He understands plainly enough. "Sounds nice," he comments. "Glad you're less afraid. You're- right, I guess, that if we have the green-eyed spirits to be afraid of, it makes it easier for us all to get along and work together instead of fearing each other. Even when we've had people here who are hard to get along with, I've never felt like they really wanted to hurt any of us."

He works quietly at his cigarette a moment, then adds, "I know the stuff I'm afraid of isn't rational." And then forces himself to stop there. Even now, with this strange compulsion, he knows to stop there. It's ingrained deeply and has been since childhood. If what the fortune teller did to him makes him start to say any of it through his act of resistance, he'll just silence himself.