The Patient.

This tape recounts a dream which appeared close to the termination of approximately four hundred hours of intensive, individual therapy. Now, the patient recounts his dream.

[Tape crackles and the recording begins].

I had a dream earlier this morning. I wrote it down so that… So that I could share it with you. The dream is that I’m sort of a… And I’m at the beach… Like a summer’s day. And I feel like there’s just too much going on. Like… Like, there’s all these different things going on around me and I can’t control any of it.

Out on the water, there’s this ship. And, I think the Russians have something to do with it. I think they’re up to something. It doesn’t make sense being there… The ship. But there’s no one to tell. I need to warn everyone, but there’s no one to tell.

There’s the ship. And I know something’s wrong… And there’s all the people on the beach. There’s the children in the water, and they’re swimming and laughing. But their happiness is loud and harsh. Their paddling is so angry. But… They’re not swimming. They’re drowning. The parents stand in the shallows. Why aren’t they moving? Why aren’t they doing anything. Is it the Russians again? I just don’t know… There’s so much going on…

Families sit on the sand. There’s a lot of sand. There’s a lot of families. Umbrellas block out the sun, and in the coolness of the shadows they eat ice cream. Tongues licking. Ice cream melting. There’s a lot of sand. Beneath fingernails. Between fingers and toes. On tongues. In the ice cream. Stuck in teeth. Why are they eating the sand? I need to warn them… But there’s no one to tell.

People are dancing along the coastal road. Swimsuits and bikinis and music and cocktails. They’re all having a good time. There’s music and there’s a man with a microphone and his counting… One. Two. Three. Four… And everyone starts dancing. On the coastal road. The sunshine sparkles different colours through the banting. Plastic cups shimmer with drink. One. Two. Three. Four… But there’s traffic on the way. I can see the cars come around the beach head. One. Two. Three. Four cars. All coming around the beach head. And the people are dancing. I need to warn them. But there’s no one to tell…

Back on the beach, amongst the umbrellas and the families and the sand and the melting ice cream, there is an old lady. She’s white as bone. She’s looking at me. Her face is covered by the shadow of her hat. No one else seems to notice her.

Birds wheel overhead. They grin as they sing the summer song. Black little marble eyes glitter against the blue sky. Summer song. Black eyes… Strange, isn’t it?

The old lady is closer… White as bone. She’s scurried across the sand like a spider. Long limbs and gnarled joints. I still can’t see her face though. So white beneath the summer song.

The waves crash on the shore. Light refracts in the foam. Splinters of sunshine, like shards of broken glass, glitter hues of green and red and blue. The waves crash on the floor and the children are drowning.

The old lady is next to me now. Her skin shines with sun lotion. Slick. Wet. Uncomfortable. Sticky with sand. Under the brim of her hat, her face is long and waxen. A melted candle in the heat. She stares at me with a broad smile full of grey teeth. She says there’s no one else to tell, but me…

One. Two. Three. Four. There’s screaming on the coastal road, but I can’t look away from the old lady. She kneels beside me and tells me that there’s people hiding bodies under her garage. I try to look away, but she holds me close with her hands, and I can’t look away. Grey teeth. Face like a melted candle. She… She needs to warn me. I’m.. like the only one she can tell. She tells me there’s people hiding bodies under her garage.

There’s sand everywhere. In the ice cream. Under nails. Between fingers and toes. They’re hiding bodies under her garage… She tells me this because I’m the only one. I look down and see buried faces in the sand.

The summer song wheels overhead. The parents stand along the shore and do not move. The children laugh and paddle and drown and the old lady tells me they’re hiding bodies under her garage. There’s so many faces in the sand. Buried. Hiding. I need to warn them… But there’s no one to tell…

And… And that’s the dream. I mean… I don’t mind having all of this going on inside of me. It’s sort of… I think I’ll be relieved when it’s all over. When I can sort of settle back down again.

[Tape crackles to conclusion. Recording ends.]