I dreamt I was with a woman who had a son of about six. I think she was an actress. She did not play an important part in my dream, though. All I remember about her is that she had blond hair collected into a short ponytail. She was still quite beautiful, but there was something tough and cold in her face. When I woke up I realized that she looked a bit like Madonna looks now. The boy just had an unfortunate operation: the index finger on his right hand was amputated. Actually, the finger was chopped off, cut right through, leaving an exposed wound that had dried up. He did not appear to mind it much. I remember cringing when he would pick something up between his thumb and the stump of his finger. The boy spoke Serbo-Croatian with a Bosnian accent. I think he and his mother were from Sarajevo. He was kind of tough, as boys get when their mother’s boyfriends are trying to befriend them. His hair was brown and straight. It was cut relatively short. He was on the chubby and ruddy side. He had a small, pointed nose. I remember walking with him through the streets of a city very like Belgrade and talking to him about our relationship. At some point we jumped over some shallow puddles, which glistened under the morning or evening sky. I held his hand. I was telling him how he should trust me and how buddies like us must not keep things from each other. The boy agreed with me in a grumpy but earnest sort of way. He promised to keep in mind what I had told him.