The Secret Life of Houses [antikvár]

THE DREAM OF THE WOLF Without the dream orte would havefound no occasion for a division ofthe world. Nietzsche 'Last night I dreamed I was Canis lupus tundarum, the Alaskan tundra wolf/ Larry Chambers said, confronted by hot Cream O' Wheat, one jelly donut, black coffee with sugár. 'I was surrounded by a vast white plain and sparse gray patches of vegetation. I loped along at a brisk pace, quickening the hot pulse of my blood. I felt extraordinarily swift, hungry, powerful . . .' Larry gripped his donut; red jelly squirted across his knuckles. 'My jaws were enormous, my paws heavy and calloused.' He took a bite, chewed with his mouth open. 'My pelt was thick and white and warm. The cold breeze carried aromas of fox, rabbit, caribou, rodent, fowl, mollusc . . .' 'Caroline!' Sherryl Chambers reached for the damp dish cloth. 'Eat over the table, please. Just look at this. You've dripped cereal all over your new shoes.' Caroline gazed up intently at her father, her chin propped against the table edge. Her fist gripped a grainy spoon. 'I heard a nőise behind me and I turnéd.' Larry warmed his palms against the white coffee cup. 'The mouse hesitated - just for a moment - and then quickly I pounced, pinned him beneath my paw. His eyes were wide with panic, his tiny heart fluttered wildly. His fear blossomed in the air like pollen -'