A photographer wants to take my picture. His studio is made of sandstone. There are no windows. The room is a closed box. He asks to see my ID. I only have my Ausweis. I show it to him, but for some reason it’s not good enough.
Doctor Messerli began with sweeping generalities. “There are no authoritative rules in dream interpretation. I cannot tell you point by point the significance of each symbol. The message of the dream will depend on the dreamer’s associations. But there are guidelines. The dreamer only ever dreams about herself. Every person in a dream is a manifestation of an aspect of her psyche. Every character a reflection of her own subconscious nature.”
Anna furrowed her brow but nodded anyway.
ROLAND SIGNALED THE CLASS by tapping on his watch. Everyone rose and cleared away their coffee and tea things, the little plates and spoons that always reminded Anna of the toy dishes she played with as a child and the tea parties and coffee klatches she threw for her ladies’ league of plush animals. Anna tried to remember what it felt like to be five years old. In turn, she tried to imagine her five-year-old self imagining the physical feel of thirty-seven. Her five-year-old self could not fathom it. It was a future too far away to mean anything to such a little girl.
In the hallway in front of the elevator, Archie caught Anna’s attention and mouthed Stairs before heading straight out the fire door. Why not? Anna thought, and let the elevator fill without her. Mary motioned that there was enough room, but Anna shook her head and said “It’s okay,” and as the doors of the elevator shut she entered the stairwell. Archie stood on the landing above her.
“I missed you.” Archie took hold of Anna, sandwiched her between the concrete wall and him and kissed her. They held the kiss for a brake-screech thirty seconds before Anna pushed him away and together they climbed the stairs and returned to the classroom.
Don’t miss me, Archie, Anna thought. That’s stupid. It seemed reckless and improbable, inappropriate, personally invasive. Anna understood the incongruity. Of everything affronting or improper about their relationship, his missing her (or even, simply, his saying so) was the least indecorous.
Roland gave a lesson on conjugation.
That afternoon it was a hurried love Anna and Archie made, over almost before it began. Glenn had an appointment in Bern; it was Archie’s turn to mind the shop. They both rushed to dress. Anna would finish pulling herself together on the train.
In the hallway Archie pointed at her sweater; she’d put it on wrong-side out. The coffee stain was closest to her body. Anna didn’t bother going back into the apartment. She stood in the middle of the common, public hallway, removed the sweater, righted it, and put it back on. A minimal gesture of insouciance. Don’t miss me, Archie. She thought again. Don’t even think it.
Anna walked to Stadelhofen and missed the Dietlikon-bound S3 by two minutes. Stadelhofen is Zürich’s second busiest train station, and the one nearest Archie’s apartment. At that hour the station was crowded. Anna was grateful for so many people. She didn’t want attention. She bought a pretzel from a vendor and sat down on the north end of platform 2 with little to do in that moment but reflect.
Adultery is alarmingly easy. A delicate dip of the chin, a smile. It takes so little. He cocks his head. There’s a perturbation in the air. Your perception blinks. The exertion is effortless. Surrender is your strong suit. Assent, your forte. You abdicate a little more each day. There’s nothing you intend. You do not fight it.
Just the tip, Anna thought. And just this once. But it’s never just the tip.
Anna ate a third of her pretzel and threw the rest away.
Despite what she had said to the contrary, Doktor Messerli pressed forward and interpreted Anna’s dream. “A photograph is an honest reflection of a person’s face. As is said, cameras do not lie. But he doesn’t take your picture because you don’t prove yourself. You hand him an ID—your ‘id,’ if you will—but it is not acceptable. Your Swiss identification card isn’t good enough. For you are not Swiss and there is little you identify with in this country. His house is made of sand. It is not structurally safe. The building could collapse around you at any moment. Windowless, his studio’s dark and stifling. So too, the nature of the unconscious.”
OVER THAT EVENING’S SUPPER, Anna mentioned Mary’s invitation to Bruno and the boys.
“Im Ernst?” Bruno’s delight surprised her. “No kidding?” His voice bounced. Bruno loved sports. Soccer, tennis, hockey, all of them. He’d taken the boys to the Hallenstadion many times to see the ZSC Lions play. Of course he’d heard of Tim Gilbert. “That is so cool, Anna!” Anna took pleasure in Bruno’s genuine gladness. Bruno rose from the table, leaned over, tilted Anna’s chin to his and delivered a brief but generous kiss. “Merci vielmal, Anna.”
Later that evening, Anna telephoned Mary and plans were made for the coming Friday.
“This is our first dinner with friends since the move,” Mary said.