There was hoarfrost on the ground. It powdered the shadows. It melted into beads of glistening dew that shimmered wherever touched by the dawning sun. Mourning doves cooed. A woodpecker, crowned by a brilliant red exclamation mark, tattooed a saguaro, while crows, a black-and-blue triumvirate, held court on a tufted mound. One flew off alone. Brandy lay with an arm and leg draped gracefully, almost protectively over Simon’s agitated body; he had just awakened. Realizing it was Brandy who kept him company, his muscles relaxed. What had happened to his head? The dull pain, the bandage, reminded him of… nothing. All he could recall was having walked to watch the sunset… and a few sensations… Being drained, was one of them, sucked out like an egg through a hole in its shell… Smelling fragrances in a cactus garden was another… Being tickled (where was that?) by a pair of giggling schoolgirls… Or were they grown-ups? Two women whom he watched through a plate-glass window… making love… something about the one (or maybe both?) particularly bizarre… (a penis; that was it) one of the women sported a miniature erection… He must have imagined that… Dreamed it, yes, because Suzi also was there… standing next to him… squeezing his hand… (Where?) On a carnival midway; he had smelled the sawdust… heard screams… saw ugly, terrible things… like dolls with human features and bloodshot eyes. But how had he reached the house from (Lavaliere’s) garden? Surely it was Lavaliere's because of the statue… which came to life… proving he had dreamed that part as well… Besides, he had walked to a water tower, then walked back… To Jodi's house… And that was where he saw the women having sex… on the floor… sprawled out mostly naked… until a shutter closed… Or was it a blind?… Or maybe a theater curtain. Up and down it went… each scene like some lewd, vulgarian tableau… offensive… someone goading, making him watch. Suzi. Suzi, like a specter, had ushered at every show, forced him to attend, insisted that he peep. To make her stop he had banged his head against a wall… (A wall? No, a pane of glass!) And thusly he had wrenched himself back to consciousness. Simon looked across the living room. A square of cardboard patching the window served to verify his hypothesis… which explained his bandaged forehead, too. But who had played the nurse? A bolt of panic struck him! Had he spoken? No. Unlikely. He remembered blacking out… then Suzi showing up again… to drag him off somewhere… to separate him from… Whom? Perhaps from himself? Or from Brandy? Simon felt his thoughts being jammed by interference… deliberately confusing him… tampering with his wits. He turned to confront his reflection in a pair of sea-green eyes… eyes inquiring soundlessly if he had meant the words he had said (his first words in years)… words that he, indeed, had spoken aloud… words that he (despite his vow) repeated unequivocally. "I love you." Brandy sealed his lips with a heartfelt smooch. Jodi, entering from the yard, stopped short and glared. "Ex-cuse me!" Caught (but undeterred) Brandy lingered, withdrew her tongue, then gracefully disengaged. "Good morning, Jodi." Rising, she approached the jealous onlooker. Jodi, welling up in tears, turned aside and fled. Simon (preoccupied with his own jumbled thoughts) looked up just in time to see the women exit. In the kitchen, facing East, bathed in a yellow pool of early morning light, Jodi stood with her palms creating a blindfold, her body racked by sobs, her grief inconsolable. Brandy crossed the room and hugged her from behind. "You feel betrayed, don't you?" Jodi refused to answer. "I didn’t come back; it's true. I wanted to be with Simon?" At the mention of his name, Jodi’s backbone stiffened. "It was pitch dark. He was all alone, in an unfamiliar place, injured." "What about me?!" Jodi's outburst heralded a second salvo of sobs. Brandy's hug grew tighter. "Why make me feel bad for being kind to someone else?" "You… can’t… love two different people… the exact same way." "I wasn't trying to. You and I shared bodies. Simon and I… Well, Simon wants… " "What all men want; who are you kidding?" "Even if that were true, I still care for you." Jodi whirled around. "Do you take me for a fool? That's the kind of ‘logic’ employed by the person in between; it wouldn't even occur to the ones on either end. You just want to have your cake and eat it, too. Well, people don't accept that; it’s against human nature. How would you behave if it was me kissing him?" Stunned by Jodi's outrage, Brandy risked the truth. "I guess it would depend." "See? You’d be jealous." "Not if Simon loved you. And you loved him." "Liar! You've probably never known what real love is." She tried to wrench away, but Brandy held on, bracketing Jodi's arms, clutching them as if stuck to a live-wire's juice. "So you’re the only woman who’s ever been rejected?" "No. I’m simply saying that you, more 's the pity, have not." "Because I’m ‘voluptuous,’ I suppose?" "That helps." "I'll grant you, Jodi, that men—occasionally women—are often attracted to me. But not a solitary one of them ever loved for real." "Oh, sure." "I mean it. Not a soul. They didn’t know how. Most people don’t. They either give too little, or take too little in return. Love should be like dancing—total involvement." "You still couldn't ‘care for’ me and allow him to kiss you like that." "I kissed him." "That’s worse!" Brandy released Jodi's shoulders to cradle her chin, kissing away the teardrops, planting one last peck on the downcast frown. "There; are my lips so sour, so unloving, that you don’t want to kiss me back?" Jodi (hating herself for giving in to such an argument) countered so rapaciously Brandy recoiled… only to find her breasts invaded by the post-kiss countenance (where Jodi tried to contrive some fool-proof plan). "Please, don't go away? You don’t have to." She pulled her red-hot cheeks from the muzzling cleft. "I really want you to stay. Simon can, too. I’ll even tell him I'm sorry, if only you'll extend. Just a few more days? Please, I’m begging you!" Brandy felt ensnared by another nameless urge—or perhaps it was the one she had resisted all along; unsuccessfully. She did her best to fight it off again. "Wouldn't our saying good-bye be easier now than later?" "No!" "But Tucson isn’t far. After we get settled we'll come and visit. Often." Jodi, pretending to accept this offer, shifted her approach; an idea had dawned. "Oh, I almost forgot; you’ve come here to live. We can see each other weekends. Week days even. Any time you’re free!" Brandy, visibly relieved, remained on guard. Jodi persisted. "You know, one of Maniqua’s best friends owns a Mid-Eastern restaurant in Tucson. Maybe he'd consider hiring a dancer. We could ask her. Before you go, I mean. Unless, that is, you absolutely must rush off." Cautious still, Brandy dared to defer. "I’m not sure Mr. Hitchhiker would sit through one of your séances." "Oh, no; we’d go to her trailer. It’s close. About a half-hour’s walk. And the path is really beautiful this time of year… Or would you rather not?" Brandy, truth be told, was less than enthused. There was something about this 'herbalist' that made her ill-at-ease. She also felt suspicious of Jodi's change of heart. Still, it might make leaving more amicable; that, in itself, was worth considering a delay. "Let’s ask Simon. If he agrees, we won't drive back until later this afternoon. Fair enough?" Jodi, more than grateful, squeezed Brandy's hand, then preceded her from the kitchen to propose the plan herself. "Good morning, Simon. How’s your noggin? That was a pretty nasty bump you got last night. House reach out and trip you, or weren’t you paying attention?" Simon, reaching for the nearby crayon and note pad, wrote: I’m sorry about your window. "Oh, don’t worry about that; what’s a pane of glass compared to someone’s noodle? Anyway, since we’re apologizing, I’d like to say I’m sorry for causing a scene. You know, for running out just now? Got up on the wrong side of my hammock." Brandy, never having seen Jodi act like this before (her jovial manner awkward and decidedly forced), watched her with suspicion as she continued. "How about some breakfast? You two must be starving. Any takers on coffee, wheat toast, and jam?" Simon raised his hand. "There’s one customer. Brandy?" "Sure. Let me help." "Help? Ha; you're the chef. Kitchen’s that-a-way. Meanwhile, I’ll inspect our patient's 'ouch.'" Simon, likewise conscious of the shift in Jodi's conduct, could not (for the moment) guess its source. As Brandy headed for the kitchen, he submitted to Jodi’s aid. "I’m going to pry up this bandage, okay?" She knelt in front of him, placing Simon's hand on her unclad knee. "Squeeze if I hurt you. Okay?" Gingerly (if prolongedly), she picked at the adhesive (her nightshirt billowing open to the waist, as she leaned…) "I suppose it might be kinder to yank it off at once, but maybe there's a scab formed underneath." (… affording him a peek at her pear-shaped breasts, one entire nipple brazenly revealed, its maiden's blush exclusive; her cheeks remained blanched). "You haven’t squeezed; I guess I’m doing alright?" Changing her position (while checking Simon's focus), Jodi saw his eyes consume the bait. "Damn; the gauze is stuck. Wait right here; I’ll get a washcloth." Rising, Jodi hurried off to the bathroom, returning with a dampened cloth and vintage first aide kit. As she knelt back down perfume (distinctly familiar) wafted from her skin (the same scent Simon had smelled on Brandy's nightgown). As Jodi daubed at the dressing, loosening the blood, Simon (reminiscing) subtly sniffed. "Hmm, not bad at all. We were scared you’d cracked your skull wide open. Still, I think Maniqua had better have a look. She’s our local apothecary. I’m sure she has an ointment that can heal this quickly. You know, keep it from scarring? Here, before I re-bandage it, see for yourself." Jodi handed Simon a two-inch mirror (from the medicine kit). Holding it at an angle, he examined the crisscrossed cuts… the lump beneath them purplish… the face below it giving him cause to start; Simon leered at Simon independently, one expression horrified the other incensed! "I’ve been telling Brandy about Maniqua, hoping to arrange a meeting. She expressed an interest but wanted to ask you first. You know, in case you were anxious to leave? But we could, if you don't mind, pay her a visit later this morning. After we eat, I mean. Unless you don't feel up to it." Only half-listening, Simon stared transfixed by the handheld mirror… recalling something odd from the previous night… in the window… before he had banged his head against the glass… a hostile sort of twin having occupied his reflection. Jodi persisted. "How's about it, Simon; do you agree?" He looked up distractedly. "Can we go to see Maniqua?" He nodded. "Hooray! Here, I'll change this dressing and we’ll be through." As Jodi applied fresh band-aides, Brandy called from the kitchen. "BREAKFAST IS SERVED." Simon got to his feet slowly, motioning off Jodi's help, his dizziness gone. "Sure you're okay?" He nodded again, more convincingly. "I’ll throw on some clothes and be right in."
Brandy had arranged the mélange of mismatched dinnerware into a cheery setting. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee added extra appeal. Simon entered. "Welcome wounded wanderer. Here, have a seat." He sat where she indicated. "Did Jodi ask about going to see this 'Maniqua'?" He nodded. "And?" She waited… "Nod ‘yes,’ if you said you’d go; shake ‘no,’ if you declined." Her manner, borderline sarcastic, made its target wince. "Sorry. I just thought…" Simon moved his hand as if to dismiss the issue; speech (despite his lapse) was not to be their mode. He said as much (though did it extrasensorily). Disappointed, Brandy answered out loud. "But why?" Again he spoke not speaking. Brandy responded. "And how do you propose we accomplish that?" He gave her a telling look. It registered, then; Simon had not uttered a single word. "Jeezus!" Jodi made her entrance (inopportunely) dressed in a pair of overalls and a black, long-sleeve leotard. "How charming everything looks; Brandy, you’re a wizard." She sat opposite Simon. "Did he tell you, by the way, he's agreed to go?" "Uh huh." "Both of you will positively love the trail! And Maniqua—if we catch her in the right mood—can also be enchantingly entertaining. And I’m sure she’ll have an ointment for Simon’s wound." "How did it look?" "Oh, it'll heal okay." "Will it scar, do you think?" "That’s why I have recommended Maniqua; she really has amazing curative powers." "Are you sure she won’t object to our coming unannounced?" "Oh, I’m sure she knows we’re coming already. I mean, she’ll make it appear that way. She’s a bit like Oscar, in that regard—always makes folks welcome and feel at home." "He's a charmer, I’ll grant you. Though I must admit it worries me that he dislikes your friend—Oscar being so amiable and all." "Oh, he has just cause. Or did at one time." "Oh?" Jodi poured herself a mug of coffee, then elaborated. "Which version would you like? I've heard both sides." While they ate, Jodi related what she knew about the alienated residents. "I guess Esperanto used to be a lot different from how it is now. For a time, it had a much more international population. There have always been artists and crafts people, but, early on, there were also archeologists, geologists, astronomers, other scientists—lots—some of them pretty famous. Oscar and Maniqua both have degrees in botany. They used to work together. I don’t know Oscar’s specialty—cacti, probably—but Maniqua has always been keenly interested in herbs." "That bittersweet tea is from her, right?" "Yes. She started out investigating the medicinal properties of native plants. In that process, she developed close ties with the local Indians. They, of course, had been handing down secrets about the desert for generations. They trusted her—she claims because they sensed her Gypsy ancestry. Oscar claims she delved into Indian superstition and peyote too heavily, which destroyed her credibility as an academic researcher. But Maniqua knew she was dealing with things few scholars would accept. There was a parting of the ways. She moved to the outskirts, and, little by little, was considered a recluse, then a crank. By the time things reached a crisis she was suspected of taking part in rituals. But what tarnished her reputation worse were the rumors that she took drugs. What people said was true; it was how they chose to express it that made her an outcast. Her work—and this hurt the most—wasn't taken seriously anymore. Folks didn’t understand—which was their own dumb fault. Oscar, by the way, did not take part in this 'shunning.' For as long as he was able, he came to her defense." Brandy poured a second round of coffee. "What ‘crisis’?" "Well, it had a lot to do with politics. Having all those professional types running around, publishing this and that discovery, I guess the competition got pretty stiff. One man wanted to bring everybody together under a sort of umbrella Foundation so that anything done by a single member, or a group, would be published under one common name. Oscar says this fellow had good ideas—especially those that promoted a wave of cooperation—but his motives were a bit self-serving. Originally, people had come together through a common respect for knowledge. To institutionalize that—or bring it under the rule of one authority—was to jeopardize, in Oscar's view, individual freedom. He proved right. When a review board was established to decide whose work should and shouldn’t be submitted for publication, they singled out Maniqua’s to be ignored. "Anyway, this Foundation-concept was gaining enough support to pose a threat. Some folks didn’t care, while others hoped to gain recognition once the notion caught on. And masterminding the scheme was a character ‘not to be trusted’—or so thought Oscar, who finally, in desperation, appealed to Maniqua. "Things started to happen then. The man fell ill. He complained of nightmares. He told his friends that past-life episodes had come back to haunt him: visions, prophesies, readings by some 'hag' predicting his 'untimely death.' He kept a diary. Oscar, I believe, still has it in his library. Some of the entries, especially near the end, get downright strange. He suspected Maniqua. He even accused her, in public, of trying to poison him. Of course by that stage he was pretty far gone; people shrugged him off as raving mad. Not Oscar, though. Oscar appealed to Maniqua, begged her to reverse whatever she'd done. But it was too late. Within another week the man was dead—‘of natural causes,’ reported the coroner—and with him died his plan for Esperanto. The community, soon thereafter, started its decline. Oscar and Maniqua haven’t spoken since." * * |
