were more timid with
him, and did not laugh.
One
night as they were all going back with the last cartload to the main shaft, he
came to meet them, stepping suddenly out of a crosscut to their right. As
always he wore his ragged sheepskin coat, black with the clay and dirt of the
tunnels. His fair hair had gone grey. His eyes were clear. 'Bran,' he said,
'come, I can show you now.'
'Show
me what?'
'The
stars. The stars beneath the rock. There's a great constellation in the stope
on the old fourth level, where the white granite cuts down through the black.'
'I
know the place.'
'It's
there: underfoot, by that wall of white rock. A great shining and assembly of
stars. Their radiance beats up through the darkness. They are like the faces of
dancers, the eyes of angels. Come and see them, Bran!'
The
miners stood there, Per and Hanno with backs braced to hold the cart from
rolling: stooped men with tired, dirty faces and big hands bent and hardened by
the grip of shovel and pick and sledge. They were embarrassed, compassionate,
impatient.
'We're
just quitting. Off home to supper. Tomorrow,' Bran said.
The
astronomer looked from one face to another and said nothing.
Hanno
said in his hoarse gentle voice, 'Come up with us, for this once, lad. It's
dark night out, and likely raining; it's November now; no soul will see you if
you come and sit at my hearth, for once, and eat hot food, and sleep beneath a
roof and not under the heavy earth all by yourself alone!'
Guennar
stepped back. It was as if a light went out, as his face went into shadow.
'No,' he said. 'They will burn out my eyes.'
'Leave
him be,' said Per, and set the heavy ore-cart moving towards the shaft.
'Look
where I told you,' Guennar said to Bran. 'The mine is not dead. Look with your
own eyes.'
'Aye.
I'll come with you and see. Good night!'
'Good
night,' said the astronomer, and turned back to the side-tunnel as they went
on. He carried no lamp or candle; they saw him one moment, darkness the next.
In
the morning he was not there to meet them. He did not come.
Bran
and Hanno sought him, idly at first, then for one whole day. They went as far
down as they dared, and came at last to the entrance of the caves, and entered,
calling sometimes, though in the great caverns even they, miners all their
lives, dared not call aloud because of the terror of the endless echoes in the
dark.
'He
has gone down,' Bran said. 'Down farther. That's what he said. Go farther, you
must go farther, to find the light.'
'There
is no light,' Hanno whispered. 'There was never light here. Not since the
world's creation.'
But
Bran was an obstinate old man, with a literal and credulous mind; and Per
listened to him. One day the two went to the place the astronomer had spoken
of, where a great vein of hard light granite that cut down through the darker
rock had been left untouched, fifty years ago, as barren stone. They
re-timbered the roof of the old stope where the supports had weakened, and
began to dig, not into the white rock but down, beside it; the astronomer had
left a mark there, a kind of chart or symbol drawn with candle-black on the
stone floor. They came on silver ore a foot down, beneath the shell of quartz;
and under that - all eight of them working now - the striking picks laid bare the
raw silver, the veins and branches and knots and nodes shining among broken
crystals in the shattered rock, like stars and gatherings of stars, depth below
depth without end, the light.
THE
FIELD OF VISION
I hardly know what to say about 'The
Field of Vision'; it is a sort of sublimated temper tantrum. An indignant
Letter to the Editor. A raspberry.
Shelley
was kicked out of Oxford - I think the story is un-authenticated, but who cares
— because he painted a sign on the end wall of a dead-end alley: this
way to heaven. I feel that every now and then his
sign needs repainting.
I
saw Eternity the other night. Like a great Ring of pure and endless light...
him, and did not laugh.
One
night as they were all going back with the last cartload to the main shaft, he
came to meet them, stepping suddenly out of a crosscut to their right. As
always he wore his ragged sheepskin coat, black with the clay and dirt of the
tunnels. His fair hair had gone grey. His eyes were clear. 'Bran,' he said,
'come, I can show you now.'
'Show
me what?'
'The
stars. The stars beneath the rock. There's a great constellation in the stope
on the old fourth level, where the white granite cuts down through the black.'
'I
know the place.'
'It's
there: underfoot, by that wall of white rock. A great shining and assembly of
stars. Their radiance beats up through the darkness. They are like the faces of
dancers, the eyes of angels. Come and see them, Bran!'
The
miners stood there, Per and Hanno with backs braced to hold the cart from
rolling: stooped men with tired, dirty faces and big hands bent and hardened by
the grip of shovel and pick and sledge. They were embarrassed, compassionate,
impatient.
'We're
just quitting. Off home to supper. Tomorrow,' Bran said.
The
astronomer looked from one face to another and said nothing.
Hanno
said in his hoarse gentle voice, 'Come up with us, for this once, lad. It's
dark night out, and likely raining; it's November now; no soul will see you if
you come and sit at my hearth, for once, and eat hot food, and sleep beneath a
roof and not under the heavy earth all by yourself alone!'
Guennar
stepped back. It was as if a light went out, as his face went into shadow.
'No,' he said. 'They will burn out my eyes.'
'Leave
him be,' said Per, and set the heavy ore-cart moving towards the shaft.
'Look
where I told you,' Guennar said to Bran. 'The mine is not dead. Look with your
own eyes.'
'Aye.
I'll come with you and see. Good night!'
'Good
night,' said the astronomer, and turned back to the side-tunnel as they went
on. He carried no lamp or candle; they saw him one moment, darkness the next.
In
the morning he was not there to meet them. He did not come.
Bran
and Hanno sought him, idly at first, then for one whole day. They went as far
down as they dared, and came at last to the entrance of the caves, and entered,
calling sometimes, though in the great caverns even they, miners all their
lives, dared not call aloud because of the terror of the endless echoes in the
dark.
'He
has gone down,' Bran said. 'Down farther. That's what he said. Go farther, you
must go farther, to find the light.'
'There
is no light,' Hanno whispered. 'There was never light here. Not since the
world's creation.'
But
Bran was an obstinate old man, with a literal and credulous mind; and Per
listened to him. One day the two went to the place the astronomer had spoken
of, where a great vein of hard light granite that cut down through the darker
rock had been left untouched, fifty years ago, as barren stone. They
re-timbered the roof of the old stope where the supports had weakened, and
began to dig, not into the white rock but down, beside it; the astronomer had
left a mark there, a kind of chart or symbol drawn with candle-black on the
stone floor. They came on silver ore a foot down, beneath the shell of quartz;
and under that - all eight of them working now - the striking picks laid bare the
raw silver, the veins and branches and knots and nodes shining among broken
crystals in the shattered rock, like stars and gatherings of stars, depth below
depth without end, the light.
THE
FIELD OF VISION
I hardly know what to say about 'The
Field of Vision'; it is a sort of sublimated temper tantrum. An indignant
Letter to the Editor. A raspberry.
Shelley
was kicked out of Oxford - I think the story is un-authenticated, but who cares
— because he painted a sign on the end wall of a dead-end alley: this
way to heaven. I feel that every now and then his
sign needs repainting.
I
saw Eternity the other night. Like a great Ring of pure and endless light...
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