I dreamt that Franjo Tuđman was about to give me a kiss of recognition and appreciation. He recognized me as a Croat of worth. I panicked and woke up. It was morning already and I was propped up on my arms and knees. My beloved jumped out of bed and dashed to the kitchen to fetch me a glass of water. As it turned out, it was only a few minutes past six o’clock, and so we went back to sleep. But the near kiss stayed with me. I knew that Tuđman was dead, and so my dream had to do with a visit from the other world. Besides, being recognized and appreciated by him was not exactly to my liking. Thus the double panic. I revisited the dream many times in several subsequent dreams. When we woke up a couple of hours later, I had hard time explaining my frightening dream to my beloved. Much of it was blurred, but I still remembered that Tuđman wore a sleeveless jacket made of brown sheep fur. It looked as primitive as fur jackets ever get. That was the only part of the dream I actually liked.