Emerald City

I hate the color green, so why do I dream of a green city every night? I hate my life, so why do I go on living it? Maybe if I had a better job-- Who am I kidding? There is no better job. There is no better life. And I will never reach the Emerald City, not in this lifetime. This is all there is. This city, the cracked pavement, the smell of bus fumes, the broom and the mop---this is reality. I can not even remember the last time I saw a real forest. Do forests still exist?

Maybe if I got a better job. But that would take energy, and it is all I can do to drag myself from my bed each morning. I watch other people on the bus reading the want ads. Sometimes my eyes focus of a few words. Typist wanted...excellent benefits...experience required. That is my problem. I have no experience. All I know is how to push a broom and sling a mop. All I know is that I will chase that damned city forever without ever reaching it, because people like me never accomplish anything, not even in their dreams.

You would not know it to look at me, but I am dead. I do not remember exactly when I realized that it was possible to walk and speak and eat and defecate and still not be alive. But that is what I do. I am the living dead. The only time I feel even close to being alive is when I am chasing the Emerald City, but what is the point? It is just a dream.

And green is just a color. So why do I fear it? Why do I bring a canvas sack to the grocery store rather than using the green carts? Why did I buy my own blue uniform when my employer would have supplied a green one at no charge?

The dead have no fear. So maybe I am not really dead. Or perhaps my fears survived my demise. That would be a cruel joke. All joy dies, all hope, all ambition, but the dark parts of the soul, the fear, the anger, the regret live on after death. Sounds like Hell on earth, doesn't it? Sounds like my life.

Last night, I came closer than I ever have to reaching the Emerald City. I actually had my hand on the gate. My fingers closed over the latch and there was a high pitched screech as if hinges frozen shut from years of disuse were slowly opening---

And then I woke, heart pounding, head throbbing. Terrified. Why? Why do I hate the color green?

Did I say that I hate the color green? Not today. Today, as I was running to catch the bus, a shop window caught my eye. Distracted, I turned and there was a dress like no other, a dress fit for a fairy princess, green lace embroidered to resemble ivy over a green satin slip.

I pressed my face to the glass, like a child drooling over a candy shop. How much for the dress? I strained to read the price tag. Seven hundred dollars. Three months rent. But there was the credit card in the back of my wallet. I had not requested it, and I had never used it. Would it still be any good? There was only one way to find out.

I walked into the dress shop.

"Can I help you?"

I pointed to the window. "I'll take that one."

"The green? Would you like to try it on first? What size---?"

"I'll take that one," I repeated stubbornly.

The credit card was still good. The girl carefully unbuttoned the green dress and slipped it from the mannequin's plastic shoulders. "Would you like it on a hanger or in a box?"

"Neither. I am going to wear it."

The salesgirl blinked. "Wear it?" Thinking, This is an evening dress. Why would anyone want to wear an evening dress at this hour of the morning? But a sale is a sale, and it was the easiest commission she had earned all day. She ushered me into a dressing room. Alone, I stripped off my blue polyester uniform and slipped into green lace and silk. As the dress went over my head, my hair fell out of its net and tumbled over my shoulders, and I found myself staring into the mirror at a fey creature with enormous dark eyes wide set in a thin face, skin as smooth and as pale as a forest mushroom, hair as red as wild fire.

It was not vanity that made me stare. It was the shock of recognition. I knew the woman in that mirror in a way that I had never recognized the face in the bathroom mirror in my apartment.

I have been living with a stranger, I thought. My life has been a lie. Something caught in my throat. The four walls of the dressing room seemed to be closing in around me. I hurried from the shop, ignoring the salesgirl who was waving a piece of navy blue polyester and shouting something about my clothes. Those were not my clothes. They belonged to some other woman. A dead woman. They were her shroud.

My shoes were like lead weights on my feet. I paused just long enough to kick them off, then I ran again, my bare soles barely touching the pavement. A few people turned to stare, but in this city people mind their own business and no one tried to stop me as I darted into the street, dodging cars in order to reach the tiny park on the other side of the road.

Park is too fancy a word for that garden, which was little more than a square of winter whitened grass with a few bare rose bushes around its perimeter and a tree stump at its center. But when my feet left the pavement and touched grass and earth, I sighed with relief. Throwing myself onto the ground, I let my back rest against the tree stump and closed my eyes. The cloud of soot and smog which hung over the city parted momentarily and I felt the sun on my face, warming me while the damp earth cooled my back.

"Your highness," a voice murmured. "It is time to go."

My eyes flew open. Standing before me were a pair of legs covered in forest green velvet trousers carefully rolled up at the ankles to reveal a pair of cloven hooves. That is right. Hooves. Just like the Devil's. But the head which leaned over me had no goatee or horns, just slanted jade eyes in a heart shaped face framed by shoulder length hair the color and texture of juniper.

The surprising thing was that I was not surprised. How appropriate, I thought. A green man to go with a green dress. "Are you here to take me to the Emerald City?" I asked with a laugh. The hooves were obviously some kind of fancy costume footwear, and the green hair probably came from a bottle.

He frowned. "Emerald City? I have never heard it called that. I have come to take you home."

Lightly I replied "Home? I don't want to go back to my apartment. What a nasty place! Full of cobwebs but never a sign of a spider. How can that be? How can you have cobwebs without spiders?"

"I assure you that the Royal Spinners are alive and well. At this very moment they are working on your coronation robe while the court of Fairie---"

It occurred to me suddenly that he was serious, and the game went from fun to dangerous. What kind of lunatic had I attracted with my green dress and bare feet? What if he followed me home? How would I ever get rid of him? If he started hanging around, I would have to move, and though I did not particularly like my apartment it was cheap and close to the bus stop.

"I think you have the wrong idea about me."

"No," the green man corrected. "You have the wrong idea about yourself."

Now I was annoyed. I stood up and shook bits of dried grass and bark from my full skirt. I was beginning to have second thoughts about my seven hundred dollar purchase and wanted to keep the dress as clean as possible in case I decided to take it back to the shop. "Look around. Do you see a shopping cart full of plastic bags and aluminum cans?"

He looked confused. "No."

"That is because I am not a bag lady. I'll admit my clothes are a little---unusual today, but I do not ordinarily lie around the park in the middle of the day wearing an evening dress. And I do not believe in fairies."

He cocked his head to one side. With his smooth, slightly green hued skin, pointed chin and slanted eyes he resembled an exotic reptile. "Do you believe in miracles?"

"No!"

"Too bad. Because there is one right behind you."

Assuming it was a trick, I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder. "Please," I whispered. "Stop making a scene. People are staring." It was true. There was a woman with two children standing at the edge of the park. The woman's eyes were wide and the children were laughing and pointing.

"They are not looking at me," the green man said. "Nor at you. If you do not believe me, look behind you."

My curiosity got the better of me. I glanced over my shoulder, and what I saw nearly scared the life out of me. The dead tree stump was growing, first leaves, then twigs, then branches. A green tendril brushed my cheek, a caress. I jumped back. "How did you---?"

"It was not I. It was you. You brought the tree to life." The green man waved his hand. "And if further proof is necessary, look at your footsteps in the grass."

Even though I knew that this was madness, I looked. The winter white grass was dotted with bright green footprints, as if I had dipped my feet in green paint before running across the lawn. Slowly, the green began to spread and wildflowers popped up from the earth, red poppies, yellow jonquils and dozens other flowers which I could not name.

"But that is impossible," I protested. "I am no good with plants. Every time I try to take care of my neighbor's plants they die. What is happening?" A silly question. I knew the answer. I had gone mad. Maybe people who touch the gates of the Emerald City in their dreams are doomed to madness, or maybe it was a way to escape from the misery of my life. As pretty as the madness was, in the end it could lead only to disaster. A padded cell in the county hospital. Leather restraints. Pills and more pills, electroshock treatment, maybe even a lobotomy. All of a sudden my old life did not seem so bad. I covered my eyes with my hands. "Get away from me."

The green man touched my arm. His fingers were cool. "I am here to show you the way--"

"Leave me alone!" I shouted. I slapped his hand away.

My shout got the attention of a police officer writing a parking ticket . "Lady, is this man bothering---" The young officer's jaw dropped as he saw the miracle of spring in winter. He grabbed the green man by the arm. "Did you do this? Do you have a permit?"

I seized the chance to escape, running full speed all the way back to my apartment where I locked, bolted and wedged the door shut with a chair before collapsing on the sofa.

I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke it was dark outside. I tiptoed to the door and looked through the peephole. No sign of the green man.

I glanced around the apartment. There were no flowers sprouting from the carpet, and the wood furniture showed no sign of reverting to its original form. I went to the bathroom and checked my pupils. Except for a slight flush, I seemed healthy.

Could the green man be responsible for my hallucination in the park? There are drugs which can be administered through the skin, and he had touched me---I could still feel the imprint of his fingers on my forearm. Was that before or after the tree stump came back to life? Everything was so fuzzy, but surely it was before---

My stomach growled. The refrigerator was bare except for a bag of oranges, an expired carton of milk, a six pack of beer and some left over pizza. I moved the oranges aside and took out the pizza box and a beer. Returning to the living room, I ate standing in front of the window.

There were no stars out tonight. I could not remember the last time I had seen stars. Sometimes the residents of the city got a glimpse of the moon through the haze which blanketed the sky, but starlight was too feeble to penetrate the smog.

Below me some kids were kicking a ball back and forth across the street, oblivious to the passing cars. In the distance a dog was barking. Soon a second dog joined in, then a third and a fourth---

I was distracted by a noise behind me in the kitchen. A rustling, as if a rodent was digging in the trash. After what had happened that day I was understandably jumpy, and my beer dropped from my hand. Beer splattered the walls, carpet and my new seven hundred dollar dress. Oh dear, I thought. Now I can't take it back.

But soon I had more important things to worry about than money. From the kitchen I heard the unmistakable sound of someone opening the refrigerator. A rat? Not likely. There was someone in the apartment with me. It could have been anyone, a robber, a rapist. But I was convinced that it was the green man, and I wanted answers. Grabbing the baseball bat which I kept under the couch in case of burglary, I crept towards the kitchen door. I would beat the bastard senseless and when he came to, I would make him talk.

Cautiously, I eased open the swinging door. What I saw made me stop in my tracks. The refrigerator had been opened all right, but not by the green man. It had been forced open from inside by the lush, green orange tree which was growing before my eyes, each branch laden with fragrant white blossoms that released a sweet scent as they opened.

My head began to spin. I threw the baseball bat to the ground and ran. I was only six steps from the front door but it seemed to take forever to reach it. And the bolts were stuck and my fingers kept fumbling the chain and my palms were too slippery to grasp the doorknob. But somehow I got out of there away from that monstrous tree. Running down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, I shouted for help---

And I found it . A nice young policewoman took me by the arm and steadied me. She listened to my story, nodding her head sympathetically even when I stumbled over words and repeated myself.

"It's alive. It's---it's so big! You can't imagine how big. And it is growing. It will eat us up. Something growing that fast has to use up a lot of---a lot of---"

"It's all right." She switched on her radio and mumbled some kind of police code. "You just stay with me and take slow deep breaths. Nothing is going to hurt you. I am going to get you some help."

And she did. A few minutes later, the ambulance arrived to take me to the county hospital. And not a moment too soon, for on the far side of the crowd I had spotted a familiar face framed by green hair. He had found me---as I knew he would, because once madness has its claws in you, it does not let go.

The county hospital was not so bad. When they realized that the last thing I wanted was to leave the sanctuary of those spotless white walls they removed my restraints, and soon I was on the open ward. Every morning they fed me a handful of pills which made me feel slightly groggy but otherwise not much different from usual. My therapy consisted of gluing bits of colored macaroni onto paper plates and telling a group of strangers what I recalled of my childhood, which turned out to be very little.

"You must have suffered significant childhood trauma," my therapist said. "To have blocked it all out so efficiently."

I liked being told that I was efficient. And the occupational therapist had promised to teach me how to work on computers so that I could get a better job when I got out. All in all, my life was starting to look up.

My only fear was the plants. This being a hospital, there were flowers and potted plants everywhere. To "brighten the place up, make it seem less sterile"---these were the head nurses words. Sterile was fine with me. But when I complained that I did not like having the plants around, that they did not seem sanitary, she just shook her head and smiled.

So I developed allergies. Every time I saw a bit of green or smelled a flower, I began to itch, cough and sneeze uncontrollably, and that did it. Soon all plants and flowers were banished from our ward and I could relax again---except on those occasions when the cafeteria served fresh fruit. What if a watermelon seed sprouted in my stomach the way the orange tree sprang to life inmy refrigerator? I would be torn apart from the inside.

Though I understood that my hallucinations were false, it was the hallucinations that had gained me admission to this sanctuary and I knew that the minute I stopped believing in what I had seen, I would be back out on the street. So I stuck to my original story about the tree stump that came to life and the lawn that turned green before my eyes and the orange that grew into a tree in my refrigerator. The only thing I kept back was the green man, because I was afraid they might decide he was a relative and start looking for him. And my dream. For some reason every time I made up my mind to describe the Emerald City, I developed this nagging cough that would not go away until I had drunk a glass of water and by then I always forgot what I was about to say.

Three weeks after I was admitted to County Hospital, my doctor pronounced me fit to return to society. On my way out the door, I was given six bottles of pills, the number of a social worker and an appointment at the outpatient psychiatry clinic for next month. Unfortunately, they did not supply me with a new home, so after wondering around the city for several hours on the bus, I finally returned to my apartment.

Three weeks away and the mail box was not even full. Just a few bills and some flyers for a local department store's clearance sale. As I shuffled through the envelopes, it occurred to me that if I were to disappear from the face of the earth I would not be missed, except by the light company and the phone company and my landlord. And perhaps my new employer. I was scheduled to start my new job Monday. Exactly what I would be doing had never been made clear to me, but inside the cheap cardboard suitcase supplied by the hospital, there was a three piece grey suit so I assumed my new job would not entail manual labor. The green lace dress was in the suitcase, too, still smelling faintly of beer. I had tried to donate it to the hospital's charity clothes store, but the lady in charge said it was too fancy. "The people who shop here don't have much call for evening gowns."

Neither did I. I hung the grey suit in my closet and tossed the evening dress in the corner. Tomorrow, I would throw it out with the trash and some homeless woman would find it and add it to her rags. And maybe the green man would switch his attention to her---if the green man really existed. A quick glance at the kitchen proved that the orange tree was just an illusion. What about the park? It was only six blocks away. The walk would do me good after my long confinement. And I had to know. Were the doctors right? Was it all the wishful fantasy of a depressed mind?

I paused with my hand on the doorknob. What if it was not an illusion? What if I returned to the park and found a healthy tree growing in the center and the rose bushes blooming in midwinter and the grass lush and green? What would it mean? I did not want to know. But I had to know.

"My lady." The words came from thin air and brought with them the scent of pine needles and wood violets crushed underfoot. And just like that, three weeks of psychotherapy and anti-psychotic medication were reduced to nothing, a brief sleep, a momentary lull in the story of my life which was a dream. A dream of the Emerald City. A dream of madness.

"Green man?" I whispered. "Where are you?" Knowing the answer, but not knowing how or why I knew. The park. He was waiting for me at the park. They were all waiting for me.

They? Who the hell were they? As the forest scent faded, so did my sense of certainty, which made me even more determined to learn the truth---if such a thing as truth existed---before I descended forever into madness. With my hand on the knob of the front door of my apartment, I paused. Looking over my shoulder, I thought This is the last time I will ever see this place. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the couch. The hospital thrift shop had supplied me with a pair of blue jeans and an old plaid shirt. In those clothes, I looked like everyone else, like an ordinary citizen. But it was a lie. I was not fated to live an ordinary life. This world was not for me.

I stripped off my borrowed clothes and slipped on the green dress. As silk touched my bare flesh, I seemed to feel a cool, damp breeze, like wind blowing over water. I shook my hair loose from it braid and kicked off my shoes. Almost ready.

In the back of the kitchen cabinet, I located a bottle of red wine. That, plus the pills which the doctors at the hospital had given me ought to do the trick. I swallowed tablets and capsules by the handful, washing them down with wine that was well on its way to becoming vinegar. One bottle, two, three. Half way through the fourth bottle of pills my stomach rebelled and I had to stop or risk losing everything. I just hoped it would be enough. And that I would have time to reach the park before the wine and medication kicked in.

I ran. It was easy to run that night. The air was cool, the streets deserted. Except for the hard, stinging concrete beneath my feet, the world was a soft, vague place, less real than my dreams. Even the passing cars were mere whispers of breath and light. One block, two blocks, three---the distance melted and there it was, my park. A tangle of green vines, moonflowers as large as saucers gleaming in the darkness, fragrant jasmine filling the air with its pungent perfume, roses in full bloom dropping petals like raindrops. And in the center, where the tree stump once stood, an emerald green gate.

The pills must have kicked in at that moment, because a wave of dizziness swept over me. I swayed and would have fallen if a hand had not reached out from the bushes to steady me.

"My lady--"

"Before you go any further," I interrupted. "You should know that I don't have long to live. I took three hundred pills. And a bottle of wine. So whatever you are going to say, you had better make it quick."

He stepped from the shadows. The green velvet jacket and trousers were gone. From the waist up he was a man, hairier than most but still a man, but from the waist down he was an animal. Even in the darkness, I could see that his fur covered muscular legs, elongated ankles and sharp hooves were no disguise. The green man was a supernatural creature, satyr or centaur or perhaps something even more strange.

He cocked his head to one side. "Pills? The wine will make you dizzy and give you a headache tomorrow, but there is no potion of mortal fashioning that can do you real harm. My lady, do you still not remember?"

"Remember?" I staggered. Luckily, he was there to catch me.

"Fairie. Your sister. Your twin sister. You truly do not remember?" My legs had turned to jelly and my head felt like lead. I did not struggle when he slipped his arm around my waist to support me. He smelled like musk and smoke.

"Tell me." "Your memory will return to you once you are safely home again." His free hand reached for the latch, but I laid my hand on his arm to stop him from opening the gate. His skin was inhumanly cool and faintly luminescent in the darkness.

"I want to hear it now. If you do not tell me, I will stay here."

He frowned. "If you stay here, you will die. And Fairie will die with you."

"I am already dead!" I shouted.

He nodded his head. "True. But in Fairie you can live again."

"What is this Fairie? What does it have to do with me?"

"You really do not remember." His eyes caught and amplified the dim light, glowing in the darkness like the eyes of a cat, at once wise and wild, all knowing, all seeing. His voice was as soft as the wind, but every word was distinct "Years ago, you and your sister were born in the same hour in Fairie from the same womb. Twin births are extremely rare among our people, much more rare than they are among mortals. But like mortal twins, fairie twins are endowed with extraordinary power. And if one twin dies, the powers of the survivor become even stronger.

"Years ago, when Fairie seemed on the verge of extinction, a plan was formulated. One of our twin princesses would be exiled to the land of the mortals, her memories of Fairie stripped from her---the equivalent of death for our kind. Her sister would remain in Fairie where she would use her augmented power to heal the corruption that was eating away at the heart of the Great Tree. The princess who left was you."

Every word rang true, and though I still could not remember, I believed. I shivered, suddenly cold despite the wine. "You sent me here? To this living hell? How could you? How could you exile me?"

His voice was somber. "No one exiled you, my lady. It was your own choice. You gave up your life in Fairie, so that Fairie could live."

Did I really do that? I peered into my heart, searching for a noble spirit, a princess willing to sacrifice herself for her people, but all I found was a scared, lonely woman. "So why call me home now, after all this time?" Already knowing the answer.

"Your sister is dead."

Grief grabbed by the throat even though I had no memory of her. "And Fairie needs a princess." Sighing, I freed myself from his arm. Gathering up my skirt in one hand, I reached for the latch. The hinges barely whispered as the gate slowly swung open. Pausing on the threshold, I whispered "I still do not remember."

"You will," he assured me. "When your foot touches the earth of Fairie, your past will be restored and all that transpired in the world of the mortals will become like a dream."

Still, I hesitated. "That is what I am afraid of. It is not much of a life, but it is my life. How can I give it up, even for a better life in a better world?"

"You were ready to commit suicide tonight rather than go on living in this world."

"I was ready to commit suicide rather than live a life of madness," I corrected.

"There is a difference?" he asked, glancing over his shoulders. Beyond the boundaries of my little park, the mortal world burned dimly, neon signs promising cheap rooms and strong liquor, prostitutes offering a few minutes of pleasure, drug dealers selling oblivion by the gram.

I let out a long, slow sigh and took a step forward, towards the open doorway. "You are right. It is the world that is mad, not me." But I hesitated at the last second. "What if there is no difference between the two worlds? What if my life in Fairie is just as meaningless as it was here? Where will I find hope then?"

"Where you have always found it," he replied drawing me forward. As I crossed the threshold, my mortal life fell from my shoulders like a snake's discarded skin. For a moment, I felt naked, without past or future. And then, just as he had predicted, memory came flooding back, almost knocking me over. "You will find hope in your dreams, in the guise of a green city which beckons you but which you can never quite reach. "

"You mean this is not the Emerald City?"

My green friend chuckled. "No, my lady. And just think how sad it would be for you if it were, for even those of us who dwell in paradise need something to hope for. "

McCamy Taylor: "I write speculative fiction with elements of fantasy, science fiction and horror. While I have written a handful of short stories, my main interest is long fiction."

Email: taylorjh@nationwide.net

Website: http://www.nationwide.net/~taylorjh/

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