The Lamia

1-7

Dema opened her eyes to see daylight filtering into the cave. As the dream faded, she became aware of the more confining dimensions of her actual surroundings. She moved tentatively, and although she was still weak the wound was less painful. In some indescribable way she was feeling better. 

For a moment she felt confused as her vague recall of the fading dream made her think the snakes had been ministering to her. Her shirttail had slipped away from the wound, and she could see that it was clean and no longer looked raw, although it was still quite tender.

The idea of being aided by the snakes reminded her of her grandmother's tales of shaman visions. There had been lessons about the healing powers of the snake, and how a shaman might draw upon such powers. She began to think that this might be her best hope, and tried to recall the shaman lore. A shaman, she knew, would be able to enter the dream world of the snakes and find in it a way to share in their healing strength. As these thoughts passed through her mind she looked toward the snakes, and they seemed quiet and attentive.

Sedna says we all have the power, she thought. In her mind Sedna sat before her, telling her tales of shamans who tapped the power of the wolf, the bear, the snake. "Life is a mystery only to those who are closed to the world," she would be saying. "The shaman opens herself to the world, and understands all things."

Could it be that in my need the shaman power opened up in me, and the snakes responded in some way that has helped me heal? 

Clinging to this hope, she roused herself enough to crawl out of the cave into the sunlight. The sun was already high and warm. It felt very good, as if it had its own restorative power. After soaking up its rays for a few moments she got to her feet and started making her way out of the woods.

As Dema walked through the brush and swamps she began to notice things about her body. Her breathing and pulse were much slower than normal. Her hand and forearm, as she held them up before her in the sunlight, seemed unusually pale. When she touched her fingers to her cheek they felt very cold. 

The pallor and chill did not surprise her, given the amount of blood she knew she had lost. And the slow pulse might be a natural compensation for that. But with the warm sun on her back she felt surprisingly well, less weak than when she first awoke in the cave. Perhaps, she thought, the ministrations of the snakes had somehow slowed her metabolism, and this was easing the drain on her energy.

Whatever the reason, she was glad to be mobile. She didn't notice that her state of mind was such that she was willing to accept that the snakes had helped her in some mysterious fashion.

She took her time working her way out of the woods, stopping frequently to let the sun warm and strengthen her. When she finally reached the road it was late afternoon. She started walking slowly down the hill, planning to hail the first car to come by going in that direction. She tucked her blood-caked shirttails into her jeans, careful not to press against the still-painful wounds, and closed the zipper on her jacket. The dried blood didn't show too badly. She didn't want to look like an accident victim.

She didn't have long to wait. An elderly driver pulled over and she climbed in beside him. "Thank you so much for stopping," she said as the car started moving.

He looked at her briefly in that appraising way she had come to expect from all men, regardless of age, and said, "No trouble at all, glad to help." He seemed to decide that courtesy required him to keep his eyes on the road. But he asked, in a conversational not-being-too-inquisitive tone, "How did you come to be stranded way out here?"

"My car broke down," she replied. "So I started walking, but I really do need a lift to town."

"No problem," he said, "I'm going all the way to Philly if you want to go that far."