The dream: Colossus, the girl and Paradise
About a year or two before my father died, I became aware of an occurring dream. I was an observer in this dream, on the periphery as they say, but I could feel the intended and uncompleted actions of its characters like churn the acid in my stomach the iron the curled hairs on the back of my neck.
"Do you know what this book is about?"
"No," said the son, with the half-sight and attention span of a eight-year old.
"It contains stories from the Quran."
"What's that?"
"It's like the Bible, but for us."
"We have a Bible, it's on our bookshelf."
"Yes, but it's not the same."
[continue to tell the story of a father attempting to teach Islam to his son, already aware of a Christianity, a playground that never judges, forces you to prostrate, clean yourself, etc.]
Continue to recount the dream within the dream (or memory).
The father-son conversation changes, perhaps from the hope that Egypt will entice the boy to learn more about his religion.