osc.am1.seventhson-第22部分

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　way　in　for　breakfast；　he　stopped　and　sniffed　the　air。　〃Smoke；〃　he　said。　〃You　haven't　been　trying　to　burn　down　the　house；　have　you；　Bill？〃
　　〃No　sir；〃　answered　Taleswapper。　〃But　I　saw　a　vision　of　what　God　meant　the　Book　of　Proverbs　to　say；　and　wrote　them　down。〃
　　〃You　are　obsessed　with　visions；〃　said　Old　Ben。　〃The　only　true　vision　es　not　from　God　but　from　the　inmost　recesses　of　the　human　mind。　Write　that　down　as　a　proverb；　if　you　want。　It's　far　too　agnostic　for　me　to　use　it　in　Poor　Richard's　Almanac。〃
　　〃Look；〃　said　Taleswapper。
　　Old　Ben　looked；　and　saw　the　last　flames　as　they　died。　〃Well；　now；　if　that's　not　the　most　remarkable　trick　to　do　with　letters。　And　you　told　me　you　weren't　a　wizard。〃
　　〃I'm　not。　God　gave　this　to　me。〃
　　〃God　or　the　devil？　When　you're　surrounded　by　light；　Bill；　how　do　you　know　whether　it's　the　glory　of　God　or　the　flames　of　hell？〃
　　〃I　don't　know；〃　said　Taleswapper；　growing　confused。　Being　young　then；　not　yet　thirty；　he　was　easily　confused　in　the　presence　of　the　great　man。
　　〃Or　perhaps　you；　wanting　truth　so　badly；　gave　it　to　yourself。〃　Old　Ben　tilted　his　head　to　examine　the　pages　of　Proverbs　through　the　lower　lenses　of　his　bifocals。　〃The　letters　have　been　burned　right　in。　Funny；　isn't　it；　that　I'm　called　a　wizard；　who　am　not；　and　you；　who　are；　refuse　to　admit　it。〃
　　〃I'm　a　prophet。　Or　want　to　be。〃
　　〃If　one　of　your　prophecies　es　true；　Bill　Blake；　then　I'll　believe　it；　but　not　until。〃
　　In　the　years　since　then；　Taleswapper　had　searched　for　the　fulfilment　of　even　one　prophecy。　Yet　whenever　he　thought　he　had　found　such　a　fulfilment；　he　could　hear　Old　Ben's　voice　in　the　back　of　his　mind；　providing　an　alternate　explanation；　scoffing　at　him　for　thinking　that　any　connection　between　prophecy　and　reality　could　be　true。
　　〃Never　true；〃　Old　Ben　would　say。　〃Useful　　now；　there's　something。　Your　mind　might　make　a　connection　that　is　useful。　But　true　is　another　matter。　True　implies　that　you　have　found　a　connection　that　exists　independent　of　your　apprehension　of　it；　that　would　exist　whether　you　noticed　it　or　not。　And　I　must　say　that　I　have　never　seen　such　a　connection　in　my　life。　There　are　times　when　I　suspect　that　there　are　no　such　connections；　that　all　links；　bonds；　ties；　and　similarities　are　creatures　of　thought　and　have　no　substance。〃
　　〃Then　why　doesn't　the　ground　dissolve　beneath　our　feet？〃　asked　Taleswapper。
　　〃Because　we　have　managed　to　persuade　it　not　to　let　our　bodies　by。　Perhaps　it　was　Sir　Isaac　Newton。　He　was　such　a　persuasive　fellow。　Even　if　human　beings　doubt　him；　the　ground　does　not；　and　so　it　endures。〃　Old　Ben　laughed。　It　was　all　a　lark　to　him。　He　never　could　bring　himself　to　believe　even　his　own　skepticism。
　　Now；　sitting　at　the　base　of　the　tree；　his　eyes　closed；　Taleswapper　connected　again：　The　tale　of　Noah　with　Old　Ben。　Old　Ben　was　Ham；　who　saw　the　naked　truth；　limp　and　shameful；　and　laughed　at　it；　while　all　the　loyal　sons　of　church　and　university　walked　backward　to　cover　it　up　again；　so　the　silly　truth　would　not　be　seen。　Thus　the　world　continued　to　think　of　the　truth　as　firm　and　proud；　never　having　seen　it　in　a　slack　moment。
　　That　is　a　true　connection；　thought　Taleswapper。　That　is　the　meaning　of　the　story。　That　is　the　fulfilment　of　the　prophecy。　The　truth　when　we　see　it　is　ridiculous；　and　if　we　wish　to　worship　it；　we　must　never　allow　ourselves　to　see　it。
　　In　that　moment　of　discovery；　Taleswapper　sprang　to　his　feet。　He　must　find　someone　at　once；　to　tell　of　this　great　discovery　while　he　still　believed　it。　As　his　own　proverb　said　〃The　cistern　contains：　the　fountain　overflows。〃　If　he　did　not　speak　his　tale；　it　grew　dank　and　musty；　it　shrank　inside　him；　while　with　the　telling　the　tale　stayed　fresh　and　virtuous。
　　Which　way？　The　forest　road；　not　three　rods　off；　led　toward　a　large　white　church　with　an　oak…high　steeple　　he　had　seen　it；　not　a　mile　away；　while　up　the　tree。　It　was　the　largest　building　Taleswapper　had　seen　since　he　last　visited　in　Philadelphia。　Such　a　large　building　for　people　to　gather　in　implied　that　folks　in　this　part　of　the　land　felt　they　had　plenty　of　room　for　newers。　A　good　sign　for　an　itinerant　teller　of　tales；　since　he　lived　by　the　trust　of　strangers；　who　might　take　him　in　and　feed　him　when　he　brought　nothing　with　him　to　pay　with；　except　his　book；　his　memory；　two　strong　arms；　and　sturdy　legs　that　had　carried　him　ten　thousand　miles　and　were　good　for　at　least　five　thousand　more。
　　The　road　was　rutted　with　wagon　tracks；　which　meant　it　was　often　used；　and　in　the　low　places　it　was　firmed　up　with　rails；　making　a　good　strong　corduroy　so　that　wagons　wouldn't　mire　in　rain…soaked　soil。　So　this　was　on　its　way　to　being　a　town；　was　it？　The　large　church　might　not　mean　openness　at　all　　it　might　speak　more　of　ambition。　That's　the　danger　of　judging　anything；　thought　Taleswapper：　There　are　a　hundred　possible　causes　for　every　effect；　and　a　hundred　possible　effects　from　every　cause。　He　thought　of　writing　down　that　thought；　but　decided　against　it。　It　had　no　traces　on　it　save　the　prints　of　his　own　soul　　neither　the　marks　of　heaven　nor　of　hell。　By　this　he　knew　that　it　hadn't　been　given　to　him。　He　had　forced　the　thought　himself。　So　it　couldn't　be　prophecy；　and　couldn't　be　true。
　　The　road　ended　in　a　mons　not　far　from　a　river。　Taleswapper　knew　that　from　the　smell　of　rushing　water　　he　had　a　good　nose。　Around　the　mons　were　scattered　several　buildings；　but　the　largest　of　all　was　a　whitewashed　clapboard　two…story　building　with　a　small　sign　that　said　〃Weaver's。〃
　　Now　when　a　house　has　a　sign　on　it；　Taleswapper　knew；　that　generally　means　the　owners　want　people　to　recognize　the　place　though　they've　never　been　shown　the　way；　which　is　the　same　as　to　say　that　the　house　is　open　to　strangers。　So　Taleswapper　went　right　up　and　knocked。
　　〃Minute！〃　came　a　shout　from　inside。　Taleswapper　waited　on　the　porch。　Toward　one　end　were　several　hanging　baskets；　with　the　long　leaves　of　various　herbs　dangling。　Taleswapper　recognized　many　of　them　as　being　useful　in　various　arts；　such　as　healing；　finding；　sealing；　and　reminding。　He　also　recognized　that　the　baskets　were　arranged　so　that；　seen　from　a　spot　near　the　base　of　the　door；　they　would　form　a　perfect　hex。　In　fact；　this　was　so　pronounced　an　effect　that　Taleswapper　squatted　and　finally　lay　prone　on　the　porch　to　see　it　property。　The　colors　daubed　on　the　baskets　at　exactly　the　correct　points　proved　that　it　was　no　accident。　It　was　an　exquisite　hex　of　protection；　oriented　toward　the　doorway。
　　Taleswapper　tried　to　think　of　why　someone　would　put　up　such　a　powerful　hex；　and　yet　seek　to　conceal　it。　Why；　Taleswapper　was　probably　the　only　person　around　likely　to　feel　the　whiff　of　power　from　something　as　passive　as　a　hex；　and　so　be　drawn　to　notice　it。　He　was　still　lying　there　on　the　floor；　puzzling　about　it；　when　the　door　opened　and　a　man　said；　〃Are　you　so　tired；　then；　stranger？〃
　　Taleswapper　leapt　to　his　feet。　〃Admiring　your　arrangement　of　herbs。　Quite　an　aerial　garden；　sir。〃
　　〃My　wife's；〃　said　the　man。　〃She　fusses　over　them　all　the　time。　Has　to　have　them　just　so。〃
　　Was　the　man　a　liar？　No；　Taleswapper　decided。　He　wasn't　trying　to　hide　the　fact　that　the　baskets　made　a　hex　and　the　trailing　leaves　intertwined　to　bind　them　together。　He　simply　didn't　know。　Someone　　his　wife；　probably；　if　it　was　her　garden　　had　set　up　a　protection　on　his　house；　and　the　husband　didn't　have　a　clue。
　　〃They　look　just　right　to　me；〃　said　Taleswapper。
　　〃I　wondered　how　someone　could　arrive　here；　and　me　not　hear　the　wagon　nor　the　horse。　But　from　the　looks　of　you；　I'd　guess　you　came　afoot。〃
　　〃That　I　did；　sir；〃　said　Taleswapper。
　　〃And　your　pack　doesn't　look　full　enough　to　hold　many　articles　to　trade。〃
　　〃I　don't　trade　in　things；　sir；〃　said　Taleswapper。
　　〃What；　then？　What　but　things　can　be　traded？〃
　　〃Work；　for　one　thing；〃　said　Taleswapper。　〃I　work　for　food　and　shelter。〃
　　〃You're　an　old　man；　to　be　a　vagrant。〃
　　〃I　was　born　in　fifty…seven；　so　I　still　have　a　good　seventeen　years　until　I've　used　up　my　three…score　and　ten。　Besides；　I　have　a　few　knacks。〃
　　At　once　the　man　seemed　to　shrink　away。　It　wasn't　in　his　body。　It　was　his　eyes　that　got　more　distant；　as　he　said；　〃My　wife　and　I　do　our　own　work　here；　seeing　how　our　sons　are