“Alas,” the Crane said, “if I did so you would die. This is the Island of Eternal Youth; do you know you have been here for a hundred years? If you go away you will feel old age and weariness and pain, then you will die.”
“No matter,” said Wasobiobe, “take me home.”
Then the Crane took him on her strong back and flew with him. Day and night she flew and never tarried and never tired. At last she said, “Do you see the shore?”
And he said, “I see it. Praise be to the gods.”
She said, “Where shall I carry you?... You have but a little time to live.”
“Good Crane, upon the dear sand of my country, under the spreading pine, there sits a poor fisherman mending his net. Take me to him that I may die in his arms.”
So the Crane laid Wasobiobe at the poor fisherman’s feet. And the fisherman raised him in his arms. And Wasobiobe laid his head against the fisherman’s humble breast.
“I might have lived for ever,” he said, “but for the word that is written on my heart.”
“What word?” said the fisherman.
“Humanity is the word,” the Wise Man murmured. “I am grown old—hold me closer. Ah, the pain....” He gave a great cry.