The amazement is indescribable, the pen trembles from excitement, from disbelief.
Is it true? But how is it possible that I, after all these years, decided to force myself to write?
Let me state in advance—in a way that you, even you, will not allow yourselves to be swept up by emotion—that what I have to say is not enough to tire my hand.
Well then, where can I begin? The truth is…well, I want to narrate nothing more than…a dream! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, believe it or not, Hipparcus will narrate a dream! “Well, so what!” you will say. “What is so special about all this, besides the fact you might have had an erect organ for some time, if it is true the organ becomes erect every time one dreams!”
No my friends. To me, all this has elements of the fantastical. I, with my chronic insomnia, which, to be perfectly honest, no cure and no doctor has been able to soothe, to overcome, or at least to improve, have not had a dream for so long!
You see, the very fact that I had a dream, also means that I slept, even if it was for a very short amount of time.
Does one dream if he does not sleep?
No, and so…And it seems I have also discovered the magic word, rather the magic phrase to help me fall asleep, even if for a very short time, I repeat, but short for one who spends his nights without closing his eyes. It is much, but often that very little is worthy of eternity.
An hour of sleep gives me energy for days…the weight I feel without fail on my cheeks, yes, exactly here on my cheeks, disappears miraculously, almost as the veil that covers my eyes, and I find myself in a state of complete peace with the elements.
What is the magic phrase? I will tell you, though I risk your laughter:
“Another five minutes and I will get up, I promise.” and I did not have time to pronounce it as I felt the dream in question arrive.
Why did I ever decide to write it down?
In truth, I can’t even explain it myself.
It is possible the person who appeared to me in the dream, together with other less important persons, ultimately occupied my mind in a way I can describe as pleasing.
Nothing to be alarmed about, though!
She could be my daughter!
In fact, if you asked me to describe her, her face (I saw her in the city a few times, together with other friends) is not very clear in my memory; I doubt I would be able to describe her very satisfactorily.
What was carved in my mind, what impressed me in a very fatal way and what I attempt to describe is her voice.
It’s a voice of irresistible sensuality.
It is a voice that absorbs you, a voice that catches you, a voice that captivates you.
I am left speechless upon hearing it: the ear wraps itself up, gives way, lends itself, allows itself to be submerged by this flood, it allows itself to be transported.
Magical powers?
I would surely say so.
It’s a voice that miraculously throws open doors, which by now seemed closed forever.
It evokes the most merry and thoughtless moments when I was in my twenties.
Heavens reappear, which once were covered by eternal darkness.
And so having extended myself on the description of the voice, whereas the scope was to narrate the facts, the dream, even if…I have to tell you all about it frankly, in this moment I would pay anything, I would gladly sell my soul to the devil, in order to be in this wonderful flood even for a moment.
“What are you waiting for, pick up the phone and call, you idiot!” you would say.
But no, it’s not right…I desist because, I repeat, mine is the thought, a fantasy that I need, as soon as possible, to erase from my rotten head.
“Another five minutes and I will get up, I promise.” And I found myself in a very large house, to be precise in the country home of my friend Norma, who, this time, just like all the other times, invited me to spend a few hours at the pool, during her absence due to travel.
I was there and I was surprised at the fact that I had invited so many people to the beautiful home, a home that was not mine, and there was an infernal bustle. There were also children whom I could not remember if I had invited or not. The only thing I wanted to do was physical exercise, so I had been looking for a few hours for the exercise room, convinced I would find a stationary bike.
For reasons I could not understand, I was lost in a labyrinth of rooms. The more doors I opened and the more I distanced myself from the little room,… I thought I knew exactly where it was… “ It faces the pool,” I repeated to myself, hoping to find it, door after door.
My frustration was increasing, minute by minute.
All of a sudden, among many voices, I hear one voice, the voice, and I follow it from room to room, then outside away from the main entrance, outside the gate, and there, my surprise mingled with boredom, the green of forests which surround the house dissolves. In front of my confused eyes appears a sidewalk in the center of a deserted village.
It was atrociously hot.
I sit down in expectation.
The voice slowly becomes a person.
It is she, truly she, who advances towards me very slowly and looks at me with a fixed gaze as if to scrutinize my thoughts.
She scrutinizes and scrutinizes…
Then she takes me by the hand, pulls me up almost to make me get up, then she changes her mind and sits on my legs and begins to caress me.
Her words now are not clear anymore.
I am in ecstasy.
It is not the meaning of what she says that interests me, but her voice, the music of those words, which awaken in me my most secret feelings.
Then, unexpectedly, but clearly satisfying my most intimate desire, she begins to kiss me passionately.
It is precisely in this moment that her face changes in my eyes.
Yes, in fact, it is not she, whose tongue I am swallowing up in my mouth, but to my disappointment it is Melissa, who has nothing in common with the girl from the dream, but young age. Nothing else.
An abyss, between the two.
There is no comparison that holds.
She feels my disgust, gets up, and, as she is about to go, whispers (and it is her voice that I hear): “For the first day, I think that’s enough, but don’t disillusion yourself. Bye!”
I raise my confused eyes and next to her appears a young girl that I seem to know.
They turn around and I see, enraged, a grimace on their faces, whose meaning I force myself to figure out; but now, unexpectedly, I feel hit by rain. Rather, it is not rain, but something that has completely covered the road and all the roofs of the houses.
I touch my shoulders, I fill my hand with it, I bring it to my nose, to my mouth; it is odorless and without taste.
It seems like sand, but it is not fine and it is yellowish.
While I observe the footprints left by the two girls, their bodies became two little points, I wake…and it is all here.
Figure this out!
What remains, before all, is the fact that I dreamt, a great rarity, and that this morning I feel this overbearing need to throw black on white.
It may be that I am so incredulous that, perhaps, in describing the dream, I do nothing more than give myself the clearest proof that a dream came so very vividly that I could remember even the tiniest details.
Of all this, what will now remain in me? I hesitate to admit it.
What remains is a desire to fall headlong into that voice, to leave myself overwhelmed by its fullness, its voracity.
A caprice, a longing, a pleasure, call it whatever resonates with you, but it’s true. It’s absurd!!
To the Voice
In vain do I go longing for the prophetic voice;
Now that the leaden silence torments me, it is atrocious.
Sweet I found the thrill, sweet I found the whisper,
A clamor of her “Alas!” that would flood me with azure...