Read Online Daniel's Dream by Peter Michael Rosenberg - Free Book Online Page B

photography, going to the theatre and concerts. Who knows, she thought, maybe he will rediscover his interest in me. It was so long since they had made love she had almost forgotten what it felt like.
     
    She shovelled another forkful of moussaka into her mouth. ‘So what’s the secret, champ?’
     
    ‘Huh?’ said Daniel, who found himself starting to tune out of their conversation. He too was enjoying the meal, but something about it made him anxious.
     
    ‘Your secret; for cooking such a brilliant moussaka.’
     
    ‘Uh... I don’t know. Luck I guess.’
     
    Lisanne found this unenlightening response disconcerting, considering how enthusiastic her reaction to the meal had been, but she knew better than to question Daniel closely. Rather than provoke or annoy him with unnecessary questions, she comforted herself with the knowledge that, all being well, this was the first step on the way to recovery. She couldn’t wait to tell Dr Fischer about it.
     
    They did not make love that night, as Lisanne had hoped, but they did cuddle for a while, which was a marked improvement over their usual bedtime arrangements. Lisanne eventually drifted off to sleep secure in the knowledge that tomorrow would be a brighter, more hopeful day.
     
    Daniel, however, was not thinking about the following day at all. His own concerns were much more caught up with the night, and while Lisanne snored peacefully and contentedly in the bed beside him he waited anxiously for sleep to arrive. 
     

Chapter 3
     
    ‘You okay?’
     
    Daniel opened his eyes and blinked once or twice. He found he was staring at a concrete floor and a set of wooden table legs. He looked up and was both surprised and relieved to see a young man staring back at him. The man had a dark, swarthy complexion and a thick rug of matt black hair. When he spoke his deep-blue eyes registered genuine concern.
     
    ‘You okay? You fall off chair!’
     
    Daniel shook his head and tried to lever himself off the floor. His new acquaintance held out a hand and helped pull him to his feet. Daniel steadied himself, brushed himself down, then quickly found a chair to sit on. He felt dizzy, as if he had just jumped off a fast merry-go-round.
     
    ‘Thank you,’ said Daniel, decidedly disoriented. He was still having difficulty focusing. ‘I’m fine, really.’ He clenched the fingers of his right hand: they felt stiff and a little sore; he wondered if he had used that hand to break his fall.
     
    ‘You fall off chair. I think you hurt,’ said the man. Daniel could see that he was worried, so he smiled to put him at ease.
     
    The man was dressed in a white-collared shirt and neatly pressed black trousers. Daniel suddenly realised where he was: he was back at the vine-covered restaurant that overlooked the funny old hand-pump, and the man standing over him with such concern was evidently the waiter.
     
    Daniel smiled. I’m back, he thought with delight; I’ve come back!
     
    He looked down to his feet and saw that, once again, he was wearing sandals. His feet were grey and dusty from the road outside, his forearms, bared to the sun, tinged with the first pink of sunburn.
     
    After a moment or so his vision cleared. There was no doubt that he had returned to the same place. Everything was as he had seen it the first time; the vines, the whitewashed walls, the shuttered windows: exactly the same.
     
    And the music. That glorious melody, the haunting strains of the bouzouki, played gently and slowly rather than in the frenetic style that he had always associated with the instrument. He would have to find out the name of the song - if that was what it was; he had never heard anything so beautiful in his life.
     
    Daniel licked his lips and tasted the salty tang of fresh sweat on the fringe of his moustache. He realised that he was immensely thirsty, and in dire need of a drink. On cue, as if he had read Daniel’s mind,