| caption: |
Chapter Twenty-two. Love and Poetry |
| caption: |
fondness for informant Shankok |
| text: |
Of all the men of Wakching, I am fondest of Shankok, the son of the late Shouba. Often I go with him to the field; or to hunt for green pigeons in the palm groves, and many an evening he will sit for hours on my veranda talking of the events of the day and our own personal experiences and reactions. I could not hope to find a more ideal companion! Shankok is never sulky or morose, he is always eager to tell me of anything I want to know, or to show me how things are done and why, and I am quite at home in his house, walking in and out at any hour of the day, almost as though it were my own. |
