"Thundalara and the Turning Outward"
from The Book of Dreams

Translated from the canine by Steed


The warmly lighted kitchen was filled with the fragrance of bubbling
soup as the man quietly, contentedly stirred the pot. A fire crackled in
the fireplace in the next room, a black cat with white whiskers slept on
the hearth. For a suspended moment in time, winter was held at bay and
the household was at peace before the evening feeding.

Suddenly there was the sound of a car door slamming, voices barking, and
a very disheveled woman burst into the kitchen, cradling in her arms
what at first appeared to be a large bundle of filthy rags with a thick
rope hanging down from one end.

The rope moved a bit, and the black cat, who had come to see what the
woman was carrying, hissed at the terrible smell of the bundle and ran
from the kitchen in disgust.

"Elizabeth!" the man exclaimed. "What on earth...?"

"I took him! I kidnapped him!" the woman said in a breathy voice,
noticably shaking with emotion. She placed the heavy bundle of rags
carefully on the floor. 

"Calm down, my dear, and tell me what happened," the man said firmly as
he eyed the bundle with evident distaste. "And what is that, any way?"
he added.

"It's Rebus. I kidnapped him from those awful people in the valley," the
woman replied, close to tears now.

The lump of rags that was Rebus did not move.

"My God! You TOOK him? Will you please tell me what happened?"

The lump of rags quivered.

"Oh, Richard, they were keeping him in a little cellar with a trap door
and throwing food down to him, if you can call that food. They said he
was too big and rough and they had to keep him shut up to control him
.... and he was sick and starving, and ... and ..."

From the lump of smelly rags, a dark head apeared slowly, tentatively.

The people talked some more, their voices rising and dropping. Once the
woman cried as if her heart would break.

"They said he was worthless, another mouth to feed ... that I'd cheated
them and he was nothing but a nuisance.
I couldn't stand it - I grabbed him and ran!"

At the sounds of her sobbing, Rebus pulled his head back into the rags
that seemed a part of him. Crying meant trouble where he came from.

The man put his hand on the woman's arm, comforting her, but shaking his
head in the most serious way.

"My dear, you shouldn't have taken him. Suppose they call the police?
Suppose they bring charges?"

"Ha!" the woman snorted contemptuously. "Let them! I don't care if they
put me in jail, they will never see Rebus again. Oh, Richard, how could
I have sold one of our babies to such awful people? How could I have
been so wrong?" She began to cry again.

"There, there," the man said. He stared at his tiny wife in disbelief.

The Rollins family, living out in the valley and keeping more and more
to themselves lately, had gotten a reputation for being difficult to
deal with. Where all the courage came from within this small, tender
woman to deal with such people was beyond him. He could only shake his
head some more.

"Please run a hot tub, Richard," the woman said. And blowing her nose
loudly, she approached the lump of rags.

Carefully she knelt beside Rebus and unwrapped the dreadful bedding that
had covered the poor dog. The rags were thrown away, and the man and
woman stood taking stock of Rebus.

At seven months of age, most Great Danes look a bit awkward and on the
knobby side, but Rebus was a barely living skeleton, painfully thin, and
with dirty, dry hair the color of summer dust. Pieces of straw and other
unmentionable things stuck and clung to his body in spots where he had
been forced to sit or lie down in his terrible surroundings.

His nails were claws, and many were broken off cruelly. Some had bled.
One was missing completely. Open wounds in various stages of trying to
heal were discovered on his legs and chest ... and one had the distinct
markings of a chain. The once-proud ears dropped miserably, crumpled
beside his head.

But it was his eyes that brought tears to Elizabeth's own. Sunken,
nearly closed, and oozing with infection, those eyes were surely the
windows to a soul in torment.

Elizabeth pulled the smelly bundle to her and wept, Rebus shuddering in
her arms, shocked at the warmth of this person - she was crying for him.

They carried Rebus into the bathroom, and to his astonishment, they
placed him in a tub of very warm water. He was bathed and scrubbed, over
and over again, and rinsed with the sprayer hose unitl not dirt nor
smell remained.

"Look at the color of that coat!" the woman exclaimed as they fluffed
Rebus dry with thick, lush towels that had been tossed in the warm
dryer. Now that he was clean, the people could see that he was the color
of dull bronze, like an unpolished piece of copper finery left too long
without care.

Deftly and quickly his nails were trimmed and ground smooth, har was
clipped from around his wounds and they were flushed with antiseptic.
His ears were cleaned with a soft cloth and eye drops were liberally
splashed into his terrible eyes.

And not once did Rebus protest this unusual treatment. It was not within
his understanding that people could love him, much less care for him in
this wonderfully kind way, so he lay still and averted his head, waiting
to see what would happen next.

And all the while, the woman cooed and fussed over him, whispering
little endearments, caring for his hurts and making him feel as if he
mattered very much to her. He knew her voice in some distant  memory,
but nothing in his short life had prepared him to feel anything but fear
and worry of people and their ways.

He did not respond to her because he could not. Rebus didn't know how to
love anybody.

* * *

The days passed and blended into a blur of strange and pleasant things
for Rebus. There was a soft bed which he was made to understand was his,
and his alone. There was food - glorious food! Milk, eggs, kibble and
lots of soup, a bit of meat now and then, and cornbread with real
butter. Rebus never knew such foods existed until now, and he always ate
frantically, hysterically, biting at his food with great slashes for
fear that it would be taken away. 

He gained weight, and his hair became softer, prettier. Pills and
medications, cleverly disquised in large clumps of soft cheese or in a
cup of tasty broth, began to heal his wounds and work their magic within
his body.

Even his terrible eyes began to be less painful, but still he could not
look at these people, could not meet their eyes with his. 

"He won't look at me," Elizabeth would say now and then.

"I would imagine it takes more than a few weeks for a youngster to
recover from what this one has experienced, my dear. Patience is the
key," would be the reply.

Rebus began following the woman-person around the house and kennel while
she did the chores, not getting too close. But he didn't quite want to
be left behind, either. She was the healer, the food-giver, and he
wanted to be near her. 

As time flowed on, and as Rebus began to regain his health, he came to
have more and deeper feelings for this woman-person who was his rescuer.
And although she loved the other dogs that lived there, too, she always
had time for Rebus. She was quick to praise him for his quiet ,
dignified behavior. She seemed to know that just a single firm word was
enough to show Rebus when was doing wrong.

The woman-person carried heavenly little bisquits in her pockets,
popping them into eager mouths from time to time for no reason at all
except that she loved all her dogs and wanted to give them something.
Sometimes she would hold the biscuit just out of reach, waiting to see
if Rebus would meet her eyes. But she never withheld the biscuit if he
did not look at her. He could not gaze into her lovely eyes as the
others did so adoringly, and yet she did not hold it against him.

Nor did she laugh at his fear of the dark. It was perfectly reasonable
to her that if Rebus had been locked in a cellar for most of his life,
he did not want to be in the dark again any time soon. So she did not
make him sleep with the other dogs, but gave him a bed in her own room
and kept a tiny light burning for him through the night.

Soft music played throughout the house and nearby kennel all the time,
and although Rebus had never heard music before that he could rember, it
soothed him and he was very grateful.

The weeks and months passed until they were all deep into winter, Rebus
gaining health steadily and surely. He became accustomed to the routine
of this amazing new family, although he still could not quite join in
completely. He loved watching the woman-person preparing the feedings,
and she always slipped him a particularly appetizing bit of food as she
cooked.

But still he could not look into her eyes as the others did so
worshipfully, no matter how she coaxed him, no matter how sweetly she
pleaded.

"He's been badly damaged, my dear," the man-person would say.

"But that feral, frightened look - the way he shies from my eyes - will
he always be like that?" the woman-person would wonder aloud.

"I would think it very difficult to learn to trust and love anybody
after what he has been through," he often answered.

And with the waxing and waning of the moon, Rebus became sleek, fat, and
very, very beautiful. His wounds healed and there was not much scarring,
at least not on the outside. His ears began to stand again, just
briefly, just now and then, but they did stand. His bad dreams began to
fade because of the nightlights and the soft music.

He learned to walk on a lead without straining to escape, and he was no
longer frightened of the man who came to see him now and then to look at
his eyes and ears, or listen to his heart. Although the man smelled very
strangely, he had the gentlest hands imaginable.

And one night, Rebus had an especially scrumptious evening feeding, with
mounds of cottage cheese and chopped egg on top. Afterwards, he was
given toys covered with paper - it was his birthday (whatever that was)
and before the man woman went to bed, they both hugged him between their
bodies, their arms around him and around each other. The woman
whispered, "God bless Rebus," and the man said, "Amen!" feverently.

***

On a night not long after his birthday, his people had hugged him and
kissed him and put him in his bed, and he had drifted into sleep easily.
The house was quiet and dark, with the tiny nightlights burning from
room to room so that Rebus would not be frightened of the dark if he got
up for a stroll.

Outside, the temperature had snapped and the wind began to move down
from the mountains, slowly at first, and then more urgently, gathering
speed.

The snow began, silvery flakes tossed about in swirls by the wind as it
chased and caught them, decorating trees and ground with pale
perfection.

Rebus woke up, as he often did, and stretched himself very quietly. He
walked into the large living room, climbing onto the velvet couch he
knew was forbidden. His passion for soft things was so evident that his
woman-person found it hard to scold him for this, so she simply covered
the couch with a blanket.

Rebus lay quietly on the couch, snuffling the new blanket a moment. He
looked out the big window into the paddock and saw the forest beyond the
fence, watching the snow dancing with the wind while the trees waved
their arms in time to a universal music.

His large, beautiful head was inclined just slightly, his perfect paws
crossed. His bronze coat glistened in the half-light, shadows playing
across the classic arch of his neck. He stared into the swirling snow so
long and so intently that his great, black eyes began to close, and he
began to dip in and out of the River of Sleep, a bronze knife in the
water. His breathing became slow and even. And still the snow pranced in
its mad dance with the wind and trees, making patterns in the night.

Suddenly he was awake. Or was he? There had been no sound, no light, no
footfall. But there was something ... wasn't there? He gazed out of the
window for a time, watching the flying snow, and began to sink into the
river once more. And that was when he saw it.

Standing at the edge of the paddock, inside the fencing but nearly
obscured by the sheets of snow, was a heavy, moving shadow. As Rebus
watched intently, the shape began to move and change, first a snowy owl
with wings outstretched toward heaven, next a glittering sunbird with
jeweled eyes, now a crouching lion, now a tremendous golden goddess of a
dog, moving toward him ... part snow and part of the night itself.

Rebus felt the hair rise at his withers and up the crest of his neck.
But still he did not move, watching hypnotically as the huge golden dog
drifted closer to the window. Their eyes met, and Rebus felt himself
unable to look away, drawn deeper and deeper into the dream ... if it
was a dream.

The whistling and roaring of the wind became filled with a low and
nearly inaudible growling which seemed compelling and frightening all at
once, so that Rebus stood slowly, like a sleep-walker, to face the
stranger.

Mournfully, the wind swirled around the stranger. I am Thundalara ...
Thundalara ... came the winding, rising sound. I have been alive forever
and I have come to turn you outward and show you the inside of your
Self, she thundered suddenly, pawing the fresh snow with a golden foot.

Rebus shivered with fright, but still he could not look away from her
wonderful eyes. And as Thundalara held his gaze locked deeply within her
own, he knew he need not to be afraid.

In a lilting growl she whispered to him ... you must turn outward, turn
toward love ... you must seek love. You must turn outward, roared
Thundalara, or you will die on the Lathe of Loneliness! Her breath
steamed in the air and the snow danced around her crown of ears.

Rebus took a halting step toward her. I cannot, he whispered sadly. I
cannot look into the eyes of people. I cannot love. I fear the pain.

The wind rose and shrieked, the snow flying and flinging itself in every
direction. Thundalara threw her head back and thundered at him, tossing
her exquisite head.

To die on the Lathe of Loneliness, my darling Rebus, is the greatest
pain in heaven and earth. Without love ... we are nothing ... nothing.
Her roar drifted into a low whisper.

Rebus took a halting step toward her. I cannot do what I know not how to
do, he whispered, the breath ragged in his throat from the sorrow of
many terrible memories. He felt his heart squeeze within him, sadness
washing over him as cold as the snow itself. He tried to look away, but
she held him fast.

Thundalara's eyes blazed like swirling stars in the night and she would
not let him go.

You have your gods before you in the flesh, she growled. Turn toward
them as the flowers turn toward the sun, and fall into their hearts. Let
your self be consumed by an outward turning ... turn toward the sun,
Rebus. Look into the eyes of your gods and see your Self! she thundered
as lightening parted the curtain of snow. 

And then she was gone.

***

The next morning, Rebus slept  late. When he rose and stretched, his
woman-person was already up and about, caring for the others and cooking
the morning feeding. He wandered into the kitchen, sniffing the
wonderful smells with anticipation.

"Well, well! So you finally decided to get up, did you?" she said in
greeting, popping a crisp bit of bacon into his mouth and placing a
swift kiss on his head. She didn't try to meet his eyes anymore; she
really had quite given up and no longer expected Rebus to look at her.

Rebus swallowed the bacon in a single gulp, then carefully and slowly
sat just so he was blocking her path.

"No more bacon," she murmured, stepping around him. But when she turned
around, she ran right into him. He had moved again.

"Well, what in the world ...?" she stopped and looked at him.

Rebus was sitting like a statue, neck arched, ears perfectly alert.
Slowly, majestically, he swung his beautiful head toward her and
carefully looked into her eyes. He felt himself fall into her heart.

"My darling, my darling," she said over and over again, while she
wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly in loving bondage. He
was hers at last.

Rebus thumped his tail softly and wondered at the newness of the feeling
that was like stretching in the sun.

"Guess you want to go out, huh?" the woman-person said, wiping her eyes
and turning toward the front door.

He followed her happily out into the paddock for his morning exercise.
She noticed the freshly fallen snow that had decorated the landscape and
made it seem whole and new again, and she watched happily as Rebus
snuffled in the drifts and tossed the snow in the air with his nose. The
clouds were heavy, and she called to Rebus to come in as the flakes
began to fall lazily again.

As they turned to go back in the house, the woman-person stopped
abruptly, peering briefly at the ground.

"A stray in the front paddock again," she said to herself, noticing a
few very large footprints near the window.

Rebus kissed her hands and wagged his tail cheerfully. Together they
went inside for the morning feeding.

Later, as the woman-person popped a bit of buttered toast and jam into
the mouth of an eagerly waiting Rebus, it was noticeable even to the
most casual observer that they could hardly take their eyes off one
another.
