with me…keeping me safe.
“ Look, my dress—wasn’t it beautiful?” Grandma asks, preening. “This crown of flowers—like a queen. For seven days there were celebrations. But I couldn’t join in because I was the bride; I never left the house.”
She turns another page…and there I am with him in that other place.
The room with wallpaper of children in dresses and suits. The toy-box in the corner, where Snowball is supposed to sleep. It is important to be good, really good, so Daddy doesn’t cry either.
“ You like cough medicine,” I tell Da-da.
We are in a boat on a freezing sea, and it’s raining, and Bad Grandmother is waiting for me outside the fairy boat.
Where’s Grandpa? He’ll help me, if I tell him!
I look around in a panic—but I’m not on the boat anymore. Everyone has gone, all of them, including Jeannot. Why does everyone leave or die?
With blind, bottomless rage, I throw my crayons and kick my feet. Take that—and that! And that! Good Grandma is angry too, shouting at Mama.
“ You can’t look at a man in his twenties! A man in his twenties is dressed for a party. Bah! It's like this American custom, grab bag. You don’t know what you have till you open it and you’re stuck with junk!"
Then—with almost comical clarity—I realize: I have n’t thrown my crayons in years. I’m grown up now.
I turn to Mama, to finally, finally, tell her everything—when I see that she has no mouth, and no face.
Blank, an unfinished doll.
I scream, but nothing comes out.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I
Large hands on my shoulders squeezed gently.
“Pilar? Wake up. You are dreaming!”
S truggling to clear the cobwebs of time and place, I slowly opened my eyes.
They felt grainy, sand caught under the lids. I blinked; cleared my vision.
Jeannot’s fatigued face watched me closely. His sour sleep-breath on my face.
But n ot cough medicine!
His blond hair stood straight up: the hair of a stick figure drawn by a kid. The balcony doors in our bedroom stood wide open.
“ Thank God you are awake,” he said in rapid French. “You were walking around opening the doors and screaming. Did you know that?”
I shook my head.
“ You scared me. What did you dream, Chérie ?”
“ Water,” I said. “Please? I’m thirsty.”
He brought me a cold glass and I drank sitting on the edge of our bed. Outside, rain had begun to fall. It dripped from the roof, dribbled down the back of balcony chairs, pooled and pattered and tapped along the drainage pipe. Comforting sounds.
“ Feel better now?”
“ Yes.” I drained my glass and placed it on the nightstand.
“ You really did sound terrible, as if someone were murdering you. I can imagine what the neighbors think.”
“ I’m sorry.”
“I am glad you are all right.” He flopped on the bed and stretched his arms. “Ah, the rain.” He titled his head to peer at me. “You look better. You look alive now.”
“ Thank you. I think.”
“ Tell me. What was it?”
I glanced around the room searching for a beginning. How to explain the long thread of a life that I’d never shared with anyone? How on earth was I supposed to describe Night Terrors? I’d need a dictionary or paper and drawing pencils. Maybe it would be easier to talk to Monique and have her translate. Except explaining these things to any human being seemed so…unpleasant. Intrusive. Just thinking about it made me feel naked.
I said, “I, uh, have strong dreams sometimes. And I don’t know I am dreaming.”
Jeannot smiled faintly. “Most people do not know. We are asleep, yes?”
“O f course, but…I really don’t know. I believe I’m in the past. Then—”
He waited, smile frozen.
“—and then I feel afraid.”
“ I hope the problem is not about yesterday. About meeting my family. You seemed tense, and then you got sick.”
“No. No, I dreamed like this as a child, too. It can’t be them.”
We listened to the rain: tap-tap-tap , like a knock on the
“ Look, my dress—wasn’t it beautiful?” Grandma asks, preening. “This crown of flowers—like a queen. For seven days there were celebrations. But I couldn’t join in because I was the bride; I never left the house.”
She turns another page…and there I am with him in that other place.
The room with wallpaper of children in dresses and suits. The toy-box in the corner, where Snowball is supposed to sleep. It is important to be good, really good, so Daddy doesn’t cry either.
“ You like cough medicine,” I tell Da-da.
We are in a boat on a freezing sea, and it’s raining, and Bad Grandmother is waiting for me outside the fairy boat.
Where’s Grandpa? He’ll help me, if I tell him!
I look around in a panic—but I’m not on the boat anymore. Everyone has gone, all of them, including Jeannot. Why does everyone leave or die?
With blind, bottomless rage, I throw my crayons and kick my feet. Take that—and that! And that! Good Grandma is angry too, shouting at Mama.
“ You can’t look at a man in his twenties! A man in his twenties is dressed for a party. Bah! It's like this American custom, grab bag. You don’t know what you have till you open it and you’re stuck with junk!"
Then—with almost comical clarity—I realize: I have n’t thrown my crayons in years. I’m grown up now.
I turn to Mama, to finally, finally, tell her everything—when I see that she has no mouth, and no face.
Blank, an unfinished doll.
I scream, but nothing comes out.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I
Large hands on my shoulders squeezed gently.
“Pilar? Wake up. You are dreaming!”
S truggling to clear the cobwebs of time and place, I slowly opened my eyes.
They felt grainy, sand caught under the lids. I blinked; cleared my vision.
Jeannot’s fatigued face watched me closely. His sour sleep-breath on my face.
But n ot cough medicine!
His blond hair stood straight up: the hair of a stick figure drawn by a kid. The balcony doors in our bedroom stood wide open.
“ Thank God you are awake,” he said in rapid French. “You were walking around opening the doors and screaming. Did you know that?”
I shook my head.
“ You scared me. What did you dream, Chérie ?”
“ Water,” I said. “Please? I’m thirsty.”
He brought me a cold glass and I drank sitting on the edge of our bed. Outside, rain had begun to fall. It dripped from the roof, dribbled down the back of balcony chairs, pooled and pattered and tapped along the drainage pipe. Comforting sounds.
“ Feel better now?”
“ Yes.” I drained my glass and placed it on the nightstand.
“ You really did sound terrible, as if someone were murdering you. I can imagine what the neighbors think.”
“ I’m sorry.”
“I am glad you are all right.” He flopped on the bed and stretched his arms. “Ah, the rain.” He titled his head to peer at me. “You look better. You look alive now.”
“ Thank you. I think.”
“ Tell me. What was it?”
I glanced around the room searching for a beginning. How to explain the long thread of a life that I’d never shared with anyone? How on earth was I supposed to describe Night Terrors? I’d need a dictionary or paper and drawing pencils. Maybe it would be easier to talk to Monique and have her translate. Except explaining these things to any human being seemed so…unpleasant. Intrusive. Just thinking about it made me feel naked.
I said, “I, uh, have strong dreams sometimes. And I don’t know I am dreaming.”
Jeannot smiled faintly. “Most people do not know. We are asleep, yes?”
“O f course, but…I really don’t know. I believe I’m in the past. Then—”
He waited, smile frozen.
“—and then I feel afraid.”
“ I hope the problem is not about yesterday. About meeting my family. You seemed tense, and then you got sick.”
“No. No, I dreamed like this as a child, too. It can’t be them.”
We listened to the rain: tap-tap-tap , like a knock on the
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