The Dreams

Dream 14

I was walking along the green banks of the Nile. The night was damp as the secret dialogue continued between the moon and the river’s waters, on which the luminous rays rippled. My spirit wandered through the recesses of Abbasiya, suffused with the scent of love and jasmine.

I found myself debating the question that had assailed me from time to time — why hadn’t she visited me in a dream even once since she died, at the very least to confirm that she was real, and not merely an adolescent fantasy? Was her picture imprinted in my mind really a true likeness? Then, with the sound of music blaring from the direction of the darkened street, ghosts appeared, their forms solidified by the light of the first lamp they happened to approach. To my astonishment, the brass band was not strange to me — I had listened to it often in my youth, as it marched in the wake of funerals. This tune I almost knew by heart.

But the truly happy coincidence was the sight of my departed sweetheart walking behind the musicians: this was surely her, with her ravishing appearance, her sublime step, and her refined face. Finally she had blessed me with a visit. Leaving the burial procession, she stood in front of me to prove that life had not all been in vain. Standing breathlessly erect, I rushed toward her with all the strength of my soul, saying to myself that this chance — to touch the darling of my heart — would never come again.

Moving a step toward her, I took her in my arms — then heard the crackle of something breaking. Her dress felt as though it was draped over empty space — and no sooner had I discovered this, than the marvelous head fell to the ground and rolled into the river. The waves bore it away like a Rose of the Nile — leaving me to eternal grief.