of love to him, feeling so glad to be of some little help. All this while, Barryâs face lay close on the pillow. It was that of a man sound asleep â expressionless but hardly what I would dare call dead, whatever the medicos said.
As Tom calmed down, I noticed that the eyes of the other head were slightly open. There was a glitter as of liquid under the heavy lids. Venturing greatly, I reached out and put my right hand over the eyeballs. I felt a distinct tremor beneath my fingertips.
At that I took fright. Giving a yell, I ran out of the room, back to my own. Standing by my bed, trembling, I heard Tom call me.
I went to the door, peering into the dark of the landing.
âTom? You all right?â
âPlease come and see me, Robbie. I had an awful dream.â
Of course, I mastered my courage and returned to him. He had propped himself up a bit, and the other two heads lay against each other like two bowls, half-hidden by sheet.
I held his hand. We just sat and looked at each other in the cool moonlight. His face glittered with sweat.
A curious impression settled on my mind: that this was my dream, that I was still in my bed. Both the noises and the silence, the light and the dark, seemed to me in that instant â I believe it was just an instant â to be more like something that goes on in a sleeping head than in reality.
Then Tom said, âIâve got to tell you my dream,â and the impression dispersed.
I suggested that we went down and had a cup of tea in the kitchen. As he pulled on his jeans, I saw that the Barry body was already wearing its pair; Tom had not bothered to undress it. The double body came down the stairs after me. Switching on the reading lamp downstairs, I looked fearfully at the third head, but it gave no sign of intelligence.
While we drank our mugs of tea, Tom related his dream, with a few comments here and there from me.
âThey gave me sedatives every night in hospital ⦠Tonight was different. Open the back door and let some breeze in, Robbie! Thereâs nobody out there to harm us â¦
âWell, my dream. It was so macabre, so connected. Not like a real ordinary dream â¦
âI was in a forest and rain was falling. A heavy, slow rain. It must have been falling for a long while. The forest floor was flooded. A steady stream pulled against my feet, making progress difficult.
âI could not see my way ahead. As I staggered onward, I kept buffeting myself against the trunks of the trees. They grew so close that my shoulders were bruised with repeated knocks. The journey had been so long. All the branches of the trees, high above my head, had intertwined. Darkness ruled in the forest. And yet â you know how these paradoxes occur in dreams â everything seemed bright, as if lit by an inward light.
âBy another paradox which seemed natural at the time, I was not myself but a horse, or some other four-footed animal. Iâm not sure what. Perhaps a donkey â a pack-animal â because I was loaded down and consequently clumsy. And I was trying to get away from someone I hated. That urgency propelled me through the loathsome forest. The someone I wanted to get away from was helping me escape. He rode upon my back in a great raised saddle, draped with rugs and strings of jewels. With a black whip, he lashed me on.
âBlood burst from me. It fell like rubies, each large gobbet solid, gleaming, clattering to the ground. Yes, clattering to the ground, to dry stony ground.
âWhere that ground was in relation to the rest of me, I canât tell, for I seemed to be still in the flood, and my difficulties increasing. When I glanced down, I saw that the flood-water had receded, leaving a carpet of thick mud. I saw that I was planting my hooves in the open mouths of great toads. No matter how I tried to avoid them, my hooves plunged into their open mouths, nailing them by their throats to the ground.
âMy distress was
As Tom calmed down, I noticed that the eyes of the other head were slightly open. There was a glitter as of liquid under the heavy lids. Venturing greatly, I reached out and put my right hand over the eyeballs. I felt a distinct tremor beneath my fingertips.
At that I took fright. Giving a yell, I ran out of the room, back to my own. Standing by my bed, trembling, I heard Tom call me.
I went to the door, peering into the dark of the landing.
âTom? You all right?â
âPlease come and see me, Robbie. I had an awful dream.â
Of course, I mastered my courage and returned to him. He had propped himself up a bit, and the other two heads lay against each other like two bowls, half-hidden by sheet.
I held his hand. We just sat and looked at each other in the cool moonlight. His face glittered with sweat.
A curious impression settled on my mind: that this was my dream, that I was still in my bed. Both the noises and the silence, the light and the dark, seemed to me in that instant â I believe it was just an instant â to be more like something that goes on in a sleeping head than in reality.
Then Tom said, âIâve got to tell you my dream,â and the impression dispersed.
I suggested that we went down and had a cup of tea in the kitchen. As he pulled on his jeans, I saw that the Barry body was already wearing its pair; Tom had not bothered to undress it. The double body came down the stairs after me. Switching on the reading lamp downstairs, I looked fearfully at the third head, but it gave no sign of intelligence.
While we drank our mugs of tea, Tom related his dream, with a few comments here and there from me.
âThey gave me sedatives every night in hospital ⦠Tonight was different. Open the back door and let some breeze in, Robbie! Thereâs nobody out there to harm us â¦
âWell, my dream. It was so macabre, so connected. Not like a real ordinary dream â¦
âI was in a forest and rain was falling. A heavy, slow rain. It must have been falling for a long while. The forest floor was flooded. A steady stream pulled against my feet, making progress difficult.
âI could not see my way ahead. As I staggered onward, I kept buffeting myself against the trunks of the trees. They grew so close that my shoulders were bruised with repeated knocks. The journey had been so long. All the branches of the trees, high above my head, had intertwined. Darkness ruled in the forest. And yet â you know how these paradoxes occur in dreams â everything seemed bright, as if lit by an inward light.
âBy another paradox which seemed natural at the time, I was not myself but a horse, or some other four-footed animal. Iâm not sure what. Perhaps a donkey â a pack-animal â because I was loaded down and consequently clumsy. And I was trying to get away from someone I hated. That urgency propelled me through the loathsome forest. The someone I wanted to get away from was helping me escape. He rode upon my back in a great raised saddle, draped with rugs and strings of jewels. With a black whip, he lashed me on.
âBlood burst from me. It fell like rubies, each large gobbet solid, gleaming, clattering to the ground. Yes, clattering to the ground, to dry stony ground.
âWhere that ground was in relation to the rest of me, I canât tell, for I seemed to be still in the flood, and my difficulties increasing. When I glanced down, I saw that the flood-water had receded, leaving a carpet of thick mud. I saw that I was planting my hooves in the open mouths of great toads. No matter how I tried to avoid them, my hooves plunged into their open mouths, nailing them by their throats to the ground.
âMy distress was
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