NIGHTMARE

Evening Post, Volume CXXVI, Issue 150, 22 December 1938, Page 22 (Supplement)

NIGHTMARE

Slowly and in,delicate curves I-am falling 'falling falling . , »

THE whirr of my fall through the colourless air grows deeper. It is the whirr and crumble and roar of; traffic in a long, straight, narrow street. Tall straight buildings almost enclose the sky on either side. Between them the traffic glides in Continuous unbroken streams. Everyone is on .the other side and 1 am alone here. I can see them talking and laughing. They don't know that lam alone here. Now they are turning their backs, abput. to disappear. 1,, want to be with .them* to., cross the road, but the traffic is continuous and unbroken. ...

Above my head:the buildings;,close in. Beneath my feet the pavement is rough and black. There is coal above me,' around me, beneath me. Soon it will all fall in. Passages stretch on all sides ofmW I .run down a passage, but it ends in a wall pt gleaming black coal. I run-down another and another. Small blue flames: b)rea'k out along the/ seams of the coal. Slowly arir3 without noise the coal drops around me, closingrup the passages, closing me in beside the wooden pit prop that stretches above my head through the roof like ;a tree.:..:.-. ■ '■■. ''.•■.- . >'' ■■•■.■•■• ■/•.'yv^ ''

The tree in the drawirig-rbom has broken through the fllbor, spread into the room,' forced its: .way through the ceiling, breaking i centjous ;spider-like cracks in the falling plaster. J'h'e house is d6s<)late, deserted, and devastated^by the war. Coarse

weeds pushy their vray between the floorboards and the furniture is powdered in soft, greens milde^v. Perhaps someone was left in the. house when the war came, left to die or to live. Everything is soft and rotten to the touch. . , '.

HPHE rotting door shivers into powder' as; t run through^ it into the street. lam on the pavement and a bull is rushing towards me. Or is it James whom I love or 4s it a bull? I will run away, but my feet are heavy as if weighted with lead. I lift them slowly on the pavement, one after the other, but I cannot move them away. The bull is almost upon me and waits motionless in its leap. The second of its immobility is dragged to eternity while I heavily lift my right foot, lift my left foot, and let them fall dead, on the pavement again. . . ~ . v : ■■'•■ ■ r

The darkness is Tolled away Of rom the sky'and the dawn is grey and misty and cold. I walk along the street in my. scarlet petticoat-and my feet are bare and frozen. Today I shall go to Court to the king arid queen and no one told me. in time. So I wear my scarlet petticoat instead of my white satin dress, because no one told me in time, and now it is too late. I walk in the palaca among all the people and I walk and curtsey before the king and queen. . . .

And I have nothing on at all,

will know the personal fancies which I have no means of fathoming.

See the "Fathers and Uncles" paragraph for suggestions for your brother's gift. He is equally difficult a person to whom to give presents, and even more critical (in private). Try—and here's an idea —try redecorating his own room for him this Christmas. Give him new curtains and tallboy runners (stripes for smartness), an eiderdown or bedspread, pyjamas to mateh —a mat for his bedside. Seize an opportunity and revarnish the floorboards—be original, and do something rather unusual.

If you are orthodox, then you will undoubtedly buy him a book, a scarf, socks, or a shirt. Try hirq on studs and cuff links, a silk muffler for evening, and thin silk socks. If he is a swimmer, buy him cotton racing togs for 4s 9d (and more), or some snappy shorts with a stripe on either side. An airtex shirt for tennis or motoring, sun goggles, a terrycloth shirt-juniper for the beach (7s lid) will all find favour, even if he is the most critical and obdurate of menfolk.