Being in Dreaming: Chapter 17.

Being in Dreaming ©1991 by Florinda Donner.

Chapter 17.

The manner in which Isidore Baltazar was pacing about the room was different from the way he usually covered the length of his rectangular studio.

Before, I had always been soothed by his pacing. This time, however, his steps rang with a disturbing, oddly menacing sound.

The image of a tiger prowling in the bushes came to mind. Not a tiger ready to pounce on a victim, but rather one sensing that something that was not quite right.

I turned away from my paper and was about to ask him what was the matter, when he said, "We are going to Mexico!"

The way he said it made me laugh. The gruffness and seriousness of his voice warranted my joking question, "Are you going to marry me there?"

Glaring at me, he came to an abrupt halt. He snapped angrily, "This is no joke. This is the real thing."

No sooner had he spoken than he smiled and shook his head. He made a humorously helpless gesture and said, "What am I doing? I am getting angry at you as if I had time for that.

"What a shame! The nagual Juan Matus warned me that we are crap to the very end."

He hugged me fiercely, as if I had been gone for a long time and had just returned.

I said, "I do not think it is such a good idea for me to go to Mexico."

He sounded like a military man giving orders as he said, "Cancel anything pending. There is no more time."

Since I was in a festive mood, I could not help retorting, "Jawohl, mein Gruppenfuehrer!"

He lost his tightness and laughed.

As we drove through Arizona, a most peculiar feeling suddenly flooded me.

It was a bodily sensation something like a chill that extended from my womb to my entire body and brought goose bumps all over my skin. It was the knowledge that something was wrong.

There was in that feeling a new element I had not encountered before. I was absolutely certain without a tinge of being right or wrong.

With my voice rising against my will, I said, "I just had an intuition. Something is wrong!"

Isidore Baltazar nodded, then said in a matter-of-fact tone, "The sorcerers are leaving."

Quite involuntary I cried out, "When?"

He replied, "Maybe tomorrow or the next day. Or perhaps a month from now, but their departure is imminent."

Sighing in relief, I slumped on my seat and consciously relaxed.

I murmured, "They have been saying that they are leaving since the day I met them more than three years ago,"

But I did not really feel right about saying that.

Isidore Baltazar turned to glance at me, his face a mask of sheer contempt.

I could see the effort he was making to erase his dissatisfaction.

He smiled, then patted my knee and said softly, "In the sorcerers' world we can not be that factual. If sorcerers repeat something to you until you are cynically bored with it, it is because they want to prepare you for it."

He fixed me momentarily with his hard, unsmiling eyes and added, "Do not confuse their magical ways with your dumbo ways."

I nodded wordlessly. His statement did not anger me because I was too scared for that. I kept quiet.

The journey took no time at all, or so it seemed to me. We took turns sleeping and driving, and by noon of the following day we were at the witches' house.

The instant the car's engine was shut off, we both jumped out of the car, slammed the doors shut, and ran up to the witches' house.

The caretaker said, "What is the idea?"

He was standing by the front door, seemingly bewildered by our abrupt and loud arrival, he asked, "Are you two fighting? Or chasing each other?"

He looked at Isidore Baltazar, then at me, and said, "Gee! Running like this."

Unable to contain my growing anxiety and fear any longer, I repeated mechanically, "When are you leaving? When are you leaving?"

Laughing, the caretaker patted my back reassuringly and said, "I am not going anyplace. You are not going to get rid of me that easily."

His words sounded genuine enough, but they did not relieve my anxiety.

I searched his face and his eyes to see if I could detect a lie. All I saw was kindness and sincerity.

Upon realizing that Isidore Baltazar was no longer standing beside me, I tensed up again. He had vanished as noiselessly and swiftly as a shadow.

Sensing my agitation, the caretaker pointed with his chin to the house.

I heard Isidore Baltazar's voice, rising as if he were protesting, and then I heard his laughter.

Trying to move past the caretaker, I asked, "Is everybody here?"

He blocked my way with his outstretched arms, and said, "They are inside, but they can not see you at the moment."

Seeing that I was about to protest, he added, "They were not expecting you, and they want me to talk to you before they do."

He took my hand and led me away from the door.

He proposed, "Let us go to the back and pick up some leaves. We will burn them and leave the ashes for the water fairies. Perhaps they will turn them into gold."

We did not talk at all as we gathered pile after pile of leaves, but the physical activity and the sound of the rake scratching the ground soothed me.

It seemed we had been gathering and burning leaves for hours when suddenly I knew that there was someone else in the yard.

I turned my head quickly and saw Florinda.

Dressed in white pants and jacket, and sitting on the bench under the zapote tree, she was like an apparition. Her face was shaded by a wide-brimmed straw hat, and in her hand she held a lace fan. She seemed not quite human and so remote that I just stood motionless; absolutely amazed.

Wondering whether she was going to acknowledge me, I took a few hesitant steps toward her.

Upon noticing that she did not in any way register my presence, I waited undecidedly.

It was not that I was trying to protect myself against being refused or being slighted by her, but rather, some undetermined yet unconsciously understood rule kept me from demanding that she pay attention to me.

However, when the caretaker joined Florinda on the bench, I reached for the rake propped against a tree and inched my way toward them.

Grinning absentmindedly, the caretaker looked up at me, but his attention was on what Florinda was saying.

They spoke in a language I did not understand, yet I listened to them, entranced.

Whether it was the language or her affection for the old man, I did not know, but her raspy voice was unusually soft and strange, and hauntingly tender.

Abruptly, she rose from the bench.

As if she were propelled by some hidden spring, she zigzagged across the clearing like a hummingbird. She paused for an instant beside each tree; touching a leaf here and a blossom there.

I raised my hand to call her attention, but I was distracted by a bright blue butterfly weaving blue shadows in the air.

It flew toward me and alighted on my hand.

The butterfly's wide, quivering wings fanned out and their shadow fell darkly over my fingers. It rubbed its head with its legs, and after opening and closing its wings several times, it took off again, leaving on my middle finger a ring in the shape of a triangular butterfly. Certain that it was but an optical illusion, I shook my hand repeatedly.

I asked the caretaker in a shaky voice, "It is a trick, is it not? It is an optical illusion?"

The caretaker shook his head, and his face crinkled into a most radiant smile. Holding my hand in his, he said, "It is a lovely ring. It is a magnificent gift."

I repeated, "A gift." I had the briefest flash of insight, but it disappeared, leaving me lost and bewildered.

The antennae and the thin, elongated body dividing the triangle were fashioned in white gold filigree and were studded with tiny diamonds.

I stared at the jewel and asked, "Who put the ring on my finger?"

The caretaker asked, "Did you not notice the ring before?"

Baffled, I repeated, "Before? Before what?"

He replied, "You have been wearing that ring since Florinda gave it to you."

I asked, "But when?" I held my hand over my mouth to stifle my shock, and said more to myself than to him, "I can not remember Florinda giving me the ring.

"And why have I not noticed the ring before?"

The caretaker shrugged as if he were at a loss to explain my oversight, and then suggested that perhaps I had not noticed the ring because it fit so perfectly on my finger.

He seemed about to say something else but stopped himself, and instead suggested that we pick up some more leaves.

I said, "I can not. I have to talk to Florinda."

He mused in the manner of someone hearing a ridiculous and probably unsound idea, saying, "You do?"

But he did not persuade me to the contrary, and said, "She is gone for her walk."

He pointed with his chin toward the path that led to the hills.

I could see her white-clad figure weaving in and out of the high chaparral in the distance.

I stated, "I will catch up with her."

The caretaker warned me, "She goes far."

I assured him, "That is no problem." I ran after Florinda, but then slowed down before I caught up with her.

She had the most beautiful walk. She moved with a vigorous, athletic motion; effortlessly; her back erect.

Sensing my presence, she came to an abrupt halt, then turned and held out her hands in a gesture of greeting.

Gazing at me, she said, "How are you, darling?" Her raspy voice was light and clear, and very soft.

In my eagerness to learn about the ring, I did not even greet her properly. Stumbling over my words, I asked her if she had put the ring on my finger.

I asked, "Is it mine now?"

She said, "Yes. It is yours by right."

There was something in her tone. Her sense of certainty both thrilled and terrified me. Yet it did not even occur to me to refuse the no-doubt expensive gift.

I held up my hand against the light so that each stone sparkled with a dazzling radiance, and asked, "Does the ring have magical powers?"

She laughed, "No. It does not have powers of any sort.

"It is a special ring, though. Not because of its value or because it belonged to me, but because the person who made this ring was an extraordinary nagual."

I inquired, "Was he a jeweler? Was he the same person who built the odd-looking figures in the caretaker's room?"

She replied, "The same one. He was not a jeweler, though, and he was not a sculptor either. The mere thought that he might be considered an artist made him laugh.

"Yet anyone who saw his work could not help but see that only an artist could have executed the extraordinary things he did."

Florinda moved a few steps away from me and let her eyes roam across the hills as if she were searching for memories in the distance.

Then she turned once more toward me and in a barely audible whisper said that whatever this nagual made, whether it was a ring, a brick wall, tiles for the floor, the mysterious inventions, or simply a cardboard box, it invariably turned out to be an exquisite piece; not only in terms of its superb craftsmanship, but because it was imbued with something ineffable.

I insisted, "If such an extraordinary individual made this ring, then it has to have some kind of power."

Florinda assured me, "The ring in itself has no power, regardless of who made it. The power was in the making.

"The nagual who made this ring was aligned so thoroughly with what sorcerers call intent that he was able to produce this lovely jewel without himself being a jeweler.

"The ring was an act of pure intent."

Reluctant to sound stupid, I did not dare admit that I had no inkling what she meant by intent.

So I asked her what had prompted her to make me such a marvelous gift. I added, "I do not think I deserve it."

She said, "You will use the ring to align yourself with intent."

A wicked grin spread across her face as she added, "But, of course, you already know about aligning yourself with intent."

I mumbled defensively, "I know nothing of the sort." Then I confessed that I really did not know what intent was.

She said off-handedly, "You might not know what the word means, but something in you intuits how to tap that force."

She brought her head close to mine and whispered that I had always used intent to move from dream to reality, or to bring my dream, whatever it might have been, to reality.

She glanced at me expecting, no doubt for me to draw the obvious conclusions.

Seeing my uncomprehending expression, she added, "Both the inventions in the the caretaker's room and the ring were made in dreams."

I complained, I still do not get it."

She said equably, "The inventions frighten you, and the ring delights you. Since both are dreams, it can easily be the reverse..."

I interrupted her, saying, "You frighten me, Florinda. What do you mean?"

She answered, "This, dear, is a world of dreams. We are teaching you how to bring them about all by yourself."

Her dark, shiny eyes held mine for a moment, and then she added, "At the moment, all the sorcerers of the nagual Mariano Aureliano's party help you enter into this world and are helping you to stay in it now."

I asked, "Is it a different world? Or is it that I am different myself?"

Florinda answered, "You are the same, but in a different world."

She was silent for a moment then conceded that I had more energy than before.

She explained, "Your energy comes from your savings, and from the loan all of us made you."

Her banking metaphor was very clear to me. What I still did not grasp was what she meant by a different world.

Florinda held her arms out wide, and exclaimed, "Look around you! This is not the world of everyday life."

She was silent for a long time, and then in a voice that was but a low, gentle murmur, she added, "Can butterflies turn into rings in the world of daily affairs; in a world that has been safely and rigorously structured by the roles assigned to all of us?"

I had no answer.

I looked around me; at the trees, at the bushes, at the distant mountains.

Whatever she meant by a different world still eluded me. The thought that finally occurred to me was, "The difference had to be a purely subjective one."

Reading my thoughts, Florinda insisted, "It is not! This is a sorcerer's dream. You got into it because you have the energy."

She regarded me quite hopelessly, and said, "There is really no way to teach dreaming to women. All that can be done is to prop them up so as to make them realize the enormous potential they carry in their organic disposition.

"Since dreaming for a woman is a matter of having energy at her disposal, the important thing is to convince her of the need to modify her deep socialization in order to acquire that energy.

"The act of making use of this energy is automatic. Women dream sorcerers' dreams the instant they have the energy."

She confided that a serious consideration about sorcerers' dreams, stemming from her own shortcomings, was the difficulty of imbuing women with the courage to break new ground.

Most women, and she said she was one of them, prefer their safe shackles to the terror of the new.

She whispered in my ear, "Dreaming is only for courageous women."

Then she burst into loud laughter and added, "Or for those women who have no other choice because their circumstances are unbearable; a category to which most women belong without even knowing it."

The sound of her raspy laughter had an odd effect on me.

I felt as if I had suddenly awakened from a deep sleep and remembered something quite forgotten while I had slept. I said, "Isidoro Baltazar told me about your imminent departure. When are you leaving?"

She replied, "I am not going anywhere yet." Her voice was firm, but it rang with a devastating sadness.

"Your dreaming teacher and I are staying behind. The rest are leaving."

I did not quite understand what she meant, and to hide my confusion I made the joking comment, "My dreaming teacher, Zuleica, has not said a single word to me in three years. In fact, she has never even talked to me. You and Esperanza are the only ones who have really guided me and taught me."

Florinda's gales of laughter reverberated around us. It was a joyous sound that brought me intense relief, and yet I felt puzzled.

I said, "Explain something to me, Florinda. When did you give me this ring? How come I went from picking leaves with the caretaker to having this ring?"

Florinda's face was full of enjoyment as she explained that it could easily be said that picking leaves is one of the doors into a sorcerers' dream provided one has enough energy to cross that threshold.

She took my hand in hers and added, "I gave you the ring while you were crossing. Therefore, your mind did not record the act.

"Suddenly, when you were already in the dream, you discovered the ring on your finger."

I looked at her curiously. There was something in her elucidation I could not grasp; something so vague and so indistinct.

Florinda suggested, "Let us return to the house, and recross that threshold. Perhaps you will be aware of it this time."

Leisurely, we retraced our steps, and approached the house from the back.

I walked a few steps ahead of Florinda so that I could be perfectly aware of everything. I peered at the trees, the tiles, and the walls, eager to detect the change, or anything that might give me a clue to the transition.

I did not notice anything except that the caretaker was no longer there.

I turned around to tell Florinda that I most definitely had missed the transition, but she was not behind me.

She was nowhere in sight. She was gone and had left me all alone there.

I walked into the house. As had happened to me before, I found it deserted.

The feeling of aloneness no longer frightened me, and it no longer gave me the sensation I had been abandoned.

Automatically, I went to the kitchen and ate the chicken tamales that had been left in a basket.

Then I went to my hammock and tried to put my thoughts in order.

I woke up and found myself lying on a cot in a small, dark room.

I looked desperately about me, searching for some inkling of what was going on.

I sat bolt upright as I saw big, moving shadows lurking by the door.

Eager to find out whether the door was open and the shadows were inside, I reached under the cot for the chamber pot, which somehow I knew to be there, and threw it at the shadows. The pot landed outside with an excessively loud clatter.

The shadows vanished.

Wondering whether I had simply imagined them, I went outside.

Still undecided, I stared at the tall mesquite fence encircling the clearing, and then I knew in a flash where I was. I was standing in back of the small house.

All this went through my mind as I searched for the chamber pot, which had rolled all the way to the fence.

As I bent to pick it up, I saw a coyote squeeze through the mesquite fence.

Automatically, I threw the pot at the animal, but the pot hit a rock instead.

Indifferent to the loud bang and to my presence, the coyote crossed the clearing.

It turned its head audaciously several times to look at me.

Its fur shimmered like silver. Its bushy tail swept over the various rocks like a magic wand. Each rock it touched came to life. The rocks hopped about with shiny eyes and moved their lips, asking peculiar questions in voices too faint to be heard.

I screamed, and the rocks moved appallingly fast toward me.

I immediately knew that I was dreaming.

I mumbled to myself, "This is one of my usual nightmares, with monsters and fear, and everything else."

Convinced that once I had recognized and voiced the problem I had neutralized its effects on me, I was about to give in and settle down to live a nightmare terror.

But when I heard a voice say, "Test the track of dreams," I wheeled around.

Esperanza was standing under the ramada tending to a fire on a raised platform made of cane heavily coated with mud. She looked strange and remote in the gleaming, moving light of the fire as if she were separated from me by a distance that had nothing to do with space.

She ordered, "Do not be frightened."

Then she lowered her voice to a murmur and said, "We all share one another's dreams, but now you are not dreaming."

Doubt must have been written all over my face because she assured me, "Believe me, you are not dreaming."

I stepped a bit closer.

Not only did her voice sound unfamiliar, but she herself was different.

From where I was standing, she was Esperanza. Nonetheless, she looked like Zuleica.

I moved very close to her. She was Zuleica!

Young, strong, and very beautiful, she could not have been more than forty years old. Her oval face was framed by curly, black hair that was turning grey. Hers was a smooth, pale face, highlighted by liquid, dark eyes set wide apart.

Her gaze was indrawn, enigmatic, and very pure. Her short and thin upper lip hinted at severeness, while the full, almost voluptuous lower lip gave an indication of gentleness and also passion.

Fascinated by the change in her, I simply stared at her, enthralled.

I definitely must be dreaming, I thought.

Her clear laughter made me realize that she had read my thoughts.

She took my hand in hers and said softly, "You are not dreaming, my dear. This is the real me.

"I am your dreaming teacher. I am Zuleica.

"Esperanza is my other self. Sorcerers call it the dreaming body."

My heart thumped so violently it made my chest ache.

I almost choked with anxiety and excitement. I tried to pull my hand away, but she was holding me with a firm grip that I could not break.

I pressed my eyes tightly shut. More than anything I wanted her to be gone when I opened them again.

She was there, of course, and her lips parted in a radiant smile.

I closed my eyes again, then jumped up and down and stomped on the ground as if I had gone berserk. With my free hand, I slapped my face repeatedly, until it burned with pain.

All to no avail. I could not wake up. Every time I opened my eyes, she was there.

She laughed, "I think you have got enough."

I commanded her to hit me.

She readily obliged, striking two sharp blows on my upper arms with a long, hard walking stick.

She spoke slowly as if she were very tired, saying, "It is no use, dear."

She took a deep breath, and let go of my hand.

Then she spoke again, saying, "You are not dreaming. And I am Zuleica.

"But when I dream, I am Esperanza. And something else, too, but I am not going to go into that now."

I wanted to say something, anything, but I could not speak. My tongue was paralyzed and all I managed to produce was a whimpering, dog-like sound.

I tried to relax with breathing I had learned in a yoga class.

She chuckled, seemingly taken with my antics. It was a reassuring sound that had a soothing effect on me. It radiated so much warmth and such deep confidence that my body relaxed instantaneously.

She proceeded by saying, "You are a stalker, and you belong, by all rights, to Florinda."

Her tone brooked no argument, and no contradiction.

She continued, "You are also a somnambulist and a great natural dreamer. So, by virtue of your ability, you also belong to me."

One side of me wanted to laugh out loud and tell her that she was raving mad. But another side of me was in complete agreement with her claim.

I asked hesitantly, "By which name do you want me to call you?"

She gazed at me as if it should have been self-evident, and said, "By which name? I am Zuleica. What do you think this is? A game? We do not play games here."

I was taken aback by her vehemence, and I could only mumble, "No. I do not think this is a game."

In a voice sharp with intensity, she continued, "When I dream, I am Esperanza."

Her face was stern, but radiant and open, and without pity; all at the same time.

"When I do not dream, I am Zuleica.

"But whether I am Zuleica or Esperanza or anything else, it should not matter to you. I am still your dreaming teacher."

All I could do was nod idiotically. Even if I had had something to say, I would not have been able to do so.

A cold, clammy sweat of fear ran down my sides. My bowels were loose and my bladder about to burst. I wanted to go to the bathroom and relieve myself, and puke.

I finally could not hold it any longer. It was a matter of disgracing myself right there, or of running to the outhouse.

I had enough energy to opt for the latter.

Zuleica's laughter was the laughter of a young girl, and it followed me all the way to the outhouse.

When I returned to the clearing, she urged me to sit beside her on the nearby bench.

I automatically obeyed her and sat down heavily on the edge. Nervously, I put my hands over my closed knees.

There was an undeniable gleam of hardness, but also of kindness, in her eyes.

It came to me in a flash, as if I had known it before, that her ruthlessness was, more than anything else, an inner discipline.

Her relentless self-control had stamped her whole being with a most appealing elusiveness and secretiveness. It was not the secretiveness of overt and furtive behavior, but rather the secretiveness of the mysterious and the unknown.

That was the reason I had followed her around like a puppy dog whenever I saw her.

Zuleica explained, "You have had two transitions today. One was from being normally awake to dreaming-awake, and the other was from dreaming-awake to being normally awake.

"The first was smooth and unnoticeable. The second was nightmarish.

"That is the normal state of affairs. All of us experience those transitions just like that."

I forced a smile, and said, "But I still do not know what I did. I am not aware of any steps. Things just happen to me, and I find myself in a dream without knowing how I got there."

There was a glint in her eyes.

"What is ordinarily done," she said, "is to start dreaming by sleeping in a hammock or in some kind of a strapping contraption hanging from a roof beam or a tree. Suspended in that fashion, we do not have any contact with the ground.

"The ground grounds us. Remember that. In a suspended position, a beginning dreamer can learn how energy shifts from being awake to dreaming, and from dreaming a dream to dreaming-awake.

"All this, as Florinda already told you, is a matter of energy. The moment you have it, off you go.

"Your problem now is going to be whether you will be able to save enough energy yourself since the sorcerers will not be able to lend it to you anymore."

Zuleica raised her brows in an exaggerated manner and added, "We will see. I will try to remind you the next time we share one another's dreams."

Seeing the dismay on my face, she laughed with childlike abandon.

I gazed into her astonishing eyes. They were dark and shiny with beams of light radiating from the pupils. I asked, "How do we share one another's dreams?"

Instead of answering, Zuleica dropped a few more sticks into the fire. Embers burst and spilled, and the light grew brighter.

For an instant she stood still with her eyes fixed on the flames as if she were gathering in the light.

She turned sharply and glanced briefly at me, and then she squatted and wrapped her strong, muscular arms around her shins.

Looking into the darkness, and listening to the crackling fire, she rocked from side to side.

I asked again, "How do we share one another's dreams?"

Zuleica stopped rocking. She shook her head, and then looked up startled, as if suddenly awakened.

She stated, "That is something impossible for me to explain now.

"Dreaming is incomprehensible. One has to feel it; not discuss it.

"As in the everyday world, before one explains something and analyzes it, one has to experience it."

She spoke slowly and deliberately. She admitted that it was important to explain as one went along. "Yet, explanations are sometimes premature. This is one of those times."

Seeing the disappointment in my face, Zuleica promised, "One day it will all make sense to you."

With a quick, light motion, she rose to her feet and went to stare at the flames, as if her eyes needed to feed on the light.

Her shadow, thrown by the fire, grew enormous against the wall and the ceiling of the ramada.

Without so much as a nod, she turned with a sweep of her long skirt and disappeared inside the house.

Unable to move, I stood rooted to the spot.

I could barely breathe as the clatter of her sandals grew fainter and fainter.

I yelled in a panic-stricken voice, "Do not leave me here! There are things I need to know."

Zuleica materialized by the door instantly. In a detached, almost distracted tone, she asked, "What do you need to know?"

Glancing into her shiny eyes, I gabbled, "I am sorry."

I examined her, almost hypnotized, and added apologetically, "I did not mean to shout. I thought you had gone into one of the rooms."

I looked at her beseechingly, and hoped she would explain something to me.

She did not. All she did was ask me again what it was I wanted to know.

I was afraid she would leave if I did not keep on talking, so I blurted out the first thing that came into my head, and said, "Would you talk to me when I see you again?"

She said, "When I see you again, we will not be in the same world as before. Who knows what we will do there?"

I insisted, "But a while ago you yourself told me you are my dreaming teacher.

"Do not leave me in darkness. Explain things to me. The torment I experience is more than I can bear. I am split."

She admitted casually, "You are. You certainly are split."

She looked at me with eyes brimming with kindness, and continued, "But that is only because you do not let go of your old ways.

"You are a good dreamer. Somnambulist brains have formidable potential. That is... if you would cultivate your character."

I hardly heard what she said.

I tried to put my thoughts in order, but I could not.

A succession of images of events I did not quite remember went through my mind with incredible speed.

My will exercised no control upon their order or their nature.

Those images were transformed into sensations that, however precise, refused to be defined, and refused to be formulated into words, or even into thoughts.

Obviously aware of my incapacity, Zuleica's face lit up in an expansive grin.

She said slowly and softly, "We have all helped the nagual Mariano Aureliano to push you into the second attention all along.

"In there we find fluency and continuity as we do in the world of everyday life.

"In both states the practical is dominant. We act efficiently in both states.

"What we can not do in the second attention, however, is to break what we experience into pieces so that we can handle it, nor so we can feel secure, and neither can we understand it."

While she talked, I was thinking to myself, "She is wasting her time telling me all this. Does she not know that I am too stupid to understand her explanations?"

But she continued to speak and smiled broadly. She obviously knew that for me to admit that I was not too bright meant that I had changed somehow. Otherwise, I would never admit such a notion, even to myself.

She continued, "In the second attention, or as I prefer to call it, when dreaming-awake, one has to believe that the dream is as real as the everyday world.

"In other words, one has to acquiesce.

"For sorcerers, all worldly or otherworldly pursuits are ruled by irreproachable acts, and in back of all irreproachable acts lies acquiescence.

"And acquiescence is not acceptance. Acquiescence involves a dynamic element. It involves action."

Her voice was very soft, and there was a feverish gleam in her eyes as she continued, "The moment one begins dreaming-awake, a world of enticing, unexplored possibilities opens up. It is a world where the ultimate audacity becomes a reality and where the unexpected is expected.

"That is the time when man's definitive adventure begins. The world becomes limitless with possibilities and wonder."

Zuleica was silent for a long time. She seemed to be debating what else to say.

Her soft voice turned wistful, and became softer still as she said, "With the help of the nagual Mariano Aureliano, you once even saw the glow of the surem.

"The surem are magical creatures that exist only in Indian legends. They are beings that sorcerers can see only while dreaming-awake at the deepest level.

"The surem are beings from another world that glow like phosphorescent human beings."

She wished me good night, turned, and disappeared inside the house.

For a second I stood numbed, then I dashed after her.

Before I reached the threshold I heard Florinda behind me say, "Do not follow her!"

Florinda's presence was so unexpected that I had to lean against the wall, and wait for my heartbeat to return to normal.

Florinda was sitting on the bench, feeding the fire. She said, "Come and keep me company."

The elusive light in her eyes, and the ghostly whiteness of her hair was more like a memory than a vision.

I stretched out on the bench beside her, and, as if it were the most natural thing to do, I placed my head in her lap.

Florinda combed her fingers through my hair, and said, "Never follow Zuleica, or any one of us for that matter, unless you are asked to do so.

"As you know now, Zuleica is not what she appears to be. She is always more- much more than that.

"Never try to figure her out, because when you think you have covered all the possibilities, she will flatten you out by being more than you can imagine in your wildest fantasies."

I sighed contentedly, saying, "I know."

I could feel the tension draining From my face. I could feel it leaving my body.

I said with absolute conviction, "Zuleica is a surem From the Bacatete Mountains. I have known about these creatures all along."

Seeing the astonishment in Florinda's face, I went on daringly, "Zuleica was not born like an ordinary human being. She was established. She is sorcery itself."

Florinda contradicted me emphatically, saying, "No. Zuleica was born. Esperanza was not."

She smiled down into my face and added, "This should be a worthy riddle for you."

I murmured, "I think I understand, but I am too insensitive and can not formulate what I understand."

Florinda chuckled softly, and said, "You are doing fine. Being as insensitive as you normally are, you must wait until you are really, really awake, 100 percent in order to understand. Now you are only 50 percent awake.

"The trick is to remain in heightened awareness. In heightened awareness, nothing is impossible to comprehend for us."

Feeling that I was about to interrupt her, she covered my lips with her hand and added, "Do not think about it now.

"Always remember that you are compulsive, even in heightened awareness, and your thinking is not thorough."

I heard someone moving in the shadows behind the bushes. Sitting up, I asked, "Who is there?"

I looked all around me but I could not see anyone.

Women's laughter echoed across the yard.

Florinda said sleepily, "You can not see them."

I asked, "Why are they hiding from me?"

Florinda smiled and explained, "They are not hiding from you. It is just that you can not see them without the nagual Mariano Aureliano's help."

I did not know what to say to that. On one level it made perfect sense, yet I found myself shaking my head. I asked, "Can you help me see them?"

Florinda nodded, and said, "But your eyes are tired. They are tired from seeing too much. You need to sleep."

Purposefully I kept my eyes wide open. I was afraid to miss whoever was going to come out of the bushes the moment my attention slackened.

I stared at the leaves and the shadows, no longer knowing which was which, until I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.