Last night I dreamed I was a reluctant lieutenant in the Russian Army in Moscow in WW2. I was a two sided personality, a toady that always seemed to comply with every order to give me latitude to steal the art works that were being “saved” from cities under siege. Nobody really knew what I was doing there, me either, but said ”building supplies,” as I bustled about.
I never left the large crumbling Soviet building mixed with the Tower of Babble, that I had been looking at before bed. The one on the dusk jacket of the A.S. Byatt novel I like. Also was listening to Prokofiev’s Violin Sonata at bed time, and now Prokofiev: Lieutenant Kije Suite, Symphony No. 5.
Always the distant thud of shelling, but rarely anything reached us. I had word if I could get to the Volga, without getting killed, a boat would take a few passengers if properly compensated. The war ended during my journey to Italy.
I was sad to give up the Kadinsky that I had purloined from his mother, but happy to be in another crumbling building though in Italy, likely the one in the book I’m reading that I can’t remember.