خمسة ديسمبر 2019 - حلم الموسوعة اللاتيني

In a luscious classroom in an old church, a priest stands in front of the room, filled with female
students in uniform, apparently giving them a lesson in literature.
Zoom in on one particular female student, who is iterating an answer to a question:
"Censa. It is an editorial."
A voice from the background asks:
"What is Censa? And what is an editorial?"
"It is a book authored by Father X. It is the most detailed and thoughtful critique of all of the
literary work and poetry that was produced by humanity along the ages. He allows us to discuss
the contents of the book in class, and it is an invaluable education. We like Father X."
"Father X stands accused of heresy."
The face of the girl shows signs of confusion. She is sitting in what looks like an interrogation
session by men, in a plain corner of the church.
"I remember one time I had an exchange with him."
View goes back to the ornate classroom full of students, where the girl is standing and asking
the priest a question, in Latin. He replies, also in Latin. They exchange a short back and forth, in
Latin.
"But what does that mean?" The interrogating voice asks.
"Censa."
"What in the world does "Censa" mean?"
"An editooorrial." Enunciates the girl, stretching the o and stressing the r.
Then I wake up from the dream, barely remembering the two latin sentences uttered, but
repeating the words "censa" and "editorial".
I dream in Latin now!

تلاتة ديسمبر 2019 - حلم الطابع الانجليزي

A man is hunched on a glass-surface desk in a modern executive office, inspecting a large stamp
with a magnifier. The stamp is rectangular, with a magenta background and what looks like an
orchid. The telephone rings, and the man picks up.
"Hello?"
"Hello X" says a woman standing in the dark entry of a distant cafe, inspecting her surroundings.
"All is well?"
"Yes, everything is as it should be."
They continue with small talk as the man picks up the stamp with a big tong and moves to a
large meeting table at the other corner of the room, also with a glass surface. As the man puts
the stamp down and picks a thick black marker, the woman says after a moment's silence:
"And X?"
"Yes?" Says the man while proceeding to put his big signature on the stamp.
"Do not sign the stamp."
The man stops midway for a second, realizing that she must have known everything, then
proceeds to sign the stamp with calm.
"OK."
They hang up, and the woman looks around the empty and dark cafe. A flashback sends her to
an old and tiny office years back, bright and bustling with action by a group of workers, she and
the man included, discussing themes to be depicted on stamps.
Then I wake up, desperately wanting to know how this all starts ..