He shook his head, a quiet smile on his lips. "No, on the contrary, it is you who speak my tongue. Not that it matters. We can converse in either. Now that we have undergone the ministration of the vilyishna, each of us possesses the other's language." He turned to the yellow-skinned bonze who, heretofore, had been his sole interpreter. There was a curious comprehension and sympathy in his eyes. "And you, my friend—your brain has cleared?"[6]
The surly Sheng-ti was surly no longer. An amazing change had come over him; his eyes, which had ever been dark and cloudy with half-mad suspicion, were now gleaming. Ramey knew, even before the old priest spoke, what this meant. The mysterious vilyishna had performed for Sheng-ti the greatest of all possible services. It had lifted from his brain the cloud of insanity which had veiled it for years!
Sheng-ti cried out, a choking little cry of joy, and dropped to his knees. "It is, O my Lord! Thou knowest it is indeed clear and strong again!"
Sugriva laid a hand on his shoulder, raising him.
"I am sorry it was necessary to subject you to even a moment's pain. But there was no other way. The patterns of the brain are not rearranged without a modicum of discomfort." As he spoke he opened the door again, they returned to the room whence they had come. "You are all recovered now?"
Dr. Aiken's eyes were those of a new Balboa staring out across uncharted seas of knowledge.
"The vilyishna! Transference of knowledge by machine! Learning by superimposition of brain patterns!" he whispered. "Lord, what an achievement! Where did it come from?"
"It is an invention of my people," Sugriva told him.
"Your people?" repeated Ramey. "Who are your people, my Lord? In the world from which we came there are no men of your pigmentation. Who on earth are your people?"