“You are calling on the name of Sakeema?” he asked gravely. “I spoke to you,” I told him levelly enough, though there was a catch in my voice. It unsteadied me to see him sitting there, after all that had happened, well and whole—with the merriment starting in his eyes. “Dan, for the first time I begin to think you truly mad! You call me Sakeema? You, who brought me back to life with your tears?” His voice grew hushed as he said that, and his hand lifted toward me, but I could not quite touch it. I was almost afraid of him. I said, “Only Sakeema could have done what you have done for me. You came here knowing what would happen, letting it happen so that—I would see—” “Dan,” he interrupted, “I knew only a little. I had some fool’s thoughts of—interceding for you, somehow. Certainly I did not intend to be killed.” “But you meant for me to be well.” “Yes, body of Sakeema, what else? All of us who love you wish you well.” “You knew you would not be talking with my father.
