.
...The gray thread of an uneasy vigil and its consequent gray sleep awakes in my mind.
Effectively: sometimes we wake up with our mind in blank, it takes some long seconds to realize who we are, where we are; our name...
These irrelevant seconds are -in this situation- like years of anguish; until the veil of sleep is completely unveiled.
Sometimes -often- does happen as corollary of a heavy and worried sleep. That happened to me today, right now (while I stand up from my bed, I start to put these pieces of the puzzle in order): actually: it's strange: I seldom remember what I dream, perhaps two or three times a year, no more; and my dreams are always objectively involved with the reality, they are never whimsical.
I almost could...swear they aren't dreams.
I prefer to take them as perceptive experiences in subliminal connection with my reality, maybe with the past...I'll try to recapitulate and settle these pieces on a rational order while I dress myself up, let's see...
I was in an oval parlour (I know that my dream was long), I was sitting close to a huge-rectangular table. This room was large and white, with a dozen...no: half a dozen burning chandeliers hanging from the slightly oval ceiling. This high stucco ceiling ("bone" was the color) it was admirably decorated with rampant gargoyles...I could note the detail about some almost imperceptible threads of spider webs shining like long-silvery needles in the light. I saw this detail in my dream...
The table hadn't anything on it, I was alone in the hall and I got surprised, realizing I was all dressed in an impeccable, latest XIX century's fashion.
I'm sure I was waiting for something to happen there, I didn't feel comfortable there, though...for some reason I couldn't leave.
In dreams, we do things that look like incomprehensible, but these things we do always have a reason. The reality of our dreams is different to the reality of our vigil, but isn't unreal.
The only furniture pieces seen in that enigmatic place were this large table, and the chair where I was sitting down, a comfortable wooden chair, with huge back, and a red cushion.
And another chair.
The walls were decorated with Arab carpets of delicate manufacture. One of the carpets, the biggest one, featured golden arabesques of a peculiar beauty, and its value should be very high...under different circumstances probably I would have felt the serious temptation of stealing it; but I was too nervous and uncomfortable there; and in spite of this, I was incomprehensibly drinking a cup of tea. Presumably laudanum.
The only connection with the outside world, at least as far as I could see, was a big-black door, wooden and carefully polished.
The parlour was intensely impregnated with a mysterious smell, like an admixure of vanilla and gas, the silence was absolute.
While I was looking at the curious, pale-green floor, which looked like a rare variety of emery, the black door was suddenly opened with violence, and an indescribably, horribly fresh breeze came in filling the room, a breeze with a certain taste of menthol, and behind the breeze, a man came in. I didn't move...
...With a slight violence he closed the door, the carpets of the walls were shaken in a spasm: he looked at me.
II)
He was dressed like a gentleman, all in blue velvet, wearing a blue, silky shirt, according to his appearance, he looked like an old, strange man...his hair was white and long, combed in an extravagant way. His eyes had a cold stare, and caught particularly my attention the color of those eyes, dark yellow, like gold of centuries. Gold.
After a tense, short while, he walked in my direction, his steps, his whole figure showed something vaguely aristocratic...under his thick-grey eye brows the eyes had a singular look, mixture of rage and irony; his face featured one too many grooves.
Grooves.
...With delicate gesture, his arthritic hands left his golden walking cane on the table, and a scroll.
Under my astonished stare, my strange man did sit down, and coughing, he started talking, with Balkanic accent...
- "Sir, you're here for a reason, now, you got to go there..."
In that moment he unfolded the scroll over the table, it was a map.
Showing me, he pointed his finger on a particular place, a village, lost in the Carpathian mountains: R.......
Then -laconic- he just said:
- "Be sure to keep each thing as it was commanded, further instructions you'll get at your arrival..."
While he said this, I felt an icy sensation of horror running down my spine, beholding minutely his mouth while he talked...his tongue...was his tongue...silvery?
Brusquely he did stand up, took his walking cane and left without looking at me, ignoring me completely...while he was walking toward the door, in that right moment, I realized this dream was more than a dream, and I was involved in it.
In my nightmare I realized this.
...The door was closed behind my aristocratic, aged dude, with a muffled sound, one second before my awakening.
Here I am, almost ready for my journey. My train departs from Madrid in 9 hours.
.
