24 November 2005
DEAR —–, had a sit-down after all of the un-Goddess-ly [Thanksgiving–BW] eating, dozed with my copy of The King's English on my knee, and dreamt:
WAS Aboard ship (!), sailing for Europe–aboard a great liner. Steam-driven, as in the old times. In the May light we was bearing ENE below Halifax, a running sea (waves running with the ship, in the same direction) all silver-grey and bottle green in the sunlight. With other passengers, many of whom I knew from long ago, high-school, the 'Peace Corps', my Dad and the others, too….
MuHammad Nejmi, who taught me Arabic and al-islam, in Morocco, rolled up (fatter than ever!), and we salaam-ed. He took out the MS of a book he is writing. There were many stories of us all in it, and they are meant to illustrate how people in life fulfill the different states of mind. A German periscope looked up over the side at the book, over our shoulders, an eye in it just as in the cartoons.
Nedjmi grinned at me and says: ish-ka-bibble!
Then he laughs at me and cupped his hands.
There, between them, the World turns. When I bent to look closely I can see anyone I wanted to, there in the World. A gong–four bells, Nejmi laughs hard (sounding as I meant you do, dear, laughing!) and then threw the Earth away up into the sky. It takes flight on black wings and flies away, cawing.
NOW The great ship's whistle goes off in clouds of white steam, and I see the bow nose cleanly beneath the blue-green seas.
Down we went, water cascading over all our heads, not cold or wet or anything (we are all soaked through!), just alarming at first, and we sail on and on, beneath the broad Atlantic, laughing and talking smart, sauntering on the decks with gin in glasses, and whales and turtles (and submarines!), all swimming by.
Now that we are all wet in the sea, our clothes all fit just fine and we breath the water so that there are bubbles of words and laughter.
The Captain gurgled like a water-cooler–he means that it's all just the usual procedure, everybody gets their sea-story to tell, it's part of the fare.
I look over the side at a funny little edwardian steam-train running East on the Over-Hill & Under-Sea Railway, Ltd (Like a Rowland Emmet drawing)–and, I awaken.
GEE, Dear, I know I live more and more in the other worlds (this one has a ceiling, after all, and after awhile one realises there are things that simply cannot get done, not here–except in Muhammed Nezhmi's book!), but this was all quite lovely; and, with it, a feeling that it will all come right in the end, has already, only the future hasn't quite caught up with the present, love, Benny.
PS: I am having more and more trouble with–TIME! Good-night to you!
[Emmett R Smith all rights reserved 24 November 2005]