What could life possibly hold for these people? Surely for them the gods are dead?
I talked with an old woman, dirty and wrinkled, with a bald head and maimed feet.
“She asks how old you are?” translated the young man beside me.
“Tell her I am sixty.” I thought it would sound more respectable.
“A-a-h!” She looked at me a moment. “She says,” he went on translating, “that you have worn better than she has, for she is sixty too. And have you any sons?”
For a moment I hesitated, but I was not going to lose face, what would she think of a woman without sons, so I laid my hand on his arm, and smiled to indicate that he was my son.
“A-a-h!” and she talked and smiled.
“What does she say?” He looked a little shy. “Tell me”
“She says you are to be congratulated,” and indeed he was a fine specimen of manhood. “She says she has three sons.”