gs.earthabides-第45节

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　　〃Yes；　I　remember。　You've　said　it　a　great　many　times！　And　still　some　way　or　other；　it　seems　to　be　easier　just　to　go　on　opening　cans。〃　
　　〃But　the　end　will　e　some　time；　and　it　shouldn't　e　suddenly　the　way　this　stopping　of　the　water　has　today。〃　
　　
　　Chapter　3
　　When　he　awoke　that　next　morning；　Em　was　gone　from　the　bed。　He　lay　still；　relaxed；　calmly　happy。　Then　his　mind　seemed　to　turn　over　suddenly　and　take　hold…and　there　it　was；　starting　to　make　plans；　thinking。　
　　After　a　minute；　a　slight　sense　of　irritation　came　over　him。　〃You　think　too　much！〃　he　said　to　himself。　
　　Why　did　not　his　mind；　like　other　people's　minds；　allow　him　to　rest　and　be　happy　without　any　planning　ahead　into　the　future；　whether　of　the　next　twenty…four　hours　or　of　the　next　sixty　seconds？　No；　something　took　over　with　a　rush　and　a　whir；　and　even　though　his　body　lay　still；　his　mind　turned　over　and　started；　and　there　it　was　running　on；　like　an　idling　engine。　Engine？　Well；　naturally；　today　he　would　think　of　engines！　
　　But　the　quiet　happiness　between　sleep　and　waking　had　definitely　left　him；　and　pure　contentment　was　gone。　With　a　resentful　push　of　his　arm　he　threw　back　the　blankets。　
　　This　morning　was　bright　and　sunny。　Though　the　air　was　cool；　he　went　out　to　the　little　balcony；　and　stood　there；　looking　off　toward　the　west。　During　all　these　years　the　trees　had　everywhere　grown　taller；　but　he　could　still　see；　the　mountaintop　and　much　of　the　Bay　with　its　two　great　bridges。　
　　The　bridges！　Yes；　the　bridges！　To　him　they　still　were　the　most　poignant　reminders　of　the　great　past。　The　children；　indeed；　as　he　had　often　observed；　scarcely　thought　of　bridges　as　anything　different　from　hills　or　trees；　they　were　just　something　that　was　there。　But　to　him；　Ish；　the　bridges　stood　testifying　daily　to　the　power　and　the　glory　that　had　been　civilization。　So；　he　thought；　some　tribesman…Burgund　or　Saxon…might　once　have　looked　at　a　strong…built；　not　yet　decayed；　Roman　gateway　or　triumphal　arch。　But；　no；　that　analogy　did　not　hold。　The　tribesman　was　sure　and　content　in　his　own　ancient　folkways；　he　was　first　of　the　new；　confident　master　of　his　own　world。　He；　Ish；　was　more　like　the　last　of　the　old；　a　surviving　Roman…senator　or　philosopher…spared　by　barbarian　swords　and　left　to　brood　over　an　empty　and　ruinous　city；　anxious　and　uncertain；　knowing　that　never　again　would　he　meet　his　friends　at　the　baths　or　know　the　deep　security　that　came　to　a　man　when　he　saw　a　cohort　of　the　Twelfth　march　down　the　street。　But　no；　he　was　not　just　like　the　Roman　either。　
　　〃History　repeats　itself；〃　he　thought；　〃but　always　with　variations。〃　
　　Yes…he　had　had　a　chance　to　think　a　great　deal　about　history！　Its　repetitions　were　not　those　of　a　stolid　child　going　over　and　over　the　multiplication　table。　History　was　an　artist；　maintaining　the　idea　but　changing　the　details；　like　a　poser　keeping　the　same　theme　but　dulling　it　to　a　minor　or　lifting　by　an　octave；　now　crooning　it　with　violins；　now　blaring　it　on　trumpets。　
　　As　he；　stood　on　the　little　balcony　in　his　pajamas；　he　felt　a　light　breeze　cool　on　his　face。　He　sniffed　it　in　more　deeply；　and　again　it　brought　to　him　the　realization　that　even　the　smell　of　things　had　changed。　In　the　Old　Times　you　were　not　conscious　of　any　characteristic　smell　to　a　city；　and　yet　there　must　have　been　a　plex　mingling　of　smoke　and　gasoline…ftimes　and　cooking　and　garbage　and　even　of　people。　But　now　there　was　only　a　fresh　tang　to　the　air；　such　as　he　had　once　associated　with　country　fields　and　mountain　meadows。　
　　But　the　bridges！　His　glance　came　back　to　them；　as　if　to　a　light　in　the　darkness。　The　Golden　Gate　Bridge　he　had　not　visited　in　many　years。　Such　a　journey　would　mean　a　very　long　walk；　or　even　a　long　pull　for　a　dog…team；　it　would　mean　camping　out　overnight。　But　he　still　knew　well　what　the　Bay　Bridge　was　like；　and　even　from　where　he　stood　he　could　see　it　clearly。　
　　He　remembered　what　it　had　once　been…six　crowded　lanes　of　swiftly　moving　cars；　the　trucks　and　buses　and　electric　Mains　rumbling　on　the　lower　level。　There　was；　he　knew；　only　one　car　on　the　Bridge　now…that　little　empty　coupé　parked　neatly　at　the　curb　near　this　end　of　the　West　Bay　span。　The　yellowed　certificate　of　registration　had　been；　when　he　had　last　noticed；　still　fastened　to　the　steering…column…John　S。　Robertson　（or；　he　could　not　surely　remember；　it　might　have　been　James　T。）　of　some　number　on　one　of　the　numbered　streets　in　Oakland。　Now　the　fires　were　flat；　and　the　once…bright　green　paint　had　weatherdd　to　moss…gray。　
　　On　the　surface；　to　the　eye；　they　had　changed。　The　towers　that　hid　their　tops　in　the　summer　clouds；　the　mile…long　dipping　cables；　the　interlocked　massive　beams　of　steel…no　longer　they　cast　back　the　morning　sun　with　a　bright　sheen　of　silvergray。　Over　them　now　rested　softly　the　neutral　pall　of　rust；　red…brown　color　of　desolation。　Only；　at　the　tops　of　the　towers；　and　along　the　cables　at　good　spots　for　perching；　the　quiet　monotone　was　capped　and　spotted　with　the　dead…white　smears　of　the　droppings　of　birds。　
　　Yes；　through　the　years　the　sea…birds　had　perched　therethe　gulls　and　pelicans　and　cormorants。　And　on　the　piers　the　rats　scurried；　andfought；　and　bred　and　nested；　and　lived　as　only　rats　can…squeaking　and　fighting；　and　breeding　and　nesting；　and　at　low　tide　feeding　on　mussels　and　crabs。　
　　The　broad　roadway；　unused；　showed　few　signs　of　change…only　roughness　and　a　few　cracks　here　and　there。　Where　blown　dust　had　settled　into　cracks　and　corners；　a　little　grass　was　growing；　and　a　few　hardy　weeds；　not　many。　
　　Within　its　deeper　structure　also；　the　bridge　was　still　intact　and　unchanged。　The　superficial　rust　had　done　no　more　than　wipe　out　a　small　fraction　of　the　safety…factor。　At　the　eastern　approach；　where　salt　water　during　time　of　storms　splashed　against　the　long…unpainted　steel　supports；　corrosion　had　been　eaten　somewhat　deeper。　An　engineer；　if　there　had　been　one；　would　have　shaken　his　head；　and　ordered　the　replacement　of　some　members　before　allowing　traffic　to　resume。　
　　But　that　was　all。　In　the　enduring　structure　of　the　bridge；　long…dead　civilization　still　defied　the　attacks　of　all　the　powers　of　air　and　sea。　
　　Ish　roused　himself　from　his　trance…like　contemplation；　and　went　in　to　shave。　The　clean　touch　of　the　steel　was　at　once　soothing　and　stimulating。　Cheerfully　now；　happy　with　the　expectation　of　purposive　action；　he　found　himself　thinking　of　the　things　to　be　done　that　day。　He　would　have　to　see　that　they　started　in　again　with　work　on　the　outhouses　and　the　well。　He　would　make　more　plans　about　the　…expedition　into　the　far　interior。　（President　Jefferson　giving　instructions　to　Lewis　and　Clark！）　He　would　have　to　see　what　could　be　done　about　making　a　car　work　once　more。　Perhaps；　he　thought　happily；　this　would　be　the　day　on　which　they　would　take　the　road　again；　not　only　in　a　car　literally；　but　also　figuratively…the　road　toward　the　rebirth　of　civilization。　
　　He　finished　shaving；　but　the　moment　seemed　golden。　So　he　lathered　again；　and　started　over　his　face　once　more。。。。　This　munity　now；　these　thirty…some　people　who　held　the　seed　of　the　future…they　were　fair　enough　individuals；　not　brilliant　by　a　long　way；　but　sound。　The　original　adults　had　been　better　in　spite　of　their　shortings　than　you　would　have　expected　to　get　if　you　had　merely　reached　down　into　the　great　bin　of　humanity　in　the　old　United　States　and　taken　the　first　that　came　by　chance。　He　ran　over　them　again　rapidly　in　his　mind；　and　ended　upon　himself。　How　did　he　stack　up　among　the　others？　
　　Yes；　he　could　remember　years　ago；　in　this　same　house；　he　had　even　sat　down　and　listed　his　qualifications　for　the　new　life。　Such　things；　for　instance；　as　having　had　his　appendix　out。　Well；　having　no　appendix　was　still　an　advantage；　although　actually；　no　one　had　been　bothered　with　that　kind　of　trouble。　But　he　had　listed　other　things　which　now；　he　realized；　had　ceased　to　be　advantageous。　He　had　listed；　for　instance；　his　quality　of　being　able　to　get　along　without　other　people。　That　was　no　longer　a　virtue。　Perhaps；　it　was　even　a　vice。　But　he　himself　had　changed　also　in　those　years。　If　he　listed　his　qualities　now；　they　would　not　be　exactly　the　same　ones。　He　had　read　widely；　and　learned　much。　Even　of　more　importance；　he　had　lived　with　Em；　and　had　bee　the　father　of　a　family。　He　had　matured；　as　a　man　should。　He　had　a　stronger　will；　he　realized；　than　George　or　Ezra。　If　the　test　came；　they　would　yield　to　him。　He；　alone；　could　think　into　the　future。　
　　He　disassembled　the　razor；　and　threw　the　blade　into　the　medicine　closet；　where　there　were　already　a　lot　of　blades　lying　around。　He　never　bothered　to　use　a　blade　more　than　once；　because　there　were　so　many　thousands　of　them　available　that　there　seemed　no　need　of　economy。　And　yet　this　problem　of　what　to　do　with　the　old　razor…blades　was　still　curiously　present。　He　remembered　jokes　about　that；　from　long　ago。　Funny　how　a　little　thing　remained　the　same　after　so　many　big　things　had　changed　irrevocably！　
　　After　breakfast　Ish　went　over　to　talk　with　Ezra。　They　sat　on　the　steps　of　the　porch。　Before　long；　more　people　came　along；　and　a　little　group　formed；　as　always　happened　when　anybody　seemed　to　be　having　an　interesting　conversation。　there　was　talk　back　and　forth；　and　a　good　deal　of　easygoing　fun…ma