The Wedding

I know the man in tuxedo. The man stands beside the priest. They face the empty pews, which are neatly arranged in rows and columns. It appears that they are in a big church, dimly lit though. Where they stand they cover the passage to the sacristy. Above them is an empty cross that almost literally floats in the air for the hoist that supports its weight, if there is one, is perfectly made invisible by the semi-darkness in that part of the church. The only religious image at the altar is that of a saint with a live dove sleeping on his right shoulder. The image has been set at the right side of the altar. Flowers of different colors and shapes and unlit white candles adorn the image. A black cat the flowers almost obscure purrs while daydreaming in the midst of the floral bed.

The face of the man in tuxedo defines impatience. That of the priest’s is nonchalance. Then, the belfry sends the sound of the tolling bell on air. Hearing the sound, and as if on cue, the two men flash identical grins on their faces. Their faces lighten. They look younger now. The main door opens wide. Light from outside the church races against a stampede of young women to enter the church. Physical law will always favor light to speed faster than anything. In this dream, however, these excited and screaming women beat the light. It appears that the slowest of these women is always a few steps ahead of the light, which diffuses from the outside through the wide-open door, the only entrance to the church. At some point silence is once again regained when all the women reach their respective places in the pews. As the light nearly completely fills the inside of the church, the hoist that supports the weight of the empty cross hanging over the altar becomes visible. The hoist is an ugly-looking rope. Blood drips from it. The first drop of the blood that stains the floor of the altar just in front where the man in tuxedo and the priest stand is a signal that the man in tuxedo leaves the altar and approach each of the women. As he kisses the first woman on both cheeks, I discern from where I stand that all the women that has rushed to the church are wearing identical wedding dresses. It seems, too, that the light which makes everything inside the church visible radiates from their pristine white dresses. The man in tuxedo kisses every woman inside the church on both cheeks.

I am standing at the other side of the altar opposite where the dove- and cat-guarded image of a saint is positioned. I, and at least ten other children of my age, will sing for the occasion. We all wear white tunic with collar and a black boat tie.

The man in tuxedo and a woman in wedding gown beside her now face the priest and the altar. The pews are once again empty. “Let’s begin,” announces the priest. His voice reverberates inside the church, now closed once again. The echo of the priest’s pronouncement disturbs the cat but not the sleeping dove. The cat jumps and catwalks toward the middle of the altar. The cat stops when it sees the blood on the floor. It smells the bloodstain, hesitates, and looks around. And with all the gracefulness in the world, it makes an about face and walks to the sacristy.

The choir sings a Latin-sounding wedding song. The wedding ceremony starts. There are no witnesses other than the priest, the choir and the saint. The dove is still asleep. The cat walks out.

Outside the church, the cat adjusts its eyes to the blinding sunlight. It’s high noon.

I wake up. My watch displays 12:25 PM. It’s high noon.

{June 30, 2009}