On the morning
of October 17, Louis awoke refreshed. He
had a good night's sleep, something he had not enjoyed for several weeks. During that time
he had a strange recurring dream. He had
dreamed that, walking down a familiar path, he had suddenly come onto an
unfamiliar place. It was not an
unpleasant spot; yet, he remembered in the dreams, he had turned around and
seeing his friends, shouted at them.
They had ignored him. He
remembered seeing his mother walking down the street, and calling to her, not
having even seen her turn her head. He
remembered whistling for his old dog, and not seeing it respond.
He had a feeling as he left the house that morning that
he should not take the same road he had always taken. He walked to work, and this walk took him off
the main street, down a well- beaten path to a small creek that he crossed by a
stepping- stone bridge, up a bank, and through a small grove of large trees.
He
had always loved this place because it seemed so peaceful. His crazy
grandfather once told him that if he sat quietly, it would embrace him
and speak to him gently, but that he must not panic. He thought of these trees as "Grandfather's Place".
At first his dream
had given him a "Grandfather's place" feeling, but despite this, he
woke every morning after a dream sequence terrified, stricken cold.
That morning, as he went to work, he thought that perhaps
he should take his car, ride around this wood, but he knew that it was only a
dream, and "What are dreams?"
he said to himself; "just silly little things you tolerate in the
night."
He
kissed his mother, whistled to his dog, patted it on the head, said goodbye to
his brother and sister, and headed off to work.
"It's a beautiful day," he thought to himself as he strode down
the asphalt street. He left the hard
road behind for the dusty path which led to the creek almost without
thinking. It wasn't until he got to the
stepping- stone bridge that he wished he had made his way around this place
completely so as not to go through the grove, but it was a day of sunshine,
bright fall sunshine, and there were so many memories of joyous play in these
old trees.
One
had a gigantic recessed scar big enough to take shelter in when it rained,
which he had frequently done, until his mother warned him away from it. "Lightning-electrocution," she had
said. That had been enough to keep him
away for years. Today he wondered about
the place as he approached it. "No, just a crazy dream," he said to
himself as he walked up the bank and into the wood toward the huge scared tree.
He
had not stepped more than several feet into the forest, when he noticed what
seemed to be a panel wall to his right; yes, it was wood-grained, but a natural
color. When he turned from staring at
this, he was surprised to find a similar barrier in his direct path, and
whirling, found the same situation to the left.
It was now that he first noticed that the early morning birds he had
heard before had stopped singing. The
light wind that was blowing quieted down.
He remembered that he could hear a dog barking in the distance. No more.
He spun around now, glanced back down the path to the
creek. He looked outside on the shining
autumn morning. "’Outside?’ Why had he used that word," he wondered. He started to walk back toward the creek, but
was halted abruptly by something in the air.
No, more correctly, bounced backward.
He moved cautiously, both hands searching forward. Together they pressed against an invisible
barrier, pliable but yielding only to the length of his hands.
Just a few feet away the leaves were moving before the
gentle wind, and, in the far distance, he could see a dog respond to its
master's signal. "I was really
walking to work," he said to himself.
Now he pounded on the wall, but the wall did not pound
back. He pressed with his right hand,
pressed hard. His hand seemed to go
through, but he soon realized that the wall was only shaping itself around his
hand, that his hand had not broken through.
Glancing behind him, he noticed that the immediate space
had become an enclosed room, wood grained.
A screen started in his throat, but was cut short by the approach of two
people.
Louis yelled. He
beat furiously on that unseen force. He pressed once more against the wall. Both hands experienced
movement into and were surrounded by the pliable barrier.
At that moment the two familiar figures approached close
by. His sister was speaking and looking
right at him. The younger brother was
nodding and reaching toward Louis, almost touching him. His fingers stopped short a few inches away
and flattened white on the ends. At that
instant the younger brother's voice became clear to Louis. "And it
feels unusually smooth too," he said.
"Shiny, like a one- way mirror," she responded.
"Louis used
to love this old tree," he said and added, "I was so sure he might be
here when his boss called and said he didn't get to work."
"Grandfather always talked to these trees," she
said.
" He was crazy," he replied.
The
boy was about to leave, but his sister pointed upward. "Look at those two strange burrs growing
out of the lightning scar," she said.
After a long moment, he replied hesitantly, "Why, they look just like,
like human hands."
They both stared at them for a moment.
"Let's
find L………" His voice shut off as he
withdrew his hand from the tree.
Louis
screamed to the departing couple.
"Don't go; look it's me."
He raged against the condition he was in. "Dig
me out, find me." He
suddenly grew calmer and added to the
backs of the distant figures. "Keep
looking, please…….. will you……………..
remember me?" And then very
quietly, he added, in a trilling voice, "At least come by sometimes, and,... and,.... and,… ...talk to the trees." 