The Flying Dutchman

Chapter 8

5

He woke up. It was cold… The sheet was wet, and the blanket, too. Lowering his feet to the floor – water up to his ankles. A flood!

He somehow pushed his feet into his boots and, throwing a windcheater over his shoulders, he rushed out into the yard. Oddly enough, it was dry there. A green lamp glowed in the garden, lighting everything around with an eerie, ghostly glow.

“How come? Has the river come gushing into the house, does it want to embrace me, carry me to the bottom?”

Water filled his eyes, waves beat against his brow.

“The house is chasing me!”

Frightened, he strode away, but the dense undergrowth caught him in grass traps, snagged him in snares. All of a sudden, a red dress flashed between the trees, a face appeared for a split second… It can’t be, he said to himself. She’s no longer on this earth!

Then everything became clear: he had not seen what one is not allowed to see; indeed, had he seen anything at all? N. lay down on the grass and closed his eyes.

Then his eyes opened by themselves. He was back in bed again – how had he got home? He had no idea, and there was no-one to ask. The sunless morning was turning grey outside the window. He was dressed – had he forgotten to get undressed? Oh, he hadn’t even taken off his boots… There was no water anywhere, and, oddly, everything seemed dry. He wanted to sleep, terribly, so he tossed his boots aside. A button fell out of one. A red one? No – golden.