Somewhere in that expanse was a piece of land he hadn’t seen since he was a boy of nine or ten, when he had walked it a few paces to the left and a little behind his father, so he could bring around his Winchester. The land sloped gradually on the western side of a mountain then leveled off and sloped again, most of it hardwoods, tall trees that flew straight for the sky. Ash, maple and beech, some white and golden birches were scattered through it and there was a thicket of spruce down by a swamp. There was no road. He would have to have one built, take a loan, start from scratch. Actually he had started, the deed was in his pocket.

He surveyed the highway stretched thinly through the mountainous distance. He thought about the trooper, the unknown and the sublime. For better or worse he was being allowed to enter. It was a hell of a risk, the land...

Surf din beyond the hull eased Mitchell back from memories. He pushed off the galley counter into darkness and his body shuddered in pain from the calcium deposit on the ischium in his right buttock. The dull pain in his lower back was referred from his left sacroiliac joint, inflamed, almost petrified from the years of sitting. "To hell with it," he said and forced it out of his mind. He tried to sit up straight to hike the blanket onto his shoulders but a spasm across the width of his lower back slammed his ribs into the counter. He pushed off. "When Andy comes back I’ll get on the other couch and stretch. I’m here. I’m in the belly of a boat with my head above the waterline. It’s enough."

His eyes closed as his head sank into the warmth of his blanketed arm on the counter. Then nothingness. Silence. And nothingness...

He walked past a massive wooden door of tremendous weight into his dreamscape, wandering through multitudes of joyful celebrants, their loud revelry encompassed by dank walls lost in darkness above the dim struggle of candle flames. Throngs of boisterous men and women stood among row after row of long cloth-covered tables heaped with platters of food and jars of wine. Jubilant voices collided with laughter. All desire was fulfilled here. He knew this instinctively.

Suddenly alone he trailed his palm along a rock wall climbing rough hewn granite stairs. His exhalations were silver vapor, his thoughts retreated as he stepped up onto a spacious stone floor encircled by pillars that supported a domed roof. Timeless and serene he lingered, appreciating his place in a purplish-blue sky above a vast plain of snowy cumulus clouds. Then a tiny glint of phosphorescent light sped his vision to the edge of an incredible distance. Splendid there in the sunlight was another, higher temple...

The work boat bumped the sloop and woke him. He heard Andy’s voice, and another’s, and the thump of the batteries on board. Andy climbed below out of the night.

"How'd you make out?" Mitchell asked.

"Okay," Andy said and switched on a flashlight and its beam stabbed Mitchell’s eyes. "I charged both batteries. They needed it."

Mitchell squinted into the light. "How much?"

"They didn’t want any money. They said good luck."

Andy replaced the batteries and started the vents. Waiting for the fumes to clear he foraged through the galley lockers and settled for another box of crackers. He shut off the vents and turned the ignition key and the engine growled to life. We should move the sloop to a safe anchorage out behind the seawall Mitchell thought. But he’s had a long hard day. We should move the boat. I can't say it. I should but I can't. I hope that anchor holds.