The canker of civilisation had got to him even in Bogota, and
he could not find it in himself to go down and assassinate a blind
man. Of course, if he did that, he might then dictate terms on the
threat of assassinating them all. But--Sooner or later he must
sleep! . . . .
He tried also to find food among the pine trees, to be
comfortable under pine boughs while the frost fell at night, and--
with less confidence--to catch a llama by artifice in order to try
to kill it--perhaps by hammering it with a stone--and so finally,
perhaps, to eat some of it. But the llamas had a doubt of him and
regarded him with distrustful brown eyes and spat when he drew
near. Fear came on him the second day and fits of shivering.
Finally he crawled down to the wall of the Country of the Blind and
tried to make his terms. He crawled along by the stream, shouting,
until two blind men came out to the gate and talked to him.
"I was mad," he said. "But I was only newly made."
They said that was better.
He told them he was wiser now, and repented of all he had
done.
Then he wept without intention, for he was very weak and ill
now, and they took that as a favourable sign.
They asked him if he still thought he could SEE."
"No," he said. "That was folly. The word means nothing.
Less than nothing!"
They asked him what was overhead.
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