Prometheus repeated my question as I stood beside him nervously, and watched as the infamous, redoubtable bird came and landed upon him and began to devour his soft flesh, his corpus yielding to the familiarity of the eagle's beak and talons. He gave up his liver in meditative ecstasy. Their relation reminded me of the dance that long time lovers share as they relax into an embrace subtly, languorously, following the other's pheromonal hints, well-rehearsed yet still full of meaning.
Prometheus, his eyes closed, I was not sure if he was thinking, or just taking pleasure in the eagle's hunger for innards, murmured. Then the eagle left, and with eyes glimmering, repeated my query, but this time, with a voice that showed his convoluted and far-reaching mind had penetrated it more than I was aware.
The Perfect Gift, Prometheus said as the wind blew about his hair, for a person of any means, for it does not matter what their material wealth is, for the perfect gift requires something that will bless with an aesthetic appreciation of both visual and sonic design, and instill within them a keen value of engineering both ancient and modern, hence... and he cleared his throat... the Perfect Gift would be a gong...
A gong? I repeated, unable to cloak my disbelief.
Yes, Prometheus replied, as he allowed his hand inside the gaping hole of his abdomen, to feel his liver regenerate within him, pulling his hand finally and only to allow his flesh to close. But not just any gong - a Chau gong of about 12 inches in diameter, with a solid stand holding it, with two screw-in feet. THIS GONG! he added with more enthusiasm than I had seen from him in 50 years, THIS GONG would be the PERFECT GIFT, for oneself, or another!