"I never thought of it, at least not often, for I steered my mind away from it; but once a decade or every thirty years I would remember, perhaps one of us would say, 'Oh, to have a flagon of palm wine,' and then the agony of desire would wrack me until I must fight my body and tear it proton from proton so that I hurt badly and the remembrance would leave me. Al-kuhl, al-kuhl! Why in all the universe must there be this one combination of stupid elements which drags every fleck of yearning from me like water wrung from a cloth? My race needs nothing, nothing—we long for nothing—we are the only self-sufficient beings in creation—why do we remember the al-kuhl?"
"Like a keef-smoker," said Pinkham quietly. "You don't long for anything else." After a little he added, "And you fear nothing save lead."
"True," said the being distractedly. "If it were not for lead and alcohol we would be perfect gods."
"Who are you?" Pink asked, conscious that his throat was constricted with excitement. "When did you leave Earth? Why don't I recognize you, out of history? What are you called?"
He had tried too hard. The alien rolled its dimmed eyes at him. "I wish I could smile now," it said through motionless lips. "Ah, if I could only smile knowingly! You will die today with that curiosity unslaked."
He was balefully angry at that; he leaped to his feet, thrusting out the revolver. "If I throw another slug into you, it just might hurt some more," he roared.
"I would rather die in pain than see your questions answered. I know well that curiosity is the worst torment to an Englishman."
"I'm not English," said Pink.
"It's all the same. I might as well have said 'human.'"
Pink recalled that he had the Colt, and so could take a few chances. "I'll trade you. One drop of brandy for each answer."