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Chapter 11 — The Mooncalf Pastures
Cavorrepliedtomythirdrepetitionofmy“surpluspopulation”remarkwithsimilarwordsofapproval.Ifeltthatmyheadswam,butIputthisdowntothestimulatingeffectoffoodafteralongfast.“Ess’lentdiscov’ryyours,Cavor,”saidI.“Se’ndon’ytothe‘tato.”
“Whajermean?”askedCavor.“‘Scoveryofthemoon—se’ndon’ytothetato?”
Ilookedathim,shockedathissuddenlyhoarsevoice,andbythebadnessofhisarticulation.Itoccurredtomeinaflashthathewasintoxicated,possiblybythefungus.Italsooccurredtomethatheerredinimaginingthathehaddiscoveredthemoon;hehadnotdiscoveredit,hehadonlyreachedit.Itriedtolaymyhandonhisarmandexplainthistohim,buttheissuewastoosubtleforhisbrain.Itwasalsounexpectedlydifficulttoexpress.Afteramomentaryattempttounderstandme—Irememberwonderingifthefungushadmademyeyesasfishyashis—hesetoffuponsomeobservationsonhisownaccount.
“Weare,”heannouncedwithasolemnhiccup,“thecreashurso’whatweeatanddrink.”
Herepeatedthis,andasIwasnowinoneofmysubtlemoods,Ideterminedtodisputeit.PossiblyIwanderedalittlefromthepoint.ButCavorcertainlydidnotattendatallproperly.Hestoodupaswellashecould,puttingahandonmyheadtosteadyhimself,whichwasdisrespectful,andstoodstaringabouthim,quitedevoidnowofanyfearofthemoonbeings.
