A whisper inside his head. I heard it. Navahos conferring
with ancestral ghosts. A dream that both of us had when we did not know
each other yet. A woman came to me, white hair, gracefully bowing over my head.
I instantly knew - gentle persuasion - what she had to tell was of importance. Things
started tumbling, gliding, I ended up where I had never been before. Was this
part of the dream? Life doesn’t happen, it becomes true. For some it is blasphemy,
for some a deeper voice within. A thread weaving itself into beautiful reflections,
colourful layers in adamantine ice. What will happen when it starts melting? Too
many questions to answer, who can be consistent. I remember this woman who
lived next to next door. I was told she was mad, hearing voices, locking
herself into her head. Once when I was little, I rang her doorbell. She didn’t
open. She must have thought I was someone bad. She had lost her husband. I had
lost my shoe. I had brought her some food, but she wouldn’t take it. It could
have been poisoned. The street where we lived had a water canal. In winter it froze
and we skated. I had learnt it by shoving a chair. I would
skate in front of her house. We all would. We never asked questions. By now she
must be dead. Suddenly he starts believing in angels. I know it because I heard the voice inside his head. I start wondering who of us is
mad.
