Through Caverns Measureless to Man

by D G Rose

  Then she shrugged. “Yeah, I need you. I mean, if you’re not too busy to help me save the world.”

  I noted that she’d let the ‘ruse’ drift out of her answer. “Actually, there is something I’d like to do, something we’d like to do, before saving the world, if there’s time.” I looked at Amy for confirmation, then continued. “We’d like to get married. Can you find us a priest or something?”

  I was unprepared for Miranda’s reaction, as she jumped at me and pushed me back against the wall, her arms wrapped tightly around me. “I am like a fucking psychic.” She mumbled into my chest. Then she called out, “Guards!” And I must admit, for a second I thought she was going to have us arrested, but she simply ordered bottles of champagne.

  “This is fancy stuff.” Amy noted, turning one of the bottles over in her hands.

  “Nothing’s too good for my new sis!” Miranda said, as she eased a cork out with a quiet pop.

  “So,” Amy asked. “When can we have the ceremony? It’s not like we have a big guest list, all we need is a priest or official and a nice spot.”

  Miranda laughed. “Everybody in the whole city will want to come. But this is Xanadu, so we can arrange something for tomorrow. We’ll have it in the gardens.” Then she got oddly shy. “You know. I’m… I’m kind of like a priest. If it wouldn’t be too weird, I could perform the ceremony.”

  I started to say that it might be weird, but Amy beat me to it. Of course, she said that it wouldn’t be weird at all. She said that it would be lovely. And, of course, it would be. I really don’t know what I was thinking. Who better than Miranda to officiate at our wedding? Miranda, without who I would never have even had a real conversation with Amy? Miranda, the author of all my blessings, who also happened to be deeply threaded through all my curses?

  “Ok!” Miranda clapped her hands. “Well, then I’m off to wash my priestly robes!” She held up her hand. “Joking! Joking!” She got serious. “I don’t do my own laundry.” Then she smiled. “You two relax, I’ll handle everything. We’ll make it a sunrise wedding.” And she swept out of the room.

  I turned to Amy. “A sunrise wedding! We better get to bed early!”

  And Amy motioned me to the bed. “How about an action nap first?”

  I was on the bed and half undressed, when Miranda swept back in. “Get dressed, Amy.” She ordered. “We have a wedding dress to make.” Then she turned to me. “Just kidding, I don’t make my own dresses.” And Amy and Miranda swept out of the room, leaving me alone.

  But not for long, because soon an army of attendants arrived to turn me from the schulb that I was, into a presentable groom. I was washed and waxed and polished and styled and wrapped within an inch of my life. Clothing was tried on and taken off and altered and retried until I was pronounced acceptable.

  Miranda returned, some hours later. “Where’s Amy?” I asked.

  Miranda waved her hand. “Oh, Amy? Amy will be staying in my rooms tonight. Don’t you know that it’s bad luck to sleep with the bride the night before the wedding?”

  “I’ve never heard that.” I said, not looking forward to a night alone.

  “Well, you’ve heard it now, Bucko!” She replied. “Oooh. This is nice.” She said, holding up my jewel encrusted wedding robe, that made me feel like a prince out of the Thousand and One Nights. “I’ll send someone up to wake you an hour before sunrise. Get some sleep!” And I was alone again.

  I didn’t expect to sleep. I expected to spend a lonely night ruminating on the Mad Dreamer, the Mysterious Package and my Impending Nuptials. But as soon as I closed my eyes, I was being awakened by a servant, with a tray of fruit and a one-hour warning. I lazed in bed for a few minutes and I was denied my breakfast, as the same army of attendants rushed in to put me back in marrying shape.

  Last night was just the dress rehearsal, and they really put their all into it in the morning. When they were finally done with me, I was sure that I would shine in the rising sun like the walls of Xanadu.

  I was led into the gardens that surrounded the Pleasure Dome. We passed between the lilies and the loquats and the roses and the cannas and the heavy-scented ginger-plants that grew in the garden, until we came to great camphor-tree that was called the Camphor Tree of Suleiman-bin-Daoud. There were hundreds of invitees, but they were hidden among the tall irises and the spotted bamboos and the red lillies behind the camphor-tree, so I had the illusion of waiting for Amy alone.

  Soon, Miranda arrived, dressed in her gleaming white priest’s robes and wearing a tall hat that shone in more-than-oriental splendor in the near dawn and would surely be blinding in the light of the full sun.

  She smiled at me. And I smiled back. I was surprisingly nervous. I don’t know why. The wait for Amy seemed interminable. I began to imagine that she wouldn’t show up. That she would leave me waiting at the altar. As the crown of the sun peeked up in the east, I thought I might explode, but then, there she was, stepping out of some half-seen shadow to stand beside me and hook her thumb around my thumb. I wonder if anyone could hear my relief, could feel the way my heart beat, at once faster, but more relaxed. She smiled at me and all the world vanished.

  When the world came back, Miranda was talking. Talking about love. I remember thinking, uncharitably, what does she, with her horny gods and her lustful demons, know about love? But Amy rubbed her thumb against mine and I thought, maybe Miranda knows more about love than I give her credit for.

  And then Miranda asked us if we wished to be married, and I liked how she asked us together and we replied with one voice. “We do.” And then Miranda pronounced us wedded and before I could kiss Amy, Miranda grabbed us both in a hug and so, our first kiss as a married couple had a little Miranda in the mix, just like everything else.

  Then all the people who had been hidden in the tall irises and the spotted bamboos and the red lilies came out of hiding and there were musicians and a procession and once the procession had fully processed, tables of food and drink and an actual champagne fountain.

  It felt like we were introduced to a million people and drank a million toasts. As the day faded into the night, Miranda approached us with a covered plate in her hands. “I made these just for you.” She said as her hand moved to uncover the plate. “Just joking.” She added. “I don’t do my own cooking.” And she lifted the cover to reveal pancakes, both bears and bunnies. And I promised Amy the full story as I wolfed them down. They weren’t the same as mom’s, but they were still good.

  The moon came up and the crowd thinned out. Miranda took us through the garden to the river. She waved at a barge. “For the honeymoon!” She shouted. “Unfortunately, we can only spare a day.” Then she gave us a leering smile. “The barge runs itself. There’s no crew. No one to see anything.” And she waggled her eyebrows.

  I was reluctant to get on a boat. Any boat. And the idea that this boat had no crew, left me both more and less reluctant. It reminded me of the ghostly crew of The Wedding Guest, but at least there was no crew to die as part of some obscure object lesson. But, it was my wedding day, and Amy was smiling and I put my concerns aside and stepped aboard and held out my hand to help Amy. And she fell, laughing, into my arms and all my fears dissolved.

  As soon as we were seated, the barge took off under its own power. We sailed for a while through the gardens, then out into the open sea. Soon all we could see of the gardens were little pinpoints of light. Amy stood up. “No crew.” She said, as her dress dropped around her.

  The barge pulled up on the beach of an island. As soon as we disembarked, the barge pulled back and disappeared into the night sea.

  There was a grove of trees, with a path running through it, lit by torches. Through the trees was a clearing with a bubbling fountain, and then a palace. It was clear that this palace had not been built by human hands. We entered. Golden pillars supported an arched roof, inlaid with fragrant citrus and cedar woods. The walls were covered with silver panels, worked through with desig
ns of animals and forest scenes. They were marvelously done and almost threatened to leap off the walls. The floors were set with colorful seashells and jewels.

  Amy leaned in to whisper to me. “It’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

  And I laughed and she laughed too. Because it was a bit much, like a palace built by someone who had heard about them in fairytales but had never seen one in real life.

  But there was a warm bath waiting, scented with sandalwood, and the bed was soft and food was always laid out on tables throughout the palace. So, we passed our wedding night.

  The next day, we swam in the ocean in the early morning light and lay on the beach and an unseen squadron of servants kept us supplied with everything we could want.

  We took a nap, then ate lunch on the beach, iced beer and chilled crab salad (apparently Amy’s vegetarianism doesn’t extend to shellfish, something to do with spinal cords). Even though the decorations were over the top, it felt good to get away, away from all the activity and just have a little time to be alone with Amy, my wife. Wow, that feels great!

  However, the return of the barge reminded me that we were still enmeshed in Miranda’s plans. I wanted to dawdle, but the barge bobbed impatiently, so we grabbed our things, got back on the barge and waved goodbye to our honeymoon island.

  I admit I was sad to see the trees drop below the horizon.

  “No crew.” Amy whispered in my ear.

  CHAPTER 33 – Can I tell you a joke?

  Miranda greeted us at the dock. “The dreamquakes are getting worse. We need to do the ceremony tonight. I see you’ve got the package.”

  We’d felt the quakes too. I nodded. “What all’s involved?”

  Miranda led us along the path through the gardens, back to the Pleasure Dome. “It’s a simple ceremony. The Mad Dreamer himself left us the instructions. Everything is ready. You’ll need a bath. It’s traditional to bathe before coming into the presence of the Dreamer. But the ceremony itself won’t take more than half an hour.” She gave me a quick smile. “No blood or anything. It’s more like a dance.”

  “Can I come, too?” Amy asked. “Or is this just a sibling’s thing?”

  Miranda shrugged. “The instructions are kind of vague on the participants. I’m sure it will be alright for you to watch. In fact, I’d like you to visit the Dreamer.” Miranda stopped. “I know you weren’t invited, originally, but I think you’ve been a big part of the process of getting us, Nicky, from there to here. I think you deserve to see how this quest ends.”

  Amy took her hand. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

  So, we went back to our suite and took a bath. It was a little bittersweet to wash off the smell of beach and barge, but I wouldn’t want to break some tradition by coming into the presence of the Mad Dreamer in less than pristine condition.

  Miranda barged in while we were toweling dry. “Oh good! You’re all clean.” She said as we wrapped ourselves up. She held out a pair of gleaming white robes. “Just put these on when you’re dry.” She laid them on a bench and barged out again.

  We put on the robes. They were strange and shapeless, just rectangles of cloth with holes cut for heads and arms. Amy looked beautiful.

  Eventually, Miranda came back. She was, also, dressed in a pure white robe. “Come on. The Dreamer’s apartments are just through this doorway.”

  She held the curtain open and we walked through and found ourselves in the presence of the Mad Dreamer.

  He lay, as you would expect, asleep, on a bed. Dressed in a shapeless white robe, just like the ones we all wore. There was nothing particularly unusual about him, nothing that screamed ‘God’ or even ‘late 18th Century – early 19th Century English Romantic poet’. I watched him for a moment, the subtle movement of his chest, the soft sounds of his breathing. Neb had made it sound like to see the Mad Dreamer was to be left with no doubt of his divinity, but I felt nothing.

  “So,” I said. “What’s the process?”

  Miranda looked nervous. “I assume that you aren’t familiar with the poem Kubla Kahn?”

  We nodded to indicate that we were not, in fact, familiar with the poem.

  “Well.” She began. “I think the poem is the key. The Mad Dreamer is the author and he dreamt the entire poem, then when he woke, he went to write it down, but he was disturbed, by a visitor, a Person from Porlock, and when his visitor had gone, so had his memory of the poem. So,” She continued. “All we have is a fragment. Just twenty-four lines of what was a much longer dream-poem. But, the fact that his dreams take so much form from those twenty-four lines, to me, is proof of how important they were to the Dreamer, himself. The Caverns Measureless to Man, Alph, the Sacred River, the Caves of Ice, Xanadu, and the Pleasure Dome are all from that fragment of a poem.”

  She took a deep breath and recited from memory.

  In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

  A stately pleasure-dome decree:

  Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

  Through caverns measureless to man

  Down to a sunless sea.

  So twice five miles of fertile ground

  With walls and towers were girdled round;

  And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

  Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

  And here were forests ancient as the hills,

  Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

  But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted

  Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

  A savage place! as holy and enchanted

  As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted

  By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

  That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

  And all who heard should see them there,

  And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

  His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

  Weave a circle round him thrice,

  And close your eyes with holy dread

  For he on honey-dew hath fed,

  And drunk the milk of Paradise.

  And I must say, it made some things a lot clearer for me. Just like she’d said, I heard in the poem many things that I’d seen on our journey. Not everything. I mean, I guess if he was a poet he must have written more than one fragmentary poem, so it made sense that there were other things in his dreams.

  Amy spoke first. “So what’s this ceremony? You said that the Mad Dreamer left instructions. I didn’t hear anything that sounded like an instruction in that poem. Did he leave a letter or something?”

  Miranda closed her eyes. “Weave a circle round him thrice and close your eyes in holy dread, for he on honey-dew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise.”

  “Those are your instructions?” Amy asked.

  Miranda nodded. “I mean, they’re not a hundred percent clear, but put them together with what is known about the Dreamer and we’ve got a ceremony that we think will keep us all safe.”

  “So, what’s in the package?” I asked.

  Miranda looked at me like I should already know. “Why, honey-dew and the milk of Paradise, of course.”

  “Oh.” I shrugged. “And what’s with all the customs stamps?”

  “Well, the poem’s not completely clear. So, we thought that the weave a circle part, it might mean just walk in a circle around the Mad Dreamer, I mean, as he lies here in his bed, but then we thought maybe the Mad Dreamer is, you know, bigger than that. Maybe the Mad Dreamer is the whole dream. So, we decided to send it around the entire world, the world of the Dream and the world outside the Dream, trice. You know, just to be safe.”

  And then it was all clear to me. I don’t know how I’d missed it all this time. Miranda; despite her veneer of super-competence, she had no fucking idea what she was doing. She was grasping at a lost hope.

  As I listened to Miranda, stuttering on about the ceremony that she was sure would keep the Dreamer dreaming forever, my hand drifted down and brushed the hem o
f the Dreamer’s robe.

  Instantly, I found myself in complete darkness. A dark darker than any I’ve ever experienced. A primordial dark, and without knowing how, I understood that this dark stretched to infinity. I was in a world that had never known light. Even the concept was escaping me.

  There came a voice in the darkness, “Fiat lux!” and in the corner of my eye, I caught a dim light that gradually brightened until the dark escaped and I saw the Mad Dreamer standing before me in an expanse of undifferentiated brightness.

  He rubbed his hands together and cackled a laugh. “I love doing that.” He said.

  “I don’t get it.” I shook my head.

  “I’d explain it, but explaining a joke is like dissecting a toad. You understand it better, but it dies.” He said, pulling a chair out of nowhere and sitting down.

  “Fine!” He said, as if I’d said something. “Fiat Lux are the first words God speaks in the Vulgate, the Latin Bible. In English, they translate to ‘Let there be light’. There. Now you understand it. Now it’s dead.” He finished with a petulant look.

  But I wasn’t really listening to his explanation, because as he spoke, the light all around us began to roil and boil. I saw the creation of the Caverns Measureless to Man, with measurelessness built into them as a fundamental feature. I saw the Tower rise and God take his place in its upper reaches, accompanied by the host of angels. I saw the Sunless Sea, carved from the rock and filled with brine, a contradictory sun placed in its sky. I saw Xanadu created, its trees and its rivers and its glittering walls. I saw the willows and the Dreamer was the willow. I saw the water buffalo, and the Dreamer was the buffalo. He created the rice in its paddy, and he was the rice. He was the banks of the sacred river, Alph, and he was the water flowing over the riverbed. He was the man dreaming in the Pleasure Dome in Xanadu, and he was the dream.

  I saw the Mad Dreamer rimed and silhouetted by the very fires of Creation. And I thought, here, here is a god. Not some horny goat-god like the Great God Pan, whose only powers seemed to be an endless erection and teleportation that goes awry, although he was undoubtedly attractive. Nor some power grasping godlette, like Glittering Phoenix. No, here was a true creator, a god whose every whim is made manifest. And I knew what they meant when they say that we swim in his dreams.