[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
those calculations; I know it, know it is right, without wonder and without astonishment... for I have
calculated it all; I know how; it must be right, I know so very well how. (And I means something new
now.)
She turns to the left and the front wheels shudder over the curb. I let go the brace and put my feet
side by side on the radiator, and as the front of the car reaches the railing I spring up and out, flying as
men have in their hearts always wished to fly... up and up into the dark. With my ears I know my speed,
air rushing past, diminishing as I reach the top of my arc and begin to descend; it is in this poised moment
that I meet the machines from the sky, with my left arm and both legs taking those intertwined metal
necks. Below me the Hispano is turning end over end down the embankment.
I reach up with my violin neck, holding it by the flat protruding lower end of the ebony fingerboard,
and find that with the other end, the hard curved polished scroll, I can reach the open trumpet mouth of
the topmost head. It accepts the slight curve of the carving exactly; I ram it home, extract it, repeat the
motion on the second, third, fourth, crushing some delicate something in the joined throats of each.
Then that pervasive hooting is gone, and we drift silently for a second but only a second; we are on
the ground near and between two of the stilts which support the road. A sort of curtain hangs there; as we
touch earth, this curtain topples outward and falls across the globe. There are people three women, four
men. One of the men is old, and wears nothing but a wooden leg strapped to his thigh. One of the women
wears an ermine jacket; the tall heels are broken off her shoes. They seize a rope and run, and drop a steel
hook into the girders of the stilt. On the other side, a girl and a man, an impossibly fat man, place a hook
on the other side. The hard fabric of the curtain smashes at me as I struggle free it is one of those
enormous woven mats of steel-cored hempen cable they use to cover rocks when dynamiting in the city.
They have captured the globe with it, casting it like a net over birds! And the globe fights; it fights,
plunging upward, making no sound. The net holds, the ropes hold; I hear the steel hooks crackle in the
girders as they slip and grab. The plunging stops; the globe presses upward, trying and trying to break free.
The anchor ropes hum, the net rustles with strain. I feel a warmth, a heat, from the globe; it drops
abruptly, plunges upward once more, but weakly, and suddenly falls to the ground with the rope mat
shrouding it and smoking. The four tanklike machines have not moved since they landed; with their
voices gone they have no function.
The woman in ermine and the fat man run to a two-wheeled dolly standing under the roadway. I run
to help them. Nobody speaks. It is an acetylene set. We drag it to the dead sphere and light it. We begin
to cut the sphere open so that I this new, wide, deep, all-over-the-world I can see what it is, how it
works.
I and I, now, think as I work of what is happening a different kind of thinking than any I have
ever known... if thinking was seeing, then all my life I have thought in a hole in the ground, and now I
think on a mountaintop. To think of any question is to think of the answer, if the answer exists in the
experience of any other part of I. If I wonder why I was chosen to make that leap from the car, using all
my strength and all its speed to carry me exactly to that point in space where the descending machines
would be, then the wonder doesn t last long enough to be called that: I know why I was chosen, on the
instant of wondering. Someone had measured the throat of one of the tank machines; someone knew what
tool would fit it exactly and be right to destroy it most easily. The neck and scroll of my violin happened
to be that tool, and I happened to be on the high road with it. I might have died. The woman driving the
Hispano did die. These are things that do not matter; one will unhesitatingly break a fingernail in reaching
to snatch a child from the fire.
Yet, as all knowledge of the greater I is available to me, so is all feeling. The loss of my violin before
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Click here to buy
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I had made the first single note with it is a hurt beyond bearing; its loss in so important an action does not [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl aikidobyd.xlx.pl
those calculations; I know it, know it is right, without wonder and without astonishment... for I have
calculated it all; I know how; it must be right, I know so very well how. (And I means something new
now.)
She turns to the left and the front wheels shudder over the curb. I let go the brace and put my feet
side by side on the radiator, and as the front of the car reaches the railing I spring up and out, flying as
men have in their hearts always wished to fly... up and up into the dark. With my ears I know my speed,
air rushing past, diminishing as I reach the top of my arc and begin to descend; it is in this poised moment
that I meet the machines from the sky, with my left arm and both legs taking those intertwined metal
necks. Below me the Hispano is turning end over end down the embankment.
I reach up with my violin neck, holding it by the flat protruding lower end of the ebony fingerboard,
and find that with the other end, the hard curved polished scroll, I can reach the open trumpet mouth of
the topmost head. It accepts the slight curve of the carving exactly; I ram it home, extract it, repeat the
motion on the second, third, fourth, crushing some delicate something in the joined throats of each.
Then that pervasive hooting is gone, and we drift silently for a second but only a second; we are on
the ground near and between two of the stilts which support the road. A sort of curtain hangs there; as we
touch earth, this curtain topples outward and falls across the globe. There are people three women, four
men. One of the men is old, and wears nothing but a wooden leg strapped to his thigh. One of the women
wears an ermine jacket; the tall heels are broken off her shoes. They seize a rope and run, and drop a steel
hook into the girders of the stilt. On the other side, a girl and a man, an impossibly fat man, place a hook
on the other side. The hard fabric of the curtain smashes at me as I struggle free it is one of those
enormous woven mats of steel-cored hempen cable they use to cover rocks when dynamiting in the city.
They have captured the globe with it, casting it like a net over birds! And the globe fights; it fights,
plunging upward, making no sound. The net holds, the ropes hold; I hear the steel hooks crackle in the
girders as they slip and grab. The plunging stops; the globe presses upward, trying and trying to break free.
The anchor ropes hum, the net rustles with strain. I feel a warmth, a heat, from the globe; it drops
abruptly, plunges upward once more, but weakly, and suddenly falls to the ground with the rope mat
shrouding it and smoking. The four tanklike machines have not moved since they landed; with their
voices gone they have no function.
The woman in ermine and the fat man run to a two-wheeled dolly standing under the roadway. I run
to help them. Nobody speaks. It is an acetylene set. We drag it to the dead sphere and light it. We begin
to cut the sphere open so that I this new, wide, deep, all-over-the-world I can see what it is, how it
works.
I and I, now, think as I work of what is happening a different kind of thinking than any I have
ever known... if thinking was seeing, then all my life I have thought in a hole in the ground, and now I
think on a mountaintop. To think of any question is to think of the answer, if the answer exists in the
experience of any other part of I. If I wonder why I was chosen to make that leap from the car, using all
my strength and all its speed to carry me exactly to that point in space where the descending machines
would be, then the wonder doesn t last long enough to be called that: I know why I was chosen, on the
instant of wondering. Someone had measured the throat of one of the tank machines; someone knew what
tool would fit it exactly and be right to destroy it most easily. The neck and scroll of my violin happened
to be that tool, and I happened to be on the high road with it. I might have died. The woman driving the
Hispano did die. These are things that do not matter; one will unhesitatingly break a fingernail in reaching
to snatch a child from the fire.
Yet, as all knowledge of the greater I is available to me, so is all feeling. The loss of my violin before
a
a
T
T
n
n
s
s
F
F
f
f
o
o
D
D
r
r
P
P
m
m
Y
Y
e
e
Y
Y
r
r
B
B
2
2
.
.
B
B
A
A
Click here to buy
Click here to buy
w
w
m
m
w
w
o
o
w
w
c
c
.
.
.
.
A
A
Y
Y
B
B
Y
Y
B
B
r r
I had made the first single note with it is a hurt beyond bearing; its loss in so important an action does not [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]