part 4-第2部分

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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　men　used



to　entice　eagles　and　snare　them　with　nets。　　Sometimes



for　a　whole　morning　Thea　could　see　the　coppery　breast



and　shoulders　of　an　Indian　youth　there　against　the　sky；



see　him　throw　the　net；　and　watch　the　struggle　with　the



eagle。







　　　　　Old　Henry　Biltmer；　at　the　ranch；　had　been　a　great　deal



among　the　Pueblo　Indians　who　are　the　descendants　of　the



Cliff…Dwellers。　　After　supper　he　used　to　sit　and　smoke　his



pipe　by　the　kitchen　stove　and　talk　to　Thea　about　them。



He　had　never　found　any　one　before　who　was　interested　in



his　ruins。　　Every　Sunday　the　old　man　prowled　about　in　the



canyon；　and　he　had　come　to　know　a　good　deal　more　about



it　than　he　could　account　for。　　He　had　gathered　up　a　whole



chestful　of　Cliff…Dweller　relics　which　he　meant　to　take



back　to　Germany　with　him　some　day。　　He　taught　Thea



how　to　find　things　among　the　ruins：　grinding…stones；　and



drills　and　needles　made　of　turkey…bones。　　There　were　frag…



ments　of　pottery　everywhere。　　Old　Henry　explained　to　her



that　the　Ancient　People　had　developed　masonry　and　pot…



tery　far　beyond　any　other　crafts。　　After　they　had　made



houses　for　themselves；　the　next　thing　was　to　house　the



precious　water。　　He　explained　to　her　how　all　their　customs



and　ceremonies　and　their　religion　went　back　to　water。　　The



men　provided　the　food；　but　water　was　the　care　of　the　wo…



men。　　The　stupid　women　carried　water　for　most　of　their



lives；　the　cleverer　ones　made　the　vessels　to　hold　it。　　Their



pottery　was　their　most　direct　appeal　to　water；　the　envelope



and　sheath　of　the　precious　element　itself。　　The　strongest















Indian　need　was　expressed　in　those　graceful　jars；　fashioned



slowly　by　hand；　without　the　aid　of　a　wheel。







　　　　　When　Thea　took　her　bath　at　the　bottom　of　the　canyon；



in　the　sunny　pool　behind　the　screen　of　cottonwoods；　she



sometimes　felt　as　if　the　water　must　have　sovereign　quali…



ties；　from　having　been　the　object　of　so　much　service　and



desire。　　That　stream　was　the　only　living　thing　left　of　the



drama　that　had　been　played　out　in　the　canyon　centuries



ago。　　In　the　rapid；　restless　heart　of　it；　flowing　swifter　than



the　rest；　there　was　a　continuity　of　life　that　reached　back



into　the　old　time。　　The　glittering　thread　of　current　had　a



kind　of　lightly　worn；　loosely　knit　personality；　graceful　and



laughing。　　Thea's　bath　came　to　have　a　ceremonial　gravity。



The　atmosphere　of　the　canyon　was　ritualistic。







　　　　　One　morning；　as　she　was　standing　upright　in　the　pool；



splashing　water　between　her　shoulder…blades　with　a　big



sponge；　something　flashed　through　her　mind　that　made　her



draw　herself　up　and　stand　still　until　the　water　had　quite



dried　upon　her　flushed　skin。　　The　stream　and　the　broken



pottery：　what　was　any　art　but　an　effort　to　make　a



sheath；　a　mould　in　which　to　imprison　for　a　moment　the



shining；　elusive　element　which　is　life　itself；life　hurrying



past　us　and　running　away；　too　strong　to　stop；　too　sweet　to



lose？　　The　Indian　women　had　held　it　in　their　jars。　　In　the



sculpture　she　had　seen　in　the　Art　Institute；　it　had　been



caught　in　a　flash　of　arrested　motion。　　In　singing；　one　made



a　vessel　of　one's　throat　and　nostrils　and　held　it　on　one's



breath；　caught　the　stream　in　a　scale　of　natural　intervals。



























　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　IV











　　　　　THEA　had　a　superstitious　feeling　about　the　potsherds；



and　liked　better　to　leave　them　in　the　dwellings



where　she　found　them。　　If　she　took　a　few　bits　back　to　her



own　lodge　and　hid　them　under　the　blankets；　she　did　it



guiltily；　as　if　she　were　being　watched。　　She　was　a　guest　in



these　houses；　and　ought　to　behave　as　such。　　Nearly　every



afternoon