Yes, I’m late.

I’m going to skip a season and call the upcoming number the Summer Edition. Joining the norm (here we go again) of magazines, the Summer Edition will appear right before the beginning of Summer, instead of the middle-end. Let’s say by the time the sun sets on Summer Solstice. Technically, that’s not skipping a number, so the Subscribers should not complain. It is a problem, when you don’t have subscribers, to have them notice anything like that, which in a normal world would involve assuring them that they will receive the same number of issues they paid for. Attentive readers who reached this sentence will have noticed that there isn’t a subscription to obtain, and will be disappointed that there isn’t one. Read on.

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Dear Reader, I’m now going back to read the submissions I received and make important editorial decisions. I promise you a grandiose Summer Issue.

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Guy Tiphane, ed.

I am comforted by the thought that I don’t have a huge slush pile to go through every quarter, knowing that the day will come when I need help. I still can read everything that shows up in my e-mail without the legendary effect of the first paragraph (as you know, many readers don’t go past the first paragraph, so be forewarned that this may happen here too, some day). Yet, this quarter’s edition comes a few weeks late, having competed with an overloaded January schedule. I hope that the writers among you (and hopefully we have readers who don’t need to be writers) will find renewed inspiration after reading any of these fine stories, as I did. Keep submitting, and if you’re concerned about the size of my slush pile, consider volunteering your time to help going through it and finding the gems (or encouraging others to submit them). You don’t even need to move away from your desk to do so.

Once more, there’s a print-your-own version of the magazine in PDF format that you can print and take with you. If you do, think about leaving it somewhere for others to read. While we don’t print and distribute it ourselves (not a viable business these days), we appreciate being out there and having eyes set on us.

Happy Reading!
Guy Tiphane

p.s. A sign of our popularity, the site was bombarded with spam, so I turned off the ability to post comments. Send me your comments and I’ll happily post them.

I’m negative and Lloyd is untested.

This took three dates to establish. I don’t count meeting cute on Second Avenue while I was buying the Sunday Times and he was walking his dog and then going to his place to fuck and exchanging numbers but not names — that I don’t count as a date.

But then maybe I should have, because if I’d paid attention, I’d have known it was all wrong the moment I laid eyes on him.

I saw the shoulders first.

Broad as a linebacker’s. I could hang a life on those, I thought, and thought little else. I swooned. I stuttered. I dropped my quarters and twenty minutes later at his place, my pants.

The second date I noticed details. Like the dog.

It’s a Pit Bull, Lloyd says.

They scare me, I say.

He’s usually on a leash, Lloyd says, his green eyes crinkle; as if that would make a difference.

*

I can’t date a man with a Pit Bull I tell my therapist. I don’t approve. It’s arrogant. It’s superficial. It’s dangerous.

My therapist says it’s all there the first time, everything you need to know; but it’s compressed, like a ball of yarn awaiting a curious cat.

Meow, I say.

His pale oval face leans forward. He smiles indulgently. A doughy smile. We’ve been here before this smile says.

*

The next date we go to the Frick. I like the art Lloyd says. I’m a stock broker, but I like my art. When he undresses I notice the Rolex, the shirt, the suspenders, the shoes. I check the labels. Gucci’s, Barney’s, Bergdorf’s. Blue suspenders, with thin parallel lines a confident shade of yellow.

A businessman’s highway.

I eye the Pit Bull. His name is Arnold.

*

My friend Louise objects.

But the shoulders, I say clutching the phone. I can hang my life on them.

But he wears suspenders, she cautions, her voice hoarse from a cold. From Barney’s, she says. He’s not our kind, she says.

*

Lloyd’s entered my life like water, I tell my therapist. Flowing. Like water he pours through all my openings. He smells wet and green. And in places the sun doesn’t reach, his skin is as soft and cool as algae on a summer lake.

But have you asked him, my therapist says, brown eyes watering with concern.

But have you asked him, Louise echoes, later that day.

*

Louise says it’s all there on the first page. She studies English. She’s small and lost in layers of clothes. She’s always cold. Here, she says and hands me a book. Read James Joyce.

The book’s cover is green and faded, the pages yellow and marked. Portrait of the Artist, she proclaims. It’s all there on the first page. Compressed. It waits to be unfolded by your mind. Like a boyfriend. Like a lover.

I turn the pages to be polite. She’s a student now. A scholar.

Have you asked him, she says again.

But he likes art, I say, trying not to whine.

Oh pretty boy she says, you could drown Jimmy Hoffa you’re so concrete.

Face it, she says. You crave the nearness of danger.

*

And it’s true, what Louise says. I get tested every three months even if the most unsafe act I’ve performed is brushing with my Oral-B past its limit. Yet my timid soul aches to sprout wings and brush up against the sun.

Next time I’ll ask, I tell my therapist.

Next time I’ll ask, I tell Louise.

*

We walk through the park. Westside to Eastside, my side to his. Lloyd eats ice cream, I eat yogurt. It’s safer, I say. We step in and out of lengthening shadows. The summer sun is setting.

It’s growing dark, I warn.

Now I will ask, I will ask now, I think. But he looks at me with those crazy green eyes the color of freshly printed twenties.

I love hang gliding, he says, as if reading my thoughts. I love the Yankees. I love rollerblading and rollercoasters. I race cars at speeds approaching two hundred. I speculate recklessly. I buy and sell on margin.

A man who loves the Yankees scares me. Pit Bulls, Rolexes, Gucci’s scare me.

But are you tested I blurt out?

I can fly a plane, Lloyd says. I’m licensed and legal. I can drive a car in New York and a motorcycle in all 50 states. I can elbow and shout on the stock exchange floor with the best of them, he says.

You know what I mean, I shout, surprised at my spunk. Yet there are those shoulders I can hang a life on, I think, remembering where he hides the softness of algae.

Lloyd breathes and sighs. We stand toe to toe. His breath is warm and clammy, barely stirring the hot summer air. It clings to my face. He tilts backwards. He waves his hands frantically as if he’s about to fall. Passersby stop and stare. Chocolate ice cream drips on his gray Armani jacket.

I was tested all through grade school and high school and college, but no… He pauses, as if all the air’s been let out of him. His pants lose their crease. They billow in all the wrong places. His jacket wrinkles, the shoulders sag. His eyes, drained of color, are hard. They smolder. But no, that test, he says, I don’t believe in. That test is not a test, it’s a verdict.

Now his face takes on a gentle look. We use rubbers, he pleads. We use rubbers don’t we, he asks?

It’s all there on the first day, my therapist says.

It’s all there on the first page, says Louise.

*

I realize now that it’ll be me who says one night, “We don’t need these,” and he’ll protest, strongly at first, but I’ll know my own mind. I won’t be swayed as the Pit Bull gnaws at the tossed aside latex, and the Rolex ticks, and Lloyd’s thrusting body fills me with courage as I grip tight to his shoulders, the ones I can build a life on.

*

Lloyd calls the next day. You left before morning, he says. Why, he asks?

I don’t need you, I say.

But I love you, he says.

I don’t want to see you anymore, I say. You’re untested, I say. You’re a man who can’t be trusted. Coward, I say into the phone. Solemnly. A verdict. Never trust men who wear Rolexes I will tell Louise. Never trust men with Pit Bulls I will tell my therapist. And I’ll lie awake at night imagining the cold air rushing past me, skin tingling and alive, my wings extended, hang gliding, looking down on the moss shrouded rocks below, slapped by waves, my bowels tightening, knowing the next day I’ll call my doctor for an appointment — asking to be tested — knowing the number from memory.

photo by Guy Tiphane

1 INT. CAR – SUMMER – DAY

SPENCER and CODY drive on a windy, rocky road. They are silent as they pass a glass marijuana pipe between themselves. At the same time, SPENCER glances through a brochure entitled “The German Experience.” CODY coughs. He can’t stop coughing.

SPENCER (searching the car): Cody do we have any water?

CODY, still coughing, shakes his head as SPENCER keeps looking.

2 EXT. RIVER – DAY

SPENCER and CODY park upstream of a nearby river. They get out of the car, both slam their doors and begin walking toward their place: a small peninsula of limestone which juts toward the river. Behind the peninsula is a limestone wall. It’s old and dry, flaky. It’s so old it looks as if it’s just earth, not stone at all. They lie on the peninsula, and CODY wraps one leg around SPENCER’s. They are both high. They stare straight into the sky.

3 EXT. RIVER – EVENING

Both boys are asleep. SPENCER wakes up and untangles his legs from CODY’s. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and retrieves and lights one. CODY rouses at the sound of the lighter. SPENCER walks to the limestone wall, reaches to it delicately and scrapes at it with a fingernail. Pieces of rock crumble and fall.

CODY’S VOICE: What are you doing?

SPENCER, rubbing his finger, turns to face CODY, rubbing his finger.

SPENCER: Nothing. Looking at the rock.

CODY: You okay?

SPENCER (turning back to the wall): I’m fine. Just looking. This is limestone, right?

CODY rolls his eyes a little. He scratches at the peninsula.

CODY: Yeah.

SPENCER: How is this vertical when the riverbed is flat? Grand Canyon effect or something?

CODY: Yeah. The river used to be wider and it cut a canyon out of the wall.

CODY gets up and walks to SPENCER, looking at him solidly. CODY reaches out and scratches the wall. More pieces of rock fall.

CODY: Limestone’s so porous. I guess it dries out easy if it doesn’t get wet.

SPENCER: Easily. Don’t they build with this stuff? How can they build with it if it just cracks like this?

CODY: I didn’t know it got this dry. There must be some way to laminate it to make it stronger. I don’t know how they do that, though. If they can.

CODY grabs SPENCER round the shoulders. He begins to lead him downstream.

CODY: Let’s walk downstream. Get away from this rock before it all falls. You don’t know how strong it isn’t. We’ve never been down here.

SPENCER nods. He is upset. They start to walk along the riverbank in the distance. SPENCER stops and turns to CODY.

SPENCER: I’ll miss you.

CODY: I’m only gonna be gone for a month.

SPENCER: It’s a long way away.

CODY: Not too far. Just halfway around.

SPENCER: Send me a postcard?

CODY: I will. Definitely. I think I’ve already got about twenty people I’ve promised to send cards to.

SPENCER: Who’ll be the first? The first you send to, I mean.

CODY takes his arm off SPENCER and leans his head toward him. He kisses SPENCER.

CODY: You.

SPENCER pulls away from CODY and makes his way back to the limestone wall. CODY follows him.

CODY: You know I think what I’m excited about most is seeing the wall. In Berlin. How cool will it be to stand there? Where the great Iron Curtain was? The dividing line. The separation point.

SPENCER: There’s not much of it left. Just pieces. Perestroika and glasnost happened, remember?

CODY: I know that.

SPENCER’S by the limestone wall again, almost so close to it he’s leaning on it for support.

CODY: It’ll just be…I dunno…Awe-inspiring or something to stand there. At the place where people were cut off. That kind of separation…I mean I guess it’s happening in Korea now, no, Jerusalem more like it, but that’s the only other place I can think of. People just aren’t cut off anymore.

SPENCER: They aren’t? Huh. Forced separation, though. (struggling to say the words) That—that—very.

CODY (not noticing SPENCER’S inability to speak): And Auschwitz … that’ll be a good one.

SPENCER: Oh that’ll be a blast! I’ve heard the ovens still smell.

CODY: Can’t testify to that one.

SPENCER: You know they used to kill us in the camps too? It wasn’t just Jewish people.

CODY: The pink triangles. I’ve heard. You gonna stand there all night? Or talk to me?

SPENCER: We’ve got all night. There are blankets in the car. I’m hungry. Didn’t we bring some hot dogs?

CODY: Right.

Pause. SPENCER turns to the wall and scratches at it. CODY turns and walks to where the peninsula juts from the bank of the river. He puts his hand in the water, and then pulls a handful of water to his mouth and slurps it down. SPENCER starts picking larger chunks of the wall off than before and tosses the pieces behind him. CODY turns back around. He stands up and rushes to SPENCER. He grabs SPENCER by his neck.

CODY: Easy! Don’t you know how avalanches work?

SPENCER: There’s no snow here.

CODY: Any kind of landslide, then. Something gets disturbed and then the land falls.

SPENCER pulls from CODY’s grasp.

SPENCER: This won’t fall.

CODY: You don’t know that. There are boulders up there on top of the hill. Have you ever seen them? If they fell—even if we got out of the way they would maybe roll.

SPENCER: They won’t fall. This isn’t like Berlin. This isn’t political. This one’s land. God-made, not man.

CODY: It can still fall, Spencer.

SPENCER: No it won’t. If there’s supposed to be a wall there will be. Like this. Some walls are needed. Why? Different reasons. The one in Berlin—that wasn’t supposed to be there. So it fell.

CODY: Spencer… A wall is a wall.

SPENCER: People tore it down. This one is supposed to be here. People can’t tear it down.

CODY: It doesn’t matter what kind of wall it is, it can fall no matter what.

SPENCER grabs one last chunk of rock off the wall and tosses it—hard—aside. He looks are CODY as if he’s making a dare. CODY hesitates. He tries to kiss SPENCER.

SPENCER: I’m not in the mood.

CODY: What’s wrong?

SPENCER: Nothing’s wrong. It’s just me nothing’s wrong.

SPENCER turns and begins to walk away.

CODY (patiently): Don’t say that.

SPENCER (nonchalantly): It’s not bullshit. It wouldn’t be if you’d listen to it.

CODY (more lividly): Listen to it listen to what? To you talk uninformed about how rocks fall?

SPENCER: Walls, Cody. Walls. There’s a difference between a wall and the stone it’s made from.

CODY: What differences?

SPENCER: Their purpose. Their placement. whether they’re there naturally or whether they’re put there by people. We’ve got a wall.

CODY: What?

SPENCER: Between us. The Iron Curtain. The Atlantic Wall, there, that’s more metaphorical. Whatever you wanna call it. It’s there.

CODY: Huh?

SPENCER leaves his safeguard by the wall and approaches CODY as he makes his next statement.

SPENCER: You’re leaving tomorrow for a month to go to a country you’ve never been to with people you don’t know. Who are you?

Pause.

CODY: What does that mean?

SPENCER: It means I’m worried. I’m worried my postcard will come with a picture of you and some guy named Fritz or…or Friedrich or Rolfe or something on it and the note will say “Sorry Spencer, found someo–

CODY: Shut up.

SPENCER: You know it could happen. These types of relationships aren’t made to last.

CODY: Types of relationships what types of relationships? No. No. Shut up. Shut the hell up.

SPENCER complies. He walks back to the rock wall and picks at it some more.

CODY: I hope it falls. I hope it falls on you.

SPENCER: I’ll do it myself if I have to.

CODY: You’re so dense. You know that?

SPENCER (melodramatic): Shut up. I’m tearing down this wall. Only way to do it. Wall won’t come down ‘til you make it come down. Got to want it to happen and then you make it.

CODY (overlapping a little): I’m going to leave you here if you don’t get away from the wall.

SPENCER: Tell me you won’t do anything while you’re there.

CODY: I won—

SPENCER: Tell me if you do you won’t tell me.

CODY: I won’t prom–. I can’t promise that.

SPENCER stops picking at the rock wall. He faces CODY.

SPENCER: See? Not made to last. Man-made, not God. You see what we’re doing? You see what men do?

CODY: I won’t promise anything.

SPENCER: Won’t promise what? That you won’t tell me? That you won’t even do anything? I’m guessing the former.

CODY: Okay. I’m not saying that to hurt you.

SPENCER: I didn’t think so. I can see past the peace treaty.

CODY: I’m telling the truth.

SPENCER: So I’m free for whatever too? I won’t do anything. I’ll be damned if I’m the one to perpetuate—

CODY: You think of yourself as a fucking martyr and you’re not even dead yet.

SPENCER: Martyr?

CODY: Yes. Martyr.

SPENCER gives no reply. Instead, he turns back to the wall and picks at it, throwing chunks on the ground. CODY stares at SPENCER. Then, CODY turns to walk away.

THE END

photo by Bonnie Rupel

1

CHAOS:

The swells and eddies of this river tug at me, draw me to destinations of which I have no knowledge. My power seems infinite once I arrive but for the moment I’m helpless, a victim of the flows, a piece of flotsam in the currents of what? A spatial anomaly? A tidal wave of souls awaiting rebirth? A flood of disembodied personalities, ethereal spirits caught between phases of life and death? I can no longer bear this. Must find somewhere to shelter. Must find someone to shelter myself within. Where or when does not figure into the equation. After all, I always was, always will be. But this? The confusion of myriad minds, the endless cacophony of voices all battling one another for attention. Had I physicality, I would explode into a galaxy of stars. This gaseous soup of a nebula, however, is without end. If only… wait…there in the distance! I can sense it! I can become it!

A warm and gentle breeze teased his curly black locks but Demetrios did not feel refreshed. Instead, the climate oppressed him and contributed to his anxiety. Even a clear view of the pyramid-shaped, snow-capped Mount Taygetos could not ease his sense of dread. He concentrated on the spicy scent of oregano that rode in with the wind but it failed to distract him from his worries. What sacrilegious act, he wondered, would create such a perfect afternoon while everything else disrupted his world? For days he had longed for a respite from the sweltering, dry heat. His problem, however, denied him the ability to enjoy the favorable weather at all.

With his mentor absent and his turn at combat practice cancelled, the young warrior suffered a loss. He was frustrated by his complete devotion to training as it had resulted in a lack of close friendships. At least, there were no other participants of the agoge within the Spartan village of Limnes that he thought of as a friend. Too restless to sit, Demetrios allowed his instinct to lead him along the north bank of the river Evrotas and into the nearby foothills towards the Temple of Artemis Orthia.

When he had covered almost two kilometers, the young warrior finally sat to rest, his back positioned against a black marble stele inscribed with names. A lizard scurried out from some nearby fennel shrubs. This hillside overlooked the willow-encircled temple as well as the entire Lacedaemonian Plain below it. It unsettled him to remember that he had been flogged on the steps of this very shrine in the traditional Spartan ritual that had made him a man. Though his flesh was torn to ribbons in the process, he accepted it with the knowledge that this war goddess would not have been satisfied unless her altar was soaked with his blood. He empathized with the younger members of the agoge who continued to receive beatings from their mentors in an effort to increase the strength and endurance of their charges. It was a comfort to him that the gods had chosen a compassionate hoplite inspirer as his instructor. He’d been taught with patience and understanding how to use brain over brawn in battle. Still, this did not console Demetrios.

Fatigued from the uphill trek, he licked his lips and tasted a few beads of perspiration that had trickled onto them. As he soaked up the excess sweat on his face with the shoulder of his tunic, there came the realization that his impulsiveness had caused him to forget to bring an offering. As compensation he would have to gather some sage to burn at the temple’s entrance before his departure. But that would come later. For now, he contented himself with a few hearty swigs from his skin of water. It quenched his thirst but did not relieve the memory of the conversation with his inspirer, Andreas, earlier that day.

* * *

“But I don’t feel that I could be apart from you until then,” pleaded Demetrios. “The day after your matrimony is a half moon away. And to have Lysandra of Mesoa, of all women, as your betrothed! All of Hellas is aware of her notorious behavior. Why did you consent to this in the first place?”

Andreas responded with honesty and conviction. “It is true that Lysandra is filled with conceit and more spoiled than most available maidens. But you must consider that her mother is a respected Dorian aristocrat and that her father, Democritus, stands a good chance of selection into the Council of Ephors. They hold more power in this polis than either king, especially during peacetime. Besides, this is a duty I must fulfill now that I approach my thirtieth year. It’s important to my own family in allegiance to the city-state of Sparta. This also involves a promise I made to myself when I first fought as a hoplite.”

“How can you serve in defense of our polis if you act out this charade with someone you don’t even care about, Andreas?”

“Then, look at it this way: the alternative is to complete my military career in complete shame. That is, if I would even be permitted to complete it. Don’t you understand that this is an obligation to my past inspirer, a promise that might as well be carved in stone? This is the same responsibility that you, as hearer, will need to take upon yourself when you become hoplite. Now that you have reached twenty-one years of age, that day will arrive very soon. Put yourself in my place, Demetrios. Are you really so willing to want this humiliation to fall upon me?” Andreas drilled his own eyes into those of his protégé. As eispenelas, this was his commitment; as lover and friend, it was his desire.

“The gods be damned! I don’t care about what others think. Let them talk!”

“Think then of me, Demetrios. If you don’t care about yourself, how would you feel when you hear my name laughed at? Are you prepared to deal with the ramifications of such a curse? You know that your own father would remove you from my guardianship if he hears that I pursue the course you are so willing to consign me to. To my comrades, it gives the appearance of superiority. On that basis alone I would no longer be considered homoioi, an equal. Indeed, they could deny me my kleros, the plot of land promised by the state, as well as your company. I don’t care to lose either. And to you, they would refute your new status as warrior. Is that what you really want for us?” Andreas knew his charge’s vulnerabilities from the inside out.

Demetrios hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to disappoint his beloved mentor whose eyes now held him hostage. After a defeated sigh, he made one last effort. “But, Andreas, Lysandra? You’ve never even…I mean…how are you going to get through this?”

Andreas gripped his partner’s tensed shoulders. “You know I must do this. It won’t be for long. And you know that I’ll return after my wedding night. I believe that you are emotionally prepared for such a challenge. Prove to me that I’m correct in this assertion, Demetrios. It is for the best. Believe me.”

* * *

For now, it calmed Demetrios to stare off into the soothing landscape as an escape from the unpleasant recollection. He let his mind engulf thoughts of the possible exotic lands that existed beyond the horizon. Speculation alone proved mentally exhausting so he leaned back against the heat-soaked stone. Weariness fell upon him like a black cloak.

2

DREAMWEAVER:

My origin is from a dark place, the shadowed realm of unquenched desires. It is the place of lost hope, of dreams that never were. Who am I that I must fulfill this mission? One that has extended from the limitless void into the eternity of space. Yet, each aspect of every action must have its consequence. Without my presence, unseen or manifest, those results will not take form. My loom is that of a configuration of star sequences; constellations, some have called them. I weave together their connecting filaments be they animal, vegetable, mineral, ether, or elemental. Those with will, however, are the most delicate strands of all. Interestingly, once woven, they form the strongest, most enduring bonds. Caution I must take or those fibers, wrongly interlaced, will unravel like a serpent. Yes, I must grasp these threads and dream them across eons to connect them properly.

Demetrios was about to rise when, from the corner of his vision, the landscape played a trick on him. He swore that a figure stood about ten meters downhill and to the right of the temple’s columns, if only for an instant. When he turned his head to see it, there was no one there. He scrutinized the area for a moment more as the charged air took on an odor, the same sulfurous one that his senses told him comes only with a thunderstorm. Andreas once explained the nature of lightning strikes to him, yet there were no storm clouds in sight. An almost tangible brightness coalesced in that same vicinity and, in the midst of the brilliance, a fully figured man formed out of nothing.

In a frightened move, Demetrios scurried behind the stele, not certain if the apparition caught sight of him. When he had summoned the courage to take a peek, he saw a living being of his own age dressed in unfamiliar garments. “By the gods!” he said softly. “This could be a deity who descended from Mount Olympus to punish me for my arrogance towards Andreas.”

Curiosity rooted Demetrios to his spot. He considered it strange that the humanlike entity did not appear to be cruel. This lack of malevolence encouraged Demetrios to stand his ground. He continued to regard the figure even as it approached his hiding place. Demetrios realized that, as a warrior, he should never let his guard down in this manner. “Andreas would scold me for such failure,” he whispered. Demetrios could not dwell on the subject for a moment longer; the emanation of foreign sounds distracted him. Were they an attempt at communication by the apparition?

3

CHAOS:

Happiness, joy, depression, anger. How is it that humans deal with such emotions? Why do they not revel in the sensuality of physical contact whilst shedding their fears, their sexual inhibitions? If I were mortal, I would have no hesitation in doing such. Instead, their ignorance drives them to continue towards self-pity.

“Good night, Mrs. Kirianis, and thanks for the hospitality,” said Andrew as he folded his arms against the chill of the wind. The early darkness of late October caught him off his guard. Andrew could feel the onset of winter in the air and cringed at the prospect.

“You know that you are welcome anytime, sweetheart. Demetri loves your company also, but you’d better get inside before you catch pneumonia. You just can’t trust the weather this time of year.”

“Mom, he’ll be fine. He’s just two doors down,” said Demetri still blushing from her comment. “It was good to have you come by, Andrew,” he shouted before his mother could interrupt.

“Thanks,” said Andrew stumbling backwards. “It was good to see you again.” Not really certain why those words brought on a sudden inner warmth, Andrew turned and trotted the remainder of the way to his own doorstep as he fumbled with his flashlight key chain.

Andrew Wilson’s comfort with the Kirianis clan stemmed from his specialization in Ancient Greece as a history major at CUNY. Last semester, one professor had focused on the warrior culture of Sparta. That’s not to say that his neighbors lived in constant battle with one another! Now whether or not this choice of subject was the result from his fascination with the daily rituals of the denizens of Astoria, Andrew had never ascertained. He only knew that, whenever he opened his window, he heard an exuberant mixture of Greek and English conversations amongst at least eight people who all jabbered at once.

A spicy cinnamon aroma infused this part of the borough of Queens like some sacred incense. It clung to the clothing of its inhabitants no matter how far they traveled. Andrew knew this because Demetri often invited him to the Kirianis family deli called The Acropolis. Demetri was a friendly type of guy in his mid-twenties with dark curly hair and piercing black eyes. In fact, during their last excursion together, there was more than one awkward moment when Andrew felt those eyes see right through him as they stood shoulder to shoulder in the subway. The conductor’s announcement for the Rego Park station (the closest one to The Acropolis deli location) prevented either of them from any speculation of a possible physical attraction. For Andrew, in particular, this threatened to be an unsettling situation. Anyway, the return trip found him preoccupied with the contents of a huge take-home bag filled with day-old food items.

At this point of the evening, Andrew was full of moussaka, dolmas and souvlaki and unable to engage in much activity. Consequently, it pleased him to curl up in his warm bed and to listen to his favorite music. As he undressed he thought of one particular occasion when his acceptance to an invitation to the Kirianis home by Demetri led to a viewing of the father’s favorite movie, My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Everyone got drunk on ouzo, especially Andrew. His only memory of the occasion was that family members shouted “Iss Ighian!”, the traditional Greek toast, over and over. And loud enough to be heard from Manhattan! As much fun as that was, his morning-after-the-night-before experience became something he chose not to repeat. Wisely, he stuck to Coca-Cola from then on.

Andrew shuffled through his CD’s and the clacking of their jewel cases echoed throughout the house. Rarely did he close his bedroom door except for extra insulation during the coldest New York nights. An only child, Andrew had the run of the house while his folks spent time in some warmer climate like Florida.

“I always end up with more domestic responsibility than I want,” thought Andrew aloud. “I need to devote more time to my studies.” Then his mind went off on a tangent as he could not help but recall last week’s telephone conversation with his parents.

* * *

“Hello my boy, it’s your father. Keeping up with things, I assume?”

No “how are you doing” or “what’s up with school”. The topic always centered on them or their house or their important careers with the Family Values Coalition. At the top of Andrew’s wish list was that they become involved in a corporation with a liberal and progressive agenda.

“Now remember, your mother and I really depend on you to keep that house clean and the pantry stocked with plenty of dry goods for when we get back.”

“Do you have any idea when that will be?” Andrew didn’t think it too much to ask.

“We return when we’re finished. So please remember to call me about any important mail that I may need you to forward. And your mother wants to be certain that you never forget her ‘pride and joy’.”

Andrew knew that his father referred to the saltwater aquarium. “Sure, dad, but….”

“Of course, you need to keep up with your studies. You want to make your mother and me proud of you. Take care now.”

“So long, Dad” Andrew whispered back to a premature phone click.

* * *

The stress created by this situation was more than Andrew felt he deserved. It’s no wonder that a close relationship had developed between him and the Kirianis family. At least with them he could enjoy life.

Tonight he decided to take advantage of the empty home to recuperate from the dinner party. Lulled by the tunes of Belle and Sebastian, the warmth of his bed guided him in and out of sleep along with the music.

4

DREAMWEAVER:

These two are brothers of the One Spirit, forged in the ancient fires. Inasmuch as their fates are one, I must assure that their destiny is intact. Faith will serve me well for its adhesive properties; lack of it is cause for any involvement to disintegrate. Yes, this glue will be applied to their subconscious as they rest. Consequently, there will be no force in the universe to rend them asunder. And those who are bound as such have no choice but to live harmoniously.

When he rose from his nest, Andrew found himself in an alien but bucolic landscape. He took no more than a step or two when the uneven rustling of dry grass betrayed someone else’s presence. He turned in time to see a guy of his own age and height scurry behind a chiseled stone stele like a frightened rabbit. Andrew froze so as not to upset him further. He could make out the top of a head of curly black hair. Within seconds, the rest of the face appeared. His proximity enabled Andrew to perceive hazel-colored eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,” Andrew blurted out. Upon the realization that his words may be incomprehensible, he beckoned with his hands. Since Greek was the only other language with which he had any familiarity, he said “Addio”. He chanced another step or two but didn’t dare to get any closer. Instead, he held out his right arm with his hand palm up. In his mind, it was a sign of universal acceptance.

The “rabbit” emerged from his cover with an awestruck look on his face. Andrew knew that the only chance to win his confidence was to be gracious. So he pulled back his extended hand, put it over his heart, and bowed slightly in a classic gesture of subordination.

As Andrew raised his eyes and emerged from his bow, the stranger edged closer like a curious child. Sunlight danced over this boy’s darkly toned body. His devastating beauty rendered Andrew speechless. Moreover, a physical similarity to his friend Demetri was uncanny. The stranger’s juvenile reaction described a youthfulness that he did not actually possess. Subtly roughened facial features, a thick neck and a hirsute body directly contradicted that behavior. A tunic of white fabric that looked like finely woven burlap wrapped around his taut torso; a delicate rope cinched it at the waist. That a well-developed body was concealed beneath it was obvious. Laced leather sandals revealed enough of his legs to indicate a predilection for climbing. Under his breath Andrew whispered, “I am definitely not in Kansas anymore.”

His brief reverie melted as soon as the stranger spoke.

“You don’t appear to be a Macedonian soldier. Have you been sent by the gods?”

“No, actually, I’m not from around here,” Andrew replied. But where in the hell was he? And how is it that they could understand each other when they were obviously from different cultures? Quite possibly even diverse time periods!

“From where then?” queried the stranger.

“From Astoria. It’s a place in New York. So is this…”

“Then, what are you doing at the Temple of Artemis Orthia?” he persisted.

At a loss to reply, Andrew thought for a moment. As he did, he took the opportunity to dwell on the stranger’s inquisitive eyes. It was near impossible to look away from them.

“I…I came to…inspect buildings. That’s it. I’m here to study the structural integrity of that temple’s foundation. You see I’m a student of…of architecture.” Not very sure of the credibility of his explanation, Andrew felt that it was still worth the attempt.

“You speak in an odd way but I believe you. If you were a god, I don’t think you would waste time with a mere mortal.”

“Oh yes I would,” Andrew replied with a bit too much enthusiasm. He knew by the stranger’s speech and references that this was another era of history. It was like a dream but one steeped in a sensuous and realistic environment. He decided that circumstance necessitated a polite distraction at this point. “Maybe you would like to show a newcomer around the area,” Andrew ventured.

“Do you mean the place where I live and train to be a warrior? If so, I’d rather stay up here while it is daylight. There are some beautiful spots here in the hills that I could show to you.” Subsequently, he followed a narrow path that the long grasses tried to hide. Crawling along at first, he picked up his pace when he saw Andrew shadow him step for step.

His interest piqued, the explorer within Andrew emerged. “How come you’re here on your own? Don’t you have any friends you could be with?”

“Only Andreas, my inspirer. But he is otherwise involved this day and I have no one else. And you?”

“Oh, I always travel alone but I have many friends back home. Besides, I like to make new friends as often as possible,” said Andrew in an attempt to perk up his new buddy.

They sauntered along for only a short time before yet another panoramic view forced them to yield to its beauty. This one dropped even steeper than that of the inland valley to include the rugged Tainaro cape of the Maniot peninsula, the southernmost point of Greece.

“That is the port of Gytheion,” his guide offered with a nod towards the distant shoreline.

Indeed, Andrew discerned tiny fishing boats and inhaled a hint of sea air. The combination of an agreeable climate, a peaceful locale and exotic herbal scents intoxicated Andrew. He thought there should be some cultural or temporal shock but he felt just too good. “May we sit somewhere for a moment?” Andrew inquired.

“That is in my mind also. I love to meditate on the vastness of the ocean. Were it not a sacrilege to say so, I would tell you that it makes me feel like a god myself.”

“You are…uh.” Andrew faltered as he sat down and almost lost his balance. “I know exactly what you mean.” He wasn’t aware of anything wrong in the physical sense but felt bewitched. Then again, he reasoned to himself, maybe the altitude was to blame.

His new friend remained quiet. Then, to Andrew’s surprise, the silent stranger sat down next to him. He wondered if this were his normal behavior: stoic, but with unspoken warmth.

“By what name are you called? I am Demetrios of Pitana, soldier of Sparta.”

Speechless that he had not thought to ask first what he knew to be a rule of common courtesy in any culture, Andrew was doubly shocked by a name similar to his closest friend. The very same one, in fact, to whom this Demetrios of Pitana bore such a great resemblance! Was there a connection? And ancient Greece of all places! He did not even fantasize about stuff like this. Before his mind could wander further he answered: “My name is Andrew.”

“Today I feel blessed by the gods in making your acquaintance,” Demetrios said with sincerity.

History books be damned, Andrew thought. If this were truly ancient Greece then it is one hell of a misrepresented culture. However warrior-like, it was obvious that these people were not at all uncivilized. He could tell by Demetrios’ entire demeanor, by his longing glance, by his… Andrew did not know what distracted him so but he began to think things he had never thought of before. Not with another man anyway. The response inside his pants told him so. Could it be that he harbored this same inclination towards Demetri and had not acknowledged it? Or, at least, never wanted to?

In lieu of an involved response, Andrew simply said, “I suppose that I am also blessed.”

5

CHAOS:

The faults of humanity have led it astray without any prompting from my powers. They need but a whisper with which to move a mountain of guilt, of fear. This continual relocation of derogatory emotions is the quicksand of time, the flux of once-fixed points that have now become decoys to mislead those in search of their true selves.

The longer Demetrios spent with this stranger, the more of an attraction he felt towards him. He wrestled with his loyalty to Andreas and with his physical sensations for the moment. He recalled the taboo against intimacy with someone of his own age. However, his desires overcame his will power. He threw his body upon Andrew, embraced his head and kissed him with a passionate hunger.

Demetrios did not understand why he met with resistance as the stranger pushed back away from him. Perhaps this Andrew’s fidelity to his inspirer is stronger than my own, Demetrios reasoned with himself.

“Hold on for just a minute while…” Andrew stammered and did not finish his own sentence.

Demetrios could do nothing but look upon him with the desperate longing he felt. And before he had the chance to say anything, the stranger leapt upon him. Warm hands encompassed Demetrios’ body. Lips parted as their tongues explored. Until today, Demetrios knew only Andreas’ body, its scents and tastes. His immediate arousal prompted him to disrobe and to rub against his new partner’s body. Total lack of resistance encouraged him further. Demetrios fumbled his attempt to remove the odd attire that covered the visitor’s body. The problem evaporated when he found two helping hands. All the while their lips remained interlocked. A swelling manhood throbbed against the Spartan through the stranger’s restrictive leg coverings. Demetrios uncovered it and took it into his mouth in the manner taught to him by Andreas. Not certain that he would induce full satisfaction, he continued nonetheless. When a pair of firm hands grabbed at the back of his head, all doubts eased. Demetrios pleasured the visitor to completion and accomplished his own release as well.

The stars decorated the night sky in crystalline clarity, smiled upon by a crescent moon. The warmth of the ground served as a constant reminder of the unrelenting heat of the day. Demetrios’ last memory of the evening was the feel of gentle lips upon his back as they merged synesthetically with the soft rustling of vegetation that grew along the windswept coast.

6

DREAMWEAVER:

As the chaotic tide subsides, it leaves a temporal isle of compassion in its wake. Here, the fruit tree of life takes root and drives its trunk of truthful ties into Father Sky. Its branches diverge but remain connected to their source. Hence, the maze of myriad pathways divide infinitesimally as they meld with the ether; earth and sky become one, yet they each remain clear and distinct unto themselves.

“So I leave for a short time and this is what I find.” Andreas, with his arms crossed, towered like a stone colossus. “I guess you were not ready for the emotional challenge after all. This is how you pay me back for all our time together, for all the energy I put into teaching you? Tell me, Demetrios, is this who you want?”

Demetrios feared the intense grimace of his mentor’s face, further accentuated by a square jaw line and chiseled cheekbones. The fact that Andrew’s body was a clamp upon him did nothing to help matters. When Demetrios glanced down at their state of undress, he was quick to lock eyes with Andreas. “This…this is not how it appears. I was lonely and needed to get away. I thought this man was sent to me from Mount Olympus…I thought….” Demetrios stumbled over his words like an awkward beggar. He sounded ill at ease even to himself and knew that his mentor took personal insult by this situation. He unraveled his limbs from Andrew who bore a look of shock. “I still love you, Andreas, truly I do.”

“Then why do I find you in this stranger’s arms? And, with your garments off no less! What if he meant to hurt you? You should not expose yourself to such dangers. Have I not taught you anything?”

“I, too, feared him at first. But the gods were with me, for Andrew meant no harm,” he replied as he fastened his rope belt. “Do you think I would share myself with a hostile so willingly?”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore, aites. First you plead with me not to leave. Then you are unfaithful to me. What will come next? You are so impulsive and unpredictable that I can hardly imagine what you put your family through in your earlier years. Now that you are my responsibility, I need to train you better. You realize, of course, I must punish you when we return to our quarters.”

Demetrios genuflected and bowed his head as he spoke: “Punish me all you want, my inspirer. I will gladly pay the price. Just don’t take your love from me. I could not find the strength to pay such a penalty.”

Andreas approached and raised him by his armpits like a fragile vessel. They stared into each other’s eyes for a few moments before they held one another. “No one could ever come between us, Demetrios. This is something we both proved to ourselves on this very day. I understand that you believe you took the correct course. So, will you not introduce me to this “god” that you have encountered? If you don’t, he may get away before either of us can seek counsel!” He rewarded his charge with a forgiving smile. It was met by the first rays of a rising sun.

* * *

Demetrios woke to the patter of gentle raindrops upon his cheek. With them came the revelation that he had a dream, one that included a stranger as well as Andreas. An intense longing to be with his instructor snatched him from that hillside and pulled him back to his warrior community like an arrow hitting its mark.

7

DREAMWEAVER:

The Time Stream is not one of linearity as humankind insists. It courses in all directions at once, a contradiction to the established perspective of physics. Had they the perception that I possess, it would propel control of their limited understanding into oblivion. The situation, in actuality, is one where all actions at any given instant occur simultaneously. “The eternal moment” poets call it, and why should I reject the notion? For, of all mortals, it is they who seek to discover and, at times, find Truth. Thus am I able to connect reason with desire, attach intellect to intuition, and to find kindred souls amongst the myriad moments of their actions without end….

A deep and angry voice startled Andrew. It was someone known by his new lover, possibly the “inspirer” spoken of earlier. Demetrios clung in fear. This made it difficult for Andrew to rise or to reach the pants that imprisoned his ankles. He tripped over his clothes and every rock his feet could find. Finally, he managed to pull up his pants and to belt them as he stood.

The two Spartans conversed with intensity. Andrew thought to dash and to slip away unnoticed while their own involvement distracted them. To his relief and astonishment, the tension eased in a snap.

Andrew glued himself to his position, unable to leave the scene anymore than he was able to contribute verbally. A good part of his surprise was the tenderness exhibited by these warriors. He heard of the possibility of such relationships in existence amongst the Spartan army but his belief in its probability was something altogether different. Yet, a few feet from where he stood, proof of this was validated by a living dramatization. His mouth dropped open; he could not break his gaze. Andrew’s astonishment became a revelation, one of total admiration. Had such commitment and fidelity fueled every relationship, the world would be a better place, he rationalized.

* * *

Andrew woke up as sunlight edged across his bed. In a bit of a fog, he realized what had occurred. It felt as though the Spartan were still next to him, a familiar head in the crux of his right arm. Light rays hit those facial features at such an acute angle that they shimmered. Andrew inhaled the spicy scent of curly hair that was velvet against his shoulder. Its aroma was of cloves and musk and something else that he couldn’t pinpoint. “Oh my God,” he said under his breath. He was startled by the realization that Demetri cuddled next to him, half awake. Andrew panicked.

“I hope you don’t mind, Andrew,” Demetri mumbled. “The door was unlocked, so I came in and called for you. When you didn’t answer, I came up here and found you asleep and…. Well, I just couldn’t resist kicking off my shoes and joining you! Hope you don’t mind,” he said half in apology.

“Um, that’s okay I guess. It’s just that you’ve never…. I was a bit surprised, that’s all.” Andrew was still dumbfounded.

Demetri nuzzled his neck. This encouraged Andrew to kiss his friend’s cheek, gently once, then again with passion. His actions woke Demetri completely though his eyes remained closed. He moved his face closer to Andrew’s and kissed back. This intimacy was foreign to Andrew’s life. It was the attainment of some heavenly realm not at all dissimilar to the one unveiled in his dream.

Andrew and Demetri expressed their long suppressed affection for one another into the afternoon. Neither did they think of their absence from school nor did they dwell on the possible consequences.

8

CHAOS:

It stands to reason that they once worshipped me as a god. I reigned o’er the firmament leaving entropy in my wake. And they should continue to acknowledge my sovereignty though I am without form, without palpable sensations. These should have been bestowed upon us eons ago. Instead, I must inhabit a form to take what I was heir to before this curse descended. Now they will all continue to suffer for their petty self-indulgences until I am appeased.

The closer Demetrios got to his training camp at Limnes, the heavier became the weight of his recent conversation with Andreas. As he trod along a dirt road, his leaden feet dragged in a way that reflected his mood.

A familiar aural mixture greeted Demetrios as he entered the unwalled boundary of the village. Unfortunately, so did a variety of musky odors. This was not unusual since the resident farm animals as well as their scattered droppings were everywhere. The recent drizzle only amplified the noises and intensified the smells.

A flash of red snapped Demetrios out of his self-pity. It proved to be only a chicken that darted across his path. Other than his own mood, this could have been any given day with its chorus of animal squawks, grunts and moos; they provided a perfect counterpoint to the orchestra of spears clacking, arrows whizzing and javelins whooshing. As if to supply a backbeat to it all, he heard the occasional clash of sword upon shield. His comrades were engaged in mock combat scenarios in the adjacent field. Their shouts brought welcome relief.

“Hey Demetrios!” someone shouted. He turned in time to see Nikodemus thrust his sword at an unseen opponent. Duty chose Nikodemus at the same time Andreas first spoke for Demetrios. This gave them a common bond though it did not prevent Demetrios from thinking of his blond-haired friend as more than a bit egotistical. “Someone is anxious to see you. I sent them to your quarters not moments ago,” Nikodemus added.

Nikodemus continued to thrust and parry at empty air as Demetrios waved his hand in acknowledgement. Then he covered the remaining distance to his thatched-roof abode like a racehorse. With the belief that Andreas was back earlier than anticipated, Demetrios attempted to formulate his thoughts into an apology for his unseemly behavior that morning.

The door was ajar when he arrived. Demetrios saw this as a good omen, one that translated as: “I’m excited to be reunited with you, aites.” He shoved the wooden door aside and said, “Andreas, I’m happy you’ve returned so….”

“So this is where you two choose to carry on. Just lovely. If you’re enamored with the stench of male sweat and animal manure, that is!”

Demetrios stopped dead in his tracks. The back of the feminine form he encountered was, in and of itself, a sufficient shock since female presence in the camp was virtually unheard of.

An eternity passed before this woman swung her body around with the grace of a predatory feline. Her glare penetrated Demetrios like a spike. “What’s the problem? Do the gods have your tongue? Or are you simply repulsed by me?”

Her verbal and very laconic onslaught was so unexpected that Demetrios could only stare. His face froze, his mind numbed. He tried to respond. “Who….”

“Who am I?” This stranger completed his inquiry before Demetrios had a fighting chance. “My name is Lysandra of Mesoa. It is one that you are not likely to forget. And, by the way, the pleasure is all yours!” As with any warrior, she was smart enough to keep the element of surprise on her side.

So this was the infamous Lysandra! Demetrios knew of the facetious attitude associated with local maidens but never experienced it firsthand. A strong jasmine-scented perfume assaulted his nostrils. It competed with the staleness of the air in his humble shelter and enabled him to empathize with her offense of such, at least temporarily. His shock dissipated as his vision succumbed to her physical beauty.

Sunbeams entered a small west window and illuminated Lysandra’s entire body like a wrathful deity. She could not be more than twenty years of age and was adorned unlike any other maiden Demetrios had ever seen. In lieu of the pale coarseness of cottons or wools, a graceful chiton of emerald-hued linen draped across her shoulders and fell to the floor like a waterfall. Its shimmer complemented the pearly whiteness of her skin. Two dangling earrings of malachite set in silver matched a teardrop-shaped pendant that erupted from her cleavage. Her lips were rubies in contrast to her sapphire eyes. Hair, black as obsidian and tied with finely braided ribbons, glided down her left shoulder and caressed the rounded form of her breast.

As if in reaction to his scrutiny, those dark tresses flew around to her back and Lysandra refocused her malicious glare. “I am not in the habit of making such visits. However, in this particular case, I felt it to be a necessity. A necessity to my well being, you see.”

Demetrios sensed that she was not about to allow him his say at this point. So he let her continue uninterrupted.

“Don’t think for a god’s minute that I would even consider breaking any of the laws set down by our city-state, the polis of Sparta. There are concessions made by us all in order to uphold them. This I am more than willing to recognize. What I cannot abide is neglect, either of these same laws or those, shall we say, of a more personal nature.”

Confused, Demetrios braved a statement. “I don’t see how I fit in. That is, what do you require of me?”

Lysandra broke into a wicked grin. “You have answered your own question. You see you don’t fit in. Not really, that is. And what I require is that you keep your distance so that your inspirer and myself can proceed with our nuptials.”

So that was it, thought Demetrios. The intended spouse of Andreas did not want to release her betrothed from his daily marital obligations. The rituals were never explained to him in detail but he knew that most brides had no problem with the constant absence of their husbands. They accepted the aites/eispenelas relationship without question since their prime duty was one of non-interference with the policies of the city-state. But here, in his home, the one he shared with his eispenelas, this woman announced her unabashed intention to circumvent those very laws. Demetrios was aghast. Such a situation had never occurred to him. And his gut told him that this was one in which outside help was out of the question. He was trapped and completely on his own.

Though her opponent was down, Lysandra waited to continue her tirade until she was absolutely certain that her message had been absorbed. “Don’t be so shocked. It’s not as though I’ve put you into exile or anything. You can go on to live out your menial life as usual. It’s just that you will not see very much of your dear Andreas anymore.” She stepped towards the doorway but, as she brushed by Demetrios, Lysandra pivoted to bring them face to face with one another. “Oh…let us say that this visit was merely a friendly warning.” She emphasized her statement with a smirk and exited in a cyclone of garments. The door slammed shut behind her as though hit by a strong and frigid wind.

9

CHAOS:

The familial ties that bind are, concurrently, the ones that tear asunder. Deception has its own deliberate method to edge itself into even the smallest of crevices in the mortar that unites any domestic situation. With little aid from my powers, the force of time will twist any household structure into something repulsive and foreign.

“Honey, we’re home. Are you in your bedroom?” Groggy, Andrew thought he heard his mother’s voice.

“So we leave you for just a few weeks and this is what we return to?” His father dominated the doorway to Andrew’s bedroom, his hands resting on opposite sides of the doorframe as though he meant to push them apart. “Yes, he’s in his bedroom all right,” he called back to his wife.

Andrew, startled but suddenly more alert, sat up. The sheet fell from his bare chest to punctuate his guilt. It took a few extra moments for him to realize that the rustling at his side came from an equally naked Demetri whose eyes shot open in confusion. “I can explain,” stammered Andrew.

“I just can’t wait to hear this! They lacked good entertainment on the plane. This should compensate.”

Andrew’s mother, disheveled and tired-looking, stumbled into the doorway. Partially hidden by her husband, she peered through the entrance. “Oh dear,” she uttered.

“Oh dear, indeed,” his father said. “Are you in the habit of taking up with all of the neighbors while we’re away?”

“No, no, it’s not like that. It’s just that Demetri and I have become close friends and….”

“I can see just how close,” interrupted his dad.

“Now, Henry….”

“Stay out of this, Alice,” he said to her over his shoulder.

“Perhaps I should intervene here, Mr. Wilson.” Demetri spoke up, with a firm grip on the sheet that hid his nakedness. “This is all really my idea.”

“I’ll get to you later, young man. At least your parents will when they hear about this. Meanwhile, I suggest you dress and sleep at your own house from now on.”

“Don’t do this, Dad.”

“I’ll do and say what I please in my home and you will follow instructions, my boy. That is, you will if you intend to live under this roof.” Mr. Wilson turned to leave, then reconsidered. “By the way, there will be no allowance for school or anything else until I’m absolutely certain that I know on what or on whom it’s being spent. And if you persist to carry on in this outrageous manner, I’ll be forced to throw you out completely.”

“Henry, is that really necessary?” Andrew’s mom gazed at the boys with a hint of pathos.

“Come on, Alice. Let’s go to bed. It’s late.” He grabbed his wife’s arm and slammed the door.

Andrew and Demetri, both in shock, stared at one another.

“I’m sorry Demetri. I didn’t know…that is…I had no warning.”

“It’s cool,” responded Demetri in a way that made Andrew think it wasn’t. “I should dress and go.”

“Guess so,” replied Andrew, downhearted.

* * *

It was one a.m. but Andrew could not get back to sleep. He still felt the frigid wind that had embraced him at his front door when Demetri departed. The fact that he kept his wool robe on under the sheets did nothing to warm him. He wished that Demetri’s body were still there to accomplish the task. In an effort to induce sleep, he switched on the radio at low volume.

Andrew wondered why he couldn’t live in a warmer climate, maybe during some simpler time in history when life was not so complex and things like the Family Values Coalition did not exist. Perhaps, he thought, there was a time when family ties were less demanding, and the concept itself more loosely defined. His contemplation continued into the tunnel of night.

10

CHAOS:

The polarities of existence will forever be a constant with even the lowliest of human beings craving the opposite of what they possess. Ultimately, this desire will be mankind’s undoing: each exhibition of jealousy an endless attempt to overpower the next. And so on, until the very fabric of time unravels itself.

“You would do well to listen to your mother, Demetrios.” Stephanos, his father, was hunched over the wooden table as he engulfed his plate and fed himself. In fact, he was engrossed by his meal as to be oblivious to the way in which his tunic’s broad folds threatened to dip into his food.

“But surely you must understand how this marriage will interfere with my training,” pleaded Demetrios. He began to regret this trip to his former home on the outskirts of Pitana.

“The only interference is your present avoidance of it. Why have you not inquired about a temporary replacement for Andreas?” asked Theodora, his mother.

“I just don’t feel comfortable with anyone else,” said Demetrios as he toyed with the stem of an eaten fig. The combined aroma of the fruit and aged cheese reminded him of the time he lived with his folks when such a meal was a daily ritual. Now, all he had to look forward to were the bland servings of black bean soup and barley bread offered at the daily syssitia, the all-male mess. “Besides,” he continued, “I’m more skilled than anyone else in the agoge who is my age. Andreas made sure of this.”

“In that case, we did well to hand you over to him in the first place.” She broke a piece of bread for herself to emphasize her statement. Theodora took every opportunity to congratulate herself on anything she did and was never hesitant to remind her family of her achievements. When she first became aware of the attraction between Andreas and her son, she encouraged their relationship with full knowledge that it would elevate her from the current status as perioeci, a mere third-rate citizen. Thanks to her husband who never qualified as hoplite, her son was the only hope for their family to be recognized as anything more by the city-state.

As she handed the loaf to Demetrios, Theodora added, “I just don’t see what the issue is here. Pre-arranged weddings happen all the time. It is for the benefit of our city-state. Besides, Lysandra reassured me that….”

“Lysandra!” Demetrios interrupted. “Lysandra of Mesoa was here and she spoke with you?” He found himself in a half-standing position, his left hand crushing the remainder of the bread loaf.

“Now mind your manners, son. There’s no need to get excited,” said his father.

“But I can not believe that she had the nerve to speak with you after what she said to me.”

“And what was that, pray tell?” His mother eyed him as she popped an olive into her mouth.

“That vile woman told me that I’d best not interfere with her plans for Andreas. She does not hold true to the laws of Sparta.”

“Come now, boy, there’s no need to exaggerate,” said Stephanos.

“But it’s the truth,” insisted Demetrios.

“Your father is correct. The woman is merely covering every option. A good politician she would make, that one.”

Exasperation overtook Demetrios. His mother’s apparent admiration for Lysandra’s tactics was more than he could take. “Why did I even bother to come here at all? You relinquish your parental duties in favor of my training but you won’t even help me to see it through.”

“Because there is simply no need for aid. As I tried to explain when you were sweet enough to cut me off, this situation is all too common. In fact, in most cases, neither aites nor his family ever gets to meet the betrothed of his eispenelas. We must consider ourselves blessed by the gods that Lysandra has bothered with us at all. At least we have knowledge of where we stand.”

“In the gutter is where we stand, mother!” Demetrios pushed away from the table and almost knocked over his stool. “Thanks for the hospitality!” He stormed through the doorway.

* * *

The midday sun beat down on Demetrios as he trod the long road back to Limnes. Though cool by comparison, his parents’ home had induced a sense of claustrophobia. He recognized this to be illusory since the one he shared with Andreas was smaller though he did not feel confined by it. He knew this was due to the company he was in. By contrast, the relationship Demetrios shared with his folks always encouraged the walls to close in whenever he visited. Under normal circumstances he acknowledged that they still cared about him. This latest discourse, however, made him furious. His thoughts ran the gamut up to and including refusal of his warrior status as well as the acquisition of his own hearer. By such an action he would relinquish the title of “inspirer” for himself and be deprived of his kleros. A realization that this self-righteousness would harm him more than anyone else still did nothing to drive these notions from his mind. The sound of his own breathing reminded Demetrios of the distance he had just traversed from the Spartan village of his birth.

A trickle of sweat from his brow rounded his cheek and touched his dry lips. Demetrios refrained from taking a draught of water as atonement for the bad decision to visit his family. Sun-parched air prompted him to consider how many places existed in which a cooler climate prevailed. Perhaps, there he would experience the fall of fresh snow that, up until now, he had witnessed only upon the highest of distant mountaintops during winter. He indulged himself further with the fantasy of a different culture that could exist in such a climate. One in which the concept of war was alien to it. One where children still lived with their families and retained the freedom to choose their own friends, mentors and spouses.

Demetrios reached for his skin of water, prepared to surrender to his thirst when the familiar sounds of Limnes broke through his reverie. He looked up to see Nikodemus who hailed him from beyond the low stonewall that designated the boundary of their camp.

“Care to toss some halteres?” his friend shouted.

Demetrios knew that the stone weights were ordinarily used for muscle-building exercises but this promised to be more fun. “Yes, I will join you for awhile. That might help me to release some anger!” he screamed in reply.

11

DREAMWEAVER:

Two strands of DNA in two life forces. The paths of those entities will intertwine as do the spirals of their helix. Notice the configurations of molecules, their atoms, the nucleus of those atoms. Break them down and travel around them as the path of electrons through time and space. Electrons, an inorganic form of life, with their ability to memorize, find a common ground with humans. They propose light as raw material. The microcosm, infinite disassembly and the laws of physics take on new form. The solid becomes ether and the physical can pass through it to the inner void. Thus, will time and thought be transcended and the solidity of these physical beings transported….

Andrew moved as though the space around him contained gelatin. It was, however, a winter’s day of crystalline clarity and the cobalt blue of the sky dominated its few resident cloud formations. The cold preserved some of the previous night’s snowfall on front lawns and in empty lots. This was a sufficient amount to reflect the sunlight tenfold and made the daytime seem that much brighter. The freshness of the air was apparent to Andrew as he inhaled.

“Get the hell off the road, asshole!” screamed a passing motorist. There came a procession of even nastier insults from other cars that maneuvered through a nearby intersection. Horns honked, tires skidded and brakes screeched. At first, Andrew thought they were aimed at him and could not understand why. The odor of burnt rubber drew his attention to the real target: a dark-haired young man who stood in the crosswalk at Jackson and 51st streets while the light was red. The demanding traffic insisted on pursuing its current flow around the scantily clad stranger.

Without the notion of any movement on his part, Andrew found himself in the middle of the traffic as well. He grabbed the stranger from behind and hustled him off to the nearest sidewalk. “What on earth were you thinking?” he said as his captive turned to face him. The angelic olive-skinned countenance with a confused expression shocked Andrew. “You again! How in the world did you get here, Demetrios?”

“Andrew! I’m so glad to be with you again. But I am not very certain how this came to be. I can only remember my exhaustion after a long journey and a good round of exercise. Now here I am with you. But what is this place and why have the gods brought us here?” He stared at the passing cars, incredulous.

“You’re in New York, where I live. Don’t worry because you are with me now and I won’t let anything happen to you.” Andrew took on the role of mother hen without a pause. “I’ll take you home and get you some warm clothes.” As he heard himself say this he thought that home would not be such a great idea especially after the recent incident with his folks. He tried to remember if his parents would actually be there today but he failed to get a handle on the hour of the day or the day of the week. He did not even recall his last attendance at class. He only knew that he needed to find his friend some shelter before he froze in his skimpy coverings. So he took Demetrios by the hand and led the way.

They were fortunate to be within walking distance of Andrew’s home and arrived there without further incident. Of this, he was quite relieved since they received lengthy stares from numerous passers-by.

“Mom, are you home?” Andrew opened the front door with caution. He knew that he would be at a loss to explain his friend’s appearance. No answer came. He eased the door back with the hope that none of his neighbors had witnessed their entry. Then he led Demetrios upstairs to his bedroom.

“Is this your home?” asked Demetrios.

“Yes, and this here’s my bedroom. Sit down.” Andrew demonstrated as he sat on his bed and began to flip through his CD collection in a nervous manner.

“Do both you and your parents live under the same roof? Why did you not relocate to your inspirer’s agoge?”

“Well, we don’t really have that,” replied Andrew. “You see, when guys our age go to college, they usually still live with their family. There are some guys, though, who are lucky and rich enough to have places all to themselves. I wouldn’t mind such a situation but I just don’t have that kind of money. Perhaps, if I shared an apartment with the person who has “inspired” me lately, I would be able to afford it.” Andrew selected the latest Devendra Banhart CD, and slipped it into his system: a choice that would not be too much of a distraction.

“What is a ‘college’ and what are all those loud moving objects in the streets? And where…” Demetrios clammed up as soon as the music began. He rose and walked over to its source. He looked up and down the length of the bookshelf speaker but could not understand what it was. “Is the minstrel in this box?” he inquired as he searched behind it.

“One question at a time, dude. Not to mention, I have a few for you. But, as host, I’ll let you ask first. Which I guess you already have. Okay, let’s start with ‘college’. This is an advanced form of learning, a school of higher education. It’s where you go to get a degree so that you can start a career like teacher, doctor or lawyer. Or you can go to a business college to be an office professional. Then there are some people who attend just to be a lot smarter.” He noticed that a perplexed Demetrios was still preoccupied by the source of the music. “Those speakers get the sound from these wires.” Andrew traced their path and added, “They connect to this tuner which has a built-in CD player.” Then he removed a CD from its jewel case and held it up with pride. “Now this CD contains the music that you listen to.” He was going to touch on the “digital vs. analog” issue but thought better of it.

“You mean to say that the singer is in that disc?” Surely, this is a gift from the gods!” Demetrios eyed its iridescent surface with awe and approached it with concern on his face.

“No, it was actually a gift from my parents courtesy of AIWA.”

“I-O-WA?”

“Never mind. That’s not important. Just try to enjoy the music while I find you some clean sweats to slip into.” Andrew proceeded to search his dresser drawers.

“And those noisy metal containers with people inside…?”

“…Are called ‘automobiles’. They move everyone from place to place at high speed. Here, try these on.” Andrew handed his friend dark green Adidas sweatpants with three white stripes that ran down the sides.

“This place that you live in is truly magical if people can travel in this manner.” Demetrios sat back down on the bed and stretched the elastic waistband on the pants a number of times without much comprehension.

“Magical? Well, I guess you can look at it that way. We’re just jaded with regard to technology. But you must understand that those same vehicles don’t move by themselves. Not yet, anyway. People need to drive them and that could prove difficult especially here in this congested town. Maybe you’ll get to ride inside one soon and see for yourself. No, hold the pants like this and put your legs inside.” Andrew pantomimed the act.

Demetrios followed his instructions. “These feel smooth,” he said.

“And they fit you well also,” Andrew replied as he helped to fasten the pants at the waist. “This is called ‘velcro’.” He stuck and unstuck to demonstrate its adhesive property. Then his hands involuntarily wandered to his friend’s buttocks. He found himself in an intimate embrace in no time at all. “Is this okay?” Andrew asked.

“This is O-K,” Demetrios answered as he leaned into Andrew.

Andrew indulged himself for the moment but kept an ear open to listen for signs of his folks. He wondered if he had locked the bedroom door but could not remember. Moreover, he failed to recall the amount of time that had transpired since his night with Demetri. In fact, it was impossible for Andrew to think in chronological terms at all. Neither could he explain his presence on Jackson Street that afternoon nor did he comprehend how Demetrios showed up out of nowhere. His thoughts began to meld into each other and the sinewy body he held softened into downy folds. Andrew came to realize he was horizontal and that he clung to his comforter like a lover. Aerosmith’s old classic, “Dream On,” issued from a radio that was still on from the night before.

It was 9:30 a.m. when Andrew got up out of bed. First, he shot Demetri an email message. He knew that his friend would be online at about this time and noted how well they knew each other’s daily habits. His request was that they get together before class at a small cafe called the Groovin’ Grotto near campus. While he waited for a response, Andrew showered and dressed. He saw the new message sitting in his inbox as he donned his old pullover. With the favorable reply, Andrew was out of the house and on his way.

12

CHAOS:

The inner sanctum is one common appellation. There is, however, nothing very sacred in such fluctuating matter. Electrons do not memorize as self-conscious beings but as organizing principles of energy. Their persistence in unifying all matter into energy waveforms can prove to be detrimental. Solid to ether, ether to liquid, the variations are endless. The human soul has not the substance of a rock in a moving stream. Though that object is, in truth, a conglomeration of rapidly moving molecules, does it not still interrupt the course of the water’s flow?

Gradually, Demetrios surfaced to consciousness. The faces before him were a blur and the voices he heard, though familiar in tone, were indistinct. There was a pounding in the back of his skull that made him think his head would explode.

“Who is here with me? Andrew, is that you?”

“Aites, it is I, Andreas. Do you not recognize me?” He took his charge’s shoulders into his broad hands and propped him up.

Demetrios felt the roughness of a straw-filled mat beneath him and caught a good whiff of the spicy musk indicative of the home he shared with his inspirer. With this awareness, his tense muscles relaxed and his vision cleared. “Andreas, I’m so very pleased to see you again!”

“Well, at least you say my name correctly now! Who is ‘an-droo’?” he asked with a chuckle.

“That is not important. I will explain later.” Then, upon recognition of additional men from the agoge, he grew curious. “Nikodemus, what are you doing here? And who is with you?” Both Aeolos and Hermogenes stepped out of a dark corner and into the light cast by an oil lamp.

Nikodemus responded with anxiety: “Don’t you remember? The blame lies upon myself. We should not have continued our game after sunset. I did not foresee that you would cross my path during that last toss. When I grasped that you were hit and void of consciousness, I called out. Aeolos and Hermogenes were the first to arrive. They both aided me as I carried you inside.” Nikodemus looked to his cohorts for validation and they nodded in agreement.

“Then, as Aeolos and Hermogenes watched over you, Nikodemus was brave enough to come into Mesoa by torchlight to fetch me,” Andreas added. “It was well into the night before I returned with him, but I was very concerned and could not wait until daybreak. How does your head feel now, aites?”

“Like Mount Taygetos fell upon it!” Demetrios noticed that Andreas was still attired for travel. His scarlet tunic was partially concealed by a shiny breastplate; the traditional Spartan sunburst motif accentuated it as well as a round shield strapped with leather to his left forearm. A bronze helmet was cradled in his right. “Please, may I have some water?” Demetrios asked.

Aeolos ran to the well and returned in a flash with a filled bucket and a bronze ladle. “This should do,” he said as he presented it proudly. His oddly cut hair, shy glances and erratic movements had endeared him to all since his induction.

“It was simply unbelievable, this place I traveled to when I lost awareness,” Demetrios said after a few sips. “There were bright colored metals that transported people from place to place and small boxes with music inside. The weather was frosty with snow and people were everywhere!”

“Now that’s a bit too much excitement for one night. Nikodemus, remind me never to toss halteres with you,” Andreas said in jest. All the while, his concerned regard was riveted on Demetrios.

“I am serious, eispenelas. This was a place of the gods. Only there were people almost like us who lived there but dressed and acted different than we do.”

“It was only an unconscious dream,” explained Andreas.

Demetrios noticed his friends smirk in the background. “But you must believe me! It was like a dream but I was aware of my body and my surroundings. It was all so real and this was not my first experience of such. It happened once before on the day you departed, Andreas. I walked to the Temple of Artemis Orthia and, when I sat to rest, I met a man who was in both ‘dreams’.”

“Is there reason for me to be jealous, aites?” Andreas asked with a smile.

“You know that could never be.”

“Well I’m very glad to hear this. Now get a bit more rest if you care to train with me later today.” Andreas shooed their visitors out the door.

Demetrios leaned back and tried to relax but his mind ran rampant with visions of another world.

13

DREAMWEAVER:

Fire, air, earth, water. These elemental forces, all seemingly disparate are, in actuality, in perfect cosmic alignment. At times, manifestations of each may work in opposition to the others yet they remain in perfect synchronicity with the whole of humankind. And this principle, one in attunement with the universe, can neither be relegated to nor be manipulated by Chaos.

“I see you’re hitting the hard stuff today!” Andrew nodded to Demetri’s latte as he placed his cup of tea on the table and took a seat beside his friend. The aroma of freshly ground coffee mingled with incense to give this college hangout an earthy, bohemian atmosphere. Still chilled from the outdoors, he left on his matching brown knit cap and muffler but removed his peacoat.

“I had quite a bit of wine last night. Guess I needed it after what happened at your place,” Demetri said. His black locks looked even darker next to the brown leather jacket he wore.

“That’s why I wanted to see you. I figured we could concentrate better here. First off, I need to apologize for my backwards-thinking folks and want you to know that I don’t intend to stop seeing you.”

“I’m glad to hear this because, as you must know by now, I want to be close to you.” Demetri looked at Andrew and moved to hold his hand.

Andrew withdrew his from the table like a crustacean seeking protection from a predator. He was not accustomed to the “openly gay thing” as he liked to call it, though it was obvious that no one present cared; two young lesbians were liplocked at the small table next to theirs.

“Sorry,” Andrew said shyly. “Guess I need to relearn some things. But it’s pretty difficult here in town where an old friend or family member can spot me. Then I would have to waste all this time explaining myself when it shouldn’t be at all necessary.”

“No offense taken. And I know what you mean about explanations. Even when others are comfortable with it, they always ask things that have such obvious answers. Anyway, how have you been since the other night?”

“Pensive, I suppose. I had this wild dream about a guy who visited from another time period. He was so out of place but, at the same time, he was not.” Andrew took a sip of his Earl Grey tea and inhaled its fragrance. “I can’t explain it but he reminds me of you. What’s more is that I had another dream with this same fellow, and they both seemed so real.”

“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, Mr. Wilson,” Demetri quipped.

Andrew was grateful for the levity and smiled. “The thing is, these dreams made me think about my life and where it’s going. And about us. Demetri, I don’t want to go on the way I have. There’s no good reason that I can’t have my own place. I want to get my degree and all, but….”

“I know. It’s hard enough when your family is open-minded. I can’t imagine what you must be going through. All I can say is that I will help in any way that I can.”

“So I need you to know that I want to go somewhere else to complete my studies. Somewhere warmer. A place far enough from my folks that I would not have to answer to them like I did last night. I’m desperate to be who I am at this point of my life and …I wondered…would it interest you to join me?”

“I’ll consider it but there are my own studies, the deli job and my family to bear in mind. It depends on a lot of factors, Andrew. Those include whatever destination you have in mind. Of course, I need to speak with my family before I would ever proceed.”

“That’s fine. I mean, I understand if it happens that you can’t do this with me. I just needed to know if you were open to it.”

“Let’s take this slow and talk about it some more. I hear it stays warm all year in Los Angeles and that UCLA has a decent history program.” Demetri smiled

“That’s all I can ask of you.” Andrew hesitated. “Hey, how do you know about UCLA anyway?”

“Oh, I did a little research myself. Do you think I’ve never entertained the notion of moving elsewhere? There’s just one thing: you’d have to share a place with me if we’re both to afford to get by while we attend college in southern California. Or anywhere else, for that matter.”

Andrew beamed. Demetri’s response was more than he dared to hope for. He threw his arms around his friend and knocked over his beverage in the process.

14

CHAOS:

Like the ganglia of a cosmic nervous system, those strands cannot be disconnected and reattached, however briefly, without affecting the entire spinal cord itself in an adverse manner. Such interruptions will always result in permanent damage to the functions of the universal body that houses it.

When Demetrios awakened, sunlight pried its way into the modest cabin at an oblique angle. His head did not throb quite as much and the room was quiet except for the low snores Andreas emitted. At their source was a very peaceful man in a deep slumber. His body dominated the bed they shared and glued to his hair were small pieces of straw that Demetrios took the liberty to remove. “You must be exhausted from your long trip back from Mesoa,” he whispered.

The nearest wall played host to a short sword, greaves and a breastplate that dangled from embedded wooden hooks; a three-legged stool supported Andreas’ helmet. It dawned on Demetrios that almost an entire day had passed since his injury. Nevertheless, he was glad for the respite.

Parched, he rose to slake his thirst but in a manner quiet enough to keep from disturbing Andreas. He found the bucket of water and brought the ladle to his lips a number of times before his thirst subsided. All the while, he had the uneasy feeling of being watched. A creak from the door verified his suspicion. He swung around, legs astride, with the ladle wielded in his grip like a weapon.

“Well, if you plan to do some damage to my person, you had better find yourself a better tool than that one!”

“Lysandra, what are you doing back here? I would have attacked had it been dark,” warned Demetrios.

“Had it been dark, you would not have seen your target, my young warrior.”

“At least I would have tried to defend my home,” he responded. “And I am most certainly not your young warrior.”

“No, but I suppose you believe that you are still his.” Lysandra nodded towards the bed.

“I know that I am,” he stated. Demetrios held tight to his ladle and refused to break eye contact with his adversary.

“Try again, you little scoundrel,” she hissed, her ire aroused.

“Enough, Lysandra!” Andreas bolted upright into a seated position but remained on the bed. Demetrios was so startled by the sudden voice behind him that he dropped his makeshift weapon.

“Some warrior you’ve created, my love. First he attempts to attack me with a serving utensil; now he can’t even hold onto it.”

“Why did you come, Lysandra? Did you not have family matters or nuptial plans to contend with?” Andreas was stern.

“A better question yet: why are you here? Should you not be spending time with my family to aid them with those same arrangements? Instead, I find you with your male concubine and still in bed in broad daylight.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but Demetrios was injured and I was fetched to come back during the middle of the night. Is it all right with you if I make up for some lost sleep?”

Demetrios stood his ground and remained mute but was glad that his inspirer had provided verbal support.

“That is something you could very well have done back in Mesoa…at my quarters.” Lysandra eyed him like a cobra ready to strike. That her head was covered by part of her black himation, embroidered with gold borders cascading to her shoulders in loose folds, did nothing to shatter this illusion.

“But I would not have the ability to care for the wounds of my aites from there,” came the firm retort. “This, as always, is my duty,” Andreas added.

“And what of your duty to me? Do I count for naught?” Lysandra started to slither around the small room while she twirled a loose piece of fabric around her ringed index finger. Her eyes continued to pierce Andreas.

“You have some nerve to speak in terms of neglect of duty! Your presence is not even required here. Were you simply curious?”

“That could not be the case since she was here earlier this week and managed to find additional time to visit with my mother and father,” Demetrios chimed in.

“Before! You’ve been here before!” Humiliated, Andreas stood up and loomed over Lysandra. “This type of personal interference will not be tolerated!” He held up a fist for emphasis.

“And why on this earth not? I’m free to come and go as I please. It is you who should serve my wishes and those of my family in this arrangement. If you fail, my father may just call on the government to look into your traitorous actions.”

“No he will not, Lysandra,” spoke Andreas with a sly self-assurance. His body appeared to relax.

Lysandra stopped in her tracks and placed her hand upon the doorframe. “I beg your pardon. Did I hear you correctly?”

“Yes you have. There is nothing you or anyone can do which would not implicate you as well. You see, I’ve already made a particular agreement with your family. And it was approved by an elder hoplite noble.”

“Of what sort of agreement do you speak? I know nothing of such.” Lysandra’s countenance tightened, the approach of a storm cloud.

“That is because I took it upon myself to do this with your guardians. If you had not been so busy shopping for new imports at the market or coming to disrupt the personal life of my aites, you would have known of it sooner. The agreement prevents you from such interference as would hinder or impede the progress of my instruction within the agoge. This includes the ability of my hearer to obtain his status of inspirer. Any impediment to someone’s warrior status is certainly in conflict with the current laws of the polis and would be punished accordingly. In essence, the perpetrator can be lowered to perioeci status. Is that what you aspire to?” Pleased with himself, Andreas crossed his arms.

“Well, I’ve never been so appalled at your behavior. To go behind my back in this matter is simply ruthless. I…I…I deny you as my betrothed!” She flushed and clenched both hands. Anger radiated from her.

“You are in no position to deny me, my dearest. This is the decision of your parents, with confirmation by an official of the city-state. After all, it is in your best interest to have a son to carry on the family name. However, it will be done when I see fit and in the manner that will benefit Sparta to the utmost. Meanwhile, I will acquire my kleros, live with Demetrios and continue to dine at the syssitia. In this you have no recourse of action, Lysandra. So you may as well accept it and run along back to Mesoa, to your family and to your little luxuries like a well-mannered wife.” Andreas sported a wicked grin.

“Why you…never did I believe you capable of such deception! When I return, my mother and father will certainly have a piece of my mind!” She spun, a whirling mass of dark fabric and jet-colored tresses and stormed through the doorway like a sirocco.

“Eispenelas, you did it! You came to my rescue once again!” Demetrios moved towards his mentor.

With open arms, Andreas reached for him and replied, “Always, aites, always.”

EPILOGUE

DREAMWEAVER:

And so it transpires, yet never remains. The new to the old and the old rejuvenated with eternal life in the Now. Therein lies my ability to trump the chaotic elements of the cosmos, one in which nothing can be pre-determined. Progress is an illusion with ever-expanding horizons. Thus, the Great Tapestry will never untie completely but its design will be re-interpreted and re-imagined in order to breathe new life into what has expired. Continually.

“I know this should feel like a major commitment, but now that we share a place together, it’s as though my life is about to begin. How strange is that?” Andrew gazed through the window of their one bedroom cottage in Westwood Village. A flaming California sunset silhouetted skinny palm trees that dominated the landscape.

“It seems right to me too,” agreed Demetri. “I know our folks may not think so, but they have to cultivate acceptance of things they don’t necessarily understand.”

“They speak of learning from mistakes of the past but those ‘errors’ weren’t so terrible if they brought into my life the acknowledgement of free will. I mean, I feel so damn liberated,” said Andrew.

Demetri considered this for a moment. “Maybe, what we view as restrictive about the past is just a narrow perspective. Those restrictions actually gave people a lot more freedom than we ever thought possible. Perhaps, we’ve become so insular in our own era that we now live in self-imposed cages. Look at the results of the home PC and the worldwide web. A history that repeats itself can be either beneficial or detrimental, I guess.”

“In our particular case, I hope it’s advantageous,” replied Andrew with a meaningful look in his eyes.

CHAOS:

The force that binds will, one day, disentangle. If, for no other reason, to emphasize that without my intervention there would be no loosened threads to reweave. The Great Tapestry has yet to be completed…and never will it be. This is the awesome logic behind existence itself.

“So what was it that so impressed you by this ‘waking dream’, aites?”

“Of this, I am not quite certain. Perhaps, in time, these lessons will make themselves apparent. I do know that, thus far, I was instructed by the gods never to take any situation simply as it is granted. Not even my relationship with you.”

Andreas put both hands on his protégé’s shoulders and said, “This sounds like a good lesson to live by. Additional dreams of this kind can make my work with you much easier!”

“I’m not convinced of that. There’s much I have yet to learn from you, dreams or not.”

“Well I’m happy that you give me some credit, aites!” Andreas felt an elbow nudge him in the ribs as a counter to his jest. “Let’s return home before the sun sets.”

END

Photo by Guy Tiphane