One rainy night as the wind moaned and keened, I lay awake thinking about the novel I was writing (which deals with some intensely serious and sensitive subjects) that combined with the haunting sound of the wind was making it hard for me to fall asleep. So I determined that once I finally managed to drift off, I would become lucid and ask the dream about it. . .
Hovering up in the night sky, I immediately spot a well lit outdoor patio where an old woman is sitting accompanied by two young girls. Descending and landing before the woman, who is holding something akin to a gold clock or compass, I ask her, "Should I continue writing Song of the Blood?" Then looking down at my right arm, I realize I'm wearing an antique shirt which an old Romanian Lute Player Song describes as having long white sleeves decorated with "dusk-red embroidered flowers." I'm not actually wearing the shirt; I see only the embroidery, a fact I find interesting.
One of the young girls remarks, "Song of the Blood. . . I don't like that title."
I reply, "It's my working title. . . I could change it."
Without looking up at me the old woman mutters, "No, you should stop" apparently replying to my initial question, "Should I continue writing Song of the Blood?"
Disappointed, I think, Well, that was straightforward enough. But as I take a step back, the old woman abruptly stands up as she declares, "However, I could offer you a deal with Audible."
"I already take care of Audible myself," I tell her as I allow myself to wake up, thinking it's true that asking dream characters instead of the Dream Space itself a question is seldom helpful, as in this case, for these dream characters' remarks merely reflected my own doubts and conflicting feelings.
But as I thought about the object the old woman had been holding on her lap, and how it distinctly resembled a golden compass, I remembered a famous children's movie The Golden Compass, which I had stopped watching part way through because I had felt there was something seriously wrong with it. So now I more than curiously looked up the film's symbolism:
“This is not just any fantasy trilogy or film project. Philip Pullman has an agenda – an agenda about as subtle as an army tank. His agenda is nothing less than to expose what he believes is the tyranny of the Christian faith and the Christian church. His hatred of the biblical story-line is clear. He is an atheist whose most important literary project is intended to offer a moral narrative that will reverse the Biblical account of the Fall, and provide a liberating mythology for a new secular age.
“The great enemy of humanity in the three books, The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, and The Amber Spyglass (together known as His Dark Materials) is the Christian church, identified as the evil Magisterium. The Magisterium, representing church authority, is afraid of human freedom and seeks to repress human sexuality. The Magisterium uses the Biblical narrative of the Fall and the doctrine of original sin to repress humanity. It is both violent and vile and it will stop at nothing to protect its own interests and to preserve its power.
“Pullman’s attack on Biblical Christianity is direct and undeniable. He once questioned why his books attracted little controversy even as the Harry Potter books attracted so much. He told an Australian newspaper, “I’m saying things that are far more subversive than anything poor old Harry said. My books are about killing God.” – Excerpt from an article by Dr. R. Albert Mohler
In The Golden Compass children's daemons (Christian demons) can change form until the children grow up. In this novel everyone is accompanied not by a Guardian Angel but by a demon. Bad enough. I'm convinced now that I HAVE to keep writing my book. The negative answer I was given by the old woman who told me I should stop (after one of her young cronies criticized the title) came from the Enemy camp. And as always, some detail gives away the fact that certain dream characters shouldn't be trusted. The old woman tried to imbue herself with an authority I could respect by mentioning, and therefore aligning herself with, Audible, which is a source of income for me as both an author and a narrator.
I wrote Song of the Blood. The Romanian Lute Player songs featured in my story are from The Bard of the Dimbovitza, first printed in 1891. The songs were collected from Romanian peasants by Helene Vacaresco, a Romanian-French aristocrat and writer, then translated by Carmen Silva and Alma Strettell. The work is in the Public Domain.
Song of the Blood Excerpt
"Did you have any interesting dreams last night, Sophia?" Before she had time to answer, Dana returned, and apparently having overheard the question remarked, “I never dream anymore” as she set a large silver tray on the table closest to her daughter. Then she straightened up slowly, her eyes on Liam's face while the expression on hers fluctuated from one second to the next—fear, anger, desire, despair and longing battled subtly yet dramatically on her features and in her eyes—so that Sophia was reminded of silent films, but this was a picture it made her very uncomfortable to be watching. Then obviously forcing a smile, Dana stated the obvious, “Here's your breakfast, Sophia."
His penetrating stare still pinned on his stepmother's face, Liam spoke quietly but implacably, "Our guest will do as she pleases. It has occurred to you that her appetite is somewhat compromised at the moment?" Then transferring his gaze to Sophia and smiling, he offered her his hand.
She took it, and could not help being pleased when he kissed it, then held on to it. "I very much enjoyed our evening together Sophia, and hope to see you again soon. But now I'll leave you two alone so you can begin catching up." His subtly sympathetic smile was for her alone, and so attractive she was intensely disappointed when—after making the act of releasing her hand a promising caress—he left the room.
From where she had seated herself in one of the two comfortable black leather chairs facing the breakfast tray, Dana said, "I assume you drink coffee?"
"Yes!"
No longer looking in complete control of herself, her mother made an effort to smile sweetly as she decanted the hot black beverage into a glass coffee cup. "Cream and sugar?"
"A little of both, please." Sophia seated herself directly across from the woman who had given birth to her, and how reluctant she was to do so felt very strange indeed.
"Good?"
"Yes, thank you." Accepting the cup, she gratefully sipped the hot and bracing beverage.
"I imagine you need it after last night," Dana remarked, then added so casually it took Sophia a moment to understand she was saying something important, "I didn’t realize until it was too late what he was planning. Oh, the result would have been the same in the end, but if I had known... How much did Liam tell you last night?"
"He told me you left of your own free will with his father, a billionaire, and that the three of you lived all over Europe while he was growing up, and that he's the one who wanted to get in touch with me, not you. Imagine my surprise when I discovered I had a stepbrother!"
Avoiding her eyes, Dana reached for her cigarette case at the same moment another rose-gold case lying beside it began purring. Snatching up the phone and pressing it to her ear, she answered impatiently, "Yes?... What?... I don't understand... But how could it possibly have gotten in?... Well just find it and lock it up somewhere... What do you mean? It has to be there. It's not like it can magically open a door!"
Hearing a soft click behind her, Sophia glanced over her shoulder, and saw a solid black shadow slipping into the room through the same door she had entered it.
Dana cried, "It's here! It let itself in!"
Quickly putting down her coffee cup and surging to her feet, Sophia exclaimed, "Blackhawk?!" as the dog trotted eagerly over to her. To her, the metal identification tags around his neck jingled like Christmas bells as she received this totally unexpected gift by extending her right hand toward him. "Blackhawk... it is you," she said reverently as the animal sniffed the tips of her fingers, then sitting down placed his right paw in her hand with the all the formal elegance of a canine gentlemen. Then rising to all fours again, he fixed his intelligent eyes suspiciously on Dana. Straightening up, Sophia thought how it simply wasn't true animals didn't have expressions. They might not possess all the facial muscles humans did, but in Blackhawk's face she distinctly perceived a blend of emotions in which, at the moment, determination predominated.
Dana demanded, "You know this animal?"
"Indeed I do! He belongs to my boyfriend, Jonathan Eckart."
As if in response to the sound of his beloved master's name, Blackhawk barked sharply, then stared up at her almost sternly.
"It's time for me to go, mother."
"But I simply don't understand, Sophia." Anger was creeping into her voice. "The groundskeeper found this dog wandering around the castle, and seeing its tags brought it inside while he called its owner, but now you tell me he was actually looking for you?"
"Yes!" She smiled down at Blackhawk. "But how on earth did you open all those doors, boy?"
He responded with another impatient bark.
She laughed. "Okay, never mind. I don't want to keep your master waiting either."
"But Sophia, you can't leave yet! Liam wants you to stay for lunch!"
Reluctantly, she met the eyes of the woman who was, and was not, her mother. It was painfully obvious Dana cared only about Liam and what he desired, but she would ponder the disturbing nuances of their relationship later. She said, "We'll have lunch some other day. After all, now that we're neighbors, there's no rush. But right now I really have to get home. I wasn't able to tell anyone I was spending the night here, and I know they'll be worrying. Thank you for the coffee, it was delicious."
Staring earnestly up into Sophia's face, Blackhawk barked loudly two times and she understood him perfectly. "Stop talking! Let's go!"
She quickly slipped on her coat and picked up her purse. But then turning back to her mother explained, "I asked Jonathan to watch out for me because I didn't want to possibly end up disappearing like you did. You see, we never knew if you were alive or dead. So please tell Liam how grateful I am to him, because it's only thanks to him that daddy and I finally know just what to think of you."
Dana didn't even seem to notice the insult. "Then I can tell Liam you'll see him again soon?"
"Yes. But why do you care so much if I see him or not?"
"Because he really wants to love you, Sophia!"
* * *
Sophia's flashlight app illuminating the passage, she and Blackhawk escaped the castle. In the dramatic lighting, it was easy to believe she was a heroine in a fairy tale being rescued by a magical wolf-dog. The door at the end was unlocked, and not as heavy as it looked, which somewhat dispelled the illusion of being in a real castle. Yet the sense of enchantment followed them outside as they were greeted and surrounded by large snowflakes rushing eagerly down toward them from a pearl-gray sky. Then Blackhawk emitted a bark which rose to a yelp of happy triumph, and she saw the dragon Ford sitting only a few yards away on the cement drive.
"It's your master!" she cried unnecessarily as they ran toward the truck, one door of which flew open like a shiny blue wing offering them both shelter and flight. Blackhawk leaped in first, and promptly jumped into the backseat so she could sit up front with Jonathan. Laughing giddily, she closed the door behind her, thrust her phone into her purse, tossed them into the backseat with the dog, and then throwing her arms around the man's neck began kissing him. He surrendered willingly, turning his body and holding her as closely against him as possible under the circumstances, until a short, sharp bark forced her to pull back as she laughed. The way Jonathan stared at her as he strapped on his seat belt, and how forcefully he thrust the stick shift forward, made up for the loss of their frustratingly muffled embrace.
Comfortably settling himself with his front paws hanging off the edge of the backseat, Blackhawk casually snapped up the treat Jonathan pulled out of a pocket and tossed back to him. "Well done," he said, and handed a second treat to Sophia.
Gladly, she turned and gave it to the dog, who promptly consumed it with the proud air of having earned it. But seeing her purse lying beside him, it reminded her she needed to call Consuelo.
As if reading her mind, Jonathan informed her, "I already called your house and told Darlene I was on my way to pick you up at the castle and bring you home."
"Thank you!" This tension relieved, she relaxed against the seat to simply enjoy watching a growing army of more condensed and determined snowflakes speeding toward them, only to be crushed by the windshield wipers. The interior of the truck was so comfortably warm, she wondered out loud, "Jonathan, how long did you have to wait for me while Blackhawk reconnoitered, infiltrated the enemy camp, and rescued me?"
"Not too long."
"He's amazing!" But she was looking at the dog's master, glad he was focused on driving so she could feast her eyes on his profile. "You're both amazing!"
Turning out of the castle's driveway onto the road, he replied humbly, "Not really."
"Yes, you are."
"Well," he smiled over at her, "if you insist."
"Are you going to debrief me now?"
"It can wait. Have you had breakfast yet?"
"No, just a cup of coffee." Picking up the stainless steel thermos bottle in one of the cup holders and shaking it, she observed, "And you need more coffee. You'll be staying for breakfast, right? Consuelo will make you anything you want. And I told you, she has a big bone for Blackhawk."
"Woof?!"
She laughed. "Not yet, boy."
"Of course we'll stay for breakfast." Jonathan glanced at her. "Why wouldn't we?"
"I'm just making sure." Feeling guilty about how much she had enjoyed her dinner with Liam last night, Sophia feared she had somehow given herself away by behaving insecurely now.
He asked, "Do you want to start talking about it? If so, I'm listening. I just thought you might prefer to wait."
"I would. I'm a little tired, even though I slept really deeply in the tower."
"The tower?"
"Never mind. You'll know all soon. I lost track of time in that limo last night, and Liam had the blinds down even though it was full night out, so I have no idea where we are right now."
"Only about twenty minutes from home."
She really liked the way he said that, although she was probably imagining he meant more than the simple fact they were neighbors.
"Sophia, was your cellphone reception being jammed while you were in the castle?"
"Yes." She said no more, and neither did he, but his silence only drove home how suspicious, how unacceptable that was. However, he didn't know about Liam's desire to give her a fairy tale night, which certainly wouldn't have been as effective if he'd left her a cellphone to play with. At the moment her feelings, and the thoughts chasing after them, were no more in her control than the snowflakes dive-bombing the truck and vanishing in all directions. They seemed to be driving straight into the heart of the storm.
When they reached the bottom of her driveway, Sophia retrieved her purse and said, "You should park in the garage. Daddy's still in Boston, and I imagine he may stay the night again. He doesn't like driving in weather like this."
The dragon Ford thus cozily sheltered from the snow, Sophia and her guests entered the house through the garage door. It led them directly into the mudroom, where a second door led out to the trail which wound through the woods to the remains of the burned out church. As Jonathan shrugged off his jacket and Sophia slipped off her coat, Blackhawk sniffed the rugs, boots, shoes, and ski poles with what struck her as more than idle curiosity; as though he was officially adding more scents to his olfactory files. A third door opened onto a short corridor ending in an open archway. As they approached it, Consuelo's petite but shapely figure was framed by the brighter light of the kitchen beyond.
"¡Hija!"
"It's okay, Consuelo, I'm home now, and I've brought some friends!"
"¡Gracias a Dios!"
After Consuelo kissed her on both cheeks, shook Jonathan's hand while staring gratefully up into his eyes, and was introduced to Blackhawk—who when given a large raw beef bone was aware of nothing else—Sophia and Jonathan sat down beside each other at the kitchen table, and watched the chef cooking and talking.
"Sophie, why did you not call us to say you would not be coming home last night? But it does not matter now. I am sure you will tell me later. What matters is you are home safe, gracias al Señor Jonathan. But your father, he will probably not come home today. Thank goodness he has more sense than to drive in weather like this. Porfavor, text Darlene and tell her you are home, for even though she won't confess it, I know she was also worried about you. Is it American coffee you would like, Señor Jonathan, or would prefer cafe con leche?"
"I love cafe con leche."
"Of course you do! I made ham croquettes yesterday, and fresh Cuban bread this morning, and with them I can prepare you a most delicious sandwich called a preparada. Or would you like better a tostada and scrambled eggs with bacon and potatoes?"
"Both options sound delicious, señora. You decide for me."
"Then you will have a preparada. And you, Sophie?"
"I'm not very hungry this morning, Mami. I'll just have a tostada with my cafe con leche."
"I will make two preparadas. A tostada is not enough."
Knowing it was a waste of time to argue when Consuelo was determined to nourish her, Sophia pulled out her phone and texted Darlene, informing her that she and Jonathan and Blackhawk were all in the kitchen. She also explained why she hadn't called last night, and asked her to prepare the parlor for them, if she would be so kind.
As soon as she set their breakfasts before them, Consuelo went and busied herself in the part of the kitchen farthest from the table, where Blackhawk promptly joined her with his bone. They had been offered privacy, but although at first she and Jonathan spoke no more than the chef and the dog, Sophia felt the companionable silence between them to be eloquent enough in itself. It felt like a good and important silence, a profoundly fulfilling silence that nourished dreams of a future beginning to flesh themselves out into reality. In all her previous relationships, she had never really thought ahead before diving into bed with a man as though its sheets were sails, and the powerful attraction they were feeling would naturally blow them into the port of a meaningful long-term relationship eventually. The fact was she had behaved like a woman who enjoyed sex for its own sake, which could not be farther from the truth. All she had ever wanted was a true and lasting love, and she was too old now to continue behaving with such thoughtless impatience.
After Jonathan appreciatively devoured his preparada, then sat back to enjoy his cafe con leche, she asked him, "Did you like it?"
"Of course."
She put her own sandwich back down on the plate. "I can't eat the rest of mine. You're welcome to it."
He studied her face for a moment. "Okay. I'd be doing you a favor, wouldn't I?"
"Yes." Glancing over at Consuelo, who was saying something to Blackhawk, she quickly switched their plates. Then she concentrated on her cafe con leche while surreptitiously admiring Jonathan's broad shoulders, displayed to advantage in a navy blue wool sweater with a subtly retro look. There were leather patches on the shoulders, and on the sides of the sleeves from the elbow to the wrist, and the fine vertical pleats gave it a rugged elegance enhanced by the way it narrowed slightly at the waist, a detail she had noticed and appreciated after he removed his jacket in the mudroom. "That's a really nice sweater, Jonathan."
"I'm glad you like it. It was inspired by sweaters worn in World War II by the British S.A.S. Commando Regiment." He polished off his cafe con leche. "According to the L.L. Bean catalog, it's authentically warm and rugged. It's definitely warm."
"What exactly was the British S.A.S.?"
"A special forces unit founded in 1941 and reconstituted as a corps in 1950. It handles covert reconnaissance, counter-terrorism, hostage rescue and other types of missions. It's highly classified. And it came out recently that Britain's most famous UFO mystery, the Rendlesham Forest incident in Suffolk, was apparently a prank played on the Americans by the S.A.S. as revenge for capturing one of their squads, and subjecting it to a brutal interrogation while refusing to believe they actually were who they claimed to be. They were released eighteen hours later when the British government intervened. It seems the prank was inspired by how the Americans kept insisting they were unidentified aliens, so they decided to show them what aliens really look like."
"That's interesting... Stuart and Liam both seem to agree it wasn't aliens that built the pyramids or seeded life on earth." Feeling his attention sharpen, she also told him about the snippet of conversation she had overheard when her father was on the phone in his office. "He said, 'it's not so-called extraterrestrials who have been interacting with humanity from the very beginning'."
Although he remained relaxed in his chair, he seemed to have forgotten all about his coffee.
"Daddy's working on a new book," she explained as her curiosity—combined with concern for Stuart's professional reputation—found a welcome outlet in Jonathan's interested eyes. "He said he was using his knowledge of ancient history to try and prove his point."
"How did this subject come up yesterday?"
"I don't remember, exactly. We went from talking about Romanian lute player songs—which, by the way, I specialized in when I studied Comparative Literature at Harvard—to the legend of Dracula, to evolution, to the pyramid of Giza and aliens, although not necessarily in that order. And that's only while I was there. They talked for hours after that. Consuelo doesn't like Liam. She says he should have realized how tired Stuart was getting and left, but I could tell daddy was seriously enjoying himself. Darlene was in and out with lunch and tea, and she said Stuart was asking Liam questions about different historical time periods, and hanging on his every word."
Remembering his coffee and finishing it, Jonathan slowly began turning the delicate white cup a little to the left, and a little to the right, on its saucer, concentrating on it in a way that made her think of a safe cracker searching for the right combination.
She asked, "So what do you think? Do you believe in UFO's?"
He glanced over his shoulder at Consuelo.
Reading his mind, she said to the chef, "Señor Jonathan would like more of your delicious cafe con leche!"
His cup was promptly refilled, and while its contents cooled a little, he answered her question. "The official term for them now is UAP's, Unidentified Aerial Phenomena. And it's not a question of believing in them, they're a fact. I personally know pilots who have logged UAP's. The statistical data indicates that so-called flying saucers aren't stable machines requiring fuel, maintenance, or logistical support. They behave much more like transmogrifications of energy that don't exist the way this table does." Cutting the air with his right hand as he spoke, he touched the edge of the wood with his fingertips. "UAP's don't behave like self propelled machines that retain their material nature, while traversing the distances separating solar systems in the Einstein continuum.”
"Um, remind me what the Einstein continuum is, please."
"Einstein's theory of special relativity created a fundamental link between space and time. Currently, the universe is viewed in terms of having three spacial dimensions and one time dimension. This four dimensional space is referred to as the space-time continuum. The ability of UAP's to dematerialize and travel at speeds which cause ordinary matter to disintegrate, for example, indicates they and their pilots aren't actual physical entities confined to our three dimensions of space-time. In other words, they're not extraterrestrial but extra-dimensional beings."
"Oh!"
Consuelo asked, "You also want more cafe, niña?"
"No, gracias!"
Jonathan announced, "It's time for your debriefing, Sophia."
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