Assad whistled a few notes of one of his native country's melancholic songs. It sounded as though he was whistling backwards

The endlessness of the extent of that whistle resulted, without a doubt, also in an enormous metaphysical knowledge of the art of whistling, which mingled, not just with the hearing of people, but extended, in an incisive manner, to the depths of their souls, the protected corner where each one hid their things- that frightening cave, which many call the centre of their being.

The sound circulated like an autonomous being whose tentacles needed to experience a sensitive awareness of the terrain.

I know of witches who whistle at different pitches, calling things that don't have names.