You…
I’m a travel vlogger. Last year, I visited Kazakhstan. In Nur-Sultan I met a Russian expat who, after a night of heavy drinking, suggested: “My American friend, if you want interesting story, visit village to northwest called K—. In this village, people fall asleep. Not for night but days, weeks, months. There is no explanation.”
I make my way.
K—’s population is under 700.
It resembles a forgotten, decaying Soviet relic.
The inhabitants are warm-hearted, but few wish to discuss what they call the sleeping sickness.
“It occurs,” one says.
“I slept for three months and awoke,” another tells me. “So what?”
I see for myself several of the afflicted, wrapped in blankets, breathing softly. “My father has been sleeping for four years. I am afraid he will never wake up.”
Nights in K— are supremely quiet.
One night, I meet a man introduced as Colonel Denisov. He carries a laptop, which he opens before me. “Wish to understand?” he asks.
He plays a video:
“1962,” he says, as I see footage: of rockets; of nuclear weapons; of the utter devastation of America. “North America is a wasteland. You are but a dream.” People dying. “An illusion, the result of collectivised imagination.” Cities: empty. “Presently beneath Russia and Kazakhstan millions are dreaming the U.S.A. into existence.” Dead silence. “We annihilated you, and initiated Калифорнийская мечта as a cover-up.”
“Why tell me this?”
“Because you are mere figment. Because it’s over. The U.S.S.R. is gone, and the project is under-funded, failing. The American dream is flickering…”
Upon returning to America, I met with a member of the U.S. intelligence services. He was dismissive until I said, “K—.”
I was ushered into another room.
Another member.
I explained what I’d learned.
“Калифорнийская мечта is an American psyop,” she said. “An improved form of nuclear deterrence. What’s more effective than mutually assured destruction? A conviction you’ve already destroyed the enemy,” but as she said this, she and I and all around us seemed to phase in-and-out of solidity, an effect she blamed on the power generators. “Are you foolish enough,” she asked, “to believe we are together being dreamed in an underground Soviet facility? In K—, they sleep because of CO.”
I know then I will have a recurring dream. I will be running as my skin peels off. There will be mayhem, from which I will have awoken to find myself in an immense underground space filled with row upon row of beds. In the darkness, I will sit up.
Yuri, you must sleep.
Injection.
I have fallen into a dream in which I’m falling: through darkness toward darkness, from which gradually emerges: my body, gargantuan; but as I fall toward it, it recedes, getting smaller and smaller, until it is the size of my actual body, and, my eyes staring into my eyes, I impact—
America.
My promised land.
I get up, brew coffee and listen to the twittering birds. Sometimes they sound so false.