Tuesday, December 13, 2005
The nightmare flooded his consciousness and would not leave him. He recalled the two women lying in the bed, pleasantly waiting, exuding temptation with bodies shrouded in the cool whiteness of linen. "Kiss us, kiss us," they spoke through their veiled mouths. And in the dream he could not resist them. There was nothing unpleasant in their attitudes and in the enticing manner their eyes followed him. Decisively, with both hands, he slid the shroud of the first siren just enough to kiss the mouth beneath. As his lips molded onto its fullness, her lips turned to cold, hard stone. The eyes remained fixed in a glassy stare, and he saw as he looked closer that they were glass, and the head papier-mâché and porcelain. When he tore the entire shroud from her body he saw there was nothing beneath but decaying humus intermingled with twisting worms. The other girl began laughing out loud at his folly, and then he'd awaken.
But he was awake now as he approached the two girls, and that's when he remembered the nightmare. Fighting back misgivings he mounted the foot of the bed, and inched up the furrow between the two breathing bodies. The gentle rising and falling of sheets bore witness to natural physiology. He stared at them a long while, poised between them, unsure of what to do. Would they be real to the touch? His lids grew heavy under the ponderances. It became harder to hold them open. His thoughts drifted. The lids fluttered closed. "Go to sleep," the girls whispered to him. "We'll wait for you."