One dreams: a long and smoke-filled corridor.
One dreams: voices coming from upstairs, while he takes a shower on the floor below. The villa is big it's slippery. He's the only one who wakes up early in the morning to avoid bumping into the others before he goes out.
One dreams that his bed is on fire because he didn't put out his cigarette well enough.
One dreams Tomorrow I'm leaving. I'm not staying here.
One dreams (tomorrow's too late to shower. I haven't been able to wash with hot water in days). He dreams of gushing water that massages his neck. He dreams of a woman. His woman, whom he hasn't seen in a month, she's talking to him. He dreams of her voice. The tone of her voice as she tells him – you're not here – waking him up.
One dreams of his mother. He dreams of her the way she was when he was small. He dreams of himself through his mother's eyes. He only sees himself – the breast and the mouth.
One dreams that he's falling. He always dreams that he's falling.
One dreams of a tram, a very old one, the conductor smokes a cigarette as he sells the tickets, ripping them from a pad of tickets. The paper is very thin, paleyellow, the rips are never the same. The conductor is an old man, along with the tickets he distributes flyers about a strike. A general strike.
One dreams that the room is all his, that the others don't live there anymore.
One dreams about wine.
One dreams about lingering kitchen smells.
One dreams about waking up and having a dry mouth.
One dreams of having dreamt that he slept with a woman who wasn't his. He dreams that in the dream she was.
One dreams of leaving for a land that nobody has ever seen, of traveling where none of the others have ever traveled. He dreams of a place where everybody is carrying a suitcase. The place everybody departs from.
One dreams of a hand drawing a vase of flowers with long stalks and instead of flowers there are small heads wearing hats, meek faces that all resemble one another, some of the stalks are bending down like reeds in the wind, others have straight stalks and their noses are pointing upwards as if they were sniffing the air or: Seeing which way the wind is blowing.
One dreams that she sees Jesus. He has long hair and a broken nose. The fracture can just barely be seen by a small scar and a slight slip of his septum. Jesus says – don't touch me, don't brush against me, don't come near me, but as he talks he holds Mary Magdalene in his arms and he gives her a child. A son she conceived unawares.
One dreams that he's throwing dice and winning. That he's throwing more dice and winning again. That he keeps throwing dice and keeps winning.
One dreams that he's a highway toll collector and that he says to himself Hello. And that he says to himself: It's so cold this morning, don't you think? – and that he says to himself: Have some tea, I keep it in a thermos – And that he offers himself a cup of very hot very sweet tea, while the line of cars behind him honk a march with their horns.
One dreams of all the days she's forgotten. Of all the things she's lost. Of all the voices she can't hear anymore – of everything that has slipped her mind, ever since she was born.
One dreams that his hands are doing clever tricks of prestidigitation without explaining the trick.
One dreams of a clear moon, enormous, he dreams that he doesn't believe it's real.
One dreams of his last chance.
One dreams of a word written with the blood of his enemy. The word is Forgiveness.
One dreams with clenched jaw and grinding teeth.
One dreams that he wakes up and puts on his shoes, no socks, he goes downstairs and takes a shower that uses up everybody's hot water and then goes back to bed, on his tiptoes, full of warmth, with wet hair and shoes in hand, so he doesn't wake up the others.


Translated by Ann Gail