"But… behind the scenes of what?"

"Why, everything of course!" Karol grinned, and took another swallow of his podpiwek.

Joseph was quiet for several minutes. Finally he said, "How did you know that I thought of a movie studio? I didn't tell you that."

"You were lost. I heard you calling."

"Yes, I called out. But I did not speak of a movie studio. I thought of a movie studio."

"As I said, I heard you calling."

"Are you saying you can read my mind?"

"That is not what I am saying at all. I am saying that just because you did not speak, does not mean you were not calling."

Joseph paused, flummoxed. "I don't think I understand any of this."

Karol smirked. "Fortunately, existence does not require understanding."

Joseph's cheeks flushed, his anger rising. He took a deep breath to compose himself. "The most confusing part of all of this is you. For many years you were my mentor. More than that, you were my friend."

Karol dabbed the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin. "I am honored you thought of me that way."

"And are you still my friend, Karol?"

"I don't know. Do the dead have friends?"

"How would I know? I've never been dead. Tell me now, are you my friend?"

Karol's brow furrowed while he considered the question. "Yes, I am still your friend."

"Then tell me what is happening."

"I do not completely understand what is happening."

"Then share with me your incomplete understanding, Karol!" He punctuated this last by softly striking his fist on the table. A bottle wobbled dangerously before righting itself.

Karol sighed. "Ask your questions then, if you must."

Joseph was unsure where to begin. He smoothed the wrinkles on the front of his pajama shirt, stalling for time. "How can I know I'm not dreaming?"

"There is no answer to that question. At least not one that will satisfy you."

"How do you know you're dead?"

"I can remember dying."

Joseph leaned forward. "What was it like?"

"Have you ever watched a candle burn down to nothing, seen the flame sputter and go out?"

"Yes, many times." Joseph waited, expecting more. When the ensuing silence became uncomfortable, he realized he had all the answer he was going to get. He decided he'd try to raise the subject again later.

"Is this… heaven?"

Karol grinned. The grin somehow ended up looking like a grimace. "No, I do not think so."

"But… this can't be hell?"

"No, I do not think it is hell. I think this is something else."

"What else can there be?"

Karol waved a hand at the plates on the table. "There can be this. Perhaps there can be other things as well."

"You were a good man, Karol. You lived a life of faith. Why aren't you in heaven?"

Karol closed his eyes. When he spoke, his voice dripped with sadness. "I do not think I'm supposed to go to heaven. At least not yet."

"But… why?"

"Did you see the crowd? The people there moved with urgency. They had places to go. I currently do not."

Joseph looked down at the table, then scratched his cheek contemplatively.

Karol interrupted his reverie. "Have you come to the important questions yet?"

Joseph looked up, a bit startled. "I think the questions I've asked have been important ones."

"Neither your questions nor my answers have granted you knowledge or wisdom. They have not satisfied you. They have not made you happy. They have not eased your doubts. You are asking the wrong questions."

Joseph thought a moment then asked, "Why am I here?"

Karol grinned broadly. "Now we are getting somewhere."

"Joseph, is that you? What in heaven's name are you doing here?"

Joseph froze, unsure if he should believe his own ears.

"Come now, Joseph. Close your mouth and come over here."

Joseph was again overwhelmed by the sensation of moving/not moving as the mass of travelers fell away behind him. He found himself standing in front of a small cafe table. There was one chair, that chair currently occupied by the last person he would have ever expected to see again.

"K-Karol? Is that really you?"

Karol spoke around a mouthful of poppy seed cake. "Yes, it's me." Joseph noticed for the first time what Karol was doing. He was eating. The little cafe table was covered with plates, dishes, bottles. "I'm sorry, my friend. Were you expecting someone else?" Pale crumbs sprayed from Karol's mouth.

"But… you're not how I remember you. You're so young!" Karol looked to be fifty years younger than he should have been. His hair was still dark and his eyes were brighter than Joseph had ever seen.

"Well, of course I'm not how you remember me. You remember me being alive, which I believe I currently am not."

"That settles it then. This is definitely a dream."

"A dream, eh?" Karol grinned, a little condescendingly. "Whose dream is it then? Did you dream me, or did I dream you?"

Joseph thought on that for a few seconds. Before he could fathom an answer Karol interrupted. "Well, in the end it's neither here nor there. Perhaps you could dream your way into a chair? You could join me for lunch."

Karol looked down at the suddenly inadequate table. "We shall need a table for two, I expect."

Karol rose and moved toward a second table just to his right. Joseph hadn't noticed the larger table until now. When he looked back, he could no longer find the smaller table.

"Joseph! What are you doing? Come! Sit with me."

As he took the seat opposite Karol, he thought to himself, how did he move the plates so fast? They were on the other table just a moment ago.

"Here, try one of these makowiec. They're magnificent. They're even better than when I was a boy." Karol pushed the plate of poppy seed cakes toward him.

Joseph took a cake, but currently had no interest in eating it. "Karol, is it really you?"

Karol stopped and stared at him. "Yes, it's me. Our conversation will be much more enjoyable if we can move forward now."

Chastened, Joseph took a bite of the cake. He chewed slowly, not really tasting, but using the time to think.

"Is this a dream?"

Karol finished his cake and took a long draught from a brown bottle before finally answering. "No, I don't think it is. I believe I am dead, and I believe the dead do not dream. So if it is a dream, then it must be your dream, yes?"

Joseph nodded silently.

"I have been here for some time, while you have only just arrived. What would that say about dreams if this place exists even before you have dreamt it? No, I don't believe this is a dream."

"Have I gone mad?"

Karol laughed, joy flashing in his eyes like Joseph had not seen since time unremembered. "I might argue, and perhaps successfully, that you were mad to begin with. But I do not think you are mad. I think today you are much the same as you were yesterday and the day before. But I suspect tomorrow you will be very different indeed."

"What is this place?"

"Bardo. Have some of the nalesniki. There's a subtle vanilla there like I've never tasted before."

"Bardo? What is bardo?"

"I'm not entirely sure myself."

Joseph took one of the rolled pastries in silence, wondering how best to phrase the next question. "Karol… if you don't know what bardo is, how do you now it's bardo?"

"Like you, when I arrived here I was lost in the crowd. I heard two men talking about it. They spoke Latin, although in a dialect I had difficulty following. They used the word bardo several times. They seemed to think they were in-between two things."

"In-between which two things?"

"I think, Joseph, when you thought of a movie studio, you were more correct than you know. I think we are truly behind the scenes. We are neither here nor there."

"But… behind the scenes of what?"

"Why, everything of course!" Karol grinned, and took another swallow of his podpiwek.

A busy day behind him and endless more ahead of him, Joseph slept soundly. Something tugged at the edge of his consciousness, pulling him awake. In his slumber, his mind could neither identify it nor resist it. He awoke.

He was not yet accustomed to his new bedchamber, but he was immediately aware that something had changed radically while he slept. His chamber had apparently grown so large that he could no longer see the walls or ceiling. With trepidation, he lightly placed his feet on the floor. Instantly the feel of the thick rug comforted him. He remembered with a twinge of irony how the night before he had almost felt embarrassed to place his bare feet on a rug so exquisite. Both comfort and embarrassment quickly faded when he realized the rug now seemed infinite, a sea of embroidered red stretching to the horizon.

He was paralyzed by his fear of this unexpected development, until he alighted on a simple explanation. I've gone mad, he thought. He picked a speck from the corner of his left eye as he considered the possibility of his own insanity. Sleep receded further and he realized the futility of a madman pondering his own madness. If I'm aware of this, then I cannot be mad after all, can I?

He finally concluded that he must be dreaming. Perhaps a bit of undercooked beef was disagreeing with him. Yes, that must be it, he decided. He sat on the edge of his bed, waiting to wake. Time passed, but Joseph could not tell if it had been several lifetimes or only a few minutes.

Perhaps I should summon the doctor, just to be sure. He called to his chamberlain. He was answered by silence. He called louder for the chamberlain and then louder again for anyone. No one answered. This is most discomforting, he thought. I really must see the doctor. He rose to his feet and hesitantly walked toward the place the door should have been.

He stopped after a few steps and turned back to reorient himself with the bed. He was quite amazed to find the bed was now an impossible distance behind him. At least he assumed it was the bed. He saw nothing but a speck of white linens marring the endless red perfection. How can this be? I've only taken three steps, four at most. He turned a complete circle, looking for landmarks. He stopped when he realized that not only could he not see anything new, he could no longer see the bed either.

Am I moving? I don't remember walking any farther. Joseph then noticed that what he thought was a red rug was neither red nor a rug. He was actually standing on a floor of grey stone. He wiggled his toes. The stone felt like glass beneath him. He idly wondered how many footfalls would be needed to wear stones so smooth.

Content to let this question go unanswered, he looked up again. This time he could see movement on the horizon, colors and shadows and shapes, moving into each other and growing larger. He suddenly realized they were not growing at all, but rather he was moving toward them. He looked down at his feet. Satisfied that he was in fact not moving, he looked up again. His eyes told him he was moving but his body told him he was not. Nauseated by the disparity, he closed his eyes.

A heartbeat later he was surrounded by noise. The voices of men, women, and children filled his ears. Some of their languages he knew, some he did not. He opened his eyes and found himself in the midst of a vast throng of humanity. People walked everywhere, talking among themselves and calling to others he could not see. Everyone moved with purpose. No one looked at Joseph.

As he stared at those passing him, he suddenly felt as if he had wandered into a movie studio. He imagined the strangely dressed people were actors moving between sets. He saw a man wearing a matted animal skin, a huge gladiator, a geisha, a bedouin. He tried to talk to a short African boy with a spear. The boy did not seem to notice him. He tried to stop a fat Hispanic man in an expensive suit. The man stepped around Joseph as one would avoid broken glass on the sidewalk.

"Excuse me?" A dark skinned woman with bare feet and pale yellow robes ignored him.

"Hello?" A blonde child with a teddy bear walked past.

"Can anyone help me?" he shouted.

"Joseph, is that you? What in heaven's name are you doing here?"