THE OLD MEN OF THE TWILIGHT

  Attheplace,closetotheDeadMansPoint,attheRosses,wherethedisusedpilot?houselooksouttoseathroughtworoundwindowslikeeyes,amudcottagestooditury.Italsowasawatchhouse,foracertainoldMichaelBruen,whohadbeenasmugglerinhisday,andwasstillthefatherandgrandfatherofsmugglers,livedthere,andwhen,afternightfall,atallsercreptoverthebayfrhley,itwashisbusiohangahornlanthornihernwindow,thatthenewsmighttraveltoDorrensIsland,andfromthence,byanotherhornlanthorn,tothevillageoftheRosses.Butforthisglimmeringofmessages,hehadlittleunionwithmankind,forhewasveryold,andhadnothoughtforanythingbutforthemakingofhissoul,atthefootoftheSpanishcrucifixofcarvedoakthathungbyhisey,orbentdoubleovertherosaryofstonebeadsbroughttohimacargoofsilksandlacesoutofFranenighthehadwatchedhourafterhour,becauseagentleandfavourablewindwasblowing,andLaMeredeMisericordewasmuchoverdue;andhewasabouttoliedownuponhisheapofstraw,seeingthatthedahiteni,andthattheserwouldnotdaretorhleyandetoananchorafterdaybreak;whenhesawalonglineofheronsflyingslowlyfromDorrensIslandandtowardsthepoolswhichlie,halfchokedwithreeds,behindwhatiscalledtheSedRosses.Hehadneverbeforeseenheronsflyihesea,fortheyareshore?keepingbirds,andpartlybecausethishadstartledhimoutofhisdrowsiness,andmorebecausethelongdelayoftheserkepthiscupboardempty,hetookdownhisrustyshot?gun,ofwhichthebarrelwastiedoniece,andfollowedthemtowardsthepools.

  Whenhecamecloseenoughtohearthesighingoftherushesiermostpool,themwasgreyovertheworld,sothatthetallrushes,thestillwaters,thevagueclouds,thethinmistslyingamongthesand?heaps,seemedcarvedoutofanenormouspearl.Inalittlehecameupontheherons,ofwhomtherewereagreatandingwithliftedlegsintheshallowwater;andcrougdownbehindabankofrushes,lookedtotheprimingofhisgun,aforamomentoverhisrosarytomurmur:PatronPatrick,letmeshootaheron;madeintoapieitwillsupportmefornearlyfourdays,forInoloasinmyyouth.IfyoukeepmefrommissingIwillsayarosarytoyoueverynightuntilthepieiseaten.Thenhelaydown,ainghisgunuponalargestourowardsaheronwhichstooduponabankofsmoothgrassoveralittlestreamthatflowedintothepool;forhefearedtotaketherheumatismbywading,ashewouldhavetodoifheshotohosewhichstoodier.Butwhenhelookedalongthebarreltheheronwasgone,and,tohiswonderandterror,amanofinfinitelygreatageandinfirmitystoodinitsplace.Heloweredthegun,andtheheronstoodtherewithbentheadandmotionlessfeathers,asthoughithadsleptfromthebeginningoftheworld.Heraisedthegun,andnosoonerdidhelookalongtheironthanthatenemyofallentmentbroughttheoldmanagainbeforehim,onlytovanishwhenheloweredthegunforthesedtime.Helaidthegundown,andcrossedhimselfthreetimes,andsaidaPaternosterandanAveMaria,andmutteredhalfaloud:SomeenemyofGodandofmypatronisstandinguponthesmoothpladfishingintheblessedwater,

  andthenaimedverycarefullyandslowly.Hefired,ahesmokehadgonesawanoldman,huddleduponthegrassandalonglineofheronsflyingwithclamourtowardsthesea.Hewentroundabendofthepool,andingtothelittlestreamlookeddownonafigureedinfadedclothesofbladgreenofanapatternandspottedwithblood.Heshookhisheadatthesightofsogreatawiess.Suddenlytheclothesmovedandanarmwasstretchedupwardstowardstherosarywhigabouthisnedlongwastedfingersalmosttouchedthecross.Hestartedback,g:Wizard,Iwillletnowickedthingtouchmyblessedbeads;andtheseheOldgreatdangerjustescapedmadehimtremble.

  Ifyoulistentome,repliedavoicesofaintthatitwaslikeasigh,youwillknowthatIamnotawizard,andyouwillletmekissthecrossbeforeIdie.

  Iwilllistentoyou,heanswered,butIwillyoutouchmyblessedbeads,andsittingonthegrassalittlewayfromthedyingman,hereloadedhisgunandlaiditacrosshiskneesandposedhimselftolisten.

  Iknownothowmanygeionsagowe,whoarenowherohemenoflearningoftheKingLeaghaire;weherhunted,obattle,norlisteheDruidspreag,andevenlove,ifitcametousatall,wasbutapassingfire.TheDruidsastoldus,manyandmanyatime,ofanewDruidPatridmostamongthemwerefierceagainsthim,whileafewthoughthisdoemerelythedoeofthegodssetoutinnewsymbols,andwerefivinghimwele;butweyawhemidstoftheirtale.Atlasttheycamegthathewasingtothekingshouse,aotheirdispute,butwewouldlisteherparty,forwewerebusyuteaboutthemeritsoftheGreatandoftheLittleMetre;norwerewedisturbedwhentheypassedourdoorwithsticksofentmentuheirarms,travellingtowardstheforesttotendagainsthising,norwheurernightfallwithtornrobesanddespairingcries;fortheclickofourkniveswritingourthoughtsinOghamfilleduswithpeadourdisputefilleduswithjoy;norevehemcrowdspassedustohearthestrangeDruidpreagtheasofhisgod.Thecrowdspassed,andone,whohadlaiddownhiskoyawnandstretchhimself,heardavoicespeakingfaroff,ahattheDruidPatrickreagwithinthekingshouse;butourheartsweredeaf,andwecarvedanddisputedandread,andlaughedathinlaughtertogether.Inalittleweheardmaingtowardsthehouse,alytwotallfiguresstoodinthedoor,theoneinwhite,theotherinacrimsonrobe;likeagreatlilyandaheavypoppy;andwekheDruidPatridLeaghaire.Welaiddowntheslenderknivesandbowedbeforetheking,butwhenthebladgreenrobeshadceasedtorustle,itwasnotthelhvoiceofKingLeaghairethatspoketous,butastrangevoiwhichtheretureasofonespeakingfrombehindabattlementofDruidflame:"IpreachedtheasoftheMakeroftheworld,"itsaid;"withinthekingshouseandfromthetreoftheearthtothewindowsofHeaventherewasagreatsilehattheeaglefloatedwithunmovingwingsieair,andthefishwithunmovingfinsinthedimwater,whilethelisandthewrensandthesparrowsstilledthereever?tremblingtoheheavyboughs,andthecloudswerelikewhitemarble,andtheriversbecametheirmotionlessmirrors,andtheshrimpsinthefar?offsea?poolswerestillenduriyinpatiehoughitwashard."Andashehesethings,itwaslikeakingnumberinghispeople."Butyourslenderkniveswentclick,click!upontheoakenstaves,and,allelsebeingsilent,thesoundshooktheangelswithanger.O,littleroots,hewinter,whodonotawakealthoughthesummerpassaboveyouwithinnumerablefeet.O,menwhohavenopartinlove,whohavenopartinsong,whohavenopartinwisdom,butdwellwiththeshadowsofmemorywherethefeetofangelsottouchyouastheypassoveryourheads,wherethehairofdemonsotsweepaboutyouastheypassunderyourfeet,Ilayuponyouacurse,andgeyoutoanexampleforeverandever;youshallbeegreyheronsandstandpingreypoolsandflitovertheworldinthathourwhenitismostfullofsighs,havingfottentheflameofthestarsandfoundtheflameofthesun;andyoushallpreachtotheotherheronsuntiltheyalsoarelikeyou,andareanexampleforeverandever;andyourdeathsshalletoyoubydunforeseen,thatnofireofcertaintymayvisityourhearts."

  Thevoiceoftheoldmanoflearningbecamestill,butthevoteeunwithhiseyesupontheground,tryinginvaintouandsomethingofthistale;andhehadsobent,itmaybeforalongtime,hadnotatugathisrosarymadehimstartoutofhisdream.Theoldmanoflearninghadcrawledalongthegrass,andwasntodrawthecrossdownlowenoughforhislipstoreachit.

  Youmustnottouchmyblessedbeads,criedthevoteen,andstruckthelongwitheredfingerswiththebarrelofhisgun.Hehavetrembled,fortheoldmanfellbackuponthegrasswithasighandwasstill.Hebentdownaosiderthebladgreenclothes,forhisfearhadbeguntopassawaywhenhecametouandthathehadsomethingthemanoflearningwantedandpleadedfor,andnowthattheblessedbeadsweresafe,hisfearhadnearlyallgone;andsurely,hethought,ifthatbigcloak,andthatlittletight?fittingcloaku,werewarmandwithoutholes,SaintPatrickwouldtaketheentmentoutofthemahemfitforhumathebladgreenclothesfellawaywhereverhisfiouchedthem,andwhilethiswasanewwonder,aslightwindblewoverthepoolandcrumbledtheoldmanoflearningandallhisagearintoalittleheapofdust,andthehelittleheaplessandlessuntiltherewasnothingbutthesmorass.松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读

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