Verse 33
I prayed at dawn because they said the heavens listen better then. The sun came up exactly as usual, which I took as either a sign or very poor customer service.
I prayed at dawn because they said the heavens listen better then. The sun came up exactly as usual, which I took as either a sign or very poor customer service.
So I made another prayer, louder this time. Nothing. Even the crows looked embarrassed for me.
Then I said: perhaps the gods are deaf. And something behind my left shoulder laughed, though there was nobody there.
It said, “Do not insult the deaf. They at least have an excuse.”
I asked its name. It gave me seven, then admitted three were invented. I trusted it immediately, for honesty must begin somewhere.
We walked east while the sky burned pale gold. The thing beside me would not step into my shadow, which I considered rude.
It asked what I desired. I said wisdom. It laughed again. So I said wealth. It laughed harder. Finally I said, “Fine. An answer.” Then it became quiet.
“Answers are expensive,” it said. “Questions are what they give you for free.”
I told it I had spent half my life speaking upward. It asked whether I had ever checked if anyone lived there.
At noon the great furnace stood over us without blinking. I cursed it, and my companion bowed to it like an actor greeting an audience.
“Be polite,” it whispered. “That lamp has seen better men than you go mad.”
I said that prayer should rise like smoke. It replied, “Then perhaps yours is wet wood.”
This offended me, mainly because it was possible.
So I made a bargain: one truth in exchange for one cherished lie. The creature smiled and said, “At last, a currency accepted everywhere.”
I surrendered the lie that suffering makes a man noble. Nothing happened, except I felt lighter and slightly cheated.
Then it told me that misery has no wings. It crawls, it circles, it digs holes, but it does not ascend merely because we call its groaning holy.
“Then what reaches the heights?” I asked. It pointed at the sun and said, “Heat, mostly.”
I laughed until I hated myself for laughing. This pleased the creature greatly.
By evening the light had reddened, and every stone cast a long black tongue behind it. I wondered whether shadows were only proof that something stood between us and fire.
My companion said, “Careful. Keep thinking like that and someone will build a religion around you.”
I asked whether the heavens reject sorrowful men. It answered, “Perhaps the heavens reject postage due.”
Then I understood nothing, which was more honest than most revelations I had received.
When the sun sank, I shouted one final prayer after it. The horizon swallowed both light and words without visible preference.
And the thing beside me said, “There. Now you know the secret.” I asked what secret. It smiled with too many teeth and replied, “That silence answers everyone equally.”