Journals of Eleanor Druse, The (Digital Picture Book) by Eleanor Druse Page B
Authors: Eleanor Druse
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disappear inside the material universe. I have practiced yoga and meditation for most of my adult life, and I have struggled along the steep path that leads to mystical self-transcendence. Finally it happened, right there in the scanner: my first truly extraordinary state of consciousness. The boundary between me and the rest of the universe dissolved. I was no longer myself seeing matter, I was matter seeing myself. The polyurethane shell surrounding me was still beige and textured, but it was also perfect, profound, and meant to be. Like me, it was part of eternity. I didn’t have to do or say, be or think. I was. I was Brahman, the single absolute being animating and sustaining the entire universe, and every time I breathed, I exhaled a new universe.
Outside, Michael Baxley was shaving my noodle into sheets of transparent color, like stained glass, to be studied by computer networks, but here inside, I was exhaling one gorgeous infinite universe after another.
I could hardly wait to tell Bobby all about it, and I was careful not to move and spoil the photos they were taking of my big event.
THE NOTE
Bobby is not the toughest page to read in the book of humanity. When he came in my room and took a seat near my bed without bringing the newspaper with him, I knew something was up.
Words weren’t necessary. I looked at him; he looked away. Then he reached inside his coat and pulled out two sheets of paper he’d stuffed into his pocket.
“I had a beer with Ray Kruger.”
“Good boy, Bobby. You got Madeline’s suicide note, then?”
Outright success has never been in his repertoire. He squirmed and looked away again.
“Ray says his big sis, Hilda, is the executor of his mum’s estate. When Ray asked about any notes his mum left, Hilda got pissy and said their mum was a writer, and she was always writing crazy stuff, horror stories and whatnot, including stories about characters who wrote notes and killed themselves.”
“I see. Then ask Hilda if we can read her mum’s last tale about a character named Madeline who wrote a note about a person named Sally Druse and then killed herself. ”
“Mum, they’re Catholics. You can’t talk suicide to them because it’s like telling them their mum is in hell. Plus, Ray said he would never let anybody see the whole note. He said it’s too disturbing. His mum was a walking psychodrama when she wrote it.”
“I’m not saying she killed herself or is in hell or is a walking psychodrama. I just want to see what she wrote to me in the note.”
Bobby smiled. “My argument exactly, Mum. I asked him for the parts about you. Ray’s sister let him see the note, and he tried to copy down the parts about you when she wasn’t looking. He says he can’t be sure he got it all, but he tried. He also says you can’t tell anybody, or Hilda will cut him out of the will money.”
“Good boy, Bobby. I won’t tell a soul. Read it to me while I hunt for my glasses.”
“Let’s see, here,” Bobby mumbled. “He’s right about one thing, Mum. It’s three-headed weird. Flowery, too. I’d leave it all alone. She’s missing a few buttons on her remote if you ask me. Okay, she says:
“God has blessed Sally Druse with a memory more merciful than mine. I will not disturb her peace with cruel remembrance. We were children when Evil touched us, but our childhoods go back thousands of years, farther than the memory of man. Sally forgot her scars. My wounds still fester. I have asked God for forgiveness and forgetfulness, but my prayers go unanswered. I leave this life confident that I have seen the worst of Evil here among the living. I can only Improve my lot by rushing into the secret house of death.”
By the time Bobby had finished reading, I’d found my glasses and was trembling all over. I felt the same coldness swelling inside me that I’d felt the night Madeline tried to take her own life. Some dreadful nameless memory walled off from the rest of me tried to erupt
Outside, Michael Baxley was shaving my noodle into sheets of transparent color, like stained glass, to be studied by computer networks, but here inside, I was exhaling one gorgeous infinite universe after another.
I could hardly wait to tell Bobby all about it, and I was careful not to move and spoil the photos they were taking of my big event.
THE NOTE
Bobby is not the toughest page to read in the book of humanity. When he came in my room and took a seat near my bed without bringing the newspaper with him, I knew something was up.
Words weren’t necessary. I looked at him; he looked away. Then he reached inside his coat and pulled out two sheets of paper he’d stuffed into his pocket.
“I had a beer with Ray Kruger.”
“Good boy, Bobby. You got Madeline’s suicide note, then?”
Outright success has never been in his repertoire. He squirmed and looked away again.
“Ray says his big sis, Hilda, is the executor of his mum’s estate. When Ray asked about any notes his mum left, Hilda got pissy and said their mum was a writer, and she was always writing crazy stuff, horror stories and whatnot, including stories about characters who wrote notes and killed themselves.”
“I see. Then ask Hilda if we can read her mum’s last tale about a character named Madeline who wrote a note about a person named Sally Druse and then killed herself. ”
“Mum, they’re Catholics. You can’t talk suicide to them because it’s like telling them their mum is in hell. Plus, Ray said he would never let anybody see the whole note. He said it’s too disturbing. His mum was a walking psychodrama when she wrote it.”
“I’m not saying she killed herself or is in hell or is a walking psychodrama. I just want to see what she wrote to me in the note.”
Bobby smiled. “My argument exactly, Mum. I asked him for the parts about you. Ray’s sister let him see the note, and he tried to copy down the parts about you when she wasn’t looking. He says he can’t be sure he got it all, but he tried. He also says you can’t tell anybody, or Hilda will cut him out of the will money.”
“Good boy, Bobby. I won’t tell a soul. Read it to me while I hunt for my glasses.”
“Let’s see, here,” Bobby mumbled. “He’s right about one thing, Mum. It’s three-headed weird. Flowery, too. I’d leave it all alone. She’s missing a few buttons on her remote if you ask me. Okay, she says:
“God has blessed Sally Druse with a memory more merciful than mine. I will not disturb her peace with cruel remembrance. We were children when Evil touched us, but our childhoods go back thousands of years, farther than the memory of man. Sally forgot her scars. My wounds still fester. I have asked God for forgiveness and forgetfulness, but my prayers go unanswered. I leave this life confident that I have seen the worst of Evil here among the living. I can only Improve my lot by rushing into the secret house of death.”
By the time Bobby had finished reading, I’d found my glasses and was trembling all over. I felt the same coldness swelling inside me that I’d felt the night Madeline tried to take her own life. Some dreadful nameless memory walled off from the rest of me tried to erupt
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