He was shown a boy who, born and raised in a jungle, had for some time lived as a slave on cleared land.  Ten to look at, but actually seventeen in age; said to be stunted in many ways as animals are said to be.  The boy locked onto his eyes, not in a stare but, it felt to him, in a clinging onto.  He sensed that the boy was looking for one who’d return him from his slavishness-to-man form of life back to the slavishness-to-life form in which he had his identity.  He held onto the boy’s look and sat cross-legged on the dirt some distance from him.  Is everything being provided for you, he asked through the interpreter.  The boy looked puzzled to him, or frustrated over not being understood.  The boy said something quite curt.  I’m not sure, the interpreter said, but I think he said, ‘Hold me.’  What could that possibly mean?  He answered the boy with, You hold me.  The interpreter translated it with a curtness to match the boy’s.  The boy rose and sat on the ground behind him, back to his back.  Soon enough, the boy was leaning against his back, weighing progressively heavier, till it started to take his most determined efforts to hold him up.  It came to him that humans must have hidden dark matter within them that weighed more than them.  The boy then dropped his head backwards, as unto a pillow, directly onto his shoulder, into a forgetting sleep of the kind that he, on an autumn morning much later in his life, came to see is what in life holds us up the best.