gs.earthabides-第78章

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　　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of　the　slightest　value　to　human　progress。　Climatic　change　was　not　a　practical　problem。　In　any　case；　this　book　had　been　superseded。　He　could　just　as　well　throw　it　away　or　tear　it　to　pieces；　but　he　did　not。　He　went　back；　and　put　it　almost　reverently　into　its　place。　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　simplicity？　
　　Must　we　not　think　then　that　this　great　civilization　grew　up；　not　by　men's　desires；　but　rather　by　Forces　and　Pressures。　Step　by　step；　as　villages　grew　larger；　men　must　give　up　the　free　wandering　life　of　berry…picking　and　seed…gathering　and　tie　themselves　to　the　security　（and　drudgery）　of　agriculture。　Step　by　step；　as　villages　grew　more　numerous；　men　must　renounce　the　excitement　of　the　hunt　for　the　security　（and　drudgery）　of　cattle…keeping。　
　　Then　at　last　it　was　like　Frankenstein's　vast　monster。　They　had　not　willed　it；　but　it　ruled　them　all。　And　so　by　a　thousand　little　surreptitious　paths　they　tried　to　escape。　
　　How　then；　once　overthrown；　shall　this　great　civilization；　except　by　renewed　Forces　and　Pressures；　ever　e　again？　
　　And　then　suddenly　he　knew　that　he　was　old。　In　years　he　was　only　in　his　forties；　but　he　was　the　youngest　of　the　older　group；　and　beneath　him　a　long　gap　opened　before　you　came　to　the　oldest　of　the　younger　ones。　It　was　a　long　gap　in　Years；　and　an　immensely　longer　gap　in　culture　and　tradition。　Never　had　there　been…never　could　there　possibly　have　been…such　another　gap　between　the　older　and　the　younger　generations。　
　　Sitting　there；　on　the　Library　steps；　pounding　the　chip　of　granite　into　smaller　and　smaller　grains；　he　began　now　to　have　what　seemed　a　little　clearer　vision　of　the　future。　It　was　all　tied　up　in　that　same　old　question。　How　much　did　man　strike　outward　to　affect　all　his　surroundings　and　how　much　did　the　surroundings　press　in　upon　him？　Did　the　Napoleonic　age　produce　Napoleon　or　did　he　produce　it？　So；　even　if　Joey　had　lived；　the　welter　of　circumstances；　the　circumstances　that　made　Jack　and　Roger　and　Ralph；　would　probably　have　affected　Joey　too；　and　one　small　boy　was　not　much　to　set　up　against　all　of　that。　Yes；　even　if　Joey　had　lived；　things　would　probably　have　continued　to　move　in　the　way　they　already　seemed　to　be　moving。　Now　that　Joey　was　dead；　it　was　certain…certain；　that　is；　as　far　as　anyone　could　reasonably　expect；　granting　always　some　unforeseeable　accident。　
　　The　stars　in　their　courses！　（The　chip　of　granite　was　nothing　but　powder　under　the　blows　of　the　harnmer。）　The　stars　in　their　courses！　No；　he　did　not　believe　in　astrology；　and　yet　the　shifting　of　the　stars　showed　that　the　solar　system　too　was　changing；　and　that　the　earth　itself　was　being　a　more　or　a　less　habitable　place　for　man。　Thus；　at　some　profounder　depth　of　reality；　astrology　might　be　right；　and　the　changes　in　the　sky　could　be　taken　as　symbol　of　all　the　grinding　wheels　of　circumstance。　The　stars　in　their　courses！　What　was　man；　little　man；　to　withstand　them？　
　　Yes；　the　future　was　certain。　The　Tribe　was　not　going　to　restore　civilization。　It　did　not　want　civilization。　For　a　while　the　scavenging　would　go　on…this　opening　of　cans；　this　expending　of　cartridges　and　matches　stored　up　from　the　past；　all　this　uncreative　but　happy　manner　of　life。　Then　at　last；　sooner　or　later；　there　would　be　more　and　more　people；　and　the　supplies　would　fail。　There　would　perhaps　be　no　quick　catastrophe　because　many　cattle　could　be　had　for　the　taking；　and　life　would　go　on。　So；　he　thought；　and　then　a　new　idea　came　to　him　with　a　sudden　impact。　Even　though　cattle　were　left；　though　there　was　much　food；　what　would　happen　when　the　ammunition　for　the　rifles　was　exhasted？　When　the　matches　were　gone？　In　fact；　one　might　not　even　have　to　wait　until　the　ammunition　was　exhausted。　Powder　deteriorated　with　time。　Three　or　four　generations；　and　all　who　were　left　might　be　merely　some　groveling　primitives　who　had　lost　civilization　and　yet；　on　the　other　hand；　had　not　learned　all　those　thousand　basic　skills　which　enabled　savages　to　live　with　some　degree　of　stability　and　fort！　Possibly；　indeed…and　perhaps　this　would　best…in　three　or　four　generations　the　race　would　not　be　able　to　survive　at　all；　would　not　be　able　to　make　the　transition　between　the　scavenging；　uncreative　life；　and　some　new　level　of　life　at　which　they　could　remain　permanently；　or　from　which　they　could　once　more　begin　a　slow　advance。　
　　Again　he　pounded