Trevize moved on. His glance at Bliss was compounded of the deepest suspicion.
Dom was an elderly man. He recited the two hundred and fiftythree syllables of his name in a musical flowing of tone and emphasis.
"In a way," he said, "it is a brief biography of myself. It tells the hearer - or reader, or senser - who I am, what part I have played in the whole, what I have accomplished. For fifty years and more, however, I have been satisfied to be referred to as Dom. When there are other Doms at issue, I can be called Domandio - and in my various professional relationships other variants are used. Once a Gaian year - on my birthday - my full name is recited-in-mind, as I have just recited it for you in voice. It is very effective, but it is personally embarrassing."
He was tall and thin - almost to the point of emaciation. His deep-set eyes sparkled with anomalous youth, though he moved rather slowly. His jutting nose was thin and long and flared at the nostrils. His hands, prominently veined though they were, showed no signs of arthritic disability. He wore a long robe that was as gray as his hair. It descended to his ankles and his sandals left his toes bare.
Trevize said, "How old are you, sir?"
"Please address me as Dom, Trev. To use other modes of address induces formality and inhibits the free exchange of ideas between you and me. In Galactic Standard Years, I am just past ninety-three, but the real celebration will come not very many months from now, when I reach the ninetieth anniversary of my birth in Gaian years."
"I would not have guessed you at more than seventy-five, s-Dom," said Trevize.
"By Gaian standards I am not remarkable, either in years or in appearance of years, Trev. - But come, have we eaten?"
Pelorat looked down at his plate, on which perceptible remnants of a most unremarkable and indifferently prepared meal remained, and said in a diffident manner, "Dom, may I attempt to ask an embarrassing question? Of course, if it's offensive, you will please say so, and I will withdraw it."
"Go ahead," said Dom, smiling. "I am anxious to explain to you anything about Gaia which arouses your curiosity."
"Why?" said Trevize at once.
"Because you are honored guests. May I have Pel's question?"
Pelorat said, "Since all things on Gaia share in the group consciousness, how is it that you - one element of the group - can eat this, which was clearly another element?"
"True! But all things recycle. We must eat and everything we can eat, plant as well as animal - even the inanimate seasonings - are part of Gaia. But, then, you see, nothing is killed for pleasure or sport nothing is killed with unnecessary pain. And I'm afraid we make no attempt to glorify our meal preparations, for no Gaian would eat except that one must. You did not enjoy this meal, Pel? Trev? Well, meals are not to enjoy.
"Then, too, what is eaten remains, after all, part of the planetary consciousness. Insofar as portions of it are incorporated into my body, it will participate in a larger share of the total consciousness. When I die, I, too, will be eaten - even if only by decay bacteria and I will then participate in a far smaller share of the total. But someday, parts of me will be parts of other human beings, parts of many."
Pelorat said, "A sort of transmigration of souls."
"Of what, Pel?"
"I speak of an old myth that is current on some worlds."
"Ah, I don't know of it. You must tell me on some occasion."
Trevize said, "But your individual consciousness - whatever it is about you that is Dom - will never fully reassemble."
"No, of course not. But does that matter? I will still be part of Gaia and that is what counts. There are mystics among us who wonder if we should take measures to develop group memories of past existences, but the sense-of-Gaia is that this cannot be done in any practical way and would serve no useful purpose. It would merely blur present consciousness. - Of course, as conditions change, the sense-of-Gaia may change, too, but I find no chance of that in the foreseeable future."
"Why must you die, Dom?" asked Trevize. "Look at you in your nineties. Could not the group consciousness..."
For the first time, Dom frowned. "Never," he said. "I can contribute only so much. Each new individual is a reshuffling of molecules and genes into something new. New talents, new abilities, new contributions to Gaia. We must have them - and the only way we can is to make room. I have done more than most, but even I have my limit and it is approaching. There is no more desire to live past one's time than to die before it."
And then, as if realizing he had lent a suddenly somber note to the evening, he rose and stretched his arms out to the two. "Come, Trev - Pel - let us move into my studio where I can show you some of my personal art objects. You won't blame an old man for his little vanities, I hope."
He led the way into another room where, on a small circular table, there were a group of smoky lenses connected in pairs.
"These," said Dom, "are Participations I have designed. I am not one of the masters, but I specialize in inanimates, which few of the masters bother with."
Pelorat said, "May I pick one up? Are they fragile?"
"No no. Bounce them on the floor if you like. - Or perhaps you had better not. Concussion could dull the sharpness of the vision."
"How are they used, Dom?"
"You put them over your eyes. They'll cling. They do not transmit light. Quite the contrary. They obscure light that might otherwise distract you - though the sensations do reach your brain by way of the optic nerve. Essentially your consciousness is sharpened and is allowed to participate in other facets of Gaia. In other words, if you look at that wall, you will experience that wall as it appears to itself."