The dream diary of Anna Perez - page 63
There is a carnival with rides and children, clowns and balloons, Ferris wheels, and an unseen calliope's strange pipes are making music like screams from the wide, chaotic doors of Purgatory itself. The tune... it never stops to rest, a tune like twisted ribbons, pasted end to end, like infinity for sale in distress... two for a dollar, a bargain.
There is a tunnel of love with carved boats like swans. Two people go in, but only one comes out.
In the midway, a smiling man in a colorful coat calls everyone around... says, "Here, my friends, for the price of a dollar... here, good people, is just what you need. It's the secret of life, the philosopher's stone, the map to the elephant's graveyard, the long sought after mysteries of the universe. And it's yours for the price of one dollar. Step up... who's first."
A little box wrapped with a ribbon, I bought one and walked away from the crowd, but, when opened, I saw that the box he gave me was empty. I turned, and was startled to discover that the man was standing there behind me.
He spoke to me in Spanish, and asked me, "What's wrong?"
I showed him the empty box and he smiled... not kindly, but with silent contempt.
"You think that the box I sold you is empty..." he said, "...and now you're thinking that you want your money back? You think you've been swindled, but you haven't. You bought yourself the secret of life, dear lady... the secret of life... it's guaranteed."
I came suddenly awake and the rain was beating a furious rhythm on the rooftops, like a thousand shaken tambourines, like a thousand angry mojaves. Lightning flashed and thunder shook the windows. In the fields, the dampened seed grew softer, and in the morning, burst.
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Author's Note
With cause, these days, I am going through a rather lengthy body of shorter pieces I've written this past half, century and came across some that I wrote in the sway of a woman who fascinated me and of whom I wrote in speculation of who and of what she was.
I never found out... but the words remain. I don't know if I ever posted it here... maybe... posted it somewhere, I think... a long time ago. The pieces I wrote in this vein were never published, so... what the hell.
Other stories by James Lloyd Davis
- A grocery list found in a pocket at the end of another story
- The tenth point of possession being this... Rev2
- I fall out of love, learn not to worry, and get ready to embrace the foreign war...
- Trout Fishing in America Shorty lives on after the death of his dear friend Richard Brautigan, though sadly
- Trying to remember something else, I recall supreme and utter solitude in a far off time and place
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Caught me with the viewpoint reveal. I can see why the lady in your author's notes fascinated. Secret of life, indeed.
Reveal reminder, I should say. I'd forgotten the title.
I had a comment, but must have forgot to post with the *.
Dream language is a tricky tongue to learn, but I think you mastered it in this piece, where I would cite as proof, the disappearance, without further comment, of one of the couple who had entered "the tunnel of love." (Often turns out badly, that.) The absence of notice, or comment, is the stuff of dreams.
Carnivals, to my memory, are the most surreal places. This was a visit to one. Nice.
Great piece, James. I can hear as well as see the strange yet not strange world. Very David Lynch. And a wow to the closing: "In the fields, the dampened seed grew softer, and in the morning, burst."
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Very existential this secret. You've captured it well, empty box and all. Tres bien.*
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Thanks... Matt, David, Dianne, Sam, Beate, and Chris.
No matter if it is old or young. Old does not affect quality. Look at all the masters. Great image there with the empty box and the unknowing. *