Mirage

by Perry Brass

  Very well, I told him. I would remember as best I could. Finally, we arrived at what looked like the last chamber of the cave. It was huge and frightening. It took a moment for me to become accustomed to its dimensions and also its contents. The light from our torches produced a pale orange glow, as it filtered through columns and walls of varicolored quartzes and crystals. Woosh pointed my attentions to one long wall of hard, black stone.

  The wall danced with carved scenes, done either as relief or as delicate, fine incisions like graffiti. The faces on the wall seemed so real, they looked almost familiar to me.

  "This is the Chamber of Mysteries," Aawkwa said. "Normally, you would not be taken here for a long time—not till you were older, and had lived in your Promise for many Ten Moons."

  I asked Greeland if he'd been there. "Never," he said. His eyes were as big as mine. Some of the scenes were repulsive. There were ancient fights between the Same-Sexers and the Off-Sexers. In one scene there was a murder; a killing. One of our ancestors held up the dripping, severed head of an Off-Sexer. It relived for me the death of Ert at Greeland's hands. I felt the same hopeless loss I felt before. Why? Why didn't these things ever change? I studied the frieze on the wall, and realized that such killings had been going on for ages. But that didn't make it any better. When Greeland saw the scene of the killing, his head went down in shame.

  "Do not be ashamed," Woosh said. "Killing is a part of the balance of our planet. But usually, only the Off-Sexers do it to each other. Some say the Goddess Herself has ordained it."

  "Then why punish me so horribly?" Greeland asked.

  "Because you acted in haste, Greeland," Aawkwa said. "And you sexually abused the man after death. You are lucky the Off-Sexers will not try to have you killed. It is only our priestesses who saved you."

  "Quiet, brother," Woosh said. "If any of this truly is in the balance, it is because Greeland's punishment has pushed me to come here. We will take this step; it is hazardous for all of us, but perhaps it will adjust this wrong done on Ki—and still keep the balance. For that, we must thank everyone; even Ert. That is all we can say, right, Enkidu?"

  I wasn't sure. It still pained me to think of my half-brother as dead. I could say nothing; I was too busy looking at the walls. Some of the carved scenes were highly erotic: Same-Sex couples in many sexual positions, enjoying themselves. One was of a huge, beautiful creature. Perfect body. Broad shoulders; long, powerful legs; beautifully arched feet; his face, extraordinarily handsome. He was enjoying himself with a smaller, but attractive mate. They were wrapped in a mutual embrace of mouths sucking male-pipes, their hands fondling each other's Eggs.

  "That was my father," Woosh said, pointing to the larger one, who was so magnificent looking that he seemed more hero than real.”

  "He is with my father," Aawkwa said. "You see, Enkidu, Woosh and I are actually brothers."

  "Yes," Woosh smiled. "But I was born at least fifty Ten Moons before he was. Our fathers were once a couple. But that was many, many Ten Moons ago. They are both dead now. I will show you."

  Woosh pointed with his boney arm to the left. Greeland and I followed. There was a low archway at the back of the chamber. I ducked my head to enter. The floor gave way to a short flight of stairs. We climbed down to a smaller darker chamber, one kept in secret.

  Gloomy. Musty. On bier after bier—row after row—were skeletons or mummified corpses. They were presented in pairs, with arms around each other. Some had their legs intertwined. My own legs became watery. The cavern revolved around me like a tormenting carousel. Greeland caught me, and took me in his arms.

  "Now I see why you don't take us here," he said.

  Woosh put his ancient hand on my face, and as if by magic, I immediately felt better. He led me back to the beginning of the chamber, away from the grisly rows of sepulchers, which receded so that I now completely forgot them. "See, he said to me, "You are no longer bothered, are you?"

  I told him I wasn't, and he said that was good. "You must wipe your mind completely clean. We will go into another dimension soon, one that is pure and lovely. You will forget violence and death."

  We climbed up, out of the Chamber of Mysteries, and into another chamber. It was smaller. Light poured in, golden and clear. I had no idea where it came from. Light in a cave? But there was an underground stream flowing; perhaps the light came with it. The stream collected into a pool of the clearest water. I bent over and dragged my hand in it. It felt enticingly warm.

  "Take off your clothes and bathe, both of you," Woosh said. We stripped, waded in, then submerged ourselves. The water was perfect. Buoyant. Relaxing. I felt like I had been there before—like I had always been there; like I had never left this pool. Greeland floated over to me and began holding me and kissing me. Was I dreaming? I was no longer sure I was awake.

  Greeland's face appeared in front of me. It was blown up. Huge. His breathing sounded thunderous, like echoes heard together. I started to giggle childishly, out of control. I felt weightless, as if my body had become a thin bubble.

  "They have to get out!" Aawkwa ordered. "They can't stay in any longer!"

  "I want to stay in," I said. "I want to stay here forever!"

  "No," Woosh ordered. "You must get out. You have been in the consecrated pool. The pool of rebirth, the Pool of the Egg. Here we heal the very sick, and heal minds that have been tormented with madness. You must get out now. To stay in any longer can be dangerous. You will drown."

  My body felt weighted—as if coming out of a long sleep—while I slowly emerged from the water. But as soon as I was completely out, I felt lighter, then completely normal; except that I had no anxieties at all. Greeland got out, too. But he looked more serious, as if what I had experienced as lightness had a different effect on him. I looked at him and tried to tell what he was feeling. Had he, too, gone through a similar transformation, but another type of rebirth?

  "We will go back to the Chamber of Mysteries," Woosh said. "You can leave your clothes here. Now, you will feel nothing there. No pain. Fear. Or hurt."

  We returned naked but warm to the Chamber, and he was right. Even the scenes of carnage on the walls did not bother me. Even the nearby burial vault of couples left me feeling almost cheery. I was in euphoria; I hoped it would last.

  "Are you ready now?" Woosh asked. "For this tremendous trip we'll take you on?"

  I looked at Greeland. He didn't say anything. He looked at me as if he didn't know the answer anymore than I did. But he had the clearest, straightest look in his eyes; he seemed taller, too, as if his muscles had completely relaxed.

  Then a voice came out of me. It said, "Yes." I knew I hadn't said it. It seemed that another being was taking over, and I knew I would allow it.

  Woosh nodded his head.

  Suddenly Aawkwa sobbed, "I'm frightened for them. Oh, my friends!" He started to cry.

  I went over to him. I was naked, but felt comfortable and natural, as if nakedness had its own protection. The cavern looked familiar now. I was not the least afraid of it. "Don't be afraid," I consoled him "We are your brothers and we will return."

  Aawkwa held me and lowered his head to my shoulder.

  Then Woosh pointed to a flat, very comfortable place on the floor of the Chamber of Mysteries, and told us to lie down. I was on my side, next to Greeland who faced me. I put my nose and cheek next to his, like I was kissing him. His breath poured into my face, so that I could literally taste it. It tasted sweet and clear. I began to kiss him; our mouths locked. My mind closed in on kissing this partner in my life; my mind said, "This is Greeland. To whom I have been promised. Whom I must trust and love."

  But there was another mind now, and I could feel it breaking off from me. It was a new mind that had emerged after bathing in the Pool of Egg.

  That mind had no fear. It pulsated with knowledge. It knew that when we got to this other place, it would know where I was—and how I got there.

  "You are right," Woosh said, reading everything in me
. "You will have vestigial knowledge when you arrive. A certain portion of your mind—I cannot say how much—will have knowledge of the self that you will become. So in your new setting, you may live comfortably. But remember, when you need this vestigial knowledge you must invoke it and leave—should we say momentarily?—the minds of Greeland and Enkidu. Are you confused?"

  Leave the minds of Greeland and Enkidu? I had no fear, but no ability to question, either. The euphoria, left from my time in the Pool, wrapped itself around me and made me feel peaceful and secure. I felt as large as the cave. As large as Ki itself. What did he mean about leaving my mind? I would arrive at this new place as myself, wouldn't I? I tried to look into Greeland's face. But he only smiled back at me, and I knew that he was becoming as light and substanceless as I was.

  "This vestigial knowledge," Woosh went on, "may make things confusing in your new life, but it is a small price to pay."

  What was he talking about, this vestigial mumbo-jumbo? But my "new mind"—if I can call it that—seemed to take everything effortlessly. The new mind floated over me, and guarded me. It watched Greeland, whose eyes looked large and unfocused, as if he was an infant taking in everything.

  I became conscious that my new mind was listening to everything Woosh said, as the old one was still with Greeland. The old mind was enjoying the sexual warmth of being next to the hunter, experiencing orgasm after orgasm; experiencing complete release from tension. It was floating in its own joy. It was off in a world of its own wandering pleasures: a world it could not control. But the new mind was listening.

  Woosh talked calmly. "When you leave here, and go to the new planet, your bodies will stay. They will be without Eggs. Aawkwa will go to the Temple of Ki tomorrow, and tell them you have both disappeared. The Off-Sexers will want to make a search, but they will never come into the cave. They are scared to death of this place."

  He paused for a moment and I heard him say, "Aawkwa, would you stop blubbering! Our friends will be fine." Woosh went on. "When you get to the new planet, you will not have much time, maybe five or six Moons; that is all. You know how efficient the Off-Sexers are! They will want evidence of what happened—maybe to see your bodies—and we can only keep them away so long. I will contact you and tell you when you must come back."

  Suddenly, my old mind broke out of its sexual sleep. It asked Suppose we don't come back—or don't want to come back? Woosh, as I expected read every word of it.

  "You must come back, Enkidu. Because only your connection with Ki will keep you alive."

  Is that the truth? I asked myself.

  "You know we cannot lie," Woosh said. "I will tell you how to bring him back, when you find him; and you will, believe me. Now, I want you to touch each other's Eggs, and hold them softly. Stroke them, and feel the emerging warmth. You will feel a warmth and tingling streaming through your bodies."

  I reached for Greeland's Egg, and began to stroke it, softly petting it, feeling warmth as Greeland touched me in return. As much as I tried to stay awake, my old mind kept drifting deeper into what felt like sleep. It was more solid than the orgasmic wanderings I'd had before. It was not pleasurable. It was more like walking into a small, solitary room and closing the door. I could barely hear Woosh's voice calmly saying, "I want you to give me your wills, both of you. I want you to give me your old will, the will you had before you met each other in the Pool of the Egg. Give this will to me."

  I wondered what he was talking about. I felt so sleepy, so lethargic. The old will hardly existed. I even wondered where it was. If the old will was the uncertain mind I had before walking into this cave, then certainly Woosh had it now. I wasn't fighting him; not one bit. In fact, I had stopped questioning anything. I felt empty. Like I was floating again. Like we were back in the sacred pool. Simply floating.

  Floating in perfect space.

  "Now," Woosh said, "it will be difficult, but you must listen with your other mind. The one that is watching us from just above: your new minds, the ones that you will use on this distant planet. And I want you to take that mind and swallow it. Swallow it like it was seed."

  I'm not sure that I can follow what happened then. Nor can I say I was completely there; completely conscious. All I do remember is feeling lighter, as I swallowed and a force entered my body through my mouth. And while this force—this consciousness from above that would become me—entered myself; my mouth, face, head, and neck became colder; separated from me. And then—as far as I could feel them—they began to disappear. The force went deeper, past my throat and chest—they disappeared. The force went all the way down into my intestines and groin—into the deepest reaches of me—and then stopped, completely, at the Egg.

  "Now," Woosh said. "Have a pleasant journey."

  Chapter Seven

  I believe it must have been an almost perfect afternoon at Jones Beach on Long Island, a short—but usually congested—trip by car from Manhattan. It was early June, and the summer was already there. Sometimes summer came late to the beach. It just popped up out of the cold. Too much heat erupted in July. But this was a warm sweet early summer day. The ocean was like a lazy emerald ribbon next to the sand. The sand hadn't been streaked with soda cans and plastic lotion tubes, used rubbers and those little plastic gizmos that inserted tampons and now crawled out of every body of water in the world.

  The guys were just starting to come out to the nude section at the East End of the beach. There were Italians from Long Island, working on perfect Mediterranean bronzes, and some kids from The City—as the Long Islanders called Manhattan—starting their pre-Fire Island tan lines. Even though it was a Saturday, the beach wasn't jammed, which delighted Wright Smith and Alan Kostenbaum. Wright, two years past forty, had a neat physique. He was short, but looked nice in a bathing suit. He looked even better without one. He made little secret that he was well-hung, and had a cock men simply called "beautiful." It was a gift. Something you noticed in a shower. He could try to speak disinterestedly about it, but he knew his equipment was a turn-on. Score cards would pop up with at least a "9" in three important categories: deluxe length, discreet cut, and fire-hose thickness.

  Wright liked to take his clothes off, and usually he did this as soon as he could at the beach. He and Alan, his lover, would trek out as far as they could from the regular family crowd. Wright would find a spot for themselves, and in a snap take off his clothes. Wright had clear skin and a smooth, well-defined chest with perky small nipples. He also had a cute, tight little butt that he kept that way by regular running and bicycling. His sandy blond hair had a bit of gray, and the laugh lines around his eyes had stopped being a laughing matter. But he still looked appealing with his clothes off, and Jones Beach was one of his favorite places.

  Alan Kostenbaum was not quite as happy. It wasn't so much that Alan lacked physical qualities. He was three inches taller than Wright—almost a full six feet; and there was a kind of rangy, comfortable quality in his height that looked great in clothes. But Alan's body never had Wright's marble definition. His chest was hairy—plain shaggy, in fact—and bony at the same time. His cock never seemed to fit the rest of his frame. It fairly disappeared between his long legs. Men, he believed, were often disappointed in him that way. They expected super schlang, and got only the smaller, discount package.

  But even more frustrating, he could work out till he passed out but he still couldn't change his destined-to-be-a-schlep body. He did sit-ups till his stomach surrendered and finally tightened up. But he still had love-handles. They were like a genetic marker that never went away. His father, who was also tall and sagged in the middle like an old mattress, had them. Alan remembered—as a kid—looking at his father once at a pool, and turning away and saying, "Yuk!"

  He hated love -handles. Wright didn't have one cell, one molecule of them. Alan had tried every form of "spot reduction," and nothing got rid of them. He'd tried hundreds of leg raises, painful sidekicks, days of cruel starvation. Without a single change in the mirror. He'd thou
ght about surgery. He'd thought about sulfuric acid and a stick of dynamite. But nothing seemed to move his love-handles.

  Alan was thirty-four; bright, neurotic, Jewish, intense. Charming, cute, very New York-smart. Herds of hunky guys followed Wright into the dunes. They'd jerk each other off. What else could you do? It was as much fun as you could get, and safe-sex. But they ended up talking with Alan.

  Alan met people. He had little shyness about swimming over to some sleek young man with a gym body—young cock rippling below the water like a spunky little gold fish.

  "Hi, I never noticed you here before." Out came the glowing Alan smile. "Don't you love the beach on days like this? Did you come here by yourself? Are you from New York? By the way, my name is Alan Kostenbaum."

  There was something about using a full name at the beach that seemed so honest. Real. And what was his name? Yes, it was a name Alan would remember. He had a way with names. He worked in the media department of a fast ad agency, and remembering names, positions, birthdays, pet peeves and opera favorites, gym schedules, dick sizes—all the things you needed to remember in New York—Alan was good at it.

  Conversations went quickly from the cold water to hot embraces in the back dunes. Alan knew every nook and sand pit back there. And for the most part, he remembered who he took back there with him. Basically, he was romantic. Wright was colder, happy with just a good whack-off in the dunes, away from the beach traffic. Back there where the trails forked off into narrow hideaways of bay bushes and beach roses. But Alan wanted something more. Something mysterious. Powerful. Sexy. He wanted to meet some luscious young man in the water—and then to go back there to the hot sand and fall in love.

  But it never happened.

  And if it did, what was he going to do with Wright? They'd been together for eight years, and had a nicely oiled agreement worked out: it was alright to go back there in the dunes and whack off. You could suck dick: just make sure no fluids got anywhere except on your skin or the sand. Stay away from tall grasses, there were fleas and ticks. And don't even think of bringing anyone home to Bank Street, where they shared a spacious one-bedroom apartment, with a living room—with a working fireplace.