Being in Dreaming: Chapter 04.

Being in Dreaming ©1991 by Florinda Donner.

Chapter 04.

Eager to hear what Delia had to tell me about her friends, I went to Tucson on my way to Los Angeles.

In Tucson I arrived at the coffee shop in the late afternoon.

An old man directed me to an empty space in the parking lot.

Only when he opened my door did I realize who he was.

"Mariano Aureliano!" I exclaimed. "What a surprise. I am so glad to see you. What are you doing here?"

"I was waiting for you," he said. "So my friend and I saved this space for you."

I caught a glimpse of a burly Indian driving an old red pickup truck. He had pulled out of the parking space as I drove into the lot.

Mariano Aureliano said apologetically, "I am afraid Delia could not make it. She had to leave for Oaxaca unexpectedly."

He smiled broadly and added, "I am here on her behalf. I hope I fit the bill."

"You have no idea how delighted I am to see you," I said truthfully.

I was convinced that he, better than Delia, would help me make sense of all that had happened to me during the past few days.

I added, "Esperanza explained to me that I was in some sort of a trance when I met all of you."

Mariano Aureliano responded almost absentmindedly, asking, "Did she say that?"

His voice, his attitude, and his whole demeanor was so different from what I remembered, that I kept staring at him hoping to discover what had changed.

His chiseled face seemed to have lost all its fierceness, but I was so busy with my own turmoil that I did not give his change any more thought.

I continued by saying, "Esperanza left me alone in the house.

"She and all the women went away without even saying good-bye to me.

I hastened to say, "But I was not disturbed, although I am usually very put out when people are not courteous."

He exclaimed, "Oh really!" as if I had said something extremely meaningful.

Afraid that he might take offense at what I was saying about his companions, I immediately started to explain that I had not really meant to say that Esperanza and the others had been unfriendly. I assured him, "Quite the contrary, they were most gracious and kind,"

I was about to reveal what Esperanza had told me, but his steady gaze stopped me.

It was not an angry stare or a threatening one. It was a piercing look that cut through all my defenses.

I had the certainty he was seeing right into the mess that my mind was.

I glanced away to hide my nervousness, then told him in a light, almost joking tone that it had not really mattered to me that I had been left alone in the house. "I was intrigued that I knew every corner of that place," I confided, then paused for a moment, wondering what impact my words were having on him.

But he kept staring at me.

I continued, "I went to the bathroom, and I realized that I had been in that bathroom before."

"There were no mirrors in it. I remembered that detail before I actually entered the room.

"Then I remembered that there were no mirrors in the whole house. So I went through every room, and sure enough, I could not find any."

Noticing that I was still getting no reaction from him, I went on to say that I had realized while listening to the radio on my way to Tucson that it was one day later than I expected.

I finished in a strained tone by saying, "I must have slept a whole day."

Mariano Aureliano pointed out indifferently, "You did not quite sleep a whole day. You walked through the house and talked to us a great deal before falling asleep like a log."

I started laughing. My laughter was very near to hysteria, but he did not seem to notice this.

He laughed too, and I relaxed.

I felt compelled to explain, "I do not sleep like a log, ever. I am an extremely light sleeper."

He was silent for a time, and when he finally spoke his voice was serious and demanding as he said, "Do you not remember being curious about how the women dressed and did their hair without glancing into mirrors?"

I could think of no reply, and he went on to say, "Do you not remember how odd you found it that there were no pictures on the walls, and that there was no..."

I cut him off in mid-sentence, saying, "I have no recollection of having talked to anyone."

Then I glanced at him guardedly, thinking that perhaps, just in order to mystify me, he was saying I had interacted with everybody in that house, when in reality nothing of that sort had happened.

He said curtly, "Your having no recollection of it does not mean it did not take place."

My stomach fluttered involuntarily. It was not his tone of voice I took exception to, but rather the fact that he had answered my unspoken thoughts.

Certain that if I kept on talking something would dispel my mounting apprehension, I went into a long and muddled recitation of how I felt.

I recounted what had happened. There were gaps in the order of events as I tried to reconstruct all that had taken place between the healing session and my drive to Tucson during which time I knew that I had lost a whole day.

"You people are doing something to me; something strange and threatening," I finished, feeling momentarily righteous.

Mariano Aureliano smiled for the first time, and pronounced, "Now you are being silly. If something is strange and threatening, it is only because you are new at it. You are a tough woman. It will make sense to you sooner or later."

I was annoyed at the sound of his word 'woman'. I would have preferred if he had said girl. Accustomed as I was to being asked for my papers to prove that I was over sixteen, I suddenly felt old.

As if he were again reading my thoughts, he said, "Youth must be only in the eyes of the beholder."

"Whoever looks at you may see your youth and your vigor, but for you to feel you are a kid is wrong. You must be innocent without being immature."

For some inexplicable reason, his words were more than I could bear. I wanted to weep; not out of hurt, but out of despondency.

At a loss for what to do, I suggested we have something to eat. Trying to sound cheerful, I said, "I am famished."

He said with authority, "No, you are not. You are just trying to change the subject."

Startled by his tone and his words, I looked at him, appalled.

My surprise swiftly turned to anger. Not only was I hungry, but I was also exhausted and stiff from the long drive.

I wanted to yell and vent on him all my wrath and frustration, but his eyes did not let me move. There was something reptilian about those unblinking, burning eyes, and for a moment I thought he might swallow me up, as a snake swallows a mesmerized, defenseless bird.

The mixture of fear and anger escalated to such heights I felt blood rushing to my face. And I knew by the slight curious lift of his brows that my face had turned purple.

Since very early childhood, I had indulged in horrid attacks of temper.

Other than trying to soothe me, no one had ever stopped me from indulging in these attacks, and I had indulged in them until I had refined them into king-sized temper tantrums.

These tantrums were never caused by being denied what I wanted to have, or wanted to do, but by indignities, real or imagined, inflicted on my person.

Somehow the circumstances of that moment, however, made me feel ashamed of my habit.

I made a conscious effort to control myself. That nearly consumed all my strength, but I calmed down.

Mariano Aureliano proceeded, seemingly unconcerned by my fluctuating mood, saying, "You were a whole day with us; a day which you can not remember now. During that time, you were very communicative and responsive; a thing which was extremely rewarding to us.

"When you are dreaming, you are a much better being; more appealing; more resourceful. You allowed us to know you in great depth."

His words threw me into a turmoil. Growing up asserting myself the way I did, I had become quite adept at detecting meaning hidden behind words.

'To know me in great depth' bothered me to no end, especially 'great depth.' It could only mean one thing, I thought, but I immediately discarded it as being preposterous.

I became so absorbed in my own calculations that I no longer paid much attention to what he was saying.

He kept on explaining about the day I had lost, but I only caught bits and pieces. I must have been staring at him blankly, for all of a sudden he stopped talking.

He reprimanded me sternly, "You are not listening."

I shot back at him, "What did you do to me when I was in a trance?" More than a question, it was an accusation.

I was startled by my own words, for it was not a thought-out statement. The words had simply escaped me of their own accord.

Mariano Aureliano was even more surprised. He almost choked on the burst of laughter that followed his wide-eyed expression of shock.

He assured me, "We do not go around taking advantage of little girls." Not only did he sound sincere, but he seemed to be offended by my accusation.

He stressed, "Esperanza told you who we are. We are very serious people." Then in a mocking tone he added, "And we mean business."

"What kind of business?" I demanded belligerently. "Esperanza did not tell me what you want from me."

"She certainly did," he retorted with such assurance I wondered for an instant if he had not been concealed, listening to our conversation in the patio. I would not have put it past him.

He went on, "Esperanza told you that you have been pointed out to us, and now we are as driven by that as you are driven by fear."

"I am not driven by anything or anybody," I shouted, quite forgetting that he had not told me what is was they wanted from me.

Without being in the least affected by my anger, he said that Esperanza had made it very clear to me that they were committed to rearing me from now on.

"Rear me!" I yelled. "You are crazy. I have had all the rearing I need!"

Ignoring my outburst, he went on to explain that their commitment was total, and whether or not I understood this was of no importance to them.

I stared at him, unable to hide my dread. Never before had I heard someone express himself with such compelling indifference and such concern at the same time.

In an effort to conceal my alarm, I tried to imbue my voice with a spunkiness I was far from feeling when I asked, "What do you imply when you say you are going to rear me?"

"Just what you hear," he answered. "We are committed to guide you."

"But why?" I asked, frightened and curious at the same time. "Can you not see that I do not need any guidance, that I do not want any..."

My words were drowned by Mariano Aureliano's joyful laughter. "You certainly need guidance. Esperanza already showed you how meaningless your life is."

Anticipating my next question, he motioned me to be silent and he said, "As to why you and not someone else, she explained to you that we let the spirit tell us who we should guide. The spirit showed us that you were the one."

"Wait a minute, Mr. Aureliano," I protested. "I really do not want to be rude or ungrateful, but you must understand that I am not seeking help.

"I do not want anybody to guide me, even though I probably need guidance.

"The mere thought is abhorrent to me. Do you see what I mean? Do I make myself clear?"

"You do make yourself clear, and I do see what you mean," he echoed, moving back a step away from my pointed finger. "But precisely because you do not need anything, you are a most adequate candidate."

"Candidate?" I yelled, fed up with his insistence.

I looked around me, wondering if I had been overheard by the people going in and out of the coffee shop.

Then I went on yelling, "What is this? You and your companions are all a bunch of nuts. You leave me alone, you hear? I do not need you or anyone."

To my surprise and morbid delight, Mariano Aureliano finally lost his temper and began to berate me like my father and brothers used to.

In a tightly controlled voice that never rose to be heard beyond us, he insulted me.

He called me stupid and spoiled. And then, as if insulting me had given him impetus, he said something unforgivable.

He shouted that the only asset I ever had was to be born blond and blue-eyed in a land where blond hair and blue eyes were coveted and revered.

He asserted, "You never had to struggle for anything. The colonial mentality of the cholos of your country made them regard you as if you really deserved special treatment.

"Privilege based merely on having blond hair and blue eyes is the dumbest privilege there is."

I was livid.

I had never been one to take insults sitting down. My years of training in shouting matches at home, and the extraordinarily descriptive vulgarities I learned and never forgot from the streets of Caracas in my childhood paid off that afternoon.

I said things to Mariano Aureliano that embarrass me to this day.

I was so worked up I did not notice that the burly Indian who was driving the pickup truck had joined us. I only realized he was there when I heard his loud laughter. He and Mariano Aureliano were practically on the ground, clasping their stomachs, shrieking with delight.

Turning to the burly Indian, I yelled, "What is so funny?" Then I insulted him, too.

"What a foul-mouthed woman," he said in perfect English. "If I were your daddy I would wash your mouth with soap."

"Who asked you to butt in, you fat turd?" In blind fury, I kicked him in the shinbone.

He yelled out in pain, and cursed me.

I was about to reach for his arm, and bite him when Mariano Aureliano grabbed me from behind and tossed me in the air.

Time stopped. My descent was so slow, so imperceptible, it seemed to me that I was suspended in the air forever.

I did not land on the ground with my bones broken, as I expected, but in the arms of the burly Indian.

He did not even stagger, but held me as if I weighed no more than a pillow, a ninety-five pound pillow. Catching the wicked glint in his eyes, I was certain he was going to toss me again.

He must have sensed my fear, for he smiled and gently put me down.

My wrath and strength spent, I leaned against my car and sobbed.

Mariano Aureliano put his arm around me and stroked my hair and shoulders, the way my father used to do when I was a child.

In a soothing murmur, he assured me that he was not in the least upset at the barbarities I had yelled at him.

Guilt and self-pity only made me weep harder.

He shook his head in a sign of resignation, although his eyes shone with mirth.

Then in an obvious effort to make me laugh too, he confessed that he still could not believe I would know, let alone use, such foul language. He mused, "Well, I suppose language is there to be used, and foul language should be used when the circumstances are called for it."

I was not amused. And once the attack of self-pity had passed, I began, in my usual fashion, to mull over his assertion that all I had going for me was blond hair and blue eyes.

I must have cued Mariano Aureliano about my feelings, for he assured me that he had said that only to upset me and that there was not a shred of truth in it.

I knew he was lying, and for an instant I felt doubly insulted. But then I was appalled to realize that my defenses were shattered.

I agreed with him. He had been right on target about everything he had said.

With a single stroke, he had unmasked me and cut through my shield, so to speak.

No one, not even my worst enemy, could have hit me with such an accurately devastating blow.

And yet, whatever I might have thought about Mariano Aureliano, I knew he was not my enemy.

I felt quite dizzy with my realization.

It was as if an unseen force were crushing something within me; the idea of myself.

Something that had before always given me strength was now depleting me.

Mariano Aureliano took me by the arm, and walked me toward the coffee shop. Jovially he said, "Let us sign a truce. I need you to do me a favor."

"You need only to ask," I responded, trying to match his tone.

"Before you got here, I went into this coffee shop to have a sandwich, and they practically refused to serve me.

"When I complained, the cook threw me out." Mariano Aureliano looked at me dejectedly and added, "That happens when one is an Indian."

"Report that cook to the manager," I cried out in righteous indignation. My own turmoil was totally and most mysteriously forgotten.

Mariano Aureliano confided, "That would not help me in the least."

He assured me that the only way I could help him was for me to go into the coffee shop by myself, sit at the counter, order an elaborate meal, and drop a dead fly in my food.

"And blame the cook," I finished for him. The whole scheme sounded so preposterous it made me laugh.

But when I caught sight of Mariano Aureliano's genuine expectation, I promised to do what he asked of me.

He said, "Wait here."

He then, together with the burly Indian who had yet to be introduced to me, headed toward the old red pickup truck parked in the street. They returned within moments.

Mariano Aureliano said, "By the way, this man here is John. He is a Yuma Indian from Arizona."

I wanted to ask him if he also was a sorcerer, but Mariano Aureliano beat me to the punch by confiding, "He is the youngest member of our group."

Giggling nervously, I extended my hand, and said, "I am glad to meet you."

"Likewise," John responded in a deep, resonant voice, and clasped my hand warmly in his. "I hope you and I never come to blows again," he grinned.

Although he was not very tall, he exuded the vitality and strength of a giant. Even his big, white teeth seemed indestructible.

In a joking manner, John felt my biceps. "I would bet you can knock a fellow out cold with one punch," he said.

Before I had a chance to apologize to him for my kicks and insults, Mariano Aureliano pressed a small box into my hand.

"The fly," he whispered. "John here suggests that you wear this," he added, retrieving a black, curly wig from a bag. "Do not worry, it is brand new," he assured me as he pulled the wig over my head.

Then, holding me at arm's length, he regarded me critically. "Not bad," he mused, making sure my long, blond braid was tucked in properly. "I do not want anyone to recognize you."

I asserted, "There is no need for me to disguise myself. Take my word for it. I do not know anyone in Tucson."

I turned the side mirror of my car and looked at myself. "I can not go in looking like this," I protested. "I look like a poodle."

Mariano Aureliano gazed at me with an exasperating air of amusement as he arranged some stray curls. He said, "Now, do not you forget that you have to sit at the counter and yell bloody murder when you discover the fly in your food."

"Why?"

He regarded me as if I were dim-witted. "You have to attract attention and humiliate the cook," he pointed out.

The coffee shop was packed with the early dinner crowd. However, it was not long before I was seated at the counter and was waited on by a harassed-looking but friendly old waitress.

Half-hidden behind the order rack was the cook. Like his two helpers, he appeared to be Mexican or Mexican-American.

He went about his job so cheerfully I was quite certain he was harmless and incapable of malice.

But when I thought of the old Indian waiting for me in the parking lot, I felt no guilt whatsoever as I, with such stealth and speed that not even the men on either side of me noticed it, emptied the little matchbox over the perfectly cooked hamburger steak I had ordered.

My shriek of revulsion was genuine upon seeing a large, dead cockroach on my food.

"What is it, dear?" the waitress asked concernedly.

"How does the cook expect me to eat this?" I complained.

I did not have to pretend anger. I was indignant; not at the cook, but at Mariano Aureliano. I asked in a loud voice, "How can he do this to me?"

"It is all some dreadful accident," the waitress explained to the two curious and concerned customers on either side of me.

She showed the plate to the cook.

"Fascinating!" the cook said, his voice loud and clear.

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he studied the food. He was not in the least upset.

I had the vague suspicion he was laughing at me. He said, "This cockroach must have either fallen from the ceiling," he deliberated, gazing at my head in fascinated interest, "or perhaps from her wig."

Before I could retort indignantly and put the cook in his place, he offered me anything that was on the menu. "It will be on the house," he promised.

I asked for a steak and a baked potato, which was almost immediately brought to me. As I was pouring some salad dressing over my lettuce, which I always ate last, I discovered a good-sized spider crawling from under a lettuce leaf.

I was so taken aback by this obvious evocation that I could not even shriek.

I looked up. Waving from behind the order rack was the cook, a dazzling smile on his face.

Mariano Aureliano was waiting for me impatiently. "What happned?" he asked.

"You and your disgusting cockroach!" I spat out, then added resentfully, "Nothing happened.

"The cook did not get upset. He enjoyed himself immensely, at my cost, of course. The only one who got upset was me."

At his urging, I gave Mariano Aureliano a detailed account of what took place. The more I talked, the more pleased he was.

Disconcerted by his reaction, I glowered at him. "What is so funny?" I demanded.

He tried to keep a serious face, but his lips twitched.

His soft chuckle exploded into a loud, delighted laughter. He chided me, saying, "You should not take yourself so seriously. You are an excellent dreamer, but you are certainly no actress."

I said defensively in a high, shrill voice, "I am not acting now. And I certainly was not acting in there."

He said, "I meant that I was counting on your ability to be convincing. You had to make the cook believe something that was not true. I really thought you could."

"How dare you criticize me!" I shouted. "I made a fool of myself on your behalf, and all you can say is that I do not know how to act!"

I pulled off the wig and threw it at him. "I am sure I have got lice now."

Ignoring my outburst, Mariano Aureliano went on to say that Florinda had already told him that I was incapable of pretending.

He added equably, "We had to know it for sure, in order to put you in your proper slot. Sorcerers are either dreamers or stalkers. Some are both."

"What are you talking about? What is this nonsense of dreamers and stalkers?"

"Dreamers deal with dreams," he explained softly. "They get their power and their wisdom from dreams.

"Stalkers on the other hand deal with people and with the everyday world. They get their wisdom and their power from interacting with their fellow men."

"You obviously do not know me at all," I said derisively. "I interact very well with people."

"No, you do not," he contradicted me. "You yourself said that you do not know how to converse.

"You are a good liar, but you lie only to get what you want.

"Your lies are too specific, and too personal. And do you know why?"

He paused for a moment, as if to give me time to respond. But before I could even think of what to say he added, "Because for you, things are either black or white with no shades of color in between.

"And I do not mean it in terms of morality, but in terms of convenience. Your convenience, that is. You are a true authoritarian."

Mariano Aureliano and John exchanged glances, then both squared their shoulders, clicked their heels and did something unforgivable to me.

They raised their arms in a fascist salute and said, "Mein Fuehrer!"

The more they laughed, the greater was my rage.

I felt my blood ringing in my ears, rushing to my face. And this time, I did nothing to calm myself.

I kicked my car and banged my arms against the roof.

Instead of trying to soothe me, as my parents or my friends definitely would have done, the two men stood there and laughed as if I were providing them with the funniest spectacle possible.

Their indifference, and their complete lack of concern for me was so shocking that my wrath slowed down of its own accord.

Never had I been so completely disregarded. I was lost. I realized then that I had no more maneuvers left.

I had never known until that day that if the witnesses to my tantrums did not show any concern, I did not know what to do next.

Mariano Aureliano said to John, "I think she is confused now. She does not know what to do."

He put his arm around the burly indian's shoulders and added softly, yet still loud enough for me to ear, "Now she is going to cry, and when she does, she is going to cry her head off until we console her. Nothing is as tiresome as a spoiled cunt."

That did it for me. Like an injured bull, I lowered my head and charged Mariano Aureliano.

He was so startled by my vicious, sudden attack, he almost lost his balance. It gave me enough time to sink my teeth in the fleshy part of his stomach.

He let out a yell, a mixture of pain and laughter.

John grabbed me by the waist and pulled me away. I did not let go of my bite until my partial bridge came off.

I had knocked two of my upper front teeth out when I was thirteen in a fight between the Venezuelan and the German students at the German high school in Caracas.

Both men howled with laughter. John bent over the trunk of my Volkswagen, holding his stomach and banging my car. "She has got a hole in her teeth, like a football player," he cried out in between shrieks.

My embarrassment was beyond words. I was so vexed that my knees gave in on me and I slid to the paved ground, like a rag doll, and actually passed out.

When I came to my senses, I was sitting inside the pickup truck.

Mariano Aureliano was pressing my back. Smiling, he stroked my head repeatedly and then embraced me.

I was surprised by my absence of emotion. I was neither embarrassed nor annoyed.

I was relaxed and at ease. It was a serene tranquility I had never known before.

For the first time in my life, I realized that I had never been at peace with myself or with others.

Mariano Aureliano said, "We like you immensely, but you have to cure yourself of your temper tantrums. If you do not, they will kill you.

"This time it was my fault. I must apologize to you. I did deliberately provoke you."

I was too calm to say anything. I got out of the truck to stretch my arms and legs. I had painful cramps in my calves.

After a few moments of silence, I apologized to the two men. I told them that my temper had gotten worse since I had started drinking colas compulsively.

Mariano Aureliano suggested, "Stop drinking them."

Then he completely changed the subject and went on talking as if nothing had happened. He said that he was extremely pleased that I had joined them.

I asked uncomprehendingly, "You are? Did I join you?"

"You did!" he emphasized. "One day it will all make sense to you."

He pointed to a flock of crows cawing above us. "The crows are a good omen.

"See how marvelous they look. They are like a painting in the sky. To see them now is a promise that we will see each other again."

I gazed at the birds until they flew out of sight.

When I turned to look at Mariano Aureliano, he was no longer there. The pickup truck had rolled away without a sound.