I went to bed slightly earlier than usual. I wanted to get this over with and swallowed the draught Albert had given me in one gulp. I felt its soothing effect instantly and lay down between the soft sheets of the bed. At the last moment of wakefulness before surrendering to sleep, I sensed myself being drawn into another place, another dimension, where I was a child again, but it was not my childhood. It felt like me, but with a different set of memories.
I was sitting at what I knew to be my usual desk in the library with a special book open before me. The book was called Heidi, by Johanna Spyri; a specially commissioned edition, leather-bound and lavishly illustrated with hand-painted colour plates.
It had once been an expensive birthday gift for the daughter of a long-deceased Lord Lieutenant of the County. Passed down through the generations as a family heirloom, it was eventually donated by the family to the same public library, of which, by chance or design, I was a junior member.
I remembered all this effortlessly, and I will narrate the dream story experienced by this alternative version of myself.
The book was far too valuable to be allowed out on loan, but I was allowed to read it under the close supervision of the librarian, Miss Grey, who used to inspect my hands before she would even let me touch it. Later, when she saw the reverence with which I turned the heavy pages, she stopped the inspections.
I have never visited Switzerland before, but the plates in the book were a simulacrum of the country's mountain scenery, intentionally distorted by the artist to satisfy the expectations of juvenile readers and transformed into a sparkling vista of bright primary colours.
I lingered over my favourite alpine scene, immersing myself deeper into the painting, yearning to escape into a brighter and happier world than my usual life at home and school, when I experienced a sudden shift in consciousness.
I was no longer in the library but in a dark void. Ahead of me was a rift in spacetime, and my body distorted slightly as I squeezed through the gap. A biting cold alpine wind immediately stung my pale cheeks to a reddened blush, and I inhaled deep breaths of clear Swiss air that made my head ring.
I was on the side of a mountain, and from where I stood, a band of flat turf stretched upward like a green-carpeted highway to the summit. As I began the ascent, the worn soles of my boots slipped on the dew-soaked grass, and I fell flat on my back. The ground was soft, and I was unhurt, but my clothes were grass-stained, and, rubbing my wet hands down the sides of my trousers to dry them, I noticed a half-moon of green sap lodged beneath my fingernails.
I was in a physical world, not an immaterial illusion.
There was a prolonged moment of confusion, then a plate from the book emerged from the gloom, transforming into a three-dimensional world of snow and ice that I could step into. I was experiencing the hyperreal as a destination, a state of perception where the boundary between reality and fiction becomes indistinct.
[Remember that these are his words, the other boy's. I didn't understand what he was talking about.
Information began to filter into my memory banks as my transition finished, and I realised that entry to this world was reserved for genuine accredited travellers. Day-trippers to fake realities like Heidi Land, or the village of Oberrofels, cleverly renamed by the respectable townsfolk as Heidi Dorf, could access fabricated experiences in the other Switzerland if they were willing to pay.
This is complete immersion in a real world that exists independently, yet strangely, it still seems partly under my influence. I recognise that I have some control here and question whether this land is entirely separate from myself.
I retract the thought, but it is too late.
My overseers, for I do not delude myself that I did this all on my own, no doubt outraged by my lack of confidence in their abilities, place me in a form of corrective therapy.
I am made to witness the doubts of another backslider, a fugitive from the dust-blown monotony of a black and white life on a Kansas prairie. A young person, just like me, who found herself transported to a psychedelic world of colour. She found it difficult to reconcile two such different worlds, thinking she was trapped in a dream, even though she had been allowed to return to her former life on a Kansas farm with both sets of memories intact.
'Aunty Em,'… Dorothy spoke the words hesitantly at first, then with increased confidence as the circuits in her refreshed brain became fully active. The old world took shape, and she smiled as her eyes fell on the familiar, white-painted fence of the yard and her little dog scratching at the gate. She was home…
I am filled with contrition; the consequences of sending me back to the library world are too awful to contemplate.
'I get it now – sorry! I promise this will never happen again.'
I could have sworn I heard a snort of impatience, but I feel that I am forgiven.
When I open the book, the characters are not realised as three-dimensional animated beings but as images that dance up and down the page, barely disturbing the surface but very lovely to watch as they cross the sky. Fragile wisps of coloured clouds lit by the bright yellow sun, cartoon characters without depth or shading.
To my unsophisticated palate, the sugary treat fills me with delight, as did Pinocchio on Pleasure Island. Yet, the pleasure quickly fades, and I realise I must do something more with my life if I am to match Pinocchio's ambition—to grow up and become a real, live boy. Even in moments of clarity, I still find it difficult to admit that all these candy floss images, mountains resembling ice cream cones, and flying goats are tacky, low-end recreational imitations suitable only for children.
But Heidi herself is special.
Dressed in gossamer silk, exquisitely pretty with blonde ringlets falling about her face, she resembles a porcelain doll more than the sturdy, dark-haired country girl in homespun clothes depicted in the story. But Heidi is, and always will be for me, a fairy princess, the rightful ruler of a glittering realm of green and gold.
Now I must leave all this behind.
I dream of leaving my commonplace existence forever to start a permanent new life in cyberspace. I ask Miss Grey for the book.
"Another library has requested it, and I am about to start packaging it up to send off." She said.
My heart pounds so hard I can't think. I must get out of here and through the book portal before she returns. I look hard at the familiar page but find it hard to concentrate, and looking away for a moment, I take a deep breath to clear my mind before turning back to the picture.
But something is wrong.
The snow on the mountain's peak is rapidly melting, and a river of water is tumbling down the mountainside, washing away everything in its path. Now, the mountain itself begins to crumble; large slabs of rock fall away like a calving iceberg, sliding down slowly, breaking into massive boulders that plunge into the roaring torrent of floodwater, and great splashes of white water splash against the inside of the page, instantly obscuring it.
I can see nothing.
'Heidi!'
Straining every fibre of my mind, I concentrate on making the crossing and finally surge forward, the opaque page shattering like breaking glass as I break through. Landing heavily on the other side and groaning from the pain in my legs, I am hesitant to move until I ascertain the safety of my position, since the friendly alpine peaks have disappeared.
Reassuringly, I find myself on solid ground and not in any immediate danger, but I have landed in a barren wasteland of smooth, glass-like rock that resembles the aftermath of a nuclear explosion: a world devastated by atomic weapons. Looking behind me, I see that the page has collapsed, and with it my only hope of escape. There is no time for recriminations or regret. I cannot survive for long in this wilderness.
When I first set off, the going is easy, and I trek mile after endless mile, seeing no trace of life and getting ever more tired, when the landscape changes, and I find myself at the foot of a mountain. My spirits rise, but I am very weak still, and the going has become a lot harder.
Time passes unheeded as I begin a lonely and monotonous trek upward, walking mechanically with my head down, and suddenly find myself on the edge of a narrow precipice.
I stop abruptly, but it is too late; I have stepped too far over the edge.
Tottering at the edge of the deep crevice, I am paralysed with fear at the sight of jagged rocks hundreds of feet below, and only when my feet begin to slip does my survival instinct finally kick in.
Bending my knees to generate maximum thrust, I propel myself forward and leap across the gap, landing flat on my stomach on the other side of the gully. Clinging precariously to the edge with half of my body hanging in mid-air, I begin to slide back over the smooth rock. Throwing my hands forward in an attempt to find a foothold, I stab my fingers into a narrow crack like little pins, unaffected by the pain. Luck is on my side, and I manage to lock three fingers into the crevice, just enough to hold me for a few more precious seconds.
Sweeping blindly back and forth over the surface with my other hand, I search for another hold, and just when I think I can hang on no longer, I hit my hand against a jutting spur of rock. No more than six inches high, it is enough to give me sufficient leverage to haul myself back to safety.
I lay panting on the ground for a couple of minutes, exhausted by my efforts, before pulling myself to my feet. I am angry and want to show whoever is running this show that.
My spirit is still intact.
'Enjoy that, did you?' I say to the empty sky and make a flourishing bow, but as I sweep low, my head fills with blood, and I collapse from fatigue and hunger on the rocky surface.
Unable to move, I slip in and out of consciousness, losing all track of time and becoming progressively weaker.
The temptation to surrender to sleep becomes overwhelming, and I am about to succumb when I am suddenly revived by the physical sensation of a soothing warmth flooding through my body. I open my eyes and see a woman crouching over me in concern.
Aunty Gladys.
She cradled my head in her arms and pressed a beaker of hot soup to my lips, and I drank deeply, feeling my strength slowly return. Wanting to thank her, I raise my eyes to look into her kindly face, but I cannot speak. Smiling gently, she presses my eyes closed, urging me to sleep, and I sink into a deep, childlike slumber.'
When I wake up, the side of my face is pressed into the pillow. My body feels cold and stiff, as if I have slept for a while, and I struggle into a sitting position. I remember my saviour and can still taste the saltiness of the soup on my lips, but when I wipe my mouth, I find only blood where I have bitten my lip in my sleep. I suspect that there was something in the draught Albert had given me that allowed me to enter this alternate state, but the experience was entirely my own, and I understood what had happened.
My vigilant friends, the guardians of those selected to cross the hidden line between one reality and another, have another recruit. One day, our multi-reality universe will be revealed in all its glory, and its borders opened for travel.