Books In English "City Of Illusions" Ursula K. Le Guin | Page 42

By way of answer the old man merely asked a question for the first
time: "Did you eat the hen?"
"No," said Falk, toweling himself dry in the firelight that reddened his
skin to the color of new bronze. "Not after it talked. I shot the rabbits
instead."
"Killed it and didn't eat it? Shameful, shameful." The old man cackled,
then crowed like a wild cock. "Have you no reverence for life? You must
understand the Law. It says you mustn't kill unless you must kill. And
hardly even then. Remember that in Es Toch. Are you dry? Clothe your
nakedness, Adam of the Yaweh Canon. Here, wrap this around you, it's no
fine artifice.like your own clothes, it's only deerhide tanned in piss, but at
least it's clean."
"How do you know I'm going to Es Toch?" Falk asked, wrapping the
soft leather robe about him like a toga.
"Because you're not human," said the old man. "And remember, I am
the Listener. I know the compass of your mind, outlandish as it is, whether
I will or no. North and south are dim; far back in the east is a lost
brightness; to the west there lies darkness, a heavy darkness. I know that
darkness. Listen. Listen to me, because I don't want to listen to you, dear
guest and blunderer. If I wanted to listen to men talk I wouldn't live here
among the wild pigs like a wild pig. I have this to say before I go to sleep.
Now listen: There are not very many of the Shing. That's a great piece of
news and wisdom and advice. Remember it, when you walk in the awful
darkness of the bright lights of Es Toch. Odd scraps of information may
always come in handy. Now forget the east and west, and go to sleep. You
take the bed. Though as a Thurro-dowist I am opposed to ostentatious
luxury, I applaud the simpler pleasures of existence, such as a bed to sleep
on. At least, every now and then. And even the company of a fellow man,
once a year or so. Though I can't say I miss them as you do. Alone's not
lonely…" And as he made himself a sort of pallet on the floor he quoted in
an affectionate singsong from the Younger Canon of his creed: "'I am no
more lonely than the mill brook, or a weathercock, or the north star, or the
south wind, or an April shower, or a January thaw, or the first spider in a
new house…I am no more lonely than the loon on the pond that laughs so
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