Nadzieja Pandory

“I have a question for you,” he said, taking out of his pocket a crumpled piece of paper on which he had scribbled a few key words. He took in his breath: “Do you believe in reality?”—“But of course!” I laughed, “what a question! Is reality something we have to believe in?”
He had asked me for a private discussion in a place I found as bizarre as the question: by the lake near the chalet, in this strange imitation of a Swiss resort placed in the tropical mountains of Teresopolis, in Brazil. “Has reality really become something people have to believe in,” I thought to myself, “the answer to a serious question raised in a hushed and embarassed tone? Is reality something like God, the topic for a confession reached after a long and intimate discussion? Are there people on earth who don’t believe in reality?”