The Dreams

Dream 77

I turned onto the quiet side street carrying my overnight bag. Instantly I met memories and passions, encircled by peril and trepidation.

I expected to be scolded for my long absence; hence I’d prepared the appropriate excuses.

Reaching the building’s entrance, I saw the flat on the ground floor, four steps away from the staircase. Grinning broadly, I pressed the buzzer eagerly. The peep window opened to reveal a strange man dressed in a house robe who seemed to be the place’s owner. Suddenly my burning passion plunged to the bottom of a freezing lake. Quickly I concocted a phoney story to extricate myself from this impasse. I said I was looking for the residence of the schoolteacher, So-and-So Effendi, but had come to the wrong building.

Searching my face with wary suspicion, the man said, “This is his flat — he’s inside. What’s your name, sir, so that I may tell him you’re here?”

I realized that I had been found out and had lost face. Raising his voice, the man shouted, “You’re nothing but a vicious liar, like all who’ve come here before you!”

Not able to bear more, I scurried away in defeat, nearly losing my balance. The bag dropped from my hand, exposing a bottle of wine and a kilogram of kabab on a paper plate. But I could think of one thing only: to vanish with lightning speed.