I will give my talk on Tuesday. On Monday I get a tryout at the house of an old man I know, attended by some people, among them Freud. I make a few false starts, but finally I get it right and say, convinced that this is true, "Everywhere where people dream they think that they are in an entirely real world." An old man to my right shakes his head vehemently. "That is not true," he exclaims. "I don't agree either," Freud adds. I am flabbergasted, realizing how true I thought this reality to be. I am flustered. People begin to leave. I sit back on my chair again. The room is now almost empty, except for Freud and some stragglers. "Well, I must be going," Freud says. I still want to talk to him. "So, Dr. Freud, you don't believe that the dream world is real?" "No," he replies. "While dreaming you never reach the boy. And you'll always stay at a distance from the things that you are afraid of." "That is true," I say, "but that doesn't make it less real." "Well," Freud responds, "that's not the case. You're wrong." This old man Freud, who doesn't look like Sigmund Freud--his face is much rounder--speaks with certainty. He wipes my argument away with absolute authority. I say, almost desperate, that everywhere in the world where I've discussed dreams, people always considered the dream environment real while dreaming. "Well," he concludes, "research the dream reports of one hundred and one dreamers and you'll see that it is not true." Then he leaves. I sit in my chair, totally stunned. I want to write a letter to Freud to get back to this discussion. But I know that he is long dead. That I can't write an old letter. I know that I am in two worlds. Then I realize that if I send it to the Berggasse in Vienna, Freud's home address, it will obviously be a new letter and it won't get anywhere because Freud lived long ago. I am sad that I won't be able to reach Freud to continue the discussion.