I'm in the courtyard of a large house in Arabia. Our house. We live inland, in the mountains above the Red Sea and the port town. Our nearest neighbor is some miles off: a beautiful Russian girl here on some job.

I like her, but feel shy calling her. Get my courage up and do it. As she picks it up, I hear a faint clicking and breathing. Instantly I know my Muslim mother-in-law is listening on the upstairs extension. And I didn't even know I was married! In fact... I don't think I am. Widowed, divorced? Why's she still living upstairs now that I'm single again? It's her all right--only she breathes like that. Short fat and nosy.

And my neighbor says "Hi!" quite enthusiastically when I say who I am. I think she likes me. I regretfully say "Someone accidentally picked up the extension, so we're not private here. Why don't I call you back later?"

"That would be wonderful," she purrs.

All systems go, on HER end! And on MY end--I'm not really so shy. It's my Muslim mother-in-law in between who's blocking things. How DID I acquire her? I keep trying to recall this mysterious wife, but I encounter a blank...

How exactly did I get a mother-in-law if I never had a wife?

THAT MORNING

• Big house in Arabia, cute neighbor = I just saw a lovely collage by Christine Irving, an American artist who lived a while in Saudi Arabia. So I may be phoning up Art as well as Sex...
• Snooping = one of my housemates tried to read my dream-journal over my shoulder today, upsetting me.
• Friendly Russian girl = the cold war is over = some older conflict in me is healed, or wants to be; but a hostile new figure intervenes:
• My Saudi Arabian mother-in-law = judgmental, rule-oriented, anti-sex. I know it's a cliche, but my dreams do often personify such qualities as Muslims from repressive countries.
• Snooping from upstairs = from a higher moral ground! Freud's superego, snooping on the phone...
• Nonexistent wife = I'm not cheating on anyone, not even the memory of anyone. Did the dream create such an absurd figure to rub my nose in how unrealistic my guilt is?
• I often worry I'm shy--so dull that no one will want me. But shyness isn't my problem here. Nor is rejection. This parasite is! Guilt, as pure and concentrated and distilled as grain alcohol.

  Distillation's a crime in Arabia... but she's it.

LATER

Christine Irving saw my art at a summercamp and ordered a print--an image of three goddesses dancing naked.

Of course not. It vanished en route. Irving said later that the Saudi censors probably just stole it. This happened so often, even to foreigners, that they took it for granted...

So much for symbolism.

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