The Dreams

Dream 76

Beneath this leafy tree sat my friend from my early days who was martyred for love of country. Though it had been decades since his death, he looked quite elegant and in the pink of health and cheer.

The sight of him made my chest flutter as I rushed toward him — but he halted me with a wave of his walking stick. I reminded him of our time as friends, but he paid no heed to my words — saying that he had run out of patience regarding the neighborhood rubbish heap.

After this speech, he threw down his stick and went away, leaving me sad. Yet I swelled up with a new spirit and hurried immediately to the trash pile, raining a hail of blows all over it with his cane. Each blow cut a gap in it: from each gap men and women emerged whose general appearance was unlike garbage.

Indeed, they were models of cleanliness, prestige, and respectability. Each time one of them appeared, they jumped with terror of the rod in my hand. Following this, I became utterly convinced that the sun would rise tomorrow over a world of greenery and pristine air.