The next morning at breakfast, Demetrius was somewhat surprised when a servant showed up from next door bearing a small basket of citrons and lemons. This, it turned out, was Pertinax's idea of a bread-and-butter gift. The servant himself acted as thank-you note, reciting a memorised message of gratitude for 'a splendid evening, the most memorable I've had in a long time.' Demetrius tried to hide a smile and instructed the servant to convey his thanks in turn for the gift of citrus.

The servant was leaving as Radu bounced into the room, full of himself (as usual) but empty of food. He began remedying this situation immediately. He picked up a citron, smelled it appreciatively, and started to bite in.

'Stop!' commanded Demetrius. Since that tone of voice would stop an army, Radu did, looking quizzical. 'Don't eat that!' Demetrius went on, 'Unless you really didn't want any breakfast.'

'But it smells so good,' Radu complained, putting the bumpy fruit back in the basket. 'What's it good for if you can't eat it?'

'It makes a superb air freshener. You can put it in your wardrobe. There are some medicinal uses, too.' Demetrius grinned. 'The Romans use it when they suspect they've been poisoned – it's a powerful emetic.'

Radu sighed. 'No orange juice for breakfast, then.'

'Not for more than a millennium, I'm afraid. But here comes Chryssa with your breakfast.'

Chryssa indeed was arriving with a tray of breakfast foods. Radu thanked the little girl with a wink, but sighed at the vinegary wine on the tray. 'No fruit juice. I mean, I could go for pomegranate, if only it was in season. . .'

'Why, domine? Were you planning on getting married?' Demetrius almost choked on his wine. He gave Radu a hand signal that meant, 'Don't go there.'

'Chryssa, go tell Argyros to wash his face, and not to go anywhere,' instructed Demetrius. 'After we've had breakfast, the four of us will go to the beach. Oh, and ask your mother to please fix us a picnic.'

'Hurrah!' Chryssa's face lit up and she ran to tell her mother and Argyros the good news, completely forgetting about pomegranates and their uses. Demetrius chuckled, pleased with himself. He wasn't up to discussing aphrodisiacs before breakfast with a ten-year-old and a fellow alien.

'I gather Pertinax suffered no ill effects from last evening's drug trip?' Radu asked, comforting himself for the lack of appropriate juices by biting into a fresh peach. 'We could juice the peaches,' he ventured.

Demetrius buttered a roll. 'The pulp is good for you. Eat it and don't make work for Cleo. Pertinax refers to the evening as 'splendid' and 'memorable'. I think his consciousness was expanded. As a philosopher he would appreciate that.'

'I'll bet he's an experience junkie,' commented Radu. He cocked his head. 'Maybe next time we could offer him some ergot extract. . . ?'

'Don't you dare. I refuse to start another mystery cult. All that will get us is singing, dancing, and theology.'

'And really bad murals,' Radu deadpanned.

They were still laughing when two kids showed up with straw hats, a picnic basket, and anticipatory expressions. So off they went.

On their way through the harbour area, they stopped for some shopping. The small fishing fleet was in. Fishermen were cleaning their catches on the piers. It was easy to figure out who had a catch: just follow the cats who gathered around for the fish heads and entrails they tossed out. Radu looked at a boat with a particularly large assortment of kitties. He looked at Demetrius and started to say something.

Demetrius shook his head. 'Don't. You. Dare.' Radu shrugged.

Demetrius picked out some fish from that catch. After all, the cats had good taste. He paid the fishermen and ordered the fish sent to the villa. Meanwhile, Radu and the kids ducked into a shop opposite the pier and came out with rolled-up straw mats. Radu tossed one to Demetrius, who had set down the picnic basket to haggle. He caught it and slipped it under the handle of the basket.

'What happened to the ones we had?' he wanted to know.

'Dad's donkeys ate them,' grinned Argyros.

They proceeded southward along the coast until they could no longer see the town. There they took up their stations. The children, laughing, ran to play in the waves and gather seashells, as children have done since the dawn of their species and will continue to do until the lights go out on Planet Earth. The two putative Romans unrolled their straw mats and plopped themselves down to view the sea.

'The sky is a beautiful cerulean today,' began Radu speculatively. Demetrius gave him a cross look.

'Don't even start. I refuse to have this discussion again.' Radu shrugged: Gheorghenis like blue. It's their favourite colour. They were reliable customers for Egyptian merchants. But they got annoyed when arguing with Romans and Greeks about the terminology. The mention of 'blue' and its cousins killed conversation for a moment, and the two sat silently, viewing the wine-dark sea beneath the azure sky and keeping one eye on the children, who laughed and made a pile of their seashell booty like a couple of small Caligulas, hoarding loot from their skirmish with Neptune.

'Why?' asked Radu suddenly.

Demetrius glanced at him. He didn't reply, 'Because,' as this was not a philosophy examination. Nor did he ask for further clarification. He knew the question was not, 'Why is the sky blue?' Where they came from, everybody knew the answer to that. Nor was it, 'Why don't Greeks have a word for that?' because asking 'why?' in reference to the Greeks was the road to madness. Besides, he knew what the question was.

'Because IT happened,' he said simply. 'Alex is saying that the man knew IT was going to happen. That's why he said that about the rock and the sand.'

'He knew that?' Radu lifted his hat long enough to push stray red hairs from his eyes. 'How did a human know that?'

Demetrius shrugged. 'Special sort of human, I'd say.' They sat for a while in silence, pondering. Knowing all about the world – its flora, fauna, and physics – at least in potentia, if you will pardon the pun (and even if you won't) – isn't much of a comfort if it only makes you more aware of what else there is that you don't know. And ever since IT happened, the Gheorghenis had become more and more curious about things that had not bothered them much before. Things that they regarded as above their pay grade. Things like. . .

'Why humans?' Radu asked of a passing seagull, on its way to the fish market.

'Why a duck?' responded Demetrius. This set off another laughing fit. The kids on the beach, hearing them, stopped what they were doing and looked at each other. Chryssa solemnly tapped her forehead. Argyros shook his head diagonally. Having agreed that 'those two are crazy', they shrugged, arms out: what are you gonna do with Romans? They waved to the two harmless lunatics and went back to their play.

When the laughter died down, Radu said, 'Look. You're the librarian.'

He meant that Demetrius was the one they counted on to 'read' things. To ask questions and get answers any way he could: in dreams, in visions, in sudden flashes of understanding.

Demetrius fished in the picnic basket and extracted a handful of dried apples. 'Fuel,' he explained. He munched silently, staring at the sea. After about fifteen minutes of meditation, he began to talk. Radu lay back on the straw mat, closed his eyes, and listened.

Demetrius said:

Imagine, if you will, a living being. Call it an entity, or a disembodied consciousness. To call it vast would be misleading: it is all there is. To ask where it is would be to stretch the boundaries of what is known. In the absence of space and time, questions of where and when make no sense at all.

This consciousness has no gender, because ideas like gender haven't been invented yet. In fact, there are no other entities. Do not ask questions like, how did the entity get there, wherever there is? Did it evolve? Did it pop into existence from some other dimension? Did it agglutinate in a corner? Do not ask where it came from, because thou dost not inquire wisely concerning this. Before time began, the entity is.

The entity, being holistic, is very wise. It knows the answers to any question. It can find out anything. Everything is connected to everything else.

The problem is that there are no questions. There are no others to ask them, anyway. This makes the entity feel. . . something. Empty? Sad?

To put it in terms we finite beings can comprehend: the entity is lonely.

That is why it made a world.

Many eons/an immeasurable amount of time/the blink of an eye/several days later, the entity looked at what it had made. Nicely-run physical universe, check. Attractive planet with biosphere and fascinating life forms, check. What was missing? Oh: somebody to talk to. Somebody self-aware to ask the questions. So the entity could answer them. Not check. Not check at all. Better take an inventory of organisms.

Why did the entity pick the monkey? Why not an octopus? An octopus is clever. It can change form to suit itself. It can swim. It is more aesthetically pleasing than a tailless monkey.

The octopus is happy where it is. It needs to ask few questions, most of which, let's face it, involve finding food or avoiding becoming food. It also asks the question, 'How do I get out of this trap?' But the answer to that is usually, 'I squeeze myself into a crack and slide out,' an answer that is readily available to any octopus without miraculous intervention, to be followed shortly by a triumphant, 'Ha! Take that, vertebrates!'

The octopus is not a satisfactory interlocutor for a wondering entity. The octopus lacks a sense of intellectual urgency.

The entity chose the monkey because the monkey is a bundle of unsatisfied needs. The monkey wants. The monkey seeks. The monkey is curious.

And yes, the monkey is a pain in the ass to the rest of creation. The monkey needs a lot of work.

The entity is happy: it has a problem to work on.

Demetrius blinked himself out of the trance. He looked at Radu.

Radu nodded. 'Now that makes sense.'

'Good.' Demetrius stood up, stretching. He pulled off his tunic. 'I want a swim.'

'Last one in is a rotten egg!' called Radu, dashing for the inviting water and not caring what colour it was or who made it.

DG

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