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WHAT WAS AND WHAT CAN BE

In this deepest level of sleep, past and future are one with the present, and all of time is accessible. Vida sits in a rocking chair. She is ten years old. The night is dark and deep, although the moon is four times larger than it has ever been before, as dull as tarnished silver. José Nochelobo stands in the yard with another man, their backs to her, gazing at the celestial phenomenon. Strange as the moment is, Vida feels nonetheless safe, at peace. But then the seer in white robe and yellow sneakers appears in the other rocking chair, and the mood abruptly changes when she says, “Give me the thing you value most, and I will consider telling your future.”

“Before, it was the thing I valued least,” says Vida.

The seer shrugs. “Everything is more expensive than it once was.”

A low thrumming rises in the distance, as if some machine with a powerful but muffled engine is approaching.

Vida ages eighteen years in an instant. “I can’t give you what I value most. It’s not mine to give, and I’d never sell it.”

“That,” says the seer, “is the answer I wanted. Before you is your past and future, standing under the moon. Be not so foolish as to cling to what was, rather than embrace what can be.”

Although still muffled, the engine noise is closer, a deep and ominous sound that seems felt more than heard.

“What’s that?” Vida rises from her chair. “What’s coming?”

“Death,” the seer says. “When you hear it elsewhere than in a dream, move fast. Do what is expected of a woman who runs with wolves.”

The seer evaporates, and a porch post vanishes, and a section of railing with balusters disappears as Vida moves toward the steps, which dissolve behind her as she descends to the yard. The massive moon recedes, and as it dwindles, José turns toward her, fading away before their eyes can meet. The landscape rapidly darkens under the diminishing moon, and when she steps around the stranger to learn his identity, he covers his face with one hand. An eye rimed with a hoarfrost of lunar light regards her through a gap between fingers. Moon, meadow, and man become smoke, and the smoke withers away in an instant, and there is nothing in the dream except Vida. She floats in a void, as though she’s an untethered astronaut adrift in space, and then she closes her eyes against the horror of nothingness and continues sleeping where further dreams remain unborn.