Island In The Mist

He stepped onto the small boat and caught his balance by lowering himself down far enough to grab hold of the two sides. The boat was a little bigger than a dugout canoe, made out of a black colored wood and propelled by poling. The old lady was about six feet in front of him and never turned to look to see if he was in. She merely stuck the pole into the surface of the fresh water lake and the boat took off. If she lifted the pole out of the water, the boat stopped. She only did that once and it seemed that she was getting her bearings because the boat turned when she returned the pole to the water. Along the way were lights that appeared out of the fog ahead on either side of the boat about six or eight feet away. Darjeeling couldn’t tell what type of light they were but guessed that they were lanterns of some sort. The fog was so thick all around them that he could only vaguely see the outline of the lanterns bobbing on the water and could see nothing ahead or behind. It hurt his eyes to strain to see where they were heading. The old woman kept to the task of guiding the boat, her body appearing and disappearing with the coming and going of the fog. Darjeeling laughed. He thought that maybe he was on the River Styx and the old woman was Charon taking him to Hell. Just then she turned to him. Her countenance was so beautiful he could hardly stand it. Her round oriental face was something he could look at forever. It was a mandala that captivated his attention. She smiled and pulled the pole out of the water. The boat stopped. Darjeeling tried to ask her a question but found that he still couldn’t speak. She circled her left hand in front of her and pointed to the fog with the pole. The fog sworled a bit and then out of it came small dancing star shaped lights like the ones he had seen before. They danced toward the boat and with them came a sound like muffled bells ringing. The old woman seemed pleased and looked at him. All he could do was smile and bow. She returned the bow and then turned back and started the boat once again. The lights accompanied them and the sound of the bells made him sleepy. He fought off the sleep but lost. It was a while later that the boat touched the shore of the island and woke him up. He was refreshed and felt wonderful. The old lady jumped out of the boat and started up a rock laid path. Darjeeling jumped out and pulled the boat up. He ran to catch up with her. Whenever he thought he was about to reach her she would amazingly appear several steps ahead again. She would turn back around from time to time and smile and beckon him on. It seemed like they followed the path for quite some time before it started its steep incline. On either side he could see trees and brush, mostly pines and a few pin oaks. He had a feeling he was on the island he had seen but couldn’t be sure. The incline of the path got a little steeper and soon he was laboring to go on. His feet slipped on the wet ground and loose rock. He caught himself with his hand more than once and his breath now labored like a racehorse making the final turn to the bell. He fell and lay there, his hot breath blowing leaves and sucking in dirt. In front of his eyes he saw the end of the old lady’s pole and beyond that her feet. He gazed at her feet as he tried to calm his breathing. They were beautiful feet, unharmed by the steep and messy climb up the hill. She touched the pole to his shoulder and his heavy breathing stopped, returning to normal, regular breaths. He felt himself rising from the ground as she used the stick to pick him up. He felt no pressure from the stick, only a gentle lifting. When he was upright, she motioned to him to hold on to the end of the stick. Then she took off at an even faster, but seemingly effortless, pace up the now steeper slope. The fog began to clear and he could see more trees and brush. Suddenly, the sun appeared and they emerged into an open area where there was a small log cabin that looked just like the one on the beach. The air was clear and sweet. He could hear the songs of birds and the humming of honeybees. He smelled the sweet fragrance of flowers that dotted the landscape and led them to the cabin. She gently “unhooked” him from the walking stick and he was able to make his own way behind her to the cabin door. She went inside and the door slammed in his face.