But destiny put the finger on me.
Happenstance or accident or pure blind luck…it would be destiny.
I lived with destiny, as destiny…I was a part of destiny instead of destiny being a part of me, and we came to know each other as if we were two humans…better than if we were two humans. For destiny was I and I was destiny. Destiny had no name and I called it Johnny and the fact I had to name him is a joke that destiny, my destiny, still can chuckle over.
I lived with Johnny, the vital part of me, the spark of me that men call life and do not understand…the part of me I still do not understand…until my body had been repaired again. And then I returned to it and it was a different body and a better body, for the many destinies had been astounded and horrified at the inefficiency and the flimsy structure of the human body.
And when they fixed it up, they made it better. They tinkered it so it had a lot of things it did not have before…many things, I suspect, I still do not know about and will not know about until it is time to use them. Some things, perhaps, I'll never know about.
When I went back to my body, destiny came and lived with me again, but now I knew him and recognized him and I called him Johnny and we talked together and I never failed to hear him, as I must many times have failed to hear him in the past.
Symbiosis, Sutton told himself, a higher symbiosis than the symbiosis of heather with its fungus or the primitive animal with its alga. A mental symbiosis. I am the host and Johnny is my guest and we get along together because we understand each other. Johnny gives me an awareness of my destiny, of the operative force of destiny that shapes my hours and days, and I give Johnny the semblance of life that he could not have through his existence independently.
"Johnny," he called and there was no answer.
He waited and there was no answer.
"Johnny," he called again and there was terror in his voice. For Johnny must be there. Destiny must be there.