Daniel's Dream

by Peter Michael Rosenberg

  He sat up in bed, shocked and disoriented. He did not reach for the pen and notepad, neither did he grab the glass of water on the bedside table. Instead he cursed out loud and collapsed back on to the bed, nearly hitting the back of his head on the wall in the process.

  What the fuck is going on? he wondered, the odours of ouzo still redolent in his nostrils. What am I doing back here?

  Daniel glanced at the clock. He had been asleep for just two hours, and yet it seemed that a whole night had passed. Frustrated and confused, he got out of bed and wandered downstairs.

  He switched on the kettle and sat at the kitchen table, waiting impatiently for the water to boil. Daniel knew, with absolute certainty, that at some point earlier that day he had fallen asleep in a strange bed in a simple villa on a Greek beach that may or may not exist anywhere other than in his head, but that he had woken to the familiar and increasingly soul-destroying surroundings of a bedroom in grimy north London,

  He also knew that the boundaries between this reality and the other reality, as he now thought of it, were becoming steadily more blurred, and that the definitions by which one distinguished reality from illusion, waking from sleeping, and true from false, had begun to lose their meaning.

  Daniel peered into the clouds of water vapour which, erupting from the kettle spout, formed shifting, nebulous shapes in which one could, momentarily, divine other, more solid objects. He had done this dozens of times before, conjuring all manner of things from the most mundane (flowers, faces) to the surreal (mutilated moonscapes, melting animals) but today he saw only demons and devils, omens of bad luck and portents of evil.

  Whenever he returned from Atheenaton to his waking world Daniel felt wretched and dejected. Far from being delighted by his new world, Daniel was more exasperated than ever. There was no telling when - or even if - he would return, at what point in time he would turn up, or for how long he would stay. He also knew that his ‘waking’ hours were plagued with misery, composed of endless hours of inactivity and depression and filled - for the most part - with people who didn”t understand him. Whereas during his ‘sleeping’ hours, he was a man without a past, without worry, and, perhaps most significantly, without fear. Yet he seemed to have no control over his access to this other, preferable world.

  If only I could stay there for a while, he thought as he poured himself a cup of tea. If only I could stay for good. This last thought both surprised and shamed him. What was he thinking? That a dream world, an ersatz, make-believe world peopled with products of his own imagination was a suitable alternative to the real world? Perhaps he was going crazy after all. Daniel decided it was in his best interests not to ask too many questions about his present state of mind, as there was every likelihood he would not much care for the answers.

  The clock on the kitchen wall reminded him that he should make a move if he was to meet Vince on time. He hoped his best friend might be able to make sense out of a situation that was becoming more and more strange with each passing day. If Vince couldn’t help him, then who could?

  Vince was already half-way through his second pint by the time Daniel arrived. This was not because he was a heavy drinker; Vince, despite his past reputation as a hard man, practised moderation in most areas of his life these days. Neither was he, by nature, a nervous type. However, the thought of meeting Daniel again had unsettled him. Daniel’s phone call had served only to remind Vince of his shortcomings and how, to a certain degree, he had failed Daniel in the months following the accident.

  He wasn’t the only one, of course; no one had found Daniel’s behaviour easy to deal with, but such excuses did not absolve him of his responsibilities. Vince was - had been - was supposed to be - Daniel’s closest friend. But he had been unable to cope with Daniel’s morbidness, and the pathological fixation on death that possessed him. Vince felt he had forsaken Daniel in his hour of need, and while he was, in part, relieved that Daniel now wanted to see him, he was also decidedly apprehensive. Hence the pint and a half of Best Bitter that Vince had poured down his throat in just under thirty minutes. He hoped that, whatever the circumstances, whatever it was that Daniel wanted, he would respond more appropriately this time. If Daniel needed help, of whatever kind, Vince prayed that there was some way in which he could give it.

  Daniel strolled up to the bar. There was a moment’s pause as the two men appraised one another: it was four months since they had met, but immediately Vince could tell that it was a very different man who stood before him. Although Daniel still displayed the anguish of a man carrying a great weight upon his shoulders, he at least looked like a man alive, rather than the defeated, almost ghoulish apparition that had greeted him last time. On that occasion, still reeling from the consequences of the accident, Daniel had worn his hopelessness and desperation like a shroud. This time there was, at the very least, an air of vitality about him.

  ‘Hello, Vince.’

  ‘Watcha cock. Pint?’ Daniel nodded. He too had felt oddly discomfited about this meeting, but Vince’s charming (if anachronistic) greeting put him at his ease. ‘I have to say it, Danny boy; you’re looking on top form.’ Vince paid for the drinks and handed Daniel his beer.

  Daniel took a sip of beer and swallowed noisily. ‘It’s good of you to say so, Vince,’ he said a touch mournfully, ’but it’s not true, is it?’

  Vince looked puzzled. ‘I mean it, Danny. Compared to... ’ Vince broke off. Was it a good idea to rake up the past, even the recent past? Probably not. ‘Well, let’s just say you look like you’re on top of things. How’s the old shoulder-bone?’

  ‘Still tricky, but at least I can sleep at nights. What about you?’

  Without having to make too many concessions, and without a trace of embarrassment on either side, they somehow negotiated the potential pitfalls of small-talk with relative ease. Vince was relieved when Daniel mentioned Lisanne casually. For Vince, this would have been the one area of difficulty. He was very fond of Lisanne, and if there were problems with the marriage he was probably the last person who would be able to help out.

  Eventually Daniel managed to steer the conversation round to his dreams. He began by detailing the nightmares he had been having. Vince listened attentively, nodding now and then, not just in assent but to reassure Daniel that he was not alone in this matter and that he, Vince, had undergone much the same experience.

  When Daniel shifted tack, however, Vince started to feel uncomfortable. In his haste and anxiety, Daniel had not prefaced his revelation concerning Atheenaton with the light-hearted, dismissive comments he had intended. Consequently Vince found himself on the end of a lengthy, intense account of everything that had happened so far in Daniel’s dream. He listened without interruption, trying hard to concentrate on the content of Daniel’s monologue, wondering how the hell he was supposed to respond.

  It seemed to Vince that, even in the retelling of the story, Daniel was off in some exclusive little world of his own: he had rarely seen anyone deliver a tale with such conviction. It unnerved him. At times, it sounded not just strange but positively barmy.

  Only when Daniel had finished did Vince speak. He had already decided that he was not going to humour his best friend. Daniel had come to him out of great need, and although Vince was at a loss as to what Daniel wanted from him, he figured that, if nothing else, Daniel deserved an honest response.

  ‘What can I tell you, Dan? It sounds... well, look, this isn’t really my field...’

  ‘You think I’m making it up.’

  ‘Not a bit of it. Why shouldn’t I believe you? I mean, it sounds amazing.’

  ‘You mean it sounds crazy...’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘But you thought it.’

  ‘Nah. If I discovered paradise I’d also want it to be like Club 18-30...’

  ‘Vince...’

  ‘Sorry. Sorry. I’m not making fun, honest. lI’s just, well, I mean... dreams.’

  Daniel nodded. ‘I know. They’re not exactly wh
at you’d call relevant, right?’

  Vince cleared his throat noisily. He could see that Daniel was in a real state over this, and desperately wanted to be of some comfort to him. But besides wanting to ease his friend’s evident anxiety, he felt he owed it to him to be honest, although he shied away from actually accusing Daniel of being mad.

  ‘Listen to me, Dan. In my world dreams don’t exactly hold centre stage. My life’s too mundane for dreams to be anything other than a distraction, something that happens. My dreams don’t carry over into my real life. Maybe that’s wrong. Maybe I’m missing out on something important. All I know is, I’ve never had a dream like the one you’ve described, so I can’t imagine what effect it might have on me. Common sense suggests I’d probably treat it in the same way as I did everything else. I’d laugh it off. But you know me. You know what I’m like.’

  Daniel smiled. ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’

  ‘I don’t mean to dismiss what you’ve been through. For all I know, you’ve tapped into something important. All I know is, I’d be careful about who I discussed it with.’

  ‘You do think I’m mad.’

  ‘All I’m saying is that you ought to be careful. I’m not the sort to jump to conclusions, but I’m sure... Here, you haven’t spoken to any doctors about this, have you?’

  ‘No, Vince,’ said Daniel wearily. ‘Don’t worry; no men in white coats are going to come chasing after me with a strait-jacket.’

  Vince frowned. He realised too late that he had done the wrong thing, and that any intimation that Daniel was off his rocker was likely to cause harm. ‘Actually, you should talk to Janice - she’s into that sort of stuff.’

  ‘What sort of stuff?’

  ‘You know... aromatherapy, crystals...’

  ‘... all that bollocks...’

  Vince laughed. ‘Yeah, well, she’s always rabbiting on about her dreams and how real they are and that. Personally, I don’t know what she’s on about half the time. Like I said, you’re not talking to the right man.’

  ‘But you see the problem. I had to talk to someone who knew me, who at least didn’t think I was a nutter.’

  Vince twitched uncomfortably at the reference; the thought was now revolving steadily in the back of his mind, flashing on and off like the blue light of a speeding police car.

  ‘Or Lisanne,’ he said, hoping to change the subject. ‘Why don’t you talk to Lisanne? She’d be much better qualified than me in these matters.’

  Daniel nodded reluctantly, then sighed. ‘I can’t. I can’t talk to Lisanne about it. And I can’t explain why.’

  Vince could see that the thought of discussing it with Lisanne made Daniel especially uncomfortable. He could not think what there was in the dream that could not be mentioned to your wife: after all, there was nothing sick or dirty or even shocking in it. Now that was something that Vince could have discussed with Daniel, albeit not in such public surroundings. Vince was still crazy about Janice, but there were certain events in his dreams that he would never tell her about.

  They had one more drink before Vince made his excuses. He reiterated his offer that Daniel and Lisanne must come to dinner one evening.

  Before saying their farewells, Vince took hold of Daniel’s elbow (the closest he had ever come to showing physical affection to his best friend).

  ‘Listen, Danny, I know I’ve not been much use to you this time...’

  ‘That’s not true...’

  ‘No, no, let me have my say. I feel like I’ve let you down in the past, and I haven’t exactly made myself useful this time either. But I want you to know... I mean, it’s important for me that you know I care, and that you can phone any time, day or night. It’s something I should have said ages ago, when you came back, only-’

  ‘Vince,’ interrupted Daniel, ‘you have nothing to feel bad about. You and Janice were marvellous. All this stuff, this business... it was my responsibility, my pain, my anger, and I had no right to expect anyone to take any of it away. I didn’t deal with it well. In fact, I acted very badly - I know that now. Perhaps I still am. But whatever, it’s up to me. You were there for me. I just wasn’t very gracious about accepting help at the time.’

  ‘Well I don’t know...’

  Daniel grabbed Vince’s right hand in his and held it fimily. ’Trust me. You have nothing to reproach yourself for.’

  Vince shook Daniel’s hand and nodded. ‘It’s good to have you back, Dan.’

  ‘Thanks. It’s good to be back,’ said Daniel, and spent the rest of the evening wishing that sentiment was even partially true.

  That evening, after dinner, Daniel and Lisanne sat together in the living room, not talking. There was nothing unusual about that. If Lisanne wasn’t working late, the evenings were often spent not talking. Even before the accident, ‘not talking’ was the steady-state of their relationship. Not because they had nothing to say to each other. On the contrary, before the accident had driven a wedge between them, they had more often than not been perfectly content just to sit with each other, particularly in the evenings.

  Often Lisanne would sit and read one of the interminable manuscripts that measured out her days and weeks like milestones, while Daniel sorted photographs, watched television, listened to music or read a book. In this manner they would pass several evenings each week, and there was never any sense that they were being deliberately uncornmunicative or antisocial. It was comfortable. In fact, Daniel had once thought this a true test of compatibility - to be able to sit together in the same space for hours without feeling the need to talk.

  However, since the accident this habit of not talking had become a convenient way of avoiding the problems that now circumscribed their relationship. Lisanne still read her manuscripts and Daniel still read a novel or watched the television, but instead of comfortable quietude an uneasy silence now hung in the air like a bad smell.

  Consequently, when the two of them sat together in the evenings these days, they found themselves trying to involve each other in occasional conversation, to make small-talk, in an attempt to alleviate the strained atmosphere and bridge the cavernous space between them. As if a few choice, well-intentional comments could heal the gaping wounds.

  That evening Lisanne sat on the sofa, leafing distractedly through a manuscript. Daniel sat in an armchair, staring fixedly at the television screen, wishing he could be somewhere else. Anywhere else. An unfunny sitcom gave way to a hysterical consumer programme exposing the dangers of mouthwash. This was followed by half an hour of Bad News - that was how Daniel thought of it these days - and a depressing five minutes in the company of a weatherman who delighted in informing his audience that more rain and cold winds were sweeping down from the north.

  Daniel flipped absentmindedly through the channels. He settled eventually on a Channel Four documentary. lt was already half over, and as soon as Daniel realised the subject matter he cursed silently his lack of discipline in the matter of reading television schedules.

  The documentary was about dreams.

  Daniel tuned in intently to what remained of the programme. He was surprised and delighted to discover that the subject was being treated seriously: all too often, programmes about dreams were just an excuse to flood the screen with clichéd special effects (dissolves, soft-focus shots, anachronistic psychedelia and outrageous makeup) before wheeling in a bunch of spaced-out mystics and hippies (usually Californian) who spouted nonsense about ecstatic visions, expanded consciousness and alternative realities.

  This particular documentary eschewed such trite techniques and focused, in particular, on the work of a German professor who had spent years investigating the phenomenon of lucid dreaming. Daniel had never come across the term before, but as soon as it was defined, he understood it completely.

  Apparently, there existed a small percentage of individuals who regularly became self-aware while dreaming and, having established for themselves that they were within a dream, could then direct the dream more or less according to
their whim. Daniel had never experienced quite this degree of control, but even before discovering Atheenaton he had known what it was to become aware that you were in a dream.

  It had happened on a few occasions, all of which followed the same pattern. The dreams were always nightmares, he was always being threatened with torture by individuals whom he did not know or recognise. Often, as the terror reached its zenith, he would realise he was dreaming and knew that he had only to commit some act of self-injury (of a fairly radical nature) to wake himself up and thus escape. Hence, rather than face the punishment threatened by his dream-villains, he would choose to throw himself through a window or leap off the top of a tall building or use whatever was to hand in the dream to shock himself back to wakefulness.

  It was not an ideal way in which to emerge from sleep, as when he succeeded in escaping from whatever imperilled him in his nightmare he would wake in a panic, a cold, clammy sweat slithering from his face, neck, chest and groin, his heart racing, his throat dry and sore. But, as he usually appreciated once his heartbeat had returned to normal, anything was preferable to the grisly, surreal horrors that his nightmares could conjure up.