osc.am2.redprophet-第69章

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　　〃It's　here　and　there。　Don't　try　to　understand　it；　Alvin。　I　gave　up　long　ago。　But　isn't　it　good　to　know　that　all　of　the　threads　of　life　are　being　woven　into　one　great　cloth？〃
　　〃Who's　weaving　the　cloth　for　the　Red　folk　that　went　west　with　Tenskwa…Tawa？〃　asked　Alvin。　〃Those　threads　went　off　the　cloth。〃
　　〃That's　not　your　business；〃　said　Becca。　〃We'll　just　say　that　another　loom　was　built；　and　carried　west。〃
　　〃But　Ta…Kumsaw　said　no　White　folk　would　ever　cross　the　river　to　the　west。　The　Prophet　said　it；　too。〃
　　Ta…Kurnsaw　turned　slowly　on　the　floor；　without　getting　up。　〃Alvin；〃　he　said；　〃you're　only　a　boy〃
　　〃And　I　was　only　a　girl；〃　Becca　reminded　him；　〃when　I　first　loved　you。〃　She　turned　to　Alvin。　〃It's　my　daughter　who　carried　the　loom　into　the　west。　She　could　go　because　she's　only　half　White。〃　She　again　stroked　Ta…Kumsaw's　hair。　〃Isaac　is　my　husband。　My　daughter　Wieza　is　his　daughter。〃
　　〃Mana…Tawa；〃　said　Ta…Kumsaw。
　　〃I　thought　for　a　time　that　Isaac　would　choose　to　stay　here；　to　live　with　us。　But　then　I　watched　as　his　thread　moved　away　from　us；　even　though　his　body　still　was　with　us。　I　knew　he　would　go　to　be　with　his　people。　I　knew　why　he　had　e　to　us；　alone　from　the　forest。　There　is　a　hunger　deeper　than　the　Red　man's　hunger　for　the　song　of　the　living　forest；　deeper　than　a　blacksmith's　yearning　for　the　hot　wet　iron；　deeper　even　than　a　doodlebug's　longing　for　the　hollow　heart　of　the　earth。　That　hunger　brought　Ta…Kumsaw　to　our　house。　My　mother　was　still　the　weaver　at　the　loom　then。　I　taught　Ta…Kumsaw　to　read　and　write；　he　rushed　through　my　father's　library；　and　read　every　other　book　in　the　valley；　and　we　sent　for　more　books　from　Philadelphia　and　he　read　those。　He　chose　his　own　name；　then；　for　the　man　who　wrote　the　Principia。　When　we　came　of　age；　he　married　me。　I　had　a　baby。　He　left。　When　Wieza　was　three；　he　came　back；　built　a　loom；　and　took　her　west　over　the　mountain　to　live　with　his　people。〃
　　〃And　you　let　your　own　daughter　go？〃
　　〃Just　like　one　of　my　ancestors　sat　at　her　old　loom　and　let　her　daughter　go；　across　the　ocean　to　this　land；　her　with　a　new　loom　and　her　watchful　father　beside　her；　yes；　I　let　her　go。〃　Becca　smiled　sadly　at　Alvin。　〃We　all　have　our　work；　but　there's　no　good　work　that　doesn't　have　its　cost。　By　the　time　Isaac　took　her；　I　was　already　in　this　room。　Everything　that　happened　has　been　good。〃
　　〃You　didn't　even　ask　how　your　daughter　was　doing　when　he　got　here！　You　still　haven't　asked。〃
　　〃I　didn't　have　to　ask；〃　said　Becca。　〃No　harm　es　to　the　keepers　of　the　loom。〃
　　〃Well；　if　your　daughter's　gone；　who's　going　to　take　your　place？〃
　　〃Perhaps　another　husband　will　e　here；　by　and　by。　One　who'll　stay　in　this　house；　and　make　another　loom　for　me；　and　yet　another　for　a　daughter　not　yet　born。〃
　　〃And　what　happens　to　you　then？〃
　　〃So　many　questions；　Alvin；〃　said　Ta…Kumsaw。　But　his　voice　was　soft　and　tired　and　English…sounding；　Alvin　wasn't　in　awe　of　the　Ta…Kumsaw　who　read　White　men's　books；　and　so　he　paid　no　heed　to　the　mild　rebuke。
　　〃What　happens　to　you　when　your　daughter　takes　your　place？〃
　　〃I　don't　know；〃　said　Becca。　〃But　the　story　is　that　we　go　to　the　place　where　the　threads　e　from。〃
　　〃What　do　you　do　there？〃
　　〃We　spin。〃
　　Alvin　tried　to　imagine　Becca's　mother；　and　her　grandmother；　and　the　women　before　that；　all　in　a　line；　he　tried　to　imagine　how　many　there'd　be；　all　of　them　working　their　spinning　wheels；　winding　out　threads　from　the　spindle；　yarn　all　raw　and　white；　which　would　just　go　somewhere；　go　on　and　disappear　somewhere　until　it　broke。　Or　maybe　when　it　broke　they　held　the　whole　thing；　a　whole　human　life；　in　their　hands；　and　then　tossed　it　upward　until　it　was　caught　by　a　passing　wind；　and　then　dropped　down　and　got　snagged　up　in　somebody's　loom。　A　life　afloat　on　the　wind；　then　caught　and　woven　into　the　cloth　of　humanity；　born　at　some　arbitrary　time；　then　struggling　to　find　its　way　into　the　fabric；　weaving　into　the　strength　of　it。
　　And　as　he　imagined　this；　he　also　imagined　that　he　understood　something　about　that　fabric。　About　the　way　it　grew　stronger　the　more　tightly　woven　in　each　thread　became。　The　ones　that　skipped　about　over　the　top　of　the　cloth；　dipping　into　the　weft　only　now　and　then；　they　added　little　to　the　strength；　though　much　to　the　color；　of　the　cloth。　While　some　whose　color　hardly　showed　at　all；　they　were　deeply　wound　among　the　threads；　holding　all　together。　There　was　a　goodness　in　those　hidden　binding　threads。　Forever　from　then　on；　Alvin　would　see　some　quiet　man　or　woman；　little　noticed　and　hardly　thought　of　by　others；　who　nevertheless　went　a…weaving　through　the　life　of　village；　town；　or　city；　binding　up；　holding　on；　and　Alvin　would　silently　salute　such　folk；　and　do　them　homage　in　his　heart；　because　he　knew　how　their　lives　kept　the　cloth　strong；　the　weave　tight。
　　He　also　remembered　the　many　threads　that　ended　at　the　point　where　Ta…Kumsaw's　battle　was　to　take　place。　It　was　as　if　Ta…Kumsaw　had　taken　shears　to　the　cloth。
　　〃Ain't　there'a　way　to　heal　things　up？〃　asked　Alvin。　〃Ain't　there　a　hope　of　keeping　this　battle　from　ever　happening；　so　those　threads　don't　all　get　broke？〃
　　Becca　shook　her　head。　〃Even　if　Isaac　refused　to　go；　the　battle　would　take　place　without　him。　No；　the　threads　aren't　broken　by　anything　Isaac　did。　They　broke　the　moment　some　Red　man　chose　a　course　of　action　that　would　surely　end　in　his　death　in　battle；　you　and　Isaac　weren't　going　around　spreading　death；　if　that's　what　worries　you。　No　more　than　Old　Hickory's　been　killing　people。　You　were　just　going　spreading　choices。　They　didn't　have　to　believe　in　you。　They　didn't　have　to　choose　to　die。〃
　　〃But　they　didn't　know　that's　what　they　was　choosing。〃
　　〃They　knew；〃　said　Becca。　〃We　always　know。　We　don't　admit　it　to　ourselves；　not　until　the　very　moment　of　death；　but　in　that　moment；　Alvin；　we　see　all　the　life　before　us　and　we　understand　how　we　chose；　every　day　of　our　lives；　the　manner　of　our　death。〃
　　〃What　if　something　just　happens　to　fall　on　somebody's　head　and　mashes　him？〃
　　〃He　chose　to　be　in　a　place　where　such　things　happen。　And　he　wasn't　looking　up。〃
　　〃I　don't　believe　it；〃　said　Alvin。　〃I　think　folks　can　always　change　what's　ing；　and　I　think　some　things　happen　that　ain't　nobody　ever　chose　to　happen；〃
　　Becca　smiled　at　him；　reached　out　her　arm。　〃e　here；　Alvin。　Let　me　hold　you　close　to　me。　I　love　your　simple　faith；　child。　I　want　to　hold　on　to　that　faith；　even　if　I　can't　believe　it。〃
　　So　she　held　him　for　a　time；　and　her　arm　around　him　felt　so　much　like　his　own　mama's；　strong　and　gentle；　that　he　cried　a　little。　In　fact　he　cried　a　good　deal　more　than　he　would　ever　have　meant　to　cry；　if　he'd　meant　to　cry　at　all。　And　he　knew　better　than　to　ask　to　see　his　own　thread；　even　though　he　imagined　his　thread　would　be　easy　to　find　　the　one　thread　born　in　the　White　man's　section　of　the　cloth；　but　migrating　over　and　being　green。　Surely　being　green；　like　the　Prophet's　people　did。
　　One　thing　he　was　also　sure　of；　so　sure　that　he　didn't　even　ask；　though　heaven　knows　he　wasn't　shy　about　asking　any　question　popped　into　his　head：　He　was　sure　that　Becca　knew　which　thread　was　Ta…Kumsaw's；　and　knew　as　well　that　his　and　Ta…Kumsaw's　threads　were　all　bound　up　with　each　other；　for　a　while　at　least。　As　long　as　Alvin　was　with　him；　Ta…Kumsaw'd　be　alive。　Alvin　knew　that　there　was　two　endings　to　the　prophecy：　the　one　in　which　Alvin　died　first；　leaving　Ta…Kumsaw　by　himself；　in　which　case　he'd　die　too；　or　the　one　in　which　neither　one　of　them　died　and　their　threads　went　on　until　they　disappeared。　There　might've　been　a　third　way　it　could　e　out：　Alvin　might　just　up　and　leave　Ta…Kumsaw。　But　then　if　he　did　that；　he　wouldn't　be　Alvin　anymore；　so　there　wasn't　no　point　in　considering　that　as　a　possibility；　cause　it　wasn't　one。
　　Alvin　slept　the　night　on　a　mat　on　the　library　floor；　after　reading　a　few　pages　in　a　book　by　a　man　named　Adam　Smith。　Where　Ta…Kumsaw　slept；　Alvin　didn't　know　or　care　to　ask。　What　a　man　does　with　his　wife　is　no　affair　for　children；　Alvin　knew；　but　he　wondered　if　the　main　reason　Ta…Kumsaw　had　e　back　here　wasn't　his　wish　to　see　the　loom；　but　the　hungering　that　Becca　spoke　of。　The　need　to　make　another　daughter　to　care　for　Becca's　loom。　It　wasn't　a　bad　idea；　in　Alvin's