The Dreams

Dream 21

On this little street there was no want of pedestrians out and about, or people sitting on their balconies. The lady walked slowly, sometimes stopping in front of the fashion displays.

Four young men, not yet twenty years old, made their way toward her. She frowned in their faces and turned away from their path. But they swooped down upon her, harassing her. She resisted them as the neighborhood watched without intervening. The youths tore her robe, exposing parts of her body, as the woman cried out in alarm. I observed what was happening and stopped in my tracks, paralyzed by shock and disgust. I wanted to do something — or wanted someone else to do something — but nothing occurred.

After the tragedy had finished and the criminals had fled, the police arrived, the place changed — and I found myself with a group of others in front of the officer’s desk. Our testimony was all in accord. When asked what we did, we answered, “Nothing.” I was embarrassed and disturbed, my hand trembling as I affixed my name to the official report.