Yueh watched Paul work the page adjustment, thought: I salve my own conscience. I give him the surcease of religion before betraying him. Thus may I say to myself that he has gone where I cannot go .
"This must've been made before filmbooks," Paul said.
"It's quite old. Let it be our secret, eh? Your parents might think it too valuable for one so young."
And Yueh thought: His mother would surely wonder at my motives .
"Well . . . " Paul closed the book, held it in his hand. "If it's so valuable . . . "
"Indulge an old man's whim," Yueh said. "It was given to me when I was very young." And he thought: I must catch his mind as well as his cupidity . "Open it to four-sixty-seven Kalima - where it says: 'From water does all life begin.' There's a slight notch on the edge of the cover to mark the place."
Paul felt the cover, detected two notches, one shallower than the other. He pressed the shallower one and the book spread open on his palm, its magnifier sliding into place.
"Read it aloud," Yueh said.
Paul wet his lips with his tongue, read: "Think you of the fact that a deaf person cannot hear. Then, what deafness may we not all possess? What senses do we lack that we cannot see and cannot hear another world all around us? What is there around us that we cannot - "
"Stop it!" Yueh barked.
Paul broke off, stared at him.
Yueh closed his eyes, fought to regain composure. What perversity caused the book to open at my Wanna's favorite passage? He opened his eyes, saw Paul staring at him.
"Is something wrong?" Paul asked.
"I'm sorry," Yueh said. "That was . . . my . . . dead wife's favorite passage. It's not the one I intended you to read. It brings up memories that are . . . painful."
"There are two notches," Paul said.
Of course , Yueh thought. Wanna marked her passage. His fingers are more sensitive than mine and found her mark. It was an accident, no more .
"You may find the book interesting," Yueh said. "It has much historical truth in it as well as good ethical philosophy."
Paul looked down at the tiny book in his palm - such a small thing. Yet, it contained a mystery . . . something had happened while he read from it. He had felt something stir his terrible purpose.
"Your father will be here any minute," Yueh said. "Put the book away and read it at your leisure."
Paul touched the edge of it as Yueh had shown him. The book sealed itself. He slipped it into his tunic. For a moment there when Yueh had barked at him, Paul had feared the man would demand the book's return.
"I thank you for the gift. Dr. Yueh," Paul said, speaking formally. "It will be our secret. If there is a gift of favor you wish from me, please do not hesitate to ask."
"I . . . need for nothing," Yueh said.
And he thought: Why do I stand here torturing myself? And torturing this poor lad . . . though he does not know it. Oeyh! Damn those Harkonnen beasts! Why did they choose me for their abomination?
How do we approach the study of Muad'Dib's father? A man of surpassing warmth and surprising coldness was the Duke Leto Atreides. Yet, many facts open the way to this Duke: his abiding love for his Bene Gesserit lady; the dreams he held for his son; the devotion with which men served him. You see him there - a man snared by Destiny, a lonely figure with his light dimmed behind the glory of his son. Still, one must ask: What is the son but an extension of the father?
- from "Muad'Dib, Family Commentaries" by the Princess Irulan
Paul watched his father enter the training room, saw the guards take up stations outside. One of them closed the door. As always, Paul experienced a sense of presence in his father, someone totally here .
The Duke was tall, olive-skinned. His thin face held harsh angles warmed only by deep gray eyes. He wore a black working uniform with red armorial hawk crest at the breast. A silvered shield belt with the patina of much use girded his narrow waist.
The Duke said: "Hard at work, Son?"
He crossed to the ell table, glanced at the papers on it, swept his gaze around the room and back to Paul. He felt tired, filled with the ache of not showing his fatigue. I must use every opportunity to rest during the crossing to Arrakis , he thought. There'll be no rest on Arrakis .
"Not very hard," Paul said. "Everything's so . . . " He shrugged.
"Yes. Well, tomorrow we leave. It'll be good to get settled in our new home, put all this upset behind."
Paul nodded, suddenly overcome by memory of the Reverend Mother's words: " . . . for the father, nothing ."
"Father," Paul said, "will Arrakis be as dangerous as everyone says?"
The Duke forced himself to the casual gesture, sat down on a corner of the table, smiled. A whole pattern of conversation welled up in his mind - the kind of thing he might use to dispel the vapors in his men before a battle. The pattern froze before it could be vocalized, confronted by the single thought:
This is my son .
"It'll be dangerous," he admitted.
"Hawat tells me we have a plan for the Fremen," Paul said. And he wondered: Why don't I tell him what that old woman said? How did she seal my tongue?
The Duke noted his son's distress, said: "As always, Hawat sees the main chance. But there's much more. I see also the Combine Honnete Ober Advancer Mercantiles - the CHOAM Company. By giving me Arrakis, His Majesty is forced to give us a CHOAM directorship . . . a subtle gain."
"CHOAM controls the spice," Paul said.
"And Arrakis with its spice is our avenue into CHOAM," the Duke said. "There's more to CHOAM than melange."