Listening to the history of the golden statue in the great square, as
related by a Tortirran storyteller, I fell asleep. On waking I found
myself lying in a cot-bed amidst unfamiliar surroundings. A bandage was
fastened obliquely about my head, covering my left eye, in which was a
dull throbbing pain. Seeing an attendant near by I beckoned him to my
bedside and asked: "Where am I?"
"Hospital," he replied, tersely but not unkindly. He added: "You have a
bad eye." "Yes," I said, "I always had; but I could name more than one
Tortirran who has a bad heart."
"What is a Tortirran?" he asked.