After the avalanche devastated the entire village here in Switzerland, engulfing every house, hut, hotel, store, humans and non humans, I actually found myself still alive. I could hear the sound of the helicopters hovering over me but there was no way to signal to them that I was alive.
Well, not quite. I mean, this was a nightmare I had, whilst awake since I have not slept since I was 9 years old and told to “watch out”. Since then, terrified as I still am, at age 69, I still keep the white nights as white as possible, dozing off every now and again and again and again. No wonder that the German word for nightmare is ALPTRAUM. The literal translation “dream of the Alps” or “Alp Dream”. But in my case there is no literal anything, least of all, translation.
Yes, true. If I were to “translate” everything into and from everything else, my life would be even sadder than it already is. Why sad? Easy to explain. No, not easy at all, given the events I’ve witnessed (or have caused without the knowledge of anyone but my privately kept diaries).
LOVE
AlpTRAUM
Gerald Thomas
(part of my novel “Lost Case of a Brief Case”)
