osc.am1.seventhson-第9节

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　there's　nothing　magic　about　that。　It's　the　power　and　love　of　God　we're　asking　for；　not　a　cure　for　warts　or　a　charm　against　the　evil　eye。〃
　　〃Too　bad；〃　murmured　a　man。　〃I　could　use　a　cure　for　warts。〃
　　They　all　laughed；　but　the　danger　was　over。　When　the　ridgebeam　went　up；　it　would　be　a　Christian　act　to　raise　it；　not　a　pagan　one。
　　He　blessed　the　ridgebeam；　taking　care　to　change　the　usual　prayer　to　one　that　specifically　did　not　confer　any　special　properties　upon　the　beam　itself。　Then　the　men　tugged　on　the　rope；　and　Thrower　sang　out　〃O　Lord　Who　on　the　Mighty　Sea〃　at　the　top　of　his　magnificent　baritone　voice；　to　give　them　the　rhythm　and　inspiration　for　their　labors。
　　All　the　time；　however；　he　was　acutely　aware　of　the　boy　Alvin　Junior。　It　was　not　just　because　of　the　boy's　embarrassing　challenge　a　moment　ago。　The　child　was　as　simpleminded　as　most　children　　Thrower　doubted　he　had　any　dire　purpose　in　mind。　What　drew　him　to　the　child　was　something　else　entirely。　Not　any　property　in　the　boy　himself；　but　rather　something　about　the　people　near　him。　They　always　seemed　to　keep　him　in　attention。　Not　that　they　always　looked　at　him　　that　would　be　a　full…time　occupation；　he　ran　about　so　much。　It　was　as　if　they　were　always　aware　of　him；　the　way　the　college　cook　had　always　been　aware　of　the　dog　in　the　kitchen；　never　speaking　to　it；　but　stepping　over　and　around　it　without　so　much　as　pausing　in　his　work。
　　It　wasn't　just　the　boy's　family；　either；　that　was　so　careful　of　him。　Everyone　acted　the　same　way　　the　Germans；　the　Scandinavians；　the　English；　newers　and　old…timers　alike。　As　if　the　raising　of　this　boy　were　a　munity　project；　like　the　raising　of　a　church　or　the　bridging　of　a　river。
　　〃Easy；　easy；　easy！〃　shouted　Wastenot；　who　was　perched　near　the　east　ridgepole　to　guide　the　heavy　beam　into　place。　It　had　to　be　just　so；　for　the　rafters　to　lean　evenly　against　it　and　make　a　sturdy　roof。
　　〃Too　far　your　way！〃　shouted　Measure。　He　was　standing　on　scaffolding　above　the　crossbeam　on　which　rested　the　short　pole　that　would　support　the　two　ridgebeams　where　they　butted　ends　in　the　middle。　This　was　the　most　crucial　point　of　the　whole　roof；　and　the　trickiest　to　get　right；　they　had　to　lay　the　ends　of　two　heavy　beams　onto　a　pole　top　that　was　barely　two　palms　wide。　That　was　why　Measure　stood　there；　for　he　had　grown　into　his　name；　keen…eyed　and　careful。
　　〃Right！〃　shouted　Measure。　〃More！〃
　　〃My　way　again！〃　shouted　Wastenot。
　　〃Steady！〃　shouted　Measure。
　　〃Set！〃　shouted　Wastenot。
　　Then　〃Set！〃　from　Measure；　too；　and　the　men　on　the　ground　relaxed　the　tension　on　the　ropes。　As　the　lines　went　slack；　they　let　out　a　cheer；　for　the　ridgebeam　now　went　half　the　length　of　the　church。　It　was　no　cathedral；　but　it　was　still　a　mighty　thing　to　achieve　in　this　benighted　place；　the　largest　structure　anyone　had　dared　to　think　of　for　a　hundred　miles　around。　The　mere　fact　of　building　it　was　a　declaration　that　the　settlers　were　here　to　stay；　and　not　French；　not　Spanish；　not　Cavaliers；　not　Yankees；　not　even　the　savage　Reds　with　their　fire　arrows；　no　man　would　get　these　folks　to　leave　this　place。
　　So　of　course　Reverend　Thrower　went　inside；　and　so　did　all　the　others；　to　see　the　sky　blocked　for　the　first　time　by　a　ridgebeam　no　less　than　forty　feet　in　length　　and　that　only　half　of　what　it　would　finally　be。　My　church；　thought　Thrower；　and　already　finer　than　most　I　saw　in　Philadelphia　itself。
　　Up　on　the　flimsy　scaffolding；　Measure　was　driving　a　wooden　pin　through　the　notch　in　the　end　of　the　ridgebeam　and　down　into　the　hole　in　the　top　of　the　ridgepole。　Wastenot　was　doing　the　same　at　his　end；　of　course。　The　pins　would　hold　the　beam　in　place　until　the　rafters　could　be　laid。　When　that　was　done；　the　ridgebeam　would　be　so　strong　that　they　could　almost　remove　the　crossbeam；　if　it　weren't　needed　for　the　chandelier　that　would　light　the　church　at　night。　At　night；　so　that　the　stained　glass　would　shine　out　against　the　darkness。　That's　how　grandiose　a　place　Reverend　Thrower　had　in　mind。　Let　their　simple　minds　stand　in　awe　when　they　see　this　place；　and　so　reflect　upon　the　majesty　of　God。
　　Those　were　his　thoughts　when；　suddenly；　Measure　let　out　a　shout　of　fear；　and　all　saw　in　horror　that　the　center　ridgepole　had　split　and　shivered　at　the　blow　of　Measure's　mallet　against　the　wooden　pin；　bouncing　the　great　heavy　ridgebeam　some　six　feet　into　the　air。　It　pulled　the　beam　out　of　Wastenot's　hands　at　the　other　end；　and　broke　the　scaffolding　like　tinderwood。　The　ridgebeam　seemed　to　hover　in　the　air　a　moment；　level　as　you　please；　then　rushed　downward　as　if　the　Lord's　own　foot　were　stomping　it。
　　And　Reverend　Thrower　knew　without　looking　that　there　would　be　someone　directly　under　that　beam；　right　under　the　midpoint　of　it　when　it　landed。　He　knew　because　he　was　aware　of　the　boy；　of　how　he　was　running　just　exactly　the　wrong　direction；　of　how　his　own　shout　of　〃Alvin！〃　brought　the　boy　to　a　stop　in　just　exactly　the　wrong　place。
　　And　when　he　looked；　it　was　exactly　as　he　knew　it　would　be　　little　Al　standing　there；　looking　up　at　the　shaven　tree　that　would　grind　him　into　the　floor　of　the　church。　Nothing　else　would　be　damaged　　because　the　beam　was　level；　its　impact　would　be　spread　across　the　whole　floor。　The　boy　was　too　small　even　to　slow　the　ridgebeam's　fall。　He　would　be　broken；　crushed；　his　blood　spattering　the　white　wood　of　the　church　floor。　I'll　never　get　that　stain　out；　thought　Thrower　　insanely；　but　one　could　not　control　one's　own　thoughts　in　the　moment　of　death。
　　Thrower　saw　the　impact　as　if　it　were　a　blinding　flash　of　light。　He　heard　the　crash　of　wood　on　wood。　He　heard　the　screams。　Then　his　eyes　cleared　and　he　saw　the　ridgebeam　lying　there；　the　one　end　exactly　where　it　should　be；　the　other　too；　but　in　the　middle；　the　beam　split　in　two　parts；　and　between　the　two　parts　little　Alvin　standing；　his　face　white　with　terror。
　　Untouched。　The　boy　was　untouched。
　　Thrower　didn't　understand　German　or　Swedish；　but　he　knew　what　the　muttering　near　him　meant；　well　enough。　Let　them　blaspheme　　I　must　understand　what　has　happened　here；　thought　Thrower。　He　strode　to　the　boy；　placed　his　hands　on　the　child's　head；　searching　for　injury。　Not　a　hair　out　of　place；　but　the　boy's　head　felt　warm；　very　warm；　as　if　he　had　been　standing　near　a　fire。　Then　Thrower　knelt　and　looked　at　the　wood　of　the　ridgebeam。　It　was　cut　as　smooth　as　if　the　wood　had　grown　that　way；　just　exactly　wide　enough　to　miss　the　boy　entirely。
　　Al's　mother　was　there　only　a　moment　later；　scooping　up　her　boy；　sobbing　and　babbling　with　relief。　Little　Alvin　also　cried。　But　Thrower　had　other　things　on　his　mind。　He　was　a　man　of　science；　after　all；　and　what　he　had　seen　was　not　possible。　He　made　the　men　step　off　the　length　of　the　ridgebeam；　measuring　it　again。　It　lay　exactly　its　original　length　along　the　floor　　the　east　end　just　as　far　from　the　west　end　as　it　should　be。　The　boy…sized　chunk　in　the　middle　had　simply　disappeared。　Vanished　in　a　momentary　flash　of　fire　that　left　Alvin's　head　and　the　butt　ends　of　the　wood　as　hot　as　coals；　yet　not　marked　or　seared　in　any　way。
　　Then　Measure　began　yelling　from　the　crossbeam；　where　he　dangled　by　his　arms；　having　caught　himself　after　the　collapse　of　the　scaffolding。　Wantnot　and　Calm　climbed　up　and　got　him　down　safely。　Reverend　Thrower　had　no　thought　for　that。　All　he　could　think　about　was　a　six…year…old　boy　who　could　stand　under　a　falling　ridgebeam；　and　the　beam　would　break　and　make　room　for　him。　Like　the　Red　Sea　parting　for　Moses；　on　the　right　hand　and　the　left。
　　〃Seventh　son；〃　murmured　Wastenot。　The　boy　sat　astride　the　fallen　ridgebeam；　just　west　of　the　break。
　　〃What？〃　asked　Reverend　Thrower。
　　〃Nothing；〃　said　the　young　man。
　　〃You　said　'Seventh　son；'〃　said　Thrower。　〃But　it's　little　Calvin　who's　the　seventh。〃
　　Wastenot　shook　his　head。　〃We　had　another　brother。　He　died　a　couple　minutes　after　Al　was　born。〃　Wastenot　shook　his　head　again。　〃Seventh　son　of　a　seventh　son。〃
　　〃But　that　makes　him　devil's　spawn；〃　said　Thrower；　aghast。
　　Wastenot　looked　at　him　with　contempt。　〃Maybe　in　England　you　think　so；　but　around　here　we　look　on　such　to　be　a　healer；　maybe；　or　a　doodlebug；　and　a　right　good　one　of　whatever　he　is。〃　Then　Wastenot　thought　of　something　and　grinned。　〃'Devil's　spawn；'〃　he　repeated；　maliciously　savoring　the　words。　〃Sounds　like　hysteria　to　me。〃
　　Furious；　Thrower　stalked　out　of　the　church。
　　He　found　Mistress　Faith　sitting　on　a　stool；　holding　Alvin　Junior　on　her　lap　and　rocking　him　as　he　continued　to　whimper。　She　was　scolding　him　gently。　〃Told　you　not　to　run　without　looking；　always　underfoot；　can't　never　hold　still；　makes　a　body　go　plumb　lunatic　looking　after　you〃　Then　she　saw　Thrower　standing　before　her；　and　fell　silent。
　　〃Don't　worry；〃　she　said。　〃I'll　not　bring　him　back　here。〃
　　〃For　his　safety；　I'm　glad；〃　said　Thrower。　〃If　I　thought　my　churchhouse　had　to　be　built　at　the　cost　of　a　child's　life；　I'd　sooner　preach　in　the　open　air　all　the　days　of　my　life。〃
　　She　looked　close　at　him　and　knew　that　he　meant　it　with　his　whole　heart。　〃It's　no　fault　of　yours；〃　she　said。　〃He's　always　been　a　clumsy　boy。　Seems　to　live　through　scrapes　that'd　kill　an　ordinary　child。〃
　　〃I'd　like　I'd　like　to　understand　what　happened　in　there。〃
　　〃Ridgepole　shivered；　of　course