A street performer and a policeman have gotten into a very odd dialogue and a loose crowd gathers. The interpreter draws the stranger to the fringe of this sparse circle and whispers a running commentary as best he can into the stranger's bad ear:

"The juggling man insists that the only sure proof of anything resides in people's beliefs. The policeman is more philosophical and claims that there are certain facts which exist outside of language. The juggler grants this point but says it is no refutation. He calls the policeman by a friendly name, what you would say as Buddy or Mack in English, very comrade-like and what the Jews call a mensch. The policeman makes a joke on this name which is difficult to explain but is why the passings-by are laughing. The sense of it is that every Jack has a twin; it is something of a proverb, though even in our language it doesn't make sense exactly. Still it is a common remark, even little children would say this. The juggler applauds this turn by the policeman and yet insists that cleverness is no excuse for truth. It isn't so bold as that, more kinder. It refutes the policeman in a sense."

The stranger interrupts, whispering back in the guide's ear.

"Is he arresting him?"

"Of course not," says the guide, "Is a discussion."

And one times one is one, another young woman said quietly, not so much replying as knitting, meanwhile reaching absent - mindedly to close the space between the fingering grasses.