He woke whimpering in the night and the man held him. Shh, he said. Shh. It's okay.
[The Boy:] I had a bad dream.
[The Man:] I know.
[The Boy:] Should I tell you what it was?
[The Man:] If you want to.
[The Boy:] I had this penguin that you wound up and it would waddle and flap its flippers. And we were in that house that we used to live in and it came around the corner but nobody had wound it up and it was really scary.
[The Man:] Okay.
[The Boy:] It was a lot scarier in the dream.
[The Man:] I know. Dreams can be really scary.
[The Boy:] Why did I have that scary dream?
[The Man:] I dont know. But it's okay now. I'm going to put some wood on the fire. You go to sleep.
The boy didnt answer. Then he said: The winder wasnt turning. (60.1-60.12)
We hear plenty of The Man's dreams, but this is one of the few times The Boy shares a dream. It's a scary one, but according to The Man's take on dreams, bad dreams mean one is confronting reality instead of running from it. How does this dream relate to reality, though? What does it tell us about the world in which The Man and The Boy find themselves?
Well, we're actually unsure how to answer that question. Our best guess is that somehow the world itself – like the penguin – is mechanically progressing toward extinction. And, like the penguin without a winder, there's no way to stop it. On a gut level, though, we find The Boy's dream both frightening and funny. It's a penguin for crying out loud – that's a little silly. But don't children dream of things like penguins? And doesn't that make the dream believable? (And then frightening when you realize no one wound it?)
The boy was sitting on the steps when he saw something move at the rear of the house across the road. A face was looking at him. A boy, about his age, wrapped in an outsized wool coat with the sleeves turned back. He stood up. He ran across the road and up the drive. No one there. He looked toward the house and then he ran to the bottom of the yard through the dead weeds to a still black creek. Come back, he called. I wont hurt you. He was standing there crying when his father came sprinting across the road and seized him by the arm.
[The Man:] What are you doing? he hissed. What are you doing?
[The Boy:] There's a little boy, Papa. There's a little boy.
[The Man:] There's no little boy. What are you doing? (131.1-131.4)
Most of the "versions of reality" in The Road are dreams, but this one seems to be a hallucination. The Boy, whether from weariness or despair, imagines another boy – eerily similar to himself – across the road. There's tons of emotional projection in his vision: What happens if he, too, ends up abandoned? Is his own boyhood disappearing? Has he become frightful even to himself?
When he woke the fire had burned down and it was very cold. The boy was sitting up wrapped in his blanket.
[The Man:] What is it?
[The Boy:] Nothing. I had a bad dream.
[The Man:] What did you dream about?
[The Boy:] Nothing.
[The Man:] Are you okay?
[The Boy:] No.
He put his arms around him and held him. It's okay, he said.
[The Boy:] I was crying. But you didnt wake up.
[The Man:] I'm sorry. I was just so tired.
[The Boy:] I meant in the dream. (252.1-252.11)
Sometimes McCarthy pulls the rug right out from under us. The Boy's dream is really disturbing because The Man doesn't wake up in it. We also think there's a bit of old-fashioned foreshadowing here: later, The Man will die while The Boy sleeps next to him. As The Man says in The Road, nightmares reflect the reality they face in this post-apocalyptic world.