[...] Two nights after the dream of my grandmother, I dreamt (I was in a spate of dreaming) I was hiking with my parents in a valley. It was so dark that everything looked gray, with trees as darker shapes and rocks as light shapes. Ahead of us, suddenly, we saw a pair of glowing red eyes amid the gray. We thought it might be a bear but realized it was a mountain lion, and it had seen us. The three of us ran as fast as we could up one of the sides of the valley and found a watchtower made of stone with an apartment in it. No one was in the apartment, but it was very well stocked. The mountain lion arrived soon after, prowling at the door, which was made, for some reason, of plexiglass: the bulletproof kind in jails and twenty-four-hour bodegas. I found, in the kitchen, a cleaver, which I broke off from the handle so it was like a razor on both long edges. I cracked open the door and bounced it, like a toy, and the lion, like a dog, caught the fragment and was instantly cut. Blood was produced from the back of its mouth, so much that I worried I had killed it, but mouth wounds heal quickly. The mountain lion, which had collapsed, got up, and was a changed being. I had made it submissive. In my dreams, I think I can conquer death.