October 2000

I was in a foreign land - perhaps it was Hungary - walking along the grassy bank of a wide, slow river. The air was clear, and the burbling of water was punctuated by the conversations of the native people who collected along its shoal. My tour guide - whom I heard more than saw - described the sights to me as we passed. The indigenous people were poor by the look of things, but worked and played contentedly. I came upon a new family, the rotund mother bathing her infant in the clear river water. She wore a white gauzy smock, similar to the linen wrapped loosely about the child. The father, who was attending to this ritual in a way I couldn't make out, was easily as large as the mother. He wore no shirt, and his tanned skin was covered with short curly patches of hair. The child cooed as it was bathed, but something struck me as odd about it. The child's face was a deep red, and the eyes were wide-set in a head that seemed to fold inward where the bridge of the nose should be. In fact, the infant's head didn't seem solid at all, now that I had a look at it. Though its eyes protruded and lolled, the infant didn't seem to be in any pain. The head flopped back a bit as the mother finally pulled it from the water to dry it off. The infant's eyes blinked independently, and its vocalization was beyond my interpretation. I turned about and continued my walk. Apparently, my guide informed me, these people suffered from malnutrition which caused - among other things - numerous forms of birth defects. As I walked, I noticed for the first time a curious thing by my feet. A long ropy band of flesh and grain was being conveyed by unknown means parallel to the path. This was how their food was processed, my guide said. This material, on closer inspection, repulsed me. Long strips of tentacle, lined with tiny suckers, along with scaly chunks of other fishy matter, and long dry straws of bleached grass was pulled slowly through evenly-spaced metal brackets, like ribs. The rope disappeared into a hole in the ground, in which was set partially-obscured, industrial age machinery. These ingredients would next be ground into a paste on which these people subsisted. He called it something guttural like, "rice gegh." I made a note to avoid it if I came across it. Strolling on, I came to a point where the path continued up and to my left, over a grassy dike that spanned the river. I didn't see my guide, but felt compelled to join him now at the far bank. A glance at the dike path however revealed it to be fairly crawling with life. Brightly-colored insects, such as I'd never seen, writhed in the grassy loam. There were also fish-like creatures who seemed to struggle about in the muck. I saw thin, curling tentacles, and radiant plumes feathering from twitching antennae, as well as all manner of articulated limbs and opalescent eyes. My awe was overridden by horror, and I immediately sought another path to take. To my right was a warm natural pool. Some people relaxed there, soaking lazily in the chest-high water. But beneath the water's surface things were not as still. More of the colorful shapes - now familiar - circled and darted. It was a broth of alien life, and I suddenly felt trapped. How had I not noticed this before? Indeed, I'd been walking on small bodies for some time. This otherwise placid setting now had me trapped. Just then a feathered orange insect flitted by my forearm, and I swiped at it unconsciously. Following its flight across the river, however, I saw that it was in fact being pulled along by a hair-fine filament which I could barely make out in the sun. My eyes followed the strand back to a boy on the far bank. He was dressed in the crude, bleached linen garb of these people, and held a rod aloft. He was even now reeling the line back in. And he wasn't alone. Other boy fishermen dotted the far bank, and each had cast a line. These swayed lazily, like gossamer webs, in the calm breeze. The implication alarmed me: that many of the creatures underfoot were actually lures that concealed camouflaged hooks. I wondered aloud - perhaps to my guide - why the fishermen stood on the remote bank to fish in the waters on this side. It seemed dangerous. Surely I was endangered by it. And I'd no sooner had the thought when I felt something brush by the hairs of my arms. More of the lines cast by the seemingly oblivious fishermen. I didn't feel that they acted out of malice, but rather that mine was the unfortunate consequence of my own ignorance. I suddenly realized that I was naked, and a feeling of vulnerability washed over me. The lines were now tickling across my bare skin, and they tangled and tightened around my arms, legs and groin. I tried to loosen them with my fingers, but the lines were being pulled taut, and a sense of dread settled in. This coincided with a mocking laugh, and I looked up as the lines began to cut and saw before me a man with sandy, feathered hair, and pockmarked skin. Was he my guide? He didn't look native to these people. He continued to laugh at me as he regarded my struggle - which he seemed in no danger of himself. I was struck then by a sudden anger, directed both at this man and at my hopeless situation. I said, "There's no way out of this now! It's all becoming a nightmare. I might as well just wake up."

And I did.

I stood atop a flat concrete slab accompanied by my friend. Except for the fact that furniture was strewn haphazardly around the rectagular surface, there was no point of reference. No indication as to our whereabouts. There were no walls, the distance was but a nondescript white expanse. But suddenly there was a sense of urgency. Before me appeared a diminutive, antagonistic figure. Indeed he was a dwarf, a stranger, and one whose attitude of mocking confidence I found absolutely threatening. He told us, with malice in his voice, that he would catch us, no matter how we attempted to escape. It would be inevitable. The only solution appeared to be flight. Above this platform was another just like it that hung suspended in air. I clambered up onto a black leather couch, and managed to gain purchase onto the edge of the concrete slab above. Pulling myself up, I looked back and saw that the dwarf was already in pursuit. There would be no time to rest, then. On this second platform there was more furniture, and some of it seemed arranged conveniently for climbing. Toward the edge was a stack of couches that seemed stable enough, and rose to the next concrete platform above. I climbed the couches and made it to the third platform easily. I didn't stop to rest this time though, but continued up another stack of couches to - and past - the next platform. Indeed, the higher I climbed the easier the act became, and soon I was pulling myself up with nearly no effort at all. Now at some great height, I became conscious of the precariousness of my position in space, and felt a mild nudge of vertigo. It was a minor distraction though, for not two floors below was the dwarf, now visibly weary, but with no less determination. Peering closer, I saw that he had somehow managed to collect an infant along the way, whom he'd stuffed into a crude harness which he wore around his torso. I felt compelled to take this child from him, as the dwarf's limbs were otherwise occupied. The dwarf, meanwhile, continued his litany of threats. I saw myself then reaching down - implausibly so - and grabbing the child's arm. The dwarf became silent and steeled himself, teeth gritted and eyes screwed shut. He was flexing, which had the effect of tightening the child's harness. For the first time I heard the child then, a rather weak cry of pain. There was no other option though, and I continued to pull gently but steadily. As the dwarf continued to resist, the child started to come free, its arm stretching slightly, like a rubber cartoon character. The dwarf clung mightily to the edge of the platform, but the elongated infant suddenly came free, and I pulled him up onto the platform beside me. The dwarf lay sprawled on the edge of the platform, defeated. Looking at the dwarf from above, I could plainly see the bruises and scars he'd amassed in battle. And I could see that he was conscious. I spoke to him then in a calm voice, "Kill yourself." I knew that he heard. I held the child upright and leaned it forward over the ledge by the hood of its red one-piece garment. I wanted it to bear witness. "Kill yourself now," I urged the dwarf. He obeyed, rolling sideways over the edge of the concrete slab. But the winds at this height were strong, and the dwarf landed on the edge of the next platform down. Perspective was compressed such that he still seemed close enough to reach. But as he continued to roll from each successive platform, he grew weaker. The child asked me then, "So this is death?" I answered, "Yes," as the dwarf receded from view.