The following is a transcription of a dream I had while sailing on the boat. Curiously, I was aware while dreaming of the fact that this story was being constructed and told to myself simultaneously. Sleeping on the boat mid-ocean was often difficult and the sleep was not a deep one. As a result many of the dreams I had were extremely vivid and easy to recall. They often took place on the boat itself, set in the context specifically of the ocean crossing. This particular dream is interesting because it serves as record of my sub-conscious expectations for the Portuguese Islands that we were approaching after 16 days at sea.
I once was stranded for several weeks on a remote island insulated by miles and miles of windless sea in every direction. The boat on which I had arrived had numerous repairs to be done, and the modest resources of the quaint marina made progress on those tasks slow and inconsistent. In my boredom and loneliness I often left the glow of the boat’s cabin at night to wander the narrow stone-cobbled streets of the town. There was one avenue in particular, very long, with colorful three and four story apartments at either side, which I would frequent in the hopes of coming across some novelty or enchanting company to fight against the monotony and restlessness that weighed upon me so heavily. On one especially clear and chilled night I turned down my usual street, which began atop a steep incline, descended into a depression where several apartments had their cellar and lower-level apartment entrances exposed, and by the end of several small town blocks, the street climbed to its original starting height. I walked slowly along the sidewalk in the light cast by a handful of street lamps, along with a blueness from the prominent moon. The town was silent and it seems not a person was stirring. As I reached the lowest part of the street a presence caught the corner of my eye and I started at such unexpected company. Just inside a gate, in the small entry space or front stoop to an archaic dusty old building, was an old and very frail man. He peered at me with a subtle, squinting smile, as I suppose he had peered at me since I had come into his sight at the top of the street. His neck was extremely long relative to his short squat face, yet it was handsome head that had something of a bird-like quality to it, with very bright deep-set eyes and a thin elegant nose. His dark wrinkled skin shimmered like the reflections of the moon on the sea at night, so silver was the gritty stubble of his sharp chin and jaw-line. Unkempt white hair stuck wildly from his head where it wasn’t tamed by a tight-fitting red beret hat. In the instant that I became aware of his company, I had to decide whether to stop and make conversation with this old man or continue my stroll. He was leaning back against the waist-high stone retaining wall of the patio, and he seemed to be waiting for something. Seeing as he was probably the only resident on the entire island awake at such an hour, I decided to pause and bid him a goodnight, if nothing else to lightly satiate my curiosity and aloneness. I recall thinking what a great pity it was not to be practiced in the habit of tobacco smoking, since an extended invitation to share a cigarette would have been a less awkward beginning to our interaction than my faint-hearted “goodnight, to you sir” as I came to a stop and leaned against an outside pillar of the open iron gate. His blank stare reminded me that he was more likely to understand Spanish, so I quickly repeated the greeting, “buenas noches, senor.” In a crumbly tone he remarked that indeed, the night was good. As he said this, his thin, long lips strained to cover the teeth behind them as he gave me a warm, beaming smile, making his mumbled Portuguese difficult to catch. That he stared at the narrow strip of sky above with his smile still on his face was a great relief to me; it said that he was content to sit in silence in each other’s strange company. His smile suddenly faded, still with his falcon-like profile cocked up to the sky and his cheeks hallowed with the pull of an absent-minded frown. He seemed to suddenly remember my presence and looked down at me again, with the same solemn frown on his face. Upon meeting my eyes, the bursting expression of youthful happy mischief returned all over again and he let out a satisfied ‘humph’, as if he had just finished a filling meal. His eyes seemed to water to the point of tearing up, so taxing was the strain of overflowing good humor written across his ancient face.
I gave a second start all over again when, my eyes having adjusted to the shadows of this cool alcove, I found myself looking into three more pair of eyes gazing calmly back at me. Three magnificent canine faces emerged from the darkness to the old man’s side. I explained to him how pleasantly surprised I was to find these beautiful animals out in this good night with us. He nodded as I knelt down to cautiously allow the foremost dog to smell my hand. Each dog was a very different breed from the other two, and each of its own size. The middleweight animal caught my attention first. He bore a strange resemblance to the old man, both in the shape of his neck and head but also in his wise face. The fur was a deep amber orange, and was an incredible soft and fine, though his coat was reasonably short. In emphasis of his long neck, the hair below his muzzle and ears slightly bushed out, almost like a beard. This reminded me of the appearance of a fox. Most remarkable was the body of the dog, which oddly seemed to take on the appearance of a mummified paper-maiche dog doll, though it never betrayed any signs of inflexibility of stiffness. It was as if an Egyptian painting of a god in the body of an elegant dog had become incarnate in the animal before me. I told both the old man and his companion my thoughts. Again, he nodded as if in agreement.
I had little time for examination of the small or large dog behind my new fox-like friend, or further interaction with the mysterious presumed owner of them. When I asked him how long he had had the dogs, he replied curiously that he had never owned them, but merely hoped to know them. With this last word he promptly turned around and went in the back door of the building, still smiling as though he had played a prank on me that I had not yet realized. So sudden was his departure that I was sure he had gone into the house only briefly to retrieve something to show me, something that could account for his queer parting words. However, he did not return and I was left in the company of the proud dogs who looked out onto the street in static formation, like statues.
Not a moment later, I heard the metronymic echo of footsteps coming towards the dogs and me, though their ears were already at attention and their nostrils danced, becoming accounting with the approaching figure before he passed. Instead of passing, however, he paused, as if in surprise, and turned to face us, bidding us good evening. He was middle-aged wearing a black suit and shiny black shoes and had a non-descript face hidden by a black velvety bowlers hat. He sat down in between the dogs and me, offering me a smoke from a silver cigarette tin. I declined, frustrated at myself again for not having smoked, thanking him kindly so he would know I was not rejecting his company but only his tobacco. With a wink and a smirk he artfully made a stick of chewing gum appear at his fingertips and said “a gum stick there?” I smiled and unwrapped his gift. The glowing white gum was covered in a delicious powder and its flavor called into my imagination an entire history of the cultivation of gum bases and their flavorings with herbs and spices. I thanked him and became aware of the awkward mystery of our interaction; I felt as though neither of us knew the position of the other. It seemed too late and out of place to suddenly confess to him that I wasn’t the resident in this great building, nor the owner of the dogs. At the same time I didn’t want to insult his attempts at friendship by asking if he lived here, or if these dogs were his dogs, as if to say, but why are you here? So neither of us said anything, except when he remarked on the magnificence of these dogs, revealing nothing. He seemed both impressed and affectionate, perhaps even in awe as I was, in regard to the three dogs, but I did not know if he knew them intimately or was as much of a stranger to them as I was.
Having glanced down at my watch when this suited gentleman had first come strolling down my way, I knew when I consulted the ticking hands once more that exactly one hour had passed, for it was now two o’clock. We had scarcely exchanged greetings and yet the time had flown by in our mutual silent contemplation of the fox and his big and small canine companions. Never had I been more deeply engrossed by the returned gaze of the returned gaze of any creature, Their eyes seemed to reflect my heart’s solitude, and in those great mirrors I found great solace and comfort.
The sky had seemed, under sail like a great ocean of stars but now, obscured by the buildings it was a narrow swath cutting through the village skyline above us. In the deep blue haze that had descended on me, I felt as though the suited gum-bearing gentleman and the three dogs and I were on a great barge, the whole mysterious street and it’s colorful facades being gently swept along by a benevolent star-fated current to a horizon of sunrise. But at two o’clock sharp my visitor stood up abruptly and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Flustered by my sleepiness I mumbled that it was so, but the truth is that this stranger had left me as bewildered as the first. As he walked away down the middle of the street he said without turning around, “You dogs be good now.”
I sat alone now absent-mindedly scratching the dogs behind their ears as they lay down next to me. I was very tired but I remained frozen in that position, thinking about the strange sequence of events. I stared straight ahead, deliberating as to whether I could go back to the boat and finally go to bed without feeling anxious about having left the dogs without anyone to look after them. They seemed so remarkable and so out of place. If I left, would I close the gate or leave it open? Would they try to follow me? Surely I would wait just another few moments longer and hope that the mystery of the strange night would reveal itself.
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