The Dreams (20 page)

Then a young man appeared who was struggling to go up. My heart went out to him and I offered him my hand.

But he shoved me aside so forcefully I was powerless to resist—and I helplessly rolled away.

I
was awakened by voices calling to me—heedless of the racket they made—from the belly of the night.

Instantly, I knew some were old girlfriends from the days of my youth, reminding me of trysts I had missed. So I threw on my robe and ran out into the street.

But I found it empty, blanketed by silence.

W
e meet in this corner of the forest, and our lives are songs inspired by folk ballads. Our sky is all clouds of fine, perfumed smoke.

Meanwhile, it’s as though we are sleeping or simply not very attentive. One day our peace and quiet was shattered by the sounds of strange singing with mad rhythms, raising a raging tumult. Confused, some of us wanted to silence it, even by force, though others urged that it be handled with thoughtfulness and wisdom.

In any case, it woke those who were sleeping, and put the heedless on alert.

S
he and I were going out as usual to one of our favorite nightclubs when I excused myself to stop briefly to buy some cigarettes.

When I returned, I didn’t find her; I assumed that she’d gone to the agreed place before me. But when I got there, she was nowhere around.

So I went from club to club in search of her. I am still looking for her.

A
prize worth a hundred pounds—I had never known more money than my tiny official salary. I hoped it would be first step on the path to prosperity.

After all, how many of my colleagues had started out at zero to become rich bigshots in the end? I asked some of them how to do this, but they told me not to ask about the way, for that was known to all.

Instead, they advised, “Ask about the person, and the time.”

W
e meet as always on the Agricultural Road, reciting poetry and singing as we please until the time steals away. The sun has set without our even noticing.

We only remember it when, as darkness closes in, the baying of jackals assails us from every side.

L
onging to see my family, I was instantly transported to our old home. But to my horror, I found it drowning in darkness, as though it had been destroyed by gloom.

I called out to scold them, to each man and woman by name—but no one replied. I kept on appealing to them in vain until I cried.

M
y sister’s dead body was stretched out on the bed. My girlfriend was with me, both of us very moved by the event.

Suddenly a beautiful young girl sat crosslegged on the bed, chanting dirges in a haunting voice. Then time sped forward and there was a corpse in her place—the cadaver of my lover, while my sister and I grieved by her side.

Meanwhile, the young girl appeared in her stead, wailing mournfully of woe.

S
uch a fabulous garden, with no beginning or end. Purity trickles from the sky above it, the earth hidden beneath its trees. We sit under one of them as we eat and drink.

Then a voice tells us that singers and dancers are coming—they’re coming our way! Another voice warns us not to listen to the sayings and proverbs that disparage time itself and days gone by.

And it says as well that these trees, whose fruits are infused with goodness and pleasure, are entrusted to our charge.

I
was walking down a long street steeped in history, paying no mind to anything around me, when suddenly a hand tapped on my shoulder. I turned around to find a fantastically beautiful, stylishly dressed woman standing in front of me.

Astounded, I smiled at her, and she smiled back, before hurrying off toward an elegant green house. I made up my mind to follow her.

Yet when I looked around to be sure that all was safe, troops from State Security had spread throughout the neighborhood, blocking the road, letting no one move an inch.

But my eyes remained trained on the elegant green house.