Free Bohemians of Sesqua Valley by W. H. Pugmire

raspberries, apricots and blackberries.
    He smiled as he scanned the delectable display, and then he raised one hand and snapped fingers. “Nathan, a second plate, and some of your cherry coffee.” He turned his eyes to Sarah. “You’ll enjoy it—it’s brewed with organic black cherry flavored beans from Columbia. I discovered it during a stay in Panama. Here we are. Let me select your nourishment. Here are some sublime dates, and this Asian pomegranate is perfection. Let me slice it for you.”
    “You’ve not seen Akiva, sir?” She set her book onto the table and watched him at his task.
    “Simon Gregory Williams,” he introduced himself as he handed her the plate. “Eat, drink. When did you last see Loveman?”
    Sarah frowned. “I can’t quite remember. I must have been especially tired and gone to bed early last night. I had such a curious dream, about your graveyard.”
    “Indeed. I’m told that dreams can seem especially vivid in this valley. I do not dream myself.” Simon watched her eat and grinned at her obvious enjoyment of the delicious repast. “What brings you to Sesqua Town?”
    “Akiva invited me, thinking I needed to get away from Providence. He was mistaken. But I’m glad I came, because I think that being here is having a bad effect on him. He’s become morbid. He’s started collecting the oddest of things. Last night he made the strangest ceremonial motions to that awful black statue. No, wait, that was a part of my dream. I think.” She frowned, confused.
    “Your dream was very vivid. You’ve slept badly. Perhaps a walk would relax you and help to ease your mind. Will you join me?”
    Something in his voice captivated Sarah. This grotesque creature had an air about him that was seductive, and she found that she did want to stroll with him. She watched him rise and allowed him to help her out of her chair, and then she followed him outdoors.
    “Are you a poet, like your friend?”
    “No,” Sarah answered. “I’m a novelist. My reputation is that of a feminist Henry James, as I deal with social issues that affect my gender. Did you know that it was this book of poems that brought Akiva to this valley?”
    She noticed Simon’s momentary frown and almost expected him to snarl. Instead, after a pause, he replied in a low, soft voice. “I have heard whispers of such a circumstance. Loveman’s fallen under the spell of William Davis Manly. It has happened far too often. The book was never meant for outside eyes. The incident of its publication has caused us nothing but mischief.” He had been muttering to himself, but then he seemed to catch himself and smiled at her. “There is a statue of its author just over there—in the Hungry Place.”
    Sarah was just about to remark that she had visited the place the previous evening and seen the statue; but then she remembered that visiting the place had been a part of her vivid dream, and this deepened her confusion. “Will you show me?”
    Simon frowned. “It’s an unpleasant place, but I suppose we can stop there for one moment. Come, follow me.” The fellow led the way to the low stone wall that surrounded the graveyard, and to the opening in that wall that allowed passage into the place. Sarah felt a sense of déjà vu as she stepped onto the cemetery sod and joined Simon as he stood before a high statue that was mounted onto a three-foot column. “Is this what you saw in your dream?”
    “Yes. He resembles you, Mr. Williams.”
    “We share a similar heritage. Pah, this place reeks, can you not notice the rank that has infiltrated the air? Let us depart.” But then his eyes widened as they watched the figure that was staggering toward them, the fellow with a fever of madness tugging at his mouth. “Loveman!”
    The young poet’s appearance was shocking. Whereas once his entire head of hair had been black and sleek, it now wore a small patch of white strands. His dark eyes were sunken into their sockets and rimmed with red,