He stopped again, confusion on the edge of his lips and covering his cheeks. G... had stumbled over the pronunciation of the word “costumes”, as if this term had walked him too close to some personal system of references which now loaded him with guilt.
I wasn’t sure what to do, but decided to finish: “So, let’s get to the conclusion.”
Then, clearly, articulating each syllable, he admitted his dream to me: “I often dream, then, that I’m getting undressed in front of you; it is possible that this physical stripping hides or symbolizes the need for some deeper revelation, but I’m sure that I need to satisfy this desire to be rid of it and reassured.” He was becoming more verbose. “I’m not trying to explain the reasons for this desire; but I need to satisfy it...”
“Would you accept... ?”
How could I not have accepted? I was, I admit, somewhat intrigued, curious even to attend this “theater play” that was more like a cabaret striptease than anything else, or at least that is how it seemed.
My heart was beating at quite a pace. I let G... direct the scene, chose the setting, organize the elements of the decor.
All of a sudden, he stared at me again: