AMONG THE ANGELIC ORDERS
217
Sheila finished her exposition with a proud smile.
On the notebook's cover was the old ankh, and on the table
one of the old water-colors of the lion. The name at the bottom of it
was "Aum." Poor Gretchen felt cold and trapped by these images.
Like the representation in a dream, when its images are no longer
symbolic only, and one has the feeling that accompanies the event–
Gretchen wanted to say something or shriek, but it was impossible.
"So that's what the dream means," she remarked, trying to arrange
her face. She lit another cigarette conveniently.
"Yes," said the interpreter. "It was a message to me, and prob–
ably, really, a prophecy. Now let me see-" She looked in the dream
book and then at Gretchen. "That was last Wednesday, the day be–
fore I called you. Now you must have had a dream that night with
a message for me and I picked up the waves of it. Oh, this will be
marvelous
!"
"Urn-let me see." Gretchen spoke as if fumbling with her
memory. "Urn-last Wednesday. Oh, yes. I dreamed I was living
in a new modern house done by a Viennese architect named Talcott
Schoenfeld, who was somehow an old friend from Scarsdale although
much older than me, a friend of my parents. Then-we-went to
the theater and this architect knew all the actors, and we went back–
stage-" and Gretchen faltered again, slightly. Then "-I was-it
seemed I had a baby on the stage and the audience hissed and they
rang down the curtain.-Now what message do you find in this?"
She turned and saw that Sheila's eyes were closed. It was her old
attitude of deep concentration, of trying to get in touch with forces.
Sheila opened her eyes. "Very interesting. Very. Because it
is
the
message, it's what I thought. I guess I still
am
in touch with the waves.
I thought I'd lost it a little." Sheila looked very tired.
"I don't understand," Gretchen said stubbornly.
"Don't you? It's so clear," Sheila explained.
"Y
ou'ue
lost touch
then. Really-you see-the new house is your new life but it's con–
nected with me even if we don't see each other, because my name
used to be Schoenfeld, I don't remember if I ever told you. And the
architect is an old friend, and then Vienna signifies Rilke. And the
architect is doing creative work-my dream work, and my other
work which I'll tell you about. We go to the play, which
is
the world,
we become friends again, like the old days, so you share my baby the
