“Man is uniquely a savage eater of carrion,” he informed me, chewing vigorously. “What lion or tiger would relish another’s ancient, putrefying kill? What vulture or hyena displays human ferocity? Too, we are cannibals at heart. We eat our gods; we have always eaten our gods.” “Isnt that figurative, or poetic, Mr Tyss? I mean, doesnt it refer to the grain of wheat which is ‘killed’ by the harvester and buried by the sower?” “You think the gods were modelled on John Barleycorn and not John Barleycorn on them—to conceal their fate? I fear you have a higher opinion of mankind than is warranted, Hodgins.” “I’m not sure I know what you mean by gods.” “Embodiments or personifications of human aspirations. The good, the true, the beautiful—with winged feet or bull’s body.” “How about ... oh, Chronos? Or Satan?” He licked his fingers of the meat juices, obviously pleased. “Satan. An excellent example. Epitome of man’s futile longing to upset and defy the divine plan—I use the word ‘divine’ derisively, Hodgins—; who does not admire and reverence Lucifer in his heart? Well, having made a god out of the devil we eat him daily in a two-fold sense: by swallowing the myth of his enmity (a truer friend there never was), and by digesting his great precepts of pride and curiosity and strength. And you see for yourself how he finds interesting thoughts for idle minds to speculate on. Let’s get to work.” He expected me to work, but he was far from a hard or inconsiderate master. In 1938-44, when the country was being ground deeper into colonialism, there were few employers so lenient. I read much, generally when I pleased, and despite his jeers at learning in the abstract he encouraged me, even going to the length, if a particular book was not to be found in his considerable stock, of letting me get it from one of his competitors, to be written up against his account. Nor was he scrupulous about the time I took on his errands. I continued to ramble and sight-see the city much as though I had nothing else to do. And if, from time to time, I discovered there were girls in New York who didnt look too unkindly on a tall youth even though he still carried some of the rustic air of Wappinger Falls, he never questioned why the walk of half a mile took me a couple of hours. True, he kept to his original promise never to pay me wages, but he often handed me coins for pocketmoney, evidently satisfied I wasnt stealing, and he replaced my makeshift wardrobe with worn but decent clothing.