Purple Mountain - Part 2

 

‘Arty, are you feeling better now?’

 

Arty heard these words from inside his dream. He had been dreaming about cooking dinner for Dill, a fancy dinner with expensive ingredients. Keen to have everything perfect, he had first thoroughly cleaned the kitchen and some cleaning solution had accidentally found its way into the salad dressing. As soon as he tasted it he knew. Without hesitation he set out to warn Dill not to eat the salad but every time he tried to speak, no words would come out.

 

He could only watch in horror as she ate more and more of the poisoned leaves then started to wince and clutch her stomach. They were both unwell now but could only stare at each other. Their eyes relayed desperation, pain and something else, guilt maybe but neither could speak.

 

Art opened his eyes and tried to unravel the threads of his various thoughts, recent experiences and dreams, what was real, what wasn’t? ‘Dill?’ he called out and immediately sat up and looked around, quickly realising that he was on the sofa which confused him even more.

 

‘Don’t worry Son,’ said his father, Trey, ‘she is sleeping up in your bedroom and she’s going to be fine.’

 

Arty blinked and rubbed his eyes, sighed heavily and said, ‘Oh god, we went to the site of the old mountain.’

 

‘We know you did,’ said Sara, his mother, ‘you were picked up by one of the rangers from the park. He said you were disorientated and speaking nonsense. He had a medic do some checks on you, take some readings, apparently you’re both okay but you need to rest. You’ve been thoroughly drained by the site of the mountain and will have to recharge now.’

 

Trey laughed, ‘What remains of Purple Mountain is clearly still hungry!’

 

‘It takes whatever it can from people,’ Sara continued, ‘animals, people, anything with an energy, the birds still won’t fly over it...but finally, do you know what?’

 

‘What?’ said Trey.

 

‘It’s starting to look alive again.’

 

Arty rubbed his eyes. ‘I thought that,’ he said, ‘when we visited, the first thing I noticed was that the site looks full of life now compared to what it was like when I was a kid. I think that’s why Dill wanted to go there, she thought it looked like a beautiful place.’

 

Sara tutted, ‘Ah so it was Dill. I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t have ventured there of your own volition. It’s drummed into the local people, never walk on the site of Purple Mountain!’

 

Trey placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder. ‘Shshs, the young lady was curious that’s all. It’s a good quality. We want him to be with somebody who is curious about the world, especially our world, down here in the middle of nowhere.’

 

‘Do you think she’s awake now, Dill? Can I see her?’

 

‘She was, we made her some herbal tea but she said she was still very drowsy so we left her to sleep.’

 

‘This is a disaster. We could have died! People have died there haven’t they? I swear the mountain used to swallow people!’

 

Arty’s parents looked at each other and something passed between them. ‘No,’ Sara shook her head, ‘not for a very long time.’

 

‘There was an old man who sacrificed himself for the spirit of the mountain, Bennett Sallow, but it did no good, he was depressed anyhow…or so people said so how could that have helped a spirit! Too little too late I guess,’ said Trey, ‘anyways, you can quiz grandma and grandpa about it tomorrow morning when they come. They’re desperate to meet Dill.’

 

This wasn’t quite the family introduction that Arty had hoped for. He’d wanted Dill to sit down for a family meal with him and his parents so she could get to know them slowly and he could steer the conversation a bit. It would be a happy occasion. Now they were both sick and he even felt too weak to go upstairs and check up on her.

 

‘You should go back to sleep for a while,’ said Trey, ‘we’ll take care of Dill when she wakes up. The only recovery from this kind of draining is deep deep sleep.’

 

Just hearing the word sleep was making Arty’s eyelids feel weighted. The world of sleep immediately began to overlap the image of his father sitting on the arm of the sofa watching him. He closed his eyes and fell straight into the soft cushion of another dream. 

 

This time he found himself on a real, physical mountain, ascending to where the air felt thin and he found himself tired, panting but excited too. The views were spectacular as he climbed towards the top, he could see his village and the brown dot of his little house. But there was a fierce wind blowing, a warm peculiar wind and rather unnervingly it came in regular waves like breathing. It seemed to be coming from a hole in the top of the mountain. 

 

He hurried up to the summit, keen to see the source of this powerful wind. On the edge of the hole, he stood still, mesmerised by what appeared to be a mouth with glistening pink gums, it was both horrific and fascinating and it somehow felt familiar. It was obviously dangerous to be there but something made him stay and the next time the mouth inhaled, he was sucked inside. 

 

There was a feeling of squeezing, contracting as he was pushed, upside down through a small gap, like being swallowed, being born, then a sense of falling, falling down through the mountain. He saw the familiar outline of the Crying Lady, then he hit something and went unconscious, unconscious inside his dream. Now the real sleep occurred, the deep restorative sleep his father had spoken of.

 

‘Arty, Arty, I’m better now, are you? You’ve been asleep for ten hours!’ Dill was so bright, dressed in a different outfit, a white dress, she had showered, her long hair was wet, drips of water fell down into her lap and she seemed happy, exuberant. ‘Your mum just made us pancakes. We tried to wake you but you pushed my hand away.’

 

‘Oh, sorry. I’m so stiff in the neck! Remind me to never sleep on this sofa again.’

 

‘I think your parents thought it best if we slept separately so they could keep an eye on us, on our condition…without spying on us, if you know what I mean.’

 

Arty suddenly felt very self-conscious. He worried that he stank in the same clothes he’d worn for their walk at the sight of Purple Mountain, his stress hormones seeping out into his clothes and complete lack of personal hygiene.

 

‘What day is it?’ he said, holding his hand over his mouth.

 

‘It’s Wednesday. I’m only here for two more nights, Arty. What are we going to do, with the rest of the time, what do people do around here,’ she laughed, ‘except visit non-existent mountains?’

 

 

Arty began to get up, first he lifted himself into a sitting position, stretching out his arms which felt stagnant and fuzzy then he stood slowly, his legs felt weak. ‘I need to wash and change, Dill. I want to kiss you but I feel like filth,’ he began to walk away towards the stairs, suddenly feeling a bit cross and defensive about his village, ‘there’s a bar here we can visit and an owl sanctuary, lots and lots of beautiful countryside.’

 

‘Your countryside is dangerous.’

 

He laughed but it wasn’t a real laugh because he felt anxious now, worried about his new girlfriend getting bored, and about what his mother might say to her in his absence. ‘Most of it is not. Save me some pancakes, I’ll be down in twenty minutes, a new man!’