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Show CHRYSALIS PAGE 69 'We didn't sleep," I said. Anyway, who cares? Shakespeare 138: King Lear - an introductory lecture on the glories of classical theatre. I sit amid a stack of books, shifting in my chair, fidgeting with my pencil. "The exploration of an amoral universe. Deliberately pre- Christian. Notice how Lear prays to Jupiter. It's the idea of Greek philosophy. The language is all important." The director's skin was so loose even his fingers were webbed. He clipped together several sheets of paper. Time. Mother's darling he used to be, with skin as tight and rosy as a berry. He peered at the papers in his duckyfoot fingers. Babyfingers. What if there is a baby? Soft and smelling sweet. A kiss is the unborn knocking at the door. Who said that? The unborn born unborn born unborn. Moving in the womb. Mine. My baby. I'd be a bad mother. Bluejeans and dirty tennis shoes. Bone of my bone. Flesh. Open to me my love, my dove, my undefiled. I couldn't resist so much flattery. No one ever told me I was beautiful before. Where other boys brought flower corsages to their dates, mine, up to now, once brought a sack of potatoes, and once, a cheese. Thou art fair, |