Free The Age of Magic by Ben Okri Page B

watching?’
    ‘Because we’re the audience too,’ said Lao, seduced by the game.
    ‘Why do we need an audience then?’
    ‘Because we learn by doing and remembering what we do. There’s a watcher in us keeping an eye on the dream-drama in our minds. We don’t know who that watcher is.’
    Lao paused for a moment. He was dissatisfied with his answer and conscious of her silence. He made another attempt.
    ‘We only play one role in life. We’re either the participant or the spectator. In dreams we’re both at the same time. Maybe this speeds up our understanding. The participant experiences more. The spectator sees more. The participant is sometimes wrong: they experience only their own point of view. The spectator is also wrong sometimes: they don’t have responsibility, they can witness without risking anything, learn without suffering. But the two together – taking part and watching – maybe that’s what produces the true history of our lives.’
    He paused again. Mistletoe had moved a little closer to him.
    ‘You’re saying that dreams are our rehearsal for life,’ said Mistletoe.
    ‘Like private plays.’
    ‘So plays we see in real theatres are private dreams shown in public?’
    ‘One person’s consciousness, read by the universe…’
    ‘Bearing witness to all of us.’
    ‘Maybe there’s a spiritual black box in us that is decoded when we die.’
    ‘So books should be lived to be read.’
    ‘And life should be dreamt to be lived.’
    Lao laughed. ‘You’ve got me talking,’ he said. ‘What are you hiding? I feel like a bomb that’s been delicately defused. Where did you go? What are you trying to divert me from?’
    ‘Only from how much I love you,’ said Mistletoe, joining him in the pool of light.

14
    They made their way back to the hotel through the gentle darkness of the town. Near the clock tower, a night-bird flew low overhead. The whirring of its wings reminded them of something ethereal, something they used to know but couldn’t now remember. They were a little tired.
    In an obscure way they felt they were being initiated into a new reality. They had become fond of the night-town, and had made it a small part of themselves. They felt they had become part of the town too, part of its dreams. In the town’s black box would be recorded the fact that they had been there. They had breathed deeply there, and hadn’t merely passed through. They liked to think that its night would always recognise them.

15
    Lao was struck by Mistletoe’s strangeness on her return from the place beyond the bridge. There was an alien sensuality about her, something new that awed and aroused him, even scared him a little. She seemed transformed. She seemed, in some way, magnified.
    As they made their way back, breathing deeply the lake and mountain air, he kept glancing at her, but she was silent.

16
    As Mistletoe dressed for bed she became aware of a change. Her mouth was dry, her breathing awkward, her heartbeat irregular. Her hands quivered lightly and she felt as if she had a mild fever. Curious colours swam in her eyes. She felt a little dizzy.
    She slipped into bed, and listened to Lao’s breathing in the dark. A dark red heat poured from him. She noticed that he was lying heavier on the bed beside her.
    When his hand brushed her nipple it tripped a switch and she came alight. He touched her belly and his hand seemed to burn through her. He lavished on her body indirect touches and bitter-sweet sensations flooded her brain.
    She became aware of places in her that could only have been concealed there by a god with a sense of humour. Adrift on warm currents, no longer of this world, she became aware of him gliding into her. He loved her with gentleness and strength, stroking her neck, praising her face with his hands, till she was broken up and began a low rhythmic wail. She was a little overwhelmed with being the adored focus of such power, as he rose and fell. She felt certain now that there