Thaisa Frank
She couldn't remember when she began to envy her husband's dreams.
She couldn't remember when she began to envy her husband's dreams. Maybe around the fourth week of pregnancy, after he'd moved out and then moved back again. Or maybe around the twentieth week, when he wanted to name the baby after himself, and she said no. The truth is, she didn't remember because the condition of envy had become a chronic background noise. Her husband had always had baroque and complex dreams and she'd never minded. Now her envy surrounded them both like a hot electric fence.
She could see her husband clearly. He was blond, bearded, surrounded by the haze of his dream. He woke up, propped himself up on one elbow, looking slightly disoriented. She didn't ask to hear the dream. He told her.
This morning his dream was about time travel. He had visited a country where people still thought the earth was flat and never traveled far because they were afraid they were going to fall off. Since he knew the earth was round, he convinced them otherwise, but when they started to disappear over the horizon, it seemed he had made a mistake. She leaned forward, looking encouraged -- maybe this was a dream of failed adventure, after all. But no. It turned out that when everyone disappeared over the horizon, they were really flying. Her husband could fly, too: As he flew, he saw the entire country below him. Thatched roofs. Children with hoops. Quaint little streets. "A fairyland," he said, "just like Disney."
He often had flying dreams. They were giddy, hallucinatory, perilous. She lay in bed listening and her envy surrounded them.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing," she answered.
She smiled, concealing her envy, but he caught it. "Just life," she reassured him.
In a sense, she was telling the truth. Their faucets leaked. Their washing machine overflowed. Yesterday they'd bought two dozen miniscule T-shirts that turned out to be for nine-month-olds, not newborns. They were investigating breast pumps that looked like devices from the regime of Torquemada. Lists of names for the baby lined their kitchen wall and they couldn't agree on any of them.
But in another sense, the truth was only her envy — not any kind of envy, but dream envy, an affliction of trolls, gremlins, bats, sad, dreamless beings relegated to caves. A dangerous omen. An unhappy and violent passion. Her midwife had advised her of this, pressing into her hands herbs, amulets, arcane books, a dream pillow filled with lavender and sage. Dreams are essential, she'd said. You must work to get yours back.
Her husband leaned over and touched her belly. "Whatever happened to the good old days?" he asked. It was something he'd been asking for awhile, a compelling, urgent question.
"Nothing," she said. "They're here right now." The baby chose this moment to shift inside of her. An obscure dolphin. A rumbling miniature subway. He was always, without a doubt, the most important person in the room, an unruly character, waiting for the chance to speak. On ultrasound he was the size of a kitten, his transparent heart no bigger than a dime. After they saw him, her husband drew a heart on her stomach and kissed it. See. I'm being good now.
Today he turned to her, not unkindly. "You resent my dreams," he said. "You begrudge me this little corner of my mind."
"Of course I don't."
"But you do. You begrudge me. I know it."
She said nothing. Under her pillow, she could feel the velvet dream pillow the midwife had given her. It was prickly, filled with sage and lavender. The sage had come from the Bolivian mountains. The midwife found it last summer at the witch's market in La Paz.
"I'm being exemplary these days," he continued. "I've found a crib. I went with you to buy those ridiculous T-shirts and today I'm going to help you return them. I've even gone to those damn birthing classes with what's-her-name."
"Laurel Moonflower," she supplied. Laurel Moonflower was the midwife. Her husband didn't like her. He said she was a New Age parody.
"Laurel Moonflower," he agreed. "I've gone there and I've sat there and I've admired her models of the pelvis. I've chanted atonal chants. I've offered prayers. I've rubbed your back. And you begrudge me my dreams."
I don't begrudge you, I blame you. She didn't say this, but thought it. The day after he'd moved out, to a lawyer friend's place on a street with the improbable name of Taurus, she'd woken from a dream about being trapped in the city of Dresden during the second world war. She was in a house, standing by a cabinet full of fragile china, when a bomb fell. Cup after cup after cup shattered in slow motion. A miniature china shepherdess was severed from her sheep. Plates decorated with flowers crashed. This had been her last dream. Now her nights were a blank canvas.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"Are you hungry?"
"Just for grapes. Grapes are all I have room for. It's like someone put a grand piano
النتائج (
العربية) 1:
[نسخ]نسخ!
فرانك Thaisaوقالت أنها لا تستطيع أن تذكر عندما بدأت الحسد أحلام زوجها.وقالت أنها لا تستطيع أن تذكر عندما بدأت الحسد أحلام زوجها. ربما حولها الأسبوع الرابع من الحمل، بعد أنه انتقل ونقل ثم العودة مرة أخرى. أو ربما حول الأسبوع العشرين، عندما أراد أن اسم المولود بعد نفسه، وقالت لا. والحقيقة، وقالت أنها لم تذكر بعد أن أصبحت حالة الحسد ضجيج خلفية مزمنة. أن زوجها كان دائماً أحلام الباروك والمعقدة، وقالت أنها سوف ابدأ في التفكير. الآن محاطة لها الحسد لهم على حد سواء مثل سياج كهربائي ساخنة.وقالت أنها يمكن أن ترى زوجها بوضوح. وكان الأشقر، ملتح، محاطة بضباب حلمه. وقال أنه استيقظ، مدعوما نفسه على الكوع واحد، تبحث مشوشاً بعض الشيء. وقالت أنها لم تسأل لسماع الحلم. وقال لها.هذا الصباح كان حلمه عن السفر عبر الزمن. وقد زار بلد حيث لا يزال يعتقد الناس الأرض كانت مسطحة وابدأ سافر الآن لأنهم كانوا يخشون من أنهم كانوا في طريقهم للتراجع. نظراً لأنه يعرف الأرض كانت جولة، أنه مقتنع لهم خلاف ذلك، ولكن عندما بدأت تختفي وراء الأفق، فإنه يبدو أنه قد أخطأ. أنها إميل إلى الأمام، وتبحث تشجيع--ربما كان هذا حلما مغامرة فاشلة، بعد كل شيء. ولكن لا يوجد. واتضح أن عند كل شخص اختفى الأفق، أنها حقاً تطير. يمكن أن تطير زوجها، جداً: كما طار، أنه شهد البلد بأكمله أدناه له. أسقف من القش. الأطفال مع الأطواق. الشوارع قليلاً غريبة. "دنيا الخيال،" قال، "تماما مثل ديزني."He often had flying dreams. They were giddy, hallucinatory, perilous. She lay in bed listening and her envy surrounded them."What's wrong?" he asked."Nothing," she answered.She smiled, concealing her envy, but he caught it. "Just life," she reassured him.In a sense, she was telling the truth. Their faucets leaked. Their washing machine overflowed. Yesterday they'd bought two dozen miniscule T-shirts that turned out to be for nine-month-olds, not newborns. They were investigating breast pumps that looked like devices from the regime of Torquemada. Lists of names for the baby lined their kitchen wall and they couldn't agree on any of them.But in another sense, the truth was only her envy — not any kind of envy, but dream envy, an affliction of trolls, gremlins, bats, sad, dreamless beings relegated to caves. A dangerous omen. An unhappy and violent passion. Her midwife had advised her of this, pressing into her hands herbs, amulets, arcane books, a dream pillow filled with lavender and sage. Dreams are essential, she'd said. You must work to get yours back.Her husband leaned over and touched her belly. "Whatever happened to the good old days?" he asked. It was something he'd been asking for awhile, a compelling, urgent question."لا شيء"، قالت. "أنهم هنا الآن." الطفل اختيار هذه اللحظة للتحول داخل لها. دلفين غامضة. مترو أنفاق يهدر مصغرة. وكان دائماً، دون شك، أهم شخص في الغرفة، يتسم بطابع جامحة، في انتظار الحصول على فرصة للتحدث. في الموجات فوق الصوتية وكان حجم هره، قلبه شفاف أي أكبر من عشرة سنتات. بعد أن رأوه، زوجها لفت قلب على بطنها ومقبل عليه. انظر. أنا يجري جيدة الآن.اليوم التفت لها، لا أونكيندلي. وقال "كنت تستاء بلدي الأحلام". "كنت نضن لي هذه الزاوية القليل من رأيي.""بالطبع لا.""ولكن يمكنك القيام به. كنت نضن لي. أنا أعرف ذلك ".وقالت أن لا شيء. تحت وسادة لها، وقالت أنها يمكن أن يشعر وسادة حلم المخملية القابلة أعطت لها. وكان الشائك، مليئة بحكيم وخزامي. ويأتي حكيم من الجبال البوليفية. وجدت القابلة في الصيف الماضي في السوق الساحرة في لاباز.وتابع "أنا بالمثالية في هذه الأيام،". "لقد وجدت سرير. ذهبت معك لشراء تلك القمصان سخيفة واليوم أنا ذاهب لمساعدتك على إعادتها. لقد حتى ذهبت إلى تلك اللعنة ولادة الطبقات بما صاحبة-الاسم. ""المون لوريل،" وقالت أنها زودت. وكان المون الغار القابلة. لم أكن أحب زوجها لها. وقال أنها كانت محاكاة ساخرة عصر جديد.واتفق "المون لوريل،". "لقد ذهبت هناك ولقد جلست هناك ولقد أعجبت نماذج لها في الحوض. أنا لقد رددوا الهتافات واهن. لقد عرضت الصلاة. أنا كنت يحك ظهرك. وكنت نضن لي احلامي ".I don't begrudge you, I blame you. She didn't say this, but thought it. The day after he'd moved out, to a lawyer friend's place on a street with the improbable name of Taurus, she'd woken from a dream about being trapped in the city of Dresden during the second world war. She was in a house, standing by a cabinet full of fragile china, when a bomb fell. Cup after cup after cup shattered in slow motion. A miniature china shepherdess was severed from her sheep. Plates decorated with flowers crashed. This had been her last dream. Now her nights were a blank canvas."What are you thinking?" he asked."Nothing.""Are you hungry?""Just for grapes. Grapes are all I have room for. It's like someone put a grand piano
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