The phone rang and startled Sonny. He dropped his coffee cup. “Damn!” He wiped up the coffee. For a moment he hesitated, then picked up the phone.
“Good morning, Sonny. Leif Eric here. Have you seen the paper?”
“No,” Sonny replied. Right now wheeling out to bring in the newspaper wasn’t a priority.
“It’s splattered on page one!”
“What?”
“The media wants to know why we’re shut down. They want to know if there was an accident. Did you talk to the press?”
“No, of course not!” Sonny replied angrily. He’d been too damn busy trying to stay alive to talk to anyone. But he knew who had tipped the press. Raven. He loved his own headlines. But he wasn’t ready to tell the newspapers he possessed a plutonium pit. No, that would come when he actually had a bomb built.
“The media wants to know what the hell’s going on here. So far we’ve been able to keep them out, but they’re at the gate. Someone called them. I’ve been on the phone with the secretary of defense. Everyone, from the president on down, agrees we can’t tell the public there’s a terrorist loose with enough—you know. We don’t want an unnecessary panic.”
“Unnecessary?”
“I trust Doyle. His boys are going to nail the killer. But they need time.”
Nail Raven? Wishful thinking Sonny thought. “So you’re warning me again to keep quiet.”
“Yes. In case the papers call. We haven’t released your name, so no one knows you were here.”
“Fine with me,” Sonny replied, “I have no reason to advertise it.”
“Matt Paiz says you know Raven better than anyone. Both he and Doyle have assured me that anything you can do to help would be greatly appreciated. We need to find this man, Sonny, and the sooner the better. Paiz will call you. He wants to work with you.”
FBI calling me for help? Sonny smiled. That’s a change.
“What else?” Sonny asked.
“Security found a Ford Explorer that must have belonged to him. And the rope he used to rappel down the cliffside. They tell me we must have come upon him moments after he killed the guards. FBI figures he’s nearby.”
Sonny said nothing about meeting Raven at Bandelier Monument and nothing about the dream. Raven was moving fast; they couldn’t keep up with him.
“Anyway, the state police are assisting the FBI, and Doyle has a special antiterrorist unit flying in. Coordinating through Paiz, of course. But right now it’s only a training exercise in security, you understand?”
“I understand,” Sonny answered.
They were covering their asses. Three guards dead at the labs would be big news, but if the media found out a plutonium pit was loose in the state, there would be a panic. Heads would fly in Washington, including Eric’s and Doyle’s. And if the media discovered the plutonium was in the hands of a terrorist, maybe the Avengers wouldn’t have to set it off. The panic would be the catalyst they were looking for.
A stone had been dropped into New Mexico waters, and the ripples were spreading. The waves would wash up on international shores. Terrorists had not yet built a nuclear weapon. Would it happen here first? The Chamber of Commerce will love it, Sonny thought.
“Good, good. I’ll keep you posted,” Eric said, and hung up.
“Yeah, you do that,” Sonny replied, looked at the phone, and clicked it off. He glanced at the clock. Taking a chance, he called Teresa at Zimmerman, but she wasn’t in. Next he tried Ruth Jamison at the public library. She and Sonny had attended Río Grande High together. Years later, when he took on investigating, whenever he needed help at the public library, he went to her. She was good, she didn’t gossip, and beneath the surface there was still an attraction.
“Ruth doesn’t work here anymore,” someone answered.
“Doesn’t work there, what do you mean?”
“She’s gone.”
“Gone? She can’t be gone!”
“Look, mister—”
“Okay, okay. How about.…” He searched his mind for someone he could trust. Vangie.
“Vangie Quintana.”
“She’s at the Broadway library. I’ll connect you.”
Sonny waited, then Vangie came on. “Sonny, how are you? What can I do for you?”
“Hi, Vangie, where’s Ruth?”
“You haven’t heard? She got married. A writer came by in an old Volks bus, on his way to México. He was doing articles on the revolution in Chiapas, so Ruth helped him. He stayed a few days, they fell in love, and he asked her to go with him.”
“And she went, kids and all?”
“Yup. I’ve never seen her so happy. We’re still receiving cards from México as they travel south. It’s great, Sonny. A new life for her.”
“Yes.” Sonny agreed. Ruth deserved a new life. But México? Chiapas? “I wish her luck,” he said. “Listen, the reason I called is because I need books on Los Alamos. Anything on the building of the first atomic bomb. Also anything on the new director, Leif Eric.”
“Can do. What else?”
“Do you have anything on the militia groups here in the state?”
“Not really,” Vangie replied. “Maybe a few news clippings.”
“I’ll take what you have. And I’m still being chauffeured around, so I won’t be in till tomorrow.”
“No problem.”
“Thanks. Soon as I get outta my chair, I’ll take you to lunch.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” she said sweetly.
Sonny hung the phone and turned to greet don Eliseo, who knocked at the kitchen door before he entered.
“Hey, Sonny,” don Eliseo said, “buenos días. Como ’stás?”
“Buenos días, don Eliseo. I’m okay. Cold night, huh?”
“Not bad, I had my estufa de leña going all night. So I was warm as a bug. I remember one winter I went as a borreguero up to Wyoming. I was just a kid, and I went with my uncle. Mi tío Santiago. Talk about cold. We had blizzards blowing that kept us in for a week. Al fin, when we could get out, there were frozen sheep all around us. We lost so many we didn’t get paid. Not our fault, you know, but the patron blamed us, so we didn’t get paid. Anda, let me pour,” the old man volunteered, pouring the coffee and taking the menudo out of the microwave oven. “You’re the one that was out in the cold.”
“Rita told you.”
“I came over last night. You know, to check on things. You were already asleep.”
“I appreciate it, don Eliseo.”
“What’s a vecino for?”
“Sit down. Coffee’s ready and the menudo is hot.”
“The breakfast of champions,” don Eliseo said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He sat and looked at the bowl. “It’s a beauty.”
“Ever see anything like it?”
“Oh, no, it’s not from the pueblos. Not Hopi or Navajo. No,” he whispered, “this bowl of dreams is from the Aztecas. From before the Aztecas. Maybe Tolteca.”
“Don Eliseo, about yesterday—”
“It’s nothing, Sonny.”
“I doubted you.”
“You have a right to doubt.”
“I guess I just couldn’t believe Raven can get into my dreams. I couldn’t believe he can kill me that way.”
“And now?” The old man arched a thick, gray eyebrow and looked at Sonny. His eyes were dark brown, but the irises were flecked with light.
“The bowl was in the dream—now it’s here. How do I explain that?”
“Things fall from dreams.”
“Fall from dreams?”
“Yes. Just like the person. You think you’re dreaming, then you fall into your bed.” He winked.
Sonny forced a wry smile. “I had another dream last night. Raven took another young woman.”
“Ah, cabrón! We figured that. I talked to Lorenza and Rita last night. We knew that might happen. But you needed to rest.”
“I couldn’t stop him.”
“It takes time to master the dream,” don El
iseo said, and placed his hand on Sonny’s.
“Can I do it?”
“You’re almost there, Sonny. You’re ordering the dream, so you can get into the river of dreams wherever you want. But you need to prepare the stage.”
“Prepare the stage? Like in a movie?”
“Sure, why not. The old medicine men used to call those who travel to their dream los Señores del Sueño. Lords of the Dream. I told you the light of the sun comes to earth in the form of Lords and Ladies of the Light. There are also Lords and Ladies of Dreams. If you can travel to your dream, you become such a person. You have the gift, Sonny. Now you have to develop the power. You already learned to make the dream a story, so it’s not cluttered. That’s the first step. Now you have to be the main character.”
“Write myself into the dream—”
“Sure. You like to read. So think of the dream like a story or a movie.”
Sonny thought awhile. “Raven has a plutonium pit. He wants to build a bomb.”
Don Eliseo nodded. “I read somewhere they named that pluto cosa after Pluto, the god of hell. Raven works there.”
“And that’s where he holds Owl Woman?”
“He has a corner in the land of the spirits. A corner in every heart.”
A corner? Sonny shook his head. Sometimes he didn’t understand the old man’s metaphors.
He sipped coffee and stared at the Bowl of Dreams. For don Eliseo, the bowl was a religious icon, a sign from the past. It was related to Sonny’s dream and therefore to the wider dream of the community. The bowl was the earth, its round shape reflecting the curve of the earth. The glyphs were symbols encoded with a primal message.
“Raven comes to bring chaos. He wears a different costume every time,” don Eliseo said. “The universe was created in violence. There in the womb of time the first spark explodes, like the sperm of a man exploding into the egg of a woman. Birth. The spirit of the universe is born. That’s good. We see the light of the Universal Spirit, the clarity of the sun. Our alma wants to join the light. We want peace and harmony. But others remain loyal to that emptiness before life. They love violence, they want to destroy the harmony we feel with the creation. We have to fight them.”
“We?”
“We,” the old man said hoarsely. “We, too, have been on earth a long time. We carry the clarity of the Universal Spirit in our hearts. It is our responsibility not to let the darkness win. Just like the medicine men are praying to give the sun strength, like the Católicos pray at the church for the birth of Cristo, like everyone prays to the birth of light, we pray.”
Yes, Sonny nodded. For the old man the struggle was very clear. Evil versus good. Each person was involved. The whole universe was involved. To fight Raven meant not only averting the catastrophe of the moment, it meant keeping the universe in balance.
Slowly, Sonny told don Eliseo the details of last night’s dream.
“Yes, he has that power. When he cannot affect the world as we see it, he attacks in the dream. That is why the world is full of so much violence. Raven, and those like him, are destroying the dream of peace. The saints, the kachinas, the old prophets, all the gods of the earth have been fighting this battle for a long time. But now the dream is clouded. The Bringer of Curses is growing stronger.”
Chica whined. She heard the call of raucous crows in the cottonwoods along the acequia. Each winter hundreds of crows came to sleep in the trees. In the morning they spread over the city to forage for scraps. Joggers along the bosque trails often came upon them unexpectedly; then the band of the tribal birds rose, cawing stridently into the air.
“Los cuervos are back,” don Eliseo said simply. “They come to eat at my cornfield. Chica chases them.”
“Go chase,” Sonny said to the eager Chica, and she was out the dog door like a streak. Outside, her barking filled the air.
They listened to her enjoying herself for a moment, then Sonny said, “I felt alone last night.”
“No Coyote,” don Eliseo said.
“No. He didn’t come. I couldn’t become Coyote, I couldn’t see him.”
“Try to find Owl Woman. She will give you the power you need to enter your dreams. The women are the keepers of the dream. For a long time they said the prayers to Mother Earth. They, like the earth, guard the egg that gives birth. They also guard the dream.”
Sonny wasn’t sure he understood. “Rita?”
“Yes, Rita. She dreams of having your children. Once a woman dreams of the child, she will create it, she passes on the dream.”
“How does Lorenza fit in?”
“She understands you have the soul of a warrior. She took you to your coyote spirit. You have met your guardian animal and entered the world of spirits. But she can’t take you into the world of dreams.”
Sonny fell silent. It made sense, and it didn’t make sense. But he trusted the old man.
“What does the name Caridad mean?” he asked.
“Caridad? Es nombre místico.”
“Nombre místico?”
“Sure. All the names have a mystic power. Caridad is charity and goodwill. A gift we wish for our vecinos. But in this age we are losing that knowledge. The names are losing their power.”
“Consuelo means to comfort?”
“Sí.”
“I thought there might be a pattern in the names.”
“There is a pattern in the names,” don Eliseo nodded. “To name is to make sagrado.”
Sonny nodded.
“You see, even the days have their names. A day comes with its proper face, just as each cycle of the moon has a name, and the seasons have names. The cycles of time are not measured by a man’s life. No, we are but a speck in time. Our ancestors from México tried to measure time back to its beginning.”
“Why?”
“If they could arrive at the beginning of time, they would know the name of God. Perhaps they would see the face of God, the universe being born. Then the memory of the soul would become clear to them. Then life and its suffering would be attached to the dream, to la memoria. It is fragmented now, you see. Too many realities. But we know they are all one, so we have been seeking that unity since we could first dream.”
“Did they get there?”
“We don’t know, hijo. The stories are lost. The dream is shattered. They named the cycles of time, the ages of man on earth, and they counted five to the present time. Each cycle of time lives and dies, like the universe lives and dies. Who is to say how many times the universe has been born, taken billions of years to grow and die, like a tree grows and dies. It becomes a seed again, and it is born from that seed. Seed, birth, death. Our lives are like that.”
The old man’s words made Sonny reflect. All those tribes of the past in all the disguises called spirituality or religion had one goal, to achieve the most sacred moment.
“And we know so little,” he sighed. “La vida es un sueño.”
“We fly from dream to dream,” don Eliseo said with deep satisfaction in his voice. “Those who don’t understand the flight of the soul fear it. Or they say the power of the soul to fly and visit other worlds comes from the gods. Some say the gift is from outer space.” He laughed. “Que pendejos. The gift is inside. Aquí.” He pointed at his chest. “The flight of the soul is a gift. Imagine, flying between worlds, between dreams. Imagine being connected to the memory of our ancestors. What peace would fill our hearts. We are here to use our gift, to seek clarity. By filling our souls with light we can be one with the universe. The soul of the universe.”
“Pay attention,” Sonny said.
“Yes.”
“Pray.”
“Open your soul to the light, that is prayer.”
“There are signs on the path.” Sonny looked at the bowl.
Don Eliseo leaned forward and pointed at the first glyph. “Here. An explosion of the sun, the birth. Later the same sun will be held between the horns of a bull, like the Egyptian sun. Then water covers the earth. See here, lightni
ng, the first fire. The sun again, giver of life. The moon, cycles of the woman. But the bowl belongs to this earth. See the tree? It is not the cross of the Cristo, but the Tree of Life of our ancestors. This is the Bowl of Dreams of the Americas.”
“Why the Americas?”
“Because our human dream needed to be born again,” don Eliseo replied, growing excited. “The time was ripe, and there was hope in the hearts of those who watched the progression of time. Here in the Americas, it was thought, the dream could be planted again.”
“Yes,” Sonny whispered. He was following the old man’s dark, gnarled finger as it pointed to the glyphs along the bottom of the bowl. In the beginning of time, the story said.
“Male and female in one God,” don Eliseo continued. “See the signs? Male and female in one burst of light. The creation. The seed of time, the egg being penetrated. Thus the divine imagination penetrates the egg. Then it begins to tell the story in the Tolteca way. Why? Because this bowl was fashioned there in their land. See here.”
Sonny peered intently.
“See the tiger. That is the Tiger Sun of their legends. The ending of the first world. One Reed is the name of the year. The people are incomplete, they do not yet carry the dream within, and so they are eaten by the tiger gods. See here. Four Wind. The second coming into consciousness of our ancestors, and still they are ill formed. So the wind carries them away. They become monkeys.”
“A story of evolution,” Sonny interjected. “But you call it a ‘coming into consciousness.’”
“Yes, evolution is not only of our bodies and our civilizations, but of our spirits. We are the dream people. We must learn to carry the dream. At that time our ancestors were not yet ready to receive the dream of the Universal Spirit, so the wind of the universe came to cleanse the earth. Even the sun was destroyed. Imagine the fear of our ancestors when the sun itself was blown away, and darkness fell again.”
“The sun up there is destroyed?” Sonny pointed.
“No,” don Eliseo said. “The sun within! The light within us is destroyed. The essence is being cleansed to create a new spirit. It is an evolution of our consciousness. The date is Twelve Serpent. Even in the Bible written by the prophets across the sea the serpent appears. The earth energy comes winding like a snake to give us wisdom. When we take it inside, we are connected to the energy of the earth. But that is not enough. The spirit within must grow. Each one of us must open ourselves to the light of the Universal Spirit.”