For many years I’d been having the same night dream.
I come into a medieval town late in the evening or at night. The city is always empty. The street is illuminated with flaming lanterns, real fire flaring inside the white ball-shaped domes. I’m standing at the intersection of three streets, which form the letter Y.
A big, beautiful house of gray stone overlooks the streets, forming the upper part of the letter, and I always come down the tail of the street. I do not know the name of this city, or even the name of the street, but it always attracts and excites me. Every time I manage to get here, I walk through the deserted medieval streets and contemplate the houses, trying to understand where I am.
This dream is exactly how I imagine the medieval houses of wealthy citizens of that time. Pavement, buildings, walls, fences, everything is made of heavy gray stone, or from time-stained wood. Massive lanterns of wrought iron with ball-shaped domes with flames lighting the streets.
It’s a bit scary, yet I am even more curious to know why there is not a living soul on the street. After all, in any city, even in the dead of night, you can meet a belated passerby. Someone may be coming back home from a vacation or a business trip, or after wetting his or her whistle on a friend’s birthday.
And what about the lovebirds? They can be noticed in any city. Noticed is the best word here because they do not want to be stared at, but no matter how much they strive for intimacy they always get caught. When I go out at night this is what I see: Here’s a couple kissing behind a tree in a park. And here’s another one removing the light bulb in the entrance hall looking for a place to get cozy. That couple is simply walking around the city, holding hands and looking around amused, not recognizing their hometown. It seems completely unknown to them, so fabulous and beautiful is the power of love. Such nighttime lovebirds can be seen in any city. In any, but not in this one.
And what about the windows? I like to peep into the windows late in the evening. Someone in that room has a very beautiful chandelier. And the curtains in that window are amazing! I have to get the same for myself, just not claret-colored with silver but dark green with golden threads. Mostly warm green and other sunny hues predominate in my house. The palette of life.
And here are people sitting in the kitchen. Surely they are having a sociable drink. Nemiroff vodka with pepper, or Khortytsia, the platinum. Maybe some old friends scattered to the four winds have finally reunited. Or perhaps a neighbor simply dropped in to swig a glass before sleep.
In that window a young mother is carrying a baby in her arms. She is looking at him with eyes full of love and with a happy smile. Who will her beloved baby become, what kind of person will he be? Maybe he will become a world-renowned doctor who will save hundreds of lives and find a way to cure cancer. Or maybe he will end up as just a teacher at a school, but, certainly, the kind of teacher the children will love. Or maybe his destiny is to be a talented artist.
But in this city all the windows are so tightly shuttered that even a small gleam of light can’t fight through them. Is it so late that everyone is asleep?
It was only once that I came to this town in the afternoon. It was warm and sunny. A lot of people in bright clothes crowded around. I came to my intersection in the usual way. I had two Russian sighthounds, Borzoi, on a leash: a female, Onega, that once lived with me and passed away, and a black male dog. I used to have a male Borzoi too, Leader, but he was white. He died with Onega, and their death was one of the biggest losses for me. Partly, it was my fault, and I always felt that.
But when I entered the city, my mood was sunny like the weather and the light all around. I was glad to finally see the people living in this city. I’d finally ask them the name of the city and would be able to just talk to someone. But everyone was so busy with their own affairs that day that no one paid me any attention. I would just have to come back, in another time of dream.
But I was never able to dream my way back again.
It would have been better never to arrive there in the afternoon. Because after I had left the city, I never came back.
But I know for sure when I come here again, it will be the same wonderful weather, but it will be the last dream of my life.
In the meantime, I was made to start my life anew.
I was only thirty-nine.
Truly, God works in mysterious ways.