Everyone is jealously succumbing to each wound made. It struck the traveller that he was re-journeying through the life of the young woman. She must have been through all this, he thought. Then, to keep himself going he recreated her in his own mind as he had first seen her. When she had changed from fish into woman, and now flitted to and fro in a sacred place in his consciousness. It was a long journey. Then he came to a place which reminded him of home. It felt like Ireland. He was not sure that this was a pleasant thing. He was afraid to be seen. It struck him that while he was seeking knowledge, other people were expending theirs. He had not been listening. He’d been off in the sensual world. The last thing the traveller was conscious of was his intelligence. It was a thing you did not admit.

These are all fine thoughts, he said to himself, no mention of the madness lurking in the heart. Sadly there, but rightly there.

Yes, thought Jonathan, and he dallied on a word that carried within it another word, and then another, so that the old scholar had to start all over again from the very beginning, making as he did a further version while sharp rain slanted over the Mullet.

All of a sudden, the traveller found himself outside the Tower of Babel, which, by virtue of that quest, was home. The red roof and timber walls of Cullybackey were instantly familiar. Each person he overheard talking was making sense, perfect sense, as he stood outside listening. He was astounded by the understanding and intelligence of the speakers within. Things must have changed while I was away, he said to himself.

It was for him a religious experience.

Jonathan Adams felt long-lost Presbyterian genes begin to surface in his consciousness. Now I will know whether the body is the source of evil! Into his eyes passed the distant lights of Dissenter, Calvin and Jesus Christ, then the brightly-featured faces of his daughters. He wished the traveller through the door.

I have found home at last, said the traveller.