The Dreams

Dream 27

On a ship crossing the ocean, people of all colors and tongues were arrayed. We were expecting the wind to swoop down, and when it did, the horizon disappeared behind the angry waves. I became frightened: it was every man for himself. I felt alone in the depths of the sea. An inner fear told me there was no way to survive the all-encompassing terror — unless this really was just a nightmare, to be shattered by a fevered awakening on my bed.

The wind became violent as the boat was tossed back and forth on the waves. Suddenly, I saw before me Hamza Effendi, my math teacher, wielding his wicker rod. He fixed me with a look demanding to know if I had done my homework. If I hadn’t, he would rap me ten times across my knuckles — which made them feel as though they’d been pressed with a hot iron. My hatred grew with the memory of those days.

I wanted to grab him by the neck, but feared that any move would cause my demise. So, saying nothing about my humiliation, I swallowed it despite the dryness in my throat. I saw my sweetheart and scurried toward her, cutting my way through tens of confused onlookers. But she did not recognize me and turned her back, proclaiming her annoyance. Then she ran toward the ship’s edge and threw herself into the storm — I thought she was showing me the way to deliverance. So I rushed stumblingly toward the side of the ship, but the old math teacher stood in my path, brandishing his stick of bamboo.