The Dreams

Dream 71

He was the best in our young days, a truly rare kind of friend. Wondrously light of spirit, bright of repartee, elegant of riposte, brilliant at trading jibes, with a rich fund of stories, he was unusually gifted in all these fields. And he was always ready to join us whenever the occasion called for singing, dancing, or any form of amusement.

This is how we enjoyed our time together until he was chosen for a prestigious position known in our country for its gravitas and majesty. We watched apprehensively and soon our fears were realized, for he told us, as though replying to our anxiety, that he had decided to change his life from A to Z. No one questioned him on this as he bid us goodbye, commending us to God.

He would encounter us on public occasions, greeting us with an intense formality that deepened our feelings of estrangement and despair. Our old intimacy waned and practically disappeared, and we no longer heard of him except in the announcements of transfers and promotions. He began to fade from our consciousness until we nearly forgot him altogether. Time furthered our separation, until Fate decreed that we should meet by chance as our country was fêting its new national day — and we all came out to take part in the fun.

The drums were beaten as the brass band played. The army’s troupe led the way, followed by that of the police, then the cars carrying the elite. Right ahead of them was our old friend, but in a state we would never have imagined — for we beheld him riding an ass. The clash between the inanity of his mount and the grandiosity of his dress was screamingly clear: the people laughed when he appeared.

Yet, it may truly be said, he looked neither to right or left, nor did he surrender a hair of his dignity.