THE MOROCCAN DREAM
AN ANTHOLOGY OF
MOROCCAN NEW SHORT STORY, VOLUME 1
Dream
-Short
Story-
Written by : Moustapha Laghtiri
Translated
by Mohamed Saïd Raïhani
“The word « Dream » borrows its blazing connotation out of the very
close kinship it weaves with vision and imagination. This mercurial word, « Dream », consists of, at
least, two luxurious connotations too tempting for any interpretation to
resist. The first one is linked to prophets and visionaries and is,
consequently, related to inspiration and clairvoyance. The second connotation
is connected with a conscious vision towards the Self and the World, a
vision that qualifies the dreamer to preview the future on deeply human
perspective armed with a clear view of Existence in its ambiguous relationship
with Man’s hazy destiny. This second connotation of the word « Dream » sounds closer to
the literary field.
Contrary to Freud, who regards dream
as the guardian of sleep, I deeply believe that dream is the guardian of
creativity. ”
Moustapha Laghtiri
Moroccan short-story writer
born in
Author of:
"A Woman’s Hallucinations"
(Short stories) 2001,
"A Little Bit Of Shame"
(Short stories) 2004
"A Parasol On A Tomb"
(Short stories) 2006
Only the word «dream» sneaked out of his memory progressing
slowly but persistently dribbling all the barriers. He felt it coming along
from the unknown depths, taking off the cloudy curtains, floating clearly,
struggling for the sole sake of being. His mind, so anxiously, seized it. Only
then, he found himself face to face with yesterday’s dream.
Having seized the thread of the dream, he stretched his limbs out to get
rid of the remaining traces of sleep. The dream had such a strong impact on him
but he can remember nothing of it right now.
He rubbed his eyes so strongly and surrendered to a wonderful sensation
that he would surely remember his dream in full… In his mind’s eye, there
emerged the river… Yes, he remembers now that water was dominant in the dream…
He travelled with his eyes around the dark room, stretched his feet towards his
flip-flops… The river was running swiftly… And then?
He went into the bath-room… His limbs are getting more and more active…
He leaned down on the sink … He turned the tap on …He meditated the water flow
and sprayed his face with handfuls of water … He felt the coldness awakening
him … What a dream ! It escapes his mind the way water runs through his
fingers… However, he should remember the dream … He does not know the reason
why he believes that this dream is bringing along some message… There was the
river… There was water running… There was also the dominance of one colour … He
does not remember that colour… Then, there were trees … Yes, there were trees
stretching their branches high in the sky… There was him running… He cannot
forget that…
He looked at the mirror… His face was pale… He meditated the growing
little hairs on his chin that doubled the sad look on his face… He remembered
that, while running, he never left his place… Otherwise, why the same scene was
turning on and on all along the dream: water, trees…
He got out of the bath-room… He cannot remember the most important thing
in the dream… That was a message… Was it
a word?…A symbol?…A meaning ?… A flavour? He remembered that he was
striving to interpret it while he was dreaming about it and that he turned so
reassured of his results that went to sleep again after a light awakening…
He went into the kitchen…was that a voice, an image or a sensation?...
How can he have a real answer?... He got his breakfast ready…The dream shadowed
everything…
« The running was tiring and the river was flowing strongly. I can
decide that its colour was crimson ».
He took a chair… He sipped some tea… All of a sudden, he remembered that
he had looked at the sky and that there was a bird that fully captured his
attention… Now, he is submerged by joy … He is in the right path since he
remembered the bird… He chews a piece of bread… things are getting clearer and
clearer… He wished he could grasp the bird with his own hands… So, he carried
on running and the bird went on flying… The bird was surprisingly at
hand … That may be the reason why he insisted on getting it… He noticed
suddenly that the bird was across the river…
There come the incidents smoothly… He was happy at that …He sipped
consecutive doses of his tea … And then? Yes, now he can remember… While trying
to interpret the dream, he deeply felt that his grasping the bird would be a
sign of good luck while his missing the bird would be, however, a sign of bad
luck… He decided not to miss the opportunity… He doubled his running… He was
running in his own place… Suddenly, he
found himself running on the water surface… He felt an incomparable pleasure…
His feet never sink in the water nor do they get wet… While running on the
water surface and at the peak of his joy, the bird came along towards him… It
was getting nearer and nearer as if offering itself to him… Suddenly, he felt
an ambiguous change taking place deep inside him… It was a great surprise for
him to see himself flying beside the bird… flying was an irresistible pleasure,
the river beneath him was a wonder…
He stretched out on his chair, happy to have come up to this extent of
memory… The message of the dream is now quite clear…It is only then that the
world seemed to be in his own hands, that a happy event is in the way to be
achieved and that all he had to do is just sit and wait.
***********
* The writer, Moustapha Laghtiri,
is a Moroccan short-story writer, born in
*The translator: Mohamed Saïd Raïhani, is a Moroccan
translator, scholar & short-story writer, born on December 23rd 1968. He
published in Arabic "Waiting For the Morning" (Short stories) 2003, "The Season Of Migration to Anywhere" (Short stories) 2006, "The Three Keys: Freedom, Dream & Love" (An anthology of Moroccan New Short Story in Three
Volumes) 2006-2007-2008, "Death of the Author" 2010, "Behind Every Giant, There Are Dwarfs”
(Short stories) 2012…
* " Dream" is the eighth narrative text in the
"The Moroccan Dream", An Anthology of Moroccan new
short story directed by Mohamed Saïd Raïhani.
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