The Bohemian Embassy ....Part 2 ....A Wistful Dream
That first night in the flat was pleasant. The house faced High Park and had a balcony with a small table and two chairs. The temperature had crept up into the fifties, so I sat out that night watching the moon and sipping Shiraz.
I went to bed just after midnight and almost instantly fell into a deep sleep.
I had a very realistic dream.
In my dream, a Siamese cat got into my flat through the balcony window. The cat’s owner was a beautiful girl who came down the fire escape looking for her pet. She spotted the cat in my apartment. That’s when things got interesting.
She entered the apartment, we met, and as is often the way in dreams, one thing led to another and before long we were kissing on my couch.
The whole situation was trite, but also surreal—mostly because of the beautiful girl and the magical way we met.
When I awoke from the dream, the aura lingered—it felt so real, I could swear it actually happened, and with unreasonable logic, I found myself hoping it did.
However, the day unfolded with the same boring predictability of every other day in my furtive life—I was caught in morning traffic and arrived fifteen minutes late for my lecture.
Fortunately, most of the students waited instead of heading for the caf. But the bad start cascaded and by four o’clock that afternoon, I was heading home, tired, defeated and definitely vexed.
As I exited my Porsche I had the misfortune to run into Antoine Bastard, my mad landlord, carrying a baseball bat. He had an intense fire in his eyes.
“Were you disturbed last night, M. Henderson?” he asked.
“No, not at all,” I replied, not wanting to share any details with the man.
“There was an intruder on the premises,” he said bluntly, pointedly tapping the bat against the brick wall to signify his readiness to avenge the crime.
“Really—is that why you’re carrying that bat?”
The man's eyes grew wild.
“This is not a bat,” he fumed, “this is a baton used by the Parisian gendarmes during the Second War—this particular one delivered 25 blows to the head of a collaborator.”
My heart raced. I hoped he did not see me in that light. Obviously, the man was deranged.
The landlord fixed me with a penetrating gaze, and for a moment, I thought he suspected me of collaborating in the break-in. But then, just as suddenly, his wits turned. “Well, take care my friend—I will be patrolling tonight.”
I assured him I was glad of his protection, but frankly, wondered if staying in a hotel might not be a better option. I hurried up to the safety of my flat.