Listen, she said, though she had no idea of another person there or who it might be. Now, listen to me very carefully.
But the other one did not understand the request — neither its content nor who was making it in the dark. The strangely exciting instruction was a mere acoustic experience. He wanted to absorb it, but he had no idea to whom the excitement belonged. A piece of knowledge was missing. As if he were reaching down into a painful darkness where once, a long time ago, all this had already happened. The way pain shoots into well-embedded roots of teeth.
I’ll tell you quickly what I’ve been dreaming, continued the female voice, full of suppressed excitement and whispering from very close up. Listen, please.
As if she were speaking out of the warm inside of the darkness and with this strange voice of hers managing to reach and stroke the cool surface of flesh. But she couldn’t have said whose flesh had cooled and in whose flesh she sensed the voice’s contact.
This time I have it, she exclaimed hoarsely, now I can tell you. Which also made the man wonder — no, alarmed him, he didn’t know — who was this person, within or without him, who either knew or wanted something so much.
And she felt that in the unfriendly outside world her exclamation sounded stupid. How could the other person understand, if she herself had no idea what it was she had. On the contrary, there wasn’t anything, nothing, there were only these cold walls, much too close, this rotten little room. Nothing palpable. After all, I’m dreaming all this. I only feel there’s something I should be able to tell, share with someone, a wish, an empty longing.
She saw all around her a diaphanous yet brilliant and unfamiliar view, glowing with lights, which she had seen before yet could not identify completely with what she was feeling, given the sight before her. Thoughts and objects were incongruous, and so were the objects of her thoughts; everything was a little out of joint. The other one now admitted her into him, or she admitted him into her; she definitely felt this. While with open eyes she observed that they were admitting each other, she saw out from between the disjointed parts, and she found herself alone at the bottom of the water; the water was moving, running, smoothing over her body, carrying it along as if it would tear it apart and rip off her clothes. She was admitted by an enormous, caressing hollowness suffused and seared by the vibrating, glittering, midday summer sun. Something ominous was pulling, dragging her downward, no matter how strongly she protested. She did not protest. She was overwhelmed by happiness. And she could say of this, with absolute certainty, that it wasn’t a dream; she always knew it wasn’t, not a recurring dream. Still, she couldn’t speak of it to the other person because every time she opened her mouth to say something, the water rushed in and she kept having to swallow it.
I don’t know, said the man, and he also didn’t know what it was he didn’t know. I don’t know when we fell asleep. Which sounded a little more like a question than a statement. But he wasn’t certain there was someone else in this darkness, someone he could ask. He had doubts; maybe he was dreaming all this. Or maybe he was dreaming that he was dreaming, and then it would make no sense to ask questions. I can’t, I don’t know what I’m dreaming, he added more loudly.
His own voice made him more awake.
But he couldn’t be sure it was his own voice. Nagging doubt persisted. He found nothing that could convince him of anything.
I think I’ve finally figured it out, listen, I think we’re in a whirlpool.
Well, that’s interesting.
I mean it, a whirlpool, pulling you down, Gyöngyvér continued loudly, almost shouting, which made the other one feel ill at ease. This is a whirlpool, I figured that out, it can’t be anything else. That is to say, I keep on dreaming it again and again, you know, you understand, I keep dreaming that the water is burying me.
And while she was talking, myriad parts of the shining silkiness of the water flooded her, and its enormous weight pressed down on her, and still she managed to speak.
Yet it was gratitude that gathered and hoisted her up from the depths of the water, a feeling that made her float, a feeling that she would carry the other person away within her. Fortunately she didn’t say this aloud. That would have been like announcing that she wanted to drown the other person within her.
Funny, you’re saying it’s a whirlpool, the man continued, and his tone was as if he were rushing into her. And you say it is burying you. He heard his questions, simultaneously understanding and resisting them. No, that can’t be, he said aloud. Or perhaps I’ve gone mad, but this he did not say out loud.
Whirlpool, yes, whirlpool, believe me, the woman insisted. The reason I can tell you about it is that — I’m telling you, you understand, I couldn’t tell it to anyone else — if I tell you, the water doesn’t come in my mouth when I talk.
What she heard echoing from her words was the gratitude she felt for the other person, and although she could see the outline of his face she did not remember exactly who he was, this person so close to her, so familiar. Which strengthened her gratitude and allowed happiness to grip her by the hair so strongly that she almost lost her breath. But this condition included all her insecurities.
She knew that now she’d be pulled out of the water. Everything grew dark and gaped before her. The sun shone into her face.
Interesting, this is indeed very strange and interesting, replied the other person in the darkness, a hoarse and familiar other voice. He remembered at last. Now I also know, he continued more loudly, using the strength of his own voice to convince himself. He was not dreaming, no. And he had not gone mad. They were telling their dreams to each other. I’ll tell you my dream too, what I’ve dreamed so suddenly.
No, don’t, the woman protested. If you do, I’ll wake up and then I won’t be able to tell you any more. I’ll drown then, she exclaimed desperately.
They were both startled at this, or rather, this too became part of their long, smooth, slowly unfolding awakening. They saw each other, heard each other’s laughter, noticed from close up the astonishment on each other’s face, and this calmed them both.
Hey, we’re completely nuts, laughed the woman. We imagine we’re dreaming when we just can’t wake up — or something like that.
I’m not clear about when we could have fallen so fast asleep, the man said, growing somber. I really don’t remember anything.
He was afraid that in his sleep he might have said something that betrayed him. Again he remembered the open garden gate as the powerful beam of his car’s headlights swept across it. I don’t understand when, he repeated aloud. And what was this strong buzzing, or someone’s loud shouting.
Laughter bubbled up from the woman. How can one shout and not be noisy. Maybe you dreamed of me shouting once. Oh, you’re so sweet, and how much I love you. But this made her laugh falter — it was the first time she’d uttered the phrase.
No, no, replied the man, as if not even registering the confession; he was like a gigantic engine coming ever closer.
How should I know what you dream. I don’t even know who I am or where I am.
No, I distinctly remember the buzzing, the man insisted, watching the woman’s features carefully, hoping to detect a telltale sign. He saw her enthusiasm and saw dread passing in front of her like a dark cloud. And on top of it all, he said, I’m sorry, forgive me for bothering you with this, but I have to pee; I’ve had to for hours, I really don’t know for how long.