CHAPTER 37
She was expecting him.
Dalores laid down to sleep, no, to dream—she wanted to dream...in her dreams he had never left, never disappeared, and it was through her dreaming that she knew she’d bring him back.
“You’re the one to bring him back,” so Lonny said, reading the hexagram just thrown: coin oracle: Hsien. “It’s about influencing, in the sense of wooing. There are two, here: Tui, the Joyous Lake and Ken, Keeping Still, Mountain.” She reads from the text, “Ken is the youngest son. Tui, the youngest daughter. Thus the universal mutual attraction between the sexes is represented.”
Dalores waits, keeps still...her waters do not stir.
“Nine in the fifth, plus it moves,” not meaning much to Dalores, “The influence shows itself in the back of the neck.” Pauses. Looks at Dalores, drips into her, “No remorse.”
No remorse.
No remorse that The Corn is no longer The Corn. As most knew, sensed, intuited—but who was holding onto things, these days?! As they left to be with men again—time alone, time not alone—several maintained their relationships...others left the state and The Corn...others only visited now and then—those who talked, remembered the best and encouraged each other, “No remorse.”
It was when they had all left, that first night back out to where they once had been—different each was, but it was a going back into a now for a future—that night, the first night she began expecting Frank.
Dalores dreams..she is the joyous lake atop the mountain...realizing that as lake she looks up to the Sky for thirst, for expectation—her fluidity, that she can so easily forget the mountain, the dirt, the rocks, what holds her up: cups he …Frank’s broad hands around her bubbly breasts: she is a nymph, cavorting, watching him as he tests her—toe, then a dipped foot...he shivers, but he disrobes: his nakedness shines...like the sun descending at day’s end, he startles her by diving ever so quickly into and under her waters: night has fallen…but he bursts up again!
“Dalores,” the birds sing—twitter and caw and sing—Dalores!
Frank’s hand—rubbing the back of her neck, gently, whispering fingers, echoing breaths, “Dalores, honey”... and in a bursting flash like fire-flies in the darkest of night they appear each to the other...rush madly up and into arms and down swooping with bodies like rain in the sunshine, pounding, pelting flesh with kisses: face and neck and hands and hugs deep into the caves of each other’s heart—hearts beating, loudly beating, deafening…she is without words, only tears...tears which fill up the room, bring them to high tide—they plunge under, into the wetness of their togetherness: swim away from what is above, what is known, what is daytime and plunge deeper and deeper into that of themselves which is unknown.
It can’t be real!
Each had said, has said, is saying, time and again—finger-tipping the objective, hard reality of soft cheeks...placing her hand on his firm biceps...rolling his face in the pillow of her breasts…“It can’t be real!”
Reality—“What can I say? It happened.” Shear amazement. Dalores is stunned. It is like the “Movie of the Week.” An episode right off the tube. But with a storyline which could only be happening now—Spies! Cold War. Hot War. “I’ve met the enemy...it is us!”
Ha!
The unreality of it all brought tears to Frank’s eyes—eyes which followed her as she led him, not telling him, not knowing how to tell him—into the nursery: Jack’s old room (“Jack’s doing time in Stillwater,” would have to wait till later)…only the grave had prepared him for this—the shock: to be shocked at such a gut level, ontological, his being...rocked by the gaping hole which respected him not…Frank faints: buckles at the knees and falls like slow snow...dry snow, falls and heaps, not into any shape or form that she can see, for there is constant motion to his body, his being, it’s like he is being reshaped by an ethereal wind right before her eyes—only the Pain is what she shares with him—Pain which seeps from his every pore and orifice, but Pain which she comforts with her Heart...places her Heart atop her chest and lets its healing Grace fall upon him—heal him: comfort him...she brings him back; restores.
Smelling salts and a strong cup of whiskey lace java, propping him against the wall, unable to lift his dead-weight…he gradually wakes: more like molts—struggles, works to revive himself, observing himself as if he were sitting on the roof looking down into the room—Dalores with children at breasts.
“They couldn’t wait!” she whispers, not needing to whisper but does whisper, somewhat embarrassed, awkward in the moment, wishing that she could pay full attention to him…“Earth Mother,” Frank chuckles, an under-the-breath chuckle which he slips over towards her...it is the total loving of the moment which raises him, like a pulley and a hoist...he is up and beside her and with them.
The thrill of the moment, the absolute thrilling on every level—body, mind, soul, spirit—Frank wants to shut the doors, launch the house into outer space, live forever only with them…he holds one, the other, both...gazes into their eyes and is knocked speechless...he aches, every part of him aches: memory, hope, desire.
“My god, D, what are their names?”
She laughs...almost a naughty, hand-in-the-cookie-jar giggle.
“Everyone wanted me to name them, right away. When I didn’t, some criticized me for being in denial. I mean, I knew you’d be back. But I couldn’t say that. Didn’t...so, I just called them Moon and Sun—it got them off my back.”
Frank smiles: “They’re all idiots!” pain-twinged empathetic smile.
“Only today, this afternoon, Lonny cast the I Ching—I knew you were getting into that...it seemed right—Ken and Tui,” she pronounced it “Twee.”
She showed him the hexagram. He studied the text and commentary for some time. “There’s a moving line here. Know what that means?” She nods.
“Sheng. Pushing Upward.” Drops into silent reading. “Departure towards the south brings good fortune,” he could not, did not, read that to her: San Diego—whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to judge it good fortune.
Out loud: “Wood in the Earth grows upward.” He puts down the book and looks fixedly into her eyes, “That’s us. Pure and simple.”
Ken and Tui—having voyaged to get here...jumping onto quantum tracks and through aeonic tunnels, tumbling and rolling up and down and through—gathering their being: enhancing it, inflating it, molding it—cells biological and psychic: receiving from them, these two companion divines—Earth Mother and Sky Father—taking their desires, their hopes and weaving their dreams...they becoming their dreams—sucked through from the other side...coming here, together: brother sister: moon sun: ken tui...laughter. “
“They laugh and giggle at everything!” His stoned cold sober astonishment pleasured her deeply—the mystery of their life as family was just beginning.
Dalores leaves him alone, rocking on the antique homestead rocker she had preserved as a Great Granny keepsake...rocking with each little package of delight and pleasure—hearing them squeal, with little squeaks like baby pigs: pigs in a blanket—so she sighs with pleasured relief, satisfaction, almost unbelief as she moves out of the room leaving Frank with Ken and Tui...absorbed in their smiles, captivated by their laughs...snuggled into his arms: right one, left one: Seeing is Believing!
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