"And you have often dreamed—"
"No, not I. If I had dreamed too often, the people might lose faith in me. As it is, I am not free to doubt the dreams of my friends. Why should they doubt mine?"
"Then how will you arrange things?"
Karem smiled a broad, knowing smile. "Oh, that will be as easy as burning dry straw. I will whisper to some of my friends about the two white clouds. But only in confidence. I will ask them not to let anyone know. Within a day or two, twenty people will come to Hamul-Kammesh secretly with the story of the dream. They will all want to know who's going to get married. That will make the soothsayer wrinkle up his brows, because none of our young people are to be married just now—most of our matings, you know, take place at the harvest time, when the year's labors are about over. Naturally, Hamul will look wise on hearing of the dream, and will make some prophecies, but at the same time he will be worried, because his reputation will be threatened. Then, just when he is hardest put to find a way out, I will see him and mention that you hope to marry my sister. This will give him his chance, and he will proclaim that your marriage to Yasma has been ordered by Yulada, and preparations must be made immediately."
"That sounds logical enough," I admitted. "But can the people all be duped so easily?"
"No, not all. But many can. And those who are not deceived will be too wise to seem to doubt."
My only reply was an ironic nod.
Four or five days after my talk with Karem, I received a visitor who had never favored me before. I had just returned from the fields after a strenuous day's labor, when I observed a tall, long-bearded man framed in the open doorway of my cabin. From his stiff demeanor, as well as from the high black headgear that added a foot to his stature, I recognized him as the soothsayer. Hence I lost no time about inviting him in.
"To what do I owe this honor?" I asked, trying to assume a tone of proper deference.