CHAPTER XXVII
關燈
小
中
大
mindwhatliesbehindDeath,Mr.Bast,butbesurethatthepoetandthemusicianandthetrampwillbehappierinitthanthemanwhohasneverlearnttosay,‘IamI.’”
“Iwonder.”
“Weareallinamist—Iknow,butIcanhelpyouthisfar—menliketheWilcoxesaredeeperinthemistthanany.Sane,soundEnglishmen!buildingupempires,levellingalltheworldintowhattheycallcommonsense.ButmentionDeathtothemandthey’reoffended,becauseDeath’sreallyImperial,andHecriesoutagainstthemforever.”
“IamasafraidofDeathasanyone.”
“ButnotoftheideaofDeath.”
“Butwhatisthedifference?”
“Infinitedifference,”saidHelen,moregravelythanbefore.
Leonardlookedatherwondering,andhadthesenseofgreatthingssweepingoutoftheshroudednight.Buthecouldnotreceivethem,becausehisheartwasstillfulloflittlethings.AsthelostumbrellahadspoilttheconcertatQueen’sHall,sothelostsituationwasobscuringthedivinerharmoniesnow.Death,Life,andMaterialismwerefinewords,butwouldMr.Wilcoxtakehimonasaclerk?Talkasonewould,Mr.Wilcoxwaskingofthisworld,thesuperman,withhisownmorality,whoseheadremainedintheclouds.
“Imustbestupid,”hesaidapologetically.
WhiletoHelentheparadoxbecameclearerandclearer.“Deathdestroysaman:theideaofDeathsaveshim.”Behindthecoffinsandtheskeletonsthatstaythevulgarmindliessomethingsoimmensethatallthatisgreatinusrespondstoit.Menoftheworldmayrecoilfromthecharnel-housethattheywillonedayenter,butLoveknowsbetter.Deathishisfoe,buthispeer,andintheirage-longstrugglethethewsofLovehavebeenstrengthened,andhisvisioncleared,untilthereisnoonewhocanstandagainsthim.
“Sonevergivein,”continuedthegirl,andrestatedagainandagainthevagueyetconvincingpleathattheInvisiblelodgesagainsttheVisible.HerexcitementgrewasshetriedtocuttheropethatfastenedLeonardtotheearth.Wovenofbitterexperience,itresistedher.PresentlythewaitressenteredandgaveheraletterfromMargaret.Anothernote,addressedtoLeonard,wasinside.Theyreadthem,listeningtothemurmuringsoftheriver.
