It had been six days since the failed kiss, followed by his nerve-racking return to Neg 12 in the crazed elevator. The elevator music had morphed into sounds of yowling beasts so painfully loud that Swan had to cover his ears with his hands. All the emotages that surrounded him were of atrocities; glaringly bright closeups of people being hacked with knives and punctured with bullets. He’d shut his eyes tight and stood for some seconds without realizing he was back at his floor. The doors were standing open and the elevator was shouting for him to get out. He’d luckily remembered to grab his cane sword and book before bolting for his apartment.
It was because of Elevator 3’s hostility that Swan started to use the stairs whenever he went to the surface. It turned out he was able to clamber up the twenty-four flights, feeling barely tired at all, and this pleased him. Unfortunately, he still had to use an elevator to get back down. All the stairwell doors, except at ground level, were locked on the stairwell side. So far, neither Elevator 1 nor Elevator 2 had said anything about his big blowup with Elevator 3. Neither had he seen nor heard from Ebony.
She’d rejected him again and it hurt. But he also had the feeling it was a sort of circumstantial rejection. If he considered her relationship with Elevator 3, her refusal may have been mainly tactical; she was covering up the desire to see him in a more private setting. Elevator 3, besides being vindictive, was a node to the mind of the entire building. She’d been forced to act aloof because it was observing everything. The meeting Swan imagined now, between himself and Ebony, could only happen away from the building. If they were to run into each other on the street—he could simply wait for her on Bridge Nine!—it could be incredibly liberating for both of them. He imagined how they’d “accidentally” run into one another on that dusty hump above the desiccated river. A moment of awkward silence would reign for the first few seconds. Neither of them would know how to begin. But that showed how much they longed for each other! He’d change the mood by saying something funny then, or even intriguing…. Maybe Swan could make an off-hand observation about something he’d seen in the Nature Preserve… or something he’d thought about there. Should he talk about the Fairies who were the most interesting subject of all? The Fairies were the only reason he kept coming to this stupid place. If he talked about the Fairies though, he’d surely begin to talk about Ottala, and that would ruin everything…. So, no. It was better not to mention them, unless Ebony brought them up first.
He really did wonder if she knew about them. He’d give anything to find out. Maybe she had her own set of Fairy friends. Maybe there was a male version of Ottala who came to Ebony every morning to help her overcome her own worries and traumas and hang-ups, the way Ottala did for Swan. But, the moment Swan thought of this he remembered that Ebony liked to walk naked here, which meant that her relations with this hypothetical male Fairy he’d just conceived of, must be entirely different from the relations Swan had developed over time with Ottala. If Swan were ever to show up naked, Ottala would think he’d lost his mind. She’d laugh at him and he’d feel incredibly stupid and self-conscious.
That was because he and Ottala had a serious relationship, and they’d promised themselves to one another….
That said, he was starting to wonder if this marriage of his was even going to happen. It had been more than six weeks since Kulp had made his big speech about “the girl who wants to go away with you,” and he’d not seen Ottala even once. Kulp had never reappeared, nor had any other Fairy for that matter. He seriously wondered if Ottala may have changed her mind, and he left his room each morning feeling more and more doubtful. Maybe the whole thing was just a Fairy practical joke…! These sorts of thoughts had made his always-identical walk through the Nature Preserve feel senseless, not to mention boring. In fact, that had become his chief complaint at this stage: living in reality was boring.
Strangely, it was at the exact moment he was thinking about the boringness of everything, that the pink path veered off in a new direction.
He’d been aware of forks in the path before, but the pulsing pink glow always directed him along one unchanging route. The unpink sides of these forks were blended into the scenery with camouflaging imagery of sand or grass or bits of stone.
Now, for the first time, one of these forks had flipped, and Swan was led along a new route through a grassy field he’d never seen. Dozens of large topiary sculptures had been made to look like elephants and turtles and other large land animals that Swan could not name. Wondering what other new sights might lie ahead, he continued to pad along. A message came up suddenly: “Stop and listen.”
He held himself still while a faint breeze ruffled his hair. After a few seconds, he could make out a sound like the plinking of a far-away piano. It came from the bottom of a long curving slope, a place dotted with oversized yellow flowers. There was something else down there too—a tiny figure.
Ottala!!
Even from this far away, he knew it was her. She was waiting for him. The day had come at last! His Gut Marriage, or whatever it was called, was actually going to happen! He wondered if Kulp and the other Fairies were somewhere near, and reached into his pocket to make sure he still had his towel. Now he rushed at top speed down the slope.
The scene came better into focus. On both sides of the path, the huge yellow flowers were spinning like pinwheels. The whole area was abnormally bright and almost painful to look at. The green of the grass was so green it made him stumble over his feet. The yellow sky looked crazily luminous, and Ottala, who had been seated at the edge of this hyper green lawn on a speckled polycarbonate toadstool, jumped to her feet with a wide welcoming smile.
It was Ottala, undoubtedly. It was her. But her hair, normally so wonderfully disheveled, had been combed to the sides and fashioned into two loose pigtails. And, instead of one of her usual flowing dresses, she wore what looked like a pair of golden yellow pajamas. He noticed their silky sheen, and he had the immediate premonition that if he could get close enough, he’d find they’d been embroidered with dragonflies.
Was this a dream then…?
He came to a stop before her.
“Ottala! I’ve looked everywhere!”
“I’ve been waiting here all along,” she said with a bright smile.
“Your brother said —”
“Yes. I’m glad you know what to do.”
He pulled the towel from his pocket and spread it across his palms. “Jump in!” he cried.
But she did not jump in. She scampered out to the center of the lawn and turned to face him. “The main thing,” she called out. “Is to let things happen naturally!”
“Where are you going?”
“This is the part where you chase me!”
“Then run along the path. You know I can’t go over there.”
She skipped a few feet farther away, after which she flopped down, stuck her thumbs in her ears and playfully waved her fingers at him.
“Ottala!”
She was on her feet once more. “Swan, let’s go! It’s our big chance!”
Without thinking, he took a single step toward her.
Immediately the glowing path changed color. Its brightness increased. It went from pink to red to violet to silvery blue in half a second. Not only the place he’d been standing, but all across the meadow it beamed like an electrified ribbon. Large bold type flashed along its length: KEEP TO THE PATH, Mr Swan!
He lunged onto the lawn.
Something profound had happened. He felt it in his body. It was as if his old paralyzing disease had changed into its opposite. The constrictor shed its skin to reveal some other, uninhibited creature. What creature was it? He didn’t know. He only knew he loved to run, and he no longer cared about the rules! The polypropylene grass was slightly springy and easy on his feet, but it was slippery and he lost a little bit of momentum with every footfall. Ottala was leaping ahead of him. He watched as this new version, the girl in golden silk with bouncing pigtails, weaved her way between the stalks of the extra-large flowers. Swan crashed through behind her. Metaplastic petals flew into the air, little motors were left spinning at the end of stems. He knocked everything aside with his arms.
Now, she leaped over a strip of hedge that bordered the garden. He crashed though this too, destroying a plastic stone lantern along his way. Leaves and petals crackled beneath his shoes.
She’d already descended the sandy slope that lay ahead of him. Swan slipped and fell onto his knees but jumped up again. The grass didn’t go beyond where it was visible from the path. It seemed he’d reached the backside of the park.
Steel support beams protruded from the backs of the largest trees. Crude scaffoldings held up the facades of the folklorish cottages. Pieces of animatronic beasts; heads and limbs, human and animal, were scattered in the dirt, while the functional ones were propped up and suspended by wires. Machinery, power cables and pneumatic hoses were strewn about the degraded landscape. Ottala was right. The Nature Preserve was filthy and dilapidated.
She was twenty yards ahead of him now.
The bouncy bit of gold lured him on. Between gasps he called to her, “Stop! I need to speak to you!” But she ignored him.
They crossed into another zone, another meadow, covered with a different kind of grass. The traction was better and he made up ground. Here, a purple path traversed a big beige field and Ottala seemed to veer intentionally beneath the feet of a young woman who happened, just at that moment, to be strolling briskly along it.
Except for her platform vinyl boots, Ebony was naked and she came to a startled halt. Her lustrous hair which covered her face as always, swayed a little but did nothing to mute her scream.
Swan, carried forward by her hair-raising shriek and his momentum equally, had no choice but to leap across the path directly in front of her. He wasn’t terribly close but he wasn’t that far from her either, and as he flew by, he rotated his shoulders to face her and made an embarrassed wave.
Time seemed to slow down as he flew through the air like this, and he was able to carefully examine Ebony’s body. She was as slim and graceful-looking as he already knew her to be. Her nipples were a pinkish-brown. To his surprise, her mons pubis was coated in a fine golden fur. Her hips were almost pointed and, like Swan, her rib cage was prominent; something he found extremely attractive. Her dainty bag was in fact slung from a shoulder by a long strap. It extended almost as low as her adorable knees. Swan’s theory about her clothes had been correct. The patent vinyl of her bag perfectly matched the patent vinyl of her boots and swung through the air prettily.
But now Swan’s interests lay elsewhere. When his feet finally touched the ground again, he continued his sprint across the little meadow. He scrambled over some big sandy rocks covered with mica-like flecks and came crashing down on the other side. The earth was chalky and stained here. It sloped down into a wide low crater.
Where had she gotten to?
This was the garbage dump where the Nature Preserve’s builders had disposed of their leftover and defective materials: heaps of torn grass, rusted cans, a giraffe’s spinal column, a giant teacup, faulty lamps, styrofoam chipmunks, hollow half-boulders, etcetera. Most everything was thrown about willy-nilly, together with hand tools and metal fittings and shards of glass. He saw a flash of yellow through the splayed legs of a resin-cast monkey. Swan pushed it over as he thundered past.
Even though she’d told him about it, it took him by surprise. The tree was enormous, a lofty specimen at the very center of the crater. His first thought was how dirty it was; a rutty-looking object with a trunk twice the diameter of his outspread arms. The overall shape was domelike but the leaves were curled and skimpy and its shadow floated over the dusty ground like a hovering net.
Despite his amazement, he’d not forgotten the reason he’d come. Where was she? Could she have climbed into the branches? If so, he’d never be able to catch her. The brittle looking tree would support Swan’s weight only so far, assuming he was even able to get as high as the spot where the biggest limbs fanned out several feet above his head.
He circled around the massive oak and surveyed the area. Small discarded objects, organized into little piles, were everywhere: splinters of wood, metal fragments, balls of string, wire, plastic—all separated out. This must be where Ottala had built her wickiup.
He gazed upward again, to see where the fairies lived…
Dark speckled limbs were silhouetted against the sky’s aura. They spread out like the veins of a bloodshot eye, a capillary dome with lines that zigged and zagged and diminished into filigree. He followed several branches with his eyes. Aha! There was one. And another. He was able to find six or seven of the Fairies aloft. They clung to the stems like sailors in the rigging and lounged in hammocks amid the highest twigs. He could make out their little hats and shoes against the glow but his eyes searched in vain for Ottala.
He was standing with his back arched rearward, his hands clasped at his waist. Was this the end? Leaving the path must have triggered some sort of official response. A security drone was probably heading his way right now. Maybe Dr Escobar would soon appear driving some sort of official vehicle.
He needed to have Ottala in his pocket and out the gate as soon as possible. Whatever chance he had of escaping, it lessened as the minutes ticked by. Why had she coaxed him here just to hide?! If this was a dream he needed to wake up! Swan slapped himself across the face as laughter burst forth in the branches. He bellowed: “Ottala, please come down!”
More high-pitched cackling came from a dozen places at once.
He marched around the tree waving his arms. “Where are you?!” he whined. Then, remembering this was supposed to be a performance, he pulled himself together and yelled, “I’m going to catch you!” It sounded half-hearted even to him, and he became more agitated. Why didn’t she understand? He’d be banished from the Nature Preserve forever and the beautiful house would exist only to mock him.
“Ottala!” he cried again. His hands were shaking and a terrible fatigue enveloped him. Tears started to stream from his eyes. He wiped them with his sleeve as he scanned the limbs and branches. “Please, Ottala! Please come down!”
The response came from his feet… It was Kulp, in a fine, if stiff-looking, burlap suit, calling up to Swan and waving his arms. Who knew how long he’d been there? The loudness of Swan’s inner monologue must have completely drowned him out.
Swan dropped to his knees. “Where?!”
The Fairy looked at Swan and smiled. He put his palms together beneath his chin and peered into Swan’s eyes. “I am so glad, at long last, to have the opportunity to be your host and—”
“There’s no time for fancy speeches!” Swan was exasperated beyond words. “I need to know where she is right now!”
“She’s waiting,” Kulp said, sounding a little bruised by Swan’s reaction.
“Waiting?!”
Kulp backed away and gestured for Swan to follow him. He turned and trotted to the opposite side of the tree where he pointed at a large hole in the base of the trunk. Swan had failed to see it before. It was a natural tunnel, a space between two radiating roots, a triangular opening to a dark cavity. This was where Ottala must be hiding. Swan fell to his knees again, hands on the roots that framed the entrance. He lowered his chin to the ground so he could look inside.
The earth was smooth and level like the floor of a room. In the days of animals and bugs, some biting scratching creature might have made a home here, but there was no need to worry about anything like that any longer.
He slid his fingers into the opening as Kulp shouted for him to stop. All Swan could feel was the dusty floor, and even when he went down to his chest, the far wall was beyond his fingertips. The little man was in hysterics, so Swan withdrew from the tree and sat up on his haunches.
Without any sort of running start, the fairy bounded across Swan’s bent knee and landed on the ground in a heap. Kulp rolled onto his back then, and without any regard for his smart-looking suit, started to scoot across the earth. With his head oriented to the tree, using his legs and elbows, he pushed himself in the direction of the hole. “Like this!” he yelled.
There was no question as to what Swan was expected to do.
For the Fairy, the opening to the tree was like a great cathedral door. For Swan, it was a narrow triangle, possibly too small to accommodate his head. Once again, Swan had the sense that he was inside a dream, that the rules of nature and proportion had been suspended so that something inevitable, something that concerned him deeply, could move forward.
“Stop this dream now,” he said aloud. His words emptied into the air. He glanced at Kulp who now stood looking up at him, his arms hanging limply at his sides.
There was no obvious danger; pushing his head into a tree. If he did the things that Kulp demanded, she’d come to him. It was a piece of the performance Ottala had choreographed even if Kulp had failed to explain this part of it before. She must be observing him from her hiding place, waiting for him to take this symbolic action that would finally bring about their union.
It would be an odd, indefensible posture though—to lie on his back with his head in the trunk of a tree. It was strange to say the least.
Neither Ottala or Kulp seemed to understand the risk he was taking. For them, he was simply following a script, but for Swan, these actions were leading to an unknowable and possibly dangerous conclusion.
Kulp had run into the hole and hadn’t reappeared. Swan looked over his shoulder. He leaned from side to side and craned his neck. He scanned the edges of the great crater with his eyes. No one nor anything was coming—yet. The dump was silent and still. He looked down at the gray earth for a moment, then turned around to face away from the tree. He leaned back on his hands and pushed his ass out a bit so as not to bump his head. Swan lowered himself down between the two big roots. The gnarled trunk of the enormous oak appeared to rise up from his forehead, dividing and subdividing as it stretched skyward. He took a long slow breath. Then he began the process of scooting, head first, into the hollow of the ancient tree.
Bishop Larukeley?
Taking not a great leap of faith but more of a creep of faith, our hero pushes onward and inward, head first.