“I was going to say something about the importance of imagination to us
philosophers. In order to think new thoughts, we must be bold enough to let
ourselves go. But right now, he’s going a bit far.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I was about to mention the importance of reflection, and here we are,
presented with this lurid imbecility. He should be ashamed of himself!”
“Are you being ironic now?”
“It’s he who is ironic, not me. But I have one comfort—and that is the
whole cornerstone of my plan.”
“Now I’m really confused.”
“We have talked about dreams. There’s a touch of irony about that too.
For what are we but the major’s dream images?”
“Ah!”
“But there is still one thing he hasn’t counted on.”
“What’s that?”
“Maybe he is embarrassingly aware of his own dream. He is aware of
everything we say and do—just as the dreamer remembers the dream’s
manifest dream aspect. It is he who wields it with his pen. But even if he
remembers everything we say to each other, he is still not quite awake.”
“What do you mean?”
“He does not know the latent dream thoughts, Sophie. He forgets that
this too is a disguised dream.”
“You are talking so strangely.”
“The major thinks so too. That is because he does not understand his
own dream language. Let us be thankful for that. That gives us a tiny bit of
elbow room, you see. And with this elbow room we shall soon fight our way
out of his muddy consciousness like water voles frisking about in the sun on a
summer’s day.”
“Do you think we’ll make it?”
“We must. Within a couple of days I shall give you a new horizon. Then
the major will no longer know where the water voles are or where they will pop
up next time.”
“But even if we are only dream images, I am still my mother’s daughter.
And it’s five o’clock. I have to go home to Captain’s Bend and prepare for the
garden party.”
“Hmm ... can you do me a small favor on the way home?”
“What?”
“Try to attract a little extra attention. Try to get the major to keep his eye
on you all the way home. Try and think about him when you get home—and
he’ll think about you too.”
“What good will that do?”
“Then I can carry on undisturbed with my work on the secret plan. I’m
going to dive down into the major’s unconscious. That’s where I’ll be until we
meet again.”
Our Own Time
... man is condemned to be free…
The alarm clock showed 11:55 p.m. Hilde lay staring at the ceiling. She tried to
let her associations flow freely. Each time she finished a chain of thoughts, she tried