osc.am2.redprophet-第58部分

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aking　it　impossible　for　anyone　to　see　into　the　little　sheltered　place　where　the　Unmaker　had　got　Alvin　holed　up　in　hiding。
　　It　was　afternoon　next　day　when　Alvin　awoke。　Ta…Kumsaw　lay　beside　him；　weak　and　spent；　but　whole。　Alvin　was　filthy　and　itchy　and　he　had　to　void　himself；　gingerly　he　pulled　himself　out　from　under　Ta…Kumsaw；　who　felt　so　light；　as　if　he　was　half　made　of　air。　The　smoke　was　gone　now；　but　Alvin　still　felt　invisible；　walking　around　in　broad　daylight　dressed　like　a　Red　man。　He　could　hear　drunken　singing　from　the　American　camp　near　the　ruins　of　Detroit。　Stray　smoke　still　drifted　through　the　trees。　And　everywhere　Alvin　walked　were　the　bodies　of　Red　men　cast　like　wet　straw　on　the　forest　floor。　It　stank　of　death。
　　Alvin　found　a　brook　and　drank；　trying　not　to　imagine　some　dead　body　lying　in　it　upstream。　He　washed　his　face　and　hands；　dipped　his　head　into　the　water　to　cool　his　brain；　the　way　he　used　to　do　at　home　after　a　hard　day's　work。　Then　he　went　back　to　wake　Ta…Kumsaw　and　bring　him　here　to　drink。
　　Ta…Kumsaw　was　already　awake。　Already　standing　over　the　body　of　a　fallen　friend。　His　head　was　tipped　back；　his　mouth　open；　as　if　he　uttered　a　cry　so　deep　and　loud　that　human　ears　couldn't　hear　the　sound　of　it；　could　only　feel　the　earth　trembling　with　the　vibration　of　the　shout。　Alvin　ran　to　him　and　flung　his　arms　around　him；　clinging　to　him　like　the　child　he　was；　only　it　was　Alvin　doing　the　forting；　Alvin　whispering；　〃You　done　your　best；　you　done　all　that　could　be　done。〃
　　And　Ta…Kumsaw　answered　not　at　all；　though　his　silence　was　an　answer；　too；　like　as　if　he　was　saying；　I'm　alive；　which　means　I　didn't　do　enough。
　　They　walked　away　in　the　afternoon；　not　even　bothering　to　conceal　themselves。　Some　White　men　later　woke　up　with　hangovers；　swearing　they　saw　visions　of　Ta…Kumsaw　and　the　Renegado　Boy　walking　through　the　corpses　of　the　Red　army；　but　nobody　paid　them　mind。　And　what　did　it　matter？　Ta…Kumsaw　wasn't　no　danger　to　the　Whites　now。　He'd　broken　against　them　like　a　great　wave；　but　they　stood　against　him；　he　thought　to　shatter　them；　but　they　broke　him　and　his　people　into　spray；　and　if　some　drops　of　it　still　clung；　what　did　that　matter？　They　had　no　power　anymore。　It　was　all　spent　in　one　brutal；　futile　blow。
　　Alvin　spoke　not　a　word　to　Ta…Kumsaw　all　the　way　south　to　the　headwaters　of　the　My…Ammy；　and　Ta…Kumsaw　spoke　nary　a　word　to　him　as　they　dug　out　a　canoe　together。　Alvin　made　the　wood　soft　in　the　right　places；　so　it　took　scarce　half　an　hour；　and　another　half　hour　to　shape　a　good　paddle。　Then　they　dragged　the　canoe　to　the　river's　edge。　Only　with　the　canoe　half　in　the　water　did　Ta…Kumsaw　stop　and　turn　to　Alvin；　reach　out　a　hand　and　touch　his　face。　〃If　all　White　men　were　true　like　you；　Alvin；　I　would　never　have　been　their　enemy。〃
　　And　as　Alvin　watched　Ta…Kumsaw　paddle　steadily　down　the　river　out　of　sight；　it　occurred　to　him　that　it　just　didn't　feel　like　Ta…Kumsaw　had　lost。　It　was　as　if　the　battle　wasn't　about　Ta…Kumsaw。　It　was　about　White　men；　and　their　worthiness　to　have　this　land。　They　might　think　they　won；　they　might　think　the　Red　man　slunk　away　or　bowed　his　head　in　defeat；　but　in　fact　it　was　the　White　man　who　lost；　because　when　Ta…Kumsaw　paddled　down　the　Wobbish　to　the　Hio；　down　the　Hio　to　the　Mizzipy；　and　crossed　the　fogs　of　the　river　to　the　other　side；　he　was　taking　the　land　with　him；　the　greensong；　what　the　White　man　had　won　with　so　much　blood　and　dishonesty　was　not　the　living　land　of　the　Red　man；　but　the　corpse　of　that　land。　It　was　decay　that　the　White　man　won。　It　would　turn　to　dust　in　his　hands；　Alvin　knew　it。
　　But　I'm　a　White　man；　not　a　Red；　whatever　anybody　might　say。　And　rotting　underfoot　or　not；　this　land　is　all　the　land　we　have；　and　our　people　all　the　people　that　we've　got。　So　Alvin　walked　along　the　shore　of　the　Wobbish；　heading　downriver；　knowing　that　where　the　Tippy…Canoe　discharged　itself　into　the　larger　stream；　there　he'd　find　his　pa　and　ma；　his　brothers　and　his　sisters；　all　a…waiting　there　to　find　out　what　had　happened　to　him　in　the　year　since　he　set　out　to　bee　a　prentice　blacksmith　back　at　Hatrack　River。
　　
　　
　　Chapter　19　　Homeing
　　
　　Napoleon　did　not　wear　irons　on　his　way　back　to　France。　He　slept　in　the　second　cabin；　and　ate　at　table　with　Governor　La　Fayette；　who　was　only　too　glad　to　have　him。　In　the　hot　afternoons　of　the　Atlantic　crossing；　La　Fayette　confided　all　his　plans　of　revolution　to　Napoleon；　his　dearest　friend；　and　Napoleon　offered　helpful　advice　on　bow　to　make　the　revolution　go　much　faster　and　more　effectively。
　　〃The　best　thing　about　all　these　sad　events；〃　said　La　Fayette　the　day　the　lookout　first　spied　the　coast　of　Bretagne；　〃is　that　we　are　friends　now；　and　the　revolution　is　assured　of　success　because　you　are　a　part　of　it。　To　think　that　once　I　mistrusted　you；　figuring　you　to　be　a　tool　of　the　King。　A　tool　of　Charles！　But　soon　all　France　will　know　you　for　the　hero　that　you　are；　and　blame　the　King　and　Freddie　for　the　sacking　of　Detroit。　All　that　territory　in　the　hands　of　Protestants　and　savages；　while　we　are　here　to　offer　a　better　way；　a　truer　leadership　to　the　people　of　France。　Ah；　Napoleon；　I　have　yearned　for　such　a　man　as　you　through　all　my　years　of　planning　for　democracy。　All　we　have　needed；　we　Feuillants；　was　a　leader；　a　man　who　could　guide　us；　a　man　who　could　lead　France　to　true　freedom。〃　And　La　Fayette　sighed　and　sank　deeper　into　the　cushions　of　his　chair。
　　Through　all　this　Napoleon　listened　with　satisfaction；　yes；　but　also　sadness。　For　he　had　thought　that　La　Fayette　was　immune　to　his　charm　because　of　some　great　inward　strength。　Now　he　knew　that　it　was　only　a　foolish　amulet；　that　La　Fayette　was　like　any　ordinary　man　when　it　came　to　resisting　Napoleon；　and　now　that　the　amulet　lay　buried　in　a　mass　grave　outside　Detroit；　no　doubt　still　chained　to　the　moldering　vertebrae　of　Frederic　de　Maurepas；　Napoleon　knew　that　he　would　never　find　his　equal　in　this　world；　unless　it　was　God　himself；　or　Nature。　There　would　be　no　man　to　deny　him；　that　much　was　sure。　So　he　listened　to　La　Fayette's　babbling　with　a　wistful　longing　for　the　kind　of　man　he　once　thought　La　Fayette　could　be。
　　The　men　on　deck　bustled　and　hurried　and　made　ten　thousand　clumbing　noises；　for　they　were　heaving　in　to　land；　Napoleon　was　home　in　France　at　last。
　　
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　　Ta…Kumsaw　did　not　need　to　fear　the　thick　fog　that　descended　as　he　reached　the　Hio's　mouth；　pouring　into　the　Mizzipy　and　getting　lost　in　those　stronger　currents。　He　knew　the　way：　west；　and　any　shore　would　be　his　refuge；　his　safety；　the　end　of　his　life。
　　For　that's　all　that　he　could　see　ahead　of　him　now。　The　land　west　of　the　Mizzipy　was　his　brother's　land；　the　place　where　White　man　would　not　e。　The　land　itself；　the　water；　every　living　thing　would　work　to　bar　those　White　who　were　foolish　enough　to　think　that　the　Red　men　could　be　defeated　again。　But　it　was　the　Prophet's　gifts　the　Red　folk　needed　now；　not　those　of　a　warrior　like　Ta…Kumsaw。　He　might　be　a　figure　of　legend　in　the　east；　among　fallen　Reds　and　foolish　Whites；　but　in　the　west　they　would　know　him　for　what　he　was。　A　failure；　a　bloody…handed　man　who　led　his　people　to　destruction。
　　The　water　lapped　at　his　canoe。　He　heard　a　redbird　singing　not　far　off。　The　fog　grew　whiter；　dazzling；　then　broke；　and　the　sun　shone　bright；　blinding　him。　In　three　paddlestrokes　his　canoe　nosed　the　shore；　and　there；　to　his　surprise；　was　a　man　silhouetted　in　the　late　afternoon　sun；　standing　on　the　bank。　The　man　sprang　down　and　took　the　end　of　Ta…Kumsaw's　canoe　and　pulled　it　tight　against　the　riverbank；　then　helped　Ta…Kumsaw　out　of　the　little　boat。　Ta…Kumsaw　couldn't　see　his　face；　his　eyes　were　so　bedazzled；　but　he　knew　who　it　was　all　the　same；　from　the　touch　of　the　hand。　And　then　the　voice；　murmuring；　〃Let　the　canoe　drift　away。　There'll　be　no　more　crossing　to　the　other　side；　my　brother。〃
　　〃Lolla…Wossiky；〃　cried　Ta…Kumsaw。　Then　he　wept　and　knelt　at　his　brother's　feet；　clinging　to　his　knees。　All　the　anguish；　all　the　grief　spilled　out　of　him；　while　above　him　Lolla…Wossiky；　called　Tenskwa…Tawa；　called　the　Prophet；　sang　to　him　a　song　of　melancholy；　a　song　about　the　death　of　bees。
　　
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　　Things　were　changed　somewhat　when　Alvin　got　to　town。　There　was　a　sign　right　out　on　the　Wobbish　Road；　saying：
　　
　　Pass　by；　stranger；　if　you　can。
　　Or　hear　a　tale　unfit　for　ears　of　man。
　　
　　Well　Alvin　knew　the　purpose　of　that　sign。　But　he　was　no　stranger　here。
　　Or　was　he？　As　he　made　his　way　along　the　little　spur　of　the　road　toward　Vigor　Church；　he　saw　that　new　buildings　had　been　put　up；　new　houses　built。　Folks　were　living　pretty　much　cheek…by…jowl　here　now；　and　Vigor　Church　was　a　proper　town。　But　no　one　greeted　him　in　the　road；　and　even　the　children　a…playing　in　the　mons　had　no　word　for　him；　no　doubt　their　parents　taught　them　not　to　wele　strangers；　or　maybe　they　just　were　sick　of　hearing　their　fathers　and　older　brothers　telling　their　awful　tale　to　whatever　stranger　came　to　call。　Better　not　to　wele　any　man　or　woman　here。
　　And　the　past　year　had　changed　Alvin。　He　was　taller；　yes；　but　also　he　knew　that　his　walk　was　different；　more　like　a　Red　man；　unaccustomed　to　the　feel　of　a　White　man's　road　beneath　his　feet；　wishing　for　the　greenwood　song；　which　was　near　extinguished　in　these　parts。　Maybe　I　am　a　stranger　here　these　days。　Maybe　I　seen　and　done　too　much　this　last　year　to　ever　e　back　and　be　Alvin　Junior　anymore。
　　Even　with　the　changes　in　the　town；　Alvin　knew　his　way。　This　much　hadn't　changed：　there　was　still　bridges　over　every　little　stream　on　the　roadway　up　to　his　father's　house。　Alvin　tried　to　feel　the　old　way；　feel　the　anger　of　the　water　against　him。　But　the　black　evil　that　once　was　his　enemy；　it　hardly　knew　him　either；　now　that　he　walked　like　a　Red　man；　all　at　one　with　the　living　world。　Never　mind；　thought　Alvin。　As　the　land　gets　tame　and　broken；　I'll　be　White　again　in　my　step；　and　the　Unmaker　will　find　me。　Just　as　he　broke　the　Red　man's　healing　hold　on　this　land；　he'll　try　to　break　me　too；　and　if　Ta…Kumsaw　wasn't　strong　enough　or　Tenskwa…Tawa　wise　enough　to　stand　against　the　old　Unmaker；　what　will　I　ever　do？
　　Just　make　my　way；　day　by　day；　like　the　old　hymn　said。　Make　my　way；　day　by　day；　Lord　above；　light　and　love；　in　my　grief　bring　relief；　fill　my　cup；　lift　m