Startled at first but then disappointed by the interruption in his dream, James slowly rose to answer it.
A moment of silence on the other end gave James an eerie feeling after having such an unusual dream with the circumstances surrounding it. But then a familiar high frequency tone let him know someone was trying to send him a fax.
Damn idiot, James muttered.
The unbounded, free, wondrous feeling of this vivid dream remained with him as he sat back down, cursing the interruption. It was so real, and he still felt it.
Another dream that had the same effect on him long ago popped into his mind. A dream he had in elementary school that had left him with the same feeling.
A substitute teacher had brought several recordings with her, perhaps to sooth the savage class. It had worked, at least with one recording that seemingly captivated everyone. It had certainly captivated James. He remembered sitting there, enchanted by a recording of Smetana’s The Moldau.
The Moldau, the teacher had told them, was a river in Czechoslavakia. Long ago, a classical composer named Smetana wrote a musical piece about this river. That’s all she had told them and young James’ imagination had taken over after that. As he listened to the orchestra, for the first time in his life he could actually picture scenes in his mind, formed by his interpretation of the music.
Nothing had ever moved him in such a manner. Of course up until that time he was used to listening to children’s songs and his older sister’s early rock and roll records. Not exactly the stuff that formed vivid images. The Moldau was a big step up for him.
The music must have had quite the effect on little James because it even formed the soundtrack for his dream that night. In it, he rode his bicycle along the currents of the Czech river, past the most beautiful scenery he had ever seen. Or dreamed. Or previously imagined. Despite being so long ago, he knew the feeling then was identical to what he felt now. He had never ridden his bicycle so quickly and so effortlessly, navigating every obstacle without the slightest difficulty.
Again, that had been a dream he never wanted to end and when his mom had woken him up for another day of school, he was filled with disappointment.
He had hoped the substitute teacher would return that day, bringing the recording back with her. But no luck. Mrs. Wilson, the regular teacher, was back and James spent the rest of the day harboring the feelings from his dream of riding alongside the Moldau.
So, James wondered, was this a direct result of Annie’s parting present to him? The doings of the wine in the little bottle? Or just a coincidence? He wanted to believe that it was a direct result, but that would somehow be too magical. He had loved his aunt but his sensibilities said there was no connection. Nevertheless he had faith; Annie Annie had told him things would be clearer once he had sampled the wine so what else might she have meant if not this dream?
I’ll just have to try bottle number two, thought James.
To be continued..
Smetana's The Moldau at Amazon.com: