, quite advanced in doggie years.
You know how lovely Lilys touch will poison a breathing
admirer; yet the same touch awakens a petrified creature. So
Poodle may bring her cheer.
And then he told Missus to carry this message:
The Time has come for our Lady to hope. All sorrow will
soon turn to Joy. And Lily would know what his message
portended.
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Cauchemars Country
I know also, somewhat, what he means, spoke Sallie. She
wanted to tell her story in turn, her own appetite for the rain of
the Wisps, its transforming power and what it revealed what
both she and Fisher Man discovered beneath their bayou island
home.
But Missus was far from finished yet, so the wife insisted on
talking.
It wasnt so far to Herons hut. But fog confused her
direction, so she stumbled into Boggy Man. She knew full well
it was only a shade created by Bull Gator, just a mist made of
greed and swarming flies. She had piled her veggies with Pooch
in his basket, all for easy carrying. But the Boggy spotted her
treasures.
Wife tried to dodge him and the Mossy Moss muck, then
tripped on Gators tail. Her load spilled in the marsh, and she
rushed to retrieve all but one of each item. Ol Bull, he snorted
those up. Woman barely escaped with her life and all the
remaining goods.
Daddy Heron was not sympathetic, took naught of what
Missus offered. There was nothing left but to swear promise to
River; Wife guaranteed repayment. So Flood was persuaded to
stay.
But when baywaters spirit released her hand, the skin was
turned black like algae, wrinkled and worn as a mummified
corpse. At least thats how it looked to her eye.
My youthful complexion is ruined, she moaned. Oh why,
Granddad Heron? We never cheat you. Why meHow could
you allow this?
But Bird assured his customer that only Marm River could
release her due. Pay what is owed and your hand will recover.
Part II More secrets revealed and tragic loves.
This more than all else had ruined her day. What was Husband
to think of his bride? Missus stumbled back home in another fog.
Her garden gave onion and celery, but not a single fruit of
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pepper. The noontime hour approached for Sals crossing. Wife
hardly felt up to cheering her kin, but she would go as directed.
She would try anyway.
Just look at my hand, dear Sallie! Indeed, her womanly
fingers and wrist appeared a shrunken monkeys paw. And
Missus was certain the wrinkles were spreading further up her
arm.
Sallie attempted to speak again, accounting her own
adventurehow Fisher Man and she found a sunken ship with
three (was it four?) sea captains, all captive by bayou
enchantment.
Perhaps it was the Lanterns power, Sallie suggested. For
much of their tour was by lamp.
But no, that couldnt be true, Wife instructed.
You see, Lantern requires a lesser light to shine in the
darkness at first Only then do its rays brighten shadow.
Thats why I light a candle at home.
Oh, remarked Sal. I didnt know.
Not many do, answered Wife.
And the timid creature was about to explain how a lesser light
had been shining. For gold ingots performed a wonderful
change upon her snakish body. The salamander had a habit of
tasting almost anything. Her eyes were bad, almost blind, in
fact. But she felt her way forward, had learned to see with her
mouth and sensitive tongue. The Wisps gold, what she found in
the dark, had tasted like lemon honey.
But other footsteps sounded suddenly in the bayou brush behind.
Was their secret crossing discovered? Missus recognized the
gait and form of a man she loved. Fisher Man? No, but one
equally dear.
I didnt know your godson was back, sighed Sallie, again
interrupted.
I know you will think it rude and unfair, since I failed to warn
of this character. You probably thought the old couple childless,
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Cauchemars Country
as so many stories tell. I never said that maybe they had
children, and maybe they did not. I hinted it, you have to admit,
when Lilys great sadness was mentioned. Why else would a
beautiful princess be sad, unless it pertained to Romance?
Its another oddity of bayou life, as anyone knows who has
lived there. Daytimes do not follow quite the same as in The
City. Comes of breathing swamp fumes, I dont wonder.
Sometimes days move slowly there, and many days much faster.
Marsh life may repeat and change events or stumble sideways
though I never heard of it going backward. (That would just be
silly.) This event is one of those.
You see, somewhere between that mornings strife and Wifes
noon meeting with Sal, another child was borne to the bay a
very singular soul. He was delivered there by Grampa Heron,
enjoyed a peaceful childhood. He matured to a dashingly robust
young man and it happened by noon that Day.
The country had never employed a king, though it ever
seemed to want one. So this child was born a royal prince from
a lineage of sea captains. No, I didnt say pirates. Though he
suffered a spell one summer as special guest, captive at the
Big Red House where he wasted his lifetime sleeping. Only
pirates ever sail in Storm their greed is so consuming. But a
prince was destined to sail his own ship and restore the general
economy.
Okay, you certainly should have guessed that confusion is part
of the story.
Yes, Prince (for that was his name) had lived before in the
bayou. That was how the foggy Boggy came to be in the form
of man. Prince sought passage through marshland back over the
bay, to claim his princess bride. Bull Gator was waiting to
capture the youth, locked his eyes in that stupefying stare. If
Prince didnt think then to drop his own shadow, the gator would
have him for lunch. As it was, Prince escaped, left the shadow
behind. One taste and Ol Bull spit it out, then enslaved it and
dressed it in fog. Boggy haunted the bay and foundered the
ships, so Gator could seize pirate plunder. And that started the
war between Serpent and Boss, competing for Boggys
allegiance.
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Prince was cursed to wander until he died, a beast without
speech or soul loup garouall covered with matted hair and
howling his misery.
Lately, Prince was returned to a bayou home, to be raised for a
kingly commission. That family was Fisher Man and the
temperamental Wife.
Now there, does that settle your doubt?
Therefore Missus and Sal were both aware of the young mans
latest history. But they never dreamed all that History bestowed,
and Prince himself was clueless. He was lately spending the
daylong lounging with the Bullfrog clan. He sat up partying all
night through to the music of Crickets and Frogs tree frogs,
bulls and peepers tooan endless recital from evening til dawn.
But Fisher Man, his godfather, snagged him late last night to
help catch some gators and gars.
Thats when the youth spotted Lily.
Dawn shone through the clouds. A sunbeam escaped to briefly
enlighten a cove on the mainland side. There Beauty was out for
a morning swim, in white splendor atop floating green. The
boys memory awoke, his true purpose recalled and the
tragedy of Love denied. For every encounter of previous Days,
as he strove to pursue the omen, was before the fullness of Time.
He might even defeat the fury of Flood and win access to the
Garden. Lily was desperate to meet him too, hoping to complete
her desire. But it was always too late to warn him away. Only a
touch, a mere gesture of greeting, then viperous venom inherent
in her skinit struck him down, breathless ...
There is no cure for that septic stroke, only death could deliver
his soul; original curse of all mankind. For Lily was last
surviving daughter of the evil Serpent Bride.
For many days after the sighting, Prince wandered (thats
rightmany days in a Day), no longer lolling with bullfrog
buddies. No more teasing the water Nymph maidens or
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Cauchemars Country
tormenting Uncle Turtle. The time was over for hijinks and fun.
Prince had lost his party fever, hardly appetite or sleep. All that
remained was his vision of Lily, the inaccessible bride.
But that hour he resolved it was no way to live. If death be the
price, far better to pay and so lessen the Flood for his fellows.
He must see his Lily, or perish trying again and perhaps for
all Time.
Prince found himself following prints in the mud, then spied the
back of his godmother toting a basket of What could it be?
Where would the Missus be going at noon? He followed. They
greeted and welcomed him there. Wife remarked at his
interested tone.
Poodles basket is light, strange to say.
Sal was stretching and straining her torso, so godmother led
son past a tree for a chat. He had nothing to tell, so they
returned to the stream. But instead of a hideaway trickle, there
stood the bay called Barataria, only now it was bridged across.
Where did your friend go, Mother? asked Prince.
But Missus beheld a new sight underfoot. Would you look at
that! For colors of light looked like floating gems.
Salamanders long body shone with translucently luminous
opaline fire. The timid creature had tried to divulge about the
new diet of gold. Thats what transformed her twinkle.
Missus suddenly sobered, recalling her own complexion.
My hand! Oh dear, look how the plague is crept yet higher up
my arm. She held it out for sons sympathy. He had nothing
more to spare.
Horrible, she gasped.
Prince, he said naught though they heard other sounds No,
it was voices, behind them: Laughing City folk chatter. Both
stopped and turned to listen there, for their mainland passage
was done. Back out the bridge, the chatter paused. There was
nothing to see. Missus and Sallie both knew those bright tenors,
for only voices sounded, bodiless.
Well met, dear lady, spoke Jack, never shy.
And talented snake, followed Will.
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Im not a snake.
And who may this princely young personage be?
Missus made introduction.
Charmed Will OWisp at your service.
Jack OLantern, Im sure.
Then Prince nodded. He tried to peer underneath their bridge
for the persons belonging to courteous tongues. Wisps stepped
light and prim to shore.
Forgive us, Will bowed, though he could hardly be seen as a
flame amidst the day. We decided to heed the ladys advice. So
we left our coats behind.
Jack chuckled, Fair Lily may not be partial to pirates, even
pretend.
Good thinking, moaned Missus. Then thinking herself how
stressful might be this intrusion of strangers upon Lilys gentle
composure, Wife offered a suggestion. What if the gents tour
the garden first, and meet them all round the Lakes far side?
Splendid idea! For all City Folk had heard much of this
garden, as well as the lady who tended it. Soon their voices were
gone down the opposite walk.
With a snap, Sal recovered her serpentine form and bellied up
to Missus. She knew very well Lily dwelt nearer this side, not
far, but shared Wifes concern. The woman went first to greet
the lass, and appraise her disposition. She would signal if
Godson was welcome.
Sure enough, Cousin Lil was out and about with all of her
attendants. She appeared in full bloom, glorious white silk
apparel, but her mood was depressively sad. Missus was always
welcome, but then She displayed her withered hand. Wife
started to tell an account of her day. Princess was already
sorrowed. The news was correct: It was Lily needed cheering.
None would marvel how Fisher Man knew in advance thats
just how it is in the bayou.
An attendant was called, lovely flower maid. A jeweled box
was produced and opened to show the still body of a songbird.
It was Sparrow, Lilys favorite singing chum. So the Lady sang
where bird left off, a dismal tune carrying sadder verse:
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Cauchemars Country
Marsh Hawk had flown by only moments before, its silhouette
darkly threatening. Sparrow was schooled to avoid touch of his
mistress but that moment of fright made him jump without
thought to the nearest sanctuary. First contact with Lilys
protective embrace and the bird fell flightless and silent.
Oh when, tell me when may I be freed of this cursed
ancestral power? Lilys song rose up sweetly, soaring oer the
garden. Those I cherished and suffered to love me back, they
were doomed to untimely departures; yet they linger to haunt my
tenderest affections from under the sodden earth.
Lil outstretched both her arms, gesturing a tree, then a bush, as
if each were another dear soul. So it was she tenderly planted
them all, instead of tombstones, to make living memorials.
Thats how her garden grew. So she pondered anew what
species of plant to place over her faithful Sparrow.
No, Cousin! cried Missus. Give me the dear thing. In fact,
I will trade you my Poodle, cast forever in crystal by Lanterns
wondrous magic. Though a hex on the living, your touch may
awaken new life for this faithful friend. So let him be yours;
kind regards from my husband.
Then suddenly, Missus recalled the true purpose of her urgent
call.
My dear Lily, heedFisher Man sends another blessed
word.
Lily paused her tears in expectant surprise.
He told me, to tell you It is Time.
After a silence, one of Lilys attendants asked about the
obvious.
I dont know, Missus answered. He said our Lady would
surely understand.
But rather than speak, Princess felt it was time for another
dramatic singing. Maidens handed her a silver harp and helped
to place her stool. The stage was complete with a flower print
umbrella.
Next verse recounted old legend, an Edict. Bright morning
was proclaimed, clear dawn and excellent sailing for the vessel
99

of the King. Then new governance was commissioned to restore
prosperity and peace. It declared that storm and flooding must
end. And a King has a Queen hidden somewhere.
The chorus repeated, Time, it is time.
By the third refrain, sweet Lilys voice faded to pitiful sobbing
and moans. For by witness of Wife, even Fisher Mans message
of hope was flawed, tarnished black by cruel judgment on her
skin.
Just look at my hand Soon my arm will be blighted! She
beseeched her cousin for help.
No, this garden bore no pickable fruit Storm never allowed
enough sun. Lil and her maids were the only blooms.
River Marm rages. Flood must swell ever higher, overflowing
all bayou lands. Islands and marshes and peaceful lagoons must
finally be submerged, all folk and their homes will be swept out
to sea. The nightly performance of Choirmaster his Cricket
bands, the Cicada viols, all his Froggy choruses will be
drowned by everlasting din of Storm.
Not true! announced Sal, emerging from brush. I also
bring wonderful news. I saw the Kings ship, from the inside at
least, where it was anchored deep under stone. And kings You
want kings? I give you four captains, actually. Sea captains,
one bronze and another silver, one gold andWell, Im not sure
about the fourth. Fisher Man wasnt either. But I heard him say
most certainly, the Time is now due.
Then indeed was Lily lifted from her solemn mood. She arose
from her chair, restarted the song, spinning and dancing,
swirling around her white pedaled tresses of silk. But again,
words repeated three stanzas not two.
Her music paused. Cousin Lil spoke up sternly.
Not until I hear it declared for a third time this Day, will I be
convinced the Promise is finally fulfilled.
Must she always take things so literally? Missus complained
to her friend.
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Cauchemars Country
But another sound startled them, a familiar noise to Fisher
Mans old Wife.
Barking her Poodle was barking, loud and rapid as a pup.
Pooch was restored by tender brush of Bloom not only to life
but new youth. Missus could scarcely believe what she saw,
how her cousins deficiency cloaked this new hope.
What if ? No, Lilys touch couldnt help her but maybe
with Fisher Mans lamp? Stone for a hand would be better than
none.
Oh dear! Missus cried.
Cousin Lily and doggy were playing like children all about.
Young Ladys grief appeared all but forgotten. Then their joy
was disrupted by Wifes cry of alarm.
What will Husband say now? My whole arm rots like old
leather.
Stinks too, muttered Sallie
Where nextwill it climb to my heart or my face? Who can
say which is actually worse?
So often it is, at the moment we think nothing more could go
wrong then it does.
Part III Not a snake or a worm after all . . .
A third visitor stepped forth. Prince appeared, standing tall.
He sported a mascot also, his hunting companion, the brotherly
Hawk. Sal moaned to herself, this crowd was more than Princess
could bear. But Lily spied first the cruel bird.
Take it away! No murderers welcome here. Look now, the
remains of my friend. Were it not for your trespass, my Sweet
would be singing duet to my song.
Still a sad song, spoke Prince, bearing wounded demeanor.
Surely, Princess, you wouldnt accuse him.
Lily was forced to admit, it was she who extinguished another
innocent life.
Brave Hawk never strikes lacking need, or my bidding. I
could never cause thee grief.
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Then Lily recognized once again, the return of her lonesome
Love. Her heart began beating, like chimes of a clock. He was
walking, now running to claim his Betrothed.
Not now! she choked. Princess longed to receive him, but
no, not before the true Hour.
She held her hands forward to shield his advance. But Prince
beheld it a gesture of welcome.
It isnt yet Lily was shouting, then she wilted and
moaning said, Time.
All it requires is a touch, not even a kiss or embrace. Though
next, Lily crouched to cradle her groom. No tear marred the
white of her cheek. Princess looked pale and exhausted of life.
This last was too much. So close and now lost. If only
thered been proper clue to his coming. But no no mere
warning would dampen such fury. And now Princes heart lay
still.
Suddenly, Salamander the meekest of folk Sallie had a plan.
Do as I say now, move quickly! she urged.
A lifeless body was gently laid upon their Poodles bed, manly
arms and legs all folded within the basket brim. Sparrow was
nested atop his chest. Garden produce was tucked at his sides.
Step upHelp her carry the load.
But Sal, though she uttered the order, had a different job to do.
She snaked herself upward and crested the brim to lie rimming
the basket around. Securing her tail with salamander beak, she
encircled the young mans form. Then a glow of gold hid secure
in her belly it brightened her slimy gray creaturely dinge to an
eternal ring of fire.
Wow! exclaimed cheerful voices aside.
Jack shouted, Nice costume.
I admire your fashion, Friend Worm.
Im not a worm, murmured Sal through closed beak.
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Cauchemars Country
The Wisps danced up proffering flowery greetings to their
pretty Citizen Lily. Naturally, they considered her a neighbor of
The City.
Shes your Princess! corrected the maidens.
Do tell!
Right you are. So both gents were silenced.
Will none help to carry this burden? pled Missus. The
delicate maidens were hardly an aid; each had a load of her
own the harp, the chair and flowery umbrella. Lily carried
Poodle. And Wisps, as you know, have more tongue than hands
and less muscle.
They can at least run to find Fisher Man, squeaked Sal, else
she tried to be heard. But there was no way for these City folk
to cross the flood again. Herons ford was nowhere near nor
could they pay their obligation.
Jack had very sensitive ears; their fiery tips rose up to sharp
points:
Whats that sound?
All looked up, and poor Lily shuddered. Twas the call of
Marsh Hawk hunting by air high over the garden lake.
Then Missus saw tethered behind the bird, like its shadow
traveling under: Fisher Man skimming the top of the lake upon
twin silver skis! He was steering by rope with one hand, and
Lantern held high in the other.
I didnt know he could ski, said the wife.
And Sallie was thinking, Theres lots she could learn.
Friend Hawk it was who brought him here, but Lantern was
first to warn. Its Light flashes when I am called to serve, so
Fisher Man explained.
Thats handy to know Ouch! sputtered Missus.
No it wasnt the basket or weight of its load. Carrying Prince
was no worse than Poodle. In fact, the burden seemed almost to
float, feeling weightless above her hold. (Perhaps it was
Salamanders fire, or that she bore anothers burden.) Missus
had hollered when she found only one hand had strength to grasp
the basket. The other was shrunk to a mummified mockery of
her womanly form.
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Dont look at me, Husband. Im hideous.
But your hair was never lovelier, he answered.
Not my hair, you Silly!
Poor husband sighed.
Truly, Fisher Man looked overwhelmed as he led them all
hastily back. So Missus trotted along striving to hold herself
steadily under the Lanterns shine.
Meanwhile, Fisher Man spoke again earnestly in Salamanders
ear.
Remember what we discussed?
Sallie nodded.
Now is the chance to change your mind. Or are you still
resolved?
I am, she replied. Only Fisher Man understood at first,
being Ol Bull Gators hour. Were Sallie to try bridging the bay
before midnight she shuddered at the thought.
I will rather sacrifice myself than join the Beast for dinner.
And this is what Sal had promised in secret earlier that morn.
Halt! Man commanded. In fact they could march no further.
Our friend Salamander has reached the end of her solitary
journey.
When she let go her tail, the fire cooled to a gleaming in her
belly. Sal slid down to the ground and vanished with a plop into
the bay.
Missus could see that a bank of mist was gathering over the
marsh. She knew full well what her friend was preparing, but
she wondered at the hour. The fog was moving toward them
fast. It darkened and stiffened to human shape: thick legs, stout
torso, muscled armsand where the head would be, was a giant
swarm of biting black mosquitoes. These were continually
shaping, reshaping and forming a series of phantom
expressionsfirst a grimace, then a snarl, a silent scream,
hungry howl.
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Cauchemars Country
Then a darker wave on waters surface followed beneath the
cloud. The wake of a ghostly craft appeared, on the heels of
Boggy Man.
Lights! They were rising from under the water. A line of
luminescence marked their passage over the bay, hundreds of
pulsating colors of light beautiful to behold! Princess also
knew what Salamander did, what risk slender friend was taking.
So Fisher Man spoke to Lil:
You go first.
She recoiled in earnest dread. No, I mustnt. Mere tread of
my foot means instant death to one living.
A worse doom gathers.
He lifted his lamp, aiming its beams at Boggy. The monster
winced, but continued its progress across Floods darkening
swell.
HurryYou Lil are our only hope. I will follow next with
Lantern.
Then Lily seemed to understand. She lifted her skirts and
aimed her toes to walk up the serpentine head. First step, and
their lighted path flickered and swayed. Then darkness
Salamander was dead.
Princess gasped and stumbled suddenly back to a sobbing heap
on shore. Fisher Man moved quickly up while Lantern beamed
the brighter. There was a crackling hiss, like glacial ice
encrusting a mountain lake.
Follow me! Fisher Man hollered. Our path is now solid as
marbleized stone. For the extraordinary light had transformed
the long corpse to a hardened glass composition. Were it not for
reflection of gemstones beneath, they could never tell bridge
from water. The procession followedwoman carrying Prince,
Lily and maidens, then Wispsthe latter oohing and ahing at the
rainbow color display.
Boggy Man loomed over them all, gazing solemnly at the
basket. Perhaps he recalled his onetime master But the
flames were most beguiling. He was fascinated by lights. Like
an oversized infant, Boggy hovered over the wisps.
105
Two goggly eyes shone up from the water. Little images of

flickering sprites danced mirrored in the beastly brain. Bull
Gator was also uncertain, couldnt figure what these creatures
be.
No, Boss didnt belong to the bay, in truth original pirate
intruder. His kind, the Krok, came from far over Ocean; you
could tell pointy snout and long toothy grin. This wasnt a
bayou gator at all, but pretender Jack and Will didnt know,
and Bull never tasted of City children of Light.
With a splash, Gator lunged. Flames danced aside laughing.
Leviathan maw met invisible stone. More jaw-crushing pain had
bayou Boss never encountered! He turned tail retreating to nurse
a sore bleeding, virtually toothless mouth. There would be no
supper for Gator that night. Stormy gales blew Boggy to bed.
When all were safely landed upon the bayou side, they marveled
that Floods waterline was lower. Looking back they saw
outline of martyred salamander form. But where tiny legs had
once hung uselessthere appeared great basalt columns
anchored deep into the bay.
Lily turned, entreating Fisher Man:
Might I revive our friends again?
You can try, he said. We will wait to see what Lilys touch
avails.
She gazed then longingly at the youth inert in Poodles basket.
Lantern had done mysterious work upon that body also. Princes
features were fixed, arms and hands now immovable carven
marble with crystalline sheen.
Princess knelt down. She whispered in prayer, placed a hand
upon her lovers, the other palm set over rock that once had been
a tail.
Nothing happened else no other change was visible on the
bay. But next moment, Prince was breathing deep. Wife and
princess cheered!
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Cauchemars Country
They all helped the boy up to his feet, embracing him each in
turn. Lily almost fainted of overwhelming joy, finally relieved
of her curse. In fact, the moment her toes tasted bayou mud, all
poisonous taint began draining. Presently, it proved safe for any
to touch the bloom.*
Prince! Oh my prince, called Lily in glee.
Young man stared, but didnt answer.
Look at your bride, now. Relish her embrace.
But no speech Glassy eyes, grating sound in his throat.
A fly went by. His eyes locked on its passing. Suddenly his
tongue darted out Snagged the insect!
Lily squeaked, recoiling in alarm.
Once released from her hold, Prince crouched low to the
ground, knees akimbo and licking his lips.
Fisher Man shrugged and shook his head sadly.
He thinks hes a frog. And certainly so, for the young man
was hopping about funnily. Even the sound in his throat had
become a loud sing-song amphibian croaking.
Patience, Cousin Lil. Your prince is just dreaming.
Too long in the bullfrog ponds, murmured Wife. Those
were his happiest bayou hours.
Said Fisher Man, Come. He must awaken by dawn. Kings
ship is ready to sail.
They turned toward the river bank, worn sheer by deluge, now
the face of a cliff towering high. Lantern light led them some
distance ahead.
A groaning noise was steadily growing, like straining steel
girders or tall cedars in wind. It started as very deep
underground tremors and rose to an agonized roar.
There! shouted Lil looking back. Sals alive?
Bridge pillars were shaking, grown high like four trees. The
structure rose skyward and paused then shattered in a shower
of lights! Shards continued to rain all around into water,
diamond crystals of fiery hues emerald, ruby, amethyst,
sapphire and topaz Then silence and a hissing of foam.
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Missus didnt dare mention, but certain she spied Sallies
smile in the haze of the blast. Though that farewell expression
was set on the face of a dragon-like creaturely form. On great
wings she ascended and waved mighty claws, disappeared in a
flaming cloud.
So you see she was never a snake or a wormjust Salamander
after all.
Wife
Missus awoke from her vision to heed Fisher Man:
Destiny awaits!
Oh, but not for me Not for us, my dear man.
She was trying to keep walking within the Light, so to slow
the blight if not cure it. But the splash of Flood had soaked
Wifes arm and kissed her indebted brow. Wherever mossy
water stained her skin was scaling brackish. Now she showed
him the state of decay up her arm, and a patch of slime on her
forehead. Missus despaired that her husband could ever show
love for his wife again.
Part IV About monsters and pirates, captains and kings.
Here the party stood facing an oaken door embedded in mud
of the cliff. The structure attached was trapped buried therein.
But this was a vessel, not a castle or church. The great ship had
been scuppered, keeled over and buried, many generations ago.
The main hatch to its hold was still battened and locked. And it
must have been flagship of a royal fleet, for the bracings were
brass ornate, with emblems of gold even its padlock was so.
The Wisps made short work melting lock and its hasp. The
gold? Well, they slurped that up happily. For they hadnt yet
breakfasted since the day prior when visiting Fisher Mans
cottage.
The doors were thrown wide, and Fisher Man entered. Missus
came after and Prince hopped behind (lured by a stick with a fly
on a thread). All others followed with Princess, most cautious
this cavern was veiled in thick darkness. Though Jack and
Wills fires shone definitely now, so Lantern was able to lighten
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Cauchemars Country
most brightly. Good thing, for the floor was uneven, all curved
like a bowl and thick beams ever tripping their progress at
intervals. Those same beams arched up vaulting high overhead,
looking much like a chapel ceiling.
Ahoy there! shouted a baritone voice, then another and a
third. Light revealed three sea captains, all shackled to berths in
various stages of dress. First one was seated, feet locked in gold
boots. Second crouched fixed in leggings of silver. Third was
poised eager to start but stuck rigid while donning a copper-clad
coat.
Who goes there? a Fourth, though just barely heard, still
hidden from view by dark shadow.
Wife asked, Which aged captain commands?
First one to stand fully dressed out on deck, Fisher Man
declared.
That will be me, interjected the Fourth.
Then Fisher Man with Lantern high said, This remains to be
seen. Rouse yourselves, sleepy heads. It is Time to sail!
We sail! they sang.
All hands on deck, announced the one still struggling with
long-johns of silver.
First captain busily shooed off the flames, as if they were
pesky flies. The hungry Wisps hovered salivating over the gold
in his boots. But Silver hailed to young Jack and Will, in hopes
they might soften the silver pajamas and hasten his dressing out.
Stand ready, mates! was Coppers pronouncement. This
maid is gone loony. For Lily had suddenly roused from
confusion. She sang and danced circles round Fisher Mans wife.
Then she turned to him also, wrapped arms round his neck and
showered sweet kisses of thanks.
You said it! A third Time, just like the old song, so now I
know well it is true.
But a jolt and a heave caused Princess to cling. Fisher Man
caught her from tumbling. He ushered both her and his wife to a
pillar laid over sideways. He unclasped his own belt to bind
them secure, then he hollered:
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Lash yourselves; batten all hatches. All hands prepare to
hoist sail!
And Copper echoed his own favorite warning, Look out for
the boom! as his sea chest slid sideways from starboard to
port.
Were moving, stuttered Missus. But nobody heard. All
was a clamor of timbers groaning, crashing and crunching of
rock. The air itself vibrated, battering their ears. Even Wisps
were a flicker like torches in wind. All maidens were screaming,
the cry of ships passengers ramming a reef. But in truth, their
vessel had launched itself seaward, upon a new virgin voyage.
The crashing din quieted. The whole vessel bobbed. Starboard
descended and port became ceiling. The sea chest slid backward
to where it had started. Maidens swung sideways, placed
trembling feet upon a proper floor. When swaying settled and
floorboards leveled, then Fisher Man freed the women.
Here, things began happening ever faster and I see that your
eyelids are drooping. My story has grown much longer than
planned. (In fact, the dragon part was new.)
Fisher Man climbed and threw open the hatch and was
showered with bundles of sticks! He was buried, along with
Prince Frog who had squatted beside the old godparents feet. It
was Herons swamp hut was right in the way as the ship slid
through mud into water. Lowly construction had no chance in
the crash. It shattered to pieces, chaotically piled in a heap atop
the main deck.
Missus screamed dread alarm! Her husband and godson were
gone and most probably dead. Shouts to captains were useless;
Will and Jack could lift nothing, so it was left to the womenfolk.
They and Lils maidens worked on to try digging the men from
under debris. Wife had only one useable arm. The cursed limb
shrunk to dollish proportions when light of Lamp was concealed
in the tumble.
Suddenly, a new light shone above. Never once extinguished,
Lanterns beams were slowly petrifying that jumbled pile of
sticks. Fisher Man climbed up from inside, poked out his head
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Cauchemars Country
at the top. Prince crawled up behind, soon stepped easily out
upon the upper deck. Neither was injured, thank Heaven!
Prince, shaking his head no longer so froglikelooked
newly aroused from long sleep. Lantern was hung on a stick
poking upward. Its light helped the ladies climb out. Soon all
stood whole under lightening sky except for the ancient
captains. They were still dressing below. Lantern was burning
its virtue into remains of Herons hut. The old bird himself was
already on board. He was manning the helm so to steer her to
anchor, though the ship was missing a mast.
Missus was safe, but never less happy. Not even the sun could
brighten her mood. Morning Breezes were blowing the storm
clouds away. All passengers were cheering save she.
Husband, your lamp is proved worthless to me, she
whimpered, displaying itchy scales. I am finished.
But Fisherman grasped her hand, pressed lips to the slimy
skin.
No, Dearest. New morning sun has dawned. All you need is
your bath before breakfast. Let us help you get down in Ma
River to wash.
Foolish Fisher! Could you dare to suggest it? The water is
green; its infested! Besides, I owe toll for the travelers passage.
Dont you notice my labor to carry their due? A plunge in Flood
water, my whole body will shrink. Then youll have married a
blob!
Truly, WifeI remember the part you are playing, as well as
all the rest. Most precious of all was your Sallies self-giving.
Look now upon the bay. Rivers Flood is withdrawing. Shes
washing the leeches and Mossy Moss out to the sea. All bayou
folk debts have been paid.
Then he whispered a word to the princesss maidens,
regarding the captains quarter. They gathered round Lily and
Missus in giggles, then ushered them through the door.
Meanwhile, Lantern continued to shine. Morning sun rose ever
higher. Something wonderful stirred in Gramp Herons old
sticks. The pile began changing throughout to pure silver,
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softening and fused. It straightened and smoothed; it was
growing a pole no, a mainmast for steady sailing.
Fisher Mans lamp remained mounted atop. As the mast rose
tall, Lanterns beams grew in power to transform the entire ship.
The vessel was quickly bedecked in bright silver, ornamented
with gold. Never since did such a vessel shine on Barataria Bay.
Prince was still looking puzzled and dazed, with sunshine on
his face. Then Fisher Man called below decks as First Mate:
Three captains commanded this ship. The first ruled with
Knowledge and Wisdom, the second most Artfully Just. The
third, which has yet to retire, has Adventured far and wide. It is
time to install a new skipper to sail and to govern these bayou
lands. Who is worthy to stand? This last word rang loud as a
whistle throughout the ship.
All three captains were up and full dressed another blessing
of the Light. They stood to attention in perfect line at foot of the
silver mast. However, there was an embarrassing scuffle;
someone pressing out from the shade.
Here, choked that fourth voice. I am up next for
command.
A disgraceful figure emerged into light, pushing past his
fellows. He was fat and unkempt, not entirely dressed. His
waistcoat was backwards and hair a mess. He wore jacket and
trousers, white shirt and black boots, but buttons and buckles
and zippers were loose. In fact, every fastening was missing or
torn. The outfit hung ragged, all wrinkled; unpressed. And
worse was his manner a surly man, arrogant and pompous. It
was evident he had breakfasted on rum for many dark morns.
None had noticed when Will and Brother Jack went missing
yet again. But now they came leaping like sparks out on deck.
Both were fully fed and fizzing brightly; they shone clearly now
as healthy flames even before bright sun.
The badly-dressed captain stepped slovenly forth, believing he
fooled the crowd. But, thanks to the Wisps, he was revealed a
mere pirate in spirit and uniform. What nasty scheme had
placed this knave upon the Kings own ship? (Surely Serpent
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Cauchemars Country
Bride had some role in the plot.) While searching below, City
visitors found breakfast gold buttons and hooks, clasps, snaps
and rivets adorning Pretenders attire. And so he fell to pieces,
resembling well, he looked a lot like the Boggy Man, but a
laughable monster at best. And when general amusement
subsided to calm Commander Buttons collapsed!
I guess that last swig of pirate rum was too much for him to
stand.
Next, ladders were lowered to collect the true captains. When
all stood nobly atop, one by one they approached Fisher Man
and Prince. They dressed the youth while his face remained
passive. Golden belted a sword to his waist, then Silver
presented his sextant. Copper stepped up and smartly saluted.
His cap of white satin Skippers crown of commandwas
placed firmly on Princes young brow.
Aye, Commander! Copper saluted again. What be your
order now?
Prince was silent, still blinking though light had begun to
awaken in his eye, a dream or long memory of commissions
past. His gaze focused upward. A single word escaped his lips:
Lily.
Yes, it was Fair Lily he saw. She was attired in a gown of lily
white, beautiful atop the stair. Behind were her maidens, each
newly adorned as a flower from their home. And who was this
other lass, brightly dressed? Nobody saw her beforestood
shimmering green by her Mistress.
Fisher Man ushered Prince, now Governor of Barata Ria,
guided him up the stair to stand beside his First Lady. There
Grandfather Heron administered vows. Lily flinched only once
when Prince kissed her, as another fly went by. He never
noticed the bug.
Finally, Fisher Man introduced the new couple, and offered
his benediction. First, to Prince,
Love her and keep her trulymake that your governments
creed.
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Then speaking loudly to them all,
May we always remember our humble friend, Sal. She gave
everything. Far more than mere neighbor or bayou kin; honor
her gift evermore.
The very next moment, morning sun crested high up over trees.
Mist melted away and shadow fled from over the blighted Bay.
There appeared, stretching from shore to shore at the very spot
where their party had crosseda majestic archway encrusted
with gems. It flashed forth every color of treasure in earth,
water and sky.
Behold a rich legacy of our friend! As Man marries
Woman are countries rejoined by this mighty glittering
causeway: Bayou connected with Mainland. All are now
citizens of the Light City. May she lighten our burdens and
brighten our fortunes again.
Everyone cheered, especially the birds. Some voices called
even louder, for Bayou Folk from the furthest of swamps were
gathered round the shore. There thronged the creatures:
Choirmaster Frog and his chorus of Crickets and such, Brother
Rabbit, Unc Turtle and all their relations. There was Swamp
Rat and Gopher, Neighbor Possum and Eagle, the Lightnin Bug
families, Coons and the Loons and infamous Catfish twins.
Many were waving with whistles and calls, not only to Prince
and fair Princess. Some recognized lost City relations already
crossing the bridge.
Every citizen was free to come and go back, to enjoy
unfettered commerce. This passage would never be threatened
by Storm, for its pillars had anchored deep into stone beneath the
silt and mud. Its arch rose high to accommodate shipping; and
Flood would pass safely under. The structure was fashioned,
most artfullyto appear from afar like a great shining dragon,
on guard at the door of the bay.
Then a cry of alarmWhat was passing now under the bridge?
A ship sailing boldly and flying the flag of Barataria pirates. The
miserable fiends spotted easy prey bright children of Light
from The City. Their brig riding low, it was sailing deep laden
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Cauchemars Country
with tons of hoarded twinkle. But pirates are always wanting
more like their Mistress and covert Chief.
River began swelling. Sunshine blinked dim. A cloud of mist
was rising, for this was Ol Bull Gators hour to terrorize the
swamp. Boggy Man was already prowling and aiming for the
pirates.
No! shouted another voice, a tone that creatures knew.
Their Lightnin Bug Queen was roused in alarm and fit to be
roasted raw.
Its mine! she wailed. That twinkle is mine And Boggy
Man aint goin to upset it.
She launched herself upward, flashing angrily. Desperately
higher she circled. Queen plunged into the very top of the tallest
cypress standing.
Tree started to sway, its branches alive with a menace from on
high. Storm wind began howling and rose to a screech. Black
shadow exploded from tree into sky. Queen had awakened
Queen Mother of Old, bride of Earths original foe ambition
exceeding and appetite matched the Boss Gators deep hunger
for twinkle.
Gather quickly, shouted Fisher Man. All creatures come
under Light. Ships mast was grown tall, hoisting higher than
trees. Lanterns beams shone bright from atop, bathing all on
the shore.
As the Horned Owl who hunts the deep Night, she veered
away from brightness swooped silently oer waves to confront
the enemy pirate ship. Its crew, having spotted the Boggy, was
dropping sail to slow their advance. All Bayou Folk stood silent,
transfixed. City travelers paused on the bridge. The Great Owl
folded her wings and screeched, diving for Boggy Mans face.
He raised his foggy arms to shield, then to battle the threat. But
naturally, Owl plunged right through the fume and splashed into
the deep.
Boggy Man waved defiantly, beating his billowy chest. But
water surrounding the monster was boiling. Another beast arose.
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Was it Gator?
Lily turned away. She refused to watch what followed. Cruel
Mother and source of all venom emerged. Bride forsook the
hunting owl shape, revealing now her true visagedeadly green
and black as moss Horned Serpent preparing to strike.
Twice then thrice she attacked and somehow the viper found
substance in smoke. What was it? She fastened and Boggy Man
thrashed. Serpent yanked backward while opposite force refused
to surrender the phantom. Then another body was lifted high
Ol Bull biting back at the nether. It appeared to all watching
that Boggy Man stretched, dark toffee pulled jaw to jaw. Their
struggle caused even Sals bridge to sway; and so their ancient
war might continue on for eons out of Time.
But Fisher Man had a further plan. He conferred with Ships
Commander. Prince dropped his sword and climbed the mast
quite fast as Squirrel or Rat. He reached the peak, held firm to
Lantern, twisted it and sighted, aiming its penetrating beam upon
the mid-bay battle.
You see, Kingly commission transforms the virtue of
Lanterns warming Light. Great arms of brilliance stretched
forth to embrace the monsters foggy deceptions. With a sigh,
Fair Breeze caressed the Storm and Boggy Man melted away.
Both other beasts fell splashing back. Bay surface started
roiling a circular tide, like a gargantuan hand had opened up a
drain. The maelstrom was growing, whirled wide and steep.
Bridge supports bowed and strained. But the pillars were
anchored well and deep. All prayed that it would hold.
Monsters were fastened, each firmly biting the others fleshy
tail. Primeval foes, rival Bayou lords, were both determined to
master, one finally to rule supreme, unchallenged purveyor of
twinkle.
Now, theres nothing Bayou folk like better than rip-roaring
fights or scrambles. Each behemoth was punishing most
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Cauchemars Country
excellently the other. Not a few of folk were whistling, taking
sides and wagers that is until their rightful chief and captain
stared them down.
His Lantern Light burned farther yet. Prince aimed it firm and
true. The maelstrom rose and spun the monsters high above the
swell. At the feel of open air again: the Serpent sprouted wings,
so then it seemed two dark-scaled dragons battled up the sky.
They continued spinning fast and high, Lantern never yielding.
Each monsters light of life was fading twinkle choking dim.
Their aged bodies Serpent and Gator locked in deadly
embrace; finally stiffened and congealed. These enemies, so
resolute yet so vacantly composed. Lantern froze their forms,
but instead of stone they turned to shimmering pearl. Their
whirling clash was shrunken small paired oyster shells,
saucer-sized.
Breezes carried the shells, fused round as a plate; blew it
straight up overhead. With a shout, Fisher Man hurled high the
gold sword. Prince caught it and skewered the disk. The
watchers below heard hammering. Then their captain was
shimmying down.
Fixed to the very peak of ships mast was a cross-piece over
Lantern. It swung free before Morning Breezes now the
sword of their skipper king. Stuck firmly to its pommel end was
the monsterly spinning disk, the translated flesh of enemy
tyrants. Never more could they threaten to rob the souls of
Barataria folk. Instead, they serve as weather vane to signal
happy sailing.
Now, I know you must be thinking it A dispiriting end for such
glorious beasts. But you simply have to accept the truth: Thats
how things go in the bayou.
That there is how the Lightnin Bug queen was forced to
abdicate. I think it was Fisher Mans Wife who claimed the
scepter next in line. Nowadays they shift it around to different
families yearly. And that, my friend, is principally what their
blinking chatter is about.
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Wisp brothers were spotted next atop the pirate vessels mast
How they got there, nobody knows. There they perpetrated
pirate mischief, a recipe all their own. From the crows nest, they
shook and showered the pirates with ingots of shiny gold. That
so distracted the motley crew, that approach of Kings ship went
unnoticed. So pirates were captured, put out of commission.
Then Lanterns power in Princes hand began vaporizing gold.
So hoarded twinkle reversed its enchantment, rose up into air
and returned to its own as the living light of souls.
Lightnin Bug queen was locked in the brig. Ma River
dismissed Master Flood. Mossy Moss muck mostly washed with
the tide, black leeches and midges too. Salamander Bridge
remains busy today. Our only complaint is the traffic.
Prince and Lily? They sailed on their Honeymoon what else
did you expect? Fisher Man and Wife governed fairly until the
youthful couples return.
Whoa! Back up. Where did Missus go? From whence had she
come again? Last told, they whisked her away to the cabin.
Well she got her bath, complements of Ma River. That was her,
the Missus, standing freshly dressed at the Fire Lilys side.
Between Fisher Mans lamp and grateful Flood, her old body
was fully restored to the youth it enjoyed when Fisher Man first
welcomed his beaming bride.
I hardly recognized you, Old Woman.
Go look at yourself in the mirror, Old Man.
For Morning served Fisher Man equally well. He stood
sporting the splendor of youth she remembered and never since
forgot.
*Some have asked me to explain what happened to Sparrow. They found his image later
having fallen into the basket. Lily no longer had power to restore him so his statue is
kept above the family hearth as an heirloom without price.
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Cauchemars Country
Fourteen
Finally, George glanced at the glimmer of early stars and announced
an unexpected turn.
You feel snug enough here at this ol swamp hut, Liddle Lady?
We staying long? She had no idea how far they had come and
they often traveled many more hours after supper in the dark before
stopping over.
This is it, Halle Your destination.
You mean, this is where my Dayo lives?
Well now, don't think weve found him yet. It's where friend
May remembered he was last holed up. Beats me that she knew how
to find this place. I never hear of her venturing here lately. But it
remains to find sign of the outlaw hisself.
Halle's heart was pounding.
Best thing is to relax right here, you know, just in case. There's
plenty o' fish in the creek. You been watching how I fix it every
day, right? There's ripe berries on the bushes outside to top flapjacks
fer breakfast. I brought plenty o' provisions.
The girl was growing suspicious.
Meanwhile, I got other visits on my agenda. Only problem is how
these waterways have shifted since I was this way last. Don't you
fret, though, if I don't turn up agin' tomorrow or the next day.
You're leaving me here?
Hey, Liddle Lady. You've been campin' lots rougher fer the past
week. This cabin's like a fancy N'Awlens B&B by comparison.
You'll do fine. An' who knows what critters might look you up
meantime.
That last assurance was hardly comforting.
He was launching the skiff, this time with a lantern mounted on a
pole set in the stern. Next appointment shouldn't be more than an
hour away. He would find it fine, else he could always beach her
somewhere til morning light and start all over. Halle knew the drill.
119
The skiff motor whimpered away into bayou mist. A cloud of

fireflies swirled as he made the final turn out of view.
Bring him safely back, the girl found herself praying. To whom?
Perhaps the crickets, maybe Lightnin Bug Queen or Choirmaster
Frog. They seemed mostly in charge of things around here.
That evening, Halle fell to bed early. She lay musing before sleep
finally visited, reviewing the yarns that Preacher Man spun,
especially the Fisher Wifes tale. She pondered possible
significances of the bayou story characters:
Why have only firefly folk kept a hold of their twinkle? Perhaps it
only seems to be so. Who is the Fisher Man, really? He reminded
her suspiciously of Tally Man. And how did Salamander lose use of
her legs? That was some kind of magic restored them the
Lantern! Then that Bull Gator A shape-shifting Mother of Evil. It
seemed odd to hear fable or fairy tale having two such awful villains;
yet it somehow felt fitting, true to life especially as they continue
their tug-a-war over a shadow or phantom of man.
***
Halle had slumbered some hours, lulled by the bayou folk singing.
Two brighter lights emerged from the subspace of swamp. Two
countenances shone upon the sleeping form of young woman.
Our assignment is clear, but delicate.
You are troubled over some difficulty?
Only that our movements may awaken the spirit-self
prematurely.
And what of that, Brother. May we not simply lower the Blind
again?
Yes, but notice. Her soul has already matured quickly this Day.
She will remember much of what she sees.
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Cauchemars Country
I will draw an extra veil over our appearance, while you hold her
gaze to what is intended only.
She will behold much more than mere imagination can create.
That alone is bound to startle her soul. For the first time in
generations, Hal will see truly this Hour.
Come, Brother. The passing begins.
***
Halle heard voices this time, even as her mind grew wakeful. Her
body was immovable and her own voice ineffective. But her infant
soul was no longer predisposed to panic. If only she could move that
toe again, the spell might be overcome. But why? Perhaps she would
simply wait, this time. Anyway, there was no deafening roar
assaulting her head.
The voices, two voices conversing. Halle could understand their
speech, though not their language. Even if her voice were to return,
she couldn't have spoken a word. So she shouted in English, in
thought only, Where am I? What are you doing? Where are you
taking me?
Indeed, it seemed that her essential being was handled much as an
invalid is shifted abruptly from floor to gurney then moved
efficiently to waiting vehicle for faster transport. The voices chatted
calmly as they worked. Halle could never recall exactly what was
said, though they spoke often about her. It was quite rude, she noted,
how they were talking within her hearing, without engaging her or
answering her worried questions.
Is this how a heart attack victim feels? She pondered. Or maybe
she was actually in a coma now, suffered trauma in body though
unable to feel it. They were rushing her to the emergency room
where all sorts of tubes and needles and chemicals would be
administered without her notice or consent Until the fateful hour
when Halle would awaken to pain and choking breath, conscious for
121
her last moment of eternity, perhaps, before finally dying of mortal

injury.
What had happened, actually? Her imagination started painting
whole dreamscapes of swamp wilderness and creatures. A giant
cottonmouth serpent was chasing, striking at her heels, but barely
missing every desperate leap to escape. The ground was muddy and
each step was sinking further. Soon she would not be able to pull a
foot free of the muck.
***
Care now, Brother. Our human soul wanders.
Look, she has recreated a whole kingdom of her own in an
instant, populated with all manner of entities.
It is a wonder, what these newest children of Heaven can
accomplish. If only they would do so with eyes fully open.
That is our mission. There, I believe she is free now.
Time to turn up the Light.
***
Suddenly the whole swamp venue went dark. Even the fireflies
grown large and multicolored had disappeared in an instant.
Halle could swear that the landscape, as real as it appeared, had
simply shattered into tiny flakes; a mosaic of disparate colored tiles
shaken loose and falling off a canvas in droves, as leaves are driven
to die in autumn wind.
Where and what am I? She wondered again, too startled to feel
new fear.
Then true living light came on.
This illumination, it was nothing of her making. A scene spread out
below her consciousness as if a body of flesh was really meant to
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Cauchemars Country
fly cloud-high. It didn't feel so strange, this vantage. Perhaps her

soul had beheld the view occasions before at a level beyond daytime
recall. It really did look like the desk globe at school, with
contrasting colors of terrain and patchwork of textures. Only the
place names were missing, and the shadow of passing cloud would
sometimes obstruct a detail.
However, such detail Halle felt able virtually to reach down and
touch a rocky promontory, dabble a godlike finger in the sea or
smudge clear a forested mountainside. So this was how it felt to be
an orbiting storm cloud the size of Texas; not a mere seagull
navigating the airstream. This urban street girl had never even ridden
a plane, so it was improbable that her imagination could simulate
such an adventure in such explicit relief.
They knew her time would be short, just a blink in heavenly terms.
This earthbound soul could not yet endure such intensity of
awareness for long. Halle's co-pilots couldn't carry their burden
beyond a rapid turn of the galaxy. It was a dizzying spin, leaving
orbit to zip past planets and fields of cosmic debris. Mere pinpoints
of stars quickly blossomed into flaming suns, one after another.
They plunged in roller coaster frenzy through rainbow layers of a
nebula, chased circles around a comet's course. The girl had little
idea the transcendence of what she was witnessing, except that it was
clearly the stuff of outer space.
It wasn't merely objects of dust and light confronting her out here.
There were vibrations, like the nightmare roar of past experience,
only these were multiplicitous and pure as choral voices mixed with
the viols and horns of all history's orchestras combined.
Then there were the questions, puzzles of existence that return
every generation to haunt the cobwebbed corners of human thinking.
Halle felt them emerge amidst the symphony of sound, like convicts
from a dark dungeon blinking shyly under the light. And every frigid
doubt, each moment of confusion, all paralyzing hopelessness that
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had ever dogged the marches of civilizationsThe questions began

to melt down and gather into a crystalline pool, peaceful stillness of
waiting content. Faithless lifetimes were thereby absolved before
the majesty of Eternal Purpose, of Faith and Hope. Heavenly choirs
pronounced it. Halle's consciousness witnessed it, and a Mind that
she could not recall having ever said I AM until this moment, He
declared it all Good a goodness far beyond the comprehension of
a Socrates, a Leonardo or Albert. For one instant of Eternity, Halle
knew it all, owned all wisdom and understanding and none of the
urgent quandaries of life even mattered anymore.
But the tethers of bodily existence were already tugging back. It was
like an elevator door had begun to close, shutting out bright clarity,
veiling eyes and understanding. It truly felt like a chemical narcotic
flooding her brain as spiritual intention reattached its fleshy sheath.
The girl's eyes fluttered open; the collective Mind sputtered silent
while the temporal self named Halitha reclaimed sole possession of
the body. All that remained of the keen clarity of understanding was
its echo, a tiny seed of good faith. Halle recognized that spark and
greeted its return with melancholy resignation.
Why, oh why couldn't I stay there? She was asking, even as her
consciousness passed back over the threshold. And Halle sensed
rather than heard the farewell of her hosts.
The joy ride had thrilled even their lofty senses, these veterans of
interstellar travel. They were no novices, those appointed to attend
such Unveilings. Yet the profundity of this human soul's grasp,
graced with only that instant of corporate vision the sudden
realization of this infant's princely birthright was shattering,
bewildering. Surely one Day, certainly by the following cycle of
Earth's cosmic evolution, this blind and naked entity called Man
would command the very angel hosts charged with nurturing his
maturation.
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Cauchemars Country
They had known it, as part of the overall Plan, as the prophetic
Design. But here was proof, their own private prototypical
demonstration, and it filled these co-laborers with holy fear and
adoration of the One and All. This tour had been scheduled to be just
another test of human potential, like a university professor will
examine his prize pupil. Yet here the table was turned. Suddenly
they were become the Tested. Their assignment was shown to be a
trial set for them, perhaps more challenge and benefit for the watcher
than for Halle, this adventure of her soul.
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Fifteen
Two mornings later, the girl had almost forgotten the previous
night's awakening. Like most spiritual crises, its import receded
before the blaring noise of seeming necessity.
What was keeping that Preacher Man?
She spent her day fishing with a stick from atop the dock. A single
day of hunger had already cured her resolve to abstain from
sacrificing living creatures though that had never stopped her from
enjoying meat prepared by another killer. And there was lots of time
to ponder and review while she searched for fishy shadows. Halle
found herself singing the banana song quietly, trying to remember all
the simple words that Momma had sung. It was better to make
friends with the tune, instead of letting it nag at her absently. The
sun was already descending when she finally speared a smallish
trout. She yanked a couple leeches from flashing flanks and dropped
its carcass into the wire trap under the dock for safekeeping.
Rest of afternoon was occupied retelling to a very attentive gator
under the shack Halle's own version of another sermon overheard
days before; Preacher Man to another vagrant, this one a former
Catholic monk:
It was about the Lawd of Light pronouncing sadly but firmly his
Final Judgment, I never knew you over the soul of a modernminded churchman. And then The Lawd was wont to welcome the
entreaty of a voodoo priest, one who had always honored the creator
Bondya as he'd been taught. The cosmic Judge assured this humble
one that all his imperfect devotion made in ignorance to the god of
another name was ultimately attributed to the One and the True.
Halle was morphing characters amidst her fatigue, a rather silly
state of mind. The Lord became Tallyman of the granddaddy's tune.
The churchman was made a medicine man and the poor pagan priest
a tiny tree frog; and both were working side by side through the
Night. However, Medicine Man was slyly pilfering bananas from
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Cauchemars Country
Tree Frog's pile. Happily, his crime and folly were exposed by
Tallyman's assistant, the green water snake. Tree Frog was awarded
all the bananas and granted his lifelong dream of marrying the
Lightnin Bug Princess.
And they lived blissfully together in the swamp forevermore.
Again, a silly and awkward contribution to bayou legend, but it kept
religiously to tradition, and such exercise served to balm the day's
tedium and toil. This much she had learned from her elder friend.
By the third day alone, Halle was beginning to doubt the integrity
even of Pastor George. It was going on two weeks enduring this
tepid environment. Catfish had quit visiting the trap, and swamp
bugs were biting back. A rash was reddening the backs of her knees
and under both arms. It was already too raw to scratch, so all the
poor girl could do was suffer.
The first box of baking mix was gone perhaps she was eating too
many pancakes, attempting to quell boredom and anxiety. She found
a new box infested with larvae and last remaining box the same.
Halle tried scooping out the wigglies, set the opened containers on a
window sill to air and wave off the moths. But a sudden gust of salt
wind upset the store, spilling both reserves into the water below.
The girl didn't know it so much as suspect that the weather had
already changed. High clouds were subtly altering the level of light
filtered through treetops. By late afternoon a storm loomed darkly
and the air was charged amber with anticipation. All other swamp
creatures went silent, waiting, cringing in cracks of tree and earth.
She too crawled into bed, having tried with little satisfaction to seal
door and windows tight. Wooden blinds were rattling and wind was
whining through a myriad of gaps in frame and floor. Worse, Halle's
stomach was complaining already, having had nothing but a few
berries to stir the juices all day. There was lots more wind laced
127
with rain through the night. At least the roof was sound. Branches
cracked and driftwood thudded against the piers lifting cabin safely
above the surge of storm. Halle's rash ignited a low-grade fever,
causing fitful, dream-filled sleep.
Every morning upon waking alone in the shack, Halle would
faithfully raise the window blinds before doing anything else. Light
was what her flagging spirit needed most. Now her dreaming
imagination was adding more windows to the chore. It started with
the single pane in her childhood room in L.A., where the mother
opened the slats to awaken a sleepy girl with dingy dawn light.
Mom's rich voice was singing the grandaddy's boat song. Then it was
every room in the house, yanking drapes and pulling up shades,
dancing and spinning, throwing shutters open to admit every beam of
sunlight while singing verse upon verse of the Dayo song.
But Momma doesn't ever do that, complained the girl's
subconsciousness.
So next it was Halle herself pacing upright from window to
window, along every wall of the bayou shack. She pulled up the
blind covering each one in turn, and traveled all around the tiny oneroom abode from table to kitchen corner, to front wall, to bed nook.
She worked steadily as she whistled the banana boat song, only to
find that the big window over the breakfast table the one she had
opened first was shuttered all over again!
So she yanked up the blind, bathing table top in new light. But
now the kitchen was darkened. The jolly tune died on her lips, as she
continued a second tour of shelter walls. By the third time around,
Halle knew her steps were haunted. Some other interfering presence
was busy undoing all her work.
Temper boiled. Halle's dream body turned to face indignantly this
shadow obscuring all her progress. Who dares to darken my world?
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Cauchemars Country
Her mind and soul was wakened fully now to challenge the shade
in earnest, though only multiplied shadows met her gaze. No, there
was darker movement, next to the bedside window (blind drawn yet
again) where greenish yellow eyes blinked, briefly reflecting the
scarce light readmitted. But the dim face turned, or withdrew into its
hood as if to hide from rediscovery.
Halle's temper served her well, chasing away any lingering
timidity. She retraced her latest steps to stand commandingly against
the bed.
Stop following me, you creep, she ordered.
The robed figure was much taller than she had encountered last.
Halle shouted up at its empty face. What is it you want, anyway?
When it failed to answer again, the girl challenged it further.
Tell me your name. Tell me NOW, she heard her inner voice
demand.
My name the specter halted. Its voice was gravely and
slurred, like the pirate. But it also sounded uncertain, thoughtful
rather than reluctant to answer. It was puzzled by the simple
question.
What is your name?
My name is your name.
That non-answer just angered the girl further, suspecting
subterfuge.
Who are you, and what do you want? she insisted.
I want you. The shadow voice sounded eager, hungered by new
realization. I want to be thee I will to be Hal. I am everything
Hal made me to be.
Suddenly, Halle realized the shadow had shrunk again, its voice
diminishing too, so that last statement was uttered in a higher
whining pitch.
A funny suspicion visited her now. Could this cauchemar demon
actually be telling some truth? She had the feeling it was somehow
incapable of hiding from earnest inquiry. The thing was in her
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power, this moment. But its persistence filled her with disgust,
shamed her, humbled her to admit how that she was feeling rather
reluctant and sorry for its existence; as if she Halitha were truly
responsible for its being and its plight. Oh, but that couldn't be
Get away from me!
Halle turned to unblind the window yet again. Just leave me alone,
would you?
And the girl's soul lapsed tiredly back into dream, where the chore
resumed in frantic pace, now a childish compulsion to unshutter
every opening before the shadow could interfere. But no sooner was
a blind drawn up, when a third and fourth arm emerged from behind
Halle's neck to shut that view behind darkness again. The creature
had pursued and crept right up her spine the very moment Halle's
soul yielded to confusion, surrendered to doubt and careless slumber.
The interferor was clinging crab-like to her shoulders, busy
reversing the morning's waking ritual. Even her love and devotion
for sunlight was rendered useless and vain.
Help! How ever was this self-made hell to end?
Sunlightthats certainly what it felt like, showering Halles neck
and shoulders. Funny, this shack had no opening there. She turned
to look up and find its source.
It was the second greeting by The First on the night side of
awareness that Day. This time she actually glimpsed His face, a tall
joyous man with a bright shining halo of a hat planted firmly atop his
crown. To her mind it was obvious, Tally Man had been there all
along watching over her travail. The room grew bright, all windows
magically thrown wide open and shadows banished from sight.
Cauchemar was erased. The dark man was nowhere.
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Cauchemars Country
Sixteen
He was in the room when Halles body awoke; her soul had
awakened yet again. The air outside was filled with normal busy
swamp sounds of crickets and tree frogs. The storm had passed, the
flood of surge mostly withdrawn. Even the gators resumed courting
ritual, one young bull bellowing its longing summons from right
below the floor under bed.
Then the alligator stopped and splashed away, disturbed by other
suspicious movement over that very same floor. A dark human form
was bowed over the low breakfast table; he paused, appearing
momentarily like one of the swamp tree roots growing outside the
window. He hadnt noticed the girls presence at first but must have
heard her breathing just then. His movement frozen, an accented
male voice entered the cabin space timidly:
You be hu-mon? Or Cauchemar?
He twisted a wrist to strike a flame, then brightening lamp
summoned a roomful of manly forms from their hiding places,
though the physical back was turned. His tone was braver.
Dey be lots a nice beans under de bed. I set dem deya jus far
you.
Nobody answered.
A wonder how many beans dey is? [low whistle] Ya count dem
careful now.
Still no reply, so he started talking to himself:
How coome a hear me own talk? An I do'an hear de witch a
roarin' an why ain she laughin' at Dayo dis night?
He paused, as if to consider.
A bleeve I be awake agin but nya'va shoore no more.
Slowly he turned to face where the girl lay safe in shadow. She
saw his face and spoke:
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You are awake now, Daddy and so is your baby girl.

Halle heard his gasp arrested and felt strong emotion restrain his
desire to rise and follow her voice.
Finally, the mans breathing relaxed and calm bridged the space
between them.
So de granny's letta say de truth, afta all.
Dayo was seated now behind the table with lamp lighting his broad
grin clearly. The dad was not so long-limbed as Halle imagined,
hardly taller than her. His hair was much like hers, though coal black
and littered with swamp debris. She mirrored his widening smile.
Granny sent you a letter? Was it really about me?
De gran, she say me baby may coome knockin, but dis bayou be
mos'ly off de map.
The daughter assumed that Mother must have guessed her
destination.
Well Im here now, Dayo. You werent really so hard to find.
Looky garl! he exclaimed.
Your Tally Man helped me.
Dayo gasped again.
So you see tallyman .. den Cauchemar gots you too?
Cauchemar found me, Daddy.
Hist! I shoode a knowed dat witch be tricksy. Let me bleeve she
folla Dayo to N'ahlens so's ta fo'get bout me woman and baby garl.
Cauchemar gots ya Momma too?
No only me. It was awful, but Mom remembered all about
Cauchemar when I finally told her what was happening.
That low whistle escaped Dayo's teeth again.
A detail puzzled Halle. Why do you call Cauchemar a she?
Well, darlin a course, she be witch lady to me eye. Dat what
dey do. Then Dayo realized what kind of horror must be haunting
Halles vision. What dat cauchemar try ta do to me baby? No,
doan say it.
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Cauchemars Country
Halle shivered.
Dayo observed and nodded soberly. You be wooman now.
The girl shifted her seat.
It's okay, I think now. I told you, your Tally Man helps me.
Apparently, the dad understood her reference to the doll, though
his regard for the entity it represented whether lwa or greater vodun
spiritdid not match the girls sense of wonder.
Wished tallyman coome help Dayo, deez days
An hour later, it was much more cheering to share a catfish breakfast
under morning sun. Dayo was not so trim as the Tally Man doll.
Though it was evident he had been eating unhealthily. His shirt was
torn and trousers moss-stained. He needed another bath in
something cleaner than marshy tide water. This was not the jolly
man of her childhood dreams. He looked careworn, sleep deprived
and hunted, rather like the bayou deer of George's tales. But at least
there was no hint of medicine on his breath, not today. Probably
couldn't afford it.
One question still nagged Halle:
So my granny writes to you? Apart from an occasional birthday
card and Christmas gift, Halle didnt correspond with distant
grandmother. Neither household could ever afford to travel. But
Halle knew that her mother would write, usually from work.
Grannyshe be goode Christian wooman. Always shaya de news
wit Dayo. But dey doan deliva lettas up de bayou, so a gots to go
git em.
Wowwhat does she say about me?
Oh de reg'lar tings. Was Dayo evading the question? Ya
muss go see de granny soon.
Conversation stopped and started, somewhat shyly at first.
Another hour passed, then two. Dayo taught the girl how to catch
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and prepare crawdads for lunch. Time was on Halles side, and her
soul was eventually encouraged to unveil itself.
Wooo-eee! Dayo exclaimed. Dey ain' no cauchemar doin's you
talkin' bout.
Halle had just shared detail of her latest nighttime adventurings.
Nope. Sounds ta me like ya gots angels helpin ya fight de
demon.
Angels? Halle doubted that. Somehow it was harder to swallow
traditional church answers to life's mysteries, harder even than the
Pastor's swamp tales or the mambo's prophecies.
Now, Preacher Man ya should tale him bout it, Cauchemar an
ev'yting.
Halle couldn't imagine that. Mrs G, maybe but Pastor George
himself?
I'd rather just listen to his stories.
Yay? He tole me a fancy folk tale once, Dayo sat up eagerly.
All bout dis fightin man name a George.
Halle laughed.
Yay, like de preacher only dis was Sain George. Had dis
vodu sword De Sword a de Sp'rit.
Halle hadn't heard that one.
Course, de preacher had dis George fightin gators, but a knowed
it asposed to be dragons. Ol' Dayo wa'an born juss yez'day.
Gators make good dragons, Halle suggested.
Na sah! I knows dat dragons be much worser. A be glad ta meet
Cauchemar stead a any dragon. Leezeways, dat decide me ta dream
up de same sword when a see de witch lady. You can do dat, ya
know!
Halle didn't know never tried it before.
Oh, yaz'm. Once, when a be off'n de other side, dat be when I ain'
too stuck ta move nothin a be lookin far sometin far fightin gainst
Cauchemar, cuz a knowed she muss coome ba. Deys a big stick,
sos a snatch it. An den a gots ta wondrin.
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Cauchemars Country
The girl was losing interest, but that didn't stop Dayo from talking
on.
A says ta meself what bout I do what hoodooman do? So a
says to de stick Stick, ya be once a livin' tree, so ya be tree agin
now!
Here the man paused for effect, staring at the girl for some cued
reaction. Halle just shook her head.
Weeeeel dat stick, he sprout. Right daya in me hand no
water, no hoodoo, no prophzee he juss start growin agin. Dey be
green buds an twigs an leaves an acorns a poppin.
What did you do with it then?
A pokes it back in de groun, way it root an grow a grandaddy
tree.
Halle didn't know what to think of Dayo now.
Garl Ya gots to have faith ova daya. Juss lil' bit, an ya can do
mos' anyting.
So what about the sword?
Well, dat a problem. When Cauchemar coome, a gits jiggety an
fargetful. Soometime, a shout far Jesus ta help Dayo.
Halle was curious about this remedy.
An soometime dat scay away de witch. But mos'ly a use de vodu
charm chick peas be good. Ya puts dem in a circle by de bed, see?
Den tell Cauchemar she ca'an catch ya til she count up all de peas.
She keep countin an countin roun de circle an do'an know waya ta
stop Den de daylight coome, an she gots ta go way.
Halle had begun listening quite seriously now. Why would a
demon stop its attack to follow the instructions of its victim? She
was considering again the words of her own shadow man. Was it
true after all?
I am everything Hal made me to be.
135
Next hour Dad finally allowed daughter some quiet moments outside
to think about it. Then a voice made her jump.
Scuze me, Miss. It was a Ranger patrolman. There had been no
sound of boat and no other warning. He had walked in from the
opposite side, stepping carefully over higher ground. It was late
morning. Halle was sitting alone on the dock, inspecting the catfish
trap. She snapped back.
Scuse yourself. Pastor George told me never to try walking over
swamp country.
Preacher's right, Miss. But sometimes we're forced to tracking
poachers overland. One in particular came this away last night. Seen
anybody?
There was a sudden splash under the shack. Both girl and ranger
looked that way. Probably just another gator. Halle hoped it was a
fat catfish.
Just my daddy, she answered.
The patrolman looked confused. Who you calling, Daddy? You
mean Preacher Man?
Then Halle spotted what had splashed into hiding under the dock.
Dayo's face was peering up through the wire cage of the fish trap,
pleading the girl with elaborate gesture to be silent. But Halle knew
it was deadly dangerous down there in the swamp water. This
bothered the girl. What did Dayo think he was doing? Some fat
catfish this turned out to be.
Pastor George took off several days ago. Left me here to guard
the shack. He was supposed to be back. You seen him anywhere?
Storm surge scuttled his skiff a couple miles North. But last I
heard, he was back aboard and heading this way.
Ranger was determined, though, to solve the daddy question.
Halle explained, I came all the way from L.A. to find my Dad.
They said this was where he lives.
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Cauchemars Country
Nobody lives here, cept the Preacher Man. Now the ranger was
looking bothered. Unless one of them squatters finds it.
So, it is the preacher's own shack! Halle wondered, then protested
aloud:
I don't think my daddy's no squatter. It was a double negative,
but that escaped them both.
Hope not, Miss. Ranger turned to retrace his steps and hollered
back. No worry about the preacher though. He'll be along soon, I
reckon.
Dayo held his breath until the patrolman's stompings faded into the
distance. And even then, he shushed the girl's first three attempts to
break silence. Halle never could stand being shushed, so her final
outburst was probably overstated.
What if Ol' Bull Gator finds you under there?
Dayo didn't see no gators.
I could almost swear you're actually trying to get yourself killed,
the daughter blustered. You think I came all this way just to find
you dead, after all? What are you so afraid of anyway?
When the man finally emerged like a sopping swamp rat to sit
safely atop the deck, he was still shaking and glancing nervously
about.
Please ta be car'ful, Halle garl he hissed. A feared de swamp
gots too many ears an tale on Dayo.
What, did you kill somebody?
Oh no, nothin so bad. But dey gots ta settle wid folks dat make
home a de bayou like dem ol' dayz.
Halle didn't understand.
Dat be de closest dat lawman coome ta cotchin Dayo.
Then he begged the girl again to go inside where they'd be well
hidden. When the cabin door was shut, Dayo tried to explain his
fugitive status.
137
A s'poze I should a kepp waitin at Preacher Man's city house.

Halle could understand the daddy being eager to follow his baby
girl, even into a swamp, and she said so. But Dayo didn't answer
that, just looked awkwardly out the main window. So she asked
instead why he kept on running.
Why not work off the fine and stop worrying so?
Halle had done that once before, though she had been wrongly
accused and wanted to cover for her guilty friend as well. Little good
it did, as the friend just went on later to steal much more than nickel
gum balls. But Halle herself was ever careful after that indignity to
avoid even the appearance of trespass. So what if the other kids
scorned her? Who needed their sorry approval?
Habit, a s'poze. The man sort of whined it.
This was a sorry defense to Halle's mind.
A be runnin fra sumpin far longs a can amember. Mosly a run fra
Cauchemar. One day lawman cotch Dayo far shoore den a stop
runnin. But dat doan stop de witch fra ridin me 'gin, na sah.
Halle recalled Mambas prayer meeting and her discomfort
witnessing the lwa spirit riding. There was surely something wrong
about that tradition.
Ya see, Halle Garl ... Ya daddy be cussed.
Cursed! Now what are you talking about? Though she could well
understand the man's sleeptime horror, it seemed ignorant and rather
self-indulgent to blame a supersition for one's troubles.
Dat be de only spanation far dis suffrin. An dass why Dayo had
ta coome back ta N'ahlens ta protect ya'll fra de cuss.
He was whining again, and Halle wasn't buying it. She had never
cared to believe in curses or evil or sin, for that matter.
A tells ya, Baby Garl. Sometime I wakes up ova an ova an ova
gin, bleevin a done wake far shoore dis time but den a wakes up
agin. If'n dat ain' a cuss It be nuff ta drive po' Dayo creezay! An
den Cauchemar she always waitin roun every corner.
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Cauchemars Country
The girl shuddered at her own memory but stood her ground
theologically.
You dont have to let the witch bother you, Daddy. Halle
insisted. I was able to shake off Cauchemar one time I did. He
proved to be just this pitiful little gremlin, and then even gravity
couldnt hold me down. I told you about my wild freeflight through
outer space. Cauchemar couldnt follow me there.
Looky garl! he declared it again.
But the tortured man wouldn't be so readily absolved.
A tink it be me own cuss, Halle Garl. Maybe me destiny ta keep
fightin' Cauchemar fareva an mebbe dat way it be easy fa ma
baby ta fight an win soome day.
Still, this sounded to the girl like a defeatist attitude and simply
enraged her. How could the universe be made that way? That
wouldn't be fair!
I just cant stand it another minute, she spouted. Go take a
walk, Dayo! Come back when you find the guts to face down your
demons.
Nobody not even Preacher Manhad ever spoken to him this way
None, except maybe one other.
Soun jess like de momma, dat garl do, Dayo muttered as he
shuffled sadly back outside. But Dad immediately forgave the baby
for not yet understanding. It wasn't his idea but a fundamental
principle of Vodun reality.
139
Seventeen
Sorry, Miss. The ranger was back. Preachers pass allows only
one guest at a time. He knows that.
Halle hadnt witnessed the actual arrest. But Dayo seemed
resigned, caught fair and square. None of her protests had fazed
either man, captor or the copped. Her daddy stood calmly against a
tree while the ranger prepared to march him back overland to the
waiting patrol boat.
Just then, they all turned to attend the familiar sound of a smaller
skiff. Preacher George was back.
Just in time! Halle declared and ran to meet Pastors arrival.
It was no use. The enforcer explained that he had tracked his
trespasser right up to the shack. George just nodded his head
soberly, all the while ignoring the girls entreaties.
Then you better take him straight in for a proper booking, he
advised. The preacher knew it was either Dayo or the girl. So did
the daddy.
Halle ran up to hug him goodbye, tears streaming down her face.
Though sadly, Dayo wasnt able to return his babys embrace, arms
cuffed behind his back.
Sorry, George. Its the law, said Ranger, looking truly regretful,
yet resolute as he turned to lead the way.
Its the law, agreed Preacher again.
Go see de granny was the dad's only parting word to
Daughter. She 'splain ev'yting betta. Then Dayo was gone,
swallowed by thick growth of cedar and moss up over the island
ridge.
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Cauchemars Country
All that way, and all those happy chances leading her straight to
the absent father Then this! It was all Halle could think about as
they motored back out the bayou web of waterways.
Next night camping on a small beach, Preacher tried to cheer her
up with another bayou story. But she couldnt get in the mood.
Halle understood it wasnt Georges fault that Dayos steps were
traced. It wasnt her fault either, yet something inside was reluctant
to release the nagging guilt and accusation. Her black and white
sense of individual fairness was beginning to erode already. Surely
they could have anticipated it, the preacher or the girl. Dayo had
come at their bidding, after all. The grannys letters had sent him
back there to meet his baby girl.
Next day, Pastor George tried to lay that notion to rest.
No, Halle. The missus was urging him to stay put at the church
house.
What was he saying? Wasn't Dayo in a hurry to meet them en
route?
Not likely. Bayou's tricky. Nobody knows that better than an old
bayou dweller.
But he would know to meet us at your shack, right?
Never told anybody 'bout findin that shack, not even Dayo.
George was shaking his bare head sadly. He should have waited
safely with my Missus for our return. That was the plan.
So why didnt he?
Not sure, Liddle Lady. Not sure.
George went on then to explain how conflicted her daddy had
been. Some days he would rally his resolve and go back to work.
There were seasons when he had actually sent money to the mother
or granny or both, wanting somehow to benefit those he loved by
personal sacrifice. But the years battling Cauchemar had wearied his
soul, taken an awful toll against hope and happiness. Lack of regular
141
sleep and alcohol dependency will do that also. For long seasons, the
couple wouldnt see the man, meanwhile collecting his mail for the
day he might reappear. George only lately suspected that the refugee
had found sanctuary in the preachers hidden shack, though he would
never dare harbor a fugitive there. George had believed that nobody
else remembered the place existed or knew how to find it. He was
surprised to see it marked on the mambos map.
No sir Ol Dayo got hisself caught, this time. And he had many,
many warnings.
So it isnt the first time.
He and his pap, and his pappys pap, I hear they kept their own
bayou hut ages ago, before the state declared it a Preservation.
So its the law that changed, Halle observed.
True but the law is the law. And it aint so very hard to obey,
once you decide its your civic duty.
The bayou had been dying. George described how squatters once
ravaged the swamp and polluted bay waterways before there were
laws made to protect it. Halle could understand that.
Girl was presently laughing again as the preachers talk lapsed into
story mode, a tale about struggles of Friend Coon and Cuz Possum
against the choking creep of a Mossy Moss monster blight of
water weed grown out of control.
142
Book 2
Baptism by Fire
I baptize you with water; but someone is coming soon who is greater than I am
so much greater that Im not even worthy to be his slave He will baptize you
with the Holy Spirits fire.
John the Baptist, Luke 3:16
144
Baptism by Fire
One
Those damnable rhoids were ruining everything.

Bert was convinced: Were it not for hemorrhoids, he would have
remembered before hanging up. But it was too late now. Plane
wouldn't be landing at LAX until late morning, and he didn't have a
credit card or cash to pay for another call before jumping the
connecting flight to New York. Mom's birthday was obliged to stand
aside yet another year while the lone child of her middle age pursued
a selfish quest.
Self-realizational quest, Bert corrected himself.
Then he kicked himself for yet another stumble of Dissociative
Disorder. That's what the doctor at the embassy had labeled it, this
tendency to wander out of his own skin, losing connection with the
world around him. Talking to himself was a typical symptom, and
he was more often catching himself in the midst of tormenting
himself that way.
Definitely hemorrhoidal, this train of thinking. Time to re-center:
Subvert all emotion to the Calm lose oneself in serenity of spirit.
The lesions and warts of imperfect character simply dissolve away.
Then Divine Peace can reign within; peaceful thinking resolves all
pain and strife without.
All except the aching, itching, burning
Peace be
Throbbing, maddening, torturous Did I mention itching?
No, do NOT answer yourself!
145
All novices get the rhoids. One would think it an intended part of
the program, this malady a device to challenge complacency and
sharpen meditative control. Living conditions were primitive at a
yoga training compound, stoic. Physical privation was central to a
worldview prescribed for student seekers of Enlightenment: So says
the yogi master.
But in course of ones quest for ultimate freedom from material
entrapments
Would a bit of toilet paper be such a terrible impediment?
Just a rusting coffee can and shred of rag; a wild hillside
downwind of the dormitories; dark winding path for bare feet and
shins through prickly gorse to search out a last remaining spot of
unstained ground And pray that the moon hasn't lured another
deadly serpent out of hiding. Watch every step, because your very
life depends upon it.
But one must not waste precious moments in vain care for this life:
So says the master of kundalini yoga. Even Spitting Cobra may serve
as purveyor of release from the deceptions of mortal flesh. Welcome
ones exit from this world of illusion. Let the spirit fly free into
blessed Oneness of Universal Mind. When the individual soul is
reconsumed by the collective Mind that is godhood, then Spirit is
restored to primal Oneness of Being. The student is initiated to begin
walking a true path to Perfection. All earthly appetites cease, animal
desires disappear, and even the body of flesh is spiritualized. Age,
pain and every discomfort will vanish like smoke before the Fire of
illuminating Truth
Then Master pauses to shift his seat sideways. Was that a wince of
repressed discomfort on his brow?
Most certainly not, Bert had assured himself then. It is my own
imperfect perception.
146
Baptism by Fire
A kundalini master is sanctified, transcendent; the adept is lifted

above all physical limitations. And this one is renowned to be a holy
avatar, a miracle worker; Divinity Incarnate. He has attained the
ultimate of earthly goals, the reward of all their questing, to be
chosen by Shakti as host for embodiment of a superhuman being. He
is become god-man, no longer a teacher only.
But then the god-man's words stumble again. He turns to an aid
and motions to add yet another plush pillow to his chair.
Bert was specially chosen also, privileged to attend these audiences
in close proximity to the Holy Seat. In fact, he can actually observe a
side/rear vantage of Master's throne-like chair elevated some feet
above the daily throng of eager miracle seekers. And once he
wasn't certain Bert actually witnessed how a supposed miracle
was accomplished by intrigue
But Master was most certainly wearied by hours of preaching in
sweltering jungle heat the man part of the god, Bert supposed.
Spirit could not be fully resident always, could it? It is
understandable that one under such severe scrutiny and stress would
find it necessary, by whatever means, to keep up proper appearances.
Devotion of the faithful depends on it.
What is that? Master hides his face briefly behind the passed
pillow to No! A master must not
He is cursing the aid for failure to anticipate a need. And the look
in his eye is nothing even remotely suggesting serenity. It is raw
human anger, contempt and threat of retribution that flashes across
his holy visage. Then as quickly, all cruelty retreats behind a ready
mask of sweet tolerance. The young aid nervously resituates pillows
as Master continues his address.
And why does the Avatar need so many cushions?
147
Bert was still pondering this puzzle midflight on the plane to LA.
He did answer himself, instructing himself as he shifted his seat
again. It was so very obvious now that the fog of blind allegiance
was lifted.
So, why all the pillows?
Answer:
The god had rhoids.
Bert was too young to be suffering hemorrhoids. It was a curse of
aging bodies. Though truly, this body of barely 26 summers had
suffered far worse for wear. In this body, it was kundalini sickness
not the diagnosis of a medical doctor; it was rather a term of
consensus among many of the most precocious of yoga initiates.
Bert was one of those few, which was why Master had promoted
him so soon up the ranks. One parent was Korean, the other
American-Korean He was not the dark Delhi Indian like most of
his fellow disciples. He knew they resented the yogi's decision to
elevate an interloper over those who had endured much longer the
trials of their order. But Master had reasons of his own: to groom a
new liaison perhaps, a faithful emissary to both countries of Bert's
origin. Even a god-man saw the need for steady flow of recruits,
especially those bringing healthier contributions of cash.
But Aba (so the disciple would affectionately address his
master) Why do symptoms start only after achieving illumination?
It is normal and expected for some, the god-man divulged,
speaking privately in countrified East Indian syllables. Aba had not
suffered so long after his awakening, though the flesh must gradually
adjust. There is a necessary period of stress while the body prepares
itself for hosting heightened levels of spiritual activity.
148
Baptism by Fire
Student must not boil tea in a pot of clay before fired. It was a
favorite platitude.
But the kundalini fire continued for week after week into months,
until even Aba quit asking his pupil whether smoky swarms of
insects and snakish forms of living flame continued to invade his
prior evening's rest.
It is merely hallucinatory, Bert coached himself early on. But yes,
it was indeed as if his couch or chair or his bed wherever he
happened to be resting or meditating was invaded by wave upon
wave of ants biting every inch of skin. The fire snakes invaded
internally, having discovered entry through the one unguarded
orifice, then to slither unimpeded through every organ of his body,
igniting every region of body and soul. And both serpent and insect
would seem to delight most in focusing their attentions upon that
month's inflamed case of rhoids.
Those times, Bert was forced simply to check out, meaning he
must yield to feeble flesh and spend hours or days over the far side
of latrine hill where a certain weed was found growing for that
purpose. It was Aba himself who clued the suffering initiate to its
use. None were heard to speak of it aloud and nobody dared ask
where Master's favorite had disappeared. Further, the same weed
was wont to effect hallucinations of another sort. These were yet
more disturbing as such, since every true disciple would aspire to
absolute sexual purity.
Yes, unlikely as it would seem, this young man had devotedly
remained virgin. Not until much later did Bert recognize the
prominent role this revelation played in his advancement to the place
of Master's personal confidant and spokesman. And to remain so,
Aba whispered, is the safest and surest and fastest way to the freest
form of kundalini awakening:
Disciple becomes master of serpent and spider, every earthly form
of Shakti/Shiva spirituality.
149
This signified the reunion of male and female aspects of humanity

in the mind and body of one who had achieved like Aba
complete purity of existence. That indeed was the source of Aba's
great miracle power, hidden fount of his wondrous words and
wisdom.
Then Bert was also to be gifted to awaken kundalini energy among
his own following of seekers, thereby conceiving holy rebirth of a
soul by godly touch: shakti pat the anointing of yoga master. He
would become their father and they would be remade his children,
forever joined as a single family, life and mind.
Yes, it sounded wonderful and magical, a fitting fulfillment of his
mission to realize ultimate Truth and spiritual validation. But the
final crisis of revelation followed soon after.
The very day of Berts long-sought appointment by beneficent
shakti-pat, his world came crashing down.
An acquaintance had already warned him away a onetime
kundalini seeker most lately turned apostate: Christian of all things,
or such was the rumor. They had talked during his visit to Delhi last
year. Bert was in the city attempting a previous belated-birthday
phone connection to New York. That had failed, but the friendly
words of warning remained planted in Bert's memory, though he
refused to accept it at the time.
Then the day arrived when this lucky disciple was anointed
master and granted unimpeded access to the avatars private
quarters. He was told to make himself welcome any time, to enjoy
the wine and the sweets and every other luxury littered there, what
only advanced initiates might safely indulge. The master avatar was
believed to be all-knowing, yet he apparently neglected to remember
that newly admitted eyes and ears might be attending from the room
150
Baptism by Fire
adjacent. Aba thought his intimacy was private, only he and his
other Chosen, the very one a Delhi-born teen much younger than
most disciples which Bert had earlier witnessed to suffer Master's
verbal abuse.
Can I get you anything? a steward interrupted Bert's meditation.
No, thank you. I'm fine, though the jump made him wince in
fresh pain.
Captain says we will start our approach soon. Last chance to take
a break from sitting.
Was his discomfort really that obvious?
No, truly I will be ready to buckle up.
Where was he? Bert's last word of self-debriefing Abuse.
Rumor had festered how certain false or fallen yogis were tempted
to pursue an ancient cult practice. It was a shortcut, forbidden
magick. The power and ability so sought required one special
ingredient, an exceedingly rare elixir derived only from virgin
malehood.
Sweet Aba! There could be no more denial; Berts master was one
of those.
At the time of discovery, Bert had simply recoiled. Escape was his
only intent; panic and disgust fueled his determination. The same
rumor told also of case after case where a disciple, once fallen from
favor his only sin having observed too much would suddenly
disappear with never any news or other evidence of a freewill
departure.
Bert had seen, though ignored as unimportant, other faces of
Master's hidden cruelty and corruption. There was definitely a dark
side to this god. Those visions came flooding back to consciousness.
151
Being divinely unanswerable to mere human judgment: What else

was gentle Aba capable of doing?
This disciple would not be hanging about to wait and see. Perhaps
it was his urban-American upbringing that predisposed extra caution
and decisive action in a pinch. A pretend errand for Master took him
safely and unchallenged back to the city. He had found plenty of
coinage stored with the other delectables in Aba's apartments. This
time the transcontinental call was connected:
Mom it isn't safe here anymore. I want to come home.
That's all it took for Mother to abruptly excuse herself and promise
a rapid return call or telegram. Twenty sweaty minutes later Bert
was worriedly watching all entrances for sign of Aba's personal
guard mother called back with voucher numbers for the next set of
flights and transfers back to civilization.
You are a wonder, Mother. I will never leave you again to chase
after some stupid idea.
Go to airport now, my boy. Not much time.
But the boy had to unload another spate of worried words upon
Mother before the phone connection failed of itself. Just what a
distant mom needed to hear, or so he neglected to consider.
That was the eve of Mother's birthday. He didnt notice, until
hours later when he recognized guiltily the date printed on his
boarding pass.
Even as the seatbelt sign was flashing, Bert was promising himself
yet again, swearing never to allow another precious birthday to pass
without the best of celebrations. This boy was finally growing up.
152
Baptism by Fire
Two
They were a hit a street music sensation!

It was the sixth straight day that voice and mouth organ had
worked the preacher's favored corner. Halle sang a husky lead while
George accompanied his bluesy rendition of gospel tunes.
Everybody seemed to love it, and cash donations showered in and
round the stovepipe hat.
Best take I ever seen, Liddle Lady!
But the afternoon was wearing short and Halle had a Sunday
morning flight to board. Her goal was that they earn enough to split
50/50 and for her share to pay fully the fare to New York.
Faith Both Pastor and wife had preached it to her.
The Lord has always provided, the missus repeated at every
evening meal.
Crowd of customers was thinning, but that never discouraged Saint
George.
One of my biggest contributions was made by a lone listener.
And he didn't peer to own much neither.
We need another new song to draw them back, Halle observed.
I'm willin'
You know any folk songs?
Surely do, lots. And the elder man named off a string of first-line
titles. But they were all from outside Halle's home territory.
I do know one tune, she mused, and most of the words, I
think.
Let her rip, Liddle Lady an what you can't remember, just make
it up fresh. Folks like improvisation round here.
It was actually a song from 'round here', so the mouth-organ man
recognized it as a winner right out the gate. Though the girl was a
153
mite timid about this one started it low and slow, rather lower and
much slower than NAwlens folk had ever heard before.
Hey Looky here. Ma mammy used ta sing dat song. So
commended one of a new flock of fans.
George overheard another friendly critique:
Garl make dat boat song soun' like we gwine to chu'ch agin.
There certainly was something special about Halle's version of
Dayo's song. It sounded worshipful and contemplative, out of
character with the surface message perhaps. But it made people stop
and ponder, wondering if maybe there was some underlying meaning
to the lyrics and tune.
Halle gestured once that she was ready to pick up the pace, but
George pretended not to notice and added a decorative flick just to
underline their venerative tone. So then the vocalist simply closed
her eyes as she started a second verse, this one featuring Tally Man's
just consideration of the laborer. Halle sang like it was Gospel,
sending shivers down old George's spine.
Felt like I was transported back to my camp meetin' days, he
reported to his Dear One later.
The audience grew and grew until police were called to divert
vehicle traffic. The pair reprised all their old gospel numbers, but
people kept requesting that banana boat prayin' song again, so they
mixed it up to order.
Last time around, an elder-looking street officer stood waiting
reverently for Halle to finish her Tally Man hymn. Then he stepped
forward with reddened eyes.
Sweetest music we ever heard up here, Miss.
Halle thanked him kindly.
Please allow me to move ya'll to the middle of the block. Traffic
gettin' heavier, an we don't want none of your admirers run over.
154
Baptism by Fire
But Pastor George spoke up.

It's goin' on this ol' man's bedtime, anyhow.
Then to the audience at large, he shouted:
Thankee all, Ladies and Gents. We gots to roll it up fer today.
Your donations are accepted gratefully and will be tendered toward
the work of the Lawd.
All donations were given gratefully, in paper more than coin this
hour. It took another fifteen minutes repeating thanks to folks
lingering in line to add their own dollars and cents to the hat.
George had to tamp down the contents twice over.
After a big supper, Mrs George's total count exceeded three times
Halle's airfare. Then she served dessert.
Halle's eyes were still sore when she settled into her seat on the
plane. It had been another difficult parting as she passed the
terminal gate. She always hated how crying eyes with the red hair
would make her face look spooky, but today she didn't care. It was
her first plane ride ever, though not her first flight experience; quite
tame by actual comparison. This one felt just like a bumpy old bus
ride.
She and Preacher's wife had been up half the night talking, so now
the girl leaned back and slept most of the way. At least the lanky
body was sleeping, or so her seat-neighbor perceived.
***
What were you and Mrs. George talking about?
Oh boys, mostly.
You never would talk to me about your boy troubles.
Never had boy troubles, Momma.
155
The mother was seated next to her now, nor did it seem
implausible. That's how dreams do it oftentimes, and that's how it
would have continued had Halle's mind remained a mere player in
this dreamy drama.
Oh dear! the girl exclaimed. This is odd.
Did I say something wrong?
No, Momma ...
The passenger cabin looked quite the same as that moment before
eyes drooped shut. Only the lighting was different. Halle knew she
was awakened someplace else. The very molecules of pressurized
air shouted it:
It's for real, blessed Traveler. You have passed beyond the Dream.
Who said that? Halle retorted.
But sheer Joy of newfound freedom made it seem a vain concern.
What did it matter how she knew it or what had inspired selfawareness? Even empty space was aglitter, twinkling with Life and
Light.
Halle wanted to get up and do something Run! Though it's hard
to run far trapped inside a bus, jetting 8000 feet above Earth.
I need to explore, Mother.
But the next seat was empty; both seats were vacant when the girl
leapt to standing.
Where to now? Perhaps the pilot wouldn't mind a visit. Or maybe
she would slip right through the side hull to ride commando atop a
wing. Nothing was impossible on this side of existence. She peered
out the porthole window over an ocean of clouds shimmering silvery
blue.
156
Baptism by Fire
Tarry just a moment, Hal, suggested a male voice behind her

back.
Halle turned to look down upon a figure seated snugly across the
aisle.
Who are you? she challenged. And how do you know my
name?
He was dressed nice, like any airline steward, in a well-pressed
white uniform. Even his hair was snow white.
If I don't go now, there won't be time to do anything special.
She knew instinctively this must be true.
Yes, my dear, he nodded. But there will be other wakings
and we have the whole plane to ourselves.
Halle looked about. It was true. Fascinating! But still limiting
Who needs an ol' airplane! Girl declaimed with a gesture and
the vessel was vanished also. So she was flying solo, just skimming
the creamy tops of cloud clusters.
Now this was glorious! This must be what bodies were intended to
do.
And then she saw that same figure of Man travelling directly
underneath, facing her nose to nose like a reflection in still water.
There was kindness in his eyes, mixed with apology.
Playtime is passed, Child. You have work to do.
Work? What kind of work?
You no longer dream. The Daylight comes. Your long Night is
near over.
Halle laughed aloud and shouted, You sound like a tallyman
like the song.
Then Tally Man laughed back.
***
157
Can I pour you anything to drink, Miss?

Halle's eyes were open; she was still buckled in. Sounds of a
crowded plane flooded her brain. But the seat across the aisle was
empty. The one next to her was occupied by another business man,
not so well dressed and not so fit. He was staring out the window.
No clouds only haze.
Halle pointed at a lemonade pitcher on the cart and the stewardess
did her duty.
Are we landing soon? Halle asked.
Not too long, now.
The neighbor turned and waited for her to finish a sip. He had a
stronger drink in hand medicinal odor.
Nice view of the Appalachians below.
Really Halle gazed past his upraised glass.
Then she turned again to stare across the aisle. A glance forward
and back confirmed nobody was up and about.
So Halle asked the neighbor, You notice the man sitting over
there? And she gestured across to the empty chair.
Well, um. Sort of.
Smart uniform. White hair.
Crewman? Yeah, I think he did have white hair. The man
appeared self-conscious admitting it, as age had stolen most of his
hair.
Why You traveling with him?
No, but We were talking.
Now the man was obviously unsettled.
That's funny, he said. I thought you were sleeping all that time.
Didn't want to disturb you with chatter myself.
Thank you. Halle's tone was genuinely grateful. And that put the
man at ease again.
Then he sat up straight, his back to the window, and querried:
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Baptism by Fire
No really You must have been dreaming the conversation.

Where is he, then?
Bathroom, I guess Or maybe back up with the crew.
But the descent and landing alerts never scared anyone back to that
seat. None of the other crew could say where he'd gone. Must be
outfitted for a different airline; this company was dressed in blue.
Thats why Halle was so preoccupied the entire hour of her exit
and processing through New York terminal gates. She was
searching over the crowded tops of heads for one tell-tale glimmer of
white. Meanwhile, the same old boat song was rushing furiously
between her ears.
She finally spotted a head, almost white, just past the luggage
depot. But it wasn't her Tally Man.
It was the granny.
A petite elder woman was holding a placard with the girl's full
name splashed in red, Adriana Halitha O'Malle. The name looked
strange to her, but the face behind it was familiar after all friendly,
in a motherly way.
The card dropped smack at Halle's feet as grandmother opened
welcome arms.
So this is what it feels like to finally come home? Halle wondered,
even as her mind continued singing subconsciously, slower now:
Day de Light, an me wa'an go home
159
Three
Named himself Jbaro, he did, Granny finally admitted. She

pronounced the J as an H, like the Hispanics, though with a
slightly Irish brogue.
She wasn't eager to talk about the granddad, absent father of
Halle's mom. It appeared to be a pattern or tradition of the family,
this unknowability of fathers.
He was a good munn in his own way, the woman continued.
We weren't together for long, and I don't believe he ever even knew
about me baby. That's why I don't ever speak badly o' his memory.
Though he would keep callin' himself jbaro.
Halle had no idea what Granny was so concerned about. All the
girl wondered was why both she and her mother had been denied the
right to both kinds of parent. She felt it, inside, as a real vacancy of
spirit of character and identity.
Gran noticed the puzzlement and frustration in Granddaughter's
green eyes, so very like her own. So she felt newly obligated to
elaborate.
Puerto Ricans in the city here told me never to repeat it, that
word. Apparently it isn't a nice thing to call a person in most of
South America. Means somethin' like a hillbilly or hick.
Redneck, Halle contributed.
But the granny just shook her head while staring at the girl's
orange crown. Granny's hair was once as red, and in some lights the
silver gray still glowed with a peachy tinge.
Your granddad's skin was quite dark, specially his neck and
hands. Hair was reddish too, and his eyes ocean blue loovely man.
Said his folk was all peaceful farmers from the hill country o'
Hispaniola.
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Baptism by Fire
Halle could not remember that country from school geography

lessons.
You know Cuba, Haiti, Puerto Rico, where the Nia and the
Pinta and the Santa Maria landed. You come from island people on
both sides, Darlin.
So Granddad was Creole too?
Oh no, Adriana darlin' he come from entirely different roots,
all quite native to the islands. He spoke Spanish, like all the Puerto
Ricans do, and some would mistake him for African. But his parents
also taught him another language, from the Tano tribes that
Columbus discovered livin there.
Then, Granddad went back to Puerto Rico?
I guess he did. Always planned to rejoin the political movement
that brought his own father to New York. They wanted
independence for their homeland, or the dignity of full statehood at
least. Do you know those people can't even vote for a U.S. president
who might order their young men to war? Thousands were taken to
Vietnam.
Life was never fair to the women either, Halle added. And
Granny acknowledged it.
That's right, me moother couldna' vote her conscience neither
when she differed with Da. Would raise the roof with their arguin
aboot everything from liquor tax to the price o' cheese.
So you had your Daddy around, Halle observed, almost
accusingly.
Granny grabbed the empty coffee cup from the grandbaby's clutch,
just to replace it with her other old hand.
Darlin' don't you go thinking that a man what lives in the
house is also livin' with.
Halle was remembering what Pastor George had said about her
own father being absent in body though present in spirit. Why
couldn't it be both?
161
Actually, my da spent most eve'nins at the tavern by the docks.

We didn't see nor hear much o' the munn, 'cept when he was
hollarin at Ma. Least he never laid a strap to her nor his babbies; I'll
say that much for him.
The granny let go of Halle's hands, sat back and sighed.
I suppose that's one reason I was first attracted to your granddad.
Us Irish lasses, we like the strong stormy type mostly even when
they leave us for another.
Halle didn't answer or ask for more detail, except to stare
mournfully back at her gran, whose voice continued somberly:
Yes, I do think there was another, and most likely another after
that. When we argued, he talked of a childhood sweety back in
Cuba, where his parents first took him for the better schools. But it
was also the way of Tano men, not only the chiefs, I remember him
sayin it.
So tell me a word that my granddad used to say. Halle wanted to
change the subject. You know, a word from his native language.
Granny thought a moment, then with a twinkle said it:
Barbeque.
You're kidding! Halle sputtered.
Nope, that's where the word comes from Though it meant
something altogether different to Tano mountain folk.
Gran went on to explain:
They was always fighting to escape capture, even before
Europeans landed. That's why they had already retreated up into the
hills. You might even say that the Spanish invasion was Judgment
upon the coastal tribes, those that was always invading by canoe
from the mainland, generations before. The carib, they were called
meant boat people in their language (tano means noble
people). And that whole region was later renamed after the
invaders: Caribbean.
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Baptism by Fire
Her old brow wrinkled tighter.

You see, Columbus interrupted an encampment of carib in the
middle of their horrible, demonic celebrations.
Granny paused. She hadn't intended to take the conversation this
direction.
Why am I talking about this?
What was it, Gran?
His own diary, Columbus, tells what they found on the grill inside
a native hut the arm and hand of a jbaro man.
Granny did enjoy talking about Halle's mother, and also her father,
Dayo. Gran had always admired her own daughter's choice of a
mate, and disclosed a detail that the granddaughter might never have
guessed. Mom and Dad first met in church.
In fact, it was the same chapel where Gran and the missing
granddad had also joined hearts, some fifty years ago. It was a
Catholic mission then, though recently stricken from the
Archdiocese registry of city churches. Before the Pope decreed
acceptance of the movement, their priest barely escaped a
defrocking, as his congregation had been allowed to go the way of
many rival Protestant churches of the decade.
No, not that a Catholic would turn Protestant once baptized a
Catholic, always Catholic. Rather, it was the same apostasy that had
lured even some orthodox Episcopal and Methodist brethren to
engage in certain demon-inspired modes of worship called
pentecostal. In fact, the Granddad's family had carried similar
doctrines here from Caribbean country churches. It was already a
worldwide pestilence by then.
I suppose it's best that we just show you, Granny suggested.
Sunday evening mass started next hour.
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Four
Granny's apartment was in East Village of Manhattan, St Brigid's

parish near to Tompkins Square, the district some tagged Alphabet
City. It was only a short walk to the Pentecostal chapel, shared by
local Puerto Rican's and Charismatic Catholics of various ethnic
backgrounds.
The girl never felt at ease in a church, least of all her mother's. In
L.A. it was all in Latin and Spanish. Mother had learned Spanish
right here, out socializing on the Puerto Rican barrio streets and the
parish schoolyard benches. But Halle could never wrap the language
round her self-conception living in East Los Angeles, especially as
the Spanish spoken there by her peers was mostly the gang slang
variety. Besides, she looked more black than Latina like the Mom.
She never fit into any of the established cliques.
Halle and Talle made a unique minority. The cat was mixed race
also.
This chapel had no statues at all only an old oil painting of the
crucified Christ, three crosses on a small hill in a park, surrounded
by city buildings. Granny explained that it symbolized their mission
to the inner city And yes there was a big park in New York with
lots of wild plants and animals. Halle would believe it when she
could go see it and take her nap against another tree. Now that
would feel more like church to her mind.
Just wait, and you might be pleasantly surprised, the woman
whispered, as an organist started playing.
Halle liked the music, probably Handel or Bach. Her mother's
church organ hadn't worked for years. Then priest Father
approached the modest altar to administer communion. She knew
the drill and followed her granny's steps with self-confidence. Then
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Baptism by Fire
came a prayer recitation in English, each phrase repeated in

Spanish. The scriptural reading was Latin, but Padre paused to
translate key phrases into the common tongues. He nodded to the
organist and raised his eyes heavenward as music filled the spaces.
At home in L.A. their priest would sing the text in Latin, a very
oriental kind of sound, always the same more like chanting than
melodious lyric. Nor was that singer very conscious of his listener's
finer tonal or rhythmic sensibilities.
However, when this New York priest started singing, in
counterpoint to the organ's strains, his tone was simple and true and
filled with pleasing melody. She was certain he made it up as he
went, like jazz musicians on Bourbon Street.
There was incense burning.
What is that smell? Halle hissed.
Frankincense it helps you pray, was Granny's reply.
And surely it did have a calming effect upon her nerves. Halle was
picturing the smoky aroma ascending to the rafters, like the Father's
songful worship, to hover and gather there, a great protective
umbrella.
Halle's grandmother was praying also, a stream of syllables just
under her breath.
Was that Spanish? Didn't sound like Spanish.
Then something changed, and she felt Granny stiffen to silent
attention.
The organist had lowered volume according to some unseen signal.
The priests voice had quieted, yet only now did Halle notice that he
was singing something other than Latin. And it wasn't Spanish.
Even the accent was strange No, now some syllables sounded
165
familiar to her ear. A vision of Dayo sprang up in her brain he

was chattering nonstop in his creezay Creole way.
Granny, what language is he singing?
Just listen and wait, Darlin' the interpretation will follow.
The organ music faded to a stop, so that only the priest's voice
remained. Soon he was no longer singing, rather petitioning like a
diplomat before the U.N. Assembly.
And suddenly he stopped. His head was bowed to chest.
Silence.
The waiting grew awkward, laborious. Halle looked about, but
everybody else was still praying earnestly. Granny restarted her
muttering motor.
Finally, the priest spoke in English to the heavens above:
May we hear your message, Lord?
Suddenly, empty air was filled again, but with a woman's voice. It
was a bit timid at first, but quickly growing in timbre and energy.
There were lots of blessings and thanks to the Lord of Creation. It
was like she addressed a great majesty, as in a movie that Halle
watched once, only this sounded for real, not acted at all. But what
arrested the girl's attention most was that accent again. The lady
speaking so boldly and clear had the pale face and broad form of a
Brooklyn Italian mamma. However, her voice was akin to Mamba
May, her accent, her mixed up expressions. Where did such a
woman learn to talk like that?
And our Father be promptin me farther ta say, she continued. A
word of encouragement and shallenge to de young wooman chased
by horror. Ya muss looke ta de Light, Firstborn of all creation, ta de
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Holy One with eyes like fiery coal, hair white as clean snow. True
deliverance coome fra de Son of Man called to mek de final tally.
And the foreign voice was finished.
There were many congregants expressing thanks in New York
English and one impulsive shout of Amen.
Halle wasn't sure what to think. She wondered if anybody else
even noticed those last words. Probably thought it was another
language. Surely nobody, not even Granny, could know what tally
man meant to this girl, visiting from a distant land.
Again the Father spoke instructively:
To whomever this message was intended, I encourage you to heed
the Word of the Lord.
Halle stiffened. Who's he talking to?
Though it was later apparent that the priest meant to conclude
every such message with a similar statement, especially when it
seemed to contain a personal element.
There soon followed another speech unbidden, this one in an Asian
tongue. However, again the speaker's appearance was completely
foreign to the language pouring fluidly from untrained lips. The
message continued for three or four minutes, a long time to listen
with no understanding. Yet all attended reverently, with perfect
calm.
This time, interpretation followed without pause. A young man at
the rear of their gathering he translated using easy New York
colloquialisms, never any holy sounding Thees or Thous or
Wherefore says the Lord. It truly felt like a friend of one's own
167
father delivering the dad's message as a personal favor. They were

words of hope and the father's forgiveness, his longing to recover the
wayward child gone far from home and to welcome him back into
the household.
But what if it's the father who leaves his baby? Halle prayed
more like a self-righteous retort.
There was another awkward pause, during which Padre invited one
final message for the evening. Meanwhile he kept returning his gaze
to a section of worshippers just behind Halle's seat.
Either that or he's looking at me, she worried.
But no, she resolved It was another young woman of European
descent who excused herself from a rear row to step lively up to the
front by the priest.
A whispered word, a nod of blessing, then a nervous conference
with the organist. He was a patient sort though dripping with
talent and self-assurance and not at all one of those diva
musicians.
I know the perfect piece, they could hear him proclaim. And he
shuffled through a stack of sheet music down under his bench. The
young lady just shrugged at the printed title and immediately turned
to stand quietly in praying mode.
Halle didn't recognize this tune at first. She wondered why the
woman waited so long to start singing then supposed that the poor
soul was so nervous she had forgotten the words. By then, Halle
recognized that she did know the song and many of the lyrics; it was
one of those traditional gospel hymns learned from Mrs George.
They had even performed it on the streets of New Orleans.
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Baptism by Fire
But it wasn't the tune or words that mattered just then something
about My Redeemer (whatever that was supposed to mean). The
young woman was not preparing any vocal performance; she began
to speak instead using whole body movements and gestures.
Is this kind of thing really allowed in New York parish churches?
But setting that question aside, Halle's attention was seized and
compelled to attempt some comprehension of this message. It wasn't
a dance like any she had ever seen. This woman was neither built nor
dressed for stage dancing. Perhaps it was a fusion of elements drawn
from a number of traditions: ballet or its modern forms, Hawaiian
hula and sign language. She was certainly intending to convey
meaning with her arms and hands, moving often in seeming
contradiction to her lower limbs.
Then the organ accompaniment, having completed its first round of
chorus and verse, modulated mood and key.
The dancer paused, as if to listen, making certain she heard the
next word correctly. The organist appeared to anticipate next move
though there had never been time for rehearsal. His fingers
seemed (only seemed) to stumble and the dissonance of sound was
punctuated by the dancer's lurching fall.
It was like a rod or whip had descended to interrupt her forward
progress and break her freedom of travel. Another blow landed, this
one from the rear. Her body lurched and fell forward. The music
enunciated every collision, every spasm of pain.
Meanwhile the primary melody continued in a labored minor
mode. The performer tried several times to raise herself, to regain
her feet and free upright forward movement. But it was no use. Her
punishment continued. She was forced to remain on hands and
knees like an animal, no longer a human soul but a beast enslaved to
a stronger will.
169
Halle felt herself choking then; she could hardly breathe. At some
point she grasped the granny's hand, but the grip was tenuous and
her own palms were sweaty. Gran didn't seem to notice, wasn't really
watching the dance, because her eyes were shut in concentrated
prayer.
What was the dancing girl doing to herself?
This is undignified! Halle passed judgment: This kind of thing
didn't belong in a church. It's rude and it's profane; this isn't even
Christian.
Why couldn't Padre just step up and stop the music? However, he
also was seated; he had taken the front pew, but appeared now
merely one other of the congregation. Apparently this kind of
demonstration had been allowed to happen before.
Poor, tortured woman was now pinned, belly down upon the floor.
Halle knew very well what was being portrayed. She had been there
before. A greater beast had leapt to land upon the woman's back,
crushing her breath, seizing free spirit from its prey. The poor victim
writhed in an agony of terror and pain. Halle also felt every jab of
claw, each bite and breath of domination upon bare neck and
shoulder.
The ugly words of Cauchemar returned to echo in her mind:
Lie still, my Sweet. We have you in our power. Your struggles are
vain; you cannot move or make a sound until I finish my pleasure
and finally release you. This body is mine Mine! And soon your
soul will be yielded up to us also.
Others of the audience were sitting up to crane their necks; some
had risen to stand aside of the pews, so to see better the dancer's
travail while she lay bound upon the ground. Several worshippers
were moaning or weeping unashamedly, pleading in murmured tones
to Jesus for salvation. Like Halle, each was identifying with the
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Baptism by Fire
performer's art, each in his or her own way. But Halle suspected,
and she was probably correct, that few maybe one or two had
ever actually suffered such a violation of personhood, of dignity, of
body and soul.
Get off my back Halle heard herself groaning. She was
thinking rather, Get off of her. But inner vision of Halles own
repeated traumas could not be blinded, though Girl's eyes remained
wide open. In fact, those eyes could not be torn from their fix upon
the dancing woman.
Beast had playfully allowed its victim to lift herself on hands and
knees up off her belly. She was breathing quickly and straining
mightily under weight of a saddled rider. Yet she didn't respond to
its spurring kicks; her resistance persisted passively, as if awaiting
arrival of another source of help.
Then at a singularly suspenseful chord, woman turned her bowed
head sideways to gaze upward at morning light. Her eyes were
blinking, but a peaceful smile was growing new hope had dawned
upon the victims face.
Organ accompaniment resolved shortly and stopped no further
sound sustained. And one could feel Earth shake with the fall of
arrested monster from atop the woman's spine. Likewise once in
ages past did the fearsome dragon named Tyrannosaur crash
earthward to await its eternal fate.
Dancer slid sideways to sit facing her assailant, still shaken
somewhat from trauma. Absolute silence attended this moment, an
hour of decision.
She looked up at the sun, her bright Savior. She glanced trembling
at the beast. She turned her face upward again to welcome Peace,
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like a shower of blessing over her crown. Woman gazed calmly at

the Pretender, tyrant lizard king.
Terror had passed, all panic swallowed by heavenly compassion.
And such her countenance seemed to convey as new gestures
followed in silent expression to say:
I am you and you are mine Mine! Yes, I own you. I created
thee. As I live and breathe, so dost thou
Halle watched entranced as dancer rose upon her knees and moved
toward her nightmare assaulter. The accompanist had already
started afresh, a new key, triumphantly major. Slowly she stood yet
higher to plant her right foot with both arms forward. So she was
beckoning the beast to come. Then up on both feet she stepped
boldly forth; now tall, not cringing, no more shrinking from the
mandate of Compassion.
Though Beast had evidently diminished; so now Woman must
bend right over to complete her intended embrace:
Mine!
And the monster was gone.
She was startled and dismayed that her arms had closed themselves
about nothing. They met no claws and no teeth; no more choking
breath of evil intent. The beast was revealed by morning light as
hardly more than a goblin curse. It was proven or rendered nothing
more to be feared than empty shadow. Dorothy's witch was melted,
and even the stain was shrinking fast, sinking away into clay.
The dancer crouched again to minister with gentle hands upon the
final whimpers of her onetime Guilt and merciless Accusation.
Music sounded somber tones, a simple four-part requiem as New
Woman humbly prayed.
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Get up now! Halle shouted within, as the increasing music

proclaimed it. Liberty was the word of the Day.
She hadn't noticed when her sweat-greased hand had slipped from
Granny's grip. The elder woman had already risen to her feet. The
moment and the music had called this old warrior maid to arms. Her
shield was bold Trust in a message of gospel hope. Her sword was a
clear voice raised to sing words of the hymn, an anthem of salvation
from the bonds of utter despair:
My Redeemer He Lives! His be my Life, His Light my Salvation.
Granny, Halle moaned. She tried to retrieve the old hand, but it
was raised now to join the other, arms stretched straight skyward.
Gran, you're embarrassing me.
Even the performing woman, her drama interrupted, was looking
startled in Halle's direction, where the grandmother was stationed,
the only worshipper standing. The girl tried to make herself look
small in her seat.
Surely, this is out of order! Besides, Gran was clumsily changing
the words.
The priest was still seated, his arms and eyes raised toward
Heaven. He was hardly objecting. He began to clap, twice and then
thrice to drive forward the marching of music. The organist was
repeating the chorus, and now Father was singing a tenor harmony to
Grannys alto.
Halle looked around to discover that others of the congregants
were standing now; many had joined in the clapping. Soon everyone
rose to raise voices in song. Here the organist slowed tempo to
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allow a clamoring chant all voices joined as one to cheer on the

dancing Redeemed.
And so the young woman stepped down with a jump. In two skips
she was running, arms waiving broad wings, tearing recklessly down
center aisle. She passed to the rear and circled up the other aisle on
Halle's side of the chapel. This organist was enjoying the show and
displayed every ounce of his skill, accelerating a symphonic
cadence.
Dancer finished one more lap round the assembly. She mounted
the stage in great strides; bounced a turn off the front wall for a final
sprint and flying, leapt off the altar!
The very air shimmered with a climactic organ arpeggio.
Worshippers were already rushing to center, emptying several pews
to press inward. Scores of palms were raised as one to cushion the
dancer's prostrate fall. They lowered her safely to a panting stance
inside their celebratory huddle.
Oh my, this has to be way over the top! Halle said it aloud.
The dancer was well hidden within the crowd. The granny was
clapping. All those closest were exchanging welcome hugs with the
newborn star; everyone else was applauding with cheers and raucous
whistling.
Father priest was one of those ... whistling. The Hymn of
Redemption had finished.
Granny exited the chapel with a contented sigh, face looking just as
Mother's did whenever she finished a bath.
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Halle looked stunned. The priest rushed ahead to meet them

outside, wanting to welcome the visiting girl. He hoped she wasn't
put off by the exuberance of their celebration.
Oh no, (gulp). Not at all, Halle replied, so as not to be unkind.
Hope ye be considerin' to jine our Youth Night this Wednesday
eve, he invited in a brogue like the granny's. He was no Latin
padre, after all.
Halle thanked him, and Grandmother twinkled as she wrangled his
proffered hand. When Father finally managed to pull it free, the
ladies proceeded side by side to walk home.
Several steps and a turn at the chapel gate, Girl spoke intently to
the matron of her mom:
Gran we have to talk.
Do we, Darlin'? Oh dear!
Old woman glanced aside at Halle's stony expression. I guess we
do, now.
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Five
They had already chased round the bush twice over not a literal
bush, like the nursery tune. They were back home, in the kitchen.
Gran was seated calmly at one side of her table. Halle was pacing
the other side.
No, their priest was not doing voodoo. It is just the way of a spiritfilled church.
Yes, the messages from God were real.
No those people were not in any way pretending. The speakers had
never studied those languages. Each was chosen to minister by the
Sovereign God Himself, and they spoke only as the Spirit gave them
utterance.
Granny would never think to embarrass her darling granddaughter.
She was chosen also and yielded willingly as the Spirit moved, just
as others did before her.
Nothing was rehearsed When was there time to practice
anything? Messages were given that way as a demonstration of
miracle power, to persuade the unbeliever.
Nobody was showing off.
The grandmother had been round that same old bush with others
before, indeed her own darling daughter years ago.
And then you put on that ridiculous display, flirting shamelessly
with the padre.
Oh, now that's goin a bit far, Darlin' don't you think? Father
Flannigan OLeary is a priest of the Lord and Catholic priests
don't
I know that, Granny. Halle flopped down into her chair, for the
fifth time during that discussion.
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Baptism by Fire
The gran was now a bit flustered, perhaps as her long held secret
(though it be harmless fantasy) was exposed now to light of a young
person's scorn.
So what else do you know, ye fancy city lass?
Halle looked up to meet the challenge.
I know what that dancer was dramatizing.
When granny just looked puzzled, the girl continued. It wasn't
just a fancy dance getting pinned to the floor and forcibly mounted
like her homie's slutty crack bitch!
Now, you can put a lid on that kind of talk, Adriana.
Halle's my name!
She hadn't planned to lapse into L.A. trash talk. But stress upon
the concrete vault suppressing years of emotional confusionit
reached critical today and had even now begun crashing in. Halle
was sobbing uncontrollably as she tried to finish the thought: My
friends all call me Hal But her larynx choked it at the end.
The grandmother got up and reseated herself in another chair
beside huddled, quaking shoulders. She dared to drape an arm
lightly over them. When it wasn't shaken off, she let the full weight
of companionship rest there.
After a few moments, Granny spoke again:
I can see that perhaps you have a story to tell Halle, Darlin'. But
the Saints forbid I be pressurin' ye.
The girl didn't answer, though her shaking slowed.
Last thing this ol' granny ever wanted was to offend her only
daughter's baby, and on the first day of our reunion.
Finally, Halle raised her head to expose a face rendered frightful
by pathos. But this granny had sprung from much hotter Irish
passions, so a reddened scary face with devil eyes wasn't going to
faze her like it did people in wimpy West Coast hoods.
177
However, Halle had not yet finished her complaint and her young
voice was laced with barely manageable rage.
Mother must have told you all about it.
About what, now?
My attacks, she accused. She had no right to tell anyone else.
Halle, Darlin'
Don't you darlin' me again! You must have told your precious
Father F-Again all about it, so he could arrange that whole show for
my benefit.
Dear, Lord the grandmother prayed it aloud. What in
Heaven's name is she talkin aboot?
Then to the girl, Your Momma wrote something, I think, about
your She paused to consider the least provocative expression. It
was about your use of alcohol, I suppose
Now, that disclosure just sounded bizarre. Mother knew full well
that the strongest drink this daughter ever imbibed was caffeinefortified Red Bull And so Halle informed the granny.
Well, I knew that your daddy had some trouble with drink, so
To be quite honest, Darlin' excuse an old woman I wasn't
certain at all what your momma was sayin to me.
She didn't say anything about Cauchemar? Me or my Dayo?
Who might that be? Somebody you was datin back home?
The girl just shook her head exasperatedly.
Oh my Now Granny was looking fairly wild-eyed at a horrible
suspicion. You mean to tell me that ye was attacked! and
maybe robbed of your precious girlhood on a date with this
What's his name, now?
No Granny. Halle was growing battle weary. Communicating
across the generations wasn't proving so straightforward.
You certain you never heard nothing about any cauchemar?
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Baptism by Fire
Granny just shook her head, her eyes still glazed with horror. She
muttered something about stepping out for a breath of air, so Halle
let her go.
And the girl was pacing kitchen floor around another bush:
Hadn't Dayo himself told her to tell the granny all about
Cauchemar's curse? She didn't expect that her dad would be much of
a writer, but perhaps he had never burdened the old woman with
detail of his nighttime travail.
Maybe Gran really believed that this dad, like so may other fathers,
was simply prone to withdraw into fog of numbed sensibilities
enabled by 'cheap medicine'.
Granny seemed such a tolerant old soul, excusing her own father,
even, for the years of painful neglect.
Then there was the tragedy of a womans young love, both women
long before the baby girl. Granddaughter was beginning to
embrace a larger picture of the matter.
Halles steps wandered further, carrying her right out of the
kitchen. She bumped into a small writing desk under the front
window. An envelope caught her eye. The handwriting looked
familiar. It was a letter from Momma, traveled all the way from
L.A.
Not even considering such indiscretion, Halle snatched it up and
yanked out the folded missive. No it was addressed to the granny,
Mom's mother, not to daughter. But her eyes scanned it anyway; for
momentum of indignant curiosity is virtuously unstoppable.
The letter was all about a lone mother's despair, having tried and
failed to win the trust of her baby. And now that the child had
grown to adult, it seemed that all labor was for nothing. The
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emotional divide had suddenly grown to Grand Canyon dimensions.

Space and Time were become enemies of faith and family affection.
It was also a note of apology, daughter to mother, for allowing the
divide to grow ever wider between the two of them. She was glad
now that grandmother might have a chance to connect with the girl.
And maybe Mother's mom could begin to bridge what the younger
mom could not.
There was only one passing mention of the girl having been
troubled like her dad, but no detail. It surely confirmed the
granny's assurance that no confidence was breached. In closing,
Mom had written:
Much as I do hate to admit it, your namesake Adriana might
actually benefit from a season attending your Pentecostal chapel,
assuming you can persuade her to go.
Namesake? The daughter had clean forgotten it.
Halle let the paper fall to the floor as mist of reprised emotion
blurred physical sight. Everything else was much clearer now, how
a young girl's prideful arrogance had trampled both mothers, those
who would love her most, the very ones best prepared by life to
listen and help this new woman make sense of her plight.
As the front door opened, the returning grandmother was greeted
with tearful apologies and gentle embrace. Halle had decided by
then to tell all to the gran, to respect her wiser counsel and perhaps
even mingle a little with young adults at the chapel.
A short week later, Halle was taking coffee out with her newest
friend. It was the very same young woman that had stepped out that
fated Sunday eve to perform.
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I'm not much of a dancer, really, she admitted. I always loved

moving to the music in interesting ways, just to tell its hidden story.
But I never had real training.
Anne's manner of speech was vaguely unfamiliar to Halle's ears.
L.A. didn't get many Canadians moving into East district
neighborhoods. Anne was also island-born: grew up in Nova Scotia
Not nearly so grown-up as she had first appeared to be.
To tell the truth, it was all about me. Annie leaned forward to
whisper, I tried to describe it to Father OLeary, once during
confession. But he assured me it was only a bad dream.
Halle felt her heart pumping excitedly now, but she remained silent
while the elder girl continued.
We know what it is in our part of the world. The Old Hag visits
the boys, first time right around puberty, maybe later. And
sometimes only one witch riding is all that they remember. It's
usually enough to scare the foolishness out of them, ay?
She paused to let them both sip coffee, but Halle couldn't tell if any
California boys ever got such a scare. So Anne elaborated.
At home, they say that the Old Hag will sometimes appear as the
irresistibly sex-crazed girl of their dreams, only to morph into this
craggy old witch at the worst possible moment. But then its always
the same they can't move, they can't call for help, they can't even
breathe as she climbs onto their back to scratch and shake, rattling
teeth right out of their mouth as she presses and rides their tail end to
tickle her pleasure.
Another communal sip
Then she's gone just vanishes like a ghost until the next time
she wants some jollies. Real problem is the superstition and fear
surrounding the nightmares. That's what the word really means, you
know nightmare being awakened by an evil spirit (Old German
mahrt) rudely straddling your backside or front. It can appear male
181
or female, young or old, human or animal like a cat, a wolf or great

serpent and it can change back and forth from human to beast.
But they say that Old Hag is the witch spirit, determined to drain
victims of their manhood. That's why many boys will start to
drinking, ay?
But what about the girls? Halle coaxed her friend to keep
talking.
For girls, it's even worse. Anne was whispering again. We don't
ever speak about that. People think you're just a little whore, trying
to put blame on the guy you reeled in to you know, do it.
Halle suggested that maybe she knew a little something about it.
I'm convinced that's why some girls go silly and become easy
prey. They party and do the hard stuff too, just to defuse the shame
of their other secret encounters at night, in the dark, when your
bed was supposed to be the safest place to go.
Anne was shivering now.
It's the same with those who suffer physical or emotional abuse in
the home same coping dynamic, I mean.
Annie had two years at the University behind her, studying
literature and folklore, as well as all the required stuff. She chatted
on about other cultures, like Japan and Indonesia, and even Ancient
Greece.
They called it Incubus, back then, a rogue demigod looking for
human maidens to deflower. For guys it was known as Succubus,
who appeared first as the nubile spirit-lover. But I guess she was just
the Old Hag in disguise. I suspect that even the later tales about
vampires and werewolves were based on the same sort of
experience.
Cauchemar. Halle interjected.
Sorry, did you sneeze?
Both women laughed.
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But Halle said she was serious, and began to tell her own story.
She had to rush through the latest events Annie was due for
class but the scholarly one soon had the gist of it all and promised
to do further research.
You'd be surprised what you can find on the Internet now. That
was something quite new to the world of college research and
computer geeks.
The girls parted, each feeling for the first time in their lives that a
true friend had been discovered.
Now Granny hers was an entirely different perspective on it all.
Her answer was Jesus.
Only Jesus, of all authorities in the whole universe only He had
attained power to chase away that kind of demon.
I don't really think it's a demon, Granny.
Well, ye don't be thinkin' it's human, now do ye?
Most curious to Halle's thinking, the Irish grandmother was not
inclined to call it mere dreaming or illusion. Old Celtic worldview
predisposed those born of its influence to consider the mysteries of
intersecting times and dimensions, the sort of cosmology that
theories of quantum physics were only beginning to entertain.
Where the Old Ones walk, there is every kind of connection
between ancestor and descendent, secret gates to alternate realities
hidden between worlds. An event or decision now will have
consequences, future or past. And a seeker pure of heart may
sometimes be blessed to visit another time and place, seeing through
the eyes of a great great grandsire perhaps, in a dream or daytime
trance. Second Sight, it was called by some or just blarney, by
others. Symbols and objects, a certain chemistry or material, these
carried meaning and power known only to the wise. And the Wise
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Woman had to remain vigilant to seem simple, else the powerhungry magistrates (mostly priests) would turn them out as cursed
witches.
So strange, Halle was thinking now: how disparate cultures
Southern Creole and Northern Celt would retain from
prehistoric times such similar elements of belief. Could that be
evidence of a common core of most ancient forms of science? She
must ask her friend Annie what scholars thought about an original
understanding of things, spirit and flesh out of which all later
science and religion and political movements have grown as mere
distortions. It was a brave and ambitious set of ideas for this innercity-schooled no-name minority pup never voted, never lettered,
never ordained by any order.
Wherefrom such thinking? No school ever taught it. What if the
world were to become populated, in a single generation, by some
millions of suchlike inquiring souls?
Go lookin' and you're sure to find something; keep hammering and
the door will give way.
That's what Preacher Man recited to bayou trespassing seekers.
Back to Granny and her cure-all invocation of Jesus' Name. It was a
phrase she had borrowed from Protestant friends, the Pentecostal
spirit-filled variety. And something about the idea gave Halle the
shakes.
And what is Jesus' name, Granny?
No, Darlin'. Ye aint understandin me. I meant to say, the Name
o Jesus.
That's what I'm asking. What is Jesus' real name, not the common
earthly name?
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Baptism by Fire
This was indeed a key question to the maturing girl's way of

thinking. The answer to that could solve a lot of mysteries and
might even settle some wars. It was the sort of question that Mamba
May would understand.
And Halle was still wondering about that Sunday evening
message: Who was this Son of Heaven called to be the tallyman? At
least, thats how she remembered the word sent via Spirit.
Then, out of the blue like Momma would sometimes do it the
girl asked Granny outright cold:
Who is Tally Man?
This was a chancy proposition. Perhaps the trans-cultural old soul
could say something that would echo, in the very words themselves,
that ancient Wisdom predating religions and conventions of science,
recalling a day when all languages were one. Surely that would
explain how simple folk, simply yielding, could plug into such
intuitive know-how as to utter aloud things they had no business
knowing, in a tongue never spoken before.
What is the tallyman, Granny?
Oh that's easy, she declared. But it has nothin' to do with what I
was saying.
Humor your grandbaby.
Now that was a curious idea, she considered. Poor Gran had
missed it all, every hour that regular grandmothers cherish, to
entertain the grandbaby from cradle to car keys and every occasion
between.
When I was growing up, the woman was quite ready to answer,
the tallymans job was to collect regular payments. Lots of folks
owed the company store; and times before they might actually sell
185
their selves into service, maybe to pay off passage from Dublin to
Boston or New York.
Granny paused to look sideways at Halle. The young woman was
actually listening. This girl knew full well what the talk was about.
Mom had once suffered a season hounded by collection calls.
Gran continued. In her memory, a tallyman was not always the bad
guy, especially to those of less fortune.
I remember how the tallyman came round to help settle our
accounts. For ye see, official records weren't so careful preserved.
She explained how a single winter made both paper and verbal
agreements disappear. A storm washed out the landlord's office, then
a plague took the landlord too. She recalled another acquaintance
where accident suddenly lamed the bondservant who had a family of
his own to feed. The heirs of such contested debt, on either side of a
contract, were bound to be at odds. Generations of feuding got
started that way.
All this talk made the old woman quite thirsty. So granddaughter
got up to serve elder a cool glass.
Thank ye, Darlin' Now the tallyman was hired to count up what
a man or his family would owe, and then a new official document
was recorded. Otherwise, the debtor might never be free of his
rightful obligation. There was no bankruptcy, no other legal limits
and protections like today.
So, the tallyman had final say, the girl concluded. And when
the bank or boss accused you of default, your only friend in the
world might be Tally Man.
I think ye caught the potato. This old woman might not be here
today if it werent for that man. We was that poor and defenseless.
Halle, however, was already thinking far larger thoughts.
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Baptism by Fire
So why then, if Tally Man is making sure everybody plays fair

even demons and witches Why do some of us get to suffer more
than all the others?
It was the hardest of hard questions, so hard that Halle's eyes began
to well up again. Never had this girl found reason to cry so much in
so many weeks.
Granny was already shaking her head in empathic remorse.
I get your meanin now, Darlin'. If you be talking about the Lord
of lords and Judge of all Creation; it don't make sense to me neither.
The girl continued choking out painful words.
I mean, even my N'ahlens friend Mamba called him Good God
Bondya. Thats how they say it. And you said He's supposed to be
the Father of all fathers.
Grandmother nodded, quite dreading what would follow.
Then how can a good father allow his baby girl to be so horribly
tortured? And then another night let the same monster molest her
again and again and
Granny's face was aglow with a flood of weeping for her
grandbaby. She had no certain solution to this mystery.
You ask Father OLeary for me, Halle, next time ye go to see
him.
Halle knew to what Gran was referring. She had earlier asserted
that granddaughter was baptized and christened as a baby. But Halle
had never gone to Confession, and she wasn't about to start.
Annie already asked him about it, Gran. He didn't answer her
question, either. Thinks it's only a dream.
ONLY a dream! It was the granny's turn to get hot. He should
know better, being a scholar of Holy Writ:
187
In final days, my Spirit will baptize every creature: the Old Ones
will dream their dreams, while mere youngsters see the visions.
That there prophecy is tellin aboot Second Sight, Halle. Don't ye
let anybody try to convince you it's ONLY regular dreamin.
I won't, Granny.
Halle reached over to squeeze the elder, wiser woman's shoulder;
used her own sleeve to wipe tears from the wrinkly face.
And I like it, Gran, when you call me Adriana.
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Six
Halle was waiting for friend Anne just outside the classroom door.
She knew the local bus routes by now. She'd been to Central Park,
enjoyed a couple museums and selected a favorite tree. This young
adult was even volunteering again at an inner city garden project
near Gran's own apartment.
Once met, Halle dragged the elder girl to their favorite campus
coffee shop and ordered tall ones for them both.
I hope you can spare a couple hours, Annie. I really need to talk.
There was a haunted look in the darker girl's eyes, so Annie settled
back and nodded.
It was another attack by Cauchemar:
I just don't understand it. Right when I was starting to feel
comfortable and safe again. And I dared to think the creep was
chased off for good.
Was it very bad? Annie asked cautiously.
The worst. I could even feel it inside claws and everything.
Annie shuddered empathetically and replied, Does your
grandmother know yet?
Only generally nothing about this latest.
Halle didn't want to worry the old woman. Gran had gone with
some church friends to a restaurant in Korea Town owned by another
church friend. It was the first night since her arrival that the granny
wasn't home to recite a bedtime prayer for protection.
Prayer doesn't work that way, Hal.
The coffees were served, and Annie paused to stir and sip, then
continued:
Prayers transcend time and space, especially those by a mother or
grandmother No I think its because your soul was simply ready
for the next stage.
189
The next stage! Halle wasn't buying that. Obviously I'm

regressing, not getting better or braver at all.
Annie shook her head:
You remember my dance? And with a self-conscious glance
aside, How could anyone forget it, ay?
Of course, Halle remembered and loved every moment of it.
My message was and is that the cauchemar Old Hag or
whatever is not at all what it seems to be.
The younger girl stared. Anne was expected now to explain.
It's like when you freak out after spotting movement in the next
room late at night. You can convince yourself its a burglar, or
worse. But when the police arrive, all they find is a mirror on the
wall then you're too embarrassed to admit it was your own
reflection after all.
So you've decided Cauchemar is only illusion. And how does a
reflection get out of the mirror to jump up on my back?
No, I mean that's how it might appear in our physical dimension,
Annie insisted; You've got to consider how a spiritual world
operates. What if your material body is in fact the reflection a sort
of shadow image of the real thing (like a dream body); only you
have grown accustomed to looking at physical things through your
reflected images eyes?
Halle was listening, trying her best to make this work.
What I really mean is the friend continued, Everything can
look backward and upside down and inside out over there. You try
to go one direction, but your dream body or other spiritual bodys
orientation makes it seem you are going another way, maybe not
even moving at all.
Then the scholar got inspired:
A house of mirrors!
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Baptism by Fire
I know what that is. Halle had encountered it at a haunted

mansion mockup one Halloween in L.A. She agreed that a few
minutes in that environment tricks one's senses into losing their
natural bearing.
Well, imagine if you lost sensation and control of the body that
you are used to calling Me. Sleep does that, you know
chemically, so you cant act out your dreaming and hurt yourself or
somebody else; they even call it sleep paralysis But still feeling
awake, you can no longer identify the familiar Me with any reflected
body or self-image.
Okay, that's actually what it feels like.
Now consider that an image in the spirit world is not only to be
seen maybe never yet seen at all But you detect its presence and
movement as a crude reflection of some other physical sense.
You mean, I might hear it or feel it while it's still too dark to see
anything Yet the hearing and feeling is still only a reflection of
the actual person or thing. Halle was speaking slowly, new thoughts
contained in the words themselves, not yet resident in her brain.
Thats how it might seem at first But later you finally see it
also, and the sight is nothing like what you expected to see as an
image of yourself.
Of courseits a reflection, not real.
I didn't say it wasn't real.
This was getting out of hand. And something else that Annes
argument assumed wouldnt jive with Halles style of thinking She
couldnt pinpoint what it was, exactly.
Just hold that thought, Annie coached her friend and sipped to
recharge her own thinking:
Consider that you have always, as a living spirit, had the power to
create such images reflections. In fact it's what your imagination
is always busy doing: making and studying, and modifying and
trying on new styles self-images.
Halle laughed, Like trying on new clothes.
191
Right, but on this side you experience it all internally, initially at

least Over there, in the cauchemar's world, it all appears to be
outside of you, right out the gate; no time to think about it first.
That's an awfully powerful imagination, Halle muttered, thinking
maybe she was losing interest.
More powerful than you think. Annie took a few more sips to
rehearse her punch line before saying it aloud:
In the spiritual realm You are a god.
Thus Annie began an even longer discourse, describing an
environment wherein the self-image one constructs becomes a
distinct entity, by virtue of the power vested in every individual
human soul. Further, each creator becomes responsible for the
existence and activity of those entities so endowed with reflected
selfhood. The backwards, inside-out nature of Cauchemars Country
is such that even stray thoughts, emotions and desires take objective
shape.
A raging temper may appear as a firestorm. Desires that are selfdestructive can manifest as insects turning to attack their host;
personal thoughts, feelings, motivations or attitudes a lion leaping
viciously for your throat or a swarm of serpents slithering over your
own naked and defenseless form.
By contrast, our physical world is designed to hide or obscure the
full manifestations of these entities. Our minds may be populated by
all sorts of beings, some friendly and many conflicting, like
characters in a story book. However while a soul feels itself
awake inside a material body, with senses focused only on a
physical environment and locked within the comfortable bounds of
only four dimensionstrapped inside ones own familiar storybook
world during daylight hours, the soul-self is thereby protected from
its-selves. So, what is called waking awareness is really a spiritual
sleep; a virtual night of the soul. We are cursed and blessed with a
basic blindness.
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Else we would all soon drive ourselves crazy always beholding the
entire truth of ourselves and surrounding entities; as do those poor
souls whose material consciousness has been damaged or
compromised due to a brain malfunction or chemical abuse. Some
special individuals, like the ancient prophets or Jesusare
reported to have been haunted from childhood by continual sight of
spirits, entities living or dead to the world in which we live. For
them, the protecting veil has been lifted. Therefore, being born free
of the original Curse, these are blessed with even greater torment
of perception.
But this world the one we awaken to every morning after
sleep, Annie continued The material world is actually the
reflection. Our own physical bodies and their senses are reflections,
being made of the stuff of this impermanent world. And
Halle braced herself for yet another of Annies enigmatic punch
lines:
Our very souls are reflections, images of the truly human spirit.
Most of this was zooming right past Halle, but Anne paused to
finish her own cup and let the girl think it over.
Eventually, Halle asked, So then, where is my true spirit?
Anne bravely attempted an answer. For most people it remains
hidden, inaccessible to everyday consciousness. The oldest
cosmologies have it safely kept in a higher, truer, enduring
dimension of spirit. Her point was that ones earthbound soul was
originally borne of the spirit, a temporary knockoff of the prototype
designed for life in this transitory time and place.
But that gets all screwed up, she explained, when I grow up
thinking I am a self-made woman, and nothing more. I forget that
my soul is a child of the spirit. My earthly soul was fathered by
Another, One much older and wiser than me. I actually get to
193
thinking that I am monarch of my domain, the beginning and end of

myself.
Annie stopped to let that sink well into her listener's conscience.
Curiously, it was memory of Preacher Mans swamp talk competing
for attention, one of his impromptu sermons to a bayou mud dweller:
You ain't never goin' to find your place in the great wide world so
long as you're stuck on this lonely little island. Don't let your Boggy
Man keep you down, blindin' and numbin' your soul, so's you finally
forget you ever had a life out yonder.
It was the sort of thing, however, that Halles mind had trouble
containing for long. Besides, in a younger girls world, it was a
good thing nowadays to be so self-made.
Finally Annie, with lowered tone:
Then I go to sleep one night, only to awaken again inexplicably,
while my physical body-self remains asleep. It isn't just another
dream I sense that immediately. I am alone with myself, my soulself, for perhaps the first time in my souls short existence. I discover
that I have another self, at least one other, older than me which
self has been secretly (maybe not so secretly) grooming me with
ambitions of its own. This self has been playing god, pretending to
be a fathering spirit; ruler of a mythical kingdom. And that was sort
of legal and safe to do while it remained hidden and controlled
within a subconscious imagination. The emperor, having believed
himself richly clothed, is crudely exposed to be false
The nursery tales spell of innocence was broken, its hidden import
horribly revealed. Halle felt shivery now, as if hearing her first ghost
story at a sleepover.
Only Annie dared speak further:
So, another presence is felt. And the backwards, outside-in
environment makes it feel that the other is approaching. The
sleeping physical body makes it feel like I am paralyzed and helpless
to cry out. My self-deception or lack of religious training a dearth
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of spiritual preparation or simply my naivet of soul makes me

feel I am the victim, the prey. While in actual spiritual fact, I am the
father, creator of this beast.
Halle choked, then exclaimed, I will to be you, said Cauchemar!
But the girl shook herself violently, to re-bury that memory; she
swore to herself never to visualize voluntarily that scenario again.
Their coffees finished, the two decided mutually, without discussion
then to leave the table and walk. It was a couple blocks away, the
stop for their return bus to Alphabet City.
So, how did you come up with all these weird ideas, Annie?
They aren't my ideas. It's from the Bible, first off. Then many of
the old fables and fairy tales are actually echoes of older wisdom:
like Beowulf and Canterbury Tales, Snow White and Sleeping
Beauty; other religious traditions about Heaven's curses upon
humanity, the exploits of immortals Gosh, even the modern fables:
Wind in the Willows, Alice down the rabbit hole. And then theres
the cauchemar and Old Hag traditions; alien abduction accounts may
be the latest renditions.
But we aren't just telling scary stories, Halle reminded them
both. Cauchemar isn't only a Batman comic book character.
No, Anne had to agree. We actually experience these
mythologies. So did the original tellers of other fanciful tales
many of them, at least the very truest fairy stories.
So what do you suggest I do about Cauchemar? said one woman
to the other. He still scares the crap out of me.
Call for help from the greatest Father of spirits.
I tried that already And it sort of worked, at first. Got
Cauchemar's attention, anyway.
The cauchemar knows about things that your daytime
consciousness has forgotten; it sees things and its aware of other
beings that you have forgotten how to perceive.
195
So Halle persisted. How do I make him listen and shake him

off, permanently?
I can only tell you what I have learned to do, so far.
That is Their bus was approaching.
I showed you that already.
It was way too crowded and noisy on the bus to continue such a
conversation. So Halle was stuck simply thinking about it. She
thought she knew to what her friend was referring.
Annie's stop came first. As she stood to exit, Halle's suspicion was
confirmed.
Remember the dance! Annie called back in goodbye.
They would see each other again, though maybe not before another
night, another round of battle with Halle's dark nemesis.
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Baptism by Fire
Seven
Just apply for welfare, like the rest of us.

That was the best advice that younger woman could tease from
fellow volunteer gardeners. How do you think your grandmother
has lived so long?
But something had changed in Halle's attitude and worldview.
No, really I don't think it's that way with her, was her answer.
She hadn't yet learned all the gran's personal history, but freeloading
of any variety would be way out of character. All of Grannys
friends were quite enterprising.
Halle felt she had to start contributing somehow, especially after
finding that another letter from Mom enclosed a check to
Grandmother as well. Mother couldn't afford that, certainly not now
that government had stopped paying for the girl's care. And there
was the vagrant cat, Talle, to feed. Yes, the same letter revealed that
her totem was back safe at home. So Halle went hunting.
A full week of sweaty bus rides and knocking on doors turned up
nothing for a self-starting school dropout.
But Granny had connections. Her Korean friend, the restaurateur,
was subletting space to a Physical Therapy extension of the
neighboring city hospital. Word was out that they needed assistants,
just to set up and tear down mostly. But there would be opportunity
to watch and learn the uses of equipment.
It was an easy bus to K-Street in Korea Town, one of the missing
street letters of their own Alphabet City.
It turned out that the restaurant was on the second floor of the
building, with extra space on the floor above for banquets and
special events. But those occasions happened mostly during
197
evenings, so the whole third floor was available daytime hours.

Halle proved to be the instinctively bossy one, so they made her
responsible for the setup and takedown crews. In fact, some days it
proved to be only Halle by default; it was paramount that everything
be cleared in time for the next paying party. And the restaurant
owner always had to compliment Granny's hard working girl when
they saw her at the chapel. It made them both feel proud.
She came home quite exhausted, most days. And Cauchemar was
letting the young worker sleep, for now. But Halle wasn't fooled.
She knew he would be waiting in the shadows. It was she, every
night, who approached the elder before bed:
Don't forget to bless our sleep again, Gran.
Then the wrinkly woman would wink and recite an old nightcap
verse:
Now we lay ourselves to sleep.
We pray the Lord our souls to keep.
And if one dies before we wake.
We pray, Dear Lord, that soul to take.
Amen, Halle always agreed, never actually believing that
Heaven would be taking her granny just yet.
The kundalini sickness had worsened.
Bert's Korean mother was well aware that something remained
seriously amiss with her boy's soul. But he would never step through
the chapel door. Nor would he even pause to let her utter a prayer
over him. However, prayer was the only course remaining for
mother to help lone son. She reminded herself daily that the only
true hope of his soul was grace of the greatest Father of all.
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The rhoids were gone, at least. So the boy counted his blessings,
sparse as they would appear to his mind. And the last thing he
wanted was to worry his poor mother further. That's all her prayers
meant to him. He really wanted to be a good son, finally. So he
continued to try to hide his torment, a burden greater than any single
human soul was intended to bear.
Suffering started afresh each morn, upon awakening from troubled
dreams. Bert would try to pacify his mind first thing, per his long
years of discipline and training, seated on a hard floor with back
straight and intoning the sacred mantras. He tried all the postures,
intended to clear and balance the energy pathways of his various
bodies. But the longer he remained separated from his lord and
master, Aba, the further those bodies would misalign spirit, soul,
life and flesh. Bert knew also, that to yield whenever his material
body cried foul, whatever the indulgencethat would only make the
suffering worse. It would be like scratching a bug bite or
hemorrhoidal swelling. Such attention only spread the redness and
irritation, and it would increase sinful appetite all the more.
So his only relief was meditation and exercise. It started with Bert
and one other student of yoga. Word spread quickly in K-town, so
others joined, and by the third week it was beginners bringing their
mats to cover the floor space in the restaurant's upper room early
mornings. The setup crew for paying tenants didn't even arrive until
8am. Though Bert himself had been breaking his own trance ever
earlier than his students were quite ready to quit. The nervous sweats
and panic and hallucinations were somewhat stabilized. But the
kriyas were growing invasive
And mandalas the beatific visions of light so anticipated by
novices they always obstructed his spiritual view. It would start
as a tiny jewel-like disk, then increase to completely fill his field of
inner sight, flashing, spinning and blinding as the sun. It was
199
dizzying. It might well have been a cheaply purchased LSD trip for
all the control he retained. The patterns completely distracted him
from any hope of achieving tranquility. Finally he had to open his
eyes and allow the flood of unnatural fluorescent light to purge his
brain, else nausea would chase him from the room.
That performance left his class wondering what else they had done
to offend the master.
This unsolicited following of seekers it only worried the young
adept. It was as if some agent of spirit had preceded Bert's arrival
home, preparing the way for a band of devotees just to torment him
further.
One morning, a young Korean student approached him with oldfashioned bowing. She was requesting the shaktipat of her teacher.
No! was Bert's knee-jerk retort.
I am sorry, Daughter, he would try to explain, as her eager
expression tragically fell. Clearly, she had hoped to inspire more
than the traditional relationship with this young yoga lord, though
that was not what concerned him now.
You are not ready and I am not ready. You do not know what
you ask. Indeed, this newly commissioned master was loath to
extend such a blessing, as he had learned what a curse it must
become.
He remembered it like yesterday, when Aba simply touched the
disciple's forehead. Bert could almost feel again the rush of energy
triggered by the gesture. It was only intention to connect, master to
student, and the student yearning to receive. Yet that is all it took to
release a flood of spirit power.
Bert became a new person that cursed day, as if reborn into a
freshly enlivened body. Indeed, stirrings were awakened in odd
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Baptism by Fire
corners of his being, like hatchlings suddenly scared from security of

nested shells. Ever since that moment, Bert could feel the energetic
creatures wandering further afield, from loins to belly, fire sprites
chasing up and down his spine.
Must be what it feels to be pregnant, he commented in some alarm.
Aba Master had nodded in agreement, chuckling proudly. But the
initiate wasn't imagining a human flowering with its odd flutterings
and hiccups and neonatal kicks. This felt more like a brood of
sizzling lizards or snakes, and these had exploded from their
enclosure to scamper far unto prohibited extremities. Lately, the
activity had grown ever more intrusive as if he were the parent
spider bearing its litter of some hundreds scurrying like sparks about
her back, up and down legs, perched like a living cap upon her head
and their thousands of tiny feet playing across her field of vision.
When would it end, this torment? Would the fiery nymphs never
mature and finally leave their longsuffering progenitor in peace?
However, those first weeks after the shaktipat anointing, this latest
initiate was daily and hourly comforted by Master's presence as
needed. Just a glance or maybe another willful touch of yoga lord's
beneficence was all it required for renegade energy to retreat and
withdraw back into its sheath. And there it would remain for the
remainder of that day and most of night, a healthful glow of extra
life lying in reserve at the very base of his spine, there awaiting his
command to heal and sustain.
But when Aba would travel away from the compound, even for a
day, his own brood of baptizees squirmed in perpetual discomfort of
body and soul, yearning for the moment that their life and their light
might return. So long as the good Aba remained where his disciple
could wander close by, exchanging a respectful bow for the godmans nod or smile, everything was restored to right balance and
peace, inside and out. The neolites had been blessed with growing
201
dependency for very life and serenity of spirit upon the tenuous
tie that bound each to his or her master.
And so was the same blessing now expected of Bert as teacher and
master of his own disciples. No, this adept was not fit to be made
such a lord. He would not curse as he had been blessed nor bless
them with such suffering as he must endure. Something had gone
horribly wrong, starting with Aba's generous shaktipat invitation to
tread the descent of grace. It was promised to be the quicker,
straighter and easier stairway for a seeker of Illumination, especially
for one so graced by ancestors with such natural focus of breath,
thought, feeling and self-control. Aba had great expectations for this
son of grace.
But it begins to feel more like a kind of entrapment rather than
empowerment, this forced awakening, enslaving one to the master.
This was the warning of the friend in Delhi. It would be far better to
pursue the way of conscious effort rather than accept such a
master's grace. So the friend had justified his own course, departing
that very day to join a Buddhist monastery in Tibet. Once there, he
would seek the white bodhicitta, cooling energy that descends from
the crown to confront and tame red fierce woman of candali
kundalini, the tummo fire rising invasively from the loins.
The friend's strange words, though dismissed at the time, were
proven prophetic. Bert's nighttime hallucinations had taken over his
dreams in form of that same fierce woman. She was a red-haired
temptress who visited his sleep, sometimes repeatedly before dawn.
But her advances always turned to murderous betrayal. Bert's dream
mind could never learn its lesson, however, being enchanted by her
playful taunts and entreaties to remain passive and still, innocently
cooperative. But her delicate feminine fingers, having caressed their
way to intimacy, would close suddenly upon their prize like talons of
a griffin to rob him of life and breath and personal dignity. Most
often it was his throat, and he would awaken in sweat and panic,
having believed yet again that he had died of her merciless
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strangulations. Other times, as if to vary her tortuous delight, she

would seize him where the sun don't shine, wringing from his flesh
the most exquisite pain of all pains. And all the day after, poor Bert
must limp about bowlegged to protect the aching gonads.
One time, Bert had dared to consider resisting and, as if in answer
to mere thought, he felt his whole being burst into flame. The
torment was far more exquisite and complete than fiery rhoids. From
then on, he banished that idea, and experienced immediate relief.
Far better to propitiate for imagined transgressions than to further
incite holy jealousy of such a mistress.
Perhaps it is only natural, testosterone-pumped masculinity
catching up with me, he considered. The ancestors might not be
pleased, after all, that this uppity godson had denied for so long the
propagation of their seed.
But why would his imagination shape the Temptress so? Was
Woman truly so dangerously inscrutable, devious and false? Best
make fellows of men, after all. However, such a pass was outside his
male desire, or so he assumed thus far. Anyway, except for pursuit of
kundalini yoga, Bert's virgin eye never roamed beyond his primary
ethnicity. And Koreans don't have red hair.
That same evening, as the fierce woman visited yet again, there
were Others watching from a dimension deeper than dream. It
grieved them to see their assignment so antagonized. They were
further alarmed that his spirit might be regressing, adhering to an
obsolete testament of development and subjecting himself to the
yoke of Law. This way of conscious effort was ever a hapless
course for any but the Firstborn of Man. Indeed it served only to
persuade succeeding sons of Adam to search elsewhere for easier
liberation. Yet even these ancient Messengers of Light were helpless
to introduce a new way of grace true Grace of the Father
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while Bert's soul remained branched to a son of Lucifer, that ancient

rebellious one of their own order who would be father of all.
How could the cord be broken? Death may yet again be this soul's
only deliverance. So they prepared for Halberts redemption.
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Eight
Youth Night at chapel was a curious affair. For one thing, it was a
joint-meeting of people from any number of Eastside Pentecostal
churches. In fact a Puerto Rican Protestant group also called this
chapel building their own, having no apparent conflict theological
or otherwise with their Catholic Charismatic fellows.
We're all children of God; brothers and sisters in Christ. That's
what the granny would say about it. The Pentecostal experience had
a way of breaking down denominational barriers.
The other curiosity lots of older people felt quite young enough
to attend, and they were all so obviously welcome. Though the
music and the teaching styles were evidently appealing to the young,
those actively seeking after meaning and truth.
There was quite a mix of other sorts, all colors and backgrounds,
economic classes, political persuasions. But Halle rarely saw any of
those tensions surface. All were coming as equals on a greater quest.
And apparently such differences would prove immaterial anyway
before the Throne of Grace.
There was some talk of that Day Judgment; and it seriously
bothered Halle's city-schooled conscience. She didn't want to
believe or fear an ultimate accounting. Yet these people expected
somehow that to anticipate was not necessarily to fear it. This
distinction was hardly clear to Halle's mind, and it bothered her even
more that some would be so sure, so arrogant as to make themselves
and their fellowship exceptions to the Rule. It made the rest of the
world's people appear as second-class citizens, looked down upon by
the Elect.
But that was only in principle, an intellectual objection. Halle met
only one old saint who actually displayed anything resembling a
prejudicial christian air. That one was soon the subject of a
conference of pastors, and it was Halle's own granny who sounded
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the alarm. When the miscreant refused to respect their correction, he

was publicly rebuked and a burly brother posted at the door to help
disinvite his return.
That kind of talk only grieves the Spirit of liberty, Granny
explained. It isn't holiness at all and certainly not the heart of the
Father. She was not referring merely to the chapel priest just then.
Halle enjoyed the music and quickly learned the words to their
songs. She endured the prayers. The unintelligible messages were
growing tedious, and their interpretations seemed mostly repetitive.
The drill was actually simpler than most Catholic meetings
singing, prayer, testimonials, prayer, announcements, collection
bag, prayer, sermon, invitation to pray, invitation to prophetic
messages, prayer, testimonials and final singing. Yes, that was
simpler, but it was a drill nonetheless.
It was the sermon that Halle had come to anticipate most. She
harbored hope, after all, that these people might offer some
resolution to her own confusion. No, she had never seen clear nor
felt need to respond when the invitation inevitably followed, to
march publicly down for prayer at the chapel altar. In fact she came
to dread that moment and exhaled in relief when it passed. It felt
rather like crouching among a flock of goats knowing again that one
of their company must be selected for slaughter.
This evening's message was about some less-reported history of New
York gangland. He was guest speaker from a big outreach
downtown. He told the story of one leader of a rival gang across the
river, a name that others well recognized and feared. It seemed
melodramatic and unlikely, this biography: street criminal turned
world class preacher. Everybody had declared him irredeemably
cruel, inhuman, bound for prison or Hell. But one day Heaven
reached down to transform a bloodthirsty monster into man. A
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human heart, hard as stone, was melted in a moment of encounter

with Holy Spirit.
But before this soul could finally yield to the grace of God, the
speaker explained, the deception he had labored to make of
himself as a fearless, heartless, indomitable tyrant
Halle's attention was snared.
This Pretender of manhood had to be broken. The being he had
formed of himself a mere man in his own image, poor substitute
indeed for the Creator's good purpose this shadow of Man had
first to be exposed under Light, proven an empty promise, a bankrupt
ideal before the scrutiny of the only true Son of Man.
So Mamba May knew something of what she talked about, after all.
But Halle didn't want to miss hearing a single word.
The evangelist continued:
You see, our hero was not so fearless as he was feared. He was
never, could never be so indomitable as he was domineering. In fact,
brutal and bloody were his exploits upon the streets of his New York
borough, yet he never carried out more than a handful of promises,
threatening many times a day to deal suffering and death to any who
would dare to cross him.
Where are you going with this, Preacher Man?
But the God of the Universe isn't so. He is hardly as feared as he
is fearsome. Though no other is able to overcome His power, He is
never domineering. And He fulfills every single one of His promises.
In fact, He makes no threat that will not be carried out the least
being condemnation of the living lie a man will make of himself.
Now we're back on track, the girl refocused and recrossed her legs.
You see, it is only when one abandons his birthright and insists
upon living such a lie, that the Enemy of Heaven's great Design is
permitted to claim and seize a child of Godonly because that one
has ceased then to be a fully human child. Like a devouring lion,
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like a vulture hunting for dead meat, the archenemy Satan and his
dark spirits are searching, just waiting to consume any soul who will
continually refuse the Plan of his Creator. That's the world where
they live, the Enemies of humanity and we you and I are
walking in their world, most of us oblivious to deadly danger.
Halle had heard this same warning from Preacher George, or
something much like it. How then, does one escape such self-deceit?
The minister attempted to answer:
This prodigal, a wayward child of God yes even as street
criminal, drug dealer, spreading terror among innocents He was
yet a child of God. And such a child has only one remaining hope of
seeing clearly the true character of his heavenly father. That hope is
finally to be loved as only God is able to love, truly and
courageously ferociously!
The girl was growing suspicious. How does a heavenly father fit
into all of this? He's making Love sound the same as punishment.
Tough Love was all that could reach the child now. So God
enabled the boy's real enemies to be revealed, showing themselves to
mortal vision simultaneously exposing their evil deceits. God
unmasked the wolf in sheep's clothing, the angel of darkness
masquerading as light. His child was obliged to face the true
predator of his soul.
Halle's suspicions proved true. This was not just another Gotham
City comic book adventure unrelated to real life. The story might
actually supply a critical piece to her puzzle.
The warlord of gangland suffered nightmares, recurring assaults.
Healing sleep became torment, the safety of bed a hellish prison.
Then for as long as he continued to refuse the freely offered grace of
the Father's heart, this fearless crusader of raging violence was
himself the target and victim of attack night after night, after
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night. No sooner did his eyelids droop than he was forced to view in
stark reality the evil appetites of his would-be devourers. There they
were, always waiting, ever ready and greedy for satisfaction.
A dark insatiable Presence, Halle recited.
And they appeared in all kinds of horrible forms, mostly
distortions of the beauty and innocence of God's creation. Even
butterflies became instruments of torture; a flock of birds flying
freely would change quickly into a storm cloud entrapping his soul.
But worst of all was the one scene to which The Dream would
persistently return: a dark room opened to disclose the plight of
another locked inside It was the boys own human father.
Tears began welling in Halle's green eyes.
He knew intuitively that it must be his father, though it no longer
looked much like a man. Papa was reduced to crouching upon four
limbs as a hairy beast, a doglike, wolfish corruption of fatherly
being.
Loup garou, moaned the girl.
The speaker paused. There were other sobbing voices among his
listeners.
That vision was the most appalling and terrifying revelation of all.
Why? Because the child knew that he would never, could never in
his own power amount to anything so feared and respected as his
father. If Papa had made a mere animal of himself, what was the boy
to become?
Halle had one word in reply, echoing about her brain: Cauchemar.
Dark shadow of man; Old Hag; depraved creature.
But why, Halle was suddenly distracted by the question. Why then
did this spooky character often prey upon its victims sexually? Why
was he or she so sensually insatiable? It sure seemed that a spirit
must have better things to do, another world more suited to its
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brutish nature. But that query, she was obliged to file away for later,
as the speakers story was going elsewhere.
Papa was long known as the Great One of Puerto Rico's hill
country. He was high priest of an ancient order of witchcraft, the
brujera. Some would trace their lineage of power all the way back
to the Mayans. By their doctrine, this father could not pass power to
a son. As far as his legacy was concerned, he had no son.
Halle could almost imagine now the world from which her great
grandparents fled. Perhaps this was why the Pentecostal persuasion
became a most attractive sect. These Christians were the only ones
bold enough to stand head to head against the brujera darkness.
A child of Satan is what such offspring were called, orphaned
from birth, though the father had never died.
There were gasps of horror throughout the chapel.
Son of Satan: Just imagine his sense of rejection. It quickly
became part of the boy's name, his very identity. This is what a
human child was forced to endure from the very earliest moments of
self-realization. He was delivered a lie as framework for the making
of self-image. No wonder he acted out in rage and frustration from
that day forward!
It was time to close this address, so the speaker accelerated his
pace.
You see, the true Father of this child must love like nobody else
would dare. The true Father knows that the boy's flesh is only
temporary. Suffering endures for a Day. Father knows that the soul
belongs to a spirit borne of Eternity.
Neither pain nor death is eternal, my friends. Though that is
secretly what we tend to fear most. That is what this child of a
witchdoctor feared most of all, however loath he was to admit it.
Suffering, sickness, crime, injustice, fear of death these are all
temporary, all human inventions and they will pass into dust as the
final Night falls.
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Here were ideas far beyond most of those attending, but the
speaker had both of Halle's ears burning hotly.
Notice I said fear of death is the human invention. Death itself
was a promise of God, intended as a failsafe deliverance from the
entrapments of sin. Fear of death was the enemy's idea, and Adam
simply swallowed the bait. Read it, friends. It's in the Bible!
Must be hard to be a preacher, Halle considered. Too much to say
and so very little understanding.
The true Father loved his child truly and therefore severely,
though never unkind or without holy compassion. The child was
compelled to face the fact of what his travesty of a father had made
of himself. The dad appeared in his own child's dream as a ravening
werewolf, so hungry and so heartless and so lacking in human
conscience or natural affection as to crouch ready and waiting to
devour its own baby.
Silence suffering silence of realization.
That is what broke such hardness of heart, as the boy was finally
faced with two facts. First, behold the bestial-nature of the best he
could hope to become, a dog-man in his fake-father's image. Then
contrast the God-nature of the Father of fatherhood Himself, willing
to yield his only trueborn son to suffer the worst of mankind's selfcondemnation.
Why would God do such a thing?
Realize it was only because the Son was freely willing. The Son
of Man was willing to demonstrate how powerless was this fear of
death and how that His Father still desires affection of the child who
walks away.
211
Halle had to admit it. She had been one of those children prone to
walk, even to run away from love freely given. She wasn't so certain
that this Father God business was for her, but she felt compelled
after that story to rise and stumble forward.
There's no risk, the speaker assured his audience. It can't hurt to
simply ask for forgiveness. Then let the Spirit of the Father make
his own way into your heart. That's His job, not mine or yours.
But it did hurt. The evangelist lied. For Halle it hurt horribly.
Something was stuck where it shouldn't be. She stopped mid-march
down the aisle. She felt all eyes upon her, human and otherwise. It
felt like Cauchemar, this kind of pressure. Some entity gripped her
whole rib cage with claws of condemnation to rattle and squeeze the
very breath from her soul. Was this the leading of a merciful God;
the Spirit of liberty? No, it couldn't be so had to be Someone
more like Cauchemar, perhaps the Master Brute.
And there was yet another pressure, an outside force. Though truly
most others who remained seated were fully absorbed in their own
prayers and thoughts, too distracted to notice: Halle was persuaded
again that she had become the focus of this very public drama. The
attention and expectation of all present even Granny who was
not acted as pressure, like an ocean undertow dragging her
onward to confess and to yield.
Yield to what? And to Whom? Could there be yet another enemy of
true spiritual freedom, one lurking uninhibited, secret co-conductor
of this evangelical program? Was it the organ music? Was it the
lights, vaulted ceiling and rows of seating all facing forward?
Everything was pushing and Destiny was pulling. It was this sense of
irresistible compulsion finally compelling the lone girl to move. She
would finish her march with a defeated collapse upon altar stair.
Other's attending this was likely why so many elders would
show they observed the girl's travail and approached in well212
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intended compassion. Most of them had been in the childs place

before. They knew very well how it hurt and how very hard was that
first surrender. What they had all forgotten, it seemed, was the
obvious disconnect respecting free will. There was indeed an
infiltration, a mole. This hidden One would seize the worshipper's
birthright: Integrity complete sovereignty of decision and desire.
No, Halle's granny wasn't there.
Time for this old girl to act her age, she had declared. Though
granddaughter suspected it was simply a goodhearted gesture, to
give the girl space, a place to be young and seeking freely without
grandmotherly eyes peering over silver rims at her stumbling.
No, the gran wasn't around this time to place an arm over sobbing
shoulders. But Granny's friend was there, the K-Town restaurant
lady.
213
Nine
Did you feel anything special?

Just a twinge, maybe.
It was friend Anne next day, debriefing Halle's account of the
chapel encounter. They were seated outside in Central Park, under
Halle's favorite tree.
At the altar, there had followed a series of prayers by elders
gathered around. Hands there were lots of hands laid upon the
girl's trembling back. Nobody knew what burden this particular
young woman was carrying or the true nature of her suffering and
fear. Most would assume it was the normal kind of thing sex,
drugs, jealousy and maybe petty crime.
You know, Annie, Halle considered aloud. I have wondered
sometimes why I never did those things. Never tempted, really. I
actually lived a clean and fairly protected kind of life. I had rivals,
but no real threats to my life or safety. I wouldn't have a tragic story
to tell in my testimony next Youth Meeting. And how could I
possibly convince them of Cauchemar's curse?
She was beginning to sound like her own father, but Annie
understood.
That's why I had to dance my testimony, friend replied. Its not
the kind of thing you can talk about openly unless you want to
start a mania of exorcisms.
Exactly and I think this crowd would try it!
You don't even know the half of it, Hal. Anne was too
embarrassed for her community to elaborate further just then. (Not
that she didnt believe in demons; quite the reverse.) So she
encouraged the younger girl to continue.
My life has been charmed, resumed Halle, compared to the
story that minister told.
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Annie agreed, as she had heard such testimony before. There were
many quite like it among those so saved from the violence and
depravity of New York nights. Lots of those were children of
immigrants from the surviving havens of spiritual darkness, such as
Haiti and Africa and ancient Mayan battlegrounds.
Yet here I am, this unstained, uninitiated, law-abiding little
nobody And they all want to help God to put me back upon the
happy path. Such also had been the girl's perception of Pastor
George's bayou mission.
But they don't know me. They have no idea what I am really
suffering. And they didn't bother asking.
Annie could only shake her head as Halle continued.
Don't get me wrong I'm not just feeling sorry for myself.
Though you've got to admit I have been forced to admit it: This
little girl has had to face far more of Hell than most. And I don't
mean somebody's imagination of Hell. You and me both, Annie
we have had to look it plain in the face.
Halle's voice was risen in volume and tone, so that passing
pedestrians were beginning to stare. Annie didn't care. She wanted
to listen, more than anything else in the world.
It is Death, she said shortly.
That's it! Halle applauded her friend's studied succinctity. We
have already died. I have died more times than I care to count
and I keep on coming back, too traumatized to tell about it.
Therefore the gathering of saints had all been praying a mistake,
an understandable misperception. Though Annie was assured they
had all meant quite well, and God was never fooled or foiled for long
by the foolishness of His faithful.
They were all wanting, expecting me start doing something
different.
They were looking for a sign, Anne explained, physical
evidence that the Spirit had fallen, baptized your soul.
215
Is that it? Halle glanced tree-ward for sign of sitting birds.

Materialistic idea.
Most people start speaking in tongues.
Most people Really?
Indeed, the general mood once prayers over the candidate were
all exhausted was confusion and not a little disappointment. It
was anticlimactic at best. The candidate had exhibited no violent
shaking, no laughing, no jumping and especially no miraculous freeflowing worship in a language never practiced before that fated hour.
To some of the Pentecostal movement, this lack of proper evidence
would be doctrinally denounced as a kind of infidelity, even apostasy
against the Holy Ghost.
To Halle this expectation seemed spooky, like awaiting an invited
dinner guest, only to discover it is actually Cauchemar at the door.
So you felt a twinge Anne summarized. Where was it?
Where was what?
The twinge.
Is that important?
Not to them, Anne chuckled. But I've done some reading about
well, twinges So it might be a clue.
Halle told how her sobbing had subsided; then a new person
approached.
It was the Puerto Rican pastor, the one who preached so long.
The man was praying quietly in tongues as he reached a hand
forward, palm outward to touch the girl lightly on her forehead.
And I felt a tingle on top of my head, then a buzzing twinge or
twinkle at the back of my neck.
Hmmm, the friend studied some more.
It was electrical, sort of. And it reminded Halle of something
else, only elsewhere, though she didn't mention it yet.
It didn't feel like fire?
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No, it was cool more like a shower than burning. It was nice,
actually. It surprised me.
Cool energy starting from the crown downward, not a heated
sensation in the lower regions. Anne did think that was significant.
How could it be? Halle wondered
And then her understanding suddenly brightened, so she said it: I
do remember
What?
The pastor's touch reminds me of another though that one was
awful, not a pleasant sort of touch at all.
Halle was speaking of the cauchemar again. This struck even
Annie as strange.
Remember when I said how it actually penetrated me this time
that last attack I told you about? It had been a couple weeks
previous, at least, and school finals had distanced the friend's brain
by long months or so seeming.
Cauchemar got inside me, and I felt a similar twinging then too.
Oh Halle That's too horrible. Annie actually felt sick in her
stomach, she being likely the only person of Halle's world who could
understand the nightmarish implication of that event.
But it's true, and it hurt, like when I touched a hot wire in the wall
socket at Gran's apartment. But Cauchemar's touch was hot and it
sort of glowed, you know, down there.
Oh, you are really scaring me now, Hal. When the other winced,
Anne explained, Rosemary's Baby you know.
But no, Halle didn't. And when key movie events were finally
described, the girl felt only disdain.
Anne, I'm surprised at you. Cauchemar isn't a demon or a dead
person, I'm certain of that much. Even Mamba May didn't think it
was an independent spirit at all. Hoodoo, she called it.
Annie apologized. Yeah I know, a pretender, reflection We
already talked about that but even so, you know it is real!
217
You're telling me?

And then Halitha O'Malle, that boyish, crazy chiquita who had
always scorned romance She unblinkingly did what she had seen
other girls do and so despised them for doing it.
Halle tipped her head sideways, up close to her friend's, and
whispered conspiratorially.
I've been watching the boys.
Annie whispered back, So?
I mean, ever since Cauchemar's latest that hotness wouldn't go
away. At least it kept bothering me at odd times, like whenever a
guy would walk by.
You mean one certain guy.
Well, some more than others, but yes there is this one guy at
the place where I work. Not the guys who set up, no they're only
kids like me. This one comes early; he's just packing up when I get
there. It's the owner's son, actually, older than us. He's so serious
and mysterious. I think something awful must have happened to
him, though he seems functional now. He teaches a class in the
same room where we work.
What does he teach?
Yoga yeah, it must be yoga.
Good looking?
He doesnt appear full Korean, like his mom. But sure, you
would say he's a looker.
Annie had long since sighed her relief. The younger girl wasn't
frightening her so much anymore. The problem was something quite
normal and natural However strangely the seed had been planted.
So, Halle, you think it's a crush?
No!Annie, you don't really know me yet. I don't have crushes.
That's for cheerleaders and prom princesses, those types.
Okay, Anne yielded the point wisely. It's whatever you say it is,
and nothing more.
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Baptism by Fire
Crush! Halle was still ruminating upon it, after Anne had to go.
Give me a break, is what she said to the birds and butterflies
playing high up her tree.
219
Ten
They are all waiting for you, Halle.

It was the head physical therapist, and she was looking up and
down the younger assistant as if to measure her for a new smock.
She couldn't understand the attraction.
Why do they want me? Halle was equally confused.
You are doing only what I showed you to do?
That's all I promise, the girl pleaded.
The lady looked professionally up at those gathered in the waiting
area, then back at Halle and shook her head.
I don't know. Maybe they think you are easier on them. So long
as the patient is busy with you, he doesn't have to face the real
medicine.
Then the patients glanced at each other nervously, as if their plot
had been foiled, worried that the witch lady would overrule their
request and cause more pain instead. Pain is good, she always told
them. Pain is evidence that one is alive and healing.
Halle was the only assistant selected to actually touch a client. All
the others just handled equipment or ushered nervous patients to
their doom waiting therapists. It was only a mild form of massage
that they showed her and even chided her when she got a little rough.
The therapists got really rough, in word as well as deed. Halle
secretly wished she could work with patients like those licensed to
manhandle joints and muscles. It better suited her self-image.
However, Halle was also beginning to feel real empathy for the
streams of hurting people obliged first to climb steep stairs to the
upper room. It was part of their therapy, the exercise, to start
moving breath and blood. So many arrived already quite winded
not only the portlier chumps. That had become a large part of
Halle's role also, to prep each patient with light massage and better
circulation. So a chair and low table was regularly positioned right
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Baptism by Fire
next to the seating area. Therapists used to try squeezing a quick

massage of adjoining muscles into each session. But now, as Halle
timed it carefully, the client could step up to meet the rough stuff
right away. And then, when the sufferer returned bearing a look of
panic just beginning to fade into relief, Halle would offer a departing
massage provided there weren't too many more patients arriving.
This goodbye touch is what had most merited the girl's reputation.
It always started when her eyes greeted and engaged those of one
recently released from torture. Maybe there was nothing else
particularly appealing about the hotheaded young woman. However
that moment of connection, green eyes to frightened eyes,
established a silent bond one soul to another. And then, when Halle
actually placed hands upon excoriated shoulder or knee, the attention
felt calming and cool. One had verbalized it as a sort of electrical
pulsing that seemed to absorb and express the worst of the ache. In
fact, Halle was even coaching patients to breath out, exhaling the
pain, just as one of the more experienced therapists was heard to do
repeatedly during his sessions. And more clients were now exiting
with smiles on their faces.
Most of those waiting this day were requesting only the massage,
from that red-headed girl. It wasn't even their day for regular
therapy. By the following week, the receptionist/cashier was
commenting how they were making twice as much on unscheduled
returns. So by the end of a day, Halle would discover the head lady
watching concernedly over her shoulder as she worked. The girl
didn't mind it much, had nothing to hide. But after chatting with an
especially satisfied customer, the woman drew Halle aside.
I don't understand it, Young Lady, she began. You apparently
have some sort of gift. I want you to consider further training at the
hospital school. You're not doing anything else, are you?
Halle shook her head, timidly startled at this turn.
221
They have evening classes, so you can keep working here. I'd
hate to lose you now. But I've been watching, so I'm convinced you
aren't doing any sort of voodoo.
Halle winced and just repeated her earlier assurance.
I believe you, Dear. Then the woman lowered her voice. Tell
me, though Do you feel anything like what that client reported?
Any sort of energy flow?
The girl suddenly felt even more guardedly timid and shrugged her
shoulders. Maybe a twinge, was all she could say.
But that evening, Halle started paying more attention to twinges and
twinkles and other energetic sensations. Granny was complaining of
upper body aches, so without even thinking to ask, the
granddaughter started gently massaging the aged shoulders and
down arms. It had become her habitual response to the sympathetic
ache she felt in the pit of her stomach upon learning that another
body within arm's reach was injured or pained. Granny didn't
complain. Attention to her arms proved the key to all sorts of deeper
spasms, right into the center of her chest.
Oh Darlin'! Now I can breathe again.
So, that really helped you feel better. Halle was beginning to
analyze the experience.
Granny asked, Is that what they've been teaching you at work?
I'm not doing much of anything, really. Not compared to the
bone-crunching that real therapists do.
Oh now, Granny corrected. Don't ever underestimate your
ministry.
It's work, not a ministry.
And you say that because they charge an arm and a leg just to fix
one?
The girl laughed out loud. Then she shared what the head therapist
had said, worried that the grandmother would miss her help during
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evening hours away at school. But Granny waved that off and
assured the girl her clients were not just imagining their relief.
I know exactly what you do that helps them so much. You were
doing it just now.
Halle assured the elder again that she was only doing the kind of
surface massage that was directed.
That ain't what I be talkin' aboot, Dearie. Ye was prayin' from the
heart.
But the girl had uttered no word during the brief massage. In fact,
Halle hadn't even thought to pray sad to say.
Heaven never expects us to say certain words when we pray.
Granny explained. Fancy words are people's idea. God hears the
intentions of our hearts, even before we find words to speak it or
write it.
Later that week, Halle asked her university friend again about
twinges. Annie called it subtle energy, or so the texts had termed it.
However, by that time Halle could report there was no longer
anything subtle about it. After some days of work hours giving the
phenomenon full attention, the girl was able to distinguish differing
flavors of twinges grown to outright surges in sensation and
significance. And it had nothing to do with how Halle was feeling
herself. She could be happy or hormonal or even distracted by other
concerns. But soon as the connection was established in word or
glance between client's need and her willingness to help that's
when the energy awakened.
It evidenced first as a warm glow at the base of Halle's skull, then
an answering sigh of energy in her throat. As her hands moved over
the patient's limbs, back or joints, the sigh grew to a moan of
sympathetic resonance as her attention focussed upon the center of
distress. And it may not be the spot first indicated by a sufferer. Yet
the very moment when Halle discovered the true center of radiating
pain, her mind stepped backward, so to speak. Somehow she must
223
recede to make way as another Presence moved forward. The surge

flashed from the crown of Halle's head downward, cool radiance
flowing through her chest, down arms and into her hands. There it
glowed and spread wider like energetic oven mitts enveloping her
palms. Then energy continued in pulses, like ghostly breaths
exhaled. Halle soon found herself pacing her physical breathing to
the metaphysical aspirations, and she would repeat the mantra to
patients:
Keep breathing out exhale all the pain.
As they breathed and the heavenly energy washed through and
over all, she could feel the patient begin to relax the stress, one
tendon at a time. As her inward moaning response to that pain
center subsided, Halle moved gently massaging hands elsewhere,
searching for a new center. Like sonar, the answering sigh and
groan inside her own chest would identify another source of trouble.
Then directly into that location there poured a new series of healing
pulses from head to heart and out her palms.
And what's more, Halle confided. Some of the therapists say
that their patients are showing faster progress if for no other
reason, because they start the session feeling braver and ready to
work harder at exercises. At least they know there's going to be
another therapy to cope with the pain.
That's really awesome, Hal.
But Anne was more concerned with her friend's hidden experience.
Tell me more about what it feels like, the pulsing energy.
Well And here was when Halle shifted her seat forward,
another conspiratorial gesture. That's really the best part for me,
I mean.
Suddenly, Halle was at a loss for words. She wasn't at all sure that
even Annie could hear the next disclosure in good faith.
You see, it sort of takes my breath away this twinging twinkle,
and it gets all my juices flowing. When a session is over, I feel all
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Baptism by Fire
flushed and glowing. I need to walk about a bit, wipe my nose and
regain a sense of gravity. They say I get a silly look on my face.
You mean like that one now? Annie pointed.
In very fact, just the talk about her experience had jumpstarted the
same heady rush of rejuvenating energy. On impulse, Halle
extended a hand to hover just over the fingers of her friend's free
hand. Preceding touch was a sheath of energy felt to extend some
inches beyond the skin of her own fingers. There was a whimper and
groan echoing right down into Halle's core. Someone might have
sucker-punched the girl. But before Halle could physically connect,
Annie pulled away reflexively, then apologized. She put down the
coffee cup so her other hand could clasp Halle's in conciliation.
Fingers have been aching from typing for hours late last night. A
bit of carpal tunnel soreness, I guess. Paper was due early this
morning. I hardly noticed until you touched it.
Oh, I didn't touch it.
Sorry, I thought you did. The student rubbed sore hand and
cracked some knuckles. Feels better now, anyhoway?
They both paused to sip coffee.
If I hear you correctly, Annie began again, the experience
you were describing sounds a lot like sex.
Fortunately, the table was high and Halle was able to catch and
stop the cup from overturning utterly. There was only a little mess of
spill to sop up with a napkin.
You startled me, Anne! Halle gasped. I thought only Talle, my
cat, could do that.
Annie broke the silence again.
Well, what do you think?
Halle had choked her last sip, so it took another moment to clear
her throat, still coughing.
225
I may be a virgin but I know what this body can do, if you
understand.
Annie nodded and grinned as Halle blustered.
I guess you're right. It does feel like that, only it's all up here.
Hands indicated head and neck and upper body.
That's what I read about those kinds of twinges, Annie
confirmed. Only for some people it's down there also and it
often gets them into trouble that way.
Really, I never would have thought it without you're saying it.
Maybe that's what the head lady meant about looking for voodoo.
Anyway, I could never think about that around our patients.
Just watch yourself, Anne counseled. You know they say the
feeling is all in your head anyway.
Oh yeah? Halle shifted a foot under their table. Just say that
again while I stomp your big toe.
One of Halles Los Angeles gardening buds had introduced her to
yoga long ago, simply as exercises to limber a stiff body and
accelerate healing of labors bruisings. Yet another had warned how
those fanciful poses were intended by Indian yogis to enable
awakening of dormant powers of thought and control. Just
superstition, really, he had concluded. Now Halle wasnt so sure.
What if those ancient disciplines could serve to enhance her own
subtle energetic sensations? Perhaps she could even develop enough
something, to deal with Cauchemar once and for all. Would that
brand of power prove powerful enough? She found a set of yoga
exercises on video at the market, some elementary and a few more
advanced. She could never hold a pose for long, hard as she
concentrated. But it couldnt be a physical weakness or blight upon
natural balance. Halle had always been athletic.
No, there was something else inhibiting her grasp of the simplest
stretches and poses. Halle would almost have it a Warrior Pose, for
instancewhen the instructors voice would say to hold it steady.
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Baptism by Fire
Then the voice would elaborate upon the flowering of prana, life
forces awakened to rise upward from base of the spine just to
mark time to the next position. Thats where her focus failed. She
felt it in her throat at first, a clenching constriction of free breathing.
Later during a session, it would descend to her chest, like six feet of
heavy sod piled upon her soul interred.
Breathe in, chanted the video voice.
I cant, Halle croaked and collapsed into a panting heap!
The conflict went quite deep, apparently. Yet it wasnt any
religious bias. Gran saw her exercising and recognized it for what it
was. The Catholic Church was hosting yoga classes at a neighboring
parish. No, there was something else, her schooling perhaps. The
superstitiousness bothered her, much like the grannys style of
worship and prayer had first affected Halles sensibilities. It surely
wasnt in keeping with modern scientific standards. None of these
outmoded rites and ceremonies had any foundation or legitimacy in
real research. It must be all dogma and blind belief.
But then there was her own personal experiencethe subtle
energy glow at work.
And there was Cauchemar.
Finally, her confusion and frustration came to a crisis. Halle was
already fighting a cold, and she went to bed with a low fever. The
virus wasnt severe enough to disturb normal sleep, except for the
dreams evoked. Of course, alcohol in the Nyquil was apt to cause as
much as help the same thats what Uncle Paulito would warn.
227
Eleven
Halle knew what this figure signified, from her catechism days. The
lamb was a family pet, but it was also sacrificed when the hour
came, being chosen as most innocent of the household. The pure,
unblemished lamb represented Christ as the Final Sacrifice for all
mankind. This lamb was white and cute and cuddly as can be,
though rather larger than Halle had imagined. Lambkin was
prancing about, playing carelessly upon the floor beyond the
footboard of her bed. Rest of the room was dark, remarkable only
because it was night when all else was supposed to be quiet in the
house; also because the lamb itself was illuminated as under bright
sun or stage light.
Thats when Halle observed the strings. She had been entertained,
sharing the joy of its freedom. She liked the idea of such a
companion and thought to befriend it as her own. Then she noticed
that the lamb, her lamb, was tethered; or rather suspended by several
cords attached to feet and back and head, silvery lines stretched taut
and disappearing skyward.
A puppet? she inquired. But this lamb was alive, Halle was sure
of it. How cruel to tie up an unwitting animal so! Then somebody
began yanking those strings, one at a time.
A leg kicked high, unnaturally flexed. Another twitched the
opposite direction. Poor Lambkin protested with worried bleats.
Soon the hidden puppeteer had the rhythm mastered and was making
the animal dance like a doll. She desperately tried to leap away, but
her spring was arrested, all bounding in bonds of the puppet masters
intention.
The dance turned cartoonish and macabre as the animal tired. Her
bleating protests became pitiful pleadings and squeaks of sheer
terror. It was torture, cruel torment; an outrage, abominationsuch
seizure of an innocents dignity, its soul.
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Baptism by Fire
Then another light flickered yellow from below. It was fire, thats
what Lamby spied. Tongues of flame rose hotly from the opposite
side of the bedroom, beside the grannys bed. And by its glow,
Halle could see another face looking down from above her ceiling.
Puppet Master was a mistress, face beautiful as Death, supple arms
and motherly breasts. Her lips were blood red, only barely
concealing lethal fangs as she grinned devilishly at the fun of her
game. Halle lay transfixed, overcome by a strange attraction, her
own body tingling in resonant sensuality.
Are you bi? Her own mother had entertained the idea. Halle didnt
think so. Why couldnt she withdraw attention from the sweet bosom
of this goddess, her beckoning eye and sinuous sway?
Flames climbed higher, increasing the light. Then a longish body
of glistening scales emerged from the dimness above. Serpentine
coils disappeared into deep shadow beyond. This mistress of Night
was not human.
Lambkin was bleating louder in dread of the fiery wall. When
Puppet Mistress forced her victim to turn and face the fire, the
animal lost its voice in utter panic of its plight. It was indeed to be a
dance of death. The lambs relentless steps were forcing it across the
room, toward the hungry flames.
No! Halle cried, and wanted to leap in the poor beasts path. But
her legs and arms were held down as with bonds of their own. She
was paralyzed, helpless to help. All she could do was shut eyes to
veil the vision of doom.
Please rescue her, God Halle heard herself pray. Even
through closed lids, the brighter flash accompanied a hissing sigh.
Evil laughing from overhead was cut short, and cool darkness fell.
Halle felt, rather than heard the silence. Her eyes opened upon
peaceful night. The fire was extinguished. Her lamb was gone; also
its executioner.
229
An undefined interval found Halle performing in another dream

drama. It was Grannys chapel. The sermon was concluded and an
altar call pronounced. Several worshippers were already down on
knees, bowed before the front step of the stage. They were waiting
and trusting that a minister would stop to bless them each with
praying hands. Others Halle among themwere slowly pacing
down the aisle, like attendants in a wedding or a funeral
procession.
Suddenly the organ music ceased with a crashing cacophony of
chords. The organist cried warnings as a great shadow obscured his
form. Poor man was the first victim, body seized in a giant fist. A
great ogre, monster of earth and stone, bit off the organists head.
Halle stood staring transfixed as it feasted.
The beast was naked and covered with sores, puss of infection
extruding from every boil, not least about its grotesquely exposed
genitalia. He was bald, except for mats of decaying leaves and
insects plastered over odd places upon head and body. But it was the
monsters obvious sexuality that kept demanding Halles attention.
This was somehow the very core and reservoir of its power. It was
not simply survival of the fittest witnessed here, not a hunting
expedition only. The ogre was reaping titanic levels of satiation
from the sacrilege and destruction. It was rape, an orgy of
domination, and his animal equipment exhibited horrible delight.
I dont really need to look at this! she complained. Im not that
kind of freak. But her eyes would not be wrenched free of the crude
and gruesome spectacle. So Halle started backing slowly when the
ogre descended upon its next victim, one of the witless ones at the
altar. A second evil claw was aimed at yet another bowed form.
Then, one by one, each worshipper was snatched up, turned howling
upside down and planted with a tearing crunch headfirst into the altar
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Baptism by Fire
floor. There they squirmed, feet and arms stretched skyward in

shock, then wilting like branches of dying trees.
Some had lifted praying eyes to observe the fate of fellows and
leapt up to attempt escape toward the back of the church. But the
ogre was too fast and their feet moved too laboriously. One was
grabbed midstride like a rag doll, twirled about and released
screaming to crash through a stained glass window. Another was
hammered upon the front pew into a twitching bloody pulp.
Then Halle knew the ogre had spied her also. She felt suddenly
drugged, her feet dragging. A claw just missed her rump and hooked
another poor soul instead. The harder and more desperately the girl
tried to run, the slower and heavier her strides. It felt like plodding
through a muddy swamp, and soon a foot would sink too deep to pull
free. The monsters breath stank of rotting flesh. Its hungry groans
vibrated deafeningly into one ear. Halle knew her time had come.
There was only one thing remaining to do. She stopped and
turned, striking a practiced yoga pose, The Warrior stancefeet
planted firmly forward and aft, arms extended sideways, one to the
rear and the other aimed like a sword at her enemys heart.
At first, Halle thought triumphantly, The beast is afraid of me!
It had paused its pursuit, bearing a frown of apprehension. But then
Halle cried in an agony of pain, as teeth clamped upon bones of the
arm stretched behind her. All hope plummeted, when she glanced
backward and up. A dark reptilian body, eyes gleaming fire red and
a face of loveliness beyond words Halle recognized instantly her
earlier foe, cruel Puppet Mistress, only now she sported a vipers
jaws.
The ogre, however, was not to be so readily robbed of dessert.
Halles sword arm was also seized, her Warrior Pose stretched and
231
flattened as her body was jerked sideways and suspended between

claw and jaw of two opposing predators.
It was no longer the chapel setting. Her nightmare had shifted to a
bayou storm. The mistress had morphed into a great venomous
water snake. The ogre was transformed and now held her in the
dragonish grin of Ol Bull Gator. So there she hung in the shape of a
cross as ancient enemies battled over her being like Boggy Man,
only made of tender flesh. Stress of battle would rip most of the
clothes from her body, but Halle couldnt care. One contender fought
from above, serpent tail anchored high in a tree, striving upward to
own the girls head and heart. The other labored rising from murky
water, pulling downward, belly growling in lust of a taste for
womanly haunch.
Just when Halle felt that her sinew must be ripped from bone a
vision of another cross filled her mind. It was the proud ornament
mounted atop the chapel tower, also the crucifix hanging in Grannys
kitchen window. She had always avoided studying the carved figure
of bloody Son of Man displayed gruesomely on a pole. But presently
the picture consumed her view.
Indeed now it appeared a gasping figure posted mere inches from
her position. He was naked also, bruised and bloodied beyond repair;
but beautiful, not grotesque. Beyond her dying companion was one
other, a convict doomed to expire slowly of asphyxiation from
suspension upon wooden gallows. Halles dueling enemies were
gone or rendered invisible; while the ache of their opposing forces
continued unceasingly to abuse her feeble body.
The three cross-bearers shared a lonely hilltop. The sky was
darkened, air ionized with impending storm. The bloody brow next
to her turned, sad eyes opened briefly to acknowledge her company.
Welcome home, Hal, he uttered simply, voice dripping with
exhaustion.
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Who are you? How do you know me? Halle challenged, but his
only reply was a slight smile, amusement as one who expects to be
recognized any moment after all.
Tally Man! she exclaimed. I do know you.
And I you, he croaked.
Then Tally Man turned his face forward with just barely enough
strength to point chin in a gesture of direction. He wanted her to
attend, to share his view of a new light dawning upon the distant hill.
No, it wasnt a hill, rather the very horizon of Earths globe. Nor
was it merely the orb of sun or moon peeking through gilded clouds.
As Halle searched and struggled to focus her vision, outlines of
structures emerged and a fruitful landscape surrounding.
It was a great city in the sky beyond clouds, outdistancing even the
furthest orbits of neighboring planets. Yet Halle was given to
observe it in detail, as if The City were built just across the valley.
In fact, it looked so clear and present that she could almost imagine
stretching a hand forward to grasp the post of its entry gate.
But what was that, couched in the very heart of the great
metropolis? Crowds of citizens surrounded the source of Citys
great light. It was far too bright to stare upon directly, but the
general outline gave impression of a giant chair, a golden seat fit for
a god. Shadows of lesser brightnesses passed rhythmically across the
central Light, and when her eyes adjusted they appeared to be
waving forms of living beings not hands, not arms, but monstrous
wings, thousands of them moving in chorus before the Throne. It
was all so beautiful and frighteningly real.
Is that your home? Halle dared to ask.
But Tally Man was absorbed in his finishing moment, hardly able
to draw another breath. He made one last heroic effort, and his voice
sounded like another god. He was shouting something unintelligible
to Halles mind, directed at the sky and earth. A crash of thunder
233
answered. The City and its Light was suddenly veiled again by
darker cloud. The whole earth shuddered, and Halle felt the foot of
her supporting shaft to shift. A chasm of deep blackness opened
before them; the whole hill divided into two.
Then Halle was falling, a stomach-wrenching plunge into the
stillness of nothing no thunder, no pain, no panic or care.
Her eyes were open, had been open for hours, it seemed. As with
most dreams, the girl was merely Spectator and sometime Actor
through most of these ordeals, her conscious analytical mind absent,
quite passive. But now this young adult consciousness was keenly
wakeful. Halle knew her name, remembered every detail of her life.
She knew that she knew and that she had been dreaming until now.
One moral dilemma continued to haunt. How was a girl to own
such an ugly subliminal selfhood? From what depths of depravity
did it come? She would have sworn that only perverts could dream
up such disgusting images. Perhaps even this soul was irredeemably
evil after all.
Another big problemall other senses were silent. The girls
mind was aware, sharply self-conscious; but the soul was awakened
bodiless. All was blackness, void: no sound, no vision, no smell or
other body sensation. Halle was alone with herself her self alone
with a creeping, preying, horrifying expectation of doom.
Ive been here before, her mind echoed to itself. Here was a part of
her history that even daytime consciousness was apt to forget the
repeated struggles at odd intervals starting long before any
cauchemar attacks. And somehow, this was even worse, all memory
repressed by the trauma until she next time found herself bodiless
in the phantoms own country, Nowhere.
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Baptism by Fire
Halle had no legs or feet to enable escape. She had no arms or

hands to strike out or ward off a threat. There was no pain or panic
of suffocation, no feeling of a body trapped and crushed by a
heavier, stronger assailant. At least a nightmare would lend her that
familiarity.
No, this was complete Void, no body of life and it terrified her
far worse than any threat of pain or death.
Halle did have imagination, however. She imagined herself
crawling, then climbing against the emptiness, as if it were a
bottomless pit with sides slimed by oozing cascades of black grease.
Halle struggled with force of will alone, desperately envisioning a
way up and out of the trap. And the harder she struggled, the louder
grew a single sensation:
It was a painfully grinding noise, a roaring cacophony where her
ears and brain should be. And somehow the noise was worse than
the fear, so she stopped struggling for just a moment. Then naked
dread overwhelmed her again to trigger a new retreat, a scurrying
scramble upward to counteract relentless descent into darkness and
whatever Evil lay waiting at bottom to devour her bodyless soul.
Was it Cauchemar? No, something or Someone infinitely worse. It
was cruel Appetite, empty insatiable Desire, ever demanding more.
And that threat, marking Halles very selfhood as its next victim,
renewed her determination to escape.
Just a few more thrusts upward, willful surges of desperate
decision Oh how horrible was the roaring din! Her imagination
could picture the very brim of her sinkhole just barely within grasp.
Im out! Halle shouted. I cant believe it. Im out. I did it. Im free!
Im alive. Oh Granny, Im back. I did it. Im not lost after all
235
The room was bright with morning sunlight. It was all there,
familiar solidity of floor and walls, bedroom furniture. And so the
girl continued to celebrate her triumph and relief. She felt her body
breathing with rescued life; and the sound of her own voice filled her
belly with joy.
Eventually, she settled down and lay back contentedly against a
pillow. The sound of silence now comforted her heart.
Sound what was that sound? A deep vibration, like the rumbling
waves preceding a Los Angeles earthquake.
Oh no! Halle gasped. Its coming again But she was awake
now; delivered. What was this betrayal? The Void couldnt
possibly reach her here, pursue her into the Day?
It isnt fair! She heard herself protest. The real world is supposed
to be safe from nightmares.
And the roaring Dread overcame her defenseless soul again.
Though this time she had sight and feeling and strong limbs to carry
out her battle commands. She thrashed and boxed, kicked and
flailed. Halle screamed her outrage until hoarse. Soon her bed was
torn and tumbling. The chest of drawers overturned and all the
breakables atop now crashed to the floor.
But none of her destructions even mattered. All effort was vain.
The great Noise enveloped her head, blinded sight and drowned out
all other sensation.
Halles soul had been deceived: it was a false awakening. So, this
was the further horror that Dayo had last tried to warn about. This
was the worry that gnawed bare his resolve. Even so, Halle
realized Had there been no warning noise, the Void would surely
have captured and devoured her from behind.
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Baptism by Fire
Battle resumed in utter darkness. Halle continued to fight, but her

will was fading, fast losing resolution. She was beginning to long
for defeat, just to end the torment, the uncertainty and the noise!
Maybe she deserved this fate, after all. The hopelessness of her
depravity had been exposed.
So this was Destiny; Final Judgment.
But the grannys testimony had managed to penetrate the vault of
this wandering soul; the Word had made its mark, landed truly and
rooted deeply. One power, only One had power to prevail where all
other hope was lost. And that Power was merciful, like Grannys
tallyman, rescuing the poor from destitution.
Jesus! she shouted, a lone mental voice in the Void. Where are
you, my Tally Man? Help!
Suddenly, Halle could see again the outlines of her bedroom window
and Grannys bed framed against the other wall. It was late night
or early morning before the light of dawn. Sound of steady breathing
emanated from the opposite side.
Halle lay silent, pondering. She expected to be sweaty and
breathing quickly, like a body does after a rollercoaster ride or
suspenseful chase scene on screen. But no, Peace reigned, inside and
out. Her skin was warm and dry. Bed was orderly; room
undisturbed.
What was all that supposed to mean? This time she remembered,
every moment of it, like a night flood pouring up over ancient river
boundaries to spill across the consciousness of plain day. She
worried some moments, wondering that all of that could truly have
happened to one so simple as herself; then she commanded herself
never to look for any sense in a nightmare.
237
At dawns light, the girl was found already up with an open book
upon her lap. Many pages of handwritten notes were littered about
the table and floor. Halle was re-reading yet again the desperate
words of an ancient balladeer.
I waited patiently for the LORD; and he inclined unto me,
and heard my cry.
He brought me up also out of a horrible pit, out of the miry
clay, and set my feet upon a rock and established my goings.
And he hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto
our God: many shall see it, and fear, and shall trust in the
LORD.
Withhold not thou thy tender mercies from me, O LORD:
let thy lovingkindness and thy truth continually preserve me.
For innumerable evils have compassed me about: mine
iniquities have taken hold upon me, so that I am not able to
look up; they are more than the hairs of mine head: therefore
my heart faileth me.
Be pleased, O LORD, to deliver me: O LORD, make haste
to help me.
Save me, O God; for the waters are come in unto my soul.
I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing: I am come
into deep waters, where the floods overflow me.
I am weary of my crying: my throat is dried: mine eyes fail
while I wait for my God.
They that hate me without a cause are more than the hairs
of mine head: they that would destroy me, being mine
enemies wrongfully, are mighty: then I restored that which I
took not away.
O God, thou knowest my foolishness; and my sins are not
hid from thee.
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Baptism by Fire
Let not them that wait on thee, O Lord GOD of hosts, be

ashamed for my sake: let not those that seek thee be
confounded for my sake, O God of Israel.
Because for thy sake I have borne reproach; shame hath
covered my face.
I am become a stranger unto my brethren, and an alien unto
my mother's children.
But as for me, my prayer is unto thee, O LORD, in an
acceptable time: O God, in the multitude of thy mercy hear
me, in the truth of thy salvation.
Deliver me out of the mire, and let me not sink: let me be
delivered from them that hate me, and out of the deep waters.
Let not the waterflood overflow me, neither let the deep
swallow me up, and let not the pit shut her mouth upon me.
Hear me, O LORD; for thy lovingkindness is good: turn
unto me according to the multitude of thy tender mercies.
And hide not thy face from thy servant; for I am in trouble:
hear me speedily.
Draw nigh unto my soul, and redeem it: deliver me because
of mine enemies.
Thou hast known my reproach, and my shame, and my
dishonor: mine adversaries are all before thee.
Reproach hath broken my heart; and I am full of heaviness:
and I looked for some to take pity, but there was none; and
for comforters, but I found none.
He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall
abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress:
my God; in him will I trust.
Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler,
and from the noisome pestilence.
He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings
shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.
239
Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the
arrow that flieth by day;
Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the
destruction that wasteth at noonday.
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Baptism by Fire
Twelve
Gran recognized the parchment pages and crackly leather cover. It

had been her own mothers cherished tome, become family Bible. It
was an Old English text (she rather enjoyed the ancient power of its
syntax and rhythm) and Halle had determined to start at the very
beginning. When she confessed to be making slow progress at best,
Granny dusted off a modern translation from the shelf.
Several mornings later, granddaughter was obviously frustrated
again, though she claimed to have hacked her way completely
through.
Listen to this, Gran. Its the kind of thing that bothers me most
about your religion.
And granddaughter read aloud from a series of highlighted pages:
Genesis 9:6, Whoever sheds man's blood, by man his
blood shall be shed.
Matthew 26:52, Put your sword in its place, for all who
take the sword will perish by the sword.
Galatians 6:7, God is not mocked; for whatever a man
sows, that he will also reap.
Revelation 13:10, He who leads into captivity shall go into
captivity; he who kills with the sword must be killed with the
sword. Here is the patience and the faith of the saints.
The elder couldnt immediately divine the point of the younger.
Its what we were talking about before, Halle challenged. Its so
obvious. I mean, just look around the streets of New York. Theres
nothing fair or just about how Life treats most people. Violence is
everywhere, the strong preying on the weak and getting away
with it. Folks arent poor or victimized because they deserve it.
These verses are an insult and a joke. Lots of creeps get rich at the
expense of the weak, by stepping all over everybody else. Thats
how it has always been.
241
Halle went on to describe the lot of a client suffering cerebral

palsy, one of the sweetest and kindest souls she had ever met. In fact,
he was a Christian at Grannys own church. Yet he was made to
suffer and everybody living with him his whole life long, by no
fault of his own.
So if God exists, after all, and He is truly all-powerful, Halles
voice had risen to evangelistic proportions, then just Who does
he think he is, ignoring the plights of all the hoards of people left to
suffer at the pleasure of a few self-righteous fat pigs for thousands of
years of human history?
Just tell me that much, Granny, and Ill let the Old Man off the
hook.
Granny wasnt too flustered by the girls tirade. She had heard this
argument many times before.
Tisk-tisk. Just listen to yourself, Dearie.
Halle had heard no true rebuttal as yet, so she simply stared back
silently, accusingly.
You should at least try after reading all the way through that
letter, the very one that your Creator went so far out his way to
address to you, personally Try to see just a little from His
perspective.
What You mean cuz were the creatures and have no right to
question our Creator.
Well noo, I didnt say that. And never does He, in truth. Granny
paused in some doubt as to how to proceed then her Light came
on.
Didnt ye get round to readin the Book of Job?
Well, of course Halle had. And that book was the worst case of all
quite illustrated her pointa regular kangaroo cosmic court.
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Girl proceeded to narrate the story, much according to the style of

a Louisiana swamp fable:
Job lived the Good Life. And all his friends and family
did too. I guess in those days, they believed you had to buy
off the gods with a bunch of wasteful sacrificing. So Job was
determined that lifes rewards would be there for his kids as
well. Every day, and after every party, he kept up sacrifices
for all of them also, just in case they forgot to live the God
Life.
But God in Heaven was fussier, more reckless than even
old Job dared suspect. God had made a bet with the devil,
claiming that Job would never forget the one true God, even
when all his happiness was taken away. And God later
admits that He was indeed the bad cop behind all of Jobs
worst sufferings.
And when Job had only three friends remaining, the wisest
and most sympathetic of all Even they couldnt imagine
such a calamitous injustice, insisting that only bad guys get
punished by a just God. Therefore Job must be secretly to
blame. Job himself was still convinced that God must
exonerate him; he had never deserved the bad rap. Yet
Heaven framed himWhod have thunk it?
Finally God shows up, though only after Job is forced to
sue. That just makes the Big Guy mad. But God plays the
bully and intimidates the poor bastard to crawl back on his
belly, admitting he is just a crummy insect with never any
constitutional right to complain.
After that performance, the old lady breathed again, exclaiming
softly, My, my What they teach the lassies and lads in schools,
nowdays!
243
She insisted that Halle read the Book of Job a second time:
Ye missed the most important character. Of course, most people
do overlook him.
After some repartee over which was who, the girl had to admit
there was indeed another advocate for God in the tale, one better
even than old Job. After the three friends have exhausted their
arguments, as if heralding the entrance of Gods own voice, a fourth
witness steps up out of shadow.
A stranger and a youth, Elihu dares to speak out against his wiser
elders:
You say, I am pure; I am innocent; I havent sinned. God
is picking this fight, so he can declare me to be his enemy. He
shackles my feet and then sits back to watch and blame me
for every stumble.
Well, Ive got news for you. Just by speaking so
irreverently, you expose your ignorance and prove that you
deserve the death penalty or worse. I will show you why. As
you yourself have said, `God is greater than any human
person.' So why are you bringing this charge against him?
You say, `He never bothers responding to people's
complaints.'
But God speaks persistently, over and over again, though
people hardly recognize it. He even speaks in dreams, in
visions of the night when deep sleep falls on people as they
lie in bed. He whispers in their ear and terrifies them with
warning. He causes them to change their minds; he protects
them from their own pride. He keeps them from the grave,
from crossing over the river of death. God disciplines people
with sickness and pain, with ceaseless aching in their bones.
They lose their appetites and care no more for even their
favorite foods. They waste away to skin and bones. And
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finally at death's door, the angels of death wait eagerly for

them.
Then suddenly Heavens court appoints a Defender, called
there to intercede for the defendant, to declare that his debt is
paid after all. The Judge proves to be gracious and rules, `Set
him free. Do not make him die, for I have found a ransom for
his life.' Then his body will be reborn, as healthy as a child's,
growing firm and youthful again. When he prays to God, he
will be welcomed. God receives him with joy, having
restored him to good standing.
The acquitted one will declare to his friends, `I sinned, and
the payoff was never worth the penalty incurred. Yet God
rescued me from the grave, and now my life is filled with
light.' Yes, God routinely does these things for people. He
rescues them from the fate far worse than death so they may
yet live in the Light of the Living.
So, do you really think it is right for you to claim, `I am
righteous before God'?
Yet you continue to ask, `What's the use of living an
upright life after all? How will it benefit me?' I will answer
you and all your friends, too.
Look up into the sky and see the clouds high above you.
Your God stands far higher. If you sin, what do you
accomplish against such as him? Even if you sin again and
again, what effect will it have on him? If you are good, is
this some great gift to him? What could you possibly give
him?
It is wrong to say God doesn't listen, to say the Almighty
isn't concerned.
And it is even more false to say he doesn't see what is
going on. He will bring about justice if you will only wait.
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God is mighty, yet he does not therefore despise anyone!

He is mighty in both power and understanding. He does not
let the wicked live invulnerably but gives ultimate justice to
the afflicted. His eyes never leave the innocent, and he
establishes and exalts them to stand as equals of kings
forever. If troubles come upon them and they are enslaved
and afflicted, he takes the effort to show them the reason. He
shows them their sins, for they also have behaved proudly.
He gets their attention and explains how they must turn away
from evil.
We cannot even imagine the power of the Almighty, nor
can we imagine how such power can be so just and so
merciful that he never means to oppress us. No wonder
people everywhere fear him. People who are truly wise also
know that reverence is the beginning of wisdom.
How could Halle, of all historys readers, have missed this passage?
Sorry, Gran. I must have dozed during those chapters. Secretly,
she suspected that Cauchemar had something to do with her lapse of
attention. Somehow, this speech by a mere fabled character would
tend to change everything. And a second reading of all the other
biblical books, especially the Gospels, revealed that this very same
message of Hope and Mercy streaming generously from the very
Throne of God; was at the heart of every other speech, every life
illustration enshrined upon those yellowed pages.
Even her prized list of disparate verses declaring justice, the very
ones Halle had thrown back at Heaven it was evident the words
encompassed a much longer and higher vantage than Halles short
lifetime could ever explain. Indeed, how can any one human soul
claim moral equivalency (often even a relative superiority) daring to
sit in judgment upon the very fount of Truth and Justice Himself?
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A few have gone the step further, naming themselves tyrant

dictators the Nimrod, the Ramses, Nebuchadnezzar, the Caesar,
Napoleon and Hitlerpresuming to reconstruct the very history and
law of mankind in order to serve their own pitiable legacy. Their
dooms are a warning to all humbler souls. Only One has ever had
proper claim to the title of Emperor and God, all others being
usurpers, pretenders, mere hoodoo tallyman dolls.
I dont know how the Father is going to do it, Dearie, Granny
would elaborate. But I trust Him to do itmake sense of it all,
when we finally stand before his Throne. His Power is beyond my
comprehension, and so therefore must his Mercy be too deep and too
wide for my human understanding. Your suffering, Adriana Even
yours will be justified, and you will thank Him for his Love and
creative Rightness of it all; from the bottom of your heart.
Im not there yet, Gran. But I can begin to see how it might
become so.
Oh, Praise be to the Spirit of Heaven! The old woman was
suddenly dancing a jig, her rose-tinged tangles bouncing a
counterpoint of joy. That there is what we be callin Faith, my
Dear. And there is no greater gift than that first fancy, granted from
Gods own bosom. Every other blessin flows from that.
Whatever do you mean now? Im not the religious one. Never
have been.
Its just that ye want to trust, Halle. The desire is awakened, and
thats where only a tiny seed of Hope may sprout and take root.
But Granny, I have always wanted to believe.
The grandmother looked longingly back at her daughters baby.
That I always knew also, my Dear Adriana.
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Thirteen
Just what does this girl think she's doing?
What does he expect me to do?
She has it all wrong, completely backward.
As if I could bite my own knee Next he'll tell me to me kiss my.
Bert just couldn't stand it any longer. Perhaps the girl thought it
entertaining. Certainly it was laughable, the way she butchered
every position. So far the only asana she got right was Corpse Pose
and that was by accident when her pitiable Upward Bow collapsed.
Halle, your hands must go together so.
Your feet also together thus.
A few more grunts, and the girl's knees buckled yet again.
I can't breathe, he heard her complain. And how am I supposed
to put my hands that way when I can't even see them?
That is one aspect of the exercise. You must intuit how they lie.
This is The Plow; it requires work and concentration. It is how one
learns to own the body, else the body controls the mind.
I give up. So her legs flopped sideways, allowing her to prop her
head more comfortably by an elbow. She had promised to stay after
class and give it one more try. She had fulfilled her oath.
Can I go now?
Bert threw his hands in the air. At least while he was focussed in
frustration upon this hopeless candidate, the kundalini sickness didn't
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bother him so much. That was secretly why he was reluctant to quit,
that and his fascination with the live nemesis of his dreams. Those
tight red curls commanded his gaze like coals of a temple pyre.
So why don't you go with me? Halle suggested, with hardly an
inviting tone. It was more challenge or critique, yet teasing
nonetheless. Bert was never seen to socialize exalted yoga prince!
Beneath him, she supposed.
Of course, that was nothing near the truth. Like the twitching
distortions of Tourrette's Syndrome, the kundalini kriyas might seize
his body at any moment potentially very embarrassing and
disturbing to those around him. Just a facial exhibition could be
alarming; and poor Bert would be last to notice the devilish grimace
or bestial panting he was exhibiting, to the consternation of all else
watching. Ever since that theater manager had kicked him out, Bert
was systematically avoiding public venues. Else he had no means of
checking himself. The kriya would not manifest, however, while he
was teaching and demonstrating yoga poses. It was only when he
proposed to relax and let down his guard.
They were already on a first name basis, Halle and landladys son,
long before this weekend retreat. Granny encouraged her to go at
Summer's end. It was one last adventure before hitting the books.
The Fall night schedule of classes started Tuesday, all prerequisite
for the Physical Therapist Assistant certification. This getaway was
hosted by the Catholic Convention of New York parishes, one
attempt to modernize the church. Paradoxically, this meeting of old
East and postmodern Western spiritualities proposed christianization
of one of the most ancient of apostasies, hatha yoga.
It was not Bert's favorite of the various yoga sutras. He preferred
to keep moving. And the formalized asanas, or poses, and
pranayama breathing exercises were more haunting and unsettling
than balancing these days. Every pose presented a disturbing
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snapshot of the wildly dynamic kriyas most disrupting of his hope

ever to be restored to normal human fellowship. So he had grown to
resent deeply what they represented.
But Halle didn't know that.
This girl was disturbing also. The fierce woman of his nightmare
existence had begun to resemble Halle's visage and figure most
hauntingly. He suspected that the goddess or demon or ancestor
(perhaps the eternal consort Shakti, the kundalini fire-maiden, Lord
Shivas Destroyer Kali; or maybe it was Lilith, the original
seductress of Eden whatever spirit was actually behind that
perpetual masquerade): that She did it intentionally to deceive, to
lure and constrict his soul within her libidinous coils. And he fought
very hard not to resent the real Halle for it.
Though it would seem more and more that it was this young
woman who sought to throttle him night after night. That was the
only reason he appeared scared of her advances.
But he never told her, so Halle didn't know that either. Therefore
the man's stony silence and seeming shyness only provoked her
further to play the daytime counterpart of his nighttime diva-sadist.
Every time their paths crossed and often Halle would go out of her
way about this confined campus retreat she was determined to ask
him out. One way or another, she would break through his stubborn
shell, just to prove it could be done.
And he had never even seen her angry yet.
So perhaps that is why Bert finally answered her:
Alright but on my terms.
Speak.
You let me exercise while we talk.
What is it with you and exercise, Halbert? She liked taunting
him with his given name, often shortening it simply to Hal. It was
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the first revelation that bound them, thanks to a passing chat with his
friendly mother.
What a contrast, mother and son!
Soon after, they were casually engaged upon the common grassy
area in the center of this mountain compound. Passing visitors just
assumed it was another private lesson, though Halle wasn't trying
very hard now to imitate his moves. She didn't want to appear the
odd one out. Just a little easy stretching was all she would attempt.
Meanwhile, Halbert was keeping to his part of the bargain. He
could talk while he exercised, and once started, he didn't want to
stop. He really liked this girl, after all.
I have a sort of condition, said he.
What condition? Does your mother know about it? Cuz she never
says anything to me or my gran.
Mother and your grandmother are very close. Aunt Adriana was
always good to me.
That's funny, Halle parried again. She never talks of that either.
She even knows we are friends sort of friends. And why do you
call my granny, Aunt?
I always call her so, from the time I am very young. She also
knows it must pain my mother to talk of me. I have not been a
grateful or respectful son.
Anyway, he did suffer a debilitating condition. And no, he had
never discussed it with Mother, because it was far outside her
worldview. This was only beginning to make sense to the girl, when
he braved to describe the nature of kriyas, the hallucinations, the
invasive energy animations, washings of fire and finally the
relentless nightmares.
Did you say nightmares?
251
I know it sounds crazy to your westernized ears.

Bert was beginning to regret his impulsive decision, fearing he had
shocked and awed her world. Here was one soul that he had finally
imagined might share his own, and now he was chasing her away.
His story must be weirding her out, or so he thought.
But Bert didn't know Halle.
There was a long pause, most uncomfortable to the man this time.
Halle was simply pondering what unfathomable Plan and
Beneficence could have brought these two tortured lives together.
So my granny knew you as a little boy.
Oh, much more than that: She contributed the name at least my
American name.
So she was around when you were born.
Mother and Adriana were friends before, most like sisters.
I wonder who named me Halitha? the girl mused.
Unusual Bert replied. I remember reading about a preMuslim city called Halitha, during my Islamic sojourn.
That was before your Hindu/Buddhist journey, I take it.
This Prodigal has wandered far.
When Bert relaxed his latest contortion finally sitting opposite the
girl as an equal Halle launched her own tale:
She suffered a sort of condition also, and there was nothing so
shocking and awe-inspiring as Cauchemar's curse.
About halfway through her pirate encounter in the N'Awlens fog,
Halle had to interrupt herself. Bert's face was twisted into an awful
distortion, and he was croaking like a frog.
So, tell me, Hal this must be one of your famous twitches.
Yes it was apologies. Bert had forgotten himself and relaxed his
guard again. Unforgiveable.
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But Halle wasn't spooked. She had seen too much of real spooks
to panic. Instead she fished a fist into her school bag and pulled out a
shining thing.
No, Bert. Don't start exercising again. Just keep this mirror
handy while I talk. Watch your reflection and try to listen. You do
want to hear the rest of my story, believe me.
I believe you, Halitha.
And that was then the very nicest thing that Boy could have said to
Girl at that time. Despite his annoying fidgets and facial faux pas,
Halbert had won the hidden feminine side of Halles heart forever.
An hour later, they were walking round the campus under a starry
sky. They had forgotten supper and hardly missed it. Halle was
wearing Hals jacket.
So this cauchemar appears as a wild woman to a male body, he
summarized.
That's what Annie said about the Old Hag tradition.
It makes perfect sense within Eastern philosophy: The male body
bears a female soul, just as the female body ensheaths a male. We
are both male and female, in spirit, one time incarnating as a man
and the next time as a woman. It is yet another manifestation of the
great dualities of inner/outer, hot and cold, Yang and Yin
Hal...
samsana and nirvana, activity and rest, Hell and Heaven ajna
chakram or two-pedaled lotus of the all-seeing eye
Listen, Bert
forbidden fruit of the tree of knowledge, evil and good
Hold on there, Halbert!
What did I say?
What's this about incarnations? You don't believe I was once a
lizard or something in a previous life?
253
Well maybe not so slithery as a lizard. (Halle noted that Hal

needed to work on his smile.) You have something against lizards?
Yeah, lizards and snakes. But snakes are the worst.
That is a shame.
I just don't have patience for that reincarnation crap.
Well, I agree that most Reincarnation traditions are crap. Bert
was only just starting again: But you must realize that most of
human philosophy for most of history has accepted some notion of
repeated earth lives.
You see, the trouble starts when people fail to distinguish Soul
from human Spirit. Your grandmother's heritage, the Irish they
have very noble ideas about reincarnation and karma, though it isn't
called that by the Celts. It is only the modern scientific and western
religious doctrines that reject such a solution for human tragedy and
apparent injustice. However post-modern ideas are beginning to
embrace it again, weirdly, but it is hard to miss.
Remember the Highlander movie and the television series? How
about the film Chances Are?
Halle stared boredly back.
Groundhog Day. Or The Three Lives of Thomasina. And before
that was My Mother the Car
Stop!
Just hours before Halle had almost despaired of ever getting this
guy to talk. Why cant he just say something once?
Then aloud, she excused herself, I never watched that much TV.
Well, they were before your time, I guess.
Then one Hal paused to face the other.
Jesus believed in reincarnation.
How so?
He said himself that John the Baptist was Elijah reborn.
Is that something you learned during your christian sojourn?
Sure is.
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That silenced the debate. Though they remained facing one

another.
I can't do your yoga asanas anymore, Halle confessed.
That's okay. It takes practice. Some struggle with it for years.
No, you don't get it. Cauchemar or maybe its somebody else
won't let me do it. Not now.
So Halle tried to describe in dream form the battle waging inside
her soul, the dominatrix of light on one side and the demon lord of
darkness on the other. Just last night, she had tried to slip free of
Cauchemar's grip using one of Bert's yoga moves, Cobra Pose. But
the dark man only laughed, clenching even harder, digging claws
deeper.
Only Tally Man has the power to save me, I'm thinking.
Well, I know nothing of this tallyman, but I have some idea what
your cauchemar is about.
Halle shuddered silently, somehow anticipating Berts conclusion:
You also are tormented by the kundalini, he explained, the
fierce woman of candali yoga. It is the same fire serpent raging
through my being.
It was time now to part for separate dormitories.
Have you even noticed, Bert? Not a single twitch since the sun
set. No, you take that mirror with you. Watch yourself. Get out
more and watch yourself.
They didn't kiss that evening. But for the first night in many weeks,
a homicidal kundalini temptress failed to visit Halbert's bed.
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Fourteen
Shes been following us for weeks, now, Halle pointed with

cautious glance over her shoulder at a table near the restaurant exit.
Face was Korean, though one could hardly tell it beneath all the dark
makeup. It was that same young woman who had braved to ask
Halbert for his shaktipat anointing.
Annie had asked to meet early, before her first class. It was
actually a whole hour prior to the restaurants breakfast opening, but
Hals mother was eager to accommodate as owner of this
establishment. It cheered the woman more than anything to see her
boy socializing like a normal human for once. The Korean girl had
also slipped in for a lone cup of tea, so it was only she and them
occupying the dining room and she was looking nervously
regretful of her imposition this time. No crowd cover.
Gothic dress, Annie observed, having the best vantage.
Halle queried, Is it black, with red trim?
Rather red, with black, Anne continued. Black lips and eye
shadow too.
Its always one or the other. And Halle turned to Bert, Did she
dress Goth to your classes, Hal?
But Hal was fighting his own attack of nerves, a clownish kriya
expression just beginning to pirate his visage. Halle noticed just in
time and kicked his foot abruptly.
Annie startled and bent to peer under table to find the source of
that disturbance. Hal was nodding now, in answer to her question.
It was Annes first meeting with her friend in company of Halbert.
He was indeed a looker, so she secretly wasnt blaming the wouldbe stalker for her interest. Yet, there was also something disturbing
about the intruders passive-aggressive air. For one thing, she
looked very young under all the costume, with a squarish, almost
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prepubescent chunkiness about her figure. And the dark eyes would
never connect, however ready was Annie to greet the stranger with a
smile of grace. The student of Humanities was loathe to prejudge
anybody, preferring to assume the best of another until they proved
her mistaken. But the opportunity for acquaintance wouldnt come.
Have you talked to the police?
My mother spoke to her, Bert interposed, as if that must be better
than police.
Its a free country, I guess, said Halle.
It was clear to Annie that her friend was trying to exercise a certain
restraint alsomaybe unwisely.
I would talk to the police, Annie continued. See if they know
anything of her record.
Record? Halle whispered it now. You think shes capable of
something criminal?
Ive encountered her type before.
Lots of girls like Goth, especially in this town. Its Gotham City,
after all.
Annie turned her chair slightly to divert her view away from the
dark subject and toward the friends instead.
Halbert! The table shook, and Halle hissed, Watch yourself.
Excuse me? Annie felt she must have missed something.
Its okay, Halle rejoined. Annie watched with curious disbelief
as the younger girl retrieved a makeup kit from purse, opened it and
propped the mirror against a water glass facing Bert. They were
seated side by side, opposite Anne, but it appeared from her
perspective that Girl was trying to spy on Boy by use of that tiny
mirror. Halle finally noticed the friends concern.
Dont mind us, she instructed. And dont be offended if Hal
makes a face. Ill explain it later.
Halberts face remained stoic to Annies eye. He actually spoke:
You wanted to tell us something, about your research I think.
257
Yes, Anne shifted her seat and her thought; then she opened a
notebook for reference:
I was going to say how your dark stalker segues to my own
subject. She not only dresses GothI bet shes into the vampire
mythology.
Bert blinked as speaker continued:
I mean, it looks more like a lifestyle and belief system than a
fashion statement.
Annie wasnt certain glare from morning sun rays were veiling a
clearer view but it appeared that their Korean girls black lips had
been lined with bright red paint on the inside, suggesting a taste for
blood. One tooth, an incisor, flashed whiter and sharper than the
rest. Still, the girl would not return Annies attentions. And now,
the very thought that stares might meet after all, sent a shudder
through her core. She turned away again.
Table shuddered and tableware chattered. Hals empty glass fell
over!
Earthquake? Annes voice was jittery.
Halles voice replied firmly. No. She calmly upended the glass.
Thank you, Bert acknowledged, though he never noticed the
glass.
Anyway, the students search had taken her back to an unexpected
source. The biblical book of Genesis recorded, at least in legendary
format, the beginning of all human relations, including human with
nonhuman entities:
Few people ever recall or quote this passage, the very start of
chapter six, though it preludes and provides justification for the most
famous story of all, Noahs flood.
Yeah, I read it just last week, Halle stated proudly.
Bert looked curiously over at her; then quickly refixed his gaze
upon their little mirror.
Do you remember reference to the nephilim?
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There were lots of names I couldnt pronounce, Halle admitted;

Mostly, ancient tribal names, all long since disappeared.
These were not human tribes, Annies tone lowered; Oldest
accounts remember breeds of half-humans, alien-spawned
perversions of humanity. And apparently, they havent completely
disappeared At least their influence hasnt. There seems to be a
resurgence of interest in such things lately.
The scholar had friends full attention, including Halbert, though
one would hardly know it by his expression. Halle listened in rapt
disbelief, soon forgetting to check the mirror, as Anne continued:
The nephilim were born of forbidden unions and represent the
most sordid of traditions explaining human origins. The Genesis
account barely mentions them at least it was the main reason for
wiping out Earths populations and starting over again with Noahs
family. It seems that mankinds very DNA had been compromised.
Nonhumans were interbreeding with human women and creating
something else, unintended. So if the human race was to have any
chance of succeeding as originally planned, the alien taint must be
purged.
So they were bad? Halle summarized.
The worst: Old English translates the word nephilim as giants or
heroes. They apparently had superhuman abilities; nevertheless
they were categorically sub-human and spelled an abrupt end to the
human experiment. Left to themselves, they were ruining the earth
and all other forms of life sharing the planet. They would eventually
have consumed all humankind before extinguishing themselves.
Sounds like Tolkiens hoards of goblins and orcs, Halle moaned
and Bert nodded.
Pretty creepy alright, ay?
Right in there with the judgment on Sodom and Gomorrah.
And Halitha, (a masculine mutter).
Yeah that was creepy too Halle continued, then turned to her
guy:
What did you say, Hal?
259
This time he shook his head.

Halle wanted to clarify:
So you think this one verse of the Bible tells where our own
haunts might have sprung from? Halle swung a chin back toward
the Korean follower, then continued. But how did Cauchemars trail
lead you there?
Well not the cauchemar directly, Anne explained. I was reading
about vampires, actually.
Vampires, why? Both Halle and Hal were staring fixedly at
Anne, their mirror forgotten.
Well, I always suspected there might be a connection. And its
far more than a single Bible verse. For one thing it explains why the
tribes following Moses were appointed to mop up generations later.
I guess even a worldwide flood couldnt completely erase nephilim
giantism from the gene pool.
Anne continued to tell how the Israelites most unlikely of
conquerors were given the job of wiping out whole cities still
harboring the blight: like Jericho. Moses called them Anakites or
Anakim; and according to his spies they made normal people look
like grasshoppers. Hundreds of years after that, there lingered
remnants to deal with. Remember Goliath?
Then she referenced ancient stories from various cultures wherein
disembodied nephilim continue to prey upon human minds as
demons, genie or jinn.
But Annie was distracted suddenly. She couldnt imagine what the
young mans expression was meant to communicate. She kept
talking anyway:
There was far more written elsewhere about alien influences. Two
whole books of Enoch never made the cut for what the Jews called
Scripture. Too painful, I guess. Or else they had quite enough trouble
getting folks to believe the stories about parting seas and pillars of
fire. Alien entities assaulting sleeping maidens that was just too
much to swallow.
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She was doing her best to ignore the mans antics, politely averting
her gaze, while describing the apocryphal history of angelic
Watchers as presumptively recorded by the ancient patriarch Enoch.
She was using her most journalistic voice and manner. Berts mouth
was inverted south; his nose and brow were pointing northwest,
while both eyes remained glued to the speakers face.
It was the pulsing eyelid and contorted thumb that finally triggered
Annies indignation:
Please just tell me what you are thinking, Bert. No need to
mock!
Halle had already heard her friends tone changing subtly, a certain
alarm and dismay. Girl turned to guy and swatted his faceOnce
Twice.
You werent watching yourself, Dummy.
Finally Halle lay off that abuse and glanced back at her friend:
Sorry, Anne. Its my fault for not watching him, I guess. He
doesnt mean to mock you. She was now gripping his jowls,
one in each fist, and was manually shaking the mans expression free
from the kriyas grip.
There! Halle exclaimed. Better?
I think so, Bert groaned, now staring with lingering puzzlement
at his own twisted thumb.
Halles one hand clasped his tenderly, fingers intertwined as lovers
do while forcefully prying the wayward thumb back into proper
position.
Anne looked on agape, hardly believing her eyes. Halles voice
was still straining with effort as she asked Anne to continue, please.
261
Well some Watchers decided that mankind wasnt advancing

quite quickly enough, so they took it upon themselves to apprentice
their favorites in profitable craft. Then for certain others, even that
wasnt truly cultivating these creatures fullest potential. Perhaps
they could observe directly the latent possibilities hidden in mans
chromosomes, especially that of the rebel Cains legacy. Human
progeny just needed a little harmless tweaking, though Watchers
adhering to their original commission would consider it dangerous
tampering.
Sure enough, their interference (even with positive intentions) got
out of hand. A few more roguish entities were beginning to enjoy
this game. The nightly play was become a demonic thirst to imbibe
more and more of human terror. The fruit of such assaults was
turning to abject evil as those favored human individuals and their
super-human spawn were corrupted absolutely by the power
enjoined.
This answers many mysteries, was the comment Bert was trying
to utter. His newly twisted face made it sound sinister. He mumbled
something about dragons (ancient word meaning watchers); the
howling nightwind, Lilith; about human sacrifice, necrophiliacs, and
even UFOs
Halle interrupted with a resigned moan, deep compassion in her
voice, Hal, lovely man: You better quit. Its close to time for your
morning class anyway.
Bert rose and immediately shook his own expression sober. His
voice too was strong again.
I must go upstairs and prepare.
Just then, the restaurant door opened to admit two of Halberts
yoga novices. The Korean girl looked up to watch them pass and
proceed on stairs to the upper level. Bert nodded to them in greeting,
then turned back to Annie.
Truly, I wish to learn more about these nephilim.
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Baptism by Fire
Nervous and uncertain, Anne answered. You can read the Books
of Enoch yourself.
I will look them up this afternoon. Bert bowed.
Then, as he turned and fled up the same stair, Annie blurted out:
Halle We need to talk.
I know what you must be thinking, Anne. But Hal isnt so odd as
he seems.
Im not worried about him, whatever his problem. Then Annie
paused to reflect how her friend had introduced the man, This guys
really weird Youre sure to like him. What a compliment and
understatement Ay!
No, its you Halle. Im scared for you. How can you treat a
person you love so? Star student of English literature was
suddenly bereft of language.
Before she could think to complete the thought, a new disturbance
descended. They hadnt even noticed when Berts Korean stalker
snuck past to follow him upstairs. The girl was no longer attending
yoga exercises, not since his initial rejection. There was a feminine
howl of derision and the sound of thunderous feet on wooden stairs.
Like a storm-borne wind, she swept rushing past and out the front
door. It rebound shut with a decisive clash. Even Halles orange
mestizo kinks were ruffled by the trailing breeze.
Whoa! Annie exclaimed. I thought that girl was going to grab
at your scalp.
Yeah, I felt something. One advantage of nappy hair, I guess.
Wonder what scalded her tail end?
Annie jumped up then to leave also.
Sorry, Hal. I just dont know what to say here.
263
Why, oh why was she always attracting such unconventional

friends? Always the misfit, the odd one out! Perhaps it was her bad
luck or twisted destiny. Then again, maybe she was subliminally
asking for it something about her smell, her pheromones? Anne
thought it well to start bathing more frequently.
Dont run out on me, Halle pleaded, now standing, also ready to
follow at need.
No, I dont mean to judge. You pursue your love any way you
see fit. Im just not used to this kind of behavior. It seems so
disrespectful, is all. But I really dont want to judge you, Halle or
your friend, Bert.
I especially wanted him to be your friend too. Please let me
explain. Our classes dont start for another hour yet.
Suddenly, Halle noticed another figure was standing by their table.
Berts mom and manager of the joint.
Oh, good morning, Mother, Halle acknowledged and made to
introduce the other. Anne extended a hand, only to be invited to sit
down please. So both girls did sit calmly again, and the older woman
looked concernedly at the younger of her guests.
Please to help explain, Dear?
The lady spoke in halting, Korean accent, but was sighing a lot, so
apparently quite disturbed. She had gone upstairs per the morning
routine to set out tea and scones for Berts assembly.
He limping, she exclaimed. And when I mention it, he point to
bruising on his leg. He say, that red-body-something, and pointing
down stair; he say that girl kick him there. Mother also had
observed certain oddities about the young couples relationship. The
stately gray woman just stared now with obvious fascination for
Halles red crown.
Kicked him? Really! Halle was truly appalled.
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Baptism by Fire
But sometime, I see you also nudge the boy, and Mother
made a jab at the air with one elbow.
Oh that? Halle chuckled, then glanced supplicatingly at Annie.
Thats only to help him get over the twitch. You do notice his
twitching, right Mother? I want him to get used to going out more,
with other people. And I keep telling him to watch himself.
The lady frowned, then nodded knowingly, seemingly approving.
And suddenly the mother realized who that girl must be.
Ah yes. I thank you, Halle Dear.
Oh, no problem, while Mother turned back to attend her kitchen.
Then Halle to Anne, I love him, you know.
Yes, I know that.
He needs my help ... He wants my help.
But he wants his dignity also, and you arent helping with that.
Maybe I cant do anything about that. And Halle proceeded to
tell of Berts unusual disability, his history and hijacked ambitions.
She was rushing through a Readers Digest version, afraid to lose the
friends attention and trust yet again, until Annie slowed her down
with a touch and prompted for clarifying details.
That started poor Halle to weeping as the stress began dissipating
like a scorched odor from kitchen air.
I cant lose you now, Annie. Dont know what Id do if something
happened to you or to Bert.
Friend grasped friends hand yet again. Im not going anywhere,
Hal.
265
Fifteen
It was exactly one week later, to the hour. In after years, Halle
would refer back to it as their D-Day. It was actually Halberts
birthday.
The girl was home, supposedly preparing for her Therapeutic
Anatomy final. But her head was all a mush of names for subdermal
body parts and hormonal cocktails. She knew that a complete break,
to focus instead on some competing concern, was the thing for her.
It had been many weeks since she had written her own mother back
in L.A. Halle was trying to decide how best to introduce the
prospect of she and Hal, when the first phone call ruptured her
concentration.
It is too strange to call coincidence, how that often the worst events
will cluster together, as if they had been sequestered behind a rodeo
gate until that fated moment when nothing or Nobody could hold
them back any longer. Then out they spring, all at once: a demolition
derby, a free-for-all against lifes supposed comforts and securities.
Actually, it was only two tragedies, plus the horror posed to follow
like a spectral ambush that night.
First call was from Berts mother. Granny had gone to her
monthly missionary prayer meeting at the chapel an early morning
affair, more of a club for the elder women. But it was supposed to be
a safe sanctuary.
Yes, Mother. I know its you. Whats the matter? Halles throat
suddenly tightened as she interpreted animated words from the
phone:
You come quick to chuch. Adriana faint way. Hospital come
soon to fetch your granny.
The girl could still run like wind when she wanted, and church was a
mere three blocks distant. A siren could be heard calling as the
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Baptism by Fire
quaint steeple appeared to her bouncing view. The run had rattled
her teeth, and she burst through the chapel doors shivering, though
hardly from any sweat.
The flock of ladies at front parted and expressions of relief greeted
her entrance. The grandmother was conscious now, reclining on the
front pew in arms of her Korean friend and confidant.
You must hold Adriana, Berts mother shifted to allow the girl a
seat in her place. I go tell hospital man where to come.
Granny felt strangely light to granddaughters touch as she gently
lowered the silver head and shoulders back into cradling arms.
Can you hear me, Gran?
I hear everybody fine, Dearie. Dont know what all the fuss be
aboot.
They say you collapsed suddenly.
WeelI cannae member noothin ove it.
But Halle intuited that something was terribly wrong. A stronger
Irish brogue was always sign of upset or fatigue. If there were any of
the normal spring left in this old body, shed have already sprung to
feet again.
It was a technical affair, once the paramedics marched in and took
control. Father O ushered friend and granddaughter to his Monte
Carlo for their drive to the hospital on K-Street. It was that same
facility across from the family restaurant where Halle was employed
for both school and work. But traffic was backed up for half a block,
so they were soon stopped waiting just behind the ambulance.
Even with sirens blaring, the emergency vehicle could find no
passage through. All they could see were police lights flashing up
ahead past the line of honking motorists.
267
One of the medics finally got out and walked back to knock on
Halles passenger window.
Maybe one of you misses wouldnt mind riding with the patient
keep her company while we wait.
Halle was opening her door when the medics phone jingled one
of those new mobile radio phones carried by professionals and
flaunted by financiers.
It was Halles second call.
No, we were already en route with one victim. You need to
dispatch another crew.
The man listened, then stood on tiptoe to spy past the traffic at the
trouble further on.
I see no its just a short way ahead. I guess we can help
stabilize another since we cant move the vehicle anyway. You
can at least send a foot crew across the street to wheel the one by
gurney to Emergency Right-o. Out.
You see, every word overheard was to be branded upon Halles
memory as she watched like a living book logging life events
though she hardly suspected why at the moment, just how intimately
this second incident involved them also.
Sorry ladies, the medic paused to explain. We have to leave you
here for a bit and run up to help another victim. More help for you is
on the way. Just keep the patient talking and give her sips of water if
shes thirsty.
Whats all the fuss? Halle probed.
Some kind of suicide terrorist or something. Sounds pretty
bloody. Cant talk
He and both partners were gone in an instant, equipment satchels
and another gurney in tow.
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Baptism by Fire
The granny was indeed talkative, though barely coherent. Halle

was suspecting some kind of stroke, however the old woman was
complaining of her chest and arms again.
Berts mother was distracted, craning her neck repeatedly to look
up the aisle of waiting cars. Finally she commented worriedly:
Police car stop right front my restaurant.
Youre kidding, Halle stepped up to look also. And then a
sudden pang of new dread attacked her gut.
Mother what you say we run up there for a quick look.
But must stay with Adriana.
Father Oplease keep my granny happy for just a minute.
It had indeed come down directly outside the restaurant building.
Police were attempting to move the gathered crowd behind a tapedoff margin of street, expecting more emergency personnel any
moment.
What that smell? muttered the mother. Halle sprinted ahead the
last 10 yards to duck under the yellow tape.
Stay behind the barrier! shouted a uniformed voice.
There were two bodies in the gutter against the curb. One was
moving slightly. The other wasnt. Red blood and blackened blood
and a fleshy smoke mixed with stink of spilled gasoline defined the
horrific scene.
What happened! Halle screamed at the same medic.
Oh bother, he exclaimed. Dont tell me you know this one
too.
Bert! Halbert, answer me.
This couldnt be happening! Halles whole universe was crumbling
before her eyes, and she was helpless to stop it.
269
You were instructed to stay back, young lady. It was the

Uniform pressing point of a club against the girls chest. But Halle
didnt even notice.
Thats his mother coming behind me.
Let them through, Officer! barked the medic.
Sorry, Miss. Then more shouting to all the rest to stay back.
Halle was on her knees beside her fallen love. Mother dropped to
the curb on his other side, her face hidden behind trembling hands.
Dont touch him, warned another medic, firmly yet
compassioned. Much of his front side is burned. Fortunately, his
face was spared.
Berts face was white probably from shock and his singed
eyebrows were still smoking.
But who is that? Halle pointed to the inanimate victim. Though
the elder woman had already recognized that other with a gasp:
Red-body-something! Then she re-covered her tear-streaked
face.
What did you call her?
But Mother could not respond.
Can you help us identify the girl, Miss?
Halle was also suffering shock. She nodded her head, but her
breath came in shallow gasps and she could no longer release her
tongue. Blood and the red-and-black of burnt gothic costume were
welded permanently to human skinit was too terrifying to behold,
like a barbecue gone terribly wrong.
Cool shadow passed across her vision, blocking view of the horror.
It was the first medic again:
Please Miss. Do you know her name? Family, maybe?
Halles throat was parched. She tried to swallow and almost
swooned with sudden nausea. A fresh water bottle was pressed to
her lips. Pictures were sorting themselves in her brain. She pointed at
the restaurant door.
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Baptism by Fire
Second level, restaurant; then up the inside stair. Table there

Bring back the clipboard.
An officer jumped and returned in mere moments, clipboard
under arm. Halle was weeping now uncontrollably, trying to evoke a
reassuring reply from Bert. His mouth was moving, at least. But she
did pause to flip over the second clipped page and point at two
names neatly crossed off the register. Addresses and phone numbers
were in separate columns.
It has to be one of those, she muttered. One appeared to be a
male name; so it was easy.
Moments later, the police officer was chatting on his car radio.
Hal They could barely hear the masculine voice.
Hes trying to say something Miss?
Halbert! Suddenly, Halle found her own voice. Mother
uncovered her eyes and saw her sons eyelids flutter.
Oh, my boy! She bent ear close to his lips, but straightened and
shook her head after a moment. English was still a difficulty and she
appealed now to Halle for help.
The girl could barely understand his whispered request.
Pray for me Halle.
We are praying, Dummy!
The pain I cannot see your face.
His open eyes were aimed directly at hers, but there was no light of
recognition.
Halle addressed the medic, Hes complaining of pain, and he says
he cant see.
The medics face went professionally blank. He took out a
penlight, searched for pupil response and waived a palm at Berts
open eyes.
Flash blinded? Fumes exploded, he remarked to the other.
271
That one nodded agreement, Ocular trauma from the blast or

his fall backwards, maybe. Both were looking cautiously at a
puddle of unignited liquid gas.
My boy blind? Mother collapsed into a sobbing heap.
Probably only temporary, assured the medic. He stood to search
the crowd for sign of the hospital crew. It was taking them too long.
Halle It was that same faint call.
Im here, Bert. Then to the medics, Can you do anything else to
help him?
Only shrugs answered. They had done all that field protocol
allowed. They didnt dare touch him outside an operating room and
reminded Halle not to try.
They have done all they can for now, girl to hurting boy, but
youre mom and me, we are here for you.
You must pray, he repeated.
I am trying. Theres just too much fuss for words right now. Very
soon, Hal and the padre will come pray too.
No no priest. No wordsOnly energy. Release prana, life
energy. You can do it.
She knew now what the boyfriend meant. They had discussed it
many times. Halle had exercised it over and over with therapy
clients, without their explicit knowledge. And Halle knew though
she had never tried that a soothing energy would flow regardless
of touch. In fact, her massaging fingers were merely the excuse to
connect, to engage the injured souls implicit consent.
Amen, Halle uttered. And the mothers eyes suddenly met her
own. Tear-soaked hands joined and clasped. Halles free hand was
hovering over the burn victims belly.
Dont worry, she intoned. We arent going to touch him.
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Baptism by Fire
Both women had ceased their sobbing. A strange sort of calm

descended. Even the surrounding crowd could sense that another
mood had stolen incongruently over the gruesomeness of their crime
scene. Mothers voice could be heard now, just barely under breath,
uttering unintelligible words. Those closest simply assumed she was
praying in her native Korean language. Only Halle and Bert
knew for certain it was an unlearned tongue.
The energy did not delay. Halle felt it spark and flush forward
from head to heart.
Our Father she heard her own voice refrain the standard
verse. But further words never followed, at least not audibly. Not
until that moment had the girl even acknowledged her own aching
head, the result of overwhelming emotion and stress. However that
discomfort was quickly chased away as her being was flooded with
liquid light, life overflowing from the surrounding atmosphere or
hidden star fire overhead. Yet her inner eye saw every distant sun as
a beaming angelic face, and the clouds were populated with crowds
of saints, as if seated at chapel, all emanating an enjoined restorative
power. She could feel it like waves pulsing sympathetically and
streaming from her chest down bare arms.
Halle thought to minister next to Burts injured arms and legs, but
suddenly the energy grew to such intensity that her breath was turned
to gushes of joyful surprise. It felt like Berts body was encased in a
glowing cocoon. She could press her palm and feel the resistance,
like a magnetic field or exoskin shielding the frailty of mortality
beneath.
Berts breathing deepened. His head nodded ever so slightly in
silent assent. The tell-tale frown of endurance disappeared from his
brow. Pain was leaving his tortured body with every exhale of air.
Abruptly, the women were ordered aside. The hospital crew had
arrived. With military precision, the bodies were shifted and lifted
273
onto cots to be carried away. The crowd parted like the fabled sea
before shouted commands, just barely admitting the emergency
procession. Then watching bodies closed behind their passage,
blocking view of loved ones left rudely on the street.
Im still with you, Halbert! the girl shouted after. My prayer
will follow voice fading to a low conversational tone: You are
never alone ... ever.
Both women were sobbing again, clinging to each other for
comfort and care. Then simultaneously, they pushed apart, each
staring at the other in panic.
Adriana!
My granny!
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Baptism by Fire
Sixteen
They caught up with both Bert and the grandmother inside the
hospital, though the seeking women had finally to separate Mother
to the son and granddaughter to her own.
Granny had suffered a mild heart attack not her first, so said the
doctor. He was chiding her good-naturedly for not checking on it
earlier. It was later, to Halle, that his tone became quite serious:
She must be watched every moment. Make certain she is never
left alone. We can prescribe some medicine, but it is likely to
happen again. Your grandmother has entered the final season of her
long life.
Halle understood. She must cherish her grannys company now,
like never before. The grandmother was sleeping when Halle
returned to the room. She sat for some minutes, then tip-toed out to
inquire about her other Care.
They directed the girl to another floor at the opposite end of the
building. Bert was just out of surgery, both arms and legs fully
bandaged. His head and eyes were also wrapped. Mother met the
girl first. A police investigator was busy with Bert.
Hes talking?
Oh yes, he talk very too much now. The mother was glowing
with obvious relief. Quite wonderful how my boy stay wake
through whole procedure.
Halle sensed that she was wanted next; officer was looking her
way.
Mother continued, very chatty for a change.
They ask, How he stay wake in so too much pain? My boy
answer, Not much pain. But doctor say it must be very much,
horrible hurting. Three-degree burning is most pain of all.
275
Third-degree? This didnt sound good to Halle.

Only his legs so very bad; arms and body, not so bad. Maybe not
walking for long time.
What about his eyes?
Mother sighed, Dont know yet. Say special doctor come.
Sure enough, the detective had questions for Halle too:
No, she didnt know personally the girl in red.
Yes, Bert had informed her of the verbal threats. In fact, Halle had
witnessed the young woman following them both on several
occasions. It was seven days prior that Hal had advised the girl yet
again to seek a different yoga instructor. He felt it inappropriate that
she continue in his class, considering her stated emotional
attachment. And other than her parting kick, there had been no
physical contact between them. That was also when the woman
announced her intention to end it. Bert was her master, her very
life; her only source of meaning, of light.
Then the officer briefed Halle regarding the deceased womans
history. Bert was not her first object of obsession, though obviously
the last. She had performed a similar stunt two years prior, though
that time using acid. That victims face was horribly disfigured
when he tried to grab the bucket from her. But no formal charge
could be prosecuted in that event.
So then, did she try to set Bert on fire? I smelled gasoline.
Oh no so you havent heard. I am sorry.
The officer made her follow him out into the corridor.
I dont want to upset the mother further. You see, it was a suicide,
just as she had attempted before. And like the previous victim, your
boyfriend was trying to save her from herself.
Halle gasped in mingled horror and pride.
Several witnesses corroborate the story. She was outside on the
sidewalk; shouted a challenge up the stairwell to the restaurant.
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Baptism by Fire
Uhsomething like, Love me or I die. Halbert looked out a

window; then rushed out when he saw the can of kerosene upended
over her head. She gave him one last ultimatum, while he begged
her to seek other help. Then she clicked her lighter.
Halle had then to find a bench to arrest another faint.
The investigator helped her get seated, then continued:
Fumes ignited first thats probably the flash that affected his
eyes, poor guy. And then he must have done everything else blind
ripped off his jacket and started smothering flames from her clothes.
Witnesses say she trapped him in a bear hug, screaming obscenities
and cursing his selfishness
It was clear that the professional detective was also shocked by this
affair:
Ironic never seen the like. Your boyfriend is exceptionally
heroic; though his effort proved for nothing. Lost the girl and almost
lost his own life. Certainly lost his good health.
Not for nothing, Halle retorted. Hes got this girl for eternity,
sick or not.
Then youre both heroes in my book.
Thank you, Officer. I want to go sit with Halbert now.
But a very strange sound met her ear when she reopened the
bedroom door. It was Halberts voice, loud and clear. She had
never heard it like this before. She wondered if anybody else had
ever heard it so. Perhaps his mother, once upon a time, while
watching a much younger boy.
Halles Hal was laughing.
Hey you!
277
Mother was laughing too. Halle didnt like being left out of the
joke.
Hey you Dummy.
Halle! Berts tone was exultant. Halle, I have wonderful news.
What are you talking about? Got yourself attacked by a psycho.
Both legs and arms lamed. Your eyes get blinded and most of
your chest is singed bare of hair.
Bert and Mother just laughed out loud at that remark. Her boy
never did sport much of any chest hair.
Have a little compassion for the rest of us, wont you? the girl
carried on. Frightened out of our wits all morning, scared you might
have been killed, after all. And you lay there laughing like its all a
big comedy adventure.
Halle was secretly enjoying the music of her Halberts joy. She
was in love with him, after all. But she also was beginning to worry
that the fire had affected his thinking, as much as his sight.
Halle I am cured.
Cured of your sanity, I think.
The kundalini sickness at least the kriyas, it is gone.
Gone?
Yes.
No more twitches?
Not a single spasm since well, since the accident.
Let me be the judge of that.
A space of silence followed: uncomfortable examination. Even
Mother was growing apprehensive that Girlfriend might spy
something of a lingering malady where the mom had missed it after
all.
Long minutes later, Halle shook her head over the dubious hope.
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Baptism by Fire
Well, maybe I do have to find some other reason to thump you

every now and then.
And when nobody could think of the suitable rejoinder: Oh I
forgot. Im not supposed to touch you now. How lucky for you.
Please dont be angry with me, Halle. It must have been horrible
to watch.
So you just had to rescue the crazy maiden in distress?
I did not think I mean, there wasnt time to think; only act.
Now Halle felt chastened.
Anyway, I am sorry the girl had to die, Bert declared.
Halle remained silent for a moment then answered.
Me too, Hal. Im just glad you arent really dead yet. And
this girl would have hugged her hero except she couldnt. So she
embraced the mother instead.
And then came evening. She went to bed all alone in the room. It
would be hard enough to sleep after such a traumatic day. While
death presents a certain finality, near-death perpetuates the dying
and the horror of demise.
So one might have expected this occasion to be especially
welcoming of all kinds of haunts; and one so experienced as this
human child would surely retire well-prepared.
Somehow, that night Halle wasnt so prepared. She even forgot to
recite the bedtime prayer. And Granny wasnt there to remind her.
Halitha was genuinely surprised to discover the cauchemar waiting.
279
280
Book 3
Hope Recalls Tomorrow
And what if there is no tomorrow? There wasnt one today!

Punxsutawney Phil Connors, Groundhog Day, Columbia Pictures Corp. (1993)
282
One
Oops!
What do you mean, Brother this oops?
The first speaker glanced aside to answer:
It is a human expression. I use it to indicate a new dimension of
suffering. Something has awakened Hal further than expected.
The watchers of Halles travail stood close by, yet hidden from her
immediate view or so they believed.
Surely you dont mean the shadow mans self-abuse, continued
the second voice.
That is nothing new. See how he that is shefeels immobilized
and victimized.
It is only a seeming yet she suffers so. Her screaming tears at
my core.
Yet we must allow her space to overcome the fear and recognize
her true being.
But your oops, my friend. Is that not an expression of surprise? I
see again the Most High abiding by the horizon and beckoning to
this soul. Surely, you understand that no event escapes the Ones
good purpose.
Of course, Brother, replied the first watcher again. Yet, do you
not perceive how our charge is attending this very converse?
But that cannot be! exclaimed the second. I have taken every
care to protect her imagination, unveiling only so-much.
That is your specialty.
***
I can hear you Whoever you are, Halle was distracted from
her struggle, long enough to issue challenge. In fact, the girl thought
that she could see something two lights opposite the one blinding
orb which often dared her to stare that direction.
Oops! repeated the second voice.
283
Dont blame yourself, Brother. I didnt do this, and neither was it

your indiscretion or failing. Her waking was provoked by some other
crisis entirely.
Ultimately, it is the Chosen who orders events and chooses his
own.
I expect you can hear me too So answer! Halle could do
nothing but give inner voice to her confusion, her despair, yet
somehow inner was become outer in this place.
How could Cauchemar have overpowered her yet again? It was
suddenly many times larger and stronger than other encounters of
late. Perhaps, like Alice, it was she who had shrunk and not the
demon grown greater. She was so certain it was revealed to be a
powerless shade. And yet here she was captured again, every limb
and every muscle, lips and tongue unresponsive to her will.
The monster seemed to be toying with her; splashing amidst the
emotion, greedily absorbing its energy; delighting in every squeak of
terror. Indeed, it was anticipation of an ultimate violation that
provoked the most satisfying response, so Cauchemar was
determined to make it last.
The second watcher could endure insult no longer. It hardly
seemed right or charitable to stand by and observe without leastways
offering some encouragement.
Fear not, child of adam.
Instinctively, Halle knew precisely what this meant. The voice:
this entity was telling her that the fear was borne of her flesh; the
limitations of understanding imposed while bearing an earthly body
adam, meaning earth or clay. Yet she couldnt help but take it as a
further affront. After all, how was she to know that these chattering
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glimmers were really more to be trusted than Cauchemar. They may

as well have named her mud.
We are not mere shadows, Child, said the first. You begin to
see truly, now.
How did you know what I was thinking? And simultaneously,
her mind was worrying, How is it that I understand their strange
language?
You think loudly, answered the second.
The barrier had been crossed. It was time now to own whatever
consequence was to follow. This turn of events may be unanticipated
so early in a lifetime, but the meaning now was clear. Their task as
watchers was nearing completion.
Meanwhile, the dark man called Cauchemar continued to hold her
down. Halle screamed again in utter frustration, then collapsed in
sobs.
The second angel approached to offer more help, assuring the first
of his caution:
The Directive still rules, Brother, then he turned with a swishing
slide toward the human.
Only a reminder the same spoke to Halle now. You have
done this before, Child. Do not fear to abandon the body of clay. As
ever, another more enduring body avails to serve your desire.
Attending spirits are here to guard and re-energize the shell that you
lay aside; and so it is whenever you retire.
Attending who? Halle scanned about in new panic. I thought I
was alone except for this clawing freak. You mean, theres more of
you?
You were never alone. Least so when you felt abandoned. It is
only the Blind which makes it seem so but certainly, you knew
that already.
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Again, Halle seemed to understand at a deeper level even this

mysterious reference. However, it was time now to act rather than
puzzle further. She had resigned finally to let go of her normal sense
of selfhood (it was hardly helping anyhow) and to seize the new
morning. It required just a quick rolling motion, with only a
temporary snag where her physical head lay sleeping.
Next moment, Halle was standing and the black hollowness that
had been the cauchemar was fading away to gray, then to nothing.
She was already facing Mornings horizon when the watcher spoke
next:
Behold the Light which rules Day. This is your true Shepherd,
your rightful guide unto all truth. You may follow Him from here.
Our mission is accomplished, declared the other.
(Halle lost track of which voice was which.)
Hark, brother. The One is gesturing to you also it appears your
assignment has only begun.
So it seems. I wonder what adventure He intends now?
The first voice was receding.
Fare thee well, Dear Ones, both. I leave you to the creative care of
our Regent.
And so it was that Halle stepped out in spirit to seek the Dawn, a
great light dominating all view ahead. She was also aware of
sweeping steps behind, more like beating wings than heavy feet,
though silent as the passing of an owl.
Who is this bright Personage that these others so revere? Halle
wondered and pressed forward faster. A suspicion was dawning that
somehow, in subterranean depths of her being, she must already
know the Who.
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And then it was that new eyes were opened. The Light was no
longer blinding, though it clothed her newest host in a great nebula
of luminosity. So the girl was cautiously pleased to perceive
outlines of a familiar face beaming out at her.
What is this? Halle protested, Another false awakening?
Not false, said the Other.
Yet this new speech had issued mysteriously from within her own
mind; The Word was close and intimate and unutterable as thought.
Nonetheless, the entity to whom the Voice belonged was a separate
Awareness, and an even greater spirit gave it distinctiveyes, holy
utterance.
Halle recognized her friend, the trans-airline uniformed crewman.
It seemed now that he had always been there, long before
discovering his name one of his Names, that is:
Tally Man, she christened him again this morn.
Greetings, Hal. He persisted to speak quietly and peacefully from
the inside.
Why dont I see you like before?
You do see me as I most often appear to Earth dwellers. Tally Man
chuckled, a decidedly unimposing sound.
You look Imperial, as the sun, yet your voice is so small, still
like a shallow puddle on the street after the storm has passed.
Why, oh why, was the girl now so poetically expressive? She had
never been so given to flowery speech unless you count her
cursing tirades. It seemed that her thought, as well as sight, was
rendered far clearer and more creative than ever before.
The Friend laughed again and explained, I am most at home and
most my-Self while engaged directly with your heart.
Then Tally Man spoke aloud, and the other companion stepped
forward into the brighter Light.
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Watcher now appeared as a great silver-winged beast; many wings

and many more eyes; he was truly awesome as the mythical dragon.
There was no location, activity or event looking all around and up
or downthat could escape this Beings attention. Every eye was
wakeful Halle could feel its stare radiating Alertness, as well as
keen Memory recording every apprehension.
The Bright One:
Accompany Hal to observe the Life record I select. Then keep
watching, Ariel. As this Judgment concludes, veil the spirit again
and accompany her soul back to bodyhood.
Judgment? the girl protested, while hardly able to believe what
she beheld this watcher being proven the embodiment of historys
fantasy and lore.
But the tallymans voice cut through her confusion like a trumpet
call:
It is Time!
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Two
A cloud of dim grayness passed before the Light, obstructing her

clearest vision. Halles mind went fuzzy too. It was like she had
inhaled a heavy smoke or some other anesthesia.
Judgment. She repeated the word to herself. Did I die after all, like
Halbert almost died on me? Like Granny must so soon. And now I
have done it to them poor things.
Inside, Halle was still sobbing, though her exterior appeared
deceptively calm. Like a stone statue, the girl was seated upon a
marble chair, its arms emblazoned with intricate gold design of
flowering lilies and pregnantly dangling pomegranates. This was a
familiar pattern, one she had busied herself studying to pass hours of
labored inoccupation.
It wasnt easy being Queen.
Halitha!
The bangles on her arms and wrists and many rings decorating her
hands they were mostly patterned of similar design, gold and
silver and bright copper wire. Each piece of jewelry evoked recall of
a story and a name. It was her job to retain memory of those names,
and the talismans aided her assignment.
O Queen, namesake of our wondrous city, Halitha. Answer
now.
Speak with contrition, my son. It was her own voice that
answered, a boredly ritualistic tone, the standard reply uttered upon
thousands of such occasions though this Halitha was barely twenty
years young, the latest of countless generations, all Halitha queens
gone before.
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It was an odd sensation, this multiplied awareness. Halle was

observing the other soul, as it were a daughter of herself, while yet
living through the other as herself It was dreamlike, yet such a
lifelike vision of a once-forgotten lifetime of memories. This was
truly Halitha as she could now recall had onetime lived, one of many
souls gone before.
Yet (importantly) the queen was not Halle: not the Adriana Halitha
of latest regeneration.
The Halitha of that ancient culture could never have understood or
identified with Halles lonely style of self-perception. It was only
because of Time transforming how people name themselves that the
post-Enlightenment girl could begin to grasp this splintered sense of
being. It was indeed as if the mother were reliving in her child what
it once felt not-so-long-ago to be young and innocent and foolishly
self-absorbed. However, the self-experience typical of antiquitys
youngsters was never so focused as our modern imaginations try to
project upon them.
The regent-priestess so named Halitha felt fundamentally
indistinguishable from her forebears. She was Halitha the City,
Halitha the Office of ruler and judge; Halitha the uninterrupted
lineage of elect princesses anointed High-priestess over all. The
royal We-ness of Halithas collective consciousness left very little
room or imagination for the one singularity of soul-awareness: also
named Halitha. And to entertain such a suggestion always felt to her
unlawful, an utter violation of integrity. There was no such thing as
individual Right, no entitlement to life or liberty and in many
ways least so for a member of the Privileged class.
Even so, the spirit of Halle felt compelled to lay claim upon that
earlier Halitha as a kindred soul, much like sharing common
paternity. Halitha was yet one more citizen of Halles secret inner
kingdom, another character populating her imagination and
contributing even now to the Halle person Self-conceived.
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And the essential difference between these two souls? The 20th
century Hal felt elder, though borne some three millennia later in
Earth orbits than Halitha the queen. The older Halle was brought
here upon a true vision quest, to stand as spokesperson for their
mutual greater-godparent in judgment upon the sitting queen.
So this is what my tallyman meant, Halle muttered to herself. And
oddly as it seems, the younger tri-millennial BCE woman could also
hear the selfsame thought.
Meanwhile, Watcher Ariel observed and recorded every nuance for
posterity.
It was a strange mode of thinking suddenly visited upon Halitha
completely foreign to the collective mind or unsophisticated
conscience of that era. The queen also sat in judgment for most
hours of every day, attending to affairs of her citys swarm of
occupants. Queen Halitha decided who would live and who would
profit, which would suffer punishment and even death. Halitha
Citys regent must therefore be held harmless of any citizens protest
or retaliatory claim. She knew that; it went without saying.
Speak against the queen, and someone must suffer. Once accused
of merely thinking a rebellion or simply looking straight into her
face, that one will immediately stand trial to defend against charges
of insurrection, else die miserably trying.
And the body of one so convicted is butchered and burned like an
enemy invader before the city gates.
Not so for those cursed with being Chosen a blessed sacrifice.
These bodies were butchered also, though with a certain reverent
glee. Sacrificial heart and liver were harvested fresh before the body
expired. The anesthetized victim was laid upon a bronzed pyre
directly before Halithas seat. Liver was roasted as her sacramental
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food and the pulsing muscle laid reverently upon her virgin lap.
Sanctified blood continued pumping forth and quickly soaked
through her white skirts, causing bare legs beneath to stick together.
This the queen would secretly resent, as it always reminded her of
another bleeding flow, and she was powerless while seated
ceremonially to remedy the discomfort.
She didnt mind the barbequed meat (anyway, she was never
offered any other breakfast). But the Moon-time ceremonial Cup of
new blood
Must I drink it? This she would ever recall, having first
questioned the chief temple priest: that despicable Personage who
persisted to call her virgin.
This was why her wine was ordered laced with a thimble of
narcissus, the same poison rendered to her victims before each days
events. It clouded her thinking and relaxed her resistance to
abominations she was forced to perform as the Blessed, consecrated
Halitha Queen.
It was never my decision, Halitha worriedly answered this new voice
which dared disturb the calm of her inner reflection. Why was she so
cursed to think such thoughts, ideas so obviously contrary to the true
character and calling of historys Halithas?
It was indeed a protesting, challenging, rebellious self that dared
disrespect the office and character of High Priest, the same temple
magistrate who had fostered the princess since early childhood. She
was devoted; dependent upon his protection and care Though in
secret she so hated him with every ounce of her better judgment.
He was the one who would visit her nights long before the cycles
of womanhood commenced claiming to be the god-embodied with
consummate Rights and Obligations. Therefore, her body would
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never be her own; and certainly not while rendered immovable,

pinned suffocatingly in darkness under the sweaty mans bulk. She
had been forced to endure these violations time after time, robbing
the girl of any common dignity or womanly ideal.
Yet magically, her body would be reborn every new moon; and
so each month, the temple queen put on a new snow white robe,
being mystically rendered the unblemished Virgin yet again.
Her body was reborn so the priesthood proclaimed, shouting it
through trumpet horns from atop city walls and across the market
squares. No ordinary decency was afforded Halithas priestess.
Therefore worshippers would descend to Temple in yet greater
number, each to plead for mercy or sweet justice against his rival.
Refreshened innocence of their precious Virgin Princess had
requalified her word, enabling only She to rightly divide truth from
falsehood; righteous from perjured claim.
Halithas body was reborn, like her dress but never yet her soul.
This one is different She overheard it long ago when the
despised father priest spoke irreverently to his young novices. She
is brave, impetuous as a female baboon parading her reddened rump.
We must shame her mortal mind and subvert her judgment to the
will of the god.
It was one of her earliest memories, soon after her true parents had
been forced to yield the Chosen. Had she been blessed to learn of
their subsequent fate, her impetuous child-spirit might indeed have
broken. But it was that very night when darkness of her crowded
dormitory veiled invasion of bared feet, of muscled hands braced by
legs planted firmly about her bed to hold the candidate down. They
pressed her thin hips and shoulders painfully into stone, the carven
bed underneath velvet pillows. None of the other temple maidens
ever spoke of the Choosing, of what they had witnessed in horrified
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silence. But year after year it required only their scornful glances to
evoke another vision of her trauma, the smothering of screams, the
strangling of desperate breath and choking infant rage.
It was that night as her sobs finally yielded to exhaustionwhen
Halithas soul abandoned her body for the first time. While ravaged
body slept, her awareness wandered unsleeping far through ethereal
corridors seeking justice, revenge. It happened again years later,
soon after the temple physician left her room. His medicine
sickened her awfully, disturbed her sleep and distorted her dreams.
Next morning found a miscarried fetus on the floor; though the girl
was still trapped in a cataplexic trance, having suffered the first of a
new series of recurrent nightmares.
For years of tortured adolescence, night after night, a monstrous
dark-robed demon pursued her naked soul, always chasing the
terrorized child back to bed. That bed had long since ceased to
afford any refuge. Instead it became her cage, shackling her childheart to perpetual grief. From thence her soul must worriedly seek
escape, any escape.
When the young queen finally complained to the doctor, he said it
was the god. She was Bride to the deity and so must no more
attempt to resist his approach. Nonetheless, Halitha felt as her
maturing soul inspired the notion that she must remain the better
judge of that.
Thus bearing the lonesome indistinguishable Name, princess was
long ago obliged to disown her privileged flesh. It was a
fundamental divorce of mind from matter, later known as
fornication; though a priestess was never spared any other
indulgence. And now as sole queen, her impetuous will was to
become Law. Meanwhile, the girl inside must live in constant
apprehension of next moon cycle, and far worse terror of the
following nights dream. The daily dose of medicated wine no longer
sickened she rather welcomed its numbing surge.
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How else could a young woman be expected to endure sight each

morn of stone court stained crimson from the flow of more innocent
blood (increasingly now it was newborn babes); the blackened skin
on still-quivering forms, stink of scorched hair and human offal; the
din of faithful chanting to mask the next victims screams until
arrested by blade, breath drowned silent in a bleeding flood. Yet
endure she must, and Halitha was schooled to sit before that horror
dawn after dawn in stony silence. She complied with the demands of
her office to a point, ever rebelling in her heart of hearts. And
one duty she resisted to the end.
Queen Halitha would never drink the Blood.
Oh, she took the Cup, but . The priesthood drank at least once
every moon. The younger priests sipped. But Chief, he enjoyed it.
Too much joy, judged Halitha. She glared down upon the spectacle
he made, a ghastly grin upon his face. Yet the gruesome draft
appeared to revitalize his old body, charging his flesh with new
potency and lust. He stood suddenly tall. He was filled with raw
power, and then he would leer up at the queen a crime deserving of
speedy death to any other. This night she would know to expect his
intrusion in the dark, reeking of pomegranate wine and decay.
But she never imagined, thankfully, what sort of forbidden Power
an ambitious priest would be seeking by such ungodly means.
When the Cup was passed to her, Halitha found it easy to deceive
lily white robe already spoiled so easy to spill yet more of the
elixir down her front while swallowing gulps of air instead. Nobody
would notice as her uniform was further reddened, a veritable
baptism in guilt.
Only priest father suspected the truth, and he had long since quit
caring. His nuptial visits were become fewer and shorter, even while
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a younger priest was preparing to supplant him. Against that Day,

Halitha was hiding a blade of her own.
For this insurgent priest was not even Man no child of adam, that
one; didnt dress or act like mortal human, either. He was rather one
of the half-breed spawn, gigantic figures boasting inhuman strength
and demon cruelty. For many generations they remained quite rare,
yet there was a recent resurgence of blessed births. It was said that
everyone native to that region bore seed of The Race, image of the
god himself. Proof of that was their undeniably godly stature, these
Sons of Anak; growing up to twelve feet tall, with arms and legs
built stout as oak, and a bellowing roar that might shatter a shipload
of pottery.
One mark of such a brute was appetite. Once matured typically
only fourteen summers the neighborhood giant would consume in
one week a whole months bounty for twenty normal men, food
and strong drink. Then he would savage their women, one after
another. Once the girls were discarded, traumatized or dead, the
monster would pursue the men as well for his pleasure.
Another mark was low character. While mere toddlers it was
evident, compulsive liars and cheats, ever preying upon the weak.
Yet further tragedy was when this latter trait began to characterize a
citys leaders, the landowners and priests, whether by inheritance or
imitation; whether or not they bore other mark of a gods son. Thus
the seed would spread as an evil underground weed throughout the
population. Without trust, no city could enjoy commerce; no trade.
All that remained was fierce rivalry, endless feuding, looting and
greed. It was a spiritual blight of the worst kind.
And one other telltale mark. The greatest of the god-men dressed
simply, like priests. Their robes were hooded, goat hair coarsely
felted and coal black like dark shadow. They spurned sword or
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manly warriors armor. Their preferred blade was a cruel harvesting

hook mounted crudely atop a heavy ashen staff.
A mere handful of godsons would doom a city to its final
generation. The giants never survived for long by themselves,
lifespan hardly past puberty. They lived uncleanly, habits lower than
animals. All types of disease settled upon them like flies. But their
personalities were magically magnetic. One befriended by a gods
son became an instant celebrity. When a giant stood for you, who
would rise against you? But truly, they had no human sense of
honor, faith, duty or respect for any title; no justice or compassion.
Their own lives were despised, so anothers was worth nothing.
Anything moving was fair game and no city could hide all the
children forever. Then when the giants can no longer be appeased,
they will turn upon each other.
Folk had a very grim view of godhood in those days.
All of this did Halles spirit perceive, within a moment of awakened
memory Halithas history and culture, the cruel destiny of its
maiden queen. Understanding deluged her mind, accompanied by a
multitude of familiar faces and places.
And she likewise recalled that a prophecy was brewing, an Oracle
heralding doom.
A scourge had been loosed upon the whole country. It was a
foreign horde of invaders, said to rally at command of a rival deity
God above all gods. This One was actually witnessed in manifest
form not merely in dream vision; not just embodying some smell of
holy incense or smoky sacrifice. No, this god appeared out of
nowhere, no need of fleshly fuel to shine visibly. He appeared as a
great column of living fire by night, a cyclone of storm by day.
Furthermore, the manifestation was mobile. This Spirit moved. It
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exhibited Purpose, Will and Direction, and the foreign legions

followed. Legendary tales of His armys exploits had been broadcast
for generations past.
Least believable was their origination: Merely tribal mobs of
emaciated men, with their women and children in tow having
somehow escaped the genocidal slave camps of Egypt. These were
said to have turned back in the wilderness to exterminate the
pursuing army of a master race. Impossible!
Still, these days, mere report of the hordes latest movements
paralyzed whole cities with dread. Defending armies sickened and
died in their barracks. The very foundations of a city were seen to
dissolve like sand under surf, before the promised invasion even
began.
So lately, a long-forgotten prophecy was revived and propagated
anew. Temple priests responded early by disowning the ancient
omen:
It was already fulfilled, decades ago. Nobody need fear a
supposed God of gods, nor His pigmy army of roaches and mice.
Even the shortest of our men bear stamp of our god. Are we not
pleading his mercy and protection every morning? See how
Halithas queen rises at dawn to ensure her peoples health and
prosperity, the very vitality of many generations to come. Our great
city cannot fall.
Meanwhile, more and more victims are required for each days
Supplication.
Perhaps Halithas armies should hunt down the vermin while their
bellies are full from plunder. Of course they admitted no
contradiction in this proposal, assuming that the last conquest was
merely an encampment of boys, harlot women or miniature men, at
best.
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What the prophecy did not tell nor would any citizen have
believed it that these invaders were not the typical plundering
pirates. Their forces were sent upon a holy mission, to purge the
generations of ancient demon-tainted seed. Orders were to take no
prisoner, no women or slaves. Often even livestock were killed.
Their rule of engagement suffered no booty of temple gold or silver;
all such treasures were destroyed, along with every trace of rival
deity or lord. Truly, no mere mortal command would conceive such
a profitless operation.
As queen, Halitha was privy to every intelligence. The queens
authority was feared; but Halitha was adored, imaginary Lover to
common men and women. Her word had power to command
Halithas armies as well as move their hearts. Only, she didnt quite
own it yet, such power. The young woman was one birthday away
from absolute monarchy. That was Law. Of course, the priesthood
had no intention ever of sharing their control, so a plan was in place
to depose the high priestess, beloved queen. The god would
understand, else at least he would be appeased by the next freshfaced Halitha in line of hundreds prepared to follow.
Father Priest is not a true father, thought Halle. She thought it
hard, like a prayer. He never was, never will be true.
And Halitha the queen suddenly sat straight upright.
He intends to toss you away like blackened bones of a sacrifice, the
very moment you threaten his authority.
Where did such sinful thinking call from, the queen wondered? But
it was true, she knew it. That morning, Halitha had dared to pour out
the doctors potion, like so much blood of sacrifice. Nobody saw it,
nor did she realize how this slow acting poison had long been the
instrument of the priesthoods design. So Halithas head was
throbbing, ever since the morn, though her mind remained utterly
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clear. Yet the poor womans will proved predominantly subverted

by daily habit and wear. She hardly cared for this truth unobscured,
no longer hidden or denied.
Wake up! Halle screamed. Dont just sit there. Do something. You
are Queen act like it, for once.
Why should I care? So the queen absolved herself Even as the
victim lay panting before her now, medicated, drugged. He was a
very little boy, barely weaned. His sensations were mercifully
pickled, so he would have little clue of his impending fate. Neither
had Halitha been allowed a normal span of life. She was deprived of
any legitimate pursuit of health, family or happiness. She was
cursed with this unending refrain, expediting death upon death. At
least the boy would enjoy an end to all bitterness even if the
medicine wasnt working so well.
Yes, mercifully, his cries were diminishing. And soon the tiny
beating heart would be retrieved and cradled safely upon the softest
of cushions. Then also, queenly hunger would be sated.
But what is this? Oh dread! It was The Cup again. Time already
to imbibe?
But you are the queen and Queens word is law, Queens deed
is never wrong.
This is true. One might break tradition and establish a new
practice, alter ritual if only one did it quite deliberately.
So Halitha turned and searched for the only father she had known,
High Priest and Holy Abuser of her infant trust. She seized his
attention, locked his gaze and held high the ritual chalice. The
victims life blood was spilling over the brim. Halitha tipped it over
generously, deliberately: once toward the temple, then again toward
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the dawn. Then with a final wave to the spell-bound masses, she
upended The Cup emptied it upon the Steps of Justice.
She heard moans of mingled wonder, horror. The crowd was
shocked, awed in reverence of their Majesty. High Priest was
incensed, immobilized by uncertainty. Surely this abomination must
decide the maidens fate. Yet by this single, daring act of protest did
Halitha purchase a new Day for her own convicted soul.
Her next act would buy a final opportunity of decision for many
others: a merciful end to one wretched lifetime, at the least; and
eternal redemption for a few.
A cry was raised, response to a distant call from East Gates tower
watchman. Dawn had revealed an approaching cloud. It wasnt rain
or sandstorm this day. The rival gods army was fast approaching.
The Prophecy was proven true! Judgment descended upon them.
First to stand in response to the challenge were several of the
demon giants. Such had always been war heroes. In fact, they
couldnt resist a fight. A sampling of the citys army fell in behind.
However, the largest part of their number had melted away into the
cracks of the city like hail upon an oven hearth.
Standing at the highest window of her temple house, Halitha
surveyed the fabled armys advance. They looked small, but even
giants would appear tiny from that vantage. All the citys defenders
had rallied before the eastern wall, bellowing and mocking the
gathering numbers outside its oaken gate. No oppressor had ever
succeeded in breaching that ancient barrier. Some of the godsons
were beating their chests, goading one another to step up, unlock the
door! How could anyone kill the challengers or feast upon their
flesh from this side of Safety?
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Throw the bar, you cowards. Make way for the real champions of
Man!
Queen observed the would-be Heroes of Halitha. She quickly
judged what fate they represented, especially if given to conquer and
rule. Not even the priesthood could prevent such a coup. Nobody
would challenge a godsons appeal. Her city was doomed, whether
it was taken or delivered.
She pushed away from that window and wandered across to the
opposite side. This building functioned as an interior tower, the
citys final stronghold at need. She glanced down at the western wall
gate, looking toward the sunset and sea. Nobody heeded that
watchtowers warning. A second arm of foreign forces was
swarmed to the west side also. That gate was equally secure,
however, twin to its eastern rampart.
But surely there must be an alternate end to Halithas cesspool of
corruption. The queen pondered mere seconds then decided.
You are Queen, Halitha, encouraged the spirit. It is your job and
only yours. Do something now, Girl. Do it.
Indeed this act might enable a better solution, an almost honorable
finish.
Truly, Hal, challenged Watcher, Is this wisdom, after all?
It is just, Halle answered. And she knew it was rightly her call.
The queen was first to be cut down, as a rain of blades leaped
through the opened West Gate. Nobody had even noticed the whiterobed maidens approach, nor would any have stood in Her
Majestys way. As High Priestess of Halitha, it was Woman
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performing the citys final sacrifice, trading her own life for the
souls of her people.
It was a godly thing to do, said Tally Man then.
Oh yeah? And her mortified thought followed, What do You
know about it?
Have you forgotten already, Dearest, how we suffered together?
And Halle recalled their shared execution upon that fated hill
overlooking Earths horizon.
I feel stained, even so, she moaned aloud. The queen broke
faith with her people.
But a promise made in bad faith is the same as a curse, the
tallyman continued. And a curse is justly withdrawn.
She still remembers the names and faces of all those betrayed.
Every bracelet, every ring was given as token of prayer, their trust
their adoration.
Truly, Halitha was adored, and so is Halle, also.
Tally Manhow could I allow anyone to adore me now? How
can I even care for my fate? Halle may not have found reason to
embrace any traditional doctrine of reincarnation, but she knew
nonetheless that she and the ancient Halitha shared a bond, a
common spirit and destiny.
The queen was no better than a serial killer, a cannibal. Grannys
Caribbean barbequers were more civilized. Halles dream face was
drenched in bright tears.
Then the tallyman spoke publically to all the starry heavens; His
Brightness increased. His voice rang broadly across space and time:
The son of adam known as Hal He is heretofore declared
innocent of all crimes against humanity. She is absolved of every
insult to the Name of the Most High. I was witness and companion
to these trespasses. I was offered to die in her stead; likewise the
child stepped forth to suffer forfeit for the destinies of others. We
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die together, this little one and I. Therefore, I raise her to New Life
and renewed Hope to live truly evermore.
Halle was startled. What in Heavens name was that all about?
Tally Man chuckled at her retort and concluded, Justice is served.
The scales of eternal righteousness, once toppled, will be set aright
and balanced again. All injustice is equalized.
I dont see how, the human child complained. Its just too much
too much suffering and sorrow and guilt.
Dont you worry about that, Little One, whispered the tallyman. It
is my job and only mine.
Then his voice faded to a distance, like the setting sun. Yet His
Word continued to echo long afterward in the darkest corridors of
Halles imagination: Your job is to live henceforth on behalf of
others whom I also cherish. Join my favored campaign this Day,
friend Hal. You have ever rebuffed the Call. Yet again, I dare you to
follow.
The winged watcher, one of the Shepherds of Souls, led Halle the
long way back to her body and bed. It was on the Way there that one
solemn procession encountered another.
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Three
It looked something like a bubble, or cocoon, Halle whispered in

narration of the rest of her ordeal. Only the edges of my bubble
were fuzzier, and the color it was the most extraordinary shade
of.
Dont tell me, Halbert interrupted. It was brilliant aquamarine,
deep blue shot with green.
How did you know that? the girl spoke up, then lowered her
voice with a glance at the prostrate form between them. The young
man had insisted that he accompany Halle to the bedside of her
granny. How could the staff have been so insensitive as to leave this
poor old soul alone? And then, the single attending relative, left
without friendly support. So the hospital managed to transport his
bed all the way to the opposite side of the complex, down one
elevator and back up another, then into the other room with wheels
squeaking irreverently. The crank was even noisier, raising the
beds head (and Berts) to face his companion. It was an extremely
painful ordeal, though he never complained with more than an
occasional grunt.
You only guessed it. You couldnt possibly know.
I know what I saw.
Halle looked cross-eyed at him. You couldnt have seen. You
were blinded, remember?
Halbert ignored that and continued, I could see nothing
immediately after the fire; and for that moment I believed I was
dead.
Halle knew what that was like.
So Bert said it again, I was sure that I had died, because I couldnt
move and everything had gone dark Until the Light came on.
Was it sun in your eyes?
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I dont think so I was blinded, remember?

Wise guy!
I did see light, however. It was a green-blue haze that colored
everything, like sunshades. So beautiful. And there were other
forms, beyond the blue light haze people and other moving
objects, all around me.
Faces? You saw faces?
Well, Halbert hadnt really seen faces. But he saw something:
other colors, mostly like signatures of flame and he was certain it
represented people, somehow.
Maybe you smelled them.
If I did, he replied, then I was seeing their smells.
Halle had heard of such things. Anyway, Bert didnt mean to
interrupt Halles story, so he asked her to continue.
I could see my own body, at the center of the blue-green bubble,
like the kernel of a seed. It looked dead, but Ariel said I was only
sleeping.
Then, just as Halles soul was ready to rejoin the body, her strange
companion pointed beyond the bed and bubble. It was a long line of
bodies and voices. A crowd was gathering quickly along both
sidelines of the parade. Some looked human. A few were only
shadows, it seemed, while many more had other-worldly forms like
that Watcher fellow hovering next to her. Those appeared to be
observing her as well as the procession, their myriad bright eyes
roving and blinking and gazing all directions at once.
As the celebrants came nearer, it started to look more like a victory
parade. There was general applause and chanting, waving and
rhythmic clapping. The scene was one of enthusiastic welcome and
joyful release, as though a long absent warrior declared Missing In
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Actionhad resurfaced and finally come home. Only problem was

this warrior was not waving back.
It was another body, also encased in a chrysalis of liquid light.
Halle could almost imagine it an infant child form, carried outside its
mother, yet safely enwombed in this azure watery orb. Such a
contrast to the blood and water baptism of earths babies; or so she
recalled from a school video presentation. The educational picture
had paradoxically featured a surgeons blade, delivering Babys
body unto mortal life. Her very soul shivered again, remembering
the torment of Halithas babes. This was such a different kind of
baptism entirely. The buoyant casing was borne by hands and
wings, and very soon brought close enough to study.
This other body looked familiar, but Halle couldnt be sure behind
the bluish haze. Its aural bubble was more vibrant blue than green
and sparkled all over with tiny silvery explosions, inside and out;
like champagne bubbles in a crystal goblet. The sparkles were so
brilliant, Halle first mistook them for flashes of foil confetti. Made
sense, being a kind of street party, like that Ana Nueva Fest she had
enjoyed some months ago.
Why doesnt he move? the girl asked.
She, corrected the watchers voice. Many more such voices had
joined in a raucous song, thousands of them, a tune she didnt
recognize but something like Jolly Good Fellow and Happy Birthday
combined.
Then something clicked and Halle recognized her
grandmothers features. Nor could she assert it was the face, rather
an inside-out impression of personality, featuring Grannys enduring
character as Halle had grown to know it and to cherish more dearly
than her own face in the mirror.
Why was Granny being carried away? The procession paused
right beside the girls own dreamtime bed. Just so were their
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physical beds arranged each opposite the other in the tiny Alphabet
City apartment. Something told Halle, this would be the last time
she could see those beds occupied together.
Is it true? she moaned softly. A great white wing settled gently
over bowed shoulders of Adams daughter.
Indeed, the party had stopped just so the granddaughter might say
goodbye. And Halle knew exactly what to do and what Granny
would want her to say. She moved forward, alone, and kneeled
beside the bed.
Dont try to touch, just yet, cautioned Ariel, It isnt time for you
to join upon this Way.
But Halle was already deep in conversation, addressing the
Cosmos on the old mothers behalf:
She was reciting again the Bedtime Prayer they shared
ceremoniously each night.
And the Host of Heaven stood bowing also (even those boasting no
human-shaped head) in silent Amen. They were suspending Eternal
Joy for this single human souls sake.
It was simply the manner of their Fellowship, this accounting of
one for All. Never a one is forgotten, though their combined number
is uncountable. And not a lone soul suffers what the philadelphia
doesnt also know.
Then, as if answering anothers inaudible call, the eyes of Adriana
were opened. No, it wasnt the old wrinkled pair of eyes that
remained at rest before Granddaughters tear-washed face. These
eyes were young and sparkling and gazed with endearment upon the
praying girl. What had first appeared an etheric sphere of blue was
become a solid breathing and pulsing new body of Life.
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Halle felt the caress, as a hand may so lightly brush anothers hair.
The granny knew instinctively to postpone a full embrace. The girl
looked heavenward and met those eternal eyes of Love.
So, who was this new celebrity? What saint had arisen now to
greet the congregants?
Then an intimately familiar voice swept confusion from Halles
face.
It wont be long waitin, Dearie. And Adriana would have said
more to her namesake, but for another greeting just then.
The crowd parted to unveil a sun-baked countenance. This one
was truly unfamiliar to the girl, though he reminded her vaguely of
Dayo, island tan and smile.
Granny knew him intimately.
So now where did ye go to, Jbaro! she exclaimed. It was
evident that all suspicion and resentment were melted away as
Adriana smiled up at her first love. The granddad was smiling also.
He winked at Halle, then extended a hand to his bride.
We got wok to do Trabajar! he proclaimed. Let us go to
where the Sun rises. Adrianas busy Day is done. Her long night
over. A new morning come. Vamos Let us go!
Together? the woman stalled. Was she teasing?
My delight, answered he.
And so the soul, known lately as Adriana OMalle, discarded her
dry bony body with hardly a single regret. A great Light had
emerged again against the skyline, but Halle was already introduced
to that Face. The couple two lesser lights soon disappeared
within the Great Ones embrace.
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And I thought certain the voices were all singing my daddys

banana song, for my sake mostly, Halle whispering still. At least, it
was singing loud as ever in my head when I wakened again on
my bed. Grannys bed was empty, of course. So I jumped up and
grabbed the early bus back to K-Street.
Aunt Adriana did not die alone, Halbert stated, with no little
satisfaction.
Ha! burst from Halles gut, and she hushed her tone as suddenly.
Didnt want to sound too exuberant; freak out the hospital staff.
Never saw such a crowd at any funeral I ever been to.
It is sad to see her go.
Lucky you, Hal, she retorted. Youre not forced to look at her
lying there at least the way she used to be.
I can see her just fine, thank you.
It was a private burial. Mortician said it simply couldnt wait, as the
old souls body had almost immediately begun decomposition of
form to original adam: elements of earth. Even so, Halles own
Momma couldnt come until the following week. Both chapels LA
and NY took offerings, contributing to expense. They would also
have tried to bring Dayo but he was detained, still awaiting trial
for his trespasses. Pastor George helped him to draft a letter instead,
to be read at the Memorial.
It was a very fitting tribute to one who had persisted serving as
confidant and counselor, wise mother to son-in-law, despite his
estrangement from her precious daughter. Seems the granny was
ever cherishing hope that the junior couples separation might finally
cease. Halle heard it all, as Father O stumbled through the strange
Creole way of arranging words. But she never quite grasped the
implicit message, as her Momma painfully perceived it. The girl
could only assume that the womans sobbing gasp was another wave
of regret for having been absent from the old mothers deathbed.
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I wasnt there either, Mombefore she died at the hospital. It

happened so quickly.
Should the daughter say more? Would it help at all to tell of that
other farewell assembly beyond the confines of hospital walls?
The gran is famous in Heaven, Halle did say. I had a wonderful
dream about her.
Momma giggled, amidst her tears.
Thats nice, Baby Girl. I want to hear all about it later.
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Four
It was a tender reunion, Halles mother and Hals. And Mom

seemed little surprised or concerned that prodigal boy of the old
Korean godmother was returned to become beau of the runaway
daughter. It was right, portended somehow; though she would never
have dared to suggest it.
Halbert was busy lately though still abed at the hospitalmaking
reunions of his own. The friend from Delhi, same who had
abandoned Enlightenment and coached Bert to leave his Abba he
had been alerted via mutual connection and traveled half the globe to
bring a message of Hope to his brother. Though concerned over the
pain that Halbert continued to suffer, he was not very sympathetic
about this friend having been struck blind and lame. He was
encouraged by Berts newest proclivity to laughter.
They spent hours together in that hospital room, until the staff
finally noticed the friend had lingered long after official visiting
hours. Guy greeted Halle on his way out and off to catch another
plane.
Halberts unseeing eyes were flushed with fresh tears, yet his face
was otherwise beaming with apparent contentment and relief.
What happened to you, Hal? What were you two talking about?
Bert explained that his friend was now a born-again Christian.
Their discussion had challenged again many of the yoga masters
assumptions about life and death.
Well you going to convert too?
I think I did.
You dont look any different to me, Dummy. Still blind and
crippled. Arent they supposed to heal you, or something? Halle
was recalling reports about faith-healing evangelists during her
school days in Los Angeles. One visiting assembly speaker had
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claimed such a miracle: a womens track Olympian was raised from

her wheel chair at such a meeting, onetime victim of Childhood MS.
No, Bert replied, My friend only told me his story and
encouraged me to believe also then to hope and pray for a cure.
As for the burns, skin grafts were healing on Halberts legs and
arms. In a couple weeks he might start therapy to relearn walking
and eating and other normal activites. Real issue was the
sightlessness.
The ocular specialist had only yesterday re-examined Berts
condition. Flash blindness should have been temporary, recovery
typical within a few hours. It was the concussion else the same
impact that caused concussion which suggested a hidden physical
detachment. However, both corneas were responding reflexively;
meanwhile Bert maintained he had no sensation of light. Nor did he
flinch when the doctor tested him. Apparently his eyes were
physically functional, yet the sight center of his brain was unable to
process vision. Exploratory surgery might find and correct
interdiction of signals or make it worse; and given time the
condition may correct itself.
My friend says that Hope is my most expeditious medicine, Bert
continued. It is how did he say? Hope is remembering
tomorrow, like awakening from slumber to the blessings that a new
day brings. But such medicine works best when Hope is focused,
not on safe, sleepy, numb and blind rationality, but rather upon the
Daystar the Christ.
I never heard that one, Halle replied. The padre often called
Jesus by other names Son of David, Prince of Peace, Everlasting
Oh, but that is exactly correct! Bert exclaimed. All those names
refer to the same Holy Object. It was the convergence of planets
remembered historically as the Star of Bethlehem. It shone brightly
through the Day as well as Night, and its appearance summoned
pilgrimages of great sages, even from beyond the Himalaya
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Mountains. They journeyed to welcome appearance of Earths true

Regent. Some yoga masters still celebrate that event, though they
never identify the Star by its rightful Name.
There was a great deal more about East Indian and other ancient
philosophieswhich Bert might have detailed further. But
somehow, rendered sightless to physical light, the man was grown
more insightful, more sensitive to how he was heard. Halle had
heard quite enough. Truly, she had already witnessed personally
much more than the wise men of old. In fact she might have told
himthe Christmas Star has never stopped shining.
Many weeks of therapy and training were to follow Halberts
baptism by fire. In many ways, he was like a child again, newborn.
Halle faithfully visited her friend daily at the K-street hospital, now a
sort of god-brother as they shared the only mother or godmother
accessible to her world. Momma had to go back home, where work
and church and other obligations wouldnt wait for long not the
least being that ornery black cat, Talle. Now Berts mom became
granny, nurturing mother and Christian mentor to the girl.
So Halle bussed her way to the restaurant every morning for family
talk and early study, then over to University for classes; back to Kstreet for work, with afternoon and evening breaks running across to
the convalescent wing of the hospital where Bert was learning all
over again how to walk, and eat, wash and dress. He endured the
ordeal with the calm dedication and patience of a yoga disciple, as
well as his girlfriends teasing:
Get on your feet, Dummy. Wipe those breakfast dribbles off your
face. Watch where youre going almost crushed my toes.
He was actually grateful for these little directions, reminders that
his therapists were too kind and polite to bother about.
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Then, the new day came when Halbert was seen again climbing
that long stair to the restaurants upper room. It was an arduous
journey for the invalid, and he wasnt come to resume teaching yoga
yet. This event was late afternoon, to attend therapy scheduled
with Halles own team. Nobody had bothered to warn her of the
new patient.
Hal you dummy! Arent you supposed to be in bed? She felt
truly overcome with gratitude for his recovery, thus far.
And Bert understood that.
The whole hospital is abuzz with rumor of a therapists assistant
with magical touch. He pronounced this smiling. I just had to
come experience it for myself.
Halle glanced at her boss across the room; chief therapist nodded,
tapped her wrist watch and flashed an open palm twice, meaning ten
minutes to Showtime. Nobody else was waiting, so Halle gestured
toward her ready massage table:
Hop on.
Halbert immediately started wincing and groaning under pain of
her touch. She was trying to be extra gentle, working carefully
around the bandaged burns. However, any motion or vibration
against healthy skin would pull torturously at the grafts. Finally the
young man spoke up:
Please to wait, Halle: Mercy!
Such a wimp, she responded.
I know you are doing as they trained you. But today Bert
paused to reconsider his words. Perhaps you can use only energy
therapy to begin.
Shshsh! Halle warned, then whispered, Okay. But I have to
pretend that I am touching you. Im sure to get lectured if it looks
like Im just praying.
And I will moan a bit for effect.
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They had already practiced this routine in the hospital, where

ironically she would not be allowed to touch the patient. As skin
grafts began to fuse and heal, the extremes of pain and irritation
expected for burn victims would torment Halberts rest. The
itching he could almost cope with that, having had much practice
suffering rhoids. However, this pain was not merely skin deep. His
whole body would sometimes feel aflame as damaged nerves sought
reconnection.
And then there was residual kundalini sickness dizzying
mandalas would completely fill and overwhelm his inner panorama
with blazing virtual light shows. Serpentine invasions of kundalini
energies continued to search every twist and turn of his internal body
matrix. He felt possessed by alien forces; though the external kriyas
no longer manifested. Nobody could understand how Bert suffered,
even were he to attempt describing it. Nobody except his
newfound soul-mate, Hallecould ever truly believe his tale.
Snakes? Hoards of ants and crawling beetles? Searchlights
glaring, fireworks blaring
It is only the blindness and imagination, Mr Halbert. Please to go
back to sleeping. Nurse was helpless to answer his moans.
But Halle was able to help, where all the analgesics and opioids
and medical assurances could not.
Pray for me, Halle.
And the girl would extend a hand, never daring to touch raw skin
or soft bandages, just holding her palm hovered slightly over the
injury. She could sense where it hurt him most at that moment.
Hardly could Hal himself have directed her ministering gesture, as
the nervous alarms were ever shifting, hiding, then darting to the
surface; only to plunge deep again, overloading a previously
unknown plexus of synapses. He was blind, after all, so Hal couldnt
see where Halle was holding her hand. Yet he would learn where
the hand had been by the answering flow of healing energy.
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It wasnt merely heat radiating from her palm. The energy came
from her whole being, but only to reawaken its like from somewhere
in or rather around his ailing body; as if he were encased in a
cocoon of ethereal liquid flowing in circles from his head and around
his gut, through his chest. Then it surged out again to envelope the
new center of pain with cooling, soothing fire.
Thats how it felt to the young man, laid wholly submissive before
the merciful ministrations of young woman. If it werent for the fact
that she didnt/couldnt actually touch him, his body might believe
her attentions were sexual. Had he dared, thats how he must have
described it Only, the energy rushes and swells and afterglows
were far more general, not so focused upon specialized organs as
with sex or with kundalini.
Halle experienced much the same, during these prayer exercises.
As mentioned, she could even follow the other bodys pain, almost
as if it were her own.
One day when Halbert was suffering from an unusually deep-set
disturbance somewhere near his stomach or liverHalles arm
grew weary. She withdrew her hand, sat back to rest her spine,
feeling worried and not a little frustrated over her loved-ones
crescendoed groaning. Add to it that her belly was aching.
Reflexively, she opened a hand and held it inches from her own
midsection.
There Hal acknowledged. He couldnt see how the girl was
sitting. He never knew that the healing hand was attending her
body, not his.
But it didnt seem to matter.
Just a little deeper, he corrected.
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Halle said nothing. She knew from practice, that deeper required
that she actually pull her hand a bit further away from the hidden
ailment.
Nofocus, now smaller Smaller.
And Halle responded by closing extended fingers straight toward
the thumb, as if squeezing clean water from a sponge to wash a
smaller corner of the wound. There it was, just behind and slightly
north of Halles navel.
Thats it Oh! Finally Relief. That was Halbert relaxing, no
longer a moan. And the pain in Halles body subsided as well.
Yes, this energy sensation was quite Tantric in flavor to the girl,
though she wouldnt have known to describe it so; nor did she
recognize Berts kundalini connection. He could hardly fail to notice,
especially as the disruptive effects of kundalini-awakening were
receding before the healing flow.
Mandala patterns of motion and light would fade into cool
blackness. Creaturely scurries of rogue energy ceased. His body
could finally sleep, thus allowing Halberts mind to rest another
night.
Halle would tip-toe out of the hospital room, thinking her patient
had finally dozed off. However, the reason he turned his face away
from herit was not yet proper sleep, rather sparing her worry of
seeing his tears. She was likely to mistake their meaning, thinking it
more agony and grief. Yet they were tears of relief and
thanksgiving. One more labored day was finished.
Ever since that hospital afternoon, Halles own sleep time began to
change also, starting from the moment she knelt to recite Grannys
bedtime verse. The grans apartment in Alphabet City, was left to
Halles lone enjoyment for now (landlord agreed that she continue
the same rent). Though it ever felt like its decades-long tenant might
step through the kitchen door any minute. There was never much
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housework to do, other than a bit of dusting. And the student-worker

was late getting home; her body was always soon ready for bed.
Halle would lay in the dark and quiet, still praying for her man.
She continued to picture herself seated by his bed hand held over
aching flesh, ever searching to find and administer yet more health
unto his body; entreating for endurance, hope and future wholeness.
She told Bert about it one afternoon, after apologizing for her
absence prior evening (term finals were due).
Oh, yes. I have long known that you continue to pray from a
distance, he declared. I wake up, and my legs are rigid and raw;
next moment they are tingling just as if you were still sitting there.
But yesterday, I was buried in a textbook and watching the clock.
Your poor body was the furthest thing from my thoughts.
Doesnt matter, I expect.
Whats that supposed to mean? And Halle immediately regretted
her question not because it was rude, but rather that the yoga master
was certain to answer at length.
Bert didnt over-answer it at all.
We have already established that Space and Distance they do
not matter. Why should Time matter either?
I dont know, Halle quipped. Why should time matter?
According to quantum mechanics, it doesnt not like we think it
must. But I believe you were praying for me yesterday.
You mean sub-consciously.
Maybe But no, I mean very consciously. Prayer is ultraconscious and meta-present. You were praying yesterdays prayer
the night before, at home in bed.
I get it, Halle rolled her eyes. So I was praying for your future
health. Thats what I said before.
Future, Past and Present: I think prayer must be timeless, else it is
just as time-specific as you want it to be. Its all about Intention.
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Hal quit talking then, because he needed her help. But next day,
Halle recited their conversation to Annie. She agreed.
Logically if there is any logic to be had in matters of love, miracle
and quantum realityit requires that Time defy its familiar course
whenever a body experiences extraordinary healing. One could even
say that is one definition of all Life and healing and begetting of new
life. The normal course of matter is decay.
Its the basic law of thermodynamics, Anne reminded them both.
Left to itself, unless it is living (whatever that is, really) every thing,
every chemical, every form of energy decays. And no mere man
or scientist has ever been able to change that. In fact, it is the
primary flaw in our general theory of Evolution.
So life energy, by definition, must be timeless, because Life (in
order to be living) turns the normal course of time and energy back
upon itself.
A long string of conditions and events and counter-events resulted
in an injury or disease. To fix or correct that, one has to undo at
least some of those events to free the way for new life to grow. If
prayer is going to work and work faster than regular healing, some
of that intention has to reach back in time to set right what had first
gone wrong.
We are time travelers when we pray! Annie straightened up,
quite excited at the thought.
So, returning to this new day in the upper room, as Halbert lay
suffering again: It was now much easier to reach him there upon her
familiar therapy tableHalle prayed over past events.
Nobody would have noticed anything unusual, least not that
something religious or devotional was happening. Halles boss
observed how massaging hands were moving more gently than
usual. But it was a burn victim, after all. In fact, the woman was
secretly impressed that her novice would intuit that necessity. The
redhead was known to have a rather stern bedside manner, however
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much-in-demand was her healing talent. Good thing, tooelse one

of those headstrong clients might think he could manipulate the
younger girl. This student would go far.
Nonetheless, Halle was praying more deeply and fervently than
ever before, right in the midst of the hustle and noise of an open
gymnasium. She started with the prior days event, a mistake made
by hospital staff involving bandages and septic conditions. So far, all
she had done was worry over that. Burns are especially vulnerable to
infection.
Now she let her imagination move backward through time,
positively amending certain key turns of decision or happenstance.
As her hands were ministering per days of practice at Halberts
bedside, healing energy swelled to overflowing. Halles memory
served to clarify the past, baptizing deeds already done, purging
sorrow from every hour of each day, meeting alarm with calm,
surprise with knowledge. (Hindsight is 20/20, after all.) Her hands
and the holy fire they wielded reached further and further backward
seeking to open some doors, close some others, refasten loosened
bindings and untie unintended tangles.
Intention Word Will.
Thy will be done, Halle was praying again and again and
Bert! Halle had cracked an eye open to check the clock.
Halbert could not hide tears from this angle.
Oh What have I done? the girl moaned. I really did hurt you
bad.
No, Dearest. And Hal tried to lift his face from the table toward
hers. Truly, your attentions were never more healing. The Energy is
most powerful today.
But you
Tears? Yes Happiness, Halle. I often cannot help but cry as
the pain and worry finally leaves me. You have no idea what a help
you have been. No wonder they like you here.
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Tears of relief were welling in the girls eyes also. Boy reached up
tenderly to wipe Girls cheeks.
Stop it, you creep, Halle muttered, not ungracefully, nor unkind.
No client had ever thanked her so prettily.
Hal was sitting upright next, legs swinging freely over the padded
tables edge.
Careful, Dummy, warned therapist assistant.
I feel ready to perform whatever challenge the doctor ordered, he
crowed.
Wellwatch out, cuz that lady can be mean.
Who me? spouted a womanly voice behind her.
Yeah, I always warn our best patients about you, was the girls
knee-jerk retort, secretly sweating not a little.
Boss lady looked her next victim up and down, appraising his true
readiness for her special brand of medicine. She didnt actually look
at the assistant when speaking to her next.
Could have sworn I caught you fraternizing with a client, just
then, Halle.
The therapist took Berts free hand to guide him carefully off the
table. The lady wasnt really worried, knowing well what this longawaited meeting meant to the young couple. Nor did she actually
disapprove of the employees behavior.
This one thought he could make me cry, Halle accused,
playfully.
No, objected Halbert. She made me cry.
Aint seen nothin, Crybaby.
Therapist smiled faintly and tugged at the clients hand to follow,
saying, Hes mine now.
Give him Hell, spouted the girlfriend after them. But her healing
imagination uttered four more timeless words, infinitive tense:
Thy Will Be Done.
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Five
That night, while praying abed, tears rushed again to Halles face.
Grief and trauma of past weeks were finally breaking past her
stoically coping faade. Her brief prayer-journey into recent past
history had also served to break open that self-protective shell, one
deliberately constructed to help her continue to do what must be
done daily. Not unexpectedly (though one may never properly
prepare), an awful dread descended upon the girls soul. Also quite
predictably, that dread took form of a fear that the cauchemar must
be lurking.
Talk about Hell: An experience of near-death may serve quickly
and powerfully to transform ones embedded belief system, even that
of a yoga master. But what happens to a person, one whose
worldview was hardly allowed the time to form or reform properly
What would be the affect of near-death following near-death? What
when the threat of death and the suspicion that death is actually
knocking, then belief that one has indeed passed Deaths door,
perhaps the very gates of Hell? Inflict that kind of dread upon a
young girl or boynight after night after night.
PTSD? Paranoia? Psychosis?
This is what many feel forced to conclude. Therefore, let the
reader attempt to imagine the darkness of dread now suffered by this
young soul facing very real grief over the loss or continued suffering
of those closest to her heart. There never was a deeper, more darkly
shadowed Valley of Death. Nobody could know better than she that
the only way out of such darkness is through it. Though, I would
never blame her for shying from conflict this night.
Only one way might Halle hope to prevent Cauchemars coming:
Never fall asleep.
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After cleaning the whole apartment the second time round, Halle
cooked herself another pot of coffee. She sat at the table with head
propped by an arm. It was 3:30am, and she was beginning to jump
at every creak or distant screech of car tire. A siren followed, barely
to be heard. Dogs were barking. The girls body shuddered.
No, Halle wasnt merely spooked like a schoolgirl after fireside
tales. She knew exactly what threatened and how to divide fancy
from rationality. Halle had been there over there, too many times
already to mistake imagination for monster, descry ghost in a foggy
bog.
When the girl next opened her eyes upon emptiness her first thought
was: So much for the power of caffeine. The students drug-ofchoice was certainly not any magic bean, not potent enough to keep
her body and its physical brain from betraying her intention. Now
she was stuck again, up the proverbial beanstalk.
And Somebody was breathing heavily in her ear. At least, thats
how it sounded, for no physical ear was capable of hearing it. And
where her brain should have been was a ringing pressure, like the
silence following a horrific explosion or a plunge over roaring
Niagra. She felt dizzy too, that out-of-phase sensation disconnecting
body from mind quite like having just survived a very great fall.
Stop it! Halle commanded in resolute irritation at her abductor.
That gravelly pirate voice answered: We be waiting for thee.
Ive been busy.
We have a gift for thee.
Halle felt something pricking a naked shoulder. Dimmest of lights
had come on. She was seated on hard ground, a cold underground
place Anywhere. Only a thin nightgown separated her vulnerable
body from sharp, eager claws.
What gift And whats with the thees? she queried, trembling.
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Horrible laughing ensued. Many cruel, laughing voices, echoing

far and wide much like in horror movies. But which was the
imitator now life or art? Halle was quite certain her existence in
this place was for real.
Behold now. We will show thee.
Cavern light was turned up slightly to reflect from glassy puddles
upon the stony floor. There were dozens of waveless meres, maybe
hundreds, disappearing into shadow surrounding that expanse.
Ceiling was low, forcing the girl to stoop, so Halle paused with
lowered head to study her reflection in the shallow pool just ahead.
It wasnt her own face looking back, though she certainly saw
faces. They looked live. At first, she thought those others were
simply looking past her, watching some other event. She glanced
round behind to see what, only to meet blank stone ceiling hovering
just behind her head. Then Halle realized it was something more like
video in the puddle, like watching a theater screen, only crystal clear
as day. There were buildings behind the people, strange construction
very primitive design. And the people were brown-skinned, wore
no shirts at all. Even women were naked from the waist up.
What were they all staring at?
Then she noticed moving pictures inside an adjacent puddle, then a
third. One featured animals, mostly birds of all sizes and colors.
Another was a modern classroom, much like the high school she had
recently quit. Every puddle-screen featured a different venue, so
realistic, so present as to dare the girl to jump in and join the play,
where she was sure there would be sound and smell and every other
sense of reality. Halle had seen technology stores display TV
screens covering a whole wall. Those were usually all tuned to the
same channel to compare picture quality. This was more like
walking through a futuristic library of newsreels, each playing a
different view of a different hour in history.
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What history? Film history? No this looked unscripted live

television feeds. Whose history? Halle could imagine spending hour
after hour in this cave, the worrisome world her worldshut out.
Here she could safely lose herself watching story after story.
Maybe they would allow her to enter another world, a history of
her own choosing. What about that animal scene? Halle liked
animals.
Some days later, after musing absently about this entertainment
goldmine, Halle cornered her friend to recount the adventure
enthusiastically. The scholar was skeptical.
Sounds just like the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness, Anne
suggested. Only it hardly seemed to tempt him. And the same old
promises are even older now, worn thin. You could have had all of
that without the cauchemars help. Not that you should really want
it.
How so? Halles voice sounded only vaguely interested now.
Satellite dish havent you seen one of those? You get hundreds
of channels, mostly for free covering every imaginable subject,
theme, time in history. And the games: My nephew has one of those
new videogame boxes. He sits for hours, lost in some virtual reality,
completely absorbed in his alter-identity on the screen. Only his
thumbs keep moving. Kind of freaky, if you ask me.
OhWell, I wouldnt know anything about that, Halle rejoined.
What do you think about the rest of it?
Back in Cauchemars cavern, the girl had quietly decided to brave a
plunge into that nature scene. It seemed the safer, more tranquil
venue to her fanciful eye, though actually a wild jungle.
It was much like rolling out of a plane, as skydivers do. The fall
was brief, hardly any thrill. And she found herself standing on a
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mountain top, not sitting with rainbow parrots as the picture had led
her to expect.
Other people were standing beside Halle, young and older. All
were listening to a single, confident voice a smartly-dressed
woman. Everything about her broadcast Success. The lady looked
much as Halle imagined her own boss must appear outside the clinic,
without the frumpy therapists frock. Halle wished she could look
like her boss, walk like her boss. However this new ladys thing was
far better: successful, beautiful, and envied.
The woman was speaking clear and motivationally, clipboard
cradled upon one arm. She looked the part of a realtor, selling
choice property to the rich and famous. Halle wondered what cruel
prank would place her amidst such elitist company. Then she
realized that it wasnt merely homes or mansions or park estates
peddled. This monopolist was offering her clients much, much
more. The sales lady held her free hand smartly extended in gesture
for all to inhale the grand view a borderless valley extending over
the horizon from the foot of their mountain vista. Halle was one of a
chosen few being offered no less than
The World.
And suddenly she was back in the dim cavern, head bowed over
another silvery puddle, engrossed in the epic portrayal of a one-time
city street girl become corporate princess: a rags-to-riches Romance.
To the unsuspecting viewer, it would seem an unlikely series of
serendipities. But Halle knew it was inevitable, really. This girls
talent required only open air and fertile ground, free-reign and a
small grant of seed money for buried talent to root and blossom
and start her airship flying.
Halle knew this because the lead character in the movie was Halle.
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Power, fame, riches Anne replied. Dont you recognize that

old formula? Sure, you could go into business for yourself.
Probably be real good at it. But how is success going to make life
any easier or safer? Millionaires die in accidents and suffer cancer
or AIDS, just like poor people probably worse.
I dont know, Halle said in self-defense. It seems plausible to
me. Any successful person I ever met wasnt so very talented
No, not nearly so capable as you, Ay? Anne agreed (sort of).
They just get really lucky and determined.
Again Annie agreed that Halle was very close to the truth. Yet
there was a suspicious reserve to her tone that the younger girl
wasnt apprehending, yet. Anne was the determined sort also. She
wanted to scrape bottom of this visionary wellspring, shallow as it
seemed, and help her friend also to distinguish Truth from cruel
deception.
So you are thinking of going back there, to the cauchemars
domain on purpose?
He said I could do it, if I try if I really wanted to.
Who said it?
They didCauchemar or Bert. Im not sure who it was.
I wouldnt do it, Halles friend was warning. Everything about
this vision is dripping with dishonesty.
Strange that the girl would confuse the soul-mate of her day life with
a nightmare haunt, even absentmindedly. However, it was exactly
the aim of this particular ruse. Halles adventure movie concluded
with one of many happy outcomes that her fanciful mind might
imagine: She would triumphantly pilot her own personal Learjet off
into the sunset, with Halbert still blindly dependent upon her
virtueseated contentedly in the co-pilots chair.
Then she heard Cauchemars grating voice. Or was it radio static?
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Of course, it was only Hal her very own dissociative, bumbling,

adorable Halbert speaking melodiously into her headset.
And suddenly, they were both returned to the cavern.
Halle blinked, startled and disoriented. It was only a picture, after
all. But what a work of art well conceived, expertly acted, cutting
edge effects and masterful music Perfectly produced! And here
was Hal, in the flesh (or something better than flesh) loudly praising
his celebrity princess for another wonderful performance. His voice
resounded from beyond the shadow regions of their underworld, like
countless other Hals joining his amens.
But you have never encountered Bert over there, before, Anne
queried. Not him or anybody else from your real life on this side,
right?
Not before, but I dont know why not, Halle whined.
Everybody sleeps, and everybody dreams. If we agree together to
stay wakeful while dreaming, perhaps we could go to the same place.
Bert says he has visions, more now than ever ever since his
accident.
He isnt so happy about what he sees though, right?
Its confusing, mostly, Halle whimpered, tiredly. She wasnt
getting much of restful sleep lately. And mine werent happy either
not until this.
So what did the cauchemar I mean, what did Bert say next?
Halle wasnt sure she wanted to answer. That only made it seem
more important than ever to Annies mind, so she begged her friend
to tell all trustfully.
Hal was going on and on about how we could escape our
troubles Just him and me, together, for as long as we wanted,
enjoying picture after picture there in that protected place.
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You mean, Halbert could watch the pictures too?

Well, yeah. In the cave there in the darkness, Hal could see.
He could walk normally, even run if he wanted. Though you have to
watch that you dont bump your head.
Halle squirmed again, then sighed, Hal grabbed my hand,
meaning to take us both to a different puddle, I guess. She paused.
And then Annie prodded.
It wasnt a hand.
Berts hand?
It was a claw. Like the one pinching my shoulder before.
Halles well-read companion had run across this sort of thing
before. Annie probed eyes for some assurance that her friends tale
was finally finished. It wasnt.
I reflexively pulled back, but he his claw, wouldnt let go,
Halle continued. Then when I looked up at him to complain, he
leered at me.
And that was all. Halle had reawakened in Grannys apartment
only to find it past time to get ready for the day.
Annie had to think: All cinema and most imagination is a kind
of self-deception and probably harmless as such until one begins
to regard her real life as the lesser stage, the inferior story. It is the
shadow-selfs conquest of Self, ever-seeking to displace its rightful
lord. This abandonment of ones true Name for an assumed role a
mere avatar of selfhoodis only possible as a person loses faith in
the promised hope of life purpose. Anne was reviewing all of this
silently. She could see that Halle was grieving and depressed.
You dont really think that was your Hal, concluded the scholar.
Im just tired, Annie. Halles voice was uncharacteristically
wavering. Im tired of fighting it, tired of worrying about
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tomorrows tragedy, fearing that another person I have loved will be

snatched away.
I put up a good front, she continued, but the boss lady at
work scares me too. What if I cant please her anymore and lose my
job? How will I eat or pay next months rent? Id rather be my own
boss, set my own standards, or no standards.
Better yet, why shouldnt somebody just take care of me for a
change? (The girls tone had gone whiney.) Its just too much
pressure, between work and school and pain.
Youre in pain?
Hals pain is my pain. He says my praying really helps him to
suffer through a day. But there is always tomorrows pain looming.
Why cant my energy just take it all away ... no more pain
tomorrow?
Perhaps it isnt your energy your prerogative to decide.
And when Halle didnt comment, Annie pursued:
Didnt you say that Berts troubles were yielding some very good
results?
Well, yeah. He doesnt make those awful faces anymore. Then
Halle made a face. She was picturing that cauchemar-like leer all
over again, then shook her head to banish the ugliness.
I havent seen you nudge or kick the poor guy for weeks.
Of course not, Silly. The younger girl smiled at that memory.
Though, I did catch him ogling blindly, of coursebut ogling
nonetheless at the voice of another female assistant, just yesterday.
Oh really! Annie much preferred this girlie talk to what went
before. Quite an imagination: That has to be a good sign.
Yeah, hes getting better alright More so, every day. But his
behavior disgusted me, actually.
He cant help looking at the view, you know, Anne chuckled and
explained: Every normal guy does it, even when all he has is
imagination, Ay?
Ive noticed that. Just always wondered why a guy cant be more
discreet. Hardly better than animals sometimes.
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Its all in the hormones, Halle. Im encouraged to hear that your

guys got some. Good reason to get those eyes working.
Well, he almost got me in trouble again! Halles voice was
stronger now. Kept trying to get him up off the massage table. His
therapist my boss she doesnt like to be kept waiting. Pushes
those patients through like cattle some days.
Is he afraid of her too?
Not really, least I didnt think so. I remember him saying before
the accidentthat she was really hot stuff.
Annies voice suddenly rose, incredulous. Bert said that?
Not those words. Actually, I think it was something about the
All-mother goddess.
That sounds more like it.
Halle made her face again. I found it disgusting then too. But
yesterday, he just wouldnt get up off his belly. Said he couldnt,
just yet.
Annie froze. She had a sudden thought and an even more startling
vision.
What was he wearing?
Why? Just the regular hospital ordinance cotton tunic, tied at
the back. And sweat pants cut off because of his bandages. Its a
public clinic, after all.
Loose sweat pants?
Not really. Getting rather thin for wear, if you ask me. Been
wearing them to bed as well.
Annie was barely suppressing giggles as she tried to speak:
Its better than nothing. But hardly more than boxer underwear,
right?
Hes never been shy, Halle answered. Wore less than that to his
yoga classes.
No, I dont think he was so worried about his sweats per se.
Then Annie stifled her speech, face red with choking laughter.
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Im not sure why you think its funny, Anne. Halle sighed, quite
bothered.
When her shaking subsided, the wiser girl spoke up again:
He never ogled the girls at his yoga class, I think.
Well, I said the same thing. And he said that his meditations gave
him unusual self-control.
That just sent Annes composure over the edge again. Her
stomach was aching when levity finally settled down.
Oh, Halle. Dont you realize why young guys wear those oversized sloppy pants?
The other just shook her head. Bad taste, I always figured. Else
theyre hiding something.
Yeah! (intoned sarcastically). Its because sometimes
they just really cant control themselves Ay?
Halle made a different face, pondering. Then realization dawned.
You dont mean. She blanched, and turned pink; shame
flushing her brown skin. So, he was hiding!
No, Halle really didnt think it was funny. She was so very glad
not to have been born a weak-natured male. And when she finally
said it in so many words, it was Annies turn to soberly declare:
I think I know what your problem is, Girl.
Halle begged to be educated.
No really, Hal. I mean this with the best intent, for you and for
him You just like to control the relationship.
Of course, I do. Doesnt every woman?
Oh they wish. Most hardly ever get to do it, actually. Youve just
been spoiled.
And I spoil him too.
Ive noticed that. You are also one of the most charitable people I
know.
Thank you for noticing.
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But I hope you can love him as well when hes finally able to
handle the controls. Thats what a co-pilot is supposed to do, you
know.
I know that, Halle said.
But even she knew it wasnt really so. Halbert still seemed a long
way from navigating his own course, let alone pilot a two-seater
craft.
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Six
Next morning, Bert was at his mothers restaurant long before Halle
arrived. Mother was beaming with new hope and satisfaction,
though looking a little fearful as well. Halle found him upstairs,
seated stiffly upon a yoga mat. His posture resembled that of
mornings before the D-day, though his bandages would not allow
tightly folded legs.
This view scared Halle also. She angrily confronted him, as if he
were a reckless boy.
Just what are you doing? Until that moment, she hadnt yet
noticed the other props laid beside him. A sword from his Kung-Fu
training, years ago and directly in front of him was a single ripe,
head-sized honeydew melon.
Bert sighed, and opened an eye, pretending to look back at her.
I am meditating. It is time to recover some self-control, as well as
normal mobility.
Well, that may be true, Halle calmed a bit. But I never heard
they were discharging you quite yet.
No, the doctor didnt say to go home. But it was impossible to
concentrate in a hospital environment. Halbert decided to come early
for therapy.
Are you scheduled for today?
He didnt answer.
Equipment isnt even set up yet, Dummy.
Hal would help. No, really he would.
Yes, he could.
No, he couldnt Hal was blind, remember? And the irate miss
passed a hand violently in front of his face to demonstrate her point.
The sightless man didnt flinch an inch:
Trust me, Halle. It is time that I share a secret with you.
Secret? Halle could do secrets. Now he had her curious. So she
got busy about her normal setup routine, not so very chore-some
these days: just pulling out a few chairs, aligning exercise machines
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and partitions; opened a couple tables and floor mats. Hal was
indeed some small help with the tables, so long as he stood in one
place. The clinic was expecting a heavier crowd of clients that
morning, so she packed in more chairs than usual.
Finally, Bert asked Halle to lead him round the wall to the furthest
corner of the large room, well behind clusters of furniture and
equipment.
Now you go back to the stair and wait for me, he directed.
The arrangements of chairs, movable panels, various sizes of tables
and such presented a formidable maze of obstacles, even for
someone with two open eyes seeking traverse from one corner to its
opposite. Halbert stood silently for a long minute, breathed deeply
through his nose and started walking.
Halle hollered, but he answered cheerfully.
Keep talking. Your voice will help me to keep my bearing.
Hal, its all arranged differently than you remember.
He was counting on that. Why dont you sing your banana boat
song for me?
Please dont do this. You neednt prove anything to me. I
already know you are very disciplined.
But Halbert kept coming and despite the multiple unseen
barriers, he was winding his way without trip or stumble ever further
across the room. Halle wanted to lend some lawful help, so she
hummed and whistled Dayos tune.
Bert was sweating with concentration. So was Halle. She was sure
a foot must snag the low edge of a heavier treadmill apparatus, the
way he shuffled and suddenly turned. But something clued him to
pause just then, reaching out his bare toe to verify the hazard. Then
he safely walked around it.
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Presently, it was only ten more feet and one more line of chairs
the waiting area where Halles massage table was set. But even a
yoga master is sometimes guilty of overconfidence. He ran smack
against the blockade of seats, exactly where he should have expected
to meet them per many prior journeys across that area. Fortunately
the seat backs greeted his groping palms, and he simply buckled
bruised knees, turned and sat awkwardly across two of the chair
seats with a grunt.
Almost did it.
Ill sayAlmost! Halle cheered. How on earth Was it echolocation or something?
Blindsight.
Say that again?
As the doctor said, it is not that my eyes are unable to see. It is
the sight-processing center of my brain. Yet somehow, I am able to
intuit the way perhaps by using another brain area instead if I
focus my attention positively, apart from any fear of falling. Then I
can see to walk around the obstructions, one step at a time. He had
me test the theory in my hospital room some days ago. I have been
practicing on my own. Pain from my burns actually helps me to
concentrate.
Okay, Halle acknowledged. Now whats with the sword?
Second demonstration.
Hal No, you better put it down.
Please to place the melon upon your massage table.
My table? Halle did so, with no little reservation. She had seen
him do this trick before, but with eyes fully functional. She
remembered him to be quite deft with a blade, even while a sash
covered his eyes though he aways oriented himself before
lowering the blind, having memorized where the target lay.
Halbert raised his sword upright, held close to his brow and
parallel to his body a sort of praying posture.
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Now turn me several times around.

Halle played along, spinning him gently in place, just like the
donkey tail party game.
Now you realize its your favorite table destroyed when you
miss, Halle challenged as Bert paused to concentrate and ready his
swing. The front restaurant door was heard to bang shut from down
the stair an early breakfast guest.
No worry, Hal assured them both. He would buy her a new
table. Besides, he had been meditating upon that melon for an hour
on the floor before Halles arrival. It yet lives, so I see its energy
shining through the void.
Then before Halle could gulp a startled breath, Halbert turned
sharply and leapt forward, swinging his weapon in one expert
motion.
It was the sudden scream of panic from behind that made Halles
heart jump and rattle. Two figures stood at top of the stair, both
female. One was Mother Halbert. She wasnt the screamer. She
had seen that trick before also. The other was a young orderly from
the hospital, dispatched to seek desperately the patient gone AWOL.
Halle quickly swung a chair over to catch the swooning woman.
I was sure he was going to kill somebody, she stuttered.
No, Halle spoke most comfortingly. Dummy was only showing
off. Then she regretfully informed the circus clown that he had
missed the melon.
Halbert was fingering his blade, then made all three women wince
when he extended his tongue for a taste.
I must ask you to look again, Halle. My weapon bears testimony
of sweet success.
Halle marched over to her massage table. Thankfully, he had
missed that as well.
Look, Mother and Whoever you are. Anybody can see that the
fruit is
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The melon appeared undisturbed and whole at first glimpse. But

when Halle rapped it with a knuckle to check the fruit for ripeness, it
was her turn to scream as top hemisphere tumbled to the floor. Some
guts dribbled out for affect.
The orderly shuddered.
News of the rogue patients near-murderous escapade was all over
the hospital and half of K-street by next day. Bert himself was
exhausted by the ordeal, almost collapsing half way down the
restaurant stairway. The orderly had to phone crewmates to bring a
gurney across the boulevard, because she feared her patient couldnt
safely cross on foot. She was right.
Doctor sternly reprimanded Bert for risking reversal of astounding
progress so far. Seems their prize case had managed to halve the
expected rate of recovery. Nobody bothered to mention the fact to
either Halbert or Halle; and a shame, as it would have cheered the
moody girl considerably.
She was seated by his bed at the regular afternoon hour. Nurses
and staff were unusually whispery and wary of the couple.
Halle didnt care to notice. She was too busy fussing and fuming
over Hals presumptuous behavior. The doctor had spoken sternly to
her as well, noting how grafts beside both knees had pulled slightly
askew to start bleeding further risk of infection: Probably not the
result of prescribed exercises; more likely caused by his attempt to
assume the lotus position. Therefore, physical therapy must be
postponed a week. Poor Hal was soon suffering her verbal
thrashing.
When the girlfriends tirade began to stutter, as if she were finally
running on fumes, Halbert answered back.
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You look sad, was all he had to say.

More like mad, you mean, and the girl glared back at him. Then
she repented the bitchy tone. Halle offered, quite tenderly to give
him an hour of prayer therapy.
Yes, please, he accepted. And I will also pray for you.
She didnt answer either way, just settled into the familiar posture
of prior days and weeks; she began focusing, listening, yielding to
the refreshing fount that never failed to answer her plea.
You have been grieving heavily; I knew that already.
Halle had never told him so. She thought Hal had enough trouble
of his own.
But today you are especially sad the color tells me so.
Then Halbert took her hand, seizing it from its airborne position,
interrupting her ministry again.
Please to tell me what really upset you today, Dearest. I cannot
rest until you do.
No it wasnt the doctor or the boss lady again. School was fine
and Annie was a better friend than ever.
If you must know I guess its a touch of homesickness.
You miss your mother.
A tear escaped the young womans eye. Somehow, Hal knew when
and where to blindly wipe the trembling cheek. But Halle quickly
chased his fingers away.
Im okay. Really, I am. Just a silly dream, in fact.
Only a dream?
Yes it was just a normal, everyday dream. I do know the
difference.
It was indeed a dream, this one featuring her miscreant cat, Talle.
Momma had declared just before boarding the airport bus that
she should have brought along that black-hearted cat to leave upon
Halles New York doorstep. The schoolgirls onetime totem was
making their lives miserable, Mom and Uncle. Of course, Momma
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didnt mean it, really. She too, like daughter, was prone to
overstatement where just a hint of encouragement would suffice.
Halle wouldnt have minded caring for the cat again. But her
dream turned affectionate pet into a roving wildcat instead. He was
stalking her like a lion hunts large game. At unexpected moments
during the dream-day, her cat would leap at her bare knees and
ankles with cruel bitings and scratchings. He used to do that as a
kitten, actually, though back then it was only her heels. But fully
grown, the behavior was proving a worrisome menace.
Halle woke up angry and thoroughly disappointed with her pet.
How could she continue to cherish any animal that refused to make
up after a fight. It simply felt very strange and wrong Her Talle
was become somehow alien. Nor was Halle so eager to welcome
this animal into her new home.
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Seven
Two weeks later, the doctors formally released Halbert from the
hospital into the care of Mother and Halle. He sported all fresh
bandages and carried a printed schedule for outpatient check-ups and
physical therapy. Occupationally, Bert was graduated from all
rehabilitative training. He could perform personal, hygienic and
domestic tasks slowly but safely. They taught him to use the blind
persons cane for navigating outside and in.
Halle was reading to him any mail and such, but her patient could
usually intuit what a message was about, soon as the senders name
was read to him. Halle would read the whole length to herself
anyway, just to be sure.
Go on to the next one, he urged.
Just a minute there may be something else here important.
There isnt. Just organizational blather.
Then thirty seconds later, How did you know that?
Halle was also celebrating a milestone. She passed semester finals
with flourish, so both were looking forward to a well-deserved break
in her obligations. They had just finished dinner out, their first as a
dating couple. Halle started to suggest a movie then stopped
herself.
Oh yeah. I forgot youre still blind.
Halbert chuckled. Sometimes I even imagine myself forgetting.
Doctor said that normal vision might return to Halbert any day or
any year or never. Halle was present at that conference and
suggested another whack on the head. Doc laughed then he
glanced nervously at the feisty girl again to make certain it was
meant as a joke.
This evening, however, Halle was feeling unusually charitable
toward her buddy. He had demonstrated exceptional attitude, focus
and power of recovery. Hal had also been a perfect gentleman all
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evening, stepping up to open a door or shift her seat and saying the
sweetest thing:
You are luminous tonight, Halle.
She thanked him for the complement, but reminded the dummy he
was blind, after all. Besides, the proper word at least in novels and
movieswas radiant.
Truly, Halbert insisted, Though I couldnt tell you what color
dress you are wearing, your very Life is a light to me.
Whatever said Halle, after a rather awkward pause. But she
was genuinely touched by his tender speech.
The couple was strolling hand in hand down the boulevard walk,
two blocks away from Mothers restaurant door. Halle was filling
the pause of their conversation with silent speculation.
What if Hal wanted to kiss her goodnight? She had been lobbing
him passing pecks for weeks now, usually after calling him Dummy
else it was softer kisses after she believed him asleep in his
hospital bed. But there had not yet been time (or peace) for any
really romantic expression.
This was beginning to feel like that kind of night.
Sudden movement under shadow between buildings made Halle stop
and yank instinctively backward at Halberts arm. He stopped, but
didnt turn toward the disturbance.
Halle had never handled a gun herself, but the clack of a pistols
ammunition cartridge being locked into position is a singular sound.
Her eyes had adjusted enough to distinguish two hooded characters,
one standing just behind the others shoulder. The forward figure
held weapon. His speech was slightly affected New York urban
Korean male:
Hey looky, Kinko. Its a blin guy.
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Berts white cane served more to identify his disability to others

than any other help. These particular others were not the helping
type.
Jus shoot him and grab her bag, rasped the one at rear. It would
be an easy escape between buildings to the opposite block.
An how if I wish to play firs you know, like those goons in
the game.
Oh, you an that video game! Its all you care bout.
Hey! barked the first. Who got the piece, huh? I wan some fun.
Nobody see us here. An maybe I wanna take the beetch with us
show her goo time, hey?
Halle had already thought to extend one arm slowly, offering the
purse dangling from that hand. Her heart was not beating
abnormally. Somehow, she wasnt caring so much about their threat
to her. It wasnt fear so much as rage that quieted her pulse. If she
could just shove poor Hal over against the building on this side, he
might be shielded from any ill-aimed bullet.
But the blind guy was not even turned toward them. It seemed he
wanted to try looking from out his left ear at these would-be
assassins. Halle didnt dare move toward her friend, however
vulnerable he might be. She doubted that his Kung Fu skills had
ever actually been tested on the street.
A distant siren was obviously making Kinko anxious to go. Still
the other insisted on pressing his own will, gesturing with the
handgun.
I know what, he declared. Make Blin Man dance.
What? That jus stupeed.
Go head, Blin Man. Do a dance fo yo beetch now.
Then Halle cringed, suddenly expecting an explosion of motion.
For Halbert had turned, pivoting neatly upon one heel and taken a
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distinctly kung-fu-ish posture, neatly obstructing the girls

intervention. Just what was the blind man doing?
I not like this, Boss, muttered the raspy youth. Jus shoot and
go But Boss was laughing.
Dance, DummyDance! Then he turned the gun point toward
Halle. Dance now, befo I shoot yo beetch.
Halles purse dropped with a thud. The unarmed Kinko reflexively
moved, hoping to reach for it between Boss and the buildings edge.
But an elbow jabbed him back into place.
That siren was getting closer.
Halle felt heat welling from her gut, mingled indignation and
shame. Who was this guy calling Dummy? She despised the smalltime crooks miniature world and self-consuming arrogance. But the
shame was a reaction to Halberts stubborn complicity. His pose had
dissolved into slow-motion liftings and swingings of bandaged
limbs. A sandal clopped forward; then the other foot landed far
behind on dirty concrete. His red-tipped cane dangled deftly from
thumb and fingers of his left hand, just like a stage-dancing dandy.
It was an excruciatingly slow dance routine, fluidly skating in
place side to side, arms and legs switching places; for surely it
seemed this blind man had practiced it before. But Halle hardly
noticed, until it was done, that her beau had moved between her
body and the weapon. His rhythmic undulations induced a calming
effect upon all watchers.
Soon Kinko stood more relaxed behind Boss, who had lowered his
gun to aim lazily at Berts feet instead of Halles head. This motion,
like surges of poured molasses, felt enchanting disarming.
Pow, powPow-pow, Boss uttered softly, lifting the point of his
weapon sloppily with each pretended blast. The boy squealed in
delight at his game. He hardly noticed the dancers quickening pace.
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Bert was shifted backward to their faces now, stooping low into
crouches, performing spins and leg sweeps powerful enough to trip
any who might dare enter that new circumference of defense. Next
move might turn him round to face adversaries once again.
The siren sounded no more distant than a single block round the
last intersection. Halbert skillfully tossed his cane from left to right
and began snaking its upraised red tip in counterpoint to his feet and
opposite palm. Halle couldnt see the perps eyes, but she felt both
pair searching to follow progress of that skinny stick.
Even Halle had failed to observe imminence of the sirens
approach. It blared rudely from behind the corner building, flashing
red and white as it turned abruptly their way.
Boss froze in sudden uncertainty. Kinko was pulling him
backward. The Blind Mans stick blurred back and forth like an
ethereal shield of whirling fan blades. Between that and those
swinging legs, this dance was suddenly looking very dangerous.
Smack!
Boss hollered in pain and surprise. Halle heard metal clatter
against a public waste can and sidewalk stone, fully two doors down
the walk. Then both their hooded opponents were swallowed by
deeper shadow as they hastily retreated from the confusion.
The ambulance had already passed them by, to stop finally under a
flashing neon bar sign half a block further ahead. Bert shuffled
swiftly over to where the gun had fallen, verifying its position with
his cane. He placed a hand inside his sweater and poked the side
pocket inside out, then stooped and grabbed the pistol by its barrel.
That same ominous clack released the clip, disarming the weapon.
Then he stood to follow Halle again with both pieces clanking
loosely in his pocket.
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Dont forget your bag, he said then offered an arm to the

voiceless girl.
They soon caught up with the ambulance, its lights still flashing
blindingly. Halle stepped up to the drivers window and asked him
to radio police. Soon the crew came back and the vehicle drove
away with darkened lightsfalse alarm.
As they waited, Halle stood clinging to her man, studying every
building shadow. It was late and nobody else was likely to be out
walking. She searched for dark hooded figures anyway and startled
whenever a moth shadowed lamplight.
Sorry your date had to end this way, concluded the officer, some
thirty minutes later.
They were seated comfortably and securely now at one of
Mothers restaurant tables. The cop seemed familiar with the place.
Halbert declared most unexpectedly that he thought the pair of
young criminals lived at such and such, just round the other
boulevard. Perhaps he recognized a voice or a name or something
else connecting one of them to a prior K-town acquaintance.
Halle wasnt sure what to think of her protector.
So tell me, Dum Something caught at the girls throat. Tell
us how you managed to knock that gun blindly from the kids hand.
And where did that little dance step come from? You never said
anything about studying dance.
Capoeira, Hal answered the second question first.
And that is?
The officer was fingering his pen, wondering if this was supposed
to go in his report.
Its Portuguese for chicken fight; a Brazilian dance. Caribbean
slaves couldnt get away with practicing to fight, but their masters
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never suspected anything of their dancing. The art obscures some

lethal moves.
And the gun? How did you ever hope to hit that with your stick?
I was watching. I could feel the boys hand extended
threateningly toward us. It shone an ugly reddish hue. So it was no
harder to strike than a melon.
What did he say, Miss?
Oh dont mind him, Officer. Halle offered. Theres no
accounting for what a blind man says he sees.
Uh right hand? And the officer wrote something anyway.
Cop said goodbye, promising to check prints from the gun against
the address provided. He seemed confident they would catch the
kids. But even if they didnt another gun was removed from the
streets, at least. Then the couple was alone.
Portuguese dancing, huh? Halle muttered. Is there really
anything you dont already know?
Halbert responded readily: Only most of the secrets of the cosmos
and Life.
Hours later, Halle fitfully slept. For some nights lately the girl had
dreamed repeatedly of Talle, her black-haired miscreant cat. It had
been one subject of the couples animated talk, before the attempted
assault. This night started much the same, dreaming and quickly
rousing her dream-souls indignation.
Then Halle awoke in a panic, her chest aching and unable to draw
fresh breath.
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Eight
One more heavy stone, perhaps, and the curse would be removed.
Jaguar Baby was breathing very shallow, no longer able to cry. He
surely couldnt remember, but villagers tried once before to perform
this purging rite. Back then, the recluse grandfather had boldly
intervened, only just in time to remove the chubby infant from harm,
from certain suffocation. Now this same baby was thirteen winters
old and proven the menace all had feared.
The boy wasnt right in the head: so had island mothers agreed.
Jaguar Baby couldnt clap or chant in rhythm with his peers. The
simplest tasks confused him. He would never make a proper warrior
or mate. Perhaps he wasnt fully human.
Jaguar Boy was a sneak. He loved to tease and startle fellow
villagers of all ages. He spent hours of every day creeping silently
after unsuspecting folk: one was busy about subsistence chores,
another just dozing against the post of a hut. Baby Jaguar wanted
only to play and felt nothing but affection for each victim, even as he
leapt upon another back and squeezed the blushing neck. He never
meant to hurt anyone and even cried when a boy or girl feigned
injury. When an older boy beat and bruised him for the insult,
Jaguar Boy felt chastened never abused. Then three minutes later
he was pouncing on another, growling like a cougar cub.
Grandfather warned him that island people didnt like him. His
games just made them angrier.
Why dont they want to play, Ginfa?
Because you still talk like a baby; to them you look very
different, he rasped. And if you dont stop this bad behavior, the
elders will grow angry too and finally have you purged.
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Jaguar Boy knew what that was about. Though, all the other
children and many adults persisted to call him dumb. To his own
ear, he talked and sang same as everybody else. He didnt think his
round face, flat nose and almond eyes looked anything like the face
of crouching Jaguar Rock. But when they berated him and named
him Dum-dum, the boy felt it must be deserved after all. So the
threat of purging made him ponder and rub himself inappropriately
while mothers looked on in scandalized alarm.
How long must those spineless elders postpone what was clearly
inevitable? Even the dummy believed it so called himself Doomdoom. Thats why the boy never tried to run when villagers
surrounded him and chanted the judgment chorus. He just bowed his
head and joined his voice to their song, prompting many accusers to
laugh at his gullibility until Ginfa plunged through the ring to
rescue him again.
Then back at the hut tucked remotely up the islands ravine, the
Spirit-touched boy would start begging once again for Doom-doom
to go play jaguar with the other island children. It would ever be a
lonely game, though it sought to engage every island dweller.
However, this day the grandfather was away to harvest hemp for
mending their fishing nets. The boy had been growing quickly and
landed hard against a teen girls rump. When elder sisters pointed
fingers his way, Dum-dum was already crouched against the
community oven. Both his hands were nervously busy beneath his
lap mat. Girls were whispering especially loud, ascribing to this
village idiot another epithet which he had heard before; was
probably crude, though he hardly suspected what it meant. The elder
men were truly appalled at the teen girls newest complaint the
protrusion she claimed was pressed against her back. This was a
clear violation of taboo, right there in the village yard under light of
the sun!
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Elders were not feeling charitable. Sentries reported sighting, from

atop the Jaguar Rock, a flash of boatmens paddles war canoes
passing the landward horizon under early morning glare. The
islanders were ever in fear that mainland invaders might cross the
channel to raid their refuge for fresh captives. Perhaps Jaguar Spirit
required appeasement after all. Was it time to offer up the bastard
cougar pup?
What had been a chest-high oven mound was shortly reduced by
many eager hands to a ruin of cluttered stones. It wouldnt require all
of those rocks to finish the cairn piled atop Jaguar Baby. The frenzy
slowed and outraged voices dampened. Some executioners stepped
back to admire the efficiency of their judgment.
Every generation had one odd birth, at least.
Jaguar Spirit was Protector, cherished and feared as totem of their
people. Though, no such living beast was ever spied lurking about
their island. Except for the natural black volcanic effigy of Jaguar
that guarded one promontory of the crescent bay, villagers feared no
predator from the jungle interior, either to hunt or be hunted. This
island had been purged. Perhaps one or more of the fabled cougars
remained in the mainland jungles, where Mayan intruders now
hunted. Let Jaguar feed upon those people now!
Yet some villagers reported hearing an ominous grumbling, like
the growl of a cougar roaming their island retreat. Did one of the
beasts finally swim the channel? This could be worse even than a
landing of enemy slave-takers.
Perhaps the Spirit was complaining from within Jaguar Rock.
But no, said the Eldest it must be only Jaguar Baby, up at the
old mans hut. The boys voice was lowering, like thirteen-year-olds
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will do. Still, there was talk of sending a party of hunters up the
ravine past the hut and into the islands heart. All would rest most
secure knowing that the rumor was proven false. Else perhaps this
community offering would pacify ethereal unrest.
Dum-dum had ceased to cry or even moan for a handful of moments.
Just a couple more stones ought to finish the job. A command was
uttered; chanting subsided. Was Jaguars cub still breathing?
Air all around the village began to vibrate. Two women yelped. A
younger child cried out. Then the roaring rumble repeated.
That was no voice of adolescent boy! And Jaguar Baby was
already too smothered to utter any such sound. It had to be the
hunting Jaguar herself or the Spirit come to prey. The call rose
from a groan to grating roar, definitely from behind inland brush.
Bodies scattered, large and small. The youngest were swept up
and carried kicking to be hushed safely inside thatch huts hardly the
safest sanctuary against a full-sized cat. The mass retreat was chased
by approach of a single pair of feet.
The old man stumbled frantically into the village. Surely, he was
too late to save the mutant this time.
No, let him be: So commanded village Chief, among those hidden
safely in the lodge. Grandfather was busily unpiling rock from atop
the still boys body. Better that Jaguar Spirit be spared further
annoyance. The boys freshly killed body might satisfy beast. This
foolish man was merely sparing them all worry of a frustrated
predator cat by removing stony obstruction. Of course, Grandfather
himself might be killed or maimed which would be regrettable,
being their most skilled medicine man. Too late to worry over that.
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Yet, none would dare emerge from safe house until the morning
light. It only took Ginfa some moments to relieve the choking
weight from Doom-dooms back. There was a murmured exchange:
Play dead for now, until all the stones are lifted.
Suddenly, Jaguar Baby sprang shakily to feet and darted into
shadow to race his guardian back up the ravine.
Likely, nobody had witnessed the boys resurrection. But Ginfa
knew well that islanders must never see Dum-dum again. Villagers
might assume that Grandfather had buried the body at sea.
By moonlight, the pair pulled an old war canoe from hiding. A
few items were packed securely inside. When Dummy proved inept
at handling boat paddles, Ginfa was forced to join the boy and ferry
them the shortest distance to the base of black Jaguar Rock. The
medicine man jumped ashore and towed boat and boy round to a
shelf facing mainland.
The two embraced one final time and the pilotless canoe was
shoved hard into the placid channel where advancing tide might
carry its charge shoreward. Else, Jaguar Boy must learn the hard
way to paddle his boat to safety.
Oli meca: rubber folk Thats what others called these people.
One might even say they looked the part, squarish fleshy features
and roly-poly frame. Olman was the Mayan word nor was it
complementary.
Before retreating up the coast or off to channel islands, the
forebears of Jaguar Baby had farmed a latex jungle valley saddling
the continental isthmus. Grandfathers ancient uncle had once taken
him as a boy to explore ancestral country. Plan had been to search
all the way up to climb legendary Jaguar Hill. From there it was said
that a pilgrim could gaze beyond the furthest shore at another ocean
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horizon marking the End of Time and Suffering where even the sun
finally rests.
Ginfa told that story to Jaguar Baby many times; though the
explorers had been forced to turn around before traveling far, due to
threat of Mayan marauders. One must avoid their capture at all cost
sacrificers and cannibals of human hearts. The Mayan gods and
priests most famously Feathered Serpents culthad insatiable
appetites, so they were constantly searching to replenish daily
offerings. They built great stair-stepped temples, surrounded by city
centers of trade and sport.
The latter occupation is what first attracted warriors to Olman
peoples valley, where the flabby folk had first demonstrated how
ubiquitous ballcourt events are enhanced by the magic of vulcanized
tree milk. A rubberized ball bounced many times longer and a game
moved twice as fast. These contests were far less expensive than
war between provinces and so were credited for the flowering of
Mayan civilization. But it would one day spell their demise, as well,
when populations became ungainly and victim classes scarce,
making it difficult to supply ceremonial dues.
The grandfather understood why priesthoods demanded so much
blood, for he was also descended from holy officeholders. Olmec
tradition sought power and favor of Jaguar Spirit, though She was
never so wantonly thirsty or wasteful as Feathered Serpent.
The rival deitys servants broadcast ongoing demand for the
furtherance of their spiritual dominion. Life is power and human life
the highest yielding. However, the Mayans honored Jaguar as well
and specially prized sacrifice of a priceless Jaguar Baby. Such a
child was marked by the god as more than merely human.
Consuming such a heart might accelerate a priest from mere initiate
to demigod. To feed upon the suffering of a cougar cub soul was
coveted far more than a temple of gold or holy elixirs of cacao,
vanilla and coffee bean.
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Mainland people will never play with Jaguar Boy. So the

grandfather had tried to coach him. Doom-doom must not let himself
be seen. Always creep and hide in shadow as the great cat does
when she is hunted by humankind. And the boy had seemed to
understand. There was little of other lore within his feeble grasp.
Though, he did love to play Ginfas magic jaguar drum.
Perhaps the old man thought it would protect the boy, summoning
Jaguar spirit Herself to claim human changeling as her kitten. Else
maybe the instruments cougar-like growl would spook the Mayan
slavers enough to maintain some distance from its drummer. Jaguar
Baby was comforted, either way, having a heart yet wise enough to
feel affectionate gratitude for his Ginfas parting gift. He discovered
it stashed tightly packed inside an oilskin sack with several days
store of foodstuffs. Dummy knew the device very well, having spent
happy evening hours rasping the jaguar drum and trying to imitate its
haunting voice with his own.
The boy awakened to gentle thrumming of the war canoes landing
against a rocky shore. Just two weeks prior, that same beach had
seen twenty-foot hurricane swells. It had no Jaguar Rock for
protection against storm or other threat. Jaguar Boy left the boat and
used a paddle (as Ginfa once demonstrated) to hoist and saddle the
bags of provisions across his infirm shoulders. He and his treasures
were soon hidden under dense cover of giant rubber trees, without
witness of any other soul save one.
Golden cat eyes watched lazily from shade of an empty flood
channel.
Halles spirit observed the boy too, from her vantage across
millennia of Time. There was never a more true-to-life projection
upon mind or movie house screen. Cauchemars picture puddles
were crude instruments compared to this. Watcher Ariel was at her
side, helping the girls imagination replay these events in stunning
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detail. However, that spirits record was not the primary source of
her intimate knowledge.
Halle was given to know far more of this Jaguar Babys history
past, present and future more even than the grandfather. She
understood the forces that shaped his environment and his inner
being. Never within the brief life of his kind could Boy hope to
realize the purpose and meaning that Halle beheld, even were his
brain granted normal capacity of comprehension.
Halle recognized Dum-dums disability, a condition even more
common with the modern preference for mid-life motherhood
assuming that mother will dare to value and preserve such a fateful
life.
Jaguar Babys own mother had proved to be one so brave It was
she who died to save her son.
She was also raised by Ginfa, had barely tasted tender
possessiveness of mother or motherhood. All other village matrons
knew the orphan girl as specially needy and nave, were inclined to
shun her for that reason alone. Several of the men and boys of their
fellowship had known this youngest of mothers too well. So
everyone shared guilt of misconception all the more reason to mask
the truth with a favored occultic myth.
Jaguar Baby was not human at all, and one day his spirit Mother
would come hunting for her own. Better, for the safety of all, to
banish the were-jaguar from their company. Deity is admirable, to
be honored, feared and appeased. It is never desirable to allow a
goddess easy approach. One should not attract the Jaguars notice.
Perhaps a male jungle cat had visited the isle and enflowered the
unloved maiden; but more likely she was Jaguar Spirit masquerading
as one of their own. Such would be just like the god, able to blend
with shadow or leafy bower, stealing deceptively right into their
midst. Add to this that the mothers adopted father was last in
ancient lineage of Jaguar ritual priests.
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Therefore this infant was marked from birth as deserving of

condemnation animal eyes and fangs, wide forehead and nose, large
round head, toes spread like jaguar paws, inhumanly feline flexibility
of spine and four limb joints. As a toddler, he preferred traveling
with front paws on the ground far longer than human toddlers. He
talked late also and never quite intelligibly, preferring to growl or
whine instead.
So when elders also labeled him dummy (as in imitation) jaguar,
he never blinked at the title merely a new kind of game, not
slanderous; and he proceeded to play the part of island pet. Dummy
started stalking and pouncing unannounced, which did nothing for
his popularity. Then when thrown to the ground in alarm and
disgust, he would fall like a cat, flipping back to all-fours, and laugh
or growl even louder.
And now, this Cosmic Hour, it was the 20th Century mind of Halle
watching empathizing, evaluating from cover of ethereal shadow.
She felt and owned the guilt of this boys fellows, the village elders,
dead mother and guardian grandfather all combined as a single
Folk Soul.
The boy himself was an Innocent; such was the very definition of
guiltlessness unaccountability for human sin. Yet (like an elder
sister) Halle also felt the boys persuasion, a fatalistic acceptance of
doom. It was guilt without dread, conscience stripped of selfjustification.
Blessed are the meek, she had read it declared:
Happy are they so bereft of spirit; for these last to be valued of
woman or man will be first, before all the Redeemed.
And happy never happier now was Jaguar Baby. Sure, he cried
quite readily in sadness of separation from the only family of man he
had known. How many times did he drag himself home to Ginfas
hut, bruised and bleeding, the most personal attention he would ever
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receive from normal village children? Yet his overflowing affection

prompted immediate forgiveness from the wellspring of his soul,
forgetting utterly all unjustness and abuse that life had thus far
apportioned. There was, by his assessment, absolutely nothing to
forgive. And now, it was Doom-doom (though other village boys
were all stronger and smarter, more deserving) now he was chosen
to enjoy adventure, to wander the Olmecan peoples homeland.
That first night he camped contented and alone, just inside
shoreline cover of the broadleaf oli trees. Well, not exactly alone, as
already noted. He didnt notice, but another low growl was
humming along with his jaguar drum recital.
Jaguar Boy traveled south, following the flood channel, which soon
started to fill and became a slow moving stream. He didnt move
fast: The same genetic constitution which equipped Boy with
tenaciously positive outlook had also deprived his physique of
muscle tone and endurance. The climb was gradual, but by midafternoon he was exhausted and mesmerized by monotony of insect
noise, by advancing rubber tree columns. He collapsed to rest beside
the toppled ruin of an abandoned Olmec oven, twin to the one back
home remade a tomb for his executed body.
Dum-dum had already passed several such artifacts village rubble
heaps, stone constructions and carvings. Colossal statuary made him
shiver, as the facial expressions appeared unfriendly, stern and
exaggeratedly so. He didnt know or care that these were all
remnants of his forebears, a civilization that once dominated this
wide valley from North coast to South.
And a Jaguar Baby borne to one of those generations would be
celebrated and cherished, treated like a prince, until the day when
elders judged it expedient to offer Jaguar Spirit the ultimate
conciliation. Such bodies were treasured as certain insurance against
the unsought interest and interferences of Deity. You see, Jaguar
Babies dont survive long naturally, doomed by nature to an ignoble
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death. Far better to appoint the day for the totem child to be paraded
up Jaguar Hill, there to offer what the Spirit most desired in proper
ceremony. It was always a festive day, and Jaguar Baby would
enjoy it no less than all his celebrants.
The jaguar lioness followed. She was darkly pelted, a smoky black
like night. As the days wore on, she would allow herself to be seen
walking in tandem up the opposite side of the waterway, though
typically only during early morning or dusk. This caused Doomdoom some panic at first, rousing early for another days travel or
rushing even further before nightfall in futile hope of escaping her
notice. Thus he made uncharacteristic progress.
But Boy finally accepted Beasts silent company. After dark he
kept Ginfas jaguar drum growling for as long as he stayed wakeful.
And when the animal answered with low chuffings and groans, the
Jaguar Boy intuited speech:
Jaguars Spirit was there to protect her cub.
He once tried tasting hungrily the bitter milk sucked from twig of a
latex tree perhaps that prompted the visions of his magic drum
directing growth of root and limb into shape of palatial dwellings.
Even as he dreamed, the precious instrument remained sitting
outside its sack where he could snatch it up, just in case the jungles
chief predator came searching.
Fortunately for travelers and villagers unlike other jungle cats
Jaguar hardly ever develops appetite for human flesh.
Mayan scouts didnt know this. They were stalking two full days
before Jaguar disappeared long enough for men to sneak upon the
boy and smother squeaks in his own empty food sack. They took
turns carrying the bundle hoisted over tattooed shoulders then quit
the streamside to follow a different course southward.
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Jaguar wasnt fooled. She found and followed their trail,

undetectable as a ghost under daylight. But she haunted their
nighttime encampments with growls of annoyance.
Butcher the rubber rat boy! The great cat may lose interest when
easy prey is dispatched. Then they could divide the flesh between
them.
Too soft and fatty for good eating, answered their captain. Only
fools will fail to recognize the value of this find. It isnt a boy at all.
Its a juvenile human-Jaguar bastard. Such are worthless as slaves;
Olman dont usually let them live this long. Yet only the Serpent god
is worthy of this feast. They must take their prize to the
southernmost temple. Priests will pay a pretty price to taste blood of
a Jaguar heart even if it is made of rubber.
They shared a cruel laugh and rested one more hour.
Long before dawn, they were marching again, not daring to force
this captive to run ahead of their sticks, as most pre-market slaves
were treated. The cougar might retake their quarry if spotted moving
separately on two feet.
Dum-dum didnt complain while carried under wraps. He could
barely breathe and slept in a delirium of dehydration. His captors
had begun to exchange worried remarks as to what such a catch
would earn them dead. So they stopped and unshrouded the boy,
forcing him to swallow a bitter cacao liqueur. Reassured by his
choking coughs, they resumed the previous torture and soon had help
of another band of warriors to carry the wiggly package.
Jaguar Boys struggles had ceased again by the time a third
company crossed paths. He could hear the shouts and chants of
other groups ascending the same slope to their right and far to left.
Dum-dum tried to roar his fiercest jaguar challenge, but the
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surrounding crowd of pilgrim voices made his no more notable than

creaking caoutchouc tree limbs.
Thousands of rainbow parrots were flushed in clouds from the
foliage as this ground-bound human migration progressed. The
screaming bird calls set Doom-dooms ears to ringing.
Abruptly, he cried out in pain as tailbone met stone pavement.
They stopped to wait in one corner of a walled court, quite as wide
as a modern stadium. The sack was ripped rudely from Boys head.
Dum-dum blinked away the glare and was begging for a sip of
water, when his vision focused upon the highest skyline just outside
the square of stone edifices. It was a great religious center, and
island villagers had no conception that such a place could be made
by man. But Doom-doom had eyes only for the hilltop beyond.
Jaguar Rock!
Had the mean men dragged him all the way home? But Ginfa
said he could never go back! He began to worry what island mothers
would be saying to elders now. Perhaps he was too old to play
hunting cougar any longer.
But what was wrong with Mother Jaguar? The familiar monument
looked tired. Her stiffened crouch was lazy now, worn down to a
sagging slump. Her shiny black surface was turned old and gray.
Another man flashed a knife, making the boy recoil. His ankle
bands were cut so they could march him through a gateway past
another towering building. When they emerged from its shadow, the
situation dawned more clearly upon childish imagination.
Jaguars form was reclined behind another mountain-sized
structure. It also had been part of the hill serving ancient Olmec
ritual. They too had ascended yearly to visit this sacred place and
propitiate their gods. But lately it was Maya priests who forced
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minions to lifetimes of labor, reshaping one foot of the mount to

squared pyramid design, with hundreds of steps fashioned roughly
from foot to peak upon three sides. The greystone effigy of Jaguar
had not escaped abomination, all colors of dye spattered like graffiti
along its spine. From another angle, Jaguar Hill could be described
as serpentine instead. So Mayans renamed it for their favored god.
Suddenly, Dum-dums view was obstructed by another decorated
body. The Serpents high priest had rushed forth to verify reports.
This figure appeared hardly human to the mind of village boy. Priest
had slanting painted eyes and wore a scaly skin cowl crested with
rows of uncountable feathers long green quetzal mostly, with
flashes of bright parrot hues. They glimmered distractedly under the
noon hour sun. Moving patterns of metallic color and silver scale
made Doom-doom feel sick and dizzy so he raised one front set
of claws and spread the grotesquely widened toes of a lower paw;
then matched the evil mans leer with his own snarl of jaguar
defiance.
Next sequence was especially hard for Halle to observe. She had
been trying all along to disrupt this experience with tangents of
contemplation, and she finally pleaded with Ariel to stop, else speed
up the vision at least. But Watcher had his directive from a higherpurposed authority. His charge was appointed now to fully relive this
cruel history, even if only vicariously across time. The dread of a
fate she knew to expect and unable to warn its victim it was not
made better when obliged to suffer the shame of an infantile
obsession.
Maybe it helped the poor boy to cope. He was caged like an
animal in a sort of pit, probably served once as a well. Surrounding
him were eyes, mostly young and many painted, being the temple
flock of nubile female slaves. Their skins were tattooed like scales of
a snake, from a toe up one leg; several coils wound round a bare
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belly, back of the neck and up the opposite arm. Some were dressed
in flashy colors like the priesthood they were preened to serve.
The dummy knew he was in grave trouble, deserving of death as
ever. But this he could accept, so long as it was merely looks and
jeers used to torture him. Besides, even Jaguar Baby had learned to
understand that any threat of death was far less to be feared than
enslavement in this or after life. A proper death, like sacrifice or
execution, would set a spirit free. It was the half-dying of old age,
disease or battle injury that most haunted folk of that era.
Yet here was a defenseless disabled soul, so young and innocent of
conscientious wrongdoing, confronting the very worst doom of a
lifetime. He couldnt understand much of his captors language
(though Halle knew exactly what they shouted).
His eyes were staring back in utter fascination at the serpentine
dance of one maiden. She knew just how to make that snake tattoo
appear lively and ready to strike. All the other girls were giggling
crudely, pointing at the little boys crotch.
Doom-doom was busy again at his latest nervous habit.
And if a dream body could blush, Halles must have turned
crimson as she averted her stare on the boys behalf. She even tried
to persuade Ariel it was better to shut eyes.
What do you mean all of them? he queried, and blinked some
hundreds in protest.
What profanity of human dignity: that a male libido will be roused
by view of young female accusers, even as they prepare him for the
altar. An adolescent bull would do no better but even the
sacrificial bull is merely beast, never Man.
Then Halle made a decision her empathy demanded it. For that
Hour, she allowed her soul to become the Jaguar Boy. One moment
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she felt herself among those who stood aside condemning. Next
she was he.
Doom-doom felt funny. He arrested his hands and clasped them
tight behind his neck. He turned his fleshy body sideways to the
audience. Dum-dum had heard a whisper inside his brain, like the
speech of jungle jaguar days before.
This weakness was shameful. A grown man like Ginfa would not
be made sport of gawking girls. Jaguar Boy must face the
consequence of guilt bravely and alone.
Halle felt the boys edgy lust yield to resolve, a calming resolution.
The other girls soon lost interest and slithered away.
But the curtain of their scaly bodies had opened to reveal a larger
figure looming behind the high priest again, flanked by a dozen
temple guards.
It was time.
Jaguar Boy was seized by the arms. A sea of bodies parted to
allow Chief Prelate to pass. The child was suspended limply,
stretched taught between two muscled guards; followed the priest for
a long climb up steps of the pyramid.
They mounted the top stair in a leap, throwing Jaguar Boy to his
back upon a wide altar stone. Its granite finish was marbleized with
sticky bands of rusty hue centuries of bloody ceremony.
The alien-faced boy glared defiantly up at his prosecutor.
The feather-crested Serpent-priest towered above, obsidian knife in
hand. He admired this tiny jaguar spirit. It would require no
numbing drink to keep him in his place. (Nor could Doom-doom
have swallowed that draft.) The cultural soul comprising
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generations of Olman sufferings was contained here in a single body.

Perhaps there was more to the rubber people than everyone assumed.
His own Deity will be pleased to harvest vitality from this offering.
And His highest priest was to partake of greater power than any
previous sacrifice had rendered him thus far.
Halle could only cringe as Serpent Lord prepared to strike. He was
so obviously drunk with lust for spiritual increase. She had witnessed
such a character before. Every age of human culture was soiled by
willful claimants of Lucifers ancient lottery. To these people, the
fallen star was known as Kukulcan, later named Quetzalcoatl.
Yet none would finally understand not until it was too late to
retract their life-sworn allegiance how that Prefect of Deception
would seize and sacrifice even His faithful servants. They too must
yield every drop of blood, every photon of life power.
Must Halitha endure this sacrilegious deed again, never to be
purged from memory? Was there truly no sleep, no death deep
enough to cleanse her imagination of injustice? None other yet
knew, not even Watcher, the ultimate end of this tale.
Oh, the humanity! Another hourglass emptied. Would nobody
step forth to save innocent life Nobody human, at least?
Adam was born to fellowship with many kindred species, those
lesser and some Elders of Earths original creation. One creature
still remembered that trust and acted swiftly now to honor it.
The jaguar she-cat had shadowed every turn and every step to her
sacred hill. The whole assembly gasped then waited in awed
silence; for now She appeared from out of pyramid shadow to creep
behind the priest. One guard gripped a spear, but there was never
time to act. Jaguar sprang straight past executioner, jarred the knife
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from his hand. His power was no match against four hundred
pounds of muscle, sinew and bone.
In one fluid motion, she embraced the boys skull between her
mighty jaws, swept his frail body clear of all rivals. One crunch, like
cracking the shell of a turtle of all the great cats only Jaguar had
that skill then Doom-dooms soul was released. He felt nary a
twinge of pain. She laid his limp form gently to ground; and Boys
consciousness turned to face his kindred deliverer.
But it was no longer a giant black feline. Halle opened her arms to
embrace him. Dummy threw himself at her such an affectionate
soul. Perhaps he mistook Halitha for absent mother. Still, they
shared an eternal moment of reflective communion; then their tearstreaked cheeks finally touched, and Boys spirit melted into Halles.
Where did he go? she floundered and petitioned the watcher for
help finding her Doom-doom.
I still see him, answered Ariel. I have eyes to penetrate that veil
also. This innocent life never left you.
366
Nine
Weeks later, Halle presented to Anne a stack of manuscripts she had

busily compiled. No, it had nothing to do with any summer term
class. These she was compelled to pen against another kind of
deadline.
Besides the stories of Halitha and Jaguar Boy, there were five more
detailed accounts: all adventures she had recently engaged during
crossings to Cauchemars country.
I only call it that, she explained. It really has nothing to do
with the crampy cave where I saw the creepy guy last.
I was hoping not.
Anne had just finished scanning the biography of an Italian
merchant-class financier, apparently dating before Columbus. Halle
had no idea when it was supposed to have happened; she knew
nothing about political events of that period. But here she related in
excruciating detail the most personal matters of her principal
character:
He was a banker, trained in Florence, commissioned to manage a
branch established in faraway Flanders to fund the wool textile
industry there. Intrusion of French and Castilian armies chased his
operation to Amsterdam, then to London and finally further on to
Dublin town, from whence he was forced to retire. The gentleman
was merely merchant-born, but an engineering genius and financial
tycoon. His was a see-saw career, wealth to poverty, then recovery
again due to certain speculative investments. What Halle described
was an early market in futures on pricing of unprocessed fleeces.
Though never properly married, he maintained one life-long lover:
A gypsy Romany maid, first attached to his prospects while traveling
through Lombardy northward. His caravan was captured by a
highwayman who hoped to rob him dearly; but the bankers never
carried any coinage or other precious cargo. All to be found were
paper bills of exchange equaling millions in modern values but worth
367
nothing to robber barons. Therefore, the bankers life was proved

worthless, until the gypsy girl intervened. On a tour of village
taverns, she easily earned enough for his redemption, casting sheep
knucklebones and consulting far eastern astrological charts.
That adventure started their lucrative partnership, as well as
romance. She bore him many children, along with profits and losses
while guiding all of his business affairs finance, politics and
textile technology. It was her idea, Halle claimed, to use water
wheels on English canals to power a fullering hammer contraption.
Their companys cloth proved most durable and soft of all European
wool produce. So to honor his Muse, the chairman ordered their
textiles dyed red as the hair of the mother of all his progeny.
Halles Italian was credited with starting and selling more than
fifty successful companies; founding several charities (though an
incurably paganish Christian); was captured and ransomed three
more times for his multiplied sins by pirates of the northern seas.
Finally, he survived several years a happy pauper and great-grandDaddo of an Irish islet, dying an unheard-of eighty-three.
The student of literature, acting on a learned suspicion, showed this
story to her history professor. No doubt about it one accurate
portrayal of 15th Century pre-Reformation European Capitalism and
Industrialism. Modern history texts resist inclusion of such a fact.
Why? Because original archives credited Catholic Christian
invention during the darkest pre-Enlightenment ages (a modern
political faux pas). Professor was an expert in medieval language and
records knew of only two colleagues among all the worlds
schools able to reconstruct that era truly. And he refused to believe
that an undergraduate of any major could author such an account.
I assure you, Anne, said Halle, I remember every thought, each
event as if it were part of my own childhood.
So you believe they are past lives of your own.
No Halle started; then paused.
368
Its like I told you before. It feels as if I am there, living and

thinking as somebody separate but related. I am living through my
children, so to speak. I can even talk or rather think to them.
And they hear you? Anne interposed.
Halle shrugged. Sometimes they understand. Mostly it confuses
them. She always felt herself the elder soul, though the Italian grew
to be a very old man before he died and awakened to greet her.
Even that was more family reunion than introduction after life.
And then you stop to review the whole life story again together.
Halle looked askance at her friend. I know it sounds canned
but he offended a lot of people. And she described how it took such
very long hours in a moment of Earth rotation one event at a time,
starting with most recent memory and going backwards through a
lifetime. The deceased got to look at himself from perspectives of
everybody else, and thus to feel what he had caused surrounding
souls to suffer at his behest.
It was my job to keep him awake, attentive, even to have the
watcher replay episodes as needed. It was how each might learn
regret for every occasion that he or she stepped upon anothers
freedom or violated personal integrity.
Annie moaned, Forgive us our trespasses .
And still moving from End to Beginning through his life: When
he reached a young age of innocence, he became as a child a lot
like Jaguar Baby and fell weeping into my arms. Thats when his
body just dissipated, like my characters in all the other stories.
Then Halle started thumbing absently through the stack of scripted
paper; empathic tears lingered in her eyes.
It was similar with every tale. Each life would finish with a
reuniting embrace having crossed the threshold of death.
I dont think it can be Halberts doctrine of Reincarnation. Like
his Delhi friend said about being hopeful: It was really more like
369
waking up to recall Tomorrows memory; as if Halle and all those

other souls were born of a common great-great-grandheir.
And now we are all meeting again reuniting, she continued.
You live a life protected, shielded behind a curtain from the full
Light of Day, cursed and blessed to forget all but this measly
existence. But imagine one morning discovering you were actually
living backwards all that time or sideways, or just screwy
somehow; then suddenly it turns around right side first. And these
far-off places and strange people you never dreamed of knowing
become as familiar as a baby sister. Though Halle never had a
sister.
Meanwhile, Annie was shaking her head and muttering something
new, this time about the doctrine of Repentance and Absolution of
sins.
Did you show these stories to him?
Who Halbert?
Halle hadnt yet. Perhaps it was time to include the other Hal
maybe after church tonight.
Oh well then, I will see you there.
Anne was quite happy at the prospect, relieved that her tortured
friend had chosen this path over another cauchemar deception.
However, even the scholar hardly knew what to make of this series
of visionary adventures.
Five distinct periods so far, she descried, of recorded cultural
history: One had to be pre-Vedic Indian; another was archaic Persia,
prior to Nimrods legendary rule; Halitha was early Chaldean, and
then a eunuch of Babylon these both within a mere bi-millennia;
there was Jaguar Boy, followed by an Alexandrian slave maiden
during Emperor Constantines reign; and then the wealthy Italian
gentleman only six hundred years before Halles own episodic postIndustrial affair.
370
It was Bert who suggested they go to chapel together; and he needed

Halles companionship to help navigate the crowds.
I find individual souls quite distinguishable, he said cryptically.
But whole masses of people can look like a building on fire.
Halle didnt even try to understand.
Annie was already there, and she made room for them to sit
alongside. A certain childlike contentment descended upon the elder
girl when attending that assembly, and Halle was reminded of their
first meeting after The Dance.
Neither Hal could quite enjoy the worship music so much as Saint
Anne. Indeed, Halle thought her friend most beautiful when she
sang, beaming like an angel or bride.
Just look at her, Halle whispered to Bert. Anne was seated
opposite her left side.
Halbert on her right faced stoically forward, eyelids shut, looking
peaceful as a sleeping Buddha. But he had promptly answered, I
am.
Interestingly, it was the very same visiting evangelist that had so
rocked Halles world the week before her D-day. Apparently, he and
Father OLeary were teamed to walk urban burroughs together,
challenging any souls there encountered to join their Jesus
Campaign. Halle could hardly imagine those two wandering
defenseless in New York City wilds, one in business suit and the
other his priestly habit. What would they do facing hoods such as
she and Bert had scared down a K-Street alleyway?
The girl was still rattled; even more so since failing to identify either
offender in a lineup, day before. One was holding a hand wrapped in
bandage; and Halle asked them to wear hooded sweaters.
It was inconclusive. She just shook her head at the sergeant. Nor
could Bert be much help; so she and the officer assumed.
371
But the blind man disagreed. He called again, offering to attempt a

positive ID:
I am certain to recognize a voice and aural presence.
But would that be admissible in court, whatever it was? Police
turned him down. Finally, they were forced to send suspects home.
Halle knew her Bible, so she paused right there in church to pray
for her enemies reform.
Meanwhile preacher began his performance. He carried on about
mid-city ministries, then he launched his own life story. She thought
it intriguing; yet Halle worried it could never interest Halbert. No
matter he could occupy himself watching his own inner
entertainment. Or so he was always hinting.
Halles eyes and attention began dragging down. Seemed only
moments later when Bert tapped her knee with his stick, already
halfway standing. She scooted back reflexively to allow his exit
from pew to the aisle. Then Halle started to follow but stopped
herself, remembering: Hal knew his way to the mens room. No
safer place for a blind man than church, right?
But Halbert turned to walk forward toward chapel stage and
podium.
No, Dummy, she thought loudly (then corrected herself); he knew
that restrooms were back in the rear. But before she realized what
was up with her guy, he was standing alone at the front.
Bert was first to answer, without slightest pause, this evenings
altar call.
Healing. Thats what Halle told herself. Hal had sprung for healing
prayer. They could see he was blind and bandaged. Father knew his
372
story too. But even Halle hardly realized how deeply this mans
injury was rooted.
Six more candidates for prayer lined up. The evangelist held a
small vial of anointing oil. Just a dab on each forehead; first one,
then each in sequence down the row. Bert was next and Halle
couldnt help but cringe, for she remembered her own earlier
unsuccessful initiation. Hals face was turned away from her stare,
but she spied Preachers glance of concern.
Annes eyes were shut. The worshipper held a hand extended in
concert with those praying up in front. Father O had already turned
back toward the blind man, while the other completed anointings.
The evangelist was praying aloud but in low tones, probably not in
English. Then he also returned attention to the odd one standing at
center.
And Halle realized what both men beheld, as if mirrored in the
preachers expression. So she nudged her praying friend in rude
alarm.
Eyes opened and searched and comprehended.
Oh no Annie moaned.
Halbert dropped his white staff. He crouched to an awkward
position. A leg and one arm contorted far backward. A bandage
began unwinding from the strain.
Both girls could well guess what appeared upon their mutual
friends hidden visage. Ministers and one neighboring disciple
shared glances of horrific surprise.
Preachers anointing had done it this time kundalini kriyas
revived.
Halbert, my son! coughed the chapel priest. Please try to
relax.
373
Then itinerant pastor approached. He held a palm forward;

somehow Bert felt it coming. There was nothing intended as
aggression or warning; though a spirit unfriendly to Christian
convention might consider this touch a threat. Before the hand could
be pressed to his brow, Berts forward fist thrust and snatched the
ministers tightly.
Even from several pews back, the congregants could hear a strange
hissing, then a challenge in womanly tenor:
This body is mine she croaked. It was not Berts familiar
tone, though it seemed to erupt from his belly.
Both reverends tried to step back; but the evangelist couldnt
move, for his hand was held in a vise. Halberts arm lifted upward,
while the rest of his form remained firm as a pythons coil. Then a
slight twist was all it required; wrist turned and fist clenched.
Preacher stooped kneeling and howled, contorted with awful pain
Worship Us! the Voice intoned.
Berts neighbor turned to lay hands upon the offending arm.
Another pulled back on his shoulder. Then a shrug and ripple of
invisible force: Both would-be rescuers were thrown off and laid
prostrate!
Shakti-pat: the touch of anointing in reverse.
Alarm spread in waves over the chapel crowd. It was not their
typical prayer meeting. Most had witnessed a so-called slaying in
the spirit, but this was altogether backwards. Annie looked stunned
and started praying in tongues. Without thinking, Halle acted.
Next moment Girl was poised protectively between Preacher and
her Hal.
Young Lass, protested Father priest. Ye dont know what you
be confronting.
374
Oh dont I? she retorted and placed her opposing grip like a

glove over fist that still shackled the arm of Hals captive.
Fire flushed forth from the base of her skull, like lightening
striking back. Halle heard herself speaking:
Let go, you Old Hag!
Halberts face drained of blood, eyes staring blankly. They looked
alien: black orbs, wild reptilian attention. Then Somebody other than
Hal spotted Halle, whose expression presumed perhaps not so
wrong, after all that the beast looking back was merely another
cauchemar relation.
The preacher fell backward and Father helped him upright,
intending to usher him away. But no, this appointment was
unfinished. So Minister turned back to command the offender:
It is not with power or might of men that we speak. You must go,
says the Lord of Hosts. But even this veteran pastor knew little of
what he faced. Kundalini is an ancient foe, hardly content to swap
human for swine.
The hand inside Halles felt familiar enough.
No wait this is odd! She shivered. Hals eyes never wavered
from hers.
The evangelist was shielding his eyes with two hands as if
approaching a well of fire; flames roaring and smelting hot. Father
O appeared to witness it also, wiping sweat from his balding brow.
Evangelists voice sounded distant, dwarfed by wind of the blaze:
We order you to depart from this child, in the name of his true
God and Father.
Then Preacher was forced to retreat yet again; and he also began a
nervous chant comprised of foreign syllables.
Halberts face was grinning wide. Girl thought she knew well that
crude leer, but the claw clinging back at her hand felt more like a
375
raptors talon. Crones laugh rose up from the depths of Hals chest.
Lady Shakti or Lord Shiva or Both together celebrated:
Rival red bodhicitta This is going to prove better than planned.
Berts other arm was released from his serpentine pose and a
second claw seized womanly throat.
Hal dont, Halle was hissing back. Wake up now Its me. Im
your Dearest, remember?
But the word of endearment only provoked more rude laughter.
Halle tried futilely to pry loose the constriction She swooned.
Her eyelids drooped and a mist numbed her physical brain. Soul
begged to fall aslumber into dark oblivion.
Father was trying to aid her effort; but he too was repelled by
occultic force. An assistant rushed forth to revive the priest. He
waived her away, gesturing outside instead. Then he whispered a
hasty instruction. Assistant nodded and departed to search for a
phone.
The evangelist was down upon his knees pleading with Heaven for
spiritual power to release these souls from Evils oppression.
Halles eyes were full shut now. Her body collapsed. But her
consciousness continued. A great light was hovering just ahead of
her mind; imaginative recall rolled back like a scroll to a previous
Upper Room moment:
Sing the boat song for me, Halle your voice will guide my steps.
So Halles lips began moving, softly singing:
Coome meesta tally man
Tally me banana
It was a haunting melody, not at all the sort of hymn that Chapel
beams were used to resounding. Saint Anne was first to join the
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chorus, then others hummed along as they recognized the Creole

tune. They simply didnt know what else to do.
Dayo Day-ay-ay-yo!
Day de Light, an me waan go Home.
The globe of light brightened, filled Halles inner-outside view and
startled her to keen awareness.
Tally Man! greeted Girl.
Yes, Dearest.
Cauchemar is bothering Hal.
Again? he chuckled. No worry, Little One. For one Day soon,
Hal will overcome.
But he needs help today, she complained.
Tally Man passed a warm hand over her brow then her throat
and finally hovered just opposite her heart. He chanted, a most
enlightening verse:
It is credited Today what was paid Tomorrow for every debt you
incur from the Past. To Hal and to Halle, Arouse and Arise! The
Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.
A cleansing stream of energy swept over her body, like a bubbling
fountain of Joy.
The girls mind sighed, Thanks, Tally Man.
My Delight, he replied.
Then Halle awakened again.
Like muffling curtains pulled from over ears, new sound startled her
brain. Thunder? Both Hals considered: No, it was a falling flood, or
maybe wind in a forest of trees No again
It was cheering and raucous applause!
377
Congregation was standing. Halles head was cradled in Annies

arms; friends face aglow with cleansing tears of utmost gladness.
And when Halle glanced sideways to search for her Love, Annie
pointed toward a crowd.
Bert was surrounded. He was up on two feet. He stood taller than
Halle remembered. Both his hands were raised heavenward, face
bearing expression of Absolute Serenity. Whats more, the young
half-Korean-born urban American was singing and worshipping
loudly. No longer the witchy old voice of harlot or hag, he was
speaking in fluent Chinese At least, thats how it sounded to Halle.
When did Hal learn to talk Mandarin? she queried.
Anne laughed. Dont be surprised if he didnt.
The clapping throng synchronized, like when Annie had danced.
Father O, he struck up a new song.
But their levity was suddenly interrupted by entrance of civil
servants; some uniformed black, and more in yellow overcoats:
Three PD officers were flanked by FD rescue crew. They pushed
their way in by rear and side doors. One was shouting alarm:
Who called? Point the way to the fire!
Scores of voices all chattered; heads turning around, searching for
somebodys answer.
Evangelist was standing behind Halbert, still praying. When
Father peered inquiringly at him, he shrugged and obediently pointed
at Halbert look of pure whimsy on his face.
378
Book 4
Embracing the Beast
Shall I tell you the secret of the whole world? It is that we have only known the
back of the world. We see everything from behind, and it looks brutal. That is not
a tree, but the back of a tree. That is not a cloud, but the back of a cloud. Cannot
you see that everything is stooping and hiding a face? If we could only get round
in front
-G K Chesterton, The Man Who was Thursday (1908)
380
Embracing the Beast
One
Halle was jealous of Hal. Thats what she and friend Annie agreed.
Such a friend is so good to have. But their discussions could never
be quite satisfying without the coffee table between them; takes
twice as long by phone to reach consensus. Probably something
special about the coffee.
It was time we left Grannys chapel behind, Halle was
commiserating. Hal could never fit in. Someone even said his
Pentecostal experience was all backward.
I understand, Anne affirmed. And its unsettling to corporate
leaders when their prayers dont culminate in complete healing.
Even at a small church?
Especially a small church.
Annie was referring to Berts continued blindness, of course. He
still carried the cane; kept it tapping throughout the couples
relocation and nuptial ceremonies.
But it didnt bother him, really. Halbert believed it no serious
impediment to continuing his vocation in Los Angeles. He was even
helping Halle to set up her equipment after early yoga sessions. It
was much the same in L.A. as on K-Street, though now they used
space in Mommas Catholic church. The padre turned out to be one
of the progressive sorts, whatever his bishop might say.
Their public wedding was modest, quite in character with the old
barrio church. East Los Angeles was never proud, though Halle
thought it could use some polish. Halbert couldnt see it, so he
didnt care. He had other occupation.
Halle was licensed now, Certified Physical Therapist. When the
boss lady learned that her prize apprentice wanted to move back to
L.A., the girl was surprised to hear this intimidating woman
encourage her to go.
381
Its how I got started, she declared. Milked everything I could

from the company that sponsored me then promptly left them
behind to start my own. But my boss was a real witchy old hag
about it.
Halle never thought her boss was any kind of witch (nobody knew
better what real witches and old hags were about).
So Halle was her own boss lady now; could accept insurance
money and everything. She also had the better business sense and
managed much of Berts as well.
But exercise classes werent the blind mans only career. Halle
was proud to announce that her Hal was a published author.
Whats it about? Annie asked about his book, then interrupted, I
want to guess Is it yoga?
No? Make it methods of meditation; maybe kung fu or other selfdefense. She even suggested the care and breeding of snakes, but
only in jest.
Dont you dare start me on that, Silly. It was never Halles
favorite subject. Nor was it Talles.
Yes the cat was back. At least Halle was back and her totem lured
with many bribes to haunt a different apartment. It was just another
weathered window overlooking the opposite side of that very same
alley where the kitten was first found.
Snakes: Well, it was one in particular, a smallish boa. Halbert
insisted on bringing it along, with many thanks from Mother. He
had recently renamed his pet Illumina, because her etheric form
appeared a luminous green flame to his inner eye. She was older
than him, so he claimed, though certainly none the wiser.
Halle wouldnt allow the reptile in her home.
Gives me the creeps, she declared. It was just the idea of a body
without any legs to show where its neck attached or a tail began to
wag.
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Embracing the Beast
Alien thats what it looks like. Without proper eyelids, it

seemed this creature would look right through the young woman.
Though, Halle sometimes observed a similar gaze in the eye of her
human lover.
Yes, Halbert tried at first to formally introduce them, and he even
prompted his woman to feel the narrower neck and tail, its primitive
pelvis and spurs vestiges of legs inherited from evolutionary
ancestors.
So how did Serpent lose her legs? The yoga master didnt know,
though many ancient stories have attempted to explain the origin of
that judgment.
And here is further proof that she is truly an earthly beast. Berts
finger indicated the snakes vent definitive end and beginning of
life processes. But that was more information than Halle wanted to
know.
So Bert was obliged to leave Illuminas cage at the church. It was
kept in the basement which served as makeshift office. Studio and
clinic occupied the parish hall, until they could afford to rent
commercial space.
Talle followed the couple some days from home to the church. So
Cat and Serpent were bound to meet and reconvene their ancestral
rivalry.
This snake had never encountered cats eyes. Light was sparse, so
enlarged pupils were painting those orbs a most reflective black.
Who were those other serpents swaying off in the distance,
challenging her domain? Illumina was waving back, elevating her
length ever higher to probe at the ceiling of her glassy house.
One jab of Talles paw didnt seem to faze the snake, but it
dislodged the terrariums lid. A warning strike chased Kitten to the
floor; then Snake was half escaped. From behind a waste can, Talle
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watched her foe descend the table leg, head first. And as the snake
slipped by, Cat was biding her time, awaiting the perfect moment to
spring at the head from behind.
Bang! Talle pounced, then bounced aside in a single practiced
motion, having stunned the serpent; then she quickly returned to
seize its throat. No parent had taught her this trickits how she
would often capture large lizards.
As Talle lunged, Illumina flipped back around to her belly. Cat
yowled in mingled surprise and pain, for Snake seized her paw
instead. But the feline hunter knew from experience for this had
happened once beforethat the serpents defense merely presented
an easier target. Just as suddenly, snake jaws were arrested by Cats
dagger-lined bite. Talle clamped hard upon Illuminas head,
meanwhile straddling as much of scaled muscle as her furry bulk
would afford.
It wasnt enough. Any wrestler knows just how easy it is to shift
weight of a tackling opponent. And Snake had plenty of length and
strength to leverage the cat. A couple twists flipped Talle to her
back, though Cat would never relax those jaws.
It was a concrete floor, not wood; else a passer-by might hear
rhythmic drumbeats of their struggle. The mutual thrashing lasted
for some interminable minutes. Finally, Snake ceased her flailing
attempts to escape and started gathering constrictor coils. Two loops
round Cats middle, then a third round one leg. Talle was clawing at
scaly armor. Fortunately, the free hind leg was positioned to rake
Snakes most sensitive area.
Choking coils relented.
It was sound of banging against a metal trash can that finally
alerted human hosts. Both pet owners rushed upon the field. Cat
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and Serpent were found fused as the Chimera, one inextricable knot
of sinewy scales and black fur.
Woman screamed: Hal, Im telling you! while he sought with
hands for the heads of the reprobate combatants. Halle was yanking
the tail of Snake, hoping to untangle its twisting entrapment. But
even her strength combined with the mans could never have freed
her pet from such a consummate embrace.
That instant a feline fang touched a vital nerve. Serpent relaxed,
suddenly stunned. Bert pinched both sides of the hairy jaw and
retrieved the head of his snake. Halle scooped up Talle.
They found no blood, unless you count the redness in Talles glare,
striving to re-capture her enemy. Illumina, instantly released from
paralysis, was restored to her crystal cavern. Halbert fed her a
mouse; stacked some books on the cage to keep the lid from
loosening again.
Next morn the pair were laughing over the spat between their
interspecial children. Such was often the way of blended families.
But Illuminas bright eyes had begun to mist; another day they
were clouded white. Snake was rendered blind as her guardian
human. From that day forward, she kept her head peacefully
protected against the habitat floor. Though the handicap never
seemed to hinder her hunting, for the serpent sees with her tongue.
Halberts book I quite forgot to mention its title Pentecostal
Christianity: A Yoga Disciples Experience. Hals friend from Delhi
suggested the odd merging of devotional traditions; though it was
scandalously received by Christian bookstores everywhere.
Narrative told of his personal search for and final surrender to
genuine Serenity not merely an empty ideal but the Person of that
blessed Trinity also the blessings of pain and ill fortune as one is
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called to share in the sufferings of Christ. No, Bert could never

consider his blindness disabling, for it equipped him to truly See.
What are you looking at now, you creep? Halle had just caught
her man staring (like Illumina) during one of their private wedding
ceremonies. The exercise had been exhilarating, delightful and
exceedingly satisfying of feministic appetite. But the new bride
found herself wondering about her blind man. He was always most
distracted by her climbs to the Pinnacles of Passion and he often
simply forgot to follow; just remained standing, so to speak, at the
foot of her hill, from whence he would watch his partners progress.
I regard only you, my dearest.
Somehow, Halle doubted that a virile male would entertain no
other mental image. Then she asked him why he didnt prefer the
view from a mountaintop.
It is true, Bert defended. I am practiced to subvert my desire.
That part did ever come easy for me. I only wish that you could also
behold the glory of your astral apparel the aurora of color that
adorns your soul as you ascend the temple stair.
You have never really seen me naked, have you It was a
statement.
This proclamation gave the bridegroom pause, for Halles tone was
tinged with regret it was likewise pronounced in her halo, as Bert
would observe it. Until this moment, the man believed that
womankind resents male lustful intent. Not so with his wife, at least
not this season; and it was she who concluded:
You will never make us any babies from down there, you know.
But no worry, Halbert assured her. He was watching her progress
upon that slope as well; for Halle had yet no real idea just how
deeply the blind man could see.
Yes, Bride was quite thankful that her new husbands physical
disablement would not be interfering with marital bliss. (Both
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mothers had worried also.) However, his apparent insight as

developing blindsight was a part of Halles jealousy. Sure, Hal
sported such variety of skills. Most lately, he spoke in tongues.
Glossolalia, Bert corrected, in reference to the original Greek.
Or more precisely, zenoglossia. And he recited a passage of his
book explaining that yoga recipients of shakti-pat anointing had also
been heard to speak fluently in a language foreign to their
experience.
But that ability didnt bother Halle, nor did it seem weird any
longer; he could have all of that. To the point, Halbert had
apparently found release from his kundalini oppression. Meanwhile,
Halle she was still battling Cauchemar. Berts history couldnt
address her conundrum after all, however alike the two mysteries.
But certainly the cauchemar wore many dresses, masquerading as
Woman of Night or Shadow of Man as each pursuit demanded.
Halle thought it unfair how that Hal was given to perceive such a
practical variety of Vision: it seemed quite enabling of his life under
daylight, not only in sleep. Certainly, she also had astounding tales
to relate quite enough for a book of her own. She was writing
them down every episode as external work would allow.
Berts agent said her authorship had potential. But Historical
novels are in less demand by modern publishers, unless of course
they feature saucy romance. Halles visions didnt. Else perhaps she
might try her hand at Fantasy, the new favorite popular genre. In fact
a couple of her stories were quite fantastical, hardly History at all.
Halles perspective differed, of course.
But there was an interesting idea. Problem was, this author
couldnt just set down and make it up. She had to See it first, like all
the other tales.
Increasingly now, her sleep time was occupied by reviews of those
personal histories always backwards, watching the play from its last
scene to first. It was unnatural and useless as simple entertainment;
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seemed unnecessarily laborious, like reciting punch lines before the

jokes. This exercise had no point unless one was searching for
life meaning and purpose, like a cosmic literary critic. Only it was
no longer one single life story, rather a succession of related
biographies. For where one story was left dangling, unresolved,
another would seem to settle accounts, pay the debts left outstanding.
Past or Future, it didnt care. The scales of justice were Timeless.
Karma suffers no beginning or end. Thats what Halbert declared
one morning: something about the cycles of destiny in response to
her latest summary. Halle still didnt buy it. Besides, Tally Man
said it wasnt so (that Forever Friend had been appearing at intervals
to welcome the sojourner, no matter what time or place). He
maintained that all bonds were redeemed, every offense long
forgiven. No trespass need be revisited.
Why then was her imagination so plagued with this endless
review? It was like having labored upon a puzzle for generations
future and past, devotedly studying and arranging. What if this piece
were placed over here instead? But no matter how many times a
lifetime is reassembled, theres always a gaping hole and several
leftover misfitting parts.
And funny thing about all that missing sleepHalle was no less
wakeful by day. It was like living a double life, each body
unaffected by the other; or rather, she was suffering multiplied
existences, while the shadow lives felt more increasingly real than
the day life she resumed every morn. It was quite the stuff of
psychosis, only this girl was demonstrably sane. Business was
flourishing, her marriage was normal; she made wonderful meals,
supplied mostly by her community garden (thanks to Talles
vigilance chasing rats). There was hardly a more functional young
adult in all of L.A. County.
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Fantasy a la Tolkien and Spenser, even Shakespeare, George

MacDonald: Anne was acquainting the high school dropout with all
of those favored oldies. Fantasy and Folklore, the Myth and Fairy
Legend were this scholars specialty. Perhaps thats why she was
most enthusiastic over the draft of Halles latest journey across the
chasms of Time this one placed before the holocaust biblically
enscripted The Flood.
Please write more detail.
About that? But its weird, replied Halle. There was never any
real dialogue. The people didnt talk like we do now, just sort of
understood each other and the language they did speak didnt
have many words.
Well, you can make up that part.
Didnt happen that way.
But there is feeling and thoughts, intentions and desires.
Yes, there was certainly lots of that. The people seemed able to
hear it all, as if it were spoken or intoned.
Translate that part into modern speech. Make it something a
reader relates to. Thats what authors do.
Halle warned, Its going to sound strange and awfully silly.
So Anne recommended more Classical reading as preparation.
Homers Odyssey and the Viking Sagas. Those were strange as
could be. And, had Halle ever sampled the apocryphal scriptures of
Enoch or Prophet Daniel?
Try this one ... Bel and the Dragon!
So Halle went back to work, so to speak. Then first chance crossing
the threshold of sleep, she asked Ariel to take her far backward,
before recorded history, preparing for the global deluge that
accompanied the last great separation of continents.
Watcher was quite excited to help. Said shed been resisting that
season of Earth Hals earliest cultural crisis.
And what is that supposed to mean?
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I will show you. Simply watch with me as I open eyes that were
trained upon that era.
Light increased and an open book appeared before Halles view. It
was a very large volume, like an encyclopedium of medieval
archives. The script was ornate of characters unfamiliar, yet the
woman felt certain she must be able to read it if only the ink
would hold steady; for it seemed that the very words were jumping
about as she scanned them. It was like watching a computer
wordprocessor robotically editing text cutting and repasting,
shifting space for insertion of entirely new composition. But Halle
had never seen computers do that.
Stop it! she cried. Watcher its making me sick. The
animated script combined with a general vertigo surrounding.
So this is where that sensation came from! It was the angel all
along often present but invisible to physical eyes. Halle had
learned long ago to look for this vague clue of slight motion-sickness
haunting her during the day then almost certainly Cauchemar
would find access that night.
But such is never our doing, Ariel defended. Look behind me
No? Of course, your eyes cannot tune to Their presence. Angel
blamed the Spirits of Time, in whose bosom all Earths histories
unfold. He indicated their constant turnings and switchings to
alternate cycles.
I perceive their activity much as you see a network of wheels,
gears or windmills.
Halle tried to wrest her attention away from the unseeable
movement.
Sorry I guess that Im just extra-sensitive or something.
The Books pages were turned by invisible fingers. A colorful
map was opened. It showed continents of Earth in disassembly,
hardly resembling modern geography. One landmass was shifting
fragmenting, shrinking a great island continent west of Spain.
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Look at this, Ariel, Halle called. I can zoom into this one area
I see mountains now rivers Its no picture; its real!
Another might describe it as re-entry from orbit, or riding a weather
balloon. Soon, her mind was dominated by feeling of a vertical drop
and negative g-forces braking their descent.
Watch where youre taking us! This motion was worse than
dizzying.
YOU watch, was Watchers retort.
Halle watched and waited, steeling herself, as Cauchemars
Country rushed forth with a roar.
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Two
The girl had never been blessed with any extreme experience such as
skydiving or rocket riding. How could she possibly have imagined
it? If a dream body has a heart, it was trapped somewhere in her
throat. The downward plunge suddenly swerved aside to cruise level
over a silvery sea of cloud. Mountain peaks pierced this nebulous
ocean at intervals. Air was crystal clear. But before Halle could
take in the view, she was submerged in sightless gloom.
Vision began to clarify, though it was ever like viewing the world
through a screen. Hazy mist surrounded all. The tops of structures
emerged before the traveler was even aware that a ground could be
found to this valley. They were monstrous affairs: great buildings of
crafted stone. Her flight was responding now somewhat to will, and
she wanted to study closer.
Motion slowed to a walking pace and hovered just beside a wall
there Halle stretched out a hand, pressing fingers into a joint. She
found no gap, no mortar cementing these sections of block. Each
was large as a train car. Surface was polished smooth. Was it
marble? Fired porcelain? She reached out again to palm it.
But a thicker mist disrupted sight. Stone suddenly felt liquid and
yielding.
I am inside the building. She was dizzied again, disoriented. But
soon it was clear that her vantage had changed. With a word, Halle
coasted down from the high corner of ceiling; approached a crowd of
strolling patrons. They didnt seem to notice or care, these other
human tourists. Perhaps visitors often entered that way. Or maybe
they didnt see her. All eyes were fixed upon the towering walls of
that hall.
Intricate figures were painted; or rather sculpted in a base relief
onto virgin basalt by some technological art. Yet the style appeared
ancient, more akin to the hieroglyphs of Old Egypt. But in truth, it
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was Pharaohs artisan priests who later sought to imitate this

primeval wonder. For the pictures drew Halles imagination
magnetically, much like the motion picture Book. She felt, in fact,
as if the great volume had never left her view.
Perhaps this is part of that Story.
There was one particular scene on the wall.
Whats this? Yes, the picture is moving. Embedded in the stuff of
stone is a vivid animation Heaven knows whether history or myth,
future or past preserved all in three-dimensional splendor.
The panorama features a skyline of great towers decorating a plain.
There are armies of inhabitants, like ants crawling over ground.
They huddle together. Are they praying? Some point upward at the
sky. Is it clouds or a massive explosion? Maybe both, for the troops
are scattered; towers are veiled. And finally storm passes to reveal
not so many structures standing and at rather disorderly angles. No
people appear to survive.
The crowd of observers pressed in behind Halle. She sought space
closer to the motion mural. But they pushed her right into the stone;
as if fellow spectators expect her to find a doorway hidden there.
Time itself turns to clay, feeling malleable. Past is revealed in
present tense. Before she can even think to protest, a spell of slumber
hijacks her soul.
Bodies everywhere, drowning in flesh. Sound is like suddenly
breaking the surface after a breathless, dizzying, roaring tumble
under ocean surf. All inner voices echo; Halle was never alone:
Here we were climbing through bodies, some with hands
outstretched, limply clinging; voiceless, choking eddies of bodies.
Crawling over unclad bodies, shaking free of their desperate
graspings as they try to hold us back; emerging whole from housesized pits all brimful of hopeless dying bodies of men and women
and children of Haal.
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We lived there as captives, enslaved by the emperors people. It

was said we were descendants of the firstborn of adam, those
rejected and outcast to Nod. They point to our reddish, amber
children of recent mixed generation. But Haal folk know better our
skin was originally tawny, hair dark like the lions and cougars we
sire. (People unrelated to ours fear the Cat.) Haal could never be
branch or twig of Baal. Nor yet can we be likened to pale, scrawny
descendants of Seth.
Our Father was wakened before the Baal, while tyrant souls kept
slumbering; clan memory is clear, extending prior to the Sleep. The
Father lay down with his woman in one world then awakened in
another: haal thus his name became.
No Baalites could point to their former country; perhaps it is not a
fixed place. Nod, ever wandering through the constellations; a land
rich in ruddy iron. Some say it is truly not of Earth, for its people
are red as the soil and rock. But it has to be somewhere, for back to
Earth they were ushered by manu Michael, their warden, and
appointed to battle the Beasts
Great fire dragons, though merely echoes of shapes that adam had
onetime worn. But these are animal, not human, their species
devolved by unlawful breedings designed to resurrect saurian form.
Ancients could fly like the birds and eagles which Sethians
command from the skies; all species of Beast are now bound to the
ground, bones heavy and inflexible as stone. Surely only lunar
Spirits of Night would find such a body inviting; regressive souls are
thereby revealed. Powers of Morning would be repulsed, even rebel
watchers.
Then came the Fire.
Earth conditions were laid by foolish sorceries of men. But it was
Judgment of El executed by Second-borns hand; it was She who
unleashed His Wrath in volcanic proportion. Though even such a
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holocaust renders a purging of the husks, allowing manu to harvest

choice seed for future incarnation.
The lords from Nod merely laughed at the warnings, believing
Baal could breathe any fume. They thought it merely a Trial, this
storm; proof of their ultimate right and ambition to regain glory of
ages past.
Mankind had once been fearless, demigods of earth fire, able to rearrange mountains and leap over oceans of flame. Saurian man
could melt the stone with a potency of breath; all substance must
yield to his will. Even bodily form obeyed his inner command: both
human and animal substance conformed to humanitys imaginative
design. Such was recorded in monolithic tableaus. The same oracles
hint that man will one day again take fiery salamander form, able to
live and breathe in multiple environs.
Therefore ever greater temples were crafted of melding stone
and all creatures came flocking to watch and worship this reptilian
image of man.
This is our true destiny, the Baal would proclaim.
But irony of ages it was the emigrations from Nod that changed
very nature of earth, air and flame. The Fire consumed even lordly
Baal. Sethian and Haalite servants watched trembling from within
dry cisterns where they often sought sanctuary from captors. Fumes
overcame most of the oppressed; choked their souls back into Sleep.
Only a remnant survived, families of Haal among them. This had
long been our home, these old holes the only existence known of
the youngest though most memories spanned generations.
That is why we feel now compelled to return for Remembrance
and mourning prayer for the souls of those perished before
answering the Final Summons.
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Refugees of Seth are re-gathering; the Call specifically includes all

brethren of oppression and long captivity. Promise is extended also
to little brothers, tardy souls of adam redeemed; so even animal
progeny will be saved.
For yet another Judgment is coming, like the original Garden
Expulsion; a reordering of lands and culling of forms according to
Wisdom of manu. There were several such events over multiplied
eons past. Each marks the end of regression and launches a new
progression as the firestorm frees seed from its husk and awakens
regermination. The latest generation of races is doomed both
human and animal kind cursed for their depravity of Soul,
distortion of Life and desecration of earthborn Body.
Rogue descendents of Qain are ill-content to conjure and embody
Beast form new abomination answers.
Lords of the Constellations in service of El are sent to watch and
lend silent aid. Of such are the manu, primal dragon masters. But
many observed that races of man grow comparatively weak and
small, even limited to fixed dimensions. They conferred without
reference to Firstborns Plan:
Original adam measured millennia same as these creatures count
the centuries. Compared to prior ages of Earth, humans descend to
the state of squirrels, (likely referring to mountain Sethian folk
taking refuge in the trees).
So they purposed to institute a re-ascent from this pitiable excuse
for existence. It only requires the fresh infusion of pre-adamic seed
then new breath of original starlight.
But some of manu would pose as gods, jealous for purity of Light.
In truth, their brightness is shadowed with arrogance; the seed they
carry is tainted with the ancient Rebels greed. Instead of Life and
true human promise, they breathe strife and poisonous intent. They
will never recover true glory in the bastard monsters they spawn.
These mutant tyrant twilight kings would rape the land and spoil the
seas.
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Even animal families are suffering, life spans shortened now to

mere seasons of years. Like their human sires, beasts grow to
gigantic proportions; but their bones turn brittle and lay wasting,
unredeemable at Earths end. Whole species are left undirected by
man; they perpetuate useless mutations.
Just consider the pestilent locust swarms, the blood-thirsty flies
and mosquitoes. Some vermin will propagate ceaselessly; varieties
of bird have no viable defense. Elephants nose was elongated in a
most ridiculous manner cruel stunt of an emperor prince. Another,
in jest grew the bill of a duck on the body of noble Beaver!
Anomalies arise in utter disgrace of the rightful domain of adam.
Some remain a mystery: How did Serpent lose his legs?
Worst of tyrants erect temples to house images of themselves,
would-be Fathers of distinctive bloodlines. They declare themselves
rivals of the gods and thirst for blood, bathe in blood, daily
consuming blood of innocents.
Typhon the human Beast. Even animals gone wild are never so
cruel. And the blood of Abel cries out from the earth to plead
justice of mans Creator.
Therefore, Earths environ must again be purged, to wash the
ground and recycle castings of degenerate body forms; only thus is
there fresh beginning for the true Plan of living souls.
And so Seth Fathers call for assembly.
Chief among them is Husbandman. He is adept at cultivating
vines, despite the Curse of El. His branch was specially appointed
by manu led by Firstborn Himself, they say serving lately to guide
refugee families.
Nor can they hope to stop short of utterly abandoning this
continental isle. All our children, human and animal, must retreat
beyond the mountains. Then we cross the sea to a land far into
Northern climes. There it is rumored that rivers freeze and tides will
397
seize for seasons. That country was long ago called Noah, meaning
rest from further striving. There, Husbandman and children of Shem
found success farming fruiting vines.
We all hear echoes of the Last Trumpet sounding clearly in our
souls. Time is nearing for our transports departure, prepared by
Husbandmans third son, Haam newest branch of ancestral Enokh.
We have yet to skim over plains north unto the mountains; ocean
vessels embark from the opposite side. Haam Father and First
Mother must remain behind to help usher a final transport. This will
carry select animal pairs, prized achievements of Sethian breeders.
The densely misted layer veiling our lower atmosphere has
gradually thinned over millennia. Skimmers cannot fly so high. Yet
Unborn priests no longer journey to climb the highest mountains,
from thence to behold the Annals of Heaven. During certain
seasons, they need only climb a high tower of human construction;
that could pierce the gloom. Humankind pretends now to stand tall
and gaze back in defiance of gods.
But Sethian scholars renounce the ruse; they point to the sun and
moon, now barely visible even through mist. Those exalted lights
cast haloes of color, heralding promised doom.
Coming storm conditions warn; temperatures are falling.
Earthbound mists must finally condense and fall, unveiling the
heavens to all dwellers of earth (no longer Prelates secret pleasure).
These lands will all be subsumed, it is said.
Meanwhile, scholars attending Emperor Poseidon merely laugh
and counsel vengeance. Who will farm and feed master populations
when all subjugate peoples flee?
Its a lie! They loudly renounce the Call: Stay and serve Baal; it is
good and the only life that slave-born were destined to know.
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Our skimmers are refueled and ready to fly. Seed from sparse grass
is hardly potent to carry us very far. But Arbor City remains
accessible, so our navigators start climbing. Best to seek altitude and
soar high up over the forest of columns.
They surround our craft, while laboriously ascending once
towering trees bearing leafy bower. But their greenery long ago
perished by fire, leaving only the trunks as gargantuan posts. Then
totems were carven by cruel blade, ruining Trees majesty every
pillar once grown to the height and breadth of a skyscraping tower
construction. Some posts lean dangerously aside; many have fallen
and lay piled like Olympian bowling pins.
Their carvings render likeness of all manner of beasts, men and
godly permutations. There, animal forms are lent human expression,
recalling cast-off forms of adam: the Serpent, Eagle and the Lion,
Bull and blessed Ram; then cursed chimera the Cyclops, Hydra;
and the hybrid manu incarnations of Centaur, Minotaur, Echidna,
Gorgon, Merman, Faun and Sphinx.
Our skimmer ascends past the very top of giant grinning beak and
stern staring eye of a glorious Gryphon. Haal is one of few tribes
who recall, even among the Sethians, what life was like under
beneficent rule of manu appearing so.
Watch ahead! calls an elder from the skimmer leading our
convoy. Pilot souls whose combined power of wills direct the
precarious craft they exchange signals and nods and slow our
advance.
Black sorcery barricades our course!
The obstruction remains unapparent to eyes in the rearmost
carriages, so we join our perceptions to those at the front and See:
It is reported by the Unborn who behold atmospheres above, that
mists of earth are wont to gather as mountain-sized clouds of storm.
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But this dark barrier of clouds, though taller than greatest of Trees
like trees, they are finite and fixed; black as soot, many fused form a
canopy top, yet still tethered to earth by the columns of smoke that
created them. Surely, the adepts of Baal were caught bleeding very
Earth of its ancient blood reserves. They learned to pierce the skin
of mans communal ground, so its bowels were bleeding forth. Who
can know what they ever hoped to achieve? No wonder that
Judgment fell.
The billowing blackness forms a mountain-sized wall, extending
beyond our sight, both to right and to left.
One small skimmer climbs up daring to crest the watery layer of
mists where buoyancy fails hoping to sight along the top. But their
craft coughs and suddenly stalls, dropping into the nearest inky
plume!
It stops, the skimmer stuck like a fly that lands in a drop of
molasses. Ugly fumes have aged and formed a skin of blackened
bubbly foam. But the craft is sinking; bubbles burst and begin
engulfing our friends.
Another craft swings upward. Bodies leap. Two tumble rescued
onto laps of their fellows. The remaining few fall to their deaths.
Soon the captured craft is all but consumed in a sucking oily tomb.
One of the rescued is roused to report sighting an end to the
billowing blockade.
But we cannot skim over.
We descend to go under, where progress is treacherous and slow.
Pilots are careful to avoid collision with a darkening ceiling above;
and shifting pillars surround like phantoms borne of humanitys
original sin.
One carriage gets upset by a geyser! Its wing is knocked upward
by force of rising smoke; it spins adrift to bounce off an opposing
column.
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But pilots all pause, rejoin prayerful communion; they restore the
wayward craft to its place in regular formation. Pilots are learning to
send a wave of soul pressure in advance of our flock, urging dancing
black columns to stand still or bow sideways, thus allowing our
skimmers safe passage.
Just in time, for vision is almost useless here. We have no power
to spare for lamps; even ambient daylight is fading.
Finally, we emerge from deep shadow. Soon our crafts are
ascending as one to skim over top of the misty firmament; there
travel is fast. Air is thin and clear. It is cold. For most individual
bodies, this is their first time to witness unveiled the passage of
moon and stars and immortal constellations. But even multiplied
generations of Haal memory cannot recall such a view.
Thus we continue speeding toward the mountains under starlight
atop a shimmering sea of mist.
Heavenly Sight!
Night passes as the Children of Haal slumber securely in their seats.
However one awareness remains rudely awake.
Two of the elders lift nodding heads and exchange a puzzled
glance. Whose is this mind, banishing rest, prone to disturb
composure? How was she able to resist our combined prayer of
community calm?
Peace be still, eldest of mothers. She must sleep until end of our
journey.
Halles individuality awakened hours later, though it seemed mere
seconds. Eyes of her hosts barely glimpsed the clear rising of sun
before skimmers plunged into mist. Focus shifted to dimmer depth
and range, revealing tops of trees, still glowing green with bio401
luminescence under shade of the mountain crest. Their refugee fleet

had passed the divide through a hidden tunnel, safe from pursuing
Baal armies.
Ages ago, only the highest of peaks poked above the covering
mists. Nowadays, even higher-elevated trees would emerge into
clearer air, the bulk of bare mountain above that. So that mist-borne
vessels must travel around or somehow under the mountains.
Crews of tree-dwellers were already up and working. Skimmers
passed widely around one cluster of growths at the edge of a hilltop
clearing. There artisans were busy weaving flexible branches in a
basket sort of construction. One trees upper bowers were
completely reshaped into a self-enclosing saucer. Several persons of
distinctive dress were seated in a circle around the rim of the top,
heads bowed in meditation.
Halle knew intuitively just what wonder this portended, as her
mind completed its arousal and rejoined the family memory. It was
another kind of prayer, using combined human intent to command
regrowth of these branches. It might require hours of concentration
and new shifts of ministering minds; eventually the woven woody
twigs would fatten and flatten and fuse together as one. Then
greenery would die and fall off.
It was to be the hull of a newly fashioned skimmer, else an oceangoing vessel. Then it remained only for engineers to install new
engines and thrusters, whose design escaped Halles end-oftwentieth century comprehension. Our current technologies rely
mostly upon combustion being the destruction of matter. Even
electrical or magnetic force is a negative kind of power (just try
poking your pinky in a socket). However, this folk retained
somewhat of adamic creative command.
They could not breathe life into stone as Saurian forbearers of
humankind wielded dominion over earth, wind, water and fire to
grow elaborate temples of mountainous proportions from piles of
virgin rock. Rebel manu of civilizations such as Baal once tutored
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Embracing the Beast
the fashioning of metals: so that dwelling walls, household tools and

utensils, vessels of travel and conquest all boasted mineral strength
and shimmered, reflecting heavenly light.
The Sethian clans had mostly abandoned manipulation of stone.
Some adepts could grow crystal on a smaller scale, all colors of
gems for enjoyment. But this folks utilitarian strength was
command of life process.
They coaxed flower and seed, insect and animal regeneration;
persuaded trees to do their bidding. Their universities studied the
growth of grasses, developed hardy varieties of grain from puny
seed; sweet fruit from course, bitter flowerwheat, barley and corn,
berry and seedless banana. New animal forms and instinctive
behaviors were being constantly trained, then preserved as genetic
potential.
Our modern science and understanding of life would seem to them
barbaric. Methods of chemical or surgical or mechanical medicine
are like setting the flower afire to purge its petals of blight. A doctor
(craftsman or nursery student) of that day need only breathe a Word
of purified desire for plant to obey and alter its shape or yield its
energy as light; for animal flesh to change texture or color; for
Whale to fuse a flipper from toes.
Mighty Bear bows in homage to his human lord; swarms of Bee
serve the whims of women; fierce Lion is tame as a kitten before the
Child of Haal.
The trick of fusing tree branches into navigable craft was hardly
new. Its how tree-dwellers for generations fashioned whole
complexes of rooms and furniture for their homes; ornately fenced
and lighted walkways and decorated community houses. Arbor City
was truly all of that
And from aerial vantage, its architectures and travelways sparkled
with faerie splendor.
403
Whoa there, Watcher! This just cannot be. Anthropologists say

that humankind was primitive, lived in caves and clubbed their
women.
Halles angelic host shifted his glance and answered with a
thought:
That is only one modern myth among so very many Though the
Saurians were known to dwell in caverns most; safest place for fire
dragons.
As Man and Woman refashioned their shape, domestic
accouterments followed. Millennia of stages transpired, all by
design and direction of manu, before settling upon Mans current
body. Then ape and monkey forms of animals devolved, as humans
relinquished their birthright.
As latest generation of Atlantean races descended, mankind lived
more like people of Halles world in families of married couples.
Kids were born of their unions, forming networks of grandparents
and cousins. All were thriving in dwellings that were crafted by
hand; subject to verbal law and conventions of a larger society.
Did you say Atlantis? Now theres a fairy tale!
And Ariel retorted, Just you watch, young daughter of adam.
So Halitha allowed her mind to relax, let go of its selfish bias and
meld unobtrusively again into the folk soul of Antlanteas Haal.
Skimmers are landed amidst the clearing. Our company is
welcomed with cheers, then ushered to a tree-ringed court. There we
sup on spiced milk nectar of trees same species comprising forest
and city.
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Embracing the Beast
Our youngest children sense it first. Then all are aware of rustlings
and chuffs behind the brush surround. Arbor City hosts look
nervously aside; some even retreat, seeking shelter of the closest
tree. But had these creatures been wild, the trees were hardly
protection. Several cats leap down from branches overhead. Groups
of other felines emerge from all around, varying sizes and patterns of
visage, pelt or tail.
These belong to our families also; adopted babes of Haal hearts
and souls. They found refuge here before us. Yet our animal
populations are as tragically diminished as their human progenitors.
Tears of joy, relief and new sorrow accompany this reunion. One or
two pair of each species is all that survive of thousands once spread
overland.
Our favored breeds of master hunters were themselves hunted to
near extinction. The army hordes of Baal moved in terror against an
imagined threat, fearing Haals animal children were going wild
vicious as the beasts that Baal lords were guiltily rearing.
Of course, the lions and tigers would never have preyed upon
humankind, unless they saw Haal being threatened. Not even a
Word of command could make it so it simply was not in their
nature.
But Baal hunters didnt know that; else they didnt care. For all
subservient bodies are communally expendable.
It is another days journey on foot to the northernmost ocean shore.
Haal families are begging to remain and enjoy civilized existence.
But elders of Haal and Haam insist of looming danger. Armies of
Baal and the emperor are rounding both mountain passes. And even
were the tree city defended, Judgment is soon to fall. The highest
mountains of this realm will be overcome by flood: so says
Husbandman.
405
We arrive before nightfall, footsore and hungry; though our

youngest kin are happy again to have company of their pets. Many
are riding their feline favorites bareback like a camel. The parents of
these are shaking their heads, dreading grief of another cruel parting.
Vessels are already outfitted and waiting, a bayside forest of woodgrown craft. All may sup and rest on the water so the Haamite
guides declare:
One full family per boat; no more than two small refugee families
together. All animals remain ashore.
Many clans from the city are departing now. All their species of
pets that followed: wolves and deer, horses and rabbits, sheep and
carnivorous cats (Sethians prefer furrier kinds) animals gather
together for comfort as the youngest humans cry.
One of our smallest girls, hardly seven summers old, dismounts
from her mountain tiger. She is trying to be brave. The animal
crouches low to receive her embrace then licks a tear from the
childs cheek.
One father of Haam takes another weeping Haalite child in arms.
She has fallen from atop her fuzzy friend; her hand is bleeding sore.
With a silent Word he closes the wound and calms her injured heart.
Then he points aloft, directing the childs gaze up the
mountainside.
Just behind a rocky point we spy a boxy wooden construction. It is
waiting for flood to make it a boat. Its a strange multi-level design
by Husbandman himself, a vessel surpassing even Baals battlecraft
in length or ocean draft. But it wont be human warriors carried.
This one is reserved for the final transport, whereby Haam and his
brothers and patriarch will personally conduct escape.
With help of all the assembled creatures, they hope to distract and
hold back tyrant army hosts; so that those dont pursue and worry
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Embracing the Beast
our northbound family flotillas. Hardened warriors remain

exceedingly frightened of animals on the loose. Even Poseidons
whales have turned from their king to protect fleeing Sethian craft.
A few smaller whales are now plying the wake of our vessel
skimming water. The smiling creatures bring us fish to eat and other
gifts from depths of the sea. Our littlest is playing with a funny
ocean beetle that carries a house on its back.
Only once is our voyage disrupted by challenge of leviathan
Kraak, a tentacled beast devolved from the pet of ancient reptilian
masters. But one father of Haam stands tall with his staff at the prow
of our foremost vessel. He directs our assembly to sing as he prays
then he utters the Word of dominion. Thus manu of our
patriarchs speak mightily through the man.
Leviathans charge is arrested midstroke. It dives, no more to be
seen.
Three days hence, northern mists settle low upon the water.
Morning sun is barely visible. But Firstborns Face (so we Name the
blinding sun) climbs high overhead; we are awed by His shimmering
crown. Regent of Earth has arisen! Shadows flicker across His
protective gaze land birds have come to guide us.
Then within the hour, mists burn away. Sky clears to brilliant
blue. Where ocean meets its furthest edge we see mountains
peaking.
Thus, land of noah (rest) welcomes its people home.
Shemitic families greet us ashore, being heirs and first to settle here;
many Haamites have also arrived. Husbandmans vineyards sustain
us well. More and more days are cleared to deep blue sky.
407
One morning, dark clouds gather upon the southern horizon. The
ground shakes; heavens roar. Great swords of light sunder the
distant storm.
Children of Yaphet (another of Husbandmans branches) are adept
at development of birds. Many they have trained to talk and sing in
pleasing choruses. One evening, months later, we are gathered to
enjoy their fluty music.
A strange bird flies down and disrupts the song. It is a large black
raven carrying messages from afar. All hush as the creature speaks
in holy oracular tense:
Our ancestral continent is no more. All enemy armies are
drowned. The vessel of animal kindred survived and landed upon
eastern mountains.
Many more months pass before families dare migrate south,
searching for their own. As waters recede, most travel first to east;
some venture further west. Many more years hence, fifty
generations, Haalites finally arrive at the plain before Husbandmans
famous mount.
Locals react in fear when we draw pictures of cats. So we follow
the rumor further south through arid sand and waste.
Why does Lion wander this way?
When we finally find some feline kin, they hardly seem to know
us. The smaller cats are ready to tame; spotted cheetah train to hunt.
Others shun our voices, retreating far into desert or deep within the
jungles. All prefer to roam the quiet of night and hide amidst day
shadow. Some prey upon our weakest.
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Embracing the Beast
Then Halles consciousness was whisked away, saddened and

subdued.
Ive had enough now, Ariel.
Watcher did not reply.
She felt, rather than heard the wind in her ears at least where
hearing should be. Such sound had trained itself as a signal to the
girls attention.
No! she shouted. I want to go home
But the gods seemed not to heed her.
409
Three
Haal Daughter awakes.

Cold wind is whistling about. Limbs are chained to rock atop a
towering peak a boney tooth of earth piercing high above the
topmost mountain ridge. This vantage allows the saurian maid to
view both sides of a great divide. She is too young yet to sport
serviceable wings, though she leaps often from dizzying heights.
But this treacherous shelf is a thousand times higher, far above the
fire mists which blanket valley floors.
There are numerous storm systems warring about the horizon.
Meteor trails and aurora waves they light the Antarctic sky. One
storm appears to be heading her way and the blackened cloud bears
phantom shape of a monstrous lizard lord. It is ever the demon
which persists to haunt this dream that Haal calls Day. For
humankind of this primordial era perceive themselves most as adam
while physical eyes are shut.
Its an unusually lonely sort of awareness which the human is
made to feel. She blinks large amphibian eyes against the growing
brightness. Sun will not show its face this season of the year. But
the air is painfully clear at this altitude. To fleshly bodies of
evolutions hence, this atmosphere would be toxic. But a daughter of
Haal inhales deeply. She braces herself, thinking to leap aside as
the great devil shadow swoops.
A cry of fear and rage escapes the maidens throat, and it echoes
like a raptors. The chains yank her body right back to the rock,
preventing a fatal fall. Her eyes glaze red. The Fire of Desire boils
upward and ignites her breath exhaled.
Arms and claws hardly feel the searing flame. Chains are melted
free like virgin lead; molten drops congeal and flow together into a
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Embracing the Beast
pool in a hollow of the rock. The maid breathes again upon the
liquid metal; it shines like polished silver.
The reflected image is a familiar form (though Halles
consciousness was startled). Salamander eyes are widely placed; the
mouth juts forward froglike. Human brow slopes backward, hardly
forming any head or neck, fused broadly to her back. She has no
hair, no fur to comb up over translucent crown being a softer area
of thinnish skin and sensitive to radiance, though it has no eyelid
shielding.
There is a cowl, however a sort of hood built into her cloak; she
instinctively shoulders it upward to shade the parietal eye but this
only blinds it to optic glare.
Storm wind blows stiffly, and suddenly the maid feels vulnerable.
If only she could re-attach the chains, then her eyrie would feel safe
again. Fledgling body of Haal is not yet matured enough to glide
upon mountain drafts. So she anchors claws into stone, clinging to
the cliff.
The snakeskin cover now shadowing her crown induces chemical
effect of calming the fear; invokes peace of animal slumber.
Forward facing eyes are closed. Topmost eye alights.
Halle also remained aware while the daughter of Haal opened
refreshened sight upon realms that we call Night. It is a single eye
rendering keen spiritual vision (clairvoyance is but the shadow).
This was Haal Daughters preferred mode of being. Rubbery bone
and soft reptilian skin lay composed in physical sleep, as enduring
mind and emotion of Haal leapt forth. No mountain was too high;
no ocean too wide or fire flow a barrier. The soul was free, no
longer chained to flesh.
411
And Halle went sailing along for the ride.

Daughter hears herself in voiceless expression, echoed by elder
sisters:
Why dear Mother? Why must we be stranded upon the mount?
Had daughter of Man been born a male, the Trial would be utterly
other. Haal feels quite capable of enduring fire, though it transform
her young skin to armor. At least she would have constant company
of other suffering boys: that comforting, health-ensuring embrace of
community soul. Only maiden youths are expected to endure the
Storm and to brave the drama alone.
It summons the Spirit to dwell within was Haal Matrons
speechless answer.
The Trial also conjures vivid mental pictures, enabling daughters
to experience firsthand the remembrances of their forebears. It was
Woman cursed to comprehend the beauteous pain of existence. Thus
true hope and just sensitivities inspire. One day (Halle intuitively
knew this) the arts of speech and jurisprudence will be borne of
feminine perspective. Meanwhile, Haal must remain atop this spire
to learn Natures secret wisdom. There she listens to songs ever sung
by creaturely kin, imbibes their ancestral knowledge, and begins to
absorb with intuitive grasp hidden properties of plant and flower.
But why, O Mother, daughters persist to resist. Why must maidens
be bound as mere Woman?
Such rebellious soul invokes Parents righteous wrath. It is Nature
of a womans earthly shell; it is the gods command.
Further debate? Refer it to the father!
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Embracing the Beast
Father? Consult father of Haal? This the daughters cannot

conceive.
Haal Patriarch is soon to be made prelate of the temple. He has
recently endured unspeakable trials of Initiation. But the passage to
unborn state of soul has permanently altered his being. Father no
longer presents the warm, friendly and sometimes stern demeanor.
He is become a stranger to the feelings of personal kin.
Daughters blame the manu priest. It was tyrants such as he that
tore open earthly plains. Fumes and smokes spew forth. The
mountains tremble and valleys burst asunder. The fire mist is
glowing red. Animals grow wild. Judgment must fall before Earths
Promise is again redeemed.
Even Fathers fleshy shape is conforming to the masters. They
teach how this foretells perfecting of Mans image; adepts are
physically transformed to beckon re-Design. Temple murals
animating Memory and Will portray this new Ideal they show a
monster bearing multiple heads and horns. Its awesome splendor is
there displayed for dreaming masses to admire. Thus imaginations
are wooed and shaped anew; so will coming generations of Haal
bodies begin to evolve.
Likewise the initiates appetite no longer merely nectar, leaf or
bitter tuber root; these can never sustain the spiritual power
embodied by sons of gods. How will families of Haal flourish and
dominate the sphere?
But blood makes us choke. It is the daily complaint of younger
sibling souls. Indeed even the boys will gag, though they bravely
chew the sacrificial flesh.
But there is something awakening deep inside the latest Haalean
brood. These daughters hosting Halles awareness merely echo the
family mood. And here is one individual, a younger sis, being lately
compelled to ponder. She endures a singular fancy:
413
The ancient Curse has crafted a dreamtime torment (for Halle it is

waketime) the dark creaturely spirit which fascinates, hunts and
pins her immovably down. Then as physical eyes blink confusedly
open, lonesome female is forced to behold objects surrounding in
contrasting material outline.
In that age of Earth development, daysight was not so focused or
clear, nor as colored as Halithas eons later; so physical vision is
hazy at best for the saurian daughter of Haal. Moving shadows are
most alarming. They appear as devouring dragons to the mind of
this mortal maid; every darkened cloud or mountain shade becomes
the dreaded Beast.
Long ago, seeking antidote to this ailment, Haal Daughter stole into
a sanctuary devoted exclusively to El. It was empty of any disciples
that year (no wonder, considering its creed); a single priest presided.
Approaching from behind she ventured to tell him of her terror.
Priest turned She beheld manu, son of gods!
His vestige was white as fired lime. To the spirit eye, his head
displayed form of the newborn celestial Ram its innocent gaze was
powerless to threaten. She felt encouraged then to approach the
Lord And as the countenances of Michaels warriors, this one
shone with solar splendor.
(Tally Man, whispered Hals hidden soul!)
Priest winked; nodded a goatish chin
Then he proceeded to instruct the maid concerning his consort: the
Virgin Second-born Spirit of luminous life, third only to Parent El.
He warned of spreading sorceries, manipulation of souls wielding
power inherent in human blood as if it were soulless Force.
For once upon a distant time, distinction of sex inspired vigilance.
But self-interested manu distort even the blessed, most basic of
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Embracing the Beast
human motive. Life aroused from the loins and transmuted by blood
became prone to degeneration.
Sons of Seth seek instead an ethereal fount sprung from the
parietal crown. Therefore manu who remain faithful to El and the
original Plan for adam: they are reforming mans bodily image to
contain and dispense each daughter and son Power of Secondborn.
Thus Eternal Life is poured into a perishable earthen jar
This vessel, chalice of heavenly wine Life undying that will not
diminish is both blessing and bane to Woman: made and maker
of Man. Its the burden she bears in sacrificial pain while contained
in a body of clay. But this too will endure for mere Seasons of
Haalean generation.
Then the manu hierophant placed a hand appearing as Rams
horny hoof upon kneeling maidens soft head. And he prayed:
We complete the closing of Ancestral Eye to spirit conversations.
Dread may haunt thy loneliness; as shadow fills the empty space and
dogs uncertain step, spectral spirit dwells twixt Night and Day
keeper of the threshold bridging realms. Let true waking selfhood
sleep for twilight seasons only. In Spirits stead, dream vision may
enshroud Haal souls in slumber while yet lightening their shadowed
paths until the morn thy Spirit Name awakens.
Haal Daughter rose and felt her head; it now weighed heavy on
her spine. Her brow was lifted higher and skull domed round; felt
firm as fired clay, like the shell of Tortoise or Crab.
From that hour forward, her disturbing visions of Storm begin to
subside. She worries now more often for the destiny of Haal Father.
His voice is virtually silent now; Mother Haal grows distant daily.
Even elder Sisters feelings are relatively dim.
415
Haal Daughter feels increasingly alone.

Manus prayer remains a mystery, though never wholly forgot; full
meaning veiled from her understanding mind. But that Voice is ever
echoing from parental root to stem, unto furthest climes of
generational flower.
And another voice this Mind thinks strangely; so very old, yet
young like Littlest Sister. And the solitude how could any soul live
in silent self-absorption?
For Haal Daughters world is teeming with life, constant company
of Persons. No space is void, no shadow empty of spiritual
occupation all manner of excarnate creature dwell amidst ground,
sky, water and flame; dumb or intelligent, friendly or not: the
weeping undine and windy sylph, stony goblin or earthy gnome; the
clouds are crowds of battling phantom wills, the forests and fields
full of sprites; various demon or angelic hosts inhabit ocean and
volcano deeps, the starry heavens a spectacle of sporting titan
beings.
Yet this lonely personality her universe is blindly vacant.
Wherefrom, such Presence? Only newborn souls find so ready a
converse within the family awareness. A daughter lost and suddenly
found?
Yet stranger a single creature inhabits her feeling, an animal
companion; but like nothing any Saurian may witness. This one is
kindred to alien forms of fuzz-covered mammalian species.
And words this girls thinking is crowded with words, mostly
unfamiliar:
What is cat? Who is Lion?
Imaginations of Haal Daughter were likewise open like a book to
the 20th Century Sister, though emotions and images and ambitions
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Embracing the Beast
of that world must be communicated wordlessly. Such is the magic

of common blood.
But no, there could be nothing of mammal nature in a saurian
maidens experience. Though children of prehistoric ages had their
pets far dearer to the family soul than latter humans can fathom.
Yes, we talk of evolutionary origins. Our scientists pretend
inheritance. Haalean families felt it as fundamental to their being.
For subhuman creatures were progeny not by chance or natural
selection; animal kindred devolved from previous human forms and
as underdeveloped casualties of primordial wars against cosmic
enemy intrusions.
So the children of Haal grow intimately attached to a crouching
carnivorous lizard (small dragons to Halles mind). Like shadows,
they stalk their infant sires; and Haal offspring feel naked without
them. Regardless of scaly mortal skins, their animal character is
feline; and like a faerie familiar, this ethereal soul presents a tangible
companion to Haal. Others of all the human races regard this
species with suspicion, for ancestral saurian animal souls should
never independently roam. It is feared that creatures adopted by
Haal will turn feral like many others.
Halle already knew the heartbreak of animal kin going wild,
ungrateful; losing original sense of devotion. Their memories
buried, only barest of instinct remains. Atlantean races must later
confront it a spiritual madness, overshadowing natural affection.
To primeval families, memory was key. Ones whole purpose for
being is living-as-One by virtue of shared experience; history
conjoining souls. Common blood was lived as familial feeling;
many in the one ambition, synchronized ideal; One spiritual Father
of all.
And spilled blood of a body was co-equally felt as community
desecration.
417
So, whose blood are these sorcerous priests draining as common

drink? Which child of what ancestral mother or animal darling of
child? What atrocities are being performed behind holy temple
blinds?
This supposed advance changes everything, past and future intent.
And those who imbibe longest exhibit beast-like flesh mutations. It
was so with original son of adam when he butchered the chosen
Lamb. He was cursed to carry the marks of his fall, so none would
mistake him for Man.
Beast.
Their fathers own masters name was Anak, though now they call
him avatarati: he who crosses over. Even earthbound eyes reveal
the pretender as beastliest of all. Such a hideous sight, ancient
reptilian features combined with avian frame: Animal-man, not a
god-man at all! How could Haal Father desire it?
Daughters remember his tender caress, but lately they shudder to
touch him. Some fellow disciples boast feathers where handsome
scales belong. And their eyes are losing the responsive glint that
distinguishes man from mere lizard or fish, or even a forest beetle.
Snakish their stares are suspiciously serpentine. Haal Daughter
cannot trust them. And it shreds the very roots of her soul that her
father is so hideously remade.
For as father leads, the children will follow. One spirit over all
Unless
Daughter startles herself by speaking aloud.
Another foreign word! Only Sethian women utter syllables in
sound and very few of those. Wherefrom does this Word emerge?
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Embracing the Beast
It seems to float upward from a distant Dawn, bobbing unbidden to

present.
And suddenly Daughter has recognized her shadow Companion:
It is She You! We distinguish you now. What are you an
ancient Haal relation?
I am Daughter, like you, hissed Halle, startled herself at this
unforeseen discovery. Im your sister from far away.
Yes your appearance is dissimilar. Is this daughter even of
Earth?
Halle felt suddenly shamed and exposed: You mean you can
actually see me?
Of course we See
But how is it that she sees me now like other souls without first
dying? I even comprehend her subliminal language.
What is language? Haal Daughter asks the Family Mind.
Nonetheless, it was Halle who answered: I can sense your
thought; you seem aware of mine.
Of course, it is how everyone talks then to Halle, Have you no
fellowship in your faraway country?
Saurian daughter is curiously chatty (though she never utters a
word). New Sister is so widely traveled. She seems hardly old as a
sibling; and yet she is wise, knowledgeable as manu.
Who is Tally? she wonders distinctly so newest sister will hear it.
You mean Tally Man or the cat? Halle thought this maiden very
discerning.
What is cat? Surely foreign Sis does not believe the temple
manu merely a son of Man!
Surely saurian Daughter of Haal cant imagine Tally Man only a
manu incarnation.
No He is Firstborn of El, replies Daughter; Chief of manu And
He helps us to battle Storm Shadow.
419
Against Cauchemar? Sometimes the tallyman helps Of this Halle

wasnt so certain.
But of course, insists the other.
Then abruptly saurian maid spies the root of Sister Halles distress:
Haal Father He too is tormented by Storm? But of course!
Daughter verbally exclaimed it. This is Revelation. No wonder that
Fathers devotion had strayed. So then Haal children must
inevitably follow
Unless Halle uttered this word.
Haal Daughter realizes insightfully reflecting now as individual
soul she knows to what thought this Word must be pointing. No,
it is not any item of food; not an object of play or construction.
Is it Rebellion? For such the penalty is Death family divorced.
Decision! Halle answers. Some one must pay the price for all
others. Thus may souls be ultimately unfettered.
Commutation of Soul, Daughter mused; an unadulterated Ideal,
pure and yet unrealized. It wasnt even inspired by any oracular
picture parading the temple wall. Freedom, selflessly envisioned.
Thus did Halle revisit her elder Spirit-born will upon maidens
virgin imagination.
Suddenly Daughter recalls this Earth legend:
An ancient tale It celebrates the act of another child
uncounted generations past. Our descent into beasthood isnt
new so sing the Odes of Judgment, chanting down epochal
eons of Days.
An earlier patriarch of adam (like Haal Father) was also
deceived, persuaded to seize The Lure. But hardly was evil
transformation complete, when temptation passed to his son.
What child of his would dare defy Family? He must be as We.
Then instead of refusing arrogantly as a disobedient branch,
the prodigal approaches. He bows. Son freely accepts the
fathers bequest, and he drops it, never partaking.
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Embracing the Beast
The father crouches raging, no longer adam, ready to spring

as an animal and devour the son
But Duty yields to Love: for the child stands forth bravely to
die in willful recompense. Son declares, I will I will to Be,
and You will be as Me.
And so welcoming the brutes approach, Child reclaims: Yes,
even this abomination is mine.
Truly human Son embraces fallen sire The touch releases
reformative power. Evil Incarnation reverses.
So was Beast transformed again to Man.
Halle exclaimed, But I know this story! (or something very like it).
And the daughter replies, Of course. It is the oldest of fables,
repeated oft by children of Seth.
But you have to do this! It is time to act now Halle was trying
to shout it across Time.
Vertigo flooded her brain. Joined attention of Haal kindred
rushed forth through succeeding generations.
Halle wakened hollering into her pillow.
421
Four
Who is this? Halle had to shout into the phone. There was a pause
while the caller shouted back, then she turned to hiss at Bert:
Its my dad. Then she hollered at the phone again: Daddy
Where are you?
To her husband: Hes at the NAwlens courthouse Judge let
him out of jail Whats that?
It was a long few moments while Halle silently tried to decipher
the callers words not so easy to navigate the islanders syrupy
accent long distance. Daughter was shaking her head incredulously.
But Daddy, your baby garl is married now.
She turned to shrug loudly at her audience. Halbert was seated in
lotus posture on his favorite mat in a semi-private corner by the
cats bed. His eyes were closed, though even a blind man could
never have heard Halle shrugging. Talle the cat was watching both
humans sternly.
I was sorry you had to miss the wedding but I will always
welcome your visit, even if Momma doesnt.
Then aside: Halare you listening to this? The young wife
always assumed that she was heard. But again, it could be hard to tell
with a blind man, even after six months of sharing his bed and other
intimate spaces.
Daddy, tell me straight now: Are you sure you can afford to fly
out here? We can send money to help with plane fare, at least
Oh rich, you say Hear that? My daddy says hes rich now.
Something suddenly snatched Halles attention from her dual
conversation. Her husbands face didnt look right. His meditative
posture had sagged. Was he angry at being interrupted? That wasnt
like Hal. It was part of the discipline, ignoring surrounding
distractions.
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No Daddy Im listening Right, we will expect you. First

flight tonight. And dont worry about Momma. I will handle all
the preparations.
She glanced most concernedly at Halbert again before signing off:
Love you, Daddy. No my delight.
Then the line was silent.
Halle gently set down the phone, then squatted on the floor to sit
facing her trembling lover.
Bert youre crying. Was he sad or glad at the good news
of a fathers untimely return? And it was much bigger, better news
than he had heard so far. But the tears were suddenly bursting their
dam, so the man was forced to open flooded eyelids.
What was different about those eyes? Even through the wetness,
Halle was immediately conscious of an unfamiliar focus. The blind
mans pupils were locked upon hers, perfectly tracking every
adjustment of her searching stare. The brides eyes began to mist as
well.
Talk to your dearest, Hal. Tell me whats wrong.
He stretched out a hand and grasped hers, first try quite a trick
for a blind man! Finally, he choked back a sob.
Please to excuse me, Halle. He would talk like his immigrant
mothers family when feeling insecure. Halbert continued:
I am not sad for you or your father. It is only But emotion
would not let him finish.
Halle was glancing at the face, then at the hand holding hers; back
and forth. It had been awhile since Bert had performed such a
courtesy with ease. Just a lucky grope?
No. Halbert also glanced at their joined hands, then straight back
into Halithas eyes. Now the woman was crying, and it was his turn
423
to wipe her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, never letting go her
hand.
My vision is gone, is what he said.
What are you saying, Dummy? She suddenly felt justified
calling him that, else this must be some kind of elaborate farce. Talk
about dissociative!
What do you mean by that, Hal?
I cannot see you inside any more. Then he answered her
disbelief. Blindsight has left me.
Halle leaped to her feet, then dragged Halbert up after.
But you can see my face again. You see my tears! I am crying
with happiness. Why arent you?
The girl had to slow, then stop her swinging of their paired bodies
in a spinning dance before he would try to talk further. The banana
song was singing triumphant strains inside her head, just aching to
burst out loud. Her Hal was speaking:
So sorry, Dearest. But I also feel it as tremendous loss. It has
been difficult to describe persuasively the profundity of my
gain while external vision was veiled.
Well, surely you wont lose it all your insight, that is.
Halbert didnt know. How could he hope to know? There was no
yoga sutra or guru qualified to prepare him for such development. In
fact, most of this disciples gains had been as accidental as the tragic
kundalini anomalies, regardless of his practice and devotion.
Concurrent with loss of material sight was the arrest of base
energetic sensations. It might as well have been due to that as much
as the blindness, the freeing of his spiritual sight center to behold
otherwise invisible light emanations from above. He had become
more attuned, in fact, to the sort of subtle energies that his name-
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Embracing the Beast
sharing partner entertained Though Halles sensations were more

like feeling than seeing the vibrations of a sound or smell.
Physical light and shadows are so very loud, Bert complained.
It overwhelms inner concentration.
It didnt used to do that. Halle intended the reply as consolation.
Perhaps Hal, master yogi, must begin again with the basics.
And what about your Pentecostal baptism? she continued.
Perhaps you could do your glossolalia bit while meditating. It
seems to calm you down, Ive noticed. Not that Halbert was ever
much agitated. He agreed to try her suggestion.
And then there was the news. Halbert was soon laughing as
bemused Daughter related the latest adventures of Dad. Dayo was
indeed as wealthy as he was free far more so than he could ever
dream possible. The court imposed fines for the trespass and for
fishing the Preserve without license. However, the state had never
yet made proper restitution for seizure of his familys homestead.
Thats right. The swamp cabin was Dayos, by rightful
inheritance, including some acres around it. The statute was there all
along, entitling him to remuneration. The grandson of a banana
boatman had simply never known or really cared to step up and
claim it. Thats what comes of being constantly on the run.
As Preacher George always said it: You gots to get right with
your governor to get your rights, after all.
So Dayo did it right, finally. Though he had some help from
childhood playmates.
It took Mamba May some hours rummaging into Mr. Lafettes
boxes of old papers to finally document this fugitives case. It was
mostly a clutter of old treasure maps and charts, each a different
maze of bay islands and waterways and key landmarks relocated
(such as Pappys old cabin). After every major storm, the band of
425
juvenile brigands must seek help of the Vodun princess cousin to

redraw directions for their Barataria play. And amidst a shuffle of
these, the mambo found records most importantly the family Bible.
Therein was recorded in the ornate hand of her priest-mother all
known lineages of extended family, as well as property claims.
So it was a Bible destined to save Dayos skin and keep his sorry
squatter out of prison. Of course, statute required that he sell the
estate (so to pay outstanding taxes and fines) per eminent domain
expropriation on behalf of the public Preserve. But nobody cared to
tear down the cabin let Old Man Hurricane do that, if he dare. And
now Dayo could afford to buy a lifetime license to go back
vacationing when it pleased him provided he could find the place.
And thats how Halles daddy came back to L.A., the one on the
western seaboard. He could afford much more than that now, or so
he kept repeating. Next they knew about it, an account was opened
in the Hals joint names bearing seed money for their businesses.
That isnt the reason, mind you, that Halles Momma allowed him to
move back in. No amount of money could revitalize the injured
womans trust.
No, it was necessity of parental pride that reopened her apartment
door. Uncle Paul was institutionalized. Judge ordered him to
undergo rehab and retraining for state employment. Dayo was
staying with Halbert, on the couch in their studio apartment. Halle
moved back temporarily to her old room in Mommas twobedroom suite, which rent-control rendered no more expensive than
the new couples single room (another way that society punishes
responsible youth).
When Dayo learned of Paulitos new situation, he voluntarily
accompanied his brother-in-law to report to the rehab center and to
the docks for work training. They were happy to accept him into the
work part of the program (the islander knew all about shipping), but
the detox residence was overbooked.
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So it was back to the young couples couch.

Dayo! chided Momma, when he appeared to help retrieve
Paulos personal stuff. Youre being all that kind of help to your
in-law brother; but you got no business interrupting our babys
marriage. Those two havent been together all these hours and days
since you barged in.
Yes, the mother and sister felt so very grateful for his generous
contributions and his moral support of poor brother Paul (unlookedfor assistance from Heaven). Dayo understood her indignation it
was always dat woomahn way of expressing.
And no, of course he must not go sleeping alone in a hotel, wasting
all his hard-won inheritance. It was quite well understood how Dayo
was prone, as much or more than Paulo, to backslide into destructive
patterns. Cauchemar continued to plague his rest, very like the sad
veterans memories. No way could they leave him to sleep alone.
Halbert had already stopped the father-in-law from wandering twice
in the night, seeking medicine against new trauma. None was more
qualified than Bert to council this soul distressed, unless it be Halle
or better, Dayos own estranged bride.
Their marriage had never been legally terminated, so there was no
crime or violation of rental contract if the daddy were to stay there.
You can use Halles room until we decide well, until you can
afford I mean Mother was quite impatient with herself.
Just you better make sure my Paulito gets to work every morning
And dont you go bothering your baby girl anymore! You got no
idea what those two have been through.
Then the fated knock at the door:
It was May, from Pirate Alley!
427
There was Mamba May dressed up like a doll and grinning her
impossible smile.
Iss the garlee home? They say she be married now and sleepin
here.
Halle heard all about it later from Momma, how that witch
woman just danced in and took control.
I had to invite her to sleep overnight layover on her way to
Hawaii. Next the dark lady was whistling at Dayo to go hepp
Missa L'Fyette with luggage. And it was even worse for Momma
when the pirate baron came shuffling in, for she had dressed only in
scrubs.
Had a thing for me once, Mother moaned later. But now Dayo
was wealthy like him, just about. Oh, how life has a way of
upsetting and restarting the oldest game!
So Dayo was demoted again to the couch, or rather Paulitos chair.
May and her man were en route to the far western isles. It was their
thirty-first anniversary: prime number.
Leezay bum tinks he can sharm diss ol maid to make him a
moony hun.
They call it honeymoon, May, the mother tried sweetly to
correct.
Munnyhoon Hony Man A show him moony iss all
hoodoo, Mamba say.
Well, that woman was primarily the cause of Mommas bias
against living in NAwlens or most anyplace round the other LA.
She had onetime been obliged to attend one of the priestesss prayer
meetings, back when she and Dayo were engaged. There was
nothing natural and certainly nothing christian about the vodun view
of the world.
Pastor George wouldnt quite agree with you, Halle protested.
She replied. Missus George likely would Now theres a woman I
would like to have visit.
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Embracing the Beast
Im sure they will, someday. For Halle had invited them to the
wedding. As it happened, Saint George was out battling swamp
dragons that week, so the Missus promised to bring him along later.
And speaking of honeymoons it was the young couples turn that
evening, truly their first in one special way. There is no substitute
for actually beholding ones bride in her flesh and in all her glory.
Burdened even as Bert was lately become having eyes newly
opened to material things he regained just a glimpse at the peak of
their bliss of her spiritual splendor also.
So, how did you like that, Yogananda? Its what Berts friend
from Delhi had dubbed him the day the blinded yogi began first to
laugh at K-Street hospital. Halle hadnt even thought to repeat it
until this moment, as she studied Hals sated smile. Hindu Indian
word: means yoke of happiness.
I have indeed tasted Ecstasy.
Oh, that does sound delightful.
Then Halle said no more, uncharacteristically pensive (she was
usually very chatty after sex). Even a blind husband would have
known to ask:
Whats the matter, Dearest?
Nothing wrong its just that old tune again. Its been bugging
me more and more since Dayo arrived.
You know what I think, Halle It is time your Dayo asked you to
dance with him.
Yeah, well Halle paused again. I wish hed do the dancing
with Momma. He and I have other issues.
And Halle knew that Hal understood how she, like her father, was
battling Cauchemar all over again.
It was no longer only the disruptive experience of crossing into
that country. She rarely suffered any sense of paralysis or feared
429
separation from the physical. Hey! Even dying presented less threat
than curiosity.
In fact, the vicarious reliving of other soulish perceptions it no
longer required that she abandon daytime sensitivity. A darkened
room, brain and muscles relaxed, resignation to nighttime
protections by otherwise unseeable powers: this all helped. But utter
incapacitation of body was no longer required for extravagant
attention, eyes open or eyes closed. Didnt matter.
Nor was it another instance of: I thought I was awake and then
I awakened again. She would bodily get up from bed and fetch a
drink, then lay down once more with hardly an interruption while
visually touring a foreign landscape. And it all felt as present and
real as the clink of glass upon bedside table.
Such had become a new normal for bedtime while her brain
sizzled and snapped at the crown and temples, just behind ears and
arcing toward her brow. However, sense of dread and foreboding
had returned, for Cauchemar was waiting. Halle could feel his lust
and determination to have her. Maybe it was the haunted look in
Dayos tired eyes that spooked her from Slumbers threshold. But
young woman expected a crisis encounter. Her black knight would
be there daring the pilgrims progress.
Thankfully, there was no battle at the ford that night to mar bliss of
wedded communion. Wife rested peacefully within the circle of
husbandly arms.
Then it was breakfast with Mamba May, hotcakes and coffee, much
like that New Orleans morn, this time at Mommas table. Next flight
was delayed for another hour.
Juss enough time to parlay, Garl.
Then May was shooing the menfolk away: You boys go mek
youselfs creezay out about someplace else. A gots beezness to do.
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Embracing the Beast
Want to go see my snake? Halbert suggested. Shes over 40

years old and blind, just like me.
Iss you dat old?
I meant the blind part.
Ahoy!
Creezzay, Mahn
The apartment door slammed shut behind three retreating males.
The mambo spoke to Momma first:
Be best ya hear diss. Garlee tell you bout dat fambly Bible?
Mother nodded.
Deys writing in there naming Dayo and he Pap.
Right, old Pappys property. I remember his little swamp house.
All his boys lived there too.
Na jiss dat. Dey was baptized, so dey names iss accorded in de
Bible.
Momma looked at Halle and the girl spoke both their minds:
But only family baptisms are listed in ours.
Diss how we always do in Narlens too. But dats what Mamba
be sayin.
Mother got uncomfortable whenever the elder woman started
speaking like royalty. May probably saw it in the others face.
And dats why I tale ya, Missy.
Now she had the mothers attention again, Mamba spelled it out:
You baby garlee iss part kinfolk to de Pirate fambly.
Are you saying something about Dayos dad?
One a dem boys you amember iss Missa L'Fyette today.
Of course. But hes much older than Dayo.
J.B. L'Fyette live with de Pappy sometime.
I know he was there a lot.
He and Dayo dey be half brudder. De Pappy and my J.B.s
mammy dey be swett hots once pon de time.
Sweethearts, Halle interpreted.
431
So was Pap his daddy too?

Doan know, the mambo admitted. Mammys Bible doan say.
Mebbe dey iss an mebbe dey issnt.
So there may be no blood relation.
Mamba ain so quick to say. All us City folk iss related someway.
Missa L'Fyette is me coozzin ba his mammy, take-away two.
So what you are saying Halle interposed, is that I may be
descended from pirates?
De Bible say Garlee grampap be married to de pirate granny far a
spell. But fambly gots it anoiled cuz de pappy was na City folk.
Den she remarry in de fambly way, just to keep all de property
shoore.
Halle looked stunned. Momma was shaking her head.
Anyhoo Mamba sighed. J.B. gots all de property, no matter
who be he daddy. And Mamba May dat be me (for Mommas
sake), Mamba mus retire by-am bye.
Retire? Halle echoed.
Diss true. An Narlens folk still need dey mamba.
When Halles mother reacted restlessly again, May defended her
station:
De City people have sprit needs like udder folk outside
Narlens.
They should visit the church that baptized them, was Mommas
retort.
No matter what you or Mamba tink vodun people doan trust
de ol King Loo-ay religion. Sho dey get de babies baptized, just
far goo luck but de ol Christian priests never did dem goodly.
Bondya! Na way! Even de first pirate brudders was Christian and
dey sell any boy or garl up river to slave. Dat no way Christian. No
way Vodun, far shoore.
Mother was silent. Halle didnt blame her for excusing herself
from the kitchen and its table. Once alone with the priestess, even
Halle never saw it coming.
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Embracing the Beast
You be mamba next, Garlee.

Halle shushed the elder cousin! Or aunt or whatever she was; not
certain her own mother couldnt hear from the bedroom.
You de only sprit-filled woman left in de fambly way.
How can you say that, May?
Mamba see dat den she say it. Be de truth.
There was a great deal more discussion. But none of Halles
arguments could sway the priestess or defer her would-be anointing.
In the mambos view, only Halitha could heir to First Cushion of the
dungeon prayer circle. Under Mays eyes, this girls steps had been
led directly to that obscure caf door off Pirate Alley just for that
explicit purpose.
De Sprit o Lisa know he way roun an he gots wok far you
ta do, Garlee far shoore. Her cross pendant swayed hypnotically.
Halles imagination jumped backward to wonder again at the
wanderings of her daddys doll. Maybe Mamba was right. Tally
Man did seem to know his way around, and he likely knew her way
better than Halle knew herself.
But mambo of NAwlens? Then the girl noticed Mays hand placed
deliberately upon her shoulder. Silvery iron trinket filled her vision.
Halles crown suddenly numbed; her neck felt stiff and restrained.
Hot coals of energetic desire were baking the base of her spine;
spirals of heat crawled upward, stirring her gonads, firing nerveplexuses to full waking. Something or Someone reacted inside,
hidden hands and arms pressed back downward. Heart was battling
loins.
Nausea began to invade her middle. Every hair tingled with
anticipation, overwhelming lust for Power. She felt sick,
wonderfully sick drunk with strong spirit and alive!
433
No way! Girls gut revolted. A choking cough ensued. Both

womens hands reached to arrest the cross necklace. Seemed Halles
spirit gagged upon this kind of anointing like so much soured wine.
Mother swept into the kitchen then (she was actually carrying a
broom):
No way, what? she quizzed.
The priestess answered for her novice, We jiss memba-nissin
about de garlees visit ta Mambas kitchen.
I liked your kitchen well enough, May But your haunted
jailhouse is another story.
The elder womans smile shrunk as she answered:
Missy Dey be no bars an na locks at Missa L'Fyettes mission
An if folk brings dey own hants, always betta dat dey coome an
den leave it dere behin dem dat what Mamba say.
Momma said nothing more. Besides, the boys were back and
their plane was leaving, so the mother soon had house and home to
herself and the daddy.
After that little visit, Mom and Dad seemed somehow more
compatible. Mother did report that she was locking their apartment
deadbolt inside and removing the key, so that Dayo couldnt
wander out seeking escape from another cauchemar haunting. When
the poor man got restless, waking Momma from sleep, she would
simply start singing softly. Even through apartment walls, the
womanly tones would generally lull him to settle back into the
recliner.
So what do you sing? Halle asked.
Oh surely you know what, Baby Girl.
But, really Halle didnt.
Same as I always did, all those years ago.
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Embracing the Beast
So that was how infant Halitha made first acquaintance with the
tallyman.
435
Five
This was supposed to be a happy morning.

It was yesterdays morn when Halle got up feeling sick as a sailor.
Didnt seem like fever or flu; only woozy. The world just refused to
hold still.
Actually it was very like the familiar vertigo looming before the
Portal wave or wormhole whatever it was paved passage to
Cauchemars country. Except this felt somehow more physically
rooted. Sitting was like floating. Walking produced a swimming
swerve; as if every movement was anticipated by swishes and swirls
of fellow swimmers tails, whose unseeable wakes of watery
vibration would orchestrate choral movement a whole school or
pod of migrating bodies turning together on a heartbeat.
They were all traveling with enjoined purpose, returning to that
mysterious motherland from whence they had come, once upon a
time. Where it was located on a map no individual could tell;
nobody knew to use maps back then. Yet together all must know
and all must go there as certainly as the sun will set and rise over
another day.
Perhaps it was merely a daydream or fancy, inspired by recent
conversation with Anne about undines or merfolk and their mythical
transformations to angelic sylphs. The talk was precluded by her
preference for the Anderson rendition (and before that the science of
Paracelsus) over the latest evolution of mermaid tales. But Halle
experienced it as a walking vision, like many more of late. Her
nighttime wanderings were spilling more frequently into the day.
Imagery, drama and ethereal sensation might continue for hours as a
colorful backdrop to the black and white habitual life of work and
chores and restful ease.
This time, however, it was vibrations; like subsonic waves and
supersonic energies. They reminded her somewhat of her healing
resonations; perhaps it is where such twinkles come from. But these
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Embracing the Beast
sensations engendered a new kind of vision: sight beyond mere

seeing. The subtle swimming motions became so amplified and
distracting by afternoon, that Halle grew irritated with every
competing sound traffic, the coffee pot, Talles purr even the
voice of her lover. It was like nothing else, no other demand, could
begin to compare in import to one overriding call for all to return to
That Place of original birth.
So on the way home from work, the young woman stopped to
purchase a test kit. Then she dropped the bag in her clothes hamper
a discretionary precaution. She forgot all about it at bedtime.
Predictably, the daytime business had exhausted her body while
stimulating the soul. Waking vision dominated her sleeping dream.
Only, instead of Neptunes castle it was a garden realm of coral
luxuriance in Disneyish Technicolor. She could see just beyond the
barrier reef a towering structure, like a tree of breathing stone. It
beckoned her to enter indeed this was the destination of their long
travail. But she and her fellows could find no access to ancestral tree
and paradise beyond. Every gateway crevice or cleft, over and
under, was guarded by lightening sabers of fire. None would dare
attempt such passage.
The sky of this environ was one giant eye a reflecting surface
rather than starry void. Images played upon that face, mixing objects
from Above with below. The shapes were continually changing,
bending and fleeing, with the rippling currents of watery air. Bright
points of light lured with teasing trickeries and spooky deceptions.
Meanwhile the same lights were accusing their prey of sleepy
stupidity:
Come all that way and only to find yourselves unworthy. These
freaks of Time are undeserving of entry, even in answer to the Call.
Perhaps it was their fishy appearancenot City People, after all.
Those surrounding, each wore a fleshy head perched atop one
molluscoid foot. (Halle assumed she looked similar.) Primitive
cephalopod is how modern zoologists would label the form, like
their spineless progeny inky cuttlefish, squirts and squid, octopus
437
and monster kraken. What business had a creature visiting true City
Folk while clothed in such ignoble garb? Even so, some were
following the leading lights. They promised to show a secret way
where one might sneak into the coral Garden.
But a brighter and larger Light had dawned upon the opposite
horizon. Stormy surface far above seemed to split its glow into two,
sometimes three separate orbs. But Halle knew they were One. She
turned to welcome Suns arrival.
And as dreams will typically change channels midsentence, she
found herself stepping with human feet past a glaring headlight and
up into a tour bus. The wheel man? Tally Man:
Welcome aboard, Hal.
Excuse me she started, But werent you driving backwards?
Next stop, The City, Driver confidently announced.
No, you are definitely traveling away from those gates and the
living tree beyond them.
We are going to The Tree. There is only one bus aimed that way,
the right way; and you are on it though we have several more stops
to make.
Halle looked down at her feet, then her hands. She felt exposed
and ashamed fundamentally unworthy to go further.
I spent all my cash on fare just to get here. I have nothing left
over to pay.
Whats that in your hand, Hal?
She looked and found a shiny golden ticket waving.
Driver explained: Every Seeker who boards wakefully gets one
Please, find an open seat.
Halle stepped down the aisle, searching. And she quickly returned
to complain.
There is no seat.
Then stand and relax. It wont be long.
Please stop and let me off, Girl demanded. This ticket cant be
mine, or else I got on the wrong bus.
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Embracing the Beast
You arent listening, Hal. Weve been expecting you. But if not
for you, perhaps you will credit your passage to another.
Another?
And Tally Man pointed at passengers again.
Halle looked and studied. One or two held tickets like her own,
but most were seated, sleeping without one. So the Man pleaded:
If you wont come yourself, I implore you to board on behalf of
another one who still slumbers or wanders.
Another?
After all you did come to bear a new Child of Haal.
I did?
Please, Halle Come.
It should have been a happy morn. The test turned up positive and
Halle spent early hours planning She must think how to break the
blessing to Halbert. But her heart was distracted.
Talle hadnt shown for breakfast. Cats dish was untouched, three
hours after putting it outside on the step in its usual place. And he
always scratched and complained at the door to invite himself in for
more.
Not this morning.
Halles voice sounded stressed:
He should be long past the wanderlust stage.
Bert was staring worriedly at his wife as she went on.
If only I had agreed to that new radio collar.
But
I knowTalle would never wear a collar.
No, Dearest I only want to remind you that anxiety is
unhealthy at this time.
What are you talking about, Hal? She had always lived with
anxiety, and the stress never hurt her any.
But you have more than your own health to consider.
439
So, what was her husband saying? Does her worry make him sick?
She was feeling a little sick and went quiet as he explained.
I mean the Life within you, of course.
Halle halted her pacing to cross stares with Halbert.
Who told you?
How could the man answer that?
I was going to tell you myself, she protested. Why cant I do
things my way for once?
Please to sit down, Dearest. Bert gently guided his bride to a
chair. I will make you breakfast, and then we can walk out together
and find your favored pet.
Halle continued to protest, at first, but finally settled down body
and soul for Babys sake.
So how did Halbert learn the good news?
He had always known, even before the new mother. It was plain
as the red of her hair, at least to the extent that the blind man was
able to see. Lately, his inner eye was seeing nothing. Yoga masters
bright spiritual world was become dark and lonely and sad.
Yes, he would be glad to father a precious new soul, flower and
fruit of endearment. Yet, a near-depressive pallor had begun to
shadow the mans being. Wife was aware of his silence and vacant
stare but the blind man had mostly been so. That mood was
hardly out of character for Hal. Even this woman had no idea just
how luminous and alive had been the view behind sightless eyes.
There were hardly words to describe it, without sounding delusional.
Oh, he tried at moments to help Halle visualize what it was like to
see energies of life and thought, as well as distortions caused by
human fault. (It ever reminded the girl of the legendary threat to
bayou folks twinkle.) She knew intimately what such forces must
feel like; so he was lucky this wife was inclined to believe in her
man. Even so, she could hardly imagine how Bert would prefer loss
of physical sight if it meant his restoration of Seeing.
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Embracing the Beast
The couple looked everywhere for Halles feline friend. It was

certainly better than pacing the apartment. They checked all the
pets known haunts and beyond and they scared out a good many
cats, but none were shorthaired and black. Sure, he might be sick or
hurt, or simply trapped somewhere.
Curiously, the woman no longer felt so very helpless and robbed as
would the soul of a girlish Halle prone to pine in agony of grief at
separation from her totem. During those days not so long agoit
felt like losing a hand or some vital inner organ when the companion
of her soul went missing. It happened often enough and Mother
got the worst of daughters abuse until the animal decided to return
and cut short cruel torture of its adopted human hosts.
Well if hes lost, hes lost, Halle declared. She was finished
searching and pulled the pair of them down to sit under the oak tree
guarding her neighborhoods community garden.
One of the first things the couple did upon returning to L.A. was
commission the transplant of a mature tree salvaged from a freeway
project. Roots and branches started thriving almost overnight (many
credited Halles touch). It seemed even to make the garden grow
better a sort of lightening rod of Life. Only a tiny splotch of green
amidst the inner city concrete; but this young woman cherished the
little paradise as much as a great park preserve. Even now, it was
revitalizing her peace.
Halbert, however, was far from restful; seemed distracted and wary
haunted. He had been stopping at intervals to glance behind
barriers and around corners, as if their human flesh had become the
hunted.
Settle down, Hal. Theres no street gang claiming this block
police always warn the gardeners. Look, all the graffiti tags are old.
441
But no it was something else. Bert said he was sure they were
being watched. He felt eyes.
Oh yeah? Halle giggled. What color are they?
Yellow.
Figures
Of course, Halbert was never vague about any imagination; though
he was suddenly obsessed.
Help me to visualize, he worriedly appealed.
What was the mans problem? He had already assumed a posture
of meditation, eyes shut. He wanted to picture details:
What specifically will happen during the reunion of Halle with her
totem buddy?
So she humored Hal and his bizarre idea of entertainment. It was
frequently so between them.
Talle leaps down from my bedroom dresser and shoves my book
out of the way. Then I reluctantly pat his spine (because I am still
angry over another of his rude disappearances, you see). My cat
immediately arches his back up high, almost a coil like your snake
and tail curving up in another loop, twitching at the very tip. So I
cant resist one stroke, then another, sliding my hand backwards to
ruffle his fur And sparks, static electricity snaps at my fingers,
while Talle starts his motorlike purr. Sometimes it sounds more like
a tigers growl .
This was far more detail than even Halbert was expecting. But it
did the trick:
There! I see them. Perhaps spiritual vision was returning,
somewhat altered in fashion more of symbol or sign than clear
light. His eyelids were still shuttered tightly.
Them?
Eyes, yellow cat eyes. They are wild eyes defiance of a
conqueror, self-sufficiency; pride.
You see all of that? Sounds like Talle.
Suddenly, Berts nose was pointed upward, his eyes open wide.
442
Embracing the Beast
There, he announced. The Conqueror salutes.

Directly above the couple, there lounged a black shadow like an
African leopard hugging a limb of their tree. Two golden eyes
glanced down, somewhat distractedly For the cat was busy
struggling to contain a wiggly something flashing silver under spots
of sun spying through leafy bower. On closer inspection it proved to
be the ejected tail of an alligator lizard, granddaddy of them all, or so
its length divulged.
Oh Yuck! Halle snorted. Hope the little beast got away.
Halbert wasnt so sure. Perhaps that is why Talle didnt answer
your regular breakfast bell.
Curious Hal began again. There must be a reason why the
Cat never completely abandons the wild. Nature reveals such
Wisdom.
Thats why I like a cat Halle mused back at him, instead
of a lapdog, for instance.
Or snake, Hal finished her thought.
Halle wasnt even going to consider the idea of a lap snake:
Reptiles dont domesticate. But when a dog goes wild, its a sort
of betrayal of its best friend, Man.
Very true While Cat, like Lion never abandons the
wilderness. Hal paused. He cannot be said to go wild at all. There
is ever a certain archetypal stigma about cats so independent, aloof,
unpredictable.
Talle trained me. The woman looked up, but there were no
longer cat eyes to meet her glance. No telling where the pet had
gone. I never could tame that animal.
I used to dream of a cat, Hals voice continued. During the
worst of my kundalini sickness, a great cougar with long shiny
fangs
Serpent fangs! the girl spouted.
More like the ancient North American tiger, boy corrected. He
would leap from the fire at my face Terrifying.
443
The girls silence (Halle knew all about sleep terrors) prompted
him to elaborate:
Aba said that this vision was my uncontrolled passion taken form
of the Lion to attack its undisciplined host. People ever startle at
their own shadows and reflections. I asked him why the phantom
never appears as a dog or wolf.
Halle looked curiously at Bert.
Aba answered that the Wild Dog signifies defeat of human spirit,
loss of purposeful striving. The Beast has pirated the soul.
Loup garou, moaned Halle, then explained: Its what the bayou
folk call him a sort of werewolf swamp creature.
Master called it something else said there is no escape from
that curse.
Halle suddenly stood up and declared, But there is!
How so?
You have to embrace the monster.
Beauty envelops the Beast: even Bert could hardly envision it. He
stood to usher his bride home again, new mother of his baby. He
didnt really expect Halle understood her own meaning or the
wisdom hidden in her words.
What if the monster is yourself after all? He was thinking aloud
and thinking of certain personal haunts.
Thats exactly what Im saying, she readily replied.
And how do you know this?
Halle said it very deliberately to herself to her daddy, her lover
and herself:
This much I know.
Their conversation continued hours later, long after the sun had set.
Even the moon was settled below dark horizon: the witching hour,
some call it.
444
Embracing the Beast
Six
Girl could never remember falling asleep. She awoke in asphyxiated

panic, hands pulling at her throat. One sweeping glance reoriented
her thinking.
They were seated under her tree again, she and her soul-mate,
pondering puzzles of knowledge and life. But her garden had grown.
It extended for acres before them, like the park amidst New York
City.
Help me, Hal, she wanted to cry, desperate for one gulp of
atmosphere. But the words would not form like her breath, all
meaningful intent was trapped silent, caged within her soul.
I cant breathe just touch me, Hal.
Only a touch, thats all it required for the man to set free his
dearest. But he never seemed to hear his brides plea for mercy, for
aid. Maybe he didnt want to hear just sat there staring and kept
on talking and talking of evil and good fortune. His attention was
fixed far away at a point above the horizon off world. He didnt
belong in this garden.
Halle experienced no paralysis during this crossing. She
immediately knew full command of limbs yet all was helpless to
remedy her plight. The instant she reached outward to her man, he
turned.
Those eyes! They were yellow, with animal pupils. Hals hair was
turned black and thick, having grown down his neck and back. Dark
stubble covered his chin. His brow was thickly shadowed;
expression distant, unloving. The womans intent was arrested by
this awful sight of truth exposed.
How could she, of all people, be so readily deceived?
Cauchemar! Truth had loosed her tongue. Why? Did you really
expect to fool me?
445
I will be theeThats what the beast had declared one time,

another moment of eternal true-seeing. But now he said nothing;
just that leering, jeering smile.
A clawed hand was gripping Halles defenseless throat. It had
been there all along, from the moment of awakening; only now did
she connect it to this unmanned beast. Reflexively, her own hands
pried under his, but sharp scales shielding the skin of his arm bit
back. She would never pull free of Beast-Hals choking hold by
human muscle alone.
Why does it have to look and feel so real? Halle queried the
Heavens. A mere dream she might endure and forget. This was
worse even than torment of a sexual assault. Here was sanctity of
her most intimate bond suffering desecration. No woman ever dare
imagine: Demon masquerading as her very own Hal, posing to
kidnap her lonesome soul.
But no it wasnt just her soul he desired: the twentieth-century
Halle. This monster sought mastery of spiritual dimensions, whole
generations of Haal. The other claw Halle spied it poised just
opposite her navel.
You cannot! The woman recoiled. Throat constriction tightened.
I will WE will not yield Haal Babys soul unto such as you. We
cease to shrink or run from shadow Then Halle loudly declared:
Cauchemars curse ends here!
With a twist of desperate willful resolve on behalf of another, by
authority of yet AnotherHalle discovered power to resist. Energy
ignited at the crown of her head and rushed down neck to her heart.
Lightening flashed through all four of her limbs. Her throat swelled,
its muscles flexed in utterance of command a Name of Power
repelling the grip of Death:
446
Embracing the Beast
Tally Man! she heard herself cry unto to the sky.

The uglified form of Hal was thrown back, stopped short from fall
by the tree. But then, he used its firm living trunk to raise himself to
standing.
Halle stood facing him.
Beast-Hal snarled:
No tallyman has power to stay my desire for thee.
A soft touch round her trembling shoulders reminded the girl, she
had never been alone.
Where were you Is it true, what Cauchemar says? she asked
timidly. Tell me you are stronger.
Tally Man answered: You must dethrone this shadow-lord of your
soul.
How can I? His strength is overwhelming, his pursuit
unrelenting. I cannot resist him alone.
Who ever said you would strive alone? So said the unassailable,
ever-amenable, prototypical Man. The power you wield is not
solely your own and neither is your beasts.
He took my Hal. He wants our baby.
Of course he always covets more. Then Tally Man nudged
her forward.
You know the way, Daughter. Name the beast and he will let
you pass. You can blow away your boggy man.
I know the cauchemars name? Halle echoed loudly within her
mind.
Of course! He had divulged it himself, his true identity, his Name:
I will to be Thee.
For in spiritual fact, this monster was born entirely of her making.
Halle had only to own this revelation as fateful reality.
I wake up finally, says Annie to find myself mere puppet-ruler of
a mythical kingdom invented by me author of this tale while yet
constrained to perform its starring role.
447
It was ever like being bound to a chair and forced to watch as she
dreamt a dream, read a fairy tale; as a song replayed itself over again
in her head. Living as one trapped inside a story within the Story
just another beastly character in one of Preacher Mans bayou fables:
No way youre ever goin' to find your place in the universe so long
as you let Boggy Man keep you down, blindin' and numbin' your
soul, so's you finally forget you ever had a true Name that stood to
inherit Life out Yonder
But no more, it was Time for this soul to awaken and acknowledge
its enduring Spirit; reinstate Him, the true Hal, as rightful Lord.
Woman stepped forward finally, completely free of will. Halle
advanced toward the Curse. And now Cauchemar looked uncertain,
tried to back away. Tree hemmed him in, as Girl was purposely reentering the clawed arms reach.
Beast anchored himself and thrust talon again at the feminine
throat by force ever taking that which he lusted to make his own.
Despite healthful appearance as a fabricated image of Hal, odorous
decay surrounded him.
Halle started to faint, for the grip of her rival was many times
stronger than hers. Yet, to view false visage of her Love was
deadlier; Hal seemed to yearn toward his Dearest destructively.
Courage, whispered Tally Man. You have stood with me thus
before.
Whats he talking about? But Girl hardly had a moment to ponder.
Where were you all those times, my tallyman when the Beast was
attacking? Why hadnt she sensed her protectors presence as
mightier than the shadow pursuing? But Halles own soul was
wakeful enough now to answer itself truthfully:
Immanuel: In a word, in Name. He was there could never be
otherwise; true as earth orbits its star and moon its host, Sun keeps
watch from the dark side of progress, never failing to rise unto full
manifestation yet again next morn. Watcher would spy him even
while seeming to hide, as a faceless narrator speaking throughout
448
Embracing the Beast
seemingly disparate life stories, resolving suspense, righting wrongs;

bridging eons of time with shared pain and suffering.
He was that pesky tune following everywhere; even mistaken, oft
as not, as the shadow haunting her deepest fears an Angel of
Death, cursed blessing dim hope. Human soul was simply too
childish to discern much difference, prone even to misconstrue mirth
as fearsome roaring too young yet to understand the punch line;
even while that innate sense of humor enables joy amidst tears,
compelling one to laugh alongdespite sorrowat her elders jokemaking concourse.
His is the homing impulse of creatures that remain unconscious of
their own origin and inescapable destination. He is ever-flowing
water of life, nurturing earth, cleansing fire, light bearing purpose,
justice and truth. Tally Man was proven indeed the Amen at the
equinox of Time; He is at once both opening and closing
Benediction.
Indeed, Halle had no excuse any longer for not knowing.
Cauchemar was lifting Girl bodily, still gripping by her neck; a
mere rag doll in his grasp. He swung her round and pressed her
spine up against the tree.
Halle stretched both arms backward, clutching for dear life at
support of a crossing limb. This pose was familiar not The
Warrior, not The Cobra or even static Corpsebut an attitude of
heart far older than ancient Vedic song. Halles memory snapped
backwards to a dreaming vision of many months ago; though now
there could be nothing dreamlike about it:
Cross-Bearer Pose limbs stretched synchronously at odds. Thus
Haal Daughter knew herself to Be a living, breathing paradox of
Spirit splayed in sacrificial defiance of those competing primeval
foes. Her very form represented their judgments blessed Death to
flesh on the left hand; cursed bodiless Life on the right. She felt at
once cloven asunder while yet cleaving to opposite self. It
confounded the angels, this duality of soul: night and day, evening
and morn, inner and outer, woman rejoined to man. Light or dark,
hidden or revealed, enslaved or freed by affection; chaos redeemed
449
by eternal order, fairness and beauty by self-denying love Every

body of Earth must stand so beside the First Son of Adam, to share
His suffering from the foundation of Creation throughout Time.
Now, Daughter! Spoke the tallyman, Prefect of Heaven and Earth,
like a trumpet across the Ages thus Myth intersects transdimensional Being:
Your Time is Now
Woman let go her support and all hope of freely breathing. She
knew what the gods would have her do. Children and parents and
elders of Haal were there urging this one to step forth: yes, her
reptilian sis and uncountable siblings; Antlanteas refugee clan; the
Italian gent dressed now as an Irish chieftain; Queen Halitha in
bloodied bridal gown; but cheering loudest was a sunburnt lad with
hardly any covering at all, flanked by a matriarchal jungle jaguar. All
these and many more rejoined their youngest sisters resolve, a
communal amen One Faith, One Spirit, One Baptism.
Halle let Cauchemar dangle her form in a death grip upon the Tree.
She abandoned her struggle; reaching both arms forward
Energy flooded her throat to embody a Word of command after
all others are silenced, one syllable remains able to overcome Terror;
where sword and shield would ultimately fail; nay, when weapons
serve merely to increase potency of Dread. Even the youngest Child
of Adam knows the power of this word, first uttered by Serpent
Bride:
Mine, Halle said it. You are mine. I make you, name you
Mine.
In a word did Daughter die to the story, only to Live in the Story
Epic.
Vulnerable arms wrapped around the Dis-Eased One. True vision
unveiled monster from behind a wolfish human mask; lifetimes of
deception melted away like layers of paint and glitter revealing an
450
Embracing the Beast
oddly tentacled tyrannosaur bulk adorned with poisonous spines.

His breath was corrosive, and his body was covered with
malignantly bleeding boils.
No wonder he stank!
Mere rumor of such a horror hungering hidden in Darkness: it
would freeze any heros heart. Yet in boldness of truly free decision,
Halle clasped both hands behind her cauchemars muscled neck.
She pressed him firmly into herself with all his animal filth, breath
reeking of blood, saw-toothed scales of reptilian skin and decay of
accumulated gangrenous ulcers. These injuries Beast ever selfinflicts, gnawing obsessed at his own precious hide.
Mine she repeated it, suddenly breathing free. Such beast is what
generations of human soul (woman and man) must ultimately make
of spiritual being by himself, for himself when living unto
himself. Thus did Halle openly behold and inherit what had long
lain occult as mankinds treasured birthright:
Knowledge of the Tree.
Cauchemar groaned. There was a flash of brightness, as morning
sun burst the primeval human horizon. Overwhelming sensation of
thanks and awe prompted Halle again to look upon this possession,
so long denied and finally affirmed as yes, her very own creation.
Halle screamed in surprise: Tally Man!
Woman pushed Man away, now a veritable angel of light. But she
knew him for certain, being dressed again as hierophant from the
ancient temple of El. Now, however, his face and form was a
thousand percent human splendor. Yet no earthly prince or pop star
shone so bright as this godly son.
Blazing before him was The Sword of flame, else an arcing solar
flare. One moment it was brandished to guard the way; and next, in
a welcoming sweep, warriors weapon was inviting safe passage
beyond into garden splendor.
451
But its you Halle stuttered, hiding a twinge of regret.

Whatever happened to my beast?
A wiggle underfoot made her yelp. But Woman stood straight,
holding firmly down against the ground a legless scaly spine.
It is all that is left of the Curse in the end.
Tally Man laughed and replied: I am your new nemesisthat is,
if you will have me.
At close distance, he shone far too bright for a girl to stare at
directly (such is the way of true Stars). Yet glancing aside, she saw
friendly features a certain familial resemblance to Hal about that
wonderful face. Then she turned aside to look at what this terrifying
angel was pointing.
Haal Daughter, you are invited to cross the threshold of
Faithlessness and Fear. No barrier remains to disrupt your decision;
you have overcome Mortalitys sting.
There, instead of a tree or other instrument of torture in its place
appeared a decorous gateway grown of living timber. Two
doorposts rose upon each side, a fruiting archway over. Halle had
only one more step to pass wholly through and rejoin Tally Man
yonder.
The Night is over. Daylight is come. We have new work to do
on my side of waking.
Halle stood and stretched to reach through the door; she clasped
the angels hand. Then her crown exploded with rejuvenating colors
of Light. Even yet, Woman wavered to complete that final step and
snap the back of Serpent shrinking before Fire of the Sword.
Who are you really, Tally Man? she begged. Wont you answer
me that, at least?
My delight! he replied. And he held her with daybright eyes.
452
Embracing the Beast
I Am everything that We are making of Haal, Chief of angels

confessed, the wonder She was borne to become, the beauty of
Manly design. For the Hour one finally recognizes and reclaims the
monster as his own that instant rightful Adam is reborn.
Oh I wish there could be certainty of that! What if its only a
new cauchemar disguise another false awakening? And Halle
tried to retrieve her hand. She felt suddenly naked and shy, unworthy
as a faithless bride.
No certainty until you come, Tally Man was obliged to reply.
Nor was he quick to let go though he would have had she
persisted. You see, a true Lord refuses to move on without willing
company of his Bride, preferring to suffer yet another long orbit for
her sake Until only a touch or glance is needed to persuade her
full trust and complicity.
Halle had also paused her withdrawal.
Wont you come? he pleaded. Now you know the truth not a
false awakening or another penitent incarnation of soul; but rather
the Way of Repentance and Hope, tenacious commitment to Good.
Then he whispered:
Weve been wooing you for ages, you know.
I do know that. Halle admitted, glancing around. It was Time
Haal Spirit acknowledged it.
Then a leap of good faith! A resounding crack underfoot
Woman lifted her heel from the head of Snake and resumed her
embrace in the hollow of Tally Mans side. Hal was rejoined to
Halitha, his bride and her gown was washed white as snow.
Following close some before, some behind her step was Family
Spirit of Haal, one multifaceted shadow cast by a sky of
uncountable lights. Thus far, only a few faces were recognized by
the 20th Century relation; but Tally Man knew every one like a
brother which made everything right.
453
So, all together they walked under fruiting trees, beside the flowing
meadow stream toward a new horizon: The City and Beyond,
astronomical frontiers. Though, Halle was busy marveling at
earthbound observations at the forest sounds and freshness of air,
cool grasses under toes. The keenness of sensation here was far
beyond realities tasted of prior soulish sojourns, Day or Night.
This was Morning Everlasting!
Tally Man fathomed her mannish thought as well as feminine
feeling:
Welcome Hal theres truly no place like Home.
A rush of wind in ears, like a chorus of roaring lions left Halle
awake next instant abed. It was morning in L.A. country also.
I made you pancakes.
Young wife thanked husband.
Delighted, he answered.
Cat was scratching at the door.
Something on the shelf above their bed, where Halle kept
childhood mementos it seemed suddenly wrong; out of place.
Halle bounced from bed, reaching upward.
Go get Momma! she demanded. Tell her to bring Dayo time
to talk.
Yes, of course, Halbert said, starting out the door. Time we
share our good news.
Right the news And, Hal
She paused to pull the bone hatpin from Tally Mans head. Then
Halle placed it with the floppy hat to one side and repeated firmly:
We really do need to talk.
454
Appendices
Banana Boat Song

SIN Talk interview (FAQ)
It is Time! (A Bayou Tale)
Sources and Recommended Reading
456
Appendicies
Banana Boat Song
C
F
C
C
G7
C
Day de light and me wanna go home
C
F
C
Hey, all of de workmen sing dis song
C
G7
C
Day de light and I wanna go home
Chorus
C
G F C
G7
C
Day-O, day-O. Day de light and me wanna go home
Day-O, day-O. Day de light and me wanna go home
Hey, all of de women dey sing dis song
Chorus
Hey, all of de chillen dey sing dis song
Variations:
'Come missa tallyman tally me banana. Day de light and me

want go home.'
"Star-O, star-O. Star a come and me carry me load"
457
Day Oh me se day oh!

Day de light an me waan go home.
Day! me se day oh!
Come missa tally man
tally me banana
Comme missa tally man
tally me banana
Day! me se day oh! ....
Mi come ya fi wo'k
mi no come ya fi idle
Mi come ya fi wo'k
mi no come ya fi idle
Bunch!
Day de light an mi waan go home.
Bunch!
Day de light an mi waan go home.
458
Appendicies
Subspace Intercom Network interview 2025
You are listening to S-I-N, Subspace Intercom Network and your

SIN Talk host, Everie Reeder. It is my pleasure to present a new
author on todays show. Stephen Evans is with us by phone to
discuss his novel titled, Halles Rude Awakening.
Everie Reeder: Mr Evans Welcome to the show.
Steve Evans: Ive been looking forward to this hour. Please call me
Steve.
ER: Well, then it must be Everie to you.
SE: Okay, Eev-er-ee. Thats a pleasant-sounding name.
ER: Thank-you
Now, I want to begin with the antagonist of your story, featured in
the subtitle of the first section: Cauchemars Country. Did I say
it correctly Cauch-e-mar?
SE: Sounds good to me. Its actually an Old French word loosely
translated, means crushing demon.
ER: Not couch demon?
SE: Maybe that as well.
ER: Yet it is also the Modern French word for nightmare.
SE: Correct.
ER: So you are telling the story of a young woman with bad dreams.
SE: Yes well, even the English/Germanic word nightmare
originally referred to an experience far more intense than a bad
dream. Much of Europe called it a witch ridingin the sense of
being attacked, choked silent, immobilized and assaulted by a
malevolent spirit.
ER: Assaulted sexually.
SE: Many will ultimately experience it as a sexual violation but
like other such assaults, it is more an issue of power or control
than sensuality. The victim feels himself or herself robbed of
personal freedom and integrity, much like a kidnapping. One is
also forced to confront his worst fears concerning life and death;
life purpose and the nature of soul existence after life.
459
ER: Your main character, Halleshe actually believed that she had
died.
SE: Perhaps worse than feeling helpless against attack, Halle finds
herself awake and alone with herself while no longer attached to
her familiar physical body. So every preconception regarding
the nature of death is rendered suspect. The sense world is
suddenly dark and void; unknowable in any normal physical
way. Typical reaction is utter panic.
ER: Sounds intensely wakeful and confrontational. Halle doesnt
think she is dreaming at all.
SE: She knows that she isnt.
ER: This is very serious, spooky stuff. You dont intend your book
for a younger audience?
SE: It tends to be during early adolescence that people first
experience this kind of awakening. A healthy percentage of the
population (20 or 30) can remember at least one spell of sleep
paralysis, as modern doctors call it; about five percent report a
more elaborate series of awakenings.
But no, I wont recommend this type of reading even to teens
unless they have already suffered a sleep paralysis event such
as a witch riding, old hag, succubus /incubus or the southern
Creole/Cajun tradition of cauchemar.
It appears independently in many cultures outside of western
European traditions. Of course, theres the Greco-Roman myth
of Cupid and Psyche said to have inspired medieval folk stories,
including Beauty and the Beast, Sleeping Beauty and even
Rumpelstiltskin. Part of the tale has Psyche chained upon a
mountain pinnacle as ritual sacrifice to a horrible monster; only
to be rescued then exploited nightly by her illicit Olympian
admirer, incubus fashion; until she exposes him to light. In
African culture, it has long been known as the witch riding your
back. Southeast Asians, including Vietnamese, have their own
story of actually seeing a tiny intruder (though heavily endowed)
sitting on ones chest: dab tsog or crushing devil. It is claimed
that some victims even die of the terror in their sleep. In Japan
460
Appendicies
they call it kanashibari, meaning bound in metal a spell of

entrapment imposed by an enemy warrior or ghost of a hateful
child. Papua New Guineans give it a decidedly vampire
character as Suk Ninmyo, awakening to sacred tree spirits during
their nightly feeding upon sleeping human vitality.
Such mythologies provide a starting place and language for people
to share their spiritual experiences and fears.
ER: Are you saying that the modern American culture fails to
provide for discussion?
SE: For the most part, we have dismissed it from reasoned discourse;
unless you count alien abductions (and some do). Until advent of
the internet and anonymous discussion boards, an American
experiencer didnt dare (as a rule) to divulge having been
victimized lest one be labeled crazy or paranoid; and in
religious circles, demon-possessed. Even that represents a
dismissal, an effectual end of discussion.
ER: And you also approach this as Experiencer? Tell our audience a
bit about yourself and your own experience. The other
protagonist Halles love interest, Bertis a yoga instructor.
Perhaps that is also your background?
SE: Actually no; I have never practiced yoga. Though, I found
myself researching their culture and worldview in connection
with kundalini yoga gone awry. Many symptoms of kundalini
sickness as some have termed itresemble sleep paralysis and
cauchemar-like awakenings.
ER: So what is your background?
SE: I grew up in Northeast Los Angeles, attending Pentecostal
Christian churches and the local public schools. I learned basic
English and Algebra; studied Western Civilization and Modern
Science like everybody else. I was very young when my sleep
was first seriously disturbed. The sleep paralysis started when I
was fifteen or sixteen, and more complex visionary experiences
followed. My Christian orientation helped a great deal with the
sheer terror and some of the symbolism; but religious teaching
did not offer adequate explanation for all that I encountered. I
461
was compelled to search further. I was not preyed upon sexually,

but there were times when I feared going to sleep. I never took
drugs or alcohol, never dared to tell a doctor or counselor of
these events just my closest friends, family, and my wife. After
college, frequency and intensity of spells subsided for some
years only to come rushing back during my late 30s and for
some 12 years further in an even bigger way. By then, internet
and other media had begun to feature similar accounts by others
of my generation and younger. I was no longer alone.
ER: You say that you studied Science. What do doctors and
scientists have to say about this cauchemar and sleep paralysis?
SE: I still study Science, continually. Researchers have learned a
great deal about the chemistry of sleep and sleep paralysis. The
paralysis is normal and very necessary for safe and restful sleep.
It isnt nice when a body begins acting out dreams. But
awareness being wakeful beyond a fuzzy dreamconsciousness is not so normal after onset or before chemical
release of the paralytic condition of sleep.
ER: And the cauchemar?
SE: Its the things that people feel and hear and see while the body
sleeps that most perplexes the scientists. They cant properly
dismiss it as hallucination, so they say nothing. All physical
sensation is cut off; thats part of the paralysis. Even those who
claim that their eyes remain open are probably not seeing
material things. We call it false awakening when a person
believes he is physically operative during sleep.
ER: So it can seem that you are actually awake.
SE: You are awake at least your mind is conscious, aware that
much has been verified. Meanwhile the environment (including
objects, creatures, people encountered) may seem to be
physically real.
ER: But they arent real.
SE: They arent physical; not materially verifiable. The sleeper,
being so awakened, experiences it as absolutely real.
ER: Excuse me if I must say it that sounds psychotic.
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SE: So you can understand why it is that an otherwise sane,

functional and scientifically educated individual is reluctant to
speak of the experience. A number of credentialed researchers
have found themselves in the same boat.
ER: What do psychologists say?
SE: I have a friend, clinical psychologist, who kindly listened to my
account. He assured me that I show none of the typical daytime
waking symptoms of psychosis or other disorder.
Carl Jung did focused study on kundalini awakenings and
concluded that every normal person has capacity for such
perceptions (though he warned against seeking it recklessly).
There were many controlled experiments (M.A. Persinger)
involving volunteers having sensory perception numbed or
disabled while remaining awake. These immediately began
reporting the same kinds of vivid, living percepts of a spiritual
(meta-physical) environment just like what sleep-paralysis
sufferers report, including the terror and dread and belief that
they must have died.
Very interesting research (R Strassman) on effects of DMT an
opium-related chemical produced naturally in the normal human
brain as an agent to awaken extra-physical perception.
Various subjects began consistently reporting encounters with
alien beings in fantastically realistic environments. And when it
appeared that these entities were gathered to await the next
subjects injection with agendas of their own thats when the
researchers put a halt to the study.
ER: That is creepy. And what did they conclude?
SE: It was difficult to escape the suspicion (assumption, precaution)
that there is something/someone out there, perhaps in an alternate
dimension of reality. The human mind is capable of perceiving
that other, but such perception has been blinded or veiled
(perhaps by evolutionary adaptation) for our own protection.
That other realm is accessible within easy arms reachgiven a
simple/miniscule chemical alteration of the brain that shifts the
veil to blind physical perceptions instead; which then opens or
releases perception to this other universe of experience.
463
ER: But is it real, that other world?

SE: Modern science has deliberately limited itself in both method
and scope to explore only physically experiential phenomena
that is also materially measurable. The only exceptions to that
rule are the studies of Origins and Quantum Mechanics
though some would also throw in the latest in Genomics and
Biochemistry. But in general, scientists begin their research
from the assumption that perception of any other world must not
be real or reliable because it cannot be verified empirically. So
these concerns are left to those who presume to study
Metaphysics that being religious scholars, some philosophers
and self-described spiritual scientists.
ER: And is that where you felt forced to go looking for answers
to your experience?
SE: Thats what Halles Rude Awakening is all about.
ER: Its about your own search.
SE: Not specifically. It is a fictional story. But many of the otherworldly experiences echo my own. I also draw from reports of
other sleep-paralysis sufferers.
ER: In your fictional account, Halles father is an alcoholic as well
as lifelong victim of the cauchemar. You refer to his drinking as
cheap sleep medicine. When a person is plagued by sleep
paralysis, can you prescribe any kind of medicine or other help?
I am assuming that alcohol is not so very helpful.
SE: When a child first awakens to the possibility of a life ending, of
death, there is really no way to put such awareness back to sleep.
Likewise when a person discovers that a daytime clarity of selfconsciousness does NOT require body/brain consciousness
ER: You mean life after death?
SE: he must confront the new probability that inner soul-life/mind
and awareness may transcend sleep, coma and even death. No
sleeping potion is going to reverse that kind of awakening; nor
will toothpicks propping your eyelids provide escape from
nightmare slumber. I have never tried any kind of chemical
medicine. Nor have I heard or seen report that medicines
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alcoholic or otherwise, as prescribed by sleep therapists are

proven much help. They can even make it worse; sometimes a
therapy numbs awareness temporarily. But Cauchemar always
seems to find another way, so to speak.
ER: Dayo thats Halles dad speaks of another remedy,
something from older Creole tradition perhaps.
SE: Thats right. Many cultures have their own specific remedies, as
well as language and mythology surrounding cauchemar-like
events. Dayo recommends using chickpeas laid in a circle under
the bed for Cauchemar to count; and that is supposed to keep the
monster pre-occupied until morning dawns.
ER: Then the cauchemar turns to stone?
SE: (Laughing) Wrong mythology, but one no less pertinent. The
story worlds of goblins and trolls and other faerie beings are
older cultural attempts to embrace the realities of common
human spiritual experiences.
ER: So the old stories were not just entertainment or boogie-man
devices to frighten children out of misbehavior.
SE: It was probably both. But yes, I suspect that human
mythologies, as well as religions, are attempts to explain and
encourage people to confront what was actually reported by
certain accidental or reluctant seers in those societies.
ER: You mean what people reported seeing during sleep or
maybe a spell of intoxication?
SE: Drug or alcohol but not necessarily.
There is important evidence that human consciousness has been
changing over millennia. Many animals remain nocturnal likely
also a normal state of human awareness in previous ages. What
we call hypnotic or hypnogogic or otherwise altered states of
awareness were far more common and normal among earlier
populations.
Then there were always a select few, like certain priesthoods, who
deliberately sought to restore consciousness of spiritual worlds.
It was these Adepts some elevated to leadership of their
civilizations and some remained in seclusion who routinely
465
toured and reported back the particulars of their astrological

explorations.
ER: Therefore you see human consciousness as evolving so that
aid of mind-altering substances will no longer be required to
achieve glimpses of other realities.
SE: Very good! My own religious subculture has already
normalized such kind of waking spiritual perceptions
ER: Pentecostals.
SE: unaided by any chemical or device. That is, unless you call
the music and worship a kind of intoxicant.
ER: Do people say that?
SE: In fact they do. And some Pentecostal teachers warn that
dependency upon group-manipulative devices may actually
render seekers vulnerable to deception; even inviting the activity
of undesirable spirits.
ER: Like the voodoo prayer meeting you feature in the story.
SE: Where an individuals integrity is devalued and full waking
freedom-of-decision compromised however noble the goal
there may be a fine line between fellowship with Holy Spirit and
dalliance with the unholy.
ER: So I ask again What would you advise people to do against
the unholy cauchemar?
SE: Pray.
ER: Well, this is going outside my orientation. Let me steer you
back to a couple other themes in your story: Karma and
Reincarnation and some very intriguing suggestions regarding
the prehistory of humankind.
SE: Gladly.
ER: Do you Steve Evans believe in Reincarnation? Bert
obviously does believe it. Halle says that she does not. Which
character do you identify with most closely?
SE: Halle.
ER: But it is Halle reporting the visions of past lives.
SE: Yes well, its all in how one interprets those experiences.
ER: So you have also relived past lives during your sleep spells.
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SE: No, I have not at least not to my knowledge.

ER: Explain?
SE: I have seen toured some very unmodern, unfamiliar
environments. Maybe some of those represent previous ages of
earth. I think it is possible. But I never saw enough to draw
conclusions. Certain others have witnessed far less and gone on
to create their own metaphysics, cult followings, and even
theocracies. I refuse to do that.
ER: So where does this part of Halles story fit into the cauchemar
puzzle?
SE: Good question. It is where the story wanted to go. I have also
pursued this project for another reason.
ER: A reason not rooted in your own experience.
SE: Not yet. According to some of the oldest traditions of spiritual
questing, the review of past periods of human experience is
shall I say, on the agenda.
ER: But if you, like Halle, insist that you dont believe in
Reincarnation Im a bit confused.
SE: I dont see evidence for reincarnation of the individual soul, at
least not from history past. I do hope for a future something like
what modern spiritualists call Ascension, whereby the soul of
this lifetime is taken up to integrate earthborn soul-self into a
much larger Self born purely of spirit.
ER: Such as Enlightenment?
SE: No, I see the ancient Indian philosophy as an effort to deindividuate the soul, to erase selfhood and reabsorb selfperception into All-Consciousness the kind of we-ness that
once characterized human community.
Individual freedom and awareness is a precious gift, even at risk of
selfishness, pride and greed. Without self-awareness, there is no
possibility of freely self-denying Love. I would not reverse that
development, nor do I believe that the proper Authorities and
rightful Regents of earth evolution intend such a reversal.
Enemies and spiritual rivals may in fact strive toward that
ambition.
ER: Like the cauchemar spirit?
467
SE: Cauchemar doesnt help. I do find evidence for a cosmology

assuming that the metaphysical (what historians and
mythologists have called spiritual) is for real.
I am primarily spirit, even when my body fails. My spirit always
outlives a body. A soul may or may not persist, depending upon
its character. Yet my true enduring spirit having long preexisted this earth life may never yet have inhabited fully a
physical body. (Early apostles called this identity the new name
or new creation.) The spirit cannot so readily incarnate, except
by proxy by agency of a lesser awareness as living soul. And
this is where my fundamental Christian background intervenes.
ER: Oh, must we?
SE: Christian scripture is very specific, stating that the human soul
lives one measured lifetime; then it dies and faces judgment
therefore, no second chances for Steve Evans, none beyond
what this lifetime affords. But certain passages of scripture
allude also to some form of reincarnation. (My story narrative
references that.) I would say that my soul is spiritual child or
mystical son of its larger Father Spirit; much as my physical
body is actually a series of regenerations or children being
images or physical expressions of my soul.
It begins in the womb: I am my gestational-self, infant-self, my
child-self, my adolescent-self and various stages of adult-self.
Each season of incarnation is materially distinct; all have
different bodies. Your body physically regenerates the very stuff
of itself every seven years; and it varies the form. Meanwhile,
your inner self endures for a lifetime as a continuative growing
personality. Intangible soul transcends any temporary body.
ER: Now, here again we are wandering outside my comfort zone.
What about Karma?
SE: Cosmic justice: Yes
That is one reason why I feel compelled to admit that some kind of
reincarnation of spirit (not soul) is likely. One individual
lifetime cannot restore any balance to the scales of Justice.
There is far too much of obvious inequities of birth and
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circumstance to credit an ultra-powerful benevolent Overseer

with good grace and old-fashioned righteousness.
Yet the scriptures maintain that our universe is so ruled. Other
than simply trusting that this must be so
ER: That God is good?
SE: Good and Just Other than biblically-informed Faith to help
me endure this limited lifetime, I can only adhere to the
reasonable expectation that the Cosmos or King of the cosmos
will somehow make it all right and it requires much more
than my puny lifetime and limited sense of fairness in order to
make it so.
ER: I did not intend to discuss religion today but somehow
Anyway, what about those visions of prehistory? That was truly
strange and fantastical. Even the science-fiction Stargate sagas
pale by comparison. Where do these ideas come from?
SE: You should reread Homers Odyssey to define fantastical. Some
of the Old Norse stories provide an even better framework to
compare. But I like the Stargate series.
To begin I have studied modern theories and their assumptions
regarding Earths earliest ages, as well as the beginnings of our
universe the origins of cosmic order and life on our planet and
subsequent rise of human civilization. All of the accepted
scientific doctrines leave me flat intellectually unfulfilled. I
find far more explaining away of evidences than of logical
reconstruction.
ER: For instance?
SE: Media has barely reported some of the establishment-shattering
discoveries of this new millennium. Sonar with help of
computers (like ultra-sound) provides explorers quite detailed
three-dimensional imagery of the unseen ocean floor even stone
formations buried under silt and sand. A number of sites are
revealed that appear to be ruins of large city centers geometrical
networks of block foundations, streetways, walls, towers and
gigantic pyramidal structures.
ER: That is fascinating!
469
SE: I think so. And you might expect that geologists and
archeologists and anthropologists would be interested. Whats
more, the artifacts initially dredged up from these sites (pottery,
wooden fragments, carvings, beads) have dated many thousands
of years older than the oldest ruins of technologically-capable
civilizations on land. However, news of this has been squelched.
ER: Why ever so?
SE: Because the scientific establishments prevailing belief is that
humankind was not capable of building large city centers or
crafting jewelry or raising large temple structures earlier than
4500 BC. Only primitive village remains have been found on
land, therefore modern human civilization could not have begun
to evolve so early as 7500 to 12000 BC.
ER: But what of the evidence?
SE: The discoveries must be bogus or dating results flawed; though
it be well-trained scientists using recognized tools and methods
who report these findings.
ER: So why dont the doubters investigate it themselves? I think
they call it peer-review.
SE: To do so risks verifying that some part of it is true and will force
the re-appraisal of established evolutionary theories and
assumptions.
ER: I thought thats what Science is all about. Sounds like
somebody is cheating.
SE: You certainly are not alone in this feeling. Thus the popular
interest fascination with alternative histories, some of which
(like Stargate) resurrect the ancient mythologies. You see, these
submerged cities are right where the oldest stories say they
should be, before the last major geological shifting of the
continents.
There has never been a generation of human civilization more
thoroughly educated, none so broadly schooled in basic logic and
positivistic cosmology. Yet all the hours of modern scientific
catechism have failed to stamp out the publics appetite for
Truth, even if it threatens to resemble Mythology or Supersition.
Why?
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ER: I remember a PBS film about satellite imagery aiding the search
for a legendary city. And they finally found it collapsed in a
sinkhole and buried by sand out where nobody ever expected to
find city ruins.
SE: Yes, the scans found remains of ancient caravan trails hidden
under softer sand. There was a book about it: The Road to Ubar.
They used a technology similar to sonar; and even that quest
required the persistence of an amateur explorer, privately-funded.
But the scientific community is no more inclined to pursue the
truth of these latest underwater finds than so many reports about
remains of Noahs ark.
So while scientists wag their fingers and beards, further questing is
left to amateurs who enthusiastically take up the challenge.
Why? Why cant we just let it go, as our elders insist we should?
ER: Your answer?
SE: We know better.
ER: You mean that the hip-hop-loving school dropout on the street
knows better than a university science professor?
SE: And the quantum physicist or genetic engineer knows better.
The parochial science establishment is stuck. Even archeologists
are showing little imagination or the guts required to face down
modern priesthoods such as science education boards of
trustees or government regents of funding. There is so very
much new research, new theory and re-examination-of-oldtheory going on. All the while, the universities and high school
curriculums remain stubbornly blind to its implications and
promise. I am persuaded that we have already gone far beyond
allowing the last word to Darwinian Evolutionists.
ER: But really whats the alternative? You arent one of those
Creationists or I.D. freaks, are you?
SE: Ah! Now that is telling. You arent even aware of alternatives.
Why? Because no alternative is admitted any legitimacy and
that without ever having studied the evidence or heard
arguments.
471
Its a fixed outcome; rigged. There is no longer free discourse

when it comes to the question of Origins or advent of
Civilization. Modern education is both the pinnacle of human
development and abyss of human arrogance.
ER: Well, our audience is waiting. What alternative? You dont
really think there were alien visitations via stargates that seeded
intelligent life and jump-started civilization? Thats just
scientistic Tom Cruise craziness.
SE: Im not partial to Hubbards Scientology; nor its older forebears
like Christian Science or Mormonism and the various
gnosticisms before that. But there are much older traditions with
roots going further back to those eras when Adepts (as we
discussed) apprehended directly the metaphysics of earth and
cosmos.
There have been attempts in recent generations to resurrect that
ancient wisdom Theosophists and Rosicrucians for instance. I
focused my study upon the reports of an early 20th Century adept,
Rudolf Steiner. He was one of the first strict scientists of our
post-industrial age to address realities of spiritual Nature (J.W.
von Goethe was another before him). And Steiner actually
described and explained the what and wherefore of rude
awakenings such as Halles in my story. He attempted to
recount in contemporary terms the rich cosmology understood by
ancients. It was after completing my own written summary of
Steiners cosmology that I embarked upon this novel to illustrate
how such a worldview might illuminate and shine through the
seeming meaninglessness of a 21st century biography.
ER: Very well but the civilizations you describe sound more like
something borne of Tolkiens wood elves or Xindi-reptilian
aliens a la Star Trek. Wheres the archeological evidences for
any of that?
SE: Oh, its there. Dont forget Ubar and these underwater ruins.
There is evidence of even more of the unexpected under
Antarctic ice, up on Mars and the moons of Saturn (not
necessarily lost civilizations, but unexpected nonetheless). The
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latest pursuits in cellular biology, especially epigenomics, are

forcing Evolutionists to reconsider. Headlines are full of
reversals (and some double reversals) of scientific findings,
despite collegiate resistances. Its all been there right in front of
our noses for centuries. But again, what is seen depends upon
ones interpretation based on underlying assumptions.
ER: So what might a real scientific (rather than science fictional) set
of assumptions look like?
SE: What if what if our paleantologists and archeologists have
been looking at it all backwards, after all? Another of those
scientific reversals their Tree of Life may be upside down.
Rather than a progressive evolution, it could just as well be
largely de-volution represented by the so-called fossil record.
We have assumed life advancement of simple to complex
(however contradicted by genome studies). Experts in the field
agree now that humankind did not evolve from apes like those
currently populating Earths jungles, yet many schools continue
to teach it. They realize now that Darwins famous finches
actually represent epigenetic variations of the same species, not a
transforming of species at all. Do biology professors admit it?
What if the apes and modern human races all descended from
master races perhaps in forms not yet hardened as the carbonbased bodies of life as we know it yet civilizations of souls far
more advanced than any anthropologist dares consider? Many
archeological puzzles and genetic conundrums would begin to
sort differently than the caveman club mythology proposed
by contemporary science. Problem for paleontologists: such prematerial body forms, like the soft bodies of invertebrates, do not
tend to leave footprints or petrified bones as physical evidence.
ER: Moving stone pictures? Magical control of growing things and
flying hovercraft powered by What is it?
SE: Hidden life energy that explodes the rock-hard shell of a tiny
seed and impels it to grow from germ to giant redwood.
Biologists have been so busy analyzing a living body as if it were a
dead machine, they persistently overlook the awesome power of
Life contained (apparently) in microscopic spaces. It only looks
473
like magic from our mechanistic perspective, just as our current

technologies would appear magical and even demonic to the
ancients and that primarily because they did not yet enjoy the
luxury of living blind to the teeming swarms of creatures
inhabiting spiritual Nature in various immaterial-body forms.
ER: Spiritual Nature? Is there also then a spiritual Ecology?
Environmentalists of spirit? Endangered spiritual species?
SE: I think you had one name for it earlier: Karma.
And consider all the variety of legendary creatures classified as
benign down the ages, some of them appointed to watch over
affairs of humankind: fairies, gnomes, sylphs, nymphs, undines
angels its a very long list.
ER: Touch. But do you really expect modernists to consider such a
world to be more than simple Fancy? Thats a very tall order.
SE: They already do in their hearts. The Fantasy genre of
literature has exploded to a distinct and dominant section of
every bookstore. If something resembling Greek or Medieval
spiritual zoologies (admittedly cartoonized in literature and film)
is not for real, popular imagination still wishes it to be so.
Logically and morally, something very like it virtually demands
to be existent. It seems at least as plausible to me as those strict
materialistic dioramas painted for museums of natural history.
And Reality is often proven stranger than Fiction, after all.
ER: Well at least you didnt include any fairies or tree nymphs in
your story.
SE: They were there twinkling behind the scenes.
ER: Twinkling. Yes, I remember something about that. And I am
sure there are many more hours of worthy discussion to be had
from the pages of your very unusual novel.
SE: I truly hope so.
ER: Then let us urge every Subspace Intercom Network listener to
go visit their favorite ebook seller and purchase their own copy
of Halles Rude Awakening. Then you too may learn how to
whats it say Embrace your inner Beast?
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SE: Something like that.

ER: Thanks to Steve Evans for sharing your book and worldview.
SE: Everie Reeder, it was my delight.
ER: (LOL) I remember that one too. And now I will never get the
banana boat song out of my poor brain.
SE: Sorry about that Really.
475
This is your SIN Talk radio host again, Everie Reeder. My guest
from last hour is back with us for an exclusive presentation.
Steve Evans has agreed to read something never before published.
His novel, Halles Rude Awakening, contains a story within the story
(rather like that interview). It is a fanciful tale populated by a variety
of bayou creatures and characters. He tells me it is actually a
retelling of the less familiar fairy tale penned long ago by Johann
Wolfgang von Goethe: poet, author of the classic epic play Faust
What is that, Steve Evans? Oh yes, he was also a scientist of
spiritual Nature. Anyway, Goethes tale was called The Green
Snake and the Beautiful Lily. Steve Evans will be sharing with our
SIN Talk audience a section of his bayou version of the story, a
passage not included in the novel.
So, sit back with a cup of tea, grab a pillow and loosen your belt for
an old-fashioned story hour: a missing chapter from the story in a
story called, Fisher Mans Wife.
It is Time!
(A Bayou Tale)
The Pirates of Barataria Bay were on a covert mission for the dark-hearted
Lightnin Bug Queen. To call it barata ria meant the bayou would be easy
pickings, or so the pirates believed. Outlaws were out to hijack every swamp folks
twinkle their trueborn light and freedom thereby rendering them speechless
animals instead of humanitys brothers. Originally, all earth creatures had twinkle
(just like human folk today), not only the firefly people. Thats another story. But
dreadest of all, for even the eldest of Earths creations, was to be kidnapped as
booty for Bull Gators endless appetite.
Ol Bull is no native gator at all (you can tell by his pointy snout and toothy
grin). He was a tyrant intruder the original pirate snuck in from outside ocean
and taken swamp-animal form. Old stories tell of Krok, ancient enemy of Earth
Light. His breath fills the bayou with creeping Mossy Moss, the air with fog and
midges. The swamp fog takes dark shape like Shadow Folk, known as shampe or
Boggy Man. The haze chokes and disorients creaturely senses. They say that is
why bayou nights are so long and the day never properly dawns. And when a poor
thoughtless creature gets cornered, Ol' Bull's hungry green stare can be
mesmerizing. Thats how he dims their twinkle, so they are rendered powerless to
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run or cry out as a truly human soul. Those left by Gator to wander are reduced to
loup-garou, hunting with the fog like wolves for their master. That's also why
bayou folk shun silence, and even tiny crickets keep up a constant chorus of
voices, with the tree frogs, bullfrogs and peepers all under direction of Chorus
Master Frog.
So in those days you faced a double destiny, human brother or animal beast,
depending on your wit and circumstance. You see, even the "tallest" of mankind
was unable to overcome sleepy animal nature without help.
They say that help hails from Fisher Man, who is spotted busy in his canoe
about bayou waterways. He carries a great lantern against the Night and Fog, no
mere flicker but constant and bright as Harvest Moon. All modern firefly folk,
those who still have their twinkle, owe their glow to his Lamp nowadays (though
they no longer call themselves children of the Lightnin Bug Queen). And Fisher
Man has special hooks that can snag even the biggest of gators. But he always
throws back whomever he catches after cleaning off accumulated pirate barbs
and leeches. Such is his continuous work and pleasure throughout the long Night.
Tonights story begins with the Storm surge flooding folks bank dwellings. It
all happened back in the days when NAwlens was known only as The City.
Swamp folk were all People, whether in animal or human form. Sometimes they
appeared as beasts, or so they seemed under sunlight. But most of those days were
darkened by Storm; it seemed a long continuous Night. But even so, by evening
time as the hazy sunlight descended more of folks human nature would
appear, though all mixed up with other creaturely traits. That was the way, until
more and more City folk crossed over the bay.
The shy conger eel wears garb of a water snake, but a salamander actually, more
related to Frog folk than other belly crawlers. Salamander has legs, tiny, hardly
worth mentioning, except for three toes at the end of each appendage. Her legs
werent always so tiny thats another tale too. But its why she had to move like
a snake, in water or dry ground. And it meant she was thoroughly misunderstood,
certainly no real relation to the fabled Serpent Bride.
Her Ladyship Choctaw call her Sinti lapitta or great horned serpent. She
appears mostly as the smoky green swamp viper, at least during daytime. Some
nights she hunts as Ishkitini, the horned owl high in the brush. On the water
Serpent lies waiting, showing only her head, or rather her gaping mouth in the
weeds masquerading as a beautiful white lily flower. So the awed victim is lured
to admire the sweet blossom then seized by paralyzing fangs.
477

Its curious though how she and Ol Bull are constantly fighting over Boggy
Man. Sure, they always competed for bayou hunting territory and finally reached
an unspoken truce. But Boggy Man? They couldnt eat him. Gator found Boggy
useful and the Bride guarded her own plan to rule all the bayou country. Some,
like the pirates, took sides and worshipped her as royalty. But pirate ships were
often foundered in fog and plundered by Bull Gator. Name given the Bride in the
Old Country was Lilith, who hunts with the wind, her voice more terrifying than
Screech Owls call. She is beautiful as Death, most irresistible at the midnight
hour. A breeder (and you dont have to explain what that means to the children)
though in latter days her neglected broods shaped themselves as black leeches,
maggots and biting flies.
Salamander was not a snake at all and could sport no tooth and no fangbut she
hunted quite expertly under water or up the bank. Yet this season, she was obliged
to seek a safe hole, a haven far up, away from swift currents and the Mossy Moss
murk washed in from open sea. Despised by other creatures, she might seem to be
dead until somebody touched or stepped on her. She was engaged by the vain
Lightnin Bug Queen, to gather and return runaway glowworm children. Of
course, poor Salamander couldnt carry them with her tiny arms, so her long gullet
had to serve.
A solitary soul, Salamander developed this bad habit of swallowing just about
anything, just to see how it tasted in the darkness. Her eyesight was quite
limited, especially in the daylight, though she could see very well in dark by
way of tender skin and soft mouth.
That is how she discovered that her new hole was missing a proper bottom.
Then on the way down one day looking for it, she found pirate ingots of gold to
gobble. Glowworms made her black body shine greenly. The ingots made her
inside shine other colors besides soft green, far brighter than a bellyful of nymphs.
Salamander knew other secrets. Her favorite was a covert way to cross the
Flood from bayou back to the parent land. There she would visit her friend every
day, the lovely Fire Lily.
Lily is a true Lady nothing like the lying Lilith. She dwelled in her garden by a
peaceful lake, just inland of the River. Most folk were afraid to go there, even if
they hoped to survive the crossing. Mainland and The City was a higher country
where Lightning was seen to strike day and night, where Light is said to flow like
rivers of silver and gold and all colors of the Rainbow.
Yes, Salamander had discovered a hidden tributary and stretching her length
could reach barely across it. Thats how she reconnected bayou islands to the
478
Appendicies
other side a kind of magic, actually, and another secret that even she couldnt
fathom. But the trick only worked when she felt quite sleepy, such as after a meal
of glowworms (okay, so some wouldnt quite make it back home), usually
midnight or midday when Old Bull Gator quit feeding and slept.
This night, on her way to that crossing, Salamander met a pair of the faeu
boulanger known then as bright Wisps (we call them jack o lanterns or
spooklights). They came visiting from the mainland. One named Will and the
other Jack. They are children of Lightning, like most other folk; yet having no
daylight form they wouldnt be visible to bayou people except at night they
appeared as dancing torch lights. (These days they tell us its only swamp gas
alight over boggy ground.) Such visits from The City were virtually unknown then
and portended a long-awaited end to murky Flood separating bayou folk from their
mainland relations (though Salamander knew nothing of that as yet). These Lights
were sent to repeat a Proclamation, but they had forgotten what it was, being easily
distracted by the fanciful and fun. They came in party fashion, made up as jolly
pirates, thinking it proper bayou dress. Surely, they had appetites for gold equal
to the pirates they licked it up like soft candy wherever discovered though
generous and careless as can be with their lucre. In fact, they were the ones
scattering gold ingots about.
Salamander relished their gold; tasted to her like lemon drops. However, she
was quickly convinced that sojourners Will and Jack were no better than tricksters,
much like neighbors Marsh Hare and Fox whose feuding exploits were famous in
those parts. She tried again and again to beg the gentlemens leave. But they
wouldnt go, not before she promised to show off her passage to Fire Lilys
wonderful garden. Salamander urged them instead (less than hospitable, I admit) to
hitch a ride on Bull Gators back and ride over.
Just look for the Boggy Man who walks at twilight of dusk or morn. He is only
a shadow made of swarming midges and fog. But Wisps are never fearful of
Shadow Folk though they should have thought twice had they known this specter
was summoned by the evil art of Bull Gator.
Walk toward the monster, dont run from it; so you approach the gators tail
end. Then you can jump safely on his back. And when Salamanders conscience
got the better of her, she added this warning: Otherwise, if you meet him from the
front, he will stare you to a sleepy state with his green goggly eyes and if hes
hungry enough, he gobbles you up.
But Jack doubted even Gator would have stomach for wisps.
Well, if you escape, then your twinkle is dimmed, and you are doomed to
wander a speechless beast forever.
Forever? challenged Will the wisp.
Unless, of course
479

What? urged Jack again. They so loved this game.
My friend, Lily, answered Salamander. She has Fire enough to relight any
folks twinkle. Only problem is that one touch of her delicate finger will turn any
mortal creature to dust.
Ouch! protested both flames. Though truly, they werent mortal like bayou
folk.
The flames finally departed, so Salamander escaped, but it was too late to
postpone her duty to the Queen. So she reported to the Lightnin Bugs lair.
While burping up Great Mothers stray offspring, Salamander couldnt help but
overhear audience of Ferryman Herons complaint.
First, his stick hut is washed upland by storm waters, then two wayfarers refuse
to pay proper toll after he carried them across the channel. They were the bright
and dancing type, so he assumed they must be relatives of the Lightnin Bug
people.
Well, somebody better pay, else River will flood even higher, just as it did
when those pirates first started their looting and carelessly spilling their ill-gotten
gain in the bay. That was indeed the way of things then. It was understood
generally that every person borne to the bayou folk owed considerable toll to
Heron.
When he heard no response, the stately bird continued, Of course, most goes to
appease Flood waters. But if I cant collect my commission, there will be no more
deliveries for any of the flickering folk.
Now this was a serious matter, for Heron served as official Stork for bayou
country people, a sort of nursery Package Post. All the folk those who happened
to be in a family way they all depended on Heron to carry nymphs, kits, tadpoles
and pups from the mainland (where conceived) safely over the Flood and to their
chosen familys doorstep. However, at the place where Heron forded, wind
currents allowed safe flight only the one direction, at least while bearing any kind
of burden. Then he must wade back alone through changeable river flow to fetch
yet another precious parcel. Fortunately, the Wisp gentlemen though rather
larger than most passengers weighed nothing by bayou standards, no matter how
much gold they consumed.
I will see that the crossing is paid, promised Queen, though reluctantly. The
toll was to be three of each of the holy trinity of vegetables root, stem and fruit
of flower no more and no less. It is still the standard, as everybody knows.
That means three onions, three stalk of celery and three shiny bell peppers.
480
Appendicies
It was apparently a law of the River, or rather Rule of Flood another kind of
magic, I suppose. Whenever a creatures twinkle was taken, the spark must be
sealed safe in a jar against exposure to the elements. Else, it would sizzle the hand
and scorch the air around it. But when dropped in a panic, the twinkle turns to
stone the moment it touches water or ground. It is no longer living Light, though a
shining yellow nugget. Any pirate would value it nonetheless as ingots of purest
gold. So they cared little if the Queen was cheated of her share of the booty. River
cared, swelling higher and higher. She was seeking to return each spark to its
rightful host though only Bondya, the Maker could possibly know who truly
owned it.
Seems Fisher Man also had part to play in this enigma. He spent days, starting
long before dawn, catching and releasing all manner of creatures, mostly voiceless
beasts. As I mentioned, he would snag a fish, a turtle or rat, remove all the pirate
barbs and black leeches, then throw the creature back into water or bush, free to
swim or to crawl, but free indeed. And many a beast returned by Fisher Man
would awaken to find their twinkle was also restored. So the Man was both feared
and revered by swamp people. And since no creature ever re-appeared on Fisher
Mans breakfast table, most believed that he meant them well after all. Thus goes
the saying, Fisher Man feasts only on gumbo z'herbes.
Salamander retreated to her quiet den, anxious again to explore by the brighter
light of her latest gold ingot repast. The Wisps had been generous with their
goodbyes. Perhaps, at the least, more ingots were to be found fallen deeper down
the hole. Searching further than ever by new vision of her glow, she found finished
beams, woodgrained planking and ornately carven pillars this instead of rough
cavern walls. Yet, however much it appeared to be oak or ashen construction, all
surfaces there felt cold and smooth as polished metal.
She slipped snakelike down a slanted wall from ceiling to floor. From that
position, she could wander around and by ambient light observed four sea
captains ensconced therein. Though never shackled or caged, they were rendered
immovable by some unknown enchantment. All had served or were waiting for
orders to command an ocean vessel. The First sat upon his sea chest with feet
locked to the deck in boots of gold. The Second stood stooping but fixed in
leggings of solid silver. Then a Third was poised as if ready to command yet held
immovable in a coat of hard copper. All appeared uncomfortable and anxious for
release, though each managed to hold himself with dignity and charm.
The gold-shoed captain was first to challenge the intruder. What country do
you come from? Then he added, Please, turn down your lamp.
481

I came from just up there, Salamander pointed high overhead where an
opening was framed by heavier timbers. Wide doors hung loosely from brass
hinges. Some gold pieces fell from a crack far above, so I followed them down to
this cavern.
Ah yes, sighed the seaman. Nothing shinier than gold.
What about Light? Salamander coiled slightly to help him admire her shining
sides.
Ohwell, yes. That would be most refreshing. Nothing so bracing as bright
light of Morning and fresh breeze against the cheek. The captain gazed sleepily,
longingly up through the open door in the ceiling.
But there is one thing nicer, challenged the snake, feeling suddenly foolish for
her prideful display. It is even happier and exceedingly more enlightening to
converse with a friend. She thought suddenly of her longtime companion, Lily,
and wondered if perhaps she wasnt too busy for a lunchtime chat. Sadly, the Wisp
brothers had caused her to skip the midnight crossing.
A sudden crack in the planking began widening and revealed yet another side
door; light flashed through blindingly as a lightening bolt. The brightness
silhouetted entrance of another explorer. Who but Fisher Man stepped through,
famous Lantern held aloft.
Too bright! complained the gold-booted captain, blinking. You might have
come sooner, but we already have proper light without your rude intrusion.
The snake didnt understand it, but Fisher Mans lamp had visited there before.
Its light was very peculiar, and it might explain somewhat of the seamens
predicament. Washed with Lantern beams, anything stone would turn to gold,
dead wood or leaves transformed to silver, and dead animals even leathern
clothing or shoeswere crystallized, hard as gemstone. The captains now enjoyed
a doubled dose, though what good it would do them remained to be seen.
Fisher Man answered the complaint, You know that this Light was not yet
permitted; not until now could it chase shadow from these walls. Truly, another
peculiarity of his Lantern light: It required service of a softer lamp before it might
act revealingly upon darkness. Else it served only as the Mans lure for night
fishing.
The silver-panted mariner had a question now. I have been standing this way
for so very long. When does my commission end?
Fisher Man looked sympathetically back. You may never retire. It just
depends.
482
Appendicies
The copper-coated captain spoke up then. My ship Surely it has sailed
without me.
Not yet, was the answer. Your departure comes soon.
Then who shall sail with me?
Here is your first mate and crew, and Fisher Man pointed round the room.
And that youngster over there What use is that one, pray?
We will see. He must rouse himself or declaim.
The Fisher Mans lamp revealed yet a fourth skipper; though it was only
Salamander could see from her vantage. He was tumbled off his couch, shaking
with fatigue in a continuous and awkward attempt to raise himself from the floor.
Heaped round his bulk were mixed up piles of all sorts of loose change, coinage
hoarded from every age and foreign portgold ingots, doubloons, pieces of silver
and bronze. There were empty wine bottles littering the open ground and another
half-emptied flask held tightly by his right fist. If he would only drop the bottle, he
might gain leverage to tip his body upward. This seaman appeared so unfit for
duty, overfed and under-prepared, any creature would think him a disgrace to the
uniform. If the elder captains could have turned to see the fourth, they would have
scourged and branded him a brigand for sure.
Salamander suspected him a pirate, after all.
So why dont you get up and help your fellows free? she whispered.
I will get there, by and by, he replied with annoyance. No need to rush it,
Mate.
Meanwhile, the other captains were quite anxious to embark.
Goldie inquired, Do you have our orders ready?
I have the One Two and Fisher Man pointed next at the copper captain,
And Three!
Which takes High Command? asked Silver.
The last to be commissioned.
So the third turned his face brazenly upon the others, And that one would be...
There is a fourth. And as soon as I receive that ones orders only then may I
tell all.
And what is that to me? muttered the fourth in a funk, for he had dropped his
precious bottle after all.
In fact, Fisher Man could not as yet spy the true state of this final would-be
commander. For Lantern glared too brightly between his eyes and the furthest
corner. Therefore, Salamander felt it her duty to speak.
She sidled up and whispered covertly to the Man:
483

I have seen the fourth. And so she finished her message in a voice only the
one could hear. He spoke softly back; Sallie listened at length and finally nodded
her solemn consent.
Suddenly, cavern walls were ringing like a great morning bell.
It is Time! proclaimed Fisher Man boldly.
And before any present could question, what time or what port, Fisher Man
leaped out through the crevice, returning back the way he had entered.
Then Salamander also slithered on out her ceiling portal. She had separate work
to do.
484
Appendicies
Sources and Recommended Reading

Fiction and Philosophies integrating Christian and other
cosmological traditions:
C S Lewis
Til We Have Faces
That Hideous Strength
The Magicians Nephew
The Great Divorce
George MacDonald
Phantastes
Lilith
The Golden Key
Owen Barfield
Saving the Appearances: A Study in Idolatry
Rudolf Steiner
Christianity as Mystical Fact
Goethes Standard of the Soul
Death as a Metamorphosis of Life
J W von Goethe
Faust
The Green Snake and the Beautiful Lily
http://wn.rsarchive.org/RelAuthors/GoetheJW/GreenSnake.html
Madeleine LEngle
A Wind in the Door
G K Chesterton
The Man Who Was Thursday
David Wilkerson
The Cross and the Switchblade
Nicky Cruz
Run Baby Run
Charles Williams
The Greater Trumps
The Place of the Lion
All Hallows Eve
War in Heaven
485
Charles Williams (continued)

Many Dimensions
Shadows of Ecstasy
Descent into Hell (features encounters with a succubus and
doppelganger, another cauchemar-like specter)
Folklore and fiction featuring alternative natural histories:
Uncle Remus tales
African & East Indian folk tales
Brothers Grimm Fairy Stories
Edward Bulwer-Lytton
The Coming Race
J R R Tolkien
The Silmarillion
Turgon
The Tolkien Fan's Medieval Reader
G.H. Pember
Earth's Earliest Ages
Rudolf Steiner
Cosmic Memory
About Cauchemar and other Sleep Paralysis references:
David Hufford
The Terror That Comes in the Night: An Experienced-centered
Study of Supernatural Assault Traditions; 1982, Philadelphia:
University of Pennsylvania Press.
Katherine Roberts
Contemporary Cauchemar: Experience, Belief, Prevention
http://www.louisianafolklife.org/LT/Articles_Essays/main_misc_cauchemar.html
Edward Bulwer-Lytton
Zanoni
A Strange Story
Tal Brooke
Avatar of Night
486
Appendicies
Trionic Research Institute (A library consortium of research

regarding ASP: Awareness during Sleep Paralysis)
http://www.trionica.com/
Science of metaphysical sensation and subtle energies:

Rick Strassman
DMT: The Spirit Molecule
Bruce Lipton
The Biology of Belief
Richard Gordon
Quantum-Touch
Lynne McTaggart
The Intention Experiment
John Wimber
Power Healing
Rudolf Steiner
Theosophy: An Introduction
Knowledge of the Higher Worlds
An Outline of Esoteric Science
Jesse Penn-Lewis
War on the Saints
Soul and Spirit
Watchman Nee
Latent Power of the Soul
Pim Van Lommel
Consciousness Beyond Life: The Science of the Near-Death
Experience
Dinesh D'Souza
Life After Death: The Evidence
487

Halle&#39;s Rude Awakening

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Halle&#39;s Rude Awakening

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You probably know someone whose life was

changed instantly by a near brush with death .

Halles Rude Awakening

Copyright 2009 by Stephen D Evans

Halles Rude Awakening

Cover art by Stephen D Evans

Observe how the ancient World

BACK: Chickpeas are laid in a

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

consciousness; in a nether-region she calls Cauchemars Country.

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

This morning, Halle was especially edgy, partly because a pesky

removed it herself surreptitiously. Halle always thought it looked

Halles Rude Awakening

Was it truly her seventeen-year-old baby describing what the

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

Drank himself to sleep every night. It was cheap sleep medicine,

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

Me loadin' de banana boat all night long

Coome Missa Tally Man

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

With tears overflowing her eyes, Halle stumbled forward.

The lady fumbled through her purse some seconds.

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

hissing in her ears, crushing weight atop her defenseless body,

Halles Rude Awakening

The Man is rejoined.

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

They call it dead reckoning, what Halle did next, probably

Halles Rude Awakening

there was only midnight nothingness. If Cauchemar had a face, this

Halles Rude Awakening

And thus Halle's self-consciousness growing keener with every

Halles Rude Awakening

certainly the domain of Cauchemar, though Halle was not paralyzed

Halles Rude Awakening

The officer prodded gently with her nightstick.

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

Mamba responded, Oh you learn soon, how lwa serve de vodun.

Halles Rude Awakening

Huh I ain' heard dat name in de while, no sirree.

of them marking where cage-like structures once divided the room

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

meaning of some glances disappointed, bothered, accusing, awed.

Halles Rude Awakening

Sounds like hooey to me, May.

Halles Rude Awakening

Halles Rude Awakening

So Halle let it go with a shrug and a smile.

Halles Rude Awakening

Nya'va growed up, a tink, she mused, then suddenly brightened

Halle's Rude Awakening

Halle's Rude Awakening