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Chapter 10
We
are sitting at a table and we are writing this upon paper made thousands
of years ago. The light is dim, and we cannot see the Golden One, only one
lock of gold on the pillow of an ancient bed. This is our home.
We
came upon it today, at sunrise. For many days we have been crossing a
chain of mountains. The forest rose among cliffs, and whenever we walked
out upon a barren stretch of rock we saw great peaks before us in the
west, and to the north of us, and to the south, as far as our eyes could
see. The peaks were red and brown, with the green streaks of forests as
veins upon them, with blue mists as veils over their heads. We had never
heard of these mountains, nor seen them marked on any map. The Uncharted
Forest has protected them from the Cities and from the men of the Cities.
We
climbed paths where the wild goat dared not follow. Stones rolled from
under our feet, and we heard them striking the rocks below, farther and
farther down, and the mountains rang with each stroke, and long after the
strokes had died. But we went on, for we knew that no men would ever
follow our track nor reach us here. Then
today, at sunrise, we saw a white flame among the trees, high on a sheer
peak before us. We thought that it was a fire and we stopped. But the
flame was unmoving, yet blinding as liquid metal. So we climbed toward it
through the rocks. And there, before us, on a broad summit, with the
mountains rising behind it, stood a house such as we had never seen, and
the white fire came from the sun on the glass of its windows.
The
house had two stories and a strange roof flat as a floor. There was more
window than wall upon its walls, and the windows went on straight around
corners, though how this house kept standing we could not guess. The walls
were hard and smooth, of that stone unlike stone which we had seen in our
tunnel. We
both knew it without words: this house was left from the Unmentionable
Times. The trees had protected it from time and weather, and from men who
have less pity than time and weather. We turned to the Golden One and we
asked: "Are
you afraid?" But
they shook their head. So we walked to the door, and we threw it open, and
we stepped together into the house of the Unmentionable Times.
We
shall need the days and the years ahead, to look, to learn and to
understand the things of this house. Today, we could only look and try to
believe the sight of our eyes. We pulled the heavy curtains from the
windows and we saw that the rooms were small, and we thought that not more
than twelve men could have lived here. We thought it strange that man had
been permitted to build a house for only twelve.
Never
had we seen rooms so full of light. The sunrays danced upon colors,
colors, and more colors than we thought possible, we who had seen no
houses save the white ones, the brown ones and the grey. There were great
pieces of glass on the walls, but it was not glass, for when we looked
upon it we saw our own bodies and all the things behind us, as on the face
of a lake. There were strange things which we had never seen and the use
of which we do not know. And there were globes of glass everywhere, in
each room, the globes with the metal cobwebs inside, such as we had seen
in our tunnel. We
found the sleeping hall and we stood in awe upon its threshold. For it was
a small room and there were only two beds in it. We found no other beds in
the house, and then we knew that only two had lived here, and this passes
understanding. What kind of world did they have, the men of the
Unmentionable Times? We
found garments, and the Golden One gasped at the sight of them. For they
were not white tunics, nor white togas; they were of all colors, no two of
them alike. Some crumbled to dust as we touched them, but others were of
heavier cloth, and they felt soft and new in our fingers. We
found a room with walls made of shelves, which held rows of manuscripts,
from the floor to the ceiling. Never had we seen such a number of them,
nor of such strange shape. They were not soft and rolled, they had hard
shells of cloth and leather; and the letters on their pages were small and
so even that we wondered at the men who had such handwriting. We glanced
through the pages, and we saw that they were written in our language, but
we found many words which we could not understand. Tomorrow, we shall
begin to read these scripts. When
we had seen all the rooms of the house, we looked at the Golden One and we
both knew the thought in our minds. "We
shall never leave this house," we said, "nor let it be taken
from us. This is our home and the end of our journey. This is your house,
Golden One, and ours, and it belongs to no other men whatever as far as
the earth may stretch. We shall not share it with others, as we share not
our joy with them, nor our love, nor our hunger. So be it to the end of
our days." "Your
will be done," they said. Then
we went out to gather wood for the great hearth of our home. We brought
water from the stream which runs among the trees under our windows. We
killed a mountain goat, and we brought its flesh to be cooked in a strange
copper pot we found in a place of wonders, which must have been the
cooking room of the house. We
did this work alone, for no words of ours could take the Golden One away
from the big glass which is not glass. They stood before it and they
looked and looked upon their own body.
When
the sun sank beyond the mountains, the Golden One fell asleep on the
floor, amidst jewels, and bottles of crystal, and flowers of silk. We
lifted the Golden One in our arms and we carried them to a bed, their head
falling softly upon our shoulder. Then we lit a candle, and we brought
paper from the room of the manuscripts, and we sat by the window, for we
knew that we could not sleep tonight. And
now we look upon the earth and sky. This spread of naked rock and peaks
and moonlight is like a world ready to be born, a world that waits. It
seems to us it asks a sign from us, a spark, a first commandment. We
cannot know what word we are to give, nor what great deed this earth
expects to witness. We know it waits. It seems to say it has great gifts
to lay before us. We are to speak. We are to give its goal, its highest
meaning to all this glowing space of rock and sky.
We
look ahead, we beg our heart for guidance in answering this call no voice
has spoken, yet we have heard. We look upon our hands. We see the dust of
centuries, the dust which hid great secrets and perhaps great evils. And
yet it stirs no fear within our heart, but only silent reverence and pity.
May
knowledge come to us! What is this secret our heart has understood and yet
will not reveal to us, although it seems to beat as if it were endeavoring
to tell it? |
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