I woke from the first and my alarm broke the second. In the first I was going to die. He was driving too fast down a hill and the car we were in plunged straight into the sea. It was deep and dark. I knew that we couldn’t be saved. That we were to die. I thought about how that might be, through lack of oxygen or drowning. I reached for his hand in the dark. I didn’t want him to panic, to feel frightened. I wasn’t. Then I woke. The second was much more convoluted. I was in a foreign country and had a philosophy class to attend. I didn’t know where it was and S. said that he would show me. H. was there sitting on a stool. I looked at his hands they were tiny, a doll’s hands. I touched him and felt his pulse through my palms. Then I was at the reception of this institution, not with S. but with a woman. We went into a canteen and another S. was there. I asked the woman who was sitting next to me, and who appeared now to be one of my sisters, if she’d ever read German Literature. I was still worried about this class I was supposed to be attending. Then I was outside, here, in the car park where a man with a small van was cremating bodies from his boot. On a Sunday? I asked.
