wind sand and stars st.antoine de saint-exupery-第6部分

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aumet；　resuscitated；　the　author　of　his　own　miracle。　And　it　was　at　that　moment　that　you　pronounced　your　first　intelligible　sentence；　a　speech　admirable　in　its　human　pride：　
　　〃I　swear　that　what　I　went　through；　no　animal　would　have　gone　through。〃　
　　Later；　you　told　us　the　story。　A　storm　that　brought　fifteen　feet　of　snow　in　forty…eight　hours　down　on　the　Chilean　slope　had　bottled　up　all　space　and　sent　every　other　mail　pilot　back　to　his　starting　point。　You；　however；　had　taken　off　in　the　hope　of　finding　a　rift　in　the　sky。　You　found　this　rift；　this　trap；　a　little　to　the　south；　and　now；　at　twenty　thousand　feet；　the　ceiling　of　clouds　being　a　couple　of　thousand　feet　below　you　and　pierced　by　only　the　highest　peaks；　you　set　your　course　for　Argentina。　
　　Down　currents　sometimes　fill　pilots　with　a　strange　uneasiness。　The　engines　run　on；　but　the　ship　seems　to　be　sinking。　You　jockey　to　hold　your　altitude：　the　ship　loses　speed　and　goes　mushy。　And　still　you　sink。　So　you　give　it　up；　afraid　that　you　may　have　jockeyed　too　much；　and　you　let　yourself　drift　to　right　or　left；；　striving　to　put　at　your　back　a　favorable　peak；　that　is；　a　peak　off　which　the　winds　rebound　as　off　a　springboard。　
　　And　yet　you　go　on　sinking。　The　whole　sky　seems　to　be　ing　down　on　you。　You　begin　to　feel　like　the　victim　of　some　cosmic　accident。　You　cannot　land　anywhere；　and　you　try　in　vain　to　turn　round　and　fly　back　into　those　zones　where　the　air；　as　dense　and　solid　as　a　pillar；　had　held　you　up。　That　pillar　has　melted　away。　Everything　here　is　rotten　and　you　slither　about　in　a　sort　of　universal　deposition　while　the　cloud…bank　rises　apathetically；　reaches　your　level；　and　swallows　you　up。　
　　〃It　almost　had　me　in　a　corner　once；〃　you　explained；　〃but　I　still　wasn't　sure　I　was　caught。　When　you　get　up　above　the　clouds　you　run　into　those　down　currents　that　seem　to　be　perfectly　stationary　for　the　simple　reason　that　in　that　very　high　altitude　they　never　stop　flowing。　Everything　is　queer　in　the　upper　range。〃　
　　And　what　clouds！　
　　〃As　soon　as　I　felt　I　was　caught　I　dropped　the　controls　and　grabbed　my　seat　for　fear　of　being　flung　out　of　the　ship。　The　jolts　were　so　terrible　that　my　leather　harness　cut　my　shoulders　and　was　ready　to　snap。　And　what　with　the　frosting　on　the　panes；　my　artificial　horizon　was　invisible　and　the　wind　rolled　me　over　and　over　like　a　hat　in　a　road　from　eighteen　thousand　feet　down　to　ten。　
　　〃At　ten　thousand　I　caught　a　glimpse　of　a　dark　horizontal　blot　that　helped　me　right　the　ship。　It　was　a　lake；　and　I　recognized　it　as　what　they　call　Laguna　Diamante。　I　remembered　that　it　lay　at　the　bottom　of　a　funnel；　and　that　one　flank　of　the　funnel；　a　volcano　called　Maipu；　ran　up　to　about　twenty　thousand　feet。　
　　〃There　I　was；　safe　out　of　the　clouds　；　but　I　was　still　blinded　by　the　thick　whirling　snow　and　I　had　to　hang　on　to　my　lake　if　I　wasn't　to　crash　into　one　of　the　sides　of　the　funnel。　So　down　I　went；　and　I　flew　round　and　round　the　lake；　about　a　hundred　and　fifty　feet　above　it；　until　I　ran　out　of　fuel。　After　two　hours　of　this；　I　set　the　ship　down　on　the　snow…and　over　on　her　nose　she　went。　
　　〃When　I　dragged　myself　clear　of　her　I　stood　up。　The　wind　knocked　me　down。　I　stood　up　again。　Over　I　went　a　second　time。　So　I　crawled　under　the　cockpit　and　dug　me　out　a　shelter　in　the　snow。　I　pulled　a　lot　of　mail　sacks　round　me；　and　there　I　lay　for　two　days　and　two　nights。　Then　the　storm　blew　over　and　I　started　to　walk　my　way　out。　I　walked　for　five　days　and　four　nights。〃　
　　But　what　was　there　left　of　you；　Guillaumet？　We　had　found　you　again；　true；　but　burnt　to　a　crisp；　but　shriveled；　but　shrunken　into　an　old　woman。　That　same　afternoon　I　flew　you　back　to　Mendoza；　and　there　the　cool　white　sheets　flowed　like　a　balm　down　the　length　of　your　body。　
　　They　were　not　enough；　though。　Your　own　foundered　body　was　an　encumbrance：　you　turned　and　twisted　in　your　sleep；　unable　to　find　lodgment　for　it。　I　stared　at　your　face：　it　was　splotched　and　swollen；　like　an　overripe　fruit　that　has　been　repeatedly　dropped　on　the　ground。　
　　You　were　dreadful　to　see；　and　you　were　in　misery；　for　you　had　lost　the　beautiful　tools　of　your　work：　your　hands　were　numb　and　useless；　and　when　you　sat　up　on　the　edge　of　your　bed　to　draw　a　free　breath；　your　frozen　feet　hung　down　like　two　dead　weights。　You　had　not　even　finished　your　long　walk　back；　you　were　still　panting；　and　when　you　turned　and　stirred　on　the　pillow　in　search　of　peace；　a　procession　of　images　that　you　could　not　escape；　a　procession　waiting　impatiently　in　the　wings；　moved　instantly　into　action　under　your　skull。　Across　the　stage　of　your　skull　it　moved；　and　for　the　twentieth　time　you　fought　once　more　the　battle　against　these　enemies　that　rose　up　out　of　their　ashes。　
　　I　filled　you　with　herb…teas。　
　　〃Drink；　old　fellow。〃　
　　〃You　know　。　。　。　what　amazed　me　。　。　。〃　
　　Boxer　victorious；　but　punch…drunk　and　scarred　with　blows；　you　were　re…living　your　strange　adventure。　You　could　divest　yourself　of　it　only　in　scraps。　And　as　you　told　your　dark　tale；　I　could　see　you　trudging　without　ice…axe；　without　ropes；　without　provisions；　scaling　cols　fifteen　thousand　feet　in　the　air；　crawling　on　the　faces　of　vertical　walls；　your　hands　and　feet　and　knees　bleeding　in　a　temperature　twenty　degrees　below　zero。　
　　Voided　bit　by　bit　of　your　blood；　your　strength；　your　reason；　you　went　forward　with　the　obstinacy　of　an　ant；　retracing　your　steps　to　go　round　an　obstacle；　picking　yourself　up　after　each　fall　to　earth；　climbing　slopes　that　led　to　abysses；　ceaselessly　in　motion　and　never　asleep；　for　had　you　slept；　from　that　bed　of　snow　you　would　never　have　risen。　When　your　foot　slipped　and　you　went　down；　you　were　up　again　in　an　instant；　else　had　you　been　turned　into　stone。　The　cold　was　petrifying　you　by　the　minute；　and　the　price　you　paid　for　taking　a　moment　too　much　of　rest；　when　you　fell；　was　the　agony　of　revivifying　dead　muscles　in　your　struggle　to　rise　to　your　feet。　
　　〃You　resisted　temptation。　〃Amid　snow；〃　you　told　me；　〃a　man　loses　his　instinct　of　self…preservation。　After　two　or　three　or　four　days　of　tramping；　all　you　think　about　is　sleep。　I　would　long　for　it；　but　then　I　would　say　to　myself；　'If　my　wife　still　believes　I　am　alive；　she　must　believe　that　I　am　on　my　feet。　The　boys　all　think　I　am　on　my　feet。　They　have　faith　in　me。　And　I　am　a　skunk　if　I　don't　go　on。'　〃　
　　So　you　tramped　on　；　and　each　day　you　cut　out　a　bit　more　of　the　opening　of　your　shoes　so　that　your　swelling　and　freezing　feet　might　have　room　in　them。　
　　You　confided　to　me　this　strange　thing：　
　　〃As　early　as　the　second　day；　you　know；　the　hardest　job　I　had　was　to　force　myself　not　to　think。　The　pain　was　too　much；　and　I　was　really　up　against　it　too　hard。　I　had　to　forget　that；　or　I　shouldn't　have　had　the　heart　to　go　on　walking。　But　I　didn't　seem　able　to　control　my　mind。　It　kept　working　like　a　turbine。　Still；　I　could　more　or　less　choose　what　I　was　to　think　about。　I　tried　to　stick　to　some　film　I'd　seen；　or　book　I'd　read。　But　the　film　and　the　book　would　go　through　my　mind　like　lightning。。　And　I'd　be　back　where　I　was；　in　the　snow；　It　never　failed。　So　I　would　think　about　other　things。　。　。　。〃　
　　There　was　one　time；　however；　when；　having　slipped；　and　finding　yourself　stretched　flat　on　your　face　in　the　snow；　you　threw　in　your　hand。　You　were　like　a　boxer　emptied　of　all　passion　by　a　single　blow；　lying　and　listening　to　the　seconds　drop　one　by　one　into　a　distant　universe；　until　the　tenth　second　fell　and　there　was　no　appeal。　
　　〃I've　done　my　best　and　I　can't　make　it。　Why　go　on？〃　All　that　you　had　to　do　in　the　world　to　find　peace　was　to　shut　your　eyes。　So　little　was　needed　to　blot　out　that　world　of　crags　and　ice　and　snow。　Let　drop　those　miraculous　eyelids　and　there　was　an　end　of　blows；　of　stumbling　falls；　of　torn　muscles　and　burning　ice；　of　that　burden　of　life　you　were　dragging　along　like　a　worn…out　ox；　a　weight　heavier　than　any　wain　or　cart。　
　　Already　you　were　beginning　to　taste　the　relief　of　this　snow　that　had　now　bee　an　insidious　poison；　this　morphia　that　was　filling　you　with　beatitude。　Life　crept　out　of　your　extremities　and　fled　to　collect　round　your　heart　while　something　gentle　and　precious　snuggled　in　close　at　the　centre　of　your　being。　Little　by　little　your　consciousness　deserted　the　distant　regions　of　your　body；　and　your　body；　that　beast　now　gorged　with　suffering；　lay　ready　to　participate　in　the　indifference　of　marble。　
　　Your　very　scruples　subsided。　Our　cries　ceased　to　reach　you；　or；　more　accurately；　changed　for　you　into　dream…cries。　You　were　happy　now；　able　to　respond　by　long　confident　dream…strides　that　carried　you　effortlessly　towards　the　enchantment　of　the　plains　below。　How　smoothly　you　glided　into　this　suddenly　merciful　world！　Guillaumet；　you　miser！　You　had　made　up　your　mind　to　deny　us　your　return；　to　take　your　pleasures　selfishly　without　us　among　your　white　angels　in　the　snows。　And　then　remorse　floated　up　from　the　depths　of　your　consciousness。　The　dream　was　spoilt　by　the　irruption　of　bothersome　details。　〃I　thought　of　my　wife。　She　would　be　penniless　if　she　couldn't　collect　the　insurance。　Yes；　but　the　pany　。　。　。〃　
　　When　a　man　vanishes；　his　legal　death　is　postponed　for　four　years。　This　awful　detail　was　enough　to　blot　out　the　other　visions。　You　were　lying　face　downward　on　a　bed　of　snow　that　covered　a　steep　mountain　slope。　With　the　ing　of　summer　your　body　would　be　washed　with　this　slush　down　into　one　of　the　thousand　crevasses　of　the　Andes。　You　knew　that。　But　you　also　knew　that　some　fifty　yards　away　a　rock　was　jutting　up　out　of　the　snow。　〃I　thought；　if　I　get　up　I　may　be　able　to　reach　it。　And　if　I　can　prop　myself　up　against　the　rock；　they'll　find　me　there　next　summer。〃　
　　Once　you　were　on　your　feet　again；　you　tramped　two　nights　and　three　days。　But　you　did　not　then　imagine　that　you　would　go　on　much　longer：　
　　〃I　could　tell　by　different　signs　that　the　end　was　ing。　For　instance；　I　had　to　stop　every　two　or　three　hours　to　cut　my　shoes　open　a　bit　more　and　massage　my　swollen　feet。　Or　maybe　my　heart　would　be　going　too　fast。　But　I　was　beginning　to　lose　my　memory。　I　had　been　going　on　a　long　time　when　suddenly　I　realized　that　every　time　I　stopped　I　forgot　something。　The　first　time　it　was　a　glove。　And　it　was　cold！　I　had　put　it　down　in　front　of　me　and　had　forgotten　to　pick　it　up。　The　next　time　it　was　my