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I cried, and in a way that was a good thing because the tears
sealed me off, I could abandon myself to grieving for what I
had lost, and the fact that I was lost to life. I cried until
everything went pale, almost white, and it was then that the
strangest thing in the dream happened. The rubble was
lifted off my body and daylight streamed towards me.
Blinded, happy, I held my hands in front of my eyes; right
above me I could make out the contours of a figure, a man,
and when he bent down and examined my injuries, I felt
even happier, for I was sure that we knew each other – I just
didn’t know where from or how. I made a sign that I
wanted to be lifted up, but he didn’t touch me, only
shrugged his shoulders resignedly, and he then left me in
the ruins with quick, light steps. Just before he disappeared
over the horizon, he turned round and waved, and it was
then that I woke up.
If only I understood what the dream meant, if only I knew
who he was, why he didn’t want to take me with him. These
are the questions I am struggling with when evening comes
and Ragna is standing at the foot of my bed.
She stares at me sceptically.
‘What’s up with you? Have you seen a ghost?’
I don’t answer, but blink several times to try and escape
from the hypnotizing images. I shake my head
uncomprehendingly, look a bit worried, lift the duvet. And