Дюна
Book Two: Muad‘dib
I’mlikeapersonwhosehandswerekeptnumb,withoutsensationfromthefirstmomentofawareness—untilonedaytheabilitytofeelisforcedintothem.
Thethoughthunginhermind,anenclosingawareness.
AndIsay:“Look!Ihavenohands!”Butthepeopleallaroundmesay:
“Whatarehands?”
“Areyouallright?”Paulrepeated.
“Yes.”
“Isthisallrightformetodrink?”HegesturedtothesackinChani’shands.
“Theywantmetodrinkit.”
Sheheardthehiddenmeaninginhiswords,realizedhehaddetectedthepoisonintheoriginal,unchangedsubstance,thathewasconcernedforher.ItoccurredtoJessicathentowonderaboutthelimitsofPaul’sprescience.Hisquestionrevealedmuchtoher.
“Youmaydrinkit,”shesaid.“Ithasbeenchanged.”AndshelookedbeyondhimtoseeStilgarstaringdownather,thedark-darkeyesstudying.
“Now,weknowyoucannotbefalse,”hesaid.
Shesensedhiddenmeaninghere,too,butthemuzzinessofthedrugwasoverpoweringhersenses.Howwarmitwasandsoothing.HowbeneficenttheseFrementobringherintothefoldofsuchcompanionship.
Paulsawthedrugtakeholdofhismother.
Hesearchedhismemory—thefixedpast,theflux-linesofthepossiblefutures.Itwaslikescanningthrougharrestedinstantsoftime,disconcertingtothelensoftheinnereye.Thefragmentsweredifficulttounderstandwhensnatchedoutoftheflux.
Thisdrug—hecouldassembleknowledgeaboutit,understandwhatitwasdoingtohismother,buttheknowledgelackedanaturalrhythm,lackedasystemofmutualreflection.
