The Dreams (12 page)

Wanting to learn more, I found myself beyond the great wall of the city, which a gigantic street sliced through. On both sides of the road, the crowds gathered outside the wall, their cheers rising up to the flag on top of the obelisk. Finally, the great door opened, from which issued a procession, car after car. In each car a young man sat in regal attitude, looking down at the people from on high, returning their greetings with arrogance and scorn.

I
n horrific terror, my feet were nailed to the ground—for at only an arm’s length from me, three huge, savage dogs were rearing up on their hind legs, ready to leap and tear me to pieces—if a woman hadn’t daringly grabbed their tails.

On my right stood a female dog in the full splendor of youth, with a wondrously smooth, white coat, watching what was going on with an anxiety that showed in the constant twitchings of her short-cropped tail.

The three dogs’ barking rose higher in a thunderous crescendo, the burning lust to destroy me gleaming in their eyes. Unable to get at me, they turned suddenly and pounced on the woman—and my heart was gripped by panic. Then the dogs threw themselves at me. As for the beautiful bitch, she stared at me for a while—then hesitated a fleeting moment before heedlessly plunging into the fray.

T
he academic year was done, and the date for the examination was declared. We hadn’t once cracked a book nor memorized a sentence—and now we had to think about what to do.

A few of us still retained some respect for rationality, and so decided not to sit for the exam. The rest, however—afire with derision and mockery—seized the chance to show off by choosing to take the test anyway. On the famous morning we formed ourselves into lines and donned masks of seriousness and concern. Then the head of the committee stood up, announcing in a booming voice that he would hand out two papers to us. One of them contained the questions and the other the correct answers.

With this, we practically lost our minds—for we had not dreamed that any of our professors could possibly surpass us in the love of absurdity and the bizarre.

T
he owner and I came to an agreement—and the man invited me to inspect what we had reached agreement about. He showed me his beautiful apartment, his stunning wife, and her three-year-old son. I was pleased with what I saw and so made an appointment for nine o’clock the next morning when the property would become mine.

An irresistible force drove me to the flat. The door opened—and it was the owner himself. Seeing me, he became enraged and slammed the door in my face, rattling the walls. I spent the night without sleeping, wondering with great agitation about Destiny and the slamming of the door.

A
huge building—you wouldn’t miss it. Originally it housed the ministry that employed me. When I saw young people going back to it, I too wanted to visit it.

Inside I ran into a group of old colleagues and I was glad to see them. We walked from room to room and through memory after memory until we had made the past rise from its musty tomb. We passed a huge, amazing staircase and I immediately ascended to the third floor. There I found many young men. Whenever one of them would notice me, his face would frown at me disapprovingly.

My heart pounded. I felt the need to urinate. I looked here and there until my eyes settled upon an opening that led to a W.C. in a passage between the rooms. I scurried toward it to find workmen laboring diligently on the site—the project was not yet finished.

Going back whence I came, I quickly discovered there was no escape but by way of the street.

S
uch a gorgeous place. The sky and the ground and all between them were the color of white roses. The people were miracles of grace and serenity.

But its true miracle was that all the friends I’ve had in my life were gathered there, not only the living, but also the dead—though no one seemed the least bit surprised about those. We did not ask them what they had found in the other world, nor did they query us about what has happened on earth since their demise.

We all enjoyed this state so much, we wished it could go on and on. But it did not last—for black clouds descended from the heavens until darkness spread everywhere, separating us from each other. Rain poured down in waterfalls, followed by thunder and lightning, without any respite—until our hearts were in our throats.

Then some of our friends’ voices began to penetrate our ears.

One called out, “This is the end!”

A second shouted, “I see the gleam of an exit on the horizon!”

A third declared, “No matter what, there’s no escaping the final reckoning.”

I
n the center of this forest rose a hill in the shape of a pyramid. One climbed it through terraced stone passageways decorated with rows of date palms, beds of flowers, and shelters for lovers. I secluded myself with my sweetheart in one of these hideaways.

We swam together in a secret dialogue which removed all awareness of existence from our minds. Suddenly my companion stood up—and in the blink of an eye abandoned our refuge. I got up to catch her and to make sure that she was all right, when a voice like thunder came at me. Projected by an amplifier, it warned people of the presence of a time bomb, urging them to leave the hill immediately and without delay. Everyone rushed toward the rocky passageways. As I glanced around, a group of security forces joined us at a safe distance away.

I looked for my lover, but could find no trace of her anywhere: where could she have gone? Was there, then, any relationship between her and this crime? Would that not subject me, as well, to such an accusation, despite my innocence?

I heard the closest one of those who had stopped me say to his girlfriend that his heart told him, “The whole thing is false.” I wondered if God believed the man’s intuition, while I lingered—torn between thinking about my lost companion, and the expected explosion!

T
he longing to see my dear ones called to me, and I set off in the direction of the ancient quarter. As usual, I took a short cut on foot until the old house appeared, along with my memories.

I wasted no time in starting to climb toward the third and final floor. But halfway up the stairs, I was stricken by an exhaustion that would not pass, and which made me think about putting off the journey. If it weren’t for my stubborn character—which hates to go back on a commitment—as well as for the intensity of my effort, I would not have made it until I reached the third-floor landing.

From my new vantage point, I could see the apartment door immersed in quiet and calm, and I realized that there were only ten more steps before the end of the staircase. Yet I did not see a single stair, finding in their place a deep pit. My heart pounded with fear for the people of the house.

Though it was now impossible to reach my goal, I did not look behind me. I did not think of going back, nor did I lose hope. I kept my eyes fixed on the door drowning in silence and tranquillity—as I cried out, and cried out, and cried out again from somewhere deep within me.