The Dreams (3 page)

Having said this, he laid a folder on the table, and left.

W
hat a stupendous square, crammed with people and cars! I stood on the station’s sidewalk, waiting for the arrival of Tram Number 3. It was nearly sunset. I wanted to go home, even though no one waited for me there.

Evening fell, the darkness blotting the lights of the widely spaced lamps, and loneliness seized me. I wondered what was holding up Tram Number 3? All the other trams came in, each carrying away those who had been waiting for it—yet I had no idea what had happened to Tram Number 3. Movement in the square diminished as traffic slowly ground to a halt, until I was left nearly alone in the station. I glanced around and noticed to my left a girl who looked like a daughter of the night. My sense of isolation and despair only increased when she asked me, “Isn’t this the stop for Tram Number 3?”

I answered that it was, and thought of leaving the place—when Tram Number 3 quietly pulled into the station. The only people aboard were the driver and the ticket conductor. Something inside me told me not to get on—so I turned my back to it, staying that way until the tram had gone.

Looking about afterward, I saw the girl standing there. When she felt my eye upon her, she smiled and walked toward the nearest alley—and I followed her in train.

A
pproaching my flat, I found that both panels of the front door were open. This was most unusual. From inside came loud noises and echoes of people talking.

My heart pounded in expectation of some evil, when I saw my dear ones smiling sympathetically. Yet just as I became fully aware of everything, the apartment was cleared of its contents, the furniture heaped at one end inside. At the same time, workmen of all different ages—wall painters, mortar mixers, and water carriers—bustled about. And so the plot had been carried out during my absence, while my question was lost in the air.… Was this coup deliberately executed when I was in such a state of complete exhaustion?

“Who told you to do this?” I shouted at the workmen. But they kept on doing their jobs without paying me any mind. Overwhelmed by anger, I stepped out of the flat—feeling that I would never go back into it as long as I lived. At the building’s entrance I saw my mother coming, long after she had left this world. She seemed furious and indignant. “You’re the cause of all this!” she said to me.

“No—you’re the cause of what’s happened here, and of the things to come!” I shot back.

Then quickly she vanished, and I continued my flight.

O
n the couch in the little garden attached to the house my sister sat staring contemplatively at a frog swimming in the canal that flowed through the greenery. As she did so, she grew intoxicated on the tender breeze and the clusters of grapes dangling from the trellis.

“What are you waiting for?” I asked my sister.

Before she could answer, I said, “It’s better to sit inside where we can listen to the phonograph.” We exchanged consulting looks, then went into the room. There the silence became more intense until even the breeze abandoned us.

I looked at my sister—and she had turned into the screen star Greta Garbo. She was my favorite actress, so I soared with happiness, though without any wings.

I trembled with pleasure, yet the enchantment was brief. I wanted to bring the miraculous magic back once again—but my sister refused to help. I asked her why she had said no.

“My mother …” she replied.

I cut her off before she could finish.

“She doesn’t know,” I told her.

“She knows everything,” she declared confidently.

I felt that sadness had blanketed everything, like a sudden fog.

O
ur friendship and our growing up together have brought us all here. We have grown used to this alley, and, as the coattails of night come down upon us, we have no goal but to delight in our gathering and surrender to jesting and laughter, and to compete in the art of telling rhyming jokes to each other.

We trade our witty wisecracks as we turn little by little into ghosts in the gloom. We know each other by our voices, and do not pause in savoring our amusing competition. Our guffawing goes up against the four walls around us, waking those who are sleeping. The alley recedes as we draw closer to one another, while the darkness engulfing us fails to dissolve. As all of this happens, we continue as we were until confusion cramps our gaiety, and we begin to wonder if we might best finish our evening elsewhere—perhaps on a square, or on a main road.

One of us tells the story of the pharaonic queen who wanted to take revenge on the priests who had killed her husband. She invited them to a place very much like the one in which we are now rejoicing—then the waters overcame them. He has not quite finished his tale when the heavens open upon us with unprecedented force. The thunder stills us as the water pours down, rising until it covers our feet
and creeps up our calves, and we feel that we are drowning in the rain in the shadow of night. We forget all of our jokes and all of our laughter.

In the end, there is no hope left for us—unless we fly into space.

I
n the shade of the date palm on the bank of the Nile, a girl of great height and succulent body lay upon her back. Her chest was open as countless children kept crawling toward her. They swarmed about her breasts and sucked from them with unimaginable greed. Each time one group of them finished, another would approach.

The whole thing appeared to have gotten out of hand, overthrowing any system of order. To me it seemed that someone should raise an alarm and call for help. Yet the people were shrouded in sleep on the Nile’s shore. I tried to cry out, but no sound came from my mouth. My breast tightened with distress.

As for the children with the woman, they had left her nothing but skin over bones. When they despaired of getting any more milk from her, they tore at her flesh with their teeth until they had rent her to a mere skeleton. I felt it my duty to do more than just attempt the scream that I couldn’t get out of me. It startled me that the children, after giving up on finding more milk and meat, had sunk into a beastly battle with each other. Their blood flowed as their flesh was torn.

Some of them caught sight of me and began to come toward me—to do the unthinkable in the infinity of total terror.

S
omething in the air afflicted the nerves. From several directions, heads would pop out—then as suddenly vanish. Rumors of conflict spread with the speed of shooting stars. The word “war” was repeated on every tongue.

Confusion and unease became widespread. I saw people hoarding essential supplies. In those worrisome days, I kept wondering—should we stay, or should we flee abroad? And then, where to?

I savored being in a safe place, sheltered from danger, when a man from the security apparatus came to me. Straight away, he said, “The State wants to know the ability of families who already have lodgings to take in those in need of shelter, God permitting.”

Everywhere the troubles kept doubling. My mother, who lived by herself in a huge house, declared that she was prepared to take in a whole family—while I resolved to give up one room to accept two persons. Meanwhile, I grew wary of any sound or of answering any question. An informer came to my door and invited me to the station. When asked the reason for my summons, he told me nastily that he didn’t know, before our converstion was cut off by the sound of the warning siren.