I was sitting in a chair in what appeared to be the office of some kind of school. A woman walked over and sat in a seat to my left. It was difficult to tell how old she was, but she was probably in her 20s. She was slender, had shoulder length brown hair and was wearing a skirt and blouse. She looked at me a minute and said, "Are you French?"

I was surprised by her abrupt question and I immediately responded that I was an American. I asked her why she had thought I was French and she said something about my blue jeans, my long hair and the tone of my voice. I immediately pointed out that she hadn't heard my voice before she had asked me. Then I pulled out my light purple French dictionary which was under a notebook on my lap and suggested maybe she had seen the dictionary and inferred from it that I was French. I then asked her if she spoke French.

She answered something that sounded like, "Peuple," and I thought if she did speak the language she must not be able to speak very well. But then I realized she had actually said, "Un petit peu," but she had said it so quickly, I at first hadn't comprehended her well. Perhaps she did speak French rather well. I began speaking to her in French and told her I was learning the language. I added, "Je aprends lentement."

She then began chattering away in French and indeed did speak quite well. I immediately became more interested in her and took a closer look at her face. She was rather average-looking. One of her top front teeth was crooked. Her eyes most attracted my attention -- they seemed about the brownest eyes I had ever seen. The hue was indeed intense. It gradually occurred to me why. The brown cornea was so large it covered practically her whole eyeball so hardly any white was around it.

I interrupted her and began speaking English. I told her she had such brown eyes. But then I didn't know exactly what else to say about them, they were so peculiar-looking. I thought the safest thing would be to say something pleasant and I told her they were very nice. She seemed flattered; but I wasn't sure she had believed my rather insincere compliment.

We talked a bit more in French and then without a word she rose and walked away. I was disappointed and hoped she would return. She seemed to walk over to a counter in the room, talked to someone and then came back. After she had sat down she asked, "Du schreibst Geschichte?"

I was surprised to now hear her speaking German and I responded, "Du sprichst auch Deutsch."

I wasn't completely sure what she meant by "Geschichte" but thought she was using the word in the sense of stories. I asked, "Was fur Geschichte? Falsche Geschichte? Wahre Geschichte?"

I wanted to know just what kind of stories she was referring to. I continued in German and finally I told her I wrote a kind of stories because I did write my dreams. I tried to explain that my dreams were actually neither real nor fiction but were in a class by themselves. She didn't seem satisfied with that. She seemed to be interested in some type of fiction for which she had some kind of emotional need. She then stood and as she again walked away mentioned something about "junk novels" as if it were a kind of literature she often had a craving to read.

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