Eureka, What an Erection You Have!

I don't sleep before performances. I pace around the flat all night repeating my lines. I fall asleep around dawn. And then I forget everything anyway. Naturally, I do my best to avoid them at all costs.

But once I had to perform in a student play about Archimedes, where he makes his famous discovery and, sinking into the bath, shouts “Eureka!” I have no idea how they roped me into that role — with my red hair I'm the last person on earth to play him! They put a wig of black curls on me, glued on a scraggly little beard, stuffed me into a long tunic and gave me a fake hooked nose, because apparently that's what ancient Greeks looked like. It was an absolute freak show.

I comfort myself with the thought that it's just a little play at Uni and nobody will even remember it afterwards. But it turns out quite differently. The whole of Uni high society turns up for this bloody play, and it's held in the main assembly hall. As usual I'm a nervous wreck: no sleep all night, sweaty palms, mouth as dry as a desert.

Still, everything goes fairly smoothly until the moment I have to come out, lie down in the bath and shout “Eureka.” I forget my lines completely. I just sit in the bath, waving my arms and shouting “Eureka!” The lecturer who directed the play tries to prompt me. He's standing nearby, looking at the script and twirling a ballpoint pen. Very strict, intellectual-looking, middle-aged, a dead ringer for Chekhov. He whispers some words to me, twirls the pen — and suddenly it slips out of his fingers and falls. But somehow, unbelievably, he catches it in mid-air. And out of sheer surprise I want to exclaim: “What a reaction you have!” — but what comes out is: “Eureka, what an erection you have!”

Oops. A pause hangs over the hall… and then the place explodes with wild laughter! I want the ground to swallow me up, I'm burning with shame, and I decide I urgently need to explain myself. So I say: “I mean reaction, of course. You have great reactions. And no erection whatsoever. I'm sorry, that was a Freudian slip.” Damn. I wanted to save the situation, but I only shat myself even worse.

“You'd have done better not to try explaining yourself,” the lecturer replies. That's it. Curtain.

The next day in the corridor everybody and their dog came up to me: “Archimedes, be brave! He'll remember your erection at the exam!” Everyone was cracking up at me. Well, I take the jokes and sniggering from the guys philosophically. The only thing that really worried me was how I was now going to sit his exam. I prepared properly, sat there and studied. At the exam we talked strictly about the questions on my ticket, no reprisals whatsoever. So I managed to get top marks.

After such a public humiliation I stop being afraid of performing in front of an audience. It just vanishes, like magic. I'm honestly amazed the next time I perform: I don't even think about it, and the night before I sleep like a baby.

After my disgrace at the University, people talked about me and laughed their heads off at me. And it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. Because after that I'm not afraid anymore.

Shame killed fear. I don't know how it works. But it works.