Читать книгу Voyages in Mind and Space - James C Glass - Страница 5

RAINBOW LADY

A practitioner of The Field arrived in morning mist with showers of gold and red leaves stirred by wind streaming down from the summits of Three Sisters. The small Oregon town was not yet awake, did not see her sudden appearance, a flash of bright colors in thick fog at the end of the main street. She followed the wind down the center of the street past the gas station and pharmacy, a café where lights newly glowed from upstairs windows. Her heavy coat was striped in rainbow colors, and she carried a small black satchel in one hand. She walked straight to the little shop she had rented by mail, and hung out her sign as the sun appeared over the mountains to the east.

“Ellen Barstead, Energy Practitioner and Quantum Healer,” said the sign.

Within a day she was the talk of the town: an attractive, middle-aged woman, pleasant and well-spoken, likely some new-age practitioner who had come for the tranquility and tourist trade of a mountain town. Children who first saw her called her the Rainbow Lady. She did her grocery shopping and greeted her new neighbors in a friendly way, but was rarely seen outside after that first day. In her shop, she sat near the window where people could see her, and seemed to be lost in a meditative state for much of the time. Other times she watched the street carefully, perhaps waiting for a client to arrive.

And quite soon, when the wind was again blowing swirls of colorful leaves down the center of the street, someone did come to see her.

* * * *

Nina Cole had always dreamed vividly in color, and in her dream the walls and ceiling were painted gold, and light flashed from a thousand facets in the crystal chandeliers hanging above her. Mark whirled her around the floor in a fast waltz and Nina tilted her head back, laughing. They had never actually danced here, but she remembered the place, a grand ballroom in Spokane’s Davenport Hotel where they had once spent a night of delicious luxury before Angie was born. Mark whirled her to the rhythm of music unheard, kissed her neck and murmured, “I love you, wife,” and she kissed him back hard on the lips, but the intensity and warmth of the kiss broke something inside her and the light went away.

She awoke in the darkness of the bedroom, and the bed was empty beside her. Mark was still dead, Angie recovering from the terrible accident that had nearly killed both of them, the drunken man responsible for it imprisoned for the next twenty years of his young life. Tears gushed as Nina sobbed into a clutched pillow. Her breath came in little hiccups and her cheek was wet against the pillowcase. She cried until she heard the click of a door latch, and sat up abruptly in the bed.

Angie stood in the doorway, pressing a stuffed turtle named Oscar to her chest. The eight-year-old’s jammies were decorated with running bears, and reflected light from outside made her eyes seem huge in the darkened room.

“I’m sorry, honey, did I wake you up?” Nina sniffled, and held out her arms towards the child.

Angie was silent, but ran to the bed, climbed up onto it and crawled into Nina’s arms. She reached up and touched her mother’s wet face.

“I had another dream about daddy,” said Nina. “It made me sad. I miss him so much, and I know you do too.”

Angie hugged her turtle, and closed her eyes.

“We’ll talk about it when you’re ready; there’s no hurry, but you’ll feel better when you talk about it.” Nina hugged Angie tightly to her, and the child made a sad sound in her throat.

In minutes Angie was asleep again. Nina carried her to the other bedroom and tucked her in with Oscar. The wheelchair stood in a corner, unused for the past seven months. Physically Angie was whole again, but something remained broken inside her, a mental thing. She had cried in the hospital when they treated her broken bones, had called for her mommy and daddy, but since the day she’d learned her father was dead she hadn’t spoken a single word.

Her imaginary playmate had come later.

Nina watched her daughter sleep and then left the room, closing the door softly behind her. She returned to her own half-empty bed and cried softly into her pillow before finally falling asleep. And if there were new dreams to make her feel sad, she didn’t remember them.

* * * *

“I’m sorry, Nina, but there’s nothing more I can do. I’m not a psychiatrist,” said Doctor Branson. “The x-rays are clear. She’s perfectly mended. The rest of it has to be psychosomatic. In time it should go away. Be patient.”

“I know she can talk. I hear her talking to somebody in her room sometimes, but when I go in there she’s alone, and when I ask her about it she won’t say anything. Could she be angry at me about something?”

“You’re stretching, Nina. This has nothing to do with you. Angie has lost her father, and misses him. It’s common for people to find comfort in speaking to a dead parent or loved one. It can be healing, as long as it doesn’t become obsessive.”

Nina shook her head. “It’s not her father, but an imaginary playmate. When she’s alone outside, swinging or in the sandbox or twirling around like she’s dancing, I see her chattering away, and when I get close it’s just gloomy silence. It’s getting worse. We had our interview for a private school last week, and she was catatonic for it. They won’t take her when she’s like this.”

“There’s a child psychologist in Bend I can refer you to,” said Branson.

Nina’s eyes brimmed with tears. “She doesn’t need a psychologist, she needs her father, and I can’t be that for her.”

Branson nodded his head, sighed, and thought for a moment. “There is something you might try locally, though my colleagues would not be happy with me if they knew I suggested it. A new-age healer recently opened an office here. You know: auras, chakras, energy balancing, that sort of thing. Reminds me a bit of Native American shamanism. I’m a professional skeptic, but I’ve seen it work, especially when there was no obvious physical disorder in the patient. You might give it a try. Her office is just down the street, where the old candy store used to be.”

Nina sighed. “That’s all you can suggest?”

Branson shrugged his shoulders. “I’m out of ideas. It’s either that, or wait for time to heal things. She’s a healthy little girl, Nina.”

“If things get worse I’ll remind you that you said that,” said Nina, and Branson only smiled.

Angie was waiting for her in the outer office, perched on a chair and frowning. Nina took her hand and led her outside. “The doctor says you’re fine, honey. He says you’ll talk to me when you’re ready to. We’re going to see a lady who might help you with that.”

Angie scowled at her, but didn’t pull back.

“I’m not trying to rush you, hon, but if I don’t do this now I won’t do it at all.”

The walk was short, and a door opened as they reached it. A tall woman stood there, white hair, handsome, a rainbow of colors in blouse and skirt. “Come in, come in. Your doctor just called.”

They entered a place with comfortable chairs and couches. The room smelled like lavender. Soft music and the tinkle of chimes came from somewhere, and water tumbled from a desktop fountain. “I’m Ellen Barstead, and you must be Nina,” said the woman, and extended a hand. When Nina took it she felt a liquid warmth flow from fingers to wrist and up her arm. She started to introduce her daughter, but Ellen was already leaning over to look closely at her.

“Hello Angie. You’ll always be welcome here.” It was said softly, but seemed to echo from a distant wall in the room. Angie looked up at Ellen with full moon eyes.

They sat. Ellen gave Nina a brochure describing the work she did, and asked about the problems Nina was having. It was uncomfortable at first with Angie sitting right there, but the child seemed mesmerized by Ellen and kept staring at her. Nina talked about the accident, the long period of physical healing, the longer period of complete silence and an imaginary friend. She was surprised when Ellen reached over and put a warm hand on hers.

“And how is mom doing? You’ve lost something too.”

“I’m working through it,” said Nina, her vision blurring.

“Dreams?”

“Yes.”

“Vivid dreams? They can be healing or hurtful, depending on how you construct them. The Field can be used for good or bad.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The Field is everywhere,” said Ellen, “and we use it without thought. A vaster source of energy and information cannot be imagined. It can produce tiny forces, drive miniscule chemical reactions or accelerate the expansion rate of the entire universe.”

Nina glanced at the brochure in her hand. “The vacuum state?”

“Some call it that. We see it so indirectly, a kind of flickering disorder beneath our reality, but connected to us. Many of us believe everything that has ever existed, or will exist, anywhere in the universe, is stored as information in The Field and can be retrieved from it. Some believe we come from The Field, and will return to it when we die. Death is only a change in form.”

“I’m sorry,” said Nina, “but I’m just not a believer in this sort of thing. I’ve never been a religious person.”

“This isn’t about religion, and you don’t have to believe in The Field to use it. A part of you is using it now, and knows what to do. You’re both sensitives, I could feel that right away. All you need to do is worry less, love each other and yourselves, and your healing will proceed nicely. Angie is actually making good progress at this point, but now her mother needs to begin healing.”

Nina’s face flushed. “That’s it, then? No meditations or mantras or the holding of hands? And how much do I owe you for this consultation?”

“There’s no charge for this interview,” said Ellen, “and I will include your case in my own meditations.”

“Well thanks for that, anyway.” Nina stood up and took Angie’s hand in hers. “Come on, hon, there’s nothing more for us here.”

“You’re disappointed,” said Ellen.

“Yes, I am, but this isn’t the first time I’ve hurt myself by having expectations that were too high. I’ll get over it.”

Angie pulled back a bit, seemed hesitant to leave, and kept looking back at Ellen. And as they reached the door, Ellen said, “Say hi to Betina for me, Angie.”

Outside, Nina looked down at Angie, and squeezed her hand. “Who’s Betina?” she asked.

Angie’s face was a portrait of pure astonishment, and for the first time in over a year she was smiling.

* * * *

Nina awoke sobbing, and it was late morning. Sunlight streamed in from the window. The alarm had gone off and run down, and she hadn’t heard it, but it seemed she’d been wide awake only moments before. Mark had been sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her hand; she could feel his warmth and smell his familiar musk, and it had been so real, not like a dream at all. “Hold me,” she’d said to him, and he looked sad.

“I want to, but I can’t, not the way you want me to. I love you, Nina, I’ll always love you, but we can’t go on this way. There are things we need to talk about.”

“What’s so important to talk about?” she asked, and felt, not imagined, the squeeze of his fingers on her hand.

“About letting go, darling. You have to let me go.”

The shock had awakened her with a gush of tears, and she sat bolt upright, hearing a sound, a voice. It was Angie talking to herself or someone else in the other bedroom. Nina slipped out of bed, put on a robe and opened her bedroom door slowly without a sound. Angie’s bedroom door was ajar, and the child was still chattering away. Nina crept up to the door and listened, one part of her cautious, the other joyous at the sound of Angie’s voice.

“Mom won’t believe anything she says, now. It won’t work,” said Angie.

Nina peeked in along the partially open door and saw Angie sitting on the edge of her bed, facing the door. She gestured with her hands, looked to her right as if talking to someone sitting there with her.

“Well, you’re real to me, sort of. I wish you wouldn’t fade in and out like that. Why can’t you be solid so mom can see you too?”

There was a pause, Angie listening, and then, “I don’t know what energy is. Missus Barstead talked about that Field thing, but I don’t understand that either. I’m not as old as you. If mom could see she wouldn’t think I’m lying, and I could talk to her again.”

It was only a tiny touch, a lean too close, a wave of hair touching the edge of the door. The door moved, and creaked. Angie looked up in fright. “Oh,” she said.

Nina pushed the door open, and stepped into the room. “Sorry, but I’ve been listening. Are you talking to your friend?” she asked, and held her breath.

Angie’s expression went from surprise to fear, and suddenly to defiance. “Yes,” she said.

“I can’t see her,” said Nina.

“I know. You don’t have the right resonance, she says. You don’t overlap, like I don’t overlap with daddy.” Angie’s eyes suddenly glistened.

Nina’s heart thumped hard. “What’s your friend’s name?”

“Betina.”

Another shock. “Is she right there beside you?”

“Yes.”

“Hello, Betina. I’m sorry I can’t see you. And I don’t understand what’s going on.” A tear ran down Nina’s cheek, and she sniffled.

“She’s sorry too,” said Angie, near tears. She turned and shouted, “Well, can’t you at least try?”

Nina stepped forward, held out her arms and Angie rushed into her embrace.

“I’m not lying, mom.”

“I believe you, honey. Why did you say what you said about daddy?”

“He talks to you and touches you. When I see him in my dreams I’m a little girl, not even in school yet. It’s all just memories.”

“It’s all in dreams, Angie.”

“No—it’s not. You want to believe that.”

“What else—” she started to say, but then the air at the edge of Angie’s bed seemed to shimmer, and for one instant a figure was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, no more than a silhouette. Nina gasped. Angie jerked her head around to look towards the bed, but as quickly as the apparition had appeared, it was gone.

“Did you see that, mom?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe it was enough, Betina. Thanks for trying. Oh, bye.”

Angie looked up at her mother. “She’s gone now. It was hard for her to do that.”

Nina hugged her daughter tightly. “It’s so good to have you talking to me again. You’re all I have left to love.”

“What’s happening to us, mom?”

“I don’t know, but I wish it would stop.”

They hugged for a long time after that.

* * * *

The call was unexpected, and came in early afternoon before Angie had arrived home from school.

“Nina? This is Ellen, just checking in to see how things are going for you.”

“Some strange things have been happening.” Nina told her about the dream with Mark the previous week, and the apparition on Angie’s bed.

“That’s really quite good,” said Ellen. “The memory of The Field is holographic, and you have to establish a resonance with it to retrieve information. When I said you were a sensitive I was more correct than I thought. I’m so glad Angie is talking to you again.”

“I don’t understand. Mark talked to me; it wasn’t like a memory. Was I making it all up?”

“He is a living entity, Nina, but not in our world. His world is without time, and limitless. He has much to learn and explore, but you must allow him to do it. You have to break the resonance that binds him to you.”

Nina felt sudden anger. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

“By saying goodbye to him, and getting on with your life. Could you and Angie come by my office this evening? There’s someone you both need to meet, and I think it’s time for closure in your case.”

“I don’t think so,” said Nina. “I admit I’ve experienced some strange things, but the explanation still seems to be new-age nonsense to me. If it were true, everyone would be experiencing it and it would be headline news. An overactive imagination due to stress is a much simpler explanation. It’s nothing personal, you understand? I think you believe what you say, and you’re genuinely trying to help us, but it’s not the right path for me.”

“I won’t try to force you, Nina, but it’s important we meet tonight. We should all be together to solve this. Think about it, talk to Angie, and get back to me before this evening, one way or the other.”

“Fair enough,” said Nina, “but it won’t change anything.” And she broke the connection to Ellen.

Angie came home from school an hour later, and Nina told her about the phone call.

“We should go, mom.”

“No. I’ve had enough of this, and I don’t want to be talked into believing it again. It’s just confusing me.”

“Please, mom.”

“No!” Nina turned away from Angie, went to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She heard sobbing beyond the door, sat down angrily on the edge of the bed and put her face in her hands. Tears came with her anger, and she spit out her words to the empty room.

“Why can’t everyone just leave us alone, and let us do our grieving in peace? Why us? This is all so unfair.”

A cool breeze moved the curtains by the window, and fell on her face, bringing with it a sweet odor that made her heart ache. She felt something touch her shoulder, and she started to turn around, but then there was a soft voice, saying, “Don’t. You won’t see me this time. My God, wife, you are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever known. Why can’t you, for once, just do what you’re told to do?”

The bedroom door flew open, and Angie was standing there, her eyes huge and her arms reaching out.

“Daddy!” she shrieked, and took a step into the room.

“Hi sweetie. I’m supposed to see you tonight, if your mother will let it happen.”

Nina jerked around to look behind her, but nobody was there.

“Daddy,” said Angie softly. “He’s gone. He’s GONE!” She burst into tears and ran from the room. A door slammed shut.

Nina sat there for a moment, stunned, then went to the telephone and placed a call to Ellen Barstead.

* * * *

It was dusk, and the street lights were just coming on when they arrived at Ellen’s office. It had been humid that day, and the lights were hazy with mist as ground fog began to form.

Ellen was wearing her colorful blouse and skirt, and her little black satchel was sitting on the floor near the door. She sat down with them at a table lit by a single candle at its center, and folded her hands around a crystal bowl in front of her. “Well, let’s get started, then, and get you on your way.”

“We’re not having a séance, are we?” asked Nina warily.

Ellen laughed. “All that has ever been or imagined, past, present or future, is in The Field, Nina. My function is to open channels for you to The Field, but you have done some of that on your own. I know you don’t believe this. I just want you to put aside your disbelief for a moment and experience something others want for you and Angie.”

“Others?”

“The people in this town, this universe, your husband, everyone who is with him now or in the future, the group awareness that makes up The Field. It’s so rare to find people as sensitive as you and Angie, Nina. But we can only help if you’ll let us. I want you to relax, both of you, and close your eyes. We’re going to dream together. Listen to the tone, and let yourself fall away from it.”

“Are you trying to hypnotize us?” asked Angie.

“Just relax. You’re both safe here.”

Ellen’s voice seemed distant, and Nina felt a tingling on her face and neck as if fine hairs were standing up there. There was a pleasant feeling in her fingers and toes, a wave of pleasure starting in her chest and sweeping down her legs.

“You’ve arrived. Open your eyes when you’re ready.” The words were muffled, barely audible.

Nina opened her eyes. She was still at the table, Angie beside her, the child’s eyes closed. But the room was gone. In every direction, up and down, sidewise, was a shimmering curtain of rainbow colors, and they were floating there, yet beneath her Nina could feel something solid.

Angie opened her eyes, and gasped. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know. It’s some kind of illusion.” Nina took Angie’s hand in hers; it was solid, and warm.

“It’s actually a representation,” said a familiar voice.

Mark seemed to materialize out of a curtain of red and blue, walked up to them and smiled.

“Daddy,” said Angie, and reached for him, but her hands passed right through him as if he were an illusion.

“Ohhh,” she said, and sat down hard on her chair.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I want to touch you too, both of you, but it isn’t possible here. Ellen has made a special resonance for us so we can all see each other at the same time, and talk. It’s like a window, Angie, but no energy or matter can pass through it.”

“I miss you so much,” said Angie.

“Me too,” said Mark. “My little girl is beautiful.”

Angie made a whimpering sound. Nina squeezed Angie’s hand, remained mute, but now Mark looked at her.

“Hello, wife,” he said, and Nina smiled. “I think you know why we’re here.”

“You’re going to say goodbye,” said Nina, and a strange feeling of calmness washed over her.

“Yes. For a while, at least. In the end we’re all together, but for now you might say I’m being reassigned. I’m moving on to another place, a world unimaginably far from yours. I won’t remember you clearly for a while, but you won’t be alone, Nina. Something and someone wonderful is coming for you. It’s all here in The Field, and I’ve seen it. It makes it easier for me to leave.”

Tears came. “I don’t see it, Mark,” said Nina, and Angie started to cry.

“Angie, my baby, I am so proud of who you are and what you will become. The day will arrive when we recognize each other again, and then we can share memories. I wish you could see what I see. It’s all so beautiful.”

Angie sobbed, and Nina put an arm around her. Mark leaned over to look closely at them. There was no scent that Nina could detect, only an image.

“I’ll always love both of you. Remember me when you can. Angie, you have a friend here who wants to meet you. I met her father, and now he and I are friends. But now I have to go. Please thank Ellen for this; she has arranged everything. Love you.”

“Goodbye,” said Nina. Mark’s image faded and was gone, and all that remained were shimmering curtains of color and a sobbing child in her arms. She closed her eyes.

And opened them again at a table in a darkened room illuminated by a single candle. Ellen was not there. In her place was a blond girl around Angie’s age, dressed in jeans and a denim jacket. She seemed startled, looked first at Nina and then Angie.

“Betina!” screamed Angie. The two girls leaped from their chairs and clung to each other, crying and talking so fast Nina couldn’t understand anything.

Ellen came out of the darkness, took Nina by the elbow and led her away from the girls. “Betina lost her daddy too,” she said softly. “She just said goodbye to him. The girl lives in Salem, and it’s not so far from here. Her mother brought her in, and they’re staying at the motel. Mom’s name is Anne. Get to know her, let the girls be friends in the flesh. It’ll be good for all of you.”

“I thought she was imaginary. I saw—” said Nina.

“—Oh Nina, you can’t intellectualize everything. There are just too many levels of reality that can’t be seen by the human eye. Walk with me.” Ellen picked up her satchel by the door, and Nina suddenly noticed the woman had put on her colorful coat.

“You girls stay here. We’re going for a walk,” said Ellen, but Angie and Betina barely glanced at her. Still talking excitedly and clutching to each other, they were nose to nose.

There was a damp cold in the street, and fog had moved in, creating fuzzy halos around the street lights.

“Where are we going?” asked Nina.

“I’m going away,” said Ellen. “Make sure the door is locked after the girls finish their reunion, and take Betina back to the motel. You’ll like Anne. The two of you have a lot in common.”

“Why are you leaving? You just got here.”

“The job is done, three cases in one, this time. I feel good about it.”

“How do we get in touch with you?”

“You don’t. You’re on your own now. You have everything you need, both of you.”

“But where are you going? The bus quit running an hour ago.”

“I’m being picked up. It’s just a short walk from here.”

Ellen stopped, put down her satchel and grasped Nina by both arms, smiling. “This is goodbye, Nina, but I’ll think of you. It’s the strength of your emotions that makes your talent so strong. You have more to look forward to than you can imagine. Say goodbye to Angie and Betina for me. They’re going to be life-long friends, you know.”

Ellen picked up her satchel again. “Wait here. I have to go alone.”

Why? thought Nina. “Thank you, Ellen, for everything. I wish you could stay longer.”

“Me too,” said Ellen. She gave Nina a wry smile, turned, and walked up the street towards the brow of a hill where swirling fog glowed between two street lights. And when she reached the top of the hill, her figure blurred by the fog, there was a sudden, colorful flash, and Ellen was gone.

Perhaps, thought Nina later, it was only the fog that had obscured her departure so suddenly from view.