EDWARD'S STRANGE DREAM
A/N. I am indebted to Charlotte Bronte for her immortal lovers, Edward and Jane Rochester. This story takes place at Ferndean some time after their marriage. I also acknowledge a debt to Washington Irving for his great stories and characters—especially, in this case, Rip van Winkle.
They were sleeping together in the big old bed: it was early morning when he began to move about and complain; at first she couldn't make out what the matter was—then suddenly he sat up and exclaimed, "No, no I don't want to be here, let me go back! Jane, Jane!"
"Edward, I am right here", she said, laying her hand on his arm.
"Oh, thank God, it must have been a dream—it was so strange though: everything was so clear-- sounds, colors, even odors; I could swear I can feel the texture of the grass yet, and feel the heat of the day. I've never had a dream like that before."
"Really? What was it like? All I know is that you woke me up saying you didn't want to be there."
"What was that book you were reading to me last night? It was such a strange story—all about that fellow who took a nap and woke up many years later. He had an odd name, Rip? Yes that's it—Rip van Winkle. I think it must have been why I dreamed like this—although it still doesn't clarify some of the details. There were things I saw that I still don't understand."
"But, we don't always understand our dreams—I've had some odd ones myself, you know."
"Not quite like this one, even so—listen and I'll try to tell you what I saw and experienced—it was so peculiar, that I'm not sure I can even find the words to tell you how strange it was.
"I had apparently been asleep, just like Rip, under a tree when I woke up and this was what unfolded--
" The sun was warm on my face as I lay under the tree. There was a light breeze tickling my cheeks and somewhere in the distance I could hear a lazy bee-like drone. It was the odors that first got my attention; instead of the warm country scents of animals and crops—I was smelling something else; smoky and heavy like oil lamps, perhaps. Then, there were the sounds—growls, rumbles and hisses. I remembered the steam packet boat I had used to cross the Channel recently—yes, these were mechanical sounds I was hearing. Maybe it was time for me to open my eyes and discover the cause of this strange feeling of dislocation.
"What I saw was nothing I had ever imagined—some forty feet away, a large oblong carriage had come to a stop—Jane, there were no horses to pull it! As I sat watching, a door opened on the side of this vehicle and a quantity of people came striding out of the interior. They were normal enough to look at, at first; and then I saw the differences—first of all, they were of more than one race—there were many types I have seen in my travels—Africans, Asians, Southern Europeans, even Indians. One is not likely to see so many types together in one place here in England, though. That was when I began to wonder where I was.
"The next thing I saw was that not all were men, even though they were wearing some sort of pantaloons. The women were wearing the same clothes as the men! Perhaps I exaggerate a bit—some of the ladies were wearing skirts, but they were scandalously short: their ankles were not only exposed but so were most of their legs, I did not know where to look. The men were also rather informal—almost no one had a hat and very few wore coats. Most of them were carrying some sort of parcel or bag and they moved rapidly off to an area I had not at first noticed.
"I saw a sort of field filled with some sort of carriages: different shapes, different sizes, and all colors. Once again, I saw no horses! As I watched I saw people opening doors on these vehicles, getting in, and then there would be a sort of coughing sound and then a soft roar and these objects would move away under their own power.
"Then came one of the stranger things: nearby me I heard a sudden loud roar and very much startled I looked around and saw a two-wheeled machine with a person on top, riding as though on a horse. I'm sure it was a person but there as no way to know any more as he had on some sort of helmet with a visor which obscured his face even though it was transparent like glass. He went off with a great deal of noise.
"I heard another sound—a sort of chopping series of beats, when I looked up I saw a machine in the sky! That was all I could stand—surely there has to be some limit to the human imagination! Bad enough that people were going about insufficiently clothed. Strange enough that there were no horses to pull the carriages. But flying machines—how could that be possible—surely it goes against the laws of physics!
"That was when it came to me that this was a very noisy place I was in. I was beginning not to like it at all and then I woke up, thank goodness!"
"That's quite an adventure you had—I'm sorry I couldn't share it with you. I think maybe these American authors have too much imagination. Perhaps we should read some of the stories those German brothers wrote—I understand that the Grimm brothers always have a moral connected to their stories—even as they entertain us with their ideas."
"I'm not so sure I need so much imagination in my literary diet—perhaps we'll try a nice soothing set of sermons instead—those are usually guaranteed to be soporific as well as improving to the mind! Bye the bye, it would probably improve me no end if I were to have a kiss right now, and then perhaps we could think about Breakfast."
"At your service, my dear, but only one kiss?"
"As many as you can spare, my little fairy!"
That's all there is to this one-shot—I hope you liked it—please read and review.