THE FACE OF GOD
What I have is far more profound.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A sense of humor.’
Jaz looked at him, trying to find a clue in his gaunt face, in the clear gray eyes watching him with such - what? Amusement? Condescension? There was something about the man which brought on a sort of hermeneutic despair. He was a forest of signs.
‘We’re hunting for jokes.’ Bachman spoke slowly, as if to a child. ‘Parapraxes. Cosmic slips of the tongue. They’re the key to the locked door. They’ll help us discover it.’
‘Discover what?’
‘The face of God. What else would we be looking for?”
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