I dreamt that I was in the company of a theater actor famous for a monologue involving a penis torn off. There were many people around him, and they kept asking him pointed questions. I watched the spectacle, but I did not take any part in it. His monologue kept evolving from performance to performance, but he was very reticent about it. The mystery evolved at a clip. Many questions remained unanswered. Was it true that he had the torn-off penis hanging on a leather string around his neck? How come it did not rot away? Did he have it dried up or did it dry up by itself? Whose penis was it? Was it his by any chance? How in the world did the penis happen to be torn off? Did it hurt like hell? How was the wound mended? Why was the penis not sewn back on? Both men and women surrounding the actor wanted to know all this and much more besides. But the actor always found a way not to answer any question to the audience’s full satisfaction. It was the audience that kept feeding itself with rumors of previous performances. And it was the audience that offered new questions and plenty of plausible answers. The actor said next to nothing the whole time. When I woke up, I wondered what I had witnessed. Was that the monologue itself? If it was, it was most ingenious, indeed. Theater at its best.