Yet I was not dismayed. I was alone, yes. But memories flocked forward to draw the sting from the word.
Memory! That was the key to it, I saw. Out of memory a man might whittle a new life, a club to shatter loneliness.
I probed the dark corners of my mind to test the theory, dragged forward thoughts and recollections which once must have set all my nerves ajangling. And now they fell into orderly sequence, suffered themselves to be arrayed and rearrayed, tabulated and put back whence they had come. From some of them I had pleasure. From some a stab of pain. But I was always their master. My grief was cured. My mind was again my own.
I spoke softly to Tawannears.
"My brother has not slept?"
He turned sad eyes upon me.
"No, Tawannears thinks of the past—and the hopelessness of the future. But what is this?" He bent toward me. "Otetiani's eyes are clear. The Evil Spirit no longer clouds his face."
"I have found peace, brother," I said simply.
A sudden flame of inner light burned the dejection from his face.
"Otetiani has saved Tawannears from himself. Hawenneyu has spoken. Hanegoategoh has lost his grip. The future is hope, brother."