A close friend and I are piloting a boat down a river flowing through a valley in a stony, hilly country. We meet with occasional patches of moderate rapids. We are dressed in vaguely medieval clothing. Our craft is a sturdily built wooden dory—roundish, with overlapping planks, interior ribs, oarlocks, and such like nautical details. We are on a holiday, and we are enjoying ourselves, well, capitally, rather like Ratty and Mole punting about in Wind in the Willows, except our river is somewhat swifter flowing than their slow English stream.
Soon, as we round the S-bends, coasting downstream, we begin to encounter naked women standing in the river like living statues as if in the place of rocks, froth and foam kicking up around them, their arms raised above their heads in the odalisque pose. The first ones are rather Celtic, with red hair, fair skin, and small high breasts—but after that the women were of all types, all races, all stunningly beautiful. The proper word for them, I suppose, is nymphs (Nymph, in thy orisons are all my sins remembered). My companion thinks that instead of water sprites that they were some sort of advertising gimmick.
Eventually, we beach the boat next to two heavy breasted dark haired beauties standing close together in silent repose, and my companion and I scramble up a rocky slope to a large, open flat area where a fair or market was in progress. Though on the river it is a fine, sunny day, at the market is lit in a strange dim yellowish light. Right at the top of the slope is a veritable harem of these wet, naked women lounging about, evidently taking a break from their damp, cold labors.
We walk through the midst of reclining river goddesses, and stroll about the fair. At some point my companion and I are separated. I begin to get the impression from the reaction of the people at the fair that we had violated a taboo by passing through the midst of the river’s harem of odalisques. I decide to head back to the boat. I detour around the nymph rest area this time, but when I get back to the sunlight by the riverside, I find that my boating companion has departed without me. The boat is gone and my gear is hanging from the fork of a driftwood tree.
Then I fall awake.
From Dr. Omed’s Book of Dreams