The Dreams

Dream 9

On 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.