CONNECTIONS
1931
Ardeth lay down to sleep, but he found he couldn't close his eyes longer than five minutes before they'd spring open again. Something was wrong and out of place, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. A foreboding sense of doom was eating away at him, gnawing his heart. He felt like this only when something bad was about to happen. He had felt this way before, and his intuition had not been off kilter. He was troubled by visions of a woman. Although his thoughts often turned to Sharîk at night, unlike his other visions, these didn't involve her. This woman was one he thought he might have some connection to, but he didn't understand what that connection was. It was strange. Within his dream, he called this woman "Sharîk," but it was more than obvious she wasn't. Her hair was shoulder length and a bizarre shade of blonde or golden brown. It was the color of desert sand. Her eyes were hazel with gold flecks running throughout. Her face had very delicate fine-boned features accentuated by full lips that longed to be touched. Her skin was a peachy hue, and in his dreams, it seemed to glow and create a delectable aura. She was most obviously American, but she never spoke English, even when he used the language. However, neither of them had any trouble understanding each other. When the dreams first began to assault him, he could never remember anything about them. The only image that lay within him was her basic looks, but if he were to meet her, he wasn't sure he would recognize her. This woman, this amrîkâni [American], was nothing like Sharîk, not even remotely close. Yet, in his dreams, didn't he seem to have deep feeling for her? Didn't it feel as if he loved her? He hadn't loved anyone since he lost Sharîk, and he didn't see that changing anytime in the future.
He no longer thought of these night visitations as dreams. They were 'visions.' He was certain they were leading to some great struggle. When the visions first came to him, they were nothing more than rehashed images of his past and thoughts of his lost love. Every now and then, Ardeth would see images of Sharîk's son as well. Eventually, they began to change in duration and content. His lost love became this other woman. Just last night, he had had an even stranger vision. Within it, he awakened, not sure if he were still awake or dreaming. He was sleeping in a strange bed surrounded by darkness. He didn't recognize anything in the room. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw strange furniture that didn't fit in his time. The bed didn't fit. Where was he? He wasn't alone in the bed; there was someone next to him. When he glanced at her, he saw the amrîkâni imra'a [American woman] who had come to haunt him nightly. She lay snuggled against him intimately. Neither of them was dressed. He saw himself looking down at her, feeling incredible love surging through him. How could he love this woman? He had never seen her before. Her unusual name was fluid on his tongue, but he couldn't recall it no matter how hard he concentrated. He touched her and ran his hand down her warm arm. It felt like a real touch, as if he were experiencing it as he saw it. She opened her eyes and gazed up into his. Her finger traced lightly over his bottom lip and he responded by kissing the tip of her finger. It felt real, it felt his. Why did this image torment him so? Was it because he couldn't fathom the idea of loving another? Did he think he was betraying Sharîk by feeling this way? He had never touched Sharîk intimately, had only tasted her lips one time. He couldn't dishonor his friend or his marriage. Yet, he had never given his heart to another. While Ardeth brooded over his visions, he fell asleep and began to dream again.
* * *
Ardeth came into a room he had grown accustomed to, but still had difficulty understanding its amenities. This was a different time and place. He had no trouble recognizing that, but the thought didn't seem to disturb him much. His clothing was different, drastically so. Instead of the robes he had donned since his early years, he was wearing khaki dungarees and a button-down shirt. He had seen his friend, O'Connell, wearing such clothing, but he never had donned them before. She had insisted that he 'modernize' to fit in to this new world. The woman who would become his lover, Leven, stood in the middle of the room gazing at him. He wasn't certain, but he thought this was before he had ever touched her. He felt reluctant to move toward her, although he wanted to, he wanted to very badly. It was clear to him that she felt the same, but she seemed to be waiting for him to make the first move. He didn't disappoint her. He closed the distance between them in a few swift steps. Although he felt a great urge to grab her and slam her up against his body, he didn't take that route. This woman was special to him and he wanted to take his time, to explore her, and allow her to do the same to him. He kissed her, softly at first, but then it deepened as soon as he felt her lips parting. His tongue entered her mouth and he again found that there was something familiar about her kiss and her taste. He backed away, finally realizing Leven's connection to him. She stood back and gazed at him. He couldn't stand to see the hurt in her eyes. She was plainly asking him if she had done something wrong. He couldn't speak, couldn't move. Her lips, the taste of her mouth, were just like Sharîk. It couldn't be. It could not be.
Ardeth gazed at Leven helplessly. "Mîn? Sharîk?" ["Who? Sharîk?"] He felt as if he were losing his mind. He had touched those lips before, tasted them. This woman stood before him, so unlike his lost love, but with the same sweet, sweet kiss.
"Who is Sharîk," she asked gazing up at him just as helplessly as he gazed down at her.
He couldn't answer. The words didn't come to him. Instead of speaking, he took her in his arms and held her close against him, inhaling her scent, touching her glorious hair. He was lost in her, completely and totally lost. He knew he didn't want to be found, not ever. As his hands wandered restlessly down her back, he didn't care if he ever returned to his own time. However, he knew he couldn't stay with her. If he did, he'd destroy not only his world, but hers as well. He didn't want the weight of that fate resting on his shoulders. For a moment, he despised being sent on this journey. It seemed as if some higher power was trying to test him. In the back of his mind, he heard the protests, heard the whispers. It wasn't supposed to happen, he was not allowed to touch her like this, to fall in love with her. Did he love her because of her connection to Sharîk? Or did he love her for her? It was a great dilemma, one he was not prepared to deal with, not at this moment. All he wanted was to make love to her, to touch her soul as she had touched his. He drew away from her and brushed her hair back from her temple. Her face held the same perplexed look that had consumed her moments ago. She wanted to speak to him, but he wouldn't let her. He placed two fingers over her lips and shook his head. She was completely lost in his eyes. Dark already, they darkened even more as his desire for her went up fifteen octaves. At first, he thought he could deny her, but knew that now, it was impossible. He would eventually have to tell her about Sharîk, but for a moment, he put it into the very back of his mind. As he took her lips once again, thoughts of his lost love swiftly left him. Had she possessed his soul to a degree that she had chased away his grief? Was that possible?
His dream shifted and he saw her laying against him, her arms wrapped firmly about his waist. Perhaps it wasn't meant for him to see anything before that. Her skin was warm and soft beneath his hands. He again had the sense of actually touching her, not just dreaming of it. Who was she? Where was he? Why did he feel so out of place, yet so at home? He also had the sense that he would only be with her a short time, but he didn't understand why. He didn't know why he had been sent to her, or had she been sent to him? No, that couldn't be. She wasn't in his time, he was in hers. He had never felt so confused in his life. She slept soundly against him and he found his hand moving toward her hair. He couldn't seem to stop touching it. It felt like a silky fan as it glided over his skin. Although his dream had conveniently skipped over their lovemaking, an image came very clear and strong in his mind. She had been atop him; her head thrown back, her body arched severely. The very end of her hair touched him, seemingly stroking him as gently as he stroked her. MaHbûb Allâh [Dear God]. It was an image that would likely haunt him in his waking hours. It wasn't a bad feeling. It was one that offered comfort and warmth. Ana abadan riRib la Daiya' inti [I never want to lose you], he thought. Ill fated. It was ill fated.
* * *
Present DayA sound left Leven's throat [uh] as she awoke. She sat straight up in bed and gazed around at her empty room. Her tiny, compartmentalized bed was empty. She could have sworn there was someone next to her. She had felt the heat from another body. It was the good, comforting heat of a man. Yet, the instant she opened her eyes, there was nothing more than a stuffed animal next to her. She had heard a soft voice whispering to her, speaking a language she had come to recognize but didn't know the origin. Goddamn it. Her mind had been fucked up since she had gone to bed with the mysterious man known as Caldo. She had thought she recognized him, but once she awoke from her spell, she didn't. He wasn't the one she wanted, was he? He wasn't the one named something with an "A." He was a man from out of town looking for a good time and she had played right into his hands. She glanced at the clock and noticed it was just after four in the morning. In another hour and a half, she would have to rise to ready herself for her long, boring day at the pawnshop. However, she couldn't go back to sleep no matter how hard she tried. The dream had left her wide-awake with adrenaline coursing through her veins.
The dream man had been making love to her again, touching her hair. She had seen his face so very clearly. As much as Ardeth had thought before her [in his own time], she probably wouldn't recognize him if he came up to her and bonked her on the head. She thought she would only recognize him by his kiss. There was something about him that she couldn't quite identify. He was special to her; he meant something to her, didn't he? If he didn't, why did she continue to dream about him? He was a man completely unlike any she had ever met in her life. There was something different about his face. She had the image branded in her mind during her dream, but the moment she awoke, it was gone, swept away like so much dust. It had begun to drive her nuts. Her mind stayed preoccupied nearly twenty-four hours a day. She couldn't work, sleep, or eat. When she went to bed at night, she felt terrified and deliciously anxious at the same time. Scraps of images from the dreams had stayed with her, and she began to wonder about the identity of this mystery lover. Who was he? Where was he? Why wasn't he with her at this very moment? His name always seemed to be at the very tip of her tongue, but when she tried to speak it, she could never think of it. She turned to her side and absently caressed the empty space beside her. She drew her hand away in shock. It was warm. No fucking way. She touched it again. Again, she felt a bit of warmth. She shook her head incredulously. She was such a damn dope. Just because her bed was warm didn't mean anything, now did it? It was small with barely enough room for her body. How could anyone else lie with her without being smack up against her? She could have easily rolled over once, in effect, sleeping on the entire bed before rolling back on the side she always slept on. She was losing her mind.
Leven slid out of bed and stepped into the bathroom. Perhaps she could find a sleeping pill or an antihistamine or some shit to knock her out for a little longer. However, there was no sense in that. She had to get up anyway. She figured she might as well start her day early. What the hell. As she gazed at her image in the bathroom mirror, she gasped aloud. Someone was standing behind her. It was the man in her dreams. When she turned toward him, he was gone. Okay. Okay. It was time for her to regroup. She needed to get her shit together before she really did end up institutionalized. Sighing heavily, she went back to her bed. She absolutely had no energy to do something as strenuous as getting dressed. She slid between the sheets and snuggled her pillow close to her. Unconsciously, she wished the pillow were the man. Oh, what she'd give to have him next to her. As she longed for a man whose name she could not remember, she fell asleep and began to dream…
* * *
Leven was back at the pawnshop, back behind the counter. It was as if she were forever connected to the damn thing. She looked up as a man entered. Oddly, he came into the shop as much as Caldo had before him. However, this time, she knew this was the man she had been searching all eternity for. This was the one, the one. She whispered his name: Ardeth. Although she hadn't spoken very loudly at all, he heard her. He turned toward her with a beautiful smile. She gazed at him while he browsed around. Was this the man she had seen? The one she had slept with? No. That man hadn't been her Ardeth. What was she thinking? Without waiting for him to speak to her, she moved from behind the counter and approached him slowly. He was wearing some weird looking robes and had a wicked looking sword. It was similar [if not the same] to the one the boss had hung on the wall. She wasn't afraid of this man. She loved him. She had loved him all her life, hadn't she? She went to this beautiful, beautiful man and touched his arm. He turned to her. Without a word, he took her into his arms and mashed his mouth down onto hers. She wasted no time ripping him out of his robes. Her hands seemed to work with a mind of their own. As if by magic, they were suddenly naked and sprawled atop one of the display cases. He was inside her, making love to her madly. She had never felt such intense love or pleasure.
The image shifted and she saw herself walking with Ardeth hand-in-hand. He had donned blue jeans and a button-down shirt. She knew immediately that she had picked out these clothes for him. He simply couldn't walk around wearing robes and his funky sword. Of course, this was Memphis and the city had plenty of weirdoes running about, but Ardeth was no weirdo. He was sweet, loyal, and calm. He would never love her and leave her. Once he was hers, he was hers for life. She had no idea where they were walking, but she could see the looming shadow of the Pyramid nearby. Ardeth seemed as transfixed by the building as she had been. Somewhere inside this gigantic building lay what they both had been looking for their entire lives. She somehow knew he didn't have much more time and the thought of his leaving nearly killed her, so she didn't think of it often. She longed to go with him, but she couldn't.
* * *
1931
Ardeth moaned incoherently. He came awake slowly, as if coming out of a long-suffering coma. Something didn't feel right. Sighing, he realized he had been having visions again. The images were so close, but so very out of reach. He didn't think he could survive a sane man if he didn't uncover the mystery behind these visions. Again, there had to be a purpose. Why else would they torment him? He scrambled up to his feet hastily. He stepped out into the new dawn of the day, the fresh air licking his naked chest. This was normally his favorite time of the day, but since he had been plagued with the visions, he often awoke tired and shaken up. He chose a sand-packed outcropping and seated himself. He drew his legs up close to his body and rested his arms on them. The harsh desert sunlight was still an hour or so away, and for now, the air was cool enough to make him shiver, but he didn't bother dressing immediately. He had sat out like this before, but his mind had yet to settle. Sharîk had died four years ago and the pain had dulled a bit, but not enough to totally wash her out of his mind. He often wondered if his visions had anything to do with her. It seemed as if the woman who haunted him was like her in so many ways, but not really her. None of it made any sense to him. Honestly, he couldn't see giving his heart to anyone else. Once his light was put out forever, he didn't see it sparking to life ever again. It was a fatalistic attitude, but he was a fatalistic man. If he wasn't, how could he get through the unbelievable evil forces centered on his homeland? He had experienced enough to send an average man running for the hills.
* * *
Present DayLeven stood behind the counter, completely bored out of her mind, as usual. There hadn't been many customers today. It reminded her of the Saturday when she met Caldo. She cursed herself again for going home with the guy. But she had somehow convinced herself that she knew him. Go to hell. She couldn't continue to brow beat herself. She turned to go back into the office for a moment and was once again hypnotized by the funky sword hanging on the wall. She had the greatest urge to reach up and touch it. Another thought struck her. Hadn't this sword appeared in her dream? Had it? It was a disturbing unreal element in her real world. She turned away from the sword. She couldn't look at it anymore. It turned her stomach and made her sick. She was tired of the dreams, the confusion, and the distractions. She wondered if there was anything she could take to keep the dreams away. They didn't scare her, necessarily, but they shook her. She had the sense that something significant was coming her way, but she didn't know if she was prepared to handle it. She had dated many men, had slept with her fair share of them, but she couldn't ever recall if she had truly been in love. In her dreams, she was certain that she was in love with the man she always saw, the one whose name she couldn't remember well enough to speak aloud. She turned once again toward the sword and stared at it curiously, wonderingly. Why do you haunt me so? Why do you come to my dreams but never come to me? Who are you? What do you want?