messer marco polo-第12节

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〃If　they　weren't　real　and　live　and　warm；　what　would　a　story　be；　Brian　Oge；　but　a　jumble　of　dead　words？　　A　house　with　nobody　in　it；　the　poorest　thing　in　the　world。〃

〃But　Marco　Polo　came　back　to　Venice；　Malachi；　and　fought　in　the　sea…wars。〃

〃There's　more　to　tell；　Brian　Oge。　　But　sometimes　I　wonder　shouldn't　the　best　part　of　the　story　be　kept　to　yourself。　　The　people　aren't　as　wise　as　they　used　to　be；　brown　lad。　　The　end　of　a　story　now　is　a　bit　of　kissing　and　courting　and　the　kettle　boiling　to　be　making　tea。

〃But　the　older　ones　were　wiser；　Brian　Donn。　　They　knew　that　the　rhythm　of　life　is　long　and　swinging；　and　that　time　doesn't　stop　short　as　a　clock。　　Sure；　what　is　a　kiss　from　the　finest　of　women　but　a　pleasant　thing；　like　a　long　putt　sunk；　or　the　first　salmon　of　the　year　caught　like　a　trout；　or　the　ball　through　the　goal　before　the　whistle　blows？　　And　there's　many　a　well…filled　belly　over　a　hungry　soul。

〃But　a　story　is　how　destiny　is　interwoven；　the　fine　and　gallant　and　the　tragic　points　of　life。　　And　you　mustn't　look　at　them　with　the　eyes　of　the　body；　but　you　must　feel　with　the　antennae　of　your　being。　Now；　if　you　were　to　look　at　the　Lord　Jesus　with　physical　eyes；　what　would　it　be　but　a　kindly；　crazy　man　and　He　coming　to　a　hard　and　bitter　end？　　Look　at　it　simply；　and　what　was　the　story　of　Troy　but　a　dirty　row　over　a　woman？

〃But　often　times　the　stories　with　endings　that　grocer's　daughters　do　not　be　liking　are　the　stories　that　are　worth　while。　　And　the　worth　while　stories　do　be　lasting。　　Never　clip　a　story　half…ways　because　Widow　Robinson　doesn't　like　to　have　her　mind　disturbed；　and　she　warming　her　breadth　at　the　fire。　　The　Widow　Robinson　may　have　a　white　coin　to　buy　a　book　with；　and　think　you're　the　grand　author　entirely　and　you　pleasing　her。　　But　Lord　God；　who　gave　you　the　stories；　know　you　for　a　louse。

〃I　call　to　your　mind　the　stories　of　great　English　writer　　the　plays　of　the　Prince　of　Denmark；　and　the　poor　blind　king　on　the　cliff；　and　the　Scottish　chieftain　and　his　terrible　wife。　　The　Widow　Robinson　will　not　like　those　stories；　and　she　will　be　keeping　her　white　coin　。　。　。But　those　stories　will　endure　forever。　。　。

〃I　will　now　tell　you　of　Marco　Polo；　and　him　leaving　China。　。　。



CHAPTER　XXI

You　must　see　him　now　as　he　was　seventeen　years　after　he　had　come　to　China；　and　fourteen　years　after　his　wife；　little　Golden　Bells；　had　died；　a　lean　figure　of　a　man；　with　his　hair　streaked　with　gray；　a　lean；　hard　face　on　him　and　savage　eyes；　and　all　the　body　of　him　steel　and　whale…bone　from　riding　on　the　great　Khan's　business；　and　riding　fast　and　furious；　so　that　he　might　sleep　and　forget；　but　forgetting　never　came　to　him。　。　。You　might　think　he　was　a　harsh　man　from　his　face　and　eyes；　but　he　was　the　straight　man　in　administering　justice；　and　he　had　the　soft　heart　for　the　poor　　the　heart　of　Golden　Bells。　He　was　easily　moved　to　anger；　but　the　fine　Chinese　people　never　minded　him；　knowing　he　was　a　suffering　man。　　Though　never　a　word　of　Golden　Bells　came　from　his　mouth；　barring　maybe　that　line　of　Dante's；　the　saddest　line　in　the　world；　and　that　he　used　to　repeat　to　himself　and　no　one　there：

　　　。　。　。〃'la　bella　persona　　　　Che　mi　fu　tolta。　。　。che　mi　fu　tolta'；　who　was　　　　taken　from　me；　Taken！　　Taken　from　me！〃

And　oftentimes　a　look　would　come　over　his　face　as　if　he　were　listening　for　a　voice　to　speak　　listening；　listening；　and　then　a　wee　harsh　laugh　would　come　from　him；　very　heartbreaking　to　hear；　and　whatever　was　in　his　hand；　papers　or　a　riding…whip；　he　would　pitch　down　and　walk　away。　。　。

He　had　just　come　in　from　the　borders　of　the　Arctic　lands；　from　giving　the　khan's　orders　to　the　squat；　hairy　tribes　who　live　by　the　icy　shores；　and　had　come　to　the　garden　by　the　Lake　of　Cranes；　the　garden　where　the　Golden　Bells　of　singing　and　laughter　were　dumb　this　armful　of　years；　and　he　was　alone；　and　the　listening　look　was　on　his　face；　when　there　came　Kubla　and　Li　Po　and　the　old　magician。　。　。

Now　Kubla　was　very　old；　so　old　he　could　hardly　walk；　and　very　frail；　and　Li　Po　was　very　old；　too；　and　gray　in　the　face；　and　sadder　in　the　eyes　than　ever；　and　the　magician's　white　beard　had　grown　to　his　knees；　but　there　was　no　more　humor　in　his　eyes。　。　。And　Marco　Polo　helped　the　old　khan　to　sit　down。

〃Oh；　sir；　why　did　you　come　to　me？　　Sure　I　was　going　to　you　the　moment　I　had　changed　my　riding…clothes。　。　。Sir；　you　should　have　stayed　in　your　bed。　。　。〃

〃There　was　something　on　my　mind；　Marco；　and　the　old　do　be　thinking　long　to　get　things　off　their　mind。〃

〃What　can　I　do　sir？〃

〃Marco；　my　child；　you　mustn't　take　what　I　say　amiss。　　But　I　want　you　to　be　going　back；　to　be　going　back　to　Venice。〃

〃Sir；　what　have　I　done　to　dissatisfy　you？　　In　all　my　embassies　have　I　been　weak　to　the　strong　or　bullying　toward　the　weak？　　Does　an　oppressed　man　complain　of　injustice；　does　a　merchant　complain　of　being　cheated；　or　a　woman　say　she　was　wronged？〃

〃Now；　Marco　of　my　heart；　didn't　I　say　not　to　be　taking　it　amiss？　Is　there　any　one　closer　to　me　nor　you；　or　is　it　likely　I'd　be　listening　to　stories　brought　against　you？　　It's　just　this。　　I'm　an　old　and　tired　man；　Marco　Beag；　and　in　a　week　or　a　moon　at　most　I'm　due　to　die；　so　the　Sanang　tells　me。　　Don't　be　sorry；　son。　　Be　glad　for　me。　　Life　has　been　a　wee　bit　too　long。

〃And　now；　son　dear；　I　want　to　tell　you。　　You've　been　closer　to　me　than　my　own　sons；　and　you've　been　the　dear　lad。　　And　there's　not　one　man　in　all　China　can　say　you　did　a　harsh　or　an　unjust　thing；　but；　my　dear　son；　'tis　just　the　way　of　people；　there's　a　power　of　hard　feeling　against　you　in　this　land；　you　being　a　stranger　and　having　stood　so　high。

〃So　when　I'm　dead；　dear　son；　there's　many　would　do　you　an　injury；　and　treat　you　badly；　aye；　in　our　family　itself；　though　they　smile　on　you　now。　　Let　you　be　going　now；　Marco。　　I'll　miss　you　to　close　my　eyes　for　me；　but　my　heart　will　be　lighter。　　It　will　so。　　I　couldn't　sleep　easy；　and　you　ill　treated　in　this　land　of　mine。　　You　ask　him；　too；　Li　Po。〃

〃Ah；　sir；〃　Marco　laughed；　　〃and；　Li　Po；　what　is　ill　treatment　to　me？　Sorrow's　my　blood　brother。　　What　I've　suffered！　　Do　you　think　I　could　suffer　more？〃

〃I　know；　Marco；　I　know。〃

〃Don't　you　think　I　suffer　now；　sir？　　Fourteen　years　she's　dead　now；　the　wee　one　who　lay　by　my　side　in　sleep。　　And　never　a　word　and　never　a　sign。　　In　the　house　where　we　were　married　I　can　see　the　pool　and　the　willows　and　the　hibiscus；　but　there　is　never　a　token　of　her；〃　he　broke　out。　　〃The　leaves　of　trees　cover　the　pavilion；　the　hair　of　the　musicians　is　silver；　and　dust　is　on　the　blue　and　white　tiles。　And　she　never　comes　to　comfort　pie。　　I　can't　sleep　with　waiting。　The　stars　never　seem　to　wane；　and　the　hoar　frost　comes　on　the　grass；　and　I'm　always　waiting。　　Christ！　　Why　should　I　go　back？　　I've　forgotten　Venice。　　I've　even　forgotten　my　God　for　her！〃

〃Sanang；〃　says　Kubla　Khan　to　the　magician；　〃couldn't　you　do　something　for　this　poor　lad？〃

It　was　now　dusk　in　the　garden　by　the　Lake　of　Cranes。　。　。

〃I　don't　need　any　damned　wizard　to　bring　my　wife　to　me；〃　raged　Marco　Polo。　　〃If　she　were　to　come；　she　would　come；　and　I　in　the　dark　of　the　moon　and　the　moorfowl　calling。　　She　would　have　come　because　my　heart　needed　her。〃　　And　he　raged　through　the　dusk　by　the　Lake　of　Cranes。　。　。

〃Now；　Marco；　dear　lad；　don't　be　flying　off　again；　but　remember　that　there　is　science　needed　to　all　things。　　And　think；　too；　that　maybe　she　was　not　permitted。　　The　older　we　get；　the　more　we　understand　the　destiny　that　rules　all　things；　with　now　a　nudge；　with　now　a　leading　finger；　with　now　a　terrible　blow　over　the　heart；　and　what　we　think　at　twenty…five　was　a　trifling　accident；　at　seventy…five　we　know　to　have　been　the　enormous　gesture　of　God。　　We　are　not　asked　when　we　like　to　be　born；　Marco；　nor　is　it　up　to　us　when　to　die。

〃And　again；　Marco；　consider。　　If　she　were　to　have　come　to　you　in　the　dark　of　the　moon…time；　in　the　strange　mystic　hours　when　you　can　hear　eternity　tick　like　a　clock；　your　eyes　would　have　been　not　on　this　world；　but　the　next。　　Your　look　would　have　been　vacant　that's　now　keen　to　discover　injustice。　　Your　body　would　have　been　flabby　that's　now　whalebone　and　steel。　　And　there　would　have　been　no　memory　of　you　in　China；　that's　now　like　sweet　honey　in　the　mouth。

〃Would　a　wee　dead　spirit　be　proud　of　a　man；　Marco；　and　he　just　crying；　crying；　crying；　and　letting　the　days　go　by　while　even　the　brown　bee　works；　and　even　the　grass　grows　that　cattle　may　fatten　and　men　eat？　She　might　be　sorry；　but　would　there　be　pride　on　her？　　Even　a　dead　woman　wants　a　strong　man。

〃Now；　I'm　not　saying　that　the　silent　dead　should　not　have　a　voice　in　our　affairs　when　we　need　them。　　But　they　have　wisdom；　else　what　is　the　use　of　having　died？　　And　if　the　Sanang　can　bring　her；　she'll　come　now　and　join　with　us　in　asking　you；　now　being　the　time　she's　needed。

〃Child；　be　guided　by　us　three　ancient　men。　　I　have　lived　long　and　have　knowledge　of　the　world。　　Li　Po　has　lived　long　and　has　knowledge　of　the　heart。　　The　Sanang　has　lived　long；　and　knows　the　secrets　of　the　dead。　　If　to　our　three　voices；　who　love　you；　there　is　added　a　sign　from　Golden　Bells；　will　you　leave　China？〃

〃If　there　is　a　sign　from　her　I'll　leave　China；〃　said　Marco　Polo。

And　it　was　dusk　in　the　Garden　by　the　Lake　of　Cranes。



CHAPTER　XXII