Día de los Muertos ... Finale ...Communicating With the Dead
with fire beyond the language of the living
— T. S. Eliot
It was after nine that evening when I finally found time to relax by the fire with a glass of Shiraz and try out The Gypsy electronic Ouija board.
I placed the smooth, pressed board table on my lap, letting my fingers lightly touch the mouse. I had some idea of being gently guided by mystic spirits, but found the mouse, augmented by the ball-bearing supported plastic mover, too free and erratic in the way it skittered across the board.
I realized the oracle was intended for use by two, or even more players, and my using it solo wasn’t going to work.
I elected to use the automatic writing mode, and almost immediately there was a charged atmosphere in the room.
The window curtains began moving as if billowing in a breeze, and yet the windows were closed. The lights began to flicker and the fireplace flames began to dwindle and glow blue.
I felt an icy tingle as the hair on my arms stood up. I wanted to shut off the machine, but before I could react I watched in morbid fascination as the cursor on the screen spelled out a message.
Is anybody there?
I experienced a breathless, bone-chilling frisson as I stared in awe at this communication from some mysterious entity—and then, it hit me. It must be a pre-programmed response.
I had to admit it was very convincing and clever—it had me going for a moment.
I smiled as I typed back. I am Cole Michaels. Who are you?
I was aware the Gypsy would record the entire conversation along with the date and times and the entire dialogue would be stored on Macwrite. It would be an interesting conversation piece with which to tease Mir tomorrow at The Bakery.
My name is Adella Constable and I live in Maryland. the Ouija board answered.
I was a bit perturbed at that response. It seemed too detailed and specific to be pre-programmed into the computer memory.
I continued to be flippant. Are you real or a bot? I don’t want to get a virus.
I assure you, Sir, I am real, the machine replied and the only infection to which I succumb is the seasonal grippe. You can talk to me and not be infected with measles, smallpox or diphtheria—or, should you live on a farm, hoof and mouth disease.
My skin began to crawl. The only time I encountered such stilted prose was in a third year Lit class at university when I was compelled to read Jane Austen.
I felt this was a classical Turing experiment gone wrong and I was confusing a computer with a real person or vice versa.
I elected to keep the tone light and see where it would take me.
I feel I’m no longer in Kansas and I’m talking to the wizard behind the curtain.
The cursor typed again.
I see you’re familiar with the writings of L. Frank Baum. I teach children the book and had the opportunity recently to see the musical on Broadway.
I love the Wizard of Oz and I sure wasn’t aware of any Broadway musical.
Are you sure you saw the musical recently on Broadway? I’m not aware of any recent productions.
Of course, I’m sure. It starred Anna Laughlin as Dorothy Gale. It was enchanting.
I decided to Google the production and what I found made my blood freeze. There was a production of the Wizard on Broadway starring Anna Laughlin, but it ran for 293 performances from January 21, 1903, to December 31, 1904.
Do you recall the date of the performance you saw, Adella?
Of course—it was New Years Eve, 1904.
That was a long time ago, I joked.
Not really. It’s been less than two months. Today is Valentine’s Day.
Are you saying today’s date is February 14, 1905?
Unless they’ve changed the date of Valentines—Yes!
I began shaking. This was insane—impossible. There was no way this conversational thread could have been pre-programmed. What the hell was going on?
I decide to end the session. I typed in: Got to go now. Goodbye
.
The cursor moved across the screen in response. Sweet dreams, Cole.
I put the board and its various components back in the box. I contemplated burning it in the fireplace—I think I saw that once on a lame Friday Night Fright Show on cable TV. It didn’t make a bit of difference—the board reappeared the next morning.
I smiled grimly as I put it on the top shelf of my closet, intending to re-gift it to Rab and pass on the curse to him.
It was after twelve by the time I got to bed, and I tossed and turned until three before finally falling into a deep sleep.
I dreamt again of my mystery girl, her face veiled and hidden by mist.
“Why is it always raining when we meet?” I asked her.
“Rain obscures details—there’s no time or place—only the ether and the eternal mist.”
“But I need more. I can’t embrace a shadow.”
“But we spoke tonight—you in your world and I in mine. We communicated across the Great Divide—wirelessly, by telephony—and I, allergic to electricity.”
It dawned on me. “You mean that was youI was talking to on the Ouija board—Adella Constable?”
“It was me, my Love. I wrote so many letters through so many lonely nights—love notes written to an unknown lover and then tossed into the fire like an MS sent on some celestial sea, to be washed up on the shores of some distant star.”
“Are you saying our souls reached out to one another like vines sending out shoots?”
“Exactly. There’s nothing more lonely than tapping out messages that can never be heard.”
“But my soul heard your SOS, and we connected—you by ether, and I by electric.”
She chuckled, “And now we share this bliss.”
“But to never touch or see you, or to hold you in my arms—it seems so empty.”
But soul to soul communication—that’s the goal to which lovers aspire—and we have it. Would you settle for anything less?”
Adella’s question has been haunting me ever since.
I seem fated to a Platonic love affair that can never be consummated in the flesh.
I possess her in dreams, only to be dispossessed when I awake.
It may seem futile to some but it's the path our souls took to meet.
Soul to soul communication—Adella and I have it.
Why settle for anything less?
Thank you!