Then the sage laughed and said, “It’s an infantile habit, Simon. One that I’ve never been able to overcome. Why should I? I find it very comforting. And it certainly is not dangerous to health, as tobacco smoking is, for instance.”
“Think nothing of it,” Simon said. “I didn’t expect you to be perfect, no matter how wise you are.”
“That’s right,” Mofeislop said. “Wisdom consists of knowing when to avoid perfection.”
While Simon was trying to figure that out, he was asked to sit down in a big overstuffed chair near the telescope. He did so, his heart beating hard. He felt that today was the day, this moment the moment. Mofeislop was going to reveal the Truth now.
Odiomzwak disappeared while the sage paced back and forth, his hands behind him, his tail lashing, his long robe fluttering. When the assistant reappeared with a bottle of wine, Mofeislop stopped and said “Ah!” Simon knew this must be a rare occasion. Instead of the stinking and sharp onion wine, Odiomzwak had brought mead, brewed from the honey of the meadow bees.
Odiomzwak set the bottle and three glasses down on a table. Mofeislop said, “It would be better if the animals were taken downstairs. We want no interruptions.”
The hunchbacked assistant shambled over to the owl, which had been perched behind and above Simon. Instead of coming to him, however, Athena screeched and flew off. She climbed in spirals higher and higher and finally was lost in the sun.
“They both seem uneasy,” Simon said apologetically. Anubis was, in fact, crouched under the table and growling softly in his throat.
“Beasts are very sensitive,” the sage said. “What they lack in intelligence, they make up in psychic perception. They sense that you are about to become a very different person. And they’re not sure that they will like it. Such is the effect of Truth.”
“I’ll take him downstairs,” Simon said. But when he rose and walked toward Anubis, the dog ran out from under the table and dashed behind the chimney.
“Oh, never mind then,” Mofeislop said, waving his hand. “It’s just that I did not want you disturbed by the owl crapping on your shoulder or the dog barking. I wanted your train of thought on schedule.”
Odiomzwak went downstairs again. The sage looked through his telescope and chuckled. Straightening up from it, he said, “Another party of Truth-seekers is approaching. I’ve been watching them for three days. Two men and an exceptionally fat woman. I’m afraid she’s going to lose much weight before she gets here. The road to Truth is a long and hard one.”
“Do you get many visitors?”
“About seventy a year,” Mofeislop said. “That’s an average of about three every two weeks. Just right. There are not so many they become a burden, and each party is small enough so it can be easily handled.”
“I’m surprised anybody gets through,” Simon said, “what with the rough terrain and the wild beasts and the savages.”
“Be surprised then,” the sage said. “Today, I’m surprised, too. That’s the first woman I’ve seen in ten years. Women don’t come here seeking the Truth, you know. That’s because they think they already know it. Besides, even those women who have doubts aren’t likely to go through the Yetgul Forest to ask a man what it’s all about. They know that most men are pitiful creatures and not too bright, no matter how proficient they might be in science and technology and the arts.”
Simon said, “But you are the exception, heh?”
“Right,” the sage said. “But you’re in for several surprises today.”
“I hope I have strength enough to face them,” Simon said. “I know that, deep down, I’m like everybody else. I talk much about wanting to know Truth, I seek it out, but I’m not sure that when I’m about to face it, I might not run away.”
“Others have tried to run away,” Mofeislop said.
He straightened up. “Perhaps you’ve wondered why I’ve isolated myself so thoroughly. Why do I make it so hard for people to get to me? Well, if it were easier, I’d be surrounded, overwhelmed, with people clamoring for the Truth night and day. I don’t particularly like people in the mass and, in fact, seldom individually. But here, I’m so alone that when I get a visitor I welcome him. Odiomzwak, as you may have noticed, is not a very interesting conversationalist. Also, those who make it here really desire to see me; they’re not just driven by idle curiosity. So, I have plenty of time to meditate and I get just enough visitors to satisfy my needs for human beings. And I’m master here, total master. The government doesn’t bother with me.”
Simon was about to reply when he smelled the powerful odor of long-unwashed Odiomzwak behind him. He turned his head to look up over the chair. Something clicked. He cried out and began struggling, while, seemingly far off, Anubis barked in a panic.
Steel bands had sprung out from the arms of the chair and bound his wrists.
“So, you son of a bitch, you saw me sucking my tail!” Mofeislop shouted.
“I wouldn’t tell anybody!” Simon cried. “I couldn’t care less! I just want to know the Truth!”
“You won’t tell anybody,” the sage said, glowering. “That’s right. Not that it would have made any difference whether or not you did see me. But don’t worry. You will hear the Truth.”
Odiomzwak came from behind the chair carrying several long sharp knives of varying widths and lengths. These were enough to make Simon wet his pants, but Odiomzwak’s drooling and lip-licking ensured it.
“This’ll be a rare feast indeed,” Odiomzwak mumbled. “We’ve never had Earthman’s flesh before.”
“Not rare,” Mofeislop said. “Unique. You should consult the dictionary more often, my dear Odiomzwak.”
“Who cares?” Odiomzwak said sullenly.
“I do,” the sage said. “Remember, unique, not rare. We’re not barbarians.”
“I wouldn’t agree with that,” Simon said.
“That’s because you’re emotionally involved,” Mofeislop said. “You haven’t attained the cool objectivity of the true philosopher.”
Mofeislop gestured to his assistant to put the knives on the table. He sat down in a chair facing Simon’s and put the tips of his fingers and his thumbs together. The shape thus formed was commonly known as a church steeple. To Simon, it looked like the gaping mouth of a shark.
“I hope you’re not a filthy atheist,” Mofeislop said.
“What?” Simon said. And then, “Of course not!”
“Good!” Mofeislop said. “I’ve eaten too many of them, and they’ve all had a rank taste that is unpleasant. Attitudes determine the chemical composition of a person’s flesh, you know. You didn’t? Well, now you know. And I’m pleased to see that, though you smoke, you don’t smoke much. You may have noticed the slight taste of tobacco in the meat of the stew you ate the day you got here. That was your predecessor. He was a nicotine addict, though, I’m glad to add, not an atheist. Otherwise, he would have been almost inedible.”
“I’m going to throw up,” Simon said.
“That seems to be the usual reaction,” Mofeislop said cheerfully. “I doubt you’ll have much success. I’ve arranged it so that your meal would be fully digested when you confronted the Truth.”
“Which is?” Simon said after his stomach had tried to empty non-existent contents.
“After much thought about and around, I came out of the same door, much as that drunken Persian Sufi poet you told me about. Out of the same door into which I had entered. Here’s how it is, and don’t bother to argue with me. My logic is clear and indisputable, based on long-life observation.
“It’s this. The Creator has created this world solely to provide Himself with a show, to entertain Himself. Otherwise, He’d find eternity boring.