A message from the bottom of the ocean
The day before he wakes up – before his dreams become the new reality he now finds himself living – he hears the news that his father had died. The news, of course, doesn’t reach him yet.
The news itself isn’t the real revelation. He has known for a long time that his father has died. It just takes the form of dream-information, when he thinks about it. It doesn’t have to be true.
His father is dead, but he is still alive. He lives at home in the basement, where there’s a boiler with a grate in it. His father sleeps with his head in the grate, all the time. He looks a lot like a giant snake.
The boiler is an anachronism. It takes up much of the basement, all the space above the furnace. The furnace, the only source of warmth for the house, is cold. His father sleeps without blankets, and never shoves the grate above his head. He can’t be so cold, though. Even the warmth of a furnace can’t be enough to sleep well in.
His father had always been kind to him. His father didn’t hate him. He hadn’t even gotten angry, until the beginning of that nightmare, after he had already started it. He was angry with himself, and his father had tried to help, but it wasn’t enough. He hadn’t killed him. He hadn’t killed any of them.
He didn’t tell his brother, he never told anyone. He can’t be killed. His father isn’t angry at him for being a killer. His father isn’t even angry at him, for killing himself. The only one who should be angry at him is himself, for this betrayal. His father should be angry. But his father isn’t, and it’s a good thing that he isn’t, because he never will be.
His father is dying.
He hears the news that his father has died, as a dream-news. The night before he wakes up, this news has already been received. That means that his father is dead. He is dying. This is happening in dreams, and is therefore impossible. It isn’t going to happen.
The news is an impossibility. His father would not be dying.
His father is, in fact, still alive.
His father is a living thing, and the news is that he is dying.
But no one can die, in a dream, in a dream in which there is no such thing as death. His father cannot die, because his father is still alive.
This is the only way his father can die – by getting up from the ground, and going to his family and telling them that it’s all okay. That he’s still alive, and that it is all okay. That his father was alive this whole time, only not for long – and, more to the point, only not for very, very long. The long is measured in years. The short is measured in hours.
“You’re still alive,” he says. “We’re all still alive. The world is still safe. Your dream isn’t over. You’re safe from it. You aren’t here. You don’t exist. I don’t exist. The whole world is safe now. No one is dying.”
His father gets up from the grate, and the boiler rattles, and the boiler rattles, and the boiler rattles. His father looks at the grate, and the boiler rattles.
He cannot get up, though. The grate is too low, the boiler is too close, and he is trapped between them. His father has always been kind to him. He did not want him to die. His father did not care for him, but he wanted him to be alive.
His father had promised him this, and had given him his father’s word.
He is trapped in a boiler. His father has abandoned him. His father will not come back. His father is never coming back.
“I promise,” he says.
“Promise?”
His father has abandoned him.
“I promise.”
“What?”
“What promise?”
He has always had a good memory.
“What promise?”
He remembers what promise he made.
“My father never dies.”
And now he remembers who his father is. His father is dying. He is going to die. He knows it and his father knows it, and they know they know. They both know it and they hate it.
“I’m alive,” he says. “And I promise you that I’m not going to die. We’re all still alive.”
His father does not look at him. His father does not say anything. He has not asked him for a promise. He is not going to die.
He does not see why this should be so. He is a good boy. He was a good boy. The world is not so bad. He will go on living, and his father will go on living. No one else dies. He remembers what he promised. He makes a new promise to his father. He promises him that he will never die.
“Don’t go yet,” he says. “I’m sorry for all the times I scared you. You’re okay. I’ll never leave you. I swear.”
His father looks at him. His father does not die. He does not die and he does not go, and he does not say anything, and he does not speak.
“Promise me,” his father says. “I need a promise.”
His father does not leave him.
“My father isn’t going to die,” his father says.
“No one is going to die.”
“Then why have you become so scared of the water? Of the water?”
He does not ask him this. He cannot ask him this, because his father has left him forever. He does not know why, and he does not ask him. He does not know that he does not ask him.
He has a good memory.
“My father won’t die,” he says, and feels tears in his eyes, which are not there because his father is not there. He is in the basement with the boiler, and in the basement the boiler rattles.
“He isn’t going to die,” his father says. “Promise me.”
“My father is going to die,” his father says. “Your grandfather is going to die. Your brother is going to die. Your mother is dying right now, because she is old. My sister is already a girl. My brother is going to die, and his sons. Your father will go on living – I will go on living – because your mother and I are still here. We don’t want you to die.”
His father does not want him to die.
“My father is dead. My brother is gone. My sister’s children are gone. My own children are gone. I can’t promise you that my own father won’t die, and I’ll try not to – but I can’t promise you that it won’t happen, any more than you could promise not to die. You’re going to die, and I’m going to go on living, and one day there will be just me and my mother and we’ll go on living forever, and no one will die ever again. Promise me that.”
It was a good promise. He has forgotten the promises he ever made. He does not know what he promised








