gs.earthabides-第62部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　grew。　The　effect　was　still　park…like。　
　　Near　one　of　the　trees　he　saw　a　large　rattlesnake　lying　in　the　sunshine。　It　seemed　torpid；　not　yet　quite　revived　from　the　chill　of　the　night。　He　could　easily　kill　it。　He　hesitated　a　moment；　but　went　on。　
　　No…he　had　once　been　bitten　and　still　remembered　something　of　that　horror。　But　he　held　no　enmity　to　the　whole　tribe　of　rattlesnakes。　In　fact；　that　bite　had　possibly　saved　his　life。　Perhaps；　rather　than　being　hostile；　he　should　be　grateful；　and　form　a　rattlesnake　clan　around　that　totem。　No；　not　that　either。　He　would　be　neutral。　
　　Then　he　realized　that　this　attitude　of　his　applied　to　more　than　just　rattlesnakes。　He　had　noticed　it　in　the　younger　people　also。　In　the　times　of　civilization　men　had　really　felt　themselves　as　the　masters　of　creation。　Everything　had　been　good　or　bad　in　relation　to　man。　So　you　killed　rattlesnakes。　But　now　nature　had　bee　so　overwhelming　that　any　attempt　at　its　control　was　merely　outside　anyone's　circle　of　thought。　You　lived　as　part　of　it；　not　as　its　dominating　power。　To　bother　with　killing　one　rattlesnake　was　foolish；　because　you　had　no　chance　of　exterritinating　them　or　even　of　appreciably　changing　their　number。　If　one　of　them　came　near　the　houses；　you　killed　it　of　course；　to　protect　the　children。　But　you　did　not　go　crusading　against　rattlesnakes；　any　more　than　you　did　against　mountain…lions。　
　　He　passed　on；　went　down　an　almost　overgrown　stone　stairway；　and　crossed　a　wooden　bridge。　He　felt　it　shaky　with　rot　beneath　his　feet。　It　had　been　an　old　bridge；　he　remembered；　even　when　he　was　a　boy。　Along　the　stream　the　thicket　was　dense；　and　he　had　to　push　his　way　through；　although　underfoot　he　felt　that　he　was　still　on　an　asphalt　walk。　
　　He　heard　a　rustle　somewhere　in　the　thicket；　and　for　a　moment　was　nervous　to　be　without　a　weapon。　It　might　be　a　mountain…lion。　Wolves　or　wild　dogs　also　were　likely　to　haunt　these　thickety　stream…courses。　
　　But　as　he　burst　through　into　the　open　again；　he　saw　only　some　deer　loping　off　through　the　trees。　
　　High　on　his　left；　now；　rose　up　one　of　the　University　buildings。　He　could　not　remember　what　department　had　been　housed　there。　The　shrubbery；　which　once　had　been　kept　neatly　trimmed；　had　now　grown　up　high　and　shaggy；　masking　the　lower　windows。　
　　He　went　on　toward　his　goal。　It　was　only　a　little　way　ahead；　now。　He　burst　through　another　thicket；　and　saw　the　great　Library　building。　
　　He　looked。　This　building　also　was　half　masked　by　the　shrubbery。　One　window　was　broken；　apparently　because　the　branch　of　a　pine　tree　had　grown　out　across　it；　and　then　slapped　back　and　forth　in　some　high　wind。　That　accident　had　happened　since　he　had　last　been　here；　several　years　back。　He　kept　the　University　Library　as　a　reserve　for　the　future。　He　had　even　taught　the　children　to　respect　it。　Yes；　he　had　even；　he　was　afraid；　put　a　kind　of　taboo　upon　it。　In　fact；　not　only　here　but　everywhere；　he　had　always　tried　to　impress　the　children　with　an　almost　mystical　value　of　books。　Still　he　kept　the　symbol　of　the　burning　of　the　books　as　one　of　the　worst　things　that　men　could　do。　
　　He　circled　the　Library；　here　and　there　having　difficulty　in　breaking　his　way　through　bushes。　Once　he　had　to　crawl　over　the　fallen　trunk　of　a　pine　tree。　The　building；　as　far　as　he　could　see；　was　still　in　sound　condition。　He　came　at　last　to　the　window　which　he　had　broken　many　years　before；　and　then　boarded　up。　With　the　hammer　he　began　to　knock　off　a　board。　He　was　careful　not　to　break　the　board；　so　that　he　could　replace　it。　After　all；　he　realized　with　pleasure；　there　had　been　a　rational　background　for　his　bringing　the　hammer　along　with　him。　
　　Having　knocked　off　the　board；　he　was　able　to　climb　through　into　the　building。　Now　he　recalled　the　first　time　that　he　had　gained　entrance　through　the　window。　He　had　e　when　Em　had　told　him　she　was　going　to　have　a　baby；　and　he　had　been　hunting　for　books　on　obstetrics。　All　that　had　seemed　a　tremendous　problem　at　the　time；　and　yet　it　had　solved　itself　without　difficulty。　Why　could　he　never　learn　to　worry　less　about　problems？　Problems　not　infrequently　solved　themselves。　
　　He　went　on　through　the　hall；　and　found　the　old　door　into　the　stacks。　Things　were　not　as　clean　as　they　might　be。　In　spite　of　his　precautions；　bats　had　apparently　found　their　way　into　the　building；　perhaps　through　the　recently　broken　window。　There　was　also　the　litter　of　some　kind　of　rodent。　But　the　droppings　had　done　no　damage　to　the　books。　He　put　out　a　finger；　rubbed　the　tops　of　some　books；　and　brought　it　away　dusty。　That　was　natural；　and　there　was　not　even　a　very　surprising　amount　of　dust。　
　　Yes；　they　were　all　still　there…well　over　a　million　volumes；　almost　all　the　accumulated　learning　of　the　world　still　safe　within　these　four　wals。　He　felt　a　sudden　sense　of　security　and　safety　and　hope。　He　gloated；　like　a　miser。　
　　He　went　down　one　flight　of　the　little　circular　stairway；　and　headed　toward　the　part　of　the　library；　the　geography　section；　which　as　a　graduate　student　he　had　known　best。　He　came　to　the　familiar　alcoves；　and　in　spite　of　all　the　years　he　felt　a　sense　of　having　e　home。　Looking　at　the　shelves；　he　began　to　spot　books　which　he　had　read　and　studied。　
　　One；　in　particular；　caught　his　attention；　a　well…worn　volume；　rebound　in　red　buckram。　He　stretched　out　a　hand；　took　it　from　the　shelf；　and　blew　the　dust　from　its　top。　Looking　at　his　find；　he　saw　the　name　Brooks　and　the　title。　Climate　through　the　Ages。　He　remembered　the　book。　Opening　it；　he　saw　the　card；　and　noticed　that　the　last　borrower　of　the　book…the　date　only　a　month　before　the　Great　Disaster…had　been　someone　named　with　the　unusual　name　of　Isherwood　Williams。　Only　after　a　few　seconds　did　he　realize　that　he　himself　was　Isherwood　Williams。　Nobody　had　called　him　by　his　full　name　for　many　years。　Now　he　could　actually　remember　that　he　had　been　reading　this　book　during　his　last　semester。　It　was　a　good　book　and　interesting；　although　largely　superseded；　he　curiously　found　himself　remembering；　by　the　later　studies　of…well；　someone　with　a　German　name…Zeimer；　perhaps。　
　　He　laid　the　hammer　down；　so　as　to　have　both　hands　for　the　book。　Then　he　went　to　where　light　shone　in　through　a　dusty　window；　and　looked　curiously　through　the　pages。　Actually；　this　book　was　not　of　the　slightest　value　to　human　progress。　Climatic　change　was　not　a　practical　problem。　In　any　case；　this　book　had　been　superseded。　He　could　just　as　well　throw　it　away　or　tear　it　to　pieces；　but　he　did　not。　He　went　back；　and　put　it　almost　reverently　into　its　place。　
　　He　walked　away；　and　then　suddenly　everything　was　dust　and　ashes　in　his　mind　again。　What　would　be　the　use　of　all　these　books　now？　Why　worry　about　one　of　them？　Why　worry　about　all　the　millions　of　them？　There　was　no　one　left；　now；　to　carry　on。　Books　themselves；　mere　wood…pulp　and　lamp…black；　were　nothing…without　a　mind　to　use　them。　
　　Sorrowfully　he　went　away；　and　he　was　just　starting　to　climb　the　circular　stairway　when　he　realized　that　something　was　missing。　He　no　longer　had　the　hammer。　He　was　suddenly　frightened；　and　returned　rapidly　to　the　alcove　from　which　he　had　taken　the　book。　He　had　a　great　feeling　of　relief　when　he　saw　the　hammer　still　resting　where　he　had　laid　it　on　the　floor　when　he　wanted　both　hands　for　the　book。　He　took　it　up　and　retraced　his　steps。　
　　He　climbed　out　through　the　broken　window；　and　automatically　started　to　replace　the　board。　Then；　he　stopped。　The　great　feeling　of　desolation　came　over　him　again。　Why　replace　the　board？　It　would　make　no　difference。　No　one　was　left　who　would　e　here；　in　the　future；　to　read。　He　paused；　swinging　the　hammer　idly。　
　　At　last；　slowly；　without　enthusiasm；　he　picked　up　the　board；　and　with　the　hammer　pounded　the　nails　in　again。　There　was　no　enthusiasm。　There　was　no　hope。　Yet　this　was　merely　part　of　his　life。　Just　as　George　would　always　work　at　his　carpentry；　just　as　Ezra　would　always　be　good　with　people；　so　he；　Ish；　would　keep　some　illusion　of　books；　and　the　future。　
　　After　that　he　went　around　and　sat　down　to　rest　on　the　granite　steps　at　the　front　of　the　Library。　Everything　was　overgrown　and　half　ruinous。　He　thought　of　an　old　picture　which　he　remembered。　Who　was　it…Caesar？　Hannibal？…someone；　sitting　in　the　ruins　of　Carthage？　He　pounded　idly　with　his　hammer　at　the　edge　of　one　of　the　granite　steps。　It　was　sheer　vandalism。　He　did　not　ordinarily　do　such　a　thing。　The　edge　of　the　step　chipped　off。　Still；　wantonly；　he　pounded　harder。　A　three…inch　flake　loosened　and　fell。　The　fresh　edge　of　the　broken　granite　looked　out　roughly　at　him。　
　　As　he　sat　there　still　pounding　gently　with　the　hammer；　he　felt　himself　for　the　first　time　remember　Joey　without　merely　dissolving　into　sorrow。　How　would　it　have　been　anyway？　Joey　might　not　have　been　able　to　do　anything。　He　was　only　a　bright　little　boy。　He　could　not　have　changed　things。　He　could　not　have　stood　against　all　the　pressing　current　of　this　altered　world。　He　would　only　have　struggled　and　struggled；　and　in　the　end　he　would　not　have　succeeded。　He　would　have　been　unhappy。　
　　〃Joey；〃　he　thought；　and　he　put　the　thoughts　into　words。　〃Joey　was　too　much　like　me。　I　always　struggle。　I　can　never　merely　be　happy。〃　
　　He　concentrated　on　a　small　chip　of　granite；　and　vindictively　pounded　it　into　bits。　
　　〃Relax；　relax！〃　he　again　thought　in　words。　〃It's　time　to　relax。〃　
　　Thoreau　and　Gauguin…we　remember　them。　But　should　we　forget　the　tens　of　thousands　of　others？　They　neither　wrote　books　nor　painted　pictures；　but　equally　they　renounced。　And　what　of　those　others；　the　millions　who　turned　their　backs　on　imagination？　
　　You　have　heard　them　speak；　and　seen　their　eyes。。。　〃It　was　fine　there；　where　we　camped　on　our　fishing…trip…sometimes　I　wished…of　course　I　had　to　get　back　for　the　sales…conference。〃　。。。　〃Do　you　ever　think；　George；　of　a　desert　island？〃　。。。　〃Just　a　cabin；　in　the　woods；　no　telephone。〃　。。。　〃The　sand…spit　by　the　lagoon；　I　like　to　fancy…but；　you　know；　there's　Maud；　and　the　children。〃　
　　What　a　strange　thing　then　is　this　great　civilization；　that　no　sooner　have　men　attained　it　than　they　seek　to　flee　from　it！　
　　The　Chaldeans　told　that　Oannes　the　fish…god　came　up　from　the　sea　and　taught　men　these　new　ways。　But　was　he　god　or　demon？　
　　Why　do　the　legends　look　back　toward　some　golden　day　of　simpli