(18) What The Morning Brings
A bright blue sky and bright uninterrupted sunshine for one thing. A houseguest who had risen early and made the coffee for another. An Andrew who had dreamed of Lara, a chastising Lara who had teased him mercilessly about his prowess. A Lara who had seemed, above all, joyful and carefree.
Andrew accepted his coffee and sat across of Jordan at the table, not too far from the corpse’s position. He guessed that would be permanently etched in his memory, alongside his last view of his father and the missing one of his sister. He asked Jordan if he really could perform those shaman stunts he bragged about. Well, he’d been taught the techniques many years before and had seen the results on others who had crossed his teachers, but no, he had not practiced the transference himself.
Transference?
Jordan nodded. You create the germ in yourself that transfer it. Bit like a magpie leaving its young in other’s nests. Takes nerve.
I’ll bet. You certainly got my attention.
Jordan grinned. Had a dream about it while still in Greece. So knew I was coming here for a reason.
You were guided?
I suppose. Had a compulsion to come here almost as soon as I got back.
You? A compulsion? Please.
Jordan sighed. Yes, t’is true. Plus the residence under renovation was all the excuse I needed.
All that roaring and banging?
Jordan nodded, a smirk inside his show of sadness. Then he suggested a stroll to the water’s edge, which Andrew thought a spiffy idea. Jordan asked if this was some kind of a prelude to joining The Rotter’s Club. Andrew congratulated him for picking up on the clues. Just as they ended their steps and poised themselves to gaze at the sky’s bright blue reflected Andrew hinted that Jordan’s stellar contribution the previous evening would actually render the proposed initiation ceremony redundant. Jordan expressed his gratefulness. After all, the Rotter’s Club was an elite institution and one felt privileged to be asked. And speaking of asking, how was Lara? Was he keeping up the contact?
Andrew admitted to several very vivid dream recalls of meadow strolls and long grass waving above their heads as they lay close. Jordan nodded approvingly. Good. Awaken that astral consciousness my boy. Andrew felt patronised and praised. And maybe a couple of other things. He’d work on it later. The morning’s sun was just warm enough to make him feel like a flower gently nodding in a summer’s breeze, and the small unexpected joy seemed to root him in the now. The other world, with all its tantalising mysteries, could wait. Jordan did not pursue the subject and seemed as happy as Andrew to stand there silently, taking it all in.
Moments passed. Some, a few, maybe many. Andrew announced, coming out of his pleasurable trance, that he thought that perhaps now, after all the high stakes action and, let’s face it, some bumbling about on his part, he understood Jordan’s question about playing Frisbee with existentialist angst. Jordan sipped at his probably cold coffee but remained silent. Andrew turned to him: All that meaning of life stuff, all that moral high ground twittering, all that serving the light do-gooderism, we’re just tossing it back and forth, aren’t we?
