RAIN DANCE

(Picture is “Black Dressed Woman in the Rain” from Gothic Girls Wallpapers.)

This is a story about what happens when faith overcomes doubt. 

It may be a true story or it may be fiction. You get to decide.

“RAIN DANCE”

Arafin © 2009

The first drop fell as all drops of rain do, unnoticed. This was followed a few seconds later by its brothers and sisters who made their presence increasingly known by tickling noses, dampening hair, and pattering upon patiently waiting leaves. Hands would stretch out to affirm that this was indeed happening and a lot of hurrying and scurrying ensued. The sound of millions of raindrops landing quickly on hard dry pavement and soft green grass echoed through the charged air like the first wave of an autumn tempest falling against the upper reaches of a shore untouched by water during a long summer of low tides. This powerful whisper turned gradually into a mad roar as the water bounced momentarily back skywards in wriggling splashes too frantic for any pedestrian to understand, too overwhelming for any onlooker to ignore. And the exuberance of storm wind rushed in, adding its voice to the symphony, a continuously building crescendo of all pervasive excitement. Birds sang out with thrilling immediacy while children shrieked in high tones of holy glee. It was underneath this glad cacophony of heavenly watery radiance that a tiny woman with the improbable name of Analune hopped off her bicycle and let it fly almost on its own into the empty rack in front of the red brick flat and made a frolicking dash up the steps and through the front door.

Cool drops fell from Analune’s hair like diamonds from the branches of a fragile willow, making little damp dots on the unvarnished wooden floor. Such a good reason to smile, this gift from the sky, and she was just happy for the sake of happiness as her dainty feet leapt up the stairs two at a time, round and round, higher and higher, till breathing heavily and almost laughing she stumbled forward against the door to her room, fumbled for the key, and burst in full of unstoppable mirth, calling out to her parrot that she was home. “Analune, Analune, anytime very soon!” came the bird’s raucous reply. Fetching a small seed treat from the cupboard she held it between her outstretched lips and leaned close to the perch. Jimbo, who had done this a thousand times, lurched for the treat and flapped his colorful wings in a manner which always made Analune laugh, and of course, after carefully pecking and swallowing the seeds, the parrot laughed, too. A soft knock at the door interrupted the bliss of this moment.

Opening the door revealed the landlady, Mrs. Fadish, who had probably come about the late rent. Analune picked up the blue and white porcelain vase on the shelf nearby and stuck her hand inside for what she knew was not there. Withdrawing only half the required amount she held it out to the old woman with the most tentative hint of wistfulness and the most endearing expression of peace, and Mrs. Fadish, with all the charm and cunning of a loan shark, grabbed the crumpled paper notes like so much rubbish she detested and shot out harsh threats and insults at the poor young woman. Explanations would be useless, she knew, and so Analune offered none. Promises of forthcoming funds would be met with disbelief and scorn, and so she kept her red lips together and just smiled a little. She felt like winking impishly, but decided that would be too much. Her job at the library was what it was, something she loved doing despite rather low wages, and the prospect of getting a second job which would leave her no time for herself was just not acceptable. Mrs. Fadish blurted out a final threat of eviction if the rent was not paid in full by the end of the week, and doing an almost military about face, stomped off like a drill sergeant, no doubt to inflict her utter lack of patience upon the other tenants. Times were hard for everyone and she would likely find no happiness that day.

Going back inside, leaving all worry about the rent out in the hall, Analune busied herself with fixing her dinner. She had managed to scrape together enough money to buy a few fresh vegetables and a loaf of bread to accompany the large bag of brown rice she was more than half way through. It would last another month at best, but then what? Such questions were far from her mind as she sang softly to herself, chopping a carrot and slicing some ginger while the rain outside her window washed away whatever grime had built up during the hot spell that had lasted months. Jimbo fluttered around the room like a young bird, which he was not, and called out silly challenges to her as she cooked. A bit of olive oil dribbled into the wok as she answered with childish riddles of her own. It was a game they played every night at this time and she wouldn’t trade it for any other entertainment, not grandest opera nor most magnificent ballet. A wonderful orange light from a precocious sinking sun sneaking beneath the line of dark grey clouds filled both indoors and out with magic. Analune and her parrot stopped to admire this miracle when the phone rang. At first she took no notice, so lovely was the orange light, but then, with a slight sigh, she picked up the device and tended to yet another bill that could not be paid on time. Dinner, simple in its contents yet delicious in the enjoyment it brought, was eaten in hushed reverie while the rain outside finally lessened and then abated, leaving the air empty and clean and fresh.

That evening this petite imp of a woman did what she often did and listened to soft music through headphones as she read from a thick hard bound book of great weight and even greater age. The music she heard was soft acoustic country. The words she read were in an older version of English no longer spoken save in plays. Jimbo rested quietly next to her sofa on a wooden perch at just the right height so that she could stretch out her hand from time to time and stroke his rainbow plumage. She had had him since she was seven years old, a rescue bird a friend’s father who worked at the shelter had said was a hopeless case. The poor bird had been abused by its original owners, a gang of drug dealers who taught it to swear and taunted it with squirt guns and lighters till the creature went mad and pulled out all of its feathers. When the gang had been arrested the bird would surely have flown away if it could, but by happy chance was captured and taken to an animal shelter where everything possible was done to cure it of its broken heart. The young Analune begged to adopt it, saying she was certain that she could nurse it back to full health, and the decision was made to give her six months. In four the bird had feathers, a very pleasant disposition, and a new name.

When bedtime came she washed and climbed into her tiny bed, actually a child’s bed, for she needed no more and the space saved in the small room was useful in other ways. Pulling the antique satin quilt up around her neck she called out good night to Jimbo. Came the reply, “Analune, Analune, sleeping softly like the moon”. Dreams came easily, as they usually did, first with sudden starts and shudders of things which frightened her, but gradually mellowed into curious adventures where she would gain more and more lucidity until finally she would be in full control. It was this state that she lived for, a wonderful haven of peace and safety far from the troubles of a rigid grey world seemingly headed for destruction. At first she walked through long gardens of white and pale blue flowers and dangling dark green vines, and then, coming to a large clearing with a small pond in the center, she ran jubilantly towards the water. 

Just before reaching the water’s edge she leapt as high as she could and turned her thoughts to the broad night sky, and as she had learned to do so many years ago, she flew. It was easy to recognize that this was a dream and just as easy to keep dreaming and not emerge back into wakefulness. Flying this way was an exhilarating joy like no other. It was accompanied by such poignant emotions of ecstasy that it almost skirted the line between sexual pleasure and holy epiphany. She often felt like singing when she flew in her dreams and did so now, a strong aching tune of timeless love for the beauty of the world, not a lament, not a mournful dirge, but a soft slow hymn of deepest reverent joy so intense that any who heard would surely have been unable to resist crying. On and on she flew in her dream, singing one beautiful tune after the next, higher and slowly higher, till at last she came to a great mountain range, its lofty peaks tipped with blue white snow in the pale glow of the brilliant moon. It was necessary now to ascend even higher in order to cross these summits and so she turned her thoughts steeply upwards and pushed herself faster and faster till she cleared the tallest peak and could see down the other side.

Before her stretched a wide valley which cradled a meandering river, its water like silver in the lunar light, winding quietly away into the distance through deep forests full of mysteries forever unexplained. Gliding downwards towards this new adventure the little dream woman was happy and full of awe at the magnificence of this hallowed land. She had stopped singing now as all her concentration had become focused upon the great river below. It seemed to call her to come closer, which she willingly did. It was not a siren pull, nor a strong command, but a simple yet very inviting friendly invitation she felt inside her heart. The river welcomed Analune as if she were a long lost orphan coming home at last to her true parents. Descending and slowing, she hovered for a brief second over the water as time stood still, and then she simply let herself drop the last few feet into the moon dappled liquid. It was so warm! It felt softer than real water, too, almost like thin syrup, and it smelled of lilies.

It was so warm, so comforting, and so utterly enchanting, this quietly gurgling river under strong moonlight. Here and there she could feel the bottom with her toes as the lazy current moved her slowly downstream. She took this as an invitation to dance, and in slow motion leaps and pirouettes lovingly mirrored the river’s every move. Only the sound of water lapping at the banks, the whisper of her own breath, and the beat of her glad heart could be heard by whatever creatures watched as she drifted on and on, a growing sense of calm building within her. When a thought would stray back to her waking life and the troubles awaiting there, the dream river seemed to wash such cares away with a steady feeling of confidence, a flowering trust, that everything back there would be alright. Analune could not tell how long she floated in this manner, nor did she care, and by the time the rain clouds began to surround the benevolent moon she had passed many small tributaries. These offshoots made her curious as to what magic might lay upstream, but not curious enough to swim into them. Now the current brought her near to a stream larger than all the rest, and she noticed something different about the water that issued forth into the ever widening river. The flow of this side stream was not as dark as the inky warm liquid that had carried her thus far. It was a slightly silvery aquamarine, still dark as night, but quite easily distinguishable from the main channel. It just felt right that she should swim up there. It was not a compulsion nor an order, just a inwardly happy feeling like a little laugh one might make when someone says something charming and funny. She moved towards the tributary with graceful dream determination and a growing smile upon her pretty face.

The silvery blue water of the tributary was a bit cooler than that of the river, but it could hardly be called cold and was not the least bit uncomfortable. In fact, it felt refreshing and almost tingled against her skin as she glided up stream against the gentle current. The further she swam away from the river the greater grew two very different and very strange sensations within her mind. One, it felt sad to be leaving the great river, though not sad in any sense of final parting, but rather sad as in leaving good friends at a fun party too soon. The second sensation she noticed building was an almost erotic excitement, the type of thing one feels when connecting with someone special for the first time and just knowing that deeper feelings lay ahead. These two feelings did not conflict with each other and that was what was so strange. The river, it seemed, would always be there and to it she could always return, and the building excitement of what lay up this little stream could be revisited as well. She just knew this. It appeared odd to her that both emotions seemed to be permeated with, and even perhaps come from, a peaceful realization that this particular dream she was experiencing was going to somehow change her life. She swam on and on as this realization grew, and with it grew a sense that in the forest on either side of the little stream were many sleeping beasts both great and small, and that as she passed them they were having very wonderful dreams of their own. The current was a little swifter than that of the river, yet the channel was the same depth, and every once in a while Analune’s wriggling toes would patter across a few feet of clay or sand. This made her smile and sometimes laugh, but only softly, for she somehow knew it was best not to waken the sleepers beyond the banks. And then the bird flew out and landed right on top of her head.

At first this gave her a bit of a start, but as it was a small and friendly bird she quickly welcomed it. The creature was a crow of some kind, its feathers jet black, and it cawed and gurgled softly for a bit as it settled down upon its new perch. Analune continued swimming, now taking care not to more her head too much lest it upset her new passenger. “Thank you, thank you, Analune”, it suddenly spoke, and had it been any other bird voice but Jimbo’s she would surely have screamed in surprise. As it was she merely gasped and swallowed a little water which made her gasp some more. She had often fantasized about sharing a dream with her parrot, but until now it had never happened. “Analune, Analune, always coming sometime soon”, sang her special companion. And she reached up and stroked his new black form with loving tenderness, soon feeling his beak preening her wet hair in warm reply. It felt so good, so comforting, to have Jimbo here with her. He now surprised her again by speaking not in parrot rhymes, but as would any human. “Analune, my dear, ahead the stream widens a bit and there is a flat rock to climb out on. Something wonderful awaits you there.” She almost shouted with glee to hear him speak this way although she knew it was a dream, but did let escape a loud gasp, only the last part of which was muffled by her hand. On the bank a large sleeping beast stirred but did not wake. “Careful”, said the bird. “They would not hurt you if they awoke, but they would make a terribly disturbing noise that might upset the waters.” She thought she understood as she spied the wider spot in the stream before them.

Just as Jimbo had promised there was a large flat rock which she promptly climbed out on. Although completely soaked she was not cold. The crow stood beside her now as she looked out over the little wide spot in the stream. Beyond, it again narrowed and plunged forth into yet more welcoming blackness. Rain began to fall delicate and soft, then swelled slowly into a downpour. Yet, for all the thickness of the rain clouds above, the brilliance of he moon shone through from an opening in front of them which always seemed to be outside the path of the storm. As the rain fell her dream deepened, each drop striking her having the effect like a small spell of sleep, yet still she stood erect, taller now than in real life and more powerful. The crow nudged her with his beak and she bent to pick him up, setting him atop her head once more. He felt like a beacon somehow who would guide her. Very softly at first so that she hardly noticed, Jimbo began shifting his weight from foot to foot, and then, as she really could tell that he was moving, he began to lift each foot just a little, then higher and higher. This movement was rhythmical and was easily recognized as a dance, and as soon as she spotted this she was overcome by an uncontrollable urge to dance herself, keeping time with her feet on the rock, matching the footfalls of the bird atop her black hair. 

It poured down in sheets upon them as they began to dance, in the beginning a bit tentatively as if unsure just how much they could really let go. The crow bobbed up and down on top of her head and shifted from side to side. Analune swayed and rocked as the rain ran off her long black hair and cascaded down her slender frame. After a few minutes these midnight dances grew bolder and put more feeling into their motion, enjoying the glad sensations of their own rhythm synchronizing with that of the driving torrent. When Jimbo leapt atop her shoulder she was overjoyed and let out a hearty laugh, and then, liking the sound of her voice against the roar of the rain, she laughed again. Her laughter turned into a song in an unknown language of the moment, a singing in tongues of woman and bird and holy all encompassing rain. The sleeping beasts around them in the darkness were not awakened by any of this, but only driven deeper into their own dreams.

An unmistakeable feeling of well being swept over the two dancers, a great peaceful conviction that they were being blessed somehow by this magical experience, this water ritual of cleansing and creating anew. The rain could have lasted for many minutes or it could have lasted for many hours, it really didn’t matter to either of them. On and on the rain fell and on and on the woman and the bird danced, she upon the flat rock and he upon her shoulder, a symbiotic duo of two old friends lost in the depths of mysterious renewal which drove their common dream. The tributary which surrounded the rock grew swifter and more full as the downpour continued until, with happy gamboling toes, Analune felt the water of the stream lap against her. Looking down without stopping either dance or song, she laughed to herself that she was so blessed to have so much wonderful water in her life. At the same time she realized, of course, that the stream would soon overflow the rock and they would have to depart. This was not an urgency so much as one of those lazy dreamlike realizations which one understands but is not overly concerned about.

Jimbo had felt the same thing and now sent this thoughts to her to fly upwards, and she, as if pulled by a marionette string from above, lifted slowly and gracefully off the large flat rock which had been their dance floor and began to rise upwards into the rainy night sky. The bird now lifted from her shoulder and rose beside her, not with flapping wings as do birds in the waking world, but simply floating and gliding as do birds and ladies within their dreams. Higher and steadily higher they ascended, and as they did so the rain continued to fall onto and all around them, almost calling them onwards towards the uppermost reaches of heaven. Eventually the rain drops became smaller, though hardly less frequent, and later on smaller still, till at last they were no bigger than droplets of heavy fog. Analune thought she could see this mist reflecting illumination from above.

Suddenly they burst gently forth above the clouds. Where below they had been bathed in rain they were now bathed in brilliant moonlight, so strong and bright that Analune almost had to squint. Still she knew this was a dream and that she could direct her progress where she wished, and she wished now to fly back over the mountains they had crossed earlier that evening. Back over the mountains and back to her world of waking reality. And this they now did, she gliding faster and higher and he keeping pace right beside her all the way, calling softly to her now and again in her mind, “Analune, Analune, always coming sometime soon.” It made her smile outwardly as she flew, and inwardly, ….. well, there was just no feeling quite so glad as to know that Jimbo was still with her. On and on, higher and higher over the mountains, and higher still as if trying almost to touch the great silver moon itself. Higher and brighter and now more and more awake, closer and closer to the surface of the mind waves which roll forever across the surface of the ocean of dreams that stretch endlessly into perpetual starry expanses too numerous and to wondrous to describe.

And then they were awake, back in the tiny flat several stories above Mrs. Fadish’s head, and this sleepy waking realization gave Analune reason for mirth. And so, as she so often did, this lithe and impish woman who always looked at life as something positive and beautiful to love swimming in, woke up laughing. And, as he so often did, Jimbo upon his perch by her bed, answered with laughter of his own, although to his peels this mooring he now also added a riddle. “Analune, Analune, where will, who will, you see soon?” Odd, she mused, for she had never taught him to speak these words.

******************************************************

With little time to spare she showered and prepared her brown bag lunch and checked Jimbo’s needs. The day was fresh and clean from the rain during the night and she felt fresh and clean herself, full of even more hope than usual, anxious to mount her old bicycle and peddle away to the library, there to navigate the ocean of books and people and mundane tasks that was more than just a job to her. It was also a joy, for she loved both people and books, and truthfully, often thought of them as much the same, believing that a unique story existed within each, there for the reading and understanding if one but made the effort and took the time. Oh, what worthy secrets were there for the finding, what precious treasure of mystery and importance, both great and small and in between! Scampering to the door as she called goodbye to her faithful pet, she bounced down the stairs and along the short hallway towards the front door. Mrs. Fadish was outside sweeping the steps and acknowledged Analune’s cheerful “Good Morning” with only a wry smile. Still, it was better than her customary scowl, thought Analune as she hopped aboard her bicycle and peddled off buoyantly down the street, long antique skirt billowing in the wind like some colorful banner from an ancient and curious land lost ages ago to the depths of time.

The first order of her job was usually to tally and put away the books which had been put through the drop slot in the front door, but on this morning she would have to deal straightaway with a rather angry man who wished to protest what he claimed were excessive late fees levied against him for a book he had had in his possession for over a year. The information on the computer was certainly correct and Analune wished she had available to her another choice than telling him he must pay before he could check out any more books. To this he complained even more loudly and vigorously. She was glad that no one else was in the library yet or surely this tumult would bring consequences. There did not seem to be any compromise solution in sight for either of them when she suddenly felt like touching this irate man on the forearm, which she did with grace, tenderness, and a feeling that she was transmitting new hope to him somehow.

In less time than it took him to draw another breath, the man who had been so angry instantly became calm. In fact, a smile began to spread across his wide and wrinkled face and his eyes began to twinkle with the first signs of joy. Gone was his rage at the late fees and in its place glad acceptance. He took out his wallet and withdrew several large bills and one small one and placed them upon the counter in front of Analune, who was more than a bit surprised. She had realized that it was somehow her touch which had effected this miraculous change, but that did nothing to assuage her somewhat speculative astonishment. To be perfectly accurate, she was thunderstruck. The man now apologized for his absent mindedness and promised to never keep a book overdue again. He then wished a very amused Analune good morning and walked cheerfully off and out the door, no doubt to infect others with his new found good will and happiness.

The rest of the morning passed with only the usual events and she was able to relish being surrounded by her precious books. At lunch time Analune took her bag of meager sustenance and walked half a block to the little park where she often went. It was too close to cycle and she enjoyed walking past the fancy shops, though the contents would be, she felt, forever out of her reach. As she sat munching gently upon a quite ordinary sandwich a quite unordinary boy ran directly in front of her and tripped, falling flat on his face and skinning his forearms. His unusual appearance was chiefly the result of a high stegosaurus hair do of impossible shades and sheen. The baggy pants and black T-shirt were less noticeable, being the standard uniform for so many of the youth that perused the city streets looking for amusement, and forever trying to act as if they had found none. This young fellow was obviously scared and, as he picked himself up to renew his mad dash, Analune saw from the corner of her eye a policeman who was obviously searching for this person. For an instant the boy looked into her eyes and in that same instant she instinctively stretched out her fingers and touched him on the back of the hand which was holding a woman’s purse. This was the ill gotten prize which he sought to escape with.

In what seemed to the boy like a long slow moment of dream, he let go of the purse without even realizing it and took no notice as it fell to the concrete pavement at Analune’s feet. His facial expression changed from fear and anger to one of peace. She could also see an understanding forming behind his grey eyes that he had somehow escaped capture and been given a second chance. From that instant on he would never steal again. Analune was glad for him, smiled broadly, and he smiled back, a big friendly grin revealing a missing tooth, … or was it a wad of  licorice? The dream moment ended as quickly as it had begun, she withdrew her hand and nodded to the lad to walk calmly off, which he did. The approaching policeman seemed unable to see the departing boy but spotted the purse on the ground easily enough. For a second he looked at Analune with just a flicker of professional curiosity, but she, more nimble of mind than he and more graceful of heart, winked and said, “Is this what you were looking for? It was dropped here, I think.” He picked up the purse, thanked her with just a hint of suspicious hesitation, and walked off to return the item to its rightful owner, the boy now totally absent from his thoughts as if had been somehow struck by amnesia.

The afternoon went much as the morning had, a happy journey through never ending aisles of tomes punctuated by odd chores here and there of answering questions and giving suggestions. On the way home she stopped at a little Italian grocery store which often had a bin or two of produce discounted due to its age. Here she purchased some bruised apples and a bunch of slightly browning celery. A few flicks of the paring knife and a few strokes of the vegetable peeler would render these items completely edible. Taking her choice to the front she was immediately saddened to see the woman working the till sobbing, her eyes red and her nose dripping. 

“What’s wrong?”, asked Analune with true caring in her heart but also a familiarity that would have seemed out of place between two people who were not family. 

“It’s my husband”, cried the woman, not seeming to care that the young customer in front of her was nearly a total stranger. She recognized her, of course, as she came in at least once a week, but they had never spoken other than to conclude the brief business of buying produce with the customary pleasantries attached like meaningless decoration. She took in a deep gulp of air and suddenly spewed forth her feelings as if to a cherished friend or trusted aunt. “He was so angry with me this afternoon when he stopped by. I have no idea what I’ve done wrong and when I asked him he wouldn’t say.” And with this she burst forth in a torrent of sobs and tears which touched Analune so deeply that she again instinctively reached out and made soft contact with a total stranger, this time upon the poor woman’s shoulder. 

In the blink of an eye the woman sucked in a new deep breath of air and let out a tremendous sigh of relief. All sorrow flowed out of her on the sigh as a bit of driftwood might flow out upon a receding tide. She looked up at Analune’s smiling face and spoke almost with reverence, as if to someone she might suspect of being an angel in disguise. “Now I see. He was angry because he had forgotten our anniversary. He’s terrible with dates, he is. He wasn’t angry with me, he was angry with himself. Oh! I want to go right home and tell him that everything is alright!” In a way which no scientist could have explained, Analune’s touch on the shoulder had effected a total change in how the woman felt. It was not a miracle of spectacular proportion worthy of film, but it was indeed a miracle of the quiet and often unnoticed kind, the kind that one remembers when one is very old and near death and thinks back fondly of the things that one treasures most.

Riding homeward now she could see what looked like fresh storm clouds on the horizon. Would it rain two nights in a row? She hoped so. The rain in her dream was present in her wish. 

Mrs. Fadish was cooking cabbage and sending wave after wave of the pungent vapors up through every floor of the building in the process. The delicious smell struck Analune like a thunderbolt and she realized how hungry she was, deciding in that twinkle of time that she would walk right into Mrs. Fadish’s kitchen and just be friendly for the sake of being friendly, despite the old woman’s obviously temperamental muttering. Without thinking, she also reached into her pocketbook and withdrew her change purse, taking out all the funds she had, holding it out to the old lady cooking cabbage as if it might have been a handful of jewels instead, or a day old newspaper, or a dandelion. A treasure or a trinket, it could have been either in her lilting and carefree mind, and Mrs. Fadish, for some reason no one will ever know, reached out with her fat warm hand and pushed the money back. “You can pay me the rent when you have it, my dear. No need to put yourself off balance by giving your last cent. I can wait.” Her tone was warm and gentle, not cold and harsh as it usually was. And Analune had not even touched her. She had touched Analune. And, the change had actually begun before the touch. Very curious indeed.

“Do you like boiled cabbage?”, queried the old lady with a mischievous grin that would have been well suited to a scheming child. You look hungry. 

The young woman heard the distant peel of thunder as she nodded eagerly in the affirmative, not quite sure if she was in the real world or some other. “I’ll just pop upstairs and check on Jimbo, my parrot, and be back in ten minutes.” 

“Oh, please, Analune, can you bring Jimbo with you? I’m sure he’d like to explore my place and I have some crackers for him.”

All this was almost more that Analune could absorb, but she dashed upstairs and grabbed her pet, saying, “Guess what? Tonight we’re eating out!”

“I know”, he said with unexcited matter-of-factness.

“You do?”, she said, astounded.

“Of course I know. I have always known you two would become friends and that this would be the night.” He was not speaking in rhyme or the simple phrases she had taught him. He was speaking to her like the crow in her dream!

“Yes, that’s right”, he continued. “I am the crow in your dream, and you are the lady in mine.” 

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl then as the gathering storm clouds began to flicker with lightening and a fresh cool breeze heralded its approach. Grabbing something to take as a peace offering, Analune and Jimbo on her shoulder, glided out of the room like two wisps of smoke blown by some ancient spell, drifted down the flights of worn wooden stairs like two falling feathers, and sailed into Mrs. Fadish’s steamy kitchen like two ships long away in heavy seas and finally coming home to safe harbour. In her hand Analune held a small book of French poetry she now offered to the old lady as a gift. 

“Oh my!”, shouted Mrs. Fadish with a burst of girlish exuberance. “This was one of my favorite books when I lived in Brussels as a young girl! I used to have a copy but sold it after the war when I needed food more than beautiful words. How ever did you know I loved this so?”

“I didn’t”, came the honest reply. “I just grabbed it as I was walking out the door. I’m so glad you like it.”

“Like it?”, the old lady gasped in astonishment. “I love it more than you could possibly know! In fact, please consider it payment for your rent for the rest of the year. It may even be worth more than that by now.”

Analune was stunned, and Jimbo, quiet until now, seized the opportunity to show off. “Analune, Analune, giving presents like the moon.” She had not taught him to say that exact sentence, but then again, this was proving to be a most unusual evening. Mrs. Fadish laughed heartily at whatever Jimbo said, fed him tiny crackers from her wrinkled fingers, and served up a delicious feast of boiled cabbage, little new potatoes, and thick slabs of corned beef. The storm rolled in as they ate and at one point Mrs. Fadish remembered her laundry hanging on the line in the back yard. Analune offered to fetch it for her, but the old woman just laughed and laughed and laughed, saying it could probably use all the washing it could get. They sipped port wine after dinner and Jimbo happily perched next to a large painting of someone who looked like old European royalty. The two made a perfect pair and both women said so, smiling at each other with wet eyes of new found friendship.

By the time Analune and Jimbo ascended the stairs to bed, a long and welcome weekend ahead of them, the rain was coming down in buckets. They would sleep and dream together, visiting new and even more mysterious lands, and in the morning, bright and clean and wonderful in its freshness, Jimbo would astonish his companion once again by requesting that they go for a long walk together out of doors. It would be the very first time he had ever been outside since she brought him home all those years ago. What wonders would they meet upon that and all their journeys? What souls would they touch and transform? She mused on these things as the sun rose and lifted soft mist from the wet ground. And the parrot, ever attentive to what was going on around him, especially inside Analune’s mind, gave yet another startling answer. 

“You will meet the love of your life today. He’s been searching for you for so very long. Analune, Analune, always coming sometime soon.”

THE END