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Still
,
again
,
all
was
not
so
trivial
in
our
abode
of
shadows
.
As
example
,
I
taught
Oppenheimer
to
play
chess
.
Consider
how
tremendous
such
an
achievement
is
--
to
teach
a
man
,
thirteen
cells
away
,
by
means
of
knuckle-raps
;
to
teach
him
to
visualize
a
chessboard
,
to
visualize
all
the
pieces
,
pawns
and
positions
,
to
know
the
various
manners
of
moving
;
and
to
teach
him
it
all
so
thoroughly
that
he
and
I
,
by
pure
visualization
,
were
in
the
end
able
to
play
entire
games
of
chess
in
our
minds
.
In
the
end
,
did
I
say
?
Another
tribute
to
the
magnificence
of
Oppenheimer
's
mind
:
in
the
end
he
became
my
master
at
the
game
--
he
who
had
never
seen
a
chessman
in
his
life
What
image
of
a
bishop
,
for
instance
,
could
possibly
form
in
his
mind
when
I
rapped
our
code-sign
for
bishop
?
In
vain
and
often
I
asked
him
this
very
question
.
In
vain
he
tried
to
describe
in
words
that
mental
image
of
something
he
had
never
seen
but
which
nevertheless
he
was
able
to
handle
in
such
masterly
fashion
as
to
bring
confusion
upon
me
countless
times
in
the
course
of
play
.
I
can
only
contemplate
such
exhibitions
of
will
and
spirit
and
conclude
,
as
I
so
often
conclude
,
that
precisely
there
resides
reality
.
The
spirit
only
is
real
.
The
flesh
is
phantasmagoria
and
apparitional
.
I
ask
you
how
--
I
repeat
,
I
ask
you
how
matter
or
flesh
in
any
form
can
play
chess
on
an
imaginary
board
with
imaginary
pieces
,
across
a
vacuum
of
thirteen
cell
spanned
only
with
knuckle-taps
?
I
was
once
Adam
Strang
,
an
Englishman
.
The
period
of
my
living
,
as
near
as
I
can
guess
it
,
was
somewhere
between
1550
and
1650
,
and
I
lived
to
a
ripe
old
age
,
as
you
shall
see
.
It
has
been
a
great
regret
to
me
,
ever
since
Ed
Morrell
taught
me
the
way
of
the
little
death
,
that
I
had
not
been
a
more
thorough
student
of
history
.
I
should
have
been
able
to
identity
and
place
much
that
is
obscure
to
me
.
As
it
is
,
I
am
compelled
to
grope
and
guess
my
way
to
times
and
places
of
my
earlier
existences
.
A
peculiar
thing
about
my
Adam
Strang
existence
is
that
I
recollect
so
little
of
the
first
thirty
years
of
it
.
Many
times
,
in
the
jacket
,
has
Adam
Strang
recrudesced
,
but
always
he
springs
into
being
full-statured
,
heavy-thewed
,
a
full
thirty
years
of
age
.
I
,
Adam
Strang
,
invariably
assume
my
consciousness
on
a
group
of
low
,
sandy
islands
somewhere
under
the
equator
in
what
must
be
the
western
Pacific
Ocean
.
I
am
always
at
home
there
,
and
seem
to
have
been
there
some
time
.
There
are
thousands
of
people
on
these
islands
,
although
I
am
the
only
white
man
.
The
natives
are
a
magnificent
breed
,
big-muscled
,
broad-shouldered
,
tall
.
A
six-foot
man
is
a
commonplace
.
The
king
,
Raa
Kook
,
is
at
least
six
inches
above
six
feet
,
and
though
he
would
weigh
fully
three
hundred
pounds
,
is
so
equitably
proportioned
that
one
could
not
call
him
fat
.
Many
of
his
chiefs
are
as
large
,
while
the
women
are
not
much
smaller
than
the
men
.
There
are
numerous
islands
in
the
group
,
over
all
of
which
Raa
Kook
is
king
,
although
the
cluster
of
islands
to
the
south
is
restive
and
occasionally
in
revolt
.
These
natives
with
whom
I
live
are
Polynesian
,
I
know
,
because
their
hair
is
straight
and
black
.
Their
skin
is
a
sun-warm
golden-brown
.
Their
speech
,
which
I
speak
uncommonly
easy
,
is
round
and
rich
and
musical
,
possessing
a
paucity
of
consonants
,
being
composed
principally
of
vowels
.
They
love
flowers
,
music
,
dancing
,
and
games
,
and
are
childishly
simple
and
happy
in
their
amusements
,
though
cruelly
savage
in
their
angers
and
wars
.
I
,
Adam
Strang
,
know
my
past
,
but
do
not
seem
to
think
much
about
it
.
I
live
in
the
present
.
I
brood
neither
over
past
nor
future
.
I
am
careless
,
improvident
,
uncautious
,
happy
out
of
sheer
well-being
and
overplus
of
physical
energy
.
Fish
,
fruits
,
vegetables
,
and
seaweed
--
a
full
stomach
--
and
I
am
content
.
I
am
high
in
place
with
Raa
Kook
,
than
whom
none
is
higher
,
not
even
Abba
Taak
,
who
is
highest
over
the
priest
.
No
man
dare
lift
hand
or
weapon
to
me
.
I
am
taboo
--
sacred
as
the
sacred
canoe-house
under
the
floor
of
which
repose
the
bones
of
heaven
alone
knows
how
many
previous
kings
of
Raa
Kook
's
line
.
I
know
all
about
how
I
happened
to
be
wrecked
and
be
there
alone
of
all
my
ship
's
company
--
it
was
a
great
drowning
and
a
great
wind
;
but
I
do
not
moon
over
the
catastrophe
.
When
I
think
back
at
all
,
rather
do
I
think
far
back
to
my
childhood
at
the
skirts
of
my
milk-skinned
,
flaxen-haired
,
buxom
English
mother
.
It
is
a
tiny
village
of
a
dozen
straw-thatched
cottages
in
which
I
lived
.
I
hear
again
blackbirds
and
thrushes
in
the
hedges
,
and
see
again
bluebells
spilling
out
from
the
oak
woods
and
over
the
velvet
turf
like
a
creaming
of
blue
water
.
And
most
of
all
I
remember
a
great
,
hairy-fetlocked
stallion
,
often
led
dancing
,
sidling
,
and
nickering
down
the
narrow
street
.
I
was
frightened
of
the
huge
beast
and
always
fled
screaming
to
my
mother
,
clutching
her
skirts
and
hiding
in
them
wherever
I
might
find
her
.
