The Bureau of Dreams to be Continued by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

The Bureau of Dreams to be Continued

Page 408

At the Zoo

"The Dream of the Red-Faced Tamarin"

He was fifty now, with knees that creaked like old floorboards and a memory that flickered like a reel of film left too long in the sun. But in sleep, the years folded like origami, and he was five again; small, wide-eyed, and clutching his father’s hand like a lifeline.

In the dream, the Staten Island Zoo shimmered with impossible color. The entrance gate was carved from candy canes, and the ticket booth was manned by a talking peacock in a bowler hat. His mother wore a sundress that changed patterns with her mood; polka dots when she laughed, paisley when she scolded. His father’s camera was a brass contraption that puffed steam and clicked like a typewriter.

They passed the reptile house, which in dream logic had become a cathedral of glass and vines. A python recited poetry in Latin. A turtle floated midair, spinning slowly, humming the theme from “The Muppet Show.” But it was the monkey house that drew them in.

Inside, the red faced tamarin; his childhood favorite, sat on a velvet throne, sipping grape soda from a chalice. It looked directly at him and spoke in the voice of his kindergarten