MYSTERIES OF ELEUSIS
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unsafe after the strange wall-paper and the unknown room, was com–
pelled to further examine the familiar and went to the closet of the
sister. The door opened and the dreamer's mind sought expected
things: a homemade cotton nightgown, skirts and sweaters, sturdy
school shoes, outgrown, much-laundered dresses. But the closet re–
vealed the long skirts of black silk dresses and, on the nail reserved
fol' sleeping clothes, a lace dress of a color the dreamer knew as robin–
egg blue. The dress was crumpled, as if it had been worn the night
before. On the floor there were a dozen pairs of tiny, multi-colored
shoes. Mary Agnes! Mary Agnes! the dreamer called to the image
of the sister with the remarkable health and promise, the bright, un–
damaged face. Again there was no answer and the dreamer rushed
from the room screaming fearfully, Mama! Papa! Running frantical–
ly, articles came into view and then vanished: the mother's old gar–
den shoes, the father's hat with a rain-stained brim, the older sister's
neat white cotton gloves that seemed to be pulled over her prim
hands. The brother's face, shadowed with the secrecy he always main–
tained about his activities, stepped into the path of the runner. The
dreamer felt momentarily impeded by these old signs and signals and
had the sensation of coming to a violent stop before them, only to
have them change imperceptibly into strangeness. There was a special
agony in everything seen in that each containe'd aspects of the known
in juxtaposition with the new and unidentifiable. After a time, the
dreamer again stood on the front porch of the house and once more
noted the sagging steps and the broom scratches. The dreamer grasped
the door knob again and repeated, I am home. I have come home.
When the door was opened, the appearance of the tapestry-like wall
paper caused no surprise or fear, but now the old hat rack was gone
and in its place ... There was no sunlight and a large, circular object
of copper wire stood in' the center of the hall.
She awoke shortly after dawn. There were lights in three
win–
dows of the hotel across the street. At first she started to turn on the
overhead lights in her room, but found the thought of this full illumi–
nation unbearable.
It
was light enough for her to find her way to the
hot plate and to start the coffee water to boil. Then she sat before
her window and watched the morning come over the city. Actually
she was waiting for sleep to leave her, merely breathing through those
fifteen minutes or so in which she slowly and reluctantly became a
part of the living world. Beyond her, in a lower building, there was a
dreary set of apartments pressed together as if they were compart–
ments of a box. After a while a weak light came on in one of the
