For the three successive nights Monsur awoke from the same dream. “I’m in this palace,” he told his wife, “I meet a man dressed as a magician. Just as I wake up, I hear a voice telling me to go to Vienna to seek my fortune.”
“Well,” said Nadia, “what’s stopping you going there? I’ll book the flight.”
“By the way,” she said, scrolling down her tablet, “why don’t you go and visit a psychiatrist?”
“I’m not crazy,” said Monsur.
“I never said you were. But maybe he will help you interpret your dream.”
Monsur took the plane to Vienna and fell asleep in his hotel room after eating a slice of Sachertorte. The following day, when he went to see the well-known Viennese doctor, he told him his dream that he had had, as regular as clockwork, the night before.
The psychiatrist laughed.
“Why,” he said, “your dream is nonsense. In fact, all dreams are quite meaningless.”
The psychiatrist began to tell Monsur his own dream.
“Three times,” he said, “I have dreamt of house in London with a garden. In the garden, there is a bench by a wall. By the bench there is a bed of sweet peas. Where the sweet peas grow, the dream tells me is my fortune. Needless to say, I pay absolutely no attention to it.”
Monsur returned home to London.
He went out into the garden and over to the bench by the wall where the sweet peas grew and he began to dig.
There he found it, a small box with a jewel. He took the box with the jewel and gave it his wife.
“Why,” said Nadia. “You didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell you that your fortune lies here with me at home.”