Dolores and the Round Hotel. Part 5.

 “Let’s let Rudolph speak just a bit.” Dolores said as she leaned a bit forward in her chair and looked at me strongly “Just think of this as another session. That’s all you have to do. Then it will all unfold naturally.”

I’ve done thousands of quantum healing and hypnosis sessions. But I don’t recall ever doing one in the dream state.

Someone put a folding chair next to Rudolph’s cot. I stood up, with the photo of my grandmother still in hand, and went to sit next to my grandfather. Both of these ancestors of mine died long before I was born, and yet an overwhelming sense of familiarity washed over me as I approached.

“Rosita,” Rudolph said again with a German accent and a sigh. It was only one word and a rush of air but it conveyed the depth of love he had for her, as well as a sadness. Then, “She was only 24.” He made no move to sit up or to open his eyes.

I sat down quietly. “Tell me about her.”

I heard some of the others shift in their chairs.

“She was… she was…” He searched for words and after a small pause continued. “She was like a little gypsy angel.” A smile spread over his face. I looked down at the photograph and watched it transform into a movie of sorts. Rosita playfully began dancing in and out and with the sheets on the line, smiling at the me or at least at the camera lens that captured her in that moment.

I didn’t know many facts about my grandparents. My mother didn’t know them herself as they had died so young. I did know that Rudolph was German and Rosa was Czech and Russian. “How did you meet Rosa?”

“At a dance. We met at a dance in Czechoslovakia. We were married soon afterwards.” As he relayed that message I wondered if there were photos of the wedding. Reading my mind Dolores nodded and whispered to the group. “Can someone bring Candace the brown suitcase?”

The chatty man from before jumped up, eager to help. He closed the case, brought it over and opened it again at my feet. And there, right on top, was a simple but formal wedding photo. Rudolph and Rosa. He was standing somewhat stiffly. She was petite in comparison and stood more at ease, holding a bouquet of white flowers, mostly white roses. Her dark eyes seemed to stare into mine from the photograph.

Rudolph continued, “She was a lovely woman, but …genou wie Porzellan.“

“Delicate like porcelain.”

“Yes.”

I hoped Rudolph wasn’t going to slip into speaking fully German as I am nothing close to fluent. I glanced at Dolores. She shook her head. He wasn’t going to do that. And even if he would, I think in the dreamscape I would understand every word anyway.

Then I recalled  a memory of my own mother Eva telling me about Rosa. She had very few memories of her of course as she was only 4 years old when Rosa died. I knew she was frail. I knew she died of TB, but was there more to know?

Rudolph seemed to read my mind at that point. “Yes, she had TB, but…” His voice trailed off a bit and then after a brief pause he finished his sentence. “But she didn’t have to die. They wouldn’t let me help her.”