In the dream, he's married. And not to me, of course. The family tyrant, his father, made him marry when he was twenty-four, wanted him to be in a family. In the dream Mr. Doctor tells me he's married to a voluptuous woman and that I look like an alien from outer space. He has lots of grown children, a son he loves more than all the rest. I don't know about daughters. He loves the son who is twenty, big and grown. He was always big and grown.
The son hates the father. I don't know the mother, she's not in the dream. Only he and his son and his father and me, talking on the phone, telling how his father pushed him to be an important career-professional whose family was merely an adjunct to keep him going/fully to the top.
The wife leaves and now I see his mother standing on the periphery of his father's family of which he, Mr. Doctor, is also an adjunct.
Now the sisters floating, feet above ground, spirits, imps decorate the lawn, their garments dotting the landscape, float in a breeze, hair shining in the afternoon sun.
Two pink ladies flat on their backs sandwiched between a bed and a body, old sweaty flesh beat against their insides, beat against their insides, beat against their, beat against, beat
copyright2005Esther Altshul Helfgott
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