Читать книгу Emotions Rule - Ira Lav - Страница 11

I

‘So where do I begin? Our German course was finished. You went to Paris and London. And I went to Leipzig to see Sarah, a friend of mine.

Being there already a week I was missing Berlin and was constantly texting to Mr. Curly Hair. One evening I wished him sweet erotic dreams, just for fun of course. I got a reply with ‘ja, feuchte Träume. Schlaf gut, Mädchen’. I had no idea what feuchte Träume were supposed to mean.

The next morning, while having breakfast with Sarah’s family, with an innocent face, not suspecting anything, I asked the whole table what that German word-combination meant. You should’ve seen their face expressions when I uttered those magic words. The big brother started giggling. Sarah’s Dad almost spat out the coffee he was drinking.

Sarah’s mother wondered, ‘I’m sorry, what again?’

‘Feuchte Träume,’ I repeated naïvely though already suspecting something shady.

Then she managed to say with her pitying eyes, ‘Who told you this?’

‘Some guy from Berlin texted me this yesterday,’ I confessed. The mother wondered what message I wrote so as to get such a reply. I made an even more naïve look and pronounced, ‘I simply wished him Goodnight. Somehow my head treated equally Good night and Sweet erotic dreams. But I swear, I did NOT mean anything by that. I just was in my silly mood, I guess.

‘Well, wet dreams mean-,’ the mother started finding her words to explain properly.

But Sarah interrupted, ‘Mum, it’s ok, I’ll explain her later,’ she stood up taking her cup and plate into the sink and waiting for me to finish up.

I understood my friend’s gesture and gulped up the rest of my coffee at a go, cleaned after myself and took leave.

As we reached her room she burst out laughing, took my hand and produced in a lecturing tone, ‘To have wet dreams means to have dreams about sex. When a person has such dreams, he or she normally takes them real and actually gets wet even when he or she is sleeping.’

Mhm, definitely a good explanation, in no Webster edition I could perhaps find such… a thought like a creeping line ran through my head, ‘How come, I didn’t guess it myself yesterday when I looked up the word feuchte – wet in the dictionary.’ Perhaps, because I didn’t remember myself getting wet in dreams. If Annie Lennox had sung Wet dreams are made of this instead of sweet, I would not have been in this stupid situation then.

Soon I was to return to Berlin. While texting to Filip I never mentioned when I was coming, only teasing him that soon and wondering if he was actually missing me.

‘Sure, I miss ya, I have no one else to fight with. Come back, Katenka!’ came the response.

Pretending to be his wife I answered, ‘Sweetheart, I forgot my keys at home. Could you leave the door open tomorrow, so I could get in before you come home?’

Why was that when you were not taking things catastrophically seriously but playing your part well everything seemed so easy?! Maybe because Shakespeare was actually right writing,