“Come, child.” Diogenes takes me by the hand. “Let me show you the way.” His fingers are gnarled and twisted, ancient twigs. A delicate accordion of tendons glide under papyrus skin, thin and translucent. I feel every knob and sharpness, the very bone of him. A feral dog at his feet barks a warning.
“You are a seeker of knowledge,” he tells me. “You are a seeker of truth.”
The streets are deserted, although it is midday. He stands still for a moment to light his lamp, though we are already drenched in sunlight.
“You would be surprised by the difference a single light can make.”
We arrive at the temple. The oracle stands before us. She is wrapped in purple robes and crowned by floral garlands but her face is in shadows.
She crushes sweet herbs with a mortar and pestle, examines the sli
