“What,” asked George, “is an idea?”
Siebenhaar flung his arms around him and embraced him and recited a long poem in his own language.
“You shall be presented at the Universities!” he said. “You shall be a living reproach to all writers, thinkers, artists, and I, Siebenhaar, will be your humble attendant.”
“Did I say anything unusual?”
“Unusual? Unique! Colossal! The ultimate question! ‘What is war? What is an idea?’ Ach?”
George insisted on an explanation of the meaning of war, and then he asked why the Fattish and the Fatters should be intent upon mutual destruction, and also what the difference between them might be.
“Difference?” said Siebenhaar. “The Fattish drink beer that you can hold; the Fatters drink beer that runs through you. That is all there is to it.”
With that he sent for some Fatter beer and drank a large quantity himself and made George taste it. He spat it out.
“Is that why they are making war?”
Siebenhaar smacked his lips.