But dream is something else entirely.
Dream is the power house of realities building blocks, without it we would barely communicate in grunts and all our achievements, from the lowliest to those so great we have not yet attained them, would not have even been the spark of an idea.
Dream is the flint that creates the spark.
So by the times the elevator doors opened and Marty hefted my bags, which until minutes ago – in dream time – did not exist, out into the hallway Hotel Radu had transformed into a building of bustle and light.
We walked down a corridor half lined with mahogany over an inch-thick maroon carpet sporting an intricate Persian design. The ceiling was a tasteful cream and in a chandelier hung every ten feet glowed a dozen warm lights that may have been candles, or cleverly crafted bulbs.
Around Radu’s feet the fibres of the carpet looked like grass as his huge paws padded forward. The creature moved like a stalking cat, in spite of his size he was silent and I noticed for the first time that the thick chain around his neck had disappeared.
Fitting, I thought.
Chains are for slaves.
Ahead of us Marty carried three bags, his spindly frame undulating back and forth under their weight. I wondered what was in the bags, what my subconscious had put in there, and whether I had the bravery to open them.
“You’re both in the Grand Overlook Suite.” He stated and turned a corner.
Ahead of us was a short corridor that opened out into a small reception area shaped like half a pie – my mind immediately went to the Cerebellum Café and I had a sudden image of Alannah with her violin wedged under her chin.
Three doors led from the area, one in front of us and one either end of the small room. Marty led to the middle door and placed the bags before it. He turned to me and raised both his hands, in one he had a silver key on an ebony fob – on it was “The Grand Overlook” in silver script – and the other hand was empty.
A tip.
He wanted a tip.
The fanciest place I’d ever been to was a dinner party once when they served wine, so I was out of my depth.
Thankfully Radu grew up here.
He sat up, his head almost level with my shoulder and coughed once into Marty’s hand. Dog sputum erupted like a little geyser, dots of it slapping over Mary’s uniform and arm and a single coin about the same size as a coaster flopped into his palm.
It was an uneven circle on which was pressed a relief of an island.
Was this a dream doubloon?
Marty grinned and I saw a string of dig spit dangle from his chin.
“Thank you. Sir!” He said with genuine enthusiasm, and I could not help but notice he addressed Radu and not myself.
Radu looked at me and I shared his gaze.
The dog looked pleased with himself.
“You’ll have to show me how you do that.” I said and slipped the silver key into the lock. When I pushed open the door I was not quite prepared for what would be in there.
posted by Alan Preece
on November, 25