The Fairy Nymph And The Ring Of Death

The spring day is cozy warm underneath a massive timeless live oak tree, right next to the long-cherished memorial at Forsyth park in Savannah Georgia. An elderly couple sit merrily upon a well-shaded isolated bench, throwing soda cracker crumbs to the numerous birds congregating on the ground, and sipping strong black coffee. The time in the morning must have been around 1000 hours.

Beside them sits the daily morning news, and inside a small article on the front page beneath the main article, is a short account making mention of an international ESL instructor who was suddenly missing in the land of Romania, under unexplained circumstances. Not many details were known, since the people present had no real conception of what had really taken place. The entire account seemed both baffling and mysterious.

As the pleasant couple sit tossing crumbs to the pigeons and sparrows, the elderly lady takes notice of a strange white pigeon, or dove among the others, with something mysteriously tied to his leg. She asked the elderly man to feed the dove as a distraction, while she eases up on him, catching him firmly with both hands. The man unties a joint of bamboo bound on by a thin but tough string of silk. Inside this bamboo joint, he finds a note on what appeared to be vellum, rolled and bound securely with more silk.

"What on earth could this be?" he asked the lady, in a light chuckle.

"I don't know, Eddie dear," replied the lady to the man, "why don't you just open it and see?"

So the elderly man opened what appeared to be a long note, unrolling it with his trembling, sun-scarred hands, and proceeded to read it aloud to his dear wife sitting attentively beside him; the note read as such:

To whom ever finds this note,

During the year 19—, I traveled toward the forbidden lands of Bohemia, eventually pausing in Seville, then moving on into Dacia, as the territory is called among the people who presently occupy it. Although technically speaking, the lands have other titles located on the map, for legal jurisdiction, among the people and the races who make up the unique, creative culture of Bohemia, their primary territory is still known as Dacia, even to this very day.

I came by invitation, a most positive invitation, and one hardly ever issued, except to a revered, cherished few. I gleamed with pride at the offer, and was very pleased to accept. English was the international language of business, and virtually every progressive Bohemian wished to engage the powers of negotiation, being true lords of individualism and free enterprise they in fact are.

In order to be most effective, especially since all of those surrounding the territory were engaged in the arduous task of mastering the language, the most intellectually inclined Bohemians desired nothing more than an opportunity to prove themselves effective. To accomplish this feat of approval from the surrounding lands, this gifted population desired highly skilled and accommodating instructors. I was most delighted to accept their gracious offer with their kind invitation!

I built up a highly respected reputation among those of the ESL instruction circles in the Far East, and to a much lesser degree, the Near East. Although I had never traveled into these lands of the Bohemians, astonishingly, my gifted reputation preceded me, all the way into the heartland. They initiated contact with me, without me ever needing an appeal to their offices for permission to give instruction. Such a materialization is the endowment of high technology and computers, all effectively smothered in the luscious gravy of perfection, to it's highest degree. All readers, please pardon my tones of conceit.

I was to begin my tenure and experience in the land of Bucharest, then move by frequent rail travel into various other towns and cities, as dictated by the greatest need. This assignment fit the nature of my personality most perfectly, since loving life on the move was always an intricate part of my nature, and personal identity.

I hopped a plane on the fourth of May, from the city of Hong Kong, then jetted on toward the municipality of Bucharest, where I was to engage my first instructional assignment. The city appeared most clearly a concrete jungle of sorts from the air, as the plane neared the runway. The province of Bucharest surrounded a large concrete and pavement metropolis. To my greatest delight, I could detect the encompassing presence of what appeared to be immaculate, classical structures, mixed in with those of more contemporary design.

When the plane eased up to the landing ramp, leading up into the waiting area of the airport terminal, I walked past a number of people holding somewhat large signs up, with the names of friends and family members vividly written. Off in the distance ahead, I soon spied a sign held up by an attractive gypsy lady donned in a typical traditional bohemian dress, my name clearly penned in black marker on a large white background.

I smiled, then politely said with a confident gleam, as I leaned over the railing between the ramp and waiting area;

"I am him, the one that you are appointed to meet with."

The lady smiled broadly, rushing up to greet me with a warm embrace.

"Welcome to the finest that all of Bohemia has to offer! I am so happy to meet you, Mr. Graystone. I am sure you are tired after your long trip, and that you are in need of good rest. I have already inquired in regard to the prior selection of your quarters for the daytime remaining. I will now escort you to your personal quarters. We will resume our meeting on the matter of your assignment tomorrow, following breakfast, if this timing is alright by you?" she replied in her heavy Romanian accent.

"That proposal sounds like a winner to me," I snapped with a smile. "This certainly is a mighty long way from Hong Kong back here, even by air, but I am still happy to be here, just the same," I spoke with a heavy sigh.

We paused by the curb immediately outside the airport terminal. A yellowish orange cab pulled up, which seems to be typical all over the world these days. The lady stepped up to the window on the driver's side, spoke a few words in the native language, then soon she was pointing toward the door on the driver's side for me to get inside. I did so, and in virtually no time, we were on our way.

It felt like maybe twenty minutes passed as the lady engaged a conversation with the cab driver in the local Bohemian dialect. All I could do was sit and listen as they spoke. Since the language was soaked in Latin, I could actually make out maybe a third to one half of what was being said. At all times I could deduce enough to gather in approximately half of the conversation.

Before I knew it, we were pulling into a rather plain, almost rundown appearing concrete flat-complex. This complex was maybe twelve stories high. It did not feel imposing, but the general atmosphere, strangely enough, didn't feel particularly inviting at the same time.

I gazed upward. Several apartments had clotheslines drooping lazily with what appeared from the car far beneath, as being soaked clothing recently out of the wash. People were nowhere to be seen at the present time. I assumed they all had exited out for work, and would be gone for the day.

"Well Mr. Graystone, welcome to your new home. Your home will be room number 4231, in the complex directly in front of us."

She immediately handed me a brass ring with what appeared to be a small version of an antique jailers key on it.

"Here is the key to your flat, sir," she said. "Have a good night's rest and enjoy the remainder of your day," she continued to say. "I will be here at 0900 sharp to pick you up for breakfast. I expect you to be dressed casually, washed, and ready to leave out as soon as I arrive. I will be knocking at exactly 0900 sharp, sir, to repeat myself. Is there anything more I need to repeat, or that you did not understand, sir?"

"Not a thing," I said with a sharp smile. "I heard you all too loud and clear."

"Great then! I will be seeing you in the morning; until then, Mr. Graystone."

The lady waved as she exited through the door.

"In the morning," I said as I exited the car, being careful to walk around it, while dragging my baggage from the remotely opened trunk.

I heaved my bag out from the hold, firmly shutting the compartment lid as the car then eased on and off. Here I was again, in a foreign exotic land, at around 1000 hours time, give or take some; and now I was all alone, one more time out of maybe many hundreds in my life … I don't know.

I paused, gazing ahead at the complex looming before me, then sighed a deep breath before I began tugging my luggage toward the double glass entrance door. Although the routine had played out many times in the past, something about this time felt different. I couldn't lay my finger on specifically what this new difference was; but the intuition was surely there, almost haunting me with a near ominous conclusion I couldn't specifically explain. I shrugged the thought off and kept plugging forward along, toward the doorway.

I walked through the double doors of the building, dragging my luggage and passing by a number of women and men, who never even appeared to notice that I was in the room. I paused to glance around for the elevator, and upon noticing it, I made my way toward it.

I punched the up button, then paused, waiting for the elevator to make its way back down. No one walked up, but several people moved past me with their heads down, appearing weary from the tasks laying ahead in the remaining portion of the day. Soon the elevator paused, and the door opened. I walked from the elevator inside, on my way toward the fourth floor, and my new living quarters.

Upon my opening of the door to my new quarters, I was shocked at the plain, but thankfully sanitary, simplicity. There was a bed with no mattress, only a wooden plank with four legs, basically. My mattress was a thin foam mat, in likeness to the kind one uses underneath a bedroll for sealing out the dampness of the ground. There was only a thin sheet for a cover, and no pillows. Quite obviously, the bohemians do not believe in them.

I couldn't do much to change the bed situation, but I could definitely change the pillow situation quickly, my experience living on the road had taught me that much over the years.

I was highly adaptable to all of the remaining situations, a real gift from being raised up on the tobacco farms, living most of my life outside, and off the land. Few modern-day Americans possess this cherished, proud quality of background in complement to the unadulterated blood of ancestry in fortitude, genuine creativity and stamina, with the phrase live free or die., forever free, being a part of our cultural iconic speech in general.

Back home, sometimes we label this psychological phenomenon the gift of meridian ingenuity; but here I must apologize, out of a lacking in time to explain this localized term among the educated to prejudiced outsiders and ignorant uneducated insiders who, when blinded by their ineffective narrow-mindedness, will always fail to comprehend the concept, regardless.

Quickly I took out my leather flight jacket, zipped it up, and commenced stuffing it full with my soiled clothing from the bottom. I took the sleeves, crossed them in the front, then tied them tightly in the back. Now I built a decent, long proven, road worn pillow, always to be utilized where no alternative choices existed.

The pockets inside the coat served as blissfully secure places to lock away my money and other valuables, including my passport. Probably the most valuable item I possessed might have been my passport, since passports are the item most often stolen when offshore. One's cash comes in second place to the passport.

In this consideration, any thief would probably only skip over my coat wad, to search in another place. My greatest intent in my pillow design was for a potential thief to become discouraged, never thinking to search the coat pillow in the first place, then simply move on his merry way.

No doubt such attempts at theft have occurred many times over the years without me even being aware of the fact, considering the numerous hostels and dive motels I have stayed in during my exotic experience abroad, and life on the road in general.

Developing skills such as the one described, coupled with an ability to adapt into quickly changing living circumstances, strange food and unfamiliar customs, are part of what a traveling man must do to simply survive while in the great beyond. Few westerners can accomplish this feat of mental gymnastics in good cheer, and an ability to do so is what generates such a high demand for those of us who do, in our present time.

I may be classed as a fairly intrepid traveler. When I am on the road, I personally don't need western food, western clothes, most of western customs, western women, and in many cases, not even western language. The way I figure it, this reality was noted in records on my former job assignments, and more than likely was one of the reasons why these people called me first to make the offer; especially with this specific assignment being such a lucrative, lavishly accommodated assignment; but I have yet to see the accommodation part being one to covet.

We'll take it all in stride and simply wait to see what else might be under the hood of my escort liaison, I told myself in the silence of mental voice.

Immediately outside the back door, I noticed upon entering inside, were signs written in three languages speaking of a pool, a library, and a pub. I think I will ease down there, now that I have entered into my room, have an orienting taste for my personal accommodation, and have finally dropped my luggage case and computer bag off. Quickly I put on my bathing suit, while seizing a hold of my favorite Tee shirt. This Tee shirt was a stand-alone classic, speaking of buffalo hunters doing it better on the wide open plains. This announcement proclaimed elk and buffalo hunting as being some of my favorite loves in life.

Rather hurriedly, I made my way on down to the wicker seats with the emerald colored umbrella tops, where I relaxed, while periodically taking rum shots at the small bar by the poolside. I was actually perfectly content to ease down into the water for a few minutes, climb back out, have a shot or three and lay by the shaded pool side, until I felt like climbing back into the clear pool again.

By the time that I tired of the pool and the rum, my bathing suit dried itself, and I was ready to make my way toward the library. Here it was where I spent the remaining portions of my evening, and where it seemed most of the other people were congregating. As I browsed through the bookshelves and the multitude of titles, I was astonished to discover more than a few of my own authored titles stocked therein among the others. I even peered across the study stations, observing a few people engrossed in my own volumes of work. I was virtually elated at such a revelation!

Seeing such a sight made me feel really happy on the inside, and I soon moved on into a comfortable seat, where I could engross myself in a volume of study. This particular volume I found was on a subject matter I really enjoy researching. This book encompassed an in-depth study of the romantic era and those creative characters who made this movement so unique.

As I was becoming engrossed in the study, a young, exceedingly attractive bohemian maiden of about seventeen or so, sauntered in to sit down ever so smoothly, up close beside me, in another comfortable, reclining seat.

She was dressed in her gypsy best, appearing more as a person from back in time, maybe around the time of the romantic era, I imagined. Her hair was dark, hanging around shoulder length. I imagined her to be some gypsy fortune teller from old, who could see all, and know all, by simple inquiry. She caught me glancing her way. She smiled sleekly, in such a manner seeming to welcome me in toward her very heart, inviting me to introduce myself.

"Well, hello," I spoke to her, first in English, while not knowing what specific language she actually spoke. I was astonished at her unadulterated reply back to me in perfect English. She continued on with the warm smile.

"This flat seems to be an interesting place; I've recently made it here. What about you?" I asked in good cheer, hoping to initiate a conversation.

"I live here," she replied. "I have been here now for about six months. I only sleep here, since I am always away at work, or at school. It is very rare one would catch me here like this."

She continued beaming me her enchanting, smooth smile.

"Maybe we'll see each other around. I have a busy schedule myself, with classes at the University academy, and such as that. I am on for two different shifts, morning and evening. I doubt I will make it back here before 2200 hours, or so," I replied to her.

"I am sure that we'll see each other by and by, with our heavy schedules and everything. You'll be moving around a bit, I am sure, and so will I. I am amazed I have lived here for six months straight already. I am expecting to move on any day now." She laughed as she replied to me, always giving me that warm, inviting, soul-embracing smile of hers.

"That sounds great; well, what do you do?" I inquired, with a gasp and quick laugh.

"You'll see, I am part of the culture show here. We have a heritage and culture more than three thousand years old, you know. All things mystical originate here, in Dacia, my friend. You will see me again and find out much more about me in the days ahead. Right now, I don't have time to speak much," she replied as she arose. "I must be going now, ciao, now, and auf wiedersehen," she said with her pleasant smile. She then arose smoothly, sauntering away from the room where I was sitting.

The following morning at exactly 0900, my liaison arrived, hammering away at my door. I had just taken my shower and was finishing tucking in my shirt tail, when the knock sounded. I yelled that I was on my way, then exited the bedroom, making my way over toward the door, being very cautious upon opening it.

"Well it's about time!" spoke my liaison in her heavy Bohemian accent. "I wasn't sure if you were up to the early rising type so much in demand here," she rigidly inquired, gazing at me above her delicate spectacles.

"Oh, yes," I replied, "I function at my best early in the morning."

"That's outstanding," she quickly spouted. "Here, you'll be expected to arrive on the job ready to work at precisely 0730 every morning. The students are expected to arrive in class at 0800, and we do not tolerate late arrivals. One incident invites suspension, two and most are sent out of the academy. We are almost as strict with our instructors, even sometimes more so, as some begrudgingly hold. Teachers are required always to demonstrate excellence to the students, in all manners and habits in Dacia. Examples otherwise are never tolerated, even for a moment."

"I would automatically assume that much," I replied, as we ducked into the back seat of a yellow taxi parked by the curbside.

"Yes, and we would assume you were experienced enough to surmise that much. We investigated your employment records, Mr. Graystone, and you had not one incidence of late arrival in all of your years in the teaching business. So on that starting note, we feel you would be a fine candidate for our most cherished of positions!"

"Marvelous," I replied with a conservative smile, "just wonderful, as I would have it to be. I would have surmised no less in regard to my own record."

The woman's facial expression then changed abruptly at my statement.

"However, Mr. Graystone, we do have a minor concern, as we have indicated from records in your work file, based on observations from your supervisors and your co-workers."

"Oh really? Wow!" I replied with my eyebrows raised in shock. "I certainly want to hear this. Lets be out with it all, in a jiff."

"Our concern at the school is that, according to the records, you were noted as being real handy with the ladies. On that note, I was instructed to inform you that we tolerate no form of fraternization here inside our academic facility. Fraternization by our terminology, is defined as activity not only between teachers and adult students, but also teachers and their coworkers. I take it upon myself to let you know that we take any and all reports of suggestive actions or behaviors very seriously. The prescribed penalty includes both suspension without pay, and termination, with you finding your own way back to your homeland … with your own money, sir."

"I understand," I snapped. "I wasn't aware of this detail; me being so handy with the females anywhere."

I half laughed and half sighed at the conclusion of my own sentence, scratching my head in astonished puzzlement.

"I also want to inform you that all such reports are placed immediately into an instructor's online work file. In other words, it haunts a person everywhere he may have a chance to go."

"What about the females?" I inquired in sarcasm, attempting to break the thick feeling of seriousness hanging in the air.

"What about the females?" the lady firmly asked.

"What happens to them?" I inquired with a slight laugh.

"Mr. Graystone, in our culture a female has the right to approach a man and request any favor from him her yearning heart may desire, and at no detriment to her employment, reputation or otherwise. We even go as far as to encourage this activity, on certain specific occasions."

"Oh? You don't say?" I snapped in hard astonishment "Then you condemn the poor man? How could you be so cruel, my dear? That's certainly mighty white of you to be like that about all of this business of the flesh."

I attempted to maintain an air of comical sarcasm concerning the entire subject being discussed.

"No!" she snapped seemingly in a flush of anger. "If the female makes the first move, then the man is all clear to respond. A problem arises when the man moves first. Then we assume he must be imposing himself on her."

"But she always has the right to refuse," I returned, half in dark sarcasm.

"No! Not always," my liaison seemed to rage, "the man does not always give her the right to refuse and back away; so consequently in our culture, we simply remove the right to advance from him, tactfully leaving such responsibility with the ladies. The man, however, is under firm legal obligation to gratify her requests to the fullest extent possible."

"Well, how nice is such an affirmation," I replied again in dark sarcasm, as the car pulled into the corner restaurant.

We both exited the taxi and made our way into the restaurant, taking our seats in heavy wooden benches, with wooden tables positioned between them.

"Have a seat, and we'll wait for the morning special."

"What's the special?" I asked in anticipation.

"Eggs of the sea turtle, with a seaweed dressing, smothered in sauce of the row buck's hoof, all garnished with lime lily. It's a time-honored local generational delicacy."

"Wow," I replied, attempting to suppress the turn of my stomach. "I can't wait to give that bloody dish a try."

When the plates arrived, we began eating as she commenced to speak of the school, and all of the expectations destined to be dumped upon my shoulders once I finally arrived. I had been around enough to realize this heavy talk was all only part of an encompassing process involved in "casing out" new clients, to see if they would be a proper match for the school administration, the students, and the staff. As always, the heavier they talk, according to my past experience, the better the job, and more pleasant the academic atmosphere.

The real deal here was that the school recruitment staff simply did not want these inexperienced, rookie foreign instructors to get the idea they would have a cushy job, with virtually nothing expected from them, quick available access to every local party line, complete with all the easy women a battle-hardened body could handle on any given weekend night. The final analysis really was simple to spell out here.

Before I realized it, we both were on our way to the academy I would soon be employed in. The building appeared to be a high-rise apartment complex with a rather plain appearance, at that. There were a few academic notations on the walls here and there, but this was about all, besides a well dressed uniformed work staff. I could only imagine what the classrooms looked like.

Soon I was to find out what I had previously only suspected; the classrooms were as dismally plain as the walls outside. Nothing existed in the way of high tech equipment, only a wall mounted marker board. Upon opening the door, my liaison cautiously addressed me.

"Mr. Graystone, as you can see, room G73 here will be your work station for at least the next ninety days. Right now, such is about all I can say on that matter. In two days your accommodations will change from where you are now, into a place much closer by. I am not sure where, specifically, at the moment. We are looking for one in easy walking distance. How do you feel about this?"

"Sounds fine by me," I replied with a hint of joy in my voice.

"Well, everything here is very straight forward, Mr. Graystone. What we want most of all is for the students to enjoy the lessons. You see, the students here go to school some nine hours a day. They are tired by the time English classes begin. They want to have fun. We are searching for instructors who can encourage students to enjoy English classes by organizing classes in a joy-filled, pleasurable way. Is doing this consistent with your past experience?"

"Sure, I understand well the concerns," I articulated.

My liaison then proceeded to stage a classroom setting, where a number of colleges and associates were present, and she sought me to teach a number of specific details. All of the people present in the room were fluent into perfection, in the English language. Some of these potential students suggested they had difficulty in understanding my aristocratic accent, since my family background was into high level corporate agriculture, rice, cotton, and tobacco, to be specific. We owned and controlled more than half a million acres back home on the delta; and took great pride in our national corporate flag as well as our gifted, endowed blood heritage, no matter what the critics have to say about it.

My liaison then drew a picture on the marker board of a cat, a mouse, and a thick slice of cheese. Upon completing the drawing, she then inquired of me to instruct the class as to the proper methodology in explaining exactly what the picture meant in English.

My response was to stage a series of group assignments, beginning first with very simple sentences in English, with the words cat, mouse and cheese. I went over those sentences on the board, then proceeded to allow the group at large to go over them. Members of other groups were free to offer corrective advice when needed.

"Excellent!," they all cheered and clapped. "You passed our qualification exam. Be ready to commence work Monday morning at 0730 sharp!"

Personally, I couldn't have been happier. I enjoyed the free time, but I was tired of not having a more regimented day, as I was so used to. The world around me I was beginning to feel, had lulled into a drag. What I needed was more in the way of excitement. I enjoyed the company of true intellectually inclined thrill seekers, but finding such a breed could be tough to do at times, all over the world.

A majority of the individuals I encountered fell into two categories; the boring social do-gooders, as I called them, with their socialist idealistic dreams on how to improve the world; or the boozers, who arrive from afar only to do the same old things they do back home, which is to drink and whore. I honestly never minded a certain amount of it, but I would much rather explore some oasis of enchanted forbidden knowledge, old majestic ruins, or go night hunting for roe buck out in some distant, forgotten plain somewhere. I want to live for the thrills in living and being alive, and I had tired of simply bird hunting with my favorite dog a long, long time ago. I want to tiger hunt or go after some elephants, for crying out loud!

My liaison and myself traveled to two or three more academies on that day, for me to observe and process a bit of how-to information regarding this program's expectations in the classroom, then we made our way back into my original accommodation. I spoke my parting goodbye, and she let me know she would return to pick me up on 1200 hours sharp tomorrow, and for me to be packed up and ready to go. I assured her there would be no problem with this order, then proceeded to get my bathing suit for another routine of the same engagements as before, on every other day.

First, the pool for a couple of hours, and the rum shots by the bar adjacent, then a good shower and the library until bedtime. Sometimes I might go back into the pool come nightfall, but only on occasion, and certainly not a daily basis. It all was beginning to feel like a drag, but such is how most of real life is, unfortunately for me.

I finally made my way into the library around 1350, and sat in my usual seat, reading material on the golden age of piracy and the wild, libertine lifestyles of sea captains made so famous during that age; another favorite topic of mine. I soon felt a wisp of cool air stirring and smelled a strange perfume hinting of belladonna rose. The incense-like odor nearly placed me into a zombie type of euphoric trance. I was immediately sitting on a cloud, I felt.

I glanced to my left, taking notice of the same young lady dressed in traditional Bohemian attire. I saw her embracing, coaxing smile that seemed to give me the sensation of all being destined for an unimaginable exceptionalism as the near future dawned upon me.

"I thought that I would never see you again," I slightly gasped. "Wow, you're back, I see; it's tough to believe!"

"I never said I would be gone forever, and I said that we would meet again. Did I not?" she replied.

"Evidently so; you're back!" I fired in return, new excitement saturating my words.

"Well, such is how this business I am in is. I am in, then out for an unknown period of time. Now I am back for a couple of hours a week. I just never know, and simply go to wherever it is I am sent."

"I enjoyed our last meeting and discussion. I hope we can meet from time to time," I said.

"Oh yes, and that is most certain. We shall definitely see one another in the future, and we will meet up in unexpected places. You can be sure of that. So … what is your position here?" she asked, somewhat hesitatingly.

"I am an international ESL instructor. I make my living on the road. I was stationed mainly in the orient for the last ten years or so, but I have spent time in many other places over the course of my life," I informed her.

"Like where, specifically?" she politely asked. "Tell me more. I love a good adventure story, especially when it's true."

"Well, I have spent time in South America, Canada, pretty much all over the USA, and a few more places, here and there."

"Wow," she replied, "what kinds of adventures have you had?"

"I have been night hunting for deer on Salinas beach, fishing for marlin in the Pacific, and I have helped excavate for artifacts on Machu Picchu, just to name a few," I replied to her with an air of slight sarcasm in my voice.

"I find that most interesting," she replied. "Please tell me more."

So for the next hour I attempted to inform her of a lifetime in adventure, from raiding fancy yachts off the Virginia coast to living off the land in the Montana woods. I also told her of my days working the many different jobs I have held over the years, in a multiple of fields and trades. Sometimes when I reflected on the past, I felt as though I had lived three or four lifetimes, all crammed into one, and I was only forty-eight years old. "Now imagine that," I replied to her, in an effort to emphasize the excitement found in living.

"Have you ever been married?" she politely asked.

"Yes, twice," I told her.

"Were you in love?" she asked again.

" Well, young lady, I thought so back then," I replied with a chuckle." I honestly don't think any person goes into a marriage without feeling they are in love, for the most part," I informed her.

"You are probably right," she replied. "Do you have any children?"

"No, mine are all grown, but I once had four."

"Four?"

"Two boys and two girls! On last count, that totaled four."

"I find that interesting," she said with her unique smile, one that warmed into my very soul itself. "Do you think you'll marry ever again?"

"I cannot really say," I responded to her question. "Who knows the future?"

"I think that you will," she responded again with her haunting smile. "I think that you will, and vanish into a forbidden oasis with a real angel, one day not too far away in the future," she said as she smiled.

"What are you speaking of?" I inquired.

"Well, I have my call, and it is time for me to go once again, but we will meet one day soon. So, until next time, Mr. Graystone," she replied as she arose, then sauntered off in her full length Bohemian dress of differing design. The sweet euphoric hint of belladonna rose seemed to fill the room, then follow her as she walked away. I was completely stunned and did not know what to think of our past conversation. We will just have to see, I said to myself. We will simply just wait and see what holds for the days in the future. The present moment, now, is all that any of us have, and the reality if it is whatever it is going to be.

Two more days passed, and I did fail to chance meeting her. I had begun working at the academy full swing by now. The hours were very good; three classes, forty-five minutes each, then a siesta break from 1100 hours right on up until 1400 hours. During that time there were theatrical productions going on around the campus by the students, and very professionally conducted, I might add. There were also catered meals, with tables here and there, a lecture going on or some company offering wine tastings, if you prefer.

I, myself, enjoyed the wine tasting and the opera show, so this was how I spent my free time, since I preferred to plan my day classes the evening after work. For some unknown reason, I felt as if I worked better during those hours.

By the second day of work, my accommodation had been moved from where I originally was, into a place adjacent to the academy where I was employed. Here, although there was no pool or health spa, I had the company of other expatriated instructors. Although I was the only one from America, the others were from places scattered all around Europe, and I found them to be most interesting to speak with.

One of these persons whom I found to speak with was a Greek lady, although I was shocked to learn that she knew nothing of the Greek classics, nor even of her own historical heritage. She never even heard of the Spartans or Thermopylae, but she was very conversational and interesting to speak with just the same.

She had been living in Bohemia now for four years, and was very quick to point out what she had observed to be their many shortcomings. According to her telling, if I ever wanted a forged document of any kind, then I could get it anywhere inside the territory of Dacia with great ease. I was delighted to receive the information, but could not imagine why I would ever have a use for it. I preferred to engage in any activity that I indulged in on the straights, myself.

My new accommodation was an easy walking distance from the academy. This was a real boon unto me, I thought. The director asked me exactly what it was I expected to make for my services, and what I expected from my accommodation, as is nearly always the case on virtually any offshore ESL job.

I knew the average pay was a thousand a month, in American coin, so I told him two thousand, hoping to give myself some playing room. I also told him that I expected total accommodation. Total accommodation meant all rent and utilities, including WIFI, of course, would be completely covered. I also expected food, at least two meals a day, would be covered. I only anticipated getting about a third of what I asked for, but to my shock and surprise, I got it all, just like I asked for!

Maybe it was my verifiable experience or my serious, skilled demeanor, or maybe it was both, I am not sure. I was, without a doubt, a definite winner in this venture, and so far, all was going well according to both plan and schedule.

I was walking from my job, back toward my accommodation, I will never forget it, during the lunch siesta, and I passed this rather intriguing lady. She wore the traditional Bohemian dress, being somewhat popular around here; but which at the same time tended to be dying out in favor of western blue jeans and T-shirts, although during work hours nearly every male dresses in standard suit and tie. I noticed that the lady's hair was in a circularly braided bun, but her face appeared as if it was painted white; which again, is actually part of the traditional costume here in these parts. My intuition suggested she appeared familiar by her demeanor and general ways of movement, so I decided to speak. Upon her reply, I instantly recognized her to be the same lady from the other accommodation, with the captivating smile.

"I am so glad to have run into you, and I would never have guessed I would meet you here!" I said, with genuine excitement in my voice.

"I told you we would definitely be running into each other again, did I not?"

"Yes," I said, "most emphatically, yes, but I would not have anticipated it to be here, so far away from where it was we first met."

"Time has a way of doing some unexpected things," she said, freely giving me that warm, enticing smile seeming to be born from within her very soul.

"Are you staying anywhere near here?" I couldn't help but ask, although I attempted to refrain from doing so; but the question naturally flowed out for reasons I can't explain.

"Yes, of course, I am staying in the light blue hotel in easy walking distance to the right, over there …" she pointed. "If you look real hard you can make out the building on the skyline in the distance. The building is only a few blocks away. I can't promise you I will be there tomorrow night, however. I am always subject to being relocated on a moment's notice. Such is simply the way of life at times, but I love it just the same anyway, and would not have it any other way."

"What was it that you said that you did?" I asked playing dumb, since she never really told me what it was that she did?

"You'll find out, Mr. Graystone," she replied with that warm smile again. "You'll know soon enough. I would speak, but I haven't the time to do so right now."

She walked on past, going on her casual way. I could hear the swish in her gown seemingly for quite a bit of time after she passed, as well as smell her euphoric perfume of the belladonna rose. When I glanced backward, as always, she eerily and inexplicably vanished from my line of sight.

My days continued on, with classes, grading assignments, reviewing questions and designing course regimentation. As time progressed I developed a circle of friends, both ex-patriots and locals. I took my own pleasure in associating with a group searching for that unique adventure to indulge ourselves into. Quite often I would go to really fine restaurants in the evening with my group after work. There following, all of us would make our way into a local dance hall or saloon, to round out our day.

When it all commenced, I would have a momentary glance at a seated lady in the distance, who appeared exactly in likeness to the young college lady that I met back at my former accommodation, in both her dress and her mannerism. As time progressed, these distant observations grew in frequency. As always, she was donned in Bohemian finest, with the traditional braided hair bun in the rear of her head; again not that uncommon, but in much less frequency seemingly now, in our present day than ever before. Her particular dress bore the bright glint of high quality, and being brand new, whereas the others bore an unsettling dull appearance from the distance.

Now, however, I was taking notice of her in multiple settings. On most occasions, she was simply a well dressed patron at the local restaurant, but now I was seeing her appear in crowds out on the street, the star show girl in the many stage productions where we, as a group, entertained ourselves late in the evenings on the weekends. I once could have sworn I noticed her teaching in the academy I worked in! This school was home to some three thousand students, and at least a hundred English instructors alone.

There was one night., and I shall never forget it, when I rode out to a really fine dinner show on the other side of the Bukarest Province, in a slightly smaller town. It was a trip far away from the academy and the community surrounding it. I was with four other people, another man and two women, but only as accompanying friends in a semi professional, intellectual context.

The dinner show was one embellishing Romania's national hero, count Dracula, which was their version of a medieval production. As always, as any could imagine, Count Dracula came out the hero, who won the damsel in distress. The conclusion was always met with great, energetic applause.

All of the waitresses were dressed as medieval cathedral damsels, but the one who waited on us, bore the exact likeness in every detail; her hair, the way it braided in circles behind her head, her mannerism, her suave voice, in both tone, accent and composure. In every specific detail, she bore the appearance of the young college lady. I simply could not help but address her, may the good Lord forgive me..

"Wow," I said, with excitement in my voice, "you sure get around, don't you? Why didn't you tell me you worked here at the dinner theater?'

"Who me?" the lady snapped around with a deep gasp, placing her right hand upon her chest in overt astonishment. "Have we met before? I am sorry, but I simply don't seem to recall."

"Surely you remember?" I asked, now numbed in shock. "We met back at my former accommodation. The other day we met when I was walking back to my accommodation during the siesta time. It hasn't been that long ago …"

"I truly apologize, sir, but there is no recollection on my part. Maybe you have had a long day and are a bit confused. I am so sorry about this misunderstanding tonight, sir."

"No, no, I am so sorry. I never caught your name. What is your name, there young lady?" I gasped with embarrassment at my own mistaken identification.

"My name is Roxanne, Sir, and if we should ever meet again, I promise with all of my heart I shall recall in vivid detail."

I gasped heavily in shock. I glanced around in disbelief as to what I was experiencing. The others sitting at the table with me simply gazed forward in complete silence, as if not knowing what to make of my situation. A thick, invisible cloud seemed to hang heavily above all of us, coldly settling in among us, as the moment felt to be standing still. Surely the hands on any clock would show this time freeze, since obviously the earth paused in it's rotation for a brief moment or two.

"Well," the lady sitting across from me said as the waitress turned and walked away, "I guess it is getting time for us to make our way back. I know it is a bit late, maybe too late for some of us, if you should all agree?"

She turned around with a muffled laugh when her back was toward me.

She then spoke a few sentences in the local vernacular, generating hard glances toward me from the others, as they proceeded to arise from their seats.

The others removed the napkins from their laps, slowly arising, speaking now only of the commencements and the show, and doing so only among themselves. I felt like a ghost inside the group, since now they only interacted among themselves. I honestly didn't care, because all I could really think of was the event that just occurred, and that young lady named Roxanne.

All of them must have reasoned me as being mad, hitting on the waitress so rudely, in mixed company, and inside a professional, intellectual context besides. Or was it that I had violated one of their cardinal rules here in Dacia? I made a forward move toward a female. The rule here was that the first move was hers, then the male was free to follow suit, as I suddenly recalled. Maybe I will simply change my tactic next time around.

Maybe my forwardness was the true reason why I was being ignored, I deduced. My forwardness could also explain the look of contempt observed in the eyes of my company. I momentarily jettisoned aside the local rule, or should I say, the national rule regarding men and women, and the inter-reactions thereof. This rule was vastly different from what I was used to, and therefore, easy to forget; but such an experience was what I chose to work here for, something exotic, an experience vastly different from the usual, was it not? The hot feeling of excitement suddenly flushed through my body, as the thought passed through my mind.

Days passed and all eventually eased back into a normal flow from the shock of that fateful night. I still could not shake the picture of the specific moment from my mind. By now, six or eight months had passed since my early days on the job. I had now proven myself as an ESL instructor, and I eventually was asked to teach university classes to adults in the evening, from 1800 hour until 2200 hours. I humbly accepted, since there would be plenty of breaks, and the pay was practically the same as the day classes with the senior high school classes.

Now I was making some four thousand a month, American, as an instructor, an amount unheard of in these parts by instructors in general. The problem was that I worked six days a week, and sometimes seven, although rarely. These people were devout Roman Catholic Christians, and going to Mass on the Sunday sabbath was a must., always.

As I stood before the class, in the moment of me giving instruction concerning verbs and adjective usage, I glanced across the student body before me. There were some forty-three students in the class. One all alone, some two thirds of the way backward in my classroom, lifted her head from upon her folded arms on her desk … To my astonishment and surprise, I saw her once again!

My breath left my body for a few seconds, and I felt light-headed. There she was, and I knew it to be her! There was simply no question about her identity now anywhere in my mind this time. I would remain calm, however, I told myself. I will simply Bogart it all off, like ole Humphrey Bogart would, my hero from the old time movie shows. Remain cool, I told myself, like a body on ice … simply remain cool and let it all unfold on its own, don't force it. For the good Lord's sake, if it doesn't fit, then please don't force it! , the words screamed in the silence of mental voice.

When class intermission time arrived, the students were going out into the hallway toward the soda machines and snack bar, for cigarettes, coffee, and ham sandwiches. I noticed her walking ahead of me, but I determined I would remain silent regarding our past interactions. I pretend not to have noticed her, but then she paused, allowing me to walk past. There was no doubt in my mind about it this time, as to exactly who this young lady really was. I am so sorry, darn it, but the cute little kitten can't lie her way out of the fish barn this time around.

"Well, hello, Mr. Graystone," she spoke to me as I walked past. My heart dropped down into my shoes "I didn't expect to see you here at night like this, let alone instructing a university class," she continued speaking to me.

"Yeah," I gasped while struggling to conceal it. "I just received an offer to give instruction at night. Now, let me see if I have it right, was the name Roxanne?" I asked, fully anticipating a hearty yes, and maybe, how did you know that, with the way that events had been unfolding lately? Or something else other than what I did.

"No, of course not." she replied with her warm smile. "I don't recall us exchanging names yet during one of our chance meetings. My name is Esmeralda, Esmeralda Glendora, to be exact. I am studying to engage in international business, so I need to brush up on my English. I recall that you taught here, but I was not expecting to meet up with you as the instructor at night. The syllabus does not really name teachers, since instructors are always moved around from class to class, especially ESL instructors. I am well aware of these details, sir."

" My name is Arthur," I gasped as I suddenly felt light headed, "Arthur Graystone, ma'am, great-grandson of the all time famous Captain Graystone, renowned for his heroic naval actions at the battle of Trafalgar and Tripoli," I spoke, with a confident chuckle and a smile, though my veins still flowed with the chill of astonishment at her not admitting to our prior encounters, nor of her ever telling me her name was Roxanne.

"I am somewhat familiar with the battle, but not the heroes., but I take your word for it, just the same," she replied with her endearing, nearly spellbinding smile. "When class is over, feel free to join my gathering of friends and myself in the local pub, for easy drinks and conversation, Mr Graystone, or, er a … I mean, Arthur."

"I accept the offer," I replied, intentionally keeping conversation direct and to the point. To be honest about it, how could I ever refuse her? I pretended to hesitate, seeking to feign my ignorance. In this manner I was being careful to give her the complete lead, even though doing so went against my inclinations and general custom.

"So your great-grandfather was El Captain Graystone, made infamous during the battle of Trafalgar. Honestly, I do detect a somewhat heavy Irish ring in your voice, though it seems a mixture of Irish brogue and Texas cowboy, if you should ask me."

"I have been told that before," I replied to her. "All over the orient people have made the same statement."

When classes ended, I followed her across the street to the local lounge, as we would call it in my home country. The conversation was rich and very pleasurable, all of the dances very graceful and smooth. Nothing could ever go wrong, I whispered to myself in silence.

She was drawing me inward, deeply inward toward her very soul , I tell you, as we glided across the floor head to head and breast to breast. She drew upon my soul, as does a strong magnet unto a fragment of steel. I felt as if she were attempting to merge even our very souls together, as one. Her hex was hypnotic, I was short of breath, the vapor on her motion wind was intoxicatingly euphoric, in the most pleasant sense!

I soon felt like a zombie moving about the dance floor, wanting to leave, but the magnetic attraction of her soul upon mine, refusing to allow it. As we moved in tune with the Tango, I thought I could perceive her whisper sounding as a light rustle in the distant wind, saying …

"Yes … can you feel the flow, Arthur? Can you feel the hex of my soul upon you and your very composure? You'll continue to meet me and behold me in various situations. You can never escape my spell, the hex of my Bohemian chant. Never fear, my dear Arthur, just follow the flow of the pull, listen for the rhythm of the possessing spirit chant. Dare to follow the feeling in its immaculate song., and you'll surely find heaven beyond your greatest dreams, my dear sir …"

My mind was spellbound beyond my ability to forgo. Oh what now am I to do? Where am I to find solace from it? Her face remains with me wherever it is that I go, though her physical body is present with me not. To only touch her, nay, only the very fabric of her delicate Bohemian dress, sends waves of shock forward into the limbs of the mortal hand upon it, rendering a sensation of tingling numbness, like that of bayou snake poison or the poison of an aquatic snail found in the exotic South Sea. The pull up on my mind, my weary soul, even the force felt upon my physical body, is much more than any capacity to forebear!

I feel as though I am floating breathlessly, drifting along inside the realm of the night breeze. I am now myself outside of my body. No longer is this compulsion one of simple mortal attractiveness, it has now entered into the realm of some metaphysical magnetism, and I honestly fear there is no retreating from it. I am now defeated totally by this enchanting vixen, this magic nymph from the exotic lands of Bohemia. Help me, please deliver me, if indeed, there be any manner of assistance for my poor helpless wanton soul!

* * *

I continued on with my instructional responsibilities, designing the classes, presenting the material, making the flow of the information to include real-life items, situations and events, then polishing up the instruction with a flow so artistically, that it ever so smoothly caught the eye, and bore itself directly into the intellect.

Some evenings I saw her in class, but often she slipped away before I could speak. Sometimes on other evenings, it was as if she literally vanished from before me. I nervously seized up the attendance sheet in a frenzy of both emotion and wild curiosity. I searched madly for her name, Esmeralda, but it was not present, even though I could have sworn with sincere conviction on the evenings prior, it had been! How could this be? Was I really going crazy? Was this woman some perverted fantasy all inside my mind, or was she, in fact, a real, living, breathing person?

I will never forget the time nor the moment. The date was December 30, 19—, at 1900 hours, I was approached by some of my evening students to accompany them at a certain Bohemian circus festival there on the edge of the age-old city, Budapest. This event was one of cultural renown for the last six hundred years, according to the local legend. I entered inside with an open mind, pushing the events of the recent past completely outside of my intellect, designing only to enjoy the evening materializing before me. We nine, purchased our tickets, then walked on inside to take our seats.

The tent was not particularly fancy, if not even rather a bit plain, if one should ask me for a perfect description. The seats we sat on were simple plastic chairs, and some short wooden benches. Some time passed, while we all laughed and made ourselves comfortable, carrying on simple conversation.

The first act was that of a young female contortionist, who danced to the sound of Bohemia's best, in company with three very seductive belly dancers, two of auburn hair and one of blazing red. Her act was extraordinary, to say the least, lasting thirty minutes or a bit more.

At the conclusion of the act, numerous vendors came out and proceeded to walk among the patrons. Some sold popcorn and cotton candy, others hot dogs and hamburgers, some additional ones were offering Bohemian beer and local wine, or Pepsi Cola. Upon those vendor's exit came the ones offering trinkets of fake gold all of us felt were of little use, yet still fun to examine. Several of us arose to use the restroom nearby, since we had a bit of time in between the acts. By the time we had retaken our seats, it was time for the second act.

The lights suddenly appeared, showing a lone clown juggling five pins while telling jokes in Romanian. Abruptly he was accompanied by other clowns, who appeared to be putting on various styles of comedy acts. I am not fluent in Romanian, so I was only half aware of what was being said. One of the clowns in particular was only approximately waist high. He appeared to be dominating the show. Gradually the lights dimmed, causing the others to fade from view. In the local Romanian dialect, he addressed the crowd of onlookers.

"Good night from the province of Budapest, and we are all so pleased to see you here. It is the wish from all of us that you will enjoy this evening to the fullest. Feel free to purchase the food and drink, including the local wine, at your convenience at any time during the course of the show tonight. Restrooms are to the adjacent side of the tent entrance, for your convenience.

"There is this one small wrinkle we must iron out, starting here tonight. How many are from this local province?"

Many hands arose amid claps and cheers.

"Well, this is so good for us doing the performance here tonight. We always want to welcome the home crowd, but we don't want to ever forget our visitors. How many are from other provinces scattered around the country tonight?"

Several hands went up, and the short clown, dressed as a rat, went around asking them questions about where it was everybody was from. He then resumed his former place on the stage.

"How many of you here tonight are from other lands?" he asked, making overtones suggesting he was more a lover of men and interested in their well being, than any others around. All of our hands arose, with the males being somewhat hesitant, as one might imagine.

"Outstanding! This revelation is extraordinary here tonight, to say the least."

He then moved around among us individually, asking where it was that we were from, always being careful to throw in a wisecrack for audience appeal. Finally he paused before me, holding his microphone close to his mouth.

"Well, good evening, sir," he said, before extending the microphone to me, "and what is your name?"

"Arthur … Arthur Graystone," I replied directly into the microphone.

"Graystone, Graystone.? Well Arthur, where is it that you are from?"

"The US," I replied.

"The US! The US … unmm, we don't have many people who ever come here from the US, although a few of our company have traveled there a time or three. What part of the US are you from, Texas? Oklahoma, maybe?"

"I am from the land of cotton, but that is close enough," I replied, trying not to be specific.

"The land of cotton?" he replied. "I have heard of a few places in my life, but never that one. Tell us more about this land of cotton."

"Well old times there are never forgotten," I replied, attempting to be general and sarcastic at the same time. I am like this for security reasons when I am out of the country.

"What are you expecting to find here tonight, sir?" he asked, holding the microphone to my mouth.

"Well, I don't know. I pretty much have an open mind about everything, to speak the truth."

"Were you expecting to find something here … shall we say, enchanting? Shocking.? Or maybe, completely consuming, with a high level of excitement?" he said into the microphone.

"If possible," I replied.

"Well, I can tell you right now, many who have come here have found this much, and much more on nights such as this," he spoke, as a drum rolled in the background, and the lights dimmed to the crash of cymbals.

A circular light instantly appeared on the stage before us. In the center of this light stood a lone ballerina dancer. The dancer danced to a piano concerto for about three minutes, then paused, taking a sword handed to her, and proceeding to swallow it all the way down to the hilt. She then retracted the sword, swallowing fat swords, thin swords, small baseball bats, and a variety of other implements.

She swallowed one sword with a loop in it's handle, seemingly to clench it hard with her very teeth. A hook eased onward from the circus top center, tied to a rope. This hook was smoothly placed into the loop, and the string tightened, lifting the girl all the way to the tent summit, where she proceeded to dance a ditty all the while clenching this sword with her very teeth.

Watching this act truly did cause my blood to chill, fearing what might happen to the young lady, should she twist wrong, lose her grip on the sword, or some other mishap not yet conceived by my overactive imagination. At long last she completed her act, and was lowered back down to the ground.

"Let's have it now, for the one and only, Matilda from Maraviaaaaaa!" spoke the midget clown. "A sword swallower like no other. Who has other, very interesting talents."

The almost evil clown then casually walked up to the young girl, as she arose from her bow on the stage. "Tell us about some of your other talents tonight," he asked into the mic, then extended the microphone over to the girl's mouth.

"I can read palms, gaze into crystal balls, and see into the future," she replied.

"Oh? Well, that's great," replied the clown with a slight laugh. "What do you see for us here tonight?"

"Well, what I see is that one of us, one of us from the foreign crowd over there, is really going to get carried away by everything here tonight."

"Oh, really? Well that's nice! Can you see which one of the crowd will get so carried away?" asked the rather sardonic clown.

"I can't see who specifically, but I can tell you for sure, that the event will most certainly happen right here, tonight, during the time of this very show," replied the flexible girl.

"Well, there you have it, good people of the audience. Right here tonight, during this very show, one of our viewers is going to be carried away farther than his wildest dreams could ever take him. Don't miss the action, right here tonight!" spoke the clown into the microphone with great excitement. Trumpet announcements and drum rolls commenced as the lights suddenly went out.

When the lights suddenly came on in about two minutes, a giant was standing in the center of the circle. This giant had the Guinness Book of World Records as being the tallest man on earth. He did not appear that tall from my seat, but when I walked up to him later on, I was shocked to find I was only waist high to him.

The massive man had very little to say, but appeared to be a gentle sort of soul who, in actuality, gave the distinct appearance of being in immense pain constantly. His hands and knuckles were knotted in such a manner that betrayed the presence of severe arthritis.

We all had our picture taken posing with him, then walked back toward our seats. When the people of the audience had finished posing and speaking with the giant, and had retaken their seats, the lights suddenly went out again, into a near pitch-black darkness.

For about two minutes the lights remained out, then suddenly snapped back on, focusing on the center of the stage, where stood another very young lady. I gazed forward in a manner causing me to feel as though I was straining my eyes. The young lady stood poised, with both hands together and gazing upward, with her hands outstretched upward, but together, as if she were about to dive headlong into a pool of water. Another set of beams suddenly focused on a metal ring about four feet in diameter, with a loop of cloth in the upper center, now at the top of the circus tent but gradually descending, coming to a stop above the young lady in a manner causing it to appear slightly out of reach.

The manner in which the light-beams meshed together caused the lady to appear as if she ascended into the very air, to take her seat there in the center of the metal ring. She very skillfully began to move her arms in a circular manner reminiscent of a fairies wings, as her body moved all around the metal ring, appearing more as flying than a body simply moving along on the ring. Obviously, the skill and training to accomplish such a feat had to have been rigorous. Gradually the ring of death moved upward, until it came to pause in the very crest of the circus tent itself, now some thirty feet off the ground.

As she moved, her hands appeared to emit some sort of dust or vapor, which bore the lusciously sweet incense type odor of the belladonna rose! As I inhaled deeply the enrapturing fumes, I suddenly felt giddy, nearly euphoric from the magic power of the swirling mist. I continued to watch as the ring of death gradually floated outward from its resting point, until it came to pause above the forward most point of the collective crowd.

I could not help but continue to gaze upward at the young lady, feeling as though I had met her in the past, somewhere along the way; although I could not quite place a finger on the exact specific as to where I had previously met up with her. She continued to flutter around the center of the ring, now suddenly grasping the center loop of cloth; to pivot herself upside down, with her face down and backwards toward the audience.

I seized only a quick glimpse. A revelation abruptly consumed me that I once knew her! Slowly the ring floated again, until it seemingly came to pause immediately above my head, but yet slightly outward from me, in such a manner that I did not have to lean my face backward only to catch a sudden glimpse.

The young lady then caught the loop in the bends of her knees, hanging upside down with her face directly toward mine. She quickly moved her hands, which gave the appearance of emitting the incense vapor bearing this enrapturing scent of the sweet belladonna rose.

I recognize her! I exclaimed in excitement to myself. I know you! I thought out loud. Then, as she continued her enchanting upside down dance, I could no longer contain myself. I simply had to spout out her name. "Esmeralda!" I called aloud "I am almost certain it is you!"

The young lady only smiled toward me, then moved her hands faster, emitting more of the exotic incense vapor, causing me to breathe inward through both the astonishment of the moment and some mysterious force upon me exerted by the vapor itself. Suddenly, at that same moment, I sensed my physical body arising on its own, gravitating gradually toward the ring. I perceived a deep gasp from the audience, but I dared not even as much as attempt to glance downward, only holding my gaze steadfast upon the floating ring and beautiful fairy nymph.

My body gradually moved toward the young lady herself, who then called out my name as I floated near her.

"Arthur," she whispered as I neared. "I have something to show you."

As my quivering body neared the ring of death, to the very point where I could seize upon it, the ring commenced to float back upward again toward the crest of the circus tent. Inside the center of this crest, was an opening through which the entire ring now floated; until we both found ourselves outside of the tent, but inside a different dimension.

My present reflection upon that moment relays unto me the ever persisting conclusion that we were inside some sort of hidden, spiritual dimension. I will go on and venture to say, the experience was hauntingly metaphysical, since it was certainly not one born of the mortal realm in any revelation of the prevailing concept.

We passed very quickly through an expanse of emerald forest trees, moving so quickly the very limbs appeared more as running blurs than limbs where I could make out any botanical classification of the surrounding plants. The general enveloping sensation was one of being compelled to move inward, as if going through a tunnel. Then almost as suddenly, the ring came to pause in mid air, gradually descending downward toward the earth into what, no doubt, had to be the most immaculate spring meadow oasis my poor weeping eyes ever beheld before.

"Arthur, I told you we would meet again. I informed you that we would spend more time in each other's company, more than any of us could have ever imagined. But honest love knows when the love previous to it is as pure, Arthur. Let what was intended to be, stand on its own, forever," she spoke, in a voice of whispering wind, as our feet came to rest upon the eerie, perfectly groomed grass of the meadow floor.

I gazed around me in utter amazement. The trees appeared to be of a variety I knew not the classification of, nor had even seen any pictures thereof. They bore an appearance of being some sort of tropical variety unknown to me at the time.

Above me, I beheld fruits of a strange variety and type, giving me the intuition that they were tropical, although the meadow itself in its entirety, did not appear to be tropical, but in fact deciduous. The contrasts here in appearance baffled my mind to a degree that I could not arrive at any sort of conclusions in regard to. Surely this reality had to be one of heavenly paradise, but the general sensation of the moment bore one of slight evil jest at the same time.

"Arthur, this is my home. You have food in abundance here, and shall never want for anything. The weather remains the same here all the time, like springtime on the Hawaiian islands, both day and night. There are no bothersome insects or dangerous animals. The fruits and berries pack all of the nutrients the body needs to thrive and perform to a maximum.

"There is no need for fire, since it is not necessary to cook or stay warm here, nor need to take life for meat and protein, since the fruits bear all in complete nourishment. Ahead is a low mountain covered by forest, and a waterfall. Beside the waterfall there is a ledge. Underneath this will be our new home. You have all that you need here for a complete, endless life of perfect contentment. Come Arthur, be with me, for eternity …"

I was speechless into a surging numbness. I could hardly force myself to mumble the words. I finally did so as I muttered the words, " Yes, I want to be with you forever."

The sound of the songbirds in the air seemed to increase in volume as I accepted her gracious offer, and I will never forget what followed my acceptance.

Instantly we were transported before a flowing, gentle creek, onto a knoll beneath what appeared to be the heavy outstretched limbs of a live oak. Instantly our clothes fell from upon our bodies, being caught by a couple of wrens and removed. This act was followed by a couple of blue jays who placed upon our bodies brand new robes of lily white, gleaming as if the coloring were combined with the very light of the sun above.

The time in this enchanted oasis appeared to be morning, and we stood beside each other in the direction of the rising sun. Gentle butterflies placed upon our necks garlands of flowers and beads of hardened goldenrod nectar, on delicate web-like strings of fine freshly spun silk.

Before us both lay fruit in hand-woven rush baskets, of varieties both known and those unknown to me. Among them I saw peaches, figs, apples, muscadine grapes, avocado, and even what appeared to be banana. Ahead in the far distance, toward the rising sun, spoke a voice of rushing water and thunder, for it was unto an unseen yet omniscient being of eternal light that we repeated our vows.

Following our ceremony we paused to have our reception amid the fruit. Many nearly forgotten onlookers from the metaphysical world arrived to congratulate us. In the crowd before me, I recognized my grandparents, in company with many relatives long since passed on, that I had not seen since my distant childhood.

The feelings of the moment were shear ecstatic joy beyond measure. Not only were family present there that I had once known, but there were others who had passed long since before my birth and my time. I was honored to meet them all. I also got to meet her family and our unseen friends, the guardian angels, that I owned so much for taking care of us on so many occasions inside the realm of the mortal, and even inside the sometimes imposing venues beyond.

As we sauntered in our way from the knoll by the creek-side, the cheering crowd accompanied us to the deep ledge, which would be our eternal home and the place where we would consummate our marriage the following evening.

Before that time, I asked her if it would be possible to contact my family back home, to tell them the good news of my new relationship, and the outstanding events occurring in my life. She informed me such would indeed be very possible, and that she highly encouraged doing so. She handed me a quill pen and what appeared to be a sheet of vellum, telling me to pen the specific details of the unfolding events exactly as they had occurred.

Following my completion of this account, she held out her right hand, upon which landed a white pigeon dove. Inside a joint of bamboo she meticulously folded and placed this account, being very careful to tie the joint onto the leg of the dove with a band of waterproof silk. She leaned over to whisper some words into the ear of the pigeon, and upon securing the message onto the leg of the bird, it then up and flew away.

THE END

Bio: The author is a national and international academic/ ESL Instructor. He has been a writer for over thirty years. His latest publications have been two books of nonfiction with Algora Publishing, and fictional publications with combo e-zines and print magazines; Leaves Of Ink, CC&D Magazine, and its accompanying theology series, Short Story Lovers, The Fear Of Monkeys, and Frontier Tales.

E-mail: H.L. Dowless

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