Fugitive in China

In this dream, I am working in China. First as an English language teacher and then a writer at a publishing house.

The scene opens with me by the side of a building looking through a dirty four-paned window. Children on the other side are singing. My heart is heavy as I contemplate leaving town.

There had been a misunderstanding. My place was raided by the police. They were looking for something. I am uneasy and distrust the police and China's judicial system. A TV hangs from a corner in the alley, it is showing someone aiming and firing a gun in a supermarket. Goods on shelves fly off. Did I do that? Questions.

I move on and am now walking. The road is dusty and a truck rumbles by.

I am in an office. I seem to be close to this new girl, an intern. The office has a few desks all arranged in neat rows front-to-back. It's still using CRT computer monitors. By the side a large sliding cupboard. Inside are things that belong to that girl. Each morning, before stepping out, she would put things into her sling bag. There's a notebook and disc. A thing that worries me is the gun. The girl seems to be using the gun to protect herself. She comes across as a revolutionary or government provocateur. The gun is a large one like a Colt 45.

One day, she fails to return. Her boyfriend, who works in the office, comes looking for her. In a conspiratorial tone, I open the cupboard and take out the gun. I seem to tell him to hide it and not let anyone know. It would be BIG trouble.

I am on the road again. I am in a spa town. A plump lady all wrapped up in towels is asking me for English lessons and seem impatient.

The scene switches and I am back in China on the run. I'm in a room, an empty one with cement floor. It seems to be a spacious lavatory and the cubicles have no doors. A cheap faded blue bag lies on the floor. I unzip it to find stationery items inside. I seem to think there are just too many items, so I repack the bag. I use pages taken from a magazine to wrap the items into a block. It is now a nice rectangular block that fits nicely into the bag. A man calls out. He asks me to take a look at the toilet. Above the squatting bowl where the pipe leads up to the cistern is cement. It's in the shape of Singapore. I don't say anything. But the man says: "How come got ants?"