Impossible Stories

by Zoran Zivkovic

  Miss Emily’s brown dress was of the same plain cut as her students’ uniforms. There was a small brooch pinned to its left-hand side that almost blended into the background. Her dark hair, streaked with grey despite its lingering thickness, was pulled back into a bun. Her tiny eyes gazed mouselike through her round wire-framed glasses. The low heels of her high-topped shoes did not add much to Miss Emily’s height. She was still shorter than most of the sixteen-year-old girls who were now waiting, motionless, for the signal to sit down.

  She went up to the desk and set down a stack of papers and a leather glasses case. Her eyes passed over her students and she nodded briefly. The room was filled with the rustling of dresses and scraping of chairs, and then she too sat down. She set her spine firmly against the back of the chair, from where it would not move until the end of the class, as though glued in place. Only her head in lively movement would be at variance with this stiff body.

  First she concentrated on arranging the objects in front of her. In addition to those she had brought, there was a small vase containing two purple wildflowers, a wooden pen holder, a long thin pointer, a large globe and a glass half-filled with water, covered by a linen napkin. She did not strive for any special pattern. The priority was that everything be lined up, to offset any impression of randomness. She abhorred disorder, both external and internal.

  “Good morning, young ladies.” Her feeble voice matched her stature.

  “Good morning, Miss Emily,” chimed twenty-six voices all together.

  “I hope you slept well. From what you have written I can see that some of you are not getting the rest you need at night, particularly at your age.”

  She stopped talking and laid her hands on the pile of papers in front of her. It was a collection of dreams. Whenever she commenced teaching a new class, the first thing she did was have the freshmen write down their dreams of the previous night. This was the best way to get to know them. Nothing spoke more eloquently about the girls than what they dreamed. It was here that they showed their true nature. In addition, dreams are the first indication of the disorder that threatens to overwhelm young minds. And that could only be thwarted if discovered in time, before it seriously corrupted the personality. After that it was very difficult, perhaps even impossible, to remove.

  Of course, there were always freshmen who would try to deceive her. They wrote inauthentic accounts of their dreams, resorting to invention for various reasons. Some simply had not dreamed anything or could not remember their dreams, but were reluctant to admit this. Others were ashamed of their dreams. The most dangerous, however, were those who made them up in order to outsmart her. Those were the girls in need of special attention. Such duplicity was a clear sign of a wayward disposition. What she found additionally offensive was the fact that they underestimated her. As though it were that easy to deceive her! With experience measured in decades, she was able to recognize without fail not only false dreams but those calculated to poke fun at her.

  Among the twenty-six papers that had been given to her at the end of the last class, she was certain that three belonged to this latter type. They were all signed, but since she still didn’t know the girls, their names meant nothing to her. All the same, she would soon see which of the young ladies considered themselves smarter than she. Nothing would teach them a better lesson than to experience a little public humiliation. They had to find out immediately that they would reap what they sowed. There could be no leniency in this regard. It was the only way to set them on the right path.

  She took the first sheet from the pile and turned it over. At the bottom, next to the girl’s signature, Miss Emily had written a great warning sign in red ink: three horizontal parallel lines cut by a vertical line. She used many similar symbols, with meanings known only to herself. Generations of freshmen had done their utmost to break these codes, but none had succeeded as yet. To make them even harder to decipher, Miss Emily periodically introduced confusing changes that made sense only to her: new signs appeared and old ones changed their meaning.

  “Will Miss Alexandra please stand up.”

  At the penultimate desk of the row next to the window a willowy girl with large eyes and prominent cheekbones rose to her feet. Miss Emily examined her carefully. Not at all unexpected. These freshmen who got their height early were the first to have swollen egos. They thought they were special because they were taller than their classmates and nicer-looking. As if that could make them superior! But she had a remedy for such over-confidence.

  “Ah, that’s who you are. Fine.” She put Miss Alexandra’s paper to one side and then took another one from the pile. “Now would Miss Theodora please be so kind as to introduce herself.”

  A plump girl in the third desk of the middle row slowly stood up. She had red hair with curls that not even the tight braids could straighten completely. Her face was sprinkled with freckles. Miss Emily pulled up the collar of her dress slightly around her neck. She didn’t like freckles at all. They were a mark. There was always a reason for them, as was evident this very instant. It was, of course, no accident that she had singled out this girl’s dream.

  “There you are. Very good.” Miss Emily held up a third paper with a warning sign on it. “The last one to introduce herself is Miss Clara.”

  A short girl wearing thick glasses stood up in the first row, in the desk by the door. Her head was bowed and her right hand was clutching the three middle fingers of her left hand. Strange, thought Miss Emily. Of all the freshmen this is the last one I would have suspected. She could almost recognize herself some forty years ago. But experience had taught her how deceptive appearances can be. Even though Miss Clara seemed the epitome of modesty, what she had written clearly indicated that that was merely a superficial impression.

  “All right. Now would the rest of you girls please take a good look at the three who are standing.”

  This caused a stir. The girls who were sitting started to look around in bewilderment, staring at the three standing girls, who were just as confused. Several neighboring heads drew together and whispered. Miss Emily let the uncertainty gain momentum. She had put on this show many times and knew exactly when to speak again.

  “You don’t see anything unusual?” she asked at last. All the faces turned towards her. “I don’t blame you. There’s nothing that can be seen. One would say there is nothing special about Alexandra, Theodora and Clara. But this is not so. There are things that cannot be discerned by the eye because they are hidden. Terrible things that are not the least fitting in the honorable individuals that we all hope you will become after you leave this school. One such thing is a penchant for lying.”

  Miss Emily paused to allow her words full impact.

  “This is a very bad characteristic. It is particularly dangerous when it appears in younger individuals. A girl who starts to lie early in life will most certainly not stop there. What inevitably awaits her is a wayward life of even worse sins. All lies, however, are not the same. Although no lie can be justified, some can be understood to a certain extent. Let’s take, for example, your compositions on what you dreamed. Almost half are not true. You thought you could fool me, but that, of course, is impossible. I am quite capable of telling real dreams from false. I do not hold it very much against most of you, though, this resort to fabrication. You did not act out of ulterior motives. You found yourselves in an awkward position and lying seemed the only way out of it. You will learn in time that sincerity always serves you best in any difficulty you might encounter.”

  Miss Emily took the pointer and started to draw it back and forth through the closed fist of her left hand.

  “But the motives of these three young ladies were not in the least naïve. Their fabrications were fully intentional. They treated me condescendingly, wanting to show their superiority. Arrogance went along with the lies, and it is hard to find a worse combination. They were convinced I would not see through them, but they have greatly underestimated me. Now the time has come to fa
ce the consequences. It is always unpleasant, but cannot be escaped. In any case, it is for their own good. Confession and repentance are the first steps towards redemption and healing.”

  The pointer stopped moving. A hush filled the room for several moments.

  “So? Let’s hear what you have to say.”

  It was not clear which of the girls was expected to speak first. Miss Alexandra glanced questioningly at Miss Theodora, who replied with a shrug of the shoulders. Miss Clara kept her head bowed. Her eyes had become glassy and wet. The tears had not yet started to flow, but it was certain that nothing could stop them. The tension in the classroom grew along with the look of impatience on Miss Emily’s face.

  “They didn’t lie.”

  The voice was soft and came from somewhere in the back. A multitude of braids swung when the inquisitive heads quickly turned around to look. Miss Emily twisted her neck.

  “Who said that?”

  The girl who rose from behind the last desk in the middle row did not stand out in any way. She was thin, with dark hair and regular features, quite common among the uniformed girls. Only her eyes set her apart. Miss Emily knew about such eyes—and didn’t like them. Behind their clarity, vivacity and penetrating power stood a character that was most difficult to handle. Willful and persistent, it resisted submission and molding, and served as a very bad example to the other girls. She had to be cautious from the very start.

  “What is your name?”

  “Miss Irena.”

  The name sounded familiar to Miss Emily. She had taken note of it while reading the girls’ dream compositions, but forgot why. She took the pile of papers from the desk and started to leaf through it. She had gone through about one third of them when she suddenly remembered. The paper she was looking for was at the very bottom. She had left it there, intending to address that case at the end, after finishing with the ordinary ones. It was quite unusual. Over the years she had received a wide variety of compositions, but it had never happened that a girl would turn in a paper with only a signature and nothing else.

  “Ah, you are the one. Very nice. And this was your dream?”

  Miss Emily raised the empty sheet of paper so all the girls could have a good look.

  “Yes.”

  “Should we conclude based on this that you didn’t dream anything?”

  “No, you shouldn’t.”

  “So that’s it. You did have a dream, but for some reason you did not consider it necessary to inform us about it. Would you perhaps tell us the reason?”

  “I did tell you the dream.”

  “You told us? I don’t see any report here. Does any of you freshmen see better than I do?”

  She began turning the page over slowly from one side to the other, making an arc with it in front of her. The question was not directed at anyone in particular, but several girls nonetheless briefly shook their heads.

  “It’s mist.”

  Miss Emily’s mouse-like eyes immediately squinted.

  “I don’t think I heard you too well.”

  “That’s mist,” repeated the girl from the end of the middle row. “I always dream about mist.”

  “You dream about mist?”

  “Yes.”

  Miss Emily put the pointer down, then adjusted its position a little so it was parallel to the edge of the desk.

  “Very interesting. You only dream about mist? You must be very bored when you sleep.”

  “I’m not. There’s another dream.”

  “Oh, there is? So why didn’t you write about that other one?”

  “Because it isn’t mine.”

  “It isn’t yours? Then whose is it?”

  “Someone else’s.”

  “How can something in your dream belong to someone else?”

  “It’s no longer my dream. The mist suddenly disperses and I enter someone else’s dream. I dream what others dream.”

  Miss Emily looked at Miss Irena for several moments without speaking.

  “My dear, I have heard all manner of concoctions from freshmen during my many years of tenure at this school, but I must admit that you have outdone them all. Do you really expect us to believe what you just said?”

  “Yes.” The girl’s voice was even, as though confirming something quite ordinary.

  “And just why should we believe you, might I ask?”

  “Because it is the truth.”

  “How can the truth be that you dream other people’s dreams? Has anyone else ever heard of something like that?”

  Her eyes swept over the class, but this time not a single head moved. Miss Emily felt awkward. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn and she was no longer in complete control. She had to put an end to this nonsense as soon as possible.

  “I think that’s enough for now,” she continued. “I must warn you that you won’t get very far with such stories. A rich imagination is not greatly appreciated here. Other virtues are fostered in this school.”

  “It’s not my imagination. If it were, how would I know that these other girls aren’t lying?”

  “Of course they lied. I should think I’m the best one to know that. And you are no better than they are. You have not only concocted rubbish, but stubbornly insist it is true.”

  “I can tell you their dreams. I dreamed them along with them.”

  Miss Emily’s first thought was to resort to her tested procedure. Miss Irena should leave the class at once and report to the principal. Such impudence had to be properly punished. As a lesson to the others. But if she did that, she would be admitting defeat. She had been offered a challenge and had to reply. In any case, why not? Let the girl say what she had to say. She would only embarrass herself. Of course she could not know what the three girls had dreamed. Particularly since these weren’t their real dreams, but fabrications.

  “All right then. Let’s hear. It will give us a fine chance to see that lies are always short-lived.”

  “Miss Alexandra dreamed that she was in an asylum for the mentally disturbed after a traffic accident in which she hurt her head. She had terrible visions that frightened her. A doctor came to visit and she told him about her visions, but he didn’t believe them. Miss Theodora dreamed that she was skiing. An unusually dressed man sat next to her on the ski lift. He explained that he was not there by accident. He had come to see which path she would take to ski down the slope. For some reason this was very important. Miss Clara dreamed that she was a clairvoyant. A young man came to her parlor with a strange request. He wanted her to confirm that he only had a short time left to live.”

  When Miss Irena finished, the girls kept their heads turned in her direction several moments longer, then all turned towards Miss Emily. Only Miss Alexandra and Miss Theodora continued to stare at the last desk in the middle row. All that broke the silence was the sniffles and sobs of Miss Clara, who had not moved since she first stood up.

  Miss Emily’s face flushed with anger. There had always been girls who considered themselves smarter than she, at least in the beginning, but something like this had never happened before. This was a true conspiracy! Four of the freshmen had plotted to make her look foolish. Fine! Now they would find out just what they were up against.

  “Did you really think this would work? That I am gullible enough to fall for your ploy? That I would believe this nonsense about dreaming other people’s dreams, when there is a far simpler and more natural explanation? You found out that I always assign a composition about dreams at the first class. That is no secret, in any case. Then you cleverly planned this whole thing. Three would write invented dreams and one would ostensibly know about them. Your plan, unfortunately, didn’t succeed. If you wanted to outsmart me you should have devised something much more convincing. Now you will all go .. . ”

  “I was in your dream too.”

  Miss Emily quite disliked being interrupted in the middle of a sentence. In any other situation she would have severely reprimanded a freshman impertinent enough to do su
ch a thing. This time, however, there was no reprimand. Staring into the clear eyes at the other end of the classroom, irritated above all by their composure, she picked up the pointer again. She held on to the middle of it tightly with both hands.

  “Really? You did me the honor of visiting my dream too? And just what was that dream, if you please?”

  “The one you dream all the time. Night after night. The dream about the old woman whose alarm clock is broken and she goes to the watchmaker’s . . . ”

  The crack of the dry wood breaking in Miss Emily’s hands echoed so loudly that several of the girls flinched. Miss Clara raised her tear-streaked face in fear.

  “Enough! We don’t want to hear your drivel anymore. Leave at once and report to the principal. You others sit down. I’ll take care of you later.”

  The three girls quickly took their seats, but Miss Irena did not head for the door.

  “It wouldn’t be a good idea for me to go.”

  This was insubordination. Miss Emily had given an order and it had to be carried out without question. But suddenly her destabilized authority did not seem so important.

  “It wouldn’t? You don’t think, by any chance, that we will miss your company?”

  “You will. In a way. If I leave the classroom, it will cease to exist.”

  Miss Emily stood up slowly. She had never done this before in the middle of a class. Without the chair back, she felt somehow without support, as though floating. She put the two parts of the broken pointer on the desk, briefly bemoaning their mismatched appearance, their slightly different lengths.

  “We had no idea that someone so important was with us.”

  “I’m not at all important. Quite the contrary. I am very secondary. This is not my dream. I am only a guest in it, as usual. But when I leave it, the dream will cease to be. All of this will disappear. There is nothing on the other side of the door but mist. Do you still want me to go and report to the principal?”

  The classroom sank into silence. Miss Emily could almost feel the girls’ eyes on her: confused, questioning, expectant, frightened. Had she been alone with Miss Irena, she might have given another answer. This way, she had no choice.