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two parts of the old highway. The autumn foliage was magnificent. Patron was already clothed for winter, dressed in an overcoat with a rounded collar, buttoned all the way to his throat, and a pear-shaped fedora, altogether like a dubious imitation of the Tohoku poet Kenji Miyazawa.
    The factory and research facility were housed in a chalkstone building in the midst of rustic surroundings. As you went inside from the imposing façade there was a large entrance hall, and below the vaulted ceiling an ancient-looking marble statue of Hermes. The jovial Chairman came out to greet them. Patron was barely able to mumble a greeting, and right after this came the startling blow to the head. Afterward Ogi read a book translated into Japanese about the god Hermes and found out that he was both the god of medicine—fitting for the research center of a pharmaceutical company—and also the god of commerce, as well as a Trickster symbol. These memories came back to him now that he’d decided to leave the International Cultural Exchange Foundation to work for Patron’s religious organization and was on his way to report to the Chairman, who was attending a meeting at the headquarters of the foundation.
    Ogi was ushered into the waiting room next to the large conference room and cautioned by the head of operations of the pharmaceutical company that the Chairman could spare five minutes and no more. The Chairman strode in robustly, clad in a navy blue suit and yellow necktie, shooed away this underling, and sank his sturdy frame into an armchair.
    “Well, let’s take our time, shall we?” he began. “That’s why I had you come in. I have to report to Dr. Ogi, after all.” (Ogi’s father, a medical doctor, had business connections with this company.) “I hope your father’s well? I haven’t seen him since last year at the ceremony when he won that international prize.”
    “Thank you for asking. I think he’s well, though it’s probably been longer than that since I’ve seen him myself,” Ogi replied, a bit nervously.
    He hoped to avoid having the conversation turn to the troubles between himself and his father, especially since there was a different, more pressing question he needed to solve. “Through my work with the International Cultural Exchange Foundation, mostly work in Japan I’ve been involved with,” he went on, “I’ve begun to have dealings with a man I know you are aware of, called Patron. Just as Patron was beginning to firm up plans for a new movement, something terrible’s happened and he’s found himself shorthanded and asked me to help out. I’m not a follower of the man, and I don’t know much about the troubles that took place ten years ago involving Patron, his colleague—the one who’s fallen ill now—and the church he led up to that point, but after discussing things with Patron and his secretary, I decided that I want to do what I can. I know the foundation will view this as irresponsible, but that’s what I’d really like to do. My father helped pave the way for me to work here, and you were generous enough to accept me, and I’d like to be the one to report directly to him about my decision.”
    Ogi paused. The atmosphere between them had changed suddenly. Ogi was sure he had no way of convincing the Chairman to understand his views, yet something about his vague arguments seemed to take hold of the older man. The appointed five minutes had passed, and his head of operations opened the heavy oak door leading into the reception-sized conference room and stuck his head in, only to be directed by the Chairman in a loud voice to tell the other executives to wait. He then told Ogi something quite unexpected.
    Befitting the longtime industrialist he was, the Chairman quickly dealt with the business matters at hand. He accepted Ogi’s resignation from the main company, which had had him on loan to the foundation. Ogi would not receive any severance pay, the Chairman said, but he wanted Ogi