gs.earthabides-第81部分

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　　But　now　he　looked　beyond　the　young　men；　toward　the　bridge　itself。　Now　that　he　would　soon　be　dead；　he　felt　himself　more　a　panion　of　the　bridge　than　of　the　men。　It　too　had　been　part　of　civilization。　
　　A　little　distance　off；　he　was　surprised　to　see　a　car　standing；　or　what　was　left　of　a　car。　Then　he　remembered　the　little　coupé　which　had　been　parked　there　during　all　those　years。　Now　the　paint　had　weathered　off　almost　entirely；　not　only　were　the　tires　flat　but　also　the　springs　had　grown　weak；　so　that　the　whole　car　had　settled　downwards。　All　its　upper　parts　were　white　with　bird…droppings。　Curiously；　although　it　was　a　matter　of　no　importance；　he　could　still　remember　that　the　owner　of　the　car　had　been　John　Robertson　（with　a　middle　initial　which　was　E。　or　T。　or　P。；　or　something　like　that）　and　that　he　had　lived　on　one　of　the　numbered　streets　in　Oakland。　
　　But　Ish　let　his　gaze　rest　upon　the　little　coupé　only　for　a　moment。　Then　his　eyes　moved　higher；　and　he　saw　the　tall　towers　and　the　great　cables；　still　dipping　in　perfect　curves。　This　part　of　the　bridge　seemed　to　be　in　a　good　state　of　preservation。　It　would　apparently　stand　for　a　long　time　still；　perhaps　during　the　lives　of　many　generations　of　men。　The　railings；　the　towers；　and　the　cables…all　were　rusted　red。　But　he　knew　that　that　rust　must　be　superficial。　The　tops　of　the　towers；　however；　were　not　red；　but　were　shining　white　with　the　droppings　of　generations　of　seagulls。　
　　Yet　though　the　bridge　might　last　still　for　many　years；　the　rust　would　eat　deeper　and　deeper。　The　earthquake　would　shake　the　foundations；　and　then　on　some　stormy　day　a　span　would　go　down。　Like　the　man；　so　the　creation　of　man　would　not　last　forever。　
　　He　shut　his　eyes　for　a　moment；　and　imagined　the　whole　sweep　of　the　hills　around　the　bay；　though　he　could　not　turn　his　head　to　see　them。　They　had　not　changed　their　profile　since　the　destruction　of　civilization；　as　measured　by　man's　time；　they　would　not　change。　As　far　as　the　bay　and　the　hills　went；　he　was　still　dying　in　the　same　world　to　which　he　had　been　born。　
　　Opening　his　eyes；　he　now　looked　and　was　able　to　see　the　two　pointed　peaks　at　the　crest　of　the　ridge。　〃Twin　Breasts〃　they　had　once　been　called；　and　the　sight　of　them　made　him　think　of　Em；　and　even　further　back；　of　his　own　mother。　The　earth　and　Em　and　the　mother　all　mingled　in　his　dying　mind；　and　he　felt　glad　to　return。　
　　〃But；　no；〃　he　thought；　after　a　moment；　〃I　must　die　as　I　have　lived…by　the　light　of　my　own　mind；　by　what　light　it　gives　me。　Those　hills；　though　they　may　take　the　shape　of　breasts；　they　are　not　like　Em　or　like　my　mother。　They　will　receive　me…they　will　receive　my　body…but　they　will　not　love　me。　They　do　not　care。　And　also　I　am　one　who　has　studied　the　ways　of　the　earth；　and　I　know　that　the　hills　themselves；　though　men　call　them　eternal…they　too　are　changing　always。　〃　
　　Yet　as　a　weary　and　dying　old　man；　he　needed　something　toward　which　he　could　look　and　from　which　he　could　expect　no　change。　He　was　cold　now　around　the　waist；　and　his　fingers　were　numb。　His　sight　was　fading。　
　　He　fixed　his　eyes　on　the　distant　hills。　He　had　tried　very　hard。　He　had　struggled。　He　had　looked　to　the　past　and　to　the　future。　What　did　it　matter？　What　had　he　acplished？　
　　Now　certainly　it　made　no　difference。　He　would　rest；　and　he　would　return　to　the　hills。　And　they…in　parison　at　least　with　the　passing　of　man's　generations…remained　without　changing。　And　if　the　shape　of　the　hills　was　like　the　shape　of　a　woman's　breasts；　perhaps　that　too　was　not　without　its　meaning　and　fort。　
　　Then；　though　his　sight　was　now　very　dim；　he　looked　again　at　the　young　men。　〃They　will　mit　me　to　the　earth；〃　he　thought。　〃Yet　I　also　mit　them　to　the　earth。　There　is　nothing　else　by　which　men　live。　Men　go　and　e；　but　earth　abides。〃
　　



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