Ex-Patriate Dream

Last night I dreamt of a school of bright orange fish in the deep blue sea. A solitary fish joined the school.

A cutaway view of a submarine showed a school of orange fish swimming inside it, though the sub seemed to be functional. The same solitary fish joined them.

The scene changed to what looked like a Middle Eastern countryside. It was the kind of place where ex-patriates from Europe might luxuriate in indolence. It felt like a previous generation.

A young woman with dark hair ventured out in a lacy white dress. She rode a donkey with a man escorting her. She reached out to a tree branch on a short slope. She leaned against it for the sheer joy of it, not caring who saw her.

The scene changed to a large plain hotel room. A couple of men and the young woman lounged there. A number of ex-pats could come and go as they pleased.

A man in a fez hat told at length to an ex-pat the names of all the corrupt people in the city. The ex-pat listened with interest. The man in the fez hat obviously hoped the ex-pat would act on the information.

After the man in the fez hat left, the ex-pat considered for a while. Then he decided, “Why not?” He gave a list of all the names to the authorities.

More time of indolence passed. Then a thirtyish ex-pat n a casual but neat suit came in from the ornate lobby, angry. He said to me, “Brown, you fool! The authorities arrested about a quarter of the men on your list. But didn’t you realize that the authorities enjoy doing business with the rest?”

He pointed at the young woman, concerned for her safety. “Get her out of here!”

It turned out I was Brown. I was the one that the man in the fez hat spoke to. I was the one who had accompanied the young woman. I was the fish who had joined the other fish in the sea.

I grabbed the young woman by the arm and got her out to the hot countryside, hoping to find some transportation.

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