There is a story. - I cannot tell it. - I have no words. The story
is almost forgotten but sometimes I remember. The story concerns
three men in a house in a street. If I could say the words I would
sing the story. I would whisper it into the ears of women, of
mothers. I would run through the streets saying it over and over.
My tongue would be torn loose - it would rattle against my teeth.
The three men are in a room in the house. One is young and
dandified. He continually laughs. There is a second man who has a
long white beard. He is consumed with doubt but occasionally his
doubt leaves him and he sleeps.
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