“I have often wondered why you did as you did.”

“Then let me give you ease, man: You are nothing. You were nothing. You are not remembered. Your mortal name does not signify anything.”

The man lowers his eyes.

“Do you doubt me?”

“No, Master…”

“Why not?”

“Because you do not lie.”

“Then let me show it I took away your memories of life only because they would give you pain among the dead. But now let me demonstrate your anonymity. There are over five thousand of the dead in this room, from many ages and places.”

Anubis stands, and his voice carries to every presence in the Hall:

“Attend me, maggots! Turn your eyes toward this man who stands before my throne! -Face them, man!”

The man turns about.

“Man, know that today you do not wear the body you slept in last night. You look now as you did a thousand years ago, when you came into the House of the Dead.”

“My dead ones, are there any of you here present who can look upon this man and say that you know him?”

A golden girl steps forward.

“I know this man,” she says, through orange lips, “because he spoke to me in the other hall.”

“That I know,” says Anubis, “but who is he?”

“He is the one who spoke to me.”

“That is no answer. Go and copulate with yon purple lizard. -And what of you, old man?”

“He spoke to me also.”

“That I know. Can you name him?”

“I cannot.”

“Then go dance on yonder table and pour wine over your head. -What of you, black man?”

“This man also spoke with me.”

“Do you know his name?”

“I did not know it when he asked me-”

“Then burn!” cries Anubis, and fires fall down from the ceiling and leap out from the walls and crisp the black man to ashes, which move then in slow eddies across the floor, passing among the ankles of the stopped dancers, falling finally into final dust.