“Purpose? I can’t conceive of a purpose?” By now,
my voice was nearly inaudible, my strength almost gone.
“Why did you have to include me as a participant? To
what objective have you put me to such continuous and
exquisite torture?” I waited for an explanation.
“We had to be certain” he said, his head nodding
gravely. “Certain of fecundation. My daughter must yield
issue. I live through her and she through her issue which
she consumes as sustenance.”
“This is absurd” I cried feebly. “You are mad.”
“Perhaps” he replied. “Perhaps we are all
somewhat mad. Madness today may be considered sanity
tomorrow. The reverse is also true. Good and evil. Moral
or immoral. These concepts change over time. Life
consists of a series of cycles. This is mine. Now my cycle is
complete.”
I was unable to grasp an explanation so bizarre. In
my diminished mental state, I can't say that I really cared. I
opened my eyes and, above me, Wertenberg hovered in a
filmy mist.
“Your condition is extremely fragile.” His
disembodied voice floated down from above. “As your
constitution has deteriorated, mine has gained renewed
strength and youth. My powers have returned. You are
really most fortunate. Few people find their purpose in
life. Whether you know it or not you have found yours.
You are Ezekiel and I the valley. You have brought breath
from the four winds and life to these dry bones. My life
may not be everlasting but, because of you, it will continue
for another twenty years. The grave has been denied its
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