Morpheus Ashore

Fine morning I slept badly, I slept badly

Fine morning for the nets, I say.

The catch was good when I went out at dawn.

I slept badly. Something was wrong.

No dreams at all. The dark was only dark.

Is that not strange to you?

I slept the same. No images, no stories.

Just the silence between one day and the next.

Perhaps the season.

I feel uneasy.

As though something that was here is gone.

That boat was not there yesterday.

And that man — I have not seen him here before.

And yet he sits as though he owns the bench.

As though the bench has always been his bench.

I will watch him.

Quiet. At last.

And yet — I cannot sleep.

The god of sleep.

Cannot sleep.

Of course.

I have held ten thousand sleepers

in the hollow of my hands,

shaped their dreams like morning clouds

above a thousand different lands.

I have chased away the nightmares,

I have smoothed the troubled mind,

I have worked through every darkness

and left only peace behind.

But who attends to Morpheus?

Who guards the guardian's sleep?

I am the shepherd of the night

and my flock is mine to keep —

But I needed rest,

I needed rest,

I needed just one morning

with no one to be blessed,

I needed just one silence,

one shore, one quiet sea,

I needed — God forgive me —

I needed to be free.

A million sleepers every night

have called upon my name,

and I have always answered

and the answer was the same.

But even gods grow weary

of the work that has no end,

even gods need harbour

even gods need a friend —

No — I needed rest,

I needed rest,

I did not come here running

from a duty or a debt,

I came here for the morning

and the evening and the tide,

I came here to remember

what it feels like — from inside.

Here on this quiet coast

I will lay my burden down,

the dreams can wait without me

and the night will mind the crown.

I needed rest. I needed rest. Rest!

I said a thing this morning to my wife

that I have thought for thirty years and never said.

She looked at me as though I had gone mad.

Perhaps I have. Perhaps we all have.

I walked into the baker's shop

and asked him for his daughter's hand.

He said — yes.

We were both surprised.

The mayor stood up in his meeting

and began to sing.

Not an appropriate song.

It went on for some time.

We are doing the things we dream of.

In the daylight. While we are awake.

This is not natural.

The dreaming has come loose from the sleeping.

And he is why.

I will wait. I will watch. I will think.

Something is not right this morning,

something in the light,

something in the way I'm thinking

thoughts I shouldn't quite —

I told my sister her hat was dreadful

and I've thought it thirty years or more!

I asked the baker for his daughter —

he said yes and I'm not sure what I'll do now!

The mayor stood up in his meeting,

and began to sing a song.

Not a suitable song either —

And it went on rather long.

Something is not right this morning,

something is not right,

we seem to be doing the things we dream,

while standing in the daylight.

Old Luca told his wife at last

exactly what he thought of her cooking,

and now he's sleeping on the quay

while she is still out looking —

Not right, not right, not right at all,

something walks among us today,

our dreams have slipped their proper place

and followed us out into the day!

Not right, not right,

something is decidedly not right!

Elena! I was — I was coming to find you.

I wanted to say — that is, I wished to —

Elena, I believe I am about to say something

that I would normally only say when I am —

Marco. I feel the same.

I feel exactly as though I am —

Which would mean that nothing I say

will count. Yes. Precisely.

In a dream, the consequences are different.

I know.

I will set down my basket.

In my dreams I said it plainly,

in my dreams I held his hand,

in my dreams I was not frightened

of the things I understand

in daylight, in the ordinary,

in the cautious morning air —

in my dreams I simply told him

that the feeling had been there

Since the first spring after winter

when he mended Pietro's boat,

and his laugh came across the harbour

like a song without a note —

I have carried it so carefully,

the way you carry something fragile

through a crowded room,

through the ordinary morning

through the ordinary noon —

through the evening, through the evening,

through the long and patient years

of saying nothing, saying nothing,

saying nothing with my fears —

But in my dreams I said it,

in my dreams I said his name,

in my dreams the answer came back

and the answer was the same —

and I woke to find the harbour

and the ordinary day

and Marco at his doorway

and all the words away —

If this is a dream, then let me dream it,

if this morning is not real

then let me say it in this dreaming

what the waking cannot feel —

Marco.

I love you.

I have always loved you.

Since the boat. Since the laugh.

Since the first spring.

There.

Even in a dream

it was not easy.

But there it is.

since before I knew the words I feel —

and so I might as well say this

I have wanted to say this for years.

Elena, since the third autumn

after my father's boat was sold,

I watched you at the harbour

in the cold —

This is either a dream

or the end of one,

either way the thing is said

and it cannot be undone,

and I find I do not want

to undo it,

dream or not,

real or not,

wanted or not —

It was wanted.

Eleven years.

He said he would see to it.

He never saw to it.

He said the hull was weak already.

The hull was not weak already.

He said these things happen,

as though that is an answer.

These things happen.

To someone else's boat.

Not to my father's boat.

My father's boat was sound.

I am going to go outside now.

I believe I must be dreaming.

Which means that what I do

will not count in the morning.

I will do it anyway.

I have waited eleven years

for permission.

The dream is permission enough.

The hatred I have kept

has been a well-tended thing,

I have watered it with patience

through eleven years of spring,

through eleven years of summer

and eleven years of snow,

and the hatred that I've tended

is as bright now as below —

Pietro! Pietro!

Come out and face what you have done!

Pietro! Pietro!

There is nowhere left to run!

You borrowed my father's vessel,

on a Thursday in the May

of eighteen thirty-nine,

and you said you'd have it back by day —

But the hull! The hull! The hull!

You returned it with a crack!

And you said the hull was fragile —

but the hull was not like that!

Eleven years of silence,

while the injustice grew and grew,

eleven years of watching

and of thinking what I'd do

if one morning I was dreaming

and the dreaming made me free —

Well I'm dreaming now, Pietro!

Come out and answer me!

The hull! The hull!

Your apologies that never came!

I have waited and I've waited

and I know exactly who's to blame —

But the boat! My father's boat!

Is in the aria I am singing,

and the singing will not stop

until justice comes ringing

through this village and this square

and into Pietro's ears —

ELEVEN YEARS!

ELEVEN YEARS!

Pietro.

Fix.

The boat.

It is an observation.

An observation is not an apology.

About the hull. It was some time ago.

I thought I had said sorry.

That is what I said. Is that not an apology?

Is that not what those words mean?

It is an observation, Pietro.

An observation is not an apology.

Yes. I did not know that.

I thought — I thought I had been clear.

You were very clear.

You said: these things happen.

And then you went inside.

I am sorry. About the hull. And about the thirty years.

I did not know it weighed so much on you.

Would you — would you like this herring?

I believe I was dreaming.

I am sorry for the scene.

You can see me properly.

Most people see what they expect to see.

A merchant. A stranger. But you see — me.

I have always seen properly.

I do not dream the way other people dream.

I have been between the dreams since I was small.

The place where you work.

I know it. Yes. I have seen you there.

In the space between.

The boy without parents

who lives partly in the dream-country

and partly here.

And you are the reason Elena said what she said.

You are the reason Constanza finally spoke.

Your presence here has loosened something —

the dreaming has come into the waking

because you are near,

and you have no one to contain it.

You are Morpheus.

And you cannot stay.

I know who you are

and I know where you go

when the village is sleeping

and the harbour lights are low.

I have seen you in the spaces

where the ordinary ends,

in the country between waking

where the night on itself bends —

I am not afraid of dreaming.

I am not afraid of dark.

I have lived there without parents

and I've carried my own spark

through the corridors of sleeping,

through the rooms without a door,

through the dreams of all this village

back to this familiar shore —

Take me with you, Morpheus.

I will not be in the way.

I'll keep the nightmares ordered

while you — sometimes — take a day.

I know the work is endless

and I know the weight is real,

but you've carried it alone

and alone was the wrong deal.

I know who you are.

I know what you need.

Take me with you.

I am ready.

I will learn.

Take me with you.

I will learn.

The dream-realm is not safe for a boy.

There are nightmares there that have no shape.

Fears so old they have no name.

Things between the sleeping that have never been described.

I have met some of them already.

I managed.

That — is true.

You are asking me to take a child

into the country of all human dreaming.

The nightmares. The grief.

The longing and the shame

and the private joy

that cannot be spoken in daylight.

All of it.

And you need someone.

Constanza hit Pietro with a fish.

He deserved it, but still.

Someone must be in charge.

Jon Blund.

That is a very good name

for what I need.

Come then.

The boat is ready.

I have carried it alone

since before your language had a word for sleep,

and I confess —

I am tired.

Elena and Marco will find their way.

Constanza has her apology — or near enough.

Pietro has his peace.

Luca's wife is an excellent cook.

He will understand this eventually.

Without our help.

Come then.

The night needs keeping,

the dreams need someone gentle

and someone firm,

the nightmares need untangling,

the sleeping children need a hand

that knows the difference

between the dream that teaches

and the dream that only frightens —

The night needs keeping,

and we are the ones who keep it,

come, boy, come,

the stars are lit,

the sleepers wait,

the first dream of the evening

is already at the gate.

Come.

The night needs keeping.

Come.

Sleep returns to the village

as it always does in the end,

dreams come in through the evening

like a message from a friend.

We said what we had kept so long,

we said it in the daylight,

and the daylight held the words

and the words were right.

We said what should have been said

eleven years and a herring ago —

the thing is said at last

and the saying helps, we know.

Sleep returns to the village

and the dreaming with it too,

the night is in good hands now,

a boy will see it through.

a boy who knows the dark

and is not afraid to push through —

You go to your work

with everything to learn,

Sleep well, sleep well,

the night is kept,

the dreams come softly home,

sleep well, sleep well,

you are not alone

in the dark,

you are not alone —

Jon Blund will come

when the evening falls,

Jon Blund will come

through the dreaming halls,

Jon Blund will come

with his quiet hand

and bring you to the country

of the dream you understand —

Sleep well.

Sleep well.

Sleep well.

The night is kept.

Sleep well.