Dream 8 December 2013
My father appeared in my dreams last night , the first time in many
years. I recognized his stooped height, his low voice, the shape of his
face, and most of all, his state of mind. My father was a man
possessed, alcohol soaked, as if a demon had taken over the workings of
My father was past standing and had spread his body out across the floor, ready to die. Only he would not die.
I wanted him to die. There were others in the room, sisters, brothers,
cousins, all as I remember them from when we were young. And although
no one said as much, I knew that every member of my dream felt as I did;
we wanted this man to die.
My father lurched himself onto his feet and came over to me.
‘Will you come to dinner with me?’ he asked.
I hoped I had heard wrong. I did not want to join my father for dinner.
I did not want to spend time alone in my father’s company. But I could
not be so bold as to say, no.
I went instead to my mother and she made excuses for me, which my father accepted.
Resigned, he flopped back onto the floor, his face next to a machine
that gave off some sort of froth, which I knew to be toxic. Soon the
fumes would overwhelm him. In the meantime I needed a shower.
In a communal bathroom, shared by many people, not just the members of
my family, I tried to pick my way through piles of dirty, discarded
clothes to find a towel that might suit me.
In the meantime someone took my place in the shower queue. Someone
seated on a toilet next to the shower and I remonstrated with her.
She backed off.