The Prison of Dreams

For thirty years the door of my cell has stood open. It is the worst of the tortures they ever invented here. The cells are hollowed out facing one another in the walls of a gigantic mine shaft. From each threshold a narrow stone path drops steeply down. They ought to cross, yet not one of them touches another. Down below, a rectangle of daylight stirs. Warm, honeyed, patient. On the copper plate by the threshold is written:

"Step out - and the cell will take the one whose dreams have kept your face the longest." The old man across from me hardly ever spoke. Only once, catching my gaze on the depths below, he whispered: - Lower your eyes. It feeds on hope the way a leech feeds on blood. The man from cell seven did not listen. - To the world I died long ago. Nobody is waiting for me. He went down and crossed the border of the light. His cell shuddered.

On the bed appeared a little boy with a wooden horse. - Daddy, I left the door ajar. The man rushed back, but his path began to rise. Within a few heartbeats it had become a sheer wall, cutting off the way back. That same night the stone above my bed spoke in Marichka's voice. She was six when they took me. - Daddy, are you going to be late again? I screamed until I tasted blood on my tongue. - No use, - said the old man.

- The dreams of those who love us seep through the walls. But they cannot hear us. Marichka sleepily asked her mother to leave the door ajar. The prison knew whom it would take in my place. Time here was measured in other people's dreams. I heard Marichka go off to school, heard Hanna crying in the kitchen, heard my daughter's voice grow older. My reflection in the bowl did not change. One night Marichka asked: - What if he simply didn't want to come back?

The light below turned more golden, as if it had heard. I tried to kill her inside myself. I stopped speaking her name. I scraped off the wall the marks with which I had counted her years. At night I pictured my daughter dead, until the vision stopped burning. In the morning the copper plate broke out in sweat. The drops arranged themselves into words: "Hatred is the same memory, only turned inside out." The old man laughed. - This place doesn't care what you feel.

It only watches whom your thoughts bend around. For years I wore my imprisonment like a medal. I watched after those who went down to the light and felt a warm, rotten superiority. - How long has this prison existed? The old man shook his head. - They say at first it held bodies with chains, bars and hunger. Then it tasted how love holds. That night Marichka whispered through the stone: - I will not make a home of my own until I find my father.

For the first time my sacrifice smelled of a hereditary disease. Hanna's dream came for the last time. Her breath tore between the words. - Marichka... He's gone. Live. - I would have felt it. - All you feel is the emptiness he left behind. After that the stone brought Hanna's voice no more. That night the shadow by the threshold detached itself from the wall and became a warden. Under the smooth white skin of his face something was moving, slowly.

- Now only one person dreams of you. That is good... When a dream repeats itself long enough, it lays a road here. The old man left in the spring. - Who will come in your place? - My sister. She is seventy-three. When I disappeared, she was nine. In her dreams she is still waiting for her boy-brother, and I have forgotten her face and remember only the sun. He went down and stepped into the light.

In his cell sat a girl of about nine, pressing a portrait of her brother to her chest. - Mama said you'd be back soon. On the far side of the light the old man already stood in grey garb. His face had turned smooth and indifferent. The following night the stone uttered half of Marichka's word and fell silent. From below, from the border of the light, came footsteps - real ones. On the other side stood a woman who looked older than me. Familiar eyes in a worn-out face.

One hand she hid behind her back, the way she had in childhood when she was afraid. - Dad? - How did you find this place? - For years I dreamed of this mine. Tonight the dream didn't end - I woke up at its entrance. She could not cross the border. I could. One step remained between us. - I stayed here for your sake, - I said.

Marichka nodded the way one nods to a doctor who is making excuses. - You kept my body safe. But my whole life went by in waiting. Mama sat by the window, and I walked the roads. Whenever someone asked me to stay, it seemed to me: that's exactly when you'd come back, and I wouldn't be there. I searched her words for someone else's mistake. I found my own voice. It was I who had taught her that love must leave a pit behind it. - Come out, - said Marichka.

- I've already given this road my whole life. Don't give it yours as well. - The cell will take you. The light stirred. Behind Marichka, on the stone, lay not the shadow of a grown woman but of a little girl with a hand stretched out toward me. She looked back and understood. - Then let it take the one who waited the longest. I begged her to go. - You taught me that love means staying. Don't punish me for believing it. I stood in the light. It was cold as a dead man's hand.

Marichka vanished, and beyond the entrance, high up in my cell, a six-year-old girl began to cry: - Daddy, I'm afraid of the dark. I lunged back. The stone grew up between us faster than I could touch her fingers. Grey cloth settled on my shoulders, keys in my palm. - What are they for? The old man stood beside me. - For nothing. It's easier for the new prisoners when they think we can lock them in. Then the mine unfolded to its true size.

In a blackness without sky hung millions of cells. From each one descended its own path, and below stirred the same honeyed light. Today a new man woke across from me. He looks at the open door and asks whether he may leave. Behind the stone Marichka is calling for her dad. I clutch the useless keys and answer:

- We keep no one here. She will always be six. I betray her every time I say the door is open. Now I know: this prison takes only those who are loved, because only their freedom has someone to pay for it.