“But you do not approve of fiction, is that so?” Enfandin had no discernible accent but often his English was uncolloquial and sometimes it was overly careful and stiff. I thought of the adventure tales I had once swallowed so breathlessly. “Well ... it does seem to be a sort of a waste of time.” He nodded. “Time, yes.... We waste it or save it or use it—one would almost think we mastered it instead of the other way around. Yet are all novels really a waste of the precious dimension? Perhaps you underestimate the value of invention.” “No,” I said; “but what value has the invention of happenings that never happened, or characters who never existed?” “Who is to say what never happened? It is a matter of definition.” “All right,” I said; “suppose the characters exist in the author’s mind, like the events; where does the value of the invention come in?” “Where the value of any invention comes in,” he answered. “In its purpose or use. A wheel spinning aimlessly is worth nothing; the same wheel on a cart or a pulley changes destiny.” “You can’t learn anything from fairy tales,” I persisted stubbornly. He smiled. “Maybe you havent read the right fairy tales.” I soon discovered in him a quick and penetrating sympathy which was at times almost telepathic. He listened to my callow opinions patiently, offering observations of his own without diffidence and without didacticism. The understanding and encouragement I did not expect or want from Tyss he gave me generously. To him, as I never could to Tirzah, I talked of my hopes and dreams; he listened patiently and did not seem to think them foolish or impossible of accomplishment. I do not minimize what Tyss did for me by saying that without Enfandin I would have taken much less profit from the books my employer gave me access to. I was drawn to him more and more; I’m not sure why he interested himself in me, unless there was a reason in the remark he made once: “Ay, we are alike, you and I. The books, always the books. And for themselves, not to become rich or famous like sensible people. Are we not foolish? But it is a pleasant folly and a sometimes blameless vice.” I wanted anxiously to speak of Tirzah, not only because it is an urgent necessity for lovers to mention the name at least of their beloved a hundred times a day or more, but in the nebulous hope he could somehow give me an answer to her as well as to her question. I approached the topic in a number of different ways; each time our conversation moved on without my having told him about her.