been dead in your present and your sentiments mean naught to me. In
fact, I wish to tell of the circumstances I found myself in as much as
of myself, so that you may have a retrospective clarity in visions of
the future. You will understand that statement later on, but for now let
me say that I wished to know the essence, the person, the consciousness
of Bernibus, whereas I wish to impart to you my story, though ere its
end you may come also to know me. I have no ambitions of material
immortality.

Bernibus understood my meaning, and though he disagreed with its
theoretical imputations, he humored me and did as I suggested. He pulled
back his brow in a reflective demeanor, brought his eyes to mine and
began:

"You desire me to tell you about myself without literally telling you of
myself. I suppose you mean that we discourse on some variety of
subjects, so that you can see who I am discreetly," he said.

"Exactly," I replied, "You say it better than I."

"Perhaps it is for the best, as you will draw your own conclusions
rather than be given mine, and instead of my telling you what I would
like to think I am, you would see what I am in truth. Strange, isn't it,
that though we think we know ourselves, we very much do not, and it is
only the unbiased observer who sees us as we are. You know, I was once
thinking of writing my memoirs, and I would have, except that I was
afraid that if I read them afterward I would be forced to see myself as
I am and be horrified at the truth."

"Damn the truth," I said.