Rose Mary Boehm's Blog
March 4, 2021
SALT
SALT
by Lorette Luzajic
I just finished reading this wonderful collection. I was reading it slowly. I am sure it will not defraud me with its last offerings. So far, it’s been another emotional rollercoaster. Luzajic has done it again. After PRETTY TIME MACHINE I thought it couldn’t get any better. But here they come, fast and furious. From ‘slightly borrowed’ words from Vincent van Gogh, “I am doing my best / I long to make / beautiful things” to the ‘Ghost World’ of Svetlana, “Strange tongues sound familiar, and the worn volumes of Gogol and Chekhov take on an aura. You will not forget again these things now marking you. You will be remade, and you do not have any say in this.”
From ‘proper’ poems to what some call ‘prose poems’ – it’s all there, the form is unimportant.
There is always love, pain, poetry and magic. Whether in ‘Gipsy Bisque’: “You showed me how to make gypsy soup: it was nothing but flour and tomatoes, with a lot of paprika and a little bit of bacon or butter. You’ll never go hungry, you said, stirring Serbia tenderly with a long wooden spoon. We added cashews, and cracked black pepper, poetic license.” or ‘Crossing the River Jordan’: “She had walked like me / to the edge of / that river, and then held back.” Luzajic allows her deepest self to shine threw and to be utterly vulnerable.
As she says in ‘The Broken World’: “It doesn’t matter: / every time you / break my heart, / I will grow another one”
What are you waiting for? Go to Amazon. Now!
Rose Mary Boehm, author of various poetry collections, including THE RAIN GIRL, recently published by Chaffinch Press. https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/
by Lorette Luzajic
I just finished reading this wonderful collection. I was reading it slowly. I am sure it will not defraud me with its last offerings. So far, it’s been another emotional rollercoaster. Luzajic has done it again. After PRETTY TIME MACHINE I thought it couldn’t get any better. But here they come, fast and furious. From ‘slightly borrowed’ words from Vincent van Gogh, “I am doing my best / I long to make / beautiful things” to the ‘Ghost World’ of Svetlana, “Strange tongues sound familiar, and the worn volumes of Gogol and Chekhov take on an aura. You will not forget again these things now marking you. You will be remade, and you do not have any say in this.”
From ‘proper’ poems to what some call ‘prose poems’ – it’s all there, the form is unimportant.
There is always love, pain, poetry and magic. Whether in ‘Gipsy Bisque’: “You showed me how to make gypsy soup: it was nothing but flour and tomatoes, with a lot of paprika and a little bit of bacon or butter. You’ll never go hungry, you said, stirring Serbia tenderly with a long wooden spoon. We added cashews, and cracked black pepper, poetic license.” or ‘Crossing the River Jordan’: “She had walked like me / to the edge of / that river, and then held back.” Luzajic allows her deepest self to shine threw and to be utterly vulnerable.
As she says in ‘The Broken World’: “It doesn’t matter: / every time you / break my heart, / I will grow another one”
What are you waiting for? Go to Amazon. Now!
Rose Mary Boehm, author of various poetry collections, including THE RAIN GIRL, recently published by Chaffinch Press. https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/
February 13, 2015
The Invention of Distance by A. Molotkov
A review
by Rose Mary Boehm
‘The Invention of Distance’, a collection by A. Molotkov, immediately challenged my automatic understanding of the way things work, with a vision of snowflakes shaping water, eyes opening the poet, mandalas blowing into the wind in a world where rivers cross borders without a visa, where butterfly wings (ought not to) go, where aeroplanes burn.
Molotkov lets us sneak a look into his fluid universe of the unexpected. In Conclusions he suggests to meet him ‘at the brink of a gesture’, while in Violence ‘gray petals of bombs fall on us’, and in Guilt the ‘street kept running, unable to escape itself.’
He creates a parallel universe which will ‘run as planned’ as long as the poet keeps up his song, but points out in Song that ‘not every distance belongs to us’.
One of the poems is titled Unfalling the Stars, which appears to be a perfect description of what Molotkov is trying to do in this collection.
With Planning in Advance he seems to give us the key to where he’s at when he’s wandering in his world:
I want to be a logical step
a step forward
somewhere
it all
fits together
when I’m done
don't worry
how deep the grave is
I want to hear
those I leave behind
lay me close
to the surface
Those of us who entered through the door he opened will be glad we took that step. Molotkov has a way of convincing you of the beauty of shallow graves.
If you want to buy this collection have a look here:
http://toegoodpoetry.com/books/
by Rose Mary Boehm
‘The Invention of Distance’, a collection by A. Molotkov, immediately challenged my automatic understanding of the way things work, with a vision of snowflakes shaping water, eyes opening the poet, mandalas blowing into the wind in a world where rivers cross borders without a visa, where butterfly wings (ought not to) go, where aeroplanes burn.
Molotkov lets us sneak a look into his fluid universe of the unexpected. In Conclusions he suggests to meet him ‘at the brink of a gesture’, while in Violence ‘gray petals of bombs fall on us’, and in Guilt the ‘street kept running, unable to escape itself.’
He creates a parallel universe which will ‘run as planned’ as long as the poet keeps up his song, but points out in Song that ‘not every distance belongs to us’.
One of the poems is titled Unfalling the Stars, which appears to be a perfect description of what Molotkov is trying to do in this collection.
With Planning in Advance he seems to give us the key to where he’s at when he’s wandering in his world:
I want to be a logical step
a step forward
somewhere
it all
fits together
when I’m done
don't worry
how deep the grave is
I want to hear
those I leave behind
lay me close
to the surface
Those of us who entered through the door he opened will be glad we took that step. Molotkov has a way of convincing you of the beauty of shallow graves.
If you want to buy this collection have a look here:
http://toegoodpoetry.com/books/
November 22, 2014
My novel COMING UP FOR AIR
sells right now as Kindle edition at a throw-away price:
http://www.amazon.com/Coming-Air-Rose...
or
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Coming-Air-Ro...
Thought you may be interested. I am not sure how long this offer lasts.
http://www.amazon.com/Coming-Air-Rose...
or
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Coming-Air-Ro...
Thought you may be interested. I am not sure how long this offer lasts.
October 12, 2012
Author and legendary conservationist Lawrence Anthony died March 2. His family tells of a solemn procession of Elephants that defies human explanation.
http://delightmakers.com/news/wild-el...
This is the most remarkable story - a friend just sent me this link and I figured it's important enough to share it with all of my GR friends and beyond. I have been a 'bad' blogger. Basically I often think I have absolutely nothing of interest to say.
This website is the kind of site I'll join immediately and the books I'll order immediately. The story just gave me a good old lump in the throat.
This is how it starts:
For 12 hours, two herds of wild South African elephants slowly made their way through the Zululand bush until they reached the house of late author Lawrence Anthony, the conservationist who saved their lives.The formerly violent, rogue elephants, destined to be shot a few years ago as pests, were rescued and rehabilitated by Anthony, who had grown up in the bush and was known as the “Elephant Whisperer.”
For two days the herds loitered at Anthony’s rural compound on the vast Thula Thula game reserve in the South African KwaZulu – to say good-bye to the man they loved. But how did they know he had died? Known for his unique ability to calm traumatized elephants, Anthony had become a legend. He is the author of three books, Babylon Ark, detailing his efforts to rescue the animals at Baghdad Zoo during the Iraqi war, the forthcoming The Last Rhinos, and his bestselling The Elephant Whisperer.
This is the most remarkable story - a friend just sent me this link and I figured it's important enough to share it with all of my GR friends and beyond. I have been a 'bad' blogger. Basically I often think I have absolutely nothing of interest to say.
This website is the kind of site I'll join immediately and the books I'll order immediately. The story just gave me a good old lump in the throat.
This is how it starts:
For 12 hours, two herds of wild South African elephants slowly made their way through the Zululand bush until they reached the house of late author Lawrence Anthony, the conservationist who saved their lives.The formerly violent, rogue elephants, destined to be shot a few years ago as pests, were rescued and rehabilitated by Anthony, who had grown up in the bush and was known as the “Elephant Whisperer.”
For two days the herds loitered at Anthony’s rural compound on the vast Thula Thula game reserve in the South African KwaZulu – to say good-bye to the man they loved. But how did they know he had died? Known for his unique ability to calm traumatized elephants, Anthony had become a legend. He is the author of three books, Babylon Ark, detailing his efforts to rescue the animals at Baghdad Zoo during the Iraqi war, the forthcoming The Last Rhinos, and his bestselling The Elephant Whisperer.
July 24, 2012
THE TELLING
March 13, 2012
January 3, 2012
New review for THE TELLING
and since it comes from another writer, Carolyn Gossage, (http://carolyn-gossage.blogspot.com/2...) it's even more welcome:
Rose Mary Boehm is a consummate story-teller. After reading her beautifully crafted and partly auto-biographical 'coming of age' novel COMING UP FOR AIR I was left panting for the sequel to appear and it certainly did not disappoint. The twists and turns as the tale unravels are never predictable and her writing skills - like her subject - have matured like a well-aged vino tinto.. Write on, Rose Mary.. Write on !
Rose Mary Boehm is a consummate story-teller. After reading her beautifully crafted and partly auto-biographical 'coming of age' novel COMING UP FOR AIR I was left panting for the sequel to appear and it certainly did not disappoint. The twists and turns as the tale unravels are never predictable and her writing skills - like her subject - have matured like a well-aged vino tinto.. Write on, Rose Mary.. Write on !
December 9, 2011
December 5, 2011
Good days
I don't know whether I remember having faced a really, really awful day during the last few years. It's as though the gods are being kind to me.
If it's true what they say, namely that 'thoughts make things' = the law of attraction, I have made some good things of late. Can't take all the credit though, I've had help. I am such a happily married woman I have to pinch myself sometimes. And I suppose loving and being loved is a hell of good way to having 'good' thoughts.
Also, I've become a grandmother. Well, not yesterday, but very recently. My daughter's daughter was born in April 2010 and my son's daughter in July of the same year. So they are quite 'new' and, of course, another source for loving.
Curious, it seems even more important - and has a greater 'pay back' as it were - to love than to be loved. Even though the latter definitely is delicious.
I thought somebody has to write a happy blog. There is just too much of the depressing kind all over the place.
At first I feared that being happy stifles creativity, especially poetry. But not so. I suppose it just changes the themes - besides, there is enough difficult stuff in one's life to remember, as long as we don't dwell on it. You can make yourself a victim of your own too beloved memories of misery and pain. Let it go. It's done. Write a poem and turn the leaf.
Anyway, today I have had one of my poems accepted for publication some time next year by the rather wonderful poetry review "Verse Wisconsin", and "Barefoot Review" has today published my poem "Meningioma".
I am about to figure out where my third novel will lead me, and in a couple of weeks we'll celebrate Christmas on the beach, here in Peru. It's alright. I'll get my snow another time.
Be well, be happy, forgive and laugh a lot.
Though I leave you with a happy picture:
If it's true what they say, namely that 'thoughts make things' = the law of attraction, I have made some good things of late. Can't take all the credit though, I've had help. I am such a happily married woman I have to pinch myself sometimes. And I suppose loving and being loved is a hell of good way to having 'good' thoughts.
Also, I've become a grandmother. Well, not yesterday, but very recently. My daughter's daughter was born in April 2010 and my son's daughter in July of the same year. So they are quite 'new' and, of course, another source for loving.
Curious, it seems even more important - and has a greater 'pay back' as it were - to love than to be loved. Even though the latter definitely is delicious.
I thought somebody has to write a happy blog. There is just too much of the depressing kind all over the place.
At first I feared that being happy stifles creativity, especially poetry. But not so. I suppose it just changes the themes - besides, there is enough difficult stuff in one's life to remember, as long as we don't dwell on it. You can make yourself a victim of your own too beloved memories of misery and pain. Let it go. It's done. Write a poem and turn the leaf.
Anyway, today I have had one of my poems accepted for publication some time next year by the rather wonderful poetry review "Verse Wisconsin", and "Barefoot Review" has today published my poem "Meningioma".
I am about to figure out where my third novel will lead me, and in a couple of weeks we'll celebrate Christmas on the beach, here in Peru. It's alright. I'll get my snow another time.
Be well, be happy, forgive and laugh a lot.
Though I leave you with a happy picture:
July 13, 2011
Observation Post
or
Decision on the Mountain
It would be an adventure. When he was ordered to go, he accepted the decision without complaint. After all, you were only called up if and when you were considered advanced enough. It was also the confirmation of the end of your apprenticeship. A quantum while ago he had entered the stage of journeyman in every sense of the word.
He’d been told that he would be kept up-to-date regarding the preparations for his departure. Right now, the department ‘Development Aid and Observation’ was busy setting up the perfect circumstances for his takeoff, especially making sure that the intended host would be available to receive him in the right place and at the right time.
The procedure for ‘General Development Aid’ had been in place for such a long time that there were very few hiccoughs. There were always new hosts available; in fact, there were now almost too many. The word ‘entropy’ had been bandied about by those who were involved in Planning.
In his and similar cases, things were different. He was not supposed to take up residence with a brand-new host and stay for a human lifetime. For occasional Observers going down to, well, observe, and help out for a limited time only, second-hand accommodation was the norm, and that could at times prove just a little more complex to arrange. Still, he had no doubt that something would come up soon. It always did.
He knew he was being tested. All those going into the field for the first time as Observers were themselves being observed. Also, there was always a risk. By now he knew the rules. Certain things must be avoided if he wanted to get back quickly. Observation postings were no easy tasks, and the danger everyone faced in the field was ‘going native’, that is, forgetting who you were, where you came from and why you were there. Many Observers had succumbed and had not returned. Problem was, apart from a short debriefing period, they could not be forced to go back. That type of interference was absolutely against the law and, consequently, such a waste of resources had to be avoided at all cost. However, everyone knew that the moment you dealt with the human element there would always be imponderables.
The runners (that’s the name the apprentices gave those Observers who had lost the connection and stayed out) had always been brought in for a sort of debriefing, but the information gleaned was spectacularly poor. It seemed as though the general amnesia not only concerned the Observers' memory of headquarters, but it also affected their lucidity about the fieldwork and the natives.
He’d had contact with a few runners. During the final stages of their apprenticeship, apprentices were required to accompany runners from the reception hall to the debriefing area and were expected to sit in on debriefings and take notes.
He had learned much – even though the runners weren’t able to be very concise or logical. In fact, he had been appalled by their lack of logic more than anything else, and sometimes he doubted the wisdom of those who had made the choices. There was no way he could quite take it on board that you left perfectly sane and came to the debriefing completely off level. There had to be some personality problems before these runners had even left!
Well, you had to give it to the debriefers: they had their ways to extract information. During the visuals the runners had been quite explicit. The methods used just didn’t allow them to be anything else, and, after all, organisation needed to know. He had enjoyed the visuals the most. There were many things he found entertaining, many he found appalling, others he simply did not understand. However, he seemed to have a natural inclination to be an Observer and, as he was told, that’s exactly why he had been chosen to go. He was to observe and report back. His stay was to be relatively short so as not to expose him to too many risks, and certain safeguards were being built in.
During the final stages of their apprenticeship, apprentices would be allowed to take out some totals from the library – there was a section with totals just for the purpose of instruction (their emotional impact levels were lowered considerably so that apprentices could take in the content without damage). While you were experiencing instruction totals your reactions were being monitored. In the case of any (even the tiniest) fluctuation of the emotional levels observed in the apprentices, equilibrium training would be intensified.
That wasn’t all. He wasn’t quite sure how it was done, but he knew that one of the anti-runner devices built in temporarily lowered emotional responses. They had learned enough from the debriefings that emotion was the most unpredictable of all human qualities, and if you could keep that in check you were half-way home (he had to grin to himself, enjoying his pun). The apprentices called this safety device LoD (lack of desire). That came from some of the instruction totals in which one of the ancients, going by the name of Buddha during that particular and very early Development Aid mission, had tried to explain to the natives one of the 13 basic principles, namely that the ‘source of all suffering is desire’. It was really strange that something so obvious had been so hard to sell and had been practiced even less. There it was again, that lack of logic. Either these guys didn’t get it or they simply liked to suffer endlessly until they finally reached the sate of no desire (if they were lucky). And how they suffered! Frustrating, really, when you came to think about it.
He had passed all the tests. He was prepared. Second-hand accommodation had been found. He felt the going... he felt the thinning, he felt the compression, he entered the accommodation - and it wasn’t empty as he had been led to believe! There was someone there with him. Something had gone awfully wrong, and it had to happen to him! Holy whatyermercallit! He mentally crouched in a corner and tried to be as unobtrusive as he could, when his co-habitant addressed him clearly:
“What on earth are you doing here? This is my body, for crying out loud. Where am I supposed to go... into never-never land? To the funny farm? Ha! They’d made it so appetising. There had been my accident, and I with the old amnesia. Going, going, gone. They promised something like holidays abroad, and while I was having a great time on a heavenly shore, you’d be borrowing my body. Oh yes, they explained it all. Temporary observer mission... my foot. I bet they even arranged the accident. From what I saw I wouldn’t put it past them. I don’t know whether anybody out there will be able to hear me, but by God, you will.
“And a good body it was, too. When you can get up, just have a look at yourself in the mirror. They didn’t save on the container, I tell you. This is first-class stuff. Those tits are the best anywhere – and all natural. What are you up there, neuters? They all looked quite androgynous to me. Couldn’t tell one from the other that’s for sure... aren’t you bored? Bet that’s why you come down here, to have a bit of a good time, eh? Well, now that I didn’t do as I was expected to and didn’t take my heavenly vacations until you had done an' all – not my fault, by the way, I have no idea what happened - I’m not quite sure what’s going down next. Will you stay here with me anyway? Will they still make it temporary or what? Hey, do you speak or are you too shocked, or did they send a dumb one...?”
While she was rattling on, he’d had time to get over the shock. Perhaps it would be even more fun this way, having somebody like a guide and interpreter. Perhaps he could figure out for his masters why on earth there were there so many runners. Thanks to having studied the totals, he was able to deduce that they were in a hospital, and from his new body he gathered that he was connected to many tubes and monitors and bits and pieces, and that they were in an intensive care unit somewhere, obviously having been snatched back from the verge of physical obliteration. He stretched a bit more to feel the new boundaries, then he turned his mind to his host.
They had been released from hospital over a year ago and had become close friends indeed. Mulders and Scully. Oh yes, by now he had seen them all. Very entertaining. By now Alana had broken through the anti-emotion devices they'd built into him. His equilibrium had been a bit of a roller-coaster ride at first. Now he delighted in his new emotional physicalness. On the whole they tried to stay out of harm's way. Observing the others? Who needed it...
At times he had to be up there. There he felt nearer to home somehow - nostalgia raising its vague little head. They settled on that big, flat stone on top of the mountain, 2000m nearer to heaven. There was no wheezing from the ascent, they had exercised (she’d insisted to hone that body they shared) and were as fit as can be. Looking down onto the valley below, past the pines and mixed-in birches, they could glean the occasional mountain goat scampering and the odd bird of prey displaying its speed and elegance, with the silence only broken at intervals by their joyful, sharp cries. The sun caressed their face with that gentle early spring warmth softly breathing over their skin, and the river far below reflected the light as though from millions of tiny moving diamante wings. They sighed with deep contentment.
“Forgive me, my soul twin, I had no idea. As you say, one swallow doesn’t make a summer, but such summers must make runners. I can also see clearly why the debriefing can’t work – how can you talk about earthly beauty making its impact especially when offset against earthly suffering?”
“You’ll be in for a wonderful surprise, my angelic friend. If you stay around for the ride, I’ll teach you the ultimate pleasure when you learn how to be a woman.”
They moved into full lotus and crowned the mountain.
Decision on the Mountain
It would be an adventure. When he was ordered to go, he accepted the decision without complaint. After all, you were only called up if and when you were considered advanced enough. It was also the confirmation of the end of your apprenticeship. A quantum while ago he had entered the stage of journeyman in every sense of the word.
He’d been told that he would be kept up-to-date regarding the preparations for his departure. Right now, the department ‘Development Aid and Observation’ was busy setting up the perfect circumstances for his takeoff, especially making sure that the intended host would be available to receive him in the right place and at the right time.
The procedure for ‘General Development Aid’ had been in place for such a long time that there were very few hiccoughs. There were always new hosts available; in fact, there were now almost too many. The word ‘entropy’ had been bandied about by those who were involved in Planning.
In his and similar cases, things were different. He was not supposed to take up residence with a brand-new host and stay for a human lifetime. For occasional Observers going down to, well, observe, and help out for a limited time only, second-hand accommodation was the norm, and that could at times prove just a little more complex to arrange. Still, he had no doubt that something would come up soon. It always did.
He knew he was being tested. All those going into the field for the first time as Observers were themselves being observed. Also, there was always a risk. By now he knew the rules. Certain things must be avoided if he wanted to get back quickly. Observation postings were no easy tasks, and the danger everyone faced in the field was ‘going native’, that is, forgetting who you were, where you came from and why you were there. Many Observers had succumbed and had not returned. Problem was, apart from a short debriefing period, they could not be forced to go back. That type of interference was absolutely against the law and, consequently, such a waste of resources had to be avoided at all cost. However, everyone knew that the moment you dealt with the human element there would always be imponderables.
The runners (that’s the name the apprentices gave those Observers who had lost the connection and stayed out) had always been brought in for a sort of debriefing, but the information gleaned was spectacularly poor. It seemed as though the general amnesia not only concerned the Observers' memory of headquarters, but it also affected their lucidity about the fieldwork and the natives.
He’d had contact with a few runners. During the final stages of their apprenticeship, apprentices were required to accompany runners from the reception hall to the debriefing area and were expected to sit in on debriefings and take notes.
He had learned much – even though the runners weren’t able to be very concise or logical. In fact, he had been appalled by their lack of logic more than anything else, and sometimes he doubted the wisdom of those who had made the choices. There was no way he could quite take it on board that you left perfectly sane and came to the debriefing completely off level. There had to be some personality problems before these runners had even left!
Well, you had to give it to the debriefers: they had their ways to extract information. During the visuals the runners had been quite explicit. The methods used just didn’t allow them to be anything else, and, after all, organisation needed to know. He had enjoyed the visuals the most. There were many things he found entertaining, many he found appalling, others he simply did not understand. However, he seemed to have a natural inclination to be an Observer and, as he was told, that’s exactly why he had been chosen to go. He was to observe and report back. His stay was to be relatively short so as not to expose him to too many risks, and certain safeguards were being built in.
During the final stages of their apprenticeship, apprentices would be allowed to take out some totals from the library – there was a section with totals just for the purpose of instruction (their emotional impact levels were lowered considerably so that apprentices could take in the content without damage). While you were experiencing instruction totals your reactions were being monitored. In the case of any (even the tiniest) fluctuation of the emotional levels observed in the apprentices, equilibrium training would be intensified.
That wasn’t all. He wasn’t quite sure how it was done, but he knew that one of the anti-runner devices built in temporarily lowered emotional responses. They had learned enough from the debriefings that emotion was the most unpredictable of all human qualities, and if you could keep that in check you were half-way home (he had to grin to himself, enjoying his pun). The apprentices called this safety device LoD (lack of desire). That came from some of the instruction totals in which one of the ancients, going by the name of Buddha during that particular and very early Development Aid mission, had tried to explain to the natives one of the 13 basic principles, namely that the ‘source of all suffering is desire’. It was really strange that something so obvious had been so hard to sell and had been practiced even less. There it was again, that lack of logic. Either these guys didn’t get it or they simply liked to suffer endlessly until they finally reached the sate of no desire (if they were lucky). And how they suffered! Frustrating, really, when you came to think about it.
He had passed all the tests. He was prepared. Second-hand accommodation had been found. He felt the going... he felt the thinning, he felt the compression, he entered the accommodation - and it wasn’t empty as he had been led to believe! There was someone there with him. Something had gone awfully wrong, and it had to happen to him! Holy whatyermercallit! He mentally crouched in a corner and tried to be as unobtrusive as he could, when his co-habitant addressed him clearly:
“What on earth are you doing here? This is my body, for crying out loud. Where am I supposed to go... into never-never land? To the funny farm? Ha! They’d made it so appetising. There had been my accident, and I with the old amnesia. Going, going, gone. They promised something like holidays abroad, and while I was having a great time on a heavenly shore, you’d be borrowing my body. Oh yes, they explained it all. Temporary observer mission... my foot. I bet they even arranged the accident. From what I saw I wouldn’t put it past them. I don’t know whether anybody out there will be able to hear me, but by God, you will.
“And a good body it was, too. When you can get up, just have a look at yourself in the mirror. They didn’t save on the container, I tell you. This is first-class stuff. Those tits are the best anywhere – and all natural. What are you up there, neuters? They all looked quite androgynous to me. Couldn’t tell one from the other that’s for sure... aren’t you bored? Bet that’s why you come down here, to have a bit of a good time, eh? Well, now that I didn’t do as I was expected to and didn’t take my heavenly vacations until you had done an' all – not my fault, by the way, I have no idea what happened - I’m not quite sure what’s going down next. Will you stay here with me anyway? Will they still make it temporary or what? Hey, do you speak or are you too shocked, or did they send a dumb one...?”
While she was rattling on, he’d had time to get over the shock. Perhaps it would be even more fun this way, having somebody like a guide and interpreter. Perhaps he could figure out for his masters why on earth there were there so many runners. Thanks to having studied the totals, he was able to deduce that they were in a hospital, and from his new body he gathered that he was connected to many tubes and monitors and bits and pieces, and that they were in an intensive care unit somewhere, obviously having been snatched back from the verge of physical obliteration. He stretched a bit more to feel the new boundaries, then he turned his mind to his host.
They had been released from hospital over a year ago and had become close friends indeed. Mulders and Scully. Oh yes, by now he had seen them all. Very entertaining. By now Alana had broken through the anti-emotion devices they'd built into him. His equilibrium had been a bit of a roller-coaster ride at first. Now he delighted in his new emotional physicalness. On the whole they tried to stay out of harm's way. Observing the others? Who needed it...
At times he had to be up there. There he felt nearer to home somehow - nostalgia raising its vague little head. They settled on that big, flat stone on top of the mountain, 2000m nearer to heaven. There was no wheezing from the ascent, they had exercised (she’d insisted to hone that body they shared) and were as fit as can be. Looking down onto the valley below, past the pines and mixed-in birches, they could glean the occasional mountain goat scampering and the odd bird of prey displaying its speed and elegance, with the silence only broken at intervals by their joyful, sharp cries. The sun caressed their face with that gentle early spring warmth softly breathing over their skin, and the river far below reflected the light as though from millions of tiny moving diamante wings. They sighed with deep contentment.
“Forgive me, my soul twin, I had no idea. As you say, one swallow doesn’t make a summer, but such summers must make runners. I can also see clearly why the debriefing can’t work – how can you talk about earthly beauty making its impact especially when offset against earthly suffering?”
“You’ll be in for a wonderful surprise, my angelic friend. If you stay around for the ride, I’ll teach you the ultimate pleasure when you learn how to be a woman.”
They moved into full lotus and crowned the mountain.
