The Cave by José Saramago

Cipriano Algor dreamed that he was inside his new kiln. He felt happy because he had managed to persuade his daughter and his son-in-law that the sudden increase in activity at the pottery called for radical changes in the way they made the pots and a rapid updating of the means and methods of production, beginning with the urgent replacement of the old kiln, an archaic remnant of a way of life that would not even merit preservation as a ruin in an open-air museum. Let us jettison any feelings of nostalgia which will only hinder and hold us back, Cipriano had said with unusual vehemence, progress moves implacably forward, and we have no option but to keep pace with it, and woe to those who, fearful of future upheavals, are left sitting by the roadside weeping for a past that was no better than the present. These words emerged from his mouth so complete, perfect, and polished that it convinced the two reluctant young people.

Besides, it must be said that the technological differences between the new kiln and the old were nothing out of the ordinary, everything that had been in the first kiln in antiquated mode was present, in updated form, in the second kiln, the only really striking differences were the sheer size, with twice the capacity of the old kiln, and, although perhaps less noticeable, the slightly abnormal proportions inside the kiln between height, length, and breadth. Given that all this was happening in a dream, however, the latter point is not so very odd. What is odd, regardless of the liberties and excesses that the logic of dreams may allow the dreamer, is the presence of a stone bench, identical to the bench of meditations, of which Cipriano Algor can see only the back, because, most unusually, the bench is turned to face the rear wall and is positioned barely five spans away from it.