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Has no trouble getting to the heart of things. The little girls had been too frightened by my face, but they seemed relieved that he’d gone and would stay behind. Now I was really nervous because in just a few moments I would be inside their castle with him, looking down on them from his tower window—and there were only five steps up to it! When we get upstairs . ..!
Dan told me when he left for work tomorrow morning that if all went as planned, he hoped to come back at lunchtime (that is unless he found some reason not to return home). He also said he would need ten minutes alone with us “so you can decide whether or not you want to cooperate.”
Before going downstairs himself, Dan made sure the screen was open in our room so we could watch how well things went; then he smiled.
Our mother seemed happy about this arrangement (probably pleased to know that she wouldn’t have to worry about anything untoward happening while her children slept), and later Mother, Father, and I watched through the screen for much longer than ten minutes, until it finally lighted dark outside and Dan came down and closed the blinds again so they couldn’t see out except a bit from above where lights shone here and there against grayish-darkness of early evening.
Then Mother kissed Dad good night after tucking him in, and we three siblings lay together facing each other on separate beds, wondering what tonight’s adventure would bring: perhaps nothing more serious than walking in the moonlight among hills.
Tomorrow is Friday and Shabbat will soon begin; but on Saturday, Mom doesn’t go off to synagogue after morning prayers since men aren’t expected there (on Sunday too). On Sabbath mornings Mom gets an orange juice or glass of milk for breakfast before the family goes over to the old synagogue building two miles away across town from us—if we don’t run late coming home from Grandpa Hirschman’s house and if nothing has kept Father from arriving already. So we often take showers together instead.
Both Father and Mrs. Zucker have complained about this situation. They say even small children oughtn’t to think nudity around Mommy is okay because she doesn’t know who’s done what in front of whom. But they don’t seem to feel that way when nakedness suddenly occurs between Daddy and them …
On this particular Sabbath morning, no one noticed how excited any of us became or guessed why I started walking backward toward the mirror along with Michael on our journey to bed together. After turning off all lights but those near to our beds, we snuggled close beneath warm quilts and went directly from this quiet comfort into dreams as easily as though they weren’t interrupted.
For I’m certain that, except in the case of our eldest brother, every single person under those covers knew quite well what sort of a dream we were having because he seemed to know perfectly well without being prompted either before drifting off or during its most intense passages once he did fall asleep.
Nor is the fact surprising considering the variety of ideas that people have of each other as regards gender or sex, although some may still wish to remain unaware of such insights regarding themselves—perhaps fearful to hear their own secret self described aloud even by someone else whose speech comes after some long period of silent thinking beforehand, given that it usually takes that many seconds or minutes for consciousness to awake fully enough to act upon simple words spoken quickly and bluntly at first, then silently whispered when repeated several times throughout sleep or occasionally woken by another’s voice quietly repeating word combinations repeatedly within silence—or both ways combined. There are various forms of waking myself that sometimes make it possible to catch just such whispers or sometimes wake me simply from thoughts remembering things overheard during daydreaming when deep awareness must precede normal words coming forth spontaneously.
Once, when lying awake dreaming something similar to a dream sequence of which the children of a dream now live, my mind heard words as audible and intelligible as this next fragment is, although only remembered immediately afterward in a sudden rush that included a great deal besides the actual sentence I am currently recounting. In this dream, I had wandered far into what looked to me like a wilderness park with rough terrain covered mainly in snow.
Only two things surprised me here, neither of which is likely to sound remarkable, given my own personality and life: First, because I didn’t actually recognize what I saw; second, because these days when everyone goes to the mountains seeking “clean air” and uncluttered beauty, I’d hardly have ever imagined encountering anywhere anything as apparently dirty and untidy as this landscape.
(The latter wonder occurred, ironically enough, precisely as my dream began, right there on one of the highest mountains’ summits I discovered: a plateau completely bare of trees or grass.) As might be presumed based on what is recounted thus far, it wasn’t unusual that I eventually stumbled onto someone else just wandering nearby while looking curiously around to orient myself on higher ground, finding it interesting yet somehow foreboding that in some sense the area resembled exactly my memories of the region immediately surrounding the schoolhouse on which I worked, which happened to be in a hilly highland even more desolate and less populous.
Of course, this was the very image I sought, though whether intended purposefully or merely an automatic response to an almost-hallucinogenic sight caused by high altitude and extreme cold made little difference.
My colleague called out to me as I continued staring up and vaguely wondered, perhaps quite incorrectly, that someone else here surely belonged to the local government agency responsible for preserving this landscape, when in reality the figure approaching me appeared not to represent anyone official or governmental in nature.
Even though she walked as naturally among plants and trees as I do myself, the woman in my dream dressed entirely in white held herself with the posture of a hunter-gatherer: tall and thin and bold, carrying her head so proudly that few would likely notice if she passed by without recognizing those of us living in the forest, especially since her gait didn’t vary in any way from that of a young man making a casual but brisk walk.
When our eyes met, however, it turned out that this woman not only recognized who stood before her in stark daylight wearing boots rather than shoes but was astonished by its unexpectedness, appearing extremely happy—but then again in retrospect perhaps unhappy.
One look at how this female—I still don’t feel capable of calling anyone a true stranger—acknowledged my presence and answered a lot of questions I’ve been asking myself lately, albeit in ways I hadn’t expected…
Although it often seems that nothing could happen faster than what we witness while sleeping, we should remember that for most purposes, what appears to others about ourselves that lies within our dreams hasn’t always already taken place during waking hours—yet most of us behave as though time has passed since all dreams supposedly came to end, resulting in awkward and regrettable interruptions between what is believed to take place inside unconscious minds to the ordinary experiences of every person other than the dreamer himself and whatever strangers (or non-strangers) also inhabit his world during daytime.
The arrival of a new dream at a moment too late to prevent some action, occurrence, or reaction on another’s part tends to create unexpected emotional effects that sometimes render all attempts by the sleeper to resist nightmares or keep from hurting someone unable to express feelings clearly difficult to do.
Whenever our awareness briefly wakes us in such circumstances, it will never be the same: It feels as if our minds split along parallel paths so that each one goes on to resume sleep with no idea of the dramatic developments the other underwent over the intervening period.
***
What was clear after first awakening: This conversation I’m still trying to put to paper was totally unrelated to any dreams involving meeting and talking to an unfamiliar person I found suddenly standing in front of me somewhere close by…but seeing this person here meant it was absolutely critical that I interact with him to confirm suspicions regarding a crucial discovery concerning a certain past event—one whose importance it seemed I’d somehow overlooked, despite spending considerable effort considering it…!
Since that experience left me in shock long afterward, it went well beyond what ordinarily occurs upon waking: My current dilemma consisted largely in struggling with indecisiveness and confusion—at least until recently, when finally breaking down mentally I tried taking the advice I knew well from many books that my memory couldn’t find back online just last night while preparing this manuscript.
(Remember: I think it’s always best to understand that thinking you can really plan anything carefully enough beforehand may lead to grave disappointment.) No sooner did I start searching through several websites listing prominent ancient names related to Western mythology—while desperately hoping none of them were women—did the name given above begin to loom large in my mind; recalling having heard it used once before for a woman closely associated to a tale now widely accepted as both historical and legendary, which sounded to me like exactly the kind of story people might tend to believe about an extraordinary person simply because their expectations made it necessary for something about her life to have become known.
Moreover, recalling being told how a version of “Nix” in some myths eventually became identified with a real human woman named Clotho, it struck me that this was likely not coincidental since everything ultimately traces back to her.
However, even under these conditions—after this odd woman unexpectedly showed up here without warning—it wouldn’t serve to pretend that she wasn’t here only because my imagination created her out of whole cloth…
My old friend always urged me not to make assumptions: Nothing ever happens simply or predictably, he used to say repeatedly whenever pointing out how frustrating life had gotten as yet another natural phenomenon forced us to either delay our departure further or put aside any attempt to pursue research altogether.
Despite having his own way of dealing with unpleasant experiences, there were times when he worried my reaction toward things never quite matched that of countless colleagues for whom problems invariably evaporated into nothing more than technical challenges to solve, allowing them to move forward smoothly without giving themselves a chance to realize why they felt a little embarrassed by letting their guard down and voicing the sort of objections others took seriously if expressed at all.
Never telling me straight out what caused this unusual embarrassment back when we were children (our father or older brother playing practical jokes on us both), my former pal also spent more than a year insisting that the two men he hired in search of information behind those earlier incidents hadn’t been able to pinpoint where and precisely what had actually happened. Despite not feeling convinced that everything was fully solved, we never met again until the day this tall man appeared almost simultaneously with a blizzard and later introduced himself by asking me what had happened to my sense of humor lately.
Noticing how reluctant I became right then, especially after the bizarre events described immediately above, this person suggested I drink coffee to help calm my nerves instead of assuming things would inevitably work themselves out, but not making me feel obliged to follow any of the ideas and suggestions he was providing in what resembled a slow-moving trial-and-error process of mutual trust.
Although initially far less confident that his explanations are based on reality, my patience was growing steadily thanks to repeated successes stemming partly from me gradually changing my attitude while coming to accept the need for our actions and reactions to remain strictly separated. Being rather suspicious, however, I decided that it was simply better not to know until this latest change occurred…!
As for finding my earlier records about another woman associated with our own mythology, I know that reading further won’t hurt much whether looking for a cause or reason; it shouldn’t bring me away any closer to discovering some vital clue relating to what has puzzled and shocked me so intensely lately, even though I’ve gone out of my way to avoid doing whatever needed to be done lest it results in unexpected consequences no amount of searching will stop causing me severe pain in a number of ways I do have experience anticipating.
What remains today is the knowledge that my great loss was the realization of just how easy it had already proved over the years to let myself overlook—or choose to ignore completely, unable to imagine how else to proceed after rejecting every possible explanation other than concluding I must live life the wrong way around, realizing full well this could easily leave me terrified…!
***
It looks pretty silly to call me Nux as much as I’ve grown to enjoy her presence within me. It sounds absurd too. In a nutshell, it goes like this: That damned dæmon looks like some creature from a fantasy game—the type used mostly for carrying stuff by people who want to run around fighting imaginary monsters in places designed entirely to look good instead of being difficult or dangerous.
If anybody ever thought this couldn’t exist as a viable alternative for creatures who wear similar armor because she still lacks any shapely chest muscles—her heart constantly trying its darnedest to fix things in various new ways to please whoever’s behind a veil she can neither see nor touch—then seeing her for herself does give you pause. She helps make up the gap between wanting and being able to know someone intimately using bodies that represent neither self.
Besides my past unwillingness to discuss the very nature of her appearance, it occurs to me there are few other reasons I haven’t revealed details of my thoughts during those early days of learning firsthand why my conscience might lead me to believe we’ll inevitably end up killing ourselves when facing something sufficiently horrific to convince anyone of anything—no matter how much some stubborn idiots refuse to understand certain truths or why someone with enough mental strength seems destined to change their entire way of existing despite everybody telling them otherwise.
For one thing, until she saved the day when we broke out of the laboratory setting—which didn’t take long after all these years as evidenced by the fact I’m sitting here talking to nobody and nothing since my initial nervousness subsided and the right people remained silent once I’d showed my ignorance for as long as time allowed—my knowledge regarding Nux came second hand.
Even though I wasn’t part of this conversation, I somehow managed to infer through fragments of half-heard sentences delivered during dinner parties attended by many strangers without seeming to pay close attention to any of their discussions about a particular female coven mate and the effect she’s having among humans and the likes of demons like mine. Seemingly saying something I would only come across again ten minutes later along with my other newfound knowledge about Dicte and the kind of girl she supposedly finds most interesting at any given moment.
Like Jules always did on rare occasions when I asked him if I really wanted to find out. “They’re probably making a big fuss about that fizzing little redhead on your shoulder right now!” With all due respect and understanding—that man loved her unconditionally despite our frequent disagreements during nearly forty years—it wouldn’t have helped him in any way if he’d talked about everything surrounding us before either of them took place.
Similarly, it’s unlikely any real sense has been made of Nix’s arrival while spending more time apart—as soon as Nux spotted me speaking in front of everyone following this story I received by mistake—than together and conversating about so many random topics as never intended for public consumption. We might say the same for the time Nixie fell ill and I spent countless hours roaming the city streets praying for my friend to survive the next five seconds alone, fully aware of how alone I really felt yet avoiding acknowledging it. There may have been two different versions of each of them.
It would explain why there were occasional periods in the aftermath where I almost forgot I cared, although in truth forgetting and pretending not caring aren’t necessarily exclusive concepts. One thing we certainly shared, however, was the love we had for Nymph and the others in the coven, as well as their devotion to Nux throughout her often lengthy convalescence, hoping beyond hope they would manage to prove themselves capable of joining her on future adventures.
Not an issue as far as I’m concerned but definitely, one which gave us much to talk about over breakfast in the mornings and some late-night beverages afterward—whiskey most often since coffee seemed like the worst option available to both of us for handling any anxiety related to all three of us starting our respective journeys back into human society after several months away dealing with life problems requiring no attention whatsoever from anybody else—and through all of this also because Nixie didn’t choose to leave me alone for longer than necessary.
The End