Felix

Every night a man dreams, vivid dreams that remain with him. The next time he goes to sleep, the dream resumes where it left off the night before. The sequence of dreams forms a continuing story.

The landscapes in the dream have become familiar: he has the same house, the same wife, the same physical appearance and character. In the reality of the dream he is tall, imposing, blond and balding: in the reality of reality he is small and nervous, with thick curly black hair. He dreams he lives on a farm on the edge of the desert: in Arizona, maybe Mexico. His wife is an Indian, with a happy little girl’s face and narrow eyes and a huge belly. She’s expecting a baby.
A puma threatens the farm. Often, at sunset, Felix – so he is called in the dream – takes his rifle, releases the safety catch and settles on the patio chair with a beer, silently ready to surprise it if it shows up within range. Sometimes, for in the dream his heavy body has the ability to fly, he glides into the warm night air a few feet high; over the hills and bushes and saguaros, but the puma, warned by his smell, always manages to escape in time in the thick of the chaparral.
While the events of the dream have continuity, those of waking life are completely dissociated. One morning he wakes up on the couch in a house, does not remember how he ended up there. he is in the grip of amnesia; he feels sick, his head spins, he can not think clearly. The only experiences that he can remember are his dreams. If he thinks of his name, the only one that comes to mind is Felix, but he knows that Felix is the big man in the dream, not him. He rummages in his pockets without finding anything, goes through the many empty rooms in search of clues: nothing familiar, that vaste mansion with antique furniture, tapestries and huge crystal chandeliers just does not seem likely to be his home. Every few steps he must sit down, seized by exhaustion and dizziness. After hours of tiring and futile explorations, not knowing what to do, exhausted, he throws himself on a bed and falls asleep, dreaming of a decisive puma hunt.
Gliding above the plateau he sees the large animal, asleep, appetite sated, only moved by a slow and heavy breathing. Felix does not have his gun; he lands silently on a rock a few feet away. While thinking about what to do he is awakened by the sound of an elderly couple: they are the rightful inhabitants, in evening dress, rather tipsy, certainly coming back from a party. He does not know them, they do not know him: thinking he is a robber, the swaying couple beg him not to kill them, they kneel and beg. They tell him to take anything he wants, money, jewelry, antiques.
He shows the palms of his hands, showing that he is unarmed. His lost gaze is the more eloquent apology. He asks them to sit down and listen to him for a moment, trying to explain his situation. He does not know who he is. He does not remember how he got there. He does not want to hurt anyone. He makes them a coffee, so that they will sober up and understand that his intentions are really harmless. In the end, incredibly, they believe his story of a man with no history; decide to let him spend the night there and the next morning take him to a doctor.
None of them closed their eyes, each of them lying awake with their stare fixed on the dark ceiling above their beds. It was strong coffee.

After a few months, he still does not remember who he is. There is no police report concerning him, as no one seems to be looking for a missing person. The elderly couple, having taken his situation to heart have engaged him as a cook, offering him accommodation and a good salary. He seems resigned to survive, cooking and dreaming his continuing dream. He’s a good cook, a quiet type who doesn’t make trouble or have any unusual requirements. His specialty is meatloaf. They ask him what he wants to be called. Call me Felix.
Felix’s wife, Felicia, has had a baby girl, beautiful and strong. The puma is still somewhere out there, after Felix, on the plateau, had thrown a large stone at it without hitting him. Attacking without his rifle was a big mistake. The puma had awoken and turned to the attack and had wounded him gauging his flesh with its claws before fleeing; long furrows on his chest that had become infected, leaving him feverish and delirious. His wife made him compresses every day, stood next to him, mopping his brow and inviting him to sleep again, saying that he will dream his sickness away.  A week in the grip of strange dreams, confused nightmares always accompanied by a sense of bewilderment and disquiet, dreams in which he no longer knows who he is.

He has recovered. Felix, lying on the bed smoking a cigarette, finally decides that the cat should be left alone. It’s too good to kill. It deserves to roam in peace in the highlands; and anyway it is much more important to think about the baby now. What do we call her?
The baby is already there in the cradle, and yet they still haven’t not come up with a worthwhile name, that is excluding the few disturbing Indian names proposed by Felicia.