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strength."
After the Llamas had eaten, they folded their legs beneath them to rest. Their rounded loads looked like grass huts, squatting
low on the ychu grass. Cusi laughed aloud to see them. At his laughter the Llamas began to hum in Llama pleasure to let the
whole world know that all was well. Cusi hummed with them; then he leaped to his feet, giving the Llama call, "Come,
Llamas. Come, Llamas." As always the animal obeyed him at once and began their stately march again.
Cusi munched parched corn as he took his place at the head of the procession. He said to Misti in a teasing tone, "I am not as
proud as you. I do not mind if I must eat as I walk along."
They went down, down the Llama trail and came closer and closer to the lower valley. Cusi began recognizing landmarks he
had spotted from his lookout rock in the valley above. He saw the burned tree that lightning had struck, standing black and
bold, a lone sentinel. He crossed the trickling stream that bubbled along to join the mighty river. Everything was hot and still.
The shadows had folded themselves beneath the trees and the shrubbery. The Great Sun was in mid-sky, looking down on the
boy and on the Llamas.
Cusi stopped. He was almost there. Sweat dampened his forehead at the edge of his knitted cap and ran in little rivers down
his brown cheeks. The pains of his hands were wet; he wiped them on his white trouser legs. He was here at last, in the valley
below. He was where his dreams had led him. Only a few more steps now and he would stand at the far end of the clearing.
Then he and his Llamas would walk across it. He knew every step of the way from having watched it so often. They would
walk across the clearing and stand before the shelter door. Someone would answer his shout of greeting. The father, or the
children perhaps, or the mother? All of them? Yes, that would be the way it would happen. They would all come crowding to
the door, laughing and talking and welcoming him. Would he say, "I want to be a part of your family," or would they know it,
Cusi wondered. Would it be a difficult thing to say? Would he be brave enough and bold enough?
Cusi looked up the mountain, trying to find the valley that lay hiding just beneath the line of eternal snow. Chuto was there.
Chuto the good one, the kind one, the Old One, who loved him and had taught him all he knew. What was Chuto doing now?
Cusi wondered. Was he sitting by the fire, thinking? Was he sitting by the corral wall deep in prayer? Was he crouched on the
overhanging rock, watching the boy he had told good-by? That was what he was doing! Suddenly Cusi knew it. He could,
Chuto on the rock as plainly as he had seen him every day of his life. He could feel the old man's thoughts giving him
courage. He could feel the old man's love giving him strength to do that which his heart had bidden.
Cusi turned around. He swung his poncho folds over his shoulder. He felt the sandal bundle close to his panting heart. He
walked across the clearing, and the black Llama and the seven yellow-brown Llamas followed him in stately single file.
Cusi walked across the clearing and the Llamas followed. They walked across the clearing to, here the shelter should have
been.
There was no shelter. The ground was bare and trampled by the feet of men, of children, and of Llamas, but there was not a
sign of the shelter that had stood there. Ashes of the cooking fire, yes, but ashes dead and cold. Cusi was stunned. Perhaps the
shelter had burned? But no. There was no charred wood. There was no burned thatch. There was nothing but footmarks on
the trampled ground.
Cusi never knew how long he stood there. Long enough to grow older. Long enough to see dreams die.
The Llamas waited expectantly, their sad, dark eyes on the boy they knew as master. Misti nudged him. The Great Sun
moved through the heavens on his way to put the day to bed. The shadows stole out from their resting place and, strengthened
by their brief siesta, grew longer with the lengthening day. An old man on the mountaintop let his tears drop to heal the
heartache of a lonely boy.
Cusi knew it. He had been so close to Chuto, so near him, so much a part of his world, that he knew when the Old One cried.
He could sense the Old One's tears. He knew that they were dropping to cool the burning of his heart, to soothe his aching
disappointment, to wash all his bitterness away.
He did not ask why, why, why-why were they gone? Why could they not have been there to take him in? Why had Chuto let
him come, knowing that all was gone? Cusi was learning to accept the way that had been laid out before him. He was
learning not to wonder, not to question, not to rebel, but to go forth step by step and step by step as the trail became deeper
and the signs along the way more clearly marked.
He had one thought to cling to. Both Chuto and the Amauta had told him, "Follow your heart." Even the minstrel had said it,
not in the same words, perhaps, but meaning the same.
"Follow your heart." Cusi knew where that would lead him. It would lead him to the haven of family love and family
security.
Misti nudged the boy again. Cusi looked at him through a mist of unshed tears. He looked at his Llama and tried to smile.
"All right, Misti," he told the proud, black Llama. "All right. We will go to Cuzco. I think that you and Chuto knew that was
what would happen."
The young boy led his Llamas back across the clearing to the trail again. When he had reached its shadowed coolness, he sat
awhile to rest his head upon his knees. The Llamas waited--not grazing, not resting, not humming. This was not the time.
This was not the place. This was only waiting for their young master to take heart again.
By and by Cusi sighed. He raised his head. He rose and gave the Llama call. "Come, Llamas. Come, Llamas" The Llamas
obeyed him. Arrogantly they walked behind him.
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zanotowane.pldoc.pisz.plpdf.pisz.plkwiatpolny.htw.pl
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| Cytat |
Dobre pomysły nie mają przeszłości, mają tylko przyszłość. Robert Mallet
De minimis - o najmniejszych rzeczach.
Dobroć jest ważniejsza niż mądrość, a uznanie tej prawdy to pierwszy krok do mądrości. Theodore Isaac Rubin
Dobro to tylko to, co szlachetne, zło to tylko to, co haniebne.
Dla człowieka nie tylko świat otaczający jest zagadką; jest on nią sam dla siebie. I z obu tajemnic bardziej dręczącą wydaje się ta druga. Antoni Kępiński (1918-1972)
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