24 It is odd that she chose not to record this particular dream about E. in her log, but instead made loose notes in her journal and later wrote in a letter to Andy:
. . . he died again. This time, I refused to accept his death because I could still communicate with him and so I asked him if he had, of late, been walking on water or on air, and he answered 'neither.' I only began to cry at his funeral, and the mourners, they didn't know that it was I who made them; it was I who glued the dragonflies to the scene and said, 'you must read his stories.' I woke because in my dream, I had been crying too profusely. I slept again and this time, I dreamt the dream of his resurrection: he arrived in my mailbox wrapped in his fiction and covered with butterflies. I ran around, shouting, 'he's not dead!' But he is, you see. The dream wants to tell me that he is dead to me. The dream wants to inform me not to be fooled by pretty packages, that in matters of correspondence, the body is tragically absent.
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