“Is that so strange? Remember, M’sieu Farris, that a century ago an old peasant woman in England was curing heart-disease with foxglove, before a physician studied her cure and discovered digitalis.”
“But why on earth would even a Laos tribesman want to live so much slower?” Farris demanded.
“Because,” Berreau answered, “they believe that in that state they can commune with something vastly greater than themselves.”
Lys interrupted. “M’sieu Farris must be very weary. And his bed is ready.”
Farris saw the nervous fear in her face, and realized that she wanted to end this conversation.
He wondered about Berreau, before he dropped off to sleep. There was something odd about the chap. He had been too excited about this hunati business.
Yet that was weird enough to upset anyone, that incredible and uncanny slowing-down of a human being’s life-tempo. “To commune with something vastly greater than themselves,” Berreau had said.
What gods were so strange that a man must live a hundred limes slower than normal, to commune with them?
Next morning, he breakfasted with Lys on the broad veranda. The girl told him that her brother had already gone out.
“He will take you later today to the tribal village down in the valley, to arrange for your workers,” she said.