I scan bowls of miso soup, nori, and furikake, with dishes of natto and rice seasoned by grated daikon, okra, and raw quail egg. One sliver of grilled fish for each of us and tiny portions of pickled vegetables complete the feast. I feel bruised from my attempt to change the future—this future. The voice that spoke through my lips in the Shivalik badlands has left me feeling psychically battered. Was it God, or someone else entirely? "How's your mood this morning?" I ask him. "Positive," he says. "You're hopeful, then?" "I don't know what of." His smile flashes, then goes away. "Neither of us is omniscient. Both of us have made mistakes. We're no more immune to that than anyone." "Is this an apology, then—my final meal?" "Just a courtesy, and it's only final if you insist on it being so." "You're the one with the gun at my head. Again." "Ah." He nods. "We both know it's not that simple." "That's what happens when you ask complex questions." The tone of our banter is familiar and our demeanor coolly civilized.
