part 4-第2章

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she　looked　out　on　the　ocher…colored　slope　that　ran　down















several　hundred　feet　to　the　stream；　and　this　hot　rock　was



sparsely　grown　with　dwarf　trees。　　Their　colors　were　so　pale



that　the　shadows　of　the　little　trees　on　the　rock　stood　out



sharper　than　the　trees　themselves。　　When　Thea　first　came；



the　chokecherry　bushes　were　in　blossom；　and　the　scent　of



them　was　almost　sickeningly　sweet　after　a　shower。　　At　the



very　bottom　of　the　canyon；　along　the　stream；　there　was　a



thread　of　bright；　flickering；　golden…green；cottonwood



seedlings。　　They　made　a　living；　chattering　screen　behind



which　she　took　her　bath　every　morning。







　　　　　Thea　went　down　to　the　stream　by　the　Indian　water



trail。　　She　had　found　a　bathing…pool　with　a　sand　bottom；



where　the　creek　was　damned　by　fallen　trees。　　The　climb



back　was　long　and　steep；　and　when　she　reached　her　little



house　in　the　cliff　she　always　felt　fresh　delight　in　its　com…



fort　and　inaccessibility。　　By　the　time　she　got　there；　the



woolly　red…and…gray　blankets　were　saturated　with　sun…



light；　and　she　sometimes　fell　asleep　as　soon　as　she　stretched



her　body　on　their　warm　surfaces。　　She　used　to　wonder　at



her　own　inactivity。　　She　could　lie　there　hour　after　hour　in



the　sun　and　listen　to　the　strident　whir　of　the　big　locusts；



and　to　the　light；　ironical　laughter　of　the　quaking　asps。　　All



her　life　she　had　been　hurrying　and　sputtering；　as　if　she



had　been　born　behind　time　and　had　been　trying　to　catch



up。　　Now；　she　reflected；　as　she　drew　herself　out　long　upon



the　rugs；　it　was　as　if　she　were　waiting　for　something　to



catch　up　with　her。　　She　had　got　to　a　place　where　she　was



out　of　the　stream　of　meaningless　activity　and　undirected



effort。







　　　　　Here　she　could　lie　for　half　a　day　undistracted；　holding



pleasant　and　incomplete　conceptions　in　her　mindalmost



in　her　hands。　　They　were　scarcely　clear　enough　to　be　called



ideas。　　They　had　something　to　do　with　fragrance　and　color



and　sound；　but　almost　nothing　to　do　with　words。　　She　was



singing　very　little　now；　but　a　song　would　go　through　her



head　all　morning；　as　a　spring　keeps　welling　up；　and　it　was















like　a　pleasant　sensation　indefinitely　prolonged。　　It　was



much　more　like　a　sensation　than　like　an　idea；　or　an　act　of



remembering。　　Music　had　never　come　to　her　in　that　sensu…



ous　form　before。　　It　had　always　been　a　thing　to　be　struggled



with；　had　always　brought　anxiety　and　exaltation　and　cha…



grinnever　content　and　indolence。　　Thea　began　to　won…



der　whether　people　could　not　utterly　lose　the　power　to



work；　as　they　can　lose　their　voice　or　their　memory。　　She



had　always　been　a　little　drudge；　hurrying　from　one　task　to



anotheras　if　it　mattered！　　And　now　her　power　to　think



seemed　converted　into　a　power　of　sustained　sensation。　　She



could　become　a　mere　receptacle　for　heat；　or　become　a　color；



like　the　bright　lizards　that　darted　about　on　the　hot　stones



outside　her　door；　or　she　could　become　a　continuous　repeti…



tion　of　sound；　like　the　cicadas。



























　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　III











　　　　　THE　faculty　of　observation　was　never　highly　developed



in　Thea　Kronborg。　　A　great　deal　escaped　her　eye　as



she　passed　through　the　world。　　But　the　things　which　were



for　her；　she　saw；　she　experienced　them　physically　and　re…



membered　them　as　if　they　had　once　been　a　part　of　herself。



The　roses　she　used　to　see　in　the　florists'　shops　in　Chicago



were　merely　roses。　　But　when　she　thought　of　the　moon…



flowers　that　grew　over　Mrs。　Tellamantez's　door；　it　was　as



if　she　had　been　that　vine　and　had　opened　up　in　white　flow…



ers　every　night。　　There　were　memories　of　light　on　the　sand



hills；　of　masses　of　prickly…pear　blossoms　she　had　found　in



the　desert　in　early　childhood；　of　the　late　afternoon　sun　pour…



ing　through　the　grape　leaves　and　the　mint　bed　in　Mrs。



Kohler's　garden；　which　she　would　never　lose。　　These　recol…



lections　were　a　part　of　her　mind　and　personality。　　In　Chicago



she　had　got　almost　nothing　that　went　into　her　subconscious



self　and　took　root　there。　　But　here；　in　Panther　Canyon；



there　were　again　things　which　seemed　destined　for　her。







　　　　　Panther　Canyon　was　the　home　of　innumerable　swallows。



They　built　nests　in　the　wall　far　above　the　hollow　groove　in



which　Thea's　own　rock　chamber　lay。　　They　seldom　ven…



tured　above　the　rim　of　the　canyon；　to　the　flat；　wind…swept



tableland。　　Their　world　was　the　blue　air…river　between　the



canyon　walls。　　In　that　blue　gulf　the　arrow…shaped　birds



swam　all　day　long；　with　only　an　occasional　movement　of



the　wings。　　The　only　sad　thing　about　them　was　their　tim…



idity；　the　way　in　which　they　lived　their　lives　between　the



echoing　cliffs　and　never　dared　to　rise　out　of　the　shadow　of



the　canyon　walls。　　As　they　swam　past　her　door；　Thea　often



felt　how　easy　it　would　be　to　dream　one's　life　out　in　some



cleft　in　the　world。



















　　　　　From　the　ancient　dwelling　there　came　always　a　dignified；



unobtrusive　sadness；　now　stronger；　now　fainter；like



the　aromatic　smell　which　the　dwarf　cedars　gave　out　in　the



sun；but　always　present；　a　part　of　the　air　one　breathed。



At　night；　when　Thea　dreamed　about　the　canyon；or　in



the　early　morning　when　she　hurried　toward　it；　anticipating



it；her　conception　of　it　was　of　yellow　rocks　baking　in



sunlight；　the　swallows；　the　cedar　smell；　and　that　peculiar



sadnessa　voice　out　of　the　past；　not　very　loud；　that　went



on　saying　a　few　simple　things　to　the　solitude　eternally。







　　　　　Standing　up　in　her　lodge；　Thea　could　with　her　thumb



nail　dislodge　flakes　of　carbon　from　the　rock　roofthe



cooking…smoke　of　the　Ancient　People。　　They　were　that



near！　　A　timid；　nest…building　folk；　like　the　swallows。　　How



often　Thea　remembered　Ray　Kennedy's　moralizing　about



the　cliff　cities。　　He　used　to　say　that　he　never　felt　the　hard…



ness　of　the　human　struggle　or　the　sadness　of　history　as　he



felt　it　among　those　ruins。　　He　used　to　say；　too；　that　it　made



one　feel　an　obligation　to　do　one's　best。　　On　the　first　day



that　Thea　climbed　the　water　trail　she　began　to　have　intui…



tions　about　the　women　who　had　worn　the　path；　and　who



had　spent　so　great　a　part　of　their　lives　going　up　and　down



it。　　She　found　herself　trying　to　walk　as　they　must　have



walked；　with　a　feeling　in　her　feet　and　knees　and　loins　which



she　had　never　known　before；which　must　have　come　up



to　her　out　of　the　accustomed　dust　of　that　rocky　trail。　　She



could　feel　the　weight　of　an　Indian　baby　hanging　to　her



back　as　she　climbed。







　　　　　The　empty　houses；　among　which　she　wandered　in　the



afternoon；　the　blanketed　one　in　which　she　lay　all　morning；



were　haunted　by　certain　fears　and　desires；　feelings　about



warmth　and　cold　and　water　and　physical　strength。　　It



seemed　to　Thea　that　a　certain　understanding　of　those



old　people　came　up　to　her　out　of　the　rock　shelf　on



which　she　lay；　that　certain　feelings　were　transmitted　to　her；



suggestions　that　were　simple；　insistent；　and　monotonous；















like　the　beating　of　Indian　drums。　　They　were　not　expressi…



ble　in　words；　but　seemed　rather　to　translate　themselves



into　attitudes　of　body；　into　degrees　of　muscular　tension　or



relaxation；　the　naked　strength　of　youth；　sharp　as　the　sun…



shafts；　the　crouching　timorousness　of　age；　the　sullenness　of



women　who　waited　for　their　captors。　　At　the　first　turning



of　the　canyon　there　was　a　half…ruined　tower　of　yellow



masonry；　a　watch…tower　upon　which　the　young　me