I was running down a corridor with someone, Dom or my little sister, I’m not sure. We were being chased by someone I knew would kill us when he caught us. As he was going along he was hitting everyone who came in his path over the head with some sort of heavy bar; pieces of skull were falling to the ground. When he caught up with us I just hoped that I would be killed straight off, but that was unlikely. The first blow I didn’t feel at all - then the alarm woke me up. I was quite upset by the dream at first until I began to piece together where it came from:
Yesterday evening I watched The Da Vinci Code, that explains some of the violence. I was disappointed with the film, good job Tom Hanks was in it. I also had two accidents (One and two) on my mind. Where did the pieces of skull come from?
When we first came to France I was given a book of short stories to read by one of Rob’s pupils; Letters From My Windmill by Alphonse Daudet. My French wasn’t good enough to read it back then. Dom bought a copy of the same book this summer so I decided it was time to read mine. It is a delightful collection of stories about the south of France. I recommend it. One of the stories starts off with the author having received a letter from one of his readers asking for a cheerful story for a change. Instead he tells the story of the man with the golden brain who eventually falls in love with a woman and removes all of the gold in pieces to buy her everything that she wants. A sad and strange story indeed… So that’s where the pieces of skull came from.
If you want to know why the good people of Avignon dance on the bridge and not in the streets read this book.
6 comments:
the Daudet story sounds weird in the extreme. It reminds me of the HE Bates story about the man who lives in a wood and is a friend to the squirrels, until he falls in love and then he kills the squirrels to make a fur coat for the woman who turns out to be No Better Than She Ought, so he ends up all alone in the wood. God that's a sad story. Unless they were grey squirrels. Heck, still sad.
I thought the mulberries were my brains because of a friend describing how her son saw a cyclist's brains splattered on the road. These things do tend to stay with you.
Dru: Thanks for your email. There are some weird and wonderful writers around.
Long long ago we used to take a week to slowly drive through France to the Med. On one such trip I found myself standing on the stones which were once Daudet's windmill. When we finally arrived in the south my niece was reading said stories so I told her where we had just come from she did not believe it existed, after all it was just in a book!
Caroline X
Caroline: So the spot is marked! It was a ruin when he moved in so I'm surprised that there is anything left. I will put that on my list of places to visit.
Just a pile of stones which I came across by chance then found a plaque which said...
Sorry I can't be more specific, we just wander about, so somewhere on the way fro Les Baux to Narbonne. It was hot.
Caroline xxx
Caroline: The treasures you come up with just wondering around... if you'd have gone looking for it you probably wouldn't have found it!
Post a Comment