“No.”
“How many were they, father?”
“They were ... one.”
“Not more?”
“They were one,” repeated the prophet. “My son, your soul is sick. It is sick with sorrow and love. Love is strong, but wisdom is stronger. Gather wisdom, my son. My child, I can see into your soul. I see it lying tortured and trembling.”
“There is no comfort if I do not find her!”
“There is comfort. Isis seeking for Osiris recovered all the pieces of his body except that piece which fructified her. And yet she found comfort, in the end.”
“Give me comfort, holy father.”
“I am wisdom, child, and you are young. Serve wisdom, but honour love.”
“Father, why did the pirates resemble one another?”