Dreams May 13, 2012
Besides wearing a scarf to cover my hair in public, I must be sure to wear a white kerchief underneath the scarf; a white kerchief to hide the bit of my hair that would otherwise peek out from the scarf. This is even stricter than I remember, I think. It is so strict, how can I do it? I don’t want to do it.
We are indoors now, so our hair is showing carelessly. Dark curly hair. I tell a friend what I had heard. “Let me tell you what my mother said about me,” I tell her. The friend says perhaps the information isn’t reliable; I shouldn’t believe everything I hear. “But I overheard my mother, myself. I was nearby and she didn’t realize I could hear her.” Oh, that is different, agrees my friend. She follows me to another table so we can have some privacy.
“She was talking to my teachers. She asked them if I was good in creative writing. Yes, the teachers said I was excellent. So my mother told them, ‘Don’t tell her that so often, don’t let her know.’ She asked the teachers if I was jealous. The teachers said no, I’m not.” I tell my friend, “She is looking for things wrong with me.”
Next — our army is waiting to engage in combat. I find myself walking at the end of a long column of marchers; the end with the women and children. They are Germans; why am I here? Am I a spy? I don’t understand why I’m here, but I know to keep myself incognito. Oh no, we women are not safe; some of our own soldiers are throwing stones from the unpaved path. I hope I don’t get hit. I hope I don’t get recognized, and no one tries to speak to me in German, which I don’t understand. Now we are crowding near round huts. What are they? I am afraid. I feel so vulnerable, so at risk.