Annalea, Princess of Nemusmar

When finally I approached her–in me full desperation–she was hard at work, in the midst of business. I stood and looked to her and asked if she could spare me some time. She looked very hot and tired and was sweating profusely. The response she gave me would burn your ears off! But the gist of it was that she'd no time to waste gossiping with an idler like me. I meekly apologized for the interruption and suggested we might talk mayhaps another time. She looked up at me with a sneer, as if to warn me off; but something in me countenance must have softened her attitude towards me, for her words were gentle, "No, hon'. We kin talk now."

  We walked out together to get clear of the ever present ears and eyes that seemed unavoidable in that cramped settlement. All such pursuits for privacy inevitably led to the beach; 'twas broad and extended the full circumference of the island. Mam' said not another word as we walked along, patiently waiting for me to collect me thoughts and open up me aggrieved soul to her. It came slowly, but eventually I was able to unburden meself to her.

  "I knew ya be troubled," she said, "same as t'others knew. But I also knows how suff'catin' kin be da well-meanin', when dare over attentions outweighs dare und'standin'."

  I knew I was confiding in the right person. And I gave her a verbatim rendering of that troublesome dream. For–unlike most other dreams–I could remember every detail.

  As I completed the telling of me rather exotic dream, I looked to Mam' for answers. But she offered none; she just kept walking. Then she stopped, cold, and turned to look at me as if she was ready to speak. But she turned right away and commenced walking again. This unexpected–inexplainable–behaviour caught me off balance, and I scooted to catch up to her.

  As I approached within a few feet of her, she started to speak, 'though still walking and still looking straight ahead–out towards the ocean and that great expanse of sky, "I b'lieves ya be transpo'ted."

  Then she stopped walking–finally and fully–still staring out towards the waters, and beyond. I came 'round front to face her. "'Twas real? You believe 'twas real?"

  Mam continued. "Ya needs ta know dat ever'thin' in da worl' be connected. In nature, nuttin' be unknown o' undiscovered. Wha's in yo' life, wha's in yo' mind, wha's in yo' heart–an' ever'thin' dat been, an' ever'thin' dat gwine be–jes' all one thin', in nature. Das why ma people respects nature. Not 'cause dey's sup'sticious; not 'cause deys ign'rant. 'Cause dey knows wha' yo' don' know. Dey seen wha yo' kind refuse ta see. Dat every livin' thin' be connected. Dare be but one spirit of life, an' we all be part of it: de ancestors, ya an' me, all da plants an' an'mals, an' all dem yet ta be.

  "Yo' kind, dey mock da man wha' talk to da spirit in da tree. He ain' so stupid. He don' 'spect dat tree gwine git up an' walk 'round. He be smarter dan dat; he smarter dan yo'. He be respectin' da spirit of life wha' be in dat tree–as in all things. He jes be usin' dat tree ta connect wit' da life spirit.

  "I thinks somethin' been tryin' ta talk to ya: da spirit or somethin' in da spirit. It done taken yo' spirit up an' moved it 'round, ta show ya things dat use ta be an' am–"

  "And must be?" I interrupted.

  "An' may be," she continued. "I be thinkin', 'may be.' Das why da callin'. Das why da journey. Make no sense ta show ya whatcha cain' do nothin' 'bout. Das jes' a punishment; an' ya ain' a bad man. No, I 'spects it be a warnin'. I 'spects it be a gift, 'cause of yo' great love fo' our precious 'princess.'"

  "But just what does it mean?" I begged Mam' for edification. For a moment, she seemed to grope for an answer, and then replied.

  "I don' rightly know. It all be too confusin' ta me. But I know dis; if da spirit done called me, I couldn' rest 'til I'd thought it out, an' fig'red out da meanin'. An' den I'd act, swiftly an' surely. An' no man, an' no army of man, could stand in da way of Mam' doin' da spirit's biddin'!"

  "Thank you, Mam'! I still don't understand it. I don't know what this all means. I don't know what I'm going to do. But I do feel considerably better. Thank you."

  "Well, we gwine sit here an talk 'bout dat," she said. "We gwine ponder dat, together, hon'."

  So we worked the pieces of that puzzle, together, 'til late up into the night, missing supper and that eve's council meeting. And then worked it through the night, missing sleep–but not missing sleeping. The discussions we had, and the thoughts Mam' presented, were far too provocative to contemplate sleep. 'Though I may never be able to interpret all the details of that dream–or vision, or whatever it was; by morning, I felt I'd a grasp on the message behind it all.