The Eyes of the Beholders - A. C. Crispin [54]
“Logically, you would not have mentioned that you had been the recipient of one of the artifact’s dreams if you did not wish to discuss it,” Selar observed, relaxing her official stance somewhat in the light of Crusher’s personal revelation. “What did you dream, Beverly?”
There was a long pause. “I dreamed about the happiest day of my life,” Crusher said finally. “Only at the moment I didn’t know that it was, of course. It was only later, after Jack died, that I realized that that day had been the closest I’ll ever come to achieving perfection”—she smiled faintly, sadly—”at least in this life, I suppose.”
“You dreamed of your deceased husband?”
“Yes …” Crusher clenched her fists on the desktop. “Selar, it was so real. I thought I was there. There was no sense that this was a dream—and no worry, as is so often the case with pleasant dreams, that I would awaken and it would be gone. While I was there, I was there.”
She took a deep, steadying breath. “It was when Wesley was just a little fellow,” she said, an unconscious note of maternal wistfulness tinging her calm delivery. “Jack was home on leave—a long leave, the longest he’d ever gotten since Wesley was born. One day we took a flyer out to the Black Hills. It was summer, the most beautiful part of summer, and there were blossoming plants everywhere. The sky was the bluest I’d ever seen, and the mountain slopes were green with pines and hemlocks and spruce. The meadows were lush with grass, and there were animals grazing on them in the far distance—deer or elk, I suppose.
“We went for a walk, with Wesley riding on his father’s shoulders, and I can remember him demanding that we name everything we passed, everything around us. We began laughing after a while, and threatening to make up names, because neither of us could identify all those plants. We teased Wesley, calling him our Elephant’s Child.”
Selar raised an inquiring eyebrow, and Beverly paused and smiled. “That’s a reference to a story by Rudyard Kipling, about a young elephant who was possessed of insatiable curiosity. It’s like a fairy tale designed to explain, for a child, why elephants have those long trunks.”
The Vulcan nodded. “I understand. Humans have a propensity for romanticizing everything.”
Beverly chuckled. “So we do. Anyway, after Jack and I had walked a couple of kilometers, we sat down by a brook and dangled our feet in the water. It was soooo cold! Felt as though it had come down from a glacier … which I suppose it had.” She shuddered theatrically, smiling. “We got silly and kicked water at each other, until we were really wet, and we laughed like fools.”
The lieutenant’s eyes were a bit skeptical, as if she could not comprehend the notion of pleasure connected with being sluiced with icy water, but she did not remark on it, merely waited for Crusher to continue.
“Then we lay down in the grass, and Wesley took a nap. Jack and I … we wanted to make love, but we didn’t quite dare, with Wes there, so we just cuddled together …” Beverly’s voice failed, and she stared down at her clenched hands, struggling for control.
“If it distresses you to speak of this … ,” Selar began, but the other’s red hair swung as she shook her head no.
“It’s important that the medical staff try to understand what’s happening here,” she said softly. “Since you haven’t had one of the dreams—and, from what you say, aren’t likely to—you need to understand what they’re like. Also, when humans have an upsetting dream, it helps them to relate it to someone. I don’t really know why … perhaps it helps us distance ourselves.” She rose from her chair and paced back and forth in the small area of the office. “I just … need a moment, that’s all.”
Finally, she resumed her seat and her narrative. “So after the water battle we fell asleep, too, and when we woke up we were dry again, and hungry. We walked back to where the flyer was parked, to have lunch. I had made that lunch myself, and it tasted so good!” She looked up at Selar. “I can remember every mouthful—and do you