I’m running toward a great red brick edifice that I know is a concentration camp. I’m not sure whether it’s voluntary or involuntary — whether I’m choosing to go there or I’m being driven there.
Suddenly, there’s a manhole in the ground before me, and somehow I’m being beckoned to escape underground into a dark unknown.
I’m afraid because I don’t know if I’m being tricked and trapped. What if I don’t fit and get stuck in the tunnel? What if I’m shut in to suffocate in darkness? What if there are worms everywhere?
I don’t trust the beckoning. My inclination is to choose the edifice — equally unknown, and possibly behind the beckoning. At least it appears to be above ground and not as stifling — although I can’t be sure.
I pull my hand out of the hole and find a rice-like speck on it. It’s a worm. I run toward the edifice.
I go with a friend to a tearoom. No one is there except guests, so we go to one of the private rooms with two ornate, overstuffed, red, patterned chairs with a matching ottoman between. Everything is enormous, and the entire place looks like a bawdy house. I don’t understand why as all we want is tea, and it seems overdone for such a simple want.
We hear someone and go to tell her which room we’re in. She tells us everything is taken, makes us leave, and tells never to come back, although I’m not sure why (whether everything is always taken, whether we were never going to be allowed in, or whether we have committed such a serious breach in protocol that we can never return). I am confused and humiliated.