Monday, June 6, 2011

Stray Dog

Stray Dog (Fumi Kimura's Dream Death)

We’re making a long journey by train, Fumi, I, and two young followers. Between trains we hold up in separate rooms at a hotel near the station. It’s the Monaco in Guadalajara, but the train station is where the second class bus station should be. This is an example of how cities get rearranged in dreams. The followers in the dream represent Alex and Marcela Yerena, though they sometimes look like undefined others.

Seeing as it soon will be time to reboard the train, I wake up and go to Fumi’s room to get her, but find that she’s not where she should be. I run down the dimly lit orange carpeted corridor to the others’ room. Upon opening the door without knocking, I find them sitting together on the bed weeping. They say that the police have taken Fumi away. No one knows or asks what she has been charged with. Instead, the three of us head for the nearby railroad station, desperately trying to make our departure. Silently, my companions blame me for Fumi’s disappearance. Finally, as we reach our first destination, they ask why I haven’t brought her back.

Though I believe that I’m not responsible for her absence, I feel vaguely guilty for my inability to either obtain her release or to replace her. The pain of this loss, which the brother and sister keenly feel and attempt to assuage, is projected onto me, rather than directly felt. I am experiencing it, not as my own sorrow, but as the suffering I am causing them through my neglectful response. I have no answer to their question and give none.

Having hurried to catch the early morning train, thereby abandoning Fumi and any hope of retrieving her, we find that it has been predictably delayed and we must find space in the waiting area among the many poor folk who have been camped out there all night in hopes of getting a good second class seat on the journey.

The next night, in another dream with direct links to the previous one, the three of us arrive by rail in Mexico City, which at the same time is Tokyo as well. Looking for accommodations, our eyes tearing from the acids in the air, we step into a small bank that is also a tea shop. As someone (other than one of my two young companions, whose identities are often in flux) picks my pocket, a waitress/bank teller, behind the counter and a set of steel bars, informs me and the siblings of Fumi’s death in police custody.

Through the plate glass window, lettered with Japanese characters and Roman script, I notice a slender Japanese woman, dressed as a Geisha, standing on the sidewalk looking in at us, whom I recognize as Yoko Ono. I leave the “Strawberry Kids” in the shop, drinking tea and Mexican chocolate, and go out to speak with Yoko, as she apparently wants; though I have hitherto never met her because that singular opportunity coincided and conflicted with my sister’s going away party. I ask Yoko what she thinks I should do regarding Fumi’s death, how I could best console Alex and Marcela (or whomever they may be at that moment.) The Geisha, who looks nothing like Yoko, doesn't say anything for the longest time and I mistakenly suspect that she doesn't understand English. Eventually she looks into my eyes and telepathically instructs me to find the thief who has stolen my wallet and to retrieve my identity and personal wealth. She points down the bright street through the haze of the polluted atmosphere in the direction that I should pursue the unrecognizable thief. In the distance I see a sun withered middle aged woman with shoulder length curly hair and the demeanour of a hyena. As I approach her she turns and smiles as falsely as she possibly can and lets flow a stream of sanctimonious pablum, then sets about tearing apart Fumi’s corpse which takes the form of a giant Monchhichi (モンチッチ) doll lying on the sidewalk in front of her. As the bits of cotton stuffing rise and float about the cur and her prize, I turn away in confusion and disgust, heading back to Alex and Marcela, who are patiently waiting in the tea shop for my return.

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