"You saved my life," I gasped pathetically. I was winded by the grip of the leather around my chest, marks from which would be visible for several days. For a brief while, I lay there on the sacred earth, promising God and myself that I would try to be a better person, and wondering what grand act of charity I could embark upon to make things right with the order of the universe. Only then did I realize that within a few hours I would have to go through it all over again: there was no other way down. What if I stayed where I was -- dedicating myself to the hereafter, taking a vow of poverty, joining the Living Dead in an existence of communal holiness? That prospect was, just at that moment, more pleasing than the alternative. My beard would grow snowy, my skin leathery from the highland rays, and my arms sinewy and strong. My eyes would acquire the faraway serenity of the truly sanctified. I wondered how long it would take me to become fluent in Geez.