dream blog 4

I'm in the warsaw ghetto and the nazis are shooting us. I'm with a man, but I'm not sure if he's my husband, my brother or my friend. we're at the top of this tower building and they're trying to shoot us down, but neither of us gets shot, amazingly. it is terrifying, war sounds filling my ears, trying to dodge bullets and keep out of sight. the gunshots and bombs recede. 

we go inside to my flsr apartment, but it's all old and dirty, with furniture of the era and a wonderful old piano. we play, he, mozart, upbeat, and I, chopin, tragic and heart-breaking. I'm not sure if I have children, I'm pretty sure I would have been more concerned about them if I had, but they take the children to a central location to try and protect them. 

there's a library in the 3rd floor commons, still open, and I go. it's the morning when we know the nazis are going to attack; everyone sitting in the library, just a handful of people, aren't really there for any other reason than to casually await their deaths. it looks like it's run by nuns, but they're probably just stern, capable, uniformed females. they go about their library tasks, facing death with efficiency and defiance. a couple people, a professor here, a student there, continue studying as if nothing of any consequence were happening today, as if studying would transition them to the next world without any pain at all. most of the books are gone anyway, so I go back to the apartment empty-handed.

there's a key on a little rod that I have to keep safe, it is so crucially important. I'm carrying it everywhere. I set it once on the piano while I play, once on the wooden shelves. I think I've misplaced it, find it, think about putting it in my shoe, but don't. there's something strangely comforting about clutching it in my fist. the man and another woman tell me we're bringing the couch and chairs down to help form a barricade. we start to take them outside, but they take it down and I stay. they come back soon with the couch. they didn't need it for some reason. 

a storm starts to brew, wind blowing old boxes and broken chairs and paper all through the dirty alleyways. I hear the planes approaching, but the storm picks up, it's impossible to see. they can't possibly see. I watch at the window, the curtain held back with my hand, as the wind blows harder and the torrents come down and fill the empty field and the wide alley stairways. everything's a river -- gray, swirling, angry. 

and suddenly the storm clears. there's a lake in the center of all the buildings where the field was. everyone runs out as I watch. they strip down and start diving and swimming in the lake. everything has gone from muted grays to brilliant green grass and dazzlingly azure blue lake and ponds everywhere. the water is like a tropical sea, beautiful and other-worldly. it hurts my eyes. people are swimming and cheering and laughing, carefree, naked and wild in their joy of survival. 

I think, what fools, the planes will be back any minute, the sky has cleared, they're going to mow them down. soon enough, I hear the drone of german planes. I let the curtain drop as cries of recognition start to go up outside. fear rises in my chest. the key digs into my palm. I hide under the piano as the bombs start to drop.

I don't know if I live or not -- my mom called me and I woke up.