wind sand and stars st.antoine de saint-exupery-第2章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


on　a　universal　importance。　Settled　on　the　slope　of　a　mountain；　they　watched　like　lighthouse…keepers　beneath　the　stars；　ever　on　the　lookout　to　succor　men。　
　　The　details　that　we　drew　up　from　oblivion；　from　their　inconceivable　remoteness；　no　geographer　had　been　concerned　to　explore。　Because　it　washed　the　banks　of　great　cities；　the　Ebro　River　was　of　interest　to　mapmakers。　But　what　had　they　to　do　with　that　brook　running　secretly　through　the　water…weeds　to　the　west　of　Motril；　that　brook　nourishing　a　mere　score　or　two　of　flowers？　
　　〃Careful　of　that　brook：　it　breaks　up　the　whole　field。　Mark　it　on　your　map。〃　Ah；　I　was　to　remember　that　serpent　in　the　grass　near　Motril！　It　looked　like　nothing　at　all；　and　its　faint　murmur　sang　to　no　more　than　a　few　frogs；　but　it　slept　with　one　eye　open。　Stretching　its　length　along　the　grasses　in　the　paradise　of　that　emergency　landing…field；　it　lay　in　wait　for　me　a　thousand　miles　from　where　I　sat。　Given　the　chance；　it　would　transform　me　into　a　flaming　candelabra。　And　those　thirty　valorous　sheep　ready　to　charge　me　on　the　slope　of　a　hill！　Now　that　I　knew　about　them　I　could　brace　myself　to　meet　them。　
　　〃You　think　the　meadow　empty；　and　suddenly　bang　I　there　are　thirty　sheep　in　your　wheels。〃　An　astounded　smile　was　all　I　could　summon　in　the　face　of　so　cruel　a　threat。　
　　Little　by　little；　under　the　lamp；　the　Spain　of　my　map　became　a　sort　of　fairyland。　The　crosses　marked　to　indicate　safety　zones　and　traps　were　so　many　buoys　and　beacons。　I　charted　the　farmer；　the　thirty　sheep；　the　brook。　And；　exactly　where　she　stood；　I　set　a　buoy　to　mark　the　shepherdess　forgotten　by　the　geographers。　
　　When　I　left　Guillaumet　on　that　freezing　winter　night；　I　felt　the　need　of　a　brisk　walk。　I　turned　up　my　coat　collar；　and　as　I　strode　among　the　indifferent　passers…by　I　was　escorting　a　fervor　as　tender　as　if　I　had　just　fallen　in　love。　To　be　brushing　past　these　strangers　with　that　marvelous　secret　in　my　heart　filled　me　with　pride。　I　seemed　to　myself　a　sentinel　standing　guard　over　a　sleeping　camp。　These　passers…by　knew　nothing　about　me；　yet　it　was　to　me　that；　in　their　mail　pouches；　they　were　about　to　confide　the　weightiest　cares　of　their　hearts　and　their　trade。　Into　my　hands　were　they　about　to　entrust　their　hopes。　And　I；　muffled　up　in　my　cloak；　walked　among　them　like　a　shepherd；　though　they　were　unaware　of　my　solicitude。　
　　Nor　were　they　receiving　any　of　those　messages　now　being　despatched　to　me　by　the　night。　For　this　snowstorm　that　was　gathering；　and　that　was　to　burden　my　first　flight；　concerned　my　frail　flesh；　not　theirs。　What　could　they　know　of　those　stars　that　one　by　one　were　going　out？　I　alone　was　in　the　confidence　of　the　stars。　To　me　alone　news　was　being　sent　of　the　enemy's　position　before　the　hour　of　battle。　My　footfall　rang　in　a　universe　that　was　not　theirs。　
　　These　messages　of　such　grave　concern　were　reaching　me　as　I　walked　between　rows　of　lighted　shop…windows；　and　those　windows　on　that　night　seemed　a　display　of　all　that　was　good　on　earth；　of　a　paradise　of　sweet　things。　In　the　sight　of　all　this　happiness；　I　tasted　the　proud　intoxication　of　renunciation。　I　was　a　warrior　in　danger。　What　meaning　could　they　have　for　me；　these　flashing　crystals　meant　for　men's　festivities；　these　lamps　whose　glow　was　to　shelter　men's　meditations；　these　cozy　furs　out　of　which　were　to　emerge　pathetically　beautiful　solicitous　faces？　I　was　still　wrapped　in　the　aura　of　friendship；　dazed　a　little　like　a　child　on　Christmas　Eve；　expectant　of　surprise　and　palpitatingly　prepared　for　happiness；　and　yet　already　I　was　soaked　in　spray；　a　mail　pilot；　I　was　already　nibbling　the　bitter　pulp　of　night　flight。　
　　It　was　three　in　the　morning　when　they　woke　me。　I　thrust　the　shutters　open　with　a　dry　snap；　saw　that　rain　was　falling　on　the　town；　and　got　soberly　into　my　harness。　A　half…hour　later　I　was　out　on　the　pavement　shining　with　rain；　sitting　on　my　little　valise　and　waiting　for　the　bus　that　was　to　pick　me　up。　So　many　other　flyers　before　me；　on　their　day　of　ordination；　had　undergone　this　humble　wait　with　beating　heart。　
　　Finally　I　saw　the　old…fashioned　vehicle　e　round　the　corner　and　heard　its　tinny　rattle。　Like　those　who　had　gone　before　me；　I　squeezed　in　between　a　sleepy　customs　guard　and　a　few　glum　government　clerks。　The　bus　smelled　musty；　smelled　of　the　dust　of　government　offices　into　which　the　life　of　a　man　sinks　as　into　a　quicksand。　It　stopped　every　five　hundred　yards　to　take　on　another　scrivener；　another　guard；　another　inspector。　
　　Those　in　the　bus　who　had　already　gone　back　to　sleep　responded　with　a　vague　grunt　to　the　greeting　of　the　newer；　while　he　crowded　in　as　well　as　he　was　able　and　instantly　fell　asleep　himself。　We　jolted　mournfully　over　the　uneven　pavements　of　Toulouse；　I　in　the　midst　of　these　men　who　in　the　rain　and　the　breaking　day　were　about　to　take　up　again　their　dreary　diurnal　tasks；　their　red　tape；　their　monotonous　lives。　
　　Morning　after　morning；　greeted　by　the　growl　of　the　customs　guard　shaken　out　of　sleep　by　his　arrival；　by　the　gruff　irritability　of　clerk　or　inspector；　one　mail　pilot　or　another　got　into　this　bus　and　was　for　the　moment　indistinguishable　from　these　bureaucrats。　But　as　the　street　lamps　moved　by；　as　the　field　drew　nearer　and　nearer；　the　old　omnibus　rattling　along　lost　little　by　little　its　reality　and　became　a　grey　chrysalis　from　which　one　emerged　transfigured。　
　　Morning　after　morning　a　flyer　sat　here　and　felt　of　a　sudden；　somewhere　inside　the　vulnerable　man　subjected　to　his　neighbor's　surliness；　the　stirring　of　the　pilot　of　the　Spanish　and　African　mails；　the　birth　of　him　who；　three　hours　later；　was　to　confront　in　the　lightnings　the　dragon　of　the　mountains；　and　who；　four　hours　afterwards；　having　vanquished　it；　would　be　free　to　decide　between　a　detour　over　the　sea　and　a　direct　assault　upon　the　Alcoy　range；　would　be　free　to　deal　with　storm；　with　mountain；　with　ocean。　
　　And　thus　every　morning　each　pilot　before　me；　in　his　time；　had　been　lost　in　the　anonymity　of　daybreak　beneath　the　dismal　winter　sky　of　Toulouse；　and　each　one；　transfigured　by　this　old　omnibus；　had　felt　the　birth　within　him　of　the　sovereign　who；　five　hours　later；　leaving　behind　him　the　rains　and　snows　of　the　North；　repudiating　winter；　had　throttled　down　his　motor　and　begun　to　drift　earthward　in　the　summer　air　beneath　the　shining　sun　of　Alicante。　
　　The　old　omnibus　has　vanished；　but　its　austerity；　its　disfort；　still　live　in　my　memory。　It　was　a　proper　symbol　of　the　apprenticeship　we　had　to　serve　before　we　might　possess　the　stern　joys　of　our　craft。　Everything　about　it　was　intensely　serious。　I　remember　three　years　later；　though　hardly　ten　words　were　spoken；　learning　in　that　bus　of　the　death　of　Lecrivain；　one　of　those　hundred　pilots　who　on　a　day　or　a　night　of　fog　have　retired　for　eternity。　
　　It　was　four　in　the　morning；　and　the　same　silence　was　abroad　when　we　heard　the　field　manager；　invisible　in　the　darkness；　address　the　inspector：　
　　〃Lecrivain　didn't　land　at　Casablanca　last　night。〃　
　　〃Ah！〃　said　the　inspector。　〃Ah？〃　
　　Torn　from　his　dream　he　made　an　effort　to　wake　up；　to　display　his　zeal；　and　added：　
　　〃Is　that　so？　Couldn't　he　get　through？　Did　he　e　back？〃　
　　And　in　the　dead　darkness　of　the　omnibus　the　answer　came：　〃No。〃　
　　We　waited　to　hear　the　rest；　but　no　word　sounded。　And　as　the　seconds　fell　it　became　more　and　more　evident　that　that　〃no〃。　would　be　followed　by　no　further　word；　was　eternal　and　without　appeal；　that　L6crivain　not　only　had　not　landed　at　Casablanca　but　would　never　again　land　anywhere。　
　　And　so；　at　daybreak　on　the　morning　of　my　first　flight　with　the　mails；　I　went　through　the　sacred　rites　of　the　craft；　and　I　felt　the　self…confidence　oozing　out　of　me　as　I　stared　through　the　windows　at　the　macadam　shining　and　reflecting　back　the　street　lights。　Over　the　pools　of　water　I　could　see　great　palms　of　wind　running。　And　I　thought：　〃My　first　flight　with　the　mails！　Really；　this　is　not　my　lucky　day。〃　
　　I　raised　my　eyes　and　looked　at　the　inspector。　〃Would　you　call　this　bad　weather　？〃　I　asked。　
　　He　threw　a　weary　glance　out　of　the　window。　〃Doesn't　prove　anything；〃　he　growled　finally。　
　　And　I　wondered　how　one　could　tell　bad　weather。　The　night　before；　with　a　single　smile　Guillaumet　had　wiped　out　all　the　evil　ome