Hinduism! That's what accounts for my fatalism, W.'s sure of it. The world is all maya to me, a great illusion, isn't it? It's like a dust-storm or mirage, W. knows what I think.
Am I secretly working towards moksha, enlightenment? W.'s sure of it. I'm working in darkness to escape the wheel of rebirth.
No such escape for him, W. says. And no fatalism. Hindus are a cyclical people, he says, but time for W. is linear, and goes all the way to judgement day. And he will be judged, W.'s sure of it. Especially him. Somehow, it's all his fault.
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