Chapter Thirty-Two: Back in the Saddle

Felix came to a broad, fast river. The far shore glowed in the low sunlight, a deep dark red, and on the near bank stands of plane trees shivered in the breeze. He had come there through a quiet, autumnal oak wood that smelled strongly of mushrooms, of fallen leaves and decomposing bark. A soft warm wind rustled the crimson leaves. They drifted down, gliding back and forth. Two tall turkeys ran by gobbling. Red, black and grey squirrels scrambled about in a frenzy, burying nuts. The bees were heavy, buzzing low. He smelled honey and wood smoke.

The river was familiar. He and Veronica had been there, with Sammael. The air was scented with apples and river water, it smelled like a hot day in October after weeks of rain. There were clumps of purple asters with yellow centers and russet chrysanthemums, golden choreopsis and black-eyed susan. There was no sign of Sammael. He went down to the river bank and lay back on the grass under the plane trees, to look at the few clouds crossing the otherwise unbroken blue of the sky. The breeze picked up, crossed the river and caressed him with warm encircling arms, brushing his face with her long hair.

Sammael appeared beside him, squat and hairy. “Mind if I sit down?” he asked, smiling.

“No, not at all,” said Felix. There was something he knew he was supposed to say but the wind had made him forgetful. Carefully rehearsed words stood in the wings but would not enter his mouth.

“Is something wrong, Felix? You seem perplexed.”

He nodded. The breeze warmed his ear and breathed upon him till his flesh stirred and rippled like water. Felix looked into Sammael’s eyes and thought. He shook his head as the words formed distantly. In a slow, quiet voice he said, “Where the hell is she?”

“Veronica? Haven’t seen her.” Sammael chewed on a piece of grass.

“But you know where she is. She came to stay.”

He chuckled. “Is that what happened?”

“But you’re here. Others have stayed.”

“They’re just passing through. Anyone who tries to stay finds themselves someplace else. Here isn’t here. Of course, it isn’t there either. It’s neither here nor there.”

“But you do come here.”

“Do you mean me or one? The generality….”

“Specifically you, as an instance of one who comes.”

“Sure, for me it’s nothing.”

Felix stood. “I’ve got to find her.”

“Felix, don’t look for things. Here you will find nothing if you look for it. Let things find you. Relax.”

“Since she’s been dead–”

“Who said anything about dying? Nothing ceases to be, it just becomes something else. Proteins, amino acids, shit.”

“But there must be an end.”

“There is no end of things in the heart.”

“Pound, you’re quoting Pound.”

“Well, Pound’s translation of Rihaku, or Li Po. He certainly made a hash of things. Great vision destroyed by political pathology–”

“I’d rather not do Ezra Pound.”

“What thou lovest well remains, the rest is dross.”

“Veronica.”

“Dross. That body of hers was trash. It was time to move on.”

“Who decides?”

“There is no who Felix, I told you that.”

“I’ve decided then.”

Sammael burped and disappeared. A large reptile crept away into the oak wood, its tail swishing back and forth, the scales like jewels. Felix watched the water in complete peace. Prahus with crimson sails passed by. Before it ended in wakefulness, thoughts he wouldn’t remember, propositions about reality and the world he was entertaining converged in a dream within the mind of the garden. The garden loved him. She was a winged creature and they rose into the sky. A cold shadow crossed the water. Then a loud, discordant braying, like a donkey in distress, interrupted them. He turned around to find Moises, running towards him, Promethea in tow. But before they reached him their expressions turned from delight to terror and Felix walked away.

He lay down in the hot meadow. Now he was hungry. Hunger roused him and he rose up over the butterflies and bees and ran through the tall hot grass after a small deer. His haunches pumped back and forth. Sweat poured down his face. The deer smelled like fresh meat. It leapt between the clumps of grass, changed direction, but Felix was locked in on it. He bounded forward and brought it to the ground. It hurt his neck to pierce through the vertebrae and as his mouth filled with the hot blood he grew faint.

He awoke with the taste still in his mouth. His neck was a little sore, but he was entirely healed now of the wounds inflicted by the wild man.

After Peter had gone into the shower Felix looked coolly at Moises and Promethea and said, “You stole from me.”

Promethea tried to disappear into her coffee. “I’m sorry.” She glared at Moises. “I told you it was wrong.”

“You’re risking your life,” Felix said. “I promised Peter I wouldn’t involve you in this. He, you, have taken me in. I’m responsible, you understand? I killed one person and I won’t kill you. I won’t repay your kindness in that way.”

Moises stood and seemed to explode. “I don’t care if I die! I hope I do die and stay in the garden. I’ve never felt anything like that.” He stared into space, paralyzed by the thought. “My god, it makes me sick even to smell this place. It’s like a place where stinking insects come to pupate. I’m a hive of disease, a mausoleum of discordant cries. Garbage…. the human garbage on a tide of death floats out to nothing and we weep like children in this prison of flesh.”

“You don’t understand. It’s not a place to stay. People come and go. It’s a place of repose.”

Moises turned towards Felix, his turquoise eyes focused, not blurred by drugs or drugged by sleep. “How do you know?”

“There’s a man, an angel. Sammael is his name. He told me.”

“I didn’t see any angel. Just this beautiful lion. Its mane was all of fire and around its neck was a diamond-studded collar. A beautiful woman, like an undulating goddess with long black hair and eyes of jasper had him on a leash and they turned on us. I thought I was going to die then and do you know how gladly I would have given myself to that magnificent beast, to have its teeth buried in my throat, to be ripped to pieces and consumed by him? My god, I’d be reborn, a pillar of gold. But instead he chased down this little deer and ate it.”

Promethea sighed heavily. She rubbed her cheek and looked at Felix. “Was that you, Felix?”

“I saw no woman there,” Felix said.

“There was a fountain that had overflowed and formed a channel in the limestone. We followed it,” she said. “How can that be? Do you remember Moises?”

“It was a slow stream. There were four, an emerald, a diamond, a sapphire and a ruby. We followed the sapphire. The trickle from the fountain grew.”

“That’s right,” Promethea said. “It grew into a stream and then a river. It was at the river we found the lion. If you and I had the same experience, then it’s true what they say.”

“Of course it’s real!” Moises said. He stripped off all his clothes. He had a huge hard on. “Look at this.” He pumped it back and forth in his hand. “Oh god,” he groaned. “That was you Felix.” His cock bobbed free of his hand. He flexed his buttocks. “I can’t believe how I feel.”

Felix stretched out. He had no idea what to do. It was annoying, he was scared. There were outcomes now he couldn’t determine. “Look, it might have been me, I don’t know. Let me try to explain. In the garden, forms are mutable. You imagine reality. Or rather, reality is the imagination. It’s like thinking in words only you’re thinking in physical change.” He found himself struggling with language, that he couldn’t express the obvious.

“That’s just so cool,” said Moises, making a muscle with his arm and squeezing it.

Felix said, “What am I going to tell Peter when he finds out.”

“He’s not going to find out. And you have to promise not to tell him.”

Felix could no longer sort out the various promises he had made. All he wanted to do then was return to the garden, where life was simple.

The door opened and Edsel, glowing, entered. Peter emerged from the shower, his long black hair wet against his shoulders. Moises’s eyes grew large. They lingered over Peter’s body, the flat, tight stomach, the small patch of public hair, his hairless chest and erect nipples. “What?” Peter asked. They were all staring at him. He looked back at them strangely. “Did something happen?” No one answered. “Felix,” he said, “Are you still coming tonight?”

Felix didn’t know what Peter was talking about. “Huh?” he asked.

“The Met Cafe? My friend Miss Bailey, the one who was in the bar that night when you came here?”

“Oh,” Felix said, recollecting. “Of course. Yes. I’m on for it. I go by the Met all the time but I haven’t gone in.”

“You won’t regret it,” Edsel said. “Miss Bailey’s great. She really belts ‘em out, makes you feel just like skid row. It’s like all devastated. And the museum, don’t forget to get there early and see the galleries.”

Peter dressed slowly. He stepped gracefully into a pair of black underwear and pulled on loose linen pants. He threaded a red belt through the loops and buckled it and stretched into a red shirt, which he buttoned from the bottom up, leaving it open at the neck. He ran a comb through his wet hair and stood there a moment with a worried, puzzled face. “Something’s wrong.” He shook his head. “I’ll meet you at Bereshit, Felix, and we can take the PCP up.” He looked at the others and narrowed his eyes. “I’ll see you guys later, after the show.”