That night I had a long sad dream. I dreamed I was standing on a rocky beach, and the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas and the sand was illuminated by a fire. Dark haired men and women were laughing; they danced and sang and played music. Some were old and some were very young but all were draped in silky flowing fabrics red, white, green and brown. The women's earlobes, wrists and necks sparkled with dangling silver jewelry. In the distance a castle loomed into veiw on the rocky cliffs overlooking the shoreline, yellow lights burning in it's turrets. Then at the edge of the fire something bright drew everyone's gaze, a lovely young girl, golden haired, dressed in the tudor fashion, with a french hood and wearing a gold necklace. Her belly swelled out in front of her and her pale skin glowed in the firelight. She smiled at them and said something I couldn't understand, as people in dreams often speak. She took off her necklace and gave it to an older woman who called someone's name. An old man with long silver hair drifted over and sat on the sand next to the girl, and carefully he looked at her palm, saying something else I didn't quite hear. She seemed enthralled to be here, learning her future. She smiled at a handsome young man, who was playing a fiddle.
Suddenly the gypsies started, something had drawn their gaze. Then several women screamed as a dozen or more soldiers descended upon the beach, their iron shields glowing dully in the firelight. They laid waste to their camp, grabbing logs from the enormous fire and setting the tents aflame, making the misty sea night a white hot blaze. They rounded up the gypsies, though some escaped into the wild night. Among those captured was the silver haired old man, screaming, bloody, his cries awful to hear.
The scene dissolved and I was walking on a moonlit path, drawn by a strange clanking sound. I came upon a high castle wall, empty but for one tiny window close to the ground. I peered inside and gasped. I was looking down on a terrible dungeon filled with black iron devices; chains, levers, wheels that clanked as they turned. Spots of bright red illuminated the dungeon, spots that were hot metal iron prods that seared the flesh of the gypsies, making them cry out in agony. People lay naked upon the rack, being stretched until their bones snapped with sickening crunches. And that old silver haired man, he was strapped to a chair, and stripped for the humiliation of it; a chair with three inch iron spikes all over it. He was made to sit on high and watch as they tortured his family and friends. He didn't make a sound, only wet tears slid down his face. While men in black hoods did the touturing, a fat friar stood next to a richly dressed man, about fifty, handsome, blonde and bearded. The bearded man nodded to the friar and seemed to congradulate him on his excellent torture skills. Then the friar ordered the black hoods to stop, and he spoke to the room at large, perhaps asking them to confess to witchcraft, as I'd learned in my studies was one of their tricks. They tortured people into confessions, and often they did confess just to make the pain stop. The old man nodded, his tears coming down the whole time.
The scenery changed again.
I stood in a crowd of people in the middle of a town square, where a raised platform stood. Across the way more gypsies were sealed in wooden cages, crying, and screaming. I watched as ten gypsies stood and awaited their turn at the gallows. One by one, they went, holding their bruised and bloody heads high, while the crowd jeered and threw rotten vegetables at them. Some of them spat at the crowd and cursed, but all were suspended, their boots twitching and urine flowing down their legs. At last the old man was led to the nuce. They slipped it around his neck while a priest read his last rites, and the crimes he was charged with. The old man opened his mouth and said something in a strange language. The gypsies in the cages grew quiet, their ashen faces turned hard and solumn. Then the executioner pulled the lever.
The crowd roared, their bloodlust satisfied, and began to disperse. The remaining gypsies were carted away in their wooden cages. I ran through the crowd trying to see where they were being taken. I looked down upon a harbor where a ship swayed in the tide, waiting to take the gypsies away to America, to be slaves for the rich. The dark young man who'd smiled at the wealthy girl on the night of the raid stood in the back. He looked back to the square, his face contorted in rage, and in his hands he clutched a silver locket.
The world became awash in whirling colors while I despaired in what I had seen, but it wasnt over.
When the world reformed I sat in the middle of a smoky room, though not much else had appeared. The longer I looked the more I saw. The glint of short stout glasses filled with amber liquids. The shabby wooden walls, the tiny rickety tables. Black folks hanging over one another, laughing, bouncing, in zoot suits and mermaid skirts. They all had their eyes pointed to a corner of the room where a lovely young thing belted out a tune. She wore a tiny black hat upon her softly waved hair, with what looked like a jeweled fishnet veil coming down over just her eyes, so you could see her lips round and full, rose red, spilling forth sweet melody. She gyrated full, swelling hips in a gold colored dress patterned with black rhinestone butterflies. Her hands wearing white gloves gestured and swayed with her voice. Her eyes sparkled with laughter and youth, she couldn't have been more than sixteen. An old fellow played the piano with dark glasses on and gold tooth that showed for he was smiling so wide. He called to her something, and the other men in the bar whistled and called out too. Then the door opened and a slight pale youth stood there in the amber glow of the room. He held his hat in his hands and spoke softly as though he were frightened. The old man at the piano shouted to him and the other men in the room let out booming laughs. Then for the first time, the youth lifted his eyes and stared at the dark beauty with her golden silk voice. He said something else and the girl gave the old fellow a look. He stood up abruptly and gestured the youth over jerkily. The young man scrambled over, smiling nervously at the girl. He sat at the piano and began to play a smooth melody. The girl smiled as she recognized the slow song and began to sing in such a tone that the occupants of the bar all grew silent and still, and even the bartender froze in the middle of rubbing a glass with a rag. I knew I was crying.
Not wanting to see any more, I ran ran ran for the door and as soon as I threw it open, the colors began whirling again.
I began to see snippets of things, the scenes were going faster. I saw a young blonde with tears streaming down her cheeks, standing on the railing of a bridge while an icy river gushed beneath her, a green cadillac flipping multiple times on a crowded highway, a pale flaxen haired child coughing and gasping, his eyes wide and staring as he tried to hold on to life, a young man in a hospital bed cutting his feeding tube with tears in his eyes, a short blonde girl stuffing white doughnuts into her mouth one after another, crying all the while, another young man coughing and heaving with a brittle old woman in his arms, while a fire roared behind him, an older dark haired man, crumpling softly to the ground on a beautiful summer day, a horrifiying scene of a woman on fire, and finally an elderly woman holding a chestnut haired baby in her arms, crying for the loss of her son and his teenage bride. I rushed out the door of that old rustic colonial house, blinded by tears, into the misty pine forest all around.
As I ran away from the death, the pain, and the shocking heaviness of all those burdens that were mine to bear now, it began to snow. The snow turned into a blizzard, and soon the world was a white wash with dark trees standing tall. I stumbled into a clearing, the snow billowed all around me. I was shivering so much and my feet were so numb that I fell into the snow to die like all the others. I waited for death to come and take me. Then, faintly I saw a light ahead of me. I lifted my head to stare as a white orb drifted through the trees. As it reached the clearing, it materialized into the form of a blonde girl, wearing a white early twentieth century dress. Her clothes were so bright it made the surrounding snow look grey. She came to me, a luminous happiness on her face. There was an odd glow about her, like her skin was giving off energy. She reached down and touched me and suddenly I had the strength to rise. Corinne reached out and touched my arm and I felt warmth from her fingertips.
More lights began to appear in the trees, moving closer all the time, and when they reached the clearing, they became people I recognized. Three lights had turned to three people with beautiful strong muscular bodies and dark hair; wearing white leotards. Dancing parents and their boy came toward me and put their hands on my body. Another light came and Bart Winslow touched me. Two more lights; Paul and Henny come to lend me their strength. Then came two young teenagers, with faces so like Adrians'. A family of four: beautiful blonde twins, ushered by their smiling young parents. Olivia, not so tall at last, her face so soft, less harsh, stolen youth restored, she held Alicia's hand; friends at last. Finally a man came toward me with dark brown eyes and golden skin-my own father! He looked at me with such pride. He took my chin in his hand and kissed my forehead. They all kept their hands on me, smiling lovingly, and I cried tears of shock, looking at my unknown family of the dead who seemed more alive than ever. Their eyes said quietly, we're with you.
As I woke in my teenage bed, with the afteroon sunlight streaming in, I cried, but not with sadness, with a strange mixture of joy and surprise.
I went into the living room to find Adrian fully dressed and playing cards with my mother while my grandmother sat on the back porch in her rocker. My mother was laughing heartily, and I sensed something satisfied in her. Perhaps now that she knew who her father was, she'd found that inner peace she was always chanting about.
"Sleep much?" he said, his eyes smiling.
I stuck out my tongue at him as I headed for the bathroom.
That evening after dinner, as Adrian and I prepared for our redeye flight to Maine, my grandmother pressed into my hands a large wooden box. She said it contained what I needed to do my part in eradicating the curse and cleansing the house. Then she and my mother both kissed me and said farewell, giving Adrian glowing looks of approval. As I stared out of my small window, watching the lights of the Big Easy drift by below me, I wondered what life would be like the next time I saw my mother and grandmother. I wondered what kind of tale I'd have for them then. One of victory? Or one of crushing defeat?