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"Nice! Nice!" squealed the peeve, as it hurtled toward Paradise.
"No you mustn't come back you fool, oh, God, you fooir
She saw the unicorn had turned, there in the dream. Its head moved slowly. There was no denial. Was it
a beckoning?
The peeve squawked and dove through the gate of light.
With a sickening misgiving, with a cruel desire, Tanaquil also ran, over the sand, under the arch. She felt
the Gate, like a sheet of heavy water, resisting her, and making way. And she too rushed into the perfect
world.
11
To the sea's edge the flowers came. Some grew, it seemed, in the water. Their color was like quenching
thirst. Blue flowers of the same blueness as the ocean, and of a darker blue passing into violet. And after
those, banks of flowers of peach pink, and carmine, and flowers yellow as lemon wine. Trees rose from
the flowers. They were very tall and tented with translucent foliage of a deep golden green. Glittering
things slipped in and out of the leaves. The plain of flowers and trees stretched far away, and miles off
were mountains dissolving in the blue of the sky. A single slender path of blossomy clouds crossed this
sky, like feathers left behind. The sun burned high. Its warmth bathed everything, like honey, and its
gentle light that was clear as glass. Even the waves did not flash, and yet they shone as if another sun
were in the depths of the sea. And all about the sun of the sky, great day stars gleamed like a diamond
net.
One of the birds slid from a tree that overhung the ocean. It wriggled down into the water. It was a fish.
It circled Tanaquil once, where she stood in the shallows, then swam incuriously away.
She looked behind her. The shining sea returned to the horizon. Sea things were playing there, and spouts
of water sparkled. A few inches above the surface of the waves, not three feet from her, a leaden egg
floated in the air. It was the Gate.
I should dose it. No. I shouldn't be here I have to go back
The Gate was blank and uninviting. It did not seem to her anything would want to go near it. Even the
fish, now plopping like silver pennies from the trees, swam wide of the place.
She looked forward again. The peeve, which somehow itself knew how to swim, had followed its
pointed nose to the shore, emerged, and now rolled about in the flowers. They were not crushed. They
gave way before it and danced upright when it had passed.
On the plain, the unicorn galloped, swerved, leapt and seemed to fly, a streak of golden-silver blackness,
while the sun unwound rainbows from its horn.
"This water can't be salt," said Tanaquil, "or else it's a harmless salt. The flowers don't die."
She waded out of the shallows and stood among the flowers. Their perfume was fresh and clear, like the
light. She moved her feet, and the flowers she had stood upon coiled springily upright.
"We should go back," Tanaquil said to the peeve.
The peeve rolled in the flowers.
Tanaquil did not want to go back. If this was the perfect world, she wanted to see it.
Birds sang from the trees. It was not that their songs were more beautiful than the beautiful songs of
earth, yet they had a clarity without distraction. The air was full of a sort of happiness, or some other
benign power having no name. To breathe it made you glad. Nothing need worry you. No pain of the
past, no fear for the future. No self-doubt. No lack of trust. Everything would be well, now and for
always. Here.
The unicorn had used up its bounds and leaps for the present. It moved in a tender measure through the
flowers, going away now, inland. And once, it glanced toward the shore.
They went after it, without haste, or reluctance.
Not only birds sang.
As they walked over the plain through the silk of the flowers, a murmuring like bees& There were
orchards on the plain, apple and damson, fig and orange, quince and olive. The fragrant trees rose to
giant size, garlanded with leaves and fruit. And the fruit burned like suns and jewels. Not thinking,
Tanaquil reached her hand towards a ruby apple, and it quivered against her fingers. It lived. Never
disturbed, never plucked, never devoured. It sang.
"Oh, listen, peeve. Listen."
And the peeve looked up in inquisitive surprise.
"Insect."
"No, it's the apple. It's singing."
No fruit had fallen. Perhaps it never would. As they went in among the trees, the whispering thrumming
notes increased.
Each species had a different melody; each blended with the others.
When they came out of the great fragrant orchard, there were deer cavorting on the plain. The unicorn
had moved by them, and from Tanaquil they did not run away. Birds flew overhead, sporting on the air
currents in the sun.
"What do they eat? Perhaps the air feeds them, and the scents, they're so good."
The peeve stalked the deer, who whirled and cantered back, playing, but the peeve took fright and raced
to Tanaquil.
"They won't hurt you."
"Big," said the peeve, with belated respect.
The sun and the day stars crossed the sky above them.
They must have walked for three or four hours, and Tanaquil was not tired. She was not hungry. The
peeve showed signs only of vast interest in everything. She had been nervous that it might try to dig
something up, nibble something, or lift its leg among the flowers. But none of these needs apparently
occurred to it.
In what was probably the fifth hour, the plain reached its brink and unfolded over, down toward a lake of
blue tourmaline. A forest lay beyond, and in and out went the flaming needles of parrots. Tanaquil saw
animals basking at the lakeside. The unicorn, a quarter of a mile ahead, stepped peacefully among them.
They turned to see, flicked their tails and yawned. They knew unicorns, evidently.
"Are they ? Yes, they're lions. And look, peeve."
The peeve looked. Tanaquil was not sure it realized what the picture meant. The pride of tawny lions had
mingled and lazily lain down with a small flock of sheep. Some had adopted the same position, forelegs
tucked under and heads raised. Others slept against each other's flanks. Some lambs chased lion cubs
along the lakeshore, bleating sternly. They all fell over in a heap, pelt and fleece, and started to wash each
other.
Tanaquil felt no misgiving as she and the peeve also descended among the lions. And they paid her no
special attention. The sheep bleated softly, and one of the sleeping cats snored. The sheep were not
grazing on anything. She saw how alike were the faces of the lions and the sheep, their high-set eyes and
long noses.
The unicorn walked on, circling the shore.
A leopard stretched over the bough of a huge cedar. It stared at them from calm lighted eyes.
Swans swam across the lake mirror.
They passed a solitary apple tree, singing, its trunk growing from the water.
"Insect," said the peeve.
In the forest were massive cypresses, ilexes, magnolias. In sun-bathed clearings orchids grew in mosaic
colors. Deer moved like shadows, and lynxes sat in the shade while mice ambled about between their
paws. The parrots screamed with laughter. Monkeys hung overhead like brown fruit. Ferns of drinkable
green burst from the mouths of wild fountains. Water lilies paved the pools. There were butterflies in the
forest, and bees spiraled the red-amber trunk of a pine. Do they have a sting? Snakes like trickles of
liquid metal poured through the undergrowth.
The unicorn might be seen walking before them down the aisles of the forest. It no longer appeared [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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