“You hunger,” Sarkon said, “for something else. Come, let us fill our bellies so our minds will not be restless, nor our hearts. I know women who can make philosophy an elementary matter. When lust has eaten at the table of desire, you will be satisfied again. When the flesh feeds itself, the hunger of the spirit is forgotten.”

Sarkon stood. He was quite practical it seemed to Everyman, who was tired of study. Everyman also thirsted for the taverns of the city where he and Sarkon could forget their emptiness of soul.

Everyman then stood, and as he stood he said, “Let’s go and worship at the temple of indulgence till all our appetites are full …” And then he added, “Tomorrow, Sarkon, could you take me to the man you spoke about—the man who laid the Singer in his grave?”

Sarkon looked away and paused, but finally he said, “Tomorrow, I will take you there.”

X

At stonings angels stand apart

And weep above the martyrs’ groans.

But demons always grin, and keep

Both hands grasping—filled with stones.

As Sarkon and Everyman came through the city gates a street minstrel was singing to a crowd. Sarkon despised the poor who listened to the balladeer.

“Do you know the man who sings?’ asked Everyman.

“His name is Anthem,” answered Sarkon with no apparent interest.

“Isn’t he the street singer who sang the day the wind came from the mountain?”

“He is. But careful, friend, or he will have your science in his pouch. You’ll be dancing to his tunes.”

They passed so near the street singer they could hear the verses of his song.

“Come to the Singer you science-stained.

Cry for the crime and be unchained

Here in the great Invader’s reign.”

The people who watched him as he sang joined him in his simple melody.

Sarkon reached down and found a heavy stone and hurled it.

The rock struck Anthem’s forehead such a blow he almost fell unconscious. The song abruptly stopped. The little group of street balladeers closed around him as a shield.

Everyman, incensed by Sarkon, turned on him and shouted: “Why did you do that?”

“He sings a lie,” said Sarkon.

“But still he is a man … Have you some grudge that makes you hate him? Are there reasons other than his song?”

“None. Come, the tavern is a better place to talk,” said Sarkon.

As they were leaving, Anthem was revived, and Everyman could hear him singing once again:

“Come, Terra. Let us sing of love

And the broken hand in the ragged glove.

For ours it is to be set free,

Unchained and given destiny.”

“How can he sing?” thought Everyman. He wanted to turn back, but he placed his hand on the latch to the tavern door.

XI

Love is substance. Lust, illusion.

Only in the surge of passion

Do they mingle in confusion.

Dawn came swiftly on the eve of lust. When Everyman awoke his head was on the bosom of a maid.