ABSTRACT
I knew that anything that Jirf Weiss and I would have to say to each other after all the years that we had known one another, all the years that our love -hate relationship had persisted, would wind up pretty much in the form of a monologue. And that I would make only a few remarks here and there, from the wings, so to speak. So I insisted, in those endless hours in the spring of 1968, that he talk about his life, that it was time for confessions - general confessions. He agreed. And I knew that it was then mainly a matter of how good a listener I would be.
