Peace

Perhaps not obvious to most people, I would have nevertheless liked to have been by my former foe's bedside eleven months ago when he breathed his last breath and fell into that sleep which awaits us all, but that was never going to be allowed in any circumstance because of our half century history. 

As I said in my obituary, absurdly described by the left-wing journalist Francisco Garcia as a "magnanimous self-penned eulogy," which it was not, I expressed my sadness over him shuffling off this mortal coil without knowing that in his last moment of supreme finality he had my forgiveness.

He remained in my thoughts, softly fading over the months, but not disappearing. Was he at peace?

Then, in the early hours of February 27th, between 4.00 and 5.00am, I had a strange dream that moved me to tears. Everything took place at night where I found myself watching the deceased arrive at a tall, sombre Victorian house. I stood and watched for a while until he left. Then I walked toward the old house and entered it. At this point, I should clarify that the place was unrecognisable to me, and quite unlike any other I have been familiar with. Darkness pervaded the interior which was drab with an overwhelming sense of desolateness. I walked down some stairs into a rambling basement area. A young woman appeared with dark hair. It was not someone I can say I recognised. She had a curious expression. If we spoke, I cannot recall her utterances. She was not friendly, nor unfriendly. She was just present. Then she slowly removed herself to a large area at the rear of the property.

Eventually, though I cannot say for how long, I heard the sound of someone quietly entering the house and descending the stairs. It was the deceased, the man with whom a fifty year feud had been fought. He seemed as I remembered him from all those years ago, plus much older and much paler.

This anomalous figure was illumined in the half-light where colour is a stranger; so his appearance could have been caused by the shadows out of which he emerged. I naturally recognised him straight away. For a moment neither of us did anything save stare across the void at the spectre before us.

I took a step forward, as did he. Then I hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. He reciprocated in like manner and evinced warmth. I can only remember my words. He might have spoken, but I cannot remember what he said, or possibly it was communicated without sound emitting from his lips. Something empathetic and reconciliatory. I continued to hug the ghostly apparition before me, whispering: "I forgive you .... I love you."  The dream now began to fade. We were at peace. Finally.