
        from THE COMPLEX VISION OF PHILO St JOHN                     FRIAR3
       
        I'm  just a friar."  He took a knife from his  knapsack  and drew it
        deftly  through  the  center  of  the  melon.  The halves fell apart, 
        oozing fragrance and juice.
             "How long have you been here?" Philo asked.
             "Years," he said.
             "By  now, I'd think  you  would have some sort of idea what and 
        where this place is."
             "Oh yes," the friar said. "I have some idea. But it's something
        that is felt, not easily explained.  Now I don't know about you, but
        I have an appetite."  He raised his hand for silence, made a curious
        gesture  over  his chest, spoke a few words of blessing and beckoned
        Philo to eat.
             Philo  sliced himself a wedge of the cheese, pinched a piece of
        bread around it and put it into his mouth.  It was delicious.
             "Even  if  you  can't  explain all of it," he said. "Can you at
        least tell me how you got here?"
             "I was preaching," the friar said. "And in the middle of my ser-
        mon, the bottom fell out of the pulpit. And when I awoke I was here."
             "And that's all you know?"
