Ask a Foolish Question
"We're bushmen. But the gap is much greater here. Worm and super-man, perhaps. The worm desires to know the nature of dirt, and why there's so much of it. Oh, well."
"Shall we go, sir?" Morran asked. Lingman's eyes remained closed. His taloned fingers were clenched, his cheeks sunk further in. The skull was emerging.
And Answerer knew that that was not the answer.
* * * * *
Alone on his planet, which is neither large nor small, but exactly the right size, Answerer waits. He cannot help the people who come to him, for even Answerer has restrictions.
He can answer only valid questions.
Universe? Life? Death? Purple? Eighteen?
Partial truths, half-truths, little bits of the great question.
But Answerer, alone, mumbles the questions to himself, the true questions, which no one can understand.
How could they understand the true answers?
The questions will never be asked, and Answerer remem