js&cs.thebridge-第17节

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　oil。
　　The　hype　surrounding　this　show；　for　example；　promised　that　monies　earned　would　go　straight　into　the　environment；　that　important　global　transformational　policies　would　be　drafted　and　then　implemented　over　the　weekend；　by　the　total　Symposium　membership；　and　indeed；　that　ordinary　rank　and　file　would　get　to　actually　hobnob　with　the　famous；　to　share　theories　and　pare　notes　with　the　finest　minds　on　the　planet。
　　The　reality　netted　somewhat　less　Utopian　results。　Operating　costs　of　the　convention　ate　up　fully　half　of　the　money　generated；　the　important　policy…drafting　decayed　into　pompous　speechifying　and　political　infighting。　And　Utopia　had　a　VIP　lounge；　after　all；　where　the　invisible　line　between　prole　and　privileged　was　clearly　drawn。　The　average　results　ran　somewhere　between　a　lecture　and　a　flat…out　dog…and…pony　show。
　　The　undercurrent　of　crushed　hope　was　palpable。　Those　naive　enough　to　believe　in　a　mystical　Good　Guys　network…where　they　and　their　heroes　labored　side　by　side　to　solve　the　world's　problems　together…were　inevitably　in　for　some　major　disappointment。　Those　who　expected　the　quick　fix　were　reminded　that　there　were　none；　that　the　task　of　saving　the　Earth　took　nothing　less　than　absolutely　everyone；　doing　absolutely　everything　they　could；　every　day　for　the　rest　of　their　lives。
　　And　then　maybe…just　maybe…it　would　all　work　out。
　　By　Sunday；　it　was　clear　to　most　that　the　world　wasn't　going　to　be　saved　this　week；　and　certainly　not　this　way。　In　the　process　of　trying　to　balm　all　those　broken　hearts　and　imploded　ideals；　Micki　had　used　up　every　last　ounce　of　energy；　not　to　mention　violating　ninety…nine　percent　of　her　own　very　strict　health　regimen。
　　And　then　it　was　time　to　go　。。。
　　WHAM！　Micki's　eyes　snapped　wide　open。　Wa…WHAM！
　　There　was　a　disorienting　moment　of　total　weightlessness；　irrespective　of　gravity。　Freefall　seemed　to　go　on　forever…a　full　ten　feet；　longer；　in　the　space　of　a　second…then　SLAM！　steadied　out　and　proceeded　to　shake；　like　the　plane　was　a　chew　toy　in　a　pit　bull　puppy's　jaws。
　　She　heard　herself　mewling；　and　shut　herself　up。
　　〃Oh　dear　god。〃　White…knuckle…clutching　the　arms　of　her　seat。　〃Oh；　please　stop。〃　As　the　shaking　continued。　〃Oh！〃　as　they　dropped　again…WHAMWHAM　buh　buh　BLAM！　BLAM！…and　miraculously　stabilized。
　　Leaving　Micki　with　a　moment　to　question　her　sanity；　ask　herself　what　the　hell　she　was　doing　here。
　　The　answer　was　simple。　She　had　e　to　see　Gwen。　Put　up　with　Gary。　And　help　usher　their　baby　into　the　world。
　　In　fact；　she　had　planned　this　out　months　in　advance；　leaving　virtually　no　margin　for　errors　not　endemic　to　the　plan。　She　had　gotten　up　at　six；　checked　out　by　six…thirty；　then　limoed　the　fifty…plus　miles　from　Amherst　to　Hartford　and　hopped　a　marginally　civilized　DC…9　to　Philly；　only　to　find　her　angular　frame　wedged　into　the　tiniest；　least　fortable　seat　this　side　of　Midget　Purgatory；　puddle…jumping　to　Paradise　on　a　US　Air　muter　flight　that　only　carried　two　of　its　maximum　twelve…passenger　payload。
　　The　downgrade　from　jet　to　prop…power　was　bad　enough。　She　could　deal　with　the　flight　that　had　brought　her　the　three…thousand…plus　miles　from　Oregon　to　Amherst　because　the　plane　was　so　damned　big…Clipper　Class　in　a　747　was　like　taking　Amtrak　at　thirty…seven　thousand　feet。　And　even　in　a　smaller　jet　she　could　fool　herself：　hold　her　breath　until　they　broke　cloud　cover　and　then　while　away　the　flight　time　studying　the　little　seat…pocket　cards；　memorizing　escape　routes　and　how　to　best　use　her　seat　cushion　as　a　flotation　device。
　　A　turbo…prop；　however；　was　all　business：　there　was　simply　no　escaping　the　fact　that　she　was　flying；　not…so…bravely　going　where　no　one　in　their　right　mind　should　ever　have　gone　before；　three　thousand　five　hundred　feet　in　the　air　in　her　itsy…bitsy　seat　right　next　to　an　aisle　you　couldn't　even　stand　upright　in　while　the　pilot　and　copilot　sniggered　behind　their　dinky　curtain；　plotting　air…speed　vectors　and　crash　coordinates　and　hoarding　parachutes　and　she　could　see　people　the　size　of　ants　in　their　backyards；　goddammit；　and　。。。
　　If　you're　really　that　frightened；　said　the　voice　in　her　head；　you　could　always　make　a　circle。
　　Micki　started；　momentarily　surprised。　She　hated　it　when　her　spirit　guide　snuck　up　on　her　like　that。　Even　after　five　years　of　trance…channeling；　it　still　gave　her　the　willies　sometimes。　〃What　do　you　know？〃　she　said　aloud。　〃You're　not　even　on　this　plane。　You're　not　even　on　the　earth　plane。〃　you're　overreacting；　Bob…Ramtha　said　calmly。
　　〃Overreacting！〃　she　blurted。　〃Are　you　kidding？　You　ever　seen　what　happens　to　these　things　when　they　go　down？　It's　like　a　human　Cuisinart！〃
　　You　don't　have　to　yell；　Bob…Ramma　chided。
　　Micki　lowered　her　voice。　She　looked　behind　her；　the　sole　other　passenger　sat　three　rows　back　on　the　other　side。　He　was　doughy；　disheveled；　a　cheeky　businessman　with　a　full　day's　growth　of　scratchy　beard；　heading　home　at　last。　He　smiled　at　her　uneasily　and　nodded。　Micki　nodded　and　turned　away。
　　〃Sorry；　Bobba；〃　she　amended　to　herself。　〃I'm　just　nervous；　is　all。　And　my　stomach's　upset。〃
　　It's　okay；　the　voice　said。
　　〃No　it's　not；〃　Micki　replied。　It　was　stupid。　Micki　Bridges　was　blessed　with　a　direct　pipeline　to　the　hereafter…a　live　internal　audio　feed　to　the　Other　Side…and　she　was　still　scared　of　dying。
　　The　plane　buffeted　again；　bouncing　on　the　air　currents　like　a　numbered　ping…pong　ball　in　a　Pennsylvania　Lotto　drawing。　She　sucked　wind　sharply　and　held　it；　took　the　reins　on　her　panic。
　　The　storm　front　is　pretty　big；　Bob…Ramtha　said。　Micki　nodded　in　affirmation。　From　her　vantage　point；　it　extended　as　far　as　the　eye　could　see：　a　solid　wall　of　low；　foreboding　clouds　blanketing　the　earth。　To　the　north；　the　air　was　purplish…gray　with　rain。　It　wasn't　apt　to　get　much　better　in　the　twenty…odd　minutes　to　e。
　　She　thought　about　it；　accepted　it；　sighed。　〃Make　a　circle；　huh？〃　she　said。
　　Couldn't　hurt；　Bob…Ramtha　replied。
　　Micki　smiled；　his　voice　was　soothing；　and　his　advice　had　never　been　off　the　mark。　Bob…Ramtha　was　rare；　as　spirit　entities　went：　he　didn't　make　portentous　proclamations；　he　didn't　claim　to　be　bosom　buddies　with　the　Almighty　or　to　know　the　exact　date　the　mothership　would　land　or　whatever　really　happened　to　Elvis。
　　He　was　just　there；　having　e　at　a　point　in　her　life　when　she　desperately　needed　someone；　and　having　stayed　ever　since。
　　Keeping　the　circuit　open。
　　And　the　spark　alive。
　　〃Okay；〃　she　said；　looking　up。　The　businessman　was　watching　a　crazy　woman　auto…emote。　Tough　titties；　she　thought；　flashing　him　her　sweetest　smile。
　　Then　closed　her　eyes。　Centered　herself。
　　And　began　the　silent　ritual　prayer。
　　In　the　wiccan　tradition；　the　drawing　of　the　circle　was　a　time…honored　form　of　protective；　healing　magick。　Its　function　was　to　create　safe　haven；　a　merging　with　the　spirit　realm；　a　space　outside　of　space　and　time。
　　Where　no　harm　could　befall　you。
　　The　key　to　the　power　of　the　ritual　circle　was　the　invocation　of　the　elementals：　the　spirits　of　the　living　Earth；　as　embodied　by　the　four　directions。
　　To　the　east　was　sky；　the　breath　of　the　Mother。　Her　spirits　presided　over　the　beginnings　of　life。　They　correlated　to　the　swords　of　the　Tarot；　wielding　Intellect　in　the　service　of　truth。　The　sky…people　would　be　the　first　invited　into　the　circle。
　　Next　would　e　the　fire…people；　spirits　of　the　south。　Spirits　of　flame；　and　ferocity　of　passion。　Spirits　of　energy　and　will。　Bearers　of　wands；　and　of　earthly　vitality；　joining　the　caster　of　circles　inside。
　　To　the　west　lay　the　bearers　of　cups；　brimming　over　with　the　living　blood　of　the　Mother。　Spirits　of　Emotion；　of　sadness　and　joy；　of　all　we　are　able　to　feel　within。　Spirits　of　oceans　and　endings；　the　water…sisters　would　be　third　in　line。
　　Fourth　would　e　the　earth…people；　the　spirits　of　the　rocks　and　soil。　The　spirits　of　meat　and　bark　and　flesh；　of　pentacles　and　earthly　possessions；　of　things　long　dead　and　returned　to　ground。　From　the　north；　they　would　be　weled　into　the　circle　of　life。
　　Then　finally；　one　would　invite　the　Source　of　all　life　to　mune　with　them　inside。　Great　Spirit。　The　Mystery　in　the　Middle。　Goddess。　God。　All　love。　All　life。
　　And　when　they　all　had　e；　the　circle　would　be　closed；　so　that　no　others　might　enter。
　　And　there；　surrounded　by　all　the　forces　of　Nature；　they　could　at　last　encounter　their　One　True　Self；　recognize　those　very　forces　at　play　within　themselves。
　　That　was　the　theoretical　function　of　the　ritual　circle。　Of　course；　it　had　never　been　devised　for　use　in　deepest　space。　And　three　thousand　feet　in　midair　was　a　definite　promise　position。
　　But　Micki　would　be　damned　if　she　didn't　feel　better；　once　the　circle　was　cast。　She　felt　better　the　whole　rest　of　the　way　into　Paradise。　The　turbulence　let　up　a　little　as　they　crossed　the　Susquehanna；　but　whether　that　was　a　good　omen　or　just　good　luck　she　wouldn't　venture　to　guess。
　　〃Thanks；　Bobba；〃　she　said。
　　And　he　told　her　not　to　mention　it。
　　
　　
　　　Thirteen
　　　
　　〃Oh；　Christ。〃　Kirk　was　bitching　again。　There　was　a　blue…haired　matron　in　a　prehistoric　Rambler；　doing　twenty…five　down　the　old　Gut　Road。　When　the　ACTION…9　mobile　screeched　around　the　hairpin　curve；　it　nearly　rode　up　on　her　ass。　〃Can't　you　go