He says he has been infuriated by a story. It haunts him, he says : he can’t stop thinking about it. What story? I say. All stories, he says, really. They’re never the story I need or really want. I ready the picture : I am quiet : I let the time pass : after a bit he speaks into this silence and tells me the bones of the story. It’s about a magic helmet which allows its bearer to turn into anything, transform into any shape he likes, all he has to do is put the helmet on his head. But that’s not the part that maddens him : he likes that part of the story : there’s this other part of the story
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