IT WAS AUGUST 1, four nights short of a full moon, but we could wait no longer. Anne, Veronica, and I had gathered on a secluded north-west bank of Pfeiffer-Redwood Creek to form a circle, as sisters, for the well-being of Antonia’s restless spirit.
“First, we need to take a ritual bath,” Anne said, aiming the beam of her flashlight over the surging black water, “in order to cleanse ourselves of negative energies. A nice warm soak with herbs, scented oils, and Epsom Salts would be preferable, but we’ll just have to make do.” She propped the flashlight on a boulder facing the creek. Then, calm as you please, she stripped off her white velvet cape and tossed it a safe distance from the slippery rocks on which she stood. The chill night air closed in on her naked body, but she waded into the waist-deep water without so much as a whimper.
Veronica whistled between her teeth. “No burning candles? No incense to set the mood?”
Anne didn’t answer. It was too dark to be sure, but I suspected goose bumps had gathered over her bare skin by now. No human—except maybe those living in the world’s ‘frigid zones’—could saunter into ice-cold water at nine in the evening without major discomfort.
“Getting into that creek buck naked is crazy,” I said, feeling my back grow rigid. “It’s too cold and, besides, it’s indecent.”
Veronica set her flashlight next to Anne’s, then turned to me and smiled as she unfastened her black-hooded cape and let it slither to the ground.
All she had on was a black thong, no better than naked as far as I was concerned.
Anne splashed water at Veronica. She yelped as liquid ice smacked her unprotected behind. Then she swung around to face her tormentor, her stance that of Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt and the Moon: independent, yet feminine; swift; decisive; quick to rescue—and to punish. Lickety-split, she dove into the creek and yanked Anne’s feet from under her. Anne, rather like Hecate, the goddess of intuition and psychic wisdom, of magick and divination, landed with a splash. I stepped back, distancing myself from this out-of-control twosome.
Veronica paused from her war game with Anne. “Whatcha wearing, Marjorie? Thermal underwear?”
My teeth chattered in spite of the sumptuous cape—compliments of Anne—still wrapped around me. “I wish.”
“Your turn,” she said, edging toward the bank of the creek.
I took another step back, waving my flashlight. “You two are nuts. Tomorrow you’ll both have pneumonia.”
“Drop the cape,” Veronica said, “or I’m coming after you.”
She was serious. She’d pull me in and enjoy doing it. I was shivering. Heck, I was shaking so hard I found it hard to stand. This wasn’t a ritual. It was torture.
Veronica rose from the water, her wet hair plastered against her face and shoulders, her nakedness shimmering in the moonlight, the visage of a proud, dark goddess. “Drop it, NOW.”
I aimed the beam of my flashlight toward the trees, vines, and bushes that edged both sides of the creek. The vegetation looked dark and shadowy, even more threatening than the icy water and its two lunatic occupants. I fumbled with the ribbon at the collar of my cape, stalling. It was too far to hightail it back to camp, especially wearing a long cape and with bare feet. Plus, it wouldn’t be smart. I’d be labeled, “chicken” for life.
Veronica stepped out of the water and onto the bank.
I set the flashlight on a flat rock, making sure it faced at right angles to the beams shooting from Anne’s and Veronica’s flashlights, so we could see what was coming from alongside the creek. Just in case.
Then I dropped my cape and edged to the bank of the creek.
Veronica jerked to a halt and bent over laughing.
“What?” I said.
“I can’t see,” Anne cried. “It’s too dark. What’s going on?”
“She’s wearing a cream bra with matching panties,” Veronica shrieked, “probably with the day of the week embroidered on them.”
I looked down at my lacy briefs and serviceable bra and, for a moment, forgot the cold. Okay, so they weren’t Victoria’s Secret, but...
Someone pushed me from behind. Veronica! I flew into the ice-cold river, head first. Couldn’t scream. In order to scream, I’d have to breathe in. I came up choking and spitting. No sympathy from my companions. Oh no. Their cackling even disturbed the birds. A hawk screeched. An owl hooted. Or maybe it was Anne. I didn’t know, or care, too busy gagging, shivering, and planning my revenge. I unhooked my bra and barely had time to appreciate the carrying capacity of two Double-D cups before filling them with water and flinging the icy liquid at the two crazy women with whom I was sharing the creek.
“That a girl,” Anne said clapping her hands.
Veronica let out a between-the-teeth wolf whistle. “You look pretty good, Sis. Did you get a boob job?”
In spite of the cold, my face grew hot. As I turned to refill my make-do weapon with liquid ammunition, I saw movement near the bank of the creek. I crossed my arms over my exposed ‘boobs’ and squinted into the darkness. Even with my flashlight’s beam aimed at the creek’s outer banks, all appeared a grainy black and gray.
“Adam?” Anne said, her tone hopeful.
So, she’d seen something, too. Double damn. Of all the rotten luck. Three naked, defenseless—stupid—women with someone, Dear God let it be Adam, lurking in the shadows. I eyed my flashlight. It would serve as a better weapon than the cotton and spandex one dangling from my hand.
Someone started to cry.
“Shit,” Veronica said.
I turned toward the sound and gasped. A second figure wavered in the darkness. It was of average height, nebulous, and appeared to have a blanket over its head. Anne’s and Veronica’s flashlights were of no use. They illuminated us, the defenseless, in all our glory, while the unwelcome gawkers remained no more than shadows.
The weeping pulled at me. It sounded like my mother. But how could that be? We hadn’t yet formed our circle. Or consecrated our space. Or channeled our collective wisdom and power. Already chilled, the cold now went deeper. My aura felt like the inside of a Popsicle. I longed for a towel, a cape. I longed for my mother. The hazy figure withdrew its blanket, and I gagged on my quick intake of air. Even in near darkness, I knew... “Ver-on-ica,” I sputtered. “Look.”
Veronica thrashed through the water to my side, then grabbed my arm for support.
“Oh my,” Anne said. “I was concentrating on Adam.”
Without taking my eyes off the cloud of energy I knew to be our mother, I said, “Are you sure it’s Adam?”
“Yeah. They’re both here, Adam and your mother.”
I edged closer to the bank. Dr. Mendez had told me about an author named Michael Talbot, who speculated that the conscious is not contained in the brain, but is a plasmic holographic energy field that permeates and surrounds our physical bodies. The past, then, is not lost, but still exists, recorded in the cosmic airways, and can be converted into holograms by our minds. Was Antonia a three-dimensional recording from the past? Were her emotions—her hopes, her fears, her plans—recorded in the cosmic hologram? Was the spiritual part of her reaching out to us from a different realm that we could somehow connect to at the quantum level and where the past, present, and future existed all at once? Darn, if only I could reach my flashlight and aim it where it would do more good.
“Looks like Adam’s in some kind of trance,” Veronica said, still clutching my arm.
“Likely a self-induced one,” Anne said. “To close himself down.”
“You think he’s giving up?” I asked, my teeth chattering.
“More a matter connecting with a different kind of power, a higher power.”
I jumped at the hoot of an owl. My throat hurt. Tears stung my eyes. Adam, please help Antonia accept the light, so it can pull her out of the darkness.
Antonia appeared to embrace Adam. They faced each other for what seemed a long time. Adam pointed in our direction. Antonia shook her head. Adam motioned again. Our mother turned to face us. Veronica squeezed my arm. It hurt. But I didn’t mind. It reminded me that I wasn’t dreaming, that this was real. Adam guided our mother to the bank of the creek. Her face caught the full beam of my flashlight. I gasped. “God help us.” Where her eyes should have been, there were two black holes.
Veronica’s icy hand went limp, and she leaned against me. “She can’t see us.”
“Oh, she can see you all right,” Anne said, “just not through her eyes.”
Veronica made a guttural sound as if clearing her throat.
The creek’s flow gained force. My knees felt weak. “Mother. We love you.”
Antonia brought up her hands. Then dropped them.
“We heard you crying,” I said. “Is there anything we can do?”
A nod. Or was it? Maybe my imagination was playing tricks on me.
“Is it about our father?”
Another nod? Hard to tell.
“We know you were a good mother,” I said. “You did everything you could to protect us.”
She reached out her hands and wailed as I’d heard her wail in the cave near Tassajara during my guided tour through the Los Padres Forest. The sound had been high, weird, and powerful, like that of a hurricane-force wind, and it had saved my life.
I took a step forward. Anne pulled me back. “Don’t go near her.”
“Our father loves you, Mother,” Veronica said.
For a moment, Antonia seemed to solidify.
“He hopes to see you on the other side. Will you wait for him there?”
She nodded as before.
“Will you wait for us, too?” I asked.
She said, Yes. I was sure of it.
Veronica swayed against me, as if sapped of all strength. I supported her with my arm, afraid she might fall.
“Then go there now, Mother,” I said, “and be happy.”
As Antonia’s image began to fade, her words—Your father. Your father—coursed through the air like ripples on water.
“What about our father?” Veronica asked. “What does he know?”
I tried stepping forward, wanting one last look into her hollow eyes. This time Veronica held me back. My eyes felt hot and scratchy, my nose wet. I sank into the creek making heavy, noisy sounds. The freezing water felt oddly warm.
“What about our father?” Veronica repeated. “What’s he got to do with this? With us?”
No answer. Our mother was gone.
Veronica sank to my side and pressed her cold body against mine.
“You two stay here,” Anne said. “I’ll get the towels.”
The water flowed on as if attempting to carry Veronica and me from the security of the creek bank to the Big Sur River, and from there to the vast Pacific Ocean, connected only by the golden thread of love. I rested my head on my sister’s bare shoulder and clung to her wet, icy hands. “It’s okay, Sis.”
Anne returned, speaking in a low murmur. She urged us to stand and draped us with towels. Still clinging to each other, Veronica and I sloshed to the creek bank.
“She can’t break through,” Veronica said.
To which I answered, “Or we’re blocking her.”
“How,” Veronica asked.
“For one thing, I think we’re trying too hard. Antonia isn’t our own private genie, who we can summon at will, simply by rubbing a magic lamp or performing a ritual, no matter how focused and powerful. For another, we can’t understand a language we haven’t yet learned.”
Anne gave my sister’s back a vigorous rub, then began massaging her arms. “Are you saying you’re not ready for what she wants you to know?”
“I can’t speak for Veronica, but there’s more for me to learn. I have to become more like our mother, I mean, really empathize with her and make space for her in my heart, before I can understand her message. I’ve been making this all about me, missing out on a message that’s carried by vibrations that can’t be caught through the eyes and ears.”
I felt a moment of sudden joy as though a shaft of light had shot past my mind straight to my soul. My muscles stopped shaking. “Her message will become clear,” I said with conviction that could only have come from an outside source. “Not as we expect, but as the need arises, in a form that at first will confuse us. Antonia wants us to look into our hearts where real life happens, where the secrets of life are hidden in plain sight. She wants us to open our spiritual eyes and ears.”
“Hey,” Veronica said. “Where’d that come from?”
“I don’t know.”
I closed my eyes as Anne’s strong, capable fingers began working the circulation back into my arms. “Will Adam be okay?”
“I think his little talk with Antonia has done him a world of good,” Anne said.
The vision of Adam and the spirit of our mother embracing would forever stay projected on my mind like a three-dimensional holographic memory that could be relived in vivid detail over and over. “I wonder what they said to each other.”
Anne made the sign of the cross. “I doubt we’ll ever know.”