In the ensuing blissful bond, the girl starts to withdraw.  Her swain does not go with her.  She turns to look at him, demure yet yearning.  Now he is the resisting quarry.  She is wistful, obviously longing to lure him to some lair of love.  Despairing, she  withdraws.  Now the young man begins an exploratory mime of his own.  He proceeds to probe his innermost cravings and apprehensions.  He paces, he sobs, he sways, he chuckles, he moans, he groans, but  he never speaks.  He strives for absolute truth.  The layers of personality, grown over a lifetime in the need to survive and flourish, the fronts and obfuscation and dissembling, are shed.  He begins to strip.  As the invocatory performance proceeds, someone dashed towards the stage, obviously to avert the profanation of Royal gaze by total nudity.

It was an opportunity too good to miss. An opportunity far greater than he could ever have wished for at this time of the day in a busy Lagos bus. A real lunatic seated beside the Christian evangelist had apparently inspired in the other a string of religious songs, given impetus by the insistence of the lunatic on clapping and shrilly singing along.