tted this illusory crime, there results this illusory sense of
guilt.'

"And thus we walked home, this dumb one and I, his absurd grief
confusing me. I will confess. My name on his lips frightened me at
first. As it sometimes does now. For he has become more than an illusion
of guilt. He is, this sly fellow, a memory, inarticulate and envious.
He envies me because I am clever enough to laugh at my madness. However,
I will consider him later, in his various guises, for of all the
Mallares, dumb though he is and ludicrous with inane tears, he interests
me the most.

"We walked home and I finally fell to belaboring him. A pest, a
mendicant, a croaking idiot--I cursed him out roundly and refused him
further attention. This is the wisest course sometimes. It is dangerous
to humor too carelessly these sprawling Mallares. They are slyly at war
with my omnipotence. I can understand the anger of God. Sacrilege
confuses Him. And We are all alike--We Gods. We are forced into an
attitude of indifference in order that We may keep Ourselves
intact. Thus We look down with Consummate dispassion upon Our
hallucinations--Our worlds. And it is this dispassion that men worship
in Us, unable to understand Our lack of interest and terrified by Our
aloofness they prostrate themselves before an infinite mystery.

"Yet, though the theology of God has become the secret of My unreason, I
find Myself dangerously susceptible. It is when I seek to appease My
loneliness by raising one of the babbling ones to My side. He enters My
black heaven with a pretense of gratitude, fawning before Me and
accepting My fellowship with humility. There follows then a moment of
insidious diversion. Slowly a confusion fills Me. Yes, even I am open to
confusion. It is a pity I have for the babbling one.

"I listen to his complaints. The sad-eyed Mallare staring at intolerable
visions. Mallare, the dark chatterer. Or this other one--My friend the
weeping lodge brother. Yes, I pity them and soothe them. But I find
Myself singularly moved. Their prayers move Me. They begin to whisper
that I return with them. I am tempted to follow them, to let them take
My hand and lead Me into their strange houses.

"But I smile in time and My smile, fixed and profound, overcomes them.
They prostrate themselves once more before the mystery of My
indifference. And I remain the God of Mallare.

"On this day the dumb one sprawled along home with me, there were many
curious things ha