Bohemians of Sesqua Valley (6 page)

“Out of the depths of dreaming came

The antique thing that called my name.

It shook me from my placid rest,

Commanding me to kiss its breast.

My mouth pressed to its marble hide.

New longing was not satisfied.

The pale thing called me brother, said,

‘I am the Dreaming and the Dead,

Fallen from distant vortices,

From whirling far-off galaxies,

Past dying suns and chilly stars.

I come to kiss thy psychic scars.’

Looking down I was perplexed

To see the beast was double-sexed.

‘Kiss me there,’ it spoke to me,

‘And penetrate my mystery.’

I did not heed its queer command;

Instead I took its pale hooked hand

And with its talons pierced my eyes.

Through blood and tears I scanned the skies.

I saw the crawling stars that named

Me as their own. Thus I am claimed.”

This was like nothing he had written before, and although it was too strange to be understood, its imagery whirled within her skull. Sarah set the notebook onto the wooden floor and shut her eyes. When the pale antique thing crept to her from its secret lair, she struggled mentally to awaken. Instead, she felt the hooked hands that pressed her mouth unto a marbled breast.

II

Soft light filtered through morning mist and illuminated the valley. Sarah raised her face to it and shut her eyes, letting the texture of her skin drink in the subtle warmth. This was a nice alternative to the dark troubled dreaming she had experienced during the night. She inhaled the fragrant air of Sesqua Valley as her toes, curling, pushed into yielding earth. The air, as Sarah sucked it in, tasted sweet, almost cloying, as if composed of elements that were of a different nature than that with which she was familiar. As she scanned the surrounding sights, it felt almost as if she had entered into a fairyland. The place was so different from Providence, had such a singular atmosphere. There was an impression of agelessness in the region, and to have entered it was to fancy that one had stepped out of time, stepped into some province that was unspoiled by modernity, although it contained aspects of human dwelling. But even that seemed queer to her: each dwelling that she had looked upon possessed its own queer personality, its own peculiarity of design.

Sarah stared past the woodland, to the distant twin-peaked mountain. The stone of which the mountain was composed sparkled in the soft morning light. Like everything else in the valley, this titan of white rock contained its own distinct and curious personality. The tall twin peaks resembled arched pointed wings that sprouted from daemonic shoulders. To gaze at the mountain was to feel that it could rise at any moment and stalk toward one, crushing one’s puny shell of flesh and bones beneath a mammoth hoof. As she gazed at it some shapeless blurred thing, black and winged, rose from it and then descended into the mist that covered much of the woodland.

A hand touched her shoulder. Sarah looked at Akiva and returned his smile. “Enchanted by our local beauty?”

“That is exactly right. Utterly mesmerized. I’ve never seen so many trees. It’s a wonderland of beauty. You’re up early.”

“I have a new thing I’m anxious to continue working on.”

She nodded. “I read some of your new work. I found it rather odd. It has a quality that I can only describe as ‘sinister.’ Why does that make you smile so broadly?”

“Because I call these new things the work of my left hand. Living here, in Sesqua Valley, has had an effect on my imagination. I dream differently. Instead of the human noise that I had grown so used to in the city, I now listen to the whisperings of nature, its secret sounds. New sensations have resulted in new poetic visions, an innovative form of expression. Coming here has invigorated me as an artist. I thought, perhaps, it may have a similar effect on you.”

The woman laughed lightly. “Ah, because of my taking a break in writing. You think I need a little kick in the aesthetic derrière. No, no. The truth is, I’ve been much too active, especially since Wilus died. I had no idea that he, too, had a heart condition, he never told any of us. He was my senior by half a year, and when he suddenly died at home I took it as a sign that I would be next. Foolish and melodramatic, I know, but there you are. It’s surprised you, my having two books published this year; I’ve always made it a habit to wait a year or two before writing a new book. What you don’t know is that I have three more completed books awaiting publication. Hopefully only two of them will be published next year. I went through a phase of mad productivity, because I thought I would be dead by the end of this year and I didn’t want to die without having added significantly to my oeuvre.” She looked at him and shrugged. “My doctors tell me that my heart is on the mend. I have thus slowed down, stopped writing. Now I can delve into other things, I can travel a bit if I feel up to it. Best of all, I can be lazy and relax. There you have it.”

“Excellent. All I knew was that you told me you had stopped writing for a while, and that distressed me. I invited you here to give you a taste of the inspiration that has recharged my creativity, hoping it could do the same for you. I still hold on to that hope. Sesqua Valley will inspire you in ways that are new and novel.”

Sarah shrugged. “I have no intention of doing any work here—or anywhere, for at least two years. But, yes—new inspiration, a new approach—that would be most welcome. I would like the next book I write to be absolutely unique.”

“Your work has been so urbane—to the point where you’ve been described as a female Henry James, the writer who has inspired you the most. You have a knack for outré characters, but your settings lack imagination. I think that the valley will aid your facility for distinctive characterization, giving you a different background in which to drop your freaks and fools.” Akiva turned away from her and looked down the road toward the main section of Sesqua Town. “My friend has a charming café that serves the finest French toast I have ever tasted. Let’s go.” He linked his arm with hers and led her down the dirt road, to the main business section of town. They spent an hour at breakfast, and then Sarah said she wanted to investigate the area.

“If it’s going to inspire new work, I need to take it all in and drink the ambiance. I confess I find this little area charming, like something from a 1950’s movie set. This town wears an aspect of unreality. Its inhabitants dress in a simple way that is neither modern nor outdated. I’ve seen but two cars. The quietude is like nothing I’ve known—where are the birds? Come, Akiva, show me this remarkable setting.”

The poet led her away from the café and onto the sidewalks that were composed of planks of sturdy wood. Sarah drank in the rustic aura of the town as Akiva, in his low voice, spoke of various venerable homes and their inhabitants. Some of the Victorian-seeming dwellings would have fitted perfectly in Providence, for which she was becoming just a little homesick.

“You’re frowning,” her friend informed her.

She glanced around her before she answered, her eyes catching sight of the twin-peaked mountain. When she looked at him and tried to laugh, her noise was not successful. “I feel as though I’ve wandered into some alien realm wherein I am unwanted. The beauty of the place is fantastic—and yet one feels guilty soaking it in. To gaze too long a time at that white mountain makes me feel positively sinful, and I ache for my eyes to sink deeper into their sockets in escape. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“I remember feeling exactly the same, especially when I began to meet the locals.” He paused, as if trying to decide how much he wanted to confess. “You don’t want to keep peering at the mountain—it doesn’t like to be scrutinized.”

She did not heed his curious advice. “It looks like some strange slumbering beast. Those incredible arched peaks—they could be wings on a daemon’s back, ready to spread and lift the creature into the air. Whatever brought you to this place, Akiva?”

“A book of poems. A rare secret book, that outsiders like me were never meant to see. And yet—I don’t feel like an outsider any longer, and I’m happy to be here. I’ve discovered things here that sing to me and seduce me into staying. She is such a one.”

Sarah’s eyes followed the direction of his hand, and then her eyes grew wide. Across the road, bathing in the morning sunlight, was a magnificent sphinx. Captivated, the woman crossed the road and stood before the gigantic statue, and then she heard Akiva breathing beside her. “No—it’s not Greek, as you can tell from the headdress. Too, there are neither wings nor breasts. This is a child of Egypt, where such figures are usually male. The face is amazingly androgynous, however, so you may be excused for thinking it female.” She moved so as to look beyond the sculpture, past a low stone wall and into a spreading cemetery, wherein she espied a number of unusual monuments. Akiva’s hand stopped her as she began to move toward the area.

“I’ll show you the Hungry Place tonight—in moonlight.”

“The Hungry Place?”

He held up a hand and nodded, as if to say that all would be explained eventually. “Come, let’s wander in the woods. You’ll find it charming.”

He linked his arm to hers and led the woman away from town, toward the wide expanse of woodland; yet as they approached the area she felt that it would prove impenetrable, unwelcoming. The trees were too unnerving, twisted and ominous; the spaces between those trees were dark and foreboding, and although she espied no creatures in those spaces she felt that they were the haunts of hidden imps. The poet seemed to sense her hesitation and turned to smile at her; he laughed lightly at the expression on her face and then brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. But she did not like the shape of his lips as they curled in mirth—his expression seemed curiously cunning. He was, she reflected, the author of the weird verse that she had read the previous evening, a tainted soul, strange and perplexing. She knew that he had altered, that his brain had somehow been bent by the influence of Sesqua Valley and her secret ways. But then the idea of her fear, her absurd sense of danger, caused her to chuckle as well. They made no sense, these new apprehensions, these confusions. She really was in need of a rest.

Darkness swallowed them, as they found a pathway that twisted through the woodland. The foreboding atmosphere dissipated. Immediately, Sarah’s sense of unease dissipated. The shade of the place felt soothing on her eyes as she stepped on ground that was cushioned with leaves and soft mossy earth. The air sucked in had altered and was no longer cloying but refreshing and minty in taste. Somehow, light of a kind fell onto various places, dimly illuminating the woodland and making it easier for her to take in her surroundings. She could not feel a breeze moving through the place, and yet the trees sometimes moved, subtly, as touched by gust. Black boulders of remarkable size and shape were everywhere, and at one point they passed a deep ravine, at the bottom of which she could espy a murky stream that reflected patches of fallen radiance.

A distant sound caught their notice, and Akiva ceased all movement. Although his face was encased in shadow, Sarah could sense his distress, and when she touched his arm it trembled beneath her hand. Her mouth parted as she prepared to ask him what it was he feared, but then the music grew in resonance. Eerily compelled, the woman moved away from her friend, toward the uncanny tone. She witnessed the place where blackness reeled, a whirlwind of gloom, within which odd music sounded. And then the spinning darkness fell before the figure that stood there, lowering as if to grovel at the creature’s feet before melting entirely into the earth. Sarah watched the outline take on a more solid form as it removed something long and lean from its mouth. The only features that were clearly evident were two slanted eyes that shimmered as if composed of liquid mercury. As the figure began to drift toward her, Sarah was kissed by an thrill of fear such as she had never known, and yet she could not turn away and flee. She had been caught completely. Someone behind her wrapped their arms around her waist, but Akiva remained silent as the beast drew nearer and then stopped. Sarah’s alarm sharpened as she experienced the entire trembling of her friend’s body as he held her.

“Ah—Loveman, it’s you. What curious expressions you both wear. Has something in our wooded realm haunted you?”

“Yes, your piping. I’ve never heard anything quite like it. It was more than music—it was like some evocation of lost or secret things, and it aroused a kind of fear that such things might once again be located.” She stopped, as if suddenly aware of her words. “Oh dear, what nonsense I’m talking!”

The tall man slipped his flute into an inside pocket of his jacket as Sarah took in his attire, which resembled that of another era. This fellow could have stepped out of the 1930’s. His alchemical eyes had lost a little of their brilliance, and they now had to compete with the fantastic nature of his ensembled facial features. She had never met anyone so grotesque, with an ugliness that seemed, in a way, inhuman. Certain characteristics of his face seemed amphibian, but the general outline of the face reminded her of a deformed wolf . His voice was cultured and his enunciation crisp, as if language was something he relished and spoke carefully. Although his hair was mostly covered by a hat, she sensed that he wore it long, in the fashion of a young Oscar Wilde. He cocked his head and smiled at Sarah.