Passageways

Terrano, a soldier of the revolution, tapped the number the old woman had given him, and when a young woman, her daughter, answered, handed the old woman the phone.

He pointed a gun at her while she talked, but this failed to have any effect.

He was angry at the war. He was angry at the woman. He was angry at his own dirt-stained finger near the trigger. He hadn’t slept in a couple of days.

The old woman, far from looking defeated, beamed as she conversed with her daughter. “Thank you. I have only joy in my heart. No anger, no resentment. I found a secret passageway to peace. . . .In my heart dear. Joy. Yes, joy. No, no. It wouldn’t help dear. He’s just following orders.” As she talked, the guntip of the revolution brushed her cheek.

“How is this possible?" Terrano wondered. Was this really happening? She was his prisoner. A prisoner of the revolution. For all she knew, her life could be over at any minute. And yet here she was talking about joy.

She was a crazy woman, he decided. Nothing more.

The call ended. He was soon relieved of his watch, and he wandered off to find a bed. In the next fitful hours he dreamed of coming up against a wall. Over and over again, wherever he went, or wherever the revolution went, he wasn’t sure which. More frustration and more walls. Walls permeating everything. Eventually though, he discovered a passageway. He floated through the passageway, and now he knew it was him in the dream, not the revolution. At the other end of the passageway was a light. . .

In the morning, when he woke up, Terrano defied the mandate of the revolution and let the woman go.