Dream 6
The telephone rang and the voice at the other end said, “Shaykh Muharram, your teacher, speaking.”
I answered politely with a reverent air, “My mentor is most welcome.”
“I’m coming to visit you,” he said.
“Looking forward to receiving you,” I replied.
I felt not the slightest astonishment — though I had walked in his funeral procession some sixty years before. A host of indelible memories came back to me about my old instructor. I remembered his handsome face and his elegant clothes — and the extremely harsh way he treated his pupils. The shaykh showed up with his lustrous jubba and caftan, and his spiraling turban, saying without prologue, “Over there, I have dwelt with many reciters of ancient verse, as well as experts on religion. After talking with them, I realized that some of the lessons I used to give you were in need of correction. I have written the corrections on this paper I have brought you.”
Having said this, he laid a folder on the table, and left.
Dream 7
What a stupendous square, crammed with people and cars! I stood on the station’s sidewalk, waiting for the arrival of Tram Number 3. It was nearly sunset. I wanted to go home, even though no one waited for me there.
Evening fell, the darkness blotting the lights of the widely spaced lamps, and loneliness seized me. I wondered what was holding up Tram Number 3? All the other trams came in, each carrying away those who had been waiting for it — yet I had no idea what had happened to Tram Number 3. Movement in the square diminished as traffic slowly ground to a halt, until I was left nearly alone in the station. I glanced around and noticed to my left a girl who looked like a daughter of the night. My sense of isolation and despair only increased when she asked me, “Isn’t this the stop for Tram Number 3?”
I answered that it was, and thought of leaving the place — when Tram Number 3 quietly pulled into the station. The only people aboard were the driver and the ticket conductor. Something inside me told me not to get on — so I turned my back to it, staying that way until the tram had gone.
Looking about afterward, I saw the girl standing there. When she felt my eye upon her, she smiled and walked toward the nearest alley — and I followed her in train.
Dream 8
Approaching my flat, I found that both panels of the front door were open. This was most unusual. From inside came loud noises and echoes of people talking.
My heart pounded in expectation of some evil, when I saw my dear ones smiling sympathetically. Yet just as I became fully aware of everything, the apartment was cleared of its contents, the furniture heaped at one end inside. At the same time, workmen of all different ages — wall painters, mortar mixers, and water carriers — bustled about. And so the plot had been carried out during my absence, while my question was lost in the air.… Was this coup deliberately executed when I was in such a state of complete exhaustion?
“Who told you to do this?” I shouted at the workmen. But they kept on doing their jobs without paying me any mind. Overwhelmed by anger, I stepped out of the flat — feeling that I would never go back into it as long as I lived. At the building’s entrance I saw my mother coming, long after she had left this world. She seemed furious and indignant. “You’re the cause of all this!” she said to me.
“No — you’re the cause of what’s happened here, and of the things to come!” I shot back.
Then quickly she vanished, and I continued my flight.
Dream 9
On the couch in the little garden attached to the house my sister sat staring contemplatively at a frog swimming in the canal that flowed through the greenery. As she did so, she grew intoxicated on the tender breeze and the clusters of grapes dangling from the trellis.
“What are you waiting for?” I asked my sister.
Before she could answer, I said, “It’s better to sit inside where we can listen to the phonograph.” We exchanged consulting looks, then went into the room. There the silence became more intense until even the breeze abandoned us.
I looked at my sister — and she had turned into the screen star Greta Garbo. She was my favorite actress, so I soared with happiness, though without any wings.
I trembled with pleasure, yet the enchantment was brief. I wanted to bring the miraculous magic back once again — but my sister refused to help. I asked her why she had said no.
“My mother …” she replied.
I cut her off before she could finish.
“She doesn’t know,” I told her.
“She knows everything,” she declared confidently.
I felt that sadness had blanketed everything, like a sudden fog.
Dream 10
Our friendship and our growing up together have brought us all here. We have grown used to this alley, and, as the coattails of night come down upon us, we have no goal but to delight in our gathering and surrender to jesting and laughter, and to compete in the art of telling rhyming jokes to each other.
We trade our witty wisecracks as we turn little by little into ghosts in the gloom. We know each other by our voices, and do not pause in savoring our amusing competition. Our guffawing goes up against the four walls around us, waking those who are sleeping. The alley recedes as we draw closer to one another, while the darkness engulfing us fails to dissolve. As all of this happens, we continue as we were until confusion cramps our gaiety, and we begin to wonder if we might best finish our evening elsewhere — perhaps on a square, or on a main road.
One of us tells the story of the pharaonic queen who wanted to take revenge on the priests who had killed her husband. She invited them to a place very much like the one in which we are now rejoicing — then the waters overcame them. He has not quite finished his tale when the heavens open upon us with unprecedented force. The thunder stills us as the water pours down, rising until it covers our feet and creeps up our calves, and we feel that we are drowning in the rain in the shadow of night. We forget all of our jokes and all of our laughter.
In the end, there is no hope left for us — unless we fly into space.
Dream 11
In the shade of the date palm on the bank of the Nile, a girl of great height and succulent body lay upon her back. Her chest was open as countless children kept crawling toward her. They swarmed about her breasts and sucked from them with unimaginable greed. Each time one group of them finished, another would approach.