Black Mountain
Lady
Jay
Dyck
Diary of a Goatherder January 23, 1980
The wind is howling like a banshee, here on the western slopes of Cuyamaca Peak in Southern
California. It's eight o'clock in the evening and I'm in bed, writing by the light of a kerosene
lamp. The lamp was a Christmas gift from Catherine. Two days ago, she told me that she did
not want to marry me.
Chapter One

CAT ONE
Cat One opened her eyes and looked about her. She looked at the sweep of blonde hair that fell over her hip as she
stood. She trembled and drew her arms about her shoulders. She was afraid. She closed her eyes again.
"This is how it is when your desire dies," she remembered the witch as saying.
And Cat One had said, "But my desire is still alive.”
"Oh. And what then do you want?"
"Why, nothing," said Cat One. She blushed. "Nothing that I know of. Nothing that I have had. But something,
something new, anything. I don't know." Cat One looked at the witch.
She was old. She toyed with a crystal. Looking into the crystal, Cat One could clearly see the sparkle of light from
what seemed to be a sun or a distant star. But that opened into a rainbow, and that into a house in a valley. There
was an apple tree in a meadow near the house. The tree was covered with apples.
She tasted one. It was sweet and crisp, and she ran laughing with it back through the dewy grass to the house.
Apple juice was trickling on her chin as she let herself in. The old wooden door closed behind her.
Cat One found herself on a polished wood floor in a hallway extending into the shadows of the house. The floor
glowed softly in the afternoon light. Sun beams slanted through late autumn. And it was warmer than outside. She
realized she was wearing a jacket. She took it off.
Piano music came from a room down the hall. She went to the door of the room, walking quietly. Her bare feet left
wet tracks beading on the wax.
The piano was a grand. Except for it, the room was empty. Tall windows were draped in tall blue velvet. Across a
large, polished wood floor was a plaster wall. Several mirrors looked back on the drapes.
Cat One took a bite from her apple and walked into the room. Again she trailed moist diamonds from her ankles
and toes.
The piano music had gone on, gentle wandering like a harp in the wind. But now it stopped.
The woman at the piano wore her hair in a tight bun. She turned now to look at Cat One.
"So you are here," she said.
Cat One bit her apple and looked at the woman. The jacket which she had taken off she tossed into a little heap on
the floor near the piano.
The woman seemed surprised. She glanced at the jacket and then at Cat One. Her hand went to her throat. Her
fingers slid down to rest lightly on her chest.
She smiled. "Hello.” Standing she spread her arms, and Cat One let herself be hugged. She turned her head and
laid it on her mother's breast.
"Hi, Mom," she whispered.
"Where did you go?"
Cat One took a bite from her apple and turned to the drapes. "I went to a high, windy hill, and all around was just
rocks and ashes and broken glass, and I was afraid.”
"Is that what you want?"
"No. I don't know," cried Cat One. "I don't like it. I have to look everywhere."
"What does the witch say?" asked her mother.
"She says my desire is dead.”
"You're only twelve.”
"You know what I mean, Mother.” she said the word with some finality.
Her mother looked nervous and turned back to the piano. "Why don't you quit?"
"Why did you?" Cat One shot back.
Andrea Clare Dolan sat down on her piano bench and felt suddenly old. She smiled at her daughter and sighed.
"You're doing this to me.” She rested her head on her arm in an attitude of exhaustion.
Cat One went to the drapes and drew one aside. She took a bite from her apple. The sun was a ball of fire on the
tree line. The maples were black across the meadow.
"I quit because I fell in love.” Andrea had begun playing the piano again softly, like raindrops on flower petals. "I
fell in love. I decided to trade it all for a life of cuddling. I wanted to be snug. It was too cold for me up on those
windy ash heaps."
"I don't care about windy ash heaps. Love is a windy ash heap too."  Cat bit her apple and stared moodily from the
window. The last of the sun trickled through the black leaves, and then there was just the red glow of twilight. The
music stopped.
A candle was glowing when she turned back. Her mother had left the room.
Andrea Clare Dolan moved through the house as if in a dream. She was beset by memories of ancient rituals.
Christmas was coming.