[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
stopped. No one looked back.
The boy and his Llamas marched on. Lower Valley was behind them now.
13. CUZCO TRAIL
The trail grew steeper. Cusi and his Llamas were climbing again. Mountain peaks piled upon mountain peaks. They rolled
and swelled and piled higher and yet higher. They encircled the world. They towered above the world. They enclosed the
world within itself. Only a brown ribbon of trail wound in and out and around them. Only a boy and his Llamas moved along
the winding trail.
From time to time the Llamas stopped to graze, but they would not rest. Cusi scolded, "You are tired, my Llamas. You need
to rest."
The Llamas walked on. If Cusi faltered, Misti nudged him. If Cusi stumbled, Misti poked him. The lead Llama's bell had an
urgent tinkle. "Hurry. Hurry. Hurry," it seemed to say. "Hurry. Hurry. Hurry."
Shadows blurred in the evening's light. The mountains misted as night stole into the highlands. The trail darkened. Cusi began
hunting a side canyon where he could bed his Llamas for the night.
Then he noticed a fork in the trail. This surprised him, for highland trails have but one goal as a usual thing. The side trail was
poorly marked and evidently little used. Cusi stood looking at it, wondering if perhaps it led to the side canyon that he had
been looking for. Should he take it, he wondered, or should he keep his small flock on the well marked, deeper, clearer trail?
While he was thinking about which way to take, Misti crowded against him, pushing forward on the smaller trail. Then he
stopped to look back at his young master. Cusi laughed, remembering the other time that Misti had led instead of following. It
was the first time the boy had laughed since midday in Lower Valley. The Llamas lilted it. They crowded forward, pushing
Cusi along. "All right. All right!" Cusi laughed at them. "Come, Llamas. Come, Llamas; this is our way."
Almost at once the way became clear and deep. Then it was paved with cobblestones. Cusi was surprised. He knew he was
not near enough to Cuzco to have a paved trail. This was something new. He was surprised but he was not afraid. He
followed Misti, who was still in the lead. The other seven followed him closely.
Then, rounding a curve, he saw a dull, light haze-not the flickering game of a tiny cooking fire. This must be the merged light
of many cooking fires.
The boy was tired, but he made his steps come faster and longer. The Llamas also were hurrying, and the lead bell song out,
"Hurry-hurry-hurry, tinkling so fast the sounds ran into each other, making one tinkle sound.
They reached a gate in a high stone wall. A guard, an Indian, stood before the huge gate. He said, in Cusi's own tongue, "You
are expected. Enter "
Other Indians appeared, stealing forward like shadows from the darker shadows of the high walls. They led the Llamas away,
to unload them, to feed them, to bed them for the night.
A younger Indian, almost Cusi's age, beckoned the boy along the narrow streets that were lined with stone, high and cold and
gray-white in the new night's deepening darkness. Along the narrow streets they went, walking swiftly, walking silently in a
still and ghostlike world. At last they came to three stone towers separated by walled courtyards and stone archways. They
passed two of the towers, then turned and climbed a fight of steps to the third tower, standing majestic and grand against the
night.
The young Indian led Cusi to a great arched door. Slowly it swung open and a voice asked, "Is he here?"
The young Indian answered, "He is here."
Cusi walked through the doorway and stood in a high- ceiling room. Its walls were of white stone and perfectly bare. Nothing
hung against their cold white marble. At one end of the room was a carved stone seat exactly like the stone that Cusi had seen
the day he found the sandals. He looked around, almost expecting to see delicate golden sandals standing side by side at the
foot of the throne. There was nothing there. Quietly he felt the bundle wrapped in vicuna cloth close to his heart. They were
there, safe, where he had put them.
By the high stone seat there was a table made of stone and a stone block beside it. Cusi looked around. He was alone. The
Indian guide had disappeared. Then the boy saw an old man approaching.
The Old One looked so much like Chuto that Cusi gasped and would have run to him, but he sensed that it was not Chuto.
The Old One wore the fringed turban and the golden earplugs. He did not speak, but motioned Cusi to sit on the stone block
by the table.
A woman entered, stately and beautiful, with the peace of living days enriching her still, brown face. Cusi could never
remember how she was dressed, but he remembered, or thought he remembered, that on her feet were golden sandals like the
ones he had found and was keeping close to his heart.
The woman asked, "Is he here?" The Old One answered, "He is here."
The woman brought food to Cusi, guinea pig and sweet potatoes, fish from the sea and figs from the coastlands. In a low
voice like the minstrel's Pipes of Pan she said, "Eat, my Son."
Cusi was hungry. He was tired and bewildered, but he was hungry. He was amazed and filled with wonder, but he was
hungry. He ate the food set before him. It tasted good.
No word was spoken until Cusi had finished eating. Then the Old One said, "He is well; you have seen him. Is it enough?"
The woman nodded and smiled. "It is enough:' she said and she was gone. As quietly, as quickly as she had come, she left.
The room seemed empty.
The Old One spoke again. "They told me you were coming."
Cusi felt no need to ask, "Who told you?" He knew. Instead he asked, "The family came here?" The Indian answered, "They
passed by here, leading the Llamas Chuto gave them. Last year, this year, next year, they always pass by. These families and
their gift Llamas are the cord that ties our past to our future that we may never end." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl chiara76.opx.pl
stopped. No one looked back.
The boy and his Llamas marched on. Lower Valley was behind them now.
13. CUZCO TRAIL
The trail grew steeper. Cusi and his Llamas were climbing again. Mountain peaks piled upon mountain peaks. They rolled
and swelled and piled higher and yet higher. They encircled the world. They towered above the world. They enclosed the
world within itself. Only a brown ribbon of trail wound in and out and around them. Only a boy and his Llamas moved along
the winding trail.
From time to time the Llamas stopped to graze, but they would not rest. Cusi scolded, "You are tired, my Llamas. You need
to rest."
The Llamas walked on. If Cusi faltered, Misti nudged him. If Cusi stumbled, Misti poked him. The lead Llama's bell had an
urgent tinkle. "Hurry. Hurry. Hurry," it seemed to say. "Hurry. Hurry. Hurry."
Shadows blurred in the evening's light. The mountains misted as night stole into the highlands. The trail darkened. Cusi began
hunting a side canyon where he could bed his Llamas for the night.
Then he noticed a fork in the trail. This surprised him, for highland trails have but one goal as a usual thing. The side trail was
poorly marked and evidently little used. Cusi stood looking at it, wondering if perhaps it led to the side canyon that he had
been looking for. Should he take it, he wondered, or should he keep his small flock on the well marked, deeper, clearer trail?
While he was thinking about which way to take, Misti crowded against him, pushing forward on the smaller trail. Then he
stopped to look back at his young master. Cusi laughed, remembering the other time that Misti had led instead of following. It
was the first time the boy had laughed since midday in Lower Valley. The Llamas lilted it. They crowded forward, pushing
Cusi along. "All right. All right!" Cusi laughed at them. "Come, Llamas. Come, Llamas; this is our way."
Almost at once the way became clear and deep. Then it was paved with cobblestones. Cusi was surprised. He knew he was
not near enough to Cuzco to have a paved trail. This was something new. He was surprised but he was not afraid. He
followed Misti, who was still in the lead. The other seven followed him closely.
Then, rounding a curve, he saw a dull, light haze-not the flickering game of a tiny cooking fire. This must be the merged light
of many cooking fires.
The boy was tired, but he made his steps come faster and longer. The Llamas also were hurrying, and the lead bell song out,
"Hurry-hurry-hurry, tinkling so fast the sounds ran into each other, making one tinkle sound.
They reached a gate in a high stone wall. A guard, an Indian, stood before the huge gate. He said, in Cusi's own tongue, "You
are expected. Enter "
Other Indians appeared, stealing forward like shadows from the darker shadows of the high walls. They led the Llamas away,
to unload them, to feed them, to bed them for the night.
A younger Indian, almost Cusi's age, beckoned the boy along the narrow streets that were lined with stone, high and cold and
gray-white in the new night's deepening darkness. Along the narrow streets they went, walking swiftly, walking silently in a
still and ghostlike world. At last they came to three stone towers separated by walled courtyards and stone archways. They
passed two of the towers, then turned and climbed a fight of steps to the third tower, standing majestic and grand against the
night.
The young Indian led Cusi to a great arched door. Slowly it swung open and a voice asked, "Is he here?"
The young Indian answered, "He is here."
Cusi walked through the doorway and stood in a high- ceiling room. Its walls were of white stone and perfectly bare. Nothing
hung against their cold white marble. At one end of the room was a carved stone seat exactly like the stone that Cusi had seen
the day he found the sandals. He looked around, almost expecting to see delicate golden sandals standing side by side at the
foot of the throne. There was nothing there. Quietly he felt the bundle wrapped in vicuna cloth close to his heart. They were
there, safe, where he had put them.
By the high stone seat there was a table made of stone and a stone block beside it. Cusi looked around. He was alone. The
Indian guide had disappeared. Then the boy saw an old man approaching.
The Old One looked so much like Chuto that Cusi gasped and would have run to him, but he sensed that it was not Chuto.
The Old One wore the fringed turban and the golden earplugs. He did not speak, but motioned Cusi to sit on the stone block
by the table.
A woman entered, stately and beautiful, with the peace of living days enriching her still, brown face. Cusi could never
remember how she was dressed, but he remembered, or thought he remembered, that on her feet were golden sandals like the
ones he had found and was keeping close to his heart.
The woman asked, "Is he here?" The Old One answered, "He is here."
The woman brought food to Cusi, guinea pig and sweet potatoes, fish from the sea and figs from the coastlands. In a low
voice like the minstrel's Pipes of Pan she said, "Eat, my Son."
Cusi was hungry. He was tired and bewildered, but he was hungry. He was amazed and filled with wonder, but he was
hungry. He ate the food set before him. It tasted good.
No word was spoken until Cusi had finished eating. Then the Old One said, "He is well; you have seen him. Is it enough?"
The woman nodded and smiled. "It is enough:' she said and she was gone. As quietly, as quickly as she had come, she left.
The room seemed empty.
The Old One spoke again. "They told me you were coming."
Cusi felt no need to ask, "Who told you?" He knew. Instead he asked, "The family came here?" The Indian answered, "They
passed by here, leading the Llamas Chuto gave them. Last year, this year, next year, they always pass by. These families and
their gift Llamas are the cord that ties our past to our future that we may never end." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]