CONGRATULATIONS on your marriage, someone said. I got married? I thought. When did that happen? “And her mother is so proud?” “She is?” “Yes, because you’re such a good person!” Then I knew I must be dreaming. This was the stuff of dreams. She was the girl, quite literally, of my dreams. But now we were married? There we were in some kind of apartment. It was night out. She was sitting there on the couch. She looked dazed, as if she too wasn’t quite sure what had happened or where she was. She said she wanted to be free. She made it very clear she wanted nothing to do with me. But there she was, sitting. “We’re really married?” I asked. She just blinked at me, but also looked a little tired. Like a kitten that is licking its fur a few more times before it takes another long nap. I walked over to the kitchen table. There were, sure enough, multiple documents in Estonian, with both of our names typed onto them. Abielutunnistus. The whole thing was puzzling. I had no recollection of getting married to her. But she was the girl of my dreams. The most beautiful woman, as I saw it, to be found on the green globe. These were facts, not to be doubted. Doubting them only made life a terror.
Quickly, I accepted this wondrous fate.
Later, I found myself walking through a tunnel. There was no light in the tunnel, and when I reached the end and felt for a door. When I opened it, seawater flooded in. I was afraid I would drown, but it only rose as high as my thighs. As I emerged from the tunnel, I saw someone leap over me into the water. I looked up and realized that the door was in an old tower. There were other dark forms up there, readying to leap into the waves. A young blond man came walking my way from the beach and I asked him what was happening. “Night swimming!” the youth announced. Then he proceeded to climb the tower to prepare for another big sea jump.
All along that beach, I could see people night swimming. The sea, they said, was warmer at night. There was a grand hotel along the promenade, perhaps built during the Victorian Era. It was very clear that I was in England now; I could tell from the people’s accents. Maybe some place like Brighton. “Is the water that warm?” I called out to someone. “Oh, yes, come in, love,” she answered. “It’s so lovely.” I waded into the seawater and an enormous wave rose up high. Thereafter I dove in straight. An exhilarating feeling.
When the sun came up, I could see the beach was not all it seemed. There was a lot of seaweed along the shore and it smelled rather ripe. There were a few cargo ships moored nearby. The smell of their fuel mingled with the sea detritus. At the hotel, a café had opened up. People were sitting around and having their morning coffee. Women in poofy white Victorian dresses and men with black bowlers. Waiters were taking their orders. I walked into the café and looked around. What else was there to do, but pull up a seat and order up my own hot cup?
north! 